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 Dee Does High School 17 By peregrinf

   Entering high school fresh-persons are safest if they first don a cloak
of invisibility.  Unfortunately those don't come in my size.  Being five
foot nine and a half I stand out.  I also have a terrible habit of getting
myself into some extraordinary messes.  I assume getting a pedophile thrown
in jail just last Friday qualifies.

   After a mere three weeks at Central High, I am notorious.  Having now
arrived at Sunday morning, my boyfriend Greg, his younger sister, and I are
emerging from my bedroom after a night of lusty, distracting frolics.

   "Shower!" Drindy shrieked as she sprinted for the bathroom, naked as the
day she was born, her tight little 11 year old virginal tush dancing
merrily in front of me.

   Holding Greg's hand, his arm nestled against my breast, sort of leaning
against him, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies brushing, I groaned.
"I gather she's a morning person."

   "Ya think?" he grumbled fondly as we joined her in the bathroom.

   She was on the toilet, peeing, grinning up at us, obviously playing the
shock card.

   It didn't work.  Greg was used to her shenanigans and I had mastered
playing that card well before I was her age.

   Just ask Mom.

   I got out spare towels while Greg turned on the shower and adjusted the
temperature.  Like a shot the little imp was in ahead of us, turning this
way and that under the spray, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. 
Rivulets of water swirled down over her coppery torso, a stream flowing
between her developing boobies with their perky brown nipples to then
sluice off her puffy little pussy with its first few fine strands of dark
hair.  She looked good enough to eat.

   She isn't ripe yet, The Stick, my conscience, alter ego and general
buttinsky scolded me.  Give her about three years.

   Then Greg nudged my butt-crack with his soft dick and we squirmed into
the shower with Drindy, rubbing wet skin against wet skin.  The usual
morning urge had, of course, been triggered by the rush of water.  Greg and
I looked at each other, our telepathy in high gear.  Turning on Drindy we
proceeded to blad our voiders in her direction, thereby trumping her shock
card.

   She screamed and danced, trying to get out of the way.  "EEEWWWWWW!"

   Greg's aim was good, his range far superior to mine.  He hosed her from
neck to toes, while my ladylike flow just added to the fragrance swirling
around us.  Finished, we let her in under the spray to wash away our waste.
Grabbing the soap, I turned to my beaux, more interested in him than his
sister.  Like a hungry monkey, my soapy hand quickly found his banana and I
felt his softness fade as his dick grew in my grasp.

   "Are you guys going to do it again?" Drindy asked, peering around me at
her brother's rising lust.

   "Oh God, must you?" Greg asked.

   "You don't like?" I asked, a little disappointed, reluctantly easing my
stroking.

   "I like, I like," he assured me, putting my hand back.  "I'm just not
sure I have it in me this morning, and I am a little tender."

   I had to admit that I was, too.  "I'll be gentle."

   I kept on massaging his expanding cock, and he groaned.  "You're a
witch, you know that?"

   "You say the sweetest things."

   I'm not sure what was driving me.  I really was kinda sore, so it wasn't
like I wanted him to fuck me.  Besides, the shower was pretty cozy with the
three of us in it.  A full docking maneuver would be awkward.

   I just loved the feel of his probe in my hand, all soapy and slippery.

   He groaned.  "I think I'm gonna...."

   "I wanna see!" Drindy insisted.

   "Wanna feel?" I asked her.

   "Dee, she's my sister!"

   "So what?  I played with my brother when I was her age.  Here." I guided
Drindy's hand to her brother's cock, showing her my patented milking,
swirling, twisting motion.  His foreskin had already slipped back.  The
soap made him really slippery and the softness of the plummy, nerve
packed-head was all squirmy in her fingers.

   "Like this?" She was very serious.

   "Oh my God yesssss," Greg moaned.

   "Uh huh.  Gently.  Very gently.  Keep going." While from one side she
was massaging his dork, I knelt on the other, reaching to fondle his balls
in their wrinkled sack.

   "You're too much!" Greg's hips began to hump.

   "I try," I purred, licking my lips.

   "Uh."

   "My face, right on my face," I hissed to Drindy as she brought him
closer and closer.

   "Wicked!" Aiming Greg's armament in my direction, Drindy was improving
on my basic motion by using both hands.

   "Ohyeah," Greg gasped as I tickled his asshole.  "Awwwshit!"

   His cock pulsed.

   Drindy giggled.

   I hummed as his hot cream spurted and spurted and spurted, spraying my
face.  I moved closer as his eruption flagged.  Reading my mind, Drindy
used the still oozing tip of his pecker to paint my cheeks and lips and
nose with the last of his yummy come, its musky scent replacing the fading
pee smell.  As I got up I impulsively wrapped an arm around Drindy, bent
down and kissed her right on the lips, letting her savor some of her
brother's semen, her slippery wet body squirming against mine.  She only
hesitated a moment before she was licking my face like a cat cleaning up
spilled cream, the little rascal.

   I am, I admit, an equal opportunity lecher -- or can an almost
fourteen-year-old girl be a lecher?  -- given the slightest opportunity I
will lech.

   At this point there was a knock on the bathroom door and Dr.  Elaine
Smathers, my mom's lover and frequent house-guest, stuck her head in the
steamy room.  "Phew!  It smells like a brothel in here.  I hate to break up
this lust fest but breakfast will be on the table in a few minutes.  Sunday
or not, the forces of law and order have summoned Dee and her Mom downtown,
and I've got an expectant mother in labor."

   "We need to get home, Sis," Greg reminded Drindy.

   "Okay, okay," Drindy grumbled as Elaine left, the three of us rinsing
off the soap and semen and smells.  "But do I hafta get dressed?"

   "While Mom and Dad seem to be encouraging our explorations, I'm not sure
they're ready for this lifestyle," Greg pointed out to her, "but I guess we
can stay like this, as long as we're dressed before they get home.  They
won't be back until sometime this afternoon.

   "I wish we could spend the day together," he added, turning to me.

   "Me, too.  Believe me, I wouldn't mind skipping this whole thing, but I
can't."

   Mom had managed to keep Detective Sergeant Kelly off my back for one
day, but he insisted he needed my statement while things were fresh in my
mind.  So, after dropping Drindy and Greg off at their home Mom and I
headed to the police station.

   Mercifully, Kelly didn't ask for a blow-by-blow account....

   Eeewwww, that's a bad choice of words, really, really, really bad!

   I meant to say that he didn't insist on a play-by-play of my time with
shit-face.

   And pardon me, but I have vowed never to let that bastard's name ever
cross my consciousness again.  May he rot in jail.  I'm already into the
curse jar to the tune of about ten bucks thanks to that...unprintable.

   Kelly said the recordings from the school intercom took care of the
details.  Mainly I confirmed that the -- what did Kelly call it?  -- that
the forensic evidence had indeed been collected from me.  This included the
swabs and stuff Doctor Elaine had taken, along with my barf.

   Ick.

   The only real sticky point came when Sergeant Kelly asked me, for the
record, if I went into that room expecting to be raped.

   I'd been wrestling with that question myself.  Had I expected to be
raped?  I had vowed to do whatever I had to do to get that animal arrested,
but did I expect to be raped?

   "No," I told Kelly firmly.

   Then my own mind turned on me.  I had to admit to myself that when it
became inevitable, I had just let that shit-face do to me what he wanted.
I'd told myself, after all, it wasn't anything I hadn't voluntarily done
before with someone else.  I'd sucked cocks before, and my virginity was
long gone.  No problem, I thought, I'll just lie there and take it.  Won't
feel a thing.

   What I felt now was a surprising flare of raw fury.

   Leave it at that!  The Stick told me firmly.  She's that little voice
inside me that steadies me.

   I was angry, but angry at who -- or should that be "whom?" I wasn't
sure. HE was the obvious target, but....

   Leave it!  The Stick told me again.

   So, I left it.

   It being lunch time by the time we finished, Mom and I used our rattled
mental state as an excuse to head to the mall with its multi-ethnic food
court for nutritional therapy, supporting each other with our favorite
comfort foods, exchanging soft words and gentle touches.  From there we
sought distraction in sensory overload, seeing every movie playing at the
mall's multi-plex, shifting from screen to screen as the scheduling
allowed, subsisting on tubs of popcorn and junk soda when hunger struck.

   It was dark by the time we got home.  Our heads throbbing, our stomachs
churning, Elaine's medical training would have been helpful but she was
still doing her OB/GYN thing.  Must've been a long labor.

   I wondered when Mom was going to tell me they were moving in together. I
didn't like to think they wouldn't.  Elaine made Mom happy, and I liked
having her around, too.

   After prescribing big glasses of milk and double doses of aspirin for
us, Mom took me into her bed and we cuddled skin to skin as she read Winnie
the Pooh stories until I drifted off to sleep, snuggled against her,
dreaming of hefalumps and honey jars.

   When Elaine came to bed in the wee hours I took the bouncing for a
little bit before staggering back to my own room.  Deliveries leave the
good doctor horny and Mom is always happy to answer the call.

   * * *

   Early the next morning, nudged to consciousness by a dream I couldn't
remember, I was pondering what I might face at school.  Could today's
reception be any worse than the one I'd gotten after my dog show in the
park?  Ya think?

   Then the car salesman on my clock radio broke the morning silence. 
Reaching out blindly I grabbed and launched the radio on a trajectory
calculated to add it to the earth's orbital clutter.  As it happened, the
radio's umbilical failed to separate cleanly from the wall socket,
releasing a blue flash and a "SPAT" as I ducked under my covers to avoid
being collateral damage.  The silenced radio whacked the wall below my
window and hit the floor.  Mom responded to the noise but I refused to
emerge from mission control, assuming the defensive posture of an armadillo
beneath my bed-clothes.  After a few minutes of nudging and cajoling, she
gave up and went away.

   The future could wait forever as far as I was concerned.  My brain went
into standby mode.

   Time passed.

   The next thing I knew someone was tugging at my covers.

   I tightened my grip on them.  "Go 'way!  I'm not here!"

   "Get up, sleepyhead."

   "Go 'way!  I'm sick.  I'm not going to school today."

   "It's me!"

   She sounded familiar.  Missy?  Could it be...?  Nah, that relationship
was as broken as the little figurine of a diver in my personal museum of
lost causes.  It had to be a hallucination, or an imposter.

   But she insisted it was her.

   It sounded like her.

   Maybe?  After all, she had mobilized the troops to track me last
Friday....

   Friday.

   I hunkered down in my bunker, unwilling to face my peers.  I'd been
raped.  I'd let myself get raped.  All in a good cause, but still....

   After beating on various protrusions in an effort to soften me up she
went to work at the foot of my bed.

   "I've decided to try out for the track team," she explained, sounding as
reasonable as if she were going to the grocery store for a package of
cookies, all the while tunneling her way into my refuge like a badger after
a gopher.  "I need to get in shape and I want you to run with me."

   Okay, the voice was right, but the proposal didn't fit.  Missy broke a
sweat just saying the word "exercise."

   I launched a probe.  "You?  Track team?  This from a girl that urges her
mother to circle the parking lot for half an hour to get a space by the
front door?"

   "That's me.  I made a New Year's resolution." She was still digging, I
was curling up tighter, trying to escape her incursion.

   "New Year's was nine months ago!" I shifted my feet away from her
groping hands.  "Go 'way!"

   "I'm a slow starter."

   Feeling a cool draft on my toes I tried retracting my landing gear
further, but it was too late.  Her grip on my left big toe quickly expanded
to encompass my ankle.  It was like I was being eaten by a snake.

   She started dragging my foot toward the foot of the bed.  "Come on! 
Now! Come on.  Get up.  You've got to help me get in shape." She braced
herself against the foot of my bed to get better traction, pulled harder,
gained some ground.

   Lying on my stomach, I grabbed the bottom sheet with both hands and
kicked with my free foot, determined to remain in my burrow.  That turned
out to be a mistake.  She captured my other ankle and straightened my legs,
yanking both feet into the cool morning air.  "I need someone to cheer me
on.  We start today, jogging --together -- to school -- every morning --
the two of us.  It'll be fun!" She cranked my legs like twist ties, first
one way then the other.

   "Stuff it," I grumbled, tightening my grip on the bottom sheet as I
resisted.

   "Come on!  Come on!  Come on!  Come ON!" she responded, with a jerk,
jerk!  Jerk!  JERK!

   My grip began to slip.  Changing tactics, I snatched first with one
hand, then the other, hooking fingers over the end of my mattress.

   But she would -- not -- give -- up!

   I was distracted by the incongruity of it all.  Missy?  Jogging??  That
was like the sun rising in the west, the moon falling from the sky, the end
of everything.

   Feeling her bracing both feet against the foot of my bed I visualized
her coiling herself like a backstroker about to leave the starting block. I
braced myself, fearing I was about to lose the battle.  Me?  Lose??  Never!


   "Come on -- get -- with -- the -- Fucking -- PROGRAM!!!!" she demanded,
jerking me around like a rag doll.

   Program....  Program?  Something about....  Shit!  PROGRAM!  The first
meeting of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee was today.  I'd
been warned!  If I wasn't there I'd find myself appointed Secretary, or
worse, if there was such a thing.

   I'd read that part of Robert's Rules.  I'd have to take notes, write up
the minutes!

   Eeewwwww!

   I let go of the mattress just as Missy gave an all-out, full-body,
last-try heave-ho.

   She must have put her whole self into it -- legs and butt, arms and
shoulders, back and torso and more-so -- 'cause I was yanked feet first
completely off the bed, friction setting my nose and tits ablaze.

   Still clutching my ankles, Missy hit the floor on her back with an
impact that rattled windows in Seattle.  I landed full length on top of
her, my face buried between her spread legs.  The top sheet had come with
me and settled over us like a collapsed tent.  It was probably just as well
she was frustratingly clothed or I might have made a meal of her right then
and there.

   The next thing I knew she had us rolling over and over in a tangle of
arms and legs and the sheet.  She was giggling, tickling and poking at any
accessible bit of skin.  Cackling myself, I tried to retaliate in kind, but
wasn't a fair contest.  I, being naked, had a great deal of exposed
epidermis, while she had clothes on.  I did my best, but her shorts were
incredibly tight!

   What was she wearing?!  It felt like Lycra!

   At one point, either accidentally or deliberately, one of her fingers
tweaked my naked pussy and WOO HOO!  Suddenly the future didn't look so
awful.  Reflexively I hugged her to me again, my face buried between her
open legs.  Her thighs clamped over my ears for a heavenly moment before we
resumed the tussle until we found ourselves face to face, breasts to
breasts, pelvis to pelvis -- or we would have been if I weren't so much
taller -- the morning sun coming in the window filtered through the sheet
over us, making a wonderfully private space for us, her luscious lips only
inches from mine.

   Our eyes met, and for a moment I was on the knife edge of kissing her
the way we used to kiss, before Mike, before all that other stuff had come
between us.

   "Children!  Breakfast in ten minutes or it goes to the neighbor's dog!"

   Shit.  The moment was shattered.  I drew back rather than risk
rejection.

   But Missy stopped me before I could get away, wrapping her arms around
me, pulling us close, but not lips to lips, tucking her face into the curve
of my neck and shoulder, her clothed body warm against my nude one.  I
spread my legs to cradle her and felt moisture on her cheeks.  Oh, she felt
so good against me.  I'd thought I'd never feel that again, never breathe
in her wonderful aroma.

   "Don't hate me," she pleaded tearfully.  "You know I still love you,
don't you?  Just -- well -- just not that way?"

   "I know," I choked out, hugging her tight, wanting so much to pleasure
her, resigning myself to accepting what she could offer, offering her only
what she'd accept.  "And I want you to know that I love you as much as
ever. I'll always love you, forever and ever, any way you'll have me."

   "Forever," she agreed, kissing my cheek.  "Just not that way.  I'm
s-s-s-so sorry."

   "It's all right." I lied, because it did hurt.  "I'm sorry, too, but it
is what it is.  At least we can still hug sometimes, can't we?"

   "Of course."

   "Thank you," I whispered through my own tears, squeezing her to me. 
After another long, teary hug we got untangled and I did the quick version
of my morning routine while Missy snuffled, wiped her tears, tossed my bed
back together, and gave her face a quick wash.  Then we tumbled down the
stairs to scarf down plates of Mom's French toast.

   The talk around the table was inconsequential, the "how's your mom" sort
of stuff, and to Elaine, who ate with us, "how big is the baby?" (7lbs,
3oz) "How're the proud parents?"

   It's the sort of stuff people say when they don't know what else to say.
They knew my history with Missy, knew what I might face at school, knew I'd
die before I let them accompany me to protect me.  I fight my own battles,
always had.

   Okay, I'd had to call in reinforcements last Friday, but that was an
extraordinary situation.

   At the door, during one of the big hugs and the "I love yous" with Mom
and Elaine I saw Mom mouth something to Missy.  Then Missy and I headed
out, her in her all new, top-of-the-line sports bra, which she needed, her
new, sexy Lycra jogging shorts hugging her delicious derrière, very
expensive athletic socks and running shoes on her feet, the elegant outfit
nicely accessorized with her tatty old and faded boy-band backpack.

   I was in my most comfortable, very worn running shoes and my ratty,
Salvation Army acquired Boy Scout backpack.

   Period.

   Oh, I was serious about the jogging, but for me a bra was still
superfluous, even while jogging, and as far as I was concerned, I was still
in The Program.  I was determined to meet the future naked and unashamed,
as if nothing had happened.  My titties were pleased to flaunt themselves
in the morning sun, the breeze happily playing with them.

   Within a block I was puffing almost as hard as Missy.  How long had it
been since I'd won the county championship in the two hundred 'fly?  I had
a lot of work to do if I was going to regain my former glory!

   Jogging with Missy was a good thing, something I'd suggested to her in
the past, and this time I vowed to make sure we kept to it.  Running isn't
the best conditioning for swimming, but it's better than nothing.  When she
started to flag I urged her on.  When I started to flag she urged me on,
turning this into sort of a companionable contest to see who could outlast
whom.  I managed to occasionally rub shoulders with her.  She'd smile at
me, and I at her, and I felt myself connecting with her in a new way, and
it was good.  Her companionship cut the worry I had about facing the people
at school.  How much did they know, and how would they feel about me?

   We arrived panting and sweating at the school steps to be greeted by the
whole lunch bunch, plus Mike, John, Greg, even Kathy, along with a
smattering of other early arrivers.  I fell into the arms of my friends and
they embraced me warmly and unconditionally, and my fears eased.  They
still loved me.

   It was at that moment that I realized Mom must have called Missy who,
prior to her extraction mission, had mobilized the troops to be here to
take me in.  I teared up.  I owed them all SO MUCH, especially Missy.  They
all even volunteered to join me Naked in School, but I could tell some of
them -- Peggy and John especially -- weren't really comfortable with the
idea so I declined the offer, while making a mental vow to somehow pay all
of them back for their support.

   They surrounded me as we passed through the Tweedles, doing their usual
obnoxious sentry thing at the front doors.  Their glares gave me goose
bumps, while their tobacco stink wrinkled my nose.  Dis-gusting!

   From there we went down to the pool locker room where Missy and I could
wash away the sweat and Missy could change to the contents of her backpack,
a nice blouse and skirt combo.

   After that there wasn't one moment when I wasn't accompanied by at least
one of them, even when I used the boys' lav as The Program required.  I
felt like a relay baton being handed off, but didn't complain one bit.  I
loved the support.  Between second and third periods Peggy was my companion
and we walked down the hall, arms around each other, silently sharing the
unspeakable.  We must have been quite a sight: petite, demure, distinctly
feminine Peggy as nicely coifed and dressed as ever, unbesmirched on the
outside at least, rubbing hips with naked but for shoes, ambi-sex-trous and
unvirginal me, tousle-haired, a head and more taller.

   Thanks to my constant escorts even the Tweedles kept their distance.  I
got the uncomfortable feeling that we, the lunch bunch, were becoming a
gang, but God, was I grateful for their company.  I was getting a lot of
looks and a lot of whispers, along with an occasional nod, a pat on the
back, a "way to go" punch in the shoulder or a thumbs up.

   Even with my friends beside me I was on edge.  Everyone obviously knew
Something had Happened involving me, the cops and whozis.  As people passed
me I thought I heard murmurs of "Did you hear about what happened between
her and 'you know who?'" but maybe that was just my paranoia.

   If someone had walked up to me and flat out asked what happened I
probably would have ripped her face off.  Maybe that was why I was
hyper-alert as I walked by Queen Bee Heather MacKenzie's table at lunch. 
Being probably the most connected student in school I bet she knew exactly
what had happened.  Previously her treatment of me had been beyond snide.

   There was no "Truffula Tree" greeting from her this time.  To my
surprise when we made eye contact her deep blue eyes were serious but
friendly.  She nodded, her right hand giving me a discrete thumbs up. 
Already suspecting that Miss Perfect had her own dark secrets I relaxed a
bit.  After Thursday's meet'n'greet I'd done some digging.  It hadn't been
hard to find out that as a class leader last year she had been the first in
her class to be Naked in School.

   Last year had also been the first year he-who-shall-be-nameless had been
at Central High as Program Supervisor.  He must have hit the ground running
when he saw her coming, the little shit.  She'd been a year younger, a year
more innocent.  That scum-bag wouldn't have missed taking a shot at such a
juicy target.

   I bet no one but me suspected what hell that week had been for her.

   I was suddenly seeing her in a totally different light.  We were sisters
beneath the skin.  I was willing to bet that perfection was her suit of
armor, tighter than John's cobbled together psychic shield, and I was
willing to bet that her snotty bitchiness was either part of her camouflage
or a way of venting her anger.  She'd slipped for an instant at the
meet'n'greet.  Had her look at the worm been a death-ray he would have been
vaporized.

   I realized, too, I was establishing a shell of my own, brick by brick. I
wasn't sure I wanted that, but for now I needed it.

   At our usual lunch table it was just us girls, so I could relax.  No one
brought up the elephant in the room -- or, rather, the pachyderm no longer
on the premises.  I'd already been told his office was locked.  I assumed
the kitchen staff break-room was probably off limits as a crime scene, but
I had no inclination to check.

   Obviously the lunch bunch knew that I had somehow been -- uh --
intimately involved in, even responsible for, shit-head's swift
disappearance.  After all, they'd tracked my abduction and alerted the
cavalry as to where I'd been taken.  Post-trauma, some had probably even
seen me in the nurse's office, being attended to by a horde of cops, EMTs,
Dr.  Elaine and my mom.  Even so, they had the kindness not to probe.  Even
Fran was subdued, shooting me sympathetic glances as she picked at her
food, not something she usually did.

   On the good side, it was at lunch that I learned that this week's
faculty rep in The Program was Mrs.  Devers!  That was a nice distraction.
Oh my, I could hardly wait to see that!  I was pretty sure she'd be filling
in for you-know-who as faculty rep at the committee meeting, and that she'd
follow the program's dress code regarding school functions.  That was
something to look forward to!  Yum!

   The afternoon brought its own special reward, and it was all Greg's
doing.  Thanks to him, rather than committing assault with a volleyball I
got to spend my gym period in the pool, doing laps, while Greg sat in the
bleachers, combining studying with life guarding.

   Of course I was skinny-dipping, so the water's embrace was intimate.  I
didn't work hard, only steadily, switching among butterfly, backstroke,
breast and freestyle as various muscle groups tired.  I was breathing
deeply, keeping my pulse up, but not racing.  I wasn't even counting laps.
The rhythm of the strokes, the synchronized breathing, the drumbeat of my
kick, the rush and gurgle of the water past my ears, the currents stroking
my skin soothed me.

   I wound up as close to a trance as I could get without drowning.  When
Greg stopped me after almost an hour he had to help me out of the pool.  I
draped myself over him, totally relaxed, my muscles limp and warm, riding
an exercise endorphin rush.  After my shower he tenderly dried me off and
we shared a long, warming embrace and delicious soft kisses.

   Thanks to that the rest of the afternoon went just swimmingly, pun
intended, until at the end of the day I got hung up with my homeroom
teacher over some bureaucratic folderol that had me sputtering and watching
the clock.

   So, of course I wound up late to the Program committee's first meeting.
Almost running -- still naked, of course -- I skidded to a stop at the
conference room's open door, my mouth open to apologize, only to be struck
dumb.  The polished wood conference table, scene of staff meetings and
deliberations by The Powers That Be and other high potentates, was set
complete with a tray holding glasses and a pitcher of ice water.

   Apparently TPTB felt we really ranked to deserve that treatment!

   But that wasn't what froze me in my tracks.  It was the way the chosen
students and Mrs.  Devers were all looking at me.  Something about that
look....

   Then I realized that the only empty chair, the chair that had to be for
me, was at the far end of the long table.  The stack of papers in front of
it was weighted down with....

   Oh shit.  Even I recognized a gavel when I saw it, and I knew what it
meant.  I was so screwed.  Right then I decided I'd rather be Secretary,
but it was obviously too late.

   They only made it worse by spontaneously rising to their feet and
applauding, so I couldn't even burst into tears and walk out!  Moving very
carefully, The Stick prodding me to stand tall, I turned my back on them to
quietly close the door to discourage the gawkers gathered in the hall.

   Where had they come from?  And why were they clapping, too?

   As I turned back my skin prickled with cold sweat, and for a moment I
thought I was going to faint.  I'd been so sure I was safe!  Now I was
going to have to walk all the way down the length of the table with them
all watching me, and clapping, of all things, and I didn't have a clue as
to what the hell I was supposed to do!  It was worse than that nightmare
where I found myself walking in for an exam in a course I hadn't taken and
knew nothing about, only this was reality!

   Stuff that!  You can do this!  The Stick told me firmly.

   Oh, and let the record show, as befitting a meeting of the Naked in
School Program Advisory Committee, they were all nude, including Mrs. 
Devers, their clothes in neat piles along the wall.  Smiling her Mona Lisa
smile the Vice Principal was applauding right along with the rest of them,
and she was just as hot as I'd dreamed.  I'd seen her, burning up the
nearby tennis courts while her daughter Gail was burning up the pool in
backstroke.

   Not as tall as me -- who is?  -- Mrs.  Devers was slender and obviously
very fit, with firm, ladylike boobs, a little bit of a crease at the
bottom, up tilted nipples that made my mouth water, a delicate hint of a
six-pack ab, firm thighs, gorgeous legs.  Her tan lines and minimal landing
strip suggested an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikini.

   Oh, I was so jealous of her husband.

   Okay, I mean it only with the greatest respect -- she is my school's
Vice Principal, after all -- but I admit that I would not reject an erotic
interlude with her, should she be in any way inclined.  My lust recognizes
no bounds, be they gender, hierarchical, chronological, social, racial,
theological or cultural.  When it comes to erotic opportunities I am
pro-actively and vigorously equal opportunity.

   And yes, Greg knows it.

   Still frozen, like a rabbit facing a snake, I was astonished when
Heather MacKenzie left her place next to Mrs.  Devers and came down the
length of the table to give me a hug -- her embrace warm and comforting --
before escorting me to my chair, her arm around me, steadying me.

   As she returned to her place I shrugged off my backpack behind me with a
thud.  Still they persisted in beating their palms together.  My head down,
I leaned heavily on the back of my chair to steady myself for a moment,
breathing deeply.  Finally -- in an effort to get them to sit down and shut
up!  -- I drew my chair out and sat down, the polished wood cold under my
naked ass, feeling the weight of the universe on my shoulders.

   Only then did they stop clapping, square their chairs around to the
table, and take their seats, totally attentive to me, not even exchanging
murmured comments, waiting for me to say something.

   Shit!  They were treating me like I was the Queen of England!

   "Thank you," I managed to husk out through a thick throat.  Mrs.  Devers
was to my left, and to her left was Heather Mac, her body as perfect as I'd
expected, her flawless C cup breasts capped with delectable pink nipples.
Mike Collins, my fellow freshman rep, was on my right.  Across from
Heather, to the right of Mike, was Matthew Mozilla, senior jock and Harvard
candidate.  He was simply awesome.  The rest were paired up along the
length of the table by grade, sophs at the far end, girls on my left, guys
on my right.  They ranged from skinny to pudgy, they all looked good, each
had a stack of paper like mine, and they were all looking at me
expectantly.

   I was the one that had that damn gavel, that symbol of responsibility,
of authority, of leadership, and I was afraid to pick it up.

   Mrs.  Devers politely broke into my musings.  "With your permission,
Madam Chairman, may I make a few remarks before you call the meeting to
order?"

   Madam Chairman!  That caught my attention.  I nodded, grateful for the
chance to gather my wits, shifting the gavel to examine the papers in front
of me.  She apologized for failing to get the list of questions and
suggestions out to us on Friday, saying only that events had overtaken her.
That was as close as anyone got to mentioning he whose name I will not use,
for which I was very grateful.

   I was relieved to have it confirmed that she was the committee's faculty
advisor as well as Interim Program Supervisor.  She made the point that
this was OUR committee, we students, not hers.  As Faculty Advisor, she
explained, she would vote only in the event we deadlocked on an issue, and
only as a last resort.  She would take a very limited part in the debates,
answering questions as to current school policy and the like, but making no
effort to direct our discussions.

   That was not what I'd expected from you-know-who.  That slime-ball had
been smugly certain he would have this bunch in his pocket.  We might have
taught him otherwise, but it would have taken time and been a messy fight.

   Then she yielded the floor to me, I self-consciously banged the gavel --
which was a bit of a power trip, I admit -- and we got down to work, Mrs.
Devers offering me guidance as I learned how to chair a meeting.  Already
nervous, as we proceeded I suddenly realized how important my position was,
and it scared the freaking shit out of me.  "The Chair" in this case was
more than just a piece of furniture.  These people, even Mrs.  Devers,
trusted me to lead them!  At one point Mike slid his smart-phone over to me
to reveal he had Robert's Rules accessible and searchable on it, which
eased my worries only a bit.

   You can do it!  The Stick assured me and, as things went on, I began to
feel more confident.

   After dealing with organizational details -- such as naming Mike
Secretary and Heather co-chair -- Mrs.  Devers suggested softly to me that
it would be good for morale to address at least one of the issues on her
list, perhaps the first one, so that's where I started.  As if she had been
prepared -- which she probably was -- the first formal motion was put
forward by Heather, seconded by sophomore rep Henrietta (Retta) Jones who,
I couldn't help noticing, had a beautifully firm rack -- dare I say, like
the Grand Tetons?  -- capped by large special dark chocolate nipples.  I
had the urge to bury my face in her mocha cleavage and just go
"blub-blub-blub-blub" in her warm, soft flesh.

   At the same time Matthew Mozilla's periscope seemed to be spying on me.
Wow!

   Don't worry, I was still paying attention to the proceedings.  When it
comes to sexy stuff I'm getting very good at multi-tasking.

   The proposed motion was a request that towels be provided for Program
participants to sit on, at the school's expense.  After a very brief
discussion it passed unanimously.  I triumphantly banged the gavel.  Per
the committee's request, Mrs.  Devers agreed to convey the wish to The
Powers That Be, with her own strong stamp of approval.  She shifted
uncomfortably in her seat as she said this, drawing a chuckle.

   After some discussion about the agenda for the next meeting I gaveled
the meeting closed and they surrounded me with congratulations, good
wishes, and warm hugs, which I thoroughly enjoyed, even though I felt
sympathy and condolences would be more appropriate.

   I couldn't believe it when Mrs.  Devers made a point of kissing me on
the lips and looking me right in the eye.  I tried to read as nothing more
than confidence in me to buck up my morale.  I was feeling overwhelmed.  It
was a shock to me that two key posts were in the hands of freshmen -- me as
Chair and Mike as Secretary.

   Having Heather Mac slotted in as co-chair made me feel good, and she
seemed very comfortable with the arrangement, which was a relief.  I had
the feeling if I headed off-course or got in a bind she'd protect my back,
rather than stabbing it.

   While the others dressed I gathered up the papers, and slipped them into
my backpack for study at home, leaving the gavel behind for the next
victim. We sort of formed a loose bunch as we headed out, chattering,
individuals peeling off to their lockers as we went.  In the end I found
myself between Heather Mac and Matthew Mozilla.  While we had agreed to use
familiar names he requested that he not be called "Mongo," and I agreed. 
He seemed to appreciate that.

   "So, what are your goals?" Heather asked.

   "Huh?"

   "You know, for the committee.  What do you want us to accomplish?  It's
got to be more than just towels to sit on, some sort of a general
philosophy."

   "I hadn't really thought about it," I confessed.  "To tell you the
truth, I expected you to be chair."

   She shook her head.  "After what you did on Friday?  No way!  "

   I didn't say anything, glad to just let that whole subject drop.

   "Anyway, think about it, and if you need any help, don't hesitate to let
me know," she suggested kindly.  "Need a ride home?"

   I was tempted to take her up on the offer, but got shy all of a sudden.
Okay, she wasn't what she seemed to be on the surface, but, well, she was a
senior, and Queen Bee to my freshman, bottom-of-the-hive worker bee.... 
"No, thanks.  I usually walk, or jog."

   "Okay." She pulled me close for a hug, and whispered in my ear.  "Thank
you!"

   "Once we get out of here do you mind if I jog along with you?" Matt
asked after she'd gone.

   "I'd like that." I shook my head, feeling flattered and a little flushed
at his company.  He wasn't Greg, but he was an adequate substitute.  I was
especially grateful to be with him when we passed the Tweedles lurking in
the hall.

   Okay, I admit it, I was more than a bit paranoid, but that didn't mean
they weren't out to get me.

   Once outside he showed me some stretches before we set off down the
walk. As I expected, he ran easily and lightly.  Wearing well-fitted shorts
-- his display at the meeting had revealed a yummy package down there -- a
T that hugged his pecs, and a backpack of his own, he was obviously a very
fit athlete.  He was probably taking it easy on me, but being tall I was
able to match him stride for stride, both of us working up a good sweat. 
He took me right to my door in spite of my protests, then jogged away,
before I could invite him in or even thank him.

   It was good to be home, in my nice safe nest.

   Mom and Elaine were still at work.  I locked the door behind me.  After
milk and cookies I was up in my room, a tube of super-glue in my hand, the
broken figurine Missy had given me so long ago in front of me.  A little
dab here, another there, and the pieces came back together almost
perfectly. There was a barely visible crack, but I somehow knew that it was
now stronger than ever.  I carefully put the little diver back where she
belonged, in a place of honor among my trophies and medals.

   Then I settled down to my homework, Heather Mac's question about goals
lurking in the back of my mind.  I was pondering the intricacies of
quadratic equations when I heard the phone ring downstairs and in Mom's
room and picked up my handset.

   Yeah, we'd joined the 20th century -- Dr.  Elaine had insisted if she
was going to spend nights here when she was on call she needed call
forwarding and we needed to upgrade.  So we got a cordless phone with three
handsets and one of them was in my room!  I do keep the ringer off.

   "Hello," I answered cheerily, expecting it to be Mom saying she'd be
late.

   "Kill The Program."

   Before I could say anything I was left with a dial-tone.

   Shit!  That was not on the list of questions and suggestions compiled by
Mrs.  Devers, and there was no doubt in my mind what the caller meant --
I'd heard the capital letters in the way he'd said it.
   Shit!