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 Dee Does HS 21 [DF1] by Peregrinf

   Friday afternoon it was full steam ahead with my makeover with Heather
at the helm.  Could this be the birth of a whole new Me?  Could I learn to
like this, reclining in a beautician's chair, experts fussing over me? 
Beyond the front window of the shop I watched the parade of passing
humanity.  As he tried to keep the traffic flowing a mall cop gave me a
nice smile, which I returned.  I do like a man in uniform.

   Oh, did I forget to mention I was naked?  I suppose that's hardly
newsworthy, though I may make the paper again.  I did spot a photographer
from the local daily shooting over the heads, between the hands holding
digital cameras and cell phones.  The Minute Spa, in whose chair I rested,
was getting coverage well beyond word-of-mouth.  The term "going viral"
comes to mind.

   When I had walked in the door with Heather I was dressed.  The spa was a
new venture by her long-time beautician, Alphonse, and she'd sensed an
opportunity.  After greeting him with the mandatory air kiss she struck a
deal; my hair and nails (all twenty) in exchange for my being naked in the
shop's front window -- a live model, very much in the flesh -- on which he
could demonstrate his shop's artistry.

   Considering Heather's coup at the thrift shop and this deal I think
she's already well on her way to an MBA.  I've learned that her dad is a
highly respected labor lawyer and trouble-shooter who travels a lot, while
her mom is very active in the local social scene, charitable fund raising,
Habitat for Humanity, hospital volunteer, and yada yada yada.

   Now, if only they had more time for their daughter.

   Alphonse, a short, slightly chubby man with slicked back black hair and
eyebrows as carefully groomed as his little mustache, had rubbed his hands,
jumped with glee, all but clicking his heels, and here I was.  Running this
place with the efficiency of a while-U-wait oil change garage he had Henri,
a slender, debonair hair stylist with a French accent and lots of curly
black hair -- both on his head and in the gap of his macho black satin
shirt -- preparing to shampoo my mop.  At the same time, two lovely
manicurists with multiple piercings and adorable dos -- one blonde, the
other brunette -- were doing things to my cuticles.

   Word of my exposure had quickly spread and as the crowd grew Alphonse
was so grateful he volunteered his cosmetologist's services as well.  After
a brief consultation with him, accompanied by the laying of hands on my
face and body, she promised to return when the others had finished their
parts.  My youthful complexion saved me from exfoliation, but I was
promised makeup lessons -- complete with free samples -- and a Brazilian
wax job.  Oh my.  I'd shaved down there to be a more attractive lure to The
Worm, but it was growing out and stubbly and it itched.

   I relaxed, a warm spray of water flowing back over my hair into a
portable sink behind my head.

   The transformation from Tomboy Dee to Glamorous Dee (in my dreams) had
actually begun last night, but only after I'd endured a lecture from Doctor
Elaine.  It turns out I should have had my ears pierced weeks ago instead
of just two days before I needed it.  When I vowed that I would wear the
ruby earrings even if I had to stab myself with a rusty nail she caved. 
But before she'd needled me -- literally -- she gave me cotton swabs and a
small bottle of peroxide for my purse, and dire warnings that if my ears
started to bother me I was to change to studs immediately.

   Closet sadist that she is, the good doctor didn't bother with
painkillers, not even a numbing ice cube.

   Like that bothered you, The Stick muttered, knowing me all too well.

   I argued that I wasn't a masochist, just a risk taker who deserved to
suffer the consequences.  That shut The Stick up, leaving my mind free to
wander as Henri began his wizardry on my hair.

   The piercing had merely capped off a busy Thursday.  Breakfast had
started out with hugs and happy tears as I'd told Mom of course I wanted
her to accept Elaine's invitation.  Following a huge stack of French toast,
Missy and I set off on our morning jog.  It was getting easier, and we took
turns challenging each other while we reminisced about all the times we'd
walked to school together, trying to get used to the idea that soon it
would end, knowing at least we still had school together.  She shyly asked
if she could rejoin our Lunch Bunch.  I told her of course, that it was
fine with me and I couldn't believe anyone else would object.

   Then at school, fresh from my after-jog shower, Kathy Powers greeted me
with what quickly turned into a flagrantly lesbian PDA, telling me, between
kisses that Greg had asked her to the dance with me, a ménage a trois she
called it.

   French is such a sexy language!

   Only a cocked-eyebrow glare from Mrs.  Devers kept us from 69-ing right
there on the parquet.  We limited ourselves to passionate promises of
post-dance diversions -- or should that be perversions?

   Just the thought of me dancing with her and Greg had me flowing all
morning.

   Then, on the way to lunch, Heather lured me into a stall in the girls'
room to tell me that she and Mongo -- I mean Matt -- Mozilla were going to
the dance!  Smothering a squeal of joy, I hugged her, acknowledging to
myself how right Missy had been, glad I'd had nothing to do with it!  I
refrained from asking who had asked whom.

   As a result of that Heather went AWOL from lunch with the Hive, hoping
the dress she'd spotted for herself was still on the rack.  Meanwhile the
Lunch Bunch unanimously accepted Missy as a rejoining member, then
proceeded to grumble at the gossip that Heather was a shoo-in for
Homecoming Queen.  I toyed with my lunch, secretly pleased.  The Hive, sans
Heather, was smirking triumphantly as if they'd already been crowned
themselves.  Well, even if they were part of the Queen's court, basking in
her reflected glory, their shit still stunk.

   After our post-lunch swim Greg and I celebrated, as usual, with an
enthusiastic wrestling match on the shower floor, vowing to make it a dance
Kathy would never forget.  By the end of classes I was still on such a high
that even swimming practice wind sprints couldn't get me down.  Greg's
rising testosterone levels were having the expected effect on his
musculature, but no way would I quit trying to beat him.

   It was after homework, supper and exciting planning about the move that
the good doctor gave me the needle.  Then I'd slept with my new studs in,
cotton balls taped in place to keep from bleeding on my pillow.

   Now here I was making the transformation to The New Dee in full view of
the public.  A caterpillar had the modesty to hide in a chrysalis, but not
me.  I wished I could scratch the building itch in my crotch but with the
manicurists holding my hands I couldn't even pinch my tits!  At least my
long legs were free, so I wriggled them against each other in a very sexy
way, to the pleasure of my pussy and my audience.

   Of course I was drawing visitors into the shop.  That was the whole
point of this exercise.  Thanks to Heather's smart phone and a nearby quick
print store my image graced fliers for men to take home to their wives or
girlfriends, or so they said.  Among the women coming in to scope the place
out was a member of Heather's Hive.  The sweet child, she just had to stop
by to whisper in my ear, something about putting lipstick on a pig.  I will
find a way to draw their stingers.

   What the whispering bitch didn't know was that Heather herself was being
pampered in a back booth by her own team of specialists.  From here the two
of us would slip away to my house for a final fitting of The Dress, the
Hive none the wiser.

   Our meeting with Mrs.  Devers before coming here had provided the
perfect excuse for us being seen together in the halls without setting
tongues wagging.  The meeting brought its own surprise when Devers told us
that a week after tomorrow's Homecoming dance the "School Spirit" statue
was to be unveiled.  Never one to miss an opportunity (it's an election
year) our congressman, the mayor, and the head of the School Board would be
among the dignitaries and there'd be speeches and refreshments.  Since my
brother's GF, Beth Finch, had modeled for the statue during her week Naked
in School, The Powers That Be wanted a student representative of The
Program to give a few remarks.

   Naturally I, as Chair of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee,
had been volunteered, to give my speech in Program Uniform.  Oh well.

   The only downside was the damper this put on my hopes for Mom's usual
birthday "surprise" party for me.  I tried to tell myself that Elaine's
proposal and a new home complete with a pool was enough of a treat, but
still, I'd miss the ice cream and cake and other stuff.

   The Stick scolded me for being greedy.  I told her I wasn't greedy, I
was horny.

   But getting back to the Devers meeting, looming large were the Worm's
legal hearings.  He'd lawyered up, of course, but the judge had imposed a
gag order.  Mrs.  Devers said she expected to have more news at Monday's
full committee meeting.  Just the mention of the Worm by his real name was
enough to make me wince, while Heather suddenly became engrossed in her
split ends.  I wondered how she lived with her dark secrets and wished I
could hug her.

   When the three of us finally got to the Monday agenda, I told Mrs. 
Devers and Heather that I felt The Program needed a positive spin.  Under
"New Business" they agreed with me that using the Program for discipline
had to stop, as well as spankings for program violations.  Mrs.  Devers
pointed out for that for TPTB to agree to that we'd have to suggest viable
alternatives.

   Aye there's the rub, I thought.  I could only hope the committee could
come up with ideas.

   She also said it might require a change to the rules at the national
level.

   Ugh!  But, since the Federal Office Of Social Awareness, still had to
answer for the Worm's presence in our school maybe that would give us some
leverage.  What would happen, I wondered, if the congressman found out
about the creep.

   At that point, mercifully, the luxurious feel of Henri's sensuous
fingers working on my scalp brought me back to my present situation.  OOooo
that felt good!  The last time someone else had washed my hair was when I
talked Missy into some crazy idea to dye my hair pink.  Fortunately Mom had
intervened before lasting damage had been done.  I also had a vague memory
of being in the tub with Mom, her hands all warm and slippery and soapy and
loving all over my body while I played in the water.

   When the manicurists transferred their attention to my feet I admired
their work on my fingernails.  Thanks to Heather providing a leftover
swatch of fabric they now matched my dress.  Note to self -- a fashion
maven is a valuable ally.

   The shampoo rinsed away, Henri's fingers worked conditioner into my
scalp.  "The shape of your skull is a thing of beauty," Henri murmured in
my ear.  "You've got lovely hair.  I've had women pay me a fortune trying
to get your natural shading."

   For a moment he sounded like he came from someplace around New York.  I
could have sworn he'd had a French accent when I'd first met him.  I
wondered if his gayness was also a put-on.

   Oh, who cared!  His fingers felt soooo gooooooood, and with my hands
free I could pinch my naked nips for my enjoyment and that of my audience
before stretching my arms wide, feeling deliciously wicked at being in full
view.  My writhing interrupted the pedicurists' play with my little piggies
and I wondered if Greg would like some mutual toe sucking sometime.  The
thought would have had me creaming in my rompers, had I been wearing any.

   "I hope you can tame my hair, Henry," I murmured, deliberately
pronouncing it "Henry."

   "No problem, mademoiselle," he assured me, his accent suddenly
reappearing as he tipped my head back to rinse the conditioner off.  "I've
applied a rinse to bring out zee [sic] lovely shadings.  Zen [sic], some
shaping.  Wis [sic] your ahcteevuh [sic] and atheletic [sic] lifestyle we
need to create somesing [sic] easy and carefree while we shape it to
flatter your lahvuhlee [sic] face.  You 'ave wonnerfuluh [sic] cheekbones,
and a strong jaw which should be framed just zo.  [sic]"

   You get the idea, so I'll quit trying to convey his accent here.

   As he said this his fingers stroked my cheeks, lips and chin, and my
skepticism about his gayness and Frenchness solidified.  If he was French,
I was the Pope.  When he wasn't fondling my noggin his hands showed quite
an interest in my bare shoulders, neck, and chest.  I hoped he was enjoying
this as much as I was.  His comb began dancing through my hair as his
scissors snick-snick-snicked.

   By the time he was combing things out, fluffing me up with a drier as he
did, the nail experts finished my toes.  Ooo boy!  That meant I was about
to get waxed.  I didn't really need it -- the dress didn't show THAT much,
and my already light bush had been shaved before I took on the Worm -- but
what the heck, it was free and Greg and Kathy might appreciate it.

   Me?  Would I enjoy it?  Enjoy which, the process, or the result?  Both,
of course, don't be silly!

   The cosmetologist was back and I told her I was more than ready for a
new experience.  "Have fun while you're playing down there," I encouraged
her, feeling totally wanton.

   "Oh, do not worry, I plan to," she assured me, her singsong words
precise, slightly accented.  She was a little bit of a thing, very pretty,
dusky-skinned, a caste dot on her forehead, a jeweled ring in one nostril.
Her lush ebony hair thumbed around her shoulders.

   I discovered the chair had features that put a gynecological examination
table to shame as she spread my legs and drew a stool up between them.  I
looked down along my body to where her ringed fingers -- slender, graceful
and elaborately manicured -- stroked my pussy's stubble.

   "It is a little short, but adequate, I think.  There will be a little
pain involved.  Would you like something for it?"

   "Oh no!  I want the full experience!"

   "Good!" she responded.  "I think, maybe you are a wicked, wicked girl?"

   I sighed.  "I suppose." It would depend on how you defined "wicked," I
thought.

   After a moment of powdering me with tantalizing pats she spread
something warm on my skin Down There, a ways away from my pussy proper.

   Press, press, press.  She palpated me much the way Doctor Elaine had at
my first pelvic exam.

   "So, you are a bad girl?" She was tugging on something sticking to my
flesh.

   "Oh yes!" I agreed.

   RRRIIIIIIPPPPPP!  AHHHHHHHhhhhhh, it stung so good!  Not sharp, not
harsh, a nice burning feeling.

   "Yes, I am," I admitted, a little breathless from the surprise of it.

   Her palm pressed where she'd just ripped the hair out by its roots,
easing the burn, soothing my skin, then moving away.

   "A naughty girl." Warmth again, on the other side.

   Press, press, press.

   "It is to always pull against the grain, to remove every hair."

   RRIIIIPPPP!  It sounded a bit like Velcro parting.  Ahhhhhhhhh, it stung
so goooood.  Again her palm soothed the sting.

   I looked past her, out the window.  The teen crowd dominated.  Some guys
were bug-eyed and gaping, others licked their lips.  The girls winced, and
whispered and giggled to each other.

   "You are enjoying this, are you not?" the cosmetician asked.  This time
I lifted my head to watch as she carefully used what looked like a tongue
depressor to spread the warm wax on my flesh, closer to my pussy.

   "Oh yes," I confessed, before drawing another breath of anticipation. 
She stretched something white -- fabric?  -- on the wax, pressed it down,
then delicately peeled the end of it back, and took a good grip on it.

   "Shame on you!" she scolded pertly.

   RIIIIPPPPP.  She yanked the strip of wax off, taking my hair with it,
then quickly pressed her warm palm on me to soothe the sting away.

   Shame on me indeed.  Strip by strip she was getting closer and closer to
the heart of my playground, first one side, then the other, a strip at a
time.  Personally, I was edging closer and closer to release.  I knew I was
juicing, knew she could smell it, that the people beyond the window could
see it as she kept my legs spread wide, wide, wide.

   "Next to last one," she promised.

   "Oh please," I whispered.

   RIIIIPPPP!  AhhhahAHHHHHHH oooooooooo, her warm hand close, so close to
my clit!

   "One more time," she warned.

   Oh yes, please.  One more time, just one more time, please, mmmmmmm.

   Warm, warm, warm, soft warmth on my pussy, my pussy, my pussy.  Oh wow!
This time even as far back as between my cheeks, even on my asshole.

   Pressure.

   Tugging, lifting on my tender flesh.  A pull...

   RIIIIPPPPPPP!  AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AAAAHHHHHHHHHH YEEesssssssssss. 
Eeeeeeeeee!

   Her palm covered my oozing twat, a finger touching my winking butt
pucker!  "Now some soothing lotion," she explained.

   Oh yeah!

   I suppose some women might find her very personal attention
unprofessional.  As far as I was concerned she was a sorceress and I
wondered if maybe the spa owner had found her when he rubbed an old oil
lamp or uncorked an exotic bottle.

   Her warm hands spread a soothing salve over my newly naked flesh,
tickling my anus before cupping my clenching pussy.  One strong, slender
finger subtly invaded my slit, my hips rising to meet her as she pressed my
swollen clit against my pubic arch and rubbed gently.

   I came in a shower of sparks.

   "Mademoiselle?" Henri gently un-reclined the chair as I returned from
Never-Never Land.  As the leg-rests settled so I was sitting up he held a
hand mirror in front of me, my eyes slowly focusing on my reflection.

   Oh MY!

   Think Jamie Lee Curtis.  Instead of my usual unruly pom-pom, my hair
rested obediently, a few feathery wisps down over my forehead.  I'd never
realized my hair was made up of so many different shades of blonde.

   The cosmetologist came in on the other side of me, wheeling her little
table into place over my lap.  It carried an intimidating array of
cosmetics and a lighted mirror so I could watch what she did.

   "Now, it is to be very, very simple," she explained in her sing-song
accent, applying something to my face with a soft, damp sponge.  "This is a
base.  You have such lovely skin you need very little.  There.  Next we
bring out the beautiful blue of your eyes with some eye shadow on your
eyelids, and just a touch of eyeliner."

   A light brushing of eye shadow on my lids, followed with carefully drawn
eyeliner and my eyes suddenly seemed larger and glowed like sapphires. 
Wow!

   "A little mascara to enhance your very light eyelashes," she added,
doing something with a funny little sort of a brush, and my eyes were
nicely framed.

   "Now, a very light touch of blush on your cheeks to enhanced your
cheekbones."

   The feathery touch of a soft brush whisking on my cheeks left behind a
gentle cloud to darken my skin a shade and the whole shape of my face
seemed to change.

   "And to make your lips look a little more full and enticing, so your man
will want to taste them."

   I watched as she carefully painted my lips to match my nails and my new
dress, finishing it off with a gloss before leaning back and studying me
critically.  Henri delicately shifted a few strands of hair on my forehead,
teased locks around behind my ears -- my ears with little gold studs where
tomorrow rubies would dangle.

   Oh gosh.  I mentally combined this with the dress and jewelry.  This was
going to take some getting used to!  I could only hope that Greg would
realize that beneath the war paint and glitz I was still just the same old
me.

   "Remember," the cosmetician said, handing me a package with the paints
and powders she'd used on me, "less is more.  For daily use you need
nothing.  Wash your face with gentle soap.  To remove your makeup, cold
cream.  Save this for special occasions, and use a very light touch.  You
are exquisite!"

   I wondered if she gave all of her customers a feather light kiss before
wheeling her little table away.  I licked my lips.  Had I felt a touch of
tongue?

   Then Henri was back, handing me a plastic bag holding bottles of
shampoo, conditioner and rinse, a comb and brush.  His fingers plucked at
his handiwork, brushed my temple.  "Magnifique!  Use these regularly,
especially after swimming, especially the conditioner.  Combing it as it
dries will keep everything under control.  And now, your amie -- your
friend -- awaits you by the back door so you can evade your many admirers."


   His wave indicated the spectators beyond the window.  More to avoid any
lurking Hive members, I thought, getting dressed quickly.  I followed him
past the booths.  Heather looked as perfect as ever, and gawked
appreciatively at my transformation before we made our escape to my house
for the dress fitting, where she even gave me a brief dance lesson.

   * * *

   By Saturday evening I had the feeling that the only thing that was under
control was my hair.  I was up in my room, Mom fussing about me.  My heart
was racing.  I was tingling.  Mom had helped with my makeup.  As Henri had
predicted, my hair was obedient even after a shower.  The dress, what there
was of it, flowed over my body, exposing strategic bits of epidermis.  My
breasts were rising and falling with every nervous breath, my nipples stiff
points beneath the soft material.  With one foot forward the slit in the
skirt parted to expose my flesh all the way up to the wing of my pelvis. 
Maybe the wax job had been a wise idea.  When I sat I'd be easily
accessible to Greg and Kathy, should they care to take advantage of me.

   Oh I hoped they would.

   Even in my low heels I was inches taller than Mom, who was peeking over
my shoulder!  Was I ever going to stop growing?  I had a mad urge to shake
my hands out and work my shoulders as if I were about to launch myself into
the pool.

   "Oh Mom, please don't cry!" I pleaded when I saw her tearing up again as
she looked at my reflection.  "If you cry then I'll cry and ruin my
makeup!"

   SNUFFF.  "Sorry."

   Turning, I hugged her, carefully.  "I love you, Mom."

   "I love you, too, sweetie.  Have a wonderful time tonight."

   It was a cautious, chaste, delicate hug, both of us afraid of disrupting
my fragile balance or smudging my carefully applied makeup.  Even so I was
intensely aware of her hands on my bare back, and I thought of how it would
feel dancing with Greg or Kathy.  Yum!

   Then the sound of the doorbell threatened to shatter me into a million
glittering pieces.

   "Let me go first," she ordered.  "Wait 'til I'm downstairs."

   "Yes'm." As she went out I heard Elaine getting the door.  I lurked in
my room, holding my breath, listening to her greet our visitors, hearing
Mom join in, enthusiastic "ooos" and "aaaahs" from both my moms as they
admired my dates' finery.

   Stand tall!  The Stick ordered.

   Closing my eyes I stood tall, took a deep breath -- the kind of breath I
took before taking the first step of my approach for a dive, in through the
nose, out through the mouth -- out and out and out, sending with it all the
nerves and tension, leaving me calm and focused, every sense alert, totally
in command.

   My steps steady, I went to the top of the stairs, paused, then
descended, carefully, one hand on the banister, the other lifting my long
skirt so I didn't trip on it.  The Stick reminded me that I was very tall,
I was very sexy, I was very beautiful, and that I was going to my first
dance with my lovers of many months.

   I know, my life was all out of order -- the dance should have come
first, then the lovers -- but it was my life and I wouldn't trade it for
anyone else's.

   Oh My God!  They were so beautiful.  His preppy trimmed hair shimmering
like gold Greg was tall and handsome in a white dinner jacket, black
slacks, ruffled white shirt, a cummerbund and bow tie that almost matched
the blue of his eyes, eyes that said it all as he took me in, his pupils
dilating with admiration.

   My own eyes had to be big as saucers.  Kathy was just as beautiful as
Greg, her lush brown hair with its reddish highlights framing her lovely
strong face, her brown eyes sparkling, her smile greeting me as warmly as a
hug.  She wore slacks, black, loose and flowing, her shirt was a creamy
satin, the first button fastening between her lovely breasts.  With no
ruffles or fussy stuff to spoil the view her nipples were shadows through
the silken material.

   The long sleeves were loose around her long arms, the cuffs closed with
silver cuff links.  Her necklace was artsy, silver, a naked girl dangling
by her carefully pointed toes from a fine silver chain, her head tilted
back to look ahead, every inch of her reaching for the shadowy cleft
between Kathy's breasts.  I was willing to bet she'd designed it herself,
perhaps even made it herself.  The diver's hair was touched with gold and I
flattered myself thinking I might be the model.

   They both looked good enough to eat, and I was looking forward to doing
exactly that before the night was out.  From the way they were looking at
me I was on their menu as well.  I felt like they had gathered me into
their arms before I even left the stairs.  A camera flashed, flashed again
as I took the last step down and went first to Greg for a kiss and a hug,
then to Kathy for her kiss and hug.  He smelled warm and masculine, she
sweetly musky, and I knew as I blinked back tears that I was the luckiest
girl in the universe.

   Greg, already wearing a bright red carnation on his lapel had flowers
for both me and Kathy.  For me he had a white carnation wrist corsage and a
kiss, his lips warm and exciting.  Then he handed me a dark red carnation
for me to pin on Kathy.  Not about to miss the opportunity I made it a
point to get a feel of her warm, firm breast, tweaking her nipple to
greater stiffness as I pinned the flower to her shirt.  Her lips were just
as warm and exciting as Greg's.

   Oh my!  My pussy was already drooling and my heart was racing.

   "You know I want to paint you in that dress don't you," Kathy teased
with a twinkle in her eye, "as well as out of it, of course."

   I flushed at the thought, and saw Greg's trousers tent excitingly.

   Leaving my two moms standing in the doorway with their arms around each
other, we made our way to Kathy's festively decorated "art-mobile" as she
called it.  She'd cleaned the back out, freeing up the back seat, but it
still carried the lush scent I always associated with her -- oil paints,
solvents and other art supplies.  Greg and I snuggled in the back seat, my
head on his shoulder, while Kathy drove, retracing the route to Greg's
house to put me on display there.  Drindy had made it quite clear she would
retaliate in unspeakable ways if she didn't get to see me in my dress, and
his parents wanted to see us all together as well.

   Drindy's dark eyes got big as dinner plates as she took us in.  Her
saucy ponytails were a coppery red this time.  Greg's parents, a contrast
of Nordic blond and Hispanic bronze, got misty-eyed as they took pictures
of the three of us, promising to share them.

   From there it was off to school through the dusk, where we had to park a
ways from the door because the lot was almost full, arriving fashionably
late for our grand entrance, just as Heather had suggested.

   As we headed toward the entrance, arm in arm, you have to visualize
this. I was wearing a drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly sexy gown --
accessorized with rubies, no less -- flanked by two of the most beautiful
and beautifully dressed people you could possibly imagine.  With each of us
being close to six feet tall we could only be described as imposing.

   Holy shit!

   I am Dee Walker, I reminded myself.  Not that long ago I climbed trees,
jumped off garage roofs with nothing more than a blanket or umbrella for a
parachute, took flying leaps off playground swings.  I still swam in the
14-and-under age group, still tried to perform impossible flights of grace
and beauty off the springboard.  I regularly walked this school's halls
naked, planted my bare butt on a towel during classes, shared lunch and
laughs with my friends.

   That was the real me.  All of this was decoration, a facade, an
artificial creation.  I remembered thinking how Heather was outfitting me
like this was a military campaign and suddenly realized if I wasn't careful
that's exactly what it would be.  Heather had given me the weapons to prove
that we could out-compete the Hive on their own superficial playing field,
saying to them "get over yourselves, get down off your fucking high horses,
we're just as good as you are."

   The Stick quickly brought me down to earth by reminding me that we were
here to have a good time, not start a war.  The Stick was right.  We were
going to party with our friends, and dance, and when it was all over we'd
relax in each other's arms with nothing between us, so we could show our
love for each other without reservation.

   My stride lengthened, the slit in my dress exposing what I have been led
to believe is an awesome pair of legs.  As we emerged from the darkness,
approaching the smokers hanging around outside the laughter and wisecracks
joined the smoke from their cigarettes, spiraling up to vanish into the
silence of the night.  All eyes on us, the group parted like the Red Sea.

   I guess we made an impression.

   We greeted them casually and almost reflexively two of them opened the
doors wide so we could march through three abreast.

   The lobby was jammed by other late arrivers, chatting, checking each
other out.  After greeting the Lunch Bunch and their dates, and blushingly
basking in their admiration, I saw Missy, with Bud Lacey the former Tweedle
Dumber.  So that was her mysterious date!  She pursed her lips in a silent
whistle at the sight of me, then smiled.  For a moment I was afraid she was
going to break into applause so I gave her a silly grin and goofy curtsey
before we came together in a warm hug.  She was adorable, and good enough
to eat, too, but I didn't say that.

   "You are awesome!" she exclaimed, pushing me away at arm's length.  "Do
you have anything on under that?"

   ""Not even perfume.  You like it?" I turned around in front of her, oh
so aware of my near exposure.

   "Are those real rubies?"

   "Synthetic," I whispered.  "You look gorgeous!"

   Missy blushed prettily.

   I'd seen probably a hundred dresses like it during my own dress hunt,
but hers was custom designed, fitted to flatter her figure.  The top was
black velvet.  The full skirt, white taffeta with a few glittering sequins,
came to mid-calf on her.  The scoop neckline had obviously been adjusted to
meet her mom's conservative standards.

   I couldn't resist tweaking her dress.  It demanded a push-up bra, but
that would have provided too inspiring a display to pass her mom's
inspection.  A little tug here, a run of my finger along the top edge
there, a discrete little boost to her boobs accomplished almost the same
thing, exposing more of Missy's yummy chest.  She giggled, while Bud Lacey
tried to take in both me and his date's newly enhanced charms.

   "Hi, Bud, you look very nice," I greeted him, plucking a bit of lint
from his lapel before giving him a chaste hug.  He cleaned up well, but I
didn't say that.  He bobbed his head bashfully.  His tux was probably
borrowed, a bit short at the sleeves and cuffs, the jacket a sort of
electric blue that matched the cummerbund and tie.  His brown hair had the
same rebellious streak mine did before Henri had tamed it, so he'd greased
it down.  He was clean and clean-shaven, smelled nice and seemed totally
smitten by Missy, as well he should be.

   Of Cagney, his former partner in slobbiness, there was no sign. 
Probably he hadn't been able to get close enough to a girl to ask her to
the dance.  We'd make sure the clean-up squad got their hands on him when
it was his turn in The Program so he didn't miss fun like this.

   I turned back to Missy.  "How come everyone's hanging around out here?"

   She grimaced.  "Oh, you know." She waved vaguely in the direction of the
gym, which was dimly lighted and admittedly a bit intimidating.  Then I saw
a couple of the Bees buzzing around just inside the door, playing Fashion
Police, whispering and wrinkling their noses disdainfully at those who did
not meet their lofty standards, which seemed to consist of endless yards of
gauzy frills and clouds of glitter, with heels so high they tottered.

   I was taller than them without the stilts.

   They were escorted, as you might expect, by jocks looking uncomfortable
in their tuxes.  I saw no sign of Heather or Matt, but figured them to be
even more fashionably late than us.

   Kathy and Greg rejoined me and we linked arms, forming a sort of flying
wedge with me taking the point.  "Follow us," I suggested to Missy, Bud and
the Lunch Bunch and their dates, leading the way, standing tall, head high.


   I swear, I heard eyeballs popping and jaws dropping as we marched
through the doorway, arm in arm in arm, a cumulative eighteen feet of
glamour leading the charge.

   And integrity -- don't forget integrity, The Stick put in.

   Missy and Bud, the Lunch Bunch and others, each just as gorgeous in
their own way, followed us, also arm in arm, and I had a fleeting memory of
that crazy march of the middle school sex ed class to our full-frontal
display in the lunchroom.  The Fashion Police fell back, apparently stunned
by our onslaught.  Or maybe it was just because I had dates of opposite
sexes flanking me.  I'd heard of same sex couples attending dances in the
recent years, but suspected we were the first threesome.

   I gloated.  Eat your hearts out you poor heterosexuals -- or should that
be monosexuals?  -- I get the best of both worlds.

   Even though it was pushing the season the gym was a jungle of Halloween
orange and black.  Somehow the decorations, flying witches and gauzy ghosts
drifting overhead, had a familiar style.  I'd never before seen crepe
paper, helium balloons and Halloween cutouts used so creatively and shot
Kathy a look.

   "Are you responsible for this?" I asked her.

   "I had a lot of help," she replied, her dimples showing.  "The concept
is mine.  Heather supplied the volunteers, and gave them strict orders to
follow my directions.  Without her they'd never have listened to me and
we'd have had more of the same-old same-old."

   I smiled back at her.  "Heather does have her good points."

   "She does.  I'd like to capture her on canvas, or even just a sketch
pad. Last year I asked her to pose for me, but she turned me down."

   If by "pose" Kathy meant nude, which I suspected she did, I knew Heather
had her reasons.  I wondered if my presence at such a session might ease
her mind.

   I led the way to a table big enough to take all of us and we circled our
wagons, performing introductions where needed.  I knew Fran's date, Walter
Miflin, the sophomore rep on the committee.  Fran was wearing a billowing
strapless gown that never would have passed muster with the Fashion Police
but looked smashing on her.  She had the bust to carry it off -- literally.
Of course, Fran's robust build alone made her the target of the Hive's
scorn, the jerks.

   While the guys went for refreshments, we ladies swapped gossip.  It was
an open secret that Heather had Homecoming Queen locked up.  Someone
suggested that it should be me instead, but I easily deflected that by
pointing out it always went to a senior.  The guys had returned and the
band was tuning up when there was a flurry of action at the main entrance,
members of the Hive regrouping to welcome Heather and Matt to the dance.

   She was gorgeous, of course.  In a white dress of Grecian simplicity,
her hair tastefully arranged up, nice dangling earrings and matching
necklace (real diamonds?) she made the rest of the Hive look dowdy.  Kathy
and I shared a look and she knew that I knew that she was already scheming
to enlist Heather to model for a statue of Aphrodite.  Beside her Matt was
a six-foot-two hunk of gorgeous masculinity, an Adonis for Kathy to
incorporate into her art.

   Hmmm.  Maybe Greg and I could be Cupid and Psyche?  We'd do that for her
in a minute if we were invited.

   I don't know if it was deliberate or not, but Heather led her entourage
to a neighboring table, greeting me warmly, so I quickly stood to return
the favor, complete with hugs and air kisses and mutual admiration as if
she'd never seen me in the dress she'd altered for me.

   Then it was Matt I hugged -- what a muscular armful!  I left a little
smudge of lipstick on his cheek.  The look he gave me intrigued me.  It was
as if he was somehow measuring me.  Greg and Kathy had both risen with me
so we could all exchange polite hugs and flattering words.  The handshake
Matt gave Greg went on a moment too long, and I smothered a grin, betting
that the test of strength had been pretty much a draw -- men and their
testosterone!

   Everyone else at my table and Heather's somehow managed a mutual snub.

   Ah well, Rome wasn't built in a day, I thought.  But if ever there was a
chance to break ground toward burying the hatchet this was it.  Heather
obviously felt the same, so we did our best with courtesy but no undue
displays of affection.  I managed a softly whispered "thank you" in her
ear, and her embrace tightened.  I didn't dare kiss her the way I wanted
to, of course, but she knew what I was feeling for her.

   Then the student band's drummer rattled off a sort of fanfare capped
with a cymbals clash so we resumed our seats and Mrs.  Devers took the
microphone to welcome us all to the dance, point out the fire exits, and
announce the Homecoming Queen.

   When Heather got up to answer the call, I didn't hesitate to give her a
warm congratulatory hug.  Matt escorted her to the stage, draped her with
the mandatory sash, bestowed the crown upon her with a dutiful kiss, then
stood by applauding her with the rest of the crowd.  She got teary eyed and
I don't think it was just acting.  I saw him take her hand and give it a
supportive squeeze.

   "Thank you," she began, her voice breathy and a little choked up, her
mouth a bit close to the microphone.  "I'm honored.  And now it is my
responsibility and pleasure to name my court."

   From listening to the gossip I'd learned that the Queen usually chose
two senior girls.  If she followed protocol, which I hoped she would,
they'd probably be members of her Hive.  To my everlasting relief that's
exactly what she did, naming her two greatest sycophants.  She shot me an
apologetic look while the chosen were squealing for joy and prancing up to
the applause of the crowd, while there were world record eye-rolls at our
table.  I gave Heather a very relieved nod and smile and a discrete thumbs
ups where only she could see.

   Then Heather and Matt took the floor for the first dance, an actual
waltz, soon to be joined by her court, while the rest of us respectfully
watched from the sidelines.  Matt and Heather were both superb ballroom
dancers -- why was I not surprised?  -- and appeared to really enjoy
themselves, while the honored courtiers struggled not to disgrace
themselves.

   As I was sitting there I felt hands invade my dress from both sides and
tried to play the prim virgin, keeping my legs together, but couldn't
manage it for more than about thirty seconds.  Blushing furiously -- yes,
even after all I've done in the past I still blush -- I let my legs slip
apart as Greg's and Kathy's fingers slipped up along my naked thighs toward
my defenseless and hairless pussy.  They both reached their goal at the
same time and there was a playful tussle for my grotto until I fended them
both off, all three of us snickering while the whole table looked on,
knowing darn well had had been going on.

   Oh, it was going to be a good night!

   Once social formalities had been dispensed with the rest of us finally
got to venture out on the dance floor.  I danced the first slow dance with
Greg, pressing my whole body against his, feeling his hard-on impatiently
poking me.  Then there was a fast dance and we drew Kathy up to dance with
us, each of us doing our best to be as suggestive as possible -- which is
pretty darned suggestive, given that my dress kept showing flashes of my
wax job.  The Goth crowd was out in force, dressed as ghoulishly as ever,
multiple and extraordinarily intimate piercing on full display.  One couple
had even linked their nipple rings with a silver chain.

   I wondered who was the master and who the slave, or if that even
applied.

   As Heather had predicted, there were at least three couples who'd come
to the dance in the style of Beth and Carl.  The Naked in School Program
left nothing to the imagination, which I had to admit was not always
flattering.  Only when things got a little too carnal did the chaperones
step in, but I saw more than one girl, naked or not, wind up with her
date's cream on her tummy.  In a way I felt my titillating display was more
erotic than full blown nudity.  I certainly felt glamorous, and I enjoyed
the anticipation of what was to come after the ball was over.

   Also, there's something ludicrous, and possibly painful, about a hard-on
flapping wildly around.  There are times, I mused, when maybe the rule
about "naked at all school functions" should be relaxed.

   Then it was another slow dance and Greg willingly yielded this one to
Kathy.  I snuggled into her warm embrace, our thighs interlacing, and she
slipped a hand inside the slit of my skirt to cup my naked ass and press me
even closer to her.  I squirmed against her just to feel her breasts
beneath the satin of her blouse.  I was deliciously aware of the key tucked
safely away in the purse dangling at my hip, a promise of things to come.
For now it was enough that it was the three of us enjoying each other's
company and the company of our friends around the table.

   During the next set I got to dance with Matt.  He was very strong and
sure, and thanks to his lead I learned I could really dance.  We weren't
pasted together in the usual slow dance make-out session, so we actually
talked a bit.  When I slipped at one point and called him "Mongo" instead
of Matt and apologized he laughed and said he didn't really mind.  "It's
certainly preferable to Mozilla the Gorilla," he explained, dipping me, to
my surprise.  "What's going on between you and Heather?"

   I almost lost the rhythm of the dance he was guiding me through. 
"Nothing.  Why?"

   He shrugged.  "She seems different around you.  More relaxed."

   "Well, we're getting to know each other, working together on committee
stuff."

   "Mmmm hmmmm, I suppose."

   I tried to deflect him.  "Why'd you wait so long to ask her to the
dance?"

   "Let's just say this is a date of convenience for both of us and leave
it at that, shall we?"

   With that he drew me closer and swirled me around the floor as the music
drew to an end, leaving me giddy and wondering what secrets he had as he
walked me back to the table.  Greg thanked Heather for the dance they'd
shared, and I think both of us were glad to be back together with Kathy for
the next round of hard rock.

   At one point late in the evening Fran's date began pitching peanuts
across the table at Missy's cleavage while we all laughed hysterically,
especially Missy.  Bud then took it upon himself to return the favor,
aiming at Fran's much more impressive gulf, which she obligingly expanded
by tugging the stop of her dress down another two inches.  Mrs.  Devers
stepped in before it became a full-fledged food fight, but she did it very
nicely, snatching one nut out of mid-air and eating it before waving a
warning finger.  By then things were winding down, so Greg and Kathy and I
took to the floor for one last slow dance together, reluctant to call it a
night here.

   Our arms around each other, we shared kisses all around, a little
frustrated that we couldn't seem to work out a way to be as close as we
wanted.  As the music came to an end it became obvious that it was time to
take our leave of the gym and find a more private setting.

   I hadn't told them, but I had just the place waiting for us.
   [DF1]