Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does MS 13 By peregrinf

   I flew to school the next morning.

   Well, no, not really, but I don't think my feet touched the ground more
than three times, and I wasn't on Old Bessie, either.  I ran, I skipped, I
bounced, I swooped, my arms out like wings as if I was a bird -- sorry,
that should be "were a bird" -- subjunctive case for a statement contrary
to fact -- thank you lang arts -- NOT.  The sky was bluer, the grass
greener, the air fresher than I'd ever seen or smelled or tasted before.

   I was going to see Greg today!

   My heart took flight.

   He was going to be at swimming practice!  I could almost see his
sparkling blue eyes, his shy quirk of a smile, feel his hand warm in mine,
his lips....

   School brought me down out of the clouds with the bump of a crash
landing.  There was some kind of a feeding frenzy going on.  Girls were
screaming and running, while boys were tangled in a milling swirl on the
front lawn.

   And -- what else?  -- Missy's shrieks were rising from the eye of the
cyclone.  I could hear her, but I couldn't see her through the scrum.  Her
bra took wing and fluttered down to dangle limply from a light pole.  Her
top, I think it was, was already draped over a nearby shrub.  Shouts of
"get the cunt," and "gimme a shot at the slut" stung the air.

   Correction.  It was a mating frenzy, if there is such a thing.  Shit! 
Missy had cast her chum on the water one too many times and males in the
testosterone fog of puberty were tearing at her clothes, judging by the
scraps I could see being flung around.

   There was no sign of the teacher usually stationed at the door to
monitor our arrival.  Without even thinking about it, I grabbed Mike, who
was dithering helplessly on the fringe of the mob of sex-crazed boys.  "Go
get help!"

   "But...."

   It was all I could do to keep from slapping him.  Instead I turned him
toward the school's front door and gave him a shove.  "Get help!  Anyone!
Even if it's only the janitor!"

   Most of the girls had either fled in terror or were huddled like musk ox
facing wolves.

   I saw that on a PBS documentary one night.

   I dove into the mess, using my head, shoulders, elbows, knees, feet,
every tactic that had ever gotten me yellow and red carded in my
ignominiously brief soccer career.  Someone grabbed at my backpack and I
shrugged out of one strap, swung the pack by the other and sent that
someone flying before I lost my grip on it.

   "There's another of the sluts!  Get her!"

   Oh shit.  They began to turn on me and I lashed out in defense, then
pushed on.  A hand grabbed the collar of my shirt -- not a T this time, but
an actual blouse to show Greg I wasn't a tomboy, much.  I had a head of
steam up and buttons flew like buckshot as I tore out of it, leaving me
topless.

   Bra?  What bra?  What for a bra?

   I tripped and went down and when I tried to scramble up my shorts were
yanked down around my knees with a ripping sound.  I kicked free of them.
Moments later my most sexy panties (for Greg, of course, which aren't very
sexy, I admit, and I hadn't planned on letting him actually see them
anyway) went the way of my shorts.

   Shit.  Naked again.  So what else is new?  And now Greg would never see
my nice blouse or panties.  Shit.

   Reaching the eye of the storm I found Missy down on her back, with
Horace between her legs, grunting like the pig he was, his naked butt two
pasty white blobs wiggling madly up and down and around and around like his
pecker was lost.  He had one hand under himself.  Obviously he was trying
to Do The Deed only he couldn't find the hole.

   I latched on to his greasy hair and yanked.  The jerk screamed as I
threw him away.  Missy was down to the same bare skin I was, a pink splotch
on the trampled grass.  Tears had turned her raccoon mask of mascara into
tiger stripes, while Horace and his crew, along with other sex-crazed
adolescent males scenting blood in the water, sought to reach her naked
flesh.

   Diving on top of her I tried to shield her from the twerps.  When
someone grabbed my arm I swung and he went staggering back.  Someone yanked
at my foot and I kicked, then I managed to tangle my legs with Missy's,
clutching her shoulders, doing my best to weld the two of us together,
pussy to pussy.  To get at her they'd have to go through me!

   Which, of course, is what that idiot Horace tried to do.  He landed on
my back, using words like "fuck" and "cunt" and "slut," which pretty much
exhausted his vocabulary, his cigarette breath making me gag, and his cock,
lacking a softer, moister target, tried to wedge its way into my naked ass.
I clamped my butt cheeks down tight -- Judy's not the only girl with a
tight ass.  When he hooked an arm around my throat I reflexively jerked my
head up.  I didn't mean to hurt him, I really didn't, but there was a very
satisfying crunch against the back of my skull and he howled as he released
my neck and rolled away.

   Face to face with a dazed Missy, very conscious of her naked body
beneath mine, I think I came up with an old movie line, something like,
"We've got to stop meeting like this."

   She wrapped her arms around me and bawled, and all I could think to do
was muffle her with my mouth, planting kissy-kissy kisses all over her
face, while memories of tender and erotic interludes flashed through my
mind.  Shit!  I still loved the feel of her in my arms, her body against
mine.  I wanted to engulf her, but now was certainly not the time or the
place.  Hands were plucking at me, trying to pry me off her while more
shouts of "cunt" and "slut" flew.

   Suddenly John was standing over us, swinging my pack with the same
ferocity he'd swung the pillow at Judy's party, only this time at
everything that moved.  Considering the weight of my pack it was assault
with a deadly weapon.  Everyone fell back, leaving me atop Missy, belly to
belly, legs tangled, arms clutching each other.  My naked pussy was
grinding against hers, but I don't think she was finding it at all sexy at
the moment.  As for me, well....

   Then Ms.  Andrews's voice cleared a path, the crowd parting like the Red
Sea.  I tried to untangle myself, but Missy was having none of it.  She
clung like an octopus.

   "Well, isn't this a fine how-do-you-do!  I leave you children alone for
a few minutes and this is what you get up to?"

   She disarmed and calmed John.

   I managed to struggle free enough to try to defend our reputations. 
"It's not what you think."

   "And who's responsible for this?" She pointed to Horace, whose nose was
streaming blood.

   I felt a little surge of guilt at that, but only a little one.  "Me, I
guess.  I think that was the crunch I heard when he hit the back of my head
with his nose, I mean, the back of my head hit his nose."

   "Just for the record, I liked it better the first way," Ms.  Andrews
noted dryly.  "Remember to describe it that way if it goes to court."

   She pointed to Inez, doctor wannabe, handing her a hanky.  "Here, take
this to keep from getting Bozo's sorry blood on you.  Please take him and
his remodeled schnozz to the nurse's office to see if she can straighten it
out.  Tell her to keep him there until the principal's ready to deal with
him.

   Ms.  Andrews then pointed at Denise LeFevre, noted eighth-grade clothes
horse.  "Go to the office.  Find something to cover these two love birds.
Try the lost and found.  Bring it to -- no, wait -- I'll meet you in the
school office.  Mr.  Morris needs to know what's going on, the sorry
sucker" -- This last under her breath -- "I don't like to think of the
paperwork this is going to generate."

   "We're not...." I tried to correct her "love birds" remark, get free,
but Missy was still too upset to do more than whimper and cling to me.

   Ms.  Andrews pointed again, to Judy Liu this time.  "Get that bra down
off the lamp post, and then gather the rest of Missy's scraps for the rag
bag, Dee's, too."

   Judy scampered up the post like a monkey after a coconut.

   The cavalry arrived, late, as usual, heralded by the plaintive tweeting
of the whistle of the single, aging security guard the school district had
grudgingly assigned to us.  Judging by the streaks on his uniform he'd
probably been eating a powdered sugar donut in his cubbyhole -- right by
the front door, I might point out -- apparently oblivious to the melee.

   "You two, and John, my office, now!  Wait for me there." Ms.  Andrews
ordered us, in a tone that would have had a five-star general hopping.  She
turned her attention to the puffing security guard.  "You, take names.  Get
statements.  Put that notepad to some use other than tic tac toe.  When
you're done meet me in the office, please."

   As I helped Missy to her feet my heart sank.  I hadn't been in a fight
since I was seven, when Charlie Gratz stole my chocolate chip cookie.  I
might have willingly parted with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich (whole
wheat bread), but not the cookie.  It was home-baked by Mom!

   She was sure to hear about this and I'd be grounded for a month, maybe
the rest of the school year.

   So I found myself again in Ms.  Andrews's office, again stark naked --
well, not quite, I still had shoes on -- Missy on one side of me, John on
the other.  Missy was huddling close, shivering and crying in my arms,
while John, still dressed but rumpled, pale and sweating, was hunched over,
weaving his fingers into an impossible knot.  I could only hope this wasn't
a major setback for him.

   The little elephant on Ms.  Andrews's desk was smiling at me, the snot.

   "Of all the dumb-ass times to call a staff meeting, just when you
savages are arriving," Ms.  Andrews muttered, closing the door behind
herself.  "Sorry, pardon my French."

   She handed me some clothes, including Missy's rescued bra.  "We couldn't
find anything that'd fit you, Dee.  Your mama's on the way."

   My heart sank further.  Getting Mom out of work was the worst.  What if
she was showing a house?  Or negotiating a contract?  I was going to be
grounded for the rest of my life.

   "My Mom?" I asked fearfully.

   "Not your mama," Ms.  Andrews countered quickly.  "Her mama." She
gestured to Missy.  "I know your mom is busy, Dee.  I'm not gonna drag her
into this and get you in hot water just to get clothes to cover your
delicate body.  Think you could handle a day naked in school?  Unless you
want a blanket, that is."

   Oh oh.  Missy's mom.  The cat was out of the bag.

   "I'm sorry," I apologized.

   "What for?" Ms.  Andrews seemed genuinely surprised.  "It didn't take
much of an investigation to clear you.  You did just what I'd expect of
you. You're a hero."

   I shook my head, holding up the bra.  It had been cut.  "Might want to
check Horace for a knife," I suggested, then looked at Missy, who was about
to dissolve into a puddle.  She was fumbling with a blouse that was too big
for her.

   "I should have told you what was going on," I confessed.

   Ms.  Andrews shook her head.  "I should have seen it.  And I understand
why you didn't.  She's your friend."

   "I don't think so, not any more," Missy sniffled sadly.  It was the
first words I'd heard out of her since I'd thrown myself on top of her. 
Actually, since she'd told me to stay away from Mike after punching me in
the kidney.

   "What do you mean?  She dove into that mob after you, didn't she?"

   "It was all my fault," Missy wailed, throwing the blouse down.

   "I am your friend, always and forever," I assured Missy, putting my arm
around her.  "No matter what."

   "Even now?" She looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes.  "Even after all
I've done?"

   "Even now.  That's what BFF means," I assured her, my heart breaking for
her.  "I'll always be here for you."

   She nodded dismally.  "Thank you," she whispered, tears leaking down her
cheeks again as I hugged her.

   "Can we have a few minutes alone?" I asked Ms.  Andrews.

   "Sure.  Come on, John, we'll go get you situated."

   "Thank you." I almost teared up myself at her kindness.

   "You and your mama are gonna have a talk," Ms.  Andrews warned Missy. 
"She'll be here in a few minutes."

   Missy snuffled and nodded.

   The door closed softly behind John and Ms.  Andrews, and I held Missy
while she cried.  When she started to run down I reached for the box of
tissues so I could wipe off her makeup and she could blow her nose.  "Let's
get this gunk off you.  You don't need it.  You're beautiful without it."

   "I don't understand," Missy moaned.  "Why are you doing this for me
after I've been so mean?"

   I put my hands on her cheeks, made sure she was looking into my eyes. 
"Because I still love you, and I don't mean just That Way.  I love you as a
friend, and BFF means Best Friend Forever.  You're not getting rid of me
that easy.  Now, what happened?"

   "I was just having fun, and all of a sudden Horace grabbed me.  He
called me a cock-tease!  "

   What could I say to that?  I slowly and gently wiped around her eyes,
revealing the true Missy, the one I knew and loved.  "Well," I noted, "at
our age boys don't always think with their heads.  In Horace's case I don't
think he thinks at all."

   "I told him 'no!' He didn't stop.  He was gonna ...  gonna rape me!  An'
everyone thinks I'm a slut!  That I've already fucked him!  He told his
buddies.  He said he was gonna show them how it was done, what I was good
for!  I've only ever done it with Michael, he's the only one!  An' now they
think we're all sluts.  Oh, I've ruined everything."

   She was still leaking tears, and I gathered her in again, loving the
feel of her soft, warm body against mine.  I held her, and kissed her head,
conscious of her warm breath on my bare torso, her face near my eager tits.


   "He's a pig," I assured her, relieved to know that at least she'd been
true to Mike.

   She was so warm and soft against me.  I breathed in her scent, stroked
her satin skin, fighting the urge to kiss her, to toy with her titties to
feel them react.  Yeah, I was getting turned on, I admit it.  I did still
love her That Way, but that was not her way.

   "Come on, let's get you dressed before your mom gets here."

   She fumbled with the ugly blouse from lost and found.  It shoulda stayed
lost.  "Aren't you gonna get dressed?" she asked.

   I shrugged.  "With what?  There's nothing that'll fit me.  If it's still
around somewhere my blouse has no buttons, I heard my shorts tear when the
mob got them, and my panties are probably a trophy in some dork's pocket."

   I heaved a sigh.  "No sweat.  It's like high school -- 'The Program' for
me today -- sort of a warm-up for next year, I guess.  Naked in School. 
It's not like I've never been naked here before."

   "Me, too," she vowed, throwing the blouse away.

   "You don't have to," I pointed out.

   "I'm gonna do penance," she stated grimly.  "If you go naked, I'm going
naked."

   "But what about your mom?"

   She made a face.  "It's time she learned what kind of a daughter she
has."

   I smiled at her.  "Well, she's going to see the real you.  Remember,
she's your mom, she loves you and wants to do the right thing."

   "Well, she's gonna have to learn ...  oh, she'll be so disappointed in
me!" She teared up some more.

   I gathered her in again.  "She just needs to catch up.  Sometimes when I
do something crazy, Mom reminds me to be patient with her, that she's
always a step behind, trying to catch up to me."

   There was a soft knock on the door and Ms.  Andrews stuck her head in.
"You two decent?  Missy's mom is here.  Oh, I see...."

   I got up and grabbed my backpack.  "I'm okay, but you'll take care of
Missy?  Her mom's gonna want to kill her."

   Missy looked terrified and grabbed my free hand.  "Stay," she pleaded.

   I shook my head.  "I can't.  This has to be between you and your mom. 
Right, Ms.  Andrews?"

   Ms.  Andrews nodded, still blocking the door.  "I'm the referee.  No
hitting below the belt.  And you've got class," Ms.  Andrews reminded me as
she stepped aside, the class bell going off as she did, doors banging open,
kids flooding the hall.

   Missy's mom was right outside the door, of course.  I almost walked into
her.  She stepped back in alarm.

   "You're naked!"

   I looked down at myself.  "Why, yes I am, Mrs.  Wilson.  Nice of you to
notice.  It's good to see you again, too, you look very nice.  But you'll
have to excuse me, I have a class to get to."

   She was as neatly turned out as ever, not a hair out of place, yet.  She
started to say more, but I just kept on walking rather than risk another of
her tirades.

   Then I realized it was between first and second periods already, the
halls were jammed with kids, and I was the only naked one in the whole
bunch.

   Oh my.

   Then I bumped into the Penguin -- sorry, I mean Mr.  Morris, the
Principal.  He's bald, and kinda round, with a sharp nose -- a stuffed
shirt with a clip-on bow tie -- and he gave me a fishy eye, up and down my
naked body, like he'd never seen such a thing before.  Well, maybe he
hadn't.  He missed our Show and Tell in the lunch room.

   "Miss Walker, you're naked!"

   Well doh, I thought.  Talk about being a step behind the action, he was
more than a whole city block behind, as usual.  "Talk with Ms.  Andrews
about it, sir."

   He harrumphed something about a note going home and let me by.  Shit, as
if I didn't have enough to worry about.

   I could feel people looking at me.  It's amazing how sensitive naked
skin is, especially when everyone else is dressed.  Mercifully, Mickey of
the Marvelous Mammaries appeared to provide a welcome distraction.  For a
change I was glad she drew more attention fully clothed than I did naked,
and her kindness gave me a warm feeling.

   "I heard what happened.  How's Missy?" she asked.  "I hear she got
raped."

   Oh great!  Like we needed that rumor!

   "No, she didn't!  Horace tried but couldn't figure out how.  She's okay,
but her mom is in Ms.  Andrews office with her," I answered.

   "Uh oh."

   "Yeah, big uh oh."

   "Everyone says you're a hero!"

   "Oh, please, not you, too," I groaned.  "All I want is to blend into the
woodwork, but here I am wandering the halls in my birthday suit."

   "Want my sweater?" she offered.

   I couldn't help it.  I laughed, the tension draining out of me.  I'd
been holding myself together and only now realized how close I'd been to
hysteria.  I laughed and laughed while she looked at me like I'd lost my
mind.  Which maybe I had.

   "Like that would work!" I pointed out when I'd gotten control of myself.
"You're a foot shorter, and, if I may say, shaped somewhat differently."

   She giggled and put an arm around me.  The feel of her against me was
warm and comforting.

   "Anyway, thanks.  I'll see, maybe there's something in the bottom of my
locker -- a pair of panties, at least."

   "Why would you have a pair of panties there?"

   "Oh, you know, in case of emergency," I admitted.

   "Still no period, huh?"

   I blushed.  "No."

   "But your boobs are blossoming," she observed, making me flush again,
this time with pleasure.

   "I got an implant," I confessed, flexing my arm, then when she gaped at
me I realized how that sounded.  "Not in my boobs.  In my arm.  Birth
control.  It's a side effect, I hear."

   "You mean you're...?"

   "I'm protected," I answered vaguely.  "Better late than never."

   "You've done it?" She sounded surprised.

   Oops!  Amazing.  I'd done it with Mike and with John and the word hadn't
gotten out yet.  There were at least two boys -- call them gentlemen -- in
this school who could keep their mouths shut.  I nodded reluctantly.

   "What's it like?"

   "You mean you haven't?"

   She turned pink and shook her head.  "A.J.  and me, we don't think we're
ready.  We've -- uh -- done other stuff, but not that." She giggled.  "He
says I taste good.  I like how he tastes, too."

   "That means you're smarter than me," I confessed.

   "Who with?"

   "I'd rather not say.  And please, let's keep it between you and me. 
Don't go spreading it around."

   "Oh.  Okay."

   "Let's just say it was unplanned," I admitted.  For some silly reason I
was trying to hunch into myself, hide the parts of me that were normally
covered.  I was painfully conscious of being the only naked one in the
school.

   "I've got an idea," Mickey announced, unbuttoning her sweater.

   I looked at her.  "What are you doing?  I told you, that won't fit me."

   "How about you have some company?  A.  J., c'mere, it's 'get naked
day.'"

   "Cool!" He began undressing.  Mickey was already down to her bra on top,
skirt on the bottom, and that dropped around her ankles as the kids milling
in the hall stopped and stared.

   "No, wait, you don't have to!"

   But they weren't listening to me.  A.  J.  dropped his shirt, and took a
moment -- well, more than a few moments -- to help Mickey out of her bra.
Gosh she had the most gorgeous boobs.  She scolded him gently when he
worshipped them with his fingers and mouth for a moment, but he just
grinned, his eyes sparkling through his thick glasses.

   Terrell and Judy were passing, saw what was happening and grinned,
quickly joining in the strip, and I realized that they were doing it for me
and melted a little inside.  It was like the time a girl was undergoing
chemo and everyone in her class shaved their heads.

   I guess it must have been my magnetic personality.  The next thing I
knew The Dirty Dozen, less Missy and John, were having a reunion right
there in the hallway, all of them shedding their clothes.  Even Mike was
there, looking grimly determined as he stripped.

   "Hey, guys, you don't hafta," I protested.

   "What, and miss the fun?" Judy asked impishly, baring her petite,
muscular body.

   I was still remembering the stinging "slut" and "cunt" calls from the
riot, and I got an idea.  "Hey, gather 'round, huddle up."

   "What's up?" John asked, having joined the group.

   "Oh, good, you're here too.  How are you doing?" I asked him.

   He shrugged.  "Under control," he admitted wryly.  "What's up?  Why's
everyone naked?"

   "So Dee's not alone.  She lost her clothes in the riot," Mike explained,
shoving his tighty-whities down and stepping out of them, his dick flopping
merrily free.

   "Missy's kinda put a blot on our reputations, and what the whole sex ed
thing was about, don'tcha think?" I asked.

   "Yeeahh!"

   "Well doh!"

   "Everyone thinks we're sluts," Maria Sanchez agreed.  "The bitch."

   "Well don't hate her too much, she's in Ms.  Andrews's office with her
mom."

   That got a sympathetic "OoooOOOOOooooooo!" from the gang.  That was
regarded as a fate worse than death, especially knowing Missy's mom the way
we did.

   "Anyway, Missy's finally realized she's been making a fool of herself,
and she almost got raped for it," I pointed out.  "Right now I suspect Ms.
Andrews is trying to keep Missy's mom from stuffing her daughter in a box
and nailing it shut until she turns eighteen.  Meanwhile, we've gotta do
some damage control."

   "What?  How?" they asked.

   "How?  By walking tall, and being proudly and innocently naked," I
answered.  "No sex, no teasing, no flirting, no showing off, just being us.
Anyone says anything, ignore 'em.  They put a hand on you you tell 'em
'no,' maybe slap their hand if you have to, but don't start a riot.  We set
a good example.  Got it?"

   They looked at each other, looked dubious.  Then I saw the light bulbs
going on over each head, and John started stripping.

   "Remember who we are.  We're proud!  We're strong!  Who are we?" I urged
them.

   "We're The Dirty Dozen?" John ventured.

   "You got it!" I put my hand into the center of the huddle.  "Who are
we?"

   "We're The Dirty Dozen!" they erupted, right on cue, slapping their
hands down on mine.

   "We're the Dirty Dozen!" we chanted.  "We're the Dirty Dozen!"

   The other people in the hall stared at us.

   "So get your clothes to your lockers and get to your classes," I
ordered. "And don't take any guff from anyone.  Just stand tall."

   "Easy for you to say!" Judy Liu giggled, looking up at me.

   Laughing, I patted her on the head, then gave her bottom a swat as we
scattered.  Boy she has a nice ass!

   "Slut," one of Horace's crew sneered to me as I went into my next class,
and I turned on him, gave him The Look.

   He flinched, then stuck his lip out pugnaciously.  Breaking my own rule,
I leaned close to him, backing him up against the doorframe, and said,
very, very quietly.  "You seen your buddy's nose?  I'd be happy to arrange
yours the same way." I was smiling.  It was not a nice, friendly smile, and
he turned pale and gulped.

   I knew he had a younger sister he teased unmercifully, but you picked on
her at your own risk.  He defended her like a she-bear defends her cub.

   "How would you like someone to say that to your sister?" I asked
ominously.  "Think about it, and don't you ever use that word, or the 'c'
word to any girl in this school again.  Ever!"

   I pulled away.

   "Have a nice day," I wished him sweetly.

   I left him standing there, sweating and, I hope, thinking.  He was the
one who'd called John a faggot.  I'd noticed he'd stopped doing that after
his little talk with Anthony Fazzone, the gay high school football star, so
he was trainable.

   I sailed through the morning, catching sight of my troops from time to
time, all of them carrying themselves with dignity.  I saw a few digs and
jibes, but they slid off our naked bodies.  Someone pinched my fanny and
got his hand slapped for his trouble.  By lunchtime the insults had faded
out.  Even Missy was handling herself with dignity, though her mom had made
her dress, having brought nice clothes for her.  Mike, proudly naked, was
at her side.  They held hands, I noticed, and that made me feel good.

   "I'm grounded," Missy admitted dolefully to me in the lunch line.  "I'm
gonna miss your party."

   "What party?" I asked.

   "Your birthday...oops.  You do know your mom's going to do something for
you," she said awkwardly.  "Don't you?"

   I felt a surge of hope.  "She is?"

   "Uhm -- I don't know.  She always does," she added lamely.

   So!  Mom was doing something.  I felt better.

   "Come on, Mike, let's sit over there.  I don't wanna see anyone else."
She fled, before I could grill her for more details.

   Tossing me a sweet smile and a shrug, he trailed along after her, after
all that had happened still totally smitten with her.  I wondered if he
realized it was going to be a long time before he got any from her again,
if Missy's mom had her way.  I figured Missy was destined for a chastity
belt if she wasn't already wearing one.

   Meanwhile, my mind was racing with the certain knowledge that Mom had
something up her sleeve for Saturday.  My suspicions were hardened by the
sudden hush when I appeared at my usual lunch table.  There were whispers
and giggles, and signs of notes being stuffed away out of sight.  Something
was definitely Up.

   How my mom does it I have never figured out, but she somehow slips
invitations to the people who matter most to me, swearing them to secrecy,
and puts together a wonderful party without me ever finding out about it in
advance.

   She was doing it again, which both cheered me and frustrated me at not
knowing what she had planned.  Usually the cake was some fantastic creation
loaded with icing, a real work of art, the party in a setting I'd never
dream of, and she always suggested the neatest presents, usually stuff the
kids made themselves instead of expensive toys that break in a week.

   Then they were chattering at me about what had happened before school,
about the weather, about Greg, about Horace's newly contoured nose, which
required an emergency room visit, about everything but my birthday.  Rumor
was I'd beaten Horace in a fair fight, so I had to explain how his attempt
at strangling me had backfired on him.

   They still thought it was cool.  I felt guilty about it.  I hadn't meant
to break his nose.  Everyone expected the disciplinary committee at their
Friday meeting would suspend him for a week, which I felt would do no good.
A week without school?  He'd love it.  My behavior was to be excused as
justified.

   Then they said his dad had been called away from his job to sign stuff
at the ER, and that meant Daddy's belt was going to get a real workout, and
I felt even worse.  Mom had never, ever spanked me, even with her hand, and
I sure had given her reason enough over the years.  All a beating would do
to Horace was make him meaner, the poor snot.

   He'd also get a month of counseling with Ms.  Andrews, though.  If
anyone could get through to him she could.

   "So, what about Greg?" Fran asked.

   "What about him?" I asked, trying to be cool and innocent, even as I
heated up at the mention of his name.

   "What about him?  You've got swimming practice this afternoon, don't
you? Will he be there?"

   "Oh, I s'pose," I responded casually as I felt my ears turning pink and
I fiddled with the straw in my milk, remembering our little seminar in the
park with his sister.

   "So, you gonna swim naked with him again?" Inez asked, so I made a face
at her.

   "No, I am not!  I've got a new racing suit -- well, a hand-me-down one.
And if I can get there early I'm gonna do some diving, too."

   As usual, that diverted the conversation to speculation about how I had
the nerve to do something so crazy.  Not that soccer wasn't dangerous. 
Inez was always sporting some interesting bruises and she had spent one
whole summer on crutches.

   We were gathering up our stuff to leave when Fran suddenly yanked out
her cell phone and flipped it open.  "Who?  Oh, yeah, Greg. ...  What's
that? ...  Okay, I'll tell her, but she's not gonna be happy.  You know
she's got a mad crush on you!"

   I blanched.

   She was looking at me as she flipped it closed.

   "What?"

   She looked doleful.  "That was Greg.  He says he can't make it today. 
He's got a date."

   I felt what little blood that was left drain from my face, right along
with my fondest hopes.  Then I remembered, and the blood flow reversed just
as fast.  "Hey!  You never have your cell on in school!" I challenged her.
"And how would he get your phone number anyway?  He doesn't even know you!"


   "Gotcha!" she crowed triumphantly.  She laughed that big hearty laugh of
hers, and everyone joined in but me, for a moment.  But given her
wonderful, booming laugh, even I had to go along with her, even while I was
trying to glare at her.  "I had to do it, just to see the look on your
face!"

   "You got me." I was blushing again.  "Have I told you guys lately how
much I love you?"

   Peggy gave me a hug.  "We know.  We feel the same way about you.  Now
come on, lets get out of here."

   For a change we didn't have to run the gauntlet of Horace's Horde and
their snotty cracks as we dumped our trash.  With him not around the group
seemed to have disintegrated.

   The afternoon was a roller coaster.  One minute I'd be high as a kite at
the thought of seeing Greg, the next I'd be worrying that he wouldn't be
there, or he wouldn't want to talk to me, or I would worry about what I'd
say to him.

   At the same time I was worrying about my diving, too.  I hadn't been on
the board in weeks, and what if Coach was right, I'd gotten too tall?  My
arms, legs, torso -- everything was longer.  I still stumbled sometimes
'cause my feet weren't where I expected 'em to be.  My center of gravity
had probably changed.

   My mind was everywhere but where it should have been.  More than once a
teacher caught me dreaming and I was deliberately called on.  When that
happened all I could do was blush and ask them to repeat the question.  I
was doodling hearts with "GA" in them in the margins of my notebook when I
was called up to deal with a trig problem.

   Mercifully, the brouhaha over the morning madness seemed to have faded
away.  No one called me a hero, at least to my face.  Horace, back from the
ER, stayed on the far side of the hall when he saw me, looking like a clown
with the bandage on his nose, and the beginnings of what looked to be two
black eyes.  I didn't know I'd hit him that hard!  I guess maybe his face
had been moving forward when my head moved back.

   I got a few pats, not rejected as long as they were above the waist, and
not on my front, and one attempted fanny pinch that earned a cocked eyebrow
and shaking finger from me, but not my "bird" finger.

   After the closing bell I did the naked scamper up to the high school.  I
love being naked.  I think I may have been naked more than I've been
dressed.  I like being naked indoors, but I love being naked outdoors even
more -- the sun, the air, even the rain, if it isn't too cold.  I feel like
my whole body is in touch with the universe.

   I trotted in a back door near the pool, getting some interesting looks
from the departing HS kids.  I had the feeling the freshmen and soph guys
were even looking at me as potential fresh meat, which gave me a tingle. 
Heck, they had all the NIS girls to compare me with, and the fact that I
was getting second looks was a compliment as far as I was concerned.

   And who should I run into on my way to the locker room?  Kathy Powers.
Have I mentioned that she's tall, and fit, and cute, and smart, and
talented, and gay?  I guess maybe I have.  Anyway, my face lit up at the
sight of her, and I saw her light up at the sight of me!  She's got this
bright, bright smile, perfect teeth, and cheeks and dimples and -- sigh! 
She was wearing a soft brown sweater that hugged her delicious boobs -- no
bra!  Was that her nipples I saw perking up?  -- and trim slacks that
hugged her hips so closely there should have been a visible panty line,
unless she was wearing a thong or -- blush -- none!

   "Dee!  I hoped I'd see you here!"

   "You did?" I skidded to a stop, and managed not to just stand there and
gawk.

   "Uh huh!  You're going to practice, aren't you?  I want to do some
studies of you." She joined me, her stride matching mine.

   I felt a pang.  "I was going to do some diving before swimming practice
began."

   "That would be great.  I don't want you posing.  I want to see you
doing, get a feel for what you do, how you do it.  Can I watch?  Would that
bother you?" She was carrying a sketch pad and some pencils.

   "Uh, no," I assured her, wondering if maybe I was telling a teensy
weensy lie.  I mean, well, usually I can blot spectators out of my mind
when I'm diving, but if the spectator is her, well, I wasn't sure.

   "Look if it'll bother you...."

   "No, no, no." Damn, she could read me like a book.  "I'll be okay."

   "I'll stay way in the back, and you just do what you usually do.  Don't
change a thing.  It'll be like I'm not even there."

   "I'm sorry, I gotta get my suit on."

   "Oh, that's okay."

   "Diving without it kinda hurts."

   She gave me a fond look.  "I bet it does.  Why are you naked?  They
institute The Program in middle school?"

   "Uh, not yet.  Sorry, gotta rush," I answered vaguely, not about to blab
about the morning's disruption.  God only knows what rumors were already
going around.

   "Okay," she responded, in a way that told me she knew more than she
said. Meanwhile, I was in a tizzy.  Oh gosh, Kathy was there, and Greg was
coming.  I could feel my pendulum doing conniptions, whatever they are.

   "That's fine.  I'll be in the pool -- I mean, I'll be around the pool.
I'm not really dressed for swimming."

   "Oh, you could skinny dip!" Shit!  There goes my mouth again!

   She laughed.  "I think that would make it hard to sketch.  Wet paper and
all, you know?"

   "Oh, yeah, sure.  See you in a few." I sought refuge in the locker room,
though there wasn't really any good reason, since I was already naked and
was just going to get rid of my shoes and pull on the suit that was in my
backpack.  But I needed a minute to gather my wits or I'd belly flop for
sure.

   I ventured out into the pool area as warily as a mouse coming out of its
hole.  I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Coach there, getting stuff
ready for practice.  "Can you keep an eye on me, Coach?  I want to do some
diving."

   "Sure can, Dee."

   Our voices echoed in the big room.  There was the soft gurgle and slop
of the pool in the gutters -- somehow it was never completely calm.  I
tried not to see Kathy, on the back row of the bleachers, sketch pad in her
lap.  She was down at the far end of the pool, the deep end, and I felt
self-conscious as I walked down there myself, clutching a towel.  My heart
was hammering.

   Tossing the towel away, I got up on the board.  The high school only has
a one-meter board, of course.  The high board and the platform are at the
town pool.  The boards non-skid texture felt comfortably familiar under my
bare feet.  I walked out to the far end, feeling it flex under my weight,
turned, and paced off the right distance back, finding my starting spot. 
From there I turned and took my usual three careful steps, stepping up into
the air on the last one, coming down on the end of the board.

   THUMP!

   It bent, then lifted me into the air, rebounding to smack and bounce off
the fulcrum as I flew up, and I came down on it again, the familiar "THUMP,
whacka, whacka, whacka, THUMP" echoing around me as I bounced a few of
times, then I tilted a little bit forward the last time and was launched
out over the water.  I did a lazy tuck into a somersault, untucked, and
splashed down, embraced by the cool, chlorine-scented water.

   It felt like I was coming home.

   Back up on the board, I bounced some more, getting comfortable with its
tempo, before I killed the bounce, absorbing it with my knees.  Back at my
step off spot, I visualized my dive, the feeling of lifting off the board
-- straight up, don't lean forward!  -- hips rising, folding into my open
pike -- arms out like wings -- the pool whirling around me, the far end
coming into view when I'd start to straighten out to enter the water head
first, hands together, thumbs interlaced, body straight, toes pointed, an
arrow striking the target.

   I stepped out, reminding myself not to jump, but to step up into the
air, then down, staying vertical, letting my weight bend the board, then
up, letting the board do the work, lifting me into the air, swinging my
arms up as I did, then my hips came up, my head and torso forward and down,
leading me into the one-and-a-half somersault, my arms spread even with my
shoulders, fingers together and pointed, feather-like, my head almost
touching my knees, toes pointed.  Until I spotted the water, opened out,
hands up and forward above my head and....

   SPLASHDOWN.

   I felt it.  I'd over-rotated, my calves slapping the water instead of
following cleanly through the hole my hands had made in the water.

   Drat!

   Back up on the board.

   This time I under-rotated.  I was still unfolding as I entered the
water.

   Shit!

   Again.

   Over-rotated, not as much, but still....

   Then I was off angle to the side.

   What if Coach was right?

   I was still at it as the team began to file into the pool.  I was
panting a little, frustrated, trying to get a handle on a body that didn't
feel like mine.  I could feel them all watching me now as I fought myself.
When Coach called time on me I took one last trip down the board,
deliberately leaning forward this time, let it throw me high and far,
tucking as I went in the water to do what we called a watermelon, sort of a
rolling cannonball designed to throw the most water as high and far as
possible, then I stroked down to the shallow end, submerged, and rose by
the ladder, face up to let my hair stream back.

   Coach looked concerned but didn't say anything as I sloshed up on the
deck, Kathy handing me the towel I'd forgotten at the far end.  I'd even
forgotten she was there.  I thanked her and she faded into the background
again as the team settled in the bleachers, Greg being careful to be next
to me.  Neither of us said anything, we just looked at each other, held
hands, and blushed.

   "Okay, before I forget," Coach began, "special team practice, Saturday
afternoon, mandatory!"

   "But Coach," I began, "That's my b...."

   "What?" he asked.

   "Nothing, never mind, sir," I answered quickly, my mind whirling. 
"Special practice" and "mandatory" in the same sentence meant no excuses.

   "Be here at two," he added, and we nodded like bobble head dolls, Greg
giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, shrugging as I looked at him as if he
had the answer.

   Shit!  Coach was going to screw up everything!

   Then coach divided us into four mixed teams, using his own voodoo
system, and set us to work doing wind sprints, each team to its own lane.

   Urgh!

   What are wind sprints?  It is like an endless relay race, probably
created by that guy who tortured people during the Spanish Inquisition --
what's his name -- Torquemada.  Take off when the guy in front of you
touches the wall, do the laps, then back to the end of your line to do it
again.  We start out with each team member doing a single 200-meter
"sprint" -- 8 lengths of the pool is not a sprint, in my mind.  Then we
each do, say two or maybe four 100-meter sprints -- 4 lengths -- at Coach's
whim, then we finish up with 50-meter sprints -- two laps -- as many as
time allows, as hard and fast as we can.  By the time we're done some of us
are puking in the gutter.

   Wouldn't you know it, the way it worked out this time, Greg was in the
lane next to mine and we started off together.  Ya think Coach set it up
that way?  Bet your ass he did.  So, just about every time I launched
myself off the blocks Greg was right beside me.  Since the two of us do the
individual medly Coach had us mix things up, leading off with Greg and me
and two backstrokers in the water, everyone else going from the blocks
after that.  Greg and I led our teams off by doing the 200 IM, starting
with two laps of back stroke, then butterfly, breast and free, then for the
rest of the sprints Coach had Greg and me changing strokes each time we
cycled around so we were doing endless medleys, butterfly, back, breast,
free.  It was brutal.

   Have I mentioned that Coach is a sadist?  But I guess all good coaches
are.  As usual with wind sprints, by the time we were finished everyone was
gasping, coughing lungs out, some even throwing up, our legs and arms like
rubber.  Greg and I were barely able to crawl out of the pool at the end
because we, of course, had insisted on racing each other, just as Coach
intended.  I think it was a draw on that score -- I beat him at butterfly
at least once, and he beat me at breaststroke, well, more than once, darn
it, and we pretty much tied in back and freestyle.

   Together we helped each other up off the deck and leaned on each other
as we made our way toward the locker rooms.  When he didn't let me go, but
dragged me in the direction of the boys' room, I tried to protest, but he
gave me that sly smile of his.

   "I want a little personal time with you," he pointed out.

   "In the shower?" I asked, feeling a thrill at the thought, knowing I
didn't want to shower in my suit, hoping he didn't, either.

   He paused us at the door as the other guys pushed past.  "Well, after
yesterday, I thought, maybe, that was acceptable?"

   "But the other guys...?

   "You think they'll mind?"

   I managed a giggle.  "No, but...."

   "But they only get to watch," he assured me, dragging me after him.

   So that's how I found myself in a wide-open shower room full of boys
happily watching closely as I peeled off my suit.  Then Greg and I lathered
up our hands and proceeded to wash the chlorine off each other.  I
luxuriated in the heat of the shower, the feel of his hands as he lathered
up my hair, then worked his way downward over my body.

   Oh gosh that felt wonderful as he toyed with my tits.  He was awfully
good at it.

   "You ever done this before?" I asked suspiciously.

   He stopped, worried.  "No, am I doing it wrong?"

   I put his hands back on me, and resumed returning the favor, pinching
his stiff nipples between my fingers, loving the feel of his soapy skin. 
"You're doing just fine," I purred.

   I couldn't help noticing that there wasn't a limp dick in the room,
thanks, I assumed, to our co-ed display.  Either these guys were going to
have to relieve themselves or we'd have an epidemic of blue balls.  So,
when we got that far I started stroking Greg's rock hard cock in my soapy
fingers, and nodded to encourage the other guys.  Most of them hesitantly
took up their own dicks as they watched what I was doing.

   If they didn't already know how to masturbate they were getting a crash
course.  I guess I'd just taken sex ed in middle school on a field trip. 
Call it "outreach" if you want.

   Oh, there were a couple of guys that tried to ignore us, a couple others
that turned their backs, but I could tell what they were doing from the way
their arms moved and their butts flexed.  This shower turned into one big
circle jerk.  Meanwhile, Greg was exploring my corresponding regions, his
finger slithering shyly along my slit.  I finally reached down to encourage
him to venture further in, careful to make sure everyone got a good look.

   It wasn't long before we were moaning and groaning together, right along
with the chorus from the other guys.  The base of his fuck finger was
stroking my clit, while the tip of it shyly probed my vagina.  The
exhibitionism, the sensuousness was all just too much for me and I started
to come like mad, leaning against him, my head against his until we both
turned and kissed, and kissed, and kissed as I felt Greg's cock spasm, and
his hot jism spattered on my thigh.

   Around us there were gasps and groans, and I knew that gallons of come
were swirling down the drain, and all because of ME!

   And, well, Greg, too, I guess.

   When we were done and the place had cleared out, with suitable mumblings
and blushings among all, of course, I had to explain to Greg why I didn't
have any clothes to get into.  I gave him a brief, sanitized version of
what had gone on -- some sort of riot, and my clothes had gotten torn off,
yada yada yada and so I came to practice naked.  He complimented me on my
courage for being naked all day, and I blushed modestly -- if one can do
that while naked.

   I was surprised to find Kathy waiting for me as we emerged from the
locker room.  She dimpled cutely at me as I said goodbye to Greg, a scene
right out of Romeo and Juliet.  He had to run or he'd miss his bus.

   When I apologized for keeping her waiting, she pooh-poohed it.  "I
wanted to ask you, no, tell you to be at the studio here at eleven o'clock
Saturday," she explained.  "It's the only time I have free to paint you. 
You've got to be there."

   "Saturday morning, that's my...."

   "Birthday, I know, but it's the only time I can do it.  We'll be done in
time for the team meeting, I promise.  Okay?"

   I nodded, trying to get my head around my birthday the day after
tomorrow.  Team meeting + this + mystery party.

   "Okay," I said, my addled wits trying to tell me something.

   "Okay.  Gotta run.  Hug!"

   I happily pressed my naked self against her clothed one, wishing she
were naked, too, and then she was away and I was trying to sort myself out
as I shrugged on my backpack and headed homeward on my weary legs.  Then I
jammed to a halt as the gears in my brain engaged with a ringing clash.  I
remembered that cryptic exchange between Kathy and Mom, something about an
art project.

   I took two steps down the hall and slammed on the brakes again.  What if
that somehow meshed with "Birthday?"

   I bet it did.  Kathy knew I wanted her to paint me more than anything.

   Two more steps and I stopped as another gear engaged.

   Team Meeting.

   Insert sounds of gears grinding again, the smell of burning rubber.

   Kathy + Mom + art project + team meeting + my birthday = ?

   I started walking again.  No, Mom couldn't have rigged things with
Coach, too, could she?  That would mean the whole team would be there, at
the pool, for my birthday party?  And how many more of my friends?  At the
pool?

   Couldn't be.

   Still ...  what if...?

   I wandered home in a daze as I contemplated the possibilities.

   Holy shit!  What a birthday party this might be.  I tried not to get my
hopes up, but what if?
   Holy shit.