Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does MS 4 By peregrinf

   FREEDOM!  FREEdom.  FreeDOM!  FREEDomFreedomFreedomFreedomFREEDOM!  I'm
FREE, free, FREE!  The dungeon door has been OPENED!  I have paid my debt
to society!  Giving me time off for good behavior, the warden opened the
gates.  I have been turned out into society, chastened and reformed.

   TGIF!

   I gave Mom and Carl long and loving hugs this morning, 'cause I won't
see them again until Sunday night.  They will be heading off into the
academic wilds on the Great College Hunt before my school day ends. 
Following school I am paroled into the custody of Beth, who has sworn,
promised, and affirmed that she won't let me do anything she wouldn't do,
and she won't let me out of her sight.

   Considering all that she's done in the last year that leaves me quite a
bit of latitude.  So what if she does see me doing something lascivious? 
That'll be part of the fun.

   But then, too, I admit to hoping -- nay, assuming -- that she'll be part
of the doing.

   And in case you're wondering what happened to Thursday, the answer is --
not much.  More accurately, that should be "what happened ON Thursday," of
course.  After three days of home confinement and school turmoil, Thursday
was what passes for a normal school day.  Except, of course, for my house
arrest.

   Briefly, Thursday I went to class as usual.  Missy and I studiously
ignored each other, repelling each other as if, no matter which way we
turned, our magnetic poles reversed to push us apart.  There was a negative
thermal effect operating between us as well.  When we came into proximity
the air chilled, frost formed on exposed surfaces, people nearby shivered
and reached for jackets.

   But I will NOT dwell on that!  It is over and done with.  What we once
had shared has been sundered, split, broken and shattered.

   So now it is Friday, the first day of the Rest of my Life, and as I
walked into school I was greeted by a cheering throng, led by Marvin,
waving the school paper in front of me!  You'd have thought I was a rock
star or something.

   Marvin and the crew must have pulled an all-nighter to bring the
school's scandal sheet out a half a day early.  Normally copies were
stacked by the cafeteria doors at lunchtime, to be scooped up by an eager
public, usually to wind up catching lunch drippings as juicy bits of gossip
were dissected over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fish sticks and
hash browns, or gooey macaroni and cheese that always reminded me of --
well, never mind.  That's too disgusting to contemplate.

   Darned if I know why the deadline was pushed up.  Was Marvin afraid of
being scooped?  Unless the publisher of the weekly local newspaper was
still trolling the Internet, drooling, trying to make a decision over which
of the cell-phone candids of The Dirty Dozen he should use on his front
page, his rag was likely already on the newsstands and doorsteps.

   And yes, there was I, right on the front page of the Middle School
Gazette, a Marvin Brubaker masterpiece, in all my naked glory, inspiring
the troops, a school paper exclusive not available to the editor of the
local tabloid!

   How 'bout that!  The middle school newspaper scooped the pro on that, at
least!

   Snatching the paper from Marvin's hands, I was so excited to see it I
almost missed seeing Missy turn her back on me.

   I was more interested in the lead photograph of ME!  Taking up half the
front page I was striking one of those dramatic "follow me, troops!" poses,
arm thrust out, pointing the way, legs well spread as I stepped out in the
lead.

   What little modesty I had left abandoned me completely.  I was proud of
my exposure.  I mean, I was spread like margarine on toast, full frontal,
and he'd chosen his angle carefully!  You could practically see my clit, if
you got your nose to the paper and kinda squinted.  And thanks to modern
color printer technology you could see my tan lines, and my nipples, all
pink and puffy with excitement.

   I can't decide whether I'm glad or sad that my pussy wasn't drooling. 
Tell me truly, would a little drool be too much?  Maybe just a little
shine? At any rate, if I was gooey it didn't show in the photograph, but
that was about the only thing that didn't.

   Then I was set upon by the crowd, all waving their copies, seeking my
autograph!  Someone thrust a Sharpie into my hand, and I began scrawling
graceful "Dee"s across my naked tummy, just above my very lightly furred
slit.  Sometimes I'd add a "For (fill in the blank)" or "Best wishes to
(fill in the blank)" to the "Dee" if I managed to take the time to
recognize the face behind the hands holding the paper.

   It was madness, only to be broken up by the opening bell and hall
monitors scattering the throng.  I didn't see John in the crowd, and
worried a little about that as I tried to read the article while blundering
my way to home room.

   The story, what I managed to read of it, was nice, too.  Ms.  Andrews
gave me full credit for leading the class to the cafeteria, credit enough
to make me blush.  Almost everyone involved in the class that was
interviewed admitted it was exciting, that if it weren't for me we might
still be sitting there, yadda, yadda, yadda.

   Except for Missy.  With her it was like "yes, well, we are really just
very close friends.  Of course I taught her everything she knows, and I
talked her into taking the class in the first place.  If it weren't for me
she'd never have handled it, and...."

   I mean, gag me with a SPECULUM!

   At least she hadn't tried to take credit for leading the charge herself,
and I have to admit, she'd been the first to react to my challenging "Who
are we?" by answering "The Dirty Dozen!"

   God, I remembered my cold sweat when I'd lobbed out that "Who are we?"
to my stunned classmates, to be greeted by a deafening silence, and the
rush of relief I'd felt when she'd picked it up and tossed back "We're the
Dirty Dozen!" as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

   Darn it!  Why can't I just hate her?  Why do I have to keep remembering
all the nice things she's done, all the good times we've shared?  And now I
see her on the road to disaster.  I have visions of her sneaking around to
fuck Mike in the janitor's closet or in the band room, her rump beating a
tattoo on a bass drum.  She could wind up pregnant, and then what will she
do?

   Probably come running to me for help.

   She should talk to her mom before that happens!

   Although, having had my own glancing encounter with that woman's temper,
I can see why she's afraid to.

   What bothered me more was I'd seen her flirting with other guys when
Mike was not around.  She was getting more than a bit like Mickey had been,
all jiggly and bouncy and giggly, rolling up the waistband of her skirt to
shorten it, wearing last year's sweaters.  Limiting her activities to Mike
was one thing, but expanding them to the general population opened up a
path to total slut-dom, or worse!

   But if even a whisper gets back to Missy that I told anyone, she would
feel I betrayed her and then she'd really, really hate me, and I couldn't
blame her, and I don't want that.

   On the other hand, Ms.  Andrews has to know just what Missy is doing
with Mike.  Why doesn't she do something?

   But of course Missy is skillfully avoiding her for just that reason, and
Ms.  Andrews can't forcibly kidnap the girl.

   On yet another hand, when her mom does find out about Missy's easy
virtue, from any source, well, the feces will really hit the fan.  Everyone
in school has to know they're Doing It, and if Missy starts distributing
her favors more widely it will only get worse, to say nothing of hurting
Mike, who, so far, has refrained from bragging about his conquest.

   What'll happen is, some kid will say, within hearing of his/her own mom,
"Did you know that Missy Wilson is Doing It with Mike Collins (or fill in
the blank) ?" And that mom will say something to another mom at the beauty
parlor or supermarket and that mom will say something to Missy's mom, and
ka-BOOM!

   Anyway, Missy will blame me no matter how or when her mom finds out. 
Missy's mom will again blame me for getting Missy into the class in the
first place.  In truth, as you may already know, Missy used my
participation to get her parents to sign the permission slip, knowing her
parents trusted me not to lead her astray, so it is not my fault!

   But that won't matter.  It'll still be my fault.

   On yet another hand (I think that's three, if you're counting), if I
don't tell, well, I'm likely to be blamed for NOT telling, especially if
something bad does happen to Missy, and I'm gonna hate myself, and....

   Shit!  Shit, shit, Shit!  It's a no-win situation, and it is all her
fault!

   Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand, today is another school day,
Friday, the day of my liberation.  I was dressed again today.  Yeah, it
felt kinda stuffy, but I didn't want to risk over-exposure.  Let 'em
undress me with their eyes and brains for a while.  The rest of The Dirty
Dozen must have felt the same way.  Even Mickey was looking demure in a
blouse and skirt.

   And speaking of Mickey, she and A.  J.  are like pancakes and syrup. 
You know you can't have one without the other, but at least they're not as
touchy-feely as Mike and Missy, thank goodness!  I hear that A.  J.  is
tutoring Mickey with her math, never mind that he's a 6th grader and she's
7th, he's ahead of everyone in math.  I also hear they're working together
on a project for the Science Fair.  Go figure!  I wonder if it's
comparative biology.  He certainly knows his way around her pussy.  I bet
she knows her way around his cock, too.

   Then I wondered if they had done it -- the Big F -- yet, and decided
not. Mickey is not stupid, like Missy, just prematurely over endowed, and
since she and A.  J.  have gotten together she's definitely tamed her
jiggle, while A.  J.  glows in her presence, and actually combs his hair
and has clean fingernails!  I bet he washes his hands so he doesn't get her
bra dirty when he gropes her.  It's all a matter of motivation.  Rumor is
he's getting contacts to replace his glasses.

   They, Mickey and A.  J., that is, were prominently featured in the
article's photographs, as were Judy Liu and Terrell Ford, who I hear is
getting free piano lessons from Mrs.  Lewis, the music teacher, and I chalk
that up to Ms.  Andrews' intervention.  And no bananas took part in
Marvin's expose, neither Mickey's nor mine.

   The only people really put out by the whole do were Horace and his crew.
If anything, their swagger was worse than ever.  They've taken up forming a
sort of ugly knot of sneers and scowls as they stalk the hallways, looking
for trouble.  The twerp whose nose I twisted has been drawn back into the
pack and wears his cargo pants lower than ever.  Another half inch and his
skinny white butt will be hanging out.  If he bends over it will serve him
right if some boy so inclined decides to demonstrate how guys do each
other.

   But, back to work.  I bagged a couple of extra copies of the school
paper and tucked them into my backpack, hoping I'd have a fairly normal day
for a change.  I was pretty much caught up on my homework.  I was doing
community service for one of my afternoon teachers, straightening up after
class.  At least chalk boards are a thing of the past or I'd be inhaling
clouds of dust while beating erasers together.

   And after today I'd be free, free, free.  It had been arranged that
after school I would walk to the high school to rendezvous with Beth.  In
my locker I stowed a token overnight case containing a few, very few,
necessities, as I did not anticipate having need for much clothing over the
weekend.

   And all went according to plan, until John and I adjourned to Our Nook
for our usual al fresco lunch.  We were finishing our meal when the sky
cracked, prior to falling in, figuratively speaking.

   John hadn't said anything much, but that wasn't unusual for him.  We
usually just shared a companionable silence.  But that didn't mean I wasn't
worried.  He didn't eat much, and I could tell he was more stressed than
usual.  In fact, I hadn't seen him so uptight since most of us had stripped
naked that first day in the sex ed class.

   I touched his arm, and that's all it took.  He broke.  A tear trickled
down his cheek.

   "What's wrong?" It was like I'd squeezed the trigger.  He reached for me
and I held on to him as the emotional storm broke.  Through his bawling and
gasping I managed to gather that he was afraid to go home after school and
didn't know where to go or what to do.  That was all I knew and he scared
me so much I didn't want to know anything more.

   When he'd calmed down a little I managed to scramble together our trash
and got him to his feet.  "Come with me."

   He didn't resist, and I racked my brain figuring out a roundabout way
into the school and to Ms.  Andrews office so we wouldn't be seen and cause
questions.  Once there I settled John on the sofa, made him promise he
wouldn't move from the spot, closed the office door behind me and searched
out that fount of wisdom and compassion, my favorite school counselor.

   All I had to say was "It's John.  He's in your office," and she was off,
briskly but controlled to avoid panicking the crowd.  She even paused
briefly to quench a swearing match.  I swear, you could set off a bomb and
her reaction would be "what's that noise?"

   Not knowing what else to do, I followed and hung around outside her
office, trying to look casual, until she opened the door and called me in.
John was lying on the sofa, curled around a pillow, sucking his thumb.

   Uh oh.

   "We got a problem," Ms.  Andrews admitted.  "We need a safe place for
John to spend the weekend."

   I suddenly saw where this was headed.  NO!  I wanted to scream it.  No!
No No NO NO NO!

   "I don't want to get Child Protective Services involved yet, but John
can't go home."

   I wanted to ask why not?  What do you mean "we have a problem?" Why
couldn't he go home?  Why not get Child Protective involved?  Why me?

   So what comes out of my stupid mouth?  Of course I say something really
dumb, like, "I'll take care of it."

   I mean, what the heck did I do that for?  I'm a kid, a week shy of
turning thirteen, and I'm solving HER problems for her?  My mom's out of
town, I've got titillating social obligations.  How'm I gonna help?  Why'd
I say that?

   "May I use your phone?" I asked politely, as cool as lemon yogurt.

   It had to be The Stick.  I'm standing there, watching my hopes for the
weekend go right down the toilet, while The Stick takes control of my
brain. My finger didn't even tremble as I punched in Beth's home number, as
if I knew for certain her mom would be home and would be cool with giving
John sanctuary.

   Where do I get these ideas???!!!

   And, in case you are wondering, no, I don't have a cell phone.  It is
not in my budget.  If it's an emergency there's always someone I can borrow
from.

   I'll say this for Beth's mom -- she has as much ability to roll with the
punches as Ms.  Andrews does.  But then, she raised Beth, who is a fricking
genius who rode naked aboard a big, black gelding to inspire a high school
pep rally, whose naked body stimulated the football team into a last second
come-from-behind win over archrival Eastern High.

   Mrs.  Finch also saw her daughter's boyfriend, and then Beth herself,
through the whole Naked in School thing in the space of three tumultuous
weeks, so I guess she's seen it all.

   She listened to me, or rather The Stick, explaining the situation,
talked with Ms.  Andrews, arranged to warn Beth what was coming, and it was
set.  John would be in my care for the weekend, with the Finch family's
assistance.

   What had I done?  I had to be out of my bifurcated mind!  Or The Stick
was.

   Ms.  Andrews got John and me both excused from our afternoon classes. 
Making sure I was okay with John, she went off to deal with her own
afternoon obligations.  I sank down on a chair and slowly re-gathered my
wits while my hopes for the weekend circled the drain.  How could I
possibly indulge my lusts with John around?

   The Stick proceeded to get on my case in no uncertain terms.  What was
more important than taking care of a fellow human being in distress?  How
could I think only of my carnal adventures, while John was suffering so?

   I wanted to strangle my alter ego, my conscience, whatever that thing
inside me that I call The Stick was.

   Instead I reached out to John and he latched on to my hand like it was a
lifeline, at first tucking it in next to his still wet cheek.  Then he spit
out his own thumb and began to suck -- no not my thumb!  He substituted my
middle finger!  The bird finger!  The -- well, you get the idea.

   Eeewwww!

   Or not.  The feel of him sucking rhythmically on my significant finger
-- and he took it deep!  -- triggered some very strange sensations in some
very interesting parts of my anatomy, like my tits, and my cunt!  I wasn't
sure whether he was asleep or what, but I didn't want to take my finger
away from him.  It might distract him or traumatize him, or something.

   Okay.  In fact, I kinda liked the effect he was having on me!  Unable to
resist the urge, I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped a hand inside to play
with my throbbing titties.

   Oh my!  I tugged on my nipples in time with his rhythmic sucking, and it
was like he was nursing on me, and that really got my pussy going, so I was
squirming my thighs together to kinda squish my cunt, but soon decided that
wasn't going to get me there, darn it!  I mean, I was so close to cumming!

   I needed two hands, but couldn't take my finger away from him.

   So I looked around the office, desperate to find something to stimulate
my cunt, and my eye lighted on that ebony elephant on Ms.  Andrews' desk.

   Oh shit, I couldn't do that!

   Oh yes I could!  Letting go of my tit for only a moment, I snagged the
elephant and stuffed it between my thighs, wedging its trunk against my
crotch right through my pants and panties, but that wasn't enough, so,
working one-handed, I opened my pants, pushed the crotch of my panties
aside and really put that pachyderm's proboscis to work on my cunt, his
forehead on my clit.

   Crossing my legs to keep the elephant in place it was back to my tit,
first one, then the other!  Pinch and tug, pinch and tug, add a twist to
the pinch and tug and oh MY!

   And I humped against the elephant, the whole thing synchronized with
John's suck - suck - sucking on my finger, and I was going up and up
and....

   Almost there....

   Allllmost there....

   THERE!  Oh yes there and there and there and there and my panties were
getting wet and the elephant was drowning and I was stifling groans, and I
swear it felt like John was sucking harder on my finger as if he knew what
was going on and on and on, until it couldn't go on any longer and I went
all limp.

   When I finally regained my wits and my strength I let go the strangle
hold on my left nipple and extracted the elephant from my cunt.  I guess
you could say he really got a snoot full.  Snagging a tissue from the box I
wiped him as clean as I could and returned him to the desk, hoping Ms. 
Andrews didn't sniff too alertly or the jig would be up.  By the time I
managed to get my pants restored and my shirt buttoned John's sucking had
diminished to gentle slurps.

   Leaving me wondering what was going on in his head.  What could make him
feel that he couldn't go home?  Home, to me, was a place I knew I'd always
be welcome, and safe.  Of course I'd read about kids who had been terribly
abused, but never before known one.  Was that what had happened to John?

   The whole orgasmic episode had taken only a few minutes, so I settled
down for a long wait, curious in a morbid way, understanding, but still
frustrated at having my plans disrupted.

   Then that devious, horn-dog part of my mind considered it from another
angle.  I'd gotten to know John well, very well, as we'd gone through sex
ed class.  Eventually he'd handled the nudity, and I'd even sucked his
cock. Maybe he wouldn't be all that inhibiting, or inhibited after all. 
What were the possibilities, John, plus me, plus Beth?

   The mind boggles!

   And, assuming Mrs.  Liu is aware of the reason for the sleepover as an
extension of sex ed, that's the perfect excuse to have John there.  It
might even be good therapy for him!

   Manipulative?  Nonsense.  I'm only thinking of what is best for John,
and the sex ed program, of course.  Manipulation is such an ugly word.

   Yeah, right.

   So?  When you're handed a lemon, The Stick reminded me, you make
lemonade.  All I'd need was some sweetener to pull this off, and I am,
after all, a master of sweet.

   Ms.  Andrews returned, sniffed the air suspiciously, looked at her
elephant mascot before adjusting it's position on her desk, shooting me one
of her "I know what you've been up to" looks, her eyebrow cocked.

   I managed what I hoped was an innocent smile, John still sucking on my
finger until the final bell and hubbub in the halls made him stir.  He let
my hand go with an embarrassed frown and pulled himself together while I
dried my hand, then retrieved our book bags and stuff.  I was feeling much
more up-ta-mistic as John and I unobtrusively made our way to the high
school.  As we walked I filled him in on my -- our -- social obligations.

   I'd carefully avoided giving Ms.  Andrews any more information than
necessary about my weekend schedule.  After all, she already had enough
gray hairs.

   "So we're staying at Beth's house tonight?" John asked, looking only
mildly worried.  His resilience impressed me.  He could haul himself
together amazingly well.  Ms.  Andrews and I figured he'd had years of
practice assembling his carefully constructed façade and that there was a
strong core lurking in there that sustained him.

   I reflected that it also probably helped that he felt safest at school,
or anyplace other than home, for that matter, which I still find hard to
understand.

   I nodded.  "You know Beth, and she knows you, so there's nothing to
worry about.  Beth's parents are cool, too, and won't ask any questions." I
already knew Ms.  Andrews had said just enough to Beth's mom to make sure
they wouldn't pry.

   "I don't have any stuff with me for staying over," he pointed out.

   "We'll take care of that," I answered, crossing my fingers.  I was
taking this one day at a time, not wondering what was going to happen come
Sunday.  Where would John go then?

   Home with me?  Well, it was a solution.

   By now I was leading us through the corridors of the high school.  It
wasn't as empty as when Missy and I had visited, there being a wealth of
after school stuff going on now, producing a drone of conversation from
behind closed classroom doors.  Soon we found ourselves being drawn on by
the sweet sound of a flute echoing down the hall from the school's art
studio.

   Inside there was a vision straight out of a classical old master's
masterpiece.  The source of the flute music was Stephanie, gracefully posed
on a draped stool, sitting up very straight (which amplified her ample
bosom), Beth lying at her feet, gazing upward worshipfully, while Kathy
stood at her easel, paint brush in hand.  Gauzy curtains across the big
windows softened the afternoon light that spilled over Stephanie's lush
curves, her generous breasts with large areolas and stiff dark nipples,
Beth's petite form with her delicately molded breasts, stiff pink nipples,
her graceful curves.

   As you may have guessed, they were all nude.  Stephanie was voluptuous,
Beth looked almost childlike as she reclined on an artfully wrinkled sheet,
while Kathy was trim and fit, tall, and wielded her brush with a grace that
was purely natural to her.  She made my heart race, I have to admit.

   And the sunny smile that blossomed on her face when she turned and saw
us did nothing to slow my pulse.  There was no question that she was happy
to see us, not bothered by the interruption.

   "Relax, ladies," she told her models, absentmindedly wiping a paint
smeared thumb on her left boob, something she obviously did often, in
various exciting places on her body.  "Hi Dee!"

   Oh I hoped that smile was for me.

   It was!  It had to be for me.  I didn't hesitate, I walked into her
embrace, we kissed -- chastely -- and hugged, with me basking in the feel
of her warm flesh in my arms.  That delectable smudge of paint on the slope
of her left breast was a finishing touch.  Had it been chocolate I would
have licked it off.

   It took an effort on my part to separate from her to introduce John.

   "Of course, John, I remember you from the class," she greeted him, with
as warm a hug for him as she'd had for me.

   Oh well.

   "Pardon us for not moving," Beth apologized, still on the floor at
Stephanie's feet.  "It's a bit of a nuisance to have to completely
reestablish the pose.  Hi, John."

   John shuffled his feet a little, and greeted her with a bob of his head,
his eyes darting around as he took it all in.

   "Okay, girls, let's knock off for the day," Kathy ordered, draping a
cloth over her work.

   "No!  Wait a minute," she stopped them before they could move.

   Stephanie blew a brief, jaunty tune on her flute that trailed off into a
mournful wheeze.

   "Would you guys mind getting naked?  I just got a great idea," Kathy
explained.  "It'll just take a minute, something I want to try."

   I knew how I felt about it, getting naked being one of my favorite
activities, but shot a look at John.  "What do you think?"

   "Uh, I don't know," he stammered, obviously a little nervous.

   "We can trust 'em," I assured him.  "Besides, we're seeing them naked,
aren't we?"

   "Uh, yeah," he admitted.

   I was already stripping.  "Come on, it'll be fun, and you can see how a
real artist works."

   I guess I was a leader again, or still.  John began taking off his
clothes, and in moments we were as naked as Kathy and her models.  And why
was she naked?  She was the artist?  Oh, well, why not, for that matter? 
My eyes kept going to that smudge of paint, just above her conical areola
crowned with a stiff nipple.

   And there were smears around her waist, like she'd rested her hands on
her hips while she studied her subjects, and fingerprints near her pussy.

   "Hey, Dee, you're developing nicely!"

   I blushed, pleased she'd noticed.  I mean, it wasn't much yet, just a
gentle rise in the boob department, a little fuzz downstairs, but it was
something.

   "And still growing vertically, too," she observed in a way that made me
stand just that little bit taller.

   "Okay, let's try some stuff," Kathy decided with a clap of her hands.

   So, for the next forty-five minutes she tried placing John and me in
various poses around Beth and Stephanie.  Stephanie somehow managed to
interpret the poses with sweet tunes from her flute.

   One pose had John and me holding hands, raised high, as if we were doing
some medieval dance, Steph's music a lively jig.  Another had me in his
embrace, and Steph went all romantic, in yet another we were on the floor
with Beth, sitting looking up as Stephanie improvised a pensive melody, one
that was serious but somehow ripe with love.  I marveled at her talent,
wondering how she did it so easily.

   It finished with something like a naked game of Twister, which
degenerated into a tumble and tickle among me, Beth and John, with Kathy
aiding and abetting first one then another of us, while Stephanie's flute
giggled and chuckled, until we were all out of breath and had acquired some
of our own paint smears in exciting places.

   The ice had been broken, John was relaxed and laughing, his worries
banished by Kathy's warm enthusiasm, Beth's sweetness, and Stephanie's
uninhibited music, and, maybe, I like to think, by my -- my -- my whatever
it is that seems to inspire people to do things they might not otherwise
do.

   And of course I reveled in the sensuous skin against skin of our naked
bodies rubbing together.  Gosh I love being naked with other naked people!

   "Well, what do you think?" Kathy asked when we'd finally relaxed in a
heap.

   "What do we think about what?" I asked.

   "Would you like to pose for me, with Beth and Steph?"

   I was thrilled with the offer, but saw John's hesitation.  "Uh, well,
we'll have to think about it, won't we John?"

   He'd gone all reserved again.  "Yeah, think about it," he stammered.

   "Sure, no problem," Kathy quickly assured him as she finished cleaning
up her brushes and stuff, but not her paint smears.  I would have been
happy to kiss them off for her, but I don't think Steph would have
appreciated that.  "I think you'd be great."

   "I'm kinda taller than he is," I pointed out.

   She waved a hand.  "Pooh, I can fix that.  It's just a matter of
perspective.  But don't worry about it now.  Come on, let's get out of
here." Wrapping an arm around Steph, she headed for the door, both of them
still naked.

   "Like this?" John asked, looking down at himself.

   "Well, why not?" Kathy asked.  I liked this girl's thinking!

   "We're headed over to Beth's house," I pointed out, not sure how Mrs. 
Finch would take to me and John arriving all starkers.

   "Mom won't mind," Beth assured us.  "And we'll be in my car, not walking
the streets like this."

   I'd never ridden in a car naked and the thought made me tingle, though I
had walked the streets naked, of course.

   "You guys can decide it on your way to the parking lot.  I need Steph
for getting this paint off me, and other things," Kathy answered, dragging
a blushing Stephanie away.

   "It's water-based," Kathy added mischievously.  "And edible!"

   Stephanie shrieked and giggled as she was hauled off.

   Reminding John that he was sort of in hiding, I pointed out that no one
would expect to see him naked, riding in a car, and that it might even be
fun.  I didn't mention that Beth's car was a sexy little two seat
convertible and that she usually had the top down.

   Since I was the taller one, I took him on my lap, accidentally almost
sticking my tit in his mouth.

   What is it that makes doing these everyday things naked, like riding in
a car, so exciting?  At first I'd even gotten a charge out of cooking
naked, though I did learn to be wary of hot spatters and usually resorted
to an apron for my own protection.  But riding naked in a car was a whole
new thing and I was loving it.  My hand sort of wound up in his lap, and it
was the most normal thing in the world to curl my fingers around his cock.
I sort of wiggled it like a gear shift as Beth smoothly managed the five
speed stick, and John's dick swelled in my grasp.

   He got in the spirit of things by sucking on my tit, so I gently fiddled
with his scrotum.

   So he bit my tit!  YOWEE!

   I stroked his pecker like it was the most natural thing in the world,
and his hips began shifting in that age-old dance, and I saw Beth shoot a
glance at it when we paused at a light.

   "Tissues in the glove box," Beth pointed out calmly as she pulled away
from the light, shifting the stick shift, stroking John's thigh in the
process.  "Try not to get jizz on the upholstery, it's a pain to get the
stain out."

   Trust her to know, I thought.  John went off just as we turned in at
Beth's street, and I deftly caught his goo in a wad of tissues.  Whatever
John was dealing with it wasn't affecting his output of sperm, that was
certain.  I loved the musky smell.

   He was drained, limp, and all cleaned up by the time we arrived in
Beth's driveway.  After unloading book bags and my overnight case, we
helped her put the top up in case of rain before going in the side door.

   Beth's mom took one look at us, and quickly shed the loose dressing gown
that was all she was wearing.  It looked like the weekend was going to go
very much as I had hoped, in spite of John's unexpected presence, maybe
even better.  He looked apologetic, but after his third apology and fourth
"thank you, Mrs.  Finch" he was put at ease by her warm welcome, and the
plate of cookies and glasses of milk she set out.

   But even as he snacked I noticed his eyes darting around, taking
everything in.  Like a stray kitten brought indoors, he was checking for
threats, analyzing escape routes.