Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 12 by peregrinf

   It's Sunday night.  Lance is presumably sleeping the sleep of a sated
male in his own bed, while I'm in my bed, in the dark, rummaging through my
memories, trying to see if there are any clues in my past that might help
me chart my future.  I'm adrift in a sea of fog compared to people I know
well.

   My brother knew that he'd be a scientist from the time he'd taken apart
his first alarm clock to find out what made it tick.

   Of course it was a very old alarm clock.  I wonder what kids learn from
taking apart a digital clock.

   His GF Beth had set her eye on a medical career as she dissected her
first frog in sophomore biology.  I suppose by now the "be-kind-to-animals"
groups have put an end to that.

   What do kids like Carl and Beth take apart these days?

   On a less controversial track, Kathy Powers took her first steps toward
being an artist in pre-school when she grabbed a handful from the big
bucket of crayons and drew a picture of her teacher on the table.

   Okay, it was a three-year old's surrealism, but even then the teacher
didn't know whether to frame the table or make Kathy sit in the corner, so
she did both.  Kathy still had a crayon hidden in her chubby little fist
and the pre-school wound up with a corner worthy of being framed as well.

   At the age of three, after hearing it on his mother's music box Terrell
Ford plinked out "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on a toy piano.  She'd
thought "how cute." The next Sunday, during church, he'd gotten bored with
the sermon so he sneaked over to the old upright piano that was all the
church could afford and launched into Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze,"
which the music director had used for the offertory the week before.

   The sermon was forgotten.

   Who else?  Oh yes, Stephanie, Kathy's squeeze.  She was positively
retarded by comparison.  Given a plastic whistle when she was five she was
eight when she badgered her parents into buying her a flute.

   Prodigies all!

   When I was their age I'd gone from dabbling in the bathtub to doing laps
across the pool, so I guess that's something.  But, as my brother pointed
out, swimming doesn't offer much of a future.  Much as I love the feel of
the water sliding over my naked skin, surely there's gotta be something
more to life than plodding from one end of a pool to the other.

   I loved soaring off a diving board until ...  you know.

   What else?

   Well, there's always sex, but the competition from amateurs these days
is fierce, though there is talk of licensed brothels in some quarters.  The
professional life span is about as brief as that of a football lineman and
client selectivity -- I have to love my partners -- severely restricts the
market, even for a bisexual.

   So what really turns me on, other than sex and swimming?

   I love learning, reading, always have, but don't have any one favorite
course, except maybe history.  My grades are, well, modesty forbids
mentioning.  Let's just say they're more than adequate.

   Extra-curriculars?  German Club, swimming of course, class officer and a
few others, but nothing that really lit my fire after my freshman year
chairing SACNISP.

   That had kept my adrenaline flowing, a real E-ticket ride, that was for
sure.  A high point had been marshaling the forces to protect the innocent
and shutting down the forces working against The Program.

   I still remember the thrill I felt when Cameron had handed me that
envelope as she'd come out of the school office to brave the hallways.  Was
the hard evidence that might lead to the source of our problems right in my
hands?

   I'd wanted nothing more than to rip it open to find out what had caught
her eye.  I was hoping it would tell me who the bad guys were so I could
get 'em locked up and the keys thrown away.

   I'd received a message from Maria telling me that if I violated the
sanctity of that envelope before the crime lab got it she would beat me to
death.  Then, after pissing on my grave she'd arrest me for tampering with
evidence.

   That afternoon, with the envelope still burning a hole in my backpack,
I'd had to preside over the post-mortem of Operation Guardian.  We of
SACNISP had scheduled it figuring we'd either want to celebrate our
victory, or lick our wounds while figuring out how to deal with the mess
I'd created.

   Amazingly, everything had gone well and we quickly decided we would
continue to provide bodyguards for the NiSers at least for rest of the
week.

   After we'd dislocated our shoulders patting ourselves on our backs we
were faced with what to do with the poor fool who'd decided to molest one
of the troops during the opening phase of the operation.  He'd made the
mistake of picking on the school's star volleyball player.  Ingrid had the
reflexes of a leopard and the grip of a trapeze artist.  He was lucky that
his right arm was still attached.

   My fingers still ached from giving her a congratulatory handshake at
lunch.

   She held him no ill will.  In fact, she was worried she'd hurt him, but
I was able to reassure her on that point.  Given her attitude I was
formulating a vague plan in the back of my mind.  As we'd chatted at lunch
she'd agreed to be available after school when we'd be dealing with the
malefactor.

   As a result, I was tingling in anticipation when I gaveled the meeting
to order for the next item on the agenda.

   "What're we gonna do with the twerp?" committee secretary (and buster of
my cherry years ago) Mike Collins asked from his place beside me at the
conference table.

   "Just for a start, he should walk the halls naked for the rest of the
year." That was from Retta Jones.

   I wasn't sure I wanted to know what came after the "just for a start."
As far as she was concerned, anyone who looked cross-eyed at a program
participant deserved to be paraded up Main Street to the town square to be
placed in the stocks so she could personally flog his naked butt.

   At the moment said "twerp" was occupying the chair in the school office
reserved for those awaiting the disciplinary attention of Mrs.  Devers, the
school secretary standing guard.  It was said that her gimlet eye could
penetrate skulls and reveal the innermost thoughts of a miscreant.

   What's a gimlet?  -- according to my dictionary it is either an
alcoholic beverage composed of gin, lime juice and a spot of soda, or a
small tool with a screw point, grooved shank, and cross handle for boring
holes.

   In this case the latter definition applies.

   Thank you lang arts.

   I felt for him.  Oh the shame of occupying that seat, sweating and
shivering in full view of all those who passed through the office.

   Retta's proposal opened the floodgates from the rest of my committee. 
Elated by our success, punishments being tossed around included a command
appearance on-stage at an all-school assembly, or an undetermined number of
laps around the outdoor track, naked of course, while current and former
program participants urged him on.  As the suggestions for his punishment
soared past the unconstitutional to the realm of physical impossibility I
picked up my gavel and beat the table into submission.

   While the discussion had raged, Mrs.  Devers had maintained her
seemingly disinterested perspective as our advisor.

   "Has he said why he did it?" I asked her.  I'd been so busy I hadn't
even had a chance to meet him.

   She shook her head.  "He's basically a good kid, never been in serious
trouble before, but not one of our brighter lights.  He's a sophomore named
Wil Williams, new to the district.  He says he just thought it would be
fun, that 'everyone else was doing it.'"

   "Ah, a nominee for a Darwin award," Matt Mozilla observed wryly.  "If
everyone else was marching off a cliff he'd probably try to buck line."

   "Anyone here know him?"

   Walter Miflin, our male sophomore member raised his hand.  "Wil -- with
one 'L' -- Williams.  He's in one of my classes, pretty quiet.  Kind've a
loner.  He doesn't have many friends."

   "We've got to make an example of him," Retta insisted.  "We should strip
him naked, paint his privates Day-Glo orange and turn him loose in the
halls.  See how he likes it!  Oh, and tie a helium balloon to his dick so
we can track him.  "

   "Sorry," she apologized after I'd gaveled the laughter down.

   "Don't be.  I feel the same way," I assured her.  "But we're trying to
get away from The Program being used as punishment."

   She greeted that reminder with a sullen grunt.  It was a sore point
between us.

   I turned to Mrs.  Devers.  "Do you have any suggestions?"

   "I'm waiting for you to decide.  This is your show.  I'm just your
advisor."

   "Thanks a lot!"

   "You're welcome," she responded with that uninformative smile of hers.

   I had the feeling she was up to something.

   I sighed.  "Let's get him in here and see what he has to say for
himself."

   "Shouldn't he have the opportunity to face his accuser?" Samantha
pointed out.

   "She's available," I admitted.  "But then what?"

   "I will abide by your decision," Mrs.  Devers answered.

   "Meaning?"

   "If you decide on a punishment, I will impose it, as long as it doesn't
violate school rules or policies.  I think the orange paint and helium
balloon would be considered cruel and unusual," she added dryly.

   "Thank you," I responded with exaggerated sweetness.

   "You're welcome," she came back, just as sweetly.  Ugh.  I could not
escape the feeling that she had something up her non-existent sleeve.  She
usually functioned as judge, jury, and executioner.  I couldn't stop
thinking she was sharpening her own ax, and that my neck was on the block.
Otherwise, why would she want to put this on us?

   Something about this stank -- stunk?  -- stinked?  -- smelled to high
heaven.

   "Mrs.  Devers, would you be so kind as to bring the accused before this
committee?" I asked her warily.

   "Wait a minute!" Samantha Keeler, our resident nit picker, future
librarian, and current parliamentarian and Program authority waved for
attention.

   I recognized her by pointing the handle of the gavel at her.

   "Are we suddenly being constituted as a student court?" she asked.

   That got us all looking at each other.  I looked to Mrs.  Devers, who'd
pushed her chair back already.  Something about her told me she'd been very
pleased with how things had been moving up to this point.

   The Stick, my conscience and alter-ego, was suddenly on high alert.

   After a moment of silence everyone was talking at once.  Some were in
favor of the idea -- Retta especially -- others not so much.  Retta wanted
us to try the guilty bastard and then hang him.  Others weren't as eager to
take on the responsibility.

   I suddenly realized why I really didn't like the track we were taking. I
was not about to take on presiding at any trial.  After that, where would
it end?  It was bad enough I'd been hijacked into chairing the committee. I
suddenly saw that we were headed down the track into something we did not
want -- at least I didn't want -- and Mrs.  Devers was at the throttle.

   The noise level was soaring as Mrs.  Devers came up out of her chair.

   I brought the gavel down so hard it broke.  "Wait a minute!  Everyone
sit down and shut up!"

   Star receiver that he is, Matt intercepted the gavel's head before it
caught Max Wang in the ear.

   In the sudden silence I realized what I'd said, how I'd said it, and who
I'd said it to.  "I'm sorry, Mrs.  Devers.  Please sit down."

   She'd frozen when the gavel had lost its head.  Looking at me like she
thought her head -- or maybe it was mine -- might be next, she sat --
slowly.

   "Thank you, Mrs.  Devers."

   God, what had I just done?!  This was my vice principal, the one others
called "The Devil" for her uncompromising discipline.

   Taking a deep breath I went on more calmly.  "Samantha, thank you. 
That's a good point.

   "Thank you very much for bringing that up," I added fervently, babbling
while I tried to gather my wits.  Reclaiming the lost gavel head from Matt,
my mind racing, I tried putting my symbol of office back together.  All
that did was give me a splinter, leaving me sucking on my finger.

   Finally, clinging to my power as chair of the committee I tested the
brakes.

   "No, we are not a court.  We are not going to become a court.  We are
the Student Advisory Committee to the Naked in School Program.  Thank you
very much for bringing that to our attention, Samantha." I wanted to hug
her, even though she's not really my type.  Well, actually, maybe....

   She nodded.  There was a murmur of agreement from around the table,
except from Retta.

   So far the brakes were working.  I had the majority of the committee
behind me, but would that be enough?

   "Isn't that right, Mrs.  Devers?"

   The eyebrow I aimed at her was not only cocked but loaded.  One wrong
word and I was ready to walk out the door, and suspicion about Mrs. 
Devers's goals was nudging me closer.  I was on a hair trigger.

   Not to over-dramatize, but I think one little nudge from her -- from
anyone -- and I'd have gone off like a rocket.  I was tired.  I hadn't
slept last night, trying to figure out all the things that could go wrong
today and how to stop them.  It had been my plan, so I'd been ready to take
the blame if it failed.  Fortunately it hadn't, but I was a bit fed up with
the whole mess.  Aside from today's victory, temporary as it might be, the
only other accomplishment I could point to was towels for naked people to
sit on.

   Whoopee.

   I did a mental nose count.  Not to flatter myself, but I was willing to
bet at least half of the committee would go with me.  Certainly Matt and
Heather would -- they'd put themselves on the line rounding up the senior
class troops to be bodyguards.  Probably Mike would out of personal
loyalty. Samantha would just because she's Samantha and worships order.

   Anyone who wasn't with me, well, they were welcome to deal with the
whole fucking mess.

   As poker faced as ever Mrs.  Devers nodded -- reluctantly -- but she
nodded.

   I went on, still fighting to keep my voice steady.  "We will listen to
what he has to say.  This is not a trial -- we don't have that authority --
but an inquiry.  I will not let it become -- what's the word I want? 
Adversarial?  Confrontational?  We want answers from him -- information --
not vengeance.  We need to know what's going on and who's behind it so we
can figure out a way to stop it permanently."

   There was no mention of justice.  I took a deep breath, looking right at
Retta.  "Anyone who feels different can just walk out that door!"

   She grumbled, but subsided.

   Okay, that was kinda harsh, but like I say, I was tired, and frustrated.
In spite of today's success I knew all we'd done was slap a band aid on the
sore.  For all I knew we'd have bodyguards escorting our NISers for the
rest of the year, assuming we could assemble enough willing bodies.  Once
or twice would be fun, but beyond that it would interfere too much with
schooling.  The teachers would resent the time being lost, if nothing else.


   I was thinking maybe I should walk anyway.

   Mrs.  Devers thought for a time, studying me.  "Yes, you're right, Madam
Chairman, of course.  It is, after all, your committee."

   And don't you forget it, The Stick unhelpfully put in.  "Thank you, Mrs.
Devers," I said aloud.

   We were bitches seeking to dominate circling each other.  The subtext
between us was that we would talk, later.  I wasn't looking forward to
that, so I sought refuge in Roberts Rules.

   "I move that we open a formal inquiry into the program violation that
took place this morning outside the school office."

   "Seconded!" Heather McKenzie sounded off.

   Samantha bit her lip, not about to suggest that as Chair I might not
have the right to put forward a motion, that I should have asked someone
else for it.

   "I make the motion," Mike Collins, our reserve parliamentarian put in,
saving my ass on that nit.

   "I still second it," Heather repeated.

   "It has been moved and seconded," I ruled.  "Discussion?  Retta?  You
have the floor."

   Her position was simple.  There was no presumption of innocence.  She
pointed out that he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, by the
cookie jar herself.  Retta wound up putting forward a motion that we
immediately be reconstituted as a student court, that we immediately try
and convict and sentence the perp, and that we immediately order -- she
corrected herself to "ask" -- Mrs.  Devers to carry out the sentence.

   That got the debate rolling.

   Mrs.  Devers just sat there.  What was she up to?  e

   I listened as others debated my -- Mike's -- motion, worried that there
were not as many in favor of it as I'd hoped.

   Samantha sailed a folded sheet of paper down the table to me.  I read
the note and realized I owed her a plate of chocolate chip cookies -- two
plates of double chocolate brownies.  Her question about us becoming a
court had saved me once, now her parliamentary knowledge was saving my ass
again.  Frustrated without my gavel I used the head of it to tap for order.


   I guess I'd scared 'em.  They instantly shut up and looked to me.

   "I'm sorry, Retta, but you're out of order.  There's a motion before the
committee that we hold an inquiry.  That motion must be dealt with first.
Of course you're free to vote against the motion, and if it is defeated you
can then make a motion that we become a student court and have a trial.

   "But," I went on, watching Mrs.  Devers out of the corner of my eye,
"that might delay things considerably, mightn't it, Samantha?"

   She had the savvy to look thoughtful, though from her note I already
knew what she'd say.  "Well, if we should try to become a court there's the
issue of establishing who is prosecutor, and providing a defense, and
procedural rules to be decided," she mused in her meticulous
future-librarian way.  "At the very least we'd have to get it past The
Powers That Be -- probably the school board -- before we could do
anything."

   Retta opened her mouth, but Walter Miflin, fellow sophomore and her
erstwhile significant other, put a hand on her arm and calmed her down.

   Love.  Ain't it wonderful?

   "Is that true, Mrs.  Devers?" I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it
from her to make sure it had been driven home.

   "Yes, it is."

   I still couldn't read her expression at all, damn the woman.

   By contrast I was doing mental handsprings.  Not that I was really
happy, but for the moment, at least, I'd blocked whatever scheme our
beloved Vice Principal (and I did love her, even at that moment) had been
trying to hatch.

   Obviously she wanted us to become a court.  Why?

   Anyway, the quickest way to bury any action was to involve TPTB.  It had
taken an act of vandalism on my part, a direct assault on their dignity, to
get the school board up off their fat butts to find the money for towels to
put under our naked asses.  This request would immobilize them for weeks,
possibly months.

   "I call the vote on the motion to initiate an inquiry into this
morning's alleged program violation," Michael put in, his thumbs as usual
busy taking the minutes.  Maybe someday we'd get caught up on our reading
of them.

   I wasn't surprised that the ayes had it and I pronounced the motion
passed.  It was time to get the train rolling down my track.

   "Mrs.  Devers, may I accompany you to retrieve Mr.  Williams?"

   I wasn't about to let her plant a worm in his ear to demand a trial.

   "I don't think...."

   "May I, please?  He might find it less intimidating." I was being
painfully polite.

   "Very well." She didn't seem too upset with the suggestion, at least. 
"His mother has been called, but she has to get off work before she can be
here.  We should wait for her."

   "That's reasonable, but we've agreed this is only for the purpose of
gathering information.  I'd rather not delay any longer.  I'm sure we all
have places we'd rather be."

   God!  I was starting to sound like a politician.  Yuck!

   Together Mrs.  Devers and I headed for the office, leaving the others to
try to figure out what was going on beneath our civil surface, those that
recognized the tension at all.

   After an afternoon contemplating his sins Wil huddled in The Chair like
a scared rabbit, so I knelt down to be on his level and put my hand on his
knee.  He was about as average as anyone could be -- brown eyes, brown hair
a little shaggy, on the slender side and not very tall.

   "Hi, Wil, I'm...."

   "I know who you are.  You're Dee Walker.  Everyone knows who you are."

   I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.  He kept trying not to look like
he was looking at me, his eyes pin-balling around the room between glances
at my bare tits and the oh-so naked and hairless pussy I'd spread before
his eyes.  I made no attempt to conceal anything.  I'm fascinated by the
effect a naked female has on the average male.  It's like I'm sucking the
brains right out of his head through his dick.

   Wil's khakis rose to the occasion, the contours leading me to suspect he
was wearing boxers rather than tighty-whities.

   "I'm not here to throw you in jail, if that's what you think," I assured
him, stepping back as I stood up so I didn't loom over him.

   I followed his nervous look at Mrs.  Devers.  "You're not?"

   I knew her gray eyes could get cold, but not that cold.  For the first
time I was seeing The Devil that our typical miscreants encountered.

   I shook my head.  "You've heard of SACNISP, the Student Advisory
Committee for the Naked in School Program?  I chair it.  We'd just like to
find out why you did what you did.  Mrs.  Devers is just here as our
advisor."

   "I already told her...."

   "We'd like to hear it for ourselves."

   "You're not gonna punish me?"

   "That's not our job." Which was true, and I saw no harm in driving that
home with Mrs.  Devers every chance I got.  "Come on, I'll introduce you to
the committee.  Do you need anything?  A drink of water, maybe?  A snack?"

   He seemed to be relaxing.  "I'm kinda hungry.  I missed lunch, I guess."


   I had at least one granola bar in my backpack, but decided I'd see how
far my chairmanship powers would take me.  "Mrs.  Devers, do you think you
could have someone rustle up something for him, and a drink?  And arrange
to have his mother brought in when she arrives?  We won't get into anything
important, just let him get to know us a bit."

   Amazingly, that immobilized her for the moment.  I wasn't deliberately
being mean to Mrs.  Devers.  I just wanted her out of the picture, at least
to begin with, in the hopes he'd loosen up among us fellow students.

   I also was in so deep now I figured it didn't make things worse to
remind her who was driving this train at the moment.  I half expected her
to pass off the requests to the secretary behind the counter, but she
didn't, putting in a call herself to the cafeteria as, leaving her behind,
I walked Wil out the door, his hand clammy in mine.

   After introducing him to the committee and getting him a chair I busied
myself with some notes while he and Walter chatted and he got to know the
rest of the crew.  Wil was shooting surreptitious looks at the various
naked people around the table, his eyes going mostly to the feminine
attributes on display.  Retta's chocolate rack got more than a fair share
of his attention, to her discomfort, but so did Heather's attractive
curves, and she was careful to be especially attentive to him.

   Mrs.  Devers showed up with a tray from the cafeteria and his mother.  I
greeted her and, after the mandatory "Wilfred, what have you done?"
exchange with her son, I tried to put her at ease.

   Wilfred?  No wonder he prefers Wil!  I told The Stick not to be mean.

   After making sure everyone knew what was going on, and my ground rules,
we went around the table, trying to encourage Wil to share what little he
knew.  To my relief Retta was cordial, barely.  Everyone else did their
best to put him at ease.  In the end, as Mrs.  Devers had told us, he was
anything but a goldmine of information.  He'd only done it because "They"
kept saying it was fun, "they" being that anonymous "all the cool kids."

   I had the feeling he was lonely and shy, still seeking a niche for
himself in the clique ridden environment of a new school.

   While this was going on I'd firmed up a possible solution that might
just satisfy Retta without humiliating Wil, if I could pull it off.  Having
wrung him dry, nicely, I turned my attention to his mother.

   "Mrs.  Williams, how do you feel about the Naked in School Program? 
Have you signed Wil up for it, or exempted him from it?"

   The question threw everyone off balance, Mrs.  Devers most of all.

   Goody!

   "Uh -- neither, I guess," she stammered.  She was still wearing her
supermarket uniform.  I recognized her from the Deli Department.  Given all
the naked flesh surrounding her and Wil, the only ones dressed, she wasn't
quite sure where to look.  "I didn't know there was an option."

   "There are always options," I ad libbed.  Mrs.  Devers's right eye
squinted just a teeny weensy bit.  She was not hostile but watching me very
closely.  If I made a misstep I knew she'd come down on me like a load of
bricks, either now or later.

   "Exemptions are rare," I admitted.  "But I'm interested in how you,
personally, feel about it.  You do know about it?"

   "I read the pamphlet, but that was last year, but it hasn't come up
since so I don't really remember the details.  Something about spending one
week in school -- uh -- naked."

   So I gave her the song and dance about becoming comfortable about our
sexuality etc.  and yada yada yada and "naked for a week" and yada yada
yada.  As her head bobbed I concluded with "I think you'll agree it's a
good thing."

   "I suppose so."

   Time to go cross-court, to throw in a tennis metaphor.  "Wil, how would
you feel about being in The Program?"

   He gulped down the last of his lunch and reached for his milk.  "Uh, you
mean Naked in School?"

   I nodded.

   "Right now?"

   "I just want to get an idea how you feel about the idea of being naked
in school," I temporized, keeping it all on a theoretical plane at some
indefinite time in the future.  "I bet you've had that dream, haven't you."


   I knew that was a dead cert.  What pubescent hasn't dreamed they were
suddenly standing in a crowded school hallway naked?

   "Uh -- I dunno.  I've -- I've dreamed about it, sometimes," he admitted
reluctantly.

   I bet he tried to hide the wet spots on his sheets, too.  "We all have,
at one time or another.  Kinda a fun dream, isn't it?"

   He blushed.  "Yeah." Then he frowned.  "But not when the guys in it
laugh at me."

   "Are you afraid they'd laugh at you?"

   "I've seen 'em do it, sometimes."

   I risked dropping the hammer.  "How about right now.  Do you think you
could take your clothes off here, right now?"

   "In front of my mom?" That scared him more than doing it in front of us.
Interesting.

   "It's not like she hasn't seen you naked before, is it?"

   "But not recently," Mrs.  Williams put in.

   "Could you do it, right now?  Look, all of us are naked." I stood up so
he'd get the full effect.

   His Adam's Apple bobbed like a yo yo.  Heather, bless her heart, stood
up, too, and Matt, and then Mike.  Eventually everyone was up, even Retta
and Mrs.  Devers; it was us, the long and the short and the tall, the male
and the female, the smooth and the hairy of us, standing around casually,
all in the altogether.

   Mrs.  Williams gaped, particularly at the masculinity.  This was
different from sitting around the conference table.  There's something
about a below-the-waist display that really gets attention.

   "It's not like you'll be the only one in the room," I pointed out.

   "Really, Wil, it's easy," Walter assured him, encouraging him to stand
up.

   Walter himself wasn't the most imposing of figures by any means, but not
many non-athletic fifteen year olds are.  He had some hair down there, but
not much, a little bit of baby fat yet, and he was enough used to nudity he
wasn't carrying wood at the moment.

   With a bashful look, Wil turned his back on his mom and started taking
off his clothes.

   I was right -- boxers.  His pecker, unaccustomed to such exposure
reacted with an excess of zeal, poking its curious head out the fly. 
Blushing furiously he extricated it and added his undies to the clothes on
the floor.  His Mom, with motherly instincts, got up and neatly gathered
and folded his discarded garments, all the while shooting furtive looks at
his equipment.

   "This will give you a better understanding of what it feels like to be
naked in school," I explained.

   "You mean...I'm...."

   I nodded.  "Assuming you agree.  Welcome to being Naked in School. 
It'll give you something to say to all those supposedly 'cool kids' about
what it is like." I turned to Mrs.  Devers.  "I believe you said Ingrid
Sorenson was available?"

   I knew Ingrid was, of course but wanted to give the vice principal the
illusion she still had some control.  What was she thinking?  Was it good,
or was I going to get my head handed to me when this was over.

   "I'll get her."

   I heaved a mental sigh of relief.  Thank you, Mrs.  Devers."

   A few minutes later, while Wil got used to the air touching him in
places he wasn't used to and we all made small talk, my favorite Vice
Principal returned with the Amazon that Wil had mistakenly attacked.

   "Wil Williams, Ingrid Sorenson.  Ingrid, this is Wil."

   He took one look at her and started looking for someplace to escape to,
but she didn't give him a chance, reaching for his hand and asking him,
"Are you all right?  I was worried sick about you.  I'm sorry, did I hurt
you?"

   "Huh?" He stood there, his jaw drooping, another part of his anatomy
doing the exact opposite.  Finally he got his mouth working again, though
I'm not sure he had sufficient blood supply to fully energize his brain. 
"N--no, you didn't hurt me, really!  Not much, anyway."

   I gave him a little nudge.  "Don't you think you owe her an apology?"

   "Oh, yeah -- uh -- I'm -- uh -- I'm the one who's sorry.  I -- uh -- you
know...."

   "Goosed me?" Ingrid asked with a smile.

   "Uh -- yeah.  I hope I didn't hurt you."

   "On the contrary," she responded in her lovely alto voice.  "Now that
we're both in the same state..."

   She was naked as he was, of course, and awesomely so.

   "...I'd like to welcome you properly to the Naked in School program."

   Letting go of his hand she reached out and gathered him into a warm
embrace, before I could warn him, or her, his hard on sliding up between
them as she did.

   Oops!

   It was a good thing she had her arms around him as his body reacted to
the unexpected stimulation.  His buttocks clenching I could tell, everyone
could tell, that gush after spurt after jet of thick pubescent come was
erupting from his pulsating cock.  The way his legs turned to rubber you'd
think he was pumping it from his toes.

   "Oh God!  Oh Gosh!" As the pulsations began to fade he tried to pull
away, his jizz like warm library paste, gluing them together.  "I'm so
sorry!!"

   Ingrid laughed -- believe me, she is not the giggly type -- and scooped
his emissions off herself with her hand, which she proceeded to lick.  "I'm
not."

   Wil looked at me for help.  His mother blushed scarlet.

   "What?  Do you want me to file a Program violation against her?" I asked
innocently.

   "NO!" He reached for his underwear to try to clean up.  "Oh gosh no!"

   Heather came up with some tissues and Ingrid used them on herself, and
on Wil.

   "Good.  Now, to make you more comfortable tomorrow I've arranged for
Ingrid to meet you at the school door to help you strip, and she'll be your
escort through the day, as her schedule permits," I explained.

   "Mrs.  Devers, would you please record Mr.  Williams as officially being
in The Program, say until weekend after next?"

   What could she do but agree?

   "Thank you.  You'll be in The Program the rest of this week," I went on
to Wil, "and all of next so you'll learn what being Naked in School really
means."

   Samantha, bless her, came up with a program pamphlet.  "This will
explain the rules -- naked for all school function, outreach, all that
stuff."

   "We'll find someone in your class to partner with you next week.  If you
have any preferences, let us know.  Being naked in school after completing
your assignment is up to you.  Okay?" I concluded.

   "But while you are in The Program try to at least look -- uhm --
reluctant, if you can," Mrs.  Devers put in, surprising me after I'd kinda
trampled all over her prerogatives with regard to partnering him up and
all.

   "Why?"

   "Because being put in the program is supposed to be punishment," she
explained.

   "It is?" Obviously from his expression, based on his brief experience he
wasn't finding it so.

   "It says so, right in the pamphlet, Section 8, Disciplinary Action,"
Samantha explained in her precise way.  "'Students may be 'drafted' into
the Program for one day on a summary basis by teachers.  School
administration may extend this out to the full week,'" she quoted from
memory.

   Wil looked confused.  "But ..  it doesn't feel like it is-- punishment,
I mean," he pointed out, still trying to clean up, even as his pecker
signaled it's readiness to go a second round.

   I laughed.  "Most of us feel the same way, but don't tell anyone. 
Otherwise people will be breaking rules all the time just so they can take
their clothes off.  Let 'em think you're suffering."

   "Yes'm."

   He couldn't help grinning, so I took him by the shoulders.  "I'm
serious. This goes for you, too, Ingrid.  We want the people who've been
doing this to see you as an example of what could happen to them, so
they'll stop.  Ingrid, you're his jailer.  Think you can do it?"

   Ingrid put on her volleyball game face and even I cringed.  If she'd
said "heel" half the people in the room would have fallen in behind her, no
leash required.  Then she smiled and it was like the sun came out again. 
"We understand.  Don't we Wil?"

   He nodded, still a bit awe-struck by her.

   With that I asked for a motion for the meeting to be adjourned.  Since
Wil had grabbed some of his clothes for cleanup he decided he'd stay naked.
His mom looked a little surprised, but didn't object.  I thanked her for
coming.  Ingrid asked him for another hug.  By the way it went they barely
managed to avoid another eruption.  After Wil and his mom had left I
thanked Ingrid, who obviously was looking forward to the whole thing.

   In the end the rest of the committee had faded away and I'd found myself
alone with Mrs.  Devers.

   "Let's go to my office," she said, gathering her things up.

   "Yes'm." I picked up my stuff.  She didn't dress, so neither did I. 
Worried as I was I still couldn't help admiring her firm bottom as I
followed her down the empty hall.  We were barefoot -- bare everything --
so there weren't even any footsteps to echo in the empty corridor. 
Somewhere far off a locker slammed, someone laughed, but otherwise it was
like a ghost town.

   Once in her office she settled herself behind her desk.  I stood humbly
before her, ready to take my medicine, while she studied me.

   "Diane Walker."

   Oh shit.  Full name.  I was in deep, deep doodoo.

   She drummed her fingers on her desk, stacked some papers, while I sat
there waiting for the ax to fall.

   "Would you like to join me in a cup of coffee?"

   "Do you think there'd be room for both of us?"

   She thought that over for about two seconds before bursting into
laughter.  I stopped to think what I'd just said, and tried unsuccessfully
to stifle my own giggles.  It was a silly joke Missy and I had shared more
times than I cared to think about.

   Mrs.  Devers laughed until tears were running down her face, and what
could I do?  Laughter is as contagious as yawning.  One of us would start
to regain control, but lose it again, so we traded it back and forth until
we were both too weak and sore to do more than snort at each other.

   "Come on, let's go to the faculty lounge," she invited after we'd both
wiped our faces and blown our noses.  "I really need a cup of coffee."

   "Uh -- I'm not allowed in there."

   "Oh, since I enforce the rules around here I think I can make an
exception for you."

   "I don't drink coffee," I alibied as she pulled me up out of the chair
I'd fallen into.

   "Are you afraid of being seen with me?  Afraid of consorting with the
Devil?"

   Of course she knew what the kids called her!

   "Oh no!  It's not that!  Anything but." Then I realized my mouth was
running away from me, and felt myself blushing.  All over.

   I started to pick up my clothes.

   "Leave 'em here for now.  Come on.  I need coffee, I'll treat you to a
soda.  We need to talk."

   "Yes'm."