Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 13 by peregrinf

   Today's faculty lounge has the same mismatched sofas and armchairs.  The
same former cafeteria table dominates the center of the room, more
battle-scarred than ever, surrounded by a constantly evolving variety of
seating.  The refrigerator carries the same warning it did then, a little
more yellowed and tattered with age: "Label your food with your name and
date, or else!"

   "Or else" has never been elaborated on, but the same trash can yawns
hungrily close by.  The only additions are the bins for recyclables and
returnables.

   Now, as a graduating senior with certain higher responsibilities, and a
favored relationship with the Vice Principal, I'm more accepted there (by
invitation only, of course) though not all the faculty welcomes my
intrusions.  Back then I felt like I was entering the Holy of Holies, the
inner sanctum, the Forbidden City, where teachers shared tales of tiresome
students and plotted who among us would next be tortured with a surprise
quiz.

   As she led me in I thought I heard Mrs.  Devers sharpening her ax, but
it turned out to be a notice on the bulletin board stirring in the draft
from the open door.  Before I had a chance to spot any exciting secrets to
share with my friends Mrs.  Devers handed me a soda, filled her mug from
the percolator with something that resembled tar and smelled worse. 
Ignoring the cracked leather couch, she carefully spread her towel at one
end of the fabric upholstered one and pointed me to the opposite end of it.


   "Trust me, you don't want to sit on the leather couch, even dressed, and
God knows what one of the chairs might do to you, even through your towel."


   I'd already noticed she'd deliberately propped the door open, and was
smart enough to know why she'd done it, and why she wanted me at the far
end of the sofa.

   "Yes'm."

   Clutching the condemned's last drink I waited for the sky to fall.

   She sipped her coffee and sighed appreciatively.

   Finally I risked a glance.  She didn't look angry.

   "You never cease to amaze me."

   "Ma'am?"

   "Ma'am?" she mused.  "I suppose formality is safest, Miss Walker."

   "Miss Walker?"

   "You have a crush on me."

   I desperately twisted the cap off my soda, my jaw flapping until I
wrapped my lips around the neck of the bottle.  The drink fizzed on my
tongue like cold fire, making my eyes water.

   "You think I didn't know?  I've seen the way you look at me.  Thank you.
I'm flattered."

   She sipped her coffee again while I shot glances in her direction -- her
lovely breasts, still firm, a bit more than a handful.  Her nipples were
alert, and I so wanted to suckle on them, sure she'd like the pleasure as
much as I would like giving it, to have her arms around me....  I so much
wanted to be comforted!  I was so far from being the cool, confident
committee chair it was like I was in another dimension.

   "You know, of course, that nothing can come of it."

   Even though I'd known that from the start, my heart sank to hear it from
her.  Given our recent experience with The Worm, and the delicate state of
The Program, everyone was wary of any hint of faculty/student dallying.

   Hence her propping open the door to the public hallway, hence sitting me
as far away from her as possible.

   I nodded unhappily, feeling very young and foolish for thinking she
might share my fantasy.

   "Just to be perfectly clear, there can't be even a hint of the feelings
we have for each other," she went on very seriously.

   The phrase "feelings we have for each other" set my nerves a-tingling in
spite of her cautionary message.  If she cared for me as much as I cared
for her, in the same way....

   "I'm the Vice Principal, you are a student.  I'm sure you understand."

   "I do." I felt a deep, sad feeling in my gut, forcing myself to face
reality.  I'd been on such an emotional edge all day, as hard as I tried to
prevent it an embarrassing tear trickled down my cheek.  I looked at her,
and I could see in her glistening eyes how much she wanted to cuddle and
console me, and that only made my heart break more.  I tried not to
snuffle, telling myself that maybe, just maybe, someday, when it was safe
...

   Looking away from me, she studied her coffee thoughtfully.  "Not too
many people understand the impact The Program is having, not just on the
students and schools but on their families, and the community as a whole,
on all kinds of relationships, not just sexual.  Not all of it is good, but
on balance I'd say we're all better off for it."

   I nodded, feeling young and foolish, not sure exactly what she meant,
trying to adjust to discussing this mature stuff with her.

   Not that there'd been much discussion on my part.  So far I'd said maybe
two words.

   "You really caught me by surprise today."

   "I did?"

   "You know darn well you did."

   I nodded, abashed.

   She took another swallow of coffee and made a face.  "Just as I was
reaching for the brass ring you yanked the rug right out from under me."

   "I suspected you had something up your sleeve."

   "What sleeve?" she asked whimsically, looking at her bare arms -- and
torso, surprising me, giving me even more to contemplate than our mixed
metaphors.

   Pay attention!  The Stick scolded me.  Remember why you're here.

   Why was I there?  I was waiting to get my head handed to me, wishing
she'd get to it if she was gonna do it.

   The Stick was unhelpfully silent, so I had to soldier on alone.

   "I'm sorry I told you to sit down and shut up," I said.  "I feel awful I
did that, but I sorta panicked, I guess.  "

   "I didn't take it personally.  While I hadn't said anything the 'sit
down!' was justified.  You're the chair, I was out of order."

   "I'll replace the gavel.  I hope it wasn't anything special.  And I'm
sorry I yelled at you."

   She waved her hand dismissively.  "It isn't the first time I've been
yelled at, and I've had students call me -- well, never mind.  Nor is that
the first gavel that's been broken on that table.  Maintenance probably has
a carton of them.

   "But please, the next time you have a plan of your own, tell me in
advance."

   "Would you have let me go ahead if I had?" Really, I'd had only the
vaguest idea of what I hoped to accomplish, no idea of how I'd do it.  Once
I'd broken the gavel I'd pretty much had to make it up as I went along, but
I didn't dare tell her that!

   She cocked her head ambiguously.  "I suppose that would depend on the
plan.  But we really should discuss these things before bringing them up in
an open meeting."

   "That cuts both ways," I pointed out.

   Jeeze!  What had given me the courage to say that?

   She visibly flinched, but instead of taking my head off and mounting it
on the wall she nodded.  "Touché!  You're right, of course.  It won't
happen again.  Deal?"

   "Deal." Stretching, we touched fingertips -- and it felt sooo good --
before we again retreated to our respective ends of the sofa.

   "As it turns out, your plan was far better than mine," she admitted.

   That surprised me a little.  "Just what was your plan?"

   "I expected you guys to set yourselves up as a student court which I'd
present to The Powers That Be as a fait accompli -- you know what that is?"


   "It's French.  It means an accomplished fact."

   "But you're taking German."

   "Ja.  Oui.  Si.  Maria's teaching me Spanish, too.  I just sorta pick
stuff up as I go along."

   "Figures.  You're worse than your brother.  He absorbed stuff.  You suck
it up like a sponge."

   Deciding that didn't sound like a bad thing I kept my mouth shut, though
I was always uncomfortable being compared to Carl.

   "I'm sick of writing memos that just disappear into some black hole" she
went on.  "I've wanted a student court for years, and this was my chance to
get one."

   "Did you set us up, the whole committee and everything, with just that
in mind?"

   "No, not right from the start.  We needed something to help straighten
out The Program, especially after uncovering Worthington's shenanigans. 
You suggested some sort of a court to resolve 'reasonable request'
conflicts.  Remember?"

   "Yeah, but just to make recommendations.  I didn't want to punish
anybody."

   "I understood that at the time.  But don't you think a court like that
would inevitably evolve into something more?  That's what almost happened
today."

   I acknowledged that with a nod.

   "I saw an opportunity.  When I went for it I put you on the spot.  You
were right to stop me," she admitted, surprising me.  She always sounded so
certain.

   "But because of me you don't have your student court."

   "Eventually I'll get it.  These things take time.  I hope you'll help me
-- but knowingly.  As it is, I'm glad you stopped me.  You got Wil in the
program without it sounding like it was punishment, which would have
crushed him."

   "I didn't want to crush him," I said.  "He's a good kid who did
something stupid.  He's not trying to wreck the Program."

   "I know.  But he does need to be seen as an example of what will happen
to someone who knowingly assaults a Program participant.  Retta is right
about sauce for the goose."

   "If Wil can look like he feels he's being punished for even a day it may
be enough.  It's a lie, I suppose...."

   "Call it a subterfuge," she responded, "a bluff.  Anyway, bringing
Ingrid in to seal the deal was genius.  I hadn't even thought to talk with
her, let alone get her involved.  If we'd done it my way poor Wil really
would have thought he was being punished.  Walking the halls naked and
alone his classmates would have ragged on him mercilessly.  Which would be
terrible for him, and might not have even fixed our current problem
anyway."

   "We don't know it's fixed yet.  This is only the first day."

   "But at least Wil won't suffer."

   "Anything but, I'd say!" Thinking of how Wil and Ingrid had wound up
pasted together with his ejaculate I giggled.  Mrs.  Devers laughed, to my
relief.

   Then I got serious again.  "So he's a pawn and screwing him over's just
a -- a gambit."

   "That's harsh!" she protested.

   "Sorry."

   "Don't apologize.  You're right.  The best I can say is that it was a
miscalculation.  I was expecting we'd catch one of our truly bad boys who'd
deserve what he had coming.  Poor Wil just happened to be the one we
caught. Paired with a senior like her, naked, he'll find himself with
friends he never had before, trust me.  The next step up will be losing his
virginity."

   I smiled.  "Oh, I imagine Ingrid will take care of that this weekend."

   "You didn't!"

   "When I asked her to be available for the meeting I suggested to her
that if she was willing I was sure he'd be able.  She didn't say she'd do
it, but she kind of grinned.  I got a definite vibe."

   Mrs.  Devers had laughed.  "You pimped her out!"

   "Now who's being harsh?  I prefer to think I just played cupid," I
answered primly, pretending to be offended.

   She laughed her wonderful laugh.  "And I thought I was manipulative!"

   Unsure how to take that I changed the subject.

   "Speaking of pawns, Detective Sanchez suspects someone outside the
school is using the students to stir things up in here, and so do I.  She's
doing her cop thing on that."

   I didn't tell Mrs.  Devers how close my relationship was with Maria.

   "I agree.  Keep me posted, please?"

   "I will.  Promise!"

   I even crossed my heart like the kid I still was -- maybe still am.

   "So you play chess."

   "A little," I admitted.

   Carl had taught me and to this day I miss our games.

   "What would have happened at the meeting if I hadn't sat back down?" she
asked after a moment's thought.

   "I would have walked out.  I almost did."

   "I am so thankful you didn't."

   Again I sensed the tug to embrace, like the attraction between magnets,
or gravity.  The rap on the doorframe made us both flinch.

   "Is this a private meeting, or can anyone sit in?  And do have to get
naked, too?"

   "Maria!"

   "Chiquita!"

   Mrs.  Devers reacted more maturely.  "Detective Sanchez!  Speak of the
devil."

   "Should my ears be burning?"

   I managed to clamp down on my joy at seeing my favorite detective, but I
saw the sparkle in her dark eyes, and the way she licked her full lips, and
so did Mrs.  Devers.

   Oh, those lips!  They still give me goose bumps, especially when she
applies them to certain sensitive portions of my anatomy.

   "It's only Wednesday," I pointed out.

   "So sue me, Chiquita!  You think I'm gonna let you sit on the evidence
you got for two days?  You think I trust you to go that long without
sneaking a peek at it?  I made some time to come over to remove temptation.
When you weren't home I decided to try here."

   "That hurts!  I promised, and I don't break my promises."

   She gave me a soothing pat.  "I know that.  I'm just kidding.  I got to
get it to the lab this afternoon.  My boss wants to put a rush on it.  I
called to say I was looking for you.  Don't you ever check your cell?"

   "It's in my backpack, in Mrs.  Devers' office.  So's the envelope."

   "I think we're done here." Mrs.  Devers got up and took my empty soda
bottle, which I didn't even remember drinking.

   After we went gone through the ritual of initialing the sealed envelope
and dating it as we made the exchange I asked Maria what the rush was.

   "Can't say.  Very hush-hush," she responded with a cheery wave as she
left.  "If I can I'll let you know when next I see you, Chiquita."

   That night, after dealing with my homework, thinking of Mrs.  Devers I
pulled out the chess set and set up the pieces, thinking I'd play myself.

   But instead I started thinking.

   The students were the pawns, obviously.

   I picked up the white queen and I contemplated it.

   Mrs.  Devers was queen, no two ways about that.

   Putting her back down I picked up the queenside bishop.  Her kingside
compatriot ruled the contrasting diagonals.  Obviously Matt and Heather.

   Next came the knight, the only piece who could skip over an occupied
square.  In the center of the board, in the middle of the action, he
threatens eight squares.  Almost as powerful as the queen.

   At the end of the back row was the rook, not quite as strong as the
queen, but strong.

   Maria was a rook -- strong but, as a cop, confined by rules.

   At that point my metaphor fell apart.  The real question was, who was
moving the pieces?  Mrs.  Devers on our side had been my instant answer. 
But who on the black side?  I was left hoping Maria would unlock that
secret when I saw her Friday.

   Putting the set away I went to bed, trying not to worry about day two of
the guardians escorting the NiSers.  What if the fanny pinchers somehow
counterattacked?  How would they counterattack?  I'd have to improvise as
circumstances dictated.

   My only consolation was that it was Thursday, giving me swimming
practice to look forward to.

   As it turned out the day was a challenge from the get-go, but not the
way I expected.  The NiSer's escorts, combined with the sight of Wil naked,
enduring his "punishment," may have scared the varmints back into their
holes, but before that, from the moment I locked Old Bessie to the rack I
was mobbed by all the people who want to thank me, which included those
currently in The Program, those who had already been in The Program, and
those who had yet to be in The Program.

   I did the math.  By the time a class graduates about 240 of have gone
through The Program.  With our total student population, roughly 1,000,
that pretty much meant everyone got naked in school at some point.

   Even now I wonder what smaller schools do.  At two participants per week
per class they'd run through the pool of candidates before they were
seniors.  Maybe some took a second turn.  In really small schools maybe
they just had the freshman class check their clothes at the door for the
first week to get it over with.

   But that wasn't my problem.  They did everything but carry me through
the halls on their shoulders.  In addition to being mortally embarrassing
that would have been painful, given the height of the doors and how tall I
was.  I might even have broken sprinkler heads and flooded the place.  I
kept trying to give credit where it belonged -- to all of SACNISP, to Matt
and Heather for organizing the troops, to the seniors volunteering their
time as bodyguards, but everyone seemed to think I somehow personally saved
their asses from assault.

   Shit!

   Then, when I walked in the lunchroom, my own Lunch Bunch greeted me at
the door with a standing ovation.  While half the week's NiSers, Cameron in
the lead, escorted me to our table, the lunch line let the rest of them
buck the line to get me a tray.  They did everything but spoon-feed me!  It
was embarrassing, and made it hard to eat.  At one point someone slapped me
on the back so hard I almost choked on the ravioli.

   Of course, that might have been one of the enemy hoping to knock me off.


   The Lunch Bunch wanted to hear every detail of the committee meeting,
while people at the tables around us craned their necks, their ears
flapping.

   Did I really break the gavel?

   "Yes."

   Did I save a piece of it/can we see it?

   "No."

   Did I really tell Mrs.  Devers to sit down and shut up?

   "No," I answered, half truthfully.  After all, I'd only told her to sit
down.  Since she hadn't said anything I couldn't very well have told her to
shut up.

   Did she chew me out after the meeting?

   "I had a session with her," was all I admitted to, letting them draw
their own conclusions.  I had to protect her devilish reputation, after
all, or the result would have been chaos!

   Cue the chorus, their eyes rolling like marbles in a clothes dryer:
"OOOOOOOOOOooooooooo."

   And so it went.

   But after lunch, when I wanted to know if anyone had thought to notice
if there were people who hadn't joined in on the ovation, an obvious sign
of counter-allegiance, all I got was blank stares.

   Shit.

   When Missy and I went to my locker before afternoon classes I found out,
quite definitely, that not everyone was happy with me.  The folded paper
that someone had shoved through a ventilation slot was addressed to "The
Whore of Babylon," which pretty much eliminated a secret admirer.

   I didn't bother looking around -- whoever had delivered it was long
gone. While Missy watched my back I squatted warily to pick it up,
carefully unfolding it using my fingernails on the corners.

   At least whoever it was hadn't gone the clichéd route of cutting words
out of the newspaper.  But then, newsstand publications rarely used that
vocabulary.  It was computer printing, at least 14 point bold; quite
legible, quite vulgar, and definitely threatening me with serious bodily
harm if I didn't desist.

   It went into gruesome detail, in fact -- ending with something about
strangling me with my own entrails.

   "What's that?"

   I tried to keep my hands from shaking so I could read it a second time,
silently, to myself, rather than worry her.

   Then, refolding it, grateful she didn't push, I asked her if she had one
of the bags she always carried in case of an emergency -- in her case said
emergency was usually a leftover sweet roll or brownie on someone's tray,
perhaps a few chips.  She was always dieting but didn't count them.

   "What's that all about?" she asked as I carefully tucked the evidence
away.

   "The Program.  Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

   "But....  Are you okay?"

   "I'll live," I answered, adding a mental "I hope."

   She could tell I wasn't okay, but didn't pry.  I felt bad.  My best
friend, and I couldn't share?  But I didn't want her worrying, or blabbing
it about.  Unsure what to do about it I spent the rest of the afternoon
feeling like I had a target on my back, though the entourage I'd gathered
made an attempt on my life unlikely.

   I remember now, though it was silly, that I was really glad to be fully
dressed for a change.  Like a shirt and shorts constituted body armor?

   Swimming practice had been a welcome distraction, a chance to forget the
whole fucking thing trying to keep up with Greg in the neighboring lane,
while showering together afterwards always resulted in a joyous fuck.

   That day Coach had run wind sprints on us until half the team was puking
in the gutters and I was prostrate.  Greg, savior that he was, revived me
with enough mouth to mouth to get me to the showers, where we combined more
mouth to mouth with chest compressions -- well, breast compressions.  That
led to mutual mouth to groin stimulation to encourage blood flow in those
vital areas.  Much restored we finished off with a thorough cock-in-cunt
stroking while the team cheered us on.

   I tell you, there's nothing like that old team spirit to improve an
orgasm.

   We were tenderly washing away the evidence of our debauchery when his
sister popped her head in the shower door.  I noticed her dual ponytails
were metallic orange this time and wondered whether she'd run out of colors
by the time she reached high school.  Visibly disappointed that she'd
missed our copulation she reminded him that the two of them had dentist
appointments and that his mom was waiting.

   There went our plans for a ride home together, with intentions for
another romantic interlude at my house -- or should that be erotic?

   No matter.  Bereft but reasonably sated I dressed and headed to where
Bessie waited patiently to carry me home, having totally forgotten the
threat I'd gotten.

   That was when I found out how ruthless the people I was facing could be.


   Maria found me sitting on the ground by the bike rack, cradling Old
Bessie's remains in my arms, my tank of tears almost wrung dry.  I didn't
know how long I'd been there, or how she found me or who called her.  I
only heard her talking into her cell phone, and it didn't seem to make any
sense.

   "I got her.  She's okay, physically at least."

   ...

   "I gotta go."

   ...

   "No.  I gotta go now!  I got her, I tell you."

   ...

   "She's okay!  I'll bring her home, but it'll be a little while.  We
gotta stop by Wheelin' 'n' Dealin' on the way."

   ...

   "Why?  Because the ...  the bastards took it out on her bike!"