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 Dee STP 15 by peregrinf

   "Should I tie you to the chair and gag you?"

   "I'll be good," I assured Mrs.  Devers.

   I knew she wasn't serious.  Much as I might have enjoyed being dommed by
her this was definitely not the time or the place.  Friday's archery
followed by a lusty weekend with Missy and Maria had cooled me down, and
I'd come to the conclusion that ripping someone's throat out was not a way
to get to know them.  As to getting closer to my enemies than I was to my
friends, I'd decided that might depend on how they smelled -- my enemies,
that is.  Over the weekend I'd confirmed that my friends smelled -- and
tasted -- just fine.

   "Do you want them all at once, or one at a time?" Mrs.  Devers was
holding out what I assumed was the list of the offenders.  "There's only
three."

   I reached for it.  "You're asking me what to do?"

   "I told you when I asked you to come in early.  Since you chair SACNISP,
and it was your bike, I think you should be in on this.  However, the
guillotine is not an option."

   "Too bad." Assuming it was guys what I imagined on the chopping block
wasn't their necks.  That image vanished when the first name on the list
turned out to be a girl.  The second was a guy I knew only by reputation.
The third name....

   I pointed.  "Leave him for last.  My bet is he conned the others into
doing his dirty work."

   She cocked an eyebrow at me.  "You know him?"

   "We have a history."

   "Should I know more?"

   "Let's just say my head was in the way of his nose, or something like
that."

   "Uh huh.  Well, ladies first, then."

   When Kayleigh came into the office I wasn't sure whether she was about
to burst into tears or start throwing punches.  Her freckles stood out
against her pallor.  A speedy little forward on the varsity basketball team
with a personality to match her red hair, she was not a troublemaker,
though I'd heard she threw wicked-sharp elbows on the court.  She was also
known for her ambidextrous dribble and the piercing whistles she used to
signal to teammates as she stormed the lane.

   I tried to smile reassuringly.  "Hi, Kayleigh."

   She nodded tensely, more concerned with Mrs.  Devers's mood.

   "What happened, Miss Roberts?" Mrs.  Devers began in her neutral formal
mode.

   Kayleigh, all five foot three of her, stood with her hands clasped in
front of her.  "Honest, I didn't know what they planned.  They stopped me
as I was leaving the gym.  They asked me to warn them when Dee left the
pool locker room.  He said they were ...."

   "That was the whistle I heard!"

   She nodded.  "I'm sorry, Dee.  I'll help pay for the repairs, even a new
bike."

   "I hope it won't come to that." I didn't even like to think of it.

   "Anyway, I think what you're doing with The Program, the escorts and
all, is great.  He said he was going to play a practical joke on someone.
He didn't say who it was or what it was."

   I was already certain who "he" was.  The "what" was no joke.

   A bit more of Mrs.  Devers's gentle questioning confirmed my suspicion.

   "Probation?" Mrs.  Devers suggested.

   I nodded.  "I'm really sorry you got sucked in, Kayleigh.  I know it
wasn't your fault.  You didn't know.  I don't think I'll need your help
with Bessie, but thanks for offering.  There is one thing you could do for
me."

   "Anything."

   "Teach me how to whistle like you do?"

   "Sure!  It's easy, all you have to do is...." Drawing a breath she
started to do something with her lips and tongue.

   My mouth watered at the sight.  She has very pretty lips, and an
enticing tongue.

   "Not right now," Mrs.  Devers stopped her.  "Take it outside, after
school, please."

   "Yes'm."

   I promised myself a lesson from her later, hoping maybe it would require
some intimate contact.

   You're such a slut!  The Stick chided me.  She's ambidextrous, not
ambi-sex-trous.

   "You're on probation for the next week, Miss Roberts.  I know you didn't
mean any harm, but practical jokes easily get out of hand.  Next time, say
'no.' I'm sorry I have to send a note to your parents, but this won't go on
your permanent record.  If they have any questions I'll be happy to meet
with them," Mrs.  Devers assured her.  "Stay out of trouble and we'll
forget the whole thing."

   Kayleigh didn't look happy, and I sympathized.  Depending on the
parents, notes home often resulted in house arrest.

   "Thank you, ma'am, and I'm really sorry about your bike, Dee."

   "Thanks.  You didn't know." I knew who was to blame, and it wasn't her,
and it wasn't the next guy.

   He was a soph, on the hulking side, not the sharpest knife in the
drawer, known for showing his strength by crushing beer cans against his
forehead.  They were usually empty but sometimes he was handed a full one.
When that happened the entertainment factor was high, whether the can was
open or not.

   "He jus' tole me that there was an old bike I could have fun stompin'. I
like stompin' stuff."

   When Mrs.  Devers asked him what sort of stuff he enjoyed "stompin'" he
started with beer cans -- preferably full ones even though it was a waste
of beer, he liked the spray -- and it got steadily uglier.  What he said
about caterpillars does not bear repeating and she cut him off when he got
to frogs.  She gave him a week of detention and a gift certificate good for
unlimited appointments with the high school counselor.

   When Mrs.  Devers sent him on his way I drew a deep breath and braced
myself.

   If I hadn't known it was Horace I'm not sure I'd have recognized him --
except for the deformed nose I'd inflicted on him back in middle school.

   What is it with you and boys' noses?  asked The Stick.  First it was a
bicycle thief, then Horace.

   I reminded her Horace's was an accident, more his own fault than mine.
And why are you here?

   Wouldn't miss it for the world.

   Horace had grown a bit but I still topped him and probably always would.
But sometime in the last year he'd had a drastic makeover.  It was the same
ferret face, but instead of his old smelly shambles he was wearing a clean
white button-down short-sleeved shirt and crisply creased black slacks. 
His hair was neatly trimmed and slicked back, his face scrubbed pink, his
shoes polished.  His former stink of sweat and tobacco smoke or whatever
else he had recently inhaled had been replaced by the faint scent of soap.

   "Hello, Horace."

   "Miss Walker," he greeted me with unexpected formality.

   "You've changed." I'd expected him to be in juvie after what he'd tried
with Missy.

   Mrs.  Devers was watching us like it was a tennis match.

   "I have seen the light," he responded.  "Jesus saves...."

   And Moses invests The Stick added rudely.  Lordy, lordy, lordy!  What
hath God wrought?

   So.  Horace had found religion, or it found him.  It must have been an
interesting encounter.  "Let me guess.  You've been born again," I
ventured.

   "You, too, can be saved, Dee!" he announced.  "Even you!  Jesus loves
you, Dee...."

   "Never mind her.  What do you have to say for yourself, Mr.  Hicks?"
Mrs. Devers asked, interrupting what threatened to become a sermon.

   "I've seen the light, Ma'am, and I've dedicated my life to doing God's
work," Horace announced with a sincerity that rattled my nerves.  I knew
that if his lips were moving the chances were high he was lying.

   "I'm here to strike fear into the fornicators, and where better to begin
than with the Whore of Babylon!  That Jezebel.  Beware of false
prophets...."

   "I beg your pardon?" Even Mrs.  Devers was stopped by that one.

   "Matthew, Chapter 7, Verse 15...."

   I swear you could hear the capital letters!

   "...  beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing,
but inwardly they are ravening wolves."

   The more he rambled on the more certain I was that he was no more born
again than I was the Pope.  This had to be a cover story, but he was in
danger of overplaying his hand.  Mrs.  Devers was no fool.  One of the
things that made her so good at her job was her ability to read people. 
But was she going to call him on it, or let him hang himself?

   "I know my Bible, Mr.  Hicks!" Mrs.  Devers tried to cut him off.

   "She is leading our generation down into the fiery pits of hell itself
with her lascivious displays and wanton conduct," he continued
relentlessly, pointing at me, his bent nose wrinkling as if he smelled
brimstone.

   While he rambled on I was examining him as if he were some kind of a bug
-- a praying mantis came to mind.  I'd read that females of that species
bite off the male's head at mating, which didn't sound like a bad idea in
his case but was totally impractical.  Mate with him?  I'd rather crawl in
bed with a scorpion.  Besides, I didn't have the teeth for decapitation.

   He reminded me of someone, but who?  It wasn't a face-to-face encounter,
just something I'd overheard in passing.  Setting that aside for the moment
I found myself thinking of Ms.  Andrews's advice about keeping your enemies
closer.  Yuck!

   On the other hand, I needed to know who else in school was in on this,
and who was behind it.  Prying that out of him might require some
sacrifices on my part.

   "I had to do something to stop her!" he concluded, finally pausing for
breath.  Apparently his only speech impediment was the need for air.

   "Are you admitting you're responsible for what happened to Miss Walker's
bicycle?" Devers asked.

   Gotcha!  The Stick exulted, even though it wasn't much of a confession.

   "I was only doing the Lord's bidding.  I am but a tool in the hands of
God!  It was a warning to her of the Lord's wrath to come if she doesn't
mend her ways.  Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone
and fire from the LORD out of heaven; and he overthrew those cities....."

   Mrs.  Devers's "ENOUGH!" wasn't really loud.  It was more of a
whip-crack, but it cut him off.

   Thank God, The Stick said, if you'll pardon the expression.

   "Genesis, Chapter 19...."

   "Yes, Mr.  Hicks, we know," Mrs.  Devers went on wearily, looking at me.
"I think we can make the case that we're looking at an offense against The
Program, don't you, Dee?"

   I nodded.  Ah me.  How was I going to handle this one?

   "What are our options?"

   I thought I already knew, but I was scrambling for a foothold.

   It is better having him inside the tent pissing out than outside it
pissing in, The Stick suggested.

   Where the hell did you come up with that one?  I asked her.

   You must have read it someplace.  I only know what you know, The Stick
responded.

   Damn!  That's what comes of not watching TV.  I read too much.  But if
this was what we were dealing with I decided I'd better put the Bible back
on my reading list.  I tried it once.  The poetry of the King James version
appealed to me, but the plot dragged a bit.  Maybe there's an abridged
version.  As for faith, I'm still working on that.  I figure I might have a
handle on it in seventy or eighty years.

   Meanwhile, Horace was taking a breath like he wanted to suck the oxygen
out of the room and I was afraid he was going to start in again.

   Before he could, Mrs.  Devers picked up a well-thumbed copy of something
more ponderous than the simple Program pamphlet given to us peons.  "Our
options range from compulsory participation in The Program to suspension,
but....  Ah, here it is, and I quote, 'Criminal acts by or upon Program
students will be dealt with by local law enforcement.' Vandalism is a
criminal act, Mr.  Hicks, but before we call the cops I'll go on.  'Note
that sex crimes by or committed upon participants will be dealt with using
the utmost severity under the new federal sentencing guidelines.'"

   That put a stopper to Horace's next tirade.  Even though assaulting
Bessie was hardly a sex crime the Missy affair certainly had been, and he
knew it.  I'd been surprised Missy's mom hadn't pressed an attempted rape
charge.  The Juvie judge must have gone easy on him, but Horace might still
be on probation or something and this might put him back in the slammer.

   Judging by his pallor he suddenly wasn't feeling so divinely protected.

   So what should I do?  Remembering our chess analogy I could probably
have him removed from the board just by pressing charges, but if I was
going to learn anything from him I needed him.

   "Let me have him for the week.  Maybe I can enlighten him."

   Mrs.  Devers eyed me warily.

   I held my hands up.  "I won't lay a finger on him.  Promise."

   How about a foot up his ass?  asked The Stick.

   I ignored her.

   "Unless he does something to deserve it," I amended, not wanting to box
myself in.

   "Very well, you're welcome to him.  I assume you want him naked in
school."

   I saw naked fear in his eyes -- or maybe that was "fear of nakedness" --
and he was holding his breath.  What a satisfying reaction.  It's funny how
some people react to the threat of exposure.  But after a few days in The
Program most adjust well.

   What if I put the shoe on the other foot.  How well would his devout
facade hold up in the face of a naked Dee.  Considering how he'd cracked
under Missy's flirtatious displays in middle school....

   "You know I don't like The Program being used as punishment," I answered
as he began to turn blue.

   She looked at me quizzically.

   "He won't be naked, I will." I was confident I could avoid being raped.
If nothing else I was about six inches taller and had muscle in places he
didn't even have.  Besides, Maria had taught me some self-defense moves.

   And if he tried I'd really have him where I wanted him.

   Horace let out a whoosh that made my ears pop.  Mrs.  Devers shook her
head with that slight smile that appeared when she knew I had some scheme
cooking.  I got up and unbuttoned the nice shirt I was wearing in honor of
this occasion.

   "May I leave my clothes here?  Oh, and would you be willing to have
someone call his home and tell them he'll be late today?"

   "How late?"

   "Well, there's the SACNISP meeting after school.  He should see that,
and then I have to visit Bessie in the hospital and see how she's coming
along.  I think she should meet him."

   Very close up.  Face to handlebars, in fact, The Stick suggested
maliciously.

   "I'll get him home by supper.  Oh, and if I can have a copy of his class
schedule, please?  I'll need to keep track of him during the day."

   Mrs.  Devers nodded.  "I can do that."

   God, I love that woman.  The stuff she lets me get away with!  My
encroaching nudity was having an effect on Horace.

   "Cover yourself you...you...TEMPTRESS!  You wanton slut!  You shameless
whore!" Horace erupted, retreating to the evangelical role he'd chosen.  Or
had someone chosen it for him?

   "Put a cork in it, Mister Hicks!"

   "I'll not be swayed by her wanton ways!"

   "Would you rather be naked instead?" I asked innocently.

   His voice trailed off to a mumble as I shed my clothes.

   "What's that you say?  Make up your mind, I'm almost done here," I asked
as I shed my shorts.  It doesn't take me long to get down to skin.  I
credit the lack of a bra and years of practice starting when my brother was
in The Program.  All I had left was panties and they were on the way down,
though I did keep my shoes on.  Horace was looking everywhere but at me and
I found that a trifle insulting.

   Finally he dramatically buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow,
trying to shoo me away with his free hand.  "Get thee behind me, Satan!  If
my eye offendeth me...."

   "Oh, climb down from your pulpit, Horace," I snorted.  "You've seen
naked girls before.  You've seen ME naked before, remember?"

   "To my everlasting shame!  I was young and foolish.  Forgive me,
Jesus...."

   "Oh stuff it.  It's plain to see you have no concept of what The Program
is really all about.  You're about to learn.  You and I are going to be
joined at the hip for the next week, and I am going to be naked the whole
time.  You're gonna get to know me, and I'm gonna get to know you, probably
better than I want to," I admitted, hoping he'd not take that as a serious
warning.  I needed to keep him offguard.  "Now come on.  Other than in
class you are with me for the duration."

   "And if...?"

   "If you try to get away I'll make the wrath of God the least of your
worries.  One of the punishments allowed under the rules of The Program is
a public spanking.  I don't approve of it, but in your case I will make an
exception.  I'm also sure Mrs.  Devers will back me if I decide to put you
naked in school and keep you that way for a month."

   I didn't miss the smirk Mrs.  Devers gave me as I dragged him out of the
office by the hand.

   "I been spanked before," he grumbled, his biblical grammar slipping. 
"It don't scare me."

   That didn't surprise me.  Who knows, maybe he enjoyed it.  The halls
were filling, and, for whatever reason, he was still doing everything he
could to avoid looking at me, so I stopped and swung him around to face me.


   "Look at me Horace," I ordered.

   He looked left, he looked right, he looked up, he looked down.  If his
head would rotate like something out of a horror movie he'd have looked
behind himself.  He was really determined to remain in character.  I wanted
to slap him.

   Instead I struck "The Pose" -- feet shoulder width apart, hands behind
my head, chest -- what chest I have -- thrust out.  My pussy was totally
exposed, bald as a baby's thanks to my most recent wax job.  I concealed
nothing.  We attracted a crowd, of course, but not because I was naked,
that was a common sight in the halls.  But here I was, Dee, the poster
child of The Program, Chairperson of SACNISP, all nearly six feet of me,
striking "The Pose" like I was a newbie to The Program, while this agent of
zealotry tried to avoid looking at me.

   It was like Horace's eyes were spring-loaded.  He'd glance at me then
look away, look at me again, look away so fast his eyeballs clicked.  He
tried looking at my face, topped by my reasonably tamed blonde mop, only to
have his eyes wander down to my -- ohmygosh!  -- naked tits, with their
stiff little nipples.  He looked at my feet -- I have big feet, by the way
-- only to have his gaze start to drift up and up and up -- ankles, shins,
knees, thighs.  I've got long legs -- until....  Whoops, look away, look
away, look away, only to look back.  At some point I expected his eyes to
roll up inside his head.

   The throng gathering around us was hushed.  I saw Missy in the front
row, enjoying his discomfort.  There was no love lost between her and
Horace.  She, of course, had known since Friday who'd attacked my bike and
she'd obviously been looking forward to seeing what I'd do to her former
assailant.

   After giving him the full-frontal treatment I deliberately turned my
back on him, spread my feet again, placing my hands on my hips.  Flexing
the tightly muscled globes of my butt I glanced over my shoulder to make
sure he was watching even as he kept trying not to.  Then, slowly, slowly,
slowly I bent forward, my back straight, the full moon rising you might
say. Reaching back I spread my cheeks to make sure he saw the star-like
pucker just above my pussy's puffy lips and maybe, just maybe, the pink
ruffles protruding every so slightly from between them.

   When I straightened up and turned around I had his full, sweating
attention.  I spread my arms.  "It's me, Horace, nothing but me.  I was
born this way.  God made me this way.  I am not ashamed.  Get used to it!"

   Then the bell rang, scattering us to our homerooms where Mrs.  Devers
got Horace's class schedule to me, and from there to classes.  I skipped
out of my first period early enough to be waiting to greet him when he
emerged from his.  When he dawdled after second period I went in and
dragged him out, towing him along in my wake while he tried to look like he
didn't know me.

   And so the morning went, him trying not to look like he was with me,
while I did everything I could to make us conjoined, repulsive as the
thought was.  I wished I had made him go naked so I could use his dick as a
leash.

   Was he hard?  Oh yeah.  His zipper was visibly strained in spite of his
pious protests.

   At lunch he was at our table, beside me, Missy as far from him as she
could get.  The regular weekly NiSers and their escorts occupied two tables
nearby, but I did everything I could to keep Horace's attention on me.  In
the afternoon I followed him into the boys' room and watched him pee,
insisted he watch me while I released my golden flood, fascinated by the
play of expressions on his face as he struggled to look away and not look
away.  I found myself wishing his head was between my thighs so he he'd get
the full sensory experience.

   And all the time I was trying not to think of poor Bessie and what might
be happening to her.  In that way Horace was a welcome distraction.

   He thought he was going to escape my clutches when the last bell rang,
but I was there to drag him off to the regular Monday SACNISP meeting.  At
the sight of the committee, already there, already naked, including Mrs. 
Devers, he tried to escape but I blocked him from behind.  After I
bulldozed him forward with my own naked body I closed the door behind us
and led him to a chair by the wall and sat him down.  He was the only
person who was dressed.

   "Please don't interrupt with one of your sermons, Horace.  Just listen.
You might learn something.  One word and you're in The Program.  Got that?"


   He nodded.  Apparently during the course of the day I'd put the fear of
God in him.

   I took my place at the table.  "As you can see we have a guest with us
today.  Horace Hicks is confused about the goals of The Program, so I hope
you'll excuse me for inviting him to see our work."

   By now he was so cowed I could only hope he'd absorb some of it.

   "He should be naked, too," Retta protested.  "Especially after what he
did to your bike."

   I saw Horace flinch.

   "That's where you and I don't agree, Retta.  I'm teaching by example
here by not using The Program as punishment.  But let's get the meeting
going."

   At that moment there was a peremptory rap on the door and a boy in
Horace uniform -- white shirt and black slacks -- pushed his way in, towing
behind him one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen.  Probably a
freshman, her body was just developing sensuous curves, her breasts
scrumptiously rounded mounds topped with sharp, dark nipples, her olive
skin was flawless, her fine pubic hair, jet black, hugged her pussy.  Her
dainty feet were in sandals, her toenails painted a joyous red, as were her
fingernails.  Her colorful silken headscarf -- scarlet and gold, the school
colors even!  -- only emphasized her nudity, framing an exquisitely exotic
face -- a dainty mouth with kissable lips, a snub nose, softly rounded
cheeks.  Her only makeup made her flashing dark eyes look large below her
smoothly shaped eyebrows.

   "I want to report a Program Violation!" our intruder announced
triumphantly, the girl trying to free her arm from his grasp.  I saw her
wince.  He shot Horace a glance and looked insufferably proud of himself.
Another member of the flock, I assumed.

   Mrs.  Devers already had her mouth open when I brought my new gavel
down, barely pulling my punch so I didn't break this one.  "Let go of her!"


   Mrs.  Devers was out of her chair.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw
Horace desperately semaphoring his apparent associate.  Whatever the
reason, our uninvited intruder let go of the girl, his fingers leaving pale
marks on her biceps, which she rubbed, glaring at him.

   Oh my, now what?  I was ready to throw the gavel at him for the way he'd
been handling the girl.

   "This...this...witch is supposed to be naked!"

   "She looks pretty naked to me," Mike Collins observed, ever the charmer
and obviously very much enjoying the vision of loveliness on the other side
of the table from him.  "I'm Mike, and you are...?"

   Still rubbing her arm she blushed, smiled shyly in spite of herself,
revealing charming dimples and very white teeth.  "Aisha."

   She was probably Arabic.  Given her faith I gave her credit, for not
trying to hide anything.

   "And who are you?" I asked her escort, if I can use that term.

   "Jeremiah Watson.  And she's not naked!  If she's Naked in School she's
supposed to be naked!  She's wearing a scarf on her head!"

   I wished this crew would make up its mind.  Did they want us naked or
not?

   "She is a Muslim, Mr.  Watson.  She has permission to wear it as her
faith requires it," Mrs.  Devers informed him, her tone cold enough to
raise goose bumps on an Eskimo.  "Just as a Jewish male is permitted a
yarmulke."

   "She's a heathen!  Not even Christian!" Jeremiah erupted as if it were
another offense.

   "Well doh!  She's Muslim, you dolt," Heather reacted.  "And she probably
classifies you as an 'infidel.' Deal with it."

   I whacked the table again.  "I suggest, Mr.  Watson, that you stop right
there, before you find yourself in The Program," I warned, earning myself a
smirk from Retta, a nod from Mrs.  Devers.  "You're out of order and here
uninvited, to say nothing of ignorant and bigoted and violating the
school's diversity guidelines.  I suggest you leave.  Now, before we change
our minds.  And don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

   Encouraged by Horace's urgent gestures, Jeremiah turned tail and fled.

   I apologized to Aisha.  "This meeting is open to you, if you care to
stay."

   She shook her head.  "I just hope he's not waiting for me out there."

   "See me tomorrow if you wish to register a complaint against him," Mrs.
Devers said as the girl turned to go.  "Matt, perhaps you could escort her
to avoid anymore unpleasantness."

   "Glad to."

   Mike was visibly disappointed.

   After a brief wave of chatter amongst us I banged the new gavel down
again, called the meeting to order, and off we went.  We actually got up to
date on the minutes.  Old business was disposed of quickly, the issues
waiting for higher-ups were still waiting, Retta's subcommittee on
discipline was still trying to hammer out a compromise, yada, yada, yada.

   Walter Miflin reported he hadn't yet found out who was behind the fanny
pinching.  I gave him a head-shake when he looked at Horace, who was
inspecting his nails or something instead of paying attention.  Heaven
forbid he might learn something useful!  Typical of him.

   I didn't want to rattle that cage.  I was pretty sure Horace had been
leading the pinchers, but asking would only result in "they deserve it!" or
more lies.  It would also put him more on guard against me digging deeper.
Besides, Heather reported we had more than enough willing volunteers and
teacher cooperation to maintain our Program Escort service, so that genie
was back in the bottle for the moment.

   There being no new business I called for a motion to adjourn and gaveled
the meeting to a close.

   As I got up to leave I was hoping I'd make some progress on finding out
who was behind our problem from Horace.  Rather than lies I wanted to catch
him off guard.  Maybe if I let him just talk he'd let something slip.  Once
again he tried to escape, but I found a pinch on his earlobe was enough to
tame him.

   "We've got an appointment with a wounded bicycle," I informed him as we
headed for the exit, him shouldering his book bag as I slung on my
backpack.

   "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

   I adjusted the straps to be comfortable on my tits.  "What for?"

   "But -- you'll be naked, outside, in public!"

   "It's legal," I reminded him as we pushed through the doors. 
"Encouraged, even, as Program Outreach."

   "But it's -- it's shameless.  Wicked!"

   Okay, so he was still playing his religious role.  I could deal with
that.

   "Shameless my ass," I retorted, my whole body enjoying the fresh air and
sunshine.  It didn't seem to matter how often or how much I did it, I loved
being naked outdoors.  "Tell me, Horace, where did you get the idea that
nudity is evil?"

   He clutched his book bag in front of himself like it was a shield. 
"From Pastor Paul, of course!  Pastor Paul says nudity encourages
wantonness.  Pastor Paul says it invites lust.  Pastor Paul says it stirs
the passions of men.  Pastor Paul says that naked women corrupt men. 
Pastor Paul says it leads men into debauchery and sin!  Pastor Paul says it
drives men to spill their seed uselessly upon the ground."

   Oh my.  What century does Pastor Paul come from?  "And just who is this
Pastor Paul?"

   "Pastor Paul is my minister.  Pastor Paul is a great man, righteous and
pure!  Pastor Paul says we must defend the faith, bring the heathen to God.
Pastor Paul says it is our duty to carry the teachings of our Lord and
Savior to the unenlightened, to return the stray lambs to the fold, to draw
the heathen to The Light."

   I wondered if Horace was going to start every sentence with "Pastor
Paul." He was trying to make it sound as if Pastor Paul walked on water. 
Obviously, Pastor Paul's preaching might be stirring up the trouble in
school through people like Horace and Jeremiah, but was it a deliberate
conspiracy or just the kids' misguided religious fervor?  And where had
they suddenly popped up from?

   As we walked to the bike shop I decided a different approach might yield
something other than another worshipful reference to the good pastor.

   Besides, listening to Horace was better than worrying about Bessie.  I
kept trying to tell myself that she was just a bike, but we've shared so
much, so many wonderful rides, and she was so badly hurt.  What if they
couldn't fix her?

   "So tell me, how'd you manage to avoid juvie and get into high school?
Last I heard the judge was ready to throw the book at you, and academically
I heard you were facing another year of middle school."

   At that time Horace's brain had been so fogged with smoke it was a
wonder it had worked at all, but now he seemed to be clean and sober.

   "Oh, Judge Fenstermacher sent me to boot camp, which I deserved.  Pastor
Paul...."

   Oh please, not him again, I thought.

   "...sent some of his disciples into the camp to work with the residents.
Thanks to the intervention of Brother Simon I was taught the error of my
ways and brought into The Light!"

   I swear, Horace's face positively glowed!  I could almost believe he
might be serious, if he hadn't tried to rape my BFF and had my bike
stomped.

   Horace kept rambling on.  "And there were classes there, too, so thanks
to Brother Simon's tutoring I got caught up.  I'm not stupid, you know.

   "That's where I met Jeremiah, at boot camp, we shared a class, when we
graduated -- that's what they called it -- he came with me.  I was paroled
into Pastor Paul's custody.

   "Thanks to Pastor Paul and his disciples there are some other guys at
Central this year, but only me and Jeremiah from boot camp.  The others
were being home-schooled, but Pastor Paul felt it would be a good time for
them to be mainstreamed, and it would give him a way to bring his message
to the high school.  If we can get permission we're going to open a Bible
studies club.  We don't believe in that evolution nonsense but the public
schools won't teach Intelligent Design.  Pastor Paul wants us to hear the
alternative."

   While I thought Intelligent Design was a bunch of nonsense that all
sounded innocent enough.  But given what Horace had done to Bessie in the
name of Pastor Paul it didn't ease my mind.

   "Where does Pastor Paul preach?  Is he with one of the regular
churches?"

   "Didn't you know?  He founded The Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer
Reformed Evangelical One True Church about five years ago."

   Oh shit!

   "Just last year they bought the old Southern Baptist church when they
moved into new quarters, fixed it all up.  They even have a low-power TV
station and radio station where you can hear his services."

   Damn, I really should have been paying more attention to that bunch of
wackos.  The last I'd seen of 'em had been at their summer Bible camp,
where we'd raced between floats in their pond, and lost because we couldn't
do our mojo bounce naked.

   "It's the fastest growing church in town," he went on.

   It also sounded to me that just maybe he'd told me what I needed to
know. What better way for Pastor Paul to recruit troops than to offer his
services as a spiritual advisor to the boot camp?  Horace would recognize
an opportunity for an early release when it dropped into his lap.  He'd be
quick to play the "born again" card.  Possibly his religious rebirth was
even sincere, though I doubted that.  Possibly everything was on the
up-an-up.  Maybe the Good Reverend was sincere about saving souls.

   Then something else occurred to me.  The last time I'd had an encounter
with Restored Temple of all that malarky they hadn't looked all that
prosperous.

   "They bought a church?  The old Baptist church, you said.  Is that the
one on Elm Street?"

   "Uh huh!"

   I was impressed.  That was an imposing pile of brick, complete with a
steeple and stained glass windows.  I bet Mom would be able to give me the
skinny on how much it cost.  Why had the Baptists moved out in the first
place?  Maybe they couldn't afford it?  And where had Pastor Paul gotten
the money?

   That was enough to keep me distracted, but every step the closer to the
bike shop made me that much more nervous.  Listening to him had been
instructive, and much better than worrying about Bessie.  Now I kept trying
to tell myself that she was just a bike and if they couldn't fix her it
wouldn't matter, but it didn't work.  Bessie and I had shared so much, so
many wonderful rides, and she was so badly hurt.  What if they couldn't fix
her?

   By the time we'd reached Wheelin' 'n' Deallin' I was in a total tizzy.
With Horace still droning on about Pastor Paul I walked in the door of the
bike shop and was stopped dead in my tracks by what I saw.