Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 6 by peregrinf

   What had I gotten myself into?  I was a14-year-old high school freshman
-- granted, I hadn't been a virgin for quite some time, but what has that
to do with anything?  -- and I was flat on my back in the near darkness of
my bedroom, looking up at handcuffs, waiting for Police Detective Maria
Sanchez to "adjust" my attitude.

   I hadn't been surprised when she'd picked the shackles up from my
bedside table.  I wasn't surprised when she latched the first cuff around
my right wrist.  I fully expected she was going to link my hands to the
head of my bed before beginning her "adjustment." I'd deliberately chosen
this shiny brass headboard for my new bed with just this sort of play in
mind.  I'd enjoyed it before, and after all, if it was good enough for Mom
and Elaine....

   But what now?  Instead of cuffing me to the frame, or even just
fastening my wrists together, Maria snapped the other cuff shut around her
own left wrist.  Then she rolled further over on top of me, trapping my
left arm under her.  Extending her left arm stretched my right one out
straight, immobilizing that appendage -- metaphorically, I was disarmed,
you might say.

   My bashful ninth-grade tits were smothered in her warm mature breasts,
her face was bare inches above mine.  I was at her mercy, drowning in her
fascinating dark eyes.  Oh, it felt so good, her warm body against mine,
her weight squishing me down into the soft mattress!  There was no way to
avoid her sensuously gentle full-lipped kiss, her warm lips pressing
against mine -- no tongue, though I'd willingly have given her access.

   She held that kiss until I was gasping, my chest heaving, my whole body
aroused.  I could breathe just fine, but oh God, I was so turned on I
ached. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, only I couldn't!  I could
barely wiggle.  When she backed off the kiss I raised my head, hungering
for more, but she kept just out of reach of my seeking lips.

   She jiggled her left arm, reminding me of our connection.  As if I
needed it.

   "Now, Chiquita, where you go, I go, where I go, you go -- together
wherever we go," she said teasingly, her breath warm on my face.

   All I could think was Ohmygosh!  My heart was rat-a-tat-tat-tatting
against my ribs.  Finally I managed to squeeze out a question.  "For how
long?  Why??!!"

   Okay.  So that's two questions.  So sue me!  I was hardly in my right
mind or I wouldn't have gotten myself in this pickle in the first place. 
Her smile was kind and serious at the same time, and I realized this was no
game.

   "For however long it takes.  You are gonna learn teamwork.  As of now, I
am your right arm, and you are my left one."

   I tried to grumble a protest, telling her I knew all about teamwork.  I
was on a swim team, after all, Captain of it, in fact, and a committee was
a team -- but another wonderfully soft kiss cut me off.

   "Yeah, you're on the swim team," she agreed, "but that's not the same
thing as basketball or soccer.  When you're in the water, you're in there
by yourself.  And you chair that committee, you're the leader.  They're
looking up to you, depending on you to tell them what to do.  It's not like
you're an equal among equals, depending on each other from moment to moment
to do the right thing without being told.  That is teamwork!"

   I hadn't thought of it that way, and realized she might be right.

   "That ain't gonna work like that between you and me, Chiquita.  This is
a whole new ballgame.  We gotta listen to each other, communicate,
sometimes even without words, cooperate, work together if we're gonna get
along, get anything done.  It'd be even better if I could cuff our ankles
together, make it a three-legged race, but I can't, and I don't think I
need to.

   "In my job survival depends on my partner, and as of now, you're my
partner.  If you're gonna be working my side of the street, Chiquita, we
gotta learn to trust each other completely.  We gotta be confident that you
got my back and I got yours.  No goin' off lone rangering it.  I gotta know
what you're doin' 'fore you do it.  You gotta know what I'm goin' t'do
'fore I do it.  We gotta get so close together we're wearing the same skin
-- so close we think alike.  Comprende?"

   She could speak perfectly unaccented English as grammatically as I did,
but she was now talking Hispanic accented street-talk and I knew she was
deadly serious.  I nodded dumbly, hypnotized, terrified at my helplessness
and lack of control.  I was also incredibly aroused by the idea of being
that close with her for however long it would be.  It was closer, even,
than I felt with Greg when he was in me.

   The thought that I might let her down terrified me.

   Shit!  My body suddenly and perversely decided to assert itself and I
felt myself blushing.  "Uh -- right now I'm about to wet the bed!"

   She gave me a soft, quick and reassuring kiss.  "Well then, unless WE
want to sleep in a puddle the rest of tonight, I guess WE had better do
something about that, wouldn't you say?"

   I nodded meekly, and she rolled off me, dragging my right arm with her,
forcing me to roll over.  I was awkwardly working out how to get pulled
together and out of bed when she got up and I almost landed on my face,
only she caught me.  Then she tripped over me, and I caught her.  The
lesson had already started, and even who went through the bathroom door
first had to be negotiated!

   At least we were already naked, but when I sat on the toilet, my right
arm rose in front of me because it was cuffed to her as she stood over me.
I felt an unexpected rush as my pee splashed in the bowl, the scent rising
from between my legs as she watched.

   But when I tried to get some toilet paper I couldn't reach it, so she
did.  When she tried one-handed to tear some off, the roll just spun,
unwinding a bunch, so working together we managed to gather a few sheets,
but she insisted on wiping my bald pussy, and she was very careful and
thorough.

   Oh gosh.

   Then she pointed out that she might as well go while we were there,
rather than get us both up in the night.  This required an awkward sort of
musical chairs with the toilet.  She used her one-handed control to dictate
my position.  I wound up kneeling on the cold tiles between her spread
feet, watching her pee from close up, the flow bursting through her bush,
leaving it streaming and dripping with me awash in the warm scent.  Then we
did the toilet paper routine again, me working clumsily with my left hand
as I wiped the fragrant golden drops clinging to her hair, drying and
fluffing it carefully.  It was a more intimate than humiliating moment and
my innards squirmed.

   As we got ready for bed, if not sleep, I began to catch on to just how
right-handed I was.  Together we brushed our teeth, bumping heads over the
sink to spit, me working slowly and awkwardly with my left hand, while she
did hers more easily with her right.  Rinsing meant sharing the cup, and
she insisted on holding it for me, and making me hold it for her.

   We agreed we were too tired to figure out a shower, so a washrag was
applied to those areas most in need, first her on me, then I on her.  She
led me unresisting back to my -- our -- bed, and we learned new ways to
make love, our free hands exploring, our chained ones working
cooperatively. When she touched my cheek with her left hand, I had no
choice, and she had to be close enough for me to touch hers with my right.
When her left fingers pinched my right tit, my right fingers pinched her
left one.  At least we could toy with each other's pussy with our free
hands.  It was fingers in cunts, thighs to crotches, legs tangling, mouths
engaged, body to body.  Somehow we both came together and I felt closer to
her than I ever had before.

   Eventually we slept, but when either of us shifted we both woke up. 
We'd grumble, negotiate a new configuration, cuddle and sleep again until
the next time.

   Saturday morning, a bit bleary-eyed, we showered -- together, of course.
I used my left hand to wash her, she washed me with her right.  While
cleanliness was the primary goal we didn't ignore the erotic opportunities
either.  As we rinsed off at the end she made me -- let me?  -- kneel at
her feet.  Wrapping my left arm around her hips, I happily buried my face
between her thighs, eager to taste her yet again through the fragrant wet
curls of her bush while she stroked my head and sighed her pleasure.

   After getting out and drying off -- another gymnastic exercise -- she
combed my hair for me, nibbling at my ear from time to time as she did, and
I did my best to help her brush her thick tresses out.  Bundling her
ponytail was a choreographic challenge, but we managed it by me standing
behind her, her left arm awkwardly twisted back over her shoulder to work
with her right hand to manage her hair while I dealt with the scrunchy we'd
had to dig out from under my bed and dust off.

   Even though Mom and Elaine did the cooking, breakfast was another
learning experience.  With the fork in my left hand I pinned down my
sausage links while she cut them with her right.  She buttered my French
toast while I held it steady.  At her insistence, I returned the favors, as
best I could, reaching left-handed across in front of myself to cut and
butter.  At one point I forgot and reached for the juice with my right hand
and her left wound up in my plate.  Instead of napkins we licked butter and
syrup off each other.

   Having been told what was going on, Mom and Elaine enjoyed our naked
antics, and all I could do was blush.

   It being Saturday breakfast clean-up was my chore -- now Maria's and my
chore -- and Mom, just to make the lesson more interesting, decreed that
the dishwasher was off limits, not even to be used as a drying rack.  Then
they just walked away, leaving Maria and me to clear the table.  Eventually
the two of us were at the sink -- thank God it was a double sink -- the
stack of dirty dishes on the counter to my left, the basin in front of me
filled with hot sudsy water.  I'd grab a dirty plate with my left hand,
submerge it in the soapy water and hold it while she washed it with her
right.  Passing it off to her, she'd transfer it to the second sink for
rinsing and stack it on the counter to the right.  I had to admit it was
just as hard on Maria as it was on me.

   It was wash and rinse, wash and rinse, our hands and arms learning to
dance together with every plate, cup, glass, knife, fork, spoon, utensil,
pot and pan.  Drying wasn't any simpler, and returning everything to its
place in drawer and cabinet was a new lesson in cooperation.  Hurrying was
a recipe for disaster.  One plate paid with its life, and sent both us down
on our knees -- careful not to cut ourselves -- to pick up the pieces. 
Fortunately it wasn't the good china.  Getting the last tiny fragments
meant broom and dustpan.  That turned into something straight out of the
three stooges.

   Note to self -- organize the kitchen so plates and glasses are in
neighboring cabinets!  Sometimes I'd unthinkingly reach with my right hand,
yanking Maria around or stretching her if I went for a high shelf.  It was
painful!  The cuffs weren't nice, soft, padded leather bondage toys, but
cold, hard steel that bruised our wrists.

   I learned -- WE learned, and learned fast!  We had the radio on, and by
the end, as we wiped down the counters and stove top, we were bumping hips
in time with the music as a way to choreograph our moves.

   She didn't even relent and unlock us when certain biological processes
ran their inevitable course.  We again had to take turns on the toilet,
doing "number two" as we used to say in grade school.  Wiping was -- well,
the less said the better, and there was nothing erotic about it, thank you
very much.  Remember girls, always wipe away from your pussy!  That meant
she tipped forward so I could lean over her to work from the back, and
likewise for me.  I may be kinky, and given the right circumstances I've
been known to play 'back there,' but this was, well, just too close to the
true function to be any kind of a turn-on, if you get my drift!

   "What now?" Maria asked after we'd managed to wash our hands -- even
that was a challenge -- then got my room tidied and the bed made.

   "I suppose a workout at the town pool is out?"

   She laughed.  "You want to show up there like this?" She lifted her left
hand, my right going up with it, of course.

   "How about a run around the neighborhood?" I challenged.

   "How we gonna dress?"

   I grinned.  "Dress?"

   "Oh oh!"

   "Relax, I run naked all the time.  The neighbors are used to it.  We're
teammates, remember?"

   "You would bring that up!" She sighed.  "I want you to know, this is
beyond my comfort level."

   "This whole lesson was your idea.  Want to call it off?" She knew I was
not serious, that I was in this all the way.

   "No way!" She rattled my right arm.

   "Ain't payback a bitch?  Come on, let's get some shoes on.  We can
manage that."

   Well yeah, but it was yet again another adventure in teamwork!  I
suppose we could have at least pulled on pants, maybe even figured a way to
fashion tops that we didn't have to slip our arms into, but somehow that
didn't seem to be in the spirit of things.  We set off, side by side, the
air touching us all over -- and I mean ALL over.  Her nipples were hard as
bullets in the still cool morning air, as were mine.

   I enjoy running nude almost as much as I enjoy skinny-dipping, and the
neighbors were already used to my displays.  Our new house being near
Greg's, he'd often join me -- clothed to keep from bruising his family
jewels -- but he was out of town again this weekend.  One retiree, Mr. 
Kelly, was always out doing something in his front yard by the time I got
to his place.  I suspect he had someone early on my route who called him so
he wouldn't miss the show.

   It took Maria and me awhile to adjust to each other's different stride
lengths and the way we pumped our arms.  Out of sympathy for her more ample
bust we also had to run smoothly to avoid jostling "the girls" as she
called them.  Because of this and our difference in height we struck a
pretty easy pace.

   We were moving smoothly in step by the time we turned the corner onto
Mr. Kelly's block, and sure enough, there he was, out watering the flowers.
Remembering how I'd usually pirouette so he got the full effect, I thought
of a way we could give him a show, at the risk of at least one of us
landing on her butt if it didn't work.  Nothing ventured nothing gained has
always been my motto.  I did clue Maria in as best I could, remembering
that this was an exercise in learning to communicate.

   Angling out into the street, where we'd have enough room, I counted down
the strides aloud to just the right moment, we clasped hands to save our
wrists and I slowed and turned, rotating to my left.  Athletic as she was,
Maria swung around as smoothly as if we'd rehearsed it.

   Mr.  Kelly almost lost his dentures at the sight of us holding hands,
orbiting each other in the middle of the street -- thank God there was no
traffic!  -- a coppery-skinned buxom Hispanic woman and a familiar, tall
skinny blonde teenager.  He wound up watering his feet instead of his
petunias.

   I waved cheerily, left-handed of course, as did Maria, right-handed,
turning it into a flamenco dance move.  Totally into the spirit of the
thing we went right on into a second orbit, then a third, me backpedaling
madly to avoid going on my ass.  With a look and a nod we came out of it,
both laughing hysterically as we regained the sidewalk, waved goodbye and
trotted on.

   "Now that was teamwork!" I exulted.

   "Indeed it was, Chiquita, I think you are catching on!  Oh shit!"

   "What?"

   "A Black and White, just turned the corner two blocks down, heading this
way.  If they see me like this I'll never hear the end of it!"

   "Talk about out of uniform!" I giggled.

   "It is not funny, Chiquita!"

   "This way!  We'll take a shortcut home." I led her down a driveway to a
backyard where we had to scramble over a fence -- a new challenge in
teamwork, linked as we were.  I mean, picture this, tall skinny me chained
at the wrist to shorter, rounder, duskier Maria trying to negotiate a
six-foot wooden fence, and we're both naked, of course!  We coulda sold
tickets!

   Somehow we managed it with only a few splinters in awkward places before
the patrol car cruised past.  Talk about teamwork!

   On the other side of the fence we were greeted by a ridiculously noisy
miniature dachshund named Schnitzel that I swear was about the size of a
roller skate, with a cock big as a rolling pin.  The yap was familiar, as
was the attitude.  He was my next-door neighbor's, and he was so oversexed
he'd try to fuck anything that moved.  Squirrels avoided him, more afraid
of getting raped than being eaten.  Size meant nothing to him.  He
attempted to mate with a Saint Bernard once.  If the bitch had sat down he
would have been road kill.  As it was, the big dog gave a lick and a kick
and Schnitzel went airborne into a hedge.

   He loved to chase me on my bike -- I mean, I was on the bike and -- oh,
you know -- his stubby little legs a blur.  The first time he did it I made
the mistake of stopping, afraid of running him over.  He mounted the foot I
had put down, wrapping his front legs around my ankle, his back end
hunching like a jackhammer.  Shaking him off was not easy, and I swear, his
dick struck sparks if it brushed the pavement.  The little horn-dog was
well hung for his size.

   "Run!"

   "From him?" Maria reached down with her right hand in a mistaken attempt
to make friends with him.

   "That's not a good idea," I warned, pulling on her, "unless you're into
giving horny dogs a hand job."

   She yanked her hand away just as he tried to initiate foreplay.  Using
our connectivity I got her headed in the right direction which, since we
were officially a team, like it or not, was the way I was going.

   "He's a sex maniac!  Keep your feet moving or you'll wind up wearing him
like a sock, and once he's attached it's worse than trying to get rid of a
burr."

   Outrunning the little runt was not a problem, and thanks to our previous
practice we managed to scramble over the fence into my backyard with only a
few more abrasions, leaving Schnitzel scrabbling at the planks in vain. 
Maybe he'd find a knothole to vent his frustration on.  Thinking alike,
like a good team should, we took a flying leap, fanny first, into the pool,
capsizing Mom and Elaine as they drifted together on their double-wide
raft.

   Maria and I high-fived with our free hands when we surfaced, only to
have Mom and Elaine express their joy at our safe return by ducking us. 
Apparently our arrival had interrupted their coitus, if you get my drift.

   "Is your life always this interesting, Chiquita?" Maria asked as we
slogged our way over to the pool steps.

   "It's rarely dull," I admitted, untying her soggy shoes as she untied
mine, and tossing them on the deck.  Sure we could have done our own
one-handed, but we'd gotten into the teamwork habit.

   After catching my two moms up on our adventures we spent the rest of the
day around and in the pool, doing penance by waiting on them hand and foot
-- lunch, snacks, beverages and dinner -- finishing up with yet another
dishwashing session.  By bedtime Maria and I had grown so close we were
practically finishing each other's sentences.  We even tried brushing each
other's teeth but it didn't work.

   Rather than offering to release me she smiled and kissed the end of my
nose, and still shackled together we tumbled into bed, cuddled and loved
and kissed, and eventually slept, surprisingly well given our connection.

   Sunday was my sleep-in day, and I probably could have resisted, but
after an appeal to my glands with kisses and touches failed she finally
resorted to brute force.  I had been blissfully unaware that my bedmate was
an early riser on Sundays.  My feet were on autopilot as she led me
downstairs, my brain desperately trying to pull itself together.  Working
as a team we somehow managed to brew up coffee for her -- which I really
didn't think she needed, she was so disgustingly cheerful -- and pour some
orange juice for me.

   "It's Sunday.  Why are we up so early?" I asked blearily, my wits slowly
congealing as my blood sugar rose.

   "Because it is Sunday.  Church!"

   Okay, that sort of woke me up.

   "Church?"

   "Si!  Church!  As in, we are going to church.  Early Mass."

   "Mass?" I squeaked.  "Mass?" I managed again after clearing my throat.

   "Every Sunday I go to Mass, unless I am on-duty.  Don't you go to church
on Sunday, Chiquita?"

   "Uh, no." I was too embarrassed to admit I didn't remember the last time
I'd been in church, any church.  "Uh, I've never been to a Catholic
church."

   "Well, today's your lucky day!"

   "I won't know what to do!"

   "Just follow my lead.  Kneel when I kneel, stand when I stand.  It's
easy, and it'll all be in English -- well, maybe a little Spanish."

   "Like this?" I indicated our naked state.  Talk about being outside my
comfort zone!

   "Legend has it that Beth Finch went to church like this."

   "Well, it's not a legend.  She did.  She even gave a reading, and a
little homily, but she's a member of her church, even taught Sunday School,
and I think she's Lutheran.  Mass?  Like in Catholic?"

   "Mass.  Roman Catholic Mass.  Like in 'Hail Mary,' -- like 'in the name
of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit,'" she responded, crossing
herself.  "You chicken, Chiquita?"

   That stung, and I shook my head.  "God knows I've been naked everywhere
else, so I guess He'd hardly be surprised to see me there, but what about
the rest of the -- what's it called?  -- congregation."

   "Oh, I think they will handle it okay.  We've had a few Program people
show up from time to time.  And Father Hernandez won't mind.  Unlike our
old Priest, he supports the program."

   "But I'm not Catholic.  I'm not anything."

   "That's okay.  We welcome visitors."

   A tug at my wrist got me moving, but not in the right direction.

   "Breakfast?" I asked.

   She shook her head.  "No breakfast.  We fast until after church, then we
have a big brunch.  We shouldn't even have had juice or coffee, but I can't
drive without I have a cup of coffee in me."

   "No breakfast?  I'll starve!"

   "Do you good.  Come on, teammate."

   Before Mom and Elaine were up it was a quick wash, teeth and hair and
out the door, my brain still grinding its gears, my stomach growling in
protest.

   At least Maria remembered to grab towels for us to sit on.

   Linked as we were, my right wrist to her left, just figuring out how to
get in her car was a challenge.  Fortunately it was a two-door, so we
tipped her seat forward for me to sort of back into the back first.  Then
she tipped the seat back to get behind the wheel, all the while trying to
avoid dislocating someone's shoulder.  When she had her lap and shoulder
belt harnessed I wound up leaning forward against the back of her seat,
reaching across her from the right so she could get her left hand on the
steering wheel.  It's a good thing I have long arms.  As it was I was
breathing on the side of her neck, and I was so hungry I was tempted to eat
her ear.  If I'd been Dracula I'd've gone for her jugular.

   It was a good half-hour drive, which gave me ample time to nibble on her
at the stoplights, just to tease her.  The church was in an older
development.  The small houses were tidy and well kept, but some showed
their age.  Marie explained how the parish, the neighborhood, and the
congregation had evolved over the years, from Italian and Irish and Polish
to, more recently, Hispanic and Oriental -- Chinese, Vietnamese, Laotian --
and who knows what all.  We parked in a lot next to a modest Bodega, a sort
of a little market, and she locked the car.

   Stand tall, The Stick told me sternly as we joined people heading toward
the stucco church, its bell tower standing well above the neighborhood's
strip-malls, small shops and used car lots, its bell tolling the call to
worship.

   Standing tall took more courage than I knew I had -- not only was I
naked but I was one of the tallest and probably the whitest person in the
crowd, my blonde hair and pale skin shining in the sun.  I couldn't help
worrying about the reception I'd get.  As it was, I got looks -- I mean I
got looks, not Maria, even though she was just as naked, and a lot
shapelier.  We were cuffed together, of course.  Maybe they thought I was
her prisoner come to seek salvation?  Presumably at least some of her
fellow parishioners knew she was a cop.

   There were a few people as pale as me, but not many, which meant I was a
member of a minority, and like I said, taller.  Being the only naked taller
one made me a minority of one within that minority.  I was, quite
literally, a barefoot pilgrim in what was, to me, a whole new world.

   It gave me an inkling of how, say, a Judy Liu or a Terrell Ford must
feel every day in my neighborhood, which tended toward the lily-white, her
being a petite Oriental, him big and black..

   It was a sobering thought.

   To my relief, at the church door we were cordially greeted by Father
Hernandez, in white robes.  He didn't bat an eye as he greeted Maria by
name.  When she introduced me his smile was welcoming, the shake he gave my
free left hand was warm and firm and comforting.  I couldn't help noticing,
though, that many of the people going around us went out of their way to
avoid brushing against me.  Did they think I might be a criminal?  Or was
it my skin?

   I was a stranger in a strange land.

   It was cool inside the modest church, the stone floor cold under my bare
feet.  As she passed it, like a lot of other people, Maria dipped her
fingers in a sort of a birdbath thing and crossed herself.  The
stained-glass side windows of saints or parables or whatever dappled the
sturdy wood pews in color.  Straight ahead, the window behind the altar was
breathtaking, glowing like fire, the morning sun shining through it, the
halo around Jesus's head brightest of all as He looked down, seemingly
right at me.  Tall candles in holders -- were they brass, or actually gold?
-- glowed on the altar.  To one side little flames flickered on small
candles in glass cups banked at the feet of a statue of a sweet-faced woman
who I assumed was the Virgin Mary.  There was a hint of incense in the air,
and soft organ music echoed richly back from the wooden rafters overhead.

   I was gawking like a tourist, my head on a swivel as I tried to take it
all in.  But I still stood tall as Maria spread our towels and slid into
place on the right, so I was seated on the aisle.  Even through my towel
the wooden pew was cold under my bare butt, and I could see heads turning,
hear the whispers.  It took everything I had to keep from crawling under
the seat, while beside me Maria knelt on a sort of cushion and prayed,
crossing herself with her free right hand as she did.  My right hand,
hanging from her left wrist, was a bewildered bystander to her ritual.  I
didn't know if I should join her on my knees or not so I just sort of
leaned forward awkwardly and tried to look worshipful or something.

   Now understand, I meant no disrespect to Maria or her faith, but all I
could think was "What have I gotten myself into now?" when the organ struck
up a stirring tune, and a small choir burst into song behind us.  Everyone
stood up for the procession of a whole bunch of people down the center
aisle, led by someone carrying what I later learned was a crucifix on a
staff.  You probably already know, of course, that a crucifix is a cross
with Christ on it, as opposed to a simple cross.  I was so ignorant it was
mortifying.

   A lot of people were crossing themselves as the procession passed, the
choir bringing up the rear, singing lustily if not always harmoniously.  I
must say, when it comes to pageantry, the Catholics do it right, even in a
small church, with colorful robes, and candles, and music!  Of course,
they've had a couple thousand years to perfect it.

   Truthfully, I was in a bit of a daze, fearful I'd do something mortally
embarrassing, like stand up when I should kneel, or vice versa. 
Fortunately my connection to Maria made it easy for me to follow her.  I
tried to listen, but it was all kind of a blur with a lot of "the Lord be
with yous" and "in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy
Spirit" and "amens" and "praise be to God"s.  For a while I was kinda out
of it, but got my focus when one guy rang some little bells and Father
Hernandez, standing behind the altar raised a golden plate and intoned

   "Take this, all of you, and eat of it: for this is my body which will be
given up for you."

   Then he put the plate down and picked up a big golden goblet as the
bells tinkled again, and he said:

   "Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my
blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant.  which will be poured out
for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins .  Do this in memory of
me."

   I got goose bumps.

   As the Priest and his helpers fiddled around up front, Maria got up and
bumped me, nudged me out into the aisle with other people.

   "I want to take communion, but when Father Hernandez offers you the Host
-- the wafer -- just shake your head and he'll pass you by.  You have to be
baptized and confirmed into the church to take communion.  The Canon, the
guy with the chalice of communion wine who comes along behind will, too,"
she told me softly as we fell into line.

   Damn!  Here I was starving and I wasn't even going to get a cracker out
of this.

   I suddenly realized how deficient my education into matters of religion
had been, and decided maybe I'd better start paying more attention to this
stuff.  Thanks to all that church-state thing we couldn't even mention
religion in school -- not that a lot of praying didn't go on during exams
anyway.

   Note to self: Find out how many churches there are in my area, and maybe
start making the rounds to get a feel for them.

   These folk didn't seem anything like that bunch at the summer camp of
the Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True
Church -- where we'd had to keep our bathing suits on during our Mojo
Bounce.  It still stung that it had been the one race we'd lost all summer.


   As I knelt at the rail beside Maria and shook my head like Maria'd told
me to do Father Hernandez didn't just pass me by, though he didn't offer me
one of the flat little crackers, either.  Instead he put his hand on my
head, and it was warm and comforting, though not at all filling.

   "Bless you, Diane Walker, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Spirit."

   I felt his thumb trace a pattern on my forehead, and I felt a chill.  He
knew my real name!  How'd he know that?  I remembered distinctly that Maria
had introduced me just as "Dee."

   I was still mulling that over, a bit stunned, when the service drew to a
close and we filed out to the strains of the organ.  By the time we reached
where Father Hernandez stood, shaking hands with people and exchanging a
few words with them, I had my wits about me.  When he took my left hand, I
met his eyes -- they were about even with mine, but I still felt like I was
looking up to him.

   "How is it you know my name?" I blurted out.

   "I've heard of your good work for The Program at Central High," he
answered calmly.  "Many people have mentioned you.  I hope you keep it up."


   I flushed, trying to digest that.  "Thank you -- uh -- Father."

   "Please, come back anytime, or if you just want to talk, Maria can tell
you how to reach me.  The Lord be with you, Diane, and with you, too Maria.
May He keep you both safe."

   "Thank you, Father."

   People were talking about me here?  We were a half-hour drive from my
home turf!

   Shit.

   I think it was right about then that I began to realize that maybe I was
becoming famous for something other than my swimming and diving.