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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Dana and Dana Naked in School (4/7) (ff mf mmf mg fg, exhib, voy,   NIS, naked, cussing, sexuality issues)
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Date: Sat, 28 Jan 2006 15:10:14 -0500
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Repost with corrections and to fix formatting.

P. Random

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<1st attachment, "DanasNIS-4.txt" begin>


Dana and Dana Naked in School
(ff mf mmf mg fg, exhib, voy, NIS, naked, cussing, sexuality issues)
by pseudoRandom

4. Wednesday

Dana Partlow

The next morning, I waited in the middle of the crowd of the school for 
Madison to finish.  Dana wasn't there yet, which was a shame, I told 
myself, because he'd've loved Madison's show -- she was doing it as a full 
tease.  Complete with audience appreciation.  Heck, even my body was 
appreciating it.  Madison may be a stuck-up cheerleader, but she is, as 
Dana put it, a stone fox.  One I could've watched with him with no guilt 
whatsoever.  Except, of course, he wasn't here.

	I was determined to forgive Dana for everything that didn't happen 
last night with him and Jeanette, and forget it all, and move forward.

	Guilty much?

	That would be a Yes.

	Just as Madison wriggled out of her panties -- as in wriggling her 
ass at the audience -- Dana slipped through the crowd to stand with me.  
"Sorry," he whispered, "running late."  As usual.

	He took my hand without asking.  Which was okay -- it was what I 
wanted.  I wanted to go next, as soon as Madison folded her clothes.  I 
glanced at him, and then looked again.  He looked tired.  If had been 
anyone else, I would have accused him of burning the candle at both ends, 
but that's how he lived, it seemed.  But he definitely needed sleep.

	A small part of me hoped it was sleeplessness over Jeanette, but I 
ruthlessly suppressed that thought.  That was behind me.

	"You okay?" I asked him.

	"That's my line," he said.

	"Stop sidestepping," I told him, emphasizing it with a tug on his 
hand.

	"I'm fine," he said.  "Just a little off."

	I looked forward again, as Madison pranced over to a box.  "I'm 
going next," I said through the applause.

	"Want me to do it with you?" he said promptly.

	And you know, that would help a lot.  "Sure."

	He pushed through the crowd, pulling me after him.  He bounded 
into the free circle even before Madison had left the stage.

	"And for our next per-for-mance," he called out like an MC, "it's 
-- "

	"The stupid guy!" someone called out.

	He pointed into the crowd.  "No, you're not in the Program, 
Ricardo."

	Which got a laugh.  "Unfortunately, you are!" someone else said.

	"Yeah, unfortunate for you -- you have to look at me all day."

	"And listen to these stupid jokes!" a girl called out.

	And someone else, "Very stupid."  "Don't quit your day job!"  
"You belong on American Idol, just so we can vote you down!"  And so on.  
And Dana lapped it up.  All the attention he could want.

	Through all this, I calmly undressed.  Centered.  Unhurried.  
Just, undressing.  As if this had been for gym or at the pool or 
something.  Just something I was doing.

	Spike, who'd been off to on Dana's side, moved around in front 
with her camera.  She was already nude.  I acknowledged her by meeting her 
eyes, but otherwise ignored her as well.  Which she seemed to understand, 
even as she continued taking pictures.

	Right as I was just about done, Dana cut through the cat-calls.  
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for -- "

	"You're being voted off the island?"

	" -- today's entrant in the World Speed Stripping Championships -- 
DANA SMIIIIIITH!"

	I don't know how he did it, but somehow his clothes were off in 
like two seconds.  Maybe two and a half.  Even before the shorts had 
landed in a box, he'd spread his arms.

	"Ta da!"

	And everyone applauded.

	He lapped it up.  He even started twitching his hips, making his 
erection bounce around.  I didn't look at that, but put my clothes in the 
box.

	"Oh yeah," Dana said to Jake, in the front row, "you know you want 
it."

	To which Jake made a disgusted sound.

	"Stop teasing us," Phil said, to one side.  He was still waiting 
to undress, standing next to another gay boy -- I think his boyfriend.

	"Yeah," the red-headed Program boy said, "stop showing off -- "

	" -- what we can't have," his twin sister finished.

	The boy was openly stroking his erection and she was fingering 
herself -- Pat and Patty, that was their names.  If they hadn't been in 
the Program, that would have gotten them several days' suspension for 
obscenity.  Now, Ms Angeles smiled on them indulgently, and Principal 
Jackson looked away, scanning the crowd.

	"You just keep talking, sugar," Dana lisped at them, and minced 
off, erection waving around.  I followed him.

	As we waited for Phil to undress and the bell ring to let us in, I 
didn't look at Angeles or Jackson.  If anything, I was feeling more 
hostile to the Program than I had been at the start, for all I was coping 
with it better.

	Bitter much?

	That would be an Oh Yeah.

*

Dana Smith

When the bell rang, I asked Dana, "See you before English?"

	She looked a little grim, but nodded.  I thought of walking her to 
her locker, but she said, "I can make it."

	Which is when Spike slapped a manila envelope into my chest.  I 
caught it and waved goodbye to Dana.  She hesitated, and walked through 
the doors.

	"Have fun," Spike said, and passed inside.  I followed her, 
undoing the clasp.  Inside were photos of Madison, naked.  The ones I'd 
emailed her about last night.

	I stepped to one side, out of the stream of traffic, to look 
through them.  A half-dozen candid sexy poses, plus two of her having sex 
and one in screaming orgasm while a boy gave her head.  Which last was 
really sexy -- Madison blissed out on sex is erotic as hell.  I grinned.  
My locker decorations were about to get a lot more interesting.  And I was 
going to need relief in bio.

	As I slid the prints back inside, someone grabbed my erect cock.  
Pat, grinning like a weasel.

	"You're supposed to ask," I said, as I grabbed his cock and 
started pumping.

	Patty caught my other arm, the one holding the envelope, and tried 
to hump herself on my hand -- but I wouldn't let the photos go.  "No 
fair," she pouted, and wrapped herself around me and humped my naked leg 
instead.  Me, I looked into Pat's blue eyes.

	Now, I'd heard stories about how the twins liked to share 
everything, even their dates -- that they liked to screw together, both 
the same boy or girl.  It looked like the stories were true.  I was 
feeling frisky, just from Madison porn -- not to mention Pat and Patty's 
masturbating to my show -- as well as all the naked bodies, even Dana's.  
But most of all, the admiring gleam in Sylvie's eyes as she'd watched me 
undress in the crowd.  I let the twins push me into the girl's bathroom.

	We all put our backpacks down, with my photos under mine.  And 
then frantically resumed our positions, this time with my hand in Patty's 
pussy -- her legs spread, lips puffy and sopping wet, and my fingers 
slipped inside as I started to finger-fuck her.  She clutched my shoulder, 
her body pressed to my side, humping and moaning those high little sighs 
of hers, but I didn't watch her -- I was still looking in Pat's eyes.  
And then I was kissing him.

	It'd been a month since I'd had sex with a boy.  It's hard enough 
finding any girls willing to put up with me long enough to have sex -- 
finding discreet boys is harder.  We jacked each other off, still kissing, 
our spunk splattering on the tile bathroom floor.

	"Oh yeah squirt that juice," Patty squeaked, as she shuddered in 
orgasm.

	"I wanna blow you," Pat said.

	"Not till I fuck him first," Patty told him.  "He's still hard 
enough."  Talking over me as if I wasn't there.  As if I was a sex toy.

	Time to assert myself over these underclassmen.  "No," I told Pat, 
"I'm blowing you."

	We did both.  Patty bent over, clutching a sink, while I entered 
her from behind -- a little awkward, given she was shorter than me -- and 
leaned over her back to one side to take Pat in my mouth.  "Come on, fuck 
me," Patty breathed as I slid into her, "aw fuck yeah."

	It was awkward and raunchy and erotic as hell.  It was easier once 
Patty wrapped one arm around her brother.  Patty came twice, whimpering 
dirty all the while.  Then Pat came in my mouth.  The taste of his seed 
set me going, and I fucked his sister without thinking of her orgasms, 
ramming into her till I came.

	I rested on her rounded back, arm wrapped round her body, panting.

	"Aw yeah, that's a good fuck," she said, straightening up.  She 
diddled herself with one hand while giving her brother a high five.

	The bell rang -- the end of homeroom.  Well, crap.

	For all my talk about post-sex hormones, what I felt now was kinda 
sordid.  I'd just had gay sex in a public bathroom, like some guy from the 
1970s, with a pair of siblings -- just one step away from incest, that 
felt like.  Indirect incest, maybe -- I couldn't think of a good way to 
describe it.

	I washed my cock off at a sink and dried it with paper towels -- 
and Patty washed herself as well.  Then we shouldered our packs (I put my 
photos inside) and headed to biology together.

	When Alcott offered us relief, neither Pat nor I took it -- but 
Patty and Colleen both did.  More, Patty announced, "I want help from a 
girl."  She got it, too, from Dolores.  I swallowed hard -- the girl was 
about to go down on a creampie filled with my cream -- but no, Dolores 
used her hands.

	Shit.  There was no kinda about the sordid I felt.  I didn't look 
at Pat or Patty for the rest of class.

*

Partlow

I turned down two requests to feel my pussy on the way to English -- 
politely.  And both the boy and the girl accepted this, politely.  The boy 
then asked to touch my breasts, which I let him.  Dana came up as he did 
so -- for once, he was complete flaccid.

	"Hola, Julio," he said to the boy.

	"Hey, hola, my man."  The boy left off feeling me to clasp hands 
with Dana.  "Wassup?"

	Dana winked at me.  Which made up for his not greeting me first.  
After a few seconds of banter, the bell rang, giving us our excuse to bug 
out for class.

	Dana gave a little whuffling sigh as we walked away.  He looked 
even more tired than before school.

	"You okay?"

	"Long nights and longer days are starting to catch up with me."

	"What kept you up last night?" I said before I could stop myself.  
It wasn't like he was going to admit to anything with Jeanette.

	"Homework," he said disgustedly.  "Took me forever to finish this 
reading for English."

	"Big phallic whales are not your thing?" I said with a smile.  We 
were reading MOBY DICK.

	"No," he said simply, and opened the classroom door for me.

	Ms Emerson was naked again -- though this time, her waist chain 
hung lower, looping just above her strip of pubic hair.  Which emphasized 
her nakedness all the more.  Her hair was done in two thick braids, which 
was an even better look on her than the ponytail.

	I gritted my teeth.  I did NOT want to have a crush on my teacher.  
And I wouldn't be having one now, if it hadn't been for the Program.  The 
Program was totally messing up my emotions.  And my love life.  My whole 
life.

	"Dana, Dana -- do you want relief?"

	Dana shook his head as he took his seat.  So did I.

	"Very well then.  Let's get started."

	Dana looked at me for a second.  Then he leaned over and 
whispered.  "You can, you know."

	No, I couldn't.  Even if I'd been crazy with hormones, I couldn't.  
Not and still be me.  But what I said was, "I really don't want to."

	Which he accepted.

	English class ground slowly that day.  Truth was, I wasn't feeling 
very charitable towards Melville myself, but it didn't help that some of 
the other students said some really boneheaded things about symbolism.  
Especially sexual symbolism, said with a sniggering look at Dana.  The 
Dick in the whale's name has nothing sexual about it -- it's short for 
Richard.  But try to explain that to kids primed by a teacher's constant 
warning to look for symbols everywhere.

	When the bell rang, I gave Dana a grim smile and left for Drama.  
I used the excuse that I had to go all the way across to the Whitman wing 
to turn down all requests, even the routine so-called reasonable ones.  
Which meant I reached class before the bell for once.

	Mrs. Clemens graciously asked me before class started if I wanted 
relief -- I declined, but then she asked me something odd.

	"I was wondering, if you don't mind a personal question, whether 
the Program has been opening you out?"

	I blinked at her.  "How do you mean?"

	"More open in your emotions.  Emotions are very important in 
acting.  They are how you communicate with the audience."

	The bell rang.  When it was finished, I said, "I can't tell -- 
it's too damn stressful."  Which was yes, cussing at a teacher, but I 
didn't care.

	"Ah," Clemens said.  "One other thing -- would you be willing to 
take advantage of your already naked state to play a part?"

	Since teachers are supposed to work Program participation into 
their curricula, I couldn't very well say no.  Besides, if it meant 
playing a scene, that would be a way to step out of myself and into a 
role.

	It did.  I got to play a woman caught by her husband in bed with 
his best friend.  I liked how it was written -- instead of defending 
herself, Lousia accused him of neglecting her.  I played her not repentant 
in the slightest.  Angry.  This caught kids' attention -- in discussion, 
several remarked on how good I was at pretending.

	Pretending, nothing.  Louisa was angry at being exposed by her 
husband, just as I was at the Program.

	We did the scene a second time, this time with Clemens directing 
the two boys how to react off my anger.  That was even more fun, 
especially when my "husband" said accusatory things in a scared way.

	Then she has us do it again, this time with me cringing and 
repentant.  That was a lot harder.  I thought of how Liz wanted me to be.  
Which only made me angry again, but it was a fearful anger.  Apparently it 
worked.

	At the end of class, Mrs. Clemens told me, "I think the answer is 
Yes."  It took me halfway to my locker to realize, when someone asked me 
to pose with my legs spread, that she meant the question about opening 
out.

	The thought disturbed me.

*

Smith

Because I spilled a pot of grease, I had to stay late in shop helping 
clean it up.  Stupid and clumsy of me, especially since it kept me from 
catching up with Dana before lunch.  When I finally got to the cafeteria, 
she and Spike were alone at a small table against the far wall.  There was 
one free chair.

	"Where's Phil?"

	Spike jerked her head behind her.  "Off having some fun with some 
boyfriends."

	I thought a moment.  "Took them long enough to take advantage of 
him."

	Dana growled.

	"Trust me," I said as I sat down -- on the cold seat, damn my 
forgetful hide -- stupid towels should be tethered to us, "Phil likes 
being toyed with."

	Spike snorted.  "A natural bottom, that boy."

	"Were you taking pictures?"

	"Why do you think I left?"

	Dana looked at me and quickly swallowed her bite of sandwich.  
"Aren't you going to get lunch?"

	I looked over at the dwindling cafeteria line.  "Oh, right.  Be 
right back."  I got up.

	When I returned with a particularly unappetizing tray of mystery 
du jour in red sauce, Dana was looking through pictures on Spike's camera 
while they talked about them.

	"It'll be some sort of documentary project," Spike said.  "I know 
that much.  Not art.  Haven't figured out what form, though."

	I nodded.  "You probably won't till it's over."  She's the sort 
who finds her subjects and forms -- it goes with the photography.

	"Probably."

	"What I find fascinating," Dana said, "is just how much of the 
Program you're seeing -- even more than Angeles, I bet."

	"All the good parts and the sordid bits we all try to hide from 
adults," Spike said.  "The lens exposes it all."

	"What are the best and worst parts?" I asked her.  "As you see 
them."

	"Well the best is exactly what the Program advertises.  The most 
sexual among us are even more open about it, like Madison or Jake, while 
some of the more closed off are blooming into sexuality, like Sylvie and 
me."

	I managed not to smile at the thought of Sylvie.  Or to pry into 
what Spike had been up to.

	She went on, "And also, it HAS helped us, all of us, get more 
comfortable with our bodies.  Even Dana here no longer goes into a panic 
attack at the thought of undressing."

	Dana let out a breath.  "That's true.  I just grit my teeth and 
get it over with."

	"Exactly.  And you know, it feels good to have people admiring 
your body.  Yes, they're objectifying you -- and as a photographer, I know 
all about THAT -- but it's still YOU they're getting horny over."

	"Even while you're forced to let them paw you," Dana said.

	"But only going so far," I reminded her.

	"Yeah, I know," Dana said.  "For which I still thank you."

	"What about the worst?" I asked Spike.

	"What disturbs me the most," she said, "is not the nonconsensual 
aspects, with all due respect to Dana here, but the age range.  I mean, 
Jake's 18 -- a legal adult, for Christ's sake."

	"He is?" Dana asked, surprised.

	"He was held back a grade in middle school," I told her.

	Spike nodded.  "While Sylvie's twelve -- I can't decide whether to 
keep my photos of her and risk the child porn charges."

	Suddenly I was no longer hungry.  "She's twelve?"

	"She skipped second grade, she said."

	"Oh."  I'd known she was young, but I'd thought it'd just been 
developmental.  She was Ginny's age.  I did not like the feeling that 
thought gave me.

	"And here under the Program, Jake could screw her legally -- which 
is just creepy."

	Which hit me like a fist in the stomach.  I mean, I'm 16, just two 
years younger than Jake.

	Dana gave me a look, so I quickly said, "Look, if it's legal for 
us to look at her naked, how can it be illegal to have pictures of her 
naked?"

	"Yeah, that's what I think," Spike said, "but the laws don't 
exactly agree on the matter.  Church is looking into it, but for now, I'm 
leaving all pics of her digital.  So I can delete 'em quickly."  Mr. 
Church is the photography teacher.

	"You should print them," Dana said, which surprised me.  "And not 
just because she's darned cute in them -- you need emphasize the dubious 
legality in your project.  Point up the problems with the Program."

	Spike looked at her shrewdly.  "Cute, eh?  Isn't she a little 
young for you?"

	Another punch in the gut.

	Dana shrugged.  "Now, yeah -- " (another hit) " -- but my first 
girlfriend was twelve.  JUST twelve."

	She and Jeanette'd told me last night they first started sleeping 
together a week after Dana's birthday and two weeks after Jeanette's -- at 
Dana's instigation, but Jeanette had been ready to seduced her anyway.  
The reminder didn't help, not after that one-two punch.

	"And that's relevant -- how?" Spike asked.

	"I'm saying that the Program's stated goal is to sexualize us -- 
and kids that age are sexual.  Some of them."

	"Yes, but is Sylvie?"

	"Yeah," I said before I'd thought about it -- my big mouth getting 
me in trouble again.  Before Dana could pin me with those sharp eyes of 
hers, I explained, "She's in orchestra with me -- she's enjoying the 
Program a lot."

	After a shrewd glance at me, Dana said, "Which is was exactly your 
point earlier -- it opens up our sexuality.  Never mind the legal age.  
Maybe it's set too high -- for her.  For others, maybe it's too low.  But 
there's nothing magical about turning 13."

	Spike looked ready to argue that, but the bell rang, ending lunch.

	As I put my tray away, plate only half-empty, Dana looked at it 
and asked, "Is it that bad today?"

	Meaning the food.  I nodded, but I also meant other things.

	All the way to orchestra, I worried about Sylvie, and what I'd 
done.  Yes, she'd asked for it.  Hell, she'd seduced me.  But it still 
felt like I'd taken advantage of her.

	I didn't stop for anyone in the hall, and arrived before the bell.  
Sylvie was already there herself.  Her face lit up when she saw me.  I 
swallowed.  But I had to apologize.  I walked over to her desk and 
squatted next to her.

	Before I could speak, though, she pulled me close by the arm and 
whispered.  "I just wanted to thank you again for yesterday.  It meant so 
much to me.  I've -- it's -- I've already done it once today.  He wasn't 
near as good as you, but it was still fun."

	Which pretty much took the wind out of the sails of my apology.

	"And I want to thank you publicly," she said with an eager grin.

	"How?" I said warily.

	"With a blowjob -- one that will show everyone how good I am."  
Sylvie all but licked her lips at the thought.

	I knew that look she had -- it was the look Ginny would have if 
she ever seduced someone she wanted.  A very young, very self-satisfied 
look.  And Sylvie was the same age as my semistepsister.  A thought that 
almost made me queasy --and definitely not in the mood for relief.  
Fortunately, I had a good counter.

	"No, you want me to give YOU relief.  That'll show off your pussy 
as available -- a much better thing, don't you think?"

	As I said this, I reached between her legs and slid my fingers 
along her lips.  She was wet -- very wet.  And very turned on -- she bit 
her lip with a whimper as the bell rang.  Yes, shameless of me, but I was 
desperate.  If she tried to blow me right now, it would NOT have been a 
good advertisement of her oral prowess.  Quite the reverse.

	Mr. Thoreau called out, "Mr. Smith?  Miss Peretski?  Do either of 
you need relief?"

	I stood and took her hand.  "Sylvie does," I said as I led her 
unresisting down to the chair in front.  She eagerly sat down and spread 
her legs for me.

	I knew I should feel guilty about doing this to her, and that 
later I probably would, but at that moment, all I cared about was how 
sweet she tasted.  If anything, better than yesterday.  If she'd had sex 
earlier, as she claimed, she'd washed herself out very well.  I licked up 
and down her pink lips, savoring it, then dove in.

	Ideally, of course, you don't want to immediately go all out, 
giving a girl head, if you're trying to give her full pleasure -- you want 
to work her up.  But that's when you have time -- I had five minutes.  
And I wanted to give everyone a full show.  I attacked her with mouth and 
hands -- nubbin, slit, channel, and that pretty pink anus.  All of them 
got her going, but the latter really set her off.  I had a feeling she'd 
enjoy anal sex more than I do.

	She was already worked up enough that within a minute, she made 
that little shudder and hiccup of orgasm -- and she grabbed my head and 
ground herself on my face.  Again, her juices ran even sweeter afterwards.  
Soon she came again.  And again.  A second finger up her anus really set 
her off.  By the time Mr. Thoreau (reluctantly) called time, she was 
coming every couple seconds.  Just as reluctantly, I disengaged.

	I stood and faced the class, hands raised.  "And remember ladies," 
I said, twiddling all ten fingers at them, "woodwinds make the best 
lovers."

	Which got me an ovation.

	I mentally kicked myself as soon as I said it -- I'd stolen 
Sylvie's show and turned it into an advertisement for me.  Sometimes, I 
can be a real jerk.  One of the many problems of speaking before thinking.

	Sylvie was pretty wobbly as I helped her back to her desk.  Then I 
cleaned up with a new spare towel and got my oboe.

	I'm afraid Sylvie played pretty badly that day -- sometimes relief 
takes your attention away from class instead of getting you focused like 
it's supposed to.  I also played badly, because it was my fault.  As was 
taking advantage of her.  When I was done giving her head, I was nearly 
ready for some relief myself.  After a whole period of obsessing over what 
I'd done -- and then kicking myself some more for playing badly -- I was 
no longer in the mood at all.

	I had many clues that day.  That should have been the big one.  
But I, as usual, didn't pay attention.

*

Partlow

When Dana met me in the hall on the way to French, he was starting to look 
pretty bad.  His penis wasn't at all Happy, either.  And it couldn't be 
just tiredness.  He was almost grey around the edges.

	"Seriously, are you all right?" I said.  I reached out to feel his 
forehead, even though this disrupted a reasonable request -- a girl 
feeling my breasts, comparing them to her own.

	He pushed my hand away, but not before I could tell he didn't have 
a fever.  "I'm fine," he said, though he sounded almost like a petulant 
child.

	Uh huh.  But then the bell rang.  I shrugged apologetically to the 
girl, took Dana's hand, and hurried to class.

	Madison pounced on him as soon as we got in the door.  "Ah ha!" 
she said.  Then the most comical look of dismay crossed her face as she 
slowly looked down at the limp dick she held.  "Whaaa?"

	"Sorry," he said.  "I really don't need relief right now."

	"But -- !"

	I knew Dana was crushing on Madison.  I also knew that just 
thinking about anything remotely sexual was enough to get him hard.  He 
was SO not well.  But first, he needed my help.

	I patted Madison's arm.  "You'll just have to ask someone else for 
relief today."

	"But I want Dana," she said, almost as petulantly as Dana had a 
minute ago.

	"Why not find out if anyone else is as good at oral sex as he is?"

	"I already KNOW that," she said with a disdainful flip of her 
strawberry blonde hair.

	"What, you've tried everyone in this room?"

	"No ... "  She looked at me with growing glee.  "Not everyone.  
You're a lezzie, right?  You're probably pretty good."

	Which caught me so off-guard I didn't know what to say.  I looked 
to Dana.  He blinked, then flipped up a hand -- it was my call.

	"If you are done conferring," Madame Toussaint said to us, 
"perhaps we could start class soon?"

	"I need relief -- from Dana," Madison said, grabbing my hand.

	Between the wanting to save Dana, and the pressure from Toussaint, 
and the fact that even though Madison was NOT my crush I was still 
attracted to her and even a little curious to find out what she was like, 
I agreed.

	"You've already used one minute with your gibber-jabber," Madame 
told us as I shrugged out of my backpack.

	Madison wanted to argue that, but knew it'd mean more lost time.  
She hopped on the edge of Madame's desk again, and I knelt between her 
legs.

	For the record, I've always found pubic strips a bit odd.  
Trimmed, yes -- but shaped to a strip?  Though it's not like Madison had a 
choice, given the cut of a cheerleading uniform.  At least she was freshly 
shaved or waxed, or something -- no stubble.  The smoothness felt nice, 
actually.

	Her taste was ... not so good.  It took me a while, but I finally 
guessed it was semen.  It shouldn't have surprised me, given who she was.  
But I don't like its taste, any more than I like penises.  Because of 
this, I didn't give her very good head, I'm afraid.

*

Smith

I admit it: I felt smug that I'd lifted Madison onto her platform orgasm 
in a minute while it took Dana, a professional muff-diver as it were, over 
three minutes.  Madison did her bucking and wailing for less than thirty 
seconds before Dominatrix Toussaint called time.  Petty of me, I know, but 
I'm not a good person.  And I knew it.

*

Partlow

I really tried to pull out when Madame stopped us, but Madison's legs were 
clamped around my head so hard I couldn't move.  "Come, come!" Toussaint 
cried, and tried to shove me away.  I raised my hands to show that it 
wasn't me.

	Madison started cussing in French, showing she'd absorbed 
yesterday's lesson.  Finally she let go of me, and I rocked back on my 
heels, almost overbalancing.  I will never, ever accuse cheerleaders of 
being weak.  Physically weak, anyway.

	I went to my seat, next to Dana.  He was almost smirking.  
Almost?  No, just hiding it badly.  I wondered if he was one of those guys 
turned on by hot girl-on-girl action quote unquote.  Then I realized -- of 
course he was.  He was turned on by ALL sex.

	As I sat down, I flipped up my hand, in echo of his earlier 
gesture -- so it goes.

	"How was?" he whispered.

	I leaned over.  "Musty."

	He winced.  "Oh, spunk.  Sorry."

	I gave him a look.  "How's that YOUR fault?"

	"I should have thought of that, and warned you -- "

	But Madame cut off whatever foolish boy thing he was trying to 
say, which was just well.

	In honor of what had preceded, Madame gave us another lesson in 
adult French -- this time on, as she put it, Sapphic subjects.  I wanted 
to be annoyed, but it was really useful.  I couldn't wait to try it out on 
Jeanette, who despite her accent, knows only a little more French than I 
-- her family moved from Montreal when she was six.

	So I was even more annoyed than usual when Ms Angeles interrupted.  
"May I please see Dana for a moment?  It's Program business."

	Dana and I looked at each other, and then I stood up alone.

	"No, I meant Smith this time."

	He got up.  "Dana you ask for, Danas you shall receive."

	I followed them into the hall anyway.  Angeles glared at me, but 
didn't send me in.  "I've received another complaint about you, from two 
different students, that you refused to stop for reasonable requests after 
lunch."

	He blinked.  "Oh, yeah.  It's a fair cop."

	Which took her aback a moment.  "Oh really?"

	"In my defense," he raised a finger, "I was on Program business."

	"And what might that have been?"

	He shifted a moment.  "Sylvie Peretski asked me to give her 
relief, and I was trying to get to class on time so I could."

	Was that what it had been about, at lunch?  But that didn't match 
up with his getting upset.

	"Need I point out that you could have done so on your arrival, 
after taking reasonable requests?"

	To which he had not a single snappy comeback -- he just shrugged.

	I stepped in to save him again.  "Not if he didn't get there 
quickly -- she's Whitman and so got there on time, and she'd've had to 
take it from someone else."

	Angeles didn't like that.  "Not a valid reason, by the Program 
rules.  One more infraction, and you'll have to repeat your week in the 
Program."

	To which he shrugged again.  I opened my mouth, but he looked at 
me.  Complaining wouldn't help, not here, not now.  She had us in her 
power.  Damn her.

	And with a stern warning, Angeles dismissed us.

	It was only as we returned to our seat that I realized -- if that 
was his second infraction, what been his first?  But I had to wait till 
after class to ask him.

	After class, though, he was worse.  I had to remind him to pack 
up, and take his towel.  He was slow too, almost loggy, and I finally 
pulled him out of the room by the hand.

	"Okay, Dana, what's wrong?" I asked as we walked.  I was getting 
seriously worried.

	"Nothing," he said as if everything was.

	"Where does it hurt?"

	A pained look almost reached his face.  "Nowhere."  Then a mutter 
I couldn't catch.

	"Okay, I don't know what's wrong, but you need to see the Nurse."

	"No!"  At last, a reaction.  "Not -- I just need to rest."

	I stepped in front of him, and he stopped.  His grayness wasn't 
just around the edges.  I caught his face in my hands and looked at him 
carefully.  He didn't meet my eyes.  I wasn't even sure he was tracking.

	"Okay," I told him, "you're starting to worry me.  If you were the 
designated driver, I'd be afraid to ride in your car."

	He blinked at me.  No snappy comeback.  Now I was scared.

	"I'm driving you home," I told him.  Yes, that meant skipping out 
chemistry, and maybe even Aikido, but he'd do as much for me, I knew.  He 
already had and more.

	"But my -- "

	"You can come back for your car later, when you're better.  Or 
your mom can get it.  I'm taking you home.  Now."

	He didn't fight me on that, either.  I pulled him along by the 
hand.

	I almost lost my nerve at the main door.  My clothes were still 
locked away.  Everyone would see me naked -- not just the school, the 
WORLD.  No, I told myself, just the world I drove by -- and I'd be in the 
car where they couldn't see me.  Not really true, but it was enough to get 
me outside.

	I got him into my passenger seat, then got behind the wheel.  As I 
drove off, I looked at Dana, and got even more worried.  For three days, 
I'd watched him sparkle with energy.  He just sat there like an overcooked 
noodle, one that had landed lonely on a linoleum floor.

	And like an idiot male, he wouldn't tell me what's wrong.  What IS 
it with men?

	At his house, we had to dig through his backpack to find his keys 
-- with both of us buck naked for the neighbors.  Finally I got him inside 
and upstairs to his room.  He sat down on his bed.

	"What should I get you?" I asked, fighting my panic.  I used my 
babysitter's voice, the one that tells a child that everything's all 
right, that I'm in charge.  "Water?  Soda?  Milk?"

	"Nothing," he said, then slumped over on his side on the 
bedspread.

	"Dana, what's wrong?  How are you feeling?"

	"Awful," he said softly.  "I can't believe I did that to her."  
And then he started to cry.  And blubber through his tears, things about 
can't go on and too stupid to live and things like that.  As in, seriously 
suicidal talk.  Not that he was reaching for pills or a razor, but God how 
long would that be?

	I panicked.

	I ran down for my pack by the front door and pulled out my phone.  
But who to call?  All I could think of was Jeanette, my best friend.  As I 
ran back upstairs, I called her -- no answer of course -- she's not
allowed to use her cell in school -- and left a message, with the address 
and a frantic plea for help.

	Dana was still crying, half-curled on his side.  I couldn't think 
of anything to comfort him.  No teddy bear in sight.  I grabbed a pillow 
and stuffed it into his arms.  He clutched it, sniffling into it.  But 
then what next?  Who could I call -- Police?

	Then I thought of the house phone -- there had to be a list of 
emergency contacts nearby, for the babysitter.  I ran back downstairs, to 
the kitchen.  Yes!  And right on top, was Catarina Smith, Day.  I dialed 
and ran back upstairs as it rang.  And rang.  Just as I was about to give 
up, his mother answered.

	"Smith Contractors."

	"Catarina, it's Dana.  The other Dana.  Partlow."

	"Dana!  What is it?"  She sounded worried.

	"It's Dana.  Your Dana.  I brought him home because he wasn't 
feeling well, and now -- now he's crying on his bed, talking suicidal.  
What should I do?"  I looked in the door of his room.  He was sobbing 
silently.

	"Oh no," Catarina said softly.

	Which perversely gave me hope.  She knew what was happening -- she 
knew what to do.

	"Okay, Dana," she said, deliberately, "look on his dresser -- 
there should be a bottle of pills and dispenser, one of those seven-day 
things."

	I found them.  "Yeah?"

	"Can you tell when's the last time he took his medication?  
What's the last day that's empty?"

	"The dispenser's completely empty."

	Silence.  Then, "Shit."  A truly pissed and scared cuss.  I heard 
a truck door slam, and the engine start.

	"What's that mean?" I asked.

	"I means he hasn't taken any since Saturday, when he's supposed to 
refill it.  Damn it, Dana, you said you were taking them."

	"Nothing since Saturday," I repeated.

	"Hang on," she said, and I heard muffled talking -- telling people 
where she was going, I think.

	From the bed, he whimpered, "Gods, I'm such a fuck-up."

	"I'm coming home now," Catarina said.

	"But what do I do?"  I didn't wail.  I was proud of that.  But it 
was close.

	"Give him two pills from the bottle.  ONLY two.  Stay with him.  
Try to keep him calm, keep him from doing anything stupid."  As in killing 
himself.

	My hands shook so much, I fumbled at the child-proof cap.  "But 
what's it for?  What's happening?"

	"Dana is bipolar -- manic-depressive.  Though it's not exactly a 
normal profile."

	Which made such utter sense I instantly believed her.  It all fit.  
He'd seemed manic all week because he had been just that -- manic.  "And 
he's going depressive phase without his meds."

	"Bingo."

	I finally got the jar open.  "What, his medication keeps him manic 
all the time?"

	Catarina gave a bark of a laugh.  "No, it levels everything out, 
keeps it all under control.  You don't want to see him manic without them 
-- it's a lot worse."

	Somehow, I could believe that, though I had trouble imagining it.  
I got a glass of water from the bathroom.

	Catarina went on, "His current prescription pegs him a little more 
hyper than some people find comfortable, but it's the best regimen of 
anything they've tried."

	"Oh."

	"And speaking of Them, I'm calling his doctor.  Now.  I'll be 
there in ten."

	"Right," I said.  And then there was dead air.

	I put my phone down, sat Dana up, and tried to make him take two 
square grey pills.

	"I don't deserve it."

	"Hell," I snapped at him, "what you deserve is to have them shoved 
down your throat.  Take 'em -- now.  Or else."

	The sternness was only half an act -- I was still freaked and 
frightened.  It got through to him, though.  He took his medication.

	I spent the next ten minutes holding him and comforting him, 
mostly small nothings like you comfort a baby with.  Or a lover, but I 
pushed that thought aside.  Friend -- he was my friend, and I was helping 
him through the crisis.  At least I knew not to tell him to buck up or be 
happy or anything stupid -- depression isn't like that.  It's not a 
choice.  Especially depression like this.

	The doorbell rang.  Dana seemed calm enough for the moment to 
leave him alone for half a minute.  It rang again, three times rapidly.

	I ran downstairs, calling out, "Coming!" then opened the front 
door wide.

	Jeanette's eyes almost popped out.  "Ma ch�rie!" she said with a 
smile.  She was still wearing her school uniform.

	I'd forgotten I was still naked.  I grabbed her hand and pulled 
her in.  "Not NOW!"  I shut the door behind her.

	"What's wrong?" she said more seriously.  "I couldn't make out --"

	"It's Dana," I said, then realized there was something I had to 
do.  I caught her in a big hug before I lost it.  Feeling her arms wrapped 
around me, her soft body against mine, it helped.  "He's bipolar," I went 
on, "and going through a massive depressive phase."

	I let go and took her hand.  As we started up the stairs, she 
said, "Don't they have medicines for that?"

	"He forgot to -- " I started to say, but the back door opened.

	"Hello?" Catarina called out.

	I reversed direction and scuttled back downstairs to meet her.  
"Thank God you're here!"

	Her eyes widened when she saw I was naked.

	I held up my hands.  "I didn't have time to change," I told her, 
"so let's just ignore that and move on."

	"Right," Catarina said, and brushed past me and started upstairs.  
I followed her, and ran into her when she stopped.

	"Uh, hi," Jeanette said.

	I looked around Catarina.  "Oh, this is Jeanette -- she's a 
friend, helping me.  Jeanette, Dana's mother."

	"If I could?" Catarina gestured getting by.

	Jeanette moved to the banister side and let Catarina past, and I 
followed in her wake.  Jeanette followed me.

	In Dana's room, Catarina knelt in front of Dana, who was sitting 
on the edge of the bed.  She caught his hands.

	"Dana, it's me, it's all right, everything's good."

	He looked at her.  "Aw, shit, I dragged you away from work."  And 
started crying again.

	"No, Dana, it's not that -- "

	"I'm home," someone called out downstairs, and the front door 
slammed.  Ginny.

	I looked at Jeanette, and we went out into the hall in time to 
meet Ginny at the top of the stairs.

	She took one look at my naked body, and gleefully called out, 
"Outreach!"  She pulled off her shirt -- blue with TEASE in gold glitter 
-- before Jeanette and I could stop her.  Or strangle her.  Ginny's puffy 
nipples crinkled.

	Then Ginny saw Dana's open door, heard the voices inside.  
"What's going on?" she said, pushing past us.  She looked in, and 
immediately knew what was happening -- and freaked out.  "Dana!" she 
wailed.  "How could you!  You promised!"

	"Shit, I can't handle this right now," Catarina said, not looking 
away from her son.  She sounded like she was about to lose it.

	"I got her," Jeanette said, and firmly pulled Ginny away and into 
her room.  Through the door, I could hear the girl sniveling.

	"Remind me to thank her," Catarina said.  "When this is over."

	I came over to her and Dana.  "Anything I can do?"

	He looked up at me, and worked his mouth, but nothing came out.  
His cheeks were tear-stained.

	"For right now, all we can do it help him through it, until the 
worst is past.  Be here for him."  What she didn't say was: be on suicide 
watch.

	The doorbell rang.  I almost laughed.  It was that or cry.

	"I can -- " I started to say.

	Dana grabbed my hand.  "No!  Don't go!"

	I sat down beside him and held him again.

	"Right," Catarina said, "I'll get it.  Besides," and she waved at 
my body, "you can't."

	Damn.  Still not clothed.

	Neither was Dana, for that matter.

	"I'm sorry," he muttered.

	"Keep that in mind," I told him.

	"It's just -- "

	"Dana Smith, if you suicide on me, I'll KILL you."  Which was not 
the wisest thing to say, and not even like me -- given Catarina had danced 
around the subject, I wouldn't have dared say it straight out if I'd been 
calm.

	But oddly enough, it worked.

	"So just don't," I said.  "Promise?"  After a moment, I shook him.  
"Promise?"

	"I promise," he said with a weak smile.

	"Good."

	Catarina came back after ten minutes.  She seemed both amused and 
annoyed.  "That was Mrs. Ramon, from across the street.  She was very 
concerned, seeing a naked girl she didn't know at my door.  Especially 
given who we are, that is."  Meaning, you know, dangerous lesbians, 
molesting me.

	I wanted to snarl at the busybody neighbor.  Then I realized, no, 
I should be pissed at the Program, for making me BE naked.  But I wasn't.  
I snarled at the neighbor.

	I stayed with Dana through the worst of his crisis -- a long 
afternoon and evening.  Apparently, it usually lasts only a couple hours 
-- his cycle is about a week, though it varies a lot.  First he peaks, 
then tones down to just manic, or "on" as he calls it, for a few days; 
then a crash down to crisis depression, which when lightens a little for a 
few days "off."  With his medication, he's pretty active through the whole 
cycle, but there are signs that let you know where he is -- this was one 
reason his parents let him rattle on through dinner, to get a gauge on how 
he's doing.  Another reason being, it's nearly impossible to get him to 
shut up when he's on.  I knew about that part.

	But until it passed, there was sturm and drang -- and not just 
from Dana.  When Scarlett got home, Catarina had to first explain what had 
happened -- and then Scarlett got almost as upset as Ginny had, whether at 
Dana for scaring her or Ginny, I couldn't tell.  It wasn't until Catarina 
pointed out that neither of them had been checking he'd taken his meds 
that Scarlett stormed off.  Catarina alternated between calming her son 
and her partner, until Scarlett finished losing her temper, or got back 
her nerve, or something.

	Eventually it was finally quiet enough I could look around Dana's 
odd room -- every wall was a different shade of blue.  Half his posters 
were for cryptography and computer security conferences, the other half 
math-related.  Almost every flat surface was covered with Stuff, mostly 
electronics in states of disrepair.  The only exception was the top of one 
cabinet, where there was some sort of shrine -- a couple small pictures, 
almost like icons, three white candles in glass holders, and what looked 
like a wand.  His clothes were neatly put away, which I hadn't expected.

	Ginny's door opened.

	After a couple seconds, Jeanette looked in Dana's open door.  She 
looked suspiciously happy, amid all the chaos.  Like a cat in the 
creamery.  Her school uniform was neat and tidy -- too neat.  I narrowed 
my eyes at her, but she just smiled blandly.

	Then Ginny appeared -- naked.  "How is he?"  She tried to sound 
concerned, but she couldn't hide her glow.  Nor that her labia were pink 
and swollen beneath her dark pubic fuzz.  She, clearly, had just had sex 
-- or rather, they had.

	I glared at Jeanette.

	My first thought was, she couldn't get Dana last night so she went 
for his sister.  Which made no sense, of course -- Ginny's not even an 
official step-sister.  And she wouldn't do it like that.  She wouldn't 
have needed to.  Ginny was clearly interested in sex.  And Jeanette -- 
well, she probably could say no to some people.  But to an eager and 
enthusiastic cute girl, impatient to grow up, and in need of distraction 
and comfort?

	Not hardly.

	Even a twelve-year-old one.  I was so infuriated at her, I didn't 
know what to say.

	And then Catarina and Scarlett came out of their bedroom, and I 
didn't have to say it.  Scarlett took one look at Jeanette and her 
daughter, and knew EXACTLY what had happened.  And a pissed-off Scarlett 
was no one to mess with.  Even Jeanette could tell that.

	Jeanette stammered a goodbye, to me I think, and fled downstairs.  
Before the front door slammed behind her, Ginny's bedroom door slammed 
behind her.  And then Catarina went in there to pull Scarlett out before 
she did something stupid.  "And STAY in there!" Scarlett shouted at her 
daughter as Catarina shoved her into their room.  The door slammed behind 
them.

	I could hear them argue and, fainter, the sound of Ginny weeping.  
I hoped Scarlett hadn't hit Ginny -- I didn't know what I should do, if 
she had.

	Dana groaned.  "Just like Sylvie," he muttered.  "I'm such a 
STUPID fuck."  And pounded the pillow.  I caught his arms.

	I wrestled with temptation a moment before giving in.  I'm weak. 
I took shameless advantage of the way a depressed person will accuse 
themselves of anything they can possibly twist against themselves to worm 
out just what had upset him about Sylvie.  It took a while to get a 
coherent story.

	Finally I sat back.  "That's it?"

	"Isn't it enough?"

	"I mean, you had sex with her, but so what?  And what does it have 
to do with Ginny?"

	"They're the same age."

	"So?  She's older than I was, my first time."

	"And I took advantage of her."

	I made an exasperated sound.  "By your own report, she all but 
tackled you.  If anything, she took advantage of your not getting enough 
relief from Madison."

	"But -- "

	"But nothing," I said.  "She knew what she was doing.  She wanted 
to have sex safely, before the Program made her lose control -- exactly 
what I hate about the Program.  And you gave it to her -- controlled sex 
and, if you're to be believed, damn good sex."

	He looked at me uncertainly.  "Are you sure?"

	"Dana Smith," I said sternly, "do NOT underestimate how much 
controlling her sexuality means to a woman."

	"Hear, hear!" a dry voice said from the doorway.  Catarina.  
Alone, thank God -- I shuddered at the thought of what Scarlett's reaction 
might have been.

	Dana's mother stepped into the room, holding a sandwich in either 
hand.  "You both must be hungry by now."  Oh God yes -- I hadn't noticed.  
She passed me one, then knelt in front of Dana.  She had to put it in his 
hand before he took it.

	I mumbled my thanks around my bite.

	"I just hope, O son of mine," she went on, "that you stay friends 
with this namesake of yours, after this week is over.  She's a good one."

	Dana muttered something about owing me big time.

	"Oh no you don't," I told him.  "What you went through for me was 
just as bad as this -- I owed you."

	"What my Nana used to say," Catarina said, "was that friendship 
knows no debts."

	We both blinked at her.  She was right, I realized.  And I'd been 
setting up a balance sheet.

	"Where's Scarlett?" I asked.

	"Out riding her cycle.  I finally convinced her the best thing she 
could do for us all is blow off some steam."

	"Um," I said, unable to think of a tactful way of phrasing my 
thought.

	"Oh, she used to be a lot more volatile," Catarina said.  "Just 
ask Dana."

	"I like her," he said mulishly.

	"I know you do.  And she's good for you.  She's good for US.  
Doesn't keep me from wishing that one day she'll handle a crisis without 
flying off the handle."

	To which there was nothing he or I could say.

	Eventually, I borrowed clothes from Catarina -- pair of jeans that 
no longer fit and a plaid shirt.  Not my usual style at all, especially 
with my pink flip-flops, but I kinda liked it.  So did Catarina.

	Then I drove home.  I checked my phone -- three messages, all from 
Jeanette.  I deleted them unheard.  I'd already called my parents to let 
them know I'd miss dinner.

	At home, I went into the den.  "Daddy?"

	He looked up from his journal article.  "Oh, hello, Pumpkin."

	Yes, he still calls me Pumpkin.  It's kinda sweet, actually.  
"Could I ask you a favor?"

	I took off his reading glasses.  "Sure -- anything."

	"If Jeanette comes over, could you not let her in?"  Though of 
course she had a key.

	"What?"  More confused than concerned.

	I took a deep breath.  "We had a fight, and I don't want to see 
her right now.  So could you -- turn her away?"

	He frowned.  "Shouldn't you talk to her about it?"

	"Not now," I said.  "Tomorrow.  When I'm not so angry and hurt."  
If I talked to her now, I'd only blow up.  I did not want to blow up.  I 
hate that feeling of being out of control.

	He nodded.  "Okay, Pumpkin."  I think he understood, for once.

	I went upstairs.

	Five minutes later, my mother knocked on my door, and I let her 
in.  I told her what had happened, in short form -- holding Pookie, my old 
stuffed whale, for comfort.  We talked for a while, and she gave me some 
advice I said I'd think about.

	When she left, I took off Catarina's clothes and got ready for 
bed.  I knew I should go downstairs and work on homework -- especially 
after doing nothing for two whole days -- but I wasn't up for it.  It had 
been too stressful a day.

	Instead I pulled down my battered copy of FIRST TEST and buried 
myself in Kel's problems instead.  It helped me forget my own, at least 
until I turned out the light.

	I lay awake for a long time, not crying.  Though I wanted to.

*

Smith

I don't want to talk about it.


[continued in part 5, Thursday]

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