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Subject: {ASSM} Dana and Dana Naked in School, 2/7 (ff mf mfm mg fg, exhib, voy, NIS,   naked, cussing, sexuality issues)
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Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2005 04:10:02 -0400
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Dana and Dana Naked in School by pseudoRandom

   2.  Monday

   Dana Partlow

   I should have realized what was up the moment Principal Jackson picked
me out of the crowd entering Grant High School's front door.  I don't know
why I was so slow -- I'd slept a lot better than I'd expected.  Jeanette
had kept me awake the best way possible for over an hour until I finally
collapsed in total exhaustion, and didn't wake up once.  In hindsight, that
had probably been her intention.  There are reasons I love her.  But at the
time, all I knew was that my brain was still muzzy.

   "Dana Partlow, please report to the main office."

   I blinked at her.  "What, is it my schedule again?" The administration
had been jerking me around about taking Drama, which is a Whitman class. 
Only last Friday, after intervention with Jackson from my mother, had it
finally shaken out to my satisfaction.

   The Whitman principal snorted silently.  "Something like that.  Go on,"
and she waved me inside.

   So I didn't figure it out until I entered the main office and Principal
Skinner gestured me and a Whitman kid into a side room.  It was Ms
Angeles's new office.  Ms Angeles was the Program Coordinator.  I was in
the Naked in School Program.  I stopped still and swallowed -- or tried to,
with a dry throat.

   Walking into the room without trembling was, I thought, the bravest
thing I'd ever done.  As it was, I barely remember the next few minutes of
waiting for the last kids to arrive.

   Dana Smith

   I realized the moment Principal Jackson spotted me what was up.  I
wasn't late, quite -- I'd stayed up past 2 am, until I cracked the code and
stumbled into bed.  Though it's not like I need much sleep during up days.
But still, I got up late and only just made it to the door before the bell.

   "It's about time you joined us," she said.  "Dana Smith, please come
with me to the main office."

   Well I'll be damned, I thought.  I was in the Program.  For some reason,
I grinned.  "Aw, come on," I told her, "you can't give me detention -- I'm
not late yet." The bell rang.  "Well, okay, now I am."

   Jackson rolled her eyes.  She's one of many school administrators who
don't appreciate my humor.  For some reason, this makes me want to let my
id loose all the more when she's around.  Which fortunately is not often --
she runs the Whitman side of things, and I'm a Grant kid.

   In the main office, Jackson led me into Ms Angeles's office -- the new
Program Coordination Center.  Inside was Ms Angeles, naked, Principal
Skinner and Nurse Jones, both clothed, and fifteen nervous teenagers.  The
floor'd been carpeted since last year, and chairs set up all around the
walls.  In front of Angeles's desk was a row of stackable, lockable boxes,
and on it a pile of pamphlets and another of towels.

   "Finally decided to grace us with your presence, Mr.  Smith?" Principal
Skinner said acidly.

   "Aw, you know you love me," I said, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

   Skinner grunted, and to everyone said, "Please find seats." I made a
hangdog face -- rejected!  again!  -- until I turned away.

   I looked around as I found a seat -- it took me a couple seconds to find
the pattern: sixteen kids, eight boys, eight girls, four from each class,
half Grant, half Whitman.  (Whitman is the arts magnet school attached to
Grant High School -- we use the same facilities, but have separate classes
and administrators.  Well, mostly -- Whitman students take their core
courses with us and we take our arts courses with them, and Grant's
Principal Skinner is the boss of Whitman's Principal Jackson.) Each grade
from each school had a boy and a girl.

   The girl in my grade & school was the other Dana -- Dana Partlow.  We
usually had a couple classes together -- English and French this year --
but we weren't close friends.  She's pretty in a studious, brown-haired
sort of way.  I knew exactly why they'd picked her -- she's Honors track, I
think head of our class, and on the Student Council.  As opposed to me,
who's -- well, I'm the class goofball.  As I'd told Ginny, outside all the
cliques, even the outside friendship circles.  No close friends, really.

   I checked the other kids.  The Grant seniors were Jake, star basketball
and baseball player, and Madison, captain of the cheerleaders.  Colleen was
a sophomore cheerleader, and Tyler an up-and-coming wrestler.  I didn't
know the freshers yet, but I'd seen the girl at, what had it been?  --
volleyball practice, or was it track?  -- both, I decided.  The Whitman
upperclassmen were Gabrielle, head of the Drama Club; Rodrigo,
concertmaster of the student orchestra; Phil, a drama queen; and Spike
(that's the only name she goes by), who'd been winning awards for her
photography.  And the sophomores were Pat and Patty, red-haired twin
artists who notoriously do everything in collaboration.  The freshman girl,
Sylvie, was in orchestra with me, and the boy (I didn't know his name) in
band.

   They'd stacked the deck with school leaders -- and me.

   Why me?  Now that was a pretty problem -- one my brain wasn't going to
give up till I figured it out.

   Ms Angeles stepped forward.  "Welcome to the Naked in School Program."
She looked around at us all.  No one responded.  She picked up the
pamphlets and started passing them around.  "You all have been to the
assembly and heard the spiel, but you will now read the rules -- it's all
spelled out in detail.  You're naked for all school events through Sunday
night, no covering yourself, you must pose for others and perform any other
reasonable requests, you have five minutes at the start of every class to
ask for relief.  And take one of these -- sit on them everywhere you go."
She started handing out towels.  "It's a sanitary rule." She looked at
Skinner when she said that, and not in a nice way.  As if they'd fought
over that.  Interesting.

   She continued, "Any Program violations come to me.  Judgment will be
swift.  Three warnings or miss a day, and you'll repeat your week until you
get it right.  Any questions?"

   Spike raised her hand.  "What about violence?"

   "Sexual assaults will not be tolerated," Principal Skinner said firmly.
"This school has a zero-tolerance policy for any kind of violence.  If
anyone is making you uncomfortable, harassing you, that's not a reasonable
request -- and a discipline issue that comes to ME." He shot a glare at
Angeles.  Even more interesting.

   Angeles went on.  "Anything else?"

   "What about homeroom?" a freshman asked.

   "Your homeroom and first period teachers have been informed of your
absence.  Anything else?"

   First period?

   But before I could ask, she went on.  "In a few minutes, you will
undress and put your clothes in one of these boxes.  They will be kept
locked in here to prevent someone else from stealing them." And to keep us
from snitching them back, I suspected.  "At the end of the day, we'll bring
them out to the main entrance where you can dress.  Tomorrow and the rest
of the week you'll undress there, and we'll take the boxes back here,
locked away."

   Spike made an impatient sound.  Most of the Whitman kids use the exits
on their side of the school.  And for that matter, parked in that lot.  It
didn't seem quite fair, making them troop all the way over and back twice a
day.

   But I had a more urgent problem.  I raised my finger to get Angeles's
attention.  "I need to get my clothes after sixth period -- I have a class
off-campus."

   She smirked -- I swear she did.  "That's still a school activity --
you'll have to go naked."

   "I can't -- Trinity has an explicit policy forbidding nudity on campus."
Trinity College is a Catholic school, and the Jesuits in charge don't think
much of the Program Movement.  I was taking differential equations there
because it's closer to home than the University across town.

   "Nonetheless, you have to do it."

   "Bullshit -- "

   "Smith!" Skinner barked.

   I went on without pausing, " -- I'm sorry, I mean Bulltish, as in A Load
Of.  This pamphlet says that by law no Program activity is allowed to
interfere with academics.  Forcing me to be EXPELLED from my class is
pretty damn I'm sorry darn interfering."

   "Dana Smith," Ms Angeles said, "you will follow the Program rules at ALL
school activities."

   I stared her down, mind racing.  Was this it -- was this the reason I
was in, to force Trinity to allow the Program on their campus?  I wouldn't
put it past Ms Angeles -- she's always had a reputation as a freaky
guidance counselor, even before she started pushing for the Program.  I
glanced at Skinner -- it wasn't his reason, though -- he was troubled by
this.  I was pretty sure I could get his permission to get my clothes back
early if I worked on him alone, without Angebitch there.

   Who, it seemed, took my nonresponse as acquiescence, for she went on,
"You will now all undress.  You have the next thirty minutes here, in a
safe place, to get used to being naked with other naked people.  But when
the bell rings, everyone MUST be in the hall, on display." After a moment,
in which no one moved, she said, "This means NOW."

   I shrugged.  Then I stood and dropped my shorts and boxers, which were
wide enough I could pull them over my shoes.  Another shrug and my t-shirt
was off -- in less than five seconds, I was naked.  And with, of course, an
erection -- I'd had one since Jackson snagged me.  I'm pretty randy on my
on days as it is, but just the thought of seeing all these babes and hunks
naked in just a few moments had my cock raring to go.  I mean, there wasn't
a girl among them, except Dana and Spike, who wasn't a stone fox
(especially head cheerleader Madison -- hoooo BAY-bee) and even those two
are nicely curvy -- and most of the guys were pretty good, too.  The least
attractive person in this room was ...  well, no, not even me.

   Okay, this seems cruel, but I have to say it -- Grant High is nicely
blessed with more than our share of gorgeous and handsome teachers.  Some
of them are outright babes.  Ms Angeles is not one of them.  Her face is
sharp, her breasts sag, she has a pot-belly with stretchmarks and chunky
thighs.  Which was part of the point -- to remove the stigma from nudity
and sexuality.  If only the sexy people got nekkid, then clothing comes to
mean ugly.  Nudity isn't sex was the big Program message.  Except, of
course, it also screams Sex Is Good Have Lots, as if this wasn't a
contradiction.

   But my mind was wandering.  I was trying to Not Think about all those
people staring at me.  And it's hard to Not Think.  But I had to get it
over with.

   Someone giggled as I dug my keys and wallet out of my shorts.  I tossed
my clothes across the room into a box.  I spread my hands at everyone.

   "Come on in -- the water's great!"

   Which got a couple laughs.  And it worked -- most of them started
undressing instead of looking at my raging hard-on.  I bent down and put my
keys and wallet in a pocket of my backpack.  After a moment, I moved the
wallet to an inner pouch, meant for a CD player.

   When I looked up, almost everyone was getting undressed -- even that
cute Whitman freshman, Sylvie, had started reluctantly unbuttoning her
blouse.  All except for Dana.

   She was sitting with her hands clutching her knees, looking down at the
floor.  Her face was white.  I didn't think she was about to pass out, but
she was seriously stressed.  She needed help.  I went over to her.

   "Dana?"

   She muttered what was probably "I'm okay," though it sounded like "I'm a
mocha."

   I squatted down in front of her.  Which I quickly realized was a
tactical error -- it put my flapping cock right in her field of view, a
reminder of just what she was freaking over.  To distract her, I pried her
hands off her knees and held them.  Or rather, they clutched mine, hard. 
"You okay?  Deep breaths."

   She took a gulp of air, and looked around -- then snapped her head back
down.  "I'm fine," she squeaked.

   Yeah, right -- she was staring at my erect dick, at it bobbed around. 
"Hey, hey -- talk to the face, not Mr.  Happy."

   Which got an almost hysterical giggle.  But she didn't look away.

   "Come on, Dana -- focus.  Gotta stay with yourself.  Center!" I tugged
her hands, and wonder of wonders she closed her eyes with a deep breath.

   Partlow

   I took a deep breath and centered.  And there inside me was my ki,
waiting for me to find it.  I took it up, let it fill me, and then dropped
it as deep into the floor as I could.  Which wasn't as far as I sometimes
can, in the dojo, but I hadn't expected to even do that, given I was so
upset.

   After three breaths, I opened my eyes.  Dana was looking back with a
smile playing about his lips.  His eyes were light brown, almost golden. 
He seemed to fizz with energy.

   "Thanks," I said, voice almost steady again.  This time I kept my gaze
on his face, not his penis.

   "What's your rank?" he asked.

   "First kyu," I said.  "I test for sandan next month." How had he known
-- did he study?

   "Ah.  I was second kyu until I broke my ankle and had to give it up."
After a moment, he added, "Karate."

   I nodded.  "Aikido."

   "Hai." Understood.

   "You could -- " I started to say before I stopped myself, then because
I'd started had to go on, "Aikido's easier on ankles.  You could take it
up."

   He sort of shrugged without moving his hands, which still held mine. 
"I've moved on to other things," he said.  "But it's a thought -- who's
your sensei?"

   "Sensei Judith, at Fifth Street Aikido.  She's great."

   "Maybe I'll drop in sometime." He tried to say it as if he meant it, but
he didn't.  Though it wasn't the way of a boy dismissing a girl -- he just
didn't want to return to martial arts, I thought, or not an internal art. I
wanted to follow that thought, for some reason -- even though it was
totally inappropriate for where we were.  Or maybe because of it.  Which is
how I realized what he was doing -- chatting about this and that, to take
my mind off of -- off exposing myself.

   Ms Angeles was suddenly standing beside us.  "Dana, if you please."

   Dana looked up at her.  I didn't.  "Eh?" he said.

   "I meant Miss Partlow.  She needs to get undressed."

   "Hold your heiny," Dana said.  "We've got all period."

   Angeles sniffed, but moved on -- only because some girl was complaining
about a guy touching her.  "Reasonable requests apply to other program
participants too," Angeles told her.

   "He didn't ASK."

   I took another breath.  "She's right," I told Dana.  "The more time to
get used to it, the better." I let go of his hands and stood up.  Before I
could obsess about it any more, I started pulling up my top.  Green
spaghetti-strap, if you're curious, with a matching bra underneath.  I
looked at Dana almost defiantly.

   Calmly, he held out his hand.  For ...  my top?  I handed it to him, not
sure what else to do.  Without any expression, he flipped it neatly around,
folding it.  I blinked.  His matter-of-factness helped a lot, actually,
just as his patter had before.  I'd always thought of Dana as the class
clown -- well, and a math genius -- but I saw why everyone liked him.  He
really is nice, if a bit of a loud-mouth at times.

   I quickly undid my bra and handed it off, and kicked off my sneakers. 
But when I started to undo my jeans, he held up a finger.

   "Empty your pockets?"

   "Oh.  Right." Losing my wallet would not be good.  Worse -- having it
locked up in here, if I needed to bug out.  I popped it into my bag -- my
keys were already on the strap, of course.  Then I stripped my pants and
panties off together.  The better to get it over with.

   Dana folded them up, dropped them in a box, and came back.  I looked at
him, avoiding everyone else.  One step at a time.  Though I didn't look
down, not again.  Penises are such silly things, especially erect.  I
didn't know why I had been looking at his before.  In fact -

   "Center," he said softly.

   Oh.  Right.  I closed my eyes, and found my ki again.  A few deep
breaths later, I opened them again.  "Thanks."

   He nodded, as if it were nothing, and took my hand for reassurance.

   The best thing was, he didn't ogle me.  As if he knew how much that
mattered.  Even a girl looking me over would have panicked me.  Or added to
my panic.

   He cocked his head slightly, looking in my eyes.  "Would it make you
more or less comfortable if I told you you're a babe?"

   "Oh, I know," I said vaguely.  I'm not falsely modest -- I've got good
breasts for my age, a handful full and round, and trim hips.  Heck, a girl
like me is like close to my perfect type, if you give her black hair -- and
ignored things like personality and emotions and all that.

   Which wasn't quite what he expected, I think.  "I mean, even compared to
the high-powered foxes in here."

   I couldn't help it -- I looked around at the other girls.  Just about
every one had a good body, even that photographer girl who always hides
herself in black.  The boys were pretty good, too, if you like that sort of
thing.  I looked back at Madison, who was cupping her breasts at Jake.  Who
looked as flummoxed as I would have been -- no doubt which of them had the
sexual initiative there.  "It's not that -- I'm not shy.  Just private."

   And to my surprise, he nodded.  "That makes it hard.  Keep to your
center -- that should get you through."

   I was looking at the red-headed girl.  She and the boy who looked like
her twin were laughing at something the photographer girl said.  I tore my
eyes away, back at Dana.

   Who was studying me.  I mean, he looked at me, and then -- I don't know
how else to describe this -- then he seemed to look at me again.  "You
know, if you prefer, you can ask for relief from girls."

   I stared at him.  "What?"

   "Even," he went on, "refuse permission to boys to touch you -- that'd be
reasonable.  Depending on how you feel about it."

   My knees felt weak again.  "I -- "

   He looked at me again.  "Unless -- ah, shit -- are you not out?  I'm
sorry.  I shouldn't have ...  "

   I shook my head, numb.  "Not like this," I said.

   It was hard to explain.  I don't exactly hide I'm a lesbian, at school
-- but I don't flaunt it.  Like I said, I'm a private person.  It happened
that all my girlfriends before Liz had been in the closet, and our
relationships secret.  Liz is flaming out -- a political dyke.  She thinks
the GSA is wimpy, though she's co-president.  Sometimes I wonder if she
hates boys.  Going out publicly with Liz would mean coming out in a big
way. So far, only a couple of our friends knew about us.  I'd already
decided that if we decided to go steady, it'd be public.  Which says
something about how I felt about her.

   "Ah," Dana said.  "It's one of those It's Complicated things, isn't it."
He sighed exaggeratedly.

   "Um, yeah." I didn't seem complicated, from the inside, but every time I
tried to talk about it, it never came out right.  Heck, explaining Jeanette
is hard enough.

   He shook his head, face still long.  "And you get Mr.  Oblivious making
jokes about it."

   Oblivious?  When he'd figured out my orientation in, what, ten minutes?
"How'd you know?"

   He flashed a sheepish grin.  "I'm being raised by wild lesbians.  It
kinda makes a guy see the signs."

   "I see," I said, though I didn't.  I wasn't sure if Dana meant that or
not -- just about everything was occasion for a joke to him.

   "Tell you what -- let's make a deal," he said.  "I'll help you get
through this if you help me."

   Huh?  After a moment, I asked.  "What kind of help do YOU need?  I mean,
you're, like, all out there -- totally comfortable with this."

   "Any moment now, Skinner's going to wake up and notice I'm not popular
enough to pull this off."

   I managed not to wince -- throwing his social status in my face like
that hurt, reminding me that Jeanette had been right.

   "But seriously." He leaned closer and dropped his voice, and I leaned
towards him despite myself.  "The thing is, I'm failing English.  So,
really, ya gotta help me."

   Totally stupid joke, I know, but I still giggled.  I guess I was that
stressed.  "How can you be failing less than two weeks in?"

   He shook his head sadly.  "Ms Emerson and I?  We have a tragic history
together.  She has it in for me."

   I stared, then I punched his arm.  "You goof."

   "It's true," he insisted.  "After a week of being reminded by my naked
body, there's going to be trouble.  So whadya say -- help each other?"

   I swallowed my laughter.  There was something else going on there.  Not
with Emerson -- everyone knew she was giddily, happily married to one of
the music teachers -- but something.  I looked in his eyes, and slowly
nodded.  There was something about his energy and persistence that made it
seem like a good thing to give in to him now and save the bother.

   He held out his hand.  "Partners?  And I don't mean in a Gene Kelly/Cyd
Charisse sort of way."

   I had no idea what he was talking about, but I put my hand in his. 
"Partners."

   "Right.  I'll walk you to class, if you need it."

   "Yeah.  I'd ...  appreciate that.  Even if you were already going my
way."

   He froze for a moment, then bonked his forehead.  "Right -- second
period English together." He shook his head, making a blegh-egh-egh-egh
sound with his lips.  "This Program thing is throwing me for a loop.  Lose
my head next."

   I laughed.  Again.  Going through the Program WITH Dana just might help.

   "Ah," he said, jumping two steps ahead of me, "but do you need to visit
your locker?"

   Oh, right -- I hadn't had a chance when I came in.  "Um, yeah -- but
it's almost on the way.  You?"

   He shook his head.  "I'll have to after, though."

   "Dana!" Ms Angeles called, and we both turned -- still holding hands. 
The Program Coordinator frowned.  "Miss Partlow, please come here."

   There were a couple boys with her, all sporting erections.  I didn't
like the look of this.

   "Ms Angeles," Dana said, "ya gotta be more specific." He gestured
extravagantly with his free arm.  "There's too damn many Danas in the
world."

   Which made me snort -- he was the only other one I'd met, and I was
willing to bet it was the same for him.

   "Mr Smith," Principal Skinner, "please don't make me ask you to watch
your language again."

   Which got him and Skinner into an argument over whether damn was
inappropriate language.  Which was totally stupid, but it kept Ms Angeles
from taking me off.  Which when I thought about it, may have been why he
did it.  I was beginning to sense a method to his mouthiness.

   I looked askance at the boys.  I was pretty sure Angeles was planning to
put me through some "reasonable requests" right there.  And I wasn't,
quite, ready for that.  And you know, Dana was right about one thing -- I
was really uncomfortable about boys touching me.  I don't think of guys
sexually, and the idea of them seeing of me that way feels, well, wrong. 
But I wasn't sure Angeles would see it that way, not right now.

   In any case, soon it was too late to ask, and time to go out in the
hallways -- before first period let out.  I gripped Dana's hand harder.

   "Let's get this over with," I muttered, tugging him towards the door.

   He looked at me oddly.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

   "What?"

   "Our backpacks."

   I glanced back at my seat.  I opened my mouth, then closed it.

   "I think the word you're looking for is 'Oops'," he said.

   "No, it's 'Dana you idiot'."

   "That's three words."

   To which there was nothing for me to do but punch him in the arm again.

   Smith

   Packs on backs and towels in hands, Dana took my hand again.

   "Don't let go," she told me.

   I nodded.  "Center."

   She took a breath from her diaphragm.  Centered.  "What about you?"

   "Nah, you got me covered."

   Blank look.  Sometimes, my jokes get no respect because nobody gets
them; sometimes, it's because they're lame.  I never know which it'll be
till I open my mouth.  I think this was one of the latter, though.

   We followed the others out the door.  We were maybe a couple rooms down
the hall when the bell rang and everyone came out.

   Dana gripped my hand so tightly, I wondered if I'd be able to play
during orchestra.  Not that it mattered, or at least not as much as this.

   Yes, everyone looked.  They even said hi.  No one laughed -- well,
except for Carl, and that was at my being picked, not at my appearance. 
Nor at my dick.

   I haven't said about my hard-on.  That's because I'd been trying
desperately not to think about it.  On a normal on day, I jerk off four or
five times, just to cut the edge.  This was anything but normal.  Mr. 
Happy was, well, happy -- I'd been looking at free!naked!babes!  for an
hour.  And one was holding my hand.  Not that she was available, but since
when did THAT mean anything to HIM?

   And now girls and boys were looking at me.  Which, yes, they do all the
time, but not at ME -- at what I'm doing or saying.  I really was glad Dana
was there, to attract more attention than me.  And, well, she deserved it.
Did I mention her body?  Her face was pretty, and her hair average --
especially in straight bangs like that -- but that body of hers.  Hubba. 
The boys were paying attention -- and many girls, too.  Better for Dana, no
one stopped us with requests.  Not even at her locker.

   Well, until Talia from my homeroom asked if she could touch my cock. 
"Only if you want to get wet and sticky," I told her.

   She giggled.  "You're just saying that."

   I held up my fingers a millimeter apart.  "That close."

   "Figures YOU'D get excited by the attention."

   "Nah, it's the other Participants -- I just spent an entire period
trapped in a room of nekkid kids."

   Talia shook her head, disbelieving.  But she didn't touch me, either.

   As we moved on, Dana looked at me.  "You were serious about that."

   "Yup." And then, fortunately, we reached English class -- and Jane
Emerson.

   Now, I'd been mostly joking about having a history with Ms Emerson --
practically everyone WANTS to have one.  My comment about teachers who are
babes was pointed directly at her -- mid-height, stacked body,
apricot-blonde hair, and cute as a button, and the sweetest disposition in
the school.  She doesn't have to discipline anyone, because we all roll
over and wag our tags for her.  Me included.  Everyone's open about their
crushes because everyone knows the crushes are hopeless -- she's giddily
married to Mr Thoreau, my music teacher, to the point they regularly almost
get caught in compromising positions.

   But I said mostly.  I happen to know that not all the crushes are
hopeless -- but she's very, very discreet.  She and Thoreau have an
understanding.  They both have a weakness for students of the opposite sex
-- I suspect that's why they're so randy, actually: so many students they
can't touch, bouncing around in front of them all day.  Or mostly can't
touch -- for they both have had affairs with students, a single pet at a
time, for recreational purposes.  I know this, because I know two of their
former pets -- one each, that is.  They've both hidden it well, but they
both have reason to trust me with secrets.  And no, I'm NOT telling who.

   Most of the time, I don't even hint about it.  But that morning, I'd
needed to unburden something on Dana and had been rattled.

   Rattled and, when I walked into English, stunned.  As part of the
Program, teachers may, optionally ...  let's call it dress down.  Undress.
To encourage the students.  Ms Emerson had joined in.  Ms Fantasy Life
Emerson, turned real.  She had her hair up today, a gold chain around her
waist -- did grownups do that?  -- and low-heeled pumps, and nothing else
on.  I almost came just looking at her.

   Dana clutched my hand.  I glanced at her.  Her face was as stricken as
mine felt.  Right -- another student hot for teacher.  I should have
guessed that.

   "Ah, Dana and Dana, our class nudists for the week," she said, right as
the bell rang.  "Just in time." She pointed to two empty desks in the front
row.  "Do either of you need relief?"

   Dana shook her head.

   I licked my lips.  "Oh yeah," I said fervently.  "And it won't take five
minutes."

   Ms Emerson giggled.  My heart flipped over.  I staggered over to a
chair. When I let my backpack down, Dana had to let go of my hand.

   "Would you like assistance?" As in, would I let someone else get me off.
Which frankly is the oddest Program rule bar none.  Supposedly, since
everyone's spending so much time winding you up, they should help you
unwind.  To which I say: WTF?

   But I wasn't going to turn down the offer.  "If you really want to."

   "Tempting," Ms Emerson drawled, "but I suppose I have to let someone
else do it."

   My heart did a double backflip with a half twist.  Did she really mean
that?

   "Would anyone," she called out, "like to assist Dana this morning? 
Girls or boys."

   Fortunately, my brain had already short-circuited or it would have
fried, thinking about that last one.  And besides, a half-dozen girls had
raised their hands.  I picked Trish Scattergood as the quickest and
easiest. We have a history -- not that we've gone out or anything, but we'd
done it a few times at band camp.  Yes that's a cliche, but it's true.

   Trish sashayed up with a twitch of her hips and a smile on her face.  I
smiled back.  "Just so you know," I told her as she wrapped her warm hand
around my cock, "it'll be quick."

   "Oh really?" she said.  "How quick?"

   She slid her hand up my shaft once, and my cock twitched and my balls
tingled, and I started spurting.  She barely jumped out of the way in time.
But she didn't let go, at least, and even pumped some.  Not the best
handjob in the world, but, well, it didn't need to be.  Just good enough to
return the blood to my brain.

   I helped her wipe up the floor, then got in my seat next to Dana.  It
wasn't until I looked at the front of the class, at the naked Ms Emerson
with her delectable little shaved strip of golden pubic hair, that I
realized it hadn't been enough after all.  I was completely hard again --
or hard still.

   I can't remember a thing about the rest of class.

   Partlow

   I've said it before and I'll say it again -- penises are just plain
weird.  I spent the entire period with the image of white goo spurting out
of Dana burned into my brain.  Not good for my concentration, but it at
least got my brain away from crushing on my teacher -- and from the fact
that I was naked before the entire class.  And when I thought about it, at
the end of class, I realized having gorgeous Ms Emerson naked had helped me
a lot: NO ONE looked at me.

   "Meet you for lunch?" Dana asked as he packed up.  His penis was still
hard.  He was also like fifty times more energetic than I was feeling.

   "Um," I said with great intelligence.

   "You look like you could use the support."

   "Yeah," I said, though I usually eat with my friends.

   "I'd go with you to your next class, but I gotta run across the school.
See ya." And with that, he was gone.  Well, almost gone -- he bopped back
in to grab his towel, still on his seat.  "Once more, with feeling." And
then he was gone, leaving me to face the halls, naked and alone.

   Well, almost alone.  Peri stayed with me.

   "I have to say, Dana, this is a little weird," she said, clutching a
notebook to her chest.  In precisely the way I couldn't -- that would be
covering up.

   "Tell me about it," I said.  At least she wasn't ogling me -- Peri's
straight, one of those tall, willowy girls with long dark hair.  We've been
friends since middle school.  I straightened my back, set my shoulders, and
walked out of the classroom and into hell.

   Only not the hell I thought it was going to be.  My girlfriend Liz
stormed up to us.  My heart actually fluttered at her anger -- finally, a
person who understood.  Well, a second person.

   She stopped a couple feet away.  "What the hell are you doing?!"

   I stopped, hard -- Peri bumped into me from behind.  "What?"

   Liz grabbed my hand.  "We've got to get you clothed." She tried to pull
me down the hall.

   I yanked back, legs set.  "I'm the Program."

   "I can see that." Liz was acting all but hysterical.  "How could you do
this to me?"

   "To YOU?" I all but yelled back at her.

   "I mean look at you!"

   Which made no sense no matter how I sliced it.  But I was pretty upset
at that point -- upset and hurt.  I wanted her support, her understanding,
and she was blaming ME.  "Yes!"

   "They've turned you into a sex object for everyone!"

   Which was inarguable.  Except for what the hell was she being possessive
for?

   I don't know whether it was God or the Devil intervening, but Ms Angeles
appeared -- pushing through the gathering crowd.  "Is there a problem
here?"

   Liz whirled on her, wallet chain jingling.  "Yes -- how could you do
this?" flinging our her arm at me.

   I didn't know whether to slap her or break down crying or what.  I said
nothing, just stood stiff, jaw clenched.

   "It's called the Naked in School Program.  You attended -- "

   "I know what the fuck it is -- how could you do this to us!  All these
BOYS looking at her?"

   Angeles nodded.  "That's right -- boys and girls.  It's to -- "

   Liz gave a wordless, strangled cry.  She clutched her hands to her head,
and said, "Dana, I like you, but I just can't take this -- I -- argh!" And
with that, Liz spun away and bulled through the crowd.

   "WTF?" someone said.

   I agreed.  I glanced at Peri, who was looking horrified.  At everyone
else, and their mixture of shock and lechery.  Only then did I realize what
had happened.

   Liz had just outed me.

   Like I said -- hell.

   The warning bell rang.  "I have to go to class," I said automatically,
and turned away.  Which was Drama -- all the way in the Whitman wing.  I
broke into a run.

   I don't know whether it was running late or my tears or what, but no one
made any "reasonable requests." And I was too miserable to care.  I found
my class and stumbled to my desk.

   It took ten minutes of living in my center for the tears to stop.  At
least Mrs.  Clemens didn't call on me until I was ready.

   Smith

   All I'm going to say about shop/metalworking class is that I like Mr
Jenkins's attitude to safety equipment.  He let me wear a leatherette
apron. The Program was not designed for people working around sharp metal
edges.

   I took relief again, this time solo -- the only girls were Sally Thomas
(who's even butcher than Liz Waters, the school Out There Dyke) and Juanita
Garza (who's steady with Lupe Carrazio), and the boys are all vo/tech
(who're even more touchy about appearing gay than the jocks are). 
Unfortunately, while Juanita's going steady meant I couldn't ask her for
assistance, it didn't stop her from teasing me all period as we worked as
partners.  By lunch I was hard and bothered all over again.

   Oh, also -- running through the halls with a bouncing boner?  Not
recommended.  Ow.

   I quickly booked it back to Dana's locker, to see if I could catch her.
She wasn't there.  I thought about trying to backtrack to her class, but I
didn't know what it was.  But Peter Newmann was Honors Track with her, and
probably knew -- and he was just passing.

   "Drama," he said, "but what happened to you?" He was looking at my naked
body.

   "I was just going to ask you that," I told him.

   "About what?"

   I leaned closer to him and stage whispered, "I didn't want to embarrass
you or anything but, um, you're clothed.  Just thought I'd mention it
before someone else noticed."

   He snorted.  "Laugh it up, fuzz ball."

   Then Ricardo saw me.  "Oh my freaking gods," he said.  "If it isn't Dana
in the flesh."

   I rolled my eyes.

   "Can dish it out but can't take it, can you," Peter said.

   "Bend over, I've got something for you," I shot back.  Since Peter
wasn't queer, so far as I knew, that was a safe joke -- and one that
stopped them just in time, because down the hall, I spotted Dana.  "Catch
you later," I told them, and went to rescue her.

   She looked like she needed rescuing.  Three freshmen had stopped her
with reasonable requests to pose for them.  They hadn't asked to touch her
yet, but Dana was near to crying -- had BEEN crying, I realized.

   "Hey, kids," I said, "I hate to break up your fun, but I've been sent to
get Miss Partlow here, so if you'll excuse us," and I grabbed one of her
hands and twiddled my fingers at the boys.  They were, to a man, staring at
me with open mouths.  I would have asked who they were, but I had a more
important mission.

   "You okay?" I asked.  "They weren't being too pushy, were they?"

   Dana lost her dazed look.  "Oh, no, they were fine.  I didn't mind them,
actually."

   "Then ...  " I paused, and we stopped at her locker.  "Then what's up?"
I leaned against the cold metal door next to her.

   "I -- " She shook her head and reached for her locker dial.

   "Hello -- here to help.  Lay it on me."

   Dana swallowed.  "It's just, Liz -- Liz Waters -- saw me and freaked. 
And kinda broke up with me in the hallway, in public."

   And here I hadn't known she'd been seeing Liz.  Nor had anyone else.  No
one had known Dana dated girls.  Of all the crappy ways to be outed.  I was
actually angry -- hell, seriously pissed off at Liz.  How could she do
that?

   But I didn't trust myself to say any of that, not without blowing up. 
That would just made it worse for Dana.  So what I did say was, "This is
part of that complicated situation, isn't it."

   After a moment, she remembered and snorted.  "Yeah, part of it."

   Time for some straight talk.  "Well, one less part to deal with," I said
firmly.

   Which got me a blank stare.  At least she was looking at me.  "How do
you mean?"

   "If she's out of your life, that's one less complication."

   "But I ...  "

   "Let me get this straight -- your girl just fucked you over in front of
the school and you're thinking of forgiving her?"

   She didn't answer.

   "Hey, no covering up," someone called out.  "Turn around girlie!" Great
-- Jameison and two cronies.  There's some in every school.  A few too
many, in my opinion.

   "Fuck off, Jameison," I snarled.  And wonder of wonders, they backed
off.

   Dana took a deep breath.  "I don't know," she finally said.  "It's --
it's too soon.  I don't even know what happened.  What's happening."

   "Ah," I said, "that, I can help you with." She frowned at me -- she's
kinda cute, when she does that.  I don't think I'd ever seen her frown
before; she'd always been so controlled.  "You and me have a date with
lunch.  You need to eat something, and I'm about to have a blood sugar
crash."

   She smiled.  Tremulously, but she smiled.

   Partlow

   Dana firmly marched me down to the cafeteria.  As we walked in, he
spotted a naked boy and girl ahead of us -- two of the Whitman kids.  Phil
I knew from Drama Club -- the girl was the photographer.

   "Phil!  Spike!  Yo!" When we caught up with them, he told them, "Sit
with us -- we Programmed juniors should stick together."

   Phil looked a little put out, but when Dana gave him a look, nodded.

   Spike scowled.  "I was going to sit with my friends."

   "Ah," Dana said, "feel the love."

   "What are you up to, Dana?" she said.

   "Seriously, Spike," Dana said, almost seriously, "I think we should
trade survival tactics."

   Spike -- was that really her name?  what was her last name?  -- shook
her head, but followed us to a table in the middle of the room.  Not the
area I usually sit in -- and way away from the Whitman section.  None of us
complained, though.

   Then he plopped his backpack in a seat and abandoned us.  "Watch my
pack, willya?  I gotta get something to eat." He was the only one of us who
dared buy his lunch, it seemed.

   Which left me looking at the other two.  Phil was, well, Phil -- tall
and languid and pomaded hair.  A drama queen, someone once called him,
though he rarely made a fuss.  The queen part's real, of course.  Spike,
though, gazed right back at me through her black bangs.  Her skin was pale
white, as if she never went out in the sun.  Not pasty, though -- more
ivory.  Her breasts and hips, usually hidden under black clothing, were
nicely curvy -- not too full.  And -- why hadn't I noticed this before?  --
her left nipple had a silver bar through it.  Which made me feel odd,
almost shivery.

   We opened our brown bags.

   "Spike?" I asked.

   "That's me."

   "Dana Partlow," I said, by way of introduction.

   "Yeah, I know.  I heard your speech at the awards assembly last year."

   Given her habitual scowl, I was surprised she went -- she didn't look
the type.  But then I dimly recalled, she'd received an award - no, three,
for her photography.  "Ah."

   "How are you holding out?" Phil asked.

   "I have to say," Spike said to me, "you look like you're going through a
rough time."

   "Uh, yeah.  I'll get through."

   "Think of it as a role," Phil said.  "A part you're playing in the drama
that is school."

   Spike gave Phil a disgusted look.  "EVERYTHING's a role for you."

   "Well, yes." Phil waved that away with a limper wrist than usual.

   Which made me wonder.  "How are you handling, you know, requests from
girls?"

   Phil shrugged.  "No biggie.  I keep hoping a boy will ask me for
something, but well, I've been waiting for years for that."

   Possibly it was just as well Dana returned with a heaping lunch tray. 
"Hey, did you know that Program participants get lunch free?  Because we
have no pockets." He plopped down the tray.

   Spike looked dubiously at it.  "Yes, but then you have to eat the
mystery tofu."

   "Hey, I'm a growing boy," Dana said, sliding his pack to the floor and
sitting down.  "I can eat AIEEEE!" He popped up.

   "I hate that stuff," Phil said, ignoring Dana's squeal.

   "What?" I looked at Dana, worried

   "Cold seat." He gingerly lowered himself into the chair.

   "Where's your towel?"

   "Um.  On my shop stool."

   I blinked.  Did I know he took shop?

   Someone called out, "Dana?"

   Both of us looked around -- Peri bounded up to us, carrying her brown
bag.  I flushed red -- all the pain of Liz stomping me came back.  Peri'd
been there.  Had stood there, looking horrified at me.  I'd heard the
phrase "wanting to sink through the floor" -- it was the first time I've
ever felt that way.

   But she didn't accuse me of anything -- or rather, of that.  "There you
are," she said to me.  "What are you doing over here?"

   "Eating," Dana promptly said.  "Hey, Peri."

   "Hi, Dana," she said to him.  Of course they knew each other -- Dana
seemed to know EVERYONE.

   "Peri -- Phil, Spike," he said by way of introductions.

   "Hi," Peri said to them.  Then she looked at me.  "I ...  "

   Dana interrupted her, "Earth to skyscraper -- could you sit down?  I'm
getting a crick in my neck."

   Peri giggled, and walked around me.  She sat on the edge of an empty
chair and took a deep breath.  "Dana," she said, looking at me, "I just
wanted to let you know, I think that was a horrible thing Liz did.  I mean,
I had no idea."

   Idea about what, I no idea.  Me and Liz?  That I'm gay?  That Liz was a
bitch?  -- which last, despite Dana's words, was the first time I'd let
myself think that.  God I was a mess, but at least I had room for anger in
there.

   Peri went on.  "And, really, I have no problem with it."

   "'It'?" Dana asked her, making air quotes.  "The It from the black
lagoon?  It as in Doing It?  The It that's part of Them?"

   I glared at him.  SO not helping.

   "W-with Dana being gay," Peri said.

   Phil and Spike looked at me.  Apparently, they hadn't heard.  Though of
course, they'd been over in the Whitman wing.

   Dana cocked his head at Peri, frowning.  She didn't seem to notice him.
But I did -- and I had to ask.  "Penny for your thoughts."

   "If that were true, she wouldn't have to reassure you of that," he said
to me, still looking at Peri.  We all looked at him.  "No offense," he said
to Peri.

   Peri looked halfway to tears.

   "Wrong," I told him.  "She was reassuring herself.  She's still getting
used to the idea." When he didn't respond, I said to him, "Think about it."

   "T-thanks," Peri said.  "I think."

   Dana pursed his lips and slowly nodded.

   "And just how," Spike asked, "did this come out?"

   I jumped in before Peri could -- or God help me, Dana.  "Liz Waters
announced it to everyone in a crowded hallway.  While freaking out. 
Because I'm in the Program."

   Spike looked at me a moment.  "Why would a dyke like Liz freak out over
a naked girl?"

   "She would, if the girl was her girlfriend."

   Spike blinked.  "Ah -- enlightenment."

   Phil pointed at me.  "Was?"

   "Yeah -- no -- I -- argh.  I don't know." I put my face in my hands.

   Dana took one hand in his.  "Center," he whispered.

   Oh right.  I centered.  As well as I could.

   "So how are you getting through the day, Spike?" Dana asked.

   I heard Spike take a breath.  "I'm been spending a lot of time
pretending I'm watching it all through my camera lens.  Distancing myself.
Especially for the humiliating parts."

   "Like ...  ?"

   "If one more boy tries to tug my piercing, I'm going to rip his balls
off."

   "They have to ASK," Dana reminded her.  "Hold onto that.  If they don't,
you can rip all you want."

   I looked up in time to see Spike's fierce grin.

   "What about," Dana started, then corrected himself, "no, don't tell me,
Phil -- it's just another role to you."

   Phil actually stuck out his tongue at Dana for that.

   "What about you?" I asked him.

   "I've found," he said seriously, "that if I talk fast enough, I stop
noticing what's going on.  And if I'm funny enough, no one else does,
either."

   I looked at the erection in his lap.  "I'm having trouble believing
that."

   Dana, wonder of wonders, blushed.  And the rest of us laughed.  And then
the bell rang, ending lunch.

   Smith

   After lunch, I had orchestra.  I'm second desk oboe.  Yes, I know -
right up the cliche of What Oboists Are Like.  So sue me.

   Mr Thoreau looked up as I staggered in thirty second late.  "Sorry," I
said.  "Reasonable requests." A quartet of freshmen girls had asked to
fondle my cock and balls.  I'd been hard all lunch -- sitting with three
naked kids, see -- and now I was about ready to burst.

   He grunted.  "Do you want relief?"

   "Please."

   "Miss Peretski?" Sylvie, the Whitman freshman girl, was sitting naked
among the flautists.

   "No, thank you."

   "Anyone wish to help Mr.  Smith?" Thoreau called out.

   You know the cliche about all violists are sluts?  It's true -- every
single girl of them eagerly raised her hand.  I pointed to Rikki, third
desk of first viola.  Not only did she bound up to me, she knelt at my feet
and immediately began to blow me.  She wasn't brilliant at it, but in my
condition, I didn't care.  I came in her mouth in half a minute.

   As Rikki swallowed my load, I caught Mr Thoreau looking on with a
wistful smile.  Was she one of his pets?  Surely not.

   When we were done, he tossed me another towel.  "I decided it would be
wise to have a few spares," he told me.  Er, yeah.

   Practice was good for me, for values of "good" that mean "not thinking
about being naked." I played lousily, actually -- my reed was cranky -- as
did most of the woodwinds.  The violists also were out of key, each their
own, and the tympanist was always a half-beat off.  I thought Thoreau was
going to snap his baton.  That we all were so bad put my naked state out of
mind.

   After orchestra, I once again hustle all the way across the school to
the language arts wing and French V -- my other class with Dana.  When I
started out, my cock was not hard for the first time all day - bloated, but
just tumescent.  By the time everyone greeted and cackled at me along the
way, it was hard again.  I don't pretend to understand my anatomy.

   Dana was not looking happy.

   "Is that face for the Program or some other lifewhack?"

   She grimaced.  "Algebra," she muttered at me.

   I couldn't say anything to that.  I'm no good, when someone complains
about being bad at math.  That's like saying you're bad at breathing, to
me. (I once told my parents that, and Scarlett pointed out some people have
asthma.  I'm still not sure what to make of that.)

   Madame Toussaint greeted her naked students with a thin smile -- all
three of us, for Madison also took French.  "Relief?"

   Dana shook her head, but Madison and I both nodded eagerly.

   Madison looked at me with a glint in her eye.  "How about we do each
other?"

   Me, do the babeliscious head cheerleader?  In front of a class of honors
students?  That didn't include her boyfriend?  I was SO there.  Besides,
I'd never tasted a cheerleader before.  I gestured for her to sit in the
chair in the front corner of the classroom.  Then I knelt between her
spread legs -- which were very spread -- and dove in.  We had five minutes,
and I wanted my turn.

   I should have expected the taste -- semen.  Like she wouldn't have
screwed someone, or someones, by now.  Not that it stopped me -- it's not
like I mind the taste of spunk -- but, well, she could have warned me.  She
was aroused enough to want the relief, at least -- lips puffy, clit
swollen, slit very wet.  Within a minute of licking and diddling, she was
ready.  I latched onto her clit, and she came -- hard.  Suddenly those
spread legs were clamped onto my head.

   Cheerleaders, for the record, have strong legs.  My head felt like it
was in a vise.  And Madison has long-lasting orgasms -- she bucked and
wailed for three minute while I sucked for dear life.  Finally it ended,
and my head slowly rebounded to its normal shape.

   "That," she panted, "was fucking incredible."

   The class erupted in hoots and cheers.  Through which I heard Madame
Toussaint say, "Less than a minute."

   "Oh, God, I gotta reward you," Madison said.  And with the taste of
orgasmic girl all over my face, Mr.  Happy had stolen all my brain's blood
-- I didn't argue.  In a few seconds, I found myself in the chair.  Madison
straddled me, and before I knew what was happening, lowered herself on my
cock.  I was inside Madison Rawls.  I was having sex with MADISON, in a
CLASSROOM.  And she'd taken all of me inside in one slow, exquisite motion.

   And just as she bottomed out, Madame Toussaint called out, "Out of
time."

   After a moment, Madison threw back her head and clearly muttered,
"Fuck." I couldn't agree more.

   "In a word," Madame said, "non."

   I think Toussaint would make a very good top.  In fact, she probably is.

   Madison got off me -- I wanted to whimper -- and I went to our seats. 
For me, next to Dana -- she'd saved it.

   As Madame started class, Dana gave me a smile -- sorta wry, sorta
amused, sorta ...  jealous maybe?  Envious?  I wasn't sure.  The only thing
to envy I could think of was going down on Madison.

   I wiped lingering Madison-juice from around my mouth and offered my
fingers to Dana.

   She gave me a Look.

   Uh.  Oops.  I gave an apologetic shrug.

   She patted my arm with a prim little smile, then paid attention to
Madame.  Which I thought meant I was forgiven, but it could have meant I
was a pet.  It was hard to tell.

   Partlow

   Dana is, I was coming to realize, a very sweet boy, but also even
weirder than his class-clown persona lets on.  I concentrated on
subjunctives.

   Smith

   After French is freedom.  Well, no, not really.  I took calculus last
year, so this semester for math, I'm taking diff-eq at Trinity College on
MWF 3-4, as the course catalog put it.  It's through a program that lets
advanced high school students take a class for free.  And let me tell you,
that's a program I dearly appreciate.

   As opposed to the Program.  My clothes were still locked in Angeles's
lair, and I'd not had a chance to get Skinner to unlock them.  Fortunately,
I had a backup plan.  In the bottom of my locker was my old gym uniform.

   (For the record, I was really glad that, as a junior, I don't have to
take P.E.  anymore.  Especially once I learned that boys in the Program
won't be allowed jock straps.  Which sounds damned dangerous, if you ask
me. Protective equipment, that thing is.  Just like sports bras.  Which
made me think of Madison cheering nude.  Yum.  Yes, I was still thinking
with Mr.  Happy -- why do you ask?)

   The plan had a flaw, however, one I didn't discover till I started
dressing in my car.  Apparently, I'd grown over the summer.  The shirt more
or less fit, but the shorts were a lot tighter than I remembered.  Almost
painfully so, especially with Mr.  Happy.  I pulled them down and gave
myself a quick wank, catching my spunk in a rag from under the seat.  Hey,
oil on my wang is better than splooge on my dash.

   Then I drove to Trinity as quickly as I could.  I had just enough time
to pass through the student union -- and buy a pair of Trinity shorts that
fit me.  Thank the gods for college spirit, I say.  I made it to class in
clothing that wouldn't get me kicked out -- no thanks to Ms Angeles.  I was
going to have to find a way around her.

   And best of all, I was in math.  Sweet.  I forgot everything in the joy
of derivatives -- even Madison.  It was fun.

   When I got home, Ginny all but pounced me coming in the door.  "Well?"

   She wore a pink shirt with red glitter that said REAL LOLITA.  I looked
at her chest.  "Does Scarlett know you own that?"

   "Never mind Mom -- did you get picked for the Program?"

   And when it came crashing back to me.  "Uh, yeah," I said tiredly.

   "Yes!  Outreach, here I come!" She pumped her fist in the air, and
started pulling off her shirt.

   "Ginny," I said as she stripped off her (rather short) shorts, "what are
you doing?"

   "Program Outreach -- where you get naked with your family." She ran into
the back room, ludicrously cheerful.

   I shook my head.  I was NOT going to do Outreach -- not as the only male
in a lesbian household.  Nor was I going to try and control Ginny -- I was
too wiped.  Before she could come back, I quickly ran upstairs, two stairs
at a time, into my room.  I locked my door and stripped.

   And then I thoroughly jacked off, remembering every bare tit and pussy
and cock and ass and abs I'd seen all day.  It took a half hour and coming
four times before I was finally drained -- at least enough to stay soft
until bed.

   I didn't know how I was going to get through the week.

   Partlow

   Apr�s Fran�ais, AP chemistry.  On the way there, I was stopped for -- a
miracle -- only the second reasonable request of the day.  Some jerk named
Jameison tried to stuff his fingers up my pussy, but I grabbed his hand in
a wrist lock.

   "Uh, ow!  But you gotta let me!"

   "You have to ask," I told him.

   "Yeah," Madison Rawls told him, appearing beside us.  "It's called a
reasonable REQUEST."

   I let go.  He scrammed, rubbing his wrist.  Jerk.

   Madison nodded to me.  "You stick with Dana," she told me.  "He's a good
one."

   "Um, yeah," I said.  "Thanks."

   "No prob." She patted my shoulder as she left.

   My skin tingled where she touched me all the way to class.

   Dr.  Barton offered me relief, which I declined, of course.  The
incident with Jameison disturbed me enough that even if I was willing to
masturbate in public, I wasn't in the mood.  Though my body certainly had
been giving me mixed signals all afternoon.  I wanted home and a long hot
bath.  With Jeanette.  Complete with long slow lovemaking.  Mm.

   The daydream almost made me regret turning down relief.  Almost.

   Fortunately, Peri takes good notes.

   Mondays after school, I usually have a Student Council meeting.  But
today, after everything, I wasn't up for it.  I couldn't face being naked
to the world for another minute.  And council was, of course, a student
activity.  What I wanted -

   No, what I needed was to center myself.  My normal classes at the dojo
are Wednesday and Friday.  But there's also a beginner class Mondays.  If I
hurried, I could get there on time.  When the bell rang, I grabbed my stuff
at my locker, and retrieved my clothes at the main entrance.  I quickly
dressed, despite the audience, and ran for my car.

   At the dojo, I explained to Sensei Judith and her assistant that I
wanted to practice my basics in preparation for my sandan test.  Which was
partly true.  Mostly, I wanted the ritual.  It helped a lot.  As did sensei
using me for uke, when she demonstrated something -- showing new students
that it could be done felt good.  Well, if I was honest with myself, being
able to show off like that felt good.  My ukemi has been improving a lot,
the past couple months.

   I went home more relaxed than I expected I could, after the day's
disastrous start.

   Smith

   I stayed in my room till dinner, doing homework.  Which I really needed
to do, given how I'd missed at least half of what'd been said in classes
today.  I wondered if I could get out of the Program on the grounds of
academic interference.  Probably not.

   At dinner, Ginny was wearing clothing (a different shirt -- PRINCESS
with a smug cat) and a scowl.  I was DEFINITELY staying out of that one. 
Mom was still in checked work shirt and dusty jeans; at least her heavy
boots were off, left by the door for cleaning.  What I said about her being
a flannel dyke?  She dresses like that all the time.  She owns her own
contracting business -- half her employees are butch women, both queer and
straight, and the other half Mexican immigrants.  Mom's fluent Spanish and
English, having learned them at my Nana's knee.  Which is why I'm taking
French instead.

   I intended to say nothing about my day -- just shut up and eat.  I don't
know about you, but I'm pretty much always hungry, and I hadn't snacked
when I got home.  But then Mom said, "So what's this about you being picked
for the Program?"

   "Yeah," I tried to say around a bite of meatloaf, but it came out as,
"Unh." I swallowed.  "That's me -- mild mannered kid at night, but during
the day I turn into: Naked Boy!"

   Ginny giggled.  Scarlett looked at her sternly.

   "Defender of the innocent?" Mom said with a smile.

   "Mostly I just flash through the halls -- " Scarlett groaned, " -- but
yeah, something like that." Which got me a Mom Look, so I had to explain
about Dana, and my pact with her, and getting together with Spike and Phil,
and about the other Program participants.  I, well, pretty much talked all
the way through dinner.  With Mom's encouragement, I might add.  But I
won't -- the truth is, I can be a real motormouth, especially there's
something to get out of my system.

   The hardest part to talk about was Liz and Dana.  Partly, as Mom pointed
out, because I didn't know everything.

   "Nor does Dana," I said without thinking, then thought about it.  That
was probably true.

   "I wanna kick her ass," Scarlett muttered, which made Ginny giggle
again.

   "Dana?" I said, startled.

   "Gods, no -- she's doing the best she can, poor thing.  What the fuck
was LIZ thinking?"

   "She probably wasn't," Mom said.  She and Scarlett exchanged a
meaningful look, the sort that shared a past history I don't know about and
they didn't want to tell me.

   "Are you going to kick Liz's ass?" Ginny asked me.

   "I don't kick ass," I told her.  "I mock from a safe distance."

   She gave me an Older People Are Stupid look.  "Then why'd you take
karate?"

   Mom headed that one off by telling me, "You do realize insults can hurt
just as much, if not more?"

   Well, duh.  Why else would I do it?  I nodded at her defiantly.

   Scarlett suddenly asked, "How long she's known?  Dana, I mean -- that's
she's gay."

   I thought a moment.  "I don't know," I admitted, "but I don't think Liz
is her first, if that's what you're asking." Given the way she didn't look
at boys at all, she couldn't be in a complicated situation if Liz was her
first.

   One thing I didn't tell them was about Madison and my growing crush on
her.  Not that I don't have about fifteen crushes going at any one time,
but I don't tell them about those either.  Ginny wanted to hear about my
getting relief, but she did it so enthusiastically, Scarlett suppressed her
and I avoided it altogether.

   When dessert was done and gone, I cleaned the dishes and went upstairs
to bum around online.  I hadn't been the first to solve the crypto
challenge the night before, but I'd done pretty damn well, it turned out. I
was strafing a message board when Mom knocked on my door.

   "Hey," I said.

   "Just wanted to ask, how are you handling it?" Meaning the Program.

   "It's ...  stressful," I admitted.  "But I'm holding on."

   "Ah."

   I hate it when she gives one of those non-answers that makes you say
more.  Do they teach that in some sort of parenting school?  "I survive by
my wits, such as they are," I told her.  "And if all else fails, I can
always give someone a tongue-lashing."

   Mom raised her eyebrows.  "Literally?"

   I thought of Madison and blushed.

   "I see," she said, managing to not laugh at me.  "On that note, I will
leave you in privacy."

   For which I thanked the gods and goddesses for having a generally sane
and sensible mother.  And for getting an IM from one of my crypto buddies
right then.  I started typing a response.

   As she turned and left, she stopped and said, "Taking your meds?"

   "Yeah, yeah," I waved my hand at her, and kept typing.  She closed the
door behind her.

   I'd meant to get to sleep at a reasonable time, but got caught up in
creating a counter-challenge to last night's problem.  At least I don't
need much sleep when I'm on.

   Partlow

   I wanted to call Jeanette over then moment I got home, but she had
practice Mondays and wouldn't be around till near 6.  I thought about that
bath, and decided to dive into homework instead.  I piled up everything I
needed on my dining room table, sat down, and looked at my history book for
ten seconds.  And then started to cry.

   Everything about my wretched, awful day welled up in one big lump.  The
exposure.  The humiliation.  The Liz tearing my heart out and stomping that
sucker flat.  Not that I'd been in love with Liz.  Yet.  But I could have
been -- could have fallen in love with her.  I didn't think I could now,
even if we made up and got back together.  Which was another thing to cry
about -- a love that never would be.

   After ten minutes, I gave up and went to my room and cried on my bed. 
Clutching a pillow is much more comforting than a textbook.

   I don't know how long the jag lasted because, well, I fell asleep.  Not
only was I miserable but exhausted -- and not just from the stress.  It was
Dana as well.  How the hell did he have so much energy?  Stick around him
enough, he tires you out.  Heck, he could tire out a kindergarten class.  I
woke to the sound of my phone.

   It was Jeanette.

   "So, ma petite, were you picked?"

   "Um.  Yeah."

   "Oh ho!  And how was it?"

   I thought about it.  "I'm recovering," I said as I stretched.  Crying
myself out had helped.  As had the nap.

   "Aieee.  Do you need me?"

   In her background, I heard giggles -- ones I didn't recognize.  "Where
are you?"

   "I'm ...  with friends.  I've a date tonight."

   From that dip in her voice, one she was excited about.  "Oh really?" I
drawled.

   "I told you about the Fancher twins, yes?  With them."

   Okay, I admit it.  I just don't get society's attitude towards having
sex with twins.  It's odd enough when they're identical women, but sex with
a girl/boy pair just sounds icky to me -- and it's not just because of the
boy.  I've never had a threesome, but from what I understand -- and not
just from Jeanette's experiences -- generally everyone is having sex with
both other partners.  And incest is the Ew.

   But what I said to her was, "Planning to have fun?" Jill Fancher was, I
knew from Jeanette's yearbook, a really cute chick, and Eric not bad for a
boy.

   "Oui," she breathed.  "But if you need me, I can break off."

   "No no, you go have a good time." Which was kinda masochistic of me, but
it actually kinda helped knowing someone at least was having fun, even if I
wasn't.  Besides, I was feeling a lot better at that point.

   "I can come over, after," Jeanette said.

   "I," I said.  "Yeah.  I'm likely to go to bed early, though -- it was a
long day."

   "Then I will, ma ch�rie.  By 10 at the latest."

   "Thanks."

   It wasn't until I hung up that I realized I hadn't told her about Liz.
Not that I knew what to say about her.

   Then I went downstairs and dove into homework until my parents got home.

   I told my mother something about my day, mostly that it was hard.  I
told my father I was in the Program, but it didn't seem to take.  I love
him, but it was like my being gay -- it just didn't register.  Thank God I
have my mother to turn to.  Not that she could do anything about the
Program except offer support and point out that Dana sounded like a good
boy.  He is, but it's not like I'd like go out with him, as I kinda suspect
she was hinting.

   In the end, I couldn't stay up past 9:30 -- too tired, even with that
nap.  Jeanette hadn't come yet.  I wasn't too worried about it - she has a
key to the back door.

   Sleep came quickly, but restless.  Confused dreams about being naked in
school, of course.  The weirdest one had Jeanette making out with me in the
hallway, while everyone ignored us except those red-headed Whitman twins,
who wanted to join in.  Like I said, confused and restless.  I woke
frequently.

   In the end, it was almost midnight when Jeanette's naked body slid into
bed with me.  It was too late to do anything but spoon.  It was still good
-- I slept better after that: in my dreams, Dana held my hand the rest of
the night.

   [continued in part 3, Tuesday]
   -- http://www.fastmail.fm - A fast, anti-spam email service.  

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