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Subject: {ASSM} Dana and Dana Naked in School, 3/7 (ff mf mfm mg fg, exhib, voy, NIS,   naked, cussing, sexuality issues)
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Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2005 04:10:03 -0400
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Dana and Dana Naked in School by pseudoRandom

   3.  Tuesday

   Dana Smith

   The only reason I made to school on time was that I remembered that Dana
would need support undressing outside the main entrance.  I had a feeling
getting naked would be even worse than being naked, for her -- the act of
exposing herself.  If yesterday was any guide, anyway.

   When I hurried up, there was already a crowd around the front door --
with Ms Angeles, naked, watching on indulgently.  Which made me wonder
where the other administrators were.  Dana was hanging around the edges,
waiting for her chance to strip.  Or building up her courage.  I slipped
through to her side.

   "Hey," I said.

   "Oh, good morning, Dana." She barely glanced at me, but looked back at
the show.

   Which was understandable.  Madison had everyone's attention as she
slowly peeled off her clothes.  I had a feeling she wanted it that way. 
She wasn't making it a strip-tease, but that didn't matter.  We were all
hooked.  As in, no one noticed anything else.

   I whispered to Dana, "You could take 'em off while no one's looking."

   She looked startled -- she hadn't thought of that.  But then, she'd been
watching Madison herself.

   "Though you might want to wipe the drool off first," I went on.  "It'll
get on your clothes."

   "You're one to talk."

   I grinned.  Guilty as charged.  "Ah, but I'm not hiding.  I'll go up and
do something after her."

   "What?" She looked genuinely curious.

   "I don't know," I said honestly.  "Something will happen though -- it
always does."

   She hmphed.  Then, "No, I might as well do it like everyone else.  Get
it over with."

   I thought of reminding her of her center, but she didn't look like she
needed it.

   Then everyone clapped and hooted as Madison neatly put her clothes away.
My cue.  I dropped my pack at Dana's feet to watch, and pushed through the
crowd to take the center spotlight after her.

   "Ladies and gentlemen," I called out like an MC, with an imaginary
microphone, "thank you all -- you're a wonderful audience.  We really
appreciate you taking the time to come down here."

   "Like I have a choice," Spike called out.  She was to one side, already
naked -- and holding up her camera.  Had she gotten Madison's show?  If so,
I wanted those pictures.

   "Yes, yes," I pattered on.  "And because you all are such a WONNERFUL
audience, I just KNOW you'll understand that there's no WAY anyone could
follow an act like THAT one."

   Cheers and hoots.

   "So I'm not going to try." And with that, I pulled my t-shirt over my
head and flung it into a bin.  Then my shorts -- the first ones I'd found
in my rush this morning, the new Trinity pair.  Fortunately for the moment,
they didn't have pockets, so my wallet and keys were in my backpack.  I
tossed them in another bin.

   I spread my arms.  "Ta da!" Total stripping time: four seconds, tops.  A
couple people clapped.  I bowed left and right and left and right, "Thank
you, thank you," which got some more people into the spirit of it.  I took
back my imaginary mic, and said, "Now for my first encore, I'd like to -- "

   "Get off the stage," Ricardo shouted.

   "Yeah, you stink," one of Jameison's cronies said.

   "Anyone have any fruit?" called out a girl in my homeroom named Fatima.

   I clutched my hand to my heart in mock despair.  My work here was done.
Grinning, I scuttled back to Dana and my pack as Pat and Patty, the twin
artists, stripped together.  Almost a synchronized show.  At least they
didn't undress each other.

   "Ready?" I asked Dana.

   She nodded and handed me her pack.  She followed me to the front -- just
in time for Pat and Patty's simultaneous underwear removal.  Which meant
just in time to get started before she lost her nerve.  She pulled up her
top -- another spaghetti strap, this one pale green -- as she stepped
forward.  Rather than fold it, she dropped it in a box.

   "Turn around so we can see," Jameison called out.

   Ms Angeles cleared her throat.  Well, it was a reasonable request.  Dana
complied as she undid her bra.

   I have to say, I admire Dana for what she did.  She didn't hurry, she
didn't put on a show, she didn't try to hide herself.  She undressed, at a
normal speed.  Which like removed half the erotic content.  It was as if
she didn't even acknowledge the rest of us were there.

   Which come to think of it, she probably didn't.  I was betting she was
so centered a flying kick wouldn't have moved her.

   It have all worked out if Liz Waters hadn't pushed through the crowd
just as she finished.  Dana's face went ashen.

   "Dana," Liz said, in a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger voice.  You know,
the kind a preacher uses when he wants to REALLY humiliate a sinner.

   "Liz," Dana said, voice almost steady.

   I stepped up next to Dana.  I didn't take her hand, but offered her the
chance to.  She clutched it.

   Liz looked down at that.  "Oh.  I see."

   "What?" Dana said, confused.

   "I knew this would happen," Liz gestured at our hands.  "Let the boys
paw you, and you turn straight."

   "You've got that wrong," Dana said.  "It's -- "

   "Oh do tell."

   Dana went on, "Let someone else be supportive, and I turn to them as a
friend." It sounded brave, but her hand was close to grinding my hand bones
together.

   Which Liz ignored.  "I mean, this is the most egotistical thing I've
ever imagined someone doing."

   What, was it all about her?  I flipped down my free index finger at her.
"Pot.  Kettle.  Bang." A couple guys laughed -- it's an online thing.

   "Huh?" Liz sneered.  I hadn't know you could sneer that.

   I turned to Ms Angeles.  "I want to report an incident of verbal abuse
and harassment," I told her.  "I understand this school has a
zero-tolerance policy."

   Angeles frowned at me.  "I'll report it to Skinner or Jackson when I
take these in," gesturing at the boxes.

   I looked at her again.  "But until then, you're going to tolerate it?"

   A couple muttered "yeahs" and "shut her ups" from the crowd.  Madison
audibly muttered "Bay-itch."

   "Takes one to know one," Liz shot back at her.

   "Ah, smell the irony," I said, taking a deep breath.  More laughs.  Liz
was SO setting herself up for a good hard mocking -- with a captive
audience too.  I was looking forward to it, too -

   But it was just as well the bell rang.

   "Shit," Spike said, followed by some other Whitmanites.  They had to
book it across the school.

   So did we all -- I had to get to my locker.  I quickly looked to Dana.
"You okay?"

   She nodded.  I turned away, but she pulled me back by the hand.  "Thank
you," she said, looking in my eyes.

   I nodded.  "I'll catch up with you before English." And then I booked
it.

   By the time I reached homeroom, I was ready for some relief.  Which made
me ask Mrs.  Bryant if relief rules applied to homeroom.  She frowned while
looking at me -- as opposed to frowning at me, if that makes sense.

   "I do not know," she said in that careful Russian accent of hers.  "I
believe the rules suggest not, but I must clarify."

   "Just so I know," I said before she could offer me the chance.

   So of course, I spent the whole homeroom fielding reasonable requests.
Zoe, Talia, Trish, Rani, and Fatima all wanted to fondle me -- sorry,
explore what an erect penis feels like.  As if all but one didn't
INTIMATELY know it -- and that one wasn't Fatima.

   My first period bio class was, by a coincidence of fate, next door to
homeroom.  Which meant I had no excuse to bop into a passing boy's room for
a quick wank.  First period bio was also, by another coincidence, stocked
with Program participants: not just me, but Jake, Colleen, Pat, and Patty
-- plus our teacher, Ms Alcott.  Who's probably older than Ms Angeles, but
whose body was a lot better looking.  I mean, you could tell she wasn't
young, but it didn't matter.  Or something.

   Okay, I'll quit while I'm behind, as Scarlett says when I'm starting to
sound like a jerk.

   As soon as the bell rang, Dolores raised her hand.  "Ms Alcott, will we
be studying human sexuality this year?"

   Which got a lot of laughter, as everyone looked at the five of us.  My
stomach sank.  I could just imaging how Program participants would fit into
something like THAT.

   "Yes, we will," Alcott said, "but later in the semester."

   "But we have such fine models," someone called out -- I think Abby, but
I wasn't sure.

   "And we will then," Alcott replied.  "The Program continues all year."

   Which made many of our classmates look worried.  I grinned.  Jake
stage-whispered, "And payback's a bitch, isn't it."

   I may not have mentioned this before, but Jake's something of an
asshole. He's popular because of what he does, not who he is -- as sports
star, I mean.  As opposed to Dana, who'd rise to the top of just about any
social situation, I think.

   "Speaking of the Program," Alcott went on, looking at her naked
students, "do any of you need relief?"

   I was off my stool and heading to the front before she even finished. 
"Oh yeah," I said, to laughter.  Jake, Pat, and Patty also asked for it. 
Colleen looked tempted, but declined.  I wondered how long it would take
before she followed Madison's example and took every opportunity for public
nookie -- I figure, most cheerleaders have a little exhibitionism in them,
or they wouldn't be cheering.

   Jake asked for assistance, and got it from Dolores.  I declined, though
it was tempting to ask Colleen.  For a moment, it looked like Pat and Patty
would do each other -- but they were just flirting with incest to shock
people.  WhatEVER, as Ginny might say.  They did themselves instead.

   It didn't take me long to come, in a tissue Alcott provided -- same with
Pat.  It took Dolores almost the full five minutes to get Jake off -- she
used tissues, by the way.  Patty also took five minutes, but that's because
she brought herself off four times.  Enthusiastically, with this high
sighing cry as she bucked and writhed in her chair.  It was a good enough
show, it made me wonder what it'd be like to have sex with her.  And made
my dick fully and thoroughly happy again, as if I'd not just gotten off.

   I wasn't the only one with that reaction, judging by the eyes staring at
Patty the rest of the period.  Mine, I am happy to report, wasn't one of
them.  Instead, I gazed at the perfect bare butt of Colleen, sitting at the
lab bench in front of me.  Toned cheerleader butt -- yum.

   Dana Partlow

   After what happened in front of the school, I was prepared for the
worst. But no one hassled me on the way to homeroom, and heading to AP
history, I only got a single request to pose.  And Mr.  Hawthorne simply
ignored me.  I didn't mind the quiet time to build up my strength again. 
And learn about the settlement patterns of the early American colonies.

   I was hoping, given that English is just down the hall from my history
class, to slip into its safety.  No such luck.  I was immediately stopped
by a three guys and a girl, who wanted me to pose for them, showing my
pussy off by spreading my legs.  I put my arms behind me, hands supporting
my backpack.  But then, as if that wasn't humiliating enough, they asked to
finger my pussy.

   "No," I said, as calmly as I could.  I stood straight, closing my legs.

   "Whadya you mean, no?" a boy said.

   "No, I don't think it's reasonable."

   "Sure it is."

   "It is not reasonable for you to touch me there."

   "'You'?" the shortest boy said, "What, let me guess, you'll let Katie do
it?"

   "Ew," Katie said.  "I'm not touching a lez-bo."

   "Very wise," Dana said, appearing beside me, slightly breathless.  "It's
catching, you know."

   I grabbed his hand.  Good thing it was his left, and not his writing,
hand -- I clutched hard enough he winced.

   To the boys, he said, "I think, Larry, and Julio, and Ricky, it's time
for you to go to class."

   "Or what, you'll make fun of us?" Katie said.

   Dana appeared to consider that.  "Somehow, I don't think I need to."

   I nearly snorfled on the hidden insult.  Which twigged Ricky that there
was an insult to find.  No matter -- Dana turned for class, and I followed.

   When we were stopped by two more boys with requests for me, Dana pouted.
"When they signed me up, they told me I would feel the love.  And here you
guys are, not feeling my loving," and then somehow he made his penis
twitch.

   One shook his head.  "Only you, Smith, would make such bad gay jokes."

   "You know it, bay-bee!" Dana replied.

   "Yes, but that's how we know he's not gay," the other said.  "They're so
bad."

   Um.  Right.  And on that note, the bell rang.  We slipped into class. 
And I finally let go of his hand.

   He immediately began rubbing his palm, as if it hurt, stopping only to
sling off his backpack.

   "I'm sorry," I said.  "Is it bad?"

   "'Sokay," he said.  "I should be okay to play later."

   "Play?"

   "Oboe," he said ruefully.

   Oh damn.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have." Wait -- oboe and shop?

   He shook his head.  "Don't worry about it."

   Ms Emerson stood up -- as naked as yesterday.  Well, almost as naked --
her waist chain now had a charm dangling from it, and her hair was in a
ponytail that flipped forward over her right shoulder.  Not enough to hide
her breast, though, but just far enough down to highlight that her breast
was bare.  I almost wished Dana's tale about a past history with her was
true -- that it was possible to have an affair with her.  Yes, it's kinda
creepy, thinking about an adult seducing a kid - a teacher no less -- but
that's how I felt.  I was almost wet.

   Dana looked at her and audibly swallowed.  And I realized that "almost"
was wrong.

   "Would either of you like relief?" she asked.

   "Oh yeah," Dana sighed.  He stepped forward, erection bobbing about.

   And me, I was for the first time tempted by the thought.  Only a little,
but a temptation just the same.

   "Would you like any assistance with this?" Ms Emerson asked him.

   "Why, are you offering?"

   "Tempting," she drawled, like yesterday.  I swear, I saw Dana's penis
twitch.  I really thought she was going to say yes -- and I don't want to
think about the jealousy THAT provoked.  But then she said, "But no -- I'm
not allowed to."

   "Ms Emerson," Dana said, hands on hips.  "I don't know what it was like
when you were young, but kids these days have names for females who act
like that -- many of them quite rude."

   I gasped, as did a few others.  Names like cock-tease, he meant.  But
what were the others?  Was I really that sheltered?

   But Ms Emerson only looked abashed.  "I'm sorry.  Anyone?"

   Just about every girl's hand in the class went up.  Even, I was startled
to see, Peri.

   Dana looked them over.  "Not you, Trish -- you've had your turn."

   "Don't you want to go with someone you know is good?" Trish shot back.

   "What, and ruin my slutty reputation?"

   Which got a laugh.  And I thought about it -- it was funny not just in
the moment, but in Dana's life.  I mean, it's not like I'd paid much
attention to him, but I'd never heard of him going out with anyone.  On the
evidence of Mr.  Happy -- and the way he relieved Madison Rawls -- he
couldn't be celibate.  But as far as his reputation went, he might as well
have been.

   Dana picked Mina Tai, which shocked me.  Mina's one of Liz's friends. 
Well, and mine as well, but I hadn't talked with her since last week. 
Mina's not militantly gay like Liz -- not as in your face about it, anyway.
Why would she volunteer to help a boy this way?  Though I immediately
realized -- to not stand out.  Aside from me, the girls who didn't raise
their hands were in the closet -- which I knew because I'd gone out with
Belle and Betsy both, a while back.

   And from the very slight smile on his face, I think Dana knew it too. 
He picked her as a way to get back at Liz, in an untraceable way.  It was
incredibly mean.  Yet somehow, it was very sweet anyway.

   Which is how I finally understood how someone could act like a total
bitch to get another person's approval.

   Mina gave him a hand-job.  From Dana's wince, I don't think it was very
good.  Fortunately, it didn't have to be -- he came almost immediately.

   After five minutes of watching Ms Emerson lecture us from the front of
the class, walking back and forth to keep our attention -- on her bouncing
breasts -- he was hard again.  And I was wet.  Cock-tease indeed.  And
pussy-tease.

   Halfway through class, Ms Angeles looked in the door.  "May I please
talk with Dana for a minute?" she asked Ms Emerson.  "It's Program
business.

   Dana and I looked at each other.  Then we stood together.

   "I meant Miss Partlow," Angeles said.

   Dana shrugged, elaborately casual.  "You ask for 'Dana,' you get Danas."
He followed us into the hall.

   "Well, this touches both of you," Angeles said.  "So to speak.  Miss
Partlow, someone has lodged a complaint against you -- that you did not
perform a reasonable request."

   I was ready for this.  I'd been thinking about it all morning, even
before the incident before English, which this had to be.  "I've turned
down a few requests because they were unreasonable."

   "And hearing what the request was, I must disagree.  It was reasonable."

   "This," Dana said, "based only on one biased testimony."

   Angeles frowned at him.  "I was told that she refused a request to touch
her."

   "That was not a request I've turned down," I said.  "I HAVE turned down
a request to stick a finger inside me." Which was, after all, one meaning
of "finger."

   "I see.  So it's your word against theirs."

   "And mine," Dana said.  "I witnessed it."

   This time Angeles glared.  "If the request was penetration, then yes, it
was reasonable to not accept it."

   "That would be rape," Dana agreed, "at least legally."

   Would it?  I suppose it would.  I wonder if he'd looked that up
somewhere.

   Angeles raised her hand.  "If I may finish?  But I should point out that
touching you is not, in itself, unreasonable.  The manner and method, you
may discriminate against -- assault and rape are still illegal.  But not
the act in itself."

   "Why not?" I finally said.  "I mean, you're saying that we're to
exercise our judgment but that we're not allowed to.  You can't have it
both ways."

   "Certain behaviors are mandatory," Angeles said, "just like staying
naked is.  Beyond that, it is your call.  The point is to make you open up,
to embrace your sexuality."

   I wanted to scream about it being unfair.

   "I see," Dana said.

   He was about to say something vicious, which was only going to make it
worse -- saying ANYTHING would.  I tried to step on his foot, which doesn't
work as well when you're wearing flip-flops as you might think.  But he
shut up.

   "Is this understood?" Ms Angeles said to us.

   "I understand," Dana said.

   Meaning that he understood what she said -- not that he agreed with it.
Did he split every hair he met?

   "Miss Partlow?"

   "I understand."

   "Very good.  I trust I won't hear of a similar incident in the future."

   "I sincerely hope not," Dana said sincerely.  Hope she didn't hear of it
if it happened -- or when.

   Satisfied, Angeles walked off.

   I took a deep breath.  "Sometimes adults are -- are ...  "

   " ...  stupidheads," Dana finished for me.  He gave me a crooked smile.
"That's what my semi-step-sister calls 'em."

   I giggled.  "She sounds like a very wise girl."

   "She excels at the detection of bulltish.  Which that is.  You
understand that, yes?  You shouldn't do anything you're not comfortable
with."

   "Yes, of course I understand," I said with asperity.

   "In that case," he said, raising a finger, "I'll quit while I'm behind."

   I gave him a mock glare.  "You do that."

   "I just said I would."

   "Then do so."

   "I am but this moment doing so."

   "I am delighted to hear it."

   "And I am delighted to oblige you."

   I gave up -- never take on Dana at his own shtick.  Or rather, I lost it
and giggled.  He grinned at me.

   "Let's get back to class," he said.

   "Before Emerson worries whether Angeles ate us."

   "When, of course, it's Emerson you want to eat you."

   Which is why I was whooping with laughter, completely red-faced, as we
entered the classroom.  Which come to think of it, was the best possible
way to reassure our teacher.  I wondered if that's why Dana did that.

   As we sat down, I glanced askance at him, and decided from his smirk
that no, he'd done it just to yank the chain of my crush.  What had he said
about the pot and the kettle this morning?

   Smith

   This time, I walked Dana all the way to her drama class, then
backtracked to shop.  Which put me like nearly at the end of my five
minutes for relief, but after watching Emerson's bouncing boobs explain
Meville's symbolism for an hour (how did her nipples stay hard all period?)
I didn't need more than a minute.  Juanita teased me again, until I
threatened to sandpaper her crotch.

   Then I hustled back to Dana's drama class.  She protested she didn't
need a full-time escort.  But she'd been packing up slowly, as if afraid of
facing the hallways -- though before lunch, she had a point: it let the
crowd disperse.  I walked Dana to my locker, and then she walked me to
hers. We dawdled along the way, which worked: only two requests -- both,
unfortunately, for me.  Though it was better than people going after her.

   Spike was hanging around the door of the cafeteria with her camera,
taking pictures of Program participants.

   "I wanna see that photo essay when you're done," I told her.

   "I don't know what it will be yet," she said abstractly.

   "Whatever it is, I wanna see it."

   Spike finally looked at me, and nodded.  Then she jerked her head behind
her.  "Phil's saving a table for us."

   Because I'd been to my locker, this time I didn't have my backpack.  I
pointed at the cafeteria line, much shortened by Dana's clever delaying
tactics.  "Food."

   "After all," Dana said, pointedly not looking down at my crotch, "you're
a growing boy."

   I flicked Mr.  Happy with my finger.  "Gods I hope not.  I'll be right
back."

   Behind me, I heard Dana choke.  Score.

   When I got to the table with my tray, it was Dana, Phil, and Spike, of
course, as well as Peri again and a Student Council boy named Allen -- one
of Dana's friends.  Good.  They were talking, reasonably enough, about what
was or wasn't a reasonable request.  As I slid into my seat, I realized I'd
lost my towel again.  I jerked as my butt hit cold plastic.  Which jammed
my erection into the underside of the tabletop -- painfully.  I winced.

   Phil winced in sympathy.  "You okay?"

   "Yeah," I said, carefully folding my cock out of the way as I slid under
the table.

   Dana looked at me oddly.  "Do you have priapism or something?"

   "Oh no," I ad-libbed, "according to my doctor, the medication has
entirely cured me.  This is another disease."

   Which make her look even more startled.  "What?"

   "Being a teenage boy."

   Dana glared at me.  The others laughed.  Then she turned to Spike.  "Is
there any way to win with him?"

   "Don't give him an opening."

   "That means not talking to him," Dana replied.

   "You say that like it's a bad thing," Spike and I said in chorus.

   "Don't mess with me, Smith," Spike told me.  "I can make you look bad,"
and she patted her camera.

   "Yes, but can you make me look good?"

   "Oh, yeah -- you photograph great, especially in three-quarters
profile."

   The funny thing was, she meant it.  Which gave me a funny feeling.  "But
not as good as Madison," I said quickly.

   Spike shook her head.  "Nah, she's best from the front."

   Which was not what I meant, but any distraction in the storm.  "And the
rear."

   "That's pretty good too," she agreed.  "But front's better."

   "Speaking of which," I leaned forward, "you get any good shots of her
from this morning?  I've got a lesbian friend who could use a good pin-up
for her locker."

   "Oh no you don't," Dana said, thwapping my arm.  "You're not pinning
THAT one on me -- that one's not MY crush, too!"

   Which made Peri look at her with a gleam in her eye.  "Oh ho!  Who your
crush then?"

   "The one they both share," Allen added.

   "This," Dana said with as much dignity as she could muster, "is not
about me."

   "I know," said a girl's voice behind us.

   Partlow

   Liz.  I turned in my seat to look at her before I could stop myself. 
Mina was with her.

   "Which is what I realized this morning," Liz went on.

   Dana snorted in the seat next to me.

   "I mean afterwards," Liz said, waving a hand at him -- but not looking
at him.  "You were right.  Which is why I -- I want to apologize.  I said
some hurtful things I didn't mean."

   I swallowed.  My feet and hands felt tingly, my heart felt round.  It
was almost like stage fright, only it was real.

   "If you want to," Dana drawled, "go right ahead."

   "We're not stopping you," Spike added.

   Which made Liz do a double-take -- and me realize they were right, she
hadn't apologized yet.

   "I'm sorry," she said.  "And, really, I'm willing to just forget this
whole week ever happened, when it's over."

   And that's when I became furious.  I think I actually saw red -- not
covering everything, more tightening around the edges of my vision.  "I
see," I said, pronouncing each word like it was a glass shard.  She was
willing to take me back when afterwards, as if -- as if I'd be soiled
goods, which she would generously overlook.  Somehow that was the biggest
insult she'd given me yet.

   "I thought you might," she said, smiling.

   "Except there's one thing," I said.  "It's already over."

   And for the first time the whole conversation, she looked at ME -- she'd
been talking to a spot just above my forehead.  "Huh?  But you're still --
" and she gestured at my nakedness.

   "As in, we are," I said.

   "Over," Dana explained.

   "Finito," Peri added.

   "Stick a fork in it," Spike said.

   "A subject for history books," Allen said.

   "Buh-bye," Phil lisped.

   Liz stared at us, mouth open, then turned and left.  Mina looked at me.
"You are such bitches."

   "Arf," Dana said.

   Mina glared at him, then followed Liz.

   I let out a my breath.  I felt numb, as if my body was not my own. 
Which was at least better than crying, I thought.  "Thanks guys," I said.

   "No problemo," Peri said.

   I turned back to the table and picked up my apple.  The rest of lunch,
by some silent agreement, we talked about anything but the Program, and
Liz. And no one pushed me to talk.  They were giving me space.  Even more
reasons why they were good people.  Friends I hadn't known how good they
were.  Well, Peri I had.  But not Allen or Phil, or especially Dana.  And I
hadn't even known Spike.

   Just as well I'd new friends -- I'd just lost half my old ones, in two
short days.

   Or rather, the two longest days of my life.

   Smith

   Despite the scene with Liz, I spent the rest of lunch obsessively trying
to figure out how to ask Spike for pin-ups of Madison for my own locker,
but I couldn't come up with a clever/fun way.  I decided to email her after
school.

   Sometimes my brain is a very strange place to live in.

   Partlow

   Even though he had orchestra after lunch, Dana walked with me first to
his locker then mine.

   "Question," he said as he closed his locker door.  "You free after
school?"

   Tuesday was Drama Club, but we hadn't even started planning for our next
play.  "Uh, why?"

   "There's someone I'd like you to meet, if you have time.  Scarlett."

   I tried to remember a student with that name.  "Who is ...  ?"

   "Mom's partner."

   I blinked at him -- wait, he HADN'T been joking about his mother being
lesbian?

   He went on, "She had a rough time, being outed.  Not exactly like you,
but close enough she might have some advice.  Or failing that, at least be
an understanding outsider." We stopped in front of my locker.  "Even that
helps sometimes."

   That last sounded like the voice of experience.  Which oddly helped me
to say, "Um, sure.  I'd -- yeah." Not that it helped me be coherent or
anything.  I opened my locker.

   As I swapped morning for afternoon books in my backpack, a boy said,
"Hey, can you pose for us?"

   I turned -- two boys.  Who looked more genuinely curious, and not jerky.
And Dana nodded a greeting to them, so that seemed all right.  "How?"

   "Just, hands back," the other said, miming hands behind my neck.  To
thrust out my breasts.  Well, I couldn't claim it wasn't reasonable.  I did
it, and let them drink in my naked body with their eyes.  Which icky
description echoes how icky it made me feel.  I centered myself as deeply
as I could.

   "Can I," the first boy said, reaching out his hand, "feel your tit?" He
waited for permission.

   I looked to Dana.  He gave me a little jerk or shrug of his head, I
can't describe it, which I understood to mean it was entirely up to me.  As
long as it was just my breasts, and they didn't hurt me, I thought -- that
was no more unreasonable than the Program itself.  I nodded.

   He touched me -- his hands weren't cold, and he was clean.

   "So soft," he said, then cupped my left breast, "yet firm.  Try it,
Ken."

   The other boy touched my other breast.  Not as gently as his friend, but
nothing I could object to.

   "Can we feel your pussy too?" Ken asked, trailing his hand down my
belly. Which I did not like.

   "No."

   To which Dana added, "Gentlemen, we're out of time -- the bell's about
to ring."

   "But it hasn't yet," the first boy said, reaching down for me.

   Because I was centered with my ki, my response was automatic, just as if
he'd been my uke.  As I stepped my right foot back, I caught his wrist in a
simple lock -- one that forced him to step forward and past me to keep the
pressure off.  I bent his arm, and he went down on one knee with a cry of
pain.

   Meanwhile, Dana had dropped his oboe case and gotten Ken into some sort
of head lock, one that immobilized one of his arms.  Was that a karate
move?

   The bell rang.  My boy whimpered about letting him go, but I couldn't
hear it over the sound.  When it finished, Ken said, "I'm so fucking
reporting you."

   Dana got a gleam in his eye, and he looked at me as he said, "Better
make sure you report it to the right person -- this school has zero
tolerance for violence."

   It took a moment to catch his meaning -- Skinner, not Angeles.  I
smiled.

   Smith

   An assistant principal found us and took us to the main office, where
Skinner saw us directly.  It took several minutes to sort us out, but in
the end the principal agreed with us.

   "She said no -- that means you started the violence by trying anyway."

   "But it was a reasonable request!" Karl said.

   Skinner shook his head.  "It's up to the person asked to decide what she
or he thinks is reasonable.  No to touching means no.  And trying to touch
her genitals is a sexual assault," he grimly reminded Ken and Karl.

   Which is to say, subject to criminal charges.  They protested, and while
he reprimanded us for offering violence for violence, he refused to punish
us.  Finally he sent us away, back to class.

   Ken and Karl fled -- but I stayed, and Dana with me.  Finally, I had my
chance to talk to Skinner about unlocking my clothes so I could go to
Trinity.  Just as I opened my mouth,

   "Principal Skinner!"

   Ms Angeles -- storming into the front office.  And storm she did, when
she learned he'd overturned her on a point of Program rules.  I won't
repeat the argument, because it was so stupid -- undercutting authority
blah blah inconsistent message blah blah Program ideals blah blah not
violence or assault blah blah molestation irrelevant blah blah blah fucking
Program blah.

   Dana wanted to leave when it started repeating, but I caught her hand
and kept her there.  Boring as a school assembly, of course, but Skinner
wasn't about to reverse himself in front of witnesses -- namely, us.

   Finally, Skinner was rescued by an appointment arriving.  Just before
the end of the period.

   NOW was the time to escape, before Angeles pounced on us.  I scooted
Dana out so fast we left skid marks.

   "Well there went algebra," she said.

   "And orchestra -- let's go to French and beat the crowd, shall we?"

   "Um, shouldn't we check in?  With our teachers?"

   I waved that off.  "Program business." I pulled her along -- towards
Madame Toussaint's classroom.

   "Do you ever stop thinking of a clever comeback?"

   I had to laugh.  "You assume I ever think."

   "You don't?"

   "Not so's you'd notice," I said.  "Talking, now -- that I'm always
doing."

   She stopped short, yanking me around to face her.  "Yes, you do think.
You know perfectly well how to shut your mouth, when you really want to."

   "Darn," I said to the air, "she's onto me."

   She shook her head.  "I don't know what you're hiding under all that
blather, but it's not working."

   "Nothing," I said, "really."

   Unfortunately, she really WAS onto me.  "As in, there's nothing there?"

   Well, yeah.  o But if I admitted that, then where would I be?  I rolled
my eyes.  "You're getting paranoid, Dana."

   "Around you, that's a healthy reaction," she muttered.  But we continued
through the deserted hallways.

   We reached Toussaint's room a few minutes before the bell.  After a
moment, Dana spread her towel on the floor and sat down, back against the
wall.  With missing orchestra, I hadn't gotten a spare.

   I sighed.

   Partlow

   Dana set down his oboe and took off his pack.  "Scooch over," he said.

   I made him some room on the towel, and he sat down beside me -- side
pressed to side.  It was the closest to still I'd seen him in two days. 
After a moment, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, to keep us balanced
on the small towel; I rested my arm on his knee.  Which was the closest I'd
let a boy get to me, well, ever.  But somehow, it didn't bother me.  Dana
was Good Friend, and I knew it -- nothing sexual about it.

   Well, aside from an erection that was uncomfortably close to my arm.  I
glanced down at it.

   "You going to ask for relief?" I asked him.

   "Are you kidding?  It's been three periods since my last relief, and
that was a quick jacking off."

   Was being a boy that hard?  So to speak.  I wondered how he handled it
the rest of the school year.  Not that being in the Program was anything
like the rest of the year.  I decided to tease him anyway.  "You gonna ask
for Madison's help?"

   "How should I put this?  Oh yeah: 'Ha.  And ha.'" He shook his head. 
"She's the sort who never draws relief from the same well twice."

   Which was true as far as it went, but I'd seen her face when Toussaint
cut them off yesterday -- and just how well Madison liked his oral
technique.  I merely smiled -- let him find out on his own.

   The bell rang, and students streamed from the classrooms.  We stood, and
as soon as there was a break in traffic, slipped into French class.  Safe
from reasonable requests.

   Because we'd gotten there early enough, I could nab a seat in the second
row as I preferred.  Dana sat down beside me -- usually he was in the back.
I admit I didn't mind his presence.

   Especially because I got to see his face when Madison marched up to him,
leaned on his desk with one arm and wrapped her other hand around his
penis. "You need relief, don't you," she told him.  As in, a direct order.

   I swear, I could watch his brains drain out of his head.  "Uh.  Yeah?"

   "Good," she said.  "Because we have unfinished business." And then she
smiled like a feral cat with a birdie in its paws.

   Without waiting for the bell, Madison pulled him to the front without
letting go of his member.  She ignored the waiting chair, but instead
spread her towel on the side edge of Madame's desk -- then hitched herself
up to sit on it, legs wide, and lips spread by her other hand.

   "I need relief," she whispered to Madame as she guided Dana's cock into
her opening.  The bell rang as Dana caught her hips and thrust inside her.
"Right now."

   And they started -- well, there's no word for it but fucking.  Forget
the euphemism of relief, or of mutual masturbation -- this was raw rutting,
right on the teacher's desk.  From the way Madison threw her head back and
braced herself on her arms, she liked it.  And from the way Dana gazed at
her face and breasts -- no, tits, when you're fucking, they're tits -- he
loved it too.

   They got a rhythm going quickly, thrust and hump and buck.  Dana reached
between them with his back hand, so I couldn't see what he was doing.  Oh
-- rubbing her clit, I realized.  It worked, because about a minute after
they started, she started wailing like yesterday -- she was coming.  And
coming and coming.  Dana's rhythm changed then, to something sharper,
harder.  As if he were coming too, I thought at first, but then he kept
going.  Boys don't stay hard after they orgasm, do they?

   Either way, Dana's rhythm eased out and Madison kept wailing like there
was no end to her lung capacity, for a couple more minutes.  Until
Toussaint clicked a stopwatch in her hand and called out "Time!"

   Dana froze and flung his hands out, like a rodeo roper who's wrapped up
his calf.  But he didn't pull away.  Madison's wail slowly petered out. 
Then she took a deep breath, and whispered, "Okay, I'm relieved."

   The class gave them a standing ovation.  Well, I didn't.  I went up and
helped Dana with Madison -- her legs were so rubbery, she couldn't walk to
her seat without an arm over each of our shoulders.  Which was a tactical
mistake on my part -- she reeked of sex -- of a girl who'd been having very
good sex indeed.  Mixed with another odor that had to be Boy Funk, but she
still turned me on.

   Okay, so did having her sweaty tit bobbing in my face.  I resisted
licking it.  Thank God it was too late to ask for my own relief -- I just
might have taken it, on impulse.  As was, my insides were churning like
butterflies on parade.  Not just her -- what I'd watched.

   I wasn't crushing on Madison.  I know the difference between crushing
and envy.  And what I envied was her openness -- her ability to fuck
whomever she wanted and damn everyone else -- as if it was just her and
Dana that mattered.

   Except of course, the audience does matter.  We're all connected.  For
all Dana tried to pretend he was an outsider.

   Which was a thought that needed further digesting.  A lot of digesting.

   I spread Madison's towel on her chair, and Dana lowered her into it.  As
he did, Madison whispered, "Just how many times can you come, anyway?"

   He grinned at her.  "You'll just have to find out, won't you."

   I had to smile.  Clever boy.  Back at our seats, I whispered, "Okay,
good answer."

   He waggled his eyebrows.  "Ah, the cleverness of me."

   Which caught Madame's attention -- and a reprimand for not paying
attention.

   And for the record, if you needed any more proof that Madame is pure
evil, we spent the rest of class learning a lot of very rude French, in
honor of what'd we'd just seen.  Most of which Jeanette had already taught
me.

   Smith

   When Madame -- no, Mistress more like it -- Toussaint called time on us,
I'd been thirty seconds from coming a second time.  Which meant I was just
as horny as before.  The bitch.

   At least it wasn't as if nothing had happened.  I floated through class
on a sea of post-sex hormones.  Don't ask me why sex feels different from
jacking off.  It just does.  The orgasms themselves aren't that much
different -- certainly bad sex is as bad as a bad wank, though the best sex
is better than the best wank.  But post-sex is much better than
post-solo-scratching.  Especially post-good-sex.

   Madison is an athletic cheerleader.  She has very good muscles indeed.

   After class, I walked Dana to her chemistry class.  There were no
incidents along the way -- no one wanted to touch my smelly pecker, and
Dana was inexplicably giggly about that.  I promised to visit a restroom
and wash off, and arranged to meet her after school.

   This semester, I'm supposed to leave after sixth period -- for Trinity
MWF, for home on TTh.  But a) there was Dana and b) Angeles was holding my
clothes for ransom.  I wasn't about to show up in her den, that's for sure.
Fortunately, I had someplace else to go -- the orchestra class I missed.

   Thoreau had a band class in the hall, but when I explained I wanted to
practice to make up for missing class, he waved me to one of the two
practice rooms in the back.  And gave me a spare towel.  I think everyone
in the band watched me and my flapping woody all the way back.  I waved to
the naked boy, a freshman named Bruno.

   I thought about relieving myself, but I was determined not to -- if I
got started, I knew, I'd keep going the whole period.  And I did need the
oboe practice.

   By the time I'd warmed up my reed, my cock had softened from complete
hardness -- not that handling my phallic instrument was helping keep my
mind off sex.  I was just starting on scales, when the door opened, and a
girl slipped in.

   A naked girl.  Sylvie the flautist, holding her instrument case and
towel.  Looking worried.

   "Dana?" she said.

   I wasn't sure what the question was.  I played it straight.  "That's
me."

   "Oh, um, hi.  I'm Sylvie," she said.  She stepped forward and offered
her hand to shake.  I took it -- her hand was strong, like any good
woodwind player, but her fingers were trembling.

   "I know," I said as I looked at her.  She was as short and slender as
her name suggested, and as cute as a pixie with her short straight blonde
hair.  She looked, well, young to me -- her tits were still conical, not
yet filled in, and her pale pubic hair was more a pubic fuzz.  Two years
ago, as a freshman, she would have been just my age -- not that not quite
right ever stopped Mr.  Happy.  I was, in just those few seconds, as hard
as the proverbial rock.

   After a moment, I went on, "You look like you need help."

   She nodded.  "Oh, yes.  Ah.  It's the Program, see.  Well, not the
Program itself." She spoke rapidly, jumping from thought to thought.

   I nodded.  "But coping with it." I gestured at the other chair.

   She sat gratefully.  "Exactly.  And you -- I, um -- I've heard you're
good with it.  With helping kids with it, I mean -- with getting through --
" She stopped in confusion.

   Okay, I admit it -- I'm susceptible to flattery from cute girls.  To
have a that kind of rep actually made me feel warmer.  I leaned forward. 
"What sorts of problems are you having?"

   Sylvie looked at the floor.  "Thing is, I don't have -- much
experience." She gestured with her hands.  "But with the Program, it - I --
oh, hell, I'm so horny I could SCREAM.  If one more person touches me, I'm
gonna lose it.  I don't wanna have my first time be like that.  I want it
to be when *I* choose, you know?"

   I could understand that.  But where was this going?  "How can I help?"

   She looked up at me at last, solidly -- for the first time not fluttery.
"Dana, I have a reasonable request -- that you fuck my brains out."

   I swallowed.  The funny thing was, it sounded reasonable to me.  What
was it about my hormone levels that after less a minute with this girl I
wanted to nibble her up?  And then bone her till she screamed?  Well, no,
not my hormones -- it was the compliment.  She wanted me for ME, myself,
for what I could do.  "Okay."

   She looked at me wistfully.  "But first, can I give you a blowjob -- or
show me how to?  I've been wanting to play your flute since, like,
yesterday."

   I smiled.  A quick come to take off the edge would be best, anyway. 
"Sure."

   I put away my oboe in record time as she knelt before me -- and then got
up to spread her towel, for under her knees.  And then we started with the
oral sex.

   She knelt, arms over my thighs, and explored my cock -- which with her
delicate, strong hands was more erotic than I expected.  I showed her how
to gently stroke the whole shaft, not so tight she pulled the skin, but
hard enough for friction -- and the sensitive ridge below.  How to keep
jacking off the guy while sucking on him.  And to not *not* NOT use any
teeth.

   "That's important?" she said worriedly.

   "About as important," I said solemnly, "as your not sitting on a rose
stem with your bare pussy."

   At her look of horror, I laughed, and she laughed back.  I was really
coming to like this girl.  And with licking and fondling, I was getting
close.

   As she prepared to take me into her mouth, I said, "I'll let you know
when I'm about to come, so you can -- "

   She looked up, rubbing my cock-head against her cheek.  "Oh no -- I want
to swallow it!"

   "You do?"

   She grinned impishly.  "I wanna know what it tastes like -- I've been
wondering for nearly a YEAR." And she wrapped her mouth around my cock.

   And sucked, and licked, and rubbed.  She was pretty good, for a
beginner. I came almost as fast as with Trish, only harder.  She collected
my spunk in her mouth, squirt after squirt.

   "Keep in mind," I panted, "most of the time it'll be more work than
that."

   She nodded, and swallowed.  "Odd flavor," she said.

   "I've been eating cafeteria food." Off her look, I explained, "What a
guy eats affects the taste of his semen."

   "Oh.  I guess -- that makes sense.  Huh."

   After all, I didn't want her to give up on giving other guys head.

   "Should I try again," she asked, "for more practice?"

   But after the oral sex there was supposed to be the fucking her brains
out.  "I think," and I caught her under her arms to pull her up, "we should
try something else." And then I kissed her.

   She kissed back, tasting of me.  Enthusiastically.  Sylvie may not have
much experience with sex, but she had kissed before.  After several
delicious moments, we shifted, and she sat in my lap.  This made kissing
easier.  It also let me fondle her tits with their hard pointy nipples. 
And let her wrap her hand around my cock and jacking me off.

   After a minute or five of making out, my hand was between her legs,
sliding between her slick lower lips.  Her clit was small, but definitely
there and hard -- when I pushed it, she jumped.

   "Sylvie?" I whispered against her lips.

   "Uh huh?"

   "Are you protected?"

   "Uh huh?"

   Which was a question -- I wasn't sure she heard me.  "Because I don't
have a rubber."

   "That's okay," she whispered, and kissed me hard.  Then, "I'm on the
Pill to control my bleeding, and my last period was this weekend."

   That sounded like protection to me.  I rubbed my thumb over her little
clit, and she shuddered this time, with a little gasping hiccup.  She'd
come, just a little orgasm.  I shifted.

   "Are you going to fuck me now?" she asked.

   "First," I said, and I brought my hand up to my mouth to taste her. 
Sweet girl.  Yum.  I let her sniff and lick my fingers.  "I'm going to eat
you up like the big bad wolf."

   She giggled.

   Thirty seconds later, she was leaning back in the chair, butt on the
edge, legs spread with my face between them.  I fingered her as I inhaled
her sweetness.  She really was sweet, too.  I've heard guys complain about
the taste of going down on a girl, but I love it.  It helps if they've got
good hygiene, of course.  But the taste of girl is even better than the
taste of guy, to my tongue.

   I dove in.  Tongue up and down, and swirled around her nubbin.  Then
inside her, and then across.  When I licked her clit again, she gave
another shudder + hiccup.  And if anything, her juices became sweeter.  I
was going to love this -- especially since I was getting a feel for the
pattern of her orgasms.  I went at it with a will -- lips, tongue, fingers,
and all.  When I wasn't sucking her clit, I was rubbing it hard.  When I
wasn't trying to lick her cervix, I was trying to reach it with my fingers
-- not that I could, but I did determine that she had not much of a hymen
left.  Good -- the less discomfort the better.

   After a couple more minutes, she was shuddering and bucking too hard to
stay on the seat, and we moved to the floor, both towels beneath her.  I
got more adventuresome -- nipping her clit for more, and more frequent,
orgasms.  My finger explored her hairless little anus, and when that made
her twitch, I gently pushed the tip in.  That made her buck -- whoa nelly.
She was ready for something bigger.

   I pushed that rear finger in further, started finger-fucking her in
earnest, and clamped my mouth over her clit and sucked for all she was
worth.  She came several times in quick succession, until my mouth needed a
rest.

   "Oh God," she whimpered.  "Fuck me.  Fuck me now.  God dammit, fuck me!"

   Now most of the time, that means, "Get up here and shove that dick
inside me this instant." But right then, that would have been a bad idea.
It was losing control, in just the way she feared -- getting so horny she'd
do anything.  Reluctantly, I pulled my fingers out of her.

   Sylvie about mugged me for that.  It took a couple repetitions to
explain what we were going to do instead: SHE was going to fuck ME.

   I lay on my back and helped her lower herself on me.  She was wet enough
that her tightness wasn't too much of a problem.  She was slow, and when
she got to a certain resistance, she pushed through -- with a pop that made
her look funny.  I stroked her clit with my thumb, and rubbed a nipple with
my other hand, until she was ready to cotinue.  With little ups and downs,
she lowered herself all the way on me.

   The tightness was exquisite.  It was a wonder I didn't come prematurely.

   With the tip of her tongue peaking between her lips, she rose up a
little, and then down.  Again, a little further up.  Then suddenly, she
grinned, and started to ride me like a cowgirl.  It took her a few minutes
to come the first time, at which point, I felt that tingling rush in my
root and came again, shooting deep inside the girl.

   Not that this stopped her -- she kept riding me on her own little waves.
Which felt good enough, I didn't soften -- I mean, I'd spent the past two
days hornier than hell, and even after Madison, this wasn't enough to
soften me.  Sylvie rode, with a little hitch in her rhythm every time she
came, until her orgasms were running close enough together she lost it and
ground herself on my pubic bone for several shudders in a row.

   She stopped, panting and sweaty.  Then she opened her eyes and looked
down at me.  They were, I noticed for the first time, blue - very blue,
much brighter than they'd been.

   "Whoa," she breathed.

   "Do you still want me to fuck your brains out?"

   Her eyes opened wider -- that hadn't counted?

   "Do you trust me?"

   She nodded.

   I rolled us over without slipping out of her -- a harder operation on
cold tile than you might think.  But with the towels beneath her, she was
ready, and with my arms wrapped up and around her shoulders, I started
thrusting.  Slow, at first, trying to catch that last rhythm before she'd
stopped -- or paused.  There, that was it.  She started coming with every
slow thrust.  I sped up, thrusting deeper and harder.  Her orgasms followed
my rhythm.  Soon we were thrashing.

   I came, squirting inside her, but didn't let it slow me down.  It was so
erotic, anyway, I still didn't soften.  Her orgasms were now coming so
close together they were almost continuous.  We kept that up for a minute
until she started squirming out of rhythm.

   "Oh God -- too sensitive -- that's so -- oh God stop -- I can't take it
-- no don't -- oh God fuck -- I -- AAAIIIEEE!" And then she plateaued in a
wordless shriek.  Her clenching muscles brought me over as well, and I came
deep inside her for the third time, no longer trying for her rhythm, just
mine.

   I've never been more glad that the practice rooms are soundproofed.

   Her plateau orgasm lasted for about thirty seconds, just about the time
it took for me to finish my own.  Then I just held her.  Panting, sweaty,
warm, soft, wonderful.

   Eventually, I nosed her ear.

   "?" (Yes, I know that's not a word, but it's what she said.)

   "Just checking whether you have any brains left."

   She gave a breathless little giggle.

   The bell rang, the end of school.  I didn't want to move, not from this
lovely sylph of a Sylvie.  But Dana was waiting for me.

   Partlow

   Dana didn't appear at the exit until fifteen minutes after the end of
school, after most of the crowd dispersed.  He looked suspiciously
post-orgasmic.  Had the glow from Madison lasted that long?  It couldn't
have -- it'd been already fading at the end of French.  And his penis was
as close to not being hard as I'd ever seen it -- almost drooping.  Hmph.

   He grinned cheerfully at me, then retrieved his clothes -- two sets of
them.  One, he put on -- the other went in the bottom of his backpack.

   "For tomorrow afternoon," he said as we crossed the parking lot.

   "Ah."

   He looked at me -- face still glowing, though the radiance faded in the
sunlight.  "Ready to meet the folks?"

   "Yeah." Which didn't come out as chipper as I wanted.

   He stopped walking.  "Nervous?"

   I waved that off -- I wasn't worried about his family.  I was
interested, actually -- both in meeting a lesbian-run household and finding
out just how this boy had come to be.  "It's -- been another long day."

   He nodded, agreement.

   I returned it, firmly.  It was none of my business, I told myself.

   "In that case," he gestured forward.

   "It's just, you look like someone who's just screwed his brains out."

   Which managed to startle him not at all.  "Oh, no -- other way around,"
he said diffidently.

   Whatever the hell that meant.  I put my hand on my hip.  "Do you ever
give a straight answer?"

   "Only when the question's bent."

   I opened my mouth then thought about it.  He really did respond with the
truth, or close to it, or part of it, to the stupid questions -- in such a
way as to make it sound completely off.  "Okay, I guess that was a bent
question."

   He grinned.  "You know, I really like you," he said, emphasizing it with
a finger.

   I looked at his digit.  "You don't have to get phallic on me."

   He looked at his finger, then down at his phallus, then back.  He closed
his eyes.  "No, I can't say it.  It's just too easy."

   Ha!  I'd won one -- by pulling the rug out from under the subject before
could.  I smiled -- no, smirked at him.

   He looked at me, considering.

   "What?" I finally asked.

   He shook his head.  "No, it's too personal.  Maybe I'll ask you later.
So where's your car?"

   "Actually, we passed it," I said, pointing over my shoulder with my
thumb.

   He gave me a sour look.  As if being distracted by HIS energy was my
fault.

   I ended up following him home.  I wasn't surprised to learn he drives an
old junker.  "It's what I can afford at the moment," he said when we got
there, patting a grey primer panel affectionately.  Boys.  At least it
didn't have a noisemaking muffler.

   I shook my head and looked up at his house.  And I mean "up" -- we were
in a blue-collar neighborhood in the hills above the river.  The yard
sloped steeply, and the walkway was concrete stairs.  The house itself was
light blue with white door and trim.  "You have to mow that?" I said
finally, nodding at the grass.

   "Gawds," he said disgustedly as he sorted through his keys.  Meaning,
"Oh God do I have to."

   He let me inside.  The front door opened directly on the living room,
with a dining room to one side and a stairway on the other.  It wasn't
messy, but clearly lived-in.

   A girl, maybe twelve years old, bounded up to greet us.  She had
straight sandy hair cut short, with two little cat clips pinning back the
bangs, and a shirt that said PAMPER ME in blue glitter.  Her breasts were
larger than bumps but still too small to need a bra.  "How'd it go, how'd
it go?"

   He ignored her question and introduced us.  "Dana -- Ginny."

   What had he called her -- his semi-step-sister?  Meaning his mother's
partner's daughter, I finally figured out.

   "Ooo," Ginny cooed, looking at me.  "The naked girl!" I swear, she
sounded the closest thing to orgasmic you can get while pubescent.  Not
that she didn't look adolescent, with those breasts and clothes.  But
still.

   "Put a lid on it, Squirt," Dana told her.  "Is Scarlett here?"

   "In back."

   "No," a woman said, wiping her hands with a greasy rag, "I'm here."

   I finally understood what Dana had meant about being raised by wild
lesbians.  Scarlett was a riot grrl, from ragged rainbow hair down to ratty
Doc Martins.  Tattoos covered one arm and half the other, and more
disappeared under her black button-down shirt -- and then there were her
piercings, in lip, nose, right eyebrow, and all up her left ear.  And no
doubt elsewhere.  But it didn't look wrong for her.  I mean, if I met
another friend's parent looking like that, I'd think, "Oh grow up." But for
Scarlett, it wasn't trying to hold onto her lost youth, because she was
young -- mid-twenties at the oldest.

   I glanced at her daughter, Ginny.  How old had Scarlett been when she
was born?  Then I looked at Dana.  How old was HIS mother?

   "Scarlett, this is Dana Partlow."

   "Ah, the other Dana," she said, and offered me her hand.  As I shook it,
she said, "He's told us something of the problems you two have been
having."

   I nodded, then thought, What problems he's been having?

   "About that," Dana said.  "It's gotten kinda -- " he broke off to frown
at Ginny.  "You know, I think this is private."

   "Let me guess," Scarlett said.  "You want me to tell the story of how I
was outed in front of the whole fucking school."

   I gaped at her.  This happened to other people?

   "You what?" Ginny all but squeaked.

   "Yeah," Dana said.

   Scarlett nodded.  "Good idea.  I can't tell you how to get over being
fucked over like that -- you gotta do that yourself -- but I can tell you
some things not to do."

   I slowly nodded.

   "But what happened?" Ginny asked.

   "That's the thing," Scarlett said to me.  "If it's okay with you, it's
something this brat of mine needs to know, too."

   "Um.  Okay." Actually, I wasn't sure about that, but she was my hostess.

   Scarlett pointed her finger at Ginny.  "This is someone else's problem.
One fucking peep out of you and it's straight to your room." She said it
sternly enough, Ginny nodded -- and just a minute with her, I could already
tell she wasn't easy to repress.

   We all sat down, Dana and I on the couch.  He offered his hand to hold,
between us.  I took it.

   Scarlett cleared her throat.  "I started going out with Danica when I
was 14.  She wasn't a cheerleader, but like that, if you know what I mean."

   I nodded -- queen bees who don't want to practice or get all sweaty.  I
knew the type.

   "She was my first.  I'd kissed a couple friends before, but Danica was
my first girlfriend.  She taught me how to have sex with a girl, how to
make love to one -- taught me that I'm gay.  I fell head over heels for
her. First love, yanno?  There's nothing like it -- she becomes your whole
fucking world."

   Well, no, I didn't know.  But I'd seen other girls, gay and straight, go
through first love and just how obsessive it made them.  Peri told me once
that after that first time, you learn to hold back a little of yourself,
just in case, so it doesn't hurt as bad when it's over -- not that it
works, but you try.

   Scarlett shook off her wistful smile.  "Then there was this dance -- the
Harvest Dance.  I didn't do school dances -- fucking waste of time, I
thought, but Danica was going, so of course I went.  I thought I was going
WITH her.  We arranged to meet there."

   "But she was in the closet," I said.  "That type always is."

   "Yeah, but I didn't get that.  Teenagers are fucking idiots." She shook
her head.  "She repudiated me on the fucking dance floor, between songs
when everyone could hear.  In a way that said that *I* was a crazy dyke,
unlike her.  Outed me in front of the whole damned school."

   I swallowed.  "What happened?"

   "I threw myself into the arms of the first boy I could.  And there
wasn't any lack of them -- there's always some around, who think they can
fucking convert you from lesbianism with their magic dicks.  I don't know
what the fuck I was thinking -- that could recover my reputation by showing
people I was straight, or something.  But I found one of the bastards, or
one found me, and within an hour, he'd fucked me behind the gym."

   I could see now why Dana thought of Scarlett.  Not that I was going to
throw myself at a guy.  Ew.  But the impulse to do something drastic, just
to show Liz ...  something -- oh yes, that I understood.  Dana squeezed my
hand, and I squeezed back.

   Scarlett went on, "One nice thing about being gay is you don't have to
worry about birth control.  But it's also dangerous, because you never have
any on hand." She looked at Ginny.  "Which is why I keep fucking tell you
-- never, ever, EVER have unprotected sex."

   Ginny's eyes were wide.  "Oh," she breathed.

   "And this has nothing to do with whether I love you.  You know I do.  I
don't regret keeping you.  But you do NOT want to be a mother at 15. 
Nobody should fucking have to do that."

   Ginny nodded, little rapid jerks of the head.

   Scarlett gestured her daughter over.  "Come here." Ginny went, and they
hugged.  Hard.  "I love you, Sweet Pea."

   I heard a muffled, "I love you too, Mom."

   Scarlett gave Ginny an extra squeeze, then pulled her back and held her
by the shoulders.  "That's also why I don't want you jumping into sex too
soon.  I mean, I know you're going to fucking do it anyway, but I'm still
going to try.  You understand?"

   "I guess so," Ginny said.

   "You need to think about it?"

   Ginny nodded, and after a moment went upstairs.

   "I'm going to have to remember that," Dana said.  "The next time I need
to suppress her." Like he was one to talk about inexhaustible energy.

   Scarlett pointed at him.  "Don't start with me, punk, or I'll tie your
fucking dick in a knot."

   "Then I'd better be good," he said solemnly.  "I never did get the knot
untying badge in Boy Scouts."

   I laughed.  The image of him as a Scout -- just, no.

   "No wonder you're friends with him," Scarlett said to me.  "You actually
like his jokes."

   "No," I said, "it's because he's helped me a lot -- I couldn't have
gotten through these two days without him."

   Scarlett nodded.  "He's a good one -- for a boy."

   "For a person," I said firmly.

   Which got a wry snort from her.  "I don't know if that helped you any,
but it was fucking harder than I expected.  She knew her father was a
one-time thing without protection, but not the whole story.  God I want a
smoke."

   "Scarlett," Dana said warningly.

   "I doesn't mean I'm going to fucking have one," she snarled at him. 
"Just that I want one.  I'm having a beer instead."

   He made a small hmph, but too softly for her to hear.

   She looked at me.  "But that's the story."

   I nodded.  It had helped to hear it, actually, even though her situation
wasn't the same as mine.  "Thank you.  It's not how it is with Liz ...  "

   "Didn't think so -- it's always different."

   "Liz is co-head of the GSA," Dana said, "but no one understands why --
she can't stand straights."

   Scarlett rolled her eyes.  "One of THEM.  They just make it fucking
worse for the rest of us.  So's she's a flaming dyke and you were in the
closet -- I think I see the picture."

   "I'm not -- I WASN'T deeply in the closet.  I just didn't make an issue
of it."

   "Dana," Dana said, "you're so private, as far as anyone could tell, you
were completely sexless."

   "So?" But then I added, "And that's why it hurt so much -- throwing my
private affairs out in the open like, like so much dirty laundry." Which
still pissed me off -- and hurt.  "Look, I'm not ashamed of being gay.  I
just don't see how it's anyone's business but mine."

   "And your girlfriend's," Dana added.

   Okay, point.  I nodded.  He squeezed my hand -- message received.

   "At least tell me Liz wasn't your first," Scarlett said.

   "God, no -- I've been sleeping with girls since I was twelve."

   "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Ginny that -- don't want to
encourage her."

   I didn't roll my eyes, because that would have been rude.  But if Ginny
was going to do it, knowing I'd done it at her age wasn't going to make a
difference.

   "But all your other girlfriends have been in the closet," Dana said
shrewdly.

   I stared at him.  How did he know that?

   "Or at least, your girlfriends at school," he added.

   I blinked, twice.

   "One day, boy," Scarlett drawled, "you're going to guess your way into a
heap of fucking trouble."

   He snorted.  "Whadya mean, 'one day'?" he said bitterly.

   "What makes you say that?" I finally asked him.  "About my girlfriends,
I mean."

   "Because I'm beginning to see a pattern.  Girls in the closet are safe
romances, because you don't have to deal with anyone knowing about it."

   I wanted to argue with him.  But he was right, dammit.  Or as Scarlett
might have put it, the fucking punk was right, dammit.

   "Anyway," Scarlett said, "if there's a moral to my sad story -- "

   " -- it's that I shouldn't anything stupid," I finished.  "Don't worry,
I'm not going into a rebound relationship." I rubbed my face with my free
hand -- my cheeks felt oddly numb.  "It's all too raw, anyway.  I don't
think I could deal with seeing anyone." Well, except for Jeanette.  I
really hoped I'd see her tonight.  I needed that comfort.

   "But can you deal with dinner?" Dana said.

   I looked at him through slitted eyes.  I wasn't sure I could deal with
another rapid change of subject.

   "You," he pointed at me, "need food.  Comfort food."

   Food, I almost heard my stomach echo, followed by my heart calling for
comforting.  "Mac-and-cheese," I breathed.

   "With wieners," he agreed.  "Then you'll stay for dinner." He didn't say
it as a question.

   "Hold on there, punk," Scarlett said sharply.  "Did I say I was going to
make that?"

   He looked at her in surprise.  "It's your turn to cook?"

   Scarlett cooked?

   "It's Tuesday all fucking day."

   "Oh," he said, with the air of someone trying to remember what day it
was.  "So what's for dinner?"

   "I feel like a heaping plate of baked mac-and-cheese, myself," she said
with a grin.  She stood up.  "But first, I'm going to check how my darling
daughter's doing."

   The front door opened, and a woman called out, "Hi Honey, I'm home!" As
if we weren't right there.

   I once heard someone mention "flannel dyke" on some TV show, but I
hadn't known quite what it meant.  Dana's mother was exactly that, even
though it was too hot to wear flannel -- plaid red-and-white work shirt,
worn jeans, dusty work boots.  But she didn't look butch -- her dark hair,
threaded with grey, was tied back in a French braid.  She didn't even wear
her clothes butch.  They were just, well, her working clothes, and she
happened to like them.

   And she was, I was relieved to note, old enough NOT to have had Dana in
her teens -- she was well into her 40s, possibly older.

   "Darling!" Scarlett cried out, and ran into her arms like some demented
punk version of a '50s sitcom housewife.  Dana's mother swept her into a
clinch, bending her over backwards for a deep kiss.  One that had nothing
to do with butch/femme roles, and everything to do with love.

   I glanced at Dana as he stood.  He had a goofy grin on.  Despite
Scarlett's crack about his jokes, I could see where he got his sense of
humor.  If not his manic energy -- there was nothing manic about this
household.  Unless you counted Ginny's bounce, but that was just her being
a kid.

   Speaking of whom, Ginny came bounding down the stairs, shouting,
"Mamacita!  Mamacita!"

   And in the confusion, somehow Dana introduced me -- I got pulled in. 
Before I knew it, I was helping prepare dinner and cleaning up and eating
it.  Which is out of order, but my memories of that evening are confused. I
called my parents and Jeanette before we started, I remember that.

   Over dinner -- and Scarlett's mac-and-cheese, made from scratch, was as
comforting as needed; I want her recipe -- Dana's family let him talk. 
Let? Encouraged him.  Every time he realized he was running his mouth off
and stopped himself, someone asked him a leading question -- usually his
mother, who by the way asked me to call her Catarina.  It was almost
exhausting to listen to.

   And between it all, his parents got a pretty good idea of what had
happened that day, though he left out a lot about Liz, bless him.  He tried
to leave out a few other things, too.

   "So did you have any sex today?" Ginny asked at one point, bouncing in
her seat.

   He looked at her solemnly.  "I refuse to answer that, Senator, on the
grounds that it may incriminate me."

   "Ha!" she said smugly.  Then to me, "What about you?"

   "Ginny," Scarlett said sternly.

   But I had something of her measure -- enough to know to tell her, "None
of your beeswax."

   She studied me a moment.  "Meaning you didn't."

   "Ginny!"

   "You don't know that," I said, "because I'm not telling." I smiled.

   Which infuriated her with curiosity as much as I hoped -- especially
when Scarlett kept her from asking more.

   Which also kept her from worming out of Dana whether he'd had sex with
anyone other than Madison, darn it.  I thought so, but who?  Though just
like I told Ginny, it was none of my beeswax.

   Though I knew who could find out.

   Smith

   Dana helped me clean up after dinner.  I had a hunch she wanted some
space -- my family can be a bit overwhelming till you get used to them,
especially Ginny -- so I shooed the others out of the kitchen.

   "Can you come over to my place?" she asked me as soon as we were alone.

   "Tonight?"

   "I want you to meet someone," she said.  "Someone," not "my family."

   I thought I knew who.  "That girl you slept with when you were twelve."

   Which turned out to be an almost right guess.  "Have been sleeping
with," she said.

   I raised my eyebrows as my brain flashed through the implications. 
"Open relationship?"

   "Ah, yeah," Dana said dryly.

   "As in very open."

   Dana nodded.  "Jeanette sleeps around -- a lot."

   I wondered if that meant both boys and girls.  "This would be the rest
of that It's Complicated thing."

   "She goes to Fillmore Academe," she explained.  "Except for growing up
best friends and neighbors, we have completely separate lives out of bed."

   In other words, yes.  Which explained a few things.  Fillmore is as
different a school from Grant as, well, Millard Fillmore was from Ulysses S
Grant.  "I'd love to."

   "And meet my family," she added.

   When we were done with the dishes, I told Mom where I was going.

   "Homework?" she asked.

   I waved it off.  "I'll be back in an hour or so." Plenty of time to do
what needed to be done.

   She hmphed, but didn't stop me.

   This time, I followed Dana -- though that white Japanese sedan of hers
is so nondescript I almost lost her once.  She lives down near the
University -- both her parents are professors.  The house was an old
Victorian, not much larger than our house, actually.

   Dana introduced me to her parents.  I wasn't sure whether her father
understood who I was, other than a boy and a friend, but the look her
mother gave me was as sharp as Mom's.  SHE knew what was up, and that I
wasn't a possible boyfriend, and why.  And then a girl our age came down
the stairs, and Dana introduced me to Jeanette.

   Jeanette was a babe.  Which is totally inadequate.  I'm not sure how to
explain this.  Madison Rawls is a babe -- beautiful, blonde, built, and
sexy, in a way that exudes promiscuity.  Jeanette's shorter, darker, slyer,
and sexy, in a way that exudes sensuality.  Plus, she has a light French
accent.  See Madison, and you think slut.  See Jeanette, and you think
lover.

   Not that I thought all this at once -- that's my impression over the
evening.  But I did immediately warn myself not to start crushing on her.
And my dick, which had been down for two whole hours, turned into Mr. 
Happy To See Her.  Of course, anyone dressed like Jeanette would have
gotten that reaction: a blue midriff-baring halter-top tight enough it
looked painted on, and terrycloth shorts in a matching color that looked
about two sizes too small.  It was completely clear she wasn't wearing a
bra; it wasn't at all clear whether she wore underwear.

   Dana told her parents we'd be in her room, and she took me upstairs.  I
got a mini-tour of the second floor.  "Parent's room," she waved at a door,
"bathroom, brother's room.  My room."

   "Brother?"

   "Charlie -- he's in college."

   Her room was unsurprisingly neat.  Almost too neat.  I mean, it was
clear someone lived here, given the clothes and the bookshelves and all. 
But what was there gave no sign of -- I was about to say personality, but
that's not it.  Of her interests.  She took Honors courses for everything
-- which subject did she like the most?  What did she want to do?  Where
were the posters and pictures?  A cork-board had pictures of friends,
mostly girls, and a few phone numbers.  The books were mostly generic
fantasy and teen romances.

   As soon as the door closed, Jeanette peeled off her tight top.

   Which outraged Dana.  "Jeanette!"

   "What?" the girl said with a laugh, pulling down her terrycloth shorts.
There were no panties underneath.

   "But what about -- " and Dana waved at me.

   "Think of it as Outreach," Jeanette said.  "It's not like he's not used
to naked bodies all day."

   Well, no, I wasn't -- thus my needing relief every period.  And I
definitely was not used to Jeanette's naked body.  Hubba.

   "But more importantly," Jeanette went on, "you need comforting." And
with that, she took Dana in her arms and pulled her over to the bed.  Dana
resisted at first, but when Jeanette sat against the wall, Dana gave in and
collapsed against her chest with a sigh.  "You," Jeanette said to me,
nodding at the head of the bed, "sit."

   So I did, leaning against the pillows with my knees up, so my feet were
out of their way.  Nothing happened between the girls while I was there --
Jeanette held Dana as Dana rested against her, between her legs, but that
was about as asexual as cuddling can get.

   Between the girls and me, though.

   No, nothing physical.  Nothing remotely physical.  Even aside from the
problem, from Dana's point of view, of my having a dick, it was all just
friendship.  Between her and me, I mean.  But between Jeanette and me -- .
Nothing past flirting, and all done jokingly.  I wasn't about to do
anything with Jeanette in front of Dana anyway.  But even without her in
the picture, I would have kept up my patter.  That kind of attraction
scares me.  I just know that one of these days, I'm going to fall in love
and let someone too close and they'll find out how little there is of me.
Which if you look at it one way, that's what happened to Scarlett.

   Dana wasn't the only one to learn from that experience.

   So we talked.  A lot.  Friend-stuff, hedged around with the sort of
playing at attraction that makes me joke about being gay with other guys.
We talked about the Program (which Jeanette, as I should have expected,
loves to participate in -- Fillmore's had it the past three years) and
nudity and sex and a little about Liz, but not much, and schoolwork and
music and this and that.  What kids talk about when they hang out together.
I managed not to mention Sylvie, though it was pretty clear Madison hadn't
been the only person I'd screwed so far.

   After a couple hours of banter, Dana excused herself to go to the
bathroom.  And that's when Jeanette made her move -- sliding up the bed,
trying to kiss me.

   I stopped her, hand on her chest.

   She grinned.  "Don't tell me you don't want me.  I can see it," nodding
at my crotch.

   "My dick wants you," I said, "but it wants everyone.  And I don't think
with my dick."

   "But we could have fun, later." As in, we could meet after I left.

   Which was true.  What told her was, "I don't fuck my friends'
girlfriends." When she started to say something, I added, "It doesn't
matter what arrangement you have.  I just don't."

   Somehow I put enough conviction in my voice, she believed me.  Or at
least, she backed down.

   When Dana came back, I noticed the time and said I had to go.  She was
more horrified than it was worth about it being two hours later than I'd
told Mom I'd be back, but she shooed me out without me having to hide being
uncomfortable with Jeanette.

   I went home to my room and whacked off three times straight --
remembering Madison, remembering Sylvie, and imagining Jeanette.  As I lay
there panting afterward, I thought about my warning to myself, to not crush
on her.  Ha.  And ha.  I dove into homework, to try and forget.

   Ha.

   Partlow

   After Dana left, I tried to tell Jeanette I had homework, but she
refused to leave me alone.  And though she was right that I wanted
comforting, I didn't want comforting from her, not now.  And it was because
of her and Dana.

   I don't know how to say this except, they sparked.  And I was jealous. I
knew Jeanette had flings with other kids -- all over the place.  She tells
me all about them.  But this was the first time I'd SEEN her coming on to
someone.  Oh, nothing direct, unless you count the sort of
joking-around-flirting that sounds like play but really is serious.  Which
is a tangled way of saying it, but then, my feelings were all tangled up
right then.

   So maybe it was the jealousy or maybe it was just me being pissy, but I
made Jeanette work hard at seducing me -- even nibbling my ears wasn't
enough.  But she did seduce me.  I mean, I did still want her.  So I let
her.  But then -

   This is hard to talk about.  It's private.  But I need to say -- not
what I did, but how we did it.

   It took Jeanette an hour of kissing and stroking and blandishments in
French to get me to come to bed, and let her make love to me.  Only then, I
took over and instead had sex with her.  And more sex.  I screwed her for a
long time, until we were too tired to continue -- raw fucking, like Dana
and Madison, like Dana and whoever he'd done after that, like Jeanette and
the Fancher twins.  As if sex could be had without emotion.

   Afterwards, I fell asleep dreamlessly.  Which was what I wanted.

   But I wasn't proud of it.

   [continued in part 4, Wednesday]
   -- http://www.fastmail.fm - mmm...  Fastmail...  

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