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Subject: {ASSM} Dana and Dana Naked in School, 4/7 (ff mf mfm mg fg, exhib, voy, NIS,   naked, cussing, sexuality issues)
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Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2005 04:10:04 -0400
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Dana and Dana Naked in School by pseudoRandom

   4.  Wednesday

   Dana Partlow

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

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

   Guilty much?

   That would be a Yes.

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

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

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

   "You okay?" I asked him.

   "That's my line," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "The stupid guy!" someone called out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "You're being voted off the island?"

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

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

   "Ta da!"

   And everyone applauded.

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

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

   To which Jake made a disgusted sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Bitter much?

   That would be an Oh Yeah.

   Dana Smith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "I wanna blow you," Pat said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   For all my talk about post-sex hormones, what I felt now was kinda
sordid.  I'd just had gay sex in a public bathroom, like some guy from the
70s, with a pair of siblings -- just one step away from incest, that felt
like.  Indirect incest, maybe -- I couldn't think of a good way to describe
it.

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

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

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

   Partlow

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

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

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

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

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

   "You okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Which he accepted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   The thought disturbed me.

   Smith

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

   "Where's Phil?"

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

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

   Dana growled.

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

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

   "Were you taking pictures?"

   "Why do you think I left?"

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

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

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

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

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

   "Probably."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "What about the worst?" I asked Spike.

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

   "He is?" Dana asked, surprised.

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

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

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

   "She skipped second grade, she said."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Another punch in the gut.

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

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

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

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

   "Yes, but is Sylvie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "How?" I said warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Which got me an ovation.

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

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

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

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

   Partlow

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "But -- !"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Smith

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

   Partlow

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

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

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

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

   "How was?" he whispered.

   I leaned over.  "Musty."

   He winced.  "Oh, spunk.  Sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "No, I meant Smith this time."

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

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

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

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

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

   "And what might that have been?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   And with a stern warning, Angeles dismissed us.

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

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

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

   "Nothing," he said as if everything was.

   "Where does it hurt?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "But my -- "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I panicked.

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

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

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

   "Smith Contractors."

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

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

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

   "Oh no," Catarina said softly.

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

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

   I found them.  "Yeah?"

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

   "The dispenser's completely empty."

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

   "What's that mean?" I asked.

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

   "Nothing since Saturday," I repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Bingo."

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

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

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

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

   "Oh."

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

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

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

   "I don't deserve it."

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

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

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

   The doorbell rang.  Dana seemed calm enough for the moment to leave him
alone for half a minute.  It rang twice more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Hello?" Catarina called out.

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

   Her eyes widened when she saw I was naked.

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

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

   "Uh, hi," Jeanette said.

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

   "If I could?" Catarina gestured getting by.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "I can -- " I started to say.

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

   I sat down beside him and held him again.

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

   Damn.  Still not clothed.

   Neither was Dana, for that matter.

   "I'm sorry," he muttered.

   "Keep that in mind," I told him.

   "It's just -- "

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

   But oddly enough, it worked.

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

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

   "Good."

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

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

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

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

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

   Ginny's door opened.

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

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

   I glared at Jeanette.

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

   Not hardly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Isn't it enough?"

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

   "They're the same age."

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

   "And I took advantage of her."

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

   "But -- "

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

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

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

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

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

   I mumbled my thanks around my bite.

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

   Dana muttered something about owing me big time.

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

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

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

   "Where's Scarlett?" I asked.

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

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

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

   "I like her," he said mulishly.

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

   To which there was nothing he or I could say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "What?" More confused than concerned.

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

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

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

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

   I went upstairs.

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

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

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

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

   Smith

   I don't want to talk about it.

   [continued in part 5, Thursday]

   -- http://www.fastmail.fm - Email service worth paying for.  Try it for
free 

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