Chapter 2

"Have I ever told you how much you mean to me? How grateful I am for all you've done for me?" I whispered, blinking back tears.

Oh God. How maudlin. I'm a big girl now, I shouldn't be fighting tears, even tears of joy, but it was so good exchanging confidences here in the dark, just the two of us, nothing between us.

"I'll never get tired of hearing it. You mean just as much to me, and the school owes you a huge debt of gratitude.

"But that's enough patting each other on the back. How about patting something else? Like this?"

I shivered at the touch, welcoming the digression into the erotic. "Oh yes. And how about this?" I asked, returning the favor.

I was rewarded with a heartfelt sigh, a gasp of pleasure that resolved itself into "Oh, yes, indeed!"

"And here?" I asked, only to be beaten to the punch, so to speak.

"Brilliant minds."

"And similar paths," I responded, reaching even as I was reached, touched as I was touching.

It became a loving contest of who could find the most erogenous zones. It was amazing how many we found to stimulate, and amazing the ways we found to stimulate them, the two of us soon awash in touches and teases, kisses and licks, lips and tongues, fingers and even noses and toes, the wondrous sensual joy of exploring each other's bodies yet again. Nothing was sacred, nothing profane, nothing prohibited, nothing restrained. We were totally free with each other, in access allowed, in liberties taken.

The feel, the flavors, the aromas, the sounds, even the sights, dark as it was, if you got close enough, and closeness drew us onward to ever greater efforts. Both of us were determined to give as good as we got, and the more we gave the more we received -- a positive feedback loop if ever there was one -- until we were straining against each other, synchronizing our pulsations, milking every drop we could out of the ecstatic peak.

Inevitably it had to fade. Such pleasure was unsustainable, but as it receded it left behind a wash of warm affection and good feelings. We clung together, panting and sweating and kissing and snuggling, sated -- for the moment, at least.

"You saved the program."

I wrestled with my conscience, but finally yielded, knowing that false modesty would be met with scorn.

"Yes, I did," I answered in a matter-of-fact tone, suppressing a giggle.

"Oh you are so full of yourself!" That was delivered with a tickle to my ribs, which naturally invited retaliation, and for a few minutes were middle-schoolers at a sleepover, until we were both gasping.

"But not alone. I had a lot of help," I added seriously. I was remembering those weeks of meetings, challenges and confrontations. "I couldn't have done it without all the support I got."

"But you led the way."

Maybe so, but I remembered when I distinctly felt like I was dragging an anchor.

Another afternoon chairing a meeting of the Student Advisory Committee for the Naked in School Program...

Try turning that into a decent acronym. SACNISP? I don't think so!

I was ready to scream. Six weeks. Six fucking weeks we'd been meeting and we hadn't accomplished a fucking thing.

This day it didn't help my mood that I was also getting over a cold, which Mom blamed on my naked fly-in to the pep rally.

Oh it was a whole bunch of stuff. I was still growing, more up than out, which meant my knees hurt if I forgot to take my selenium. I blamed that for my diving only getting worse, though I suspected -- no, don't go there.

Swimming practice was an exhausting slog of endless wind sprints -- in my case interrupted while I hacked gobs of snot into the pool's gutters. Coach was trying to get us into condition for the season that opened in November. And my boyfriend Greg was beating me regularly, darn it. The weather had been unusually sucky, not helping my cold and making Missy's and my morning jogs less than joyous, while the house was in chaos because of our imminent move.

Mike finished droning through the minutes so I dragged myself out of my gloomings. "Do I hear a motion that the minutes of the last meeting be approved as read?"

At least my sinuses had cleared so my skull didn't resonate like a barrel when I talked.

"So moved," Heather responded, as usual.

"Seconded," Matt agreed mechanically.

"All in favor?"

Mumbled "ayes" and I banged the gavel -- gently so my ears didn't ring.

"Old business," I began, looking at the agenda. "Mrs. Devers, please tell me you have something good to report on the towels issue?"

She shook her head. "I wish. It's been bucked up to the Board of Education for them to find money for it. It's on the agenda for tonight, but it'll probably be referred to the budget committee for recommendations, which'll take another two months, knowing them. I suspect there are dark forces aligned against us," she added ominously, like something out of Lord of the Rings, but didn't elaborate.

"Why isn't there any money? Isn't The Program funded by Washington?" Matt asked.

"It is, and the funds should come out of The Program budget, but thanks to some unauthorized expenditures by -- well, you know who -- what little money that's left is frozen."

I groaned. Every time I thought the Worm was forever out of my life someone turned over a rock and there he was. Turns out he wasn't just a predator but also a thief.

I distracted myself studying Mrs. Devers's tits -- nice and firm, imagining my fingers curling around them so I could gently pinch her stiff nipples.

She drummed her fingers on the table. "About the towels, I'm not optimistic anyway. Men don't secrete the way women do and don't realize how -- ah -- open to infection we are. Of the seven members on the Board of Ed there's only one woman and she's so repressed she probably can't even end her sentences with a period. It has to be a 'full stop.' I think she blow-dries herself after peeing, rather than touch her crotch."

That got a snicker. Given our reason for being here the discussions tended to get rather bawdy.

"Personally," she went on, "I'd like the Office of Social Awareness to stick all school board members in The Program for a week. We're just lucky our unions are smart enough not to have protested our policy requiring staff and faculty do it. On the good side, I'm seeing an attitude adjustment in those who've taken part.

"As for the Board of Ed and towels, until we can somehow convince them it's a serious problem I think we're stuck. Meanwhile the nurse is taking swabs when and where she can, running up lab costs to get a head-start if we do have an epidemic of something ugly and unpronounceable, and the custodial staff is putting in more and more overtime -- at time-and-a-half -- sanitizing everywhere a naked girl or guy might sit. Next they'll be running out on the soccer field when someone slips and lands on her ass.

"All we can do is remind participants to bring their own towels and encourage potential participants to have a towel with them just in case their number comes up. But they forget, and frankly, for some families a clean towel a day is a strain.

"So, that's where we stand, or, rather, sit."

"Thank you, Mrs. Devers." Tearing my eyes off her boobs -- she'd noticed my look and gave me a smile as she cocked an eyebrow -- I looked around the table. "Anyone have any ideas?"

All I got were head-shakes. We were all in Program Uniform, of course, sitting on our own towels. Interestingly, as the committee sustained this tradition I noticed that everyone sat up straighter. Max Wang, a pudgy junior class boy, had even been motivated to switch to salads and take up Tae Kwon Do and it was having an effect.

It is to be noted, off the record, of course, that there's no causal relationship between Max's name and his better-than-average endowment. Furthermore, it is undeniable that his demure but naked classmate Samantha's admiration of said member has a stimulating effect on him. That may explain why Sam and Max have become somewhat of an item.

Wrenching my mind back to the towels got me thinking. There was a Board of Ed meeting tonight and towels were on the agenda. Hmmmm.

I decided to let my subconscious mull that over and moved on in the agenda.

"Retta, has your committee come up with any alternative to using The Program as punishment?" God I envy her great big milk chocolate tits with their Special Dark Chocolate Kiss nipples! Though on me they'd look ridiculous. She took a deep breath, which resulted in an awe-inspiring display.

"We didn't meet last week because of illness. We're scheduled to get together Wednesday," Retta answered. "It's complicated, 'cause some of us think it makes sense to give program bullies a taste of their own medicine."

I gave a silent sigh. It was always something, and she, herself, was of the "some of us" faction.

"Thank you. Please work on it. Consider reserving 'program as punishment' for only those offenses and come up with something else for spit-balls.

"Matt, does your committee have any alternatives to corporal punishment for program participant infractions?" God, reading from the agenda made it sound so stilted!

He looked unhappy. "We've met, but have yet to come up with anything."

"Next week, Matt? Please?" I begged, getting a nod in reply, which I interpreted as meaning in my dreams! Both subcommittees were struggling to come up with alternatives.

"Is there any other old business," I asked, making little check marks as we worked our way down the agenda. Mike's thumbs were busy as he took the minutes on his smart phone.

Silence.

"Does anyone have any new business?"

"Last week's incident during lunch?" Mrs. Devers ventured.

Cue the chorus: "Eeeewwwwww!"

We were all too familiar with what she was referring to.

"Does that fall under our charter?" Matt asked.

"It did involve a program participant," Heather pointed out. "What can we do?"

Matt made a face. "Take chili off the lunch menu."

"Add Kaopectate to the beverage dispenser," Retta Jones suggested.

"Diapers," Max Wang put in.

"Diapers would be a violation of The Program's 'no cover up' rule," Samantha Keeler pointed out in her usual dry, meticulous style. A slender, soft-spoken, mousy-haired but pretty junior in glasses, she was the committee's authority on Program rules and a stickler for details. She claimed to have memorized the pamphlet the day after orientation, when it was handed out. In fact, she was one of the few to even read it before she was put in The Program. She'd even researched endless pages of fine print on the Office of Social Awareness web site.

Getting students to read the pamphlet before their number came up was another issue on my list of things for us to do.

But getting back to Sam, I'd heard that at the age of twelve she'd announced she wanted to grow up to be a librarian or a lawyer. I loved her, but what is it about middle-of-the-alphabet professions?

"So our hands are tied when it comes to containment, though a towel certainly would have been of some help," I decided. "Basic cause is the kitchen's responsibility, and decontamination is the janitors' problem. Let's move on. How many complaints have we had from participants regarding unreasonable requests?"

"So far this week, none," Walter Miflin, the sophomore boy, responded.

I'd suckered him into fielding those while we sought a better solution. By default, in the absence of an official Program Coordinator, we committee members had become the recipient of Program violation complaints. It wasn't the sort of responsibility any student should take on, but word about the committee had gotten around and people came to us.

Most complaints he could resolve by simply quoting the program guide. The tough ones he referred to Mrs. Devers, who was herself like the little boy with his finger in the dyke -- I mean dike. In committee speak she was Program Coordinator pro tem and de facto, meaning she was stuck with the Worm's job. The appointment of a new Program Coordinator was pending, and probably would be for some time to come. The Worm's arrest had set off a tsunami of lawsuits and finger pointing stretching from here all the way up to the Federal Office of Social Awareness. Congress was getting involved. Heads were likely to roll like a bowling tournament. Everyone wanted to know how that miserable predator had slipped through.

"It's only Monday," Mike pointed out. "What've we been averaging?"

"Three a week," Walter admitted glumly.

"You've been doing a great job, Walt. I'm sure we'll come up with a better system for dealing with them soon," I pointed out. His hesitant smile and nod made me feel a little better.

For lack of anything better to do, we all batted the problem around and, as usual, reached no conclusion. My feeling was that the Student Guide would have to be rewritten to clarify things, and to provide for some sort of a panel to resolve the inevitable disputes. That was way beyond our responsibility, but in the absence of leadership from above we might just have to do it anyway.

In the end we finally adjourned, once again having accomplished exactly nothing.

But all was not lost. My devious subconscious had come up with a plan to motivate the school board on the towels issue. Without sharing the scheme with her, a brief consultation with Mrs. Devers confirmed the board's schedule and agenda, and she assured me that students were welcome at the meeting. In fact, she thought it was a good idea for us to be there to remind them who was actually at risk while they dithered.

I hoped she wouldn't regret having been so eager. I was going to kick some ass.

I waited until I got home before I gave the now well-programmed speed-dial on my cell a workout as I marshaled my forces. The response was truly gratifying and we rendezvoused in the high school auditorium early enough to set the trap without being caught, the custodial staff having set the stage and gone to dinner.

By the time the Board of Ed and their minions emerged from their scheduled executive session in the conference room -- supposedly dealing with personnel matters -- we were occupying the auditorium's first row. With me sitting tall in the center, flanked by my fellow SACNISP members -- no that really doesn't work very well, does it -- supplemented by my Lunch Bunch accompanied by suitable male escorts we were, you might say, a noticeable presence.

Especially since, as alums of The Program, we were all nude, boy - girl - boy - girl. We ladies had our naked legs demurely and uniformly crossed, right over left, while all of our male members' members were up-standing, shall we say.

Tripping over their own feet at the sight of us the Board of Ed made its way to the seats behind the long table at stage center. The chairman was in the middle. The lone woman on the board, on the far right, flushed bright red at our display.

Mrs. Devers had followed them out and by the look she gave me she immediately realized that Something was Up.

I gave her my best "innocent" look, along with a smile and a little wave.

Not being a member of the Board of Ed, but a mere employee representing the Principal, who had somehow managed to avoid this meeting, she took a seat to one side, next to the clerk taking the minutes, and I heaved a silent sigh of relief. That avoided collateral damage. My target was the Board of Ed's dignity, not hers.

Just as the board went to draw out their chairs to sit down, by pre-arrangement we naked ladies flashed our charms by gracefully uncrossing and recrossing our legs -- from right over left to left over right -- in perfect unison, making sure the board got a clear view of our goodies.

The distraction worked perfectly. Not one board member was looking at what they were about to sit on -- uh -- in. It was clear, cold, and wet, nicely contained in seats carefully curved to cup a bottom. It took only a few seconds for our deposit to soak through their clothes. As it did they bounced back up like Jacks-in-the-Box -- Jack-in-the-Boxes? -- their chairs shooting backwards. They reflexively reached for their asses, and quickly regretted it.

They were not happy.

Being front and center, and tall, made me the obvious target. The chairman of the board, Albert Wilson, vented a naughty word before fastening his eyes on me, shaking goop off his fingers. He knew me from my opening speech at the dedication of the Spirit of Central High statue, a speech that had gotten a lot more attention than his had.