Chapter 1

NIS The Real Story

Hello. My name is Mira. I just completed my week in the Program and I need to write a fucking journal. My bitch of an aunt enrolled me in the NIS program. For those of you who need a clue, I wasn't pleased about this.

We've all seen, I'm sure, the wonderful tales of those who entered the program and found their true love. Yeah, right. Although I can't prove this, I believe at least some of those tales to be mere propaganda for the whole program.

I've provided below an example of the formula I believe to be common to most NIS stories.

Monday (Day 1): OMG!!!!! I'm naked in school!!!! The school sucks, my parents suck, and the NIS committee sucks!!! This is the worst thing ever!! They've partnered me with a complete loser!

Tuesday (Day 2): Wow. The loser actually has some good points. This may not be too bad after all. I think I could come to like this person. By the way, I'm getting a little more comfortable with everyone looking at me, but I still hate it when they touch me.

Wednesday (Day 3): OMG!!!!! (again) My partner is really awesome!!! How'd I ever think that he/she was such a loser. I think I may be in love with him/her ... but what does he/she think about me?

Thursday (Day 4): OMG!!! OMG!!! OMG!!! (drama much?) We slept together and it was great. Never mind the fact that we were both ignorant virgins, he/she knew exactly what I needed. I hope he/she doesn't think I am a slut/only want him/her for the sex. What have I done? This is the person I want to spend my life with and I've ruined it.

Friday (Day 5): Whew; he/she understands me. He/she knows that I'll always be faithful to him/her. Never mind that I blew the football team/fucked all the cheerleaders. Now that the program week's over, I'll always be faithful and will never look at another boy/girl in a sexual way again. Thank you, NIS, for bringing us together! This has been the best experience of my life.

Now, I know this "cookie cutter formula" does not fit all the stories; just most of them. As I said, I can't prove anything, but I don't buy all of the stories as real occurrences. Now, I could start my story with the Monday formula, but I'd rather give you some insight as to who I am prior to my evisceration of the NIS program.

As I said, my name is Mira. Mira Valenova. My mother was an American working in Russia in 1995 when she met my father. The Berlin wall had fallen, the people in Russia were enjoying freedoms like they'd never experienced before, and it was kicking their asses. My mother's job was as an aide to a businessman recruiting Russians to come work in the states.

You see, with the new opportunities in Russia, many companies were offering goods and services to the masses. The problem was that no one could afford the new products/services being made available. The businessman and my mother worked for a consulting firm in Chicago.

They wanted real Russians to consult with manufacturers to find a healthy compromise between product excellence and product affordability. My father, Mikhail Valenova, was one of their many recruits.

Three years after my father started working in the states, he and my mother started seeing each other. A year later, they were married. In 2000, a year after their marriage, I was born. Mirabella Irina Valenova.

My father was a brilliant man. When he got to America, he liked what he saw and worked hard to build a life for himself, his wife, and his daughter. He managed to land a job as an IT specialist and was earning six figures a year.

We lived in Cape Elizabeth, a small town on the coast in Maine. My mother quit her job in Chicago and moved back to Maine, where she had grown up. My father spent his time as a database consultant for several major companies in Portland.

It was when I was nine, that this fairy tale story starts to crumble. My father was on a flight from Japan when the plane went down. There were no survivors. My mother and I took it hard, but she did what she needed to in order to ensure that we were taken care of.

She hired a financial consultant and had the consultant manage my father's investments. The consultant did a great job and the investment's value rose to close to thirty million dollars.

Realizing how fragile life is, she drafted a will and had it certified by an attorney friend of hers. No one in her family got anything. Apparently, they disapproved of her marriage to my father and cut all ties with her.

My aunt, my mother's younger sister, was the most reasonable of the bunch. She was still a nasty woman, but had maintained contact with mom. Because of that, my mother named Aunt Susan my guardian if my mother died.

Sadly, I found out about all this when, shortly after my 14th birthday last year, my mother was killed in a crosswalk by a speeding motorist who ran a red light. I spent four months in a hospital due to trauma and another two months in foster care while the authorities looked for a relative who was willing to take me in.

There was really no other choice. Aunt Susan didn't want anything to do with me, but the will stipulated that my expenses would be covered. Aunt Susan would receive $5,000 a month for as long as I stayed with her. Upon my 18th birthday, she'd receive 300 thousand dollars in cash. I knew nothing about this until this week.

Anyway, I wasn't appreciated when I moved in. My aunt was living in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment. It'd take two months to find a larger apartment and we were very cramped.

Aunt Susan made me sleep on the floor, as the couch was too short for me to sleep on and Aunt Susan refused to share a bed. I was okay with that. It beat the foster care system.

Things got decidedly more complicated one morning when she walked in on me one morning as I was going to the bathroom. Okay. This is where I may lose some of you, but here it goes.

I'm a girl. There's no denying it. I have medium-sized tits (34C) and have been having my period for the last three years. That said, I'm not a normal girl. I have an extremely rare physical condition that has caused trouble in the past and will cause trouble in the future. I'm a hermaphrodite.

Now, in most cases, a hermaphrodite doesn't have two complete sets of genitalia. Some have a pseudo-penis that takes the place of their clitoris. Others simply develop breasts even though they have a man's genitalia.

In a lot of cases, there's no visibly conspicuous sign of hermaphroditism. They may look like a man on the outside, but look rather effeminate as their testicles may be absent or non-productive. In some cases, they even have ovaries.

In my case, however, I have complete female genitalia plus a little extra. The little extra consists of a 6-inch penis. The penis is about an inch and a half above my clitoris. I have no testicles but I do have functioning ovaries.

In my case, my urethra goes through my penis instead of my vagina. As a result, I'm the only girl I know who can write her name in the snow without any tools. Because peeing while standing is much louder than peeing while sitting, I usually sit. That was the position I was in when Aunt Susan came in.

"Oh," she said abruptly. "I didn't know you were in here."

She turned to go, then stopped. Turning slowly, she stared at my crotch.

"What the fuck is that?"

I should note that I'd assumed that Aunt Susan had read my medical file or had spoken with my doctor. I thought she knew of my condition and that was why she disliked me. Apparently, I was wrong.

"It's my penis," I responded.

"I thought you were a girl."

"I am a girl."

"Bullshit! You're just a perverted little creep. Getting breast augmentation to look like a girl is just sick."

It was then that I realized what I needed to do. With a sigh, I lifted my penis out of the way and displayed my vagina.

Aunt Susan's mouth just shut with a snap. She looked like she was going to faint and I hoped she didn't. She weighed close to 125 pounds and I knew I would not be able to move her by myself very easily.

Fortunately, she didn't faint. Instead, she spun like a top, got her phone and called the lawyer. When the screaming began, I realized breakfast was shot. I grabbed my backpack and went to school.

By the time I got home, things had settled down. My aunt had dinner ready and she seemed almost civilized. She told me that we were moving at the end of the week. She'd found a place about 50 miles away that was perfect, she said,

The new apartment sure sounded good. It was 2200 square feet, had three bedrooms, and three baths. In addition, it was a 20-minute walk from the local high school.

The new apartment was $1700 a month, but the $5000 a month she got for taking care of me would more than cover it. I asked about her job, but was told she had a friend in the area that owned a nightclub. He would take her on starting immediately.

It was then that I realized that she was being nice to me. Now, I don't mind someone being nice to me, but when it's someone who previously treated me with open hostility, the alarm bells start ringing.

I was about to bring up that morning, hoping to talk with her about my body, but she took charge of the discussion, telling me about all we needed to do before the movers got there on Friday. As it was already Tuesday night, that left little time.

Before I could say anything to her, we were already moved into our new place. Her friend (and new boss) had a friend who was the principal of my new high school and they'd rushed all the paperwork through so I'd be able to start school the following Monday.

My first day at the new school started great. When I got to school, I got my books, my class schedule, and a map of the school. The secretary offered to walk me to my homeroom classroom, but I declined. I was new. I didn't want to look like I needed special attention.

It was during homeroom that I discovered what my aunt had done. Over the intercom, a voice asked that one of the girls in my classroom go to the office.

Now, those of you who have read other NIS stories know what happened. I hadn't read any of them yet. I had no clue.

The girl, a mousy little thing named Mary Shaker, lived up to her name and started shaking in her seat. Some people were commisserating with her while others were giving her some good-natured ribbing. I understood later, but right then, I was completely mystified.

You might wonder how I got to the ninth grade without hearing about the Program, but it really wasn't too surprising. Until my mother died, I was home-schooled. While I was in the system, I went to a charter school that had not implemented the Program.

I was, therefore, completely stunned when Elizabeth returned from the office sans clothing.

"What the hell," I whispered to the girl sitting next to me.

"It's just the Program," she replied. "I did it a month ago."

"Program? Did it? Did what?"

"Spent the week naked. Didn't they have the Program in your old school?"

I could only shake my head.

"Surely, you've heard of it," she said, surprised at my shock.

I shook my head again.

"Every week, two kids from each year - freshman to senior - are selected and must be naked for a week. They have to take their clothes off when they get here and can't put them back on until after school ends for the day. Oh yeah, if they attend any school functions like games or concerts, or anything, they have to be naked for that as well."

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a pamphlet.

"This," she said, handing me the pamphlet, "will tell you all about it. Every kid gets one of these when they are selected for the program. They issue them at the start of the year, but they expect we'll lose them. I still have mine from the start of school so I don't need this one. You can have it."

I thanked her and started reading the pamphlet. It wasn't very thick, considering the number of horrors held within its pages. I could feel my eyebrows rising higher and higher as I read each page.

"Holy shit," I mumbled. Well, I thought I mumbled. Apparently, it was more of a shout.

"Excuse me, Miss Valenova," my homeroom teacher, Mr. Anderson, said. "Is there something wrong?"

"I ... I'm sorry," I stuttered. Fuck, I hate when I do that.

"I was just reading this pamphlet and it says the students can molest the people in the program."

"They are 'Reasonable Requests', Miss Valenova. It is not molestation."

"But they can touch the program participants?"

"For the most part, yes. If, for some reason, the participant feels touching is unreasonable, a teacher is called upon to issue a ruling. In most cases, though, despite the wishes of the participant, what is being requested falls within the boundaries of a 'Reasonable Request'."

"And anyone can be put into this program?"

"It's usually done in a random selection, but, yes. The school administration can assign someone to be in the program if they feel it's warranted. For example, if someone were to abuse the 'Reasonable Requests' and truly molest someone in the program, the offender can be put into the program as well."

"In such cases, the offender's usually placed in the program for the remainder of the current week and the next full week. We find that this helps dissuade most people from abusing the rules for kicks."

I shut up and continued reading. Sure enough, he was proven correct as the pamphlet expressed just what he'd told me. This wasn't good. It was just a matter of time before I'd be parading my naked body with its extra appendage in front of the school. Did my aunt plan this? I wouldn't put it past her.

As soon as the bell rang, noting the passing period between homeroom and first period, I was out of my seat and heading to the nurse's office. There had to be some kind of exemption I qualified for. Most people aren't too accepting of my body. In theory, they're fine, but they tend to freak out when faced with the real thing.

I hit the door so hard, that, had it been locked, I would've ripped it off the hinges. As it was, the door hit the wall so hard, the metal handle on the inside put a dent in the wall.

The nurse was so startled, she spilled her coffee on her uniform. She sent me a wicked look and we were off to a great start.

"What the hell do you think your doing," she asked angrily.

I was suitably apologetic and she softened while she cleaned herself up and changed her clothes.

"Um, um..."

"Let's start with names, dear. I am Nurse Adams. You can call me 'Andie'."

"Mira Valenova," I replied. "My friends call me 'Mira'."

"Okay, Mira," Andie said. "The way you burst into here, I assume there's a problem of some magnitude. Why don't you tell me about it?"

"It's the Program," I said. "I need a medical exemption form."

She nodded wearily.

"I see," she said. "Well, you made your way in here on your own two legs, so I assume the condition isn't something readily visible; at least, not while you are dressed."

I had forgotten how difficult it is to discuss this with strangers. I figured that I'd save time and show her. As I stripped off, starting with my blouse and bra, her eyebrows rose.

"You don't need to do that," she said. "You can just tell..."

Her words cut off as my pants and panties were pushed to the floor, my penis popping into view.

"What the hell," she muttered, rising from her seat.

"I'm a hermaphrodite," I said quietly, lifting my penis to expose my vagina. "I would like to be excused from the Program because I don't believe it would be too safe for me. Most people won't know how to handle this."

She stopped herself just before she touched my member. She shook herself to awareness and sat back down.

"I'd like to help you, Mira," she said. "You may be right about how the other kids'll react. I can easily imagine how some of the jocks will react."

"But," I prompted, knowing that there was an issue.

"There's no exemption offered for physical issues."

"So," I said, fear creeping into my voice, "there's nothing I can do?"

"I didn't say that," she replied. "I'm going to contact the Program Advisory Board. This is an extreme situation and I think they might be sympathetic to your situation."

"When will we get a response," I asked.

"I couldn't say. It could be two days or two months."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"If your parents know a decent attorney, they might be able to find a legal exemption."

I immediately thought about Mr. Pendergrast. Mr. Pendergrast was my mother's lawyer. He was also a close family friend. I should call him to see what we could come up with. Maybe there's a legal remedy for this situation. Mr. Pendergrast knew I had a condition, but did not have any of the details.

A noise brought me back to the moment. Nurse Adams jolted as well. The noise turned out to be the coat rack falling over. It was caught in the door, holding the door slightly open.

"Someone was here," the nurse said.

I had a sinking feeling and was about to say something when the nurse shooed me out of the office. I was late for class. She assured me that she'd look into my situation and look for an exemption for me.

I'd missed most of the first period, so Nurse Adams had given me a note for the teacher. I was having female issues, the note said, and the nurse had to give me some medication.

Mr. Walker, my first-period English teacher, glanced at the note and gestured toward a seat near the back of the class, indicating that I should sit down. I sat down, pulled out my book, and frowned. I had no idea where we were.

"Chapter 9," said the girl sitting next to me. "Page 243."

Flipping to close to the middle of the book, I glanced at the girl in puzzlement. It wasn't that late into the school year.

"Mr. Walker goes through the book in his own order," she whispered. "Last week, we were on Chapter 12."