Chapter 1: The Naked Candy Striper

My name is Greta. My last name does not matter, for, as you will see as the story unfolds, I no longer have the right to the one given to me at birth. Greta is not the name on my birth certificate, either. The Naked in School program ended my old life and created this new identity for me.

I was a junior in high school when the Program came to our town. My father was a Pentecostal pastor in a large church in town. My mother was the daughter of missionaries and a seminary-educated Master of Christian Education Director of the church-run day school I had attended from pre-kindergarten through ninth grade.

The church’s school did not continue through high school; therefore, my choice was either home schooling or attendance at the large public high school that was within walking distance of the home the church provided for my parents and me.

As most of the children in the church attended the high school, my parents decided I should also attend there to show equality as only the elitist few chose home schooling and private tutors when their children reached the grade at which the church school ended.

Again, my parents decided that I should fully participate in all the high school programs. I was to try out for sports, do all the clubs that interested me, and try to be a normal teenage girl in many ways. My mother dressed me in calf-length skirts, long-sleeved white blouses, and either a sweater or a blazer with my father’s approval. My feet were shod with saddle shoes and I always wore knee socks. My hair, sort of a light brown, was always severely pulled back in a ponytail or parted in the middle and braided to the sides. I either looked like a refugee from the 1950s or the dorky princess from those science fiction movies.

I survived sophomore year, grade ten, only because of a medical problem that prevented me from taking gym and thus having to shower with the girls following gym class. When my father learned I would have to be nude with the other girls in a group shower and also dress and undress in a locker room with members of my gym class, he almost pulled me out of school. During my pre-school physical, our doctor discovered several growths on my skin. She excised one of them and had it biopsied. It turned out to be a benign but rapidly growing subcutaneous virus similar to shingles or warts requiring cauterization. As I was undergoing weekly treatments, I was always raw, scabbed, blistered, or bandaged, so I was given a full-year medical excuse from gym participation.

I did not get away scot-free, though, as every week I had to report to Nurse Kramer, the school nurse, during what would have been my gym period, strip naked, and let her examine me to verify the condition was persistent and ongoing. I was finally clear of lesions three weeks before the end of the school year. Nurse Kramer winked and signed me out of gym for those three weeks, saying if I’d missed that much time I would probably hurt myself trying to keep up with the girls who had been participating five days a week for the entire school year. She still required me to show up in her office and strip naked during gym class. She said it was to preserve our cover story, but looking back, I think she just enjoyed seeing me nude, and truth be told, I enjoyed the hour in her office being naked.

May twenty-sixth, the last day of school, came and there was an assembly. The Principal and Nurse Kramer spoke about some changes coming in the new school year in September. They spoke of something called the Program and that our parents would be getting information packets concerning the Program in the early portion of July. They were to read the literature and only if they had objections were they to return the forms enclosed in the package by July fifteenth.

My father had been called as a summer evangelist at a resort town along the Maryland coast for the entire summer. We packed up and moved our summer clothes, the dog, and ourselves to a small cottage a block from the ocean beaches. We would walk along the boardwalk and my parents would seethe over the bathing costumes of the men and women basking on the beaches. This girl in a thong bikini, that girl topless, that mother with her pregnancy obvious to everyone in the two-piece suit. I wore sundresses that were calf length and a large sunhat. I was never allowed on the beach to bathe in the ocean or tan in the sun. It was immoral. My father would rant and rail against that behavior in the pulpit every Sunday and at the mid-week prayer and hymn singing every Wednesday. He did this for the entire summer.

When we packed to come home on the last day of August, my father told the church committee that he was glad to be leaving this cesspool of sin, iniquity, and temptation with its exposed flesh and lewd behavior.

I look back at it now and I laugh. My parents had their mail held while we were away. We arrived home late on a Saturday and went to church, where my father preached his homecoming sermon Sunday morning. As we greeted the people leaving the service, many asked my father if I would get with ‘the Program.’ Having no idea what was being discussed, my father assured the members who asked that I would be able to do gym class and participate in everything else a good girl should at school this year. Those folks shook their heads and left as though the question they had asked had remained unanswered.

Monday came and off I went to another school year. Surprisingly, very few of my church friends were walking with me to the high school and the one who was, Brenda Adams, stopped me and asked, “Your folks, they didn’t object to the Program, and your participating in it?”

“What Program,” I asked her, not remembering the principal’s and Nurse Kramer’s little speech during the end-of-school assembly.

“Well, it was mentioned before school let out, remember,” Brenda told me. I nodded and I vaguely did remember. Brenda filled me in with, “The information packets came out in early July. It was a pile of non-consent forms and a brochure that was thirty pages of detailed information about the Naked-in-School Program.”

“THE WHAT?” I must have yelled loud enough to be heard two blocks away.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Brenda giggled. “We are required to participate in all non-contact sports in gym class nude; cheerleaders, marching band, and color guard will perform nude at all events and at least one week a month, every student must remain nude for all regularly scheduled classes and events. This includes your mandatory community service time. If you choose to remain naked all the time, your grade point average is given an automatic one-point boost on a four-point scale. I’m going to do the all nude all the time, myself, as I’m a solid C student and the extra point will make me a full B and maybe then a college will look at me for admission.”

“Brenda, we’ve been away all summer at that evangelist conference. My folks had all their mail held until we got back. I don’t think my father was even picking the mail up until tomorrow morning. What do you think I should do?” My poor brain was working overtime.

“Well, the brochure spelled out that on the first day of school, everyone would be nude for the entire day. Teachers, janitors, staff, and students will all be naked for Program orientation. Your parents would have had to sign the non-consent waiver opt-out forms by July fifteenth and then found a school nearby that would take you as a student. My guess is you are stuck with attending here and following the rules.”

I thought back to the summer and the people I saw having fun on the beach in their tiny swimsuits. I admit I had looked at them and had disagreed with my parents about the ‘sinfulness’ of their flesh. God made flesh before he made clothes, and Adam and Eve were content to be naked until the whole apple incident. My father reacted angrily when I tried that on him. He kept slamming his Bible on the kitchen table and yelling, “Modesty, modesty, modesty – that is the virtue and you shall be a virtuous girl.”

I also remembered all last year the time I spent in Nurse Kramer’s office naked while she examined my healing wounds. She had remarked several times how lovely I was and what a sin it was for my parents to insist I keep my body imprisoned under the layers of clothing I was forced to wear. I had silently agreed with her. I enjoyed the freedom of being in a natural state.

“So, basically, we get to the school, remove our clothes and go to class?” I asked for clarification.

Brenda responded, “Yes, if all you do is go to school. I’m on the color guard. So all my practices and my performances at games will be done nude, both home games and away games. If it is a school-sanctioned activity, it is to be done naked. I’m not sure, but I think it even spills over to school dances.”

“Oh, school-sanctioned activities include work-study and community service, don’t they?” The question was rhetorical, as I knew those were included. I also knew that my community service was a candy striper position at the local church home for the aged and infirm.

“Yes, of course,” Brenda said and added, “On the days you do your community service, your clothes stay locked up in the school locker and you travel back and forth to your community service nude. It is all in the Program brochure, which you haven’t read, have you?” Brenda giggled, and then she said, “My community service is playground pick up at Rockland Avenue Park. Now that is going to be interesting.”

My first clue that this really did affect everyone in the school was seeing the traffic guards, one male and one female, crossing kids to the school wearing their safety vests, hats, and shoes and not one other thing.

The teachers manning the doors, greeting the students as they arrived and giving them directions were similarly unattired. No, they were all stark naked. A stunning nude Nurse Kramer directed Brenda and me to report to the locker banks in the girl’s locker room of the gym, remove our clothing and then report to the auditorium for the School Year Opening Assembly. Nurse Kramer caught my arm and asked me, “Do you remember the poses I taught you during the days you spent in my office last year?”

I did and told her so, although I always thought she positioned me in those ways to better examine the scars and blistering left behind by my treatments. “Would you be willing to demonstrate those positions during assembly?” The touch of her hand on my arm felt reassuring. I said, “Of course, I would.” What the heck, four hundred of my closest friends, supporters, and enemies were going to see me as I would see them – naked – so being a bit more on display to help Nurse Kramer didn’t make a big difference to me.

It was funny; Brenda had so few garments to remove, a t-shirt, a bra, Bermuda shorts and bikini underpants. In contrast, I had a cotton summer sweater, starched white oxford blouse, camisole, bra, long skirt, half slip, granny panties because my father believed that modesty extended to a woman’s undergarments as well, knee socks, and saddle shoes. Yet, I was out of my clothes before she had skinned her panties off and into the locker. I guess my inner freedom fighter was finally rebelling against the restrictive life I had been forced to live up to this very moment. So restrictive that I was not allowed to put a razor to my skin. I had hair on my legs and under my arms that had wispy ash blond coloration, and the patch over my pussy was just a half shade darker and not very full.

I scampered out of the locker room and met Nurse Kramer at the auditorium door, she asked me to please join her and the principal up on the stage. She again told me how lovely I looked and assured me I would only be on display for a few moments while she taught the positioning poses to the rest of the school.

The principal gave the ‘welcome back from your summer’ speech that rarely varies from school year to school year in his full nude glory. He then turned the assembly over to Nurse Kramer.

“Young ladies and young gentlemen,” a huge swell of giggling went up in the student seats, “you have all read the Program brochure and none of your parents have filed a non-consent form; this means you shall all be fully participating in the Program. Full participation includes posing in display positions for those who may wish to examine you. If the request is reasonable and you will not be made late to a class, you will be expected to stop in the hallway or any other public place and display. These are the proper display poses.” Nurse Kramer motioned me forward and whispered, “On my command.” I nodded. I understood.

“Position one.” Nurse Kramer called. I immediately spread my legs forty-five degrees, clasped my hands behind my head and pulled myself up straight. “As you can see, position one allows the observer to see every fold and every nuance of the subject’s body. One can touch anywhere on the body,” as she said the words, she was running hands up and down my legs, then up my buttocks and back to my neck and around to the front where she caressed my breasts and finally moved down past my navel to wind up with a finger in my vagina and a thumb massaging my clitoris.

She stopped just short of my fulfillment and ordered Position Two. This was basically the same as position one, except I was on my knees with my ass resting back on my heels rather than standing up. She described to the assembly how this pose was easier to hold over the long term and then called position three, which was me still on my knees back straight but now with the palms of my hands resting upon my knees.

Position Four was position three standing up. Feet forty-five degrees spread, hands on knees, head down, and back straight. This time when Nurse Kramer demonstrated how easily every area could be touched, she rolled my nipples between her fingers and did not stop playing with my vagina and clit until I visibly shuddered in an orgasm on stage. She thanked me for my participation in the assembly. I got a round of applause from the audience and I was allowed to return to my seat.

“Wow,” Brenda reacted as I sat beside her, now off-stage but in the very front row of seats. “Did I just see the Ice Princess get off on stage?” She stifled a giggle unsuccessfully, then twitched her nose a little, “Wow again, if I couldn’t believe my eyes, I sure can trust my nose. That smells like girl juice.”

“I did, and it is,” I replied, and then I added, “Just because I’m still a virgin doesn’t mean my body doesn’t react to stimuli.”

The rest of the day went much as the assembly had. This year I had US history, geology/earth science, calculus, lunch, gym, English, and German – in that order. I walked into my US history class and Mr. Potts stopped me from finding a seat. “As you were the official demonstrator for the assembly today, I would like you to repeat your demonstration of the four positions.” It was a reasonable request and I did not argue. I simply stood and waited for the rest of the class to find seats; then as Mr. Potts requested, I went through each of the four poses again. Mr. Potts’ hands on my body felt a bit rougher and less lingering than Nurse Kramer’s hands. Yet, by the time I was displayed in Position Four, he had me cumming against his thumb. He thanked me for the demonstration and I finally found a seat and waited for the baby buzz in my body to abate.

The class changed and two senior boys asked me to display as I walked between classes. They both wanted Position One and they felt every nook of my body, one working front and the other back and switching sides. I barely made it to geology before the late bell and Ms. Shea looked at me with really interested eyes. “Class, for the remainder of the school year, the last student into the classroom shall be expected to spend the first five minutes of class in front of the class demonstrating the four posing positions.” Ms. Shea pointed to me, I put my book bag down and she called out the positions she had wanted to see. She had me hold Position Four for a very long time and invited each class member to caress and fondle me while I was in it. Most took advantage of the playtime, and I certainly didn’t mind the simulation.