Part 1: Monday

Chapter 1: Ed

Yeah, I suppose I knew it was coming. And, when I got called down to the office that Monday morning, I knew exactly what it was about.

The Program.

Hey, I'd seen friends go through it-I'd seen them have a good time with it. Two friends even got True Love out of it. (Cool for them, though not something I'm interested it.) And I knew I'd have fun with it. So, I didn't mind at all.

I'm Ed Bauer. Junior at Westport High School. Charmer, raconteur, man-about-town, all-World third baseman, and all-around nice guy. All that, and I'm cute, too. My friend Lily-she's my best friend Mike's girlfriend, and the best high school pitcher I've ever seen, guy or girl-calls me a pussyhound. Hey, I don't have to hound. I just sit back and let 'em fall in my lap. Whee, lookit dat! So, now I was going to be strutting my awesome Edliness all over Westport in der buff. Somebody hold the girls back, we don't want a stampede.

Well, no, not really. I'm average-looking, and I don't know if I'd really be considered charming. I do think I'm a nice guy, and I can play third base, and I do get girls. However, the reason I get girls is pretty simple-I'm funny. That's one thing I will claim-being funny. Hey, remember "Singing In The Rain"? Only the greatest film ever made. I worship Gene Kelly. I learned to play third base by watching him dance. Seriously-it's all in the footwork. Anyway, back to "Singing," Donald O'Connor had it right. "Make 'em Laugh". It never fails. I meet a girl, and in ten minutes I've got them laughing so hard they can't breathe-and in twenty minutes, they're trying to undo my pants. Funny is sexy. I learned that early. It's a hell of a gift to have.

And I'd need my sense of humor, if I was going to be naked all week. I'm kind of skinny, and I'm tall. I look "gawky"-I'm not, because of the whole third base thing, but I look that way-and moreso naked. Plus, I'm not exactly a giant between the legs. Hey, it works, and I know how to use it-but it ain't gonna make anyone go "whoa!" That's fine, I'll joke about anything. Is that a thimble in my pocket or am I happy to see you?

Anyhow, I didn't think The Program would be a bad gig. I knew that they tried to pair up people who didn't really know each other-you know, learning new things-so maybe I'd meet a new chick. That's always cool.

However, those hopes were dashed when I walked into Mr. Tillman's office.

"Hello, sir, you ordered the Naked Third Baseman?" I said after walking in.

"Come in, Ed," Mr. Tilling chuckled. "You obviously figured it out."

"Hey, the only reason you call someone down here first thing in the morning is either The Program, or that they've been a bad boy. Now, I'm always a bad boy, but you've never called me down here. So, I figured, you know-two plus two equals three point six nine eight. Approximately. For varying values of two."

"Is that how you figure your batting average?" he asked bemusedly.

"Nah. I count homers as four hits. I went from.238 to.446 in a hurry. As Charlie Brown once said to Linus, 'Tell your statistics to shut up.'"

Mr. Tilling was laughing. I can even make the principal laugh. "Well, anyhow, you got it right. You're in The Program. Say hello to your partner."

I turned around and saw her, huddled pitifully on the chair, looking like she'd just found out her grandmother died.

Oh, shit. Natalie Weinberg.

Thus endeth any kind of extracurricular activities with my partner this week.

Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Natalie Weinberg. I don't know her that well. And that's the point, nobody knows her that well. If you looked up "wallflower" in the dictionary, there she is. She's so shy, if she tried to tell you that your hair was on fire, you'd be consumed by flames before she got the word "your" out of her mouth. She's in four of my classes this year and I have no idea what her voice sounds like.

And she looked so scared. It was pitiful.

"Hey, Nat," I said to her, sitting down next to her. She managed to give me a small smile. I took a look at her. Shit, this was going to be traumatic. She was wearing what she usually wore-a long skirt that almost hit the floor, and a baggy long-sleeve blouse that was practically buttoned up to her nose. It was a suit of armor. I mean, it was 70 degrees out! And now she'd have to remove the suit of armor.

Ah, well, I could see what this week was going to be like. Good Ol' Ed shields traumatized naked wallflower. Ah, well. I am a nice guy.

"I'm really not supposed to be here, Mr. Tilling," she said. Well, now I knew what her voice sounded like. It was nice-light and airy-though painfully soft. "I'm supposed to be on the exempt list."

"Your mother called me three weeks ago and insisted you get selected," Mr. Tilling told her.

She almost started crying. "That bitch," she hissed under her breath. "And I don't have any say in this?" she asked Mr. Tilling.

"I'm sorry, Natalie, but you don't. It's parental discretion. Now, it's time for you two to strip."

"Stand back, everybody stand back," I joked, standing up. Then I proceeded to take of my clothes while humming the "Stripper's Theme." I threw 'em all at Mr. Tilling. "Bag those, James," I joked to him. "Now, is this the most impressive specimen of manliness you've ever seen, or what?" I asked, while making mock Mr. America poses with my nonexistent muscles.

Natalie smiled a bit. Hey, it even works on wallflowers. To a degree.

"Your turn," Mr. Tilling told Natalie.

The smile vanished in an awful hurry, and she really did look like she was going to cry. Her fingers hovered above the buttons on her blouse for a good minute. "I can't do this, I just can't do this!" she finally sobbed.

"Hey, sure you can," I told her, sitting down next to her. "Hey, all kidding aside, if I can parade this scrawny body around school, you can do it. And at least you don't have to go out like this and play third base..." I looked at Mr. Tilling. "I'm telling Lily Woodard to pitch outside all day tomorrow. No inside changeups to right-handed batters. All I need is line drives raising welts." He chuckled, and I turned back to Natalie. "You can do this. I'm not saying it's easy. But you can do it."

"OK," she sighed, and went to work on her blouse. The buttons came slowly undone, and then the blouse came off. She reached around and undid her bra. Then the skirt. Then the panties. It took forever, but she did it. She ended up huddled in the corner on the chair, almost trying to shield herself. Mr. Tilling told her to stand up. Reluctantly, she did.

Oh my Christ!

Standing before me was the most incredible body I'd ever seen. Look, Natalie had a very pretty face. She was a blue-eyed blonde with a flawless complexion and adorable features. But now, as I looked at all of her, I was dumbfounded. Huge, firm tits, tapering down to a wasp-like waist, and out to a nice set of hips and a firm yet voluptuous ass. Her legs were long and firm. Shit, even her arms were perfect. I couldn't believe she had been hiding this under her suit of armor. Shit, it was all I could do not to drool. This girl was going to be followed around by every guy in the school.

And that's when it hit me. This petrified girl was about to become the center of attention. Damn. It almost would've been easier if she'd been ugly. She was obviously loathing walking around naked-and she was going to be noticed. This was going to be hell week for her; I could see it coming. And the last thing she needs, Bauer you idiot, is for you to be standing there ogling her like a 12-year-old that just saw his first copy of Playboy.

I put my tongue back in my mouth.

But she was looking at me, and I felt I had to say something. So-in a very casual, friendly, non-ogling tone of voice, I said, "You're absolutely gorgeous, you know that, right?" She looked at me in complete, utter shock.

Oh, help. This was the most incredible girl I'd ever seen, she had no clue how gorgeous she was, and she was petrified.

Why in hell did her mother put her in The Program?

I thought back to a friend of mine, Amanda Frazier. Amanda had gone through the program at the beginning of the year. Now, when Amanda first started the program, she was shy-as far as guys went-and fairly sexually repressed. But, the thing was, she wasn't shy in general-in fact she was Miss Congeniality. So she came to terms with being naked, tried to keep her chin high and the smile on her face while doing it-and, in the process, opened up to an incredible degree. She also fell in love with her partner, Jared, which helped. And I'm talking "I don't care if they're only sixteen, where's the wedding invitation" love.

Natalie wasn't trying to keep her head held high-she was trying to roll herself into a ball and hide under Mr. Tilling's desk. And her partner-that'd be me-doesn't do love. All I could offer was friendship. And, watching her misery, I didn't know if that was going to be enough.

"OK, guys, time to hit the hallways," Mr. Tilling said. Natalie visibly cringed.

I smiled at her, and said, "Come on. You'll be all right." We got to the outer door of the office, and I said. "I'll go first. You just follow behind." She nodded, and I swung the door open, jumped out in front of the gathered crowd, and yelled, "Naked third baseman on the loose! Hide the women and children! Naked third baseman on the loose!" My cronies were there, of course, laughing. I thought being my lunatic self would divert some attention off of Natalie. Stupid, Ed, stupid. She slipped out of the door behind me, and I heard a collective gasp from every guy in the hall.

Mike and Lily were there. "Somebody's number got called!" Lily teased.

"You just make sure there's no line drives hit at the third baseman's naked hiney, Pedro," I grinned.

"Hey. Natalie Weinberg, huh? Wow. Who knew? She's stunning," Mike said.

"She's stunning, she has no idea how stunning she is, and she's absolutely terror-stricken," I told them.

"Not a good combination," Mike agreed.

I tried to get Natalie's attention, but she was surrounded by guys. She looked like she wanted to die as they touched her. Then, something strange happened. She was standing, crouched a little, arms tight at her sides-like she was trying to pull herself in-until someone stuck a finger in her pussy. When that happened, she stood ramrod straight, arms at her sides, legs spread apart a bit. In other words, she clearly let him do it with no protest. The frightening part was her face. Her eyes were practically glassed over. And, though the guy diddling her was being gentle and obviously trying to make her feel good, there was no reaction. Just a steely glare. She was obviously getting no pleasure from the act. After a minute, he withdrew her hand, she slumped herself together again, and tried to get out of the crowd.

"Pal, there's something seriously wrong there," Mike said astutely.

"I was thinking the same thing," I told him. "Natalie! Come on," I pulled her out of the crowd. "Our first classes are close, I'll walk you there." I did, arm around her, as she miserably shuffled down the hall. I delivered her to her first class and said, "See you in Accounting," which was both of our second period class. Then I went to my class.

Depressed, if you want to know the truth. I had counted on a good Program week. Now, it looked like I had been buddied up with someone who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown over it. I suppose I could just ignore her and go on my merry naked way.

Yeah, sure I could. That's not me, it's just not me. I can't pass a wounded animal without trying to help it. I was just going to ignore this terrified girl-who, don't forget, I had been assigned to buddy up with? Not my style.

So, I had to try to help her get through this. How was the question.

Chapter 2: Natalie

You ever want to commit murder? I mean, really want to? If I had had a gun and my mother in front of me, I don't know if I would have been able to hold myself back.

I'm Natalie Weinberg, I'm almost seventeen years old, I'm naked, and I'm a mess. A complete mess. I have no friends, I have no one to talk to, I have no life-and I have the mother from hell. And now I had to show my body off to everyone in the school.

When I ever got called down to the office, I figured it was something else. I thought I was on the opt-out list for The Program. When I ever found out, I almost died.

And they paired me up with Ed Bauer! Ed's one of the nicest guys in school-I know that-but he's also notorious for fucking anything that moves. Although he was nice this morning. Telling me I was gorgeous was nice. Of course, that was probably just a line.

I don't think I'm gorgeous. I don't like my body. My boobs are too big, my ass is too big, I'm a 'dumb blonde'-I'm like a Barbie Doll come to life. It doesn't help that my mother treats me like one. "You got a body, you'd better use it, because that's all you've got." I've heard that since I was twelve. My mother got knocked up by some asshole at seventeen. Why she kept me-or even had me-escapes my comprehension. She must've had some sort of maternal instinct flash when she was pregnant. Trust me, she hasn't had much of one since then. Abortion is pretty nonexistent nowadays, due to the effectiveness and availability of all types of birth control-but it was available back then. Of course, decently effective birth control was available back then, too. My mother says she was pressured by her parents to not have an abortion-they were into that whole religious "right to life" movement back then. How people think that a seventeen-year-old who was too stupid and irresponsible to carry a condom in her purse was equipped to raise a child is beyond me.

Westport's a nice town, but it has a small "bad side." That's where we live, in a rathole apartment. All my mother wants is out, and she's gone through more guys than I can name looking for a way out. Of course, when you work as a cocktail waitress in a dive, you don't exactly meet a high-caliber class of guys. So, now all her hopes of getting out are on me. If she had her way, she'd just whore me out to the highest bidder, and come along for the ride. A year or so ago, she took to arranging "dates" for me. She fixed me up with guys-older guys-and made it clear that, if a guy showed you a good time, you were obligated to "repay" him. I had my virginity taken by a thirty-year-old stockbroker. I was fifteen at the time. This happened twice more. The fourth time-with a guy who was completely disgusting-I revolted. I ran out of the car and ran home. My mother was furious-but stopped arranging "dates" for me.

This must be Plan B. Make me parade my grotesque imitation of a Barbie-doll body around school naked, and have some rich guy "claim" me. Lovely, huh?

I know nobody at school. I have no friends. I'm scared to try to make them. I can't bring people home to my apartment-and I can't go over someone else's house without getting a third degree. I go to the mall, I get grilled. So I go from a school where I'm nobody to a home where I'm a set of tits to be used as a meal ticket. And people think I'm shy. Which I am to a point. What I more am is scared-scared people will use me, scared people will find out about all the bile I have stored in my gut, scared that I'd have to explain my life.

Suicide? You bet your ass it's crossed my mind.

However, contrary to what my mother thinks, I do have other things going for me. I'm smart. Really smart. Mother never cares to read my report card-if she did, she'd see a whole list of A's. So, I have a way out. College scholarship. My grades are good enough to get one. Then I'm getting out of here, without selling my body, and my mother's not invited. A year and a half-that's all I have to wait it out.