Part 1: Monday

Chapter 1: Maggie

Let's see. They want me to prance naked around the school for a week.

Do you get penalized for asking for relief once every single class?

Hi, I'm Maggie Benson, and I'm Westport High's very own semen depository. Any time, any place, any orifice. And they're letting me walk around school naked for a week? There ought to be a law against a girl having that much fun! Really. While I was walking through the school to the principal's office this morning after they called my name, I saw half the guys in school's eyes light up. Oh, I was gonna have a good time! Not that I don't anyway, mind you. One thing I've found is, that if you like sex, and you're a girl, it's real easy to indulge yourself. Not having to take any clothes off beforehand just makes it easier.

Now, there were drawbacks to the whole thing, mind you. Being naked means all my little illusion tricks were gone. Y'see, I don't have much of a body. I know what to do with what I've got, mind you, but the visuals aren't all that impressive. And the water-filled bras and padded-in-the-butt panties were going right out the window with the rest of my clothes. Usually, once I get to the stripping stage, I've got the guy so worked up he wouldn't give a shit if I didn't have any boobs at all. Now I'd have to reveal the lack of boobs long before we got to that point. So, that was a worry.

My solution? Well, it's my solution to everything. Exude sexuality. And one thing I've found out-for most guys, there's nothing sexier than a girl that doesn't say no.

I'm addicted, I admit it. Started when I was all of twelve. I had an older cousin I was close to, she was 15 at the time, and sexually active-and loved telling her poor, impressionable little cousin all about it. I liked hearing it. One day, I was at her house, nobody else there-she was "babysitting" me-and over comes her boyfriend. "Well, all that stuff I've been telling you about-I'll let you give it a try with him," my cousin says. So the boyfriend comes over, feels me up a bit-then goes down on me.

Now, it's my experience-and I do have enough experience-that a 15-year-old guy who will go down on a girl is a rare creature indeed. And, of the few that will do it, it's even rarer to find one that's good at it. This guy was really good at it. After all the sex I've had in the five years since this happened, he's still at the top of my personal cunny-lapping list. I don't know if my cousin trained him or what, but he was well-trained, let me tell you. And, at 12 years old, I made a discovery. I was really orgasmic. After three screaming cums at the end of this guy's tongue, I was hollering "Fuck me! Stick it in me! Fuck me!" So he did. He wasn't all that big-good thing, since I was only 12-but he knew what he was doing. It hurt a bit at first, but I was cumming hard in not much time at all.

My cousin moved away shortly after all this, and I never saw her boyfriend again. Too bad. I'd like to thank him! Because I've been addicted to sex since that day.

Now, it hasn't been trouble-free. I have a reputation. Well, that I have a reputation for that goes without saying. No, the reputation that bothers me is that I'm aggressive. I'd rather I wasn't, actually.

Y'see, that first experience happened in the summer before seventh grade. So, I'm all pent up, right? Here's a trick about seventh-grade boys: they're clueless. You wait for them to make a move on you, and you'll be waiting until you're old and gray. So, pent up as I was, I made the moves. I'll never forget the first guy I walked up to and said, "Hi, I'm Maggie. You want to have sex?" He almost fainted! But it worked-I got laid. Most of middle school was like that, out of sheer necessity. If I wanted to get laid, I had to make a move. The problem is, now I've got this reputation for being aggressive. And I'm near the end of my junior year in high school, and I still have to make the moves, because everyone assumes I like it that way. Not really. It was just a necessity at first.

Actually, it's kind of nice when someone makes the moves on me for a change. Tells me that they want me, and not just whoever'll put out. It doesn't happen often, though.

Anyhow, being naked should change a little of that. Here I am boys, come and get me!

I walked into Mr. Tilling's office all ready. I wondered who my partner was going to be. Then, in the office, I saw him. And looked at Mr. Tilling and screamed, "NO FUCKING WAY!!!"

Chapter 2: Chuck

I guess I kind of ignored The Program. I saw other people in it, but, you know, didn't pay much attention. I also didn't pay much attention to the literature-I could've gotten out of it. But I never did, I kind of blew the whole thing off-and, here I am, in the stupid thing.

I don't know. The whole thing's just too 'rah rah school spirit' to me. Oh, let's all bond by going through school naked one week. I didn't want to bond.

I'm Chuck, Chuck Braden, by the way, and I hated Westport High with a singular passion. I just wanted to do my time there and get out. The place is a cesspool of jealousy, pettiness, gossip, and rumor. Oh, and Westport High's collective opinion of me wasn't all that high, either.

I've got this reputation-the guy who fucks and tells. Not true. Now, I made this mistake once. I told the wrong people something. Just a select few, people I thought I could trust-and I was wrong about that. The story got all over school, and mangled at that. Since then, the reputation has dogged me. I've heard stories about me that would almost be enviable if they were true. Half the cheerleading squad in one afternoon? Yeah, I wish. But people believe I start this shit-and half the cheerleading squad won't talk to me.

Y'see, that's the upshot of the rumors. I learned that the vast majority of the guys in this school are not to be trusted. However, because of the rumors, the vast majority of girls in this school think that I am not to be trusted. So, I don't have many friends-and I don't date. That's why the rumors are so infuriating. Two months ago, I supposedly had three hours of wild sex with a girl that won't even speak to me.

So, I mainly just try to keep my head down and get through the day. I don't like to draw even more attention to myself. Guess what The Program's gonna do? Draw more attention to myself.

And I had to do it. I wasn't going to revolt. Look, I get good grades, good enough to go to a good college. I figure, only a little over a year, and I can get the hell out of here and go somewhere where nobody knows me, and maybe get a fucking life. But, to do that, I had to get through that last year-and-a-bit, and that meant following the rules.

And that meant going through with The Program.

I walked into Mr. Tilling's office, and he greeted me, smiling. He told me I was going in the program, and I told him I had figured that out. Resigned, I sat in the seat, waiting for my partner to show up. Maybe it'd be one of the few girls in school that didn't hate my guts.

Nope, I thought, my stomach sinking as the door opened. Nope, these assholes put me in with Maggie fucking Benson.

There's nobody in the whole school that hates my guts more than Maggie Benson. And the feeling, believe me, is mutual.

Oh, what a fun week this was going to be.

Chapter 3: Maggie

"Chuck Braden? You put me in with CHUCK BRADEN? What were you thinking?" I was screaming at Mr. Tilling.

"Maggie, if you'll just calm down..."

"Who puts these pairings together, anyway, the Marquis de Sade?"

"No, Maggie," Mr. Tilling chuckled, "Ms. T and I do. We think you and Chuck have a lot to learn from one another."

"What?"

"You'll have to figure that one out by yourselves."

"The only thing I can think of that I can learn from Chuck is how to be an asshole!"

"Well, I guess I can take slut lessons from you," Chuck said from behind me.

"You already are one. And a slut that broadcasts," I said disgustedly. "Anyhow, Mr. Tilling, I demand another partner."

"Ditto," Chuck said.

"No can do. You're stuck with one another." Damn Mr. Tilling, he said that with a little grin. He was enjoying this! "Now, I need you to strip."

"This sucks," I said.

"I agree," Chuck echoed. Mr. Tilling was impervious. Damn him. I sighed, bitterly, and started stripping off my clothes. When I got done, still glaring at Mr. Tilling, I heard laughter from behind me. I turned and glared at Chuck.

"Oh my God. Maggie Benson pads her bra," he said, laughing his stupid ass off.

"It's a water bra," I said petulantly.

"Who would've thought?" He was still laughing. "The school slut is the president of the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee." See? What did I tell you. Asshole.

"Chuck... , " Mr. Tilling said in a tone of warning. Chuck shut up, but was still grinning. "Your turn," Mr. Tilling said. Chuck started stripping.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. After his comments about my tits, I was looking for something to throw back in his face. I mean, searching for it, desperately. Any flaw at all. I couldn't fucking find one. Jesus Christ, Chuck Braden was fine. I already knew he had a good looking face. And now I saw his body. Muscular but not too much so-you know, just nicely defined. All over. He was also smooth, not too much hair, which I like. Between his legs? No complaints there. He's no Jared Wicklow, but who is? This was one hell of a specimen of manliness. Why on earth did he have to be such an asshole?

And, Goddamn it all, he caught me looking. "Why, thank you very much, Maggie, but you can stop drooling now," he said with a shit-eating grin on his face. Then he strut towards the door. "In point of repayment, let me mention that you don't really need the water bra. They're big enough." And then he was gone.

I turned to Mr. Tilling, and glared at him. "You're gonna pay. Oh, mark my words, you are going to pay for this!"

The sonovabitch never stopped grinning at me.

Chapter 4: Chuck

All right. I couldn't resist. I just couldn't, when I realized that her bustline was getting artificial help. I mean, Maggie? What did she have to enhance it for? It's not like she didn't have other tools at her disposal to lure a guy into her bed. And, I wasn't kidding at the end, she really didn't need it. She wasn't big, sure, but she was a small girl all over. They were proportional, you know. Probably about an A-cup, yeah, but we're talking about a girl that probably wore a size extra-small shirt. They were big enough. More than a mouthful's a waste, and all that.

But I couldn't resist that Itty Bitty Tittie Committee crack. Nor could I resist the crack when I realized she was staring at me. If this week were to be a battle of wills-which, knowing what Maggie and I were both like, it was--score one for me.

I walked out of the office, still grinning, past the crowd that had gathered there. Mostly her friends. They more or less ignored me.

I had gym first period. I knew the drill, so into the girls' locker room I went. I wasn't looking forward to it. Tara Boucher was in that class. It was easy to avoid her in class, but, in the locker room, I was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

You see, Tara and I have a history-and not a good one. This was the one that was my fault. I hurt her badly, and I've never been able to get her to understand that I was sorry about it. And she walked in as I was standing there in my altogether, putting my bookbag in my locker. She glared for a second, and then turned away from me.

It was worse in the shower, afterwards. I was in there with a gaggle of girls, all of which ignored me-except for Tara. She glared, the whole time. I didn't say anything. A year and a half of trying to apologize hadn't worked, so I just let her glare at me. I got myself washed and got out of there.

I was getting groped a bit in the halls, more than I would've expected. I didn't mind. Especially the younger girls, freshmen and sophomores. They must've not heard I was supposed to be a pariah.

The good part was third period-Spanish. Maggie's in that class. She was already there when I got there, I took one look at her-and she started blushing! Maggie Benson! I couldn't believe it! I grinned at her, and, when I walked past her, I leaned over and whispered, "Yeah, they'd fit real nice in my hand," and kept walking.