Part 4: Thursday - The Lady's Dressing Room

Jake

I only had two school days left on The Program. I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the whole, I'd have to say that it was really pretty good. I realized that when I was getting ready for school and something was missing. It was that familiar feeling of dread I'd had getting ready for school every morning since moving to Hastings.

I had a good time the night before. Was getting laid what had put me in a good mood? That was pretty shallow. It was also pretty accurate. Actually, that wasn't really all of it. I'd made some friends. Pam wasn't a girlfriend, but on the other hand, it was pretty nice I had someone I could have an occasional bout of steamy sex with. I also enjoyed talking with Linda.

It was odd that I hadn't been able to make connections with any guys in Kansas. Karen was a good friend of mine even before we'd started going out, but most of my closest friends back in Amherst were guys. I suppose Frank Richards was a friend, but there was such an age difference, we weren't really close friends. It was more like we shared an obsession.

Not everything in the week had gone well. There was the fiasco with Amy. That was still a raw wound that hadn't scabbed over yet. I suppose I couldn't expect everything to go my way. I was in a really good mood, anyway. I'd lost the edge of my anger at Amy. True, she'd treated me in a pretty crappy manner, but I'd bet she was off-center from breaking up with John. I still felt hurt, and maybe some regret or wistfulness, but I thought I'd be able to deal with it.

When Shelly was ready, we drove off to school. There was a cold rain sleeting down on us and freezing on the roads. That wasn't nearly enough to get me down today. Ending my long dry spell would keep me warm and dry through the foul Kansas storm.

We passed several accidents on the way to school, but I drove much slower than usual and with extra caution. All in all, it was a pretty uneventful morning. I undressed and made my way to homeroom.

Amy

English Lit. was the first class of the day that I had with Jake. While I desperately wanted to talk to him and apologize, I thought it was probably best to wait until after English. He didn't seem to have any problems getting up in front of class and reading the most outrageous poetry, but if the talk didn't go well he might be upset. I wanted him to read his poetry selection with his usual poise. That was another admirable trait of his. I could deliver reports to the entire class, but I had to force myself to do it. I always hated it and couldn't wait until I could sit down with the rest of the herd. Jake, however, seemed actually comfortable standing in front of the class reading pretty suggestive poetry, and doing it buck naked.

That was something else I'd been thinking about quite a bit: Jake buck naked. I'd wait to talk to him, but if he asked for relief, I was going to enthusiastically volunteer. If he picked me, I'd do my best to give him the world-class blow job that I'd been fantasizing about. On the other hand, if he didn't pick me, I'd be sure to smile with encouragement. One of the things that bothered me most was the loony way I'd flipped out. The terrible thought in the back of my mind was that maybe that crazed, possessive bitch was the real me, and I was just kidding myself about who I really was. I mean, who really thinks of themselves as a crazed, possessive bitch? If I really was one, I'd have found some way to rationalize it, right?

Mr. Larsen asked Jake and Linda if they'd like relief. They both said no. Then he called Jake up to begin the day's poetry recital.

"My poem for today is a moldy oldie," Jake began. "Jonathan Swift wrote this way back in 1732. This is The Lady's Dressing Room."

Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.

Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.

And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon't
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty's help,
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon's eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.

The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia's magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)

Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.
O never may such vile machine
Be once in Celia's chamber seen!
O may she better learn to keep
"Those secrets of the hoary deep"!

As mutton cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art you salt and beat
As laws of cookery require
And toast them at the clearest fire,
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came;
And up exhales a greasy stench
For which you curse the careless wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell,
The petticoats and gown perfume,
Which waft a stink round every room.

Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!

But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping,
Soon punished Strephon for his peeping:
His foul Imagination links
Each dame he see with all her stinks;
And, if unsavory odors fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And still appearing in contrast.

I pity wretched Strephon blind
To all the charms of female kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse
Because she rose from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene
Satira's but some pocky queen.
When Celia in her glory shows,
If Strephon would but stop his nose
(Who now so impiously blasphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams,
Her washes, slops, and every clout
With which he makes so foul a rout),
He soon would learn to think like me
And bless his ravished sight to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips raised from dung.

Ouch! I'd noticed that Jake picked poetry that either meant something to him or reflected something he was thinking about. Was he referring to me? Was he that angry with me? Did he think of me as fake and superficial? I hardly wore any makeup. A little eye-liner and, occasionally, some perfume. Was he thinking of Pam? She usually wore more makeup than I did, but she was pretty good. She made it look like she didn't wear any. Maybe he was cynical about girls, in general?

"Yikes!" Linda exclaimed. "That's pretty harsh. Are women really like that?"

"Well, you've got to remember that Swift wrote that in 1732," Jake replied. "Personal hygiene was much harder to come by. You're sitting there completely naked. You can't hide anything. Celia was considered a goddess, but she was trying to make herself up to look like you actually do."

"Yeah," I said, "so we don't paint ourselves up to that extent, but isn't it the same thing - just a matter of degree?"

"Sort of," Jake agreed, "but remember, I've seen you naked too..."

"More than just seen her naked," someone snickered in the back of class. I ignored it.

"... and you're not making yourself up to be anything that you're really not. You really are the goddess that Celia was trying for." There were a few more snickers from the back of the room.

That was an amazingly nice thing for Jake to say. He was probably still angry at me, but he managed to be sweet, anyway. Maybe there was some hope?

"Maybe it's deeper than purely physical," I continued. "We pretend to be other than what we are to make ourselves more attractive. When you look behind our facade, we're cheap and ugly. That was a good line: we're just 'gaudy tulips raised from dung.'"

"I see your point," said Jake, "but I think you're only seeing one side of it. We're all pretty disgusting, men and women - that's just the human condition. We sweat, we smell, we fart, we belch; we're hairy and nasty. That's just the way we are. It's not a crime to make yourself presentable. The person with the problem is Strephon. He can't bring himself to look beyond the superficial. He bought into Celia's facade, so when he finds out that it is a facade, he can't see that while, yeah, we're all wallowing in dung, Celia really is a tulip."

"Still, it sounded like she was pretty gross, dude," John said. That was a first. He'd hardly said anything in English Lit. all year.

"It's not gross," replied Jake, "it's pure, raw sex. It's far more real than all that true-love-and-yearning crap in most of the poetry we've been listening to."

"Watch the language, Mr. Bergman," Mr. Larsen said.

"I dunno," Don Marquis chimed in, "I'm with John, she sounds nasty, not sexy."

"You've had sex, right?" Jake said. "It's not clean and antiseptic. There are viscous fluids, sweat, and odors. It's nothing like clean. That's what real sex is - it's earthy and primal. If you don't end up covered in your partner's juices, you're just not doing it right."

That got to me. The image of Jake, when I had grabbed fistfuls of his hair, his face covered with my juices, flooded past all the barriers in my mind. I could even smell him. I was wet. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have jumped him right there.

"Ever noticed that another word for 'sexy' is 'dirty?'" Jake continued. "Haven't you ever wanted to do something really dirty? Do it in the mud, or covered in pudding, or whipped cream, or honey. Get nasty and rut like animals. What you're doing is completely destroying the sterile facade and coupling directly with the person you desire."

I could tell I was flushed. I looked around the room and saw I wasn't the only one. Several girls in the class were staring intently at Jake. Pam had a particularly predatory look. There was going to be a fight to service Jake in Civics class the next period. If he didn't ask for relief, we'd gang together and rape him.

Beth walked with me to Civics class. "That was another interesting episode of Jake's Dirty Poetry Show. I'm going to miss it next week," she said.

"Yeah," I said, "I got a bit hot and bothered by it. How about you?"

Beth looked uncomfortable. She loved talking about intimate details of her friends' encounters, but she had trouble facing her own needs. She didn't really have any experience with guys. It was easier for her to bury herself in schoolwork and books.

After a moment, Beth said, "Yeah, I guess. I kind of got a little horny also." That was like a breakthrough, for her to admit that.

"Good for you," I chuckled. "Now you've just got to find someone to help you take care of that."

"Like that's going to happen," she lamented.

"Anyway, speaking of Jake," Beth continued, "I had a chat with Pam before first period Spanish. She certainly had a nice evening last night."

"She went out with Jake last night," I said.

"Yes, but how did you know that?" asked Beth.

"Well, I couldn't apologize to Jake in school yesterday afternoon, so after dinner, I drove over to his house. His sister told me he was on a date."

"You didn't!" Beth said. "You're, like, stalking him now."

I had to laugh. "It's nothing like that. I'm not following him around. I just stopped at his house to talk to him - that's hardly stalking. You know, Beth, I think one reason you're so intimidated by guys is that you put them in a completely different category. They're just people. You wouldn't be scandalized if I stopped by your house to chat, would you?"

Beth shook her head no.

"Anyway, I asked Shelly not to tell Jake I stopped by, so he shouldn't feel like I'm overly persistent. So, you were saying, Pam had a good time with Jake?"

"A very good time, I was led to understand," Beth said. "Pam said that Jake is 'dreamy.' That's an exact quote: 'dreamy.'"

"'Dreamy?' She sounds like they went to a 1950s Sock Hop, or something." I said. "Anyway, good for them. Someone should be jumping his bones."

"You don't fool me, Amy Nyland," said Beth. "You want to be the one doing the jumping."

I noticed a few disappointed faces when Jake declined relief in Civics. Linda, however, said that she would like some assistance. Did anyone want to service a naked, gorgeous, horny cheerleader? Of course. Every guy's hand was raised, and the air stunk of testosterone as they each imagined what they'd like to do. I was intrigued that a couple of girl's hands went up, also. Showing much better taste than she'd had on Tuesday, Linda picked Jake.

As Jake was walking up, Pam caught my eye and winked at me. I knew exactly what she meant. We had a new member of the club. We'd have to show her our secret handshake after her initiation.

Jake put his head next to Linda's ear and whispered something. I couldn't hear what he said, but Linda laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. Jake grabbed the hand that hit him and kissed her lightly on the inside of her wrist. He kissed up her arm to her neck. Linda closed her eyes and sighed. Jake worked his way down to her breasts and Linda moaned, spread her legs, and slid down in the chair a bit.

Jake knelt between her legs and started the main event. I didn't have a front row seat this time. I had to judge what went on by Linda's reactions.

Linda closed her eyes and grabbed Jake's head. She gasped, moaned, and made soft cries. Her chest heaved as she panted. She arched her back, threw back her head, and shoved her pelvis into Jake's face as hard as she could. I noticed that Linda was completely covered in sweat. Jake's hands were busy moving in and out of her. Linda brought her hands to her breasts and started twisting her nipples.

After a few moments, Linda started bucking her hips and shaking her head from side to side as her moans rose in pitch and volume.

I leaned over to Beth and whispered, "Was I anywhere near as loud as that when Jake went down on me in class?"

Beth chuckled and said, "Oh yeah. You made Linda's orgasm seem tame. People in the classrooms next door said they heard you."

I turned beet red, but I was sure nobody noticed since Linda was still heaving from her orgasm.

I was also as wet and horny as I'd ever been.

Jake

When I walked into the cafeteria I noticed Beth Robertson was walking a bit ahead of me, also headed toward the lunch line. I wondered if Beth had accepted my apology for embarrassing her earlier in the week. She was very shy, so it was hard to tell if she was pissed at me. She was a good friend of Amy's; perhaps she was pissed at me because Amy was.

Then Beth made two innocent mistakes that were probably pretty traumatic for her. I mentioned she was shy? She appeared to be especially shy around guys. Beth seemed to be looking around the cafeteria for someone and she bumped into Tom Williams. No big deal, right? Well, Tom was the junior class guy who was on The Program for the week, so when she bumped into him he happened to be buck naked.

Beth's hand grazed Tom's dick and she put her hand against his chest. It was all innocent and accidental, but being inches away from a nude guy and touching his cock seemed to be terminally embarrassing to Beth. She gasped, "Oh! Sorry!" and turned fire-engine red.

The second, and far more serious, mistake was that Beth did this right next to the football player/cheerleader lunch table. They sensed weakness like sharks sense blood in the water, and they moved in to attack. While the table was laughing at Beth's embarrassment, Dirk Wayland and Greg Trumbul got up and walked over to her.

Greg moved closer and closer to Beth, stepping inside her personal space until he was inches away from her. Beth was fairly petite, so Greg, who was a six-foot, 250 lb linebacker, towered over her. Beth looked down at the floor, hoping he would go away.

"Hey Beth, you like to rub up against guys?" Greg said. "Maybe you'd like it better if I was naked?"

"Hah!" Sherri Fenton, another cheerleader said, "You wouldn't know what to do with a naked guy, would you, Beth?"

"Yeah," Cindy chimed in, "when you touched Tom's cock, that was probably the most you've ever done with a guy."

"You should take your chance with Greg now," Sherri teased, "nobody else is going to want to do anything with a mouse like you."

Beth was still staring at the floor. She was too intimidated to move away from Greg. She just stood there, shaking and hovering on the verge of tears.

I'd had enough of that crap. I walked over to them and gently pulled Beth back away from Greg. I stepped in front of her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I roared. "You're twice as big as she is, you asshole. And the rest of you... "

"I wasn't bothering her," Greg said, "She was rubbing dicks. I was just standing in line so I'm next to have my cock rubbed."

"I think you misunderstood," I said. "If she says you're thick, Greg, she's not talking about your cock."

"Oh look," Dirk said, "It's the naked defender. Where's your cape? Oh yeah, you don't have one because you're naked."

What a lame idiot he was. Apparently some of the cheerleaders didn't think so, because a number of them snickered as if he'd said something witty. I decided to paraphrase something Winston Churchill said.

"At the end of the day," I said, "I'm putting my clothes back on and I won't be naked anymore. You, on the other hand, will still be a moron.

"You guys are pathetic. There couldn't be more contrast here. Beth is sweet, cute, and probably the smartest person in this school. She'll leave South Bumfuck High behind on an academic scholarship to Harvard or Yale. And look at you... you've spent your entire high school years climbing the social ladder until you're at the peak. This is it, probably the pinnacle of your pathetic lives and what do you do? You spend it picking on anyone who, unlike you, is getting out of this podunk town."

"You don't know shit, you stupid faggot," John said. "Me and some of the other guys, after collage ball, we're going straight to the pros."

"Our football team finished fifth, in a weak division," I said. "The only way you fuckups are getting anywhere near college football is if you clean the locker room."

"You dickless asshole," Cindy spat. "You better have fun while you're on The Program because after the way you've acted this week, the only action you're going to get is from your right hand. You've pissed off the entire cheerleader squad. You're not going to get anything from a frigid bitch like Beth. You've even managed to piss off that stupid cunt, Amy."

"Your being pissed off doesn't bother me a bit," I replied. "And, as I showed you yesterday when you begged me to fuck you, I'd rather get nothing from Beth, or be rejected by Amy, than have sex with you."

"You don't have to worry about Amy," said a soft voice behind me.

I whirled around. It was Amy.

Sometimes I can be a real idiot. I was so angry at those assholes, but when I turned and saw Amy, it just drained out of me. I was embarrassed that she saw me get mad. And the last thing I wanted was to get into another argument with Amy in front of those other assholes. I could usually think of some flip comment for cover. Not then. Words just failed me. So, I just left. I didn't literally run away, but I fled the scene, nevertheless.

Amy

I started to apologize, in front of everyone, and Jake just took off. He gave me an astonished look, like a deer in the headlights, and then fled. I felt a pang of anguish that I must have really hurt him. I also felt frustrated, and like I was a complete fool. Cindy was smirking at me. She couldn't do a math problem to save her life, but if I was even a little friendly with a guy, she turned into a goddamned Sherlock Holmes. I didn't care. All I wanted was to apologize and fix things with Jake.

I went through the lunch line with Beth, and dragged her over to a table by ourselves.

Beth was pretty shaky over her run-in. It was yet another occasion where Jake proved what a great guy he was. We rehashed it a few times and thought up a few wickedly cruel lines Beth could have said that would have crushed those assholes, if she'd thought of them at the time, and had the guts to say them. I thought they weren't any better than the things Jake had actually said.

Then we talked about ways I could apologize to Jake. I had to do it. I couldn't think of anything else. I wasn't going to be able to function properly until I got that out of the way. After a while I settled on an idea.

"Beth," I said, "you're with me on this, right?"

"Amy, I'm not sure this is such a good idea," she whined.

"Beth, you promised."

"Oh all right," Beth agreed, but she didn't look happy at all.

"Remember," I said, "we've got to get to him before any other girls. We've got to get our Reasonable Request in first."

"Our Reasonable Request?"

"Okay, mine. But if you get to him first, and I think you probably will, then it's you who's going to have to ask."

"What makes you think it'll be me?" Beth whined some more.

"Because I have a plan."

"I hate plans," Beth said. Uh-oh, this was starting to fall into a familiar pattern.

"This one is simple."

"You always say that," Beth said. "Is this one going to get me grounded?"

"Of course not," I said.

"Sure. We've already satisfied your curiosity about whether cow tipping is an urban myth," Beth said rather petulantly. "Is this plan going to get me injured?"

"Beth..." I began.

"'Cause you know that sometimes does happen. Like your great idea about mud sliding in the ravine."

"You know you had fun."

"Until I sprained my ankle. I also know I was on crutches for a week, and limping for a month."

"Yeah," I asserted, "but it also got you out of gym for two months. And Dennis Walker carried your books a few times, too. You liked that a whole lot. Anyway, you know this is nothing like that. Why do you always have to rehash everything?"

"He carried my books a couple of times," Beth said, "until Cindy picked him up, then dumped him the following week. So why do you always choose me for your great adventures? Why not pick Cindy, your best friend?"

"She's certainly not my best friend, or any other kind of friend, anymore," I replied. "She'd never do anything exciting that might cause her to break a nail. You know she was only interested in guys and parties. And, Beth, I'm sorry I hung out with her so much. You two never could do anything together, so I kept having to choose between you and her, and I'm ashamed I usually chose her. I'm really sorry if it bothered you."

"I was mostly envious," Beth said. "I knew why. With her, you could meet guys, go out on dates, and party. I wanted to go, but I was always too scared."

"Oh Beth," I sighed. "We've got to get you over that."

"I know this is important to you. Tell me about your plan."

"It's simple," I said. "We'll catch Jake the way they used to bag big game."

"You want to dig a big pit in the gym and cover it over with leaves?" Beth asked sarcastically.

I gave her a don't-be-a-smartass look. "No. They used one group making loud noises to drive the game toward another group of hunters: I make the loud noises, you're the hunter. He's avoiding me, so I walk toward him. If he goes the other way, which I'm afraid he probably will, he'll walk right into you. We win either way."

"You do know he's not stupid, don't you?" Beth asked.

"That's one of the things I like so much about him," I replied. "But, you know, he is kind of dumb about some things. I just want to apologize to him. If he wasn't acting so stupid, he'd realize that and stop avoiding me."

"I don't think you just want to apologize to him," Beth smirked. "I think your 'bagging big game' analogy was pretty accurate."

"Beth..." I said with exasperation.

"Okay, okay," she said, "I'll help."

Jake

Oh man, I had to crap! The Program was inherently embarrassing; that's its basic nature, part of it's infernal design. Perhaps the most embarrassing part, however, was when I had to answer a basic call of nature in the girls' bathroom. There was simply no way to sit in a stall in a bathroom full of girls and not be extremely conscious of the noises I made while excreting. There was no way to make it silent. The only thing that had occurred to me, and I admit that I spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out a way to make this less embarrassing for me, was to do something like take an air horn into the stall with me and blast away to conceal my own noises. That was just too ludicrous, even for me.

I'd realized, however, that no matter how embarrassing it was for me, it was tremendously more embarrassing for the girls in the bathroom. If, while I was going to the bathroom, a girl made a small fraction of the bowel moving noises I made, she would be completely mortified when she opened the door and saw me. Even if the girl in the stall next to me made the daintiest of tinkles, if I said "good morning" as she left the stall, she'd be unable to make eye contact with me for days.

Once I made this fundamental observation, I was King Of All Girls' Bathrooms. I could enter the bathroom, head held high, and my subjects would bow to my dominion. Girls who entered the bathroom when I did would be unable to use the facilities, even if all they needed to do was to change a tampon. The girls fixing their makeup in the mirror would hastily finish and leave. They would flee in fear of my royal displeasure.

If I made the noisiest of flatulent bowel movements, no matter. A girl who left a stall before I did, simply thought I was one of them and left me to take my anonymous shit. If we left the sanctuary of our stalls at the same time, rather than consider my obvious human frailties, the girl would inevitably revisit every real or imagined noise or odor she was responsible for. My own indiscretions went unnoticed once she noticed my royal scepter and orbs.