Chapter 3

"Can I take you up on that invitation to hang out here?" Bert asked as Gretchen opened to his knock and could not lift her eyes from his crotch.

"Invit ... Oh, yeah. Sure. Come on in. We're all watching TV."

"All?" he asked.

"Erma's here, too."

Sunday had been an unbelievable day. Molly was gone. He needed a break from his often depressing, often infuriating time on the websites about the Program. The farther he stayed from his parents, the better, yet he needed to be with people.

At that point in the day, being exposed to the three women hardly caused him a thought, so he sat on the love seat next to Erma and took her hand. Perhaps because of their casual acceptance of his nudity, the evening was not much 'practice' for him. But it was definitely soothing for his troubled spirit. All four of them shed tears together when the subject of Molly came up.

He received three loving but non-sexual hugs when he left before 10:45, just in case Molly changed her mind and called him. The whole Program business had greatly changed a lot of his relationships, it appeared, and not just with his sister.

"There is nothing you can do about it," Hawkins declared firmly. "It is not even hidden in the fine print. If you back out after signing up, no government money. Mrs. Parkhurst, can you afford to donate enough to run the schools for a year?"

The board and the administration committee sat glumly in the conference room on Monday morning. The party at the Parkhurst home the day before had been an unpleasant eye-opener for most of them. Bert would have been proud if he knew what his display had wrought.

The superintendent had been the most adamant about shutting the Program down, and he was the most downcast at finding out that it could not be done.

"It behooves all of you to change your attitude and show your support," Hawkins went on. "In many schools, administration people undress the first day to show that they are behind it." That brought shocked looks from most of those around the table, and instant negative head shakes.

"What it behooves us to do," the superintendent said, "is to take steps to make sure that none of our students end up on that website."

The flush of anger that swept over Hawkins' face was visible to all of them, but her words were controlled. "That website is not factual. It is all made up."

"Tell me about Emily Crawford," the superintendent said.

"I don't know anything about an Emily Crawford," Hawkins insisted.

"You call your headquarters right now, and they had better give you the real story on her. I will know if you are lying," he said sharply.

"I do not have to get that kind of information for you," she snapped back. "You have no right to demand it."

"Make that call, or our complete lack of cooperation will most likely cost you your job," he said, leaning forward in a very aggressive posture. No one in the room had ever seen him act this way.

Hawkins had no briefing on how to handle a situation like this. Normally, Program officers effectively ran the schools. Very reluctantly, she dialed her district director. It took two transfers before Hawkins was able to get an answer about Emily Crawford.

Putting the phone down, Hawkins' face was sullen. "They're all true, aren't they?" the superintendent demanded.

"You can't say that!" Hawkins shouted.

"Emily is my niece," he explained. "I knew what happened to her, but not that it was because of the Program."

"It wasn't because of the Program!"

"Right outside the school? As she was trying to get dressed after her day naked?"

"That was never supposed to come out," Hawkins insisted. "They were paid..."

There was a long, tense silence. "Here is what is going to happen," the superintendent said. "The naked students will never be out of sight of a guard who..."

"You can't do that! It's not allowed! It's illegal!" Hawkins shouted.

"Show me in the charter where it is forbidden," the superintendent demanded.

Hawkins was not just a drone. She had taken the time to learn exactly what she had to work with. She did not have a leg to stand on, here, and she knew it. "But ... but it will ruin the whole atmosphere of the Program!" she pled.

"That is probably a good thing," stated the oldest of the board members. He was an anomaly - a military veteran. There were hardly any allowed in any facet of the educational system. "There will be no collateral damage from the Program at our high school."

"Collateral damage! Collateral damage! How can you use such a horrible war-mongering term?"

"What would you call it, then?"

"There are just some unfortunate children who cannot adjust easily to the modern social environment," Hawkins parroted.

"So, the larger objective is what is important?" the ex-soldier asked, to Hawkins' nod. "And these unfortunate kids are unavoidable casualties?" Another nod. "That is exactly how the military defines 'collateral damage'."

There was another protracted silence. "I will be the one who decides when a student is unable to proceed in the Program," the head psychologist declared.

"You cant' do that! That is my prerogative," Hawkins responded.

"And your only objective is to make the Program look good," the psychologist shot back. "To hell with the kids, especially the 'casualties'."

"That's not fair!"

"But it's accurate. Do what you have to legally, but until a court removes me, I will be watching every single child every day."

Lunch Monday noon was somber, with Eleanor hardly speaking at all. Dinner that night was a repeat.

Tuesday morning at breakfast, Eleanor took a deep breath and told Bert "You can get dressed, now. I'm going to sign exemptions for both of you."

"Don't sign mine," Bert said, to his mother's total shock and confusion.

"But I thought ... you always say 'damned' ... and..."

"And I still feel that way, Mom," Bert answered. "But I feel like I have a mission. I am getting more comfortable naked than I would ever have believed. I can help some of the other kids. Just let it be."

"You want to destroy the Program, don't you?"

"That would be the best result. It's probably the only way to bring Molly home."

"But I'm going to sign for her! It's what she wanted!" Eleanor wailed.

"Mom, I hate to say it, but it is probably too little, too late. You chose the Program over her. That wound may never heal."

Eleanor was in serious danger of running out of tears.

"I'm sure glad I'm out of high school," Gretchen said as Bert sat watching television naked in the housekeepers' apartment Tuesday evening. Gretchen had invited him, and they had made him welcome the previous two nights.

He was sitting on the love seat. Maidchen was in a side chair, and Gretchen sat on the floor at her mother's feet. He had just told them about his mother signing Molly's exemption and explained why he had refused his own.

"You mean you wouldn't want to strut your stuff for your classmates?" Bert teased Gretchen. "You've got a nice body."

"Well, thank you, sir, but you're not getting me naked, and that's final," Gretchen answered. Maidchen just watched the interchange with amusement that became wistful. She genuinely liked Bert. He was so different from his father. The only problem was having to look at his splendid naked body after so many years without. She wished Gretchen would loosen up and at least show some more skin. It would be nice to see Bert get hard again.

As Maidchen's mind was drifting, Bert let out a sigh, and as if by some almost-forgotten reflex, she was beside him, cuddling up close, before she realized what she had done. Awareness brought with it a bit of alarm, and she pulled back from him a bit. Her stare puzzled him and was starting to alarm him when she stood and threw off her clolthes.

To Gretchen's shriek of "Mother!!" Maidchen lifted Bert's arm around her and snuggled back into him. With her head on his chest, she closed her eyes and just gave out a few little humming sounds. It was as if she did not hear Gretchen's exclamation.

While Gretchen just sat and stared, and Bert roused from his surprise enough to move his hand gently over Maidchen's back, she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at her daughter. "I've tried not to remember this. It was one of the best things about having a man. At first, we used to be naked a lot. He had a nice body, too, and I never got tired of touching him, of looking at him. His body was a gift to me, and I treasured it."

Maidchen started to sniff softly, and Gretchen forgot about any outrage. She scurried over to kneel by her mother's knees and gently stroke her thighs.

Bert was soft. His days naked had given him a degree of control that he never would have expected. Of course he relieved himself multiple times every day to help out. The warm softness pressed against him and the hand lovingly caressing his chest and stomach were certainly sensuous, but the predominant emotion he was picking up was Maidchen's longing and her sadness.

Also supressing or delaying his arousal reaction was the newness of the intimate hug he was enjoying. As close as he and Molly were and as much as they loved each other, yesterday had been the first and only time it had gotten physical. There had been hugs, but no prolonged cuddles. As far as his mother, well, cuddling with her predated his puberty by many years.

Girlfriends? He had a big problem there. The wannabes were numerous, but there had never been one that he could just be comfortable with. This was comfortable.

"What happened, Mom?" Gretchen asked.

"Oh, sometime after you were born, he stopped getting naked for me. He reacted to my hugs and touches as if I was being too possessive, I guess. It broke my heart, little by little. Then it about killed me when I found out that another woman was getting what should have been mine."

"You've never told it that way before, Mom."

"I never had another beautiful naked man to remind me this way before." Her hand slid down and very naturally cupped his package. He still did not harden, totally caught up in the sweet intimacy of the moment. "You know, Honey, this is a wonderful thing to a woman. I think the wonder comes from the babies it can put in us, I don't know. I used to play with his whenever I could. Most nights, I would fall asleep with it in my hand. But then, he took it away from me."

"But this is part of the wonder, too," she said as she began teasing the head and stroking the shaft, making him start to rise. "When it stands so straight, so proud, so ... so eager, it fills you with pride that it belongs to you. It also fills you with the desire to surround it, to capture it into yourself."

By the time she finished speaking, he was fully erect. She was not intent on getting him off, however. The pace of her caresses, her strokes, and her squeezes was almost reverent, not frantic at all. She wanted it standing tall so she could enjoy it, worship it for as long as possible.

Gretchen tried to lighten the mood a little with a quip. "So you think this Program business is just fine, then?"

"Not really," Maidchen answered softly, unwilling to change the mood at all. "This is most wonderful when it is all yours - when no one else can touch it. I love seeing it all day. That part of the Program is fine. But this gorgeous thing will be public property for all those little sluts. I hate that!"

"Oh, Bert, I'm so sorry!" Maidchen exclaimed after thinking about her last statement. "I'm acting like you're my property, and that's wrong." She let go of him and sat up.

Very quickly, but gently, Bert reached out and pulled her back against himself, wrapping both arms around her. "It's OK, Maidchen. You've always been a good friend. If my body can make you happy, you can be possessive. No one else wants to, anyway."

"Oh, I think your mother is dying to," Maidchen countered.

"Mom?!"

"Definitely. A woman can tell. She is doing her damnedest to squash a serious case of the hots for her studly son."

The tender atmosphere had been broken. What took its place, though, was a mix of lust and fun. "Looking and fondling are not necessarily the most wonderful things about this treasure, Gretchen," Maidchen said as she began seriously masturbating him. "Come here."

Gretchen was no virgin. Her experience was limited, though, and she had a shyness toward men that her mother had never figured out. "If this whole Program business is about learning and getting comfortable, why should Bert be the only one." When Gretchen didn't move, she grabbed the girl's hand and held it under his balls. She carefully guided her middle finger to rest behind his sac on the tube from his prostate

"I want you to feel the power when he ejaculates, Gretchen. This is the essence of what a man is for. Bert can hit a baseball a mile, but that doesn't compare with the force you are going to feel."

Bert had some real doubt about the lesson being any good. He had already pumped out a lot of semen that day. But the last had been several hours before, and he was fifteen. Gretchen's reverent "Oh, God!" when his balls danced in her hand and the shooting semen pulsed under her finger brought a breathless "Amen!" from his shaky lips.

Maidchen was always in the children's wing before they got up in the morning. Always before, she had been scrupulous about honoring their privacy. Usually, they never saw her.

Since Bert had undressed, she had come boldly into his room, ignoring his state of wakefulness. He understood that it was to help him 'practice'. Wednesday morning, he was awake when she walked in, probably by her careful timing. This time, she wore only shoes.

"How long since your parents have been up here?" she asked.

"Last Saturday was the first time in about two months," Bert answered with a yawn.

"Then I'm probably safe. I don't think they would approve," she said.

"I approve," he assured her.

"I can see that," she chuckled, looking pointedly at his morning erection tenting the sheet.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you know about that."

"You mean, it's not because of me?" she fake pouted.

"Because of you, it may never go down. Don't know how I'm going to pee," he complained.

"Damn! I was looking forward to helping you," she exclaimed. She was glad that she had closed his door because she let out a girlish squeal, covered her bottom, and scooted away as he jumped from the bed and tried to spank her.

When they both stopped the pseudo-chase, she hugged him impulsively, not trying to avoid his protrusion. "Maybe you'd better jump in the shower and pee," she suggested. "If it doesn't go down, at least you won't make a mess."

When he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, she was standing there facing him, her eyes moist. This time, he initiated the hug. "That's another wonderful but painful memory," she sniffed. "Those little naughty, intimate things."

For a town as supposedly healthy as Hooverton, Curt was having a surprisingly tough time finding a part-time job. The motel was looking for night clerks, and Curt was a good ten minutes early for the morning interview. Unfortunately, he was told that the manager he was to see was delayed for about an hour.

Back in the car, he sat in a parking spot against the street, trying to decide how to kill the time. The motel was right on a busy street, adjacent to a pedestrian mall. There were a number of eating places and specialty shops nearby. That meant that there were always lots of people around, and that meant a constant fashion show. And a fashion show meant creative and inventive ways to display any and all body parts.

Hooverton was a conservative town, but that was all relative. The people were all exposed to the same influences as in any other town, and there was very little that local authorities could do. The federal government had little by little established the right to override virtually any state or local law or ordinance. The laws enabling public nudity had been written as restrictions on the lower levels. A state or municipality could not make or enforce any law prohibiting... , etc.

With the burgeoning of various social activist groups, it took less then two years for every single indecent exposure law in the country to be struck down, or at best no longer enforced. In the eight years since the federal nudity law, it was inevitable that all forms of nudity would become common and widely accepted.

These thoughts were brought to Curt's mind when he saw the three pre-pubescent slits flexing and gyrating toward him in hypnotic rhythm as their owners danced/walked up the sidewalk to the sound of the same tune from their tiny radio/music players. Actually, one of the pussies boasted a light fringe of dark hair, probably the reason that it occupied the center position.

All three girls were dressed alike, with tight, colorful tops that reached to just above their navels, and nothing else. This had become fairly standard for girls their age, in line with the 'accentuate the positive' fashions that had re-energized the clothing industry.

Curt thought that he should have felt guilty for thinking of the approaching slits, rather than the cute young girls that they belonged to. But he was seventeen, after all, and the girls had dressed as they did for the express purpose of drawing him to what was their current sexiest asset. At that age, their pubic mounds seemed to have grown and developed far ahead of the rest of their bodies, and were further accentuated by their slender thighs and non-existent bellies.

He knew, from pleasant previous experience, that as they passed him, he would be treated to three delectable little asses whose gyrations would be quite a challenge to his hopes of remaining flaccid.

All three girls had the latest in footwear, although 'wear' might not be quite accurate. Advances in adhesives had led to featherweight, custom-fitted platforms that one could coat, then just step onto. They would stay comfortably attached to the soles of the feet until easily removed with a squirt of a special solution. The girls' feet were completely bare from the top, and the raised heels presented their legs and bottoms to the maximum advantage.

The girl with the bit of pubic hair had on a top with fringed cutouts that showcased her succulent little booblets. She also had hoops hanging from her nipples. Whether the nipples were actually pierced, or whether she was just using some more of the very creative cosmetic adhesives, Curt could not tell. The nipples, though, were far longer than he would have expected.

The girls saw Curt as they came abreast of his car. They smiled saucily as they passed, and he was sure there was even an extra bounce to their little cheeks as they danced away.

For as much nudity as he, and everyone else, was exposed to, what he had just seen always left Curt wondering. How could parents let their daughters go out like that? It seemed like they were just dangling bait in front of rapists.

That brought to mind another source of anger for Curt. Since STDs and pregnancy were no longer problems, there had been a consistent, conscious de-emphasizing of rape as a serious crime. Many had been trying to push the use of 'LCI' (Less than Consensual Intercourse) instead of the word 'rape'. The general public was not yet ready to accept that.

Deciding that a cold drink would be a good way to pass the time on the already-hot August morning, Curt locked the car and walked across the intersection to a McDonald's. Despite the heat, he sat at an outside table where he could watch the people - watch the skin show, to be honest about it.

Far more introspective, inquisitive, and analytical than anyone expected from a jock, the social and demographic aspects of the nudity trend had been of interest to Curt. He had often observed how women embraced nudity much more than men. Singly or in groups of women, they were often seen topless, bottomless, or both. Almost never was a nude man seen alone or in a group of just men. Only when with women was male nudity common.

Male nudity required a bit of definition. The federal law allowed local laws to require male genitals to be covered in public areas. However, 'covered' had devolved to the very strictest definition. A transparent, nylon-stocking-like 'garment' that was shaped separately around the shaft and balls had stood the legal tests. Legalization of the 'penis sock' had led many localities to just give up any restriction.

As he sipped his drink, Curt saw a group of four women heading into an office building. Three of them were topless, displaying breasts that must have been considered their best assets. The fourth had on one of the ingeniously contrived pseudo-skirts that bared her truly impressive ass cheeks.

That brought to mind yet another source of anger for Curt. Businesses had consistently lost any attempt to enforce dress codes. The clerk who had just sold him his soft drink wore a top that skillfully presented a pair of large, wonderfully shaped bare breasts. The rest of her chubby body was mercifully covered. His mother had come home many nights muttering about the naked mail girl or the network technician wearing what was barely a jock strap.

That thought was punctuated by the arrival of three high school aged couples. The girls wore only the platforms, while the boys all had on running shoes and penis socks. As he realized that these kids were about to be his schoolmates, Curt felt some misgivings about whether his sacrifice was worth it for them. Did they need or want to be saved from the Program?

No sooner had the depression from that thought started to overtake him when he had his answer. Another teen couple walked in, holding hands and obviously very much in love. They had all private parts covered, and they looked very nervously at their naked counterparts.

He just knew that asking that clothed couple to undress and submit themselves to the indignities of the Program was terribly wrong. His sacrifice was for them.

There was one positive aspect of the whole nudity trend. The inevitable narcissism had triggered a massive improvement in the weight and conditioning of the populace. Almost everyone, it seemed, wanted to show it off, and they wanted it to look its best.

As Curt was getting up to walk back to the motel for his hoped-for interview, a very attractive young mother walked past, pushing a stroller and carrying her infant. The baby was suckling at one of the mother's swollen, sagging breasts as the other mammary swung heavily with each step. Between the two of them, the baby's diaper was the only garment. Other than the unavoidable fascination with the simple beauty of the tableau and the undeniable erotic pull, Curt's main reaction was 'why?'. Why share such an awesome, wonderful sight with just everyone? Why not preserve it for those to whom it had true emotional meaning?