Chapter 29: Thursday Afternoon

Luis

I was frozen. Staring in horror as a penis and testicle shaped chunk of marble hit the ground. Had it shattered, I don't know what I would have done. My hands did move to Junior and friends to protect them.

"That has been bothering me for weeks!" Francesca's muted voice came through her dusk mask.

"What?" I nearly shouted.

"Oh, Luis!" she said as she startled and turned. The very sharp chisel still held out, looking to cut off another offending member, it seemed. She must have seen the look in my eyes. "Oh, there was a bad place in the marble that has been bothering me for weeks. I finally managed to cut it out without ruining the piece."

"Well, his ... equipment, looks well ruined now."

She looked down at the chunk of rock on the floor and stared for a second. She started to chuckle. "You thought..." she laughed hard now. Then a stream of Italian came out that took me a moment to process. "You thought that was your beautiful 'cazzo' I destroyed?" Cazzo being the very ... familiar term for penis.

I could only shake my head. Faintly, I heard music from a small stereo system she had on a work bench. How could she hear anything over the noise she created when she worked. Damn, I'm drifting again. The system had just changed songs, given the two I heard, I'd guess she was playing a one-hit-wonders playlist from the 60s and 70s. There were a ton of them.

"You are safe. Your little one is still in the other room. Feel free to check on her. Fotella is doing fine, she is in her painting ... ah, zona, eh ... zone. She will not even know you have visited."

"Are you sure she's Okay?"

"Recovering ... ah, restoring is better, capisci?"

I nodded my head, appreciating the familiar "you" implied when she asked if I understood. Then I moved towards the door that split Francesca's private studio into two areas. One for the dusty work, the main entry. And another for the quiet, dust free work. When I cracked the door, there was my Becca. Hands a blur. Focus total. The huge canvas I had helped her mount earlier in the public room, filled with ... Magic!

While to my eyes it was still abstract, it impacted me. It gripped me. Just the patterns and the colors and the shapes and the ... Magic. Plus, the texture on the canvas made it three dimensional.

Francesca was right. I capire. And, it was easy to see the zone she was in.

Slowly, the image began to make more sense to me, it came more into focus. As she worked in an area, detail emerged from just blotches of colors. My mind began making up for the areas she hadn't done. I felt I was getting a rare look at what the artist might see.

Pure magic. And, a treat I hoped to experience many times through my life.

What was emerging was a picture of a naked couple walking the halls in a school. Holding hands. They appeared confident, even proud. Just the thing the Program would want on the cover of a pamphlet. Yet, the eyes. The subtle things about posture and apparent movement told another story. A story of pain, doubt, uncertainty. Forced humiliation. Love threatened by making sexual contact trivial.

As I watched, it hit me. This is what it would be like watching Bach, Chopin, or Mozart create a great musical work. The themes created, then blended, expressed with the pacing of a great storyteller, they again emerge in new ways, allowing new insights. And here I stand, watching my love creating a masterpiece.

I'm sure I zoned out, because some infinite time later, Francesca gently placed her hand on my arm. "é una cosa bella," she said softly.

"It is. A truly beautiful and wonderful sight."

"I'm afraid it is time for class."

"Uhm ... Should we stop this?"

"Beh, si, credo de si," she said reluctantly.

"I think so too, but..."

"Lasciate che vi dica la sua," she said to me looking up with understanding. I didn't know how I felt about her telling Becca it was time instead of me, but she probably had experience with this that I didn't.

"Insegnami come fare questo," I asked her to teach me how to. It hit me that I had easily dropped into Italian without realizing it.

She walked towards Becca and then carefully to the side. Without saying anything, she waited off to the side of the canvas until Becca saw her. She still didn't say anything and just waited, a loving smile on her face. As if watching someone move through a transporter on Star Trek, Becca moved from her painting world to this world and then nodded at Francesca.

"Time for your next class."

Becca looked at her for a second, then while moving to put her brush down, "I ... Thank you."

She turned and saw me. In total defiance of the laws of physics, she was standing in one place until her brain gained recognition. Instantaneously, she was on me. Literally. This room must have a dozen transporter pads in it. Arms around my neck, lips on mine. Legs struggling to reach around my waist and hips. Incoherent, but delightful, sounds coming from her mouth between smooches.

Junior rose to the occasion. Duh! A beautiful and wonderful and creative and awesome and ... Well, my Becca, was wrapped around me. Junior more than knew that.

Becca was humping on my stomach like ... well, like ... Oh God! That feels so good. And it is my sweetie! And her tongue is suddenly ravaging my mouth. Her nipples boring holes through the thick muscle armor I wore on my chest.

And...

The morning. The week. All was ... Yeah.

In the middle of exploring her soul through the connection of our chests, the delightful waltz of our tongues, the off-world feeling of being with each other, the Universe shifted.

Junior began to feel intense heat. No problem, she's right above it.

Then moistness.

The world shut down, except Becca's eyes. No longer the fear. The pain. All I saw was joy. Anticipation. Then she started to slide her delicious moistness across a very erect Junior, driving me to new levels of ... well ... Oh ... Uhm...

"Cazzo!" came from Francesca. A forgotten player.

In my shock, I couldn't move. No problemo. A very energetic, passionate, focused woman was ... pussy-lip fucking me?

No. This was more than fucking. Way more. Although I think Junior disagreed. Our eyes agreed. We were making love, without the intercourse. The Universe continued to melt as our passion mounted. She was sliding with most of her weight and Junior had no problems with that at all. She started to shutter, then jerk, then a little shudder, another jerk, a few more strong shudders ... all the while staring me in the soul. Our tongues working over time.

Then her hips started to convulse as she tried to suck my tongue down her throat. Her eyes fluttered. Junior did more than that as my hips started jerking hard, trying to "find home" without success.

My eyes started to flutter and someone turned on the pumps. On full. Oh ... Shit! Damn! Fuck! Ahhhh ... God, I hate cheesy porn, yet...

Somehow, I held a now limp Becca while my knees wanted nothing more than to fold up.

I think we both opened our eyes at the same time.

"Wow!"

"Yes!"

Then we heard Francesca mumbling something. It was Italian. What, I couldn't completely make out. My mother would have a 55 gallon drum of industrial cleaner hooked to my mouth if I had said any of what I did understand.

I looked over Becca's shoulder at the floor. "Clean up on aisle three."

Becca looked perplexed for a second, then flexed her ass, which I'm sure had a coating on it. Then she started to chuckle.

Francesca just outright laughed. "Repostiglio! Mocio," was all she managed to articulate while pointing to a utility closet, through the half-opened door I saw a mop. I got it!

Becca and I managed to disengage and had the "spill" cleaned in, well ... not short order. There was too much laughing and snide remarks, in two languages, to do anything quickly.

We also shared looks with unspoken promises. Shared a moment of joy with a special friend. Just flat enjoyed the special moment and celebrated it. Even as messy as I can be. I'm not sure if any of the "spill" was hers or not.

All too soon, the floor being long cleaned, the bell rang for the passing period.

"Into the valley of the 600... ," I started.

"Hands," Becca added.

"The warriors-"

"Lovers"

"March together."

"Is snuggle okay?" She looked up at me and melted me with her smile. What could I say? My claw across her delicate shoulder and her arm almost around the back of my waist, we headed out to the land of touch and grab.

As we were walking down the hall, I remembered Tuesday. Not the morning. Okay, I did remember the morning by not remembering it. But, the walk to Health class then. That's when Becca reached out and lead me down the hall by Junior and I enjoyed fondling those magnificent mel-

"Whatcha' thinking, sweetie?" she asked, as if being an innocent little school girl. Hell, she started to skip as we walked along. It really did add some interesting variables to the fifth order equations on her chest...

Wow! Who turned up the damned heat?

"Hmm ... Blushing Mountain. I have to remember that. Now. Honesty."

How can the female of the species do that? Damn it! They read your mind and then find the one question that just strips your soul ... No, more like shred every defensive barrier you've learned over the years.

"Uhm ... I was thinking about our walk to Health on Tuesday." Did she remember it? Hell, she probably already knew what I was thinking. She proved it exactly three seconds later as she grabbed Junior, who was only a slight image of his self in this memory of mine.

That moment lasted exactly twenty-four milliseconds after she began stroking with one hand and using the other to pull my hand over her shoulder onto her boob. And then pressing my hand and fingers into it. Damn!

She calmly lead me through the throng that way. I still don't know whether it was Thursday in the Program and everyone had their "touchies" out of the way or the way she was leading me or...

Who cares.

Ms Carlisle, call me Joan, slipped in between us just before the classroom. Just like Tuesday.

Becca looked over at me. I know my eyes were already chuckling. Hers started. Then we made the grand mistake. We looked at Joan. Her face was already full of mirth.

That did it.

What is it about slapping your knee when you're laughing that makes it better? Well, it does.

When I do it, apparently, it scares shit out of people.

Why?

I couldn't focus on it, though. We're all laughing, I'm trying to open the door, and discovering that it opens inward. After three tries of pulling on it.

Rebbecca

Oh! My! God!

That was so much fun. So, intense. So ... everything. So not me pre-Monday.

Did I say so much fun?

No? Okay. That was so much fun. So much pleasure. So much intensity as to turn me inside out.

And, the painting. I already used OMG. Well. OMG! No editor is correcting me now for being repetitious. Repeatedly.

Yes. I needed my alone time. Oh, please, My Mountain, don't misunderstand at all. Your cave is wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Yet, it is not the same.

A tug on my arm and I was in the Health classroom. And not in my Cave. And not painting.

Immediately, I looked to see if there were four chairs at the front of the class for the "exhibition". Nope.

Ms Carlisle, not Joan at the moment, gathered Tim, Shirley, Luis, and I and spoke quietly, "We're going to have a discussion about the Program and what has been the experience this week. I would prefer that you all participate, but understand if you don't feel like participating. Who can I count on? Who needs to 'get supplies'?"

While everyone else agreed, I heard what suspiciously sounded like my voice agreeing as well.

Before I could retract, she looked down at all of us, "It looks like each of you has recently had relief." I looked over at a blushing Luis and felt my own face warm up. "So, no need in this class?"

"No. I'm ... fine," Tim managed to say.

"He sure was," said Shirley. They both shared a look and a little laugh.

"We're fine," said Luis. I could only nod my head in agreement, still locked onto his beautiful eyes.

"Then take your seats, please." Ms Carlisle said.

Luis and I found seats next to each other and the class settled down. I caught a few rumbles about us not getting relief. Nothing too serious, more good natured kidding than serious issues.

"On Tuesday, I stressed that the Seniors needed to set an example for the Program. Today, I'd like to talk about the current participant's experience and the feelings of those about to go through the Program for the rest of the year. We'll give the current Nakeds a moment to settle. So..."

It took about three seconds before someone asked why none of us had wanted relief.

"So much for giving the Nakeds a break!" Luis grumbled. I loved the deep resonance of his voice. When he grumped, it made that singer, ahem ... Crocker, or something, seem like he had a pure, bell-like voice.

"Well?" Another voice asked, this time some girl I didn't know. Heck, I didn't know most of these people. That will change. Wha-?

"Didn't need it," Luis grumbled again. He could be a blues singer belting out dirty love songs.

"Ditto." "The same." "Uhm..."

At least Shirley and Tim had been articulate.

I was getting ready to disappear-in-plain-sight when Luis started talking again. "Look, being naked doesn't bother me. Yet, providing sexual entertainment for others does. It was fun on Monday, even Tuesday. Now, not so much."

"For Tim and I," Shirley began, "It is not something we really want to share with others."

"But, doesn't that violate the Program rules?" an anonymous voice spoke out. Male, of course.

"Actually, no it doesn't," Ms Carlisle jumped in. "Perhaps the spirit of the Program, as some intended it, but not the rules. The student has to request relief and it is not a reasonable request to ask someone to orgasm."

That started a long conversation about relief, requests, and the rules. I half listened while I thought about what it meant to me. Nudity didn't bother me, I realized. Not anymore. It did Monday, a great deal, but I hardly even thought about now. So, that part of the Program was a success. My sexuality had definitely been awakened. At least beyond my own fingers. Yet, I still felt like my body belonged to me, not society. Even during the Program. Where is the line when dealing with requests? What is reasonable? Who defines it? The requester or the requestee? Those thoughts began to spiral around in my head.

"Becky?" I heard Ms Carlisle say, apparently repeating herself, as My Mountain had gently shaken my leg to get my attention back to the moment.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Did you have something to add to the discussion?"

"We're talking about how we feel about reasonable requests," My Mountain whispered in my ear.

"Yes ma'am, I do. Sorry for drifting, I was just organizing my thoughts about this week. I discovered that nudity doesn't bother me. I feel very comfortable walking around in my skin." That got a few very positive responses. "I've also discovered that I enjoy sharing my sexuality with a few select people. And, perhaps I'm bisexual. I'm not totally sure about that. Yet..." That got offers from a few people to help. "I've got my man and woman picked out, thank you." I put an arm around Luis's arm and hugged him.

I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but love, compassion, support, love, joy, happiness, love ... Did I mention love?

"Okay, you two. Do I have to separate you so we can keep the conversation going?"

"Or ask them if they need mutual relief!" came a shout from the room.

"Settle down. Becky, requests?"

"Yes ma'am. Sorry for getting distracted."

"No you're not!" I had to agree with that assessment!

"Requests. Where I struggle is the line where a request becomes sexual assault."

"Please explain your thinking," Ms Carlisle asked. I grabbed My Mountain's hand in a death grip. I felt his support, his energy, and his love flow into me.

"That's where I'm a bit confused. From my side, a reasonable request is one that I don't mind doing for a specific person and within certain limits. For example, this Mountain next to me could ask me to do almost anything and I'd consider it reasonable. Yet, a stranger walking up to me and requesting to fuck me in the ass, well, NOT!"

That received a few titters. More importantly, as I looked around I could see understanding and agreement.

"So, where is the line between the two? Should it be reasonable for the 400^th person of the day to squeeze my boobs? They are getting fairly tender and sore by that point. Posing, while not pleasant depending on the person requesting, isn't something that I feel too violated about. Until I'm asked to bend over and expose my asshole."

As expected, a few more chuckles.

"What is wrong with that?" someone asked.

"It's not a place on my body I want to share. Aren't I allowed some privacy of my own person?"

"But, it doesn't hurt you," a male voice stated.

"But, it does. It hurts my dignity and it invades a space I consider private. So, back to my concern, where is that line? Who defines the reasonableness of a request? The way the rules have been set up, I don't have any say. Some arbitrary line is set by someone outside my control that completely differs from society's standards."

"Would you expand on that?"

"I'll do my best. There is an excellent definition of sexual assault that says it is any physical, verbal, or visual act by one or more persons on another that forces that person to join in unwanted sexual contact or attention."

"Where is your definition from?"

"I found it on the Woman's Health website from the US Department of Health and Human Services. You know, the same government that sanctioned the Program and the concept of Reasonable Request."

"Thanks for the information. Continue with your argument."

"I consider it unwanted sexual contact to end the day with my boobs sore and my ass red from rubbing. I can imagine that more than one male goes home from a day in the Program with a raw penis." Yes, that got snickers, but a lot more nods. "It really becomes unwanted during the day when I'd really rather have my boyfriend make me sore and walk funny the next day."

I should be a comedienne. Then it hit me how much I was talking in class, without even thinking about it. Before I could retreat into my internal world, My Mountain gave my hand an affirmative squeeze. Here I thought I was squeezing his hand to death. Damn. Don't ever let him squeeze my hand hard! That one loving squeeze was enough. More than enough. This felt good. I had information and an argument. I needed to present it. Just like a piece of art, it had to be built up and presented just right. Shift the colors, the shading, and the perspective to tell your story on the canvas. Shift the words, the pacing, and the coloring to tell your story in words on paper. Damn, it works in speaking too. And people listen!

"Settle down, people," Joan, sorry, Ms Carlisle was able to make heard. "Continue, please, Becky."

"Understand, I'm, uhm, just beginning to put all this together. So ... I might not be as articulate as, well, I'd like to be."

"Rebbecca, sorry, Becky, you're doing great!" came another voice from the class.

Damn. I wished I knew who said that. It felt good to get support and it felt really, really, really good that people were making my name change. Another squeeze from My Mountain just ... Well, my heart swelled. And, damn it! A lake began forming between my legs. Maybe this public speaking thing has some real advantages!

"Thanks. I'm shocked I'm not finding this harder to do."

"I'm proud of you my sweet," Luis said in his normal voice. You know, the one that carries across a football stadium and half the universe beyond. It resonated right down through my core.

SHIT! I think I just had a small orgasm. That's a first. I don't think I want it to be a last.

Finally, I heard the other voices supporting me. Encouraging me. And, a kiss on the cheek by My Mountain, melting me and giving me the strength.

"So ... Back to the line. What is reasonable and who defines it. Obviously, if I define it as a participant of the Program, I'm in trouble. Yet, if I'm out in society walking around nude, a totally different standard would apply. Isn't school about becoming good citizens? Should school be that much of a double standard?"

Ms Carlisle didn't get a chance to respond and I didn't have to speak again. The rest of the class took over. I just melted into my seat, feeling completely spent. And not from the orgasm.