Chapter 11: Friday, School

I was walking through Paris. Not the habitat of that name, but the one in France. Everything was in black and white, and I was trying to remember the French I'd taken my freshman year. I could hear some song in the background, in English. But then I did hear something in French.

"Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? Voulez vous coucher avec moi?"

I looked, and it was Botilda. She was dressed in a halter and short shorts, with high heels and a feather boa.

"Voulez vous coucher avec moi?" she repeated.

"Oui, mademoiselle Hu," I smiled, reaching for her. But then I stopped, as I noticed Bret, standing across the street in a tuxedo and smoking a cigar.

Then I woke up.

The song playing was "Lady Marmalade" and for the first time this week it was a song I actually knew. Baba Buba covered it the year I was born, Agnifrid Jackson covered it when I was nine, and Desdemona was on the charts with it last week. That shimmy I've been doing? She does it in all her videos, but she does it in Lady Marmalade a lot, and it's that video I've been using as my guide.

"I don't recognize this version."

I jumped a bit. I'm not used to being greeted by a man's voice in the morning. I looked at Bret and couldn't help but smile. He was stretched out along my bed, the sheet up to his chest on his left but almost completely thrown off his right side. One leg and just the side of his hip was visible; just enough to make it obvious he didn't have any clothes on.

"It's from the year 2000," I told him, "and it's by, let's see..." I read off of the screen. "Pink, Mya, Lil' Kim, Christina Aquilera, and Missy Elliot. You'd think they'd just come up with a band name or something."

"I had no idea the song was so old," he chuckled. "I thought of waking you up with a kiss, but my morning breath would have knocked you right back out. BUT! I was smart enough to bring my toothbrush."

I giggled at that. Romance is a wonderful thing, but reality intrudes.

"Mine isn't any better," I admitted, "But a little work with a toothbrush will fix it for me too. So you go first, and I'll gather up these sheets and toss them in the laundry. We kind of ... yeah."

He grinned at me and headed for the bathroom, not bothering to cover up. I wondered if Mom might see him; she had the day off, as did Dad. I didn't have long to wait to find out.

"Sorry, Ms. James; didn't mean to flash anybody." Bret's voice.

"Oh, that's OK. I was just a bit startled. Here, let me get out of your way." Mom's voice.

"Thanks." Bret again.

I went out into the hall to find my mother biting her lip, obviously trying not to laugh. The door to the bathroom closed and Mom cracked up.

"Oh, Anzu!" She had to wait a few seconds before she could speak again. "The first time your father stayed with me overnight, he got caught in the hall by my mother."

She laughed some more, and I was worried she might fall down. "He spun in a circle, ran into a wall, ran across my bedroom, grabbing his pants without slowing down and LEAPING out my window buck naked."

I was starting to giggle myself. Mom wiped her eyes. "The poor guy limped for two days, and that's how my parents found out I wasn't a virgin."

"Oh my God!" It was kind of funny. I could see it, complete with sound effects.

"ACK!"

"EEP!"

"WHUMP!!"

"stepstepstepstepstep GRAB"

"GERONIMO!"

"WWWWHHHHHHHHhhhhhhheeeewwwwww ... THUMP!"

"step-limp step-limp step-limp"

OK, so Dad probably didn't yell "Geronimo," but still, it made my folks seem a bit less, well, old. Of course, that was at least eighteen years ago, and probably twenty.

Mom stopped guffawing long enough to give me a serious look. "I guess I don't have to ask how it went."

I knew that was coming. "Well, we, um ... Oh Mom it was wonderful! I don't like to think of you and Dad doing it, but if it was anything like that when you made me ... wow."

Mom stroked my hair as I threw the bedclothes down the chute. "You were conceived in love, Apricot," she assured me, "Don't you ever doubt it."

"I never have," I told her, giving her a quick hug before entering the bathroom, where Bret was still nude as a newborn. He was standing there, looking in the mirror and ... flossing. Well, guess what I didn't forget to do this morning?

"You go ahead with the floss while I brush," he suggested, picking up his toothbrush, "and by the time you're ready to brush I'll be stepping into the shower. Um..." That wicked grin again. "It'll save time if we shower together."

"Funny you should mention," I cooed, "because I was thinking the exact same thing."

I flossed while he brushed, I brushed while he got the water started, and then I joined him in the shower. Now of course showering in mixed company was pretty normal for me by now, but this was different. This was just the two of us, and we could do whatever we wanted, with no "except for" added.

A little soap and a lot of water, and he was as perked up as he had been last night. I was starting to wonder if we had time for a quick bit of early-morning shower sex, when it hit me all over again: I was now a sexually active woman! Sure, I'd been doing sexual stuff all week, and for about a year with Botilda, but now I had stepped across the line, walked through the door. No matter what I did or didn't do, for the rest of my life, I was no longer a virgin. I know this isn't a big deal to some people, but it is to me.

"We could probably get in a quickie," he told me as he soaped up my ass with one hand and my tits with the other, "but if you think you can tough it out 'til Homeroom, I can give you relief that the whole room'll get off on."

Yes! Yes, that's exactly the sort of thing I wanted to do. I let go of his prick and patted his ass.

"Great idea. I guess I need to make sure not to bring you off before then."

"Right," he nodded, giving my clit three distinct strokes before taking both hands off of me. "We should both be teased beyond endurance, aching for it, walking funny."

I was getting hotter just listening to him.

"And then, in front of the whole class, you're going to open your legs wide, and I'm going to take this," he grabbed his stiff dick, "and slide it into you."

His moved his hips forward and I watched his cock emerge from his fist.

"Imagine how hot the guys will be, watching you make it right in front of them. Their cocks will be throbbing before we're done. And the women; every nipple in the room will be like a pebble. Every pussy will be wet."

I shivered. I knew he was teasing me, but I loved it!

"But now it's time to wash our hair, rinse, and finish getting ready for school." And with that he started sudzing his hair. It was rather abrupt, but it was also the right thing to do right now, so I washed mine too.

We did towel each other off, but were careful not to do too much in the genital area. Then he began shaving, and I watched for a bit. He didn't have a lot of hair on his face, and even if he'd tried to grow a beard it wouldn't've been much of one, but there was enough there that he needed to shave if he wanted to be smooth. I started trimming my bush, but got a wicked idea.

"I'm gonna shave it today," I told him. "After all, I wouldn't want anything to obscure the view when you fuck my brains out in class."

He laughed at that, and then offered to do it for me! I agreed, of course. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

He closed the lid to the toilet, folded both our damp towels and put them over the seat. Then he had me sit on them, bend my knees, and spread wide. He took the trimmer, adjusted it, and started to take off the hair I'd been so excited to have when it first grew in, when I was twelve. OK, twelve and a half. The vibrations of the trimmer were enough to bring me near the mountain top, but not enough to push me over. This was turning into an amazing tease. Before long, only stubble was left.

Suddenly, he leaned in and sniffed, and then grinned up at me. "Skyways Soap All-Naturals, apricot scent," he whispered. "Skyways Soap, As Pure As the Sky Itself!"

I laughed. I'd been so embarrassed Monday, when he'd gotten this same view. Well, almost the same; now I didn't even have my own hair to hide behind.

"The All-Naturals collection seemed right for Anzu Au-Natural, " I reminded him.

He took a washcloth and soaked it in hot water, testing it against his wrist and cooling it off a bit before laying it over my crotch. The moist heat felt good, but of course I was already moist and hot. While it softened the stubble, he changed the blade on his razor. These diamondoid blade-heads are generally good for several months, and I doubt it was really necessary to switch to a new one, but it was sweet that he did. Nothing but the best for his woman.

Which brought up another thought: was I his woman, or just somebody he was enjoying for a while? Well, I could live with either one, but I'll admit that the idea of being his special someone did appeal to me. And Botilda did say that he was in love with me.

I suppressed a giggle as I thought of how she would react to my denuded clam. Bet she likes it.

He put the gel on me, and touched it into place. Again, it was arousing, but not enough to bring me off. The ovaries were going to be pink well before I got to school. Then he started shaving me. He didn't touch me any more than was necessary. There was no rubbing, stroking, or fingering. But still, to do the job right required considerable touching, and he did it right. When he was done, my breathing was ragged.

He took the hand mirror off of the cabitet and held it between my legs. I was entranced. I had been worried that shaving it would make me look younger, like a little girl. It didn't. I had looked at myself with a mirror before, back before the hair started growing in; this was different. This wasn't some child's pee-pee; this was a womanly, ready-to-go PUSSY. I had never realized just how sexy-looking it could be.

"Here," Bret offered, "let me put some soothing gel on you. Don't worry; it isn't anything that'll sting or burn." He took some of my own soothing gel, that I use for under my arms, and rubbed it into my hairless skin. I thought I was going to cum after all, but he stopped just short.

"Ah," he grinned, waving his hand under his nose, "the gel also smells of apricots."

I stood up and almost drooled as I watched him dress. I of course did not, and I was glad of that. I wanted my man to see me in all my glory. But was he my man?

After Bret combed his hair in sixty-seven seconds flat, I took the ten minutes it takes me if I want to look good. And I did want to look good. So we were running a touch late for breakfast, and both my parents were seated at the table. I always looked forward to these Friday morning family breakfasts.

Dad briefly raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Mom wasn't as shy.

"Well, dear," she chuckled, "I've been thinking it was time for you to get a haircut, but that's not exactly what I had in mind."

"It seemed a good idea," I shrugged. "I can't change clothes from day to day, so this is something I can change." I ran a hand over my head. "You'll notice I've added a braid."

"Yeah," Dad nodded, "You usually wear two, or none. This time you've got three."

"Well," I remarked, "a new age, a new sexual status, and my last school day in the Program; it's a good thing to mark with a change in grooming ... on both ends."

Breakfast was an omelet; nothing fancy, just eggs and cheese with some yellow bell pepper and crispy bacon chopped up in it. There was toast, and instead of fruit juice, Dad had made a sorbet of orange and lime. It was a bit less sweet than a desert sorbet would have been, but the sharp flavor was perfect after the omelet.

Just as Bret and I were heading out the door, Mom tapped my shoulder. She and Dad were standing side by side, grinning like, well, like parents do on a birthday.

"Just to make sure you don't end up feeling like Molly Ringwalk in that Sixteen Candles movie you like so much," Mom started, "happy birthday."

"Yeah, you deserve a good day," Dad added. "You've handled this Program thing like a trooper. Now have fun, and bring your appetite this evening."

"Thanks, Mom, Dad," I told them, not bothering to mention that it's Molly RingWOLD, not RingWALK. Hers was one of several names nobody in this century seemed able to get right.

Bret suggested that I go ahead and bike to school, since I'd need it for the ride to spoccer later today anyway, and he would walk.

"You sure?" I asked him. "I've got pegs on the back wheel; you could stand on those."

He looked dubious, but then smiled, "I've got an idea: why don't YOU ride and I'LL pedal. After all, it is your birthday."

"Chauffeured to school," I chuckled. "Yeah, why not. But drive carefully! I'm not dressed for a crash."

"Truth, that," he grinned, as he sat himself in the seat and I stood on the pegs. I knew that this was putting me on display more than pedaling myself, but by now that hardly worried me.

With the driving out of my hands, I just enjoyed the scenery. I looked up, and saw more flyers. I wondered if a "nude wingsuit" could be made, and decided that it could, in the sense that only the parts needed to keep flyer and wings together would be needed, and this needn't cover much. I imagined myself in the low-G pool, bursting naked and dripping through the surface and soaring through the air, a stream of droplets behind me, before knifing back into the water. One of the ring parks was clothing optional already, and not just to Program alumni. I should have visited it last year; it would have helped me prepare for my Program week.

Before I knew it we were at school, and I walked hand-in-hand with Bret to Homeroom. There were Requests, of course, and I granted them. Bret would let go of my hand and step back while they touched me, and then take my hand again when they were done. As always, the fondling was getting me heated up, only today it was worse, because I was still kind of hot from the shower. And the shaving. And remembering last night. And knowing what was about to happen in Homeroom.

We wouldn't be the first Program kids to have "gone all the way" in Homeroom. Last month, when Okapi was in the Program, Giselle had done him right there in front of everybody, and Botilda had told me about Tina and Dan going at it back in January, in her Music class (Botilda was taking classical guitar). But as we walked in the room, I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to do this. I mean, I was dripping wet, so hot I couldn't stand it. The ovaries were pink, and I was going to need some relief. But actually fucking in class?

I thought of everything I'd done this week so far. Full-on intercourse certainly seemed like the next logical step. And it would tell everybody that Bret was mine...

"Hold on," I whispered to him before he could get to his seat.

There must have been something in my voice, because he looked concerned.

I took a deep breath. "Are you my boyfriend? My lover? Or are we having a bit of fun until my Program week is over?"

His eyes grew wide, and he put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, "Your boyfriend, your lover, your man. If you'll have me. I've certainly wanted you since long before your week started."

You know that stuff you read in mushy novels? Stuff like "my heart sang" and "my soul had wings?" Well, just then, my heart sang and my soul had wings. All doubt about how I wanted my relief vanished.

"Make sure you volunteer before anybody else," I whispered, and then I went to the front of the class, lay my towel down on my chair, and stood there.

"Anzu," Ms. Dunlavy began, "first of all, I'd like to say happy birthday."

What? Oh yeah, my birthday. Ask if I need relief.

"Also, I'd like to say that you have been an exemplary Program participant."

OK, fine, I'm exemplary. Ask me if I need relief.

"Now I'm going to ask you to take the roll..."

I groaned out loud.

Ms. Dunlavy stopped and gave me a sharp look. But it was only for a second, because I guess it showed.

"I'm going to ask you to take the roll," she repeated, "but first, do you need relie..."

"Yes. Volunteer."

Bret's hand shot up. His wasn't the only, but he was already starting to get out of his seat as I pronounced, "I pick Bret Austen."

"And how do you want it?" he asked, loudly.

"I want you to fuck me silly," I almost shouted.

There were a couple of gasps. Why? We weren't the first to do it in Homeroom. Ah, but they probably all (except Botilda) thought I was still a virgin. Neither Okapi nor Giselle had been.

Bret was naked by the time he got to me, his clothing making a trail back to his seat. He was rock hard and I swear I saw it pulse. He turned the chair sideways, sat in it, and motioned for me to sit on his lap. I was a bit surprised; I'd expected to be lain on the floor with him on top of me. But as I straddled him, I could tell that this was going to give pretty much all the control to me. He would be able to wiggle and thrust up a little, but it was going to be me deciding how deep and how fast.

Probably we would have done a lot of kissing and touching and stuff first, but we were both ready to burst, and we only had five minutes. I was dripping wet, and he didn't waste any time getting it into me. Again, I was struck by the fact that this is now something I do. Again, I was thrilled by the sensation of my man penetrating me. It's hard to explain, but it's like, with him inside of me and me all around him and us clasping hold of each other, we kind of become some sort of composite being. OK that's not quite it.

Unlike when he'd been on top of me at home, this position left his hands free, and he used those hands to embrace me, to stroke my back, to tease my nipples and, after a bit, to rub my clit. And if you want proof that knowing how to have sex is coded into our DNA, how about the fact that Anzu James, who had never had a penis in her vagina until last night, and that a different position, seemed to know exactly how to ride that cock up and down for all she was worth. Botilda and I had never used strap-on dildos or anything like that. Bret was one hundred percent of my experience with intercourse to date. But I knew what to do, and so did he. Well, I think he's done it before, but still, it's pre-programmed into human beings, it really is.

One of these days, Bret and I are going to do some of that long, slow, gentle love-making that is supposed to be so romantic. But that isn't what was needed here. And that isn't what we did here. I actually put my hands on his shoulders and used them to pull myself down on him harder, and I was moving up and down faster than I would have thought that I could. He was squeezing my tit with one hand and rubbing rubbing rubbing my clit with the other, and with all the teasing of shower and shaving and RR's in the hall, it didn't take five minutes for me to get off. Almost as soon as I was finished, he came, and that set me off into another. But then we were done, and just held each other until Ms. Dunlavy began to clear her throat.

I got up, turned to the class, and bowed. Bret, following my lead, did likewise.

I took the roll, and giggled when Bret's cum dribbled down my thigh. I thanked Ms. Dunlavy for the wet-wipe she handed me, cleaned up right there in front of everybody, and sat on my towel.

The rest of Homeroom was mostly me finishing up homework. I didn't have a lot, and was willing to put it on hold when Botilda wanted to talk.

"Happy birthday, F.L.," she grinned, glancing at where my legs join the body. "Love your new look." She handed me a small box. "I think you lost this."

"Lost?" I took the box, it wasn't wrapped, and opened it. When I saw what was inside I busted out laughing.

It was a cherry.

"Thanks," I told her, "but I'm actually glad I lost it."

We talked a bit, about sex, of course. Yes, women do talk about it. Don't make it with a woman if you don't want her friends to know.

I worked on the journal and finished a little before class ended. I was a little surprised to find a group of people gathered around me.

"Anzu," it was Kachina, "some of us Program kids are up to something, and we wanna know if you'd like to get involved. Talk about it real quick?"

Kachina had been in the Program two weeks ago, and I noticed that everybody in this group had been in it this year. Ten of them had, counting me. I noticed not all of them were gathered around me, but as I glanced around, I saw another clump of ex-Program kids. What was going on?

"I'll talk," I hedged, "and I'm not promising anything more than talk."

"That's cool," the Afrin woman with the Hopi name assured me.

"Oh, Anzu," Okapi interrupted, "Happy birthday. Looks like Bret already gave you his present."

I winked at him, but Kachina glared.

"What we've got in mind," Kachina started again, "is that if we can get together at least a hundred by Sunday, we're going to walk the circumference together, all nude. Probably at the beach, but there's thought of doing it longitudinally."

Interesting. A public display of our new emancipated-from-clothing status. And if done longitudinally, in every gravity value from full to zero and back again.

"I'm in," I told her just as the bell rang and class was over.

I rushed to English, only granting RR's to those who were willing to walk with me. I was one of the first there. I didn't wait in the hall, like usual, but went straight in.

"Hello, birthday girl," Mr. Scott greeted me, "Nice to see you in your birthday suit."

"Thanks," I told him, "I had a bit of tailoring done this morning." I ran one hand over my smooth crotch.

"I noticed," he assured me. "It could make things more interesting to the class, should you need relief."

I smiled at that. It gave me the opening for what I wanted to say next. "Actually, I'm fine. But I'd be happy to give you relief, if you like."

Other students were coming in, and they gathered around to see how this would turn out.

"Well," he started, "the obvious question is: how far can I go?"

Yes. That's what I wanted him to ask.

"Do whatever you like," I answered as casually as I could manage, "and do please note that I included no qualifiers or restrictions."

This started a general murmur. Mr. Scott knew exactly what I meant, as I could tell by the look on his face: wide eyes and a slack jaw. OK, so his mouth wasn't hanging open, but I surprised him, all right.

"I've got to find some way to work this into class," he chuckled just as the warning bell rang.

"A quick research piece on the rules of student/teacher sex?" It was the best I could come up with.

"Hmn..." he frowned, "That's a bit much to spring on them unexpected. Besides, we won't take the whole class to finish. I'm no minuteman, but I'm not going to last all class."

He rubbed his chin, and I wondered if maybe he used to have a beard. He still wore a thin little mustache, like Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind, though he didn't look like Gable in any other way.

"You know," he continued, "the weekend assignment I had in mind was the same thing, only not 'quick' and on a different subject. I could just give them a choice..."

Students were filtering in now, and Mr. Scott was doing something with his cell. I was all but invisible to him. The final bell was ringing as he took off his eyetap and smiled.

"Good morning, class. Your assignment this weekend is a research paper."

There were a few moans.

"Yes, yes, I know," Mr. Scott nodded, "but it is what you're here to learn. And thanks to our Program participant," he gestured towards me, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that, "you have three choices of subjects, instead of just one. So if you don't like one subject, you might like another."

There was an unkind murmur.

"Easy now; you don't have to write about all three subjects, just one."

"The choices are: the value of elective courses in mandatory education. Sure, an astronomy class is useful if you intend to be a professional astronomer, but some students take it just because the subject interests them, and they have no intention of earning a penny with it. Do courses taken under such conditions have value? Why or why not? This was the subject I was originally going to stick you with, like it or not."

"But now," he continued, "you have a choice. You can do a paper on that, or you can write it on the subject of adolescent rights of passage, past and present. The Nuer of Sudan practice scarification as an initiation into manhood to this day. How does this compare with such milestones as getting a private pilot's license, having a Bar Mitzvah, or going through the Program? Think about this: are we today that different than tribes from thousands of years ago?"

"Finally, you can write your paper on the legal and ethical considerations of teacher/student sex. Is it ever OK? If it is, under what circumstances? What precautions must be in place, to insure for instance that a student can not improve his or her grades by putting out? Or for that matter, to make sure that a student doesn't fall into a situation where he or she must put out, in order to avoid sanctions from a teacher willing to abuse authority."

He looked around. The class was quiet now, most of the students looking thoughtful.

"Well, the rest of the class is a free study period today," he told them. "Choose your subject, and turn it in any time next week. The paper is to be sourced and between 750 and 1,250 words long. You will be graded on grammar, style, quality of research, and how well you present your research and findings. You will not be graded according to your opinion, so if you wish to state that what you are about to see happen is never excusable, your grade will not be docked because of it. Sloppy writing will hurt your grade."

He again gestured to me, and I stepped forward. "And yes, you are about to see teacher/student sex. You are free to watch or to ignore."

And with that he began to undress. Mr. Scott has a nice enough body: neither fat, skinny, nor bulky muscular. I got the impression that he probably works out two or three times a week, and pays sports on the weekend. As his clothes came off there were chuckles and giggles from the class, and I felt giddy myself. This was a very bad-girl sort of thing to do. Making love to my new boyfriend? Yeah, everybody does that. But screwing the teacher was like something out of one of those sex comedies from the 1980s, except even directors like Bob Clark or Amy Heckerling wouldn't've had it happen in front of the entire class.

Once naked, Mr. Scott asked, "Any preferred position?"

"You're the teacher," I reminded him, "Teach me something."

Some chuckles there.

"What have you done so far?"

"Well," I hesitated. I was about to outline my entire history of intercourse to nineteen of my classmates. Then again, considering what I was about to show them...

"I've done it twice, with my lover. Once he was on top of me, and once I sat on his lap in a chair."

"Then bend over and grab the back of the chair," he told me, "and that will be something new."

For a second I thought he was going to butt-fuck me, and I was going to refuse. Then I realized that this was going to be what some people call "doggy style," and I didn't have a problem with that. I started to bend over, but he turned the chair a bit, and I realized that it was to give my classmates a better view. My face burned and I felt like I had Monday, when first exposed in school. I took a deep breath, and bent over, grabbing the back of the chair. My shoulders were a bit higher than my hips and very little of me was blocked from view, mostly my lower legs and a bit of my belly and chest just below my tits. From some angles, even that was exposed. As he stepped up behind me I remembered to spread my legs. Glancing up, I saw Bijan adjust his pants and lean his head down a bit. From that angle, he was going to be able to see Mr. Scott's dick enter me. I shivered.

"You know," the teacher said as I felt his hands slide up my legs, over my ass, and up my back, "you're only the second Program girl I've been able to go this far with, and I have a Homeroom."

He positioned himself, and I felt the tip of his finger between my legs. "And to think," he continued as he tickled my clit with one hand and thumbed my nips with the other, "that when the Program was being debated by the Island Council last year, I didn't know if I was for it or not."

I was already wet, but I guess he decided that with the whole class free, he didn't have to rush. Fine with me; I rather liked what his hands were doing. And his hands kept it going. The older man knew what he was doing, and I was starting think a little better of Delores Haze, AKA Lolita (played by Sue Lyon in 1962 and by Dominique Swain in 1997, and by at least three others since, but my obsession is movies of the Twentieth Century so never mind those ones). After a bit, though, I guess he was as ready as I was because I felt something else touch my opening, and it wasn't a finger.