Chapter 9: Thursday, School

I woke up this morning as soon as the alarm went off, and wasn't dreaming. Just as well, because the song playing was something about independent women and angels and some guy named Charlie. Hate to think what that would've had me dreaming. The tune was catchy, though. The group was called Destiny's Child, which is a good name.

Bathroom, no trim today, shower, hair. Oh, I've been brushing my teeth every day, too, just been forgetting to mention it. I'm supposed to floss every day, too, and I do about three times a week. Hey, nobody's perfect.

Dad greeted me with a mix of yogurt, diced mango and chopped Brazil nuts. It's not my favorite breakfast food, but better than cereal. He had also toasted English muffins with butter and cinnamon, and hot chocolate. Dad himself was still in his robe. He is off work Thursdays, but works Sundays to make up for it. The only one in this family who's weekend only lasts two days is me. That's OK though, because I'd rather have school Fridays than to have one of the Breaks cut short.

"So, how's the naked girl doing?" he asked as he poured up the cocoa.

"Doing fine," I told him, "I'm even thinking of hitting the beach this weekend, sometime before the con."

"The Program works, I guess." He ate some of that mixture, and then added, "I guess the real question is: after your week's over, will you be hitting the beach in or without your new bikini?"

"Without," I admitted, "if, and only if, I can find some other Program graduates doing the same. I'm not interested in being the only naked person on the beach once this week is over."

"You know," Dad said, giving me that look that lets me know I shouldn't take whatever he's about to say seriously, "if teenage girls all start going post-Program nudie, it'll throw the clothing industry into chaos. It could lead to recession."

"Nah," I reassured him, "they'll just all move into space suit design and theatrical costuming. Besides, one of the main reasons people wear clothes is to show off their fashion sense. We'll find some way to do that, naked or clothed."

"So what are you doing this week to show off your sense of fashion?"

"Dad, there are eleven hundred students at my school," I pointed out, "and only twenty-two of them are naked. Nudity is its own fashion statement."

He nodded. "But if more and more people start making that statement? So many that there are more naked people than not?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, that's when we'd have to come up with something to distinguish one naked person from another. Maybe body painting, or perhaps piercing will make a comeback."

"I hope not," he muttered. "I always thought my father looked like a goofball, with all that metal poking out of his body."

I was a bit surprised by that. I'd always thought Granddad Jeff looked kind of cool, in a primitive sort of way. Not something I wanted to do myself, but I always thought it gave him a kind of tribal look.

"Hey," he said, "you thought any about what we said before? About how straight are you?"

"I've been thinking about it," I admitted. "But that same day the touching started, and the reaction I have to boys proves to my satisfaction that I'm not a lesbian. I could still be bi, though, and I guess I won't really know until I lose the boy cherry."

Dad chuckled. "Boy cherry. Good way to put it." He sprinkled a little more cinnamon on his muffin. "You remember I said that most straight people have had a same-sex experiment at some point?"

"Yeah. Why?" I wasn't sure where this was going, but I didn't think I was going to like it.

"Most gay people have had an opposite-sex experiment at some point," he pointed out, scooping up a bit of Brazil nut. "So it might not be until after you lose that 'boy cherry, ' and have lost it for a while, that you'll even know for sure that you're not gay, much less that you're not bi."

"Well I think I've found a nice young man to help me figure it all out," I mentioned as nonchalantly as I could manage. I polished off that English muffin. "Between him and Botilda, I should soon know what I am." I took another bite of the yogurt/mango /Brazil nut mix. "You put some vanilla in this? It really improves the flavor."

Dad looked real sharp at me.

"The mysterious Kevin has made himself known?"

I snorted. "He's made himself known alright. And a good thing, too; I'd hate to have spent any more time panting after him."

Dad's eyebrows threatened to leave his face.

"I was taken in by his looks," I confessed, "and he has some kind of magic sex radiation around him or something. It makes him achingly hot, but the person behind all that sexual allure is an a ... a jerk."

"So now you've found an ordinary looking guy who's not a jerk?"

I had to grin at that. "Bret's a bit more than ordinary. He's as hot as ... well OK almost as hot as Kevin. We had a falling-out, so he was kind of off the radar. So my teen girl senses locked in on the handsome, strutting, confident a ... jerk Kevin."

I ate the last of the mixture. "Seriously, the vanilla helps. And since I didn't know anything about him, I could imagine that he was as wonderful a guy as he looked. So then I got naked, he finally noticed me, and revealed as much of his soul as I did my flesh. And I don't want sound stuck up, but my flesh is nicer than his soul."

Dad nodded. "The vanilla was your mother's idea. She said you'd like it better that way. I owe her a buck. So then with Kevin out, Bret came back in? Did you reconcile because you're nude?"

"Well, not exactly." I wasn't sure exactly what had happened myself. "Our falling-out was my fault, and he wanted to get even. So for two months he's been wanting revenge, and when my Program week came along, he decided it was time."

This wasn't making Bret look good. Well, it wasn't good. The look on Dad's face told me he didn't think it was good.

"So Bret got even and now you're friends again?"

"Well..." I still didn't quite understand it. "No. He never got even. Jeness tried to humiliate me..."

"Now there's a bad apple in the school's barrel." His sneer was a lot like the one I got thinking about Jeness.

"Agreed, Dad." I took a sip of the cocoa. "So anyway, I turned it around on her, and the next time I saw Bret, he said forget it, we're even. And I'm not sure why, because I wasn't the one who suffered. But Botilda says he's in love with me, and that he just wanted an excuse to forget the whole vengeance thing."

"So this Bret went from being an a ... jerk," and he winked at me, "to a nice guy, instantly?"

"He never really was an a ... jerk," and I winked right back, "He just got a bit distant, a bit cold, and I knew he was holding that grudge. He was never really mean to me, except a little Monday, letting me know that vengeance was a'comin'. The thing with Jeness let him go back to being the nice guy he always was."

Dad finished off his cocoa. "Nice enough a guy to give your virginity to?"

"Yeah Dad, that nice." I gulped the last of the cocoa down; it was getting too cool anyway. "And he's in Homeroom. I see him two and three times a day; I actually know him, not just that he's hot, like Kevin."

He started gathering dishes, and again, I decided it wouldn't kill me to help out.

"How does Botilda feel about all of this?"

"I think she wants to castrate Kevin," I chuckled, "but she seems fine with Bret. She even called us 'romantic, ' like she knows any more about romance than I do!"

Just as I was walking out the door, he noted, "Your mother is right about adding vanilla to the mix, you know. Even I like it better that way."

"Vanilla, yum!" I declared, walking out the door.

I was nearly to school when suddenly it struck me how strange it was that this didn't seem strange to me. I was walking buck naked to school, waving at men who whistled at me, and I wasn't even embarrassed ... until just now, of course. Was I really the same girl who had had to give herself a pep talk before she could wear a bikini to the beach, just last Sunday?

I was a bit early today, and just stood outside of Homeroom, hopping up and down or imitating Desdemona (again!) whenever asked. I actually liked jiggling my tits for guys now. It felt nice to know that they found me so attractive. Even the touching I recognized as a compliment, though I could feel myself blushing every time I got groped on the titties or pussy. Strangely enough, getting my ass groped didn't embarrass me much. To tell the truth, it was all getting me pretty hot.

The warning bell went off and I slipped into the room, taking my seat at the head of the class. I wondered: do I sit at the head of the class for my own benefit (helps me get over my inhibitions), or for the benefit of my classmates (helps them get used to the idea by the time they have to go through it)? I know that seeing a different naked Program kid in class each week helped me be prepared when it was my turn. I made a point to smile, to let them know that it isn't that bad.

Ms. Dunlavy had me take the roll and asked if I needed relief. I figured if I took it now, I'd be ready again by SMA. But then I remembered that I'd be rushed in SMA, because we were going out in the vacuum. They would make time for it (they had to), but I didn't want to hold everybody up. Better to take it in English and hope for the best, that is, that I wouldn't be too hot by the time I got to Biology. The end of this is: I didn't take relief.

It was time to go out in the hall now, and I saw Botilda talking to Jeness, of all people. Botilda waved me over.

"Did you tell her she could have lunch with us?"

I nodded. "I said if it was OK with you, and with Bret, if he's gonna be there, that it's OK with me."

Botilda looked like she wanted to kick Jeness's naked ass, but finally she shook her head. "I don't know why, but fine. Jeness, you can have lunch with us, unless Bret says no. And that only counts if he's going to be there."

"Thanks, Botilda," Jeness said in her normal voice. But then she turned to me. "And thank you, Anzu." It was the timid child voice again. Then she was off, to whatever class she was going to almost certainly be late for.

Botilda and I just looked at each other a while, until I heard my name and realized I was getting Reasonable Requests. I granted them of course, letting one boy could finger me while another fondled my tits.

I noticed the look on Botilda's face. Tuesday, seeing me get touched on, she'd looked like she wanted to cry. Now she looked very satisfied with what was going on.

The warning bell rang, so I scurried off to English. I was almost assaulted by Cynthia, who I thought was going to knock me down in her eagerness to get to me.

"Did you hear!?!" she shrieked, "Program kids get to be naked forever!"

I felt cold for a moment, until I realized she was just talking about the thing that had been passed yesterday.

"We GET to be naked," I pointed out to her, "We don't HAVE to be naked once our week is over."

She blinked a couple of times. "But wouldn't you want to?" she asked, as if it was unbelievable that a teenaged girl wouldn't be nude in public every chance she got. "You'd never have to wear clothes again, except in school."

"Huh?" I asked, "What do you mean, 'except in school?' I thought it would be school most of all."

"Oh no," she assured me, "letting former Program kids go to school naked would dilute the experience and make it too ordinary. Having hundreds of naked teenagers running around would make the participant feel less special. The Program kid has to be singled out and made conspicuous by her nudity."

I wondered (and not for the first time) just how many of these rules really were for my benefit, and how many were because the Program was probably dreamed up by a bunch of full-on perves who got off on embarrassing teens beyond belief. Oh no, we couldn't let the participant feel like she maybe fit in a little.

I walked into English before the final bell. I was still hot from what had happened to me outside Homeroom. I knew I was going to be asking for relief. Mr. Scott took one look at me and started grinning like a fiend.

Well, why not him? I was going to be asking for a volunteer, and was my English teacher any worse a choice than any other guy in class? Indeed, he was a better choice than some.

"Anzu," he almost purred, "do you need relief? You could seek it before or after calling the role."

"Yes I do need it," I confirmed, "but I want a volunteer. A male volunteer, somewhat older than myself."

A few guys didn't get what I was going for with that, and raised their hands. I was glad to see that Mr. Scott did understand, and was raising his hand as well.

I made my eyes very wide and raised my brows as I asked, "Mr. Scott, you? Oh my."

"A good teacher is always willing to see to his students' needs," he grinned, leading me to his desk.

I batted my eyes and lowered my gaze. "Well, if you really don't mind, I ... I guess it's OK with me."

OK, so my bashful schoolgirl act wasn't going to fool anybody. It was still fun.

"How do you want it?"

Well, I'd been asked that before, and already had an answer ready. "As long as it leaves me my technical virginity, do what you like."

In fact, I think those are the exact words I used yesterday, with Farjahd. I'll have to check yesterday's journal and see for sure.

I did feel a bit wicked, of course. I mean, I was getting nibbled on and fingered by my English teacher, for Pete squeaks! But I have to say, he's pretty good. The experience that comes with age? Was thirty-five enough age to count? The erotic charge running up my body told me that it is, and I came on his thumb while he gently bit one nipple and pulled the other. As worked up as I was from the hall, it didn't take long.

But he didn't stop! He just kept going, and before long I was on my way up the mountain again. In truth, he hadn't let me get very far down the slope. In less time than I would have thought, I was coming again.

And he still didn't stop! Nope, he just kept on keepin' on, lips and tongue and teeth and a thumb up inside of me and a finger rubbing my clit and more fingers on whichever nip he didn't have his mouth on. He soon managed to bring me off a third time.

Finally, he stepped away, grinning like a cat with a mouth full of feathers.

"Four minutes and fifty-three seconds!" a male voice shouted from somewhere, and there was laughter. I ginned myself. Not bad, Anzu old girl! Of course, I hadn't really gotten off three times in four minutes and fifty-three seconds. There was all the touching and such in the hall, before Homeroom, and then there was stuff in the hall after Homeroom. So with nearly two hours of "foreplay," finishing me off in four minutes and fifty-three seconds wasn't so strange.

"Thank you," I told him, and went back to my towel. Just before I sat down, though, I had a sudden thought.

"Mr. Scott, do YOU need relief?"

He smiled. "Sure, but I have to teach this class. Of course," he added, "if you're willing to stay around until the warning bell, we could manage something."

"I'll take it under consideration," and I winked.

"And I thank you for it," he winked back. "Now, class, when I asked Anzu 'how do you want it, ' she gave an interesting answer. I believe her exact words were: 'As long as it leaves me my technical virginity, do what you like.' Let's diagram that sentence, and then try substituting some synonyms for some of the words and see if we have preserved the meaning."

Diagramming the sentence took no real time at all; we'd all been diagramming sentences since at least middle school. It was the synonym substitution that got interesting.

"Provided that it preserves me my official chastity, act as you will."

"Allowing that my nominal maidenhood is maintained, suit yourself."

"Given that you deprive me not of my innocence, do whatever you please."

"Anything but fucking's OK."

And so on. Then we diagramed each of those. Finally, we discussed whether or not each sentence preserved both the meaning and the feel of the original. Zeyed pointed out that while "anything but fucking's OK" carries exactly the same information about what is or is not allowed, it fails to convey that the speaker is a virgin. Then we talked about how a sentence can say things beyond the obvious, or how the obvious can be subtly stated. Finally, I was asked which new sentence I liked best.

"Well actually," I started, rather embarrassed at the whole proceeding, "I thought my original sentence was just fine. I don't know, though; I might have to use 'deprive me not of my innocence' later today."

When class ended I made a point of going straight to Mr. Scott's desk.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked once the rest had left.

"The question is: what can I do for you?"

"Or perhaps the question is: what WILL you do for me?"

I grinned huge. "Anything but fucking's OK. Oh, and I'm a virgin."

He laughed at that, but then got serious. "I think," he suggested, "that you should consider the implications of the words 'anything but' before we go any further."

I was a bit startled by that, but recovered almost instantly. "Anything that doesn't involve putting your penis inside either of my lower openings," I amended. "And if you're thinking of oral sex, well, I did that for the first time yesterday, so if you don't mind a beginner, then drop 'em and I'll see what I can do for you."

His face lit up and his pants hit the floor. I dropped to my knees and started licking. Realizing that we were short of time, I started in with the same sort of sucking/jacking technique I had used on Bret yesterday. I bobbed my head in short, fast strokes and took him in a bit deeper a few times before switching back. And all the time, I couldn't believe I was doing this.

There was nothing in the Program that required me to blow my English teacher. This was more than could be required even by "making use" of a Program participant. If Mr. Scott had ordered me to suck his cock, I not only could have refused, I could have reported him and he would likely have been fired. The only way for him to get his prick in my mouth all nice and legal was for me, during my Program week, to offer him a blow job without any pressure or prodding.

Which of course is exactly what I had done. But why? I honestly don't know, except that, well, doing my English teacher was sort of a feather in my cap (not that I was wearing a cap).

Mr. Scott groaned, and I knew he was close. I squeezed his ass with one hand and jacked him faster with the other. A louder groan and I felt butt muscles clench.

"Anzu, Anzu I'm ... going to..."

He started to pull away, but I slapped his ass with my left hand and then whipped that same hand over my head in an "A-OK" sign. He didn't pull away after that, but instead tangled the fingers of one hand in my hair as he started pumping his cock in and out of my mouth. Like he was fucking me, I realized. Wow.

When he came, it was a lot. More than Bret. Because of his age? And it had a slightly bitter taste, not bad really, but noticeable. I wondered if that, too, might be because he was thirty-five. I know that in your day that was considered the beginning of middle-age. Today we consider forty to forty-five the beginning of middle-age.

I swallowed as best I could, though some leaked out and dribbled down my chin, stringing down unto my right tit. I stood up and batted my eyes at him.

"That was cool," I told him. "I'd love to stay and bask in the afterglow, but I've got SMA and I don't dare be late. We're going out in the vacuum."

"On your way, then," he smiled, pulling up his underwear and pants. "And thank you. That was marvelous."

I turned around to find a half-dozen people staring at me! They applauded and I took a quick bow, walking out into the hall as fast as I dared. I hadn't gone three steps away when the warning bell rang, and I knew it was going to be close. I got a couple of Reasonable Requests along the way, but I just barked out, "sorry, late," and didn't even slow down.

I walked into Mr. Glazer's classroom a whopping two seconds before the final bell. He glared at me, but then addressed the class.

"If we're all quite ready," he almost snarled, "let's all go catch the floater and get out there. And Anzu," his eyes seemed to hit me with a physical force, "you are cutting it way too close. You're technically on time, so you're not losing any points, but I hope after your Program week is over you won't be so impunctual."

"Right," I nodded, "and before you ask: no, I don't need relief. Let's go."

On the way to the floater, I thought a bit more about what I'd done with Mr. Scott. He was cute enough, for a teacher, but I'm not some Lolita who pants after older men. Why did I do it? Was it just because I could? Because it was, in fact, a feather in my cap? A feather in my cap ... a notch in my belt?

Was I doing with Mr. Scott what Kevin wanted to do with me? Well, it wasn't exactly the same. I hadn't bragged to all my friends that I was going to do it. It was just something I knew he'd like, it seemed exciting, and so I did it. I mean hell, it's the Program, right? I'm supposed to do things I'd never do before.

We walked to the end of the hall, boarded the elevator, and stepped out in the station. The floater station was a small basement, about the size of a classroom, underneath the school. Several buildings have floater stations, and the floaters themselves are maglev vehicles which run along the outside of the habitat, in the vacuum. The floater carriage itself was already there (Mr. Glazer had arranged for this), and we stepped aboard. It looks sort of like a long platform on tiny wheels, with seats on top of the platform. We simply stepped onto the platform, sat down, and waited for it to retract into the body of the floater. Once it had, the floater's airlock closed, the station's airlock closed, and the floater started acceleration. The main body of the thing had never left vacuum, and thus was untroubled by wind resistance.

Remember Coriolis effect, from the bicycle ride? Well the effect was much stronger now, because we were gaining altitude much more quickly. However, the engineers who built the system knew that, and the floater tilted appropriately. We wouldn't've even known if we hadn't read about it.

The distance travelled was short, just over fifteen hundred metres (just shy of a mile, for those still using that old system), and we made the trip in just under one minute. Exiting took almost another minute. Overall, from the ringing of that last bell to exiting the floater at the axis station had taken less than five minutes. Putting our suits on would take longer.

This was interesting for me, because all the other students had to take off their shoes, any dangly jewelry, or bulky items they might be wearing before they could put the suit on. I just put it on over my skin. It was also the first time I'd worn anything that really covered me since Monday morning.

It was weird. I couldn't feel the air on my skin; I felt material against me everywhere. The truth is, I've never enjoyed wearing space suits, but this was different even than that. It just seemed strange to be covering myself up.

Of course it was utterly necessary. Program or no Program, the human body just isn't made to survive in vacuum. It was either wear the suit or skip class, and I wasn't about to do that, what with Mr. Glazer already half-ticked with me. Besides, we were going to be laying down sapphire, and I didn't want to miss that.

All suited up, we waited while the pumps emptied the airlock of air, and then the door swung open and we drifted out into space. Using the thrusters on our suits, we all followed Mr. Glazer as he took us about five hundred metres from Mendocino to where our project awaited us. Mendocino itself filled my view on one side, while Earth was visible a bit to the sunward side and the Moon was behind me. In the distance, I could see other habitats: Shunyi, looking about as big around as a basketball would from a metre away, but obviously much further than that. And there was Perth, so small in the distance I could block it from sight with my gloved thumb, held at arm's length. In another direction I could just make out Monrovia, so tiny I wouldn't've known it was a habitat if it hadn't been there my whole life. There were others, hard to tell from a bright star. The real stars were all around, except where blocked by Earth, Moon, sun, Mendocino Island or one of the other habitats.

As many times as I've seen this view since Mom first showed it to me, when I was seven years old, it still takes my breath away. There's just no way to convey the sheer BIGNESS of it all. If you imagine yourself far out to sea, with nothing but the ocean and sky as far as can been seen, that doesn't even begin to suggest the grand celestial enormity of Space.

There wasn't much time to admire the view, though, because we'd already taken twelve minutes to get here, and it would take another twelve when we were done. That gave us just sixteen minutes for actual practice, and there were twenty of us. We already knew the basics as Mr. Glazer taught us the finer points of sapphire deposition.

Sapphire is a wonderful material to make stuff out of. It has a higher tensile strength than most forms of steel, is harder than any other naturally occurring mineral except diamond, has a very high melting point, won't burn (it's already oxidized), and is less brittle than glass or diamond.

It's transparent but easily colored. Natural gem sapphires are blue because they contain trace amounts of titanium and iron. Rubies are red because they contain trace amounts of chromium, but really ruby is just red sapphire. Other trace elements can produce green, purple, yellow, and even black. A natural pinkish orange gem sapphire is called a padparadscha and is the most expensive type of all, but nobody seems able to agree exactly where the line is between "padparadscha" and "not a padparadscha." I wouldn't buy one myself; too much chance of paying a high price now only to be told in a few years that my precious padparadscha is a mere "fancy colored sapphire." I think padparadschas are beautiful, but my favorite thing about the padparadscha is its name; it's just fun to say: padparadscha, padparadscha, padparadscha.

To make stuff out of sapphire isn't the easiest thing. The depositing machines used mirrors to concentrate solar heat onto the feed chambers, where aluminum was heated to a temperature so high that it didn't just melt, it boiled into a fine vapor. This vapor is sprayed onto the substrate (tin is popular for substrates) in layers less than a thousandth of a millimetre thick, if one is building up plate aluminum. But for sapphire, oxygen has to be introduced into the equation. We had tanks of liquid oxygen attached to our depositors; these were set to add gaseous oxygen to the stream of aluminum vapor. Sapphire is a form of the mineral corundum, or crystalline Al2O3, and getting it to deposit on the substrate in that form isn't just a matter of mixing the two elements together. It has to be done in just the right proportions, and it has to be deposited on the substrate within a certain range of temperatures, or else you either don't get sapphire, or you get sapphire which is cracked and unsuitable for making anything of value.

Since certain must-not-fail items (such as habitat pressure shells) are made of sapphire or mostly sapphire, it was important to get it right. Also, sapphire has become a popular material for craftsmanship types, and no matter what material you're working in, you have to know what you're doing if you want your hand-crafted whatever to be beautiful.

So now we were simply laying it down in flat stripes, something that would be automated in a real construction site. But the automated machinery has human supervisors, and a supervisor who's laid down a little Al2O3 in his day will get the job over one who hasn't. We'd done plenty of book learning in class, and once every two weeks we'd head out here into the vacuum to play with the grown-up's toys.

I shouldn't call the depositor a toy, though. It's potentially dangerous. Think of the band saw in a woodshop class: fine if you use it right; deadly if you're an idiot. Fortunately, none of us are idiots, so we lay down micron after micron of good sapphire, all of us, over and over, until we'd built up nearly half a millimetre.

But then our time was up, and we headed back to Mendocino. As much as I don't like wearing a space suit, I do like to see my home from outside sometimes. Of course from outside you don't really see the pressure shell; you see the radiation shield. But since that surrounds the habitat and has the same overall shape, it's still pretty impressive. That shield really contributes to the feeling of security we feel living in our Island.

I'll admit that I sometimes feel a bit nervous, out in the vacuum, with nothing but this thin suit between me and the harsh environment of Space. But there's no way not to feel protected inside Mendocino. The pressure hull is up to ten centimetres thick of laminated sapphire and that radiation shield is two and three-quarter metres thick of reinforced stone. Mendocino could shrug off a beating that would sink a battleship.