I woke up in Sam's condo on the third morning of my junior year of high school and found myself slightly disoriented. I of course expected to wake up in the long cotton-wool-blend flannel nightie that came to my ankles, and to awaken in the home the church provided for its pastor and his family.

Instead I woke up under a light blanket, (warm but very lightweight) and stark naked. I looked around, shocked that it wasn't my old room, nor was it my old life. I remembered then, this was Sam Kramer's condo; I was in her spare bedroom, now officially my bedroom, and I had committed myself to remaining nude for the rest of the school year.

I climbed out of bed and padded my way bare foot into the bathroom I was to use. Sam had two in the condo; one attached to her master bedroom and this one at the top of the stairs. There was another half bath, just a commode and sink, in a closet type room between the kitchen and garage on the first floor. On the second floor, in addition to my room and the master suite, there was an alcove with a desk and a laptop computer. Sam told me this was my study area and my computer was slaved to her printer downstairs in her home office. My parents had believed computers and the Internet were tools of the devil and had never allowed one in the home. To be able to do my research and gather information at home instead of having to sneak to the public library (another den of iniquity and filth according to my father) was a sheer luxury for me.

It had taken all of two nights in Sam's house to realize how relaxed the dress code was. Sam's idea of formal wear was a to-the-knee robe tied loosely at the waist with a sash-type belt. Sports wear and casual wear were the same style. Usually Sam stayed naked. I could not possibly be uncomfortable with my nudity when this gorgeous thirty-two year old school nurse was right there setting the example.

Sam's condo was one of twelve, built three on a side, forming a square with an open courtyard in their center. It was here that the pool, hot tub and sun decks were located. Additionally, each condo had a courtyard-facing balcony off of the master bedroom. From the activity around the pool last evening I gathered the condo association was either nudity accepting or clothing optional. Sam took me around and introduced me to several men and women and explained I was her ward and would be staying with her for a while. I had never had to hug so many naked women nor shake hands with so many naked men in my life. That would change as time went on of course but for only my second full day as a committed nudist it was weird.

The previous night I thought I embarrassed Sam to death when I needed help with a calculus problem in my homework. I yelled into the next room, "Mom!"

She came at a run and said, "What?"

"OMG I'm so sorry," I said.

"For what, little one?"

I tried to cover with, "For disturbing you from what you were doing."

She grinned at me and stroked my shoulder. "I am not your mother, but since we met in your sophomore year I have loved you as if you were my daughter, so do not worry if that slips out once in a while." She then saw the calculus problem suggested a way to solve the problem and we both relaxed into our relationship.

The next afternoon following school she and I went shopping at the local drog store and she picked up some stuff I'd never seen nor heard of before. When we got home, she put me in her tub in the master bedroom suite bathroom, and proceeded to show me how to groom myself. She used a very narrow electric razor to trim my bush back to a light stubble, and a hair removal crème on my legs and backside. Wow, I had never felt this naked, naked, before. When she told me I had gone from cavewoman to modern twenty-first century teen-ager in the two hours we had spent in the bathroom my response was a long drawn out, "Sam." She, as our relationship gained time and experience, was fond of telling everyone that, "SAM" yelled in certain tones and at certain volumes with many facial expressions accompanying it could mean everything from "I'm in pain to you are embarrassing me."

I was concerned that the next day was another community service day, Candy Striping at the nursing home, and I was now really nude. Sam lovingly asked, "Except for Henrietta how did the folks react on Monday?" When I told her that everyone else just accepted it as part of my school work (I didn't tell her how happy some of the women were to reap the benefits of my being on display for the men) and it did not stop me from doing my assigned work, she told me I should just go and be honest with the residents.

Well, first I had another whole day of classes to get through. Sam drove an older jeep with a convertible top. So strapped in to the passenger seat, with her next to me in her nursing uniform driving, I rode wind in hair and on bare skin to school with her.

About twenty percent of the student body had opted for the 'all nude all the time' program participation. Among them was Barb Adams, who had warned me what to expect while walking to school the first day. Barb's parents attended the church my father pastored; her father was on the Trustee Board and her mother taught Sunday school there. She and I shared first period class and before the bell rank she asked me to see her after class ended.

"How are things going," Barb asked first as we walked together down the corridor.

"It's a little weird, I woke up this morning and didn't know where I was at first, but Sam, er, Nurse Kramer, has been very nice and supportive, Barb, so I'm getting by, how are you doing?"

"Great," she giggled. "The church has been rotating the trustee board meetings in members homes while the administrative wing is being redone. Last night they met in our house. Mom had me serve the snacks, just as I am, and I realized afterward that she did it to gain a measure of support for you," Barb paused, "nine trustees and Pastor in attendance. The only one offended by my natural state was Pastor. He went on a diatribe about how the human body is sinful and should not be gazed upon, not even between married couples who should pray forgiveness every time they lusted for each other's flesh. Mom walked in then, she had quietly stripped in the kitchen, my Dad rose and hugged her close and told Pastor to his face that anyone who considered the sight of his wife and daughter offensive was not welcome in his home. Only Pastor and one other trustee rose to leave. When they had gone the balance of the board discussed how pastor had treated you and what they had just observed. They voted and all eight were in agreement, Pastor should request a transfer and resign this pulpit." Finishing with a smile, she added, "Everyone would welcome you back, naked, whenever you wish to return, Greta."

"Thanks, Barb," I said, "I do so love you and your Mom and Dad for taking a risk and taking a stand against that rigid opinionated bigot; however, I don't think I'll be returning to that church for a while."

"Well, you are welcome in our home for dinner or to visit whenever you wish," Barb winked, "just as you are without one stitch. I'll be there that way also, you know, and bring Sam too; Mom and Daddy would really like to meet her." Barb peeled off down the side corridor to her next class while I continued on to my next one with a smile on my face. I had a friend my age, who was also living the naked life style and her folks were accepting of the changes going on in the world around them.

I stuck my head into the Nurse's office and seeing no one there waiting to see her I knocked on Sam's office door.

"Enter."

"Hi, Sam, I just saw Barb Adams and her folks want us to come to dinner some day soon. Gotta run, class in three minutes."

The saucy seniors in the nursing home were so happy to see me. I wheeled my cart from room to room, delivering magazines and books, but what they really wanted was for me to sit on the foot of the bed, or in a chair and chat for a while. One of the aides told me later that while the nudity didn't hurt at all, what they enjoyed most was my openness and willingness to let them be a part of my life. Several of the residents had grand children and in one case a great grandchild who were either just coming of age for Program participation or in the Program themselves. I could sense that some of the questions they asked me were so they would have answers for their own families. Yes, and the bonus was the guys were stimulated sufficiently by the end of my visits that the women 'got some' that night. I still can't wrap my head around that one. My first workday at the residence, following the incident with my father, I found out that Henrietta, the woman who had ratted me out to my father, had been moved to a different wing of the facility.

The two new women in Henrietta's old room were in their sixties. One had suffered a stroke and was going through rehabilitation and the other had lost a leg in an accident. She was waiting for a prosthesis leg and also going through physical therapy. Sarah and May would become important to my life as junior year went on. Both of them had pool therapy as part of their physical rehabilitation. I could not swim, my father had decided long ago that swim suits were tools of Satan to allow women's flesh to be exposed to the lustful eyes of men, but I was scheduled for swim class in the spring half of Junior year. The pair of them got me assigned to transportation on their therapy days and I would wheel them in their wheelchairs to the pool and wait for the sessions to be finished so I could wheel them back to their room. Sarah, who had the stroke, went into the water and the therapist held her with a harness device that allowed her to move her arms and legs in a swimming motion.

The therapist seeing my rapt attention as to what she was doing, invited me into the pool. She hooked me to the device and showed me how she could tension it or relax it allowing the 'swimmer' to work his or her muscles, but the therapist maintained control so the swimmer was never at risk of sinking or drowning. I told her I was a non-swimmer and was afraid to put my face in the water at all. May, who before her accident loved water aerobics, yelled, "If we have to relearn how to swim, Greta, you have to learn too." So began six weeks of them watching me hooked up in the harness that they also used, gradually going from doggie paddle to a reasonable freestyle over stroke. Just before the pair of them was discharged I swam the length of the pool on my own. The cheering from the therapists and the two women almost made me forget what I was doing. Fortunately by that time I was out of the deep end and on my way back to the shallow when that happened.

By November, the district superintendent of the denomination had reassigned my birth parents and a younger, more receptive, pastor called to take charge of the church. The church started a coffee house every other Friday, which they called the Oasis for teens in and out of the Program to gather and interact in a safe haven. Sam and I attended several times that year when they had live groups entertaining. The Adams' had spread the word that I was now using Greta Demure as my name and I was always welcomed as Greta, my old raw wounds left behind by years of parental abuse were slowly healing.

Sam's mom, who insisted I call her Gramma Kramer, came for a visit the week of Thanksgiving. I gave up my room for her and Sam moved me in with her in her king sized bed for the five nights of her visit. From the time Gramma arrived the first day until she retired to bed she was dressed in a knee length dress and sensible shoes. Intent on baking fresh apple and peach pies for Thanksgiving dinner, Gramma was up first the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I heard the shower close down and waited for the bathroom door to open and close before I snuck out of the covers, carefully lifting Sam's arm off of my waist, to go pee. Thus relieved, I wandered down stairs to the kitchen to get some orange juice and maybe a piece of toast and walked in on a sight that stopped me cold.

Gramma Kramer, wearing nothing but an old fashioned apron was hard at work on the dough for the piecrusts. I coughed and got her attention, she turned, "Good morning, dear, you look lovely, as always, would you like pancakes for breakfast?"

"Yes, please," I said, and used to making them for Sam offered, "may I help you?"

"No dear, I know Sam is not much of a cook, and I know that you have been caring for her as much as she has been caring for you. While I'm here you relax and let me care for the both of you." Gramma made me sit got me a glass of juice and a cup of coffee and we chatted. Turns out Sam was raised by a couple of nudists who owned a time share at Sun Tan Valley Naturist Vacation Resort, Gramma continued to spend the summer there even after her husband passed away and her daughter went off to college. The apron was to prevent flour and other ingredients from getting into her hair, her pubic hair, because it was such a mess to get out later.

She told the usual parents embarrassing their children stories about Sam when she was a girl and she had me laughing so hard I needed to use the half bath off the kitchen to pee again. When I returned to the kitchen, Sam was sitting in her usual chair muttering, "Mother, you did not tell Greta THAT story, please tell me you didn't."

"Which story, Sam," I asked in impish innocence.

"Never, you mind which story," she sort of gargled and her mother and I laughed even harder.

We spent the day running errands and doing chores around the condo and all three of us relaxed for a while in the hot tub. When Gramma went to bed, she hugged me tighter than anyone ever had, and whispered, "You are so good for my daughter and you are so loved, by her and by me. Never forget that."

As I slipped into Sam's bed later, Sam turned to me and said, "Greta, you need to know that if I had been able to bear my own child, I could never have gotten one I could love more than you, thank you for letting me part of your life."

I cried myself to sleep with happiness that night.

Thanksgiving night my 'other' education began. I heard noise coming from Sam's side of the bed and rolled over to find her fingering her lower lady parts. "Oh", I said and rolled back over to give her privacy to finish.

When she had, she tenderly asked if she had embarrassed me. I told her no I just thought maybe she had a bellyache and needed something to relieve it.

As soon as the words came out we both realized the unintended double entendre I had uttered and laughed so hard we must have awakened Gramma in the next room, for she knocked and then walked in to Sam's room to find out what the noise was all about.

"Greta caught me satisfying myself, Mom," Sam admitted to her mother.

"I thought she was sick and I wanted to see if she needed help," I said sheepishly, which set all three of us off again.

Gramma shocked me when she asked, "Do you take pleasure in your own release, little one?"

"I know girls do, and I know how from Sam's lectures, but no I never have," I blurted.

Gramma snuggled in on my left and Sam was still on my right and the two of them went to work on me. Sam supported me in a half sitting half reclining position and Gramma did all the work. Slow circles around my nipples with her thumbs were followed by butterfly kisses down my stomach before tender loving hands stroked my thighs to separation and then it was Gramma's fingers dancing on my clitoris that brought me groaning to my first massive orgasm. Sam's mom's touch set me off to a second. To say I slept very well that night is an understatement and when I woke needing to pee, I was still sandwiched between my foster parent and her mother. For the first time in my life I realized I felt loved, safe and secure.

Friday morning over coffee the three of us talked. Sam told me that in her position of authority over me, she would never touch me sexually. Short of that I was to feel free to masturbate myself whenever I felt the need. Further, I was allowed to watch Sam when she felt the need arise as well. Gramma smiled and said, "It is simple little one, it is an itch and when you itch you scratch." That got an, 'ew, gross, ' out of me and both older women laughed.

Gramma quietly told me, that afternoon while Sam went for groceries, why Sam could not have children. Her husband, a football player for the college they both attended, had strong anger management issues. Sam had been openly bi-sexual all of her life, but chose to marry her boyfriend. While on their honeymoon he had caught her chatting with an attractive pool attendant and assumed Sam and the other girl were going to get together for lesbian sex. He caught Sam in their room and beat her badly then kicked her in her pubic area several times so hard her uterus ruptured. He went to jail, she went to the hospital and had her uterus removed to stop the bleeding internally. That was ten years ago.

Sam, who wanted a family desperately, could never have a child of her own. She changed her career track from surgical nursing to school nursing and counseling, just to be around the children she could not have. She trained as a foster parent for the same reason. "Now," Gramma whispered, "she has the little girl she always craved. I'm happy to say I also have a granddaughter I adore." She kissed me, and I hugged her in return. Wow, did I feel loved, safe and secure.

Friday night Sam, Gramma and I attended the Thanksgiving football game at the high school stadium. We watched as the cheerleaders did their routine nude, and the color guard lead the marching band on to the field at half time with Barb Adams, holding the school flag in the leather flag holder stark naked. After the game Barb and her folks and the three of us met at the church coffee house to chat. It was cool, the two high school kids naked, the adults clothed and just talking like friends and family do about this and that and the other thing.