Chapter 7

I can't tell you the name of the mall—though I must have seen the name many times. Harmony wanted to buy me some sandals. I was going to be on Program Outreach frequently—holidays and weekends mostly—as long as I was at the Corporal John Freeman Mackie Military School for Boys. Harmony was going to be my girlfriend. There was a seven year age difference between us, not that it mattered to me. Besides, if you stood us side by side Harmony could have passed herself off as a junior high school girl. I was sort of in the seventh grade—Mackie was a school where the students learned at an accelerated pace.

Miss Krystal was from the Federal Office of Social Awareness, and she and Harmony were getting married early next year. Harmony looked liked a young girl, but Miss Krystal was a very beautiful woman—a mature woman in her mid-twenties. Miss Krystal drove. I sat between Miss Krystal and Harmony on the bench front seat of the official FOSA sedan, seat belt buckled. I may have been naked—in compliance with Program regulations—but I was 'safe' because I had that fabric belt cinched around my waist!

I watched Miss Krystal's breasts wobble with the motion of the car. I wasn't staring, honest—but I could see them in my peripheral vision.

"Hey!" Harmony grumped. "I'm over here!"

"I thought you didn't like boys," I said in defense. Harmony wasn't hard on the eyes, either—and I liked looking at her naked body. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"You can't hurt me as long as you are on SlackTime," Harmony remarked. "Stiffies scare me."

"Harmony, dear," Miss Krystal interrupted, "be nice. Go ahead and tell Scott why you can't stand men."

"Krys-tal!" Harmony whined.

"It's okay," Miss Krystal said. "Scott was abused. He'll understand. He won't think less of you."

I won't repeat Harmony's horror story here. It was bad, but it isn't my story—it's Harmony's story. I can't imagine anything that bad happening to me. Harmony's story prompted my actions a couple of hours later.

Harmony ended her tale as Miss Krystal parked the sedan in a handicapped space. I was too horrified to comment on the blue and white sign in front. The asphalt pavement was warmer than the white concrete sidewalk and I was glad that it was still morning—hot pavement didn't sear my bare feet.

The first stop was a beauty salon. Miss Krystal went in the back and Harmony had her hair and nails done while I watched. Harmony's fly-away hair do was tamed into something called a "pixie." Hair styles are a mystery to me.

"You look pretty like that," I said.

"Maybe we can have matching hair styles," Harmony suggested.

"The Commandant won't let me," I said, "but I can ask anyway. The worst that will happen is that I will be doing bends and thrusts until I leave Mackie."

"Harmony can always have her head shaved," Miss Krystal said as she emerged from the back room. "How do you like my new hair style?"

Like a fool, I looked at her head.

"Miss Krystal, I don't see any difference," I said.

"Not up here, silly," Miss Krystal pointed at her pubic mound. "Down here."

She had short public hair in a neat rectangle this morning—now she was as bald down below as me or Harmony.

"Nice," I said. "I like it."

"Hey!" Harmony scolded. "I'm supposed to be your girlfriend."

"My apologies," I said. "I'm new to the boyfriend game. How am I supposed to respond when a lady asks me how I like something?"

"Harmony, don't tease Scott," Miss Krystal commanded. "He doesn't know enough to play those games yet."

Games. One of The Program goals was to foster better 'understanding' between the genders. It didn't help that I was much younger than the two women.