Okay, Monday is the easy day. Why is it taking so much work to write about?
Sandi was waiting for me just inside the chemistry room. I came on strong and backed her into a corner.
"What is your problem? You should know better. Get off my ass!" I demanded
"Chill, Program girl," she said pointedly. "Yeah, I know. Been there, remember? You want an interesting week, don't you? It'll be like you made mine."
We were both referring to last year. Sandi was the one chosen girl from our class. We sure made her week interesting and didn't do anything harmful. Had to agree she was returning what we, I, gave her then. She had a really good week. She got free and comfortable with her body, at least for a freshman.
I walked away without answering that. I'll cut her some slack as long as she keeps it within the Program.
Chemistry class is taught my Mr. Canaris, husband of Mrs. We have a few married couples teaching here. Again, I walked right to the front of the room.
"Will you need relief?" he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders forward, squeezed my boobs together between my arms and pressed both hands into my mound. I was careful through all of that not to cover anything important.
"Mmm. That would feel sooo good right now, but it would take more than five minutes. No thanks, this time," I answered.
He introduced the lab problem and used it as an example to go over lab practices. When he got to the subject of acids, he made the point about lab aprons. My first job as Program girl in this class was to model the required apron. No way could this be a Program violation. It’s protective and the teacher was telling me to do it. I pulled my apron from the plastic bag it comes in. No way could this be a Program violation even if it wasn't required. It's all clear transparent plastic and doesn't hide anything. I held it up in front of myself and wiggled everything. My boobs stick out past the bib even when they aren't swaying. Boys cheered. Girls rolled their eyes.
I tucked the bib of the apron under my chin. That pulled it way up high where it was wide enough to cover my boobs. I reached to tie it behind my neck. That made my boobs extra springy. Even the tiny movement of tying the strings made them wiggle. The girls joined the boys in hooting at me. They got that I was smiling and wiggling to show off. They were going with me on this. I showed the hooting class my rear view when I tied the strings behind myself. Those string should go around my waist. To get boob protection, I have to pull the apron up to where the strings go around higher than a bra strap. That leaves the apron hanging from my boobs with lots of space at my waist. My impression of a model walking on a runway was way exaggerated and brought even more hoots.
Mr. Canaris had me take off the apron for now. I did a strippers dance. I'm sure it was very amateur, but it had the effect I wanted. I dipped the apron to flash my boobs at the class, then pulled it back up. The silly part was that the transparent apron hid nothing. The boys hooted when I 'flashed.' Girls cheered when I wiggled my hips and strutted with my mound pushed out in front.
"Have an apron with you tomorrow. They're required or you'll get an F for the lab," the teacher warned.
I had another demonstration to do. This is one that wouldn't work with someone dressed. There's a safety shower at the back of the room. It's supposed to wash stuff off skin or clothes quickly. Mr. Canaris led me back there. I just stood under the shower, shivering in anticipation. I wasn't disappointed. When he pulled the handle, I shrieked and sputtered. Goosebumps happened all over me and especially at my nipples. They came way out like they usually do.
I stood there acting like the drowned rat I must have looked like. I blew through the corner of my mouth at my dripping hair. The rest of the class was laughing with me. The cool water felt good after the initial shock. Our old building has no air conditioning. We keep windows open, but it still gets warm.
Mr. Canaris produced several large towels and gave them to me with a smile. Yes, he knew he'd have a Program participant to try this on. Everyone watched me dry off. Ever try to dry everything without covering? Can't. I made up for it by rubbing extra hard on my head. The hair drying made my everything shake. Boys hooted. Girls sighed and faced the front of the class.
"We'll do the labs by twos. That fits with 14 in the class. Debra, you pick the partners," Mr. Canaris announced.
Oh, crap. There's almost no way I could get this right. Somebody is sure to be pissed about my choice of partner for them. We all know who the dating couples are. Everyone who's not dating has someone they like - a crush, or maybe a strong lust. I'm sure I'll get mine right, but I'll be lucky to get any of the others.
"Kurt!" I almost shouted. "You're my partner. Come help ... pleeeeease."
His jaw dropped open in surprise, then he actually smiled and looked pleased. He's plenty brainy, quiet and a little shy. He does good work and does what everyone expects. He came to the front reluctantly, though. This was gonna be a hard job. He got into the picking as we went through the easy ones. I knew of two dating couples and he knew a third. One couple was a pair of girls. I knew to put Becky with Victor. She's ga-ga over him. I gag, but it's her crush. She gave me a wink and big thankful smile. We needed two more pairs.
"Sandi ... with ..." I started and let it hang over her head.
Both of the remaining boys sit in front of her. She pointed frantically at one of them, then quit pointing when they turned around. The angelic Sandi sat still looking at me. She had been dating the other boy when she had her Program week. It didn't survive the week and I guess they're not over it. Kurt agreed, so we put Sandi with Tom. The leftover pair are partners by default. They looked like they didn't care.
Mr. C handed out the lab problem and instructions. It was for a simple titration to measure acidity. He had us look over the lab tables and bottles of chemicals, but not touch since we didn't all have aprons. Hey, I was ready.
After the ball rang, Sandi cornered me before we left the room. Kurt was still with me.
"Thanks for putting me with anybody but ... him," she said.
"What's up with him? Not over each other?" I asked.
"It's been awkward since my Program week. Lost my virginity, but it wasn't with him. That can really do in a growing relationship, " she confessed. "I owe you."
"Remember that," I replied with a sly smile.
I have something to remember, too. I want a relationship with Kurt.
The pair of girls dashed by on their way out. They were both smiling and giving me thumbs up. Most of us know about their relationship, but we don't make a big thing of it.
Those girls went dashing by because lunch is next. We have the choice. We can bolt, bag or barf. That means we can leave school to get food, bring it in a bag or eat what the cafeteria serves and try to hold it down. That cafeteria food isn't worth it even when it's free in your Program week. It's not a rule, but the Program kid is expected to stay at school and be available. That left me with the brown bag. I had a sandwich and apple. Fresh fruit? In our cafeteria? We wish. The milk cartons are packed by the dairy and soft drinks canned by their companies. There isn't much the cafeteria can do to them, but we suspect they try. Baggers usually buy their drinks.
Kurt bolts, so he left. He actually goes to work. His family runs Schuler's Inn. It's on the corner right across Main Street from the school. He dashes over there every day. It's the one good sit-down eating place in town. They have a good staff of cooks, waiters and stuff, but need more help in the rush of lunch and supper. Kurt has to be some of that help. He did bussing since he was big enough to carry a tray. He's a waiter now.
I and my bubble went by way of the locker to the cafeteria. The bubble picked up a few upperclassmen. One was Frank, a football star - a very big star of the offensive line. The line he gave me wasn't offensive at all, just another scare about the touching.
"Cute little clit, Deb. Just right on a cute little girl," he said looking right at it as I posed.
Just wait. When the touching starts, he'll find out how big that cute little clit gets. I'll bet Frank's one who tortures me with it.
There were lots of freshmen in the halls on the way to the cafeteria. They mostly froze in their tracks and stared at naked me. They haven't had enough exposure to Program seniors in only two weeks of school. Most of them have first-month jitters about their own bodies, too. They turn their backs in the locker room and skip showers. I know how much they are supposed to get from the Program. It doesn't all go one way.
I took the initiative. I bounced, jiggled, turned and posed even when they didn't ask requests. They all stared, even the girls. The boys were so cute they way they tried to hide all the adjusting they did in their pants. If touching was allowed, I would have groped them all. Yes, I'm that kind of Program participant.
My bouncing and jiggling went right up the line. A few junior girls were at the front of that line. They didn't pay much attention. Their part of the line moved and separated from all the freshmen. I cut in. Oh, I thanked all the freshmen for letting me in, but they didn't really have a choice. I only grabbed a milk, so it wasn't like I held them up.
The Program kid gets to finish eating or a half hour, whichever comes first. The half hour starts when the eating starts. Delay getting to the cafeteria and time in line don't count. That rule is written and the teachers monitoring the cafeteria make it stick. I went to a table outside and no bubble followed me. Becky, with Victor, Steph and a few other cheerleaders came to sit with me. Victor was the only boy. He felt out of place with all that estrogen and left. Poor Becky. Kept me from gagging.
“So, how high you gonna jump when they get their hands on you?” that was Becky’s first chance to tease me about being touched.
“Plenty. I am sooo not ready,” I answered.
“Hey, it’s not so bad,” said one of the senior cheerleaders who was in the Program last year. “All those hands get you ready. The good part is getting laid in class and in the shower. Got a good guy ready to do ya?”
“That’s one I’m working on. Gotta find a way to get him to my house before it's too late,” I was talking about Kurt.
It went on about the Program, touching and how good it makes most of the participants feel. Only Becky knows about me. She kept quiet and squeezed my hand every now and then. The food went down okay and I was ready way before the half hour was up.
I crammed the milk carton, sandwich wrap and apple core in the bag. I tossed all that over a table of freshmen right into the trash barrel. I don’t think the freshmen liked the disrespect, but I was trying to get their attention. Didn’t want them to miss the show.
The bubble formed quickly around me. I didn’t have time to stand up before there was a request for me to stand up on the bench. You know me. I got all the way up on the table. Some of the cheerleaders had to finish their food quickly to keep it from getting stepped on. That can be rough – gulping down cafeteria food too quickly.
Everyone had a great view right into my pussy. Some wanted to see my ass, so I turned around. Of course that made my boobs swing, sway and bobble back into place on my chest. The requests got silly then – making me spin around and around. The cheerleaders were glad they finished their food when I got dizzy. I was staggering all over the table.
There were a lot of comments, all intended for me to hear. Boys and girls both said how sexy they thought my pussy is. Just the boys said what they’d like to do to it. That part started getting me wet.
The next request was to spread it – my pussy, that is. I spread my legs, thrust my pussy forward and pulled my lips apart with my fingertips. That was still right at eye level. I smiled at anyone who looked up as high as my face and at the ones who made comments to me.
“Thought you were a virgin, Shortstop,” said one boy.
“Am. The doctor fixed it so I can use tampons,” my answer ended that discussion.
Boys may like to see into a girl’s vagina, but they don’t like to think in terms of pregnancy or periods. Too much of the Eww. Oh, and yes, we know about hymens.
Nobody can touch the Program participant, at least not in a sexy Program way, on Monday, but the participant can touch herself. They had me doing that. My own fingers and my labia are close friends. I was careful to limit the touches. Nothing inside or on my clit. It was still exciting. We know the Program is supposed to build tension and “encourage” the Program kid to seek relief, in class or out. It was working. I didn’t get close to climax, but it was wet. Really wet. Glistening shiny wet. Running down my leg wet.
The boys were doing a lot of stiff walking and sly adjusting of their cocks. Freshmen. They do learn, but it takes more than a couple of weeks. Some of the upperclassmen were openly rubbing themselves and left for the restroom. Some girlfriends promised to take care of them later. There were lots more who gave me a look like they wanted to take care of me.
Our incorporated town has to provide full services and that includes police. We have one cop. Constable Buchmeir has his office in Dad’s sheriff substation and they all use the same 911 dispatcher. The constable gets first choice for calls in town. He also does traffic patrols.
One of his favorites is to sit on Seventh Street at the end of our lunch hour. Attendance is really strict in the next class – automatic detention if you’re not in the room when the bell stops ringing. Anyone who tries to speed into the school parking lot gets a double whammy. It takes time to write the ticket and you’re sure to get detention.
This time he pulled up where he could see me. Everyone around could see short little me when I was up on that table. He looked and his mouth fell open. I waved. I think that broke his stare. He grabbed the microphone of his radio and made a call. His eyes were on me the whole time. The identity of the Program participant got around a little farther.
He didn’t get to write any tickets today. Almost everyone was back extra early and joined the crowd around my table. The older ones made more comments about how top heavy I am and how my boobs move so much.
Eric was ready for me. He brought a baseball. He tossed it to me gently, but really high. I had to jump up from the table top to catch it. I forgot to catch my boobs when I landed. They bounced big time and everyone cheered. I wobbled, staggered, lost my balance and fell off the table. I’ve mentioned how Becky catches me, right? She was right there and caught the toppling, falling, screaming little me. All the ones cheering and hooting held their breath until she put me on my feet.
I expected the trip to take a while and I was off the table, so I started for my locker well before the warning bell. I was right. I was just getting my afternoon books when that bell rang. The bubble was thinner after that, so it moved quickly to the computer lab.
The class is computer lit and the teacher is Mr. Scheer. It’s a combination of keyboarding and how to use the computer for serious stuff. We work with word processing, spreadsheet and internet programs. A naked girl wouldn’t have much to worry about there, would she? Wrong!
Mr. Scheer had checked out how much we already know. Most of us use computers for homework, web surfing, blogging, chatting and games. The games don’t count in this class. We had enough of the basics that he went right into stuff that’s more fun. We’re building fancy documents and working with graphics. That has us starting on scanners and cameras this week. Did you get that? Cameras. Guess who gets to pose.
I went right to the front of the room again and declined relief. Some older boys were disappointed, but they know the 5-minute rule and believed it would take me too long. Mr. Scheer had me pose for pictures. They were supposed to be creative and had to be what the students requested. They had to put the pictures in documents, then add captions and descriptions.
I got to do a lot of poses. The pictures covered the whole surface of my body and at least two inside me. No, only one was into my vagina. The other one was down my throat. Do you think those guys were both thinking of places to stick their cocks?
There were close-ups of my pussy, butt and boobs by most of the boys. My belly, legs, shoulders and back got attention from girls. A couple of guys went after my feet and ears. Go figure. I got to ask for a copy of anyone’s picture I liked to do my document. I picked the one where the guy asked for a profile of my boob.
“Can you get your nipple out as far as it was in Chemistry, please,” he made it a reasonable request.
I gave him a coy smile while I worked my nipples over. They were out almost their whole inch when I pronounced them ready. He got the whole globe of my left breast with the nipple sticking out. He sent a copy to my computer. It was easy to insert into the word processor and caption, “They like it.” My description is about all the stimulation I get from boys doing my chest.
I got top grades for the document and the posing participation. I got lots of comments about my body when kids got to look at close-ups of isolated parts. They still thought everything looks cute and pixie-like.
I had been first period when I last peed. I took the bubble directly to the restroom. Only some came in with me. Some of them had their own business to take care of. Only a few watched me. I’ll never understand why, but I had to let them. When I got off that special toilet, I was right in front of Kurt. He was just coming from a urinal. We were close. Really close. Snuggling, kissing close. Almost Program violation close. We didn’t get closer. We did exchange encouraging smiles.
We also walked to English class together. The bubble made room for him. The warning bell meant we didn't have to make time for requests. English class is no different than any of the others. Miss Brits may be middle-aged and gray of hair, but she's a good teacher. She's also from England. The Program is trying to give us an attitude about our bodies. They've had that attitude in Europe for a long time. That's one of the reasons for the Program. Miss Brits probably grew up on a topless beach. She's one who supports our Program, but thinks it should go farther.
I dropped my books at my desk, did some poses, grabbed my poem, did more poses and went to the front of the room. Miss Brits asked me whether I'd need relief just as the bell rang. I was really feeling the tension, but unless I touched my clit, I still couldn't get off in just five minutes.
The teacher looked over my poem and handed it back. As predicted, I would be the first. A few others would be read today. She asked for volunteers. She got a few, but less than she needed. I got to go to the volunteers and retrieve their poems. Nobody else does anything when there's a Program participant in the class.
I also got papers from the two others Miss Brits selected. That included Becky. She looked scared and mouthed "Sorry" when she handed her paper over to me.
Today's went in one pile and all the rest were passed to the front. I collected them, too.
I felt all the emotion I tried to put into my poem about competition, sport, baseball and winning the championship. Our season had a winning finale, so the poem ended with thrilling, upbeat excitement. I could put all that into my voice when I read it out. I put into my body, too. I was bouncing all over the front of the room. I'm not sure whether the applause was for my poem or for my bouncy boobs.
Miss Brits let the class make comments, criticize and ask questions. The comments were mostly compliments. There were some questions about rhythm since I sped up during the reading - on purpose. They all know the Shortstop. There was one criticism about me, directed to Miss Brits.
"When she faced front, the paper hid one of her breasts," was from Sandi.
"Not from where I'm sitting. Next," Miss Brits had seen Sandi snicker.
By then, the teacher had checked over the next poem. She gave it to me to prepare. The poets after me wouldn't get to read their own stuff. A lot of my grade had to do with how I presented other peoples poetry. She gave the class her impression of my poem while I read the next one.
She thought mine was good technically and well presented. It conveyed the emotions I wanted to express, but .... There's always a but. I hadn't gone very deep. I was all about sport and winning for its own sake. All that excitement was the surface stuff typical of a jock. Humph, I thought. I'll show you. Little did I think it would happen so soon.
The next poem was okay and I presented it at least as good as that shy boy would have. The one after that was about lost love. It was Sandi's. I'm surprised she'd volunteer to have it read when she knew I'd be doing the reading right after she teased me about covering. I had been forgetting that I'm naked when I got into the poems. That's what her tease was trying to remind me about. Her poem was about breaking up during her Program week. There was just a hint of the circumstances, so only a few of us understood. I think Sandi and I were coming to an understanding.
The first non-volunteer's poem was Becky's. The tears started while I was reading it over to prepare. I turned my back to the class and was way not ready when Miss Brits was. This was just too close to home. Becky didn't know about my Program week, so she had to expect to read this herself. Miss Brits, though - how could she give this to me to read? She wasn't here back then. Maybe the name "Mrs. Fuchs" in the poem didn't register.
Okay, this has to be the place to explain and get over it. Maybe I can write about it without crying too much more. It says a lot about Becky and how we became best friends. I told that Mom was killed by a drunk driver. He came speeding out of Schuler's Inn, T-boned the side of Mom's car and pushed her into the oncoming lane. She hit another car head-on. That car had both of Becky's parents in it – and Becky in the back seat.
She and I were both ten years old, classmates and already friends. The loss of our parents brought us closer. She told me about the things that bothered her dreams - the fire and the screaming. We leaned on each other and held each other when we cried. We both saw counselors. You get one guess what her poem is about and how I reacted when I read it in class.
My voice virtually growled Becky's anger at that drunk driver. I gave a crying gasp at her pain from being knocked around in her seatbelt. I spoke in a whining cry with questioning disbelief that her parents weren't moving in the front seat. I was near screaming her fear of the fire that billowed from my Mom's car. I gasped breathlessly telling of the child's panic to get out of the car and away from the flames. I really did scream with the horror Becky felt when Mom screamed and all three died in that fire right in front of her.
There was total silence in the class. Everyone, except maybe Miss Brits, knows the story. This poem filled them all in about how Becky and I both feel about it. I could feel the tears running down my face and dripping onto my chest. I could only see one thing - Becky. Her head was down on the desk. Her whole body was shaking with every sob. That was only half the poem and everyone needed a break before I went on.
I read the next parts more quietly, but it was hard to keep a steady voice. I don't think I did. Becky was relieved and grateful that her oldest brother and his then-new wife quit college and took over their farm. There was a lot of guilt over being a burden to all her older brothers and to me. She ended the poem with pride that she's been doing her share lately and hope since she's trying so hard for scholarships.
The room stayed quiet. I walked over to Becky at her desk and bent down over her back. I hugged her while she kept her head down and kept crying. She turned her head and looked at me through red eyes. I kissed her cheek and she returned a smile.
If anyone thinks that was a Monday Program violation, I have a rule book they can cram up their ass. I totally forgot I was naked. I don't think it made any difference to anyone else, either. Nothing else happened the rest of the period. No poems, no recitation, no discussion, nothing.
Miss Brits called me over after the bell and said, "I'm sorry I implied you're shallow, Debra. Of course that thrilling victory is important to you. Your understanding and depth when reading others' poems is remarkable. Rebecca's was something you feel, too, isn't it?"
I just nodded and met Becky at the door. She was sniffling and still red-faced. A few of our classmates cleared the way. There wasn't a bubble and there weren't any requests. Becky and I both tossed books in our lockers. I carried one little towel and one of my hard cup bras to the gym.
The whole school has PE or some equivalent in the last hour. Practice for sports in season continues for the next hour after school is officially out. We all start in the one locker room at the same time - except the band. They go straight from music class to the field by the elementary school without changing clothes. The football team gets into jocks, pads and practice uniforms and uses the stadium field. The girls' volleyball team gets the gym. Cheerleaders work out on the grassy field by the middle school.
This is the Program stuff that's not so new - our one locker room. Boys and girls from the various teams and squads are mixed together in the rows of lockers. Except for freshmen in the first couple of months, we just change clothes. There isn't much of the staring. A few get aroused, but we don’t make a big thing of it – no more than any other compliment.
Oh, there is one other exception - the Program participant. I didn't have to change - wasn't allowed to. It's not written, but it's what everyone expects that the participant stays in the locker room and on display. There's no going right to the activity or any moment of privacy. I'm usually the one who makes the participant live up to the expectation on Monday afternoon. I knew what I'd have to do.
I tossed the little towel into my locker and kept the bra in my hand. I hopped up on a bench and did whatever the people around called for. This wiggled and those jiggled. I even stood on one leg and put the other up on a locker. That really spread me and put it close to eye level. It was just a side distraction for almost all of them, but they looked me over. Yes, the boys got aroused. The girls snickered and encouraged the boys.
A couple of nearby freshmen tried, but couldn't avoid me. Freshman girls blushed. Older girls teased the freshman boys about their erections. Guys who didn’t dress near me gave me no more than a glance when they ran out to their practice. It's a lot more important to get there on time than to check out a Program girl.
Becky came by and grabbed me by the arm. She pulled me off the bench. That seems kind of rough, but this was Becky. She catches me all the time. She did again. She caught the naked, falling, squealing little me and set me on my feet. It hadn't taken her long to change. Cheerleader practice uniform is tight briefs and whatever bra we want. A short skirt and cropped t-shirt or sweater go over them only for performances.
Becky helps me drag the minitramp out to the field every day. We got it from the closet, tipped it up on its wheels so we each had one hand on it and came by the coaches' office. She was waiting for me. I'm the first cheerleader in the Program during an active season in a long time.
Mrs. Hilfes is in her thirties and teaches precalculus and calculus to the upper classmen. That babe is in shape! She's been a cheerleader and can still show us how to do everything she ever learned. She did her college cheerleading when the Program was starting and had to do it all naked. She's on record as being pissed that teachers can't go naked in school. She wears the same things we do at practice - skimpy, tight little spank pants and a sports bra.
"Well, I see you're getting with the Program, Debra. Do you expect any trouble?" she asked as she started to walk with us.
"Well ..." I started as I shook my shoulders for maximum boob jiggle. "No real trouble, but I'll do better if this is considered protective."
She knows all about the hard cup bra I was holding up. I wear it every day.
"You can't cover," she answered.
"Not for modesty. I'm still bottomless," I protested.
"You're topless, too. No bra," she was adamant.
We started with a run through all the chanting cheers we do. I was bouncing and jiggling all over the place. All the girls called me Bra every time they talked to or about me. The bouncing didn't hurt because I didn't jump that high today. I also learned to catch and stop my bouncing boobs just before I put my arms up in that final stretch at the end of every cheer. Jump splits even felt good without those tight pants.
Elementary school kids had been gone about a half hour, but the middle school was just getting out. Lots of them stared and many said "Wow" or the like. If these kids have seen a bare pussy before, they probably don't remember. One pair came out holding hands. Ahh, puppylove. I did one of those jump splits right in his face and my chest was still jiggling when she dragged him away.
"Hope you don't expect me to get that big," she was saying.
Hey, she's already three inches taller than me, but that's not what she was talking about, was it?
There was pure determination on Becky's face when we got to the aerials. She was just forcing herself to be over the emotions of English class. Normally I put one foot in her two hands and she launches me. I flip, spin or twist in the air. I usually keep my arms in tight when she catches me. She catches me and puts me straight down on my feet. My springy legs do the rest and I've survived all the landings so far. My arm position was only a little different to catch my boobs.
"That catch works," Mrs. Hilfes called to me one time. "but be careful. No covering."
We did a lot of throws today. Becky had her hands, and her mind, on me, the cheers and the stunts. It worked to get her away from all that crying. Where did her mind go? It showed in the way she held me in a few of the last catches. She caught and held me off the ground. Really held me. Snuggly tight squeeze held me. Head between her boobs, ass against her hips held me.
I had a real good idea where her mind was even before she asked, "Sleepover?"
All I had to do was nod and smile. She'll be here pretty soon.
Mrs Hilfes wanted us to do the pyramid a few times. Strength and size count here. Big, strong Becky stands in the middle of the bottom row. You already know where the little pixie with strong legs goes. We're really good at this pyramid and it's one of our best hopes for placing high in state competition this year.
The other girls made the bottom two rows and I put the minitramp right behind them. I jumped just like I practiced yesterday - straight up with arms holding my boobs. There's no air bag here. I get down by landing on my springy legs and doing a roll forward. About half-way down the first time, I remembered that I need my hands to start the roll right. That was gonna hurt my boobs. No. I rolled to the side so my hips hit, something like a parachute landing.
We did a few pyramids and they all went okay. I usually put in something fancy after using the first ones for warmup. Today my mounts were all straight up. Mrs Hilfes was scowling.
"So where are your flips and spins, Deb?" she asked.
Pressure? Would little me have much to do with our expectations in the competition? What sponsor, coach or teacher doesn't pressure the kids to do their very best?
Hope I didn't flash too much attitude with, "Left them with my bra."
We spend the last half hour of practice in the weight room. It's all for strength, not for bulk, so we use machines. I used my little towel to keep the seats and benches from getting too sticky. Some off-season basketball and baseball boys were in there, too. They stopped their workouts and just watched me. They didn't do anything. This is like class time, not like the first five minutes. As long as I was working out, I couldn't be interrupted for the Program.
Mrs. Hilfes caught me on the way into the locker room. I guess that flash of attitude was just right.
"I'll go with a protective bra if it shows you," she started.
She held her hands to one of my breasts with her fingers making a circle around the tip. No, she didn’t rub anything or make my nipples hard.
"You're big enough. You should get enough support and still show at least an inch around your areolas," she said as she slid her gauge around by boob. "Come up with what you can and let me see it tomorrow, 'kay?"
I agreed. That's as good as I was gonna get and I was already coming up with an idea.
All the sports and activities end at the same time. The whole school gets into that one shower. It’s a high point of the day. We may not do much, but we all like it.
Oh, wait. We don’t ALL like it. Lots of freshmen still don't get it and act real shy. Some of the band don't think they need showers right away and just go home. On the other hand, some whose sports are out of season stick around for more than weight work.
Some do a show as they strip and strut naked to the shower. Some turn their backs and wrap themselves in a towel. I’m one of the showy ones – have been since about this time last year.
The shows often get reactions. Some of them are just between a couple. They sometimes take it all the way in the dark corner of the shower. Most shows are just eye candy. Girls admire nice packages and tight asses on the guys. Every guy in school has turned his head to watch me jiggle by and most of them get hard when they see a girl they like. We just don't do anything about all that nudity. Bare bodies and the reactions are normal, expected and not even mentioned.
Then there's the Program participant. It’s not a written rule, just what everyone expects. There’s one shower in the middle of the room. The Program kid goes there or has to answer why not. I went right to the middle and started washing. Nobody gets to help on Monday. Boys made a bubble around me. I didn’t pay much attention at first. I washed here and there, high and low.
“Hey, who’s in the Program this week?” came from behind me.
I couldn’t see who it was, but it was definitely a guy. I raised my hand and turned to look around slowly. I was surrounded with a forest of hard, erect cocks.
Those guys were watching me and working themselves up. The girls behind them were really encouraging – to the boys. They pointed out lots of things about my body and suggested what the boys could do with all those things. “Bra” was what they called me all the time.
There was a little scuffling among some of the boys. They were pushing some of the freshmen boys who had the guts to shower to the inside of the bubble. Now that’s the kind of Program action I can go with. I shook this and bent that way right in front of each one. Older boys and all the girls were getting into cheering and hooting.
That was way beyond the usual Monday Program shower. It’s usually the same old thing – some compliments about the participant’s body and teasing about the touching to come. With me, there were sooo many around me and they were all paying a lot of attention. I stayed cool. Every time any of them mentioned a body part, I’d shake that part in that direction, run my hands over it and give them a coy look. That’s what we all expect, so that’s what I did.
I got to dry myself, probably for the last time this week. The remarks were more of the same and how I'd have to shower again after they dried me. It's all normal, expected Program stuff, but there seemed to be more of them interested in me. I began to get it. They all want to make my Program week like I made theirs. All of them and all at once.
Yeah, right. Bring it on. That whole bunch is gonna find out about my sensitivity. I am soo doomed.
That didn’t bother me then. I was watching some freshmen near my locker. They had their backs to us and each other. I threw my towel over them, but not very high, into the bin. The boys looked up and turned around. The girls gasped, but then smiled. Their towels went into the bin sooner than usual.
I stood on the bench again shaking and jiggling while everyone else got dressed. It was the tall Eric who came up with something unique. I was afraid they’d do that sometime this week, but this one wasn’t anything to be afraid of. He walked up close to me so his head was right about my chest level. He blew his breath gently over my tits. I shivered at the thought and the tingle. My nipples popped all the way out. He left smiling over his victory. He'd stimulated me without any touching violation.
Nakedness is so normal in the shower and locker room. We usually talk with each other about our sport – double play coverage, pitching strategy, ripple squat timing or whatever. I’d be drying off standing in front of a guy at his locker. He’d look right into my pussy or chest and get hard. Maybe I’d be sitting my mine looking right into his package. We see each other literally every day, but it’s never made me feel as excited as today. That’s that's the point, I guess. The Program participant gets all the attention and that builds tension. It worked.
A bubble followed me out to the bike rack. I did a few requested poses, mostly leaning over the handlebars with my boobs hanging down. They look even larger that way, but feel way stretched.
“Gotta work, guys. See you tomorrow," included the key word.
Our whole community values work enough that it's an unwritten rule. The Program doesn't hold the participant up after school when there's work.
My boobs swayed with pedaling of the bike. The bubble boys all watched me ride away and some people outside along the way gave me some long looks. My boobs really didn’t like the stretch and sway of hanging down like that. It sort of hurt. There won’t be much of the bike for the rest of the week.
I stashed the bike at home and went across the street to Mrs. Greenbaum’s. She’s a very sweet old lady. That’s not politically incorrect – she really is over 90 years old, and really sweet. She hires one of the nearby kids to work in her patch and keeps the same kid employed for a few years. Mrs. Greenbaum’s pet winds up finding out a lot about the history of the town. The Greenbaums were among the founders.
She has a patch planted in sweet corn. I had to weed it this afternoon. It’s been well kept since I’ve been doing her gardening for a few years now. All I had to do was flick out a few dozen weeds with a hoe. The only slight difficulty was that I had to do it naked. Sunscreen took care of the first problem with that and the really tall corn plants took care of hiding me so I could get it done.
One edge of her patch runs right along the teen beach on the lake. I guess my legs and maybe more showed through the last row of stalks. Everyone on the beach was ready when I came to the outside of the last row. They were lined up on the beach watching. They shouted a few requests.
I waved, which shook my boobs a lot, and said, “Working. Sorry.”
I did give a wiggle of my butt every time I tackled a weed. That gang gave a cheer the first few times, then it got boring. They went back to swimming.
I finished, all hot and tired. I was dragging the hoe back to her shed when Mrs. Greenbaum shouted from her door. She doesn’t always, but this was one of those times she invited me to have some iced tea with her. Uh-oh. I’m naked and she’s like really old. Yes, it’s a stereotype that old people don’t approve of naked teens. That’s what scared me.
She was looking right at me, yelling the invitation and waving the pitcher of tea. She really didn’t seem to mind. Her tea looked great after all that working in her patch, so I gave in. I put the first cold glass of tea away in one gulp. She started her story for the day while she poured me another.
“You’ve filled out so nicely, Debra, and now you’re in that Program?” she started. “Glad to see you’re not having any trouble with it. I did my first few times when I was a little younger than you ...”
“WHAT?!” I thought. Mrs. G in the Program? Way back then? Of course not. All I had to do was actually listen to what she was telling. Her family had a rough time at the start of the depression in the 1930’s. Back then, just like on the internet in the 2000’s, sex sells. She left home in her mid-teens, lied about her age and worked as an “Exotic dancer” in burlesque – yes, a stripper. She was telling me about how she felt the first few times she bared all on a stage. She also told how she really got into it after just a little while. She said she was proud of her body and that she could get the men’s interest. For a few years, she was making good money for those times and had a steady audience.
“I was completely naked the first time I met Mr. Greenbaum,” she said. “Some of his friends made a distraction and he came backstage at the end of my show. In that time and place we went all the way, so that’s how I was – showing everything. He was a perfect gentleman and even looked at my face. A few months later, I became Mrs. Greenbaum and moved here to his farm. Selling off land for the town and lake came later ...”
In all, she was supportive. She knows about the Program like everyone else in town. Probably because of her background, she could encourage me and she certainly didn’t have that stereotyped old attitude.
“You have everything that made me so proud, and maybe a little more,” she said and reached over to flip one of my breasts.
She left me feeling good and thinking of her as sweeter than ever.
I did myself a quick supper and wrote out the Program journal this far, then Becky got here. She’s on the bed watching and waiting for me to snuggle with her some more. I’ll curl right into her big strong body as soon as I tell what we just did. Yes, it’s what you’re thinking of.
It came out of being such close friends, our shared experiences and quite a few sleepovers with each other. There was also some curiosity. Just what is all this sex about anyway? We did some reading more advanced than seventh grade health texts and watched some movies. It’s really convenient that Dad’s not home most evenings. He tried the parental control things on the cable movie channels. Too bad he left the password on a slip of paper in his desk. I just accidentally found it in the back of the bottom drawer, upside down and under a bunch of stuff.
Becky and I started experimenting – touching each other and figuring out what we liked. That’s when she found out about my clit. I acted like it hurt, so she hasn’t touched it since. I go at her all around her vulva, but she’s careful to stay out of my vagina and away from my clit. I like it on the boobs more than she does, so she can compensate. Don’t get the wrong idea. We both like boys and not girls, except when we fool around with each other.
After the emotional English class, I think we were both feeling for each other – sympathy mostly. We’ve been comforting each other since those experiments by cuddling together and letting the cuddling progress to screaming sex. That’s just what Becky was after tonight. She dropped her clothes right beside the front door, picked me up and carried me to bed. Yes, another one who picks me up.
That hand she had under my ass had busy fingers. I was already pressing into her to get more when she put me down. The other one had one of my breasts. When she called me Bra that time, it wasn’t to get me to put on underwear.
“Thanks for doing the poem, Bra. I couldn’t have done that well myself. Probably couldn’t have even finished it,” she whispered to me. “That hug and kiss after really meant something coming from you.”
She went to work on me quietly after that. She kissed me with tongue and I returned it. She kissed around my ears, neck and down my body. Her hands were on both my boobs until her mouth got there. She knows just how to get my nipples out with her fingers. When she sucks and licks on them, my areolas follow. Her hands moved on to my mound and legs. I couldn’t help squirming with all that tingling excitement.
I was holding her around the shoulders, feeling her soft skin and the thick, strong layer of muscles under it. She looks almost too big, as in fat, when she’s dressed. Guys get a different impression when they see her in a swimsuit or dressed for cheerleading practice. She goes around town with her midriff bare most of the time. She likes to show off all those ripples. Everyone knows ‘fat’ is not a word to describe Becky.
She got up on me to hold my squirming body still. She tries to cover half of me so she can reach the other half. Right. She did hold me down enough to get both hands going on my inner thighs and my labia. She kept it up as I got more excited and gave a squeal when I had my little orgasm. I gave a few shudders while she kept going a little while. She knows I like that because she likes it, too.
She got her mouth off my boob and I met it with my mouth. She rolled onto her back. Now she was going to get what was coming to her. I did some of that kissing all around her face, ears and neck. I kept both hands busy on her big boobs. They’re way more than a handful, so I had work to do. I lifted them, squeezed them and rubbed her nipples. Doing me must have put her in a very good mood. Her nipples came out and she started breathing hard really quickly.
My mouth took over on her boobs while I reached down between her legs. She was already wet. Yep, in a very good mood. She was soon wriggling around under me. She’s so much bigger that I can sprawl all of myself on her and still reach where I need to. Staying on is another problem. That strong girl can really buck and wriggle. All of me on top of her doesn’t hold her down, let alone still.
That’s one reason I do her by mouth. I can sit on her chest just below her boobs, facing away from her head. I wrap my legs around her chest and arms around her ass. That brings me tongue to pussy with her and I stay that way no matter how she moves. I started licking with her clit. She shrieked when it first struck her. I really had to hold on when she bucked and arched up off the bed. She was already in her orgasm. My job was to make it last. Go, tongue, go.
I licked up and down her slit working my tongue in deeper and hitting her clit on every stroke. Becky rode the orgasm and I rode her all through it. Her ass spent more time off the bed than on it. That girl has wild orgasms. The operative part of that is the plural. She gave off one last scream, then settled back on the bed. I just kept licking and holding on. She built up over about a minute then came again. My tongue kept her going all through that second orgasm like it did the first. Strokes through her slit brought screams and squeals. A flip of her clit brought a bucking rotation or an arched back thrusting up off the bed.
When she calmed down after the second time, I got off her quickly. She’d said something one time about coming to her senses, looking down between her boobs and seeing my wide-spread cunt. I spare her that now. I turned around on her, wiped my face with the towel I had right there and laid down on her. What she saw between her boobs was my beaming smile.
We laid there relaxing for a while like we usually do before we go to sleep. There was one more thing I needed, though. I asked Becky to finger me – inside me – and rub my clit. She looked horrified.
“What the hell do you think they’ll do on Wednesday. I need to get used to it,” I pleaded.
“Hell is the operative word, Bra. You can’t get used to that,” she shook her head.
“Just do me and don’t let go at the first scream,” I insisted.
She did me. She felt around, stroked my labia, then slid her finger in. Her hand fell on my clit. She ran her hand and that finger up and down, in and out. I have now idea how long she kept it up, not after that first scream.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting up beside her, gasping for breath. I was hot and flushed red all over. My nipples and areolas were out as hard and far as they ever get. So was my clit. It was out of its hood, swollen and sticking way out. My pussy was swollen, too. It was all red, puffy and spread open. Becky’s hand and a lot of my bed were totally wet.
“I gushed?” I squeaked.
“Squirted like a hose,” she said. “Damn you come hard. That’s really all it is, Bra. You come so hard it wipes you out.”
I am sooo doomed when everyone else finds out.