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NNTP-Posting-Date: 27 Jul 2003 18:03:18 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Story Repost - Diary of Carolyn - Part 7
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 07:10:06 -0400
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DIARY OF CAROLYN
Chapter Seven
Copyright 1997
Skull Duggery
This is a work of fiction


    At this point, I would have done almost anything for a hot shower
and a bar of soap. I considered going back to the lake to at least
wash the crap off, but seeing how that damn lake was the reason for my
current predicament, I decided to try to make the pump house. I
absolutely begged for sunrise as I shook and shivered my way along in
the damp cold predawn air. I felt like cursing Murphy, but held my
tongue just to play it safe. After all, as miserable as I now was, the
fucker, oops, I mean fine fellow, did save from the campers. Instead,
I cursed myself for not being able to just have walked up on that
beach and proudly strolled right by those foolish bastards. As I
looked at my crap covered body and smelled the rancid odor emanating
from it, I thought, who am I calling foolish?

    The sun's fiery ball had the first finger hold on it's daily climb
over the eastern horizon as I came within sight of the old pump house.
With the opportunity to clean the now dried on excrement from myself
only steps away, my spirits began to lift. That was, until the thought
of pouring the icy well water over my already near frozen body entered
my foggy brain. Oh well, compared to my agonies so far, I told myself
it would be like a walk in the park. No pun intended.

    It was more like a walk through the pricker bushes, but, after
much effort, I transformed myself from Carolyn the human cesspool back
to Carolyn the closet nudist and sometimes pain slut. The sun had by
now cleared the horizon and the warm early morning rays filtered
through the treetops forming little dancing dots of light on the
forest floor. As I squatted by the east wall of the pump house, trying
to take advantage of every bit of warmth available, I carefully looked
over my cold bluish white skin. I checked every part of myself I could
manage looking for any possible unnoticed injuries. Finding none, I
then began to wonder if I would have any lasting effects from the
hypothermia. I had experienced. I guessed not. As cold as I had been,
in reality, it had been a fairly warm night. Although I had intended
to head straight for home after cleaning up, the warm sun felt so good
I decided to stay awhile and rest.

    It was close to noon when I awoke with a start, hearing what
sounded like footsteps somewhere on the other side of the pump house.
My familiar lump returned along with that sinking feeling that
accompanies fear as I tried to imagine what it was. I frantically
looked for anything I could use to cover my nudity, but there was
nothing. Images of everything from little kids to forest rangers to
space aliens raced through my mind until a telltale pungent odor found
it's way to my nostrils. Skunk. Relief instantly overcame my anxiety
as I peeked around the corner of the pump house only to find one of
nature's smelliest creatures, with the possible exception of me as the
human cesspool, foraging for it's breakfast. I carefully gathered what
I had stashed the day before and left the busy little skunk to his
task.

    I started to feel much better as I walked the next hour to the
woods edge. With the filth cleaned off, and the shivering cold only an
unpleasant memory, I took my sweet time getting to where I had hidden
my clothes. Even so, it seemed like no time before I was picking my
old dress from under the tree where I had left it. As I shook the
leaves off the dress, I had a crazy thought. I pondered this thought
for a couple of minutes before making up my mind. Do it. I stuffed my
dress into the duffel bag and headed completely nude across the open
field to my house. I felt really brave as I exposed myself for all to
see. Of course there was no one within eyesight to expose to, but I
can imagine, can't I? And besides, I thought to myself as I entered
the empty house, it's a start. Never before today had I had enough
courage to cross that field naked, day or night.

    I spent the next couple of hours soaking in a hot bath going over
in my mind my not so much fun lake ordeal. The strange thing is, even
with all the nasty extremes I was forced to endure, having overcome it
all made me tingle inside. In fact, with a little help from the
detachable shower head my dad had installed, I tingled myself into a
not so bad orgasm. Then I thought, I'm the only one who uses this
upstairs bath. I wonder why my dad installed this great toy. Could he
be more aware than I think?

    I made several more excursions that summer, but none were truly
extraordinary until after I'd begun my senior year. Being a senior was
great. Especially if you had enough graduation points accumulated. I
did. You may think I do some weird and dumb shit, but for what it's
worth, the last IQ test I was given scored one hundred sixty. Not bad
for an almost eighteen year old pain slut.

    To explain briefly how these points work, you get points for each
course that you pass all through high school. The number of points
needed to graduate are figured on an average students capability to
accumulate by the end of their senior year. If one is fortunate enough
to keep their grades high, and take a few extra courses, the only
courses they have to attend during their senior year are those
considered mandatory. Therefore, in my case, from noon Thursday until
Monday, no school. I also had Wednesday afternoon off and if I really
had something going, I could always skip Thursday.

    Before I tell you of my next encounter, I need to preface it with
a little background. There was a girl in my class named Kristen
Castillo. Although we had been classmates since, I think, fifth grade,
other than occasional greetings and seeing her at various school
activities, we had no other contact. Actually, not unlike myself,
Kristen pretty much kept to herself. I did know that Kristen's family
kept her from much dating, at least according to most reliable gossip,
and in this case it was. Apparently for cultural reasons, of which I
will never understand or agree with, she was not allowed to date boys
not of Latin decent as was she. Hammond Indiana was and is the epitome
of white America, leaving her little to chose from.

    In fact, other than Robert Vega, who reminds me of that little
gang leader, Jesus I think was his name, that played on Hill Street
Blues, she had dated only one other. I don't think this guy met with
family approval as they broke up before he got out of the hospital.
It's a sad situation because Kristen falls into that enviable category
of drop dead good looking. At any rate, both Kristen and I ended up
being volunteered to write the script for the senior play. Which, by
the way, neither of us were too happy about. I doubt they censor
letters from San Quentin as carefully as they did our script. I did
however, manage to get one of the actors to substitute the word fuck
for luck in the performance for a small fee. It didn't cause much
fuss, but gave me a good measure of personal satisfaction.

    I got the shock of my life one afternoon while we were working on
our script. It happened when I accidentally bumped head on into
Kristen while paying absolutely no attention where I was walking.
Kristen, being a good head shorter than me, ended up ramming her boobs
straight into my rib cage. What I felt when we impacted, were two
hard, and oddly familiar I might add, metal like objects on her
breasts. And, I would probably have passed it off to my over active
imagination, had it not been for look of pain that briefly crossed her
face. I couldn't believe what I was thinking could be true. I had to
somehow find out for sure. I mean, gawd, even I had never wore my
nipple clamps to school!

    Until this moment, I had never even considered that there could be
someone else with the same weird attraction to pain as myself. And
this girl comes to school with her nipples clamped. That was pretty
extreme even by my standards. I looked at Kristen every chance I had
wondering if she realized I was on to her. She didn't act any
different or anything. The thought of her being into the same things
as me had me ready to explode. After what seemed like hours of trying
to think of ways to approach her, something my father once said kept
coming to mind. "If you want to know something, just ask. The worst
that can happen is you may get told to fuck off." My dad always gave
good advice.

    So, armed with my measure of parental advice, I whispered into
Kristen's ear. "I'm impressed, I never tried wearing mine in school."
At first she gave me this real startled look. Then, realizing exactly
what I meant, she started looking embarrassed. "It's all right," I
told her, "I'm into the same thing myself." As we talked, she became
less and less embarrassed. We found that until now, neither of us had
ever talked with anyone about our private pleasures. I was fascinated
by what she described having done to herself, some of which made me
wince at the thought. I had never considered myself to be any slouch
when it came to standing pain, but if what I was hearing was true,
Kristen gave new meaning to the word. We spent the rest of that school
day relating our experiences to each other. As we parted after the
last bell, Kristen agreed to come to my house the next morning saying
she wanted to show me some neat stuff. As I walked home, I wondered
what I had got myself into this time.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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