I found Part 1 of an anonymous tale, "Policewoman's Predicament," 
on the 'Net and borrowed its framework for this story.  I did 
eventually learn that the author used "cc" as a pen name.  (Try 
Googling THAT!)  More by luck than skill, I finally found him 
and sent him a belated copy of my story.  His generous response, 
in part:

	"You really developed it well, exploited the 
	situation and characters perfectly...."  

Thanks, cc, for the inspiration.  






                      It's a Bitch

                           by

                      C. Lakewood



    I'm a 30-something part-time faculty member at a large 
midwestern university.  Petite and rather youthful looking, I 
could easily pass for one of the coeds.  Perhaps because of 
this, I have tended to behave toward the students in a highly 
authoritarian way, earning me a fearsome reputation and a 
nickname: the "Red Queen."  (A-students know that refers to the 
character in "Alice Through the Looking Glass"; most everyone 
else assumes it alludes to my red hair.)  I also function part 
time as an assistant dean, which I rather like.  Perhaps some 
day I'll move entirely out of teaching and into administration 
full time.      

    One day early in June I got a tip that some members of the 
Tri-O sorority were planning to go skinny-dipping that night in 
Blue Lake, on the edge of the campus.  I might have ignored it 
if it had been anyone else, but there were all sorts of rumors 
about Tri-O being a nest of lesbians....

    The Spring Semester having ended, not only weren't there many 
students around, but a lot of the campus police force was on 
vacation, too, so I decided to handle this myself.  Blue Lake is 
somewhat isolated, out on the periphery and surrounded by some 
light woods.  There's a parking lot to the north, a bit over half 
a mile away, with a wide, blacktopped path leading down to the 
lake.  The girls probably figured they'd be able to spot a 
stranger from a sufficient distance. 

    I, however, parked well south of the lake and, just after dark, 
picked my way quietly through the scrub until I reached the lake, 
guided by the picturesque pre-Depression streetlights that dimly 
ringed it.

    There were maybe a dozen girls, all quite naked, rather 
nervously flirting with the water.  

    I smiled, speculating on how vulnerable they must be feeling, 
naked, out here....  Then I crept round the lake's edge until I 
reached the place where their things were piled.  Carefully and 
quietly, I gathered up all the clothes and stashed them well back 
out of sight.  Then I stood up, blew my trusty police whistle, 
waved my flash about, and yelled, "Stop!  This is Dean Barbara 
Collins!  You're all violating school rules!" 

    Time stopped for a moment...and then started up again in a blur 
of wet young bodies, naked and gleaming, scrambling out of the lake 
and scurrying into the woods, shrieking, fleeing the sound of my 
voice.  I couldn't help giggling at their terror.  (And I thought 
lesbians were supposed to be tough.)  I called out again, to drive 
them even deeper into their hiding places, then just picked up 
their stuff and carried it all in the opposite direction, back to 
my car. 

    I drove over to the Tri-O house, where I found only a 
scattering of underclassmen.  (Apparently all those at the lake 
were going to be seniors in the fall.  I had just de-pantsed the 
entire leadership of that sorority.  Tra-la-la!)  I turned the 
clothes over to the little dyke who was on door duty and issued a 
stern warning to be passed on to those girls when they finally got 
back from their long, wet, naked trek across campus. 

    The following evening I was on the phone with my friend, Gina 
Marshall, and told her the story.  "I wonder what it must be like," 
I giggled, "having to run, butt-naked and scared shitless, across 
the campus?"  But Gina sided with the girls.  

    "They're just kids, blowing off steam after the semester's 
over," she said.  "You were that age, once....  Or were you?"

    "Yes, well...I've heard rumors of what goes on in that sorority 
house...especially what they put their pledges through," I 
countered.

    "Rumors!  All of it hearsay, right?"

    "Um...." 

    She then accused me of being a mean-spirited bitch who was 
screwing with those girls, just because they had the nerve to go 
skinny-dipping -- something that the high and mighty Dean Barbara 
Collins was far too uptight to even think of doing.

    I'd had several glasses of wine, and I don't remember all that 
was said, back and forth, but I wound up betting her I did, too, 
have as much nerve as any sorority girl.  We agreed that I'd go 
skinny-dipping in that lake sometime in the next three days.  If 
I did it, I'd win...if not, I'd lose.  And the loser would clean 
the other's house for the whole summer.  She also agreed that I 
could go alone and report back afterward.  She trusted me to 
report honestly, she said.    

    I never liked housework, so this was a very appealing 
proposition.  And I figured I could get away with the stunt.  
Of course, there'd be hell to pay if I got caught, but the 
skeleton crew of campus cops would stick pretty close to the 
center of things throughout the night.  Besides, I was beginning 
to get turned on by the notion of the strait-laced Dean Collins 
skinny-dipping.... 

		******************************                              
    The following night was practically moonless.  Perfect.  I 
drove over to the lake about 11:30.  The parking lot was empty 
and the area around the lake deserted...no one swimming, no 
couples lying in the weeds....  As I walked back to my car after 
reconnoitering, I was both nervous and aroused thinking of what 
lay ahead.  The air was still and hot, and I was sweating.   

    I locked the car doors, opened the trunk, carefully stashed my 
key in a little magnetic box (which I hid securely under the car), 
stripped naked as quickly as I could, dumped my clothes into the 
trunk, and slammed the lid.  Whew!  Locked!  I was committed!  (I 
was also getting wet between the legs.)  

    I scampered back down the path to the lake, the asphalt still 
very warm under my bare feet.  As I trotted along, my naked tits 
jiggled a bit.  (This was one of the very few times I was 
glad they were A cups.)  If I got caught, I'd be utterly 
humiliated...and probably lose my job.  (I'd be lucky if I 
were allowed to resign.)  Why was I risking so much?  It dawned 
on me suddenly that I was doing it mainly to impress Gina.  We 
were so different, physically, stylistically, and intellectually, 
but....  Well, she did have charisma.    

    At last, I reached the lake.  Looking about me nervously, 
I eased into the water.  My god, it was cold!  Maybe it was my 
super-heated imagination, but it felt positively icy.  Even so, 
I made myself swim across the lake and back.  Then I started 
to feel warmer, so I swam a little longer.  It was such a 
refreshing change from the bureaucratic pomposity I had to put 
up with on a regular basis.  Eventually, however, it occurred to 
me that the longer I stayed, the greater the risk, so I hurriedly 
waded out of the lake and padded up the path to the parking lot. 

    (Ah!  Parking lot quiet...deserted....  Oh, god!  Empty?  
Empty!  MY FUCKING CAR'S GONE!)

    I looked around, desperately, irrationally, as if it might be 
hidden under a rock or behind a bush.  Then I spotted the little 
hideaway box lying right where I'd parked.  In a semi-crouch, I 
scurried out, grabbed the box, and darted back into the dark.  
Inside the box was a rolled up piece of thin paper that was 
already beginning to deteriorate in my wet fingers.  So then I 
had to find a spot where there was enough light to read by, but 
enough darkness to hide in.  (Eventually, I had to give up on 
the latter qualification.)  The note turned out to be from Gina.  

	I'm proud of you for doing it, but I do think it would be 
	unfair for you to get away without suffering some penalty.  
	I'll park your car at the Tri-O house and leave the key 
	with one of the girls on duty.  They'll be expecting you.  
	Enjoy the trip.  (You did wonder what it must be like, 
	having to run across campus butt-naked and scared shitless. 	
	Now you can find out.)  BTW, did I ever tell you I was 
	initiated into Tri-O 14 years ago?	G.
 

    Even as I read it with growing horror, the note disintegrated.

    I was alone and naked and dripping -- with lake water, with 
sweat, and with....  God!  Am I some kind of pervert -- a masochist 
or exhibitionist or whatever -- to get turned on NOW? 

    I just stood there, cursing and sobbing and trembling for I 
don't how long.  I knew I couldn't just hang out there, for the 
chances of my being caught would soon start to rise.  But, having 
to somehow get across campus naked....  And, if I made it, the 
Tri-O girls would be waiting for me....  

    Damn Gina and damn those dykes and, for that matter, damn me 
for getting myself into this idiotic mess. 

		******************************        

    The run across campus, butt-naked and scared shitless, was a 
nightmare.  The lake water was long gone, but I was just as wet, 
bathed in sweat.  (And it was especially humiliating that I seemed 
to be leaving a trail of excited pussy-drool that any dog might 
have followed.)  All my senses on full alert, I zig-zagged from 
shadow to shadow, terrified whenever I spotted a car or the 
occasional pedestrian.  I was thankful that this was as much an 
intellectual problem (at which I excelled) as a physical test 
(at which I was generally deplorable); I had to plot out my route 
in my head, taking detours around even the dimmest of campus lights.

    But I reached the Tri-O house at last.  I crouched in among 
some shrubs on a slight rise across the street from it...a big 
colonial, red brick with white trim, deceptively bland.  The porch 
light burned brightly, as if to welcome me.

    The area was quiet.  After all, it was probably going on 2 AM.  
I glanced around again, gathered myself, and sprinted down the 
slope, across the lane, and up to the front door.  I rang the bell 
and then scrambled into the junipers beside the porch.

    After an eternity, the door was opened.  "Yes?" a voice said.

    "It's Dean Collins.  I...um...need my car."

    "Come here and stand under the light where I can see you."

    "I-I don't have any clothes on."

    "So what?"

    "I just...."

    The door closed.

    "Wait!" I screamed.  "Alright.  I...I'll come out."

    I stood in front of the door blushing all over, trying to cover 
myself with my hands.  The door opened a few inches, on a chain. 

    "Stand up straight, hands at your sides," the voice said.

    I was trembling, but I did it.  "Please let me in," I whined.  
"Please!" 
  
    "It's way late.  At this hour we're only required to let 
in...'police or firefighters or medical personnel, faculty or 
administration officials, and members of this sorority.'  
Where's your ID?"

    "I-I'm NAKED!  But you know me -- Dean Collins."

    "And I'm Sylvia Ogden, president of this chapter.  So what?"

    "Please!"

    "Look, in the absence of proper ID, you're just not coming in 
now.  Unless...."

    "Unless?"

    "Unless you were a member of this sorority.  Not only would we 
let you in, but we'd protect you from the shit that otherwise is 
so going to be coming down on you.  What do you say?  Want to 
pledge Tri-O?"

    "That's ridiculous.  Just open the door, RIGHT NOW!"

    The door closed.

    "Okay, okay.  I'll join," I said.

    After a moment, the door opened, still on the chain.

    "You make it sound like you're doing us a favor," Sylvia said.

    "I'm sorry, Sylvia.  Please f-forgive me.  Please let me 
pledge Tri-O, and let me come in."

    "That's 'MISS Sylvia.'"

    "I'm sorry, Miss Sylvia...."

    "Okay, Barbie, sign this."  

    She passed a paper and a pen through the gap.  It was a formal 
request to be accepted as a pledge.  What choice did I have?  I 
signed it and passed it back.

    "Okay, now stand up straight, tits out (as best you can), and 
say 'cheese.'"

    A flash went off in my face -- twice -- and the door closed.  
There was a metallic rattle as the chain was dropped, and the door 
swung wide.  I glanced up.  Over the door were 3 Omegas.  There 
was no warning to "abandon hope."  But there should have been.  

    Head down and trembling with apprehension, I entered.        

 