This story is fiction.� Actually, the setting of an artificial world in Space and the year being 2109 should have been enough to clue you in about that.
I don't care how old are.� I don't care how young you are.� However, the law does care, so if you are too young, go away (or at least try not to get caught).
If this story is against the law where you live, then like the young folk, go away.� Or at least...
Anzu James: Naked in Orbit, Part 01 (Background, Anzu
James)
by Coach Michaels
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Hello, all you people in the dim and distant past.� First off, I’d like to say how freaking
WONDERFUL time travel is!� Didn’t
know it even existed, did you?� Well,
neither did I, but how else could you read this?� I’d sure like to thank those scientists
(that nobody’s ever heard of) for inventing time travel (which
nobody’s heard of either) and giving me the opportunity to not only run
around stark staring buck-ass naked all week, but to tell my flipping ancestors
all about it.� Lucky me!
OK, I’ve had a couple of hours to calm down.� That first paragraph isn’t exactly what
Mr. Scott and Ms. Galton wanted, but it does capture my feelings about this
whole thing, so maybe I’ll keep it.�
Maybe I’ll delete it; I don’t know.� If I delete it, I’ll delete this too,
and nobody will ever know.
So how did it happen?�
How did I wind up sitting in my room, writing a journal about going to school
naked?� And why am I addressing it to
you, who live in the last year of the last century?� Well, there is a story to that…
My name is Anzu Patra James.�
I was born in 2092, and now it’s 2109, so I am sixteen, but turn
seventeen this week.� I get to celebrate
my birthday in my birthday suit!� Lucky
me.� I am a junior at Gerard
O’Neill High School in
I mass fifty-one Kg.�
That’s mass, not weight.� My
mass stays the same no matter gravity or acceleration, but my weight changes
depending on such things.� That’s
academic for you, but it matters where I live.�
I am a little over a metre and a half tall.� Hold on.
OK, I checked, and most of the world was using the metric
system by your time.� For anybody who
wasn’t, that makes me about five feet and one inch tall.� It also means that I weigh 114 pounds or so
in full gravity.� And this is probably
the last time I’m going to convert for you.� You have primitive spreadsheets and even the
ancestor of Solnet; you can convert for yourself.� It’ll be good for you.
I have black curly hair that I wear not quite to my
shoulders, sometimes in brads.�
I’ve been told that I’m pretty, and not just by guys wanting
to get into my pants.� I think I look
kind of ordinary, but maybe I am pretty.�
I hope I am, since I’m going to be showing so much of myself off
this week.
Let’s see…�
My figure is good, but that’s because my mom is a knock-out and
I’m an athlete.� My tummy is flat,
my tits are on the good side of medium, and my butt is just what you’d
expect a high school athlete to have.� I
have dark brown eyes and skin.� That skin
is usually clear, only getting pimply around my period.� I am an Afrin.� In your day I would have been black or
African-American; a few decades earlier I would have been a Negro, and before
that I would’ve been coloured.�
“Coloured” made a bit of a comeback in the 2030’s, but
that didn’t last long.� I’d
feel funny calling myself black, since I’m more brown edging towards
black.� Also, I’m about 30% other
stuff.� There’s a good bit of
Kazoid (white, in your day), and a pinch or so of Chinese.� As far as I know, I don’t have any
Japanese ancestors, but that didn’t stop my parents from naming me Anzu,
which is Japanese and which can mean either “apricot” or
“feminine love.”� No, I
don’t know how the same word can mean both.
My skin isn’t the only part of me that’s brown
edging towards black.� I have my brown
belt in veegeewushu, and my sensei tells me I should go black in another
year.� Wait, there wasn’t
veegeewushu in your day.� There
wasn’t a lot of stuff in your day.�
OK.� Veegeewushu is
variable-gravity martial arts.� The
“veegee” part was originally “VG” and
“wushu” of course comes from the Chinese fighting arts.
Twice a week I take a work-study course in Space
Manufacturing Applications, and am just up to sapphire fabrication.� I’m learning to play the frame drum in
Music.� I can’t be in Band, because
I can’t play AT the game if I’m playing IN the game, and I am on
the spoccer team.
Spoccer is Space soccer.�
It was the first large team sport to be adapted to weightlessness.� “Space soccer” gradually became
“spaesoccer” and then “sp’soccer” and finally
“spoccer,” which is what everybody calls it now.� I’ll explain the game in detail later.
Looking back, I see that I’ve made several references
to “weightlessness” and “variable gravity” and even
“where I live,” so maybe it’s time to go into that.� I live in Space.� Yep, out in HEO, or High Earth Orbit.� That’s why my high school is named
after Gerard O’Neill.� It seems
like half the high schools in Space are named after him, with Konstantin
Tsiolkovsky, Arthur C. Clarke and Robert H. Goddard sharing most of the
rest.� O’Neill gets the
lion’s share because he was the first to describe in detail a plan for
inhabiting Space on a large scale.� You
can look him up.� He was already dead by
your time.� Actually, it’s cool to
think that some of you could have met him.�
I’ve had kind of a crush.�
So that’s where I live, where less than a thousand of you have
ever been.� But there are more than a
thousand out here now!� At last count, a
few hundred million people lived away from Earth.
We don’t live out in the vacuum, of course.� And we don’t live in anything you would
have called “space stations.”�
No, we live in enormous rotating tori, spheres, or cylinders.� The one I live in is designated I2 B112
because it is of Island Two size and Bernal Sphere type, and was the 112th
habitat of that size and type built.�
It’s called a “Bernal Sphere,” but it’s actually
not quite spherical.� The main body is
two thousand metres in diameter but two thousand one hundred metres long.� The extra hundred metres is right at the
equator, and there we have our beach.�
Our rotation is one RPM, or rotation per minute.� This means that we’re actually a little
bit over one G right at the equator, but as it’s in the water, you
don’t notice it.
The water is a single ring-shaped pool, circling the
circumference and one hundred fifty metres wide, covering the entire one
hundred metre wide equator and an extra twenty-five to either side.�
Along both sides of the beach is the village which makes up
the greater community.� This is where
most of the housing is for the thirty-six thousand people who live here, as
well as local markets, schools, and a few local businesses.
Strictly speaking, only the village is named Mendocino, with
the habitat itself carrying the serial number, but we all call it
The rest of the sphere is mostly parkland, and is shared by
everybody, sort of like a county on Earth, perhaps.� This is a pretty standard set-up.
When you leave the equator you find yourself climbing a
hill, where your weight decreases (but not your mass!� Remember I said that was important here?) the
closer you get to the center.� Right at the
center, you weigh nothing at all and can float like a cloud.� I can’t imagine living on a planet,
with the same gravity value all the time all the time all the time.� I’d go nuts if I couldn’t cycle
between full-G, low-G, and zero-G every day.
Outside the main not-quite-a-sphere, there are the twelve
ag-rings.� Six of them are on the
“north” side, and six on the “south,” not far from the
equator.� These are tubes, fifty metres
in diameter, bent into rings with the same two thousand metre diameter as the
main sphere.[1]� These are, or rather were, used
for growing food.� With so many of the
old I1’s being converted to dedicated food production, we only use half
of our ag-rings for food production and import the rest.� The others have been turned into parks, with
one even holding a small zoo.
One of these parks went clothing-optional two years ago, and
late last year another started having “Nude Friday” the second
Friday of each month.� I actually visited
the clothing-optional park last year.� I
left after a while.� Gawking I felt was
rude, and I wasn’t about to take my own clothes off.� I’ve never been to Nude Friday, because
that isn’t optional; you trip naked or you stay out.� I stay out.
The first I2 B models didn’t have a central sea.� All of that area was part of the village, or
at that size I guess it would be a town, or even a small city, of a hundred
thousand.� Population density was higher,
and there were so few habitats that every square metre had to be used in a more
efficient, cost-per-person way.� But now
there are so many that, starting with I2 B100 (
Mendocino is one of eighty-seven Bernal Spheres grouped
together within a few hundred Km of each other.�
There are over five million people living in this grouping.� Each Sphere has its own government and its
own laws.� So we’re not exactly a
unified nation, but are mostly independent from each other.� We are bound together by treaties, by mutual
business interests, and by the fact that we were founded by English-speakers,
but we aren’t states or anything like that.� We’re more like a collection of
city-states, after the ancient Greek of medieval Swahili model.
Finally, there are many habitats which are not associated
with our group in any way.� Some are
colonies of Earth nations, some are states of Earth nations, and some are
nations themselves.� There are other
collections of “city-states” out there, and even a few communities
which claim to have moved on to the next step in social evolution beyond
nations… whatever that’s supposed to mean.
I realize that my home will seem huge to you, but
Well, if I can get over the fact that they’re all
going to see me naked.� Here’s how
that happened.
It was Sunday, March 17th, and I was at
the beach, lying around in my new bikini.�
I’m usually too shy to wear anything that skimpy, but I wanted to
get over that, and I wanted Kevin to notice me.�
That’s the whole reason I was sunning: to get Kevin to notice
me.� It was working, too.� I’d noticed him checking me out when he
thought I wasn’t looking.� Damn is
he hot.� Tall, broad shoulders, skin a
bit lighter than mine and deep, deep dark eyes.�
He had a way of carrying himself that was confident, even a bit
arrogant.� But somehow I liked that.
Then my cell rang.�
Now, in your day cell phones were these bulky things that you had to
carry with you.� These days,
they’re just jewelry.� The speaker
was in my earring, and the controls were on a bracelet.� This little gadget, together with the eyetap,
replaces not only a phone, but a personal computer, television, music player,
and bookreader.� This means that my
bedroom isn’t clogged up with a phone, TV, radio, or computer, and the
living room isn’t clogged with any of that stuff either.� Also, I don’t have to lug fifteen Kg of
books around school with me.
I answered, not recognizing the ringtone, but the ID said it
was school.� This was just a recording,
but it was Principle Takahashi’s voice.
“Anzu James, please report to my office first thing
Monday morning.� You have been selected
for the Program.� Congratulations, and
good luck.”
My skin started to tingle like I was exposed to the vacuum,
and the nine hundred watts per square metre of sunshine wasn’t enough to
keep me from feeling cold.� Suddenly, the
bikini felt way too small, and I felt like I was naked already.� I wrapped the big beach towel around myself
and, when I felt like I could handle more information, put my eyetap on.� An eyetap looks just like the sunglasses you
probably wear yourself, but they can project images into your eyes.� I used it with my cell to check my mail.
Sure enough, there was mail from the school telling me all
about the wonderful Program and how lucky I was to be chosen.� The more I read the worse I felt.� Not only did I have to attend school in the
nude, I had to go EVERYWHERE naked!� I
could only wear my cell, and use protective gear, like my shin guards in
veegeewushu or my vac-suit if I went into the vacuum, and I couldn’t go
into the vacuum unless it was something I was already committed to.� Furthermore, I had to participate in all
normal activities, which meant I couldn’t get out of spoccer or
veegeewushu practice.� Just wait until I
describe spoccer, and you’ll see why I started trembling when I read
that.
Oh, and the Reasonable Requests.� No touching allowed tomorrow, but from
Tuesday on, I would be expected to not only let everybody look (no covering up
allowed), but TOUCH.� Touch me.� Anybody who wanted to.
I went home.� I just
didn’t feel like the beach anymore.�
As soon as I got in I told my mother, and she hugged me and told me that
it would be tough but she knew I could get through it, and how proud she was of
me.� I thanked her, but suggested she
hold off on “proud” until she saw how I did.
I suddenly had a thought, and started taking the bikini off
right there.� Mom startled, but then
grinned.
“You think you can get used to it by tomorrow
morning?”
“No,” I answered, “but maybe I can get
used to part of it.� Maybe if I can get
the not feeling anything on my skin thing down I’ll be better able to
deal with the rest of it.”
“OK, but you can only do this if you stay starkers for
everything. �No tossing something on when
Dad gets home, no wrapping up in a blanket when Steve comes by.”
Steve!� I’d
forgotten about him.� Steve is a twelve
year old boy from down the street.� I was
tutoring him in
I wrapped the towel around me again.� “I think I’d better go up and put
something on.”
“You know,” Mom started, with that look in her
eye that I’ve learned to worry about, “he’s going to see you
Tuesday and Thursday anyway.� You might as
well let him see you tonight.”
“Mom!�
He’s just twelve!�
What…� I can find him
another tutor for this week.� I mean,
God!� What will he think of me?”
Mom chuckled.�
“He’ll think you’re even more of a goddess than he
does already.� And besides, you’re
supposed to do all the things you normally do.�
That means tutoring Steve Tuesday and Thursday.� And tonight, but you can be dressed tonight,
if you insist.”
She winked.�
“But you know he’d love to see you starkers, and it would
help soften you up for tomorrow.”
I thought about it.� I
thought about it and was torn.� Yes,
he’d love to see me that way, and if I couldn’t get out of Tuesday
and Thursday, then why not Sunday as well.�
But God, letting him see me that way… my face was burning just
standing naked in front of Mom.
I sighed.� “Let
me call him and let him know.� He
shouldn’t come over here hoping I’ll wear a short skirt and
get… this.”� I stood tall and
flung my arms out to the side.
“Fine,” she agreed, “but I want your
decision in five minutes.”
She left the room as I keyed Steve’s number.� He answered right away.� There was no cam, so we couldn’t see
each other.� Just as well, as I was still
nude.
“Hey Anzu,” his young voice chirped, “Is
this about our hot date tonight?”
He always called our tutoring sessions “hot
dates.”� Just part of the
flirting.� He was about to find out how
hot it was going to get.
“Hey Steve,” I started, and hesitated.� “Hey Steve, you remember that short
skirt I wore last week?� When we were
doing the Hapsburgs?”
“Sure do,” he said in a voice that made me know
he meant it.
“Well, how’d you like to see me in
something… more revealing?”
“More revealing?” he asked, “You mean like
a swimsuit?”
“Skimpier than that,” I assured him.
“A bikini?”�
He was starting to really sound hopeful.
“Skimpier.”
“Skimpier than a bikini?”
I decided to stop drawing things out and get to the
point.� “Have you heard of this new
program in my high school?� The one we
older kids talk about and giggle over?”
He sounded more puzzled than ever.� “Program?� What do you mean, program?”
“You know,” I continued, “the
Program.� The one every high school
student is afraid of winding up in.”
He still seemed not to get it.� “What program?� And what does this have to do with you
wearing less than a…� The Naked in
School Proooooooooooo…?”
Yep, he just got it.�
I would have said something more, but I was working too hard not to
laugh.� When he finally spoke again, his
voice was very soft and he sounded even younger than he is.
“Anzu, you?”
“Yeah,” I answered, with more nonchalance than I
felt, “and it starts tomorrow as soon as I get to school.� I thought maybe getting started tonight, with
only you and my folks here to see me, would help me be prepared for tomorrow,
when EVERYBODY will get to see.”
“You…” I heard him take a deep
breath.� “You’re going to let
me see you a day early, and you don’t even have to?� Anzu, you are so cool!”
“OK,” I laughed, “Just don’t be
coming over early.� I need that time to
psych myself up.”
His next words touched me.
“Anzu, I really, really want to see you.� But if this is too embarrassing for
you…� Well, maybe I could get
another tutor for a week?� I don’t
want to make you feel weird.”
“That’s sweet,” I told him, “but I
don’t think you can make me feel any weirder than eleven hundred students
tomorrow.� So if you try not to drool,
I’ll try not to faint.”
He laughed at that.�
“OK, that means I’ve got an hour and a half to work on
anti-drool meditation.� Can’t
promise my eyes won’t bug out, though.�
See you soon, Babe.”
“Bye,” and I hung up. �If he was calling me “Babe” again,
it means he was getting back to normal.
I went to Mom and let her know that Steve would be here at
the usual time, and that I would be naked.�
I left the towel upstairs to emphasize my nudity.� She smiled.
“I know you can do this, Apricot.”
Yeah, sometimes she calls me Apricot.� I’m glad she never calls me Feminine
Love.� That would just be too weird,
coming from my mother.
The front door swung open.�
It was Dad, who gets off work an hour after Mom, because he goes in an hour
later.� He works on Sundays and takes
Thursdays off.� He only made it two steps
into the apartment when he stopped dead.
“I suppose there’s some reason for this,”
he deadpanned.
“Yes there is,” I assured him, “and if
you’ll CLOSE THE DOOR I’ll tell you what it is.”
Dad closed the door and very pointedly looked at my
face.� “You’re in the
Program, aren’t you?”�
Dad’s a sharp one, I’ll say that.
We talked about it over supper, which had been ready just
before I got home.� Mom had fixed pork
chops, brown rice with onions, gravy, and broccoli.� I was full and comfortable when there was a
knock on the door.� I looked at Dad.
“If it’s Steve,” I told him,
“I’ll answer the door myself.�
If it’s somebody else, well I won’t run, but I’d
rather you answered.”
Dad nodded and put his eyetap on.� He took it right back off.� He didn’t say anything, just nodded at
me.
Well, this was it.� I
was going to open the door buck naked and invite in a twelve year old boy who
had a crush on me.� And I was going to
let him look all he wanted, while trying to help him learn about the
Enlightenment.
Steve was fidgeting, but I could tell that he was also
trying to look dignified and suave.� All
that went out the window as soon as he got a look at full frontal me.� The boy just plain gawked, and seemed frozen
to the spot.
“Erm,” I started, “if it’s alright
with you, I’d like you to step in.�
It isn’t like I have a good reason or anything, but I’d
really like to close this door.”
Two people had gone by on their bicycles, but on the other
side of the street.� They couldn’t
see me unless they looked right at me, and neither had.� But how long could that last?
“Steve?” I prodded, “Space Command to
Steve?”
“Huh?� Oh,
sorry,” and he stepped inside.� I
immediately closed the door.� I was
careful not to cover up.� It
wouldn’t be allowed tomorrow.
We got right to work.�
He paid very close attention, at least to my body.� Not sure how much he learned about John Locke
or Voltaire.� Still, he was a gentleman,
if a gawking gentleman.� By the time he left,
an hour and a half later, he was acting almost normal.
“Anzu,” he asked, staring right at my chest,
“can I ask you something?”
I looked at him rather sharply.� “If you’re going to try for a
Reasonable Request, the answer is no.”
Steve blushed.� Ah, so
he knew about those.
“No no,” he assured me, “I just want to
know: is it cold in here to you?”
Damn.� I’d been
hoping he wouldn’t notice how stiff my nips were.� Then again, how could he not notice?� He’d been staring right at my tits
since I opened the door.� I mean,
he’d looked at my ass, my legs, my tummy, and even my face a little.� I’d caught him sneaking glances at the
Jade Gateway, too.� But mostly, he
studied my tits.� If a flea had landed on
one of them, he would’ve noticed.�
I decided to go for broke with honesty.
“The truth, Steve?�
The truth is, as embarrassing as this is, it’s kind of a turn-on
to be naked like this.� To have a boy
stare at you like you’re the hottest thing in town, well, even a young
boy… it makes me feel sexy.”
He looked at me like I was a nut.� “Well you sure look sexy,” he
assured me, “but what’s that got to do with being cold?”
I looked at him like he was a nut.� “What made you think I was cold?”
I asked.� I ran one hand over my left
titty.� Yep, like a pebble.
He tilted his head.�
“I have all my clothes on, and feel comfortable, so I thought
maybe you’d feel cold, because you don’t have clothes on.� But feeling sexy keeps you warm?”
I laughed.� No, it
wasn’t polite, but I couldn’t help it.� He probably didn’t even know that cold
or sexual arousal made a girl’s nipples hard.� He was just being considerate.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still laughing.� “I thought you wanted to know why
my… my nipples were stiff.� That
happens to a girl when she’s cold, but it happens when she feels sexy,
too.� I guess I’m so self-conscious
about what people can see that I just assumed… well, that you were asking
about them.”
Steve blushed again.�
“I thought they were always like that.� I’ve never seen…� You know, I’ve done the whole playing
doctor thing, the whole you-show-me-yours-I’ll-show-you-mine thing, but
not since I was nine.� It was always
another kid, a little girl.� You’re
the first WOMAN I’ve ever seen naked.�
Anzu, you have no idea how special this is for me.� You look like an angel.”
Sometimes, it’s nice to have dark skin, because
it’s hard to tell when I’m blushing.� Oh, I could feel it alright.� It covered most of my face and went down my neck.� I was at a loss for words for a while.
Steve bowed his head.�
“I’m sorry.� I embarrassed
you.”
Suddenly, I hugged him.�
I didn’t think about it, I just did it.� I think I was as surprised as he was.� He didn’t hug me back, but just stood
there, in shock probably.� After a few
seconds, I stepped away from him.
“Thank you,” I told him, and I meant it.� “Tomorrow, whenever I feel embarrassed
that people are seeing me naked, I’m going to remember what you said:
that I look like an angel.� An angel doesn’t
have to be afraid of anything.”
We talked a little bit about the Program, and about how I
thought I’d deal with it, and we even talked a bit about John Locke.� Finally, I walked him to the door and opened
it.� I decided to step out on the
terrace, where anybody nearby who so much as glanced in my general direction
would see me.
“Good night, Anzu.�
It was nice… SEEING you!” Steve batted his eyes at me and
grinned.
I grinned right back.�
“Just don’t forget to come by Tuesday and get another
look.”
He chuckled at that.�
“There’s this thing my grandmamma says about wild
horses…”� And with that he
turned and left, not looking back.
I actually stood out there for a while, wondering if he
would, until a stray breeze across my stiffened buds reminded me that I was on
naked display to the whole neighborhood, if they knew to look.� So I went back inside.
Mom was standing there, and she had a tear in her eye.
“I didn’t overhear all of that,” she told
me, “I didn’t mean to overhear as much as I did.� But Anzu, you were so sweet with him.”
“He’s a good kid,” I told her.� “He’s easy to be sweet to.� I only wish I could count on everybody to be
like that.”
I went to my room and looked up some of the history of the
Program, and checked my mail again.�
There was one from Mr. Scott, telling me to write this journal.� He said that it could count as my term paper
in English.
OK, up to this point I’d been scared.� Now I was pissed.� I’d already picked a subject for my
term paper.� Every student got to pick
her own subject.� But mine was now being
picked for me.� This wasn’t fair,
and the Program didn’t require it.
The next mail was from Botilda.� She’s my best friend, and is in the
same Homeroom as I am.� Our school, with
its eleven hundred students, is divided into twenty-two Homerooms, where each
class begins the day.� We report back to
Homeroom right after lunch, and if we don’t have some end-of-the-day
activity (like spoccer), we spend the last thirty minutes of the school day in
Homeroom also.� We split up and go to our
separate classes, of course (Botilda’s taking Pre-Colonial Chinese
History this year, while I’m taking Modern Earth History), but we begin
in Homeroom.� Each Homeroom would have a
Program kid each week.� Over the course
of four years, you were guaranteed to be chosen before you graduated.� Since Botilda and I were already juniors when
it began here, just this year, we actually had a chance of getting through
school Program-free.� Well, she still
did.
Botilda told me that Kevin had asked her about me.� He remembered my name!� He asked if I was a junior, and said
he’d seen me at spoccer.� I was so
thrilled!
But her next words reminded me of what I was in for.� You see, Botilda has this strong fear of the
Program.� Every weekend, she checks her
mail like mad, afraid that the notice will be there.� So now she was cheering that she hadn’t
gotten it.� She was so happy that, three
months into the year, another week would go by without her having to attend
school in the nude.
“I’m sorry for whoever the poor kid is,”
she’d written, “but at least it ain’t me.� Can’t wait to see who it is,
though.� Maybe it’s some hot
guy?”
Noooo, it wasn’t some hot guy.� I wrote her a note telling her that it was
me, and set it to deliver at six AM.�
Could you do that in your day?� I
mean, I know you had electronic mail, but could you do the delayed mailing
thing?� We always had lunch together, and
I didn't want to surprise her.
I guess I should put in that we don’t do that weird
thing where the school year starts when the real year is almost over.� No, our school year starts in the second week
of January and goes through the third week in December.� This isn’t as bad as it sounds, because
we get breaks for each season, twenty days plus weekends.� In fact, Spring Break starts week after next.
Then there was mail from Ms. Galton, my Modern History
teacher.� She told me that Mr. Scott had
talked to her about the journal idea, and then she had gotten the bright idea
that I should write it as if it were to be read by people living in the year
2000.� This, she said, would require me
not only to research the everyday lives of people alive at the time, but to
really get into their heads and think about what life was like at the time,
what they would and wouldn’t understand of today.
So now I’d had another paper chosen for me, instead of
getting to choose for myself.� Fucking
great.� I’ll write the damned
thing, but I’m going to go on record right here, right now:� This.�
Is.� Not.� Fair.�
And if you want to dock my grade for saying so, fine.
When I was done ranting about that, and writing that first
paragraph (which is staying, BTW), I found that one more mail had arrived.� It was from Steve.
“Just as a show of support, I thought I’d send
you a pic of me in the altogether.� I
have a pretty good bod for a twelve-year-old.”
And there was a winking smiley and a link.� I was kind of scared to click that link, but
finally decided it had to be a joke of some kind.� So I clicked it.� I almost fell out of my chair, and the laugh
I let out made me glad for the soundproofing in my room.
The pic was of this massive bodybuilder in a muscle
pose.� He was indeed nude, and on top of
all that sweaty, veiny, bulging, flexing muscle was Steve’s little face,
with his eyes crossed and his tongue stuck out.�
That made me feel good enough to go ahead and start this journal.
I’m also going to write a second “background” chapter about the Program itself, since it was just starting back in your day.� So just read that, and don’t worry, I’m sure there’s more “good stuff” coming up.
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[1] Here’s a picture.�
It isn’t exactly like Anzu’s home, but it’s close
enough to give a good idea of the general lay-out.� http://ssi.org/assets/images/Ch99p347.gif
Here’s an artist’s idea of what the inside
would look like.� Again, this isn’t
exactly Mendocino, but the artist didn’t get it very wrong.� http://space.mike-combs.com/bernal3.jpg
