Naked in School-Kevin and Denise
I checked my schedule. Oh! Gym? After lunch? That must have been one of the tweaks Mrs Raymond made. Glad I didn’t eat big. Denise also? I turned to her, she was saying goodbye to Sarah.
“Denise? You have gym now?”
“Yeah, didn’t last year but had to do it this year. I have a doc’s note for light activity, though.”
“Ah, that explains you in it after lunch. I’m glad I ate lightly. Where do we go?”
She took my hand with a giggle (her giggles make me tingle inside—am I falling for her?) and said, “Right this way, my studly hero person. If we were doing the Program now we’d have to use the opposite sex’s lockers but I guess not this week. I hope for me not ever...” she trailed off.
“Really? That’s in the Program too? Totally weird.”
“Oh yeah, the restrooms too; didn’t you know?”
“No. Wow. How the hell does that ever promote comfort with one’s sexuality—unless you’re into watersports and scat? Those perverts who designed the rules must be real pieces of work! How is watching a person pissing or taking a dump sexy?” I asked rhetorically.
See—even though my sexual functions are very limited, I’m not naive about fetishes.
“Here we are. This is the boys’ door, my door is there,” she pointed. “You know we have gym only Mondays and Wednesdays—the other days we go to Health and Psychology, right?”
“Oh, yeah, forgot. Hey, will you be ok in there?”
“Sure. I’ll only be doing light stuff and won’t need to shower afterward; that’s one of my problems; washing around my, uh, privates, can be very painful so I have my own slow routine. Gee, I can talk to you about that—maybe I am really progressing.”
“You’re doing just fine. If you want, I can help you and support you. And I’m a good listener.”
She got tears in her eyes and reached up on her toes, kissing my cheek. “Thank you. I do.”
We separated and I walked in. Just what I expected, a standard locker room. Were the lockers assigned? The hall lockers had been. There was a guy there just finishing getting dressed so I asked him.
“Yeah, over there,” he pointed, “assignment sheet on the office window.”
I got my number and found the locker. Hmmmm. A knob with letters on two dials. I opened the door and taped to the inside was the combo. In the open. Where anyone could look at it. Invitation for a little petty theft? I made a note to bring my own lock; there was also a standard locking mechanism on the door. The combo sheet had only two letters and the two dials showed A through H. Eight for each letter. Hmmmm, the possible combinations are 8x8 so there are only 64 possibilities. That’s no security at all, regardless of the paper inside! Oh, right, they also know the number, so anyone with access to the master list can open a locker. Yeah, I’m bringing my own lock.
The instruction sheet on the window said to come to the gym in exercise wear. I got out of my street clothes, stripped out of my tight briefs and slid into my running gear: a very tight lycra brief with long legs and then runner’s shorts over that. On second thought, I stripped off the shorts and put on a jockstrap with a light cup, then put on the shorts again. If we were to play any ball sports I needed the protection if I intended to remain in school to finish the day.
Then my tanktop and trainers (oh, in America they’re called ... uh, sneakers? ...funny name). Off I went through a door at the far end of the room where the other kids were headed. I hadn’t paid any attention to the others and I supposed they didn’t watch me either. Normal school locker-room etiquette, just like Korea and Japan.
In the gym the teachers had the kids line up, boys on one side and girls on the other. They told us the kinds of gym activities we’d be doing; standard stuff like volleyball, basketball, dodgeball, calisthenics, rope-climbing, basic tumbling, running—stuff like that. In warmer weather we would be outdoors and do softball, soccer (oh, that’s “football” everywhere else in the world), and some track activities and the girls would do lawn hockey. We wouldn’t do swimming this term; that came next term. The boys and girls normally did separate activities but at times there would be something done together. Nothing unusual, but then they began to explain what was expected of the Program people.
“When you’re on the Program, you know that you use the locker room for the opposite sex and then come into the gym wearing just sneakers, nothing else. You will participate with your group and do all of the activities that your group performs. When we go outside, you will go also, and again participate in all activities. Failure to do this will require you to repeat your Program week.”
A hand came up. “What about protective gear? I don’t want to get hit by a ball in a sensitive place.”
“We’ll decide when protective gear will be necessary, but it won’t be often. We expect you to be alert and protect yourselves from harm.”
This was nuts. Are they for real?
Another hand. “Uh, I have a large bosom and need a support bra for protection...”
“No bras are permitted ever.”
“Um, I can’t run if they’re bouncing! They really hurt and I can be injured!”
“Hold them with your hands. If we feel you aren’t participating fully, you’ll repeat until you can.”
Some of the girls were getting tears in their eyes. This is really wrong! Something from that Program booklet popped into my head; I read it close to the beginning and felt compelled to get into this.
“Excuse me, ma’am. The Program booklet explicitly provides for protective gear to be worn so there’s no risk to the participant’s health or safety. And I recall that the language does not provide who determines what is a risk and what protection should be worn. It also listed items as examples, using that precise word, not a restricted list of items. So if a person needs a bra for the needed support in sporting activities, how is that different from a back brace for lifting weights?”
“Oh, we have a Program lawyer here? What’s your name, boy?”
“I’m Kevin Coris (oh, my cover’s blown. Everyone’s staring at me). And please, ma’am, be polite. I think I’m a bit too old to be called a ‘boy,’ don’t you?” Giggles around the room.
“Well, Mr Coris, we’ve all heard about you by now and how you think you can just take over this school and run it how you want. You’ll see just how far you can go. According to the Program guidelines, which you just spouted out so knowingly, teachers can use any student for demonstration purposes and can be drafted into the Program for the day. Mr Coris, you’re drafted now for demonstration purposes; strip naked now and demonstrate twenty laps around the gym.”
I couldn’t believe it. A Program punishment for pointing out a blatant violation of the guidelines by a teacher? Maybe taking over the school isn’t such a bad idea.
“Well, miss whoever-you-are. You didn’t give us the courtesy of learning your name, so I’ll call you Miss Teach. From Dr Fletcher’s announcement this morning, the Program—that’s all parts of it, by the way—is not beginning until next Monday, so I respectfully decline your suggestion that I disrobe. Humiliation isn’t part of the Program’s objectives. I will accept your offer of giving me the opportunity to demonstrate the skill of running, however, and for your own personal titillation, I’ll even do it shirtless.”
She turned bright red as I spoke, but when I got to titillation (nice word, just wanted to jerk her around), she began to sputter in rage. Kids all around were laughing and high-fiving each other as I calmly stripped off my shirt and headed to the running lane marked on the floor. I glanced around the room. Hmmmm, it looks like maybe an 80 meter loop. That’s 1600 meters. Yeah, must be a mile. A breeze. Five minutes. Let’s break that. I took off. No one had moved; the entire room stood frozen, watching me run. I do better outdoors because I can dig into the ground better, but this is more even. I picked up my pace halfway through, and for the last three laps gave it my all. I needed that physical release; I had been emotionally charged all day. I crossed the line and glanced at the big timer clock. Not bad; 4:28. My indoor best.
Mouths were open, the teachers were staring at the clock, the kids were looking at each other. Oh, no, did it again! Why, oh why, don’t I keep my big mouth shut? I was pulling on my shirt when Miss Teach came over.
“Mr Coris?” she said quietly. “That was quite a demonstration, indeed. I’m the track coach, Miss Williams, and I want you on the track team.”
“Oh, so now I’m good for your team? I’ll tell you what. Let’s see what we can arrange about this protective gear issue, and then we can discuss teams, ok?” She started to object. I raised a finger. “Give a little, get a little. That’s negotiating. Keeping it clean, right?”
I walked away before she could answer. I’ll let her stew a bit and let her make the next move. Always approach the issue from a position of power, I reminded myself.
But now I had even more food for thought. Teachers as executives (ran the classroom), legislators (made their rules), judges (decided issues), and even executioners (meted out punishment). The Constitution provided for separation of powers. This is effectively a mini-dictatorship!
I think everyone, teachers included, were still a bit—shaken? subdued? I don’t know—about my outburst and “demonstration” because the teachers gave everyone the rest of the period as free time. The two teachers were off in the corner, talking; kids stood in small groups, some chatting, some bouncing balls to each other, some shooting hoops, a couple using the exercise bikes, everyone quietly doing their thing. I went over to the mats, pulled one off the wall, and started to do my stretches. I didn’t do my pre-run stretches so my muscles had begun to stiffen. Denise came over and sat on the mat near me.
“Kevin? For someone who says they wanna just lay low and be an ‘ordinary guy,’ as you put it, you sure as hell have a strange way of doing it.”
“Tell me about it,” I grunted.
“You’re right, you’re not a hero—you’re every girl’s dream—their ‘knight in shining armor,’ coming to everyone’s defense no matter what the consequences. You have such a highly developed sense of ‘rightness’ that it’s swamping out any of your self-protective instincts. If you even have any.”
“Yeah. Not sure I do. Must be in there somewhere, though,” I puffed.
“Well, you sure did a number on the girls in this class, anyway. Half of them basically said they want to jump your bones. You have a wicked awesome body, you know.”
I groaned, and not from the stretching. “Listen, Denise. You spilled your darkest secrets to me but I have something in my closet too that no one in the world knows about but me. My parents knew but now it’s only me. Look, I’m gonna try to get to see my lawyer guy after school; this will involve your situation too, so if I can see him, could you come? Then I can tell both of you at once.”
“Oh! There’s no way I could afford a lawyer! My psych therapy is costing Mom a fortune!”
“No, no cost. This is on my dime. I need to get my ducks in a row and be certain of the legal basis for all of this crap I’ve been spouting all day. This has been all off the cuff and I’m really lucky I haven’t really screwed something up so far.”
“Yeah, I could go. I need to be home at 6, though.”
“I’ll see what I can get...” A whistle blew. A voice rang out: “Showers, everyone. Hit it!”
“Denise, I need a shower bad. See you in class?”
She smiled, squeezed my hand, blew me a kiss, and trotted off toward her locker room door. I found myself musing, “Yeah. Gorgeous girl. Real nice ass,” and snapped myself out of it. With her problem and with mine, we’d be the world’s most unlikely couple. I jogged off to the guys’ locker room, still feeling a bit stiff. I hope they have hot water. Real hot.
I got to my locker and opened it, stripped off my shirt, trunks, and jock, grabbed a bar of soap and took a towel from the stack outside the showers. You noticed, I think, that the lycra tights weren’t mentioned? Well, they are now because I’m still in them. Right; wear ‘em to bed, wear ‘em to shower too. I still can’t deal with the sensation of heat/pain/fire that certain movements of my cock produce. So I wash my body down first and then carefully wash my privates like a baby’s tush.
Only a few guys were showering; except for me, no one had done anything strenuous. One of the guys in the room looked at me when I came in.
“Hey, guy. That was an impressive run. I also liked how you put that officious bitch down.”
“Thanks for the run comment, but please don’t badmouth anyone on my account. She just needs to get civilized a little better so she’s aware of other people’s needs.”
“Well, she’s got this rep in the school as a bull dyke and likes to show it off... Say,” he said, looking down at me for the first time, “you know you don’t need to be that modest in the shower. We’ve seen it all, you know, and when you’re on the Program it all hangs out anyway.”
“Yeah, I know that. I’m not modest. I have a medical condition—no, not contagious” —he had edged away— “and not in appearance, that makes me need to strap my cock down tightly, that’s all.”
“Oh,” he said a little uncertainly.
“Yeah, when it flops around it’s a problem for me.”
“Geez. What’s gonna happen when you’re on the Program, then?”
“Well, I hope when that time comes, everything’ll be resolved,” I said, hoping to misdirect him.
“Oh, ok, that’s good, well, see ya,” he waved, grabbed his towel, and left.
I finished with my body and carefully lowering the tights, gently swabbed my pubic area. I pulled the tights off, soaped them up and rinsed them out, being very careful to keep my groin away from the stream of water. Then I pulled them on again. I would have to orchestrate how I’d get dry and into street clothes next. Then I turned the water to the hottest setting, aaahhhh, not bad, and worked my stiff muscles under the stream. It felt lots better. Water off, I grabbed my towel and went to my locker. I toweled off and then sat down on the bench. Pulled off the tights and carefully dried the sensitive areas. Then I powdered my groin and smeared on the anesthetic, it’s been almost two years and I’m still using the stuff, but it works. Then I slipped on my daytime tights and dressed the rest of the way. Just made it, the bell rang as I was getting my shirt on.
I ran outside the locker room and then to the outer door, pulled out my mobile, and rang Bob’s office. His secretary answered. I explained my call.
“Mr Charlesworth was actually expecting you to call today and set aside some time this afternoon for you. Can you come in at 3:30?”
Super. “Yeah, that’s really perfect, and he’s very perceptive. Thank him for me.”
She laughed. “Not perceptive—experienced. He has a son a year older than you who just went through the Program at his school at the end of last term, so Mr Charlesworth knew you’d learn about the Program and immediately get involved somehow. Was he right?”
Wow. Dad or Dan must have told him all about me. Wow. “Yes, right on, actually. I’m really impressed.”
“Son, he was impressed when your dad sent him your file. He was on the phone that day with your dad and his friend, Mr Hollander, talking about what you might need when you arrived. By the way, I heard about your parents and I’m really so sorry for you.”
“Ok, thanks, so 3:30 downtown? The Webster Building on Harper?”
“That’s right. See you then. Be nice to finally meet you.” She hung up. Wow. Are all of Dad’s contacts so cool?
The warning bell sounded but fortunately my next class was in the adjacent wing, maybe a hundred feet away. I got to the room and slipped in just before the teacher. Whew. Close. Didn’t want a tardy—or whatever they do—on the first day.
Denise looked at me; I mouthed “Later.” She nodded.
After class I told her we had the appointment and she wanted to know some specifics. I told her it was complex and please just wait, just trust me.
Soon the day was over. I suddenly remembered that I needed a parking sticker for my car; we had enough time, so I went to the office, registered it, and got the sticker. I really need to make a list and check off these things, I thought.
On the drive downtown I made smalltalk with Denise about the day and she told me how much my being with her had given her confidence.
Copyright © 2015 Seems Ndenyal. All Rights Reserved.