Naked in School-Kevin and Denise
Our health and psychology class alternated with gym with gym class only being on Monday and Wednesday this term. From last week, I had no inkling of what the class covered and there wasn’t a detailed syllabus for it on the website, just a general statement that issues of physical and psychological health in American society were studied.
When we arrived in the classroom, Miss Stevens, the teacher, passed out a sheet titled “Sexual Health of American Teens.” Oh my god, I could see the handwriting on the complaint form. Here comes another struggle.
The bell rang and Miss Stevens looked around the room and then at a paper.
“Well, we’re scheduled to have two Program students in this class, are Miss Roberts and Mr Coris present?”
We raised our hands.
“You’re in the Program! You need to be naked! What’s the meaning of this violation?”
I took out a copy of the page I had prepared for Monday’s classes and gave it to her.
She read it and said, “Well. that may be ok for the halls, but in this class you’re the class demonstrations, so I’m requiring your nudity right now. Take those things off and come up here.”
Then I noticed the items that were on the table in the front of the room. There were dildos of varying sizes, what I assumed were vibrators, and tools which I assumed must be speculums.
“Miss Stevens, I’m looking at the items you have on the table. They look like sex toys and medical instruments. Am I correct? If they are, exactly what is their relationship with class demonstrations?”
“In this class we cover the use of these items. We demonstrate how they are employed in sexual play and also the condition of the vagina after orgasm. We also demonstrate manual and oral stimulation of the sexual organs in boys and girls.”
Denise exclaimed, “Oh!” and sat there looking stunned. “I can’t!”
“In that case, Denise and I decline to be your demonstration models. We have exemptions.”
“There are no exemptions for class. The Program curriculum requires your participation and if you don’t participate you will fail and not graduate.”
“Miss Stevens, I direct your attention to the Program booklet which specifically prohibits the insertion of foreign objects.”
“That rule doesn’t apply to class demonstrations.”
“And that exception appears exactly where in the booklet?”
“In the teacher’s guide.”
“Ah. However, I see no reference to a teacher’s guide in the rules shown in the Program booklet, which are actually the sole governing rules for the Program. Any other rules cannot conflict with the rules as shown in the booklet. We went through this with Dr Fletcher and the Program officials and have a signed agreement with them about exactly this issue. So if your curriculum requires your demonstration of those items. I suggest using volunteers, videos, or simply describe by verbal means the teaching points you want to cover.”
“You are absolutely impertinent. We can force you to comply, you know.”
“I think not. That’s been tried.”
The class, up to now listening raptly, laughed.
“I will take this up with Mr Abover. He’ll ensure your full cooperation.” I winked at Denise. “You, what’s your name?” she asked, pointing at a kid next to the door.
“Janice.”
“Janice, could you please take this note to the office?” She scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Janice, who left the room, looking behind her as if she hated to miss what was coming. “Now, class, this sheet shows what we’ll be doing this week, beginning when we secure the required cooperation of out Program students.”
The sheet showed that the demonstrations included stimulation to orgasm in a girl by several means: manual self-stimulation, manual and oral stimulation by the boy participant, and by using a dildo vaginally. For the boy, stimulation to orgasm by manual self-stimulation, manual and oral stimulation by the girl participant, and use of a butt dildo for a prostrate massage.
Denise was reading the sheet and turning white.
“Miss Stevens, this is totally unacceptable and violates many of the Program rules. Under the Program changes Dr Fletcher announced last Friday, most of this material can’t be demonstrated, at least by mandated Program participants who decline participating,” I commented after reading it.
“The teachers determine who must participate and how the students...” She broke off as Janice had returned to class.
Stevens looked questionably at her. “They said they’d call him.”
Probably means Abover. Stevens then turned her attention back to me.
“Now, Mr Coris, this is what we’re going to do.”
She launched into an introduction to sexual foreplay and demanded that Denise and I come to the front of the room. I said I’d go up to start and that Denise would wait until Stevens made it clear how she intended to use us.
“The first thing I need is for you to demonstrate an erection,” she said, “so you need to take those tights off and get an erection.”
“Medically I’m unable to do so; I’m sorry.” Gasps from the class. “I wish it weren’t so.”
“Take the shorts off and I’ll make sure you do get one,” she said, angrily.
“Ok, that’s it,” I said. “You’ve lost your chance for any demonstrations from either of us,” and I returned to my seat.
Right on cue, Abover appeared. “What’s the problem, why did you call for me?” he asked her.
She explained the situation and Abover wheeled around and looked at me.
“You!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, me,” I replied. “Good to see you again. How’s the arm?”
“Like you really care.”
“Oh, I do. I hate it when people have accidents.”
The class roared with laughter and Abover stormed out. Stevens looked at the door in confusion.
“Please proceed, Miss Stevens,” I said sweetly.
She shuffled through her papers, probably trying to see how she could reorganize her lesson on the fly, then looked up and asked if anyone in the class would volunteer. Everyone sat on their hands and looked everywhere but at her.
“You know, class, I can draft any one of you into the Program and have you do the demos instead.”
I had to ride to the rescue again. “Not true. That particular rule only applies to a Program punishment. And precisely what Program rule would you claim that the student violated to invoke that punishment?”
She glared at me. “Mr Coris, I think I’m sending you for detention for the rest of the week.”
The class gasped.
“Miss Stevens, I’d rethink that. There are plenty of witnesses who would back my contention that the punishment was a vindictive response to your being shown to be wrong.”
Her glare disappeared and was replaced with a look of anger mixed with uncertainty. “All right, class, use the rest of the period to study quietly,” she said, and sat down at her desk, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, and stared at the students around the room. Soon she relaxed a little and began going through her folders.
Well, I suppose I might hear about this from Fletcher, but I did have his signed agreement that backed what I had just done. When the bell rang, I was surrounded by a bunch of kids, all clamoring about how they had never seen anyone ever stand up for themselves as I did. Really? I’m only following the rules, and if that’s expected of me, then it’s appropriate that I expect it of others too—including teachers.
The last two classes of the day were uneventful. I just wish they all were like these, solid academic subjects. English and History. No Program demos. The teachers were supposed to use Program students to further the academic objectives of the classes but apparently these English and history teachers had no need to try to fit nudity into their classes—although they did ask us if we needed relief, which of course, we declined.
When the dismissal bell rang, Denise dashed off again to meet her mom to go to the therapist’s appointment. I had given her my extra trunk key so she could get her clothes. While I was fiddling with stuff in my locker, Nelson, the sophomore went by.
“I heard about your scene in health class,” he commented. “I wish I could have seen it.”
“Yeah, well, you stood up great in your biology class when you had to do illegal stuff,” I pointed out. “You and Barbara stood up for your rights. We need to see when Fletcher’s gonna start that student advisory panel, but it’ll be too late for our week.”
He agreed and dashed off to get dressed.
I actually had some free time after school, so I ran some needed errands. The first was to get a drivers license so I stopped and picked up the needed forms. They were interested to see my Indonesian license and the IDP and I had to explain how, as an American citizen, I wound up with a foreign licence. When I began to tell them that my mom was in the State Department, that was all they needed to hear.
During my errand running, I got a mobile call from Bob Charlesworth who told me that he was hearing some interesting information about Abover’s background and had escalated the checking to an urgent status. He wondered if I had any more information about him.
“Not on his background, but on something he did.” I went on to relate the attempted locker break-in on Monday and mentioned the signed confession I had obtained.
“Good job. Not sure how we could use that yet, but hold on to it. Brian Ebers tells me you’re all set if the feds show up tomorrow.”
“As best as I can right now, and thanks.”
“Ok, keep safe. Oh, and about that convenience store holdup last Thursday—that was a nice piece of work, son. My contacts at the police department tell me that you’ve got a lot of impressed cops down there. So I mean it—keep safe and no more heroic stunts, ok? Call if you need anything.”
“Ok, thanks, sir.”
~~~~
I had just gotten home when my mobile rang again. This time it was Denise. She wanted me to come to her house for dinner and then she had to tell me about a special project she had gotten to do.
“What kind of project?” I asked.
“Can’t say on the phone. It’s too complicated.”
“Not even a hint?”
“The hint’s complicated, too.”
“Must be a complicated project.”
“That’s true. It’s my therapy homework.”
“Ok, what time?”
We arranged a time for me to come. I told Aunt Helene that I’d be going to Denise for dinner and went to my room to do my homework. I also checked my email and the website and saw that it had lots of traffic now from all over the country; many accounts had been posted in the “First Person” section, a number of blog articles had been published, and the forum was in active use. The counter showed 87 active users on line at that moment. Wow, that’s so cool.
Then I did my stretching routine and went out to the backyard and spent a half hour running through a number of taekwondo kick and tumbling sequences; then I showered and left for Denise’s house.
Denise had been a little mysterious when she had asked me if I would come help her with her therapy homework after school. Ok, I can deal with a little mystery; it’s not like I don’t like to be a little mysterious with her at times. I can’t believe I asked her to be my girlfriend! I don’t have any close friends yet, Denise is the only one I’m close to. I miss my folks so, so much. This is something I would have loved to tell them about; my very first girlfriend. There was so much I didn’t know about girls and talking to Dad—even Mom—would have meant so much. I speak to Aunt Helene, but it’s not the same. Her husband died many years ago and they were childless, so she didn’t have any knowledge of dealing with a teen boy let alone with a teen boy’s romantic life.
I arrived at Denise’s house and her mom wasn’t home; she was working late on a special project, and Denise had prepared supper. After supper we went to her living room.
“Kevin, this afternoon, Dr Rousis went over my homework sheet and asked me if I had listened to the recording. She was surprised that I didn’t call her—oh, yeah, I didn’t mention that she said I should call her if I needed support when I listened to the tape and I didn’t call so she had assumed that I didn’t do it. So I told her that you were helping me and she said that was kind of ok but that you weren’t a professional and might say something that would make things worse. I told her that you only listened and made soothing or encouraging remarks, and she said that was just right, and if you stuck to doing that, your helping me would be fine. Then she asked me how my stress and anxiety were while I listened to the tape—oh yeah, that’s something else. I need to use a numerical scale to rate the intensity of my anxiety from zero, that’s no stress, to a hundred, the worst possible stress.
“I had put down the numbers on a scoring sheet she gave me to use, and the numbers after listening and working with you were lower. She was very happy about that and said that the next step in the therapy was called ‘in vivo’ which means that I’ll need to do things that I’ve been avoiding because they scare me.
“So we listened to my tape again and she kept stopping it, asking me to try to recall even more details about each thing I described—I used the notes you took to help—and translate each into an action that caused me excess stress or anxiety. Some of those were like being alone at night, or seeing a person who looked like the bastard, or having a stranger come close to me, stuff like that. First, we made a list of the easiest things I could do, up to the most stressful, and then my assignment is to actually do those things. I have to stay in that situation for as long as I can, as much as a half hour, or until my anxiety level goes way down—by half.”
“Sweetie, I don’t know what to say. This is so way out of my league. I don’t want to do something and wind up hurting you, you know. Anyway, how could I help with the things you mentioned? Do I look anything like your mom’s ex-boyfriend? Right? And being alone and being near a stranger—how could I help with that?”
“Um. This is hard, Kevin. I, uh, I don’t know... oh, this is awful! I just can’t come out and talk straight! Um, ok, the biggest thing on that ‘in vivo’ list we made was some situations that Dr Rousis said were the toughest things to work on. This was the... um, well, ah, you know, the molesting stuff itself. You know, um, what he did to me. I can do the other stuff myself, I guess, but I learned something being with you last night, that I trust you so much, and I’ve never felt that way before. Even with Mom, somehow I feel that I can’t totally rely on her because she let that bastard do what he did, even though he misled her.
“My first therapist said that I couldn’t make any progress unless I learned some trust and how to listen to my body. I never knew how until I met you and you saved my life—no, you really did, you know. I may have killed myself if I had been stuck in the Program and you weren’t there, I don’t know.”
I took her in my arms as she began sobbing. “I don’t know what I would have done; it was so awful and no one cared about me.”
“I care, Denise. I’ll try to help as best as I can. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Ok,” she sniffled, “thank you. I think I need to go slowly now and just take baby steps. For today, there’s just my therapy homework on listening to today’s tape and trying to remember even more details, even stuff about when he first started to bother me. Dr Rousis said a big part of the trauma is self-blame; somehow I’m blaming myself for letting him do that stuff to me, like maybe I was unconsciously tempting him. I can’t see that, but it’s possible, so I’m supposed to recall everything I did around him so I can become convinced that this was all his fault and none of mine. But that part’s so hard to remember!” she wailed.
“Maybe you don’t have to actually remember. You know what kind of person you were. Were you attracted to him in any way?”
“NO! I remember that when Mom first brought him home, I didn’t care for him. It was something about him... yeah, the way he would look at me; I see it now, it didn’t register before. I was so innocent!”
“Well, there you go. If he made you uncomfortable, you certainly wouldn’t have been leading him on. If you keep that in mind, then you’ll really be able to believe that you had no fault in what happened, right?”
“I guess. It’s so hard, after years of thinking one way, to change, you know? I’m supposed to try to think of those awful memories just like I’m living them right now, but instead of being in that threatening situation, seeing that right now I’m actually safe and nothing bad is happening. But it’s scary doing that.”
“I can only imagine. My worst memories are when I learned that my parents had just been killed. I have no clear memory of the hours after that, and not very much of the next couple of weeks. My aunt... uh, not a real aunt, a very close family friend... had me go to a doc and he said that I was in shock, a very common response, and that he thought that otherwise I was very balanced and would gradually get better. That the grief would remain; that was healthy, at least for a little while, but the shock would go away. He was right, that’s exactly what happened. I’ll bet it’s the same thing with you, but your shock never left; it kept getting worse.”
“Maybe. Oh, I know. There’s a difference between what happened to us. With you, it was all outside of you. That awful thing happened to people you loved but not to you directly. With me, it was done to my body so my body is reacting to the shock. Maybe that’s why it’s staying around? It’s inside me?”
“Hell, Denise, you’re way outta my pay grade now. But yeah, that’s a great thought—remember it to discuss with your doc, ok?”
“Ok.” She looked at me shyly. “Can we do that stuff now, like we did yesterday, with you holding me while I listen to today’s tape? That was so good for me.”
“Sure.”
She started the recording and we listened. Our listening session was basically just like yesterday’s, even including the gentle kissing at the end. But now this was my official girlfriend so somehow today the feeling was way more intense and I had a strong physical response. Yes, that kind. And it still hurt. Oh, damn.
As we parted for the evening, Denise gave me a hug and kiss.
“I’m going to practice the breathing and meditation stuff before bed. It’s relaxing and I think it helped me sleep better last night. Thank you, thank you for helping me, Kevin. See you in the morning, right?”
“Sure thing. Sleep tight, sweetie.”
When I arrived home, I checked my email and noticed a message from Bob saying he was also going to try calling my mobile; if I didn’t get that call, I should ring him back. I checked the time of the message and it was before I had spoken to him earlier in the day. The message hadn’t been in my in-box earlier when I had checked it, so I wondered why it was delayed. Hey, I have to stop thinking that there were nefarious reasons for the email being delayed—was I becoming paranoid?
Well, I probably had a big day tomorrow, so I decided to try to get to sleep now. I hooked myself up to the nerve-stimulation device, lay back, and closed my eyes.
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