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Carrying The FlagChapter 13: Asalam Alaikum free porn video
Can’t breathe! Can’t scream! Fight! I try to get my hands up – CAN’T!
FIGHT!
Help! I need help!
My whistle! Blow my whistle.
No whistle!
No air.
I woke up soaked in cold sweat, early morning sunlight filtering through familiar curtains, rolled on my back, tangled in my sheets, my pigtail draped across my throat.
Fumbling it loose I grabbed a desperate breath. Finally unwinding everything I sat up and slumped. Shit! How long had it been since I’d had a nightmare that bad?
A long time, but never long enough.
The first one, years ago, began with the sound of our doorbell, Marines in their full dress blues standing at the door.
That one had been real. But the next, and the next ... might as well have been.
Then there were the ones filled with noise and heat and pain and screaming and flames and blood. All those had bubbled up out of my overactive imagination.
But this one was different. This one was more immediate. More personal.
Bracing myself I let my mind fill in the blanks. Someone in my face, lips twisted with a vicious grin, fingers tightening around my throat
Someone else looking on? A girl. In a cage, her face blank, her eyes dead.
Who?
The faces came into focus. I shuddered. Shit! There was nothing subtle about this one.
The face in my face was Dolph’s. I was trying to get to the girl, but his fingers were around my neck.
The girl in the cage was Ashley.
Fuck! That was totally over the top. I shuddered, afraid I was going to throw up.
Think of something else. Anything! Anyone else.
Hadiya, the serene courage in that bronze eye of hers. How does she do that, after all she’s suffered? Who’s the student here and who the teacher. I was the child, she was... ?
I was worried about her. I hadn’t seen her since the office yesterday, after that mess in the boys’ room. She must have been furious with Craigmyle, Schultz and Johnson.
But more than anything else, she was a survivor. Serene courage? Yeah, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a temper. I’d seen the anger in her when she talked about her brother and what had been done to him, and to her. But Ms. Andrews was working with her and that made me feel better.
I remembered my own sessions in Andrews’ office. Anger management she called it. From beating up a pillow to popping bubble wrap I’d graduated to twisting plastic water bottles into fragments with my bare hands.
I’d finally come to terms – of a sort – accepting that it wasn’t Bao’s fault he was gone forever. He hadn’t wanted to die. It wasn’t the fault of his brother Marines, either.
How about the President?
Let’s not go there.
The villain was a faceless fanatic forever out of reach. I’d learned to let it go, let it all go.
Well, almost.
Andrews had her ways. I knew they weren’t confined to letting her patient beat on her office pillow or wreck defenseless plastic bottles. After Dee’s bicycle had been savaged Andrews had taken her to the archery range. In the end that had probably saved Dee’s life.
Archery and Haddy? That wasn’t going to happen. Archery takes two hands.
God my mind does run on, but that was enough to roll me out of bed. I stretched, taking an inventory of the girl in the mirror. Short, almond eyes, tan skin, a pigtail almost down to her butt, bashful boobs with sensitive nips, muscular torso, strong legs, sore ankle.
Yup, that was me. I scratched, my fingers rasping on pussy stubble. That felt good but it was starting to itch. I’d need some of the spa’s wizardry before Saturday afternoon, that was sure, but it was too soon for another wax job. That’s okay. Lalita’s touch with a razor was as sexy as her waxing.
Thinking of that brought me full-circle, back to Haddy. Maybe she’d like to come with me to Alphonse’s again, and maybe this time she’d even share the front window with me. Her henna tats would draw a crowd, boosting Needle’s ‘n’ Skins business. In another week or two they’d be fading but for now they were good.
But that was Saturday. This was Thursday. This morning it was Haddy and me getting naked in full view of the CLODs across the street. That motivated me into a warm morning shower and a nice, teasing fondle of my tender bits, just enough to get my juices flowing.
Back in my room it was what to wear, what to wear? Less is more? I considered a simple shift. One thing to come off was quick and simple, but where’s the suspense in that? Give the CLODs a tease. How about layers with a twist ending?
I dug out my scantiest bra-and-panty set, delicate royal blue lace that revealed more hints of skin than it hid, even showing the shadows of my nips.
Victoria’s Secret you say? Not in my size! I’d ordered this from a catalog aimed at the grade-school beauty pageant set. Like the judges were supposed to see that?! The bra cups were little more than patches on my bashful boobs. The matching French-cut panties hugged my bottom, hinted of the shadow of my stubble and my camel toe.
What the hell were they doing selling shit like that to pre-teens? What sexualizes young girls more, kiddie pageants or being Naked in School?
Over that pedo-appealing ensemble I went demure – an opaque short-sleeved white shirt buttoned all the way up, a short red scarf around my neck. A pleated navy skirt completed the ensemble. Once it had been knee length on me. So what if it was a little short now?
And a vest, red, matching the scarf. Red, white, and blue. Very patriotic.
Where had all that come from? Vestiges of Me’s Americanization of Judy campaign, of course. I had to admit I’d looked good, but the teasing I’d gotten! The fights.
But I’d finally found a good reason to appreciate my mom’s efforts, misguided or not.
And out of the back of my closet, shiny black Mary Janes, of all things. Tight, but they still demanded white socks for sex appeal. I’d have to ditch all that for my sneakers at the first opportunity or I’d be crippled. Was this what foot binding did to Chinese girls in the olden days? Ouch!
The mirror again. On the surface I was the virginal school-girl the CLODs probably dreamed of for their own children. Underneath I was a hot piece of ass ready for action, everything the CLODs opposed and the inevitable outcome of puberty.
My Program whistle on its lanyard was out of sight under my blouse, between my boobs. After Haddy’s experience and my nightmare I wasn’t about to forget that.
Thinking scholarly, I even considered wearing my glasses instead of contacts, then remembered an old set of empty frames. They’d give the same effect and if something happened to them I wouldn’t be blundering into stuff all day. Going into my jewelry drawer for them I toyed with the circle pin I found there but decided that with my rep nobody’d believe it. Alice could carry that off because she thought that way. I didn’t.
Down in the kitchen Me took one look at me and shook her head. “So formal! What is the occasion? A class picture? Are you not to be naked in school again today?”
“I am.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. “It’s camouflage. There’s a new group in town, protesting The Program...”
“The Community Leagues of Decency. I have heard of them. They wanted to meet at Pastor Jeff’s church but he decided it would not be appropriate.”
“He’s got that right. They’re picketing across the street from school. I’m going for shock value today,” I explained. When I opened a button to show the sexy bra underneath she tittered as she set breakfast in front of me.
“It is too late, girl.” Cha showed me the front page of the newspaper. “You have already shocked the whole city.”
There we were, Haddy and me in all our naked glory. It was that low-angle shot the photographer had grabbed, the school looming behind us. Generalissimo Devers was visible at the top of the steps urging us on.
The low angle made me look taller and the plate of cookies I was holding at waist level hid nothing.
Taking the paper back, Cha looked at it, shook his head and sighed and went back to the sports page. He’s a UCLA fan.
“I told you. That was Mrs. Devers. Cookie diplomacy.”
Me nodded. Cha ignored me as I ate.
I was outside waiting when Matt picked me up. His smile filled the car and he gave a soft little whistle. “You clean up nice!”
“Thanks. This is just temporary. Window dressing.” I filled his arms until I had to back off to fasten my seat belt.
“You really do look nice! It’ll be fun taking it off you. What’s under it?”
I giggled. “A surprise for the CLODs, of course.”
“So, what do you think Devers has up her sleeve for them this morning? More cookies?”
I shook my head. “It’s been done. Whatever it is I am not going to get involved beyond getting naked.”
He barked out a laugh. “Wanna bet? You think you’ll have a choice?”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
A choice? I didn’t even have a chance. The moment we came around the corner of the school from student parking Devers pounced. Once again I’d be on the front lines. At least this time it wasn’t Gettysburg or cookie diplomacy.
“Judy, I want you to round up the Program people as they get off the buses. Keep them down there, clothed, on our side of the street. If any come this way I’ll send them down to you.”
“Yes’m.” As I may have said, there is no other acceptable response to her.
“Mr. Kelly!”
Snapping to attention, Matt crisply saluted her. “Yes ma’am!”
Recognizing sarcasm she gave him the eye. “You stay here, Mr. Kelly. I want to talk to you. I want only Program people on the front lines anyway.
“And don’t undress right away, Judy. Wait until you’re all together.”
“Yes’m.”
“You look very nice, by the way.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I gave a little curtsy -- sarcasm again. In this outfit I looked like a Munchkin, or maybe a fifth-grade nerd. Which was the whole idea, of course.
“Once everybody’s there you can all strip. Make a show out of it. Introduce yourselves to the CLODs, say something about being in The Program – something nice – but stay on the sidewalk on this side of the street. Friendly and formal today. We want them to see you as nice kids, not sex-crazed teens. Once that’s done come up for school.”
She left it at that, trusting me to fill in the details. Gee thanks.
“Yes’m. Here, take my stuff.” I handed my backpack off to Matt as I saw our frosh NiS pair getting off their bus. “Where should we put our clothes?”
“I’ll send people down with your boxes. You decide how to do the stripping, leave the folding and stowing to them. And no interviews!”
“Yes’m.” As I headed toward the street I heard Devers ask Matt what he knew about the CLODs. She wasn’t one to waste time or an opportunity. She’d have him pumped dry before home room.
The newspaper had a photographer here again, and local TV a cameraman and a reporter with a microphone. Oh joy. As the NiSers arrived I made sure everyone knew not to respond to any questions thrown at us.
Not everyone was dressed as demure as me, but on the whole they were respectable. Nobody was flaunting, yet.
Hadiya was last to arrive, but I couldn’t describe what she wore as flaunting as much as it was in-your-face. Over lunch one day she’d showed us pictures of the difference between a hijab, the simple head scarf worn by most Muslim women, and a burka that covered everything, from the top of the head to the ground, including the face. Rarely worn in Pakistan, it was more common in areas dominated by conservative Muslim sects like Saudi Arabia’s Wahabi.
Assuming that was her, our Pashto Princess had gone all out. Or maybe that should be all in? She was totally cloaked in black, top to toe. She looked like death! All she needed was a scythe.
At least I assumed it was Hadiya. I couldn’t even see her eyes – uh – eye. I went up on my toes and tried to peek through an eye opening that was veiled in black. “Haddy? Are you in there? Can you see?”
The giggle and the diction were pure Haddy. She was having fun! “I am fine. I will tell you later. Now, perhaps, you should get undressed? Everyone seems to be waiting on you to do something.”
“What about you? We’re running short on time to take turns stripping each other.”
“I will do me when the time is right. Do not worry.”
I worried. I had visions of it taking all morning to get her unwrapped.
“Trust me,” was all she said.
What could I do but shrug? She joined our fellow NiSers gathered around me while I gave them Devers’ vague instructions as I saw ‘em. She got a lot of looks, but nobody said anything. Her outfit discouraged questions. I assured them it was Haddy.
When I was done we strung ourselves out along the sidewalk facing the CLODs across the street, with Haddy and me in the center of the line.
Except Haddy took a step forward. She was a – what’s the word I want? – a brooding presence. Petite as she was she actually managed to loom, an ominous black tombstone sucking up the morning sun. She had to be roasting. How did Saudi women survive wearing a burka in their climate?
Donna and the stunt team – not in uniform this early – had moved down behind us on the grass with the boxes to take our clothes. Behind them the throng that usually surrounded us strippers had migrated down the hill as well. Matt, Lestat and other cheerleaders kept them back to give us room.
Haddy plus the timing had put a damper on mutual stripteasing fun so the rest of us undressed ourselves. I could’ve worn the shift after all. Still, I kind of enjoyed the dressing up, and the undressing.
Haddy stood there like – like – I don’t know what! Something out of a horror movie, or a statue, this single, black, featureless ... thing. When a CLOD’s attention wandered all it took was a twitch from her to get it back. Haddy was upstaging us.
When I got down to my lingerie I thought I’d at least get a gasp from one protester, but I got nothing!
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