Dee Saves the ProgramChapter 15
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Dee Saves The ProgramChapter 26 free porn video
When the class marched forth to the strains of Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance" the valedictorian, salutatorian, some Very Important People and me proceeded to the temporary stage on the football field's fifty yard line. My classmates took to the folding chairs on the field to receive inspirational words from on high, while I was stuck rubbing shoulders with the stuffed shirts.
Oh, except for Valedictorian Meredith Witherspoon and Salutatorian Dennis O'Brien, on stage to deliver their addresses, of course.
I'd been shanghaied by Mrs. Devers at the virtual last minute, for reasons known only to her, separated from my classmates.
Rather than offer my naked fanny as a burnt offering I spread my towel double-thickness on the sun-baked chair.
Yeah, I was naked. Perhaps it was retribution for my suggestion we graduate naked.
After all, I'd pointed out, we were the first class in Central High history to have 100% Program participation. The idea was swiftly shot down. Sacrifice wearing those cool scarlet and gold caps and gowns? You gotta be kidding!
So now I was a splotch of pink at the far end of the line of speakers and I had no idea what I was expected to say. When Mrs. Devers had pulled me aside at the last minute and divested me of my golden robe -- leaving me in only my mortarboard and flats -- she'd told me they wanted me on the stage to represent The Program, so it was only appropriate I be naked.
Oh, yeah. I'd been naked under the robe. What else would you expect?
I asked her what I should say and all she said was, "Oh I'm sure you'll think of something."
What goes around comes around. As freshman chair of SACNISP at the dedication of the Spirit of Central High statue I'd ad libbed my speech. I should have known that would eventually bite me in the butt. Now, here I was again, naked among the clothed, with not an idea in my head.
At least I found some comfort in the number of naked bodies scattered among the spectators in the stands. Infiltrating local churches and speaking at civic meetings had spread the news of The Program's benefits, opening peoples' minds, while our uninhibited outreach had gotten the public acclimatized to naked teenage skin, be it on the streets, in fast-food joints, shops or at the movies.
Of course some opponents are still with us. It's like athlete's foot. We just deal with it.
I wondered if public nudity might eventually become so common that the whole Naked in School Program became obsolete. I really hope not, because adolescence is such a special time for us to learn to live with our bodies, and school offers the supervised environment that's really needed.
Anyway, I'd prefer to be down with my classmates rather than rubbing shoulders with the stuffed shirts. Meredith and Dennis clutched carefully crafted speeches in sweating hands. They had worked hard to earn a spot up here. Someone -- probably Devers -- had decided to thrust greatness upon me. A late addition, my name was not on the program, so I assumed I was the subject of Mrs. Devers's Special Presentation, to be delivered after the diplomas are handed out.
How badly will I be embarrassed?
The Methodist church's carillon chiming over the chattering crowd was the signal to open the proceedings. As the single deep BONG of 1 PM died away, Pastor Jeff stepped up to the podium and stood there in the sun, just stood there, still and calm. He's only about five-foot-eight, good-looking but not imposing, soft-spoken.
Even so, that's all it took. Without him uttering a word the crowd went silent. In moments the loudest sounds were the crying of a baby, the scolding of a jay. Since the Church of Christ the Teacher had risen from the metaphorical ashes of The Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True Church, Pastor Jeff's quiet preaching had earned more respect than Pistor Paul's ranting had ever gotten. Adoration? Yes, Paul had sucked that out of his flock along with their money, and other things, but not true respect.
"Listen," Pastor Jeff said softly, letting the PA system float that single word out across the field. He has a nice voice.
The class had asked Pastor Jeff to say a few words because we were sure he would be non-sectarian enough to avoid giving offense. The Supreme Court had put an end to invocations back in the 1990s. This was an Introduction.
A rose by any other name, I thought. I'd be surprised if god, big G or small, was mentioned.
"Listen," he repeated after letting the silence speak for itself.
We listened. A single shout of "Kill the Program" broke the silence. It was probably the same moron who yelled "Get in the hole!" every time Tiger swung a club.
"Don't shout," Pastor Jeff gently scolded. "If you're shouting you're not listening.
"Listen, and in the quietude you may just hear the voice of God, while others will stand in awe of the vastness of the universe."
Oops! I don't think that was in his original script. Oh well.
Somewhere a horn honked.
"And some will just be annoyed by the traffic," he added wryly, triggering a laugh.
"Listen to yourself," he went on, regaining his stride. "Listen to each other. Listen to the world."
A few birds twittered, a crow cawed. We listened.
"Listen not only with your ears but with your mind and with your heart."
The whole world seemed to be listening, but I had the feeling he was talking mainly to us soon-to-be graduates.
"Listen, and who knows what you may hear."
I heard my own pulse.
"Listen, for the answers are within you."
Instead of herding us into a chute to be fleeced, Pastor Jeff was opening the stockade gate, offering us all possible paths to choose from.
"As you go forward from here, remember to listen, and let what you hear in the silence guide your thoughts and your steps.
"Listen," he concluded before he stepped away.
A sigh went through the crowd as we began to breathe again.
Hard as I tried not to I squirmed. Sitting there in full view was a strain. I couldn't pick my nose, and being naked decorum demanded that I be careful arranging my long legs. Adding to my discomfort, I was clueless of what was expected of me.
Ah me. Four years of sweat and strain comes down to this and I'm still making stuff up as I go along.
After some words of welcome by our Principal, Mrs. Devers took over as Master of Ceremonies. Meredith and Dennis, after thanking everyone but their hairdressers, gave stirring calls to action mixed with self-conscious anecdotes.
They looked smashing in their robes! Without mine I probably look smashed.
Following them the various dignitaries exhorted us to face the future boldly. They looked hot in their suits and ties. Only the football coach had an open collar and no jacket as he gave his pep talk. His shirt was sweaty.
Naturally my mind wandered. I scanned the gathering before me, picking out the faces of my friends and acquaintances. There was Fran, big, bold, brassy Fran, heart as gold as the robe she wore; Inez, about to set off on her pre-med pursuit; and dear, sweet Missy, my former lover and forever friend. We'll have one last summer together and then I will miss her desperately. She's grown, matured into a beautiful young woman, the image of her mother, without the sharp edges.
But then, events have worn away Mrs. Wilson's sharp edges. Missy's mom seems more comfortable in her skin now -- and no, I don't mean she's naked. She hasn't loosened up that much, though she and Missy certainly get along better. As an active member of The Church of Christ the Teacher Mrs. Wilson organizes the Sunday School, runs the soup kitchen and chairs the Family Support committee.
Busy hands are happy hands.
There was Peggy Hughes, who I'd held in my arms and comforted in her bath as she fought her way back from her nightmare encounter with the Worm. Even after years of counseling she still shies away from physical contact.
"The evil that men do lives after them," I murmured to myself.
Huh? The Stick asked, roused by my sub-vocalization.
Oh, you're awake are you? It's from Shakespeare. Mark Antony says it in his eulogy to Julius Caesar. Did it ever occur to you that Antony was referring to the damage that Caesar had left behind?
What brought that on?
I was thinking of the Worm, not that he was any Caesar, but the damage he did to some people will last a lifetime.
The good is oft interred with their bones, so let it be with Worthington, I concluded.
I'll be damned.
You probably will be if we don't come up with some talking points for me.
Okay, okay. I'll work on it. But it's kinda hard, not knowing what The Devil's going to say.
If you're referring to Devers, please don't call her that. She's one of the people I love, remember.
One of many!
Don't be snide. You seem to feel the same way.
Well after all, we are of one body.
But obviously of two minds. Keep thinking.
I scanned the families and friends further back. There was Heather McKenzie with Matt Mozilla beside her, the odd couple of Central High. Nice of them to come to see us off. We'd only been lowly frosh the year they graduated. They were both home from their respective colleges, Matt's at Harvard, of course, while Heather's at state. She's another recovering victim of our late, unlamented former NiS Program Coordinator.
There were other victims in the crowd, some I knew of, others nobody knew of, who'll carry their pain to their graves. That perv had done an amazing amount of damage in the short time he'd been Program Coordinator.
At least there was some justice in the world, the Worm having met his sorry fate in prison, allegedly a suicide. When I heard the news I tried to muster some sympathy, maybe a touch of guilt for having put him there, but I wasn't very successful. I admit I have a vengeful streak, but thanks to Ms. Andrews -- also among the spectators --I've learned to control it.
The Worm was only the first I sent to jail for his peccadilloes, and incidentally he was a lone abuser. No connection was ever established between him and the pedo-cooperative that Pastor Paul had run out of his church. The Pistor is now doing his preaching behind bars. If there's any justice he may yet wind up as the Worm has.
The aftershocks from the collapse of his Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True Church are still being felt. The cases against the syndicate that used the church as a front for their own larcenous dealings are slowly working their way through the Federal court system, where justice grinds more slowly. Something to do with mountains of motions filed by lawyers earning six-figure incomes.
And no, I have not been within miles of any courtroom where any of those cases are being heard. I may not know what I'm going to be when I grow up but I know it's not a lawyer.
When you grow up? You're already six-foot-two! Isn't that enough?
Wise ass! I'm thinking metaphorically again. You getting anywhere with my remarks? There's only two more speakers before they start handing out diplomas!
Working on it, so shut up, you're distracting me.
Shutting up, I responded, thinking that was a first. Usually I was trying to shut her up.
I had no trouble picking Lance out of the crowd, of course, and that reminded me of the Graduation Balls coming up tomorrow. Yum!
The district's high schools graduate on consecutive days so no one has to choose between this graduation and that, but all the Graduation Balls are held the following Saturday, with shuttle buses for cross-pollination while minimizing the DWI rate. Lance and I will split our time between our two dances, doubling the pleasure and the fun. Then Stephanie is hosting an invitation-only all-night party, a joint mini-reunion/graduation celebration. Considering that Carl and Beth will be there, with Kathy and Steph, and others, including undergraduates, who knows what may happen.
Lance's eyes were on me, so I gave him a grin and a quick flash of my honey pot, just a flash, opening and closing my legs, feeling myself get all hot and gooey inside as I did. As much as I've been naked over the last four years I still get a thrill out of it. The sun is warm on my flesh, the gentle breeze sucks at my nipples, the thought of the party combined with that little flash I'd given made me ooze.
In the distance was the media, corralled in an effort to maintain an air of dignity to the proceedings. I could feel the telephoto lenses on me. No way would they miss my display. Even with all the photo ops, The Program offers new shots of adolescent skin that still boost ratings and readership.
Of my first real boyfriend there's no sign. My diving debacle had sent Greg off to train for the Olympics without me, his family trailing in his wake, drawn by seductive promises of medals and glory. I'd felt badly when he missed the Olympic team on his first try. The latest report said he was going to go to U of Michigan to try to catch the brass ring on the next go-around. I wished him well, and wondered how his little sister Drindy is doing, if she's still experimenting with her hair colors, that she's not getting left in the dust of his pursuit of glory. I hoped wherever she was they had a good NiS Program and that she was taking advantage of it.
I'd gained a new perspective on my brother's seemingly unsympathetic reaction to my diving accident. Painful as it had been, physically and romantically, given Greg's challenges I was lucky it had happened.
I wouldn't have met Lance, for example.
Perhaps things would have turned out differently if Greg and I had stayed a couple, trained together, but in spite of what the agents and coaches said there are no guarantees of fame and stardom. Even if we both had made the Olympics -- and the odds of that weren't great -- what were the chances we'd have medalled? As it is I have a much broader future ahead of me this way than I'd have spending my prime learning years as an Olympian in training.
Hey, let's pay attention. They're finally passing out the diplomas.
It's alphabetical, so we still have a little time.
I could use a little help here.
So my alter ego and I tossed ideas back and forth as the sheepskins were handed out -- and no, you PETA people, that's a metaphor, no sheep were sacrificed in service to the ceremony -- interrupted by bursts of applause, hoots, squeals and cheers in spite of the request in the program that demonstrations be held to the end.
By the time they got up to the Ts The Stick and I had hitched enough ideas together to provide a decent train of thought. I was about to attach the caboose when my turn drew close so I mentally parked everything on a siding. Being already on stage I assumed I'd simply slip into the line of grads when the Registrar called my name. Missy even paused to leave me a gap.
Then Mrs. Devers's hand on my shoulder pinned me to my seat. I hadn't noticed her coming up behind me and almost jumped out of my skin. A reassuring squeeze to my deltoid kept me from a full-bore-linear panic.
With a sympathetic smile and shrug Missy stepped up and the line moved on.
I'd been left out!
Completely!!
No diploma?
W.T.F! The Stick wailed.
You got me!
I wanna graduate! I wanna graduate!
She was practically throwing a tantrum! We'd been working toward this for four years, after all.
STUFF IT! I told her sternly. I'm sure we will. We've fulfilled all the requirements, and then some!
I shot a look in my Moms' direction, but they looked as baffled as I felt.
So I was left sitting there like a fool while the rest of my class filed past, accepting diplomas and handshakes and words of congratulation before returning to their seats. Alone at stage left I stuck out even more than I had. I was like a sore thumb, a naked pink sore thumb, a very tall naked pink sore thumb.
It was as naked as I'd ever felt in my life.
At that moment I wanted to melt down into a steaming puddle. My carefully assembled extemporaneous speech was a train wreck.
With a comforting touch Mrs. Devers moved to take over at the podium. The rest of the dignitaries were still on their feet, obviously in on the plot, probably enjoying my predicament in view of our often contentious relationship. I got the feeling that everyone was in on this but me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as you're presumably aware, the last four years at Central High have been remarkably eventful with respect to The Naked in School Program. It came to our attention that The Program itself demands recognition as an important facet of Central High's curriculum, as much so as athletics, artistry, musicianship or academics.
"So this year we're inaugurating a new award, to be given to the graduating senior who, in our opinion, has had the greatest influence on The Program over the course of his or her time here.
Uh oh. Here it comes.
Do tell!
"It will be bestowed only when, in the unanimous opinion of the faculty, an individual's actions have earned that recognition.
"There was absolutely no question in our minds as to who should be the first to receive this award. As the administrator who knows her best I am honored to have the opportunity to make this presentation.
"This young woman really stands out -- other than because of her height -- for her initiative, courage and activism in support of the Naked in School Program. Her energetic efforts and leadership have made the Naked in School Program an integral part of student, faculty, and staff life in Central High, while gaining solid support for it from the community at large. It is those efforts we are happy to recognize today."
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