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Brigid plays the sousaphone

RRRRINGGGGG!

 

        Rod and Brigid looked at each other.  Sixth period -- he had Woodworking, she had Spanish.  They were both conscientious students and hated being late.

 

        After the long bell ended, Mr. Charlton said, “Don’t worry kids, we’ll be done in a bit and then we’ll take you to the office to get hall passes.  Got to get you by Mr. Poznik.”  They all smiled, even a faint smile from Henry Cross.

 

        “So what about the bottom part?” the old man said again, looking down at the lower part of the new majorette uniform.

 

        “It’s called a ‘wisp’,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.

 

        Mr. Charlton rubbed his chin, and bent forward to the extent his old spine would allow.  “Can’t see it too good from here.”

 

        Brigid looked down and slightly parted her legs, hoping to give the Board Vice President as good as view as possible.

 

        “I think it’s very pretty,” Rod said.  Then he realized he had spoken out of turn.  Or perhaps not.  Brigid smiled at him.  Then she opened her legs a little more and stuck her crotch out, happy to show off the lovely green wisp.

 

        “Well thank you, young man,” Ms. Kleinfelter said with a rare smile.  From her standpoint, at least, Rod had said the right thing.

 

        “Still hard to see,” Mr. Charlton said.  “I have to report to the Board, you know.”

 

        They stood around, trying to think of what to do.  Then Bernie Brophy, his large bulk turning to the sousaphone chair, said loudly, “Why doesn’t she get up on that, brace herself with the instrument?”

 

        It was a wide metal chair with clipped uprights to support the big, round, white sousaphone, so that you could just slip in from the side and play that thing, without having to hold it up.  Last year, with Brad about to graduate, Sarge had tried to get Rod to switch from trombone.  It was too exhausting.  That thing took a lot of wind.  And the low notes sounded like farting, which made him giggle.  So now they only used the one sousaphone out in the band room, played by Myron, who was built like a tank and was strong enough to march with it.

 

        Red was glad he hadn’t switched.  As a sousaphone player, he would’ve spent the year marching in the back row, never enjoying the close-up views of Brigid.

 

        The majorette in her new uniform looked over at the chair uncertainly.  “Go ahead,” Bernie Brophy said, “if you could just climb up on it and face us, it will bring your uniform bottom up to .  .  .  uh .  .  .  eye level.”

 

        Should she climb up and turn around?  Or skittle up backward?  Brigid decided on the second course.  She faced her observers and, looking to her sides, braced her toes on one side of the seat, then the other.  She reached back and grabbed the big round bell of the sousaphone with one hand, then the other, as her all-but-bare breasts swayed and bounced.  Finally she placed each foot onto an arm, her toes curling over the sides.  Her butt rested uncomfortably against the bottom of the bell.  Her knees were bent and it was an awkward position.  But it brought her crotch up to their faces and, with her thighs parted, they could see the green wisp to full advantage.

 

        The grown-ups gathered around, Mr. Charlton in the middle, their heads leaning as close as possible without bumping into each other.  Rod stood on one side.  He looked up at Brigid’s face, high above, and gave a reassuring smile.  Brigid’s smile was a little less confident, maybe because of her precarious perch.  The extended posture made her tummy concave, and it breathed in and out, a sign of the stress on her muscles.  Of course, Brigid was in great shape and could deal with it.

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter pointed to the smoothness of the girl’s vaginal lips, Brigid’s clear white skin almost gleaming in the bright overhead light, without a trace of any razor rash.  “Notice the fine job Miss O’Dierna did with depilation.  Along with the nails, the majorette’s efforts at getting ready for the march must be meticulous.”  Ms. Kleinfelter also pointed to the perfectly done polish on Brigid’s toes, which were spread out over the end of the arm of the chair.

 

        “Yes, I see that,” Mr. Charlton said, adjusting his glasses.  “It seems risky, a razor down there.”

 

        “Since 1998 the use of a razor has been necessary.  But done correctly there is no hazard.  And the finishing is easy also, right?”

 

        “I use .  .  .  cream,” Brigid said, looking briefly behind her to adjust her grip on the sousaphone bell.  The effect was to cause her chest to stick out.  Rod glanced at the momentary jiggle and the bits on her nipples.  It was interesting to see them from this angle, above his head.  He also noticed how round and firm Brigid’s breasts were.  The size of large oranges, more or less.  The roundness of their bottoms sloped into her chest, above the visible contours of her ribs, with no hint of sag.

 

        RRRIIINNGGGG!

 

        Sixth period began.  They could hear someone moving into one of the practice rooms.  Rod remembered that his bookbag and instrument, and Brigid’s, were in one of them.  No, these kids were using one of the others.  From the sound of voices he could hear it was Lynn McCaig, and either Thalia or Danica, flute players.  They would have no reason to come into the big instrument room.

 

        “I can also see the effects of the body conditioning class,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.  She was right about that.  Brigid’s strained, spread out posture emphasized the definition of her inner thigh muscles, her firm calves.  Up above, her triceps and biceps were well-defined in the harsh light.

 

        No, it was Danica, not Thalia.  As the four of them appreciated Brigid’s muscles they could also hear Danica and Lynn begin chatting.

 

        “I oversee that class,” Dr. Brophy said loudly, his voice echoing off the walls.  “Ms.  Janowski says Miss O’Dierna is one of her most dedicated students.  She’s always trying to lift more weight than the week before.”  He pointed to Brigid’s opened thighs.  “Notice the adductor muscles.  She is very strong for someone her size.  I’ll bet she could bench press 200 pounds.”

 

        Brigid smiled, with a little twinkle of the eye, which told everyone that she was already able to do it.

 

        Danica and Lynn began an out-of-tune scale, low notes that sounded pretty crappy.

 

        “Go ahead, push me,” Bernie Brophy said playfully.  “Push me with your foot, right here.”  He opened his jacket and pointed to the vest underneath.  Covering his shirt, undershirt, and of course he also wore pants, underpants, shoes and socks.

 

        Brigid, clad only in a few strands of thread, smiled and braced one bare foot flat onto the chair seat.  She stretched the other out and pressed it against Dr. Brophy’s vest.  He leaned forward.  Brigid marshaled her thigh muscles and pressed back against the vest.  Her toes braced and spread out among the buttons.

 

        He leaned forward more, only to be met with more resistance.  “See?” he said to Mr.  Charlton, Ms. Kleinfelter, and Rod.  And also to Henry Cross.  “I weigh 260.  This is a strong girl!”

 

        He stood back up and brushed off his vest, and closed his jacket.  It was a little tight.  “I should weigh less,” he said with a loud guffaw.  “Maybe I should start taking that class.”

 

        They all laughed.  And now Mr.  Charlton said, “Now about that bottom part.”

 

        Through the closed door they could hear Danica and Lynn began ascending scales up to the top register, sounding pretty painful.

 

        Brigid crept back up into her former posture, reaching back with her hands, her bottom sitting against the sousaphone bell, her knees bent and her thighs splayed, her toes curled around the arms of the chair.

 

        “How is that .  .  .  wisp .  .  .  fastened?” the old man said.

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter said, “Well it is hard to see, but it begins by braiding around the .  .  .  uh .  .  .  feminine anatomy, the little part that sticks out.  The braiding pattern is different than on the bits because the purpose is to pull, rather than grab.”

 

        Now, the sounds of flutes tooting some high arpeggios.  As they warmed up the girls sounded a little better.

 

        Brigid looked down at her crotch.  “I loop the thread once, then pull a little, then two cross-braids, and after that the rest is easy.”

 

        “I’m unclear on this,” Mr.  Charlton said.  “What do you loop around?”

 

        “My .  .  .  clitoris,” Brigid said, blushing.  She mispronounced it, so that it rhymed with “Dolores”.

 

        Behind the door, Rod heard Sammy’s voice.  He had busted in on the flute practice and was joking around with Danica.

 

        “Oh .  .  . ”

 

        “Yes, it has to be drawn out first,” Ms. Kleinfelter added.

 

        Sammy was joking about the football uniform he almost decided to wear.  This being Uniform Day, the three of them, Danica and Lynn and Sammy, were in their full-coverage wool uniforms now, just like Rod was.

 

        “Sounds uncomfortable.”

 

        Brigid squinted a little.  “It feels funny at first, me bein’ tugged down .  .  . ”

 

        “But it is very secure,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.

 

        “Well that’s one thing, make sure it doesn’t fall off in a parade, in front of the mayor and the crowd and the TV and whatnot,” Mr. Charlton said.  “Strange, but .  .  .  creative.”

 

        “Thank you,” Ms. Kleinfelter said, complimented.

 

        “Yes, you deserve a lot of credit for your uniform designs,” Mr.  Charlton said.  “Everyone says that.”

 

        Back in the practice room, Danica said to Sammy, “Your buttons are crooked.”

 

        Sammy said, “There’s so damn many of them, it takes me f**kin’ half an hour .  .  . ”  Oh boy, that must be embarrassing, Rod thought.  He and Brigid exchanged quick glances.  This old guy is on the Board of Education and he’s overhearing students using profanity.

 

        Mr. Charlton, looking down at the wisp and then up at the bits, seemed not to hear, or maybe pretended not to.

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter jumped in quickly: “The important thing is to present an attractive appearance, while affording a minimum of interference with the majorette’s moves.  .  .  This new uniform has about one-tenth the coverage of the previous one.  In total, about a third of a square inch.”

 

        “Your pants are crooked too,” Lynn said, evidently to Sammy.  Now they heard both girls giggling, then laughing out loud.

 

        Rod’s mind wondered what was going on back there, but then his mind spun into those calculations again.  One-third of a square inch!  3000 square inches of skin .  .  .  1/3 of a square inch .  .  .  the rest of the band had 96% coverage .  .  .  As the grown-ups contemplated the wisp in Brigid’s crotch, he did the math: One-hundredth of one percent of Brigid’s body is covered.  Marching down the street, each of the rest of the band members was wearing 9,600 times as much as the majorette was.

 

        He looked down at the fingernail on his pinky.  Brigid has less coverage on her entire body than the area of that little fingernail.  Yet she thought of herself as fully turned out, and was proud to wear that one-third of a square inch of a uniform.

 

        Mr. Charlton said, “The other question is, is it compliant?  It looks like just one strand down here.” He pointed to the sliver of green between Brigid’s pubic lips.

 

        “Well your blouse is not even with your jacket,” Sammy shot back.  More giggling.

 

        Henry Cross said, “True, there is just one strand of thread.  The ordinance says only that the genitals must be covered.  But notice how, with a female this age, the labia majora are continuous with the surrounding skin.  There is no legally defensible way to distinguish.  Further, the clitoris is braided, and the single thread has utility in covering the unseen parts.  Therefore in my opinion it is compliant.”

 

        “Nothing to see, in other words.”

 

        “Yes, that’s essentially it.”

 

        Mr. Charlton stood back, wrinkling his chin.  “I am impressed.  I think the Board will be too.”

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter and Henry Cross exchanged little smiles.  Rod smiled proudly up at Brigid.  She must have been relieved, because she broke out into a wide smile, her teeth shining in the light, her green eyes squinting.

 

        They stood there, looking at Brigid’s lower lips and the single thread between them.  Her toes readjusted on the chair.

 

        “It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow,” Lynn said.

 

        “Finally, a parade that’s not -- ” It was hard to hear what Danica was saying but it sounded like the last word was “freezing”.

 

        “No, we’ll be sweating our nuts off in these things instead,” Sammy said.

 

        “Speak for yourself!” Danica said.  More giggling.  Not much practicing was going on in that practice room.

 

        Brigid’s cleanly shaved pubic lips, legally covered by the single thread that bisected them, shone in the light for the benefit of the grown-ups.

 

        Then Mr. Charlton said, “Of course, there’s one more .  .  .  area .  .  .  to concern with.”

 

        “Yes,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.  “Um .  .  . ”

 

        “Miss O’Dierna,” Bernie Brophy said, “can you turn yourself around on that chair?”

 

        Brigid, perched on the sousaphone chair with the precariousness of the grip of her fingers and toes, looked to her sides and down below.  First she stuck her crotch out, her pubic lips almost in everyone’s face .  .  .

 

        “I could never wear one of those thong things,” Danica said, two closed doors behind them.  Which made Sammy laugh.  Rod shut his eyes.  What the hell was going on back there in that practice room?? They had no idea the Board Vice President, and the district physician, and Ms. Kleinfelter, the Fashion Design teacher, were standing here, within earshot.  Before they know it they’ll say something that can’t be ignored by these folks and then they’ll be in trouble.

 

        The majorette looked behind her and ungripped one hand from the sousaphone bell.  She turned her upper torso around, her breasts bouncing as she abruptly switched hands on the bell.  Her knee twisted out toward them.

 

        “No, bikini bottom is the limit for me,” Lynn said.  “Nothing less.”  “Me neither,” said Sammy.  “Whoa, whoa!” said the girls.  “No, I mean on hot babes!” he said, laughing.  “Really!”

 

        Brigid’s delicate shoulder blades were now facing them.  Bracing her weight against the bell, she brought her feet flat onto the seat of the chair, then spread them apart.  She stuck her butt out to the extent she could.

 

        “Is this O.K.?” she said, turning her head to them and looking down over her bare shoulder.  Rod looked lovingly down her spine, her visible backbone, the back muscles narrowing down to the inward slopes of her narrow waist, the cute dimples over the hard glutes, the Y-shaped indentation over her butt crack.  If her body was, like she said, part of her uniform, it was by far the most beautiful part!

 

        Mr. Charlton looked up at Brigid’s bare buns.

 

        “No, spread your legs a little, Miss O’Dierna,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.  “We can’t see the, uh, rest of the uniform bottom.”

 

        “I hate seeing thongs on the beach,” said Sammy, who probably had never actually seen one there.  “Keep your flabby butts to yourself!”  “Ewww!” said Lynn.

 

        Brigid’s taut, trim butt cheeks separated a little as she brought her toes up to clasp one of the arms of the sousaphone chair.  Now, she did the same with the other foot.  Something green could be seen up inside there .  .  .

 

        “Could you get a little higher?” Ms. Kleinfelter said.

 

        Brigid looked down at the sousaphone to see what she could climb further up on.  Her breasts probably blocked her view a little.  Now, she brought her right foot up to the sousaphone’s valves.  Her hips tipped and her right butt cheek moved higher .  .  .  With uncertain toes she clasped the tops of the valves, and hoisted up her right leg.  Her hips were tilted away from them now and she could stick her butt up more.  “How about now?”

 

        Her tight little butt cheeks were now separated enough to reveal a green button-shaped thing in between.  “Yes,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.  “That’s good, thank you.”

 

        Brigid looked down at her toes, then up at the wall in front of her.  Her shoulders and arms moved slightly as she adjusted the clutching of her fingers on the top of the sousaphone bell.  She was perched like a cat that had scampered up the front of the sousaphone, about to pounce up to the ceiling.

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter pointed to the green button as Mr. Charlton peered in closer.  “What’s that?” he said.

 

        “It is a braided part of the wisp, we call it the ‘snowflake’.  It covers the anus.”

 

        Mr. Charlton said, “Hmmm.  How does it stay .  .  .  on?”

 

        “The end of the wisp is a knot that goes inside.  That secures it and anchors the wisp from the lower end.”

 

        “Won’t it .  .  .  pop out?”

 

        “No, it expands once inside.  It doesn’t come out until extra lubrication is applied.”

 

        From the practice room, Lynn said, “You wouldn’t catch ME wearing one of those.  I like my butt covered.”

 

        “Yeah,” Danica said in a cutting voice.  “Those girls who -- ”  Their voices were blocked out by some trombone playing.  Rod guessed it was Jaycee, in the third practice room, probably showing off for Nilda.  In fact he was certain about that -- Jaycee was playing Beyonce’s “Sweet Dream” with corny slides going up and down.

 

        “Trust me,” Brigid said, turning around with a little smirk, “it doesn’t pop out.”  She smiled down at Rod and shrugged her shoulders.

 

        “The design of the snowflake is very individualized,” explained Ms. Kleinfelter.  “The braiding pattern is, again, in the crochet style, and it is based on six radiating aspects, and many different designs are possible, hence the name, snowflake.  See the work that Brigid did.”  Ms. Kleinfelter’s finger pointed, practically stuck in between the majorette’s butt cheeks.  “A very pretty design, wouldn’t you say?”  Indeed it was, delicate and intricate, like a real snowflake.  And even around her butthole Brigid was beautiful -- the clear, white skin in the valley between her butt cheeks.

 

        “Try this,” Bernie Brophy said, giving a large magnifying glass to Mr. Charlton.  Dr. Brophy’s attache case was equipped for everything.

 

        The old man took off his glasses and peered through the magnifier.  Rod was so close that he could see the enlarged image.  The green snowflake was pretty, even in such a place.  He could see the darker color of Brigid’s sphincter skin through the tracings of thread.  A contrast with the whiteness of the rest of her.  He had always thought of that area of the body as dirty, of course, but Brigid’s was pretty.  It was odd to think that, but it was true.

 

        “Yes .  .  .” Mr. Charlton said, his wide-open eyes straining as he tried to focus.  “Good work, Miss O’Dierna.”

 

        Rod could tell that Brigid, facing the wall again, was blushing with pride.  “Thanks,” she said.  Her toes readjusted their grip on the valves.  They were pressing nos. 2 and 3.  Rod tried to remember his two lessons with Brad.  What would that note be?  C?  F sharp?  He suddenly imagined Brigid placing her anus onto the sousaphone and farting some low notes.  He suppressed a giggle.

 

        “Isn’t it uncomfortable?” the old man said.  “And is it safe?”

 

        Bernie Brophy said, “Provided the proper precautions are taken, and it is inserted and taken out gently, it’s perfectly safe.”  Rod suddenly remembered the enema bottle in the bathroom of Brigid’s house .  .  . !

 

        “And .  .  .” Mr. Charlton turned back to Henry Cross.  “Compliant?”

 

        For the first time, Henry Cross leaned forward to take a closer look at Brigid’s all-but-bare body.  “The anus must be covered.  Again, to the extent the area is contiguous with and not separate and distinct from the surrounding skin, we believe it cannot be called part of the prohibited, uh, body part.  The creases of the sphincter, and the differently colored skin, are in Miss O’Dierna’s case probably about half an inch across, and the braided ‘snowflake’, as it’s called, adequately covers that, uh, area.”

 

        Brigid had taken little breaths while trying to remain still.  Now, she took a deep breath and straightened her back.  She looked up at the ceiling.  Rod thought he saw her butthole twitch, and the snowflake with it.  He saw that freckle that Jamal had pointed out, on the inside of the left cheek, a little above and to the left of her butthole, the freckle that he and all the other trombone players had watched at that last football game, as icy rain washed over it .  .  .  Brigid’s clasping toes changed position and now they were on valves 1 and 2.  E flat?  G?

 

        Mr. Charlton shook his head with wonder.  “Amazing, what you’ve done, Ms. Kleinfelter.  Again, you deserve congratulations.”

 

        “Thank you.”

 

        Brigid turned and looked down on everyone.

 

        Ms. Kleinfelter looked up at her and said, “Miss O’Dierna, you can come down now.  Thanks very much!”

 

        Rod saw his chance to help.  He stepped forward so that the tasseled shoulder of his jacket was pressed against Brigid’s bare hip.  She put her arms down around his neck.  As he helped her hop down he felt the bottoms of her breasts press against his face.  They were warm and soft.  Heaven!

 

        The majorette’s bare feet slapped against the floor and now she stood before them, shaking her muscles out, bits pointing back and forth.

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