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Corey was so happy with Lisa, they had a great sex life, he just didn’t agree with her that BSC guys were being emasculated and marginalized by having to wear clothes while the girls got to be naked and strong all around them. But she did have something of a point. Guys in 1968 were not like guys today, certainly not like him. Nudity was a benefit to the girls and would probably be a benefit to the guys too if they tried it nowadays.

They had talked about whether Blanke Schande girls were dominant or submissive. Having to be naked all the time -- but they agreed to it! Having to present -- but the guys couldn’t touch! One might think that the girls, being stripped, would be submissive, bordering on sex slaves, but of course at BSC nothing could be further from the truth. He had written an essay about it once for class. So complicated.

He wandered down his hallway, past Ahmad’s room and Hank’s, then past the doorless rooms of Shelly and Keisha and Erendira. Erendira was sitting on her bed, reading her sociology book, legs splayed open in full view, idly tugging on one big nipple, flexing her toes lazily. So unself-conscious. And now here was Corey, a typical covered up BSC male.

Maybe he had been looking at Erendira longer than he thought, but she looked up with a pleasant expression and assumed that he was asking her to “present”.

Keisha walked past him and said hi. She always had a smile for him. As she passed by her high, bare butt cheek brushed his hip. These halls were so narrow.

Erendira spread her legs, her large breasts languidly rolling a bit off each side of her chest, and spread her lower lips for Corey. Corey smiled. “You seem depressed,” the voluptuous Hispanic girl said.

Corey smiled faintly and shrugged. “I’d hate it if I was the one who had to do that.”

Erendira looked at him and then turned over onto all fours. Her firm breasts, like hanging grapefruit, almost touched the bed as she reached back and spread her brown butt cheeks, displaying the asterisk of her anus. “It’s nothing, after a while. It’s just me.” Keeping this position, she said, “You think of the petition your girlfriend has, no?”


“Maybe you’re afraid of being gay, seeing the other guys naked.” She shifted so as to get better anchoring and spread her butt wider.


“Well so what? You know whether you’re gay or not. I think you’re not.”

Corey looked at her brown eyes, then at her brown asterisk. She shifted again and to his amazement he saw the anus open to a dark little hole about half an inch across. “Wow,” he said.

“Go ahead, look closer,” Erendira said, as if with pride. “I just learned how to relax this week. Olga showed me.”

“Well I’m impressed,” Corey said.

“Like the scent? Mexican Lily.” Blanke Schande females pride themselves on their wide variety of enema formulations.

Corey smiled. “Very nice.” It reminded him of springtime. “So,” he said, as he leaned forward and peered into the dark red interior walls of Erendira’s empty, recently irrigated rectum. “What should I do?”

“Be brave,” she said.

“Thanks, it’s not easy.”

“Yes I know,” said the sympathetic naked girl with the breasts like big hanging grapefruit and the anus that was open to reveal her most inner depths, as if it was her very soul.

It was quiet and late, about 10 o’clock on a cold mountain Friday night. Corey looked out the window at the little table out there under the light. Olga, naked in the frigid air, was chatting in Russian with Tereshkova, both of them smoking those filterless Russian cigarettes, the professor bundled up, clouds coming from their mouths. Of all the BSC females Olga was the one who tried the most to approach what Tereshkova called “the limit”. Of course, as she often said, she never would go naked in winter in her native Siberia, but at Alturas her exposures to cold were downright ostentatious, as if to shock people. Now she threw the cigarette butt down and crushed it with her foot, not a painful act for a BSC female, especially at Alturas. The soles of Alturas girls were rock hard. You didn’t want to get kicked by one.

Olga disappeared from view and now she returned with an icicle in her hand, maybe a foot long and an inch thick. Corey knew what was coming and prepared to cringe. Olga got up on all fours on the table, then reached back and spread her butt cheeks. She did her open anus trick. The professor, cigarette still in her mouth, carefully guided the blunt end of the icicle into the little hole, then slowly pushed in, maybe five or six inches, then held it there. Olga put her head down on the ice-covered table as if praying -- which would have been quite out of character for her -- and then she began rapid deep breathing as if trying to hyperventilate. Corey, one of the males who had taken the cryokinesthetics course as an elective, knew what they were doing. Introducing ice into the rectum, the body’s warmest region, was an efficient way of lowering the internal temperature, which prompted the body to fight back by increasing metabolism, ultimately making the body stronger and more resistant. He knew Tereshkova would carefully hold the icicle in Olga’s rectum as it quickly melted to a thin point, then slowly take it out, then Olga would rush inside to take a warm bath.

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