donnylaja heroine, Blanke Schande edition

        Hank smiled as his girlfriend approached, tan and lithe and tall and purposeful and serious as always, though with a smile and a nice little wet kiss on the lips for him.  For the tall dark-haired girl with the neat short pony tail it was time for her afternoon sprint.  Wendy Mac was now captain of the track team and had been put in charge of training others.  Two companions in sweat clothes and sneakers clumped along behind her in the wet snow, Tommy Chen, who had just made the team, and that girl Susie, a senior at the local high school.

        “‘Afternoon,” she said to everyone, and then immediately got into the business of stretching and her two pupils followed her lead.  Three right feet, one of them bare, extended onto the edge of the cold concrete, then they switched as muscles and tendons got ready.  Wendy looked at Susie’s sneaker and sighed with exasperation.  She didn’t have to say it.  Hank had heard Wendy and Susie having that conversation several times before, Wendy trying to get her to run barefoot, stressing the importance of toe thrust, Susie resisting, Wendy saying you don’t have to be naked, several famous runners had run barefoot, it’s just a matter of toughening the feet, Susie resisting again.  Susie looked up to Wendy, that’s why she asked to train with her.  .  .  Hank and Wendy, lying in bed at night in his dorm room, had discussed what might be going on in Susie’s mind.  Maybe she was attracted to the naked life but didn’t want to admit it.  Or was too intimidated by the prospect.  Perhaps she saw being barefoot as the first step, a “gateway drug” to the “hard stuff” of the naked BSC lifestyle which she could not yet face.  Now was the time for Susie to apply to BSC, if she was going to do it.  Just wait and see .  .  .

        The two pupils copied their leader’s upward stretch, Wendy in the middle, reaching up to the sun, her body a tall naked “X”, legs apart, toes spread and grasping the clean slush, eyes closed, firm breasts sticking out with nipples pointed and hard in the cold, over the narrow concavity of her tanned tummy and strong back.  Corey took this in and said, “You’re looking very lovely today, Miss Appleby.”

        This was a little joke, a reference to Wendy’s apple-sized breasts.  Such a compliment was also a standard polite way of asking a girl to “present”.  She smiled.  “Why thank you Mr. Soggybottom,” she said with deadpan tartness, and she pivoted on one bare foot and extended the other widely, past Corey onto the far edge of the table.  She flexed her pelvis forward and pulled her lower lips apart, revealing the pink inside, then pushed forward again until a dark cave appeared.  “Mmmmm .  .  .  ”  The automatic reaction of any male to such a sight escaped from Corey’s mouth without embarrassment at its triteness as he tilted his head to see better.  Ahmad smiled too, as did Hank, who like any BSC guy was flattered whenever his significant other was asked to present.  It was a way of being told, “You have a gorgeous girlfriend!”

        The moment seemed to linger and suddenly Hank and his friends realized that Wendy and her charges were halfway across the field, gathering speed as their muscles got warmer, the tall naked girl clearly more effortlessly than the other two as she paced them.