in the Blanke Schande dining hall (Alturas campus)

It was Erendira, the Mexican girl with the beautiful face and the gigantic chocolate nipples, who brought up the big secret at supper.

        They were sitting around at their favorite table, Erendira, Sara, Lisa, Shelly, Corey, Keisha, Ahmad, Wendy, Hank, Naomi, Tommy.  Erendira was going through a microbikini catalog and discussing possibilities with Sara.  It was a frequent activity of BSC girls who wanted to be as naked as possible during the breaks but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, commit to being “Absolutes”.  Erendira was pointing to an unusual “suit”, a one-piece that consisted of a single string going into the crotch, coming up on the other side, then up to a ringed string around the neck and splitting in front into two strings that went to little circles that clipped onto and covered the nipples.

        “I couldn’t wear that, I hate thongs,” Sara said, pushing her tray away and resting her huge breasts on the table.  “I feel like I’m sitting on a cheese slicer.”

        “That’s how you get as close to naked as possible,” Erendira said.  “At my high school almost all the girls wore thongs.  I got used to them.”

        “I’d rather design my own,” Sara said, and she did.  Some of the girls were endlessly inventive and shared their designs for various strings and slings that covered the “legal minimum”.

        “You couldn’t wear that in Bakersfield,” Lisa said, referring to Sara’s home town.  Lisa and Wendy had been collecting local ordinances regarding what was considered indecent exposure.  They had most of the big cities in California and many towns; they had even gotten college credit for their efforts, which were on file at the library.

        At the main campus, with a lot more girls, there was more of a “scene” as to planning non-semester wear.  There was even a newsletter devoted to passing around designs.  The college was aware of the possibly perverse motivation for this inventiveness -- it might merely spring from a desire to wear clothes, no matter now minimal -- but it was tolerated.  A related activity at the main campus, though possibly with the opposite motivation at heart, was what had become known as “Bobbins” -- as in, “are you a Bobbin?”  The idea was to plan to “wear”, during college breaks, the most ridiculous objects so as to cover the “legally necessary” body parts.  The name started when one girl thought up the idea of gluing sewing machine bobbins onto her nipples.  Other innovations were wine corks to cover the vaginal opening, scotch tape used as a thong, and bras made of twine onto which potholders had been sewed.  The idea was to show how ridiculous it was to require certain body parts to be covered -- anything at all would do, so why not have fun with it?  There were even rumors of parties at the main campus where girls would wear these things, a clear violation of BSC policy, but it sounded like a lot of fun.

        It was when the microbikini catalog had been put away and everyone was sipping coffee, that Erendira leaned forward and decided to tell what she knew.  “Muy secreto, don’t tell,” she said.  “I hear from the admissions office that this September they’re going to accept a girl from Egypt who is allergic to clothes!”

        “What?  Allergic to clothes!”

        “You’re pulling my leg!” Hank said.  “Come on!  How could she live?”

      “Not very well, from what I understand,” Erendira said.  “They don’t know if it’s psychological or physical.  Fortunately her family’s rich and she has a big property to hide on.  But she hasn’t been able to wear anything since she was 14, not even panties.”

        Everyone sat silently, thinking of this strange girl and what her life must be like.  “In an Islamic country,” Corey said, “that must be rough, with women having to cover up.”

        “Not so much Egypt, from what I understand, it’s a pretty secular country.  But still .  .  . ”

        “What’s her name?”

        “Basji.  Very sweet girl, very shy.  She doesn’t want to come here, she doesn’t want to be naked, but it’s the only place she can go to college.  Her family wants the best for her.”

        “I imagine so!” Ahmad said.  “She must suffer very much.”

        “Sí, she hates being naked, but that’s her life.”

        “Shades of Tami,” Lisa said.  The other girls nodded immediately.

       “This is amazing,” Corey said.  He looked down, thinking.  “When she comes here we have to be super-supportive.”

        “Which reminds me,” Lisa said, suddenly inspired.  To the groans of some she once again got out her folder with the petition.  “Whoa, Tommy,” Corey said.  Tommy’s name was on it, recently added, making a total now of 15 names, 25% of the Alturas student body.  Tommy smiled and shrugged.

        “I think we should all greet her and throw a welcoming party for her naked,” Lisa said.

        “Um, we already are naked,” Keisha said.

        “I mean all of us.”

        The guys looked at each other and then at Lisa.  “I’m in!” Tommy piped up cheerfully.

        “Uh .  .  .  uh .  .  . ” Corey and Hank and Ahmad didn’t know what to do.  Corey cleared his throat and decided to be brave.  “I’m in,” he said, raising his hand.

        Hank and Ahmad slowly raised their hands too.

        Lisa showed them the petition.  Hank and Ahmad both looked at her as if to say, “Don’t push us too far!” But Corey grabbed the pen attached to the side and scribbled his name right after Tommy’s.  Leading to a big mushy kiss from his girlfriend.

        “O.K. now,” Naomi said.  “We’re in the dining hall.  You can get romantic later.”

        “This isn’t Jane and Janeane time, is it?” Wendy said.  Eyes rolled all around the table.  The two lesbian lovers were at a small table across the dining hall and Hank and Lisa looked back at them discreetly.  Sure enough, while they were eating Janeane was inserting her big toe under the table into Jane’s pussy and, judging from Jane’s half-closed eyes, diddling her clit too.  Ostensibly trying to hide it but it was obvious to anyone with this angle view.

        Sandy came back from the fruit bar with a pear and a banana and a smile.

        “You wouldn’t dare,” Keisha said playfully.

        “Oh wouldn’t I,” the 35-year old long-time nudist said.  She handed the pear to Lisa.  Both looked over at the little desk at the top of the stairs; Mrs. Magnuson’s attention was elsewhere.

        Corey thought it was just about the sexiest thing he ever saw, watching Lisa shift her butt around and wince as she inhaled and took the smallish pear into her, out of sight under the table.  Then both hands were up on the table and sipping coffee again, winking at Corey.  What mischief.  There was no reason to do this except for the satisfaction of pulling a fast one on Mrs. Magnuson, the girls getting revenge on behalf of the guys who kept on getting their pockets searched.

        Sandy’s face betrayed no emotion at all as she invaginated the much bigger banana.  After a minute she sipped her coffee and got up.  “So long folks,” she said, moving carefully around the table, taking the tray up, trying to walk naturally.  She made it about halfway to the conveyor belt when the banana just fell out of her, plop, just like that, thumping quietly onto the hardwood floor.  Mrs. Magnuson, fortunately, was looking the other way.  Sandy kept walking, not breaking stride, kicking the banana aside with her bare foot, intending to pick it up and eat it later.  Everyone at the table cracked up.  Sandy would be hearing about this for days.