Tami, HVAC grunt

On this pleasant, sunny, gentle spring day in the academic quad of Campbell - Frank College, right after lunch time, students were passing here and there on the way to classes.  To one side, Rockley Hall, the social sciences building, a modernistic white marble geometric shape with clean lines and dark recesses which on closer inspection turn out to be windows; to another side, Ashley Hall, the humanities building, a much older brick and ivy affair with a small statue of Shakespeare in front; on the third side, Bergland Hall, the undergraduate biology building, a four-story glass structure with windows that perhaps needed a bit of cleaning, though the bottom floor, open on all sides between huge concrete pillars, was a good idea, a meeting and chatting place for the biology students, at least in warm weather like this.

       The quad had a grassy area in the middle and benches all around, and some dogwood trees that were alive with fragrant white blossoms. The scene, accompanied by the passing murmurs of students and professors talking, was your typical New England college in the fresh flower of spring. Except, of course .  .  .

       The fourth side was taken up by Fellowes Hall, a gnarled concrete monstrosity that had seemed futuristic when it was first built (in 1956) but had not aged well.  The home of the physics and chemistry departments, it was always under repair in some way, and classes often had to be moved elsewhere.  The front facing the quad was a wide shallow stair area that had been roughed up and partly destroyed in preparation for total replacement.  It was a mess of rough gravel and broken stones, with a narrow path of chipped pebbles cleared through the middle so that people could pass.  At the moment the entire building was shut down, evidenced by a handwritten sign on the front door, way up at the end of the sloping pebble path.

       What made this quad scene different from any other in the world was the naked girl, looking even more naked because of her cleanly shaven pussy, standing barefoot on the broken concrete to one side of the path, waiting. She bravely faced out into the quad, squinting in the sunlight which made a bright white beacon of her perfectly toned, lightly tanned body, standing shoulders back with legs slightly apart, like a statue making a strange counterpoint to Mr. Shakespeare across the quad, stiffly acknowledging with a little nod of her head passing friends who said hi.  To those who weren’t personal friends, she was “Naked Tami”, though in the last few days many had started referring to her as “Pussylips Tami” because of her shaven pussy which emphasized her lower lips to such prominent advantage.  She tried to ignore the stares and comments and strange counting chants from the students near the pillars at the biology building as she stood waiting, waiting, exhaling finally with impatience and anguish .  .  .

       Where the hell was he?  Tami asked herself.  Mr. Winant had told her to be here, he had another task for her.  She was at least grateful that she wouldn’t be thrusting and heaving on the treadmills at the Dixon Mill again. She must have had a dozen sessions on that thing, and it seemed like half the administration had been by at one time or another to view her sweating, straining nakedness, as Mr. Winant and a couple of physics professors had shown the apparatus to various people who were, as far as she could guess from overhearing their conversations, from places that were funding that crazy research, or might fund it in the future.  All the time, she had to keep pushing up with her spread arms, pushing down with her wide-spread legs, bare feet pushing down on blade after blade.  With the onset of warm weather it was now like a hothouse in there, and sweat constantly ran down her back, down her butt and down her legs, dripped from her chin and her nipples and into the sopping wet nest of her pubic bush (which she no longer had), wet hair plastered to her head, while people walked around and viewed her from every angle.  She would keep looking straight ahead, trying to ignore them, but she could feel their stares aimed right at her breasts, at her pussy, then behind her at her bare butt cheeks and her spread, exposed butthole.  .  .

       Now, naked in the bright sun of the quad, Tami closed her eyes for a moment.  24 days .  .  .  24 days .  .  .  24 days to clothes.  .  .  She looked down and shifted her feet to some less pointy rocks, even though her bare feet were toughened from months of walking on every kind of surface. At she looked at her gritty toes, whitened with concrete powder, she could see almost as a mirage big, leather hiking boots and thick gray socks, knowing that in only a little more than three weeks her feet would be covered and protected and snuggly, as would all the rest of her poor exposed body.

       She was feeling the intense urge to cross her legs, cover her breasts, turn around so that everyone could see only her bare back and butt, but she glanced up at Rossland Hall, looming over Ashley, and she knew, just knew, that Henry Ross or one of his many accomplices was watching her naked body, clearly visible and shining prominently in the bright sun, for any sign of modesty.  Of course, among the older people walking around in front of her there were probably some spies as well.

       Where was Winant??  Tami exhaled and closed her eyes as she heard a taunting voice from under the bio building.  “Five! .  .  .  Six! .  .  . Seven! .  .  .  “ Fortunately there was no one behind her to see as she clenched her buttocks.

       Her mind wandered to the past few days.  Worn out as she was after those orgasms at Chalfont, she had submitted to Jen later on that night.  Jen was intoxicated with Tami’s bare lower lips and kept licking until the exhausted girl came three more times, the last time in the middle of sobs of anguish but also of joy that for once she was being given an orgasm with love and tenderness, even as her thighs locked open in the death-grip of Jen’s elbows.  Then Tami immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep, so deep that she hardly moved, and the next morning she found herself waking up in the xact same position, legs splayed to each side, feet flat on the floor, as she looked at the cheerful faces of Dawn and Mayree and Mandy and Jen, reminding her it was time to go to class.  Thank God, after the initial surprise her friends in the dorm didn’t comment too much on her bare pussy lips, not even Jen, though Jen couldn’t stop looking at them.

       Still, this morning was torture.  She knew that when she got back to Chalfont on Thursday they would expect her pussy to be clean shaven again, and she noticed that with each day she had been growing a “stubble”.  And the stubble was even more embarrassing than being nude down there.  Finally this morning she had had to bite the bullet and shave it.

       It was a bizarre scene, at least to Tami, though her friends took it in stride.  Mayree, Dawn and Mandy were chatting at the sinks in the dorm bathroom, talking girl talk, in their bathrobes and fluffy slippers.  And there was Tami, the naked girl, at the sink on the end, watching herself intently in the mirror as she carefully scraped the little plastic razor she had borrowed from Jen around her opened pussy lips, catching the shaving cream.  It was necessary of course to spread her legs, and she did this by extending her right foot way over past the sink next to her, the one Mayree was at, and over to the one Dawn was at.  Dawn had to lean over Tami’s toes as she spat out her toothpaste.  Though no one mentioned it, Tami knew that they were all aware that Tami’s pussy was open, and in the mirror she could see the light reflecting up from the shiny white sink so that the dark pink cave, maybe half an inch across, was not totally black, but she (and her friends as they glanced over) could see the dull red shadows of her inner pussy walls.

       Her friends were O.K., but the scene in the math building, where she spent most of each day, was decidedly different.  Most of her math major friends were polite, though they kept looking down at her lower regions.  A few came up to her and said, “Nice, Tami, nice!” And then there were the new equations that were being put up anonymously on the bulletin board.  She didn’t know why she was torturing herself so, but she couldn’t help but enter them into her graphing program.  One was a little circle with rays radiating out and then outer curves.  It was her butthole, the little ring of brown skin, the outer curves being the slope of her butt cheeks.  And then what looked on paper like a hyperbola, but which actually was a pretty accurate rendition of her bare pussy lips, complete with a little parabola on top for her clit, and a shaded long ellipse in between, the open cave of her pussy.  She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw this, it shamed her to know that these guys were looking at her most secret spaces so intently, studying them so carefully.  But how could they not?  They were guys, and her every intimate crease and hole was on constant public display .  .  .

       24 days .  .  .  24 days .  .  .  Where is that guy??  Did his wheelchair break down? .  .  .

       She thought of Rod.  She hadn’t told him about her summer plans yet.  How should she play it?  She remembered a dream in which she called him from her apartment, wrapped in clothes from head to toe, and kept telling him that her work number was out of order.  Rod had told her of the job he had gotten for the summer with a research project in Boston, a good opportunity for him.  It was not really a surprise; the two lovers had assumed that they would get summer jobs in different places.  But they promised each other they’d call every day or so.  Certainly their love would survive a short summer apart.  And in the fall .  .  .  ?

       Tami was beginning to think about that.  What about September?  She would have to come back here and she would have to be naked again.  And with her all-over tan faded and gone, a sure sign that she had spent the summer in clothes.  Was there some way out?  She explored the issue in her diary extensively.  She was now halfway through the second book.  Knowing her ordeal was almost ended, she found it cathartic to spill out all her experiences of shame and torture at the hands of Wanda and Henry Ross and all the rest, planning to tie the books together so that the first week of summer, in her first week of clothes, in that faraway little town, she would ceremonially burn them, putting the whole nightmare behind her.

       At least things were going O.K. with Rod.  At first he was weirded out by the sight of her shaved pussy.  But on their weekly Fuck Day, Sunday, after poking around it with his tongue, he decided it wasn’t so bad -- “no hair in my teeth!” -- and then, when they were fucking, facing each other on Rod’s cleared-away desk, both of them were turned on when they looked down and saw the contrast of his black dick plunging into her bare white pussy.  They fucked and rested and fucked and rested and fucked again, quite a day even for them.  Then in the middle of the night she woke and stroked his cute face pensively.  She loved Rod so much.  .  .

       The naked girl, squinting into the warm spring sun, shifted her feet again and allowed herself a little smile.  Which then turned into a wrinkled-chin frown.  What about that damned box?  She hadn’t opened it since McMasters gave it to her when she woke up after Thursday’s orgasmathon.  Good thing it fit into her backpack.  She hadn’t taken it out since, though it was a bother, working around it in there while putting in and getting out books.  But if she took it out everyone would see it.  There was no place to hide it in her dorm room; she had no clothes and few other belongings, and she would either have to put it into the closet she shared with Jen or put it under her bed, where everyone would see it because she had no blankets.  And then people would ask about it.

       She had been assigned to have three “sessions” with the retainer and bristle bra, five orgasms each, before Thursday, and it was already Monday. McMasters mentioned having her boyfriend around.  She hated to admit it but McMasters probably had the best idea.  She would take it to Rod’s house tonight and show it to him.  He would be freaked out, but he already knew that she was having orgasms at Chalfont, all in the name of science.  Maybe they could make it a romantic event.  The average guy would probably be turned on by the idea.  Maybe --

       Finally, the naked girl looked up and saw Homer Winant scooting toward her in his wheelchair, in his usual mechanic’s outfit and baseball-style cap.  This time the cap said, “Camaro”.

       She wondered how the wheelchair would make it up the gravelly path but Winant turned and started going to her right.  “Sorry I’m late, follow me, Miss,” he said, and the naked girl slowly walked behind him as they went around the smooth concrete sidewalk to the side entrance, which was just one glass door which he opened with a key.  As they went in, Tami thought, Why didn’t he just ask me to wait for him here, instead of out in the quad in front of everyone?  Of course, she knew that the question supplied its own answer.

       As they went down the dusty hall, strangely cold even though the day was warm, Winant said, “This building has been a pain in the ass almost since the day it was built.  One big problem is the boiler.  It’s an old model and we have to clean it out every summer, but this year it got so clogged we had to shut if off early.  That’s why the building’s closed.” They went into a large elevator, obviously designed to carry big machinery, and then descended two floors, into the “lower basement”.  The big doors opened slowly and the naked girl found herself stepping over tools and debris strewn on a rough concrete floor in what was obviously a big boiler room. It wasn’t creepy, just dirty and obviously the scene of much neglect.

       The boiler, a big round rusty ugly green thing about ten feet tall, dominated this messy scene.  Winant stopped in front of it and he and the naked girl looked up at it appraisingly.  There were dials on it here and there, big pipes coming out of the sides, a utility ladder welded to it running up to the top, and what looked like a bolted-on trap door on the side near the bottom.  “Cleaning the muck out of this thing is your assignment for today,” he said, as Tami’s spirits sank, her bare shoulders drooping as she contemplated this giant dirty monstrosity.  “It’s been emptied and off for a couple of days, so don’t worry, it’s not hot anymore. See those pails?”

       He pointed to four dirty, dented metal pals, bigger than the kitchen cleaning pails Tami was used to seeing, sitting to one side.  Next to them, leaning against the boiler, was a shovel.  “Look inside, there should be a crescent wrench in there,” Winant said, and walking over Tami could see there was.

       “What you do is go in through the top hatch, take the buckets and shovel and wrench with you, and put the muck into the buckets.  You don’t have to get it all, just enough so that the rest will dry and can be swept out with a broom.  Just get as much out as you can with the shovel.  The pails will be too heavy to lift out the top.  So loosen the nuts on that utility door, and crawl out from there.  Just leave the pails out on the floor for now, we’ll clean those away when we clean the rest of this sad sorry mess in June,” he said, waving his arm with disgust.

       Tami looked down at the pails, then up at the top hatch, which now seemed about fifty feet up.  Winant turned his wheelchair around and said, “Think about the guys who did this job before you, guys bigger than you, wearing clothes that got all sweaty and mucky.  A skinny naked girl is the perfect person for this job.  Just think about that,” he said, making his way out.  Then Tami heard the hydraulic sound of the elevator and he was gone.

       As she pulled up a pail with the shovel and wrench inside and climbed up the utility ladder, she was at least grateful that Winant didn’t stay behind to stare at her butthole as the ascended.  She got up onto the big open hatch on top and looked down.  Below her was a wide open mucky tank with a little ladder that ran down in mid-air to a point about three feet above the floor.  Or what she imagined might be where the floor was, because she couldn’t see it.  She wrinkled her nose as she contemplated the wet, muddy flat below her.  Brown and red, it smelled a little like the sand at the beach, and also a little like red pepper.  It was very fine and looked like the grounds of espresso coffee.  She didn’t know how deep this muck was.  But she would have to find out.  Balancing the pail on one hand, she slowly descended, her toes clasping around each skinny rung of the little ladder.

Finally her foot was on the bottom rung.  Tami looked down.  The muck did not look any less threatening closer up.  In dejection she carefully dropped the pail and its contents to the side.  It slopped onto the muck with a quiet plop.  No metallic ring to indicate that the pail had hit the bottom.  This muck was not shallow.

       Her face screwed up in distaste, as if she were saying in the way of the teenaged girl that she was, “Ewwww!”, the naked Tami slowly lowered her top foot the bottom rung and slowly, slowly, inched down her other foot.  She took in a ragged breath as her big toe made contact.  Yuck.  Slimy, and cold.  And a little grainy.  Closing her eyes, she pushed her foot down, down, until it hit a cold metallic surface, then put her foot flat with a ghastly squish as it took on her entire weight.  Silently she brought the other foot down.  With resignation she let go of the ladder and looked down. She was standing in muck that came up a little above her ankles.  She felt it oozing between her toes.  It felt like she was barefoot in mud, a feeling she had never gotten to like in spite of having to walk through the mud many times, but this was worse.  God knows what was in this goo.  The weird smell, the weird color.  Petrochemical.  Maybe toxic waste!  No, Mr. Winant wouldn’t put her to this if it was really toxic.  But still, this goo was industrial and mysterious and horrid.  And that funny seaweed/red pepper smell was especially intense now that she was right down in it.

       With her first mucky sideways step the naked girl realized that the floor was slippery.  Slowly she picked the shovel out of the pail and then the wrench.  With tiny steps she shuffled over to the utility door.  Bending over with her knees straight, she unscrewed each of the six bolts holding it on, something she did easily from her experience working on cars. Then, bracing herself by reaching back with her hand to push against the downhanging ladder, she pushed with her bare foot.  It took a couple of tries, her toes making ghastly brown smears on the door, because it was on with a rubber seal which was stuck at first, but then the seal gave way with a sucking sound and the door fell out to the floor with a metallic clang.  Gratefully she took in the breeze as a little draft of air came down from the top hatch and out the little door, which was about three feet high.  She calculated.  At the end of her labors she could probably crawl out of this thing without having to go on her hands and knees.

       It was part of her plan to keep her exposure to the muck confined to her feet and ankles.  As she surveyed her surroundings, a circle about ten feet across, she figured that with luck she could get this done in maybe an hour. The shovel was short and she had to bend over to scoop and plop the first load into the pail.  The wet plop made it sound like she was shoveling soft, mushy cow dung.  Yuck, yuck .  .  .  She knew it would be easier to squat down but did not want to risk touching the muck with her butt.  So she carefully spread her legs and bent her knees in order to get the shovel to lie flat and scoop more efficiently.  She looked down and saw her pussy slips slightly parted, her white bare cleft a big contrast over the dark goo below.  She was aware that she was in a position like she was trying to take a shit, and was thankful that for once there was no one to see her in such an embarrassing pose.  “Thank you, God,” she found herself saying aloud, aware of how little a thing it was to be thankful for.

       The naked girl shoveled a small circle around the pail, exposing little streaks of the dull gray metal of the floor.  She thought of grounds crew guys doing this job in past years.  Yes, it would be worse, doing this job in heavy clothes.  Even naked as she was she was working up a sweat.  The ideal outfit, she finally decided, would be to be nude except for tall rubber boots.

       As she grunted with effort she heard her voice echo through the tank.  She stood absolutely still, listening to the echo decay, and was struck by how utterly silent the building was.  She was the only thing moving in it.

       Alone, and relieved to be so, Tami became engrossed in her thoughts.  She daydreamed about Ned and Ethel.  How like grandparents they were!  She missed her own grandparents since they died a few years ago.  She imagined herself being invited over to their house for supper after work, a little grandparent-type house with flowers in the window and home-made doilies on the couches.  And her, dressed primly in corduroy pants, a cotton shirt, sneakers and white socks.  Maybe saddle shoes.  No, now I’m getting hokey, she told herself.  Still, she wanted to escape into a 1950’s - style picture of domesticity and bliss.  In which she was modesty and abundantly clothed.

       She felt she could read so much into characters of Ned and Ethel from the few conversations she had had with them on the telephone.  Ned, practical, old-school on time, by the book but kindly.  Crusty but loveable. Ethel, kindhearted, patient, always able to talk Ned out of being too harsh.  Tami would fit right in.  She knew she would make a fine, smart, hardworking assistant.  One that they would be proud of.  She was so ready for this!

       With her concentration wandering so, disaster was inevitable.  Straining to push the shovel out one more inch, her widely-spread left foot slipped outward and her right foot did the same in the opposite direction.  Both feet shot up, splattering muck on the far wall, as her widely-spread thighs dropped and she landed right on her bottom.  “SHIT!  SHIT!  SHIT!!” she said, banging her fists down, which only served to plunge her hands into the goo as well.  “Shit!” she said again, defeated, looking down.  She was sitting in the silty muck that came up over the tops of her pussy lips.  She could feel it oozing into her opened pussy, and sitting on it she could feel it grinding up into the sensitive skin of her butthole.  As the silty goo pushed into her private crevices she could feel every vile gritty grain. She almost cried.

       Hating herself and her stupidity, she put her hands down to steady herself and slowly stood up.  Miserably she looked down.  Mud covered her entire shaved pussy, dripping down the insides of her thighs.  To her horror she realized that she could feel that some of it had gotten inside. Behind, she couldn’t see it, but she could feel mud covering the bottom of her butt cheeks and oozing down between her legs.  The backs of her legs were covered as well, all the way down to the feet.  Taking stock of her situation, she felt sweat about to drop into her eyes and absently rubbed her forehead, getting mud on it, then passed it over her flat, sweaty tummy, leaving a brownish red streak there as well.  Realizing she was making it worse and worse, she closed her eyes to collect her thoughts.

       In a moment she was back at her task, going about it much more comfortably on her knees as she shoveled muck into the pail.  What difference did it make now?  she told herself.  Knees muddy, forehead muddy, now even her shins and hips got muddy as she felt no hesitation about wiping away sweat and scratching any itch she had.  She had a few itches on her nipples and soon her breasts were stained as well.  What the heck, she told herself, I’ll wash it off anyway.  The important thing is to get this job done a.s.a.p.

       One pail, two pails, then three pails full of muck gradually appeared outside the tank.  Finally Tami scooped the last half-shovelful of muck into the fourth pail.  She stood up and surveyed what she had done.  A pretty good job.  There were streaks of mud still on the floor, but she guessed they would dry as Mr. Winant said.  She judged it maybe an hour and a half since she had begun.  She looked down and held her arms out.  Practically all of her was either covered with or marked up with muck, especially on her pussy and butt and on her feet.  And the muck was starting to harden and dry and crack, a very unpleasant feeling.  She felt the caking goo inside her pussy lips and against her butthole and knew she couldn’t wash this junk off her and out of her a minute too soon.

       She crawled out through the door and emerged into the big boiler room, glad to be out of tank, which had become stuffy and humid with her body heat.  She trudged over to the big utility sink she had seen before.

       She turned the faucet but it mocked her with the breathy sound of air passing through empty plumbing.

       “SHIT!!” she yelled, stamping her bare, caked-up foot against the rough concrete floor.  It was only then that she realized that with the boiler emptied it was no surprise that the water would be turned off in the whole building.  “SHIT!!” she yelled again.  Her voice echoed through the big room.  The mud-covered, naked girl stood in the dank, messy basement for a moment, her mud-caked, concave tummy moving in and out with the deep breaths of her distress.  Then she realized there was only one thing to do. Run to the dorm as fast as she could and plunge under a shower.

       Once she was out of the s - l - o - w - l - y rising elevator, she dashed down the empty hall, the normal slapping of her feet turned into muffled thumping because of the dried mud.  At the threshold of the door she realized she would be running across campus in full view of dozens of people, and braced herself to try to ignore her shame at being seen like this.  With a deep breath she pushed the door open and ran.

       It was certainly a public spectacle, seeing Naked Tami all covered with mud as she raced her miserable way through the quad.  Watching her steps, Tami looked down and realized to her horror that the brownish-red covering looked just like shit.  She looked like she had shit all over her!  Not only that, but this drying muck was beginning to burn.  As she turned out of the quad and down the path that led to her dorm, she felt it more and more, that burning sensation, the grit scraping in her armpits and between her toes, worst of all in the sensitive tissues inside her pussy, and on the sensitive ring of her butthole.  She ran faster and faster, even though her motions only exacerbated the grinding of the grainy muck in her pussy and ass.  Burning, grinding, who knows what petrochemical acid was corroding her skin and inner tissues!  “Oh -- oh -- oh --” she said under her breath as she ran, desperate to get to the shower before real damage was done, feeling like she was losing her mind.  Please God, get me there quick .  .  .

       She turned the corner so that Pilgrim Hall was immediately in view and her eyes opened wide in horror.  A fire drill!

       It was at the stage where the dorm had been evacuated and everyone was standing around outside the front entrance.  She looked on in anguish, then looked across the way at Rankin Hall, the next dorm.  A fire drill there too.  The naked girl thought quickly.  Was there another place with a shower nearby?  There were other dorms but they were across campus.  Academic buildings had bathrooms and sinks but a simple sink wouldn’t be enough.  Her bare shoulders drooped as she realized she best course was to wait until the fire drill was over.  They took only a few minutes and it looked like at this point everyone was just waiting for the word to go back into the dorms.

       She tried to ignore the shocked stares as the crowd on the patio in front of her dorm watched her approaching, stares of people she passed every day in the hall.  There were more shocked stares from the crowd over in front of Rankin.  Aware that she looked like she was covered in shit, she sensed the repulsion as people shied away from her, though still staring.  “Tami?” a couple of people said.  As she stood with dried, caked brown feet in the center of the patio, people looking at her from a safe distance of six feet or so, she decided it was best to tell the truth.  At least that way they’d know it wasn’t really shit.  “I was cleaning the boiler at Fellowes,” she said, with a faint smile and a shrug of her shoulders, looking at the open front door of the dorm, praying that any second the dorm director would come out and say it was O.K. to go back in. With the shrug she could feel the cracking of dried mud on her back and her arms. She could also feel the burning, which was accompanied now by intense itching, all over her body, but especially inside her pussy and over her butthole.

       She turned around and looked away across campus, trying to avoid the glances of her audience, even though she knew she was now giving them a view of her mud-covered butt and legs.  It must look like I took a shit while sitting down and then got up, she mused, unable to banish this disgusting thought from her brain.  Shit over my butthole, running down my legs .  .  .

       Dully in her intense shame and distress the naked girl noticed the sprinkler on the lawn in front of them.  Part of the underground sprinkler system.  Aimed away from them, it shot out water in rhythmic bursts.  Tami licked her lips.  If only I could rinse myself in that.  The water was undoubtedly cold, but that might actually feel good right now.  Impossible, too shaming.  I’m not going to bathe myself in full view of everyone.  Yet even as she rejected the idea she felt the burning, the itching, the grinding of the grains in her pussy and ass .  .  .

       NO!  she told herself.  I can wait for the shower!  To blot out the idea of a public bathing she turned around again to face the dorm, which meant she had to try to ignore the stares again.  She looked up at the top of the dorm and breathed deeply, hands at her sides, aware that she must make no motion to cover herself.  To relieve the shame she tried to pretend that she in fact had no modesty, that she was a naked Stone Age savage marked up with ceremonial mud, greeting a curious crowd of European explorers.  But she just could not get into the fantasy.  She was hopelessly modest and hopelessly ashamed of her current state.

       The muck ate like fiery sandpaper at her poor inner pussy, at her poor butthole.  It was unbearable.  She glanced back at the sprinkler, then forced herself to look at the dorm.  She peered inside, praying that the dorm director, that old party dude Justin, would appear.  She saw him in there but he was still talking with someone on the phone.  Maybe this “fire drill” was due to a false alarm.  They had had a problem with those last semester.  Burn, burn, itch --

       She turned and dashed as if stung by a force she couldn’t control.  Hopping over the little stone curb, she ran onto the grass and placed herself right in front of the sprinkler.  In full view of her surprised dorm mates, and the crowd in front of Rankin Hall, the naked girl faced the sprinkler bursts, which meant that she was facing them too.  She desperately squatted and opened her thighs, then frantically rubbed her hand over her denuded pussy, as the muck ran off in brown rivers over her legs and ran straight down right under her to the wet grass.  Then they saw her actually open her pussy lips and stick her fingers inside and rub them around, as more brown rivers ran down.  All the time she was grunting -- “Ugh!  Ugh!  Ugh!  Ugh!” -- and hopping up and down.  It looked for all the world like she was masturbating on the jets of water.

       She then hopped around and presented her bare, brown-covered butt to the sprinkler and to the crowd of astonished faces.  Justin came out and said, “O.K., everyone back in -- what the hell?!” and stood in amazement with everyone else as their naked dorm mate squatted, her legs opened wide, and spread her butt cheeks apart.  As she stuck her hand in between and cleared away the chunks of brown caked muck they squinted in revulsion; it looked exactly like she had had a diarrhea attack and she was cleaning herself off, right in the middle of campus, in front of dozens and dozens of people. Again the girl grunted.  “Ugh!  Ugh!  Ugh!” Finally the rivers of brown running down her legs turned clear.  She stood up straight and seemed to relax a bit.

       When she turned to face them again her face looked like she was crying, but they knew this was just the scrunched-up expression of someone who is being spritzed with jets of water.  There then followed a scene which nobody there would ever forget, and which would fuel masturbatory fantasies of many of the guys (and some of the girls) for years to come.  Slowly, desultorily, she placed first one part, then another part of her perfect naked body in the line of the water bursts and rubbed them with the water until all traces of brown had disappeared.  They watched as she rubbed water over her face, her shoulders, her arms, her concave tummy, down to her knees, then holding up one foot and then the other, spreading her toes so that the cleansing was more complete.  Then she turned around and rubbed her upper back and then caressed her butt cheeks and bent down, exposing her now-clean butthole as she rubbed the backs of her legs up and down.

       As she finished and walked back towards them, head down, they woke themselves and started wandering back into the dorm.  The naked girl, dripping wet and fully aware of the spectacle she had presented, trudged past the lobby and she thought she heard a voice, it sounded like the voice of Wanda, saying “Good show!”.  Tami Smithers, the Unintentional Nudist, headed up to her room, leaving behind miserable sloppy wet prints of bare feet on the tile floor.  Fortunately Jen and Mandy were not in.  Drying herself off quickly with the little towels she was allowed, she lay on her side on her bare bed, curled up into a ball, traumatized.  Only then did she make the connection in her mind between Wanda and Winant and the red pepper and the false alarms. Naked and alone, she rubbed her wet eyes and thought with longing of the summer only 24 days away.