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the female students of Blanke Schande College (Alturas campus)

      And it doesn’t get boring, even after three semesters.  Naked girl after naked girl, each body is a feast in itself, a story in itself, that reveals more and more the more you look.  How do I mean this? In high school you could tell a girl’s personality as much by her clothes, it seemed, as by her face.  There was this one girl, Merrie, who was a Phish-head, she always wore flowing hippie dresses and knit vests.  Jerry was the school fashion plate, every fingernail perfectly done, each lace on her brand-new sneakers set just so.  Trish was the utter nerd, big glasses, unstyled hair, boy’s sports shirt buttoned up to the top.  Traci was in a constant storm, always breaking up with someone and telling the world about it -- and she dressed to be noticed, backless shirts, super-low-rise jeans where you could see her thong sticking out the back.


        With the women at BSC Alturas, not allowed to wear clothes, I find their naked bodies -- their breasts are, well, as expressive as their face, they have a personality of their own, which fits their real personality like a second pair of eyes.  Stacey Peaches, for example, who has “itty bitty titties”, the little nipples poke out cock-eyed, just like she is, looking kooky.  Wendy Macalester (or “Mac”, as everyone’s starting to call her), her breasts are tan and hard like the rest of her, the nipples looking straight ahead, focused on where they’re going.  Shelly, the really shy girl, hers are always half-retracted (except when it’s cold), as if wanting to hide.  Sandy, the older woman, around 35 or so, she’s been a nudist for years, I hear.  Her breasts, kind of big, they sag a little, but the nipples, stretched looking and a little droopy, kind of wink at you, as if they’ve been through a lot but it’s been a real good ride.  Keisha, who is black (or dark brown really), well her nipples really are jet black and always hard, jutting out into the world, pioneering like she always seems to be doing, plunging into new things.  And then Sarah’s, the biggest breasts on campus, balloons bouncing along as big as life itself, the huge brown nipples dancing like at a party, happy and active just like Sarah is.

        I could go on and on about each girl’s breasts, and also each girl’s midriff, each girl’s thighs, etc.  There are thirty girls here, and thirty guys, up in this mountain outpost, the Alturas campus of Blanke Schande College.  If “the Rules” were suddenly changed and the girls decided to go around with faces hidden in ski caps, we guys could still recognize them by their breasts, and talk to them that way too, which is how most of them think we talk to them anyway.


        This body-personality business is especially intense when it’s cold out.  We were sitting around a few days ago outside, me and Hank and Ahmad and Mac, and she was standing up next to me, talking about her favorite thing, rock climbing, and I looked over and right next to me were her breasts, flushed and red with the cold, which made them tighter, her whole torso seeming even harder than usual, the nipples poking out, hard as pebbles and red-brown, and as I looked more I suddenly realized she was covered with little goose-bumps all over.  And she was oblivious to the cold as she was answering a question about, well I forget.


        “Um, Corey?”  she said, trying to get my attention back to her words.  She was nice about it, though.  The girls understand our obsession with their bodies, we’re just guys after all, and treat it with good-natured tolerance.


        “How do they stand it?”  is another thing we think about, along with everyone at the main campus, especially the girls there, most of whom have never gotten comfortable with walking around naked in the warm weather and think of Alturas women as totally nuts.  Most of the school year, snow is in evidence around the campus here, and there are blizzards and some truly Arctic nights, yet the girls have to be naked at all times, and though they keep the heat in their dorm cranked to about 80 degrees (or so it seems to us clothed guys, we start sweating as soon as we walk in), they don’t seem to be in a hurry going from building to building outside.  I remember last year when I visited here for the first time, as we drove onto campus there were a couple of girls chasing each other in the snow, their bare toes kicking up bits of snow behind them as they ran, firing snowballs at each other.  It seemed ostentatious at the time, deliberately trying to be shocking, but of course they weren’t doing it just for me, and I came to see that it was just a fun thing to do and perfectly ordinary around the Alturas campus.

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