Tami, the Naked Freshman
On this windy, rainy Sunday in early December, the old bell tower struck twelve, resounding through the historic campus of Campbell-Frank College. Not many people were out around the dorms and academic buildings. Over on the west side of campus, where the bell tower was, chapel was letting out, several dozen elegantly-dressed high-church Protestants emerging and chatting quietly and politely, mostly older folks, some professors, and a few students.
Walking toward Old Main, one's attention was understandably arrested by the three freshmen girls heading in the same direction. Two of them were sharing the same umbrella. Of the two, one was totally nude, her flushed nakedness damp and vivid, the product of the invigorating effect of damp cold on bare skin. Nude that is, except for maroon lipstick, a tiny application of red blush on her face, a crucifix around her neck, and a ring around the second toe of her left foot. The other girl was Jen McIntyre, fashionably turned out in a black jacket over a blue blouse and black skirt, and very fine imported boots.
Under the other umbrella was a Latina girl with coffee-colored skin, long black hair and enormous breasts, unsuccessfully concealed under a loose blazer and flowing blouse, contrasting with her relatively small butt and thin legs in black slacks and low heels. She shifted the bookbag over her shoulder and looked over at her naked dorm-mate, who was tacking closely to the umbrella held in Jen's hand, hugging her arms over her breasts, fingers tucked up into her armpits, looking down as her bare feet stepped over the little puddles on the old cracked sidewalk. Her dark red hair had been carefully brushed but was beginning to frizz a bit in the mist, little drops of moisture clinging to it all over. Though harder to notice, condensation clung even more copiously to the lush pubic hair below, pubic hair which was still not used to being on display at all times, Campbell-Frank's only public pubic hair. It frizzed out quite a bit from its owner's crotch, like a blossoming flower, much to her chagrin.
"How you feeling, Tami? Como esta?" said the Latina girl, who like Tami had gotten to Campbell-Frank on a scholarship (in computer programming) and whose name was Marisol, if you haven't already guessed.
Tami shuddered, clutching herself the more tightly, and clenching together her tight gymnast's butt cheeks, which were flushed red and covered with goose bumps. She looked down again at her wet feet, her toes as red as her butt. With only a slight touch of humor she said, "Cold. Freakin' cold. What do you think?!"
"I don't see how you can go out like that, and in this weather too," Marisol said. "You are one brave chica."
Tami didn't respond at first. Then she looked up dully at the looming Old Main, a stately and ancient stone building with (of course) ivy growing up the walls. Finally she said, "Thanks." She felt herself beginning to shiver and tried to control it. She really, really hated the feeling of cold water on her bare skin, but despite being under the big umbrella she was hit with the odd raindrop, stinging her like ice as it hit her shoulder, her hip, her butt. Her hard nipples dug into her folded arms. Her feet were the worst. How she missed those sneakers! Being barefoot made her feel ten times more naked, feeling the pavement and floors and grass and mud with her bare soles. They tingled with the cold wetness. Much longer outside and she knew they'd go numb.
"You are brave, Tam, one of the many things I like about you." Jen said. Her unspoken addendum, "Such as your beautiful body and luxuriant womanland", hung in the air between them.
They folded their umbrellas as they entered the portico. It was Marisol who volunteered to yank open one of the huge red doors, causing her mountains to lurch ponderously, barely controlled by the six-clasp 34H bra underneath. From somewhere in the distance, partly muffled by the raindrops, came a wolf whistle. It was hard to tell who was being whistled at. Tami ignored it. Marisol, toughened by years of having the biggest breasts around, glared at the campus to see who it was, intending to give him the finger. But she couldn't see anybody and so she turned inside, the others following.
They entered the lobby, a large and ornately columned room with antique wood tables, stuffed chairs, and walls filled with a series of portraits of old white men with beards. And now what Tami had been dreading: walking nakedly into a crowd of grownups. As the girls parked their umbrellas, they saw that the reception was in the next room, the entrance to which was filled with chatting old folks. One by one the old folks turned to behold the naked girl in front of them, and stopped talking.
Tami hung behind her two friends as much as she could. They nodded to these folks who nodded back politely. Though one or two did not hide a disdainful look down at Miss Smithers's nakedness. Tami wanted to run, wanted to cover her breasts and pussy with her hands. But that would betray a desire for covering. So she swallowed hard and went in.
It was another large room, with long white-cloth'd tables along one side with coffee and doughnuts, and another with name tags set out. None of the three girls knew what to do so they went straight to the tags. Marisol and Tami found theirs quickly. "Marisol Cerrazones -- Computer Programming". "Tami Smithers -- Gymnastics". They were adhesive. What to do? Tami wondered as Marisol removed the backing and pressed hers onto her blouse under her neck, the one place that was not occupied with breast flesh. Tami decided to treat her skin as her clothes. Picking the spot carefully, she pressed the sticky tag over her left breast, which jiggled slighty with her motions. The tag felt icky. She hoped it wouldn't hurt to yank it off later. Maybe it will come off in the shower. Hmmm . . . hot water!
With a little inward smile she looked at the table and fantasized there being other Tami Smithers tags. She would like three -- one to cover each nipple, and one to cover her forest of pubic hair. She looked down. At least the carpet felt warm and soft under her bare feet. She flexed her toes as full sensation started returning to them.
"Welcome," said Professor Audry, who taught their intro to sociology course, one of the required courses for freshmen. He was in a business suit and about 50 years old and balding. He seemed careful to look at the girls' faces and not look down, either to Tami's nakedness or Marisol's endowments. "We'll start in a few minutes. Have a coffee. Mingle. I'm glad you came along too, Ms. McIntyre. There are ten recipients we'll be honoring."
As they munched on crullers, a couple of other name-tagged students stopped by. Tami knew them from her classes. There was Dimitri, a short black kid with some kind of scar on his cheek, who she sat next to in Statistics. And Gretchen, a tall blond girl, a little on the chubby side, from her intro to biology class. Gretchen was nice. They ate together in the dining hall sometimes. She came from upstate New York, and was a bio major and wanted to be a doctor someday.
Tami fell into talking with Gretchen, a little more stiffly than usual. She carefully faced the table, keeping her back to the rest of the room. She hoped she wasn't being impolite. It was not much of a comfort, knowing everyone in the room had a full view of her bare backside, from bare shoulders, bare back, butt cheeks and legs, down to her bare heels. Her butt cheeks clenched unconsciously, and her toes clenched against the exquisite carpet.
"Attention, everyone!" It was another thing she dreaded, the voice of Dean Jorgon. He still remembered his stern warning that she would be meticulously watched to make sure she followed her "religion". As if afraid to be found out, she quickly put her coffee down, turned around and put her hands down to her side. She blinked back tears of shame as she found herself facing over fifty people who were fully and smartly dressed. Fortunately their attention seemed fastened on the Dean, that oldish guy with the rimless glasses, standing in front of an especially large portrait of an especially old man with an especially long beard. Men's suits haven't changed much over the years but it looked like this old guy was from the early 1800's.
"Trustees, benefactors, and of course faculty and friends . . . Welcome to our annual Joshua Campbell Armor of Christ Scholarship Presentation. Thanks to you benefactors, it has been kept going for almost two hundred years, one of the proudest traditions of this small but eminent institution of higher learning. The name of the scholarship sounds strange to our ears, but was not to those in those more Biblically literate times. The reference is to St. Paul's admonition to put on 'the full armor of Christ', so that clothed and protected with it one might face life's trials.
"The scholarship is given annually to ten applicants from diverse backgrounds. The mission is to find people who, because of background, national origin, remote or exotic upbringing, or other reasons, one would never expect to see at Campbell-Frank. Reverend Campbell was a strict Christian by our standards but was ahead of his time in wanting to cast as wide a net as possible to find young people of quality. And I think we have succeeded once again. Every one of the young people I am about to present to you has done exceptionally well in their first semester here."
This talk of putting on the armor of Christ, being clothed . . . Tami looked quickly down at her nipples, which were still hard from having walked outside in the cold. Then she noticed a large mirror on the far wall, maybe designed to give the impression that the room was bigger. There she was, her naked self, her pink skin in the midst of all this sartorial finery. Her pubic hair and bare legs and feet were bad enough. But her poor boobs . . . at 34C (back when she wore a bra) they were as big as a gymnast's really could be. And with her nipples hard, it felt like she was poking them in everyone's faces. And with that crucifix hanging between them, looking as big as those huge crosses with the rosaries the nuns back in her Catechism classes wore around their waists. She carefully stood upright, as if at attention, but she shrank inside. She felt like she was yelling at them: Here I am! Here are my gigantic boobs! And I'm Catholic! See my big bare Catholic boobs!
The Dean continued: "Let me present this year's Armor of Christ recipients. Of course, hold your applause to the end. First, Gretchen Spaulding, Biology, Herkimer, New York."
Gretchen, surprised at being first, quickly straightened her rather lumpy gray dress, adjusted her barrette, and walked up to the Dean. He motioned for her to stand to his side, both of them poised under Joshua Campbell's beard.
"Lenny Jones, Basketball, Chicago, New York."
This was a thin, tall, somewhat aloof black kid with a dark tattoo on his neck, dressed in a double-breasted olive-green suit.
"Dimitri LaPierre, Physics, Toronto, Canada.
"Marisol Cerrazones, Computer Programming, Bronx, New York.
"And now some local talent, Patrick Somerville, ROTC, Island Pond, Vermont." There were now five students with name tags standing next to the Dean.
"Roger Bryce, Art, Modoc, South Carolina." Roger was motioned by the Dean to stand in front of Lenny.
"Deneisha Washington, Music, East St. Louis, Illinois." A large black girl tightly packed into a big, white, going-to-church-on-Sunday dress.
A man with a large camera appeared. Tami felt the flush over the tops of her breasts. Oh no. . . a picture. There will be photo of me naked!
"Mary Pignatelli, Tennis, Alturas, California. . . Jacques Gorson, Divinity, Grundy, Virginia.
"Tami Smithers, Gymnastics, Providence, Rhode Island."
Tami gulped and walked her naked self up to the portrait. She felt every eye on her bare butt. She looked down at her bare legs and feet navigating in a sea of socks and fine leather shoes and nylons and heels. And now she looked up meet the Dean, forcing herself to look him in the eye.
She got in behind Marisol, wishing to hide herself as much as possible. Maybe the photo will only show my face, she hoped.
"Miss Smithers," the Dean whispered, "get in front if you don't mind."
"N - no, that's O.K."
He repeated very softly, with thinly disguised sternness, "Get . . . in . . . front!"
All the color went from Tami's face as she realized what she'd done. She had betrayed a sign of modesty! Her bare tummy quaked as she moved around to the indicated spot, in front of Lenny. Five behind and five in front, so as to be all in camera range. She steeled herself and stood upright, facing the crowd, her bare boobs and pussy on full display. She felt the crucifix lying between her boobs feeling like it weighed half a pound. She imagined what the Dean might as well have said. "Tami Smithers, Providence, Rhode Island. She is naked with big hard nipples and she's Catholic!"
"Let me present to you," the real-life Dean Jorgon now said, "Ladies and gentlement, this year's Armor of Christ recipients."
Polite but heartfelt applause. Tami swallowed. She supposed she should be proud. But here I am, a fraud, showing myself nakedly to these rich and churchy people. And ruining the moment for Marisol and Gretchen and these other kids who had worked so hard to be here.
"I do want to say one thing," the Dean added. "It is not usually proper to say a few words about any one recipient. You all will have a chance to talk with them individually in a few moments. But I feel I have to say a few words about Miss Smithers, and her being naked."
This is the last thing I want, Tami thought. PLEASE let me duck into the background!
"You have all heard of her, uh, unusual decision to not wear clothes. Some may have misgivings about it. As I've pointed out, her religion, unusual though it may be, is Constitutionally protected. Just as Joshua Campbell's brand of fundamentalism, for which he and others were persecuted, was found to be Constitutionally protected in the case of Campbell versus State of Vermont, 1843. Let me emphasize one thing, that I know from my personal, uh, observations and what I have heard from faculty. Miss Smithers's religion is not about sex. She is not a libertine. If you had such fears, they are unjustified. She has been a model student, and in her personal life has been what could only be called modest."
"Let me add something else, if you don't mind, Percy." It was a shortish older man in a beret, with some kind of European accent.
"Go ahead, Jan. This is Professor Jan Latimer, people, an eminent sculptor and one of our faculty's many bright lights."
"What Miss Smithers is showing us is a more comprehensive understanding of the human body. It is the temple of the holy spirit and should be honored. When we see her body, we are seeing God's creation. Lilies of the field, as opposed to Solomon's luxuriant clothes. You get the reference."
"Of course, Jan, and thank you. Well that's all I have to say.
"O.K., Harald," the Dean said to the photographer. He adjusted his glasses and said, "Let's put on our game face, kids. Everyone ready?" He looked up at the portrait. "Ready, Josh?" Some laughter. "Go ahead, Harald."
Tami could almost feel heat from the flash, on every inch of her bare skin, from her head to her toes, like she was being flash-freezed into eternity. Like Han Solo at the end of "The Empire Strikes Back". She then sprouted goose bumps all over.
And now thankfully the moment was over and the ten recipients dispersed. The instructions were to mingle. The grownups converged on the scholarship winners. But before anyone could get to Tami the Dean got in front of her.
"Miss Smithers, if you don't mind, I need some words with you."
Tami followed the Dean out of the room with a feeling of foreboding. She then noticed that following her out were three other men. Of course they were all meticulously and formally dressed. She looked down as their shoes followed her bare feet out of the room, down a hall, and out to the portico.
End of Part 1