Valefour wasn’t some large community college where people blended into a sea of unfamiliar faces. It was a small, elite academy with a student body of less than a thousand. Campus consisted of just one large school building. Classes were regimented to keep students in the building most of the schooldays. Admission requirements were high, and enrollment was kept low to maintain an academic standard that almost guaranteed graduates entry to prestigious universities when it came time to transfer. Here you knew almost everybody—if not all by name, at least by sight. That meant that streaking Valefour would be streaking in front of people who knew you well…and who’d never let you forget.
True, you could avoid all the dreaded consequences by not streaking. Easy to do. Problem solved. However, for the cleverly adventurous and horny 20-year-old, the logical way to avoid those negative repercussions, while still experiencing the thrill of a public nude romp, is to conceal one’s identity during the streak. Imagine it! Showing off every square inch of your naked body without anyone having any idea it’s you! Exhibitionism without consequences!
A not-too-small brown paper bag with eyeholes was the key component for hiding not just the face but also anything identifiable about the hair. The girls could sneak the bags into the school. Then, when it came time for the streak, they would wear the paper bags, but not a stitch else. It would be an anonymous streak.
However, the bag, alone, is too simplistic to stand as a plan by itself. It’s fine to decide you’re going to streak with a paper bag on your head. But where and when do you do it? How do you know the path you’ve chosen for your streak will be clear at that time? It only takes one person unexpectedly in your path to grab hold of your naked ass and whip off the bag, exposing your identity to the very people from whom you were trying to conceal it. Also, where does one leave one’s clothes while streaking such that, once it’s over, one can reclaim them and get dressed without a crowd following you into your hiding place? These were the details Hildy worked out with diligence.
The first issue was a no-brainer. The one and only time of the year when paths would be clear throughout the entire school was during the annual awards ceremony. Most every student and faculty member would be sardined into the Assembly Hall. Not only did it mean unobstructed navigation through the corridors, it would offer an amazing opportunity. By running naked across the stage, the girls could streak just about everyone in the school in one short dash. You couldn’t say it would be the entire school because some of the stoners could be expected to sneak off to smoke some weed during the ceremony. So there would undoubtedly be some students missing from the Assembly Hall. That was actually a good thing for the streaker girls because, in light of the stoners’ well known absences from general assemblies, they’d be the ones most people would assume had done the streaking. That would help to deflect suspicion as to the real streakers’ identities.
Would anyone suspect the four girls due to their absence from the ceremony? Not likely. Attendance wasn’t taken, and with close to a thousand students in the school, and an Assembly Hall constructed to accommodate audiences of that size, four girls could be absent without attracting any particular attention. Besides, if no one paid attention to the stoners being absent, nobody was going to concern themselves over the attendance of four girls who were never viewed as being any trouble. Once it was all over and the girls were back in their clothes, they’d simply wait for the awards ceremony to end and then blend in with the crowd of students who’d be passing down the corridors. If anyone later brought up to them what had happened in the Assembly Hall, the girls could recount the incident as well as anyone else who was there, thus, making it seem as though they, themselves, had been somewhere in the audience when the streak occurred. It would be a delicious lie that Hildy speculated would provide the four girls something to laugh about for years to come.
Hildy’s access to Ms. Pantaget’s class made it the ideal location for getting undressed and storing their clothes. So long as they did it on a Friday, there would be no one there to disturb them, and the awards ceremony was always on a Friday afternoon. What’s more, Ms. Pantaget’s class was no more than perhaps a hundred feet from the stage door of the Assembly Hall. A short sprint from and back to their clothes. It almost couldn’t be more perfect.
* * * *
Hildy had her tits out and panties peeled down to her knees before any of the others.
Susan, shirt and pants off, and unclasping her bra, was the next closest behind in the race to get naked.
Dara and Cindy were just getting down to bra and panties.
“We gonna streak or give a lingerie show?” was Hildy’s peeved, but subdued remark as she kicked off her last article of clothing.
“Streakayn’!” cackled Susan as she slid the bra off her mounds.
“Well, then I need to see some pussy,” added Hildy.
“Pussy comin’ out.” Susan positioned her thumbs in her waistband and pushed downward to unleash her hairy snatch.
Susan and Dara had hairy pussies. The other two girls were clean shaven down there. At Valefour, about half the girls waxed or shaved off all their pubes. The other half kept some bush, always trimmed to form a nice triangle. The important thing, though—at least, as far as the plan was concerned—was that a hairy or bald pussy wasn’t going to be a distinguishing factor. The more the streakers’ bodies resembled scores of other girls, the less anyone would be able to state with certainty that such-and-such tits or pussy went with such-and-such name.
Of course, despite all attempts to create a “sameness” about them, the girls had their distinctions, and Hildy compared them as they undressed.
Susan had short, naturally red hair on her head. But, fortunately, her pussy hair was dark enough to pass for brunette, which would keep guessing people from narrowing down the potential choices to the known redheads in school. She was skinny and the shortest of the girls. Her pixie-like face bordered between adorable and semi-comical. Unlike Hildy’s firm, round, B-cup boobies, Susan’s floppy tits were pointy. Hildy sometimes joked they looked like one-way signs.
Even longer than Hildy’s wavy, chestnut toned locks, Cindy’s blond hair hung straight and framed a round face with a narrow nose and blue eyes. Her C-cup tits were a little larger and rounder than Susan’s. She had the largest nipples of the four girls. She was also a little plump, and she had the biggest ass—not such that she would be considered fat, though. Cindy was the only blonde among the four of them. Her lack of pubic hair would not make that obvious during the streak.
Dara was the most bosomy of the streaker quartet. Her jugs weren’t quite D-cup, but they were close. They hung lower than the others’, making her the most jiggly in the group. Her curly brown hair was a conservative shoulder length. Her face was long and angular. Her arms and legs rather muscular for a girl. She was the best athlete of the bunch, playing on the girls’ soccer team—with a sports bra that held her big titties in place, of course. Streaking without that bra, running was going to be a very bouncy event for her.
Their differences noted, it should be said that the streakers were all of average proportions, which put them in a rather large category of body shapes. They had average sized areolas and nipples, and their pussies resembled the pussies of pretty much most of the girls in the school. In other words, without their faces or individual hair styles, no one was going to be able to ID them from one fleeting glimpse of their nude bodies running across a stage.
All of this was carefully calculated by Hildy as she formulated the plan. Nothing was left to chance. Hair was pinned up if it would extend beyond the bottom of the paper bag. There were no piercings or tattoos that would identifiably mark someone. The girls also had to be careful for weeks to avoid any distinctive bruises. When Susan suggested they could streak more sure-footed if they wore running shoes, Hildy nixed that idea with the astute observation that, with so many different brands and styles on the market, a person could be identified by her shoes alone. Barefoot was the only safe ch
oice. And no distinctive shades of nail polish, either. That’s all it would take—one glowing, phosphorescent shade of watermelon green nail polish—to tag its wearer like a fingerprint.
“You really think anyone’s gonna be looking at our nails?” Susan smirked.
“You wanna take the chance?” countered Hildy. “It just takes one guy with a foot fetish.”
And so it was unanimously decided—no distinctive nail polish on hands or feet.
Even the clothes they wore to school that day were selected for their indistinct character. Plain whites, drab colors, and no jewelry. Nothing anyone would pay any attention to, just in case someone at the awards ceremony looked around the crowd and said, “Hey, I don’t see that girl who was wearing the hot pink blouse earlier.” No hot colors today. This was a day for the girls to be unnoticeable—that is, until the big moment when they’d be unavoidably noticeable. Then it would be on their own terms and under the glorious cover of sweet anonymity.
At last naked, Cindy and Dara folded their clothes into neat piles.
“Put ‘em in the order you’re gonna get dressed,” instructed Hildy, demonstrating with her own pile.; panties on top, then bra, pants, and blouse. “The idea is, thirty seconds after we get back: ‘Streakers? What streakers?’”
“You’ve thought of everything,” moaned Dara.
When Hildy first proposed the plan in March, Susan agreed to it immediately. She was typically up for just about any stunt, especially if it would, as Susan liked to put it, “shock their stupid, old school out of its boring, old ways.” It was no secret Susan was there only because her parents, both Valefour alumni, insisted she go there. A family tradition was at stake. Susan didn’t give a shit about family traditions. Everyone knew she was just biding her time, waiting for the day she could go to a big school located far from parental oversight. Then watch out!
Cindy held out about a half hour until Susan pushed her into it by telling her that, if she didn’t join them, Susan, who was on the tennis team with Cindy, would use her cell phone to snap naked pictures of her friend in the locker room. Then she’d send those pictures to everyone Cindy knew.
“You can do it anonymously with a paper bag on your head, or…”
Cindy wasn’t convinced Susan would follow through on the threat. But, knowing how crazy Susan could be, the mere possibility was enough to push Cindy into an unenthusiastic agreement.
“So long as all four of us do it.”
That left it all up to Dara.
Not surprising, Dara was the toughest sell. She wasn’t a closet exhibitionist like Hildy, or a perv like Susan, and she didn’t have Cindy’s fear of retaliation. Her conservative upbringing made Dara the most reserved and most inhibited of the foursome. The past summer, they had to employ major convincing just to get her to buy a two-piece swimsuit. Besides that, Dara’s younger brother also attended Valefour as a first-year student. The idea of running naked in front of her own brother was unthinkable.
“Has your brother ever seen you naked?” was Hildy’s pointed question to the shy girl.
“No!” remonstrated Dara. “Whaddaya think we are?!”
“Then, if he doesn’t know what you look like naked, how’s he gonna know it’s you?” The logic was sound. Even Dara couldn’t dispute that.
“Still,” sputtered, Dara. “I’d know. And it’d be gross.”
Despite the barrage of tactical arguments, Dara couldn’t be cajoled, threatened, reasoned with, or blackmailed into running naked before the whole school. Not in a million years!
“Well, Cindy won’t do it unless everyone does it.” Susan shook a scolding finger at Dara.
“Just great!” Hildy sneered. “The most perfect opportunity to streak without anyone even knowing it’s us. A memory we’d have for a lifetime! It’s the last chance before we graduate! And we’re gonna miss it!”
“I know,” sulked Susan. “It’d be the most fuckin’ amazing thing! Goin’ out with a bang! But, unless Dara’s in…”
“Why do I have to be in?” whined Dara. “You wanna run around bare-pussy, be my guest. You don’t need me.”
“Cindy won’t do it unless we all do it,” was Hildy’s stern response. “And it’s not gonna be just me and Susan out there while you two wuss out. We’re supposed to be a team.” She turned to Cindy. “You’ll do it if Dara does—right, Cin?”
“Well…if everyone else does…”
“Yeah,” Hildy injected, looking at Dara. “If everyone does it.”
“It’s a fuckin’ sisterhood thing,” added Susan.
Hildy was aware of only one sure-fire weapon when it came to convincing Dara—the girl’s need to belong. Cindy knew Dara best, and Hildy got her background out of Cindy some time ago.
Dara had been one of the unpopular girls in grammar school and junior high. It wasn’t until she started high school and fell in with Cindy that she first began to feel the joy of social acceptance. When she learned that her high school chum was planning to go to Valefour, Dara begged her parents to let her go there, too.
Hildy knew she could convince Dara to do almost anything if she made it seem that their friendship was on the line. So she began a plan of attack that included plenty of “If you’re really one of us, you’ll join us,” and “I guess, from now on, we’ll just have to leave Dara out of anything we do.” Susan caught on and chimed in with similar comments. Cindy, already cowed into agreement, offered no support to her timid friend. So it was no surprise the tactic chipped away at Dara’s resistance. The wine didn’t hurt, either. After close to two hours of debate, Susan tipped the scales when she said it would count as a “three-dares credit” for Dara the next time the girls played Truth or Dare. Dara never seemed to have fun when they played Truth or Dare, and it was pretty obvious she participated only because she wanted so very much to be part of a “cool group.” Susan and Hildy were popular, and their presence guaranteed the coolness of the clique. The peer pressure and the “dares offer,” finally got Dara to agree to join them on the streak—but only if she had unconditional assurance that, absolutely, positively, under no circumstances whatsoever, could her identity as a streaker ever be determined now or in the future. Hildy swore on her own life that the plan was as secure as Fort Knox, and she detailed the positive outcomes for every conceivable situation.
“You don’t even have to worry about the Internet,” reminded Hildy, “because they make everyone turn off their cells when they start the program. No pictures.”
That was true. Having had more than enough cases of cell phones going off in the midst of academic assemblies, Dr. Zabrinski required everyone to shut off their phones at the very beginning of the ceremony and then hold up the phones for her to see that there were no lights still beaming from them. The plan for the streak was to dash across the stage before anyone had a chance to turn their cell phones back on and snap a picture. Hildy wanted to give everyone a quick thrill, but not one that would be captured for posterity and later studied at length. That would increase the risk of being identified. And that was something each of the girls wanted to avoid at all costs.
II Bare-Pussy
The four naked girls fidgeted bare feet on the hard classroom floor. Hildy could tell the others were as nervous as she was. They had seen each other’s nude bodies before, principally in gym showers and changing rooms. But this was different. Here they were naked in a strange setting. They giggled and made faces as if to say “Now what?”
Susan stroked her tits.
“Havin’ a good time?” was Cindy’s facetious remark to the redhead playing with her own boobs.
“Wanna give ‘em a good show,” Susan responded. “In Vegas, they use ice. Don’t suppose anybody’s got any ice?”
“’Fraid not,” answered Cindy.
“In that case,” Susan mused toward her chest as she began a speedy flicking of her middle fingers over her now hardening nipples, “wake up, girls.”
“Why do you wanna be hard?” asked Dara.
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br /> “Show biz,” grinned Susan. “Bigger is better. Besides, this isn’t the way those girls out there usually see my tits.”
Hildy caught on right away. It was something she, herself, hadn’t thought about, and there was no sense in wasting a good idea. “She’s right. Anybody sees us in the showers, our nips are usually soft. For even greater anonymity, everybody perk up.” With that, Hildy began stimulating her own nipples with her fingers. “C’mon,” she encouraged Cindy and Dara. “Make your nips hard. Hard as you can. Then let ‘em try to guess whose tits these are.”
Dara and Cindy self-consciously obeyed Hildy's directions and played with their own nipples.
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” Hildy quipped as she watched her nipples grow within her fingers.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, Susan said to Hildy, “I’ll do you if you do me.”
Hildy gave it a moment’s contemplation. “Deal.”
Susan and Hildy played with each other’s jugs, while Cindy and Dara watched in obvious disapproving amazement.
“You two can do each other,” Hildy instructed the other two girls.
“No, thanks,” was Dara’s instant response. “I’m good.” Then she muttered, “What a couple of lezzies!”
Neither Susan nor Hildy were gay, but Hildy knew their tits would respond better to the touch of another person’s hands. Whose wouldn’t? So the mutual tittie stimulation just seemed like a good idea, as indeed it was. The feel of another’s fingers on their ta-tas caused those nips to pop right up to rigid attention. Dara and Cindy continued playing with their own nips while their friends tugged, bounced, and groped each other’s funbags.
“Okay, okay,” Hildy interrupted. “Time to get dressed to go out.”
Perfect Streak Page 2