Deprogramming Amy

I hope Mark reads this. I can't think of another way to get in contact. It's been twenty-two years, and while my life has been good on all accounts, it's hard not knowing what happened to the people who shared a very crucial part of my life. Please don't think of me as a mousy little thing sighing over loves lost, because I am not. I'm a very good wife and mother, and a darn good corporate attorney. Can't a person be allowed a little wistfulness when life slams disparate people together, and then rips them away from each other after they've formed a bond?

Twenty-two years ago my mother walked into my bedroom and discovered us on the receiving end of a vibrating dildo being deftly manipulated by my very naked girlfriend. It was youthful experimentation. All it did was convince me that I resided deep in the heterosexual camp.

Once I got my girlfriend bundled out of the house, my next task was to convince my very Christian parents that I was not gay. I lived in the South when being gay was only slightly better than being an ax murderer. My older brother had come out to them a year before as being gay, and now that I think about it, I guess I can understand how they reacted. I'm sure that my mother was convinced that there would be no grandchildren if something wasn't done quickly.

They listened to me carefully, said they would talk to our pastor about it, and pray on it. After school was over, they promised a family vacation in the Lesser Antilles to let us regroup as a family before my senior year.

We packed our bags in late June and flew into an island with a posh resort. Early the next morning, they promised me a day-trip to a very exclusive island. When we got off the tiny commuter jet, a man holding a sign with our family name greeted us and bundled us into a golf cart. When they dropped me off at the gate of what looked like a minimum security prison, I discovered that I would spend my summer at a gay deprogramming camp.

I remembered little about the first day beyond watching my parents wave, then drive away leaving me to be prodded through the gate into an experience that few would have. Neither they or I realized the profound changes they had set in play for me or for my relationship with them. That realization would come much later.

Strangers in lab jackets and nurses uniforms ran me through lots of tests despite my tearful protests that I was not gay. I hated the personality test that asked all sorts of weird questions that I cared nothing about. I circled the answers without reading the questions and still the results came back that I hated my parents, duh. There was an I.Q. test, and finally a test that assessed my commitment to the "homosexual lifestyle". I answered them all without bothering to read the questions.

I broke down at lunch sitting in the sunny cafeteria room looking at the people around me who looked as lost and as hopeless as me. Silent tears welled and ran down my face. At first I hid my embarrassment then I noticed that everyone had eyes as sad as mine. Every one of us been tried, convicted and sentenced. Now we must serve our term alone and afraid. I was lost, befuddled, and deeply offended that no one, not even my parents, believed me.

The afternoon brought more testing, and a physical. Dinner was as lonely as lunch had been. The only difference was that I was hungry since I had eaten no lunch, and I was all cried out. After dinner, a matron led me to the office of a psychologist who scanned my test results. I hated that pencil necked geek. First of all the room stank of whiskey and sweat. I knew that smell well because of my no account uncle who used to visit us for the holidays. He had the squinty eyed, hunkered down look of a man who had been on a bender the night before. He spent ten minutes ignoring me before he looked up from my test results with the same compassion one might give a cockroach.

I used the time to look around his beige on beige office. His degree in psychology hung on the wall behind him along with a cross. I expected that. What I found interesting was the pristine Bible sitting on his desk next to the facial tissues. It had never been opened. I could tell because there was no crinkled leather running down the center of the book's spine. It was there as a prop.

How much more of this was sham and pretense?

"We can save you from a life as a homosexual," he closed my file. "I think we've caught this tendency of yours before it has settled into a lifestyle choice."

I said nothing. Why bother? My parents had labeled me as gay and now this camp would exorcise that unclean spirit from me. I winced. My pastor had preached long and hard about the homosexual life style and how it was subverting American ideals. I pictured myself kneeling in prayer twelve hours a day as religious zealots beat me with sticks until I promised before God and the Bible that I would never look upon a woman with lust in my heart.

He looked at my results again. "Your testing shows that you're not very religious."

I nodded. "It's true. I'm not gay either. So why don't you send me home?"

He studied me for a moment. "I know you're not gay, but let's think about what's the best action here for the both of us. If I call your parents and tell them you're not gay, the investors will hate me because I lost them five thousand dollars, and you might end up in another deprogramming program where the actually believe that they can convert you by reading scripture to you for 24/7 while you're tied to a bed."

He tapped my file.

"You're intelligent, and I see no reason to lie to you. Instead, I'm going to give you a cushy ride through this program with very pleasant people in a lush tropical setting and at the end of your stay here, I'll send you home with a paper signed by a real live PhD psychologist stating that you've been cured. My goal here is to keep things quiet and give you kids an enjoyable vacation."

He waited for me to say something. When I didn't, he continued.

"Our immersion therapy requires that you spend a good deal of time in the company of men. We've covered this point thoroughly with your parents, and they've agreed that it's okay as long as you are not forced into any uncomfortable situations. You will be monitored 24/7 on the grounds," he pointed at a plastic dome on the ceiling that I guessed contained a camera. "Now give me a safe word. If you say it, help will be dispatched immediately. What do you want your safe word to be?"

"Did you just say that I'm going to be having group sex?" I somehow sifted that fact out of the psychobabble he had spewed at me. 'Company of men' triggered thought.

"Well, you will find yourself in situations where you can have sex with a man." He raised up his hands to fend of any more questions. "With your consent, of course."

I sat back frowning at him reminding myself to keep my legs firmly clamped together despite wearing shorts lest I give away the goods for free, yet another lesson my mother had drummed into me.

My mother's chanted mantra since I had hit puberty was, 'Save yourself for marriage.' Now this geek would be pushing men at me with the blessing of my parents? Was this backwards day?

"My parents said okay to this?"

He nodded. "As long as you and your partner agree."

My mind went blank. Had I fallen down the bunny hole into Wonderland? "Let me assure you right now that sex is not going to happen."

He held up his hands again. "We still need a safe word. You can decide whether you want to participate later."

I scanned the room looking for inspiration. My eyes rested on the logo on his faded blue pullover shirt. "Penguin?"

He nodded. "That'll work. It's not common enough to come up in everyday conversation, yet it's easy enough to remember."

He wrote it on my chart.

"Needless to say, there is one rule here that you must not violate. No gay sex. Other than that, enjoy yourself."

With that, he stood and opened the door. "Stacy, she's ready."

A skinny, middle aged woman who wore way too much make-up, and who dyed her hair way too dark came into the room, scooped my file off the desk, and nodded for me to follow her.

I turned at the door. "I'm eighteen and a US citizen. I have rights against incarceration."

The psychologist looked up and pushed back his glasses. "This isn't the United States. Here you're an adult at twenty-one. Your parents can legally send you here." He returned to his reading.

We passed through a couple of doors as I followed her into the labyrinth. The one that had no door knob on the inside caught my attention. When that door slammed shut there was no way of getting out. This wasn't a camp, it was an asylum on a remote island and I wasn't much of a swimmer.

She led me into a tiny locker room, and handed me a wire basket. "Strip and put everything into the basket. What size are you honey? I need to get you your uniform."

"I'm a size 8 on top and 6 on the bottom, better give me an 8. A 6 will bind me across the bust."

She grinned. "There are four sizes. You look like a medium."

She disappeared as I pulled off my blouse and shorts. I was standing in my bra and panties when she returned.

"Honey you need to lose the underwear, too."

I pulled off my bra and panties and deposited them in the basket feeling weird about standing in front of a fully clothed stranger.

"And the jewelry."

I pulled off my earrings, necklace and my promise ring which she deposited in an envelope before sliding it into the basket.

She handed me a single garment of very flimsy material.

"Is this all?"

She nodded. "It's what everyone wears here. You'll get used to it."

I pulled it over my head, slid my arms through the straps, and pulled it down across my hips.

"You've got to be kidding. This is tight across my bosom and hides nothing."

The closest thing I could compare it to is the 'wife beater' undershirts that men wear except that this was made out of a very sheer, silky material. The top half hugged my bust displaying my nipples through the fabric while the bottom stretched tight across my hips. I'm tall for a woman and the hem barely covered my butt cheeks. I could maintain my modesty as long as I stood. All bets were off when I sat because the slick fabric was sure to climb up around my waist. Even bending over would show the goods. I doubted if I could slouch without displaying my ass.

"This is it? I need a longer garment and underwear."

"Honey, that's all you get. I don't think you could wear a large. It would hang so low from your shoulders that your nipples would be popping out every time you moved." She stepped back and looked at my outfit with a critical eye. "Wear it proudly. You look better than most. With that red hair of yours and those green eyes, you're going to be the belle of the ball around here." She followed it with a deep chuckle that ended with a smoker's hack. "Play their game, and you'll get out of here in six weeks to two months. Summer is their busy time. They've got to push people through."

She picked up the wire cage full of my clothing, tossed my purse in and slid it through a slot in the wall. "C'mon sweetie, it's time to show you to your room."

I followed her down the hall walking past other girls about my age. All of them wore the same minimal cover I did, all of them looked as uncomfortable and as embarrassed as I did, and all of them meekly followed a staff member.

We stopped at a nondescript door painted institutional beige. She slid my file into a holder by the door. Then she shouldered the door open and motioned me in. I stepped into darkness. Behind me, she turned on the lights, and then pulled the door shut as she left. The bolt slamming home told me how much freedom I had.

The room was clean, sterile, and not unlike a windowless motel room, yet quirky at the same time. A narrow single bed occupied the corner. I opened the door on the wall next to the bed and discovered the bathroom. The curious part was that the shower was out in the room surrounded by clear glass. It was a nice roomy shower with two shower heads. There was a love seat that faced a television. I couldn't find any closets or chests of drawers, and wondered where I was supposed to keep my clothes when I got them back. The bathroom contained everything a girl might need. There was shampoo, conditioner, mascara, eyeliner, brushes, combs, hair dryer, make up remover, safety razor, deodorant and even a little cologne. I could make myself presentable. The weird part was that there was also shaving cream and aftershave.

As I was exploring my girlie stuff, I heard a door open. I strode into the room expecting a staff member and discovered a naked man toweling himself off.

He immediately wrapped the towel around his waist. "Uh, sorry. I didn't know anyone was here. I was in the heated pool with the music turned up." He pointed at the door behind him. "My shorts are in the other room."

He backed away, opened the door, and disappeared.

I searched for a phone to call the front desk to inform them of their mistake. They had booked a man and a woman into the same room. I never found it. I did knock on the door that I had come through to get into the room. I rattled it, I kicked it, I pummeled it with my fists, but in the end, I realized no one would answer my calls.

In the meantime, the guy reappeared wearing what looked like red gym shorts that were at least three sizes too small. That was all. Not that I minded. He had a washboard stomach, a deep chest and broad shoulders. A guy who looked best with little or no clothes.

"I tried that for a long time, but no one ever came. We're stuck with each other." He shrugged. "It could be worse, I guess."

"How could it possibly be worse? My parents brought me to this jail, and I guess I'm spending my summer here. Now I'm trapped in a room with a strange guy."

"Hey, I'm not strange, besides, it's not so bad here. We could be really hot, or cold, or there could be rats all over." He held out his hand. "I'm Mark."

I ran my fingers through my hair ignoring his hand, and marched into the center of the room. "I can't spend the night in here with a guy. What would my parents think?"

"Your parents know what's happening, they sent you here."

"I am not gay, and I don't need to be deprogrammed." I practically shouted at him.

I was lashing out at him because he was my only target after a day of betrayal and humiliation. I'm not proud of that.

He looked confused. "If you're not gay, then why are you here?"

"I..." It occurred to me that I did not want to share my gay sexual encounter and the aftermath with a complete stranger. "Why are you here?"

His smile faded. "I told my parents that I wanted to take a jazz dancing class. They took me to my first lesson, looked around, and the next thing I know, they're dropping me off here." He gestured at the room.

It was my turn to be confused. "So are you gay?"

He shook his head. "No, but I've always enjoyed dance. I guess in my parents mind, that makes me gay."

My situation became clear to me. "They've shoved us together to have sex, didn't they?" I pulled my shift down trying to cover as much as I could.

"I think so, and we're supposed to like it so much that it keeps us from deciding to be gay. It explains the small bed and the brief clothing." He pointed at the shower. "It sure explains that shower, and the private heated pool next door." He chuckled. "It even explains what's on the TV."

I walked over to the remote sitting on an end table next to the love seat, carefully facing toward him when I bent over realizing as I did so that my breasts were on display. When I turned on the TV no matter what channel I turned to, soft core porn flickered across the screen. I flicked off the TV, and turned to him. "Well, sex isn't going to happen. You seem like a nice guy, Mark, but I'm not going to have sex with you." I raised my voice. "Did you hear that? I'm not going to play your game. Hell will freeze over before I have sex with him. Penguin! Penguin!"

Mark was better than a nice guy. In fact, he was hot in a geeky way. For one thing, he was taller than me. Tall women reading this will understand. He had nice shoulders, muscular arms and a swimmer's body. The kind of body I wanted to lick all over.

No one beat down the door to rescue me. I wasn't surprised. I'd had zero control since I had walked through the front gate. Like a leaf drifting down a river, I had no control of where I was going.

Mark sat on the bed as far away from the crazy lady melting down in the center of the room. "Since we're spending the night here, we better discuss sleeping arrangements. The temperature is slowly falling in this room. They're trying to drive us in bed together. There's one blanket on the bed, and a love seat that is clearly too small for me, and I think for you too."

"Let me try." I sat on the love seat so as not to show my naughty bits which was impossible. I couldn't lay my body down without draping my legs over the arms of the love seat. I gave up and clambered gracelessly to my feet while Mark grinned at me.

I pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I'm not sleeping with you."

Mark sat on the bed unaware that his dick peeked out of the leg of his shorts. Women weren't the only ones having trouble with this clothing. "There's sleeping together, and then there's sleeping together. How about if I promise to take no liberties? We keep to our sides of the bed, and merely sleep. Then in the morning, we sort things out."

I stared at the bed and the love seat. I couldn't see a way out of our dilemma. I was rubbing my bare arms to keep them warm. I wasn't sure I could generate enough body heat by myself to keep from shivering even under the blanket. "Okay, I think we can make it work. Now what are we going to do until we get sleepy?"

"The heated pool is really nice. I can stay in here if you want to use it, or we can watch TV. I've scanned what they have. There's a couple movies that don't look too raunchy. They're rom-coms. We can fast forward through the steamy scenes if they make you uncomfortable."

We pulled the blanket from the bed and snuggled under it while watching an R rated movie. I liked the blanket. I didn't have to worry about pulling my slip down. Eventually my cover-up rose around my waist leaving me nude from the hips down.

The plot of the movie was bizarre. The guy was a meek chemist who invented a serum that turned him into a love machine to the delight of his very curvy grad student. The bulk of the movie was discovering how many ways and locations they could fake sex in.

Halfway through the movie, Mark began squirming.

"Why can't you get comfortable?" Only my death grip on the blanket kept it from being pulled off me and exposing my nether regions.

Mark's face reddened. "These shorts bind me in really uncomfortable ways when I sit in them. Would you mind if I slid them off? I swear I won't take advantage of the situation."

What could I say? I was bare from the waist down myself. "Go ahead."

He slid out of them beneath the blanket bending over to pull them from his ankles baring an incredibly pale cute butt as he did so. "Ahh, that feels so much better."

We sat naked hip to naked hip and thigh to thigh, and I enjoyed the contact when I wasn't fuming about my parents abandonment. The love scene caused problems for both of us. Mark's dick tented the blanket on his lap. I wasn't doing much better. I could smell my arousal, and I was sure Mark could too. We stared straight ahead at the TV not daring to look at each other.

His every twitch caused his thigh and hip to brush against me. I survived the movie with my chastity intact, but I was breathing a lot deeper than I usually did. Mark pulled on his shorts which did nothing to hide his raging hard on.