Freshman Week Ch. 04.5: Performance

Author's Note: If you are wondering about the decimal, it's because I don't consider this a full entry. Its short idea I had for these characters and then banged out over an afternoon. A full chapter is in the making.

And while I'm noting things, please keep in mind this is not being written for educational purposes. I am aware of the mangling of psychology I've performed for this story. If you would like to learn about psychology or Freudian theory, I recommend you read an actual book.

XxXxX

From the front of the room, Professor Michaels looked his students over. As usual, his gaze was vacant and bored. Only fifteen years had passed since he had gotten his license. He had loved teaching then. But covering the same material year after year had left him numb. Maybe it was time to switch subjects, spice up his life? Maybe next year he'd finally do it.

For now though, he was stuck in Psych 101.

He cleared his throat. "Alright class, we're coming up on Thanksgiving Break. We only have three weeks till you're carving up turkeys, and after that it's a straight shot to finals. Most of you are doing fine. Some of you are sucking ass. To those of you in the latter group, I'm offering you a rope. Whether it's enough to pull you to shore or just to hang yourself with is up to effort you are willing to expend.

"The week before break you will be doing a performance in front of the class. The requirements are simple: demonstrate something I've taught this semester. What topic you choose and what manner you present it, I leave to your discretion. But know this, you will be graded strictly based on how entertaining I find your presentation to be. For this project, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Shoot someone in the leg for all I care, just don't bore me. As long as you don't draw outside attention to yourself, I will gladly ignore any violation of campus rules that is confined to this room.

"As far as guidelines go, that's all you get. You're on your own."

In the back row, Tiffany Shook's eyes were wide. She looked around the class, and saw that half of them already had gears turning in their heads. With her last name, there was no way she would get to go early. If someone before her made a strong, interesting impression...

What the hell could she do that Professor Michaels would find interesting?

XxXxX

Tiffany met her roommate at the on-campus coffee shop. As usual, Rebecca was dressed in a professional manner. She was wearing a buttoned up blouse underneath a black, light jacket which complimented her black pencil skirt and tasteful heels. In contrast, Tiffany was dressed provocatively. While the slight chill in the air necessitated that she wear a hoodie, she left it unzipped to show off the blue crop top, exposing her navel and what little cleavage she had. And although her leggings did cover all of the skin from her hips down to her shoes they were tight enough to leave little to the imagination.

Odd as it was, considering Rebecca was a proud exhibitionist and Tiffany a timid wallflower, it was their way.

"I have zero ideas," Tiffany said as Rebecca stirred her latte. "I grasp the material just fine. I could write a ten page report over any of the units we've done, but I have no skills in the performing arts."

Rebecca took a sip of her drink. "Okay, then let's go over what you can do. Singing?"

"Nope."

"Painting?"

"Not well."

"Rapping?"

"I really hope you're joking."

"Okay. Dancing then?"

Tiffany shrugged. "I can move to a beat. Wouldn't call it art though."

Rebecca stroked her chin and stared off into the distance. Slowly, a look passed over her face. A smirk took root and then expanded into a full grin.

"Feel like sharing with the class?" Tiffany asked.

"Oh. Oh I do. The question is just how much do you feel like sharing, Tiffany?"

XxXxX

The roommates went on an outing the next day. Mainly they went shopping for fabric. They picked their materials as a pair, but Tiffany paid for it. This seemed fair considering Rebecca would be the one designing and crafting the outfit. (Having been roommates with her for almost four months, Tiffany had come to accept the fact Rebecca had the skills to satisfy any storyline, however contrived.) They also bought some music at Best Buy and stopped by Rebecca's house for a professional grade mic she'd gotten for Christmas some years ago.

"So what do I do now?" asked Tiffany.

"Start writing your report," said Rebecca. "First you'll write it, then you'll record. And then we do some audio mixing."

XxXxX

Professor Michaels received an email from one of his students a day before presentations began. Someone by the name of Shook. As usual with student emails, he didn't read the whole thing. But he skimmed it. The gist seemed to be asking exactly how far his behavioral allowances went for the student presentations.

His response was simple. "Anything goes."

He wouldn't hear anything else from Tiffany Shook until the final day before Thanksgiving Break.

XxXxX

The auditorium was full on the day of Tiffany's performance. A girl by the name of Lucy Saner had just read a poem about B.F. Skinner and operant conditioning. As Lucy returned to her seat, Professor Michaels, sitting only a few seats away from Tiffany in the back row, read off from his list. "Next is... Tiffany Shook. Please take the stage."

Rebecca, sitting in on the class to see her friend's performance, gave her an encouraging smile. "Go on! You got this."

With slightly quivering legs, Tiffany walked down toward the front of the class.

As she uploaded the PowerPoint and audio file onto the teacher's computer, Tiffany looked around the auditorium. The class had roughly thirty people in it. On top of them, about ten people like Rebecca had joined just to watch. And then there was the teacher. She couldn't see him through the stage lights, but she felt as though she could sense his dull stare. All of them were watching her. All of them would see what she was about to do.

A chill went down her spine and reverberated in her nether regions. She couldn't tell if this was terror or excitement.

The file loaded.

The first image of the PowerPoint was simply a picture of Sigmund Freud. The picture was black and white and came with no accompanying text, but it made clear the reason for Tiffany's outfit. She was dressed much like the famed psychologist. She had on a white buttoned shirt with a black tie and a grey waist coat. Below that were grey dress pants secured with a belt. The immodest heels may not have been Freud's style, but his feet weren't in the photo so who can say for sure?

In one hand, she also held an opera length metal cigarette holder with a fake cigarette inside. Neither she nor Rebecca knew if it was period appropriate, but it was cooler than a pipe so she brought it.

The next slide came up. In bold letters were the words "Psychosexual Stages." The audio kicked in. The first bit was clip of Tiffany's voice. "Today I will be expressing for you the psychosexual stages of Freudian theory. Along with this, we will be covering the three primary structures of Sigmund Freud's psychological model."

The next slide came up. It said "Psychological Model" with a downwards arrow pointing directly at Tiffany. With one hand on her hip, she gave an exaggerated wave to the audience.

Tiffany had a soft spot for Sigmund Freud. She knew his theories were pretty outdated and not the end-all-be-all of psychology that pop culture often portrayed them as, but they were fun and easily digestible. She especially liked what he had to say about the Oedipus and Elektra complex, even if the "penis envy" idea was more than a little condescending.

"Every person goes through these stages in development," continued Tiffany's narration, "They shape who we are as a person and how we satisfy social demands. The stages are as follows: Oral. Anal. Phallic." Tiffany pantomimed taking a drag from her cigarette. "Latent. And genital."

Tiffany did a little march around her teacher's desk, moving from behind it to in front of it, where the whole audience could see her.

Music started to play through the audio system. It was an electronic track that Rebecca said she had heard at a strip club. (Tiffany never got around to asking if she had been a customer or an employee.) Rebecca had said it was something you could move to.

Tiffany swayed on rhythm, like they'd practiced. As she moved, her narration kicked back, playing just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"The way we meet these stages decides how we seek pleasure as adults. It determines the flow of sexual energy, our libido. In each stage our sexual energy faces a conflict and must overcome frustration. If we don't overcome, we get..."

Tiffany put her cigarette holder down on the desk and shrugged her shoulders back. The waist coat rolled off her back and down her arms.

"Fixated.

"If you do complete every stage appropriately, surpassing all conflicts, you will develop-"

Tiffany's voice cut out again, leaving only the music. Not that many people had been listening. They were too busy watching as the girl slowly unbuttoned her shirt.

As she reached the last two buttons, Tiffany smoothly kicked off her shoes, exposing bare feet. When the final button was undone, she unfastened her belt. The pants, being slightly too large for her, collapsed to the ground. The girl reached behind her and placed both hands on the desk's surface, then lifted herself onto it. The pants dropped off of her entirely.

While the Freud costume was dispensed with, Tiffany remained in a skin tight leotard. It was a light shade of grey, and covered only her abdomen. Her neck, legs, and arms were fully bare. It was so tight, the back row could see her camel toe and the slight definition of her breasts.

Written across the chest of the leotard was "Super Ego."

"-the super ego. It is our sense of morality and limits our aggressive and sexual impulses. It is also the last of the three psyche components to develop."

The next slide was a picture of a woman with an open mouth.

"The oral stage is where a human's sexual energy is focused on the mouth: Chewing, eating, licking, sucking..."

Tiffany pantomimed sucking an invisible cock and then lasciviously licked the air. This earned a few laughs from the audience.

"The next stage is anal." Tiffany turned around and bent over the desk, waving her ass at her classmates. Like her boobs it wasn't much, but she felt rather confident about her womanly hips. The move also exposed a fair bit of her outlined genitals to the first two rows. From the back, she heard a loud whistle from Rebecca.

"By the end of this stage, a central aspect of our psyche should have formed."

Tiffany bent down to access the pocket of her dress pants. From it she pulled small kitchen knife. Normally, this would be very discouraged on school grounds. Professor Michaels said it himself though, "anything goes."

The girl grabbed her leotard at the neckline and pulled it away from her body. Centering her knife at the midline she slowly began to cut downward. The sharp blade traveled smoothly through the midline, never catching or halting. Tiffany had trained long and hard at this to ensure she wouldn't hurt herself. Ending this strip tease with a ride to the emergency room would not help her score.

Once the knife had safely sliced open the leotard's pubic zone, Tiffany shrugged off the lavender rages, revealing the next layer.

This was the skimpiest aspect of her outfit, and it came in two parts. Both were a bright pink. The upper half was a thin strip of fabric. It wrapped around Tiffany's chest, covering her petite and perky tits and very little else. Even on her, it left some cleavage visible. The lower half looked like a string biking, though an exceptionally small one. It didn't have any ties, the straps holding it onto her body were just thin. Rebecca had made it herself, fitting the fabric to her roommates body so that it would be as form fitting as possible. As with the leotard, the outline of her sex was plain to see.

Written in black on the upper half was the word "Ego."

"The ego is the balance between reality and our desire," said the narration. "It molds our behavior to fit the context of society. The ego is a rationally driven thinker who finds the best way to our wants and needs."

Tiffany did a quick spin, letting the audience see her from the back. From that angle, the audience of forty plus people could see how her short bottoms exposed the upper half of her ass crack.

When she turned back to the crowd, it was with a smile. Though she was breathing heavily, her anxiety had been forgotten. She could feel the music in her blood. Her body had become the model of human sexuality. Tiffany was filled with pure exhilaration.

"The third stage is the phallic stage. Here we become aware of our... sexual distinctions."

Tiffany hoisted herself backwards onto the desk. She placed both hands on her collarbone and slowly they traveled down over her tits, across her midriff and legs, and finally rested on her sex. She paused there. Tiffany could feel her own warmth. She felt the wetness she'd generated performing for the crowd.

She shook her head violently. She had to keep her wits about her. She needed to keep performing.

"The fourth stage is latency," narrated Tiffany as her real life counterpart hopped off of the desk. "This is where the libido is most dormant. No sexual development happens."

Tiffany folded both hands over her crotch and looked about mournfully.

"But then we have the final stage: genitals."

Tiffany curled the fingers of one hand under the material of her makeshift bra, and other hand's fingers under the material of her light pink panties. Her blood screamed with anticipation.

"Where we channel sexual energy in its most direct form. And by sexual energy, I of course mean the-"

The narration cut out again, and in one fast movement Tiffany tore both halves of the outfit from her body. No clothing remained. In front of the entire audience, she was exposed.

Tiffany's nipples were razor sharp, not that anyone was close enough to tell. Just like they weren't close enough to see the moisture forming in her labia. But most audience members near the stage would be able to read a pair of letters on either tit. An "I" on her right and a "D" on her left.

As soon as the remains of remnants of the ego costume were off of Tiffany's person, the music picked up tempo. It was furious and vibrant. It matched her fierce grin.

"The id is our most animalistic desire. It's our deepest passion. It doesn't care about society. It doesn't care what we have to do to satiate ourselves. The id wants what it wants, no matter who's watching."

Tiffany crawled back onto the desk. Facing the audience, she toyed with her nipples. The goal of this segment had been to get her body ready, but it didn't take much. She was already flushed with hormones. The girl spread her legs and showed herself in full to the class. Other than the music and the girl, the room was silent.

In the back, Rebecca was controlling the presentation with her phone. They'd known better than to time how long it took Tiffany to do the final part, so Rebecca had been entrusted with activating the final voice clips to Tiffany's performance. When her roommate reached down and began massaging her clitoris, she knew to press the button.

"In the genital stage, sexual energy is communicated through sex. Genital sex. Penetrative sex. Freud might have specified heterosexual sex, but when you get down to it it's all about achieving orgasm. With a man. A woman. Maybe even all of you."

Tiffany kept her eyes on the crowd as she touched herself. Her breathing was loud and heavy. She could actually hear it over the music. She had one finger on her clit and another inside of her. She had to add another couple fingers as she gradually climbed the summit.

Her moaning was loud. She didn't muffle it. She wanted them to hear. Wanted him to hear.

Tiffany tried to fix her on eyes on the back row, but it was hard to see through the stage lights. Somewhere up there was Professor Michaels, and somewhere was Rebecca.

When she was ready, Tiffany shut her eyes tightly and cried out.

Rebecca received the signal and pressed the button for the final clip, but she had to admit she was surprised. She'd never heard her roommate get that loud fingering herself before.

And she had never known her to be a squirter.

"Should have put up some signs," Rebecca mused to herself. "Warning: Splash Zone."

Tiffany slowly came down from her orgasm, but she was far too removed from the situation to listen to end of her recorded presentation. Who really cared? She'd done it. Whatever else Professor Michaels could say about her little show, it wasn't boring.

This had been an A plus performance.

XxXxX

"He gave me a B? A motherfucking B!"

It was the night after the show. Rebecca and Tiffany were in their dorm room. Fully nude, as was normal for them. Tiffany sat at the edge of her bed, laptop in lap. She was looking at the score on the school website, but she wasn't quite believing it.

"How many girls have jacked off on his desk that he finds it dull? Did anyone in that class earn an A?"

"Honey, it isn't called jacking off when a girl does it," Rebecca said as she idly leafed through a text book. "And you have to admit, Will's puppet show on Carl Jung was pretty awesome."

"Still," said Tiffany, "I still just can't believe it. You don't think... it was because of..."

Tiffany closed her laptop and set it aside before lying down on her bed. She turned to face the wall and curled in on herself.

"...of my body, do you?"

Rebecca didn't have to see her roommates face to know she was crying. The taller girl pushed her book away and went to Tiffany's side of the room. She crawled into the girl's bed and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a spooning position.

Rebecca playfully squeezed the girl's tits as she nuzzled her neck. "Your body deserves an A plus in anyone's book, especially mine. Don't get it twisted, okay sweetie?"

Tiffany couldn't help but smile as Rebecca pushed her body up against hers. "Whatever you say Rebs."

Rebecca smiled. "By the way, you taught me a lot today. But I have a question.

"If an Oedipus complex is when you get turned on by your mom, and an Electra complex is when you get turned on by your dad, what do you call it when you get turned on by your tiny, awesome roommate?"

The two girls laughed.

XxXxX

Author's Note: I was less than halfway through this when I realized I was writing a short psychology paper for a porn website. What has my life turned into?

Hope you enjoyed!