Strange Days Pt. 03

"No doubt exists that all women are crazy. It's only a question of degree."

— W. C. Fields, W. C. Fields and Me

"Noli de gratuito munere judicare et, ut vulgare proverbium est, equi dentes inspicere donati." ("Do not judge free gifts and, as the common saying goes, look a gift horse in the mouth.")

— Saint Jerome, On the Epistle to the Ephesians

After the CMNF party I was kept busy with exams and assignments. My social life, such as it had been, contracted further. While I got on well with Ben and Ricardo, they were my friends only by default. That was fine by me.

Indeed, the semester ended with me feeling pleased with myself. The nagging fear that I might have peaked in high school was dissipated by good grades. My truncated social life paid off. I went home for the midyear recess in a self-satisfied mood. But when I returned things were different. Laura appeared to have become more distant — reserved and reticent, very un-Lauralike. She mixed more with her own crowd; and while she was never rude to me, it seemed like she was avoiding my company. I suspected it might be fallout from the CMNF party.

But I started to blame myself, because my relationship with Caitlyn had also inexplicably cooled. I'd felt already that we were drifting apart, so I tried not to be sexist and blame feminine fickleness. I wondered if she'd uncovered my lie about the party and thought I still carried a torch for Laura. To be honest, however, I was not overly disappointed, because I hadn't expected anything serious to develop. During the three week vacation I never visited her.

I decided to stay on campus for the September mid-semester break, as did many Lakeside residents. I planned to spend most of the time working on a research assignment. And that I achieved, despite a major distraction. For all over the campus the return of spring was a festive time, and on the first day of the vacation Lakesiders celebrated with a Beach Barbeque. We were a long way from the sea and the eponymous "lake" was in reality a large pond. But we embraced the other key B's — beer, board shorts and bikinis.

That morning we also held our very last tute group meeting. All of us were there for the finale, sitting in a circle on the grass. It was a balmy Saturday morning. Rain that had earlier threatened to spoil the mood held off. I felt ridiculous, and Ben looked it, in our gaudy floral shirts and baggy boardies — not my usual style. The girls, on the other hand, were much more picturesque. Rachel was stunning in her canary-yellow string bikini. Michelle, whom I had never really warmed to, appeared to have shed her inhibitions with her clothing. She was much more congenial in a slender purple bandeau. Patricia had swapped her customary scruffy jeans and sweater for a butt-baring thong and a ribbon across her breasts that may have been held in place by friction alone. Kendra's athletic curves swelled a scanty leopard-print. Even our esteemed leader Lorelei was delightfully disrobed. None of the girls minded that Ben and I ogled goggle-eyed.

(My roommate, who never wasted an opportunity to be obnoxious, had taunted me about missing the "Naughty Nightie" lingerie party in April. I magnanimously didn't tell him about the CMNF party.)

The merrymaking began at noon, and I found myself admiring the pert élan of the Lakeside women, almost all of whom had entered into the spirit. Not all were supermodels or beauty queens, but bikinis were ubiquitous. It was not especially warm that afternoon, as the sky was cloudy, so it took some tenacity. I might even have felt bad for the women, which would have been illogical. There was no social or peer pressure. Some flaunted their assets; they strutted about and reveled in the attention. Some were shy but none seemed timid or embarrassed. And the celebration went on after the sun sank and goosebumps rose.

I saw but didn't speak to Laura. She was achingly alluring in her barely-there cherry-red two-piece. As with Rachel, I had seen her in less, albeit not a lot less. But it's one of the quirks of human nature that a little clothing can be sexier than none at all. I suppose we like secrets. When something's kept hidden it's more enticing. Caitlyn was there as well, with another guy. They weren't showing any sign of romance, which consoled me a little, even if I saw no hope of rekindling our relationship. We didn't speak. I don't think she saw me in the crowd, and I didn't feel like approaching her, afraid it might end in a confrontation. But it was hard to ignore her. Her bikini-clad body shimmered in the golden rays of the setting sun. And yet there was something unsettling about the vision. For I know that sounds crazy, but below the freckles and ponytail which made her the essence of innocence, the amber sheen of her skin and its scant covering of tiny triangles subverted that image. (I guess I was having a "gift horse" moment.)

The following morning I discovered that the swimsuit wearing carried on for the entire seventeen days of the vacation period. And despite becoming acclimated to the Lakeside lifestyle, there was a residual prudish part of me which found this disquieting. For I have no doubt that if the Hall had been run by "older and wiser" heads rather than its young and up-for-anything residents, such a wantonly nonchalant display of female flesh would have been curbed. Of course, that's a what-if scenario, and I cannot say that the reality was displeasing.

The place was largely deserted most of the time, but those women present wore their bikinis (and a few one-piece costumes) in the dorms, the eateries, common rooms and study areas. And without the beach party pretext, some were coy at first; but before long all the ladies basked in the freedom, the comfort and the joie de vivre. So as at the CMNF party, I envied them, because they were feeling what we men were only seeing. And if that is a strange reaction for a heterosexual male with the normal range of penchants and proclivities, it helped me understand the personal paradigm shift about to change my perception of Lakeside Hall and its denizens.

Now as I've mentioned, in the spirit of cooperation, as well as affordable fees, all residents were rostered for catering and housekeeping chores. First-year students such as myself were assigned light duties such as cleaning the common areas and tending the lawns and gardens. The higher levels performed more skilled or time-consuming tasks like serving in the kitchen and cafeteria, laundry detail, etcetera.

One morning I investigated a noise outside my room. It was a squad of girls hauling clothes hampers. Residents left these in the hallway twice a week to be collected, so the communal laundry facility did not get congested. A few doors down the corridor, one of the workers was loading the baskets onto a trolley. She was bending over, her unadorned derrière giving my bleary eyes a treat. I was going to withdraw discreetly into my room, but as she straightened up she saw me.

"Hello, Daniel."

"Hi, Caitlyn."

She must have been on the job for some time because she looked tired and out of breath. She managed a tight-lipped smile. Her heaving chest strained against a sliver of Lycra. She wore a g-string that was drawn snugly between her legs, revealing her intimate contours and leaving her bottom almost completely exposed. She looked breathtakingly sexy; but the Caitlyn I knew before the beach party had been more demure. That's not a criticism. It was her choice and that's okay; but it bothered me. Had she changed when we were a couple, or afterwards? Had I been stifling her true nature? Or was I overthinking this? I never found out, because I never asked.

We exchanged trivialities, feeling awkward. As she picked up my hamper stuffed with clothes, she mentioned that it was nearly lunchtime. I made a lame joke I immediately regretted, that her own laundry for the two weeks could fit in a sandwich bag. She pretended not to understand, I got flustered and she smiled again, indulgently. For a fleeting instant I had the old Caitlyn back. But she returned to her toil and I went back to my books.

A few days later I was having lunch with Ben and Ricardo. We were in the cafeteria and Laura was on duty clearing tables. She was characteristically spectacular, in a minuscule, mint-green bikini. She paused for a brief chat, looking a bit frazzled. Incautiously she stood between my two besotted roommates. The side-ties of her panty slung low on her hips were perilously within reach of the drooling idiots, and I started feeling some big-brotherly protectiveness. However, indomitable Laura was in full control, unflinching under their lustful gaze but with her tray poised to deflect delinquent hands. Still, she must have caught my look of concern, because she winked and grinned. There was never any danger of mischief. No one at Lakeside Hall tolerated such nonsense.

In any case, my comrades were impressed when she asked where I would be after lunch. I told her: cloistered in the library. She nodded, and winked again as I ignored the silent supplications of Ben and Ricardo to be invited along.

"Found you!" she exclaimed, when she tracked me down.

I had no idea what she wanted; but she admonished me that I needed to broaden my horizons. Before I could answer, she asked me to follow her outside. In one of the small courtyards were sitting Kat, Rachel and three other girls I had seen at the CMNF party. They were wearing more than they had at the climax of that night, but not much more. Even after two weeks of observing bikini-clad bodies I paused to enjoy the scene. They graciously gave me time to savor the moment. All were older than me, second-, third- or fourth-year students. So now, as I gaped, I felt like a dopey adolescent caught with his porn stash by his big sister. (Is that creepy? I'm an only child.) I almost expected to get my hair ruffled.

Kat beckoned me to squeeze onto the seat next to her, and as she wriggled her backside to make room she made sure that her hips and thighs — sleek and bare all the way except for the spaghetti-thin strap of her T-back thong — rubbed against my trouser leg. I saw her licking her lips, but since this was out of the corner of my eye I couldn't tell if she did it just to be provocative. Whatever; Kat was really something.

Laura waited patiently, then told me about the Empyreal Society. She invited me to join. The other girls nodded, except Rachel. She had a blank look, and I realized that this meeting was for the two of us. But I at first thought it was some sort of vacuous put-on. However, that was not Laura's style. And so this is how I found myself a few nights later, standing in a hallway back in Charlotte's house, draped in a cloak of crimson, wearing nothing underneath but a buckskin loincloth.

My return to Charlotte's place revived fond memories, although this time I was more nervous than intrigued. Our mode of transport seemed quaint — a hackney carriage, like one of those black taxi-cabs plying the streets of London. Andrew, Tyler and I occupied the seats with our backs to the driver's compartment. Across from us were Rachel, Molly and Francine. We hardly spoke, deep in thought and having second thoughts. The light was on but our eyes never made contact across the narrow gap.

We arrived shortly after sunset and James met us at the door. He was dressed eccentrically, in a puffy-sleeved, white silk shirt and shiny black trousers, with an ornate leather and silver-stud codpiece. He also wore a floor-length, bright red cape fringed with gold tassels. It was hard to hold back a laugh, but he grinned good-naturedly. He took us down a corridor which led from the living room. This had an eerie, almost creepy quality, in contrast to the chic suburban ambience of the rest of the house. The walls, floor and ceiling were colored in shades of red, the carpet was so plushly soft that it felt squishy, and the dim lighting reduced everything to a pink tinge. One of the girls whispered something. I think it was "vagina", and that image got stuck in my head.

The passageway opened into a large, well-lit room, and there we were greeted by the congregation. The males were attired identical to James but with customized codpieces. The latter accoutrements ranged in design from understated to comical to grotesquely phallic. The females had on white dresses in individual patterns, short and long, snug-fitting and loose-flowing, but all décolleté — off the shoulder — and each wore about her throat a black leather choker embellished with a pink rosette.

Everyone, maybe forty in all, wore harlequin-style half-masks, also personalized but revealing enough face that I could identify most of the people present. Charlotte was there, naturally. So were Laura, transcendent in a shimmering satin slip dress, Kat and, to my surprise, Ben's sister Emily. They formed a large semi-circle, in no particular order, with us novices clustered at its focus. James intoned a few sentences, none of which I recall, but there were no other formalities or rituals before Charlotte beckoned the six of us to follow her to an adjacent chamber. This was bisected with a bamboo screen. She directed Andrew, Tyler and me to the left of the panel. There was a table on which were three neatly folded capes, like that worn by James but without the golden trimmings. Next to them were three breechcloths, of mustard-colored buckskin with leather belt.

Andrew said something in a hushed voice that I didn't catch, and before I could ask him to repeat it Charlotte's voice resonated over the top of the partition.

"Yes, everything!"

I'd suspected this would be the case. Even so, the three of us felt, and looked, more than a bit silly. The sparseness and dullness of the loincloth contrasted with the size and crimson vibrancy of the cloak, which when draped over the shoulders hid all of our torsos but for a strip down the middle. And as we stepped back into the main room, I saw that the three girls wore similar red mantles but were naked underneath. Each held her arms in a way that the cape was drawn back on her shoulders to expose her breasts and pubes.

I found myself pondering how sexist was the difference between us guys and the girls. I berated myself, thinking once more of a gift horse's mouth.

As we re-entered the main room, Charlotte lowered the top of her dress to her waist. I looked across to where the rest of the Society members were gathered, and all the women had already done the same. None of them seemed self-conscious being topless. Andrew and Tyler made audible sounds of pleasure. Somewhat prepared by the CMNF party, I managed to keep quiet.

I'd anticipated some sort of elaborate ceremony, with initiation rites, mystical sacraments and other nonsense. Instead our induction was very informal — notwithstanding the outlandish "uniforms" — and light-hearted, in keeping with what I learned was the philosophy of the Society. We were treated to a brief disquisition from James and Charlotte, who alternated at apparently random points of the presentation.

The name of the Empyreal Society refers to a celestial realm of light and creative energy, existing above and beyond the mundane world: "There are many happy sights in the inner heavens and many paths along which travel the fortunate gods, each doing their own thing. You can always follow if you are willing and able, for jealousy has no place on the celestial stage. But when you go to the banquet and festival, you ascend the heights of the Empyrean." This is from Plato's Phaedrus. Accordingly, the motto of the Society is "De gustibus non est disputandum — "There should be no arguing about tastes."

(The Society loves its classicist pretensions. My only quibble was the barbarous mingling of Greek and Latin.)

The guiding philosophy of the Empyreal Society is that pleasure, in the form of satisfying intellectual, spiritual, physical and sensual desires, in no particular order, is the highest good and the proper objective in life. It is therefore the right of each individual person to freely choose his or her lifestyle insofar as it is mutually consensual with and not hurtful to others. And I could go more into Empyrean ideology; but there's another old saying — "The devil is in the detail." In truth, its practical expression was a form of hedonism with a strong emphasis on sexual themes. The members justified this focus as the most primal and fundamental but also the most sublime of humane pursuits. I never took this rationalization seriously. In any case, that one condition of admission was a medical exam including a check for "all communicable diseases" was an unambiguous clue about what to expect.

The rest of the evening passed unremarkably. I still felt goofy in my ridiculous garb. At least, unlike the female neophytes, I had something covering my genitalia; but they didn't seem to mind; and those codpieces were just plain ludicrous. Many of the other women — by no means all but including Laura — stayed bare-breasted throughout. But it was all more sedate than the CMNF party (and therefore the naked boobs seemed, to me, rather gratuitous).

However, two weeks later we returned to Charlotte's place. We wore normal clothing. The capes and other accessories were for inductions. In fact, on arrival we discovered that there had been another such occasion, to which I and the other novices hadn't been invited; and one of the latest inductees was Caitlyn! She blushed as we met outside the house, and avoided me after that. But I could tell that she wasn't hostile, nor embarrassed, just taken aback by my presence. And perhaps irrationally I resented that, as if poor dull Daniel could never get himself involved with the Empyreal Society.

Charlotte and James convened the meeting, again taking turns to speak, as if to emphasize their equality. Most of the members nodded throughout the presentation, which was obviously directed at us newbies. We were introduced to what the Society actually did. Charlotte called their activities the "empirical" expression of their philosophy; and it took me a while to recognize the play on the word "Empyreal". My excuse for my slow uptake is that the things we were told were distracting, to say the least. I remained skeptical, as if the whole thing might still be some elaborate joke. The events of the following summer would have erased my doubts... but I didn't have to wait that long.

With the formal meeting concluded, there was an hour of casual conversation. Then suddenly, on a cue from Charlotte, the women took off all their clothes. I would have been almost blasé. It's amazing how quickly your mind can adapt. Anyway, having learnt the true focus of the Society's activities I could hardly be surprised. Nevertheless, this was my first sight of Caitlyn naked in public; and I was rather disconcerted that she appeared undisconcerted. This was especially so since once again we males remained covered up; and even if nobody else seemed to regard this as an issue, it troubled me. Of course, one could write long essays on gender construction, how female and male nudity are perceived differently, etcetera. So perhaps to avoid the mental effort I convinced myself that my misgivings were simply more prudery.

And yet there was a curiously austere, anaesthetic, unseductive affectation in the girls' nudity. Make no mistake, it was erotic, but it felt like we were in a role-play game. The girls might have been playing characters, divorcing their experience from in-the-flesh reality, the same way in a video game you can immerse yourself in the virtual world while still looking in from the outside — "This is not my real body; it's my avatar." As a result, the nudity had an almost sterile quality. There were no fetish items like stiletto heels, fishnet stockings or garter belts, just raw sexuality in a bizarrely banal setting.