Tami Beethoven

Yuck! What a violation of the rule about what Sarge always called "neat and proper presentation"! Yet Sarge, on the sidelines, was actually smiling. And talking to people to his side, as if answering their comments. Rod realized this was what Sarge had been mentioning to Brigid before halftime, when he had pulled her away from chatting with her uncle the cop. "If it gets too muddy, dispense with the footwear."

Now the showy part, and the trombones swung to the left and then to the right, in perfect sync. This was the beginning of the "trio" section, the main tune, and as they broke into it the crowd cheered. Nothing like your folks and your family cheering you on. It was a great feeling. The TV cameras were eating it up, scanning the field, each line of the band kicking and high-stepping, all the way back to the percussion line at the rear. But most of all the cameras trained on the barefoot majorette slopping around in the cold mud.

Brigid was having a great time. As she spun and twirled and threw the baton up, it looked like a different type of dancing. Looser-limbed, more relaxed. More African. She was so stiff and formal sometimes, it seemed like she had a second baton up her butt. But not now! It stood to reason that without having to totter on those heels, having to grip her toes to keep those backless sandals on, she could move around more freely. It also just was the sensible thing to kick off the sandals when twirling on a muddy surface. He wondered when she had practiced majoretting barefoot. Certainly each time he had seen her, doing twirls on that grassy patch during recess, she had worn shoes.

Her face was flushed, not with cold now but with exertion. Imagine! Not two minutes ago she was shivering and miserable and battling hypothermia. Now she was alive and hot. He realized for the first time what twirling meant to her, what a thrill it was for her. Nobody would suspect it, seeing her around school in her regular clothes, mostly a quiet normal girl, talking with her friends in the hall... Now, dancing around barefoot and nearly naked in the mud in front of the crowd and the cameras.

And now as she swung around, her jiggling breasts leading the way as she threw them just so, she looked back at him and smiled. Just for him. His heart leapt. Yes!! She wasn't mad at him for confronting her about running off the field to put on that nice warm coat. He could see now that she had made the right decision to tough it out. How much would have been lost if at this moment the band's majorette was huddled on the sidelines.

But she was smiling at him -- remembering that he had said "I care about you Brigid"! He didn't know what the future would bring, but right now it looked promising.

With the sleet no longer hitting their ponchos, the band really rang out. Now on the final few bars they hit fortissimo. The drum guard's beats sounded like cannons. The big climax to the tune, the show, the season! Now Brigid threw an incredibly high throw, the baton going up what looked like a hundred feet, and she spun around and spun around like five times as it took seemingly half an hour to come down.

Holy ----! She was really going to do it! A split! Brigid turned to the side and her left leg went forward and her right leg back -- and as her bare butt hit the mud, her muddy toes spread and extended in front, kicking out mud, she caught the baton on the final cymbal crash. The trombone players thrust their instruments up to the sky in unison.

A pregnant second, and then the crowd let loose with a big roar. He thought he could detect a chanting undercurrent in there, some guys in the back rows maybe, "Frigid Brigid Frigid Brigid Frigid Brigid Frigid Brigid -- "

Sarge ran out and helped Brigid up. The insides of her legs were coated with mud but she didn't care. On his prompting everyone took a bow. Then Sarge playfully waved to the camera guy who was now within ten feet of them. Brigid waved too, with a big smile and a wink, her other hand tucking the baton next to her bare hip.

Rod smiled, looking at her flushed butt, her total nakedness from behind, interrupted only by the splatters of mud on her back, her buns, her legs, and the tiny horizontal string just above her crack, and he thought of her lovely hidden brown eye. Maybe it was winking at him now. It was corny but he decided to wink back.

Halftime show over, the band broke formation and trotted off the field as the football players, now assembled at the sidelines, waited to charge onto it. Brigid ran to retrieve her sandals; then zigzagged back to the fence, her toes kicking up bits of mud behind her. He watched her go.

She ran to the gate where her three little sisters and two little brothers were waiting along with her parents too, all cheering and laughing, and ready with warm washable boots, a big fluffy blanket to wrap herself in while they watched the second half, and a huge thermos full of hot chocolate!

. . . .

Rod stumbled around groggily and realized he had thrust himself upright out of bed too quickly. He still had his shoes on, and his pants and shirt and jacket. For a moment he wondered what was dream and what was reality.

Knowing fresh air would clear that question up he ambled through the kitchen and out the door. Ahhhh, life is good. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. The smell of fresh earth, from the ground wet with the melted snow. A little chilly but spring was here.

And as he noticed the yellow VW half-out of the garage, he could make out the best thing about his life, evidenced by the bare legs and feet sticking out underneath, the soles gritty with grease, the fluff of plum-colored pubic hair under the bumper.

"Hi, Baby," Tami said as he approached, her hidden face still engrossed in her task. He bent down and kissed her on her lower hair. Then tickled one of her soles.

She giggled and with a good nature said, "S---! You made me miss the eight-thousandths!" She was adjusting the valves, a task she did regularly, taking her sweet time, in her own happy world, her and the valves and the screwdriver and wrench and blade gauge. Tami the Motorhead. She had described the ritual to her friends several times. Rod as an engineer was proud he could understand her because most of her friends sure couldn't. "The manual says to set the intake at .004 and exhaust at .006, but I set both at .008. It makes it a little noisy and there's a little less power, but what the hell, it's only 40 horses anyway, and it saves the valves from burning."

She had been almost finished when he saw her, and now she was done. She replaced the creaking valve cover with a little grunt and scooted out from under the car, her bare back scraping against the concrete. She wiped her hands on a rag and looked up at him, face speckled with bits of crud, grease marks on her bare shoulders, a black smudge covering her left nipple and areola like a circlet. He helped her up and they embraced in a full-body hug, she with the wrench still in her hand, he not minding any stains that might result on his clothes.

"How was Providence, Babe?"

They separated and she looked down. "Sobering."

"What, did they get along with Gretchen?"

"Oh of course they did. It's impossible not to get along with Gretchen. It's just that Dad works so hard at his store, with his heart condition he really shouldn't, but... he was hoping Joe would be back by now to help him. And I found out they are really, really proud of me." Her eyes got wet. "They are such great parents I would do anything for them."

He saw her wipe her tears and then she put her head back under his shoulder. "Oh Rod... I am so lucky."

He let a few moments go by and then he said, "I saw that DVD you left. Babe, you went through hell. I just can't imagine it." Indeed. It was worse than being raped, he thought. A girl being raped could at least turn her head and try to think of something else. But poor Tami had to face that creep Ross right in the eye as she came and came and came...

Tami hugged Rod more tightly, her toes squirming against the cold, gritty concrete. "It was horrible. I tried to escape in my mind, tried to tell myself to get used to these... orgasms... But each one exposed my every nerve... rubbing each nerve raw... and I had to keep my eyes open! Oh Jesus... I thought I was going to go out of my mind. The only thing that kept me from going crazy was thinking of the love of my family, and of you waiting for me... that after the... session was over I could go back into your arms."

He almost cried himself. As it was he sniffled, looked at the top of her head, and ran his hand through her plum-colored hair.

They stood there, embracing, listening to the birds sing. Tami's toes caressed his shoe and the leg of his trousers.

Then he said, "Your parents should know how much you suffered for them. You should -- "

"NO!" Tami stood apart. "Not ever!"

"At least tell them about being forced to -- "

"NO!! And you don't tell them either!"

"I wouldn't do that," Rod assured her. It seemed so wrong, that her parents should not know about all her tribulations, or at least some of them, that she had suffered for their sake, so that she would not lose her scholarship and disappoint them. But of course she was right. Any disclosure would make her parents, and especially her excitable father, very upset. Maybe they couldn't do any more about it than Tami could now, but it would at least keep them awake at night. Nothing is more unsettling than a grievous wrong that can no longer be redressed.

He didn't like to see Tami like this, so worried, remembering her past travails. He hefted her into his arms, in a way glad to be the strong one for once, and carried her into the house. Neither one of them had to be anywhere for the next couple of hours.

Part 41

The Spring Zing.

Rod was out of his element, he knew, as he sat with his leg crossed over his knee in his business-style suit. He glanced around quickly, as discreetly as he could from the front row, and realized he was overdressed. He had wanted to wear something "nice" but it was a good thing Tami dissuaded him from wearing a tuxedo. That would have been WAY out of place in the midst of this loose-limbed, flamboyantly dressed crowd.

Must be mostly gay, he told himself. He wondered if he was capitulating to stereotypes until he remembered Tami telling him that, yes, almost all the male fashion majors were gay, and actually most of the female ones too. Even in the dark of the Little Theatre one could make out the bright colors of the blouses and shirts and dresses. The focus of the show was the show, of course, the designs that the fashion students had been working on all year. But most of the students were fashion plates themselves. Even including Professors Girardo and Wanamaker, sitting to one side in their ascots, making notes, in preparation for grading. And Professor Ellen Winckel standing on the edge of the stage, announcing each design and reading from her cards, tall and skinny and fiftyish, in her sparkly green A-frame dress.

And including Tami, in her way. Yes, it was still plum colored hair on her head and down below. But the earrings were unusual, half-coral, half-silver, and her fingernails and toenails were striped in the same colors. He had watched her do them, at least the toenails, her feet splayed wide on the kitchen table, as he went here and there getting his tie and his shoes and his shirt.

On stage, it was not as bad a freak show as he had feared. No outlandish designs that looked like alien outfits from a Star Wars universe. Once again he found himself giving these fashion students some respect. Creativity was important but practicality was the key. These clothes were designed to be worn -- more exactly, designed to be sold, to ordinary people who intended to wear them, if not every day, at least often. No dresses made out of balloons or paper clips. No shoes shaped like geese.

Unfortunately the models, few of which were fashion students themselves, more or less fit the runway stereotype -- thin, curveless, walking down that runway with one foot crossing in front of the other. Weird. As an outsider Rod thought this over and over again: weird.

He inhaled sharply and felt his dick stiffen as supple toes wrapped around his sock-covered calf and inched up a bit like five little inchworms. He discreetly but playfully brushed Tami's bare foot away.

Now their attention fastened on the next entry, hers. Gretchen, battling her shyness, strode onstage in a tan-colored dress, tall and blond, chunky, with real curves, looking positively huge after the succession of skinny waifs.

"This is Gretchen Spaulding, modeling for Tami Smithers," Professor Winckel announced. "In this instance the model is a co-creator of the dress. This V-neck midline is made of a fabric designed by Ms. Smithers and by Ms. Spaulding, a new polymer which has been submitted to the Department of Defense for approval. The name they have tentatively picked for this fabric is 'Cherish'. It is designed to afford warmth and alternately ventilation depending on conditions. I note that both Ms. Smithers and Ms. Spaulding have family members serving in Iraq."

The audience had been instructed at the beginning not to applaud until the show was over, but as one might expect, even though no others in the room had family in the military, there was respectful and quite vigorous clapping.

As Rod clapped he thought of his National Guard unit, the architects and engineers who had been marched around like infantry. Then his thoughts went to the dress Gretchen was wearing. The first item designed with Cherish -- the name Tami had given to the horse that had saved her life in the Texas scrubland, whose color was much like the unbleached color of this new fabric. What a story -- like so many others she had to tell concerning her cross-country trek, traveling on her wits, without clothes or food or money.

Truth be told, the fabric didn't seem to him to be quite clothing-ready yet. It seemed a bit too stiff and rubbery, like Gretchen was wearing a big white fried egg. Then he saw that her breast was about to fall out! With unexpected aplomb Gretchen shifted her hips just so, causing the V-neck to right itself. He heard Tami gasp and bring her hand up to her mouth with concern.

But all was OK. Gretchen smiled at the audience, a shy girl overcoming her shyness, and her body issues. The swing of her hips and her breasts as she turned to leave the stage was a nice touch. Flaunting her curves as if to emphasize that the other models didn't have any. He had to chuckle. He felt Tami's head lean against him and he put his arm around her bare shoulder.

Did she get an "A"?

He felt sure of it, as he put it to Tami and Gretchen in their kitchen, having a coffee before heading out to the party at the county airport. There was a two-hour gap between the end of the show and the beginning of the reception. This seemed odd to Rod and Gretchen until Tami explained that the Spring Zing reception was traditionally the time when fashion majors would romp around in their craziest creations, which they needed time to do up.

"I'm not so sure myself, maybe a 'B' this time," Tami said, sitting cross-legged up on the table as usual, then straightening her legs and stretching her toes out past the table edge, taking another sip. "You did a good job hiding it, Gretch, but your boob almost slipped out."

Gretchen playfully hid her face in her hands. "Lord, that was a close call... For once I was proud to have hips and a big bust. Which reminds me, I hope the food there is good. I'm getting hungry. Oops, sorry."

"No that's OK," Tami said. Gretchen couldn't be blamed for being sensitive. With Tami meaning to "wear" her tail to the party, the naked young woman could not eat or have anything in her intestines.

"It's a really good restaurant, from what I hear," Rod said.

"Strange place for a fine restaurant," Gretchen said. "In a small airport."

"It's a pricey place to fly from," Rod said. "I suppose with such an upscale clientele, they wouldn't want just a burger stand."

"Well time to get into my Spring Zing costume," Tami said, hopping off the table, soft footfalls on the floor, then off to the bathroom to use the big enema bag.

"It's OK, you don't have to say sorry," Rod said after his wife left. "I still feel funny about it, but you know Tami, she's so strong-willed. It's her decision to wear that thing; no one's forcing her to wear it. Not like at that pony farm. It always amazes me how Tami can put that horrible experience behind her."

They both snorted at this unintended pun.

They talked for a while about Roger, Gretchen's fiancé, flying missions in northern Iraq.

"I... am... ready!" Tami said, sauntering into the kitchen as if she were padding onto the red carpet at the Oscars, a little black purse clasped in her hand. She swiveled and planted the other hand on her outthrust hip, showing off the long, plum-colored hair flowing from between her butt cheeks almost down to her bare heels.

Gretchen had been told about the tail but had never seen it. "Wow..." Tami allowed her a few seconds to take it in. The color of the tail matched Tami's pubic hair exactly, as well as the hair on her head. Tami wiggled her hips and the long delicate filaments swished back and forth like a thin jungle waterfall.

"It's beautiful," Gretchen concluded. "Strange but beautiful."

Rod leaned forward to kiss Tami. "Just like the rest of you." Then he stood back, hands in his jacket pockets, as if to appraise the sight from afar.

Gretchen had already changed from her Cherish dress into her most formal dress, long, black, spaghetti straps. She looked down at her black pumps, and pictured how she might look in a costume like Tami's, all naked, her brownish pubic hair maybe bleached blonde like her natural head hair, black polish on the toenails of her bare feet. Maybe all the women at Campbell-Frank College had fleeting fantasies of being naked like Tami. Of course, actually being naked in front of people, well she would just die of shame! A stage through which Tami herself had passed a long time ago.

"I'd better freshen up," Gretchen said, and excused herself to go to the bathroom. By this she meant she had to pee, and brush her teeth again after having that coffee.

In the kitchen, Rod continued to stand back, hands in his pockets, looking at Tami flaunt her new accessory. The only clothes she could wear. They engaged in idle chit-chat. Then --

"Ohh -- " A flash of recognition in Tami's amazed eyes, then an accusing look at Rod. "You absolute prick!!" It was the expansion of the tail inside. Then --

"EEEEE!" Tami's eyes burst open and she jumped three feet into the air, legs splayed out, tail leaping up behind her, then she bent forward as she came down, hands hitting the floor, her crooked, trembling legs stretched out almost into a split, her crotch a mere foot from the floor.

Gretchen came back and stood open-mouthed in concern.

Tami looked up at Rod, hair scattered, and in a husky voice said, "Rod, you are Evil -- "

Actually it was more like "EEEEVV -- owww!" She never got the whole word out. Again she leapt into the air, doing a half-turn, this time landing with her back against the counter, her legs spread and her crotch widely displayed almost in Gretchen's face. Gretchen saw the impish smile on Rod as he pulled the remote control out of his pocket.

For the first time Rod noticed that Gretchen had come back. "Sorry Gretchen." He seemed to have second thoughts to Tami too. "Sorry Babe," he said, turning the remote off. "I couldn't resist."

Tami's concave tummy heaved in and out as she caught her breath, or tried to.

"I suppose you have to do your hair up again," Rod said. He seemed more contrite. "Sorry again."