Tami Beethoven

Maybe it was on a signal from Sarge through her headpiece, or maybe it was her own decision, seeing that they were coming too near that float. But as they got near the snow making machine and the biggest bunch of booths and food stands she gave the baton signal to stop. The band kept playing, marching in place. Brigid stepped and turned slowly. It was always amazing how she could keep those backless sandals from falling off her feet while marching in place. She was crunching down with her toes, but just a little.

A whiff of hot dogs came from the booths and Rod got hungry. He pictured the two of them at the stand later, wolfing down hot dogs and soda, he in his uniform, she in her long coat and Uggs, her bare calves showing, as if she had nothing on underneath. And talking with their friends, Debra and Sid and the others. "The most fweezing mahch I've evah been in!" she would exclaim in her Providence accent, between bites.

But for now Brigid was still in her micro-uniform, still marching in place, still turning around slowly, round and around. From totally bare backside (the strings on her butt were still invisible) to almost bare front, the dancing T's on her nipples and the tiny T in her crotch, the lights from overhead played on her body, playing across her curves, caressing them. They hit her head on, then slurred and stretched sideways as she turned, then head on again. All the while, she smiled, exhaling clouds of breath that spiraled off into the wintry night air as she turned.

And the band sounded great! As Rod pumped his slide he never felt prouder of being a Tunemaster. He could see Sarge, on the reviewing stand up ahead, beaming, the men around him clapping him on the shoulder with the thanks he deserved. The cameras moved in closer. Rod thought of the regional competition they'd won, and the Disabled Learning Center, Tommy Blackwell...

They were launching into the final repeat of the "B" section when he saw the string of lights in front of them drop halfway, then fall all the way to the ground. Brigid, turned to face them, did not see. Then she turned and gave the signal, and began marching foward again. One of the bundled-up security men quickly ran to one of the supporting poles on the side and turned a crank that brought the string off the ground again in short, jerky increments.

Brigid, smiling and twirling, still did not see what had happened. With another jerk the string of lights came up about to the level of her breasts as she marched right into it.

Part 60

Getting to the end of "National Emblem", waiting for the roll-off to lead into "Little Giant", Brigid spun and twirled. Her T's looked perkier than when he first saw them in the cafeteria room, facing more upward as they danced on her breasts. Well, of course. Out here in the cold air, her nipples would be erect, pushing the T's up and out.

The tune ended and the drummers took over. He put his trombone down in front of his jacketed, shirted, thermaled chest. He watched the T's on her bare chest and smiled. Only the four of us know that the crowd is seeing Brigid's bare nipples right in the middle of those T's. Brigid herself must not be thinking of it, engrossed in her twirling. Good. She was tough as nails but basically a modest, unassuming girl. She didn't deserve to feel embarrassed.

And now he watched with alarm as she spun right into the rising string of lights!

Her T's got caught on them immediately and they rose up as the guy at the side pole kept cranking the string higher and higher. Rod stopped in shock and so did the other trombones. The rest of the band almost ran into them before they too stood there stunned.

"Aieeee!!" Brigid's poor breasts got stretched upward as the string of lights went up, up... The T's were on very securely. They gave way a little bit but were held on by the very ends of her nipples that were so swollen and hard in the cold. You could see the stems of her nipples stretched out from her areolas. As the T's stretched out and up, the areolas puffed out even more... In a split second her breasts were grotesquely distorted.

She dropped her baton and grabbed the string with both hands to keep it level with her breasts. The guy at the crank didn't see any of this because he wasn't looking. Up, up, up... Brigid did half of a wiggly kind of chin-up on the string as her feet left the snow-packed ground. Her legs kicked helplessly. One flip-flop dropped off and then the other. By the time the guy understood the shouts of people telling him to stop, the string was back to where it was, fifteen feet off the ground.

The crowd and the band watched in silent horror as the majorette struggled, trying to disentangle her breasts from the string without doing any damage. Her bare feet twitched and jerked around uselessly above their faces. The string was a tangled interweave of rope and electrical wires and extricating the T's would have been difficult even without the dire distress of her nipples being stretched.

"Aieee! -- Ahhhh!" Cries of pain and exertion cut through the cold night air as Brigid tried to use one hand to hold on and the other to untangle a T. But that was beyond anyone's arm strength. Next she tried to climb up onto the string. Her toes spread and her legs splayed wildly as she made it up. Straddling the string as if clutching onto a horse, she winced as it cut between her pussy lips, pushing the little T down there deep inside her. He thought of the moisture inside. If there's a short circuit she would be electrocuted!

There was no danger of that as the guy at the crank unplugged the wire and the lights went out. He tried to lower the string again but the crank was jammed! A friend came over to help him. They tried hitting it with a hammer. With every strike the thin pole lurched and the string jerked, causing Brigid to yelp as the rough rope dug in between her lower lips. Now one guy started running to the building to get some liquid wrench.

Brigid could not stop gravity from pulling her down and she spun around the string. Now she was hanging below it, grasping it in the crooks of her knees and elbows. Now her breasts were squeezed, one pulled up near her neck, the other yanked down toward her navel. Once again she tried to free a hand to work on a T but she kept losing her balance. Finally her legs slipped away and she was back to doing a half chin-up. She looked down and faced the band, her bare toes dangling above them.

She was crying, her face etched with pain, looking down at her friends helplessly. Rod and the others felt just as helpless. Her searching feet were too high up to find a supporting shoulder.

They saw the T's facing them from up on high. One of them was twisted onto its side. The other was turned completely upside down. Behind them, her areolas were creased with the twisting. Her nipples must be burning in agony!

Rod felt miserably helpless as his eyes met hers in the pleading, suffering face, the short, ragged breaths reflected in her quaking, concave tummy. Below, her little T had disappared into her labia. And one of the clear strings had snapped. It hung down from her bare hip.

"AIEEEE!" A mighty hammer blow to the pole and Brigid's hands slipped! There was a horrible moment when she hung by the T's, her head wrenched back, her face heavenward, her breasts stretched out torturously. Then, with a final awful pain, the T's tore away from her nipples and she fell to the snow, landing on her butt.

In the fall, the last bit of her uniform, her lower T, had flung off to the side. The traumatized majorette, now totally naked, rolled over onto her side, breathing heavily. Everyone was still too shocked to come forward to help. "Oh Jesus..." Her prayer was heard clearly in the still air. Though they all felt sorry for the majorette's embarrassment, lying there stark naked, they also heaved a sigh of relief. She seemed O.K. There was no other sound.

Her unsteady bare feet came up flat on the snow. Being barefoot on snow must be a freezing shock even for someone of Brigid's wide experience in being exposed to the cold. In trying to get up one foot slipped. She slowly got up again, onto all fours, still panting. Her breasts hung down, the nipples reddened and tender from the obscene stretching.

Now she tried to get up, splaying one leg out, and the crowd was treated to the sight of her cute brown eye, her little anus, in the valley between her exquisite, taut white butt cheeks, winking at them in the bright lights. The crunching of the snow under her gripping toes resounded in the silence.

And now a strange creaking sound, like a rusty door opening. For it turned out that in swinging the hammer that guy had hit the tank next to the snow-making machine. And now a valve gave way, and...

A ski resort must not only make snow when needed, but sometimes remove snow and ice from paths and equipment. So a supply of salt water, which melts ice, is always kept handy. A special salt is used which is not harmful to skin or membranes, and which further depresses the freezing point.

So the water which now surged from the tipping tank in Brigid's direction was chilled to minus fifteen degrees Celsius.

Everyone lurched back as the little tidal wave crashed onto the snow-packed path. It slammed into Brigid and knocked her over. And now more, and more of the subfreezing water coursed onto the path. Brigid tried to escape but her hands and feet kept slipping. She flopped down onto her back, then onto her belly, then onto her back again. And now the snow underneath began to melt and Brigid sank into a bathtub-sized hole.

The tank held several hundred gallons. Soon Brigid was totally submerged. When the tank had fully emptied there was nothing but a little pond. Everyone crowded around, careful not to get too close lest they too slip in.

Bubbles issued from below, and then the pretty head emerged. Somehow she made it to the edge of the pond and, after one more slip, she climbed back up on the snow on her crusty bare feet. She stood straight up, shoulders back. Her eyes were wide open, her arms were extended, fingers stretched out. The salted water dripped from her chin, from her nipples, from her fingers, from the center of her shaved crotch.

"OHHHHHH!" she howled in wide-eyed shock, lurching toward them. "OHHHHH!!!"

And now the load of snow on top of the snow-making machine gave way. Once more Brigid was knocked over as the powdery stuff piled on top of her. Soon there was a pile six feet high. Brigid was in there somewhere.

After a few terrible moments of waiting, they saw a set of bluish toes thrust out near the bottom of the snow stack. Now the pile broke up as Brigid fought her way out.

Once again she faced the crowd. Her whole body was encrusted. Snow was jammed into her lower lips, all over her hair. Her eyebrows were white. And her skin color -- she really was a blue trans-Plutonian woman now.

Slowly, as if regaining her senses, she blinked and looked around on the ground. Her uniform was all around -- one flip- flop here, another there, the T's flung to each side, and the little bottom T near the pole.

Now she lurched over to the baton. Slowly as if in pain, she bent to pick it up in her left hand. Her anus stared at them blankly, flecked with the white flakes.

The blue, snow-blasted girl looked at Rod blankly, then at the rest of the band. And now she said something.

"L - little... G - g - giant..."

She thrust the baton into the air with a jerk that them jump. Then three violent beats, making her blue breasts bounce, and she turned to march stiffly and nakedly into the winter night.

They could only follow and play. In their shock their sound was uninspired but after a few measures they got playing together. The trombone mouthpiece was almost frozen to his lips. And then he passed over a wet spot from the salted water and his boot flew out in front of him. Then a big blow to the back of his head --

It seemed like a week later when he woke. For a moment he thought he was as messed up as Tommy, but he blinked and realized he was OK except for a headache. He looked up from the floor and saw Brigid's T's, dancing gently above him, as she bent down and placed her hand behind his head.

Her breasts were so round and firm and white... he was so happy to see her, warm and happy, in her new uniform which she wore proudly. Thank God that was just a horrible dream... He looked up past her bare shoulders at her concerned and helpful face.

"Are you OK, Rod?"

"Oh Brigid..." He was about to tell her he loved her. But then saw the sea of concerning faces standing behind her and thought better of it. He tried to help himself up. Brigid, her toes flexing in her flip-flops, put her strong arms around his wool jacket. He placed his gloved hand on the upper slope of her hip, which helped revive him a lot. The next moment he was standing up, taking deep breaths...

"What happened?"

"You slipped and were out cold for a few seconds," Jared said.

He shook his head quickly and felt a quick chill all over. "I'm OK, gang!" he announced. A sigh of relief all around.

"All line up!" Sarge shouted from somewhere in the distance.

. . . .

Rod woke up with a start. He felt sad and blinked and there were tears in his eyes. It was just a dream, and here I am crying. But a powerful one.

He stumbled over to the big window, remembering Tami lying in the snow in the back yard the other day. What did these Frigid Brigid dreams mean? She symbolized Tami in some way - that was obvious. And then he realized why he felt sad. Somehow he knew he would never dream of Brigid again. That almost made him cry. Already he missed her terribly. Then he chided himself for crying over a dream. With a start, the thought hit him -- would he at some point also never see Tami again? That last Brigid dream was full of foreboding.

He flopped down backwards onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Then he took off his shirt and pants, and lay there in his underwear. Thermal underwear, it still being cold out. He remembered hearing something about a *second* April blizzard hitting tonight.

Tami entered the room and he almost cried again with happiness at seeing her. I love her so much. With all my heart, all my soul --

Then he laughed. Tami was walking in upside down, on her hands. Up top, in her feet, she held her slide rule, the museum piece that his internship supervisor, old Mr. Gunderson, had given him.

"Playing with Gunderson's toy again?"

"Oh Rod, this is a thing of beauty." She looked at him with her flushed, upside down face, then up at the metal slipstick which she worked with her dexterous toes. "It's amazing what you can do conceptually on this, with all the scales."

"Spoken like a true math nerd." He eyed her lovely plum pubic hair, then the matching hair on her head, hanging down almost to the floor. She steadied herself with her hands as her attention focused up on her feet. "OK," he said, "what's two times two?"

She worked the slide with her toes. "Ummm... three point nine nine! Oh shit -- " Her toe slipped and the slide rule came crashing down. In ducking her head out of the way she lost her balance, but with her gymnast's skill recovered enough to make a graceful cartwheel. She ended upright in the traditional finishing position right in front of him, arms extended, chest out.

"What's wrong?" She saw the redness in his eyes.

"Oh just another stupid dream. The majorette."

"That again?" He had kept her up to date on each dream. "Well she and I are about to pass each other." Tami disappeared and said, "That kid's getting more naked, but I'm getting more clothed. Ta daaa!!"

She emerged from the bathroom wearing a more substantial C- string, blue this time, thick enough to hide the inside of her lower lips. And she had little pasties on her nipples!

She thrust her breasts out at him as he got up. He felt the pasties with his index finger. They just barely did cover her areolas. "What is this, your new fabric?"

"Yes. Cherish. Held on by spirit glue. I call them circlets."

"Damn."

"They're still a little uncomfortable. I feel like I'm blindfolded, or short of breath. But the girls got me used to it."

He pictured a long session with the TL's, no doubt with Dr. Kantor watching with his clipboard, and Barbara carefully sticking the circlets on during her twelfth orgasm.

"Let's eat," Tami said. "I'll reheat the casserole you made. That was good, Baby."

Part 61

Tami was downright giddy as they ate. She seemed to have forgotten her prediction about bad things happening and he wasn't about to remind her. The casserole seemed gluey to him but she shoveled it down as she sat cross-legged in her usual position on the kitchen table. Being Tami and it being cold out, she ate about twice as fast as he did.

From time to time she paused to look down at her circlets and the C-string. She put her plate down and raised her crotch up for a close-up look. Rod's attention was arrested by this, of course, so she played it up. She grunted and did her old trick of jerking her clit up and down, a different effect now that it was hooded under the string.

"Mmmphhh!" Tami acted the part of her clit in a little voice, hand over her mouth. "Let me out! Let me out!" Then a giggle.

"It almost seems a shame to cover it," Rod said.

"I know... But when I get to wear clothes again, I can always strip down when I get in the house. You will still have a naked wife." She pointed to the little poem on the wall behind her, when she had proposed to Rod:

"Would you spend your life

"With a naked wife?"

"You will have a lot of clothes shopping to do," Rod said, with a theatrical shudder.

"I'm not going to go nuts," Tami said. "I had a dream once where I had a summer job and blew all my money on clothes and shoes. My closet was stuffed with them. I'd be fully clothed from head to toe, even in the summer heat. But that was when I was a freshman, when I was dying for any little bit of covering. It was my fantasy.

"Now," she said, gulping another bite of casserole, "I love being naked. Ich moechte ja. Sehr nett." She hadn't used German phrases in a while. "I'll wear only as much as I have to. No worries. I could go anywhere! There'll be a whole wide world I could visit now!" He was glad to hear her admit that. She stretched her legs out in front of her and flexed her toes, meticulously painted plum. "Except for one thing. I'd rather stay barefoot."

"Really?"

"Being barefoot, feeling the earth under me, reminds me of being naked more than any other thing. I think I can get away with it."

"Some places won't let you in with bare feet." Rod thought for a moment. "Carry around some uncomfortable looking high heels. Then tell them you had to take them off because your feet hurt." He had seen women do that sometimes, either as slaves to fashion or as a cunning way to get to go barefoot. "That might work."

They ate some more. "Joe comes back when?" Rod said.

"Next month. I'm so glad. I don't want him out there in Iraq another day. And not a moment too soon. I can tell Dad's just exhausted with that store. Last few times I called, he was already asleep."

"How's the Student Government thing? Still on that committee?"

"Yeah," Tami said. "Now it's turned into the Election Committee."

"The old guard passes. I bet it went downhill after you turned down running for president." That was two years ago. She would have won, of course. Tami was incredibly popular. It made him proud.

"Actually this year was not so bad. I have to hand it to Roberto, that Activities Night plan worked out pretty good. No fistfights... The committee is still together, though Lorinda is a pain."

"I don't know how you could even talk to that immature bitch." Just hearing that name made him angry. All that teasing and abuse of Tami during their freshman years. Rod had heard all about it from Jen.