Tami Beethoven

"Gretchen is a bio major who graciously, uh, I mean was cajoled, into serving as my guinea pig. Now up here on the screen, these are CG fill-ins -- NOT photos, I'll have you know -- of her breasts. Note the measurements, plugged into the formula, and it shows she's a 38C. Now here is an actual photo of her wearing the cotton turtleneck she's got on now. . . Of course, now she has a sweater over it. Note the bulging on top in the photo. Though she measured herself in the standard fashion, it came out to 38B and the bra did not fit."

The lights were on again and Tami and Gretchen looked at each other. "I can tell you're nervous," Tami said, glancing down slightly at her own erect brown nipples that had sensitivities well beyond being able to predict the weather.

As Gretchen bit her lip and took off her sweater, Tami said, "Here she is wearing a paraboloid bra I cobbled together in the dress lab, 38C. Come on, stick 'em out," she teased.

Gretchen took a deep breath and stood up straight, all five feet eleven inches of her, and turned this way and that. Her breasts stood out proud and paraboloid. No bulges or straps were visible.

"It looks excellent," Wanamaker said. "Very nice lines."

"Great set of guns, wouldn't you say?" Tami said.

The class laughed, and for a second Gretchen swayed this way and that, like a runway model. Then her upbringing kicked back in and she turned to snatch her sweater and slip it back on.

"That concludes my presentation," Tami said, gathering her papers. Gretchen scurried back to her seat.

"Thanks, Tami," Wanamaker said, but before Tami could sit down he added, "Let me say, that's beautiful hair color you've picked."

"Oh thanks." She looked down modestly, separating her legs slightly, pushing her pubic patch forward and placing her hands on both sides of it as if to frame it. "It's called 'Plum'."

Wanamaker was at a momentary loss. He had been referring to the hair on her head. But it was the same color so he let it go. Besides, come to think of it it looked good down there too.

After Tami sat down the professor, sitting in the back, used a few seconds of silence as most good professors know how to do. "Thanks, Gretchen, for helping out, and good to meet you... Tami Smithers: A, as usual. Good project, very inventive." A few people clapped. "Now the next, Claire, you're up..."

Part 6

Scholar's, the bar the Campbell-Frank students went to, or at least those who were of drinking age, was hopping tonight. It was packed despite the trouble one had negotiating the frozen slush that made the sidewalk an obstacle course. The people having a smoke outside stood perfectly still so as not to lose their balance and slip as they chatted with each other. Bill Patton and Howie, his old high school buddy who was visiting from Dartmouth, waited patiently to present their proof of age and get the backs of their hands stamped.

"Are you sure she's here?"

"Pretty sure. 70 percent sure. Friday nights all the regulars are here," Bill said.

Inside it was very loud. Oldies night. Nirvana tunes blasting away, and everybody talking loud to be heard over the tunes. It was hard to see more than two feet in front, with all the people. "Hey Bob," Bill said, suddenly colliding with a friend from the dorm. He introduced Howie and they got to chatting, or rather yelling.

"So is Tami here?" Bill didn't know her personally but everyone called her "Tami", except those close to her that might have more endearing names. It used to be "Naked Tami", but with her popularity, it got shortened.

"Saw her a minute ago," Bob said, pointing thataway with the top of his longneck Budweiser. "You have to keep a sharp eye."

Bill knew that well. The eyes of half the guys in the bar were glancing here and there, looking for that glimpse of bare skin that was so conspicuous in this crowd of parkas and overcoats. Others looked downward, looking for the flash of bare feet darting through the thick forest of boots and sneakers. Tami, being unburdened by any of these, could slip quickly through the crowd with ease, and slip across the entire bar within seconds, making her all that more elusive.

These Tami-watchers, dedicated as bird-watchers trying to sight a rare jaybird, suddenly found their efforts unnecessary as Tami hopped up onto the bar. Standing upright, longneck in her hand, she naturally attracted everyone's attention. The whole bar cheered, because she was Tami, the guys also cheering because, well, she was a naked girl.

She stretched her lips over her teeth and whistled loudly. Then took a sip of beer as Justin, the bartender, cut the music as planned.

"Attention everyone," she said. "I will now sit on this bottle. Just kidding!!" A loud chorus of, "Awwwww!!" from the guys. "No really, we have an alumna, or alumnae, or -- some kind of alumnimunim," another sip, "who just got a job as prosecutor in the Boston D.A. office and I want to dedicate a song to her. It's... it's..."

"Who -- is -- it?" a number of people shouted in unison.

"Wandabitch!!" Tami shouted, breasts bobbing, then she pointed her bottle down at Wanda Percival, looking not quite like a prosecutor in her sweatshirt, parka and jeans, hefting a bottle of cola. Tami bent down, in the process shaking her butt at some guys on the side who reflexively whistled, and pulled Wanda up onto the bar. Wanda clumped up onto it in her hiking boots.

The naked girl and the new prosecutor faced the crowd. Tami grabbed Wanda by the shoulder of the parka, and said, "You remember Wandabitch. Let's hear it!"

Indeed they did, or at least the juniors and seniors. The chant was spontaneous. "Wanda-bitch! Wanda-bitch! Wanda-bitch!"

When it died down a bit Tami said, "The meanest, most vicious, rottenest R.A. in Campbell-Frank history" -- she looked at Wanda as she said this and then put her arm around her -- "is now the meanest, most vicious, rottenest D.A. in New England. Don't mess with Wanda!!"

"Booooo!!" The boos were good-natured (mostly).

"There's only one song for you. I dedicate this to Wandabitch. We love you!! BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT HERE ANYMORE!!"

She had to shout over the first notes of "Bad to the Bone" that now blasted out. As the song went on and everyone went back to talking, the two young women hugged, Wanda wrapping the arm of her fur-lined parka around the small of Tami's bare back. Both were a little bit teary-eyed.

Bill, Howie and Bob, having had a nice view of Tami to hold them for awhile, circulated around the bar. A few minutes later Bob saw a flash of skin and happened upon Wanda and Tami speaking to a couple of others.

"Where are you going to live?" Bob shouted to Wanda. He glanced at Tami who was casually lifting her foot and turning the sole inward to check it. Must really be disgusting, walking barefoot on this sticky, beery floor. Sure enough, Tami's sole was black except under the arch. She put her foot down again, not seeming to mind. Probably she's used to it, just like she's used to the snow and the cold.

Wanda shouted, "Back Bay, probably. Or maybe Comm Ave just near BU."

Bob, not having known Wanda well, was not really interested in this conversation; he just wanted to look at Tami. But out-and-out gawking at Tami was simply not done. Any Campbell-Frank guy would find that out pretty quickly. After a few more words he said goodbye and went to find Howie and Bill.

Talk, shout, drink. About ten minutes later Bob finally found them, near the benches, watching what was a frequent sight at Scholar's. Tami, leaning back on a bench, was facing some girl who was sitting opposite with her long-lace boots planted in front of her. Tami was doing that trick of undoing and tying shoes with her toes. Arms draped behind her on the bench, one hand still grasping the longneck, Tami leaned back with her thighs wide open and her knees bent, skillfully lacing and looping the girl's boots from the bottom up. She paused to take another sip and then resumed. It looked like she was using all her toes.

Some, mostly guys, chose to stand behind the shod girl, facing Tami and studying the ripples of her abs as she worked, the wiggling of her breasts, the pussy that was slightly open between the wide-spread legs.

"Man, how does she do that??" Howie said.

"Practice, she can do anything with her feet," Bill said.

Bob took a thoughtful sip and said, "Being barefoot for four years, she probably just learned to use them. You could probably do it too with practice."

Bill said, "Howie? I think I'll pass on seeing that."

They laughed.

Now the first girl's boots were all tied and people clapped. Another girl, this one with sneakers, took her place. Tami's big toes, anchored by her pinky toes, undid the big loops and she got to work. Tami could do this on almost any kind of footwear, even after three beers.

The last glimpse Bob, Bill and Howie had of Tami that night was after they had left the bar and were walking back to campus. They only made it about a hundred feet from the bar when Bill suddenly felt the pressure of a full bladder. Drinking a lot of beer and then going out into subfreezing air will do that. Bob and Howie stood around in the middle of the snow-covered town commons as Bill hunted through the tall shrubs for an inconspicuous spot.

As they waited they saw Tami with Wanda and another girl standing some distance away, near the convenience store. The three were apparently waiting for someone to come out. The other girl was smoking. Tami, arms at her sides, listened to the smoking girl, now and then rubbing her feet on the snow and lifting her soles inward to check them, tilting them just so to take advantage of the nearby streetlight.

It was the kind of still winter night when sound carries. So as not to be overheard, Bob and Howie spoke in quiet voices much unlike the yelling of a few minutes ago. "How does she do that?" Howie said. "She's standing there naked like it's not even cold." He blew on his hands. "Just my hands are freezing already!"

"She must have got used to it. For a few minutes, anyway."

"She's married?"

"Yup. And totally faithful. Don't even think about it. She'd kick your ass if you tried anything. I hear she's real strong."

"When she said she was going to sit on that beer bottle, for a second I believed her," Howie laughed.

"Oh man," Bob said, looking at the sky. "I hear with her friends she does that kind of thing on a dare, especially if she's had a few. I heard one time at an outdoor party, I think a birthday for one of her friends; she upended some beer into her pussy, then sat up, spread her legs, and squirted it out clear across the lawn."

"Holy christ. Think of the muscles in there! Her husband must be the luckiest guy in the world!"

"I'll say. Or maybe not. I'd be worried about her squeezing my dick off!"

Howie laughed. "So what's the story with her being naked again? She's allergic to clothes or something?"

"She said nudism was her religion when she was a freshman. She must have been a crazy kid then. Later she volunteered for some experiments, then at the end she found out she was allergic to clothes. They've been doing therapy to cure it ever since."

Howie was speechless for a moment. "Man, I should hope so. She should sue the hell out of them for that."

"That's the big mystery. Why she never sued. I suppose she wants to leave it in the past."

The girl with the cigarette dropped it in the snow and stamped it out. A guy came out of the convenience store. Tami, walking slowly and casually over the crusty, refrozen snow, followed them into his car.

Bill, sighing deeply, came back from the shrubs. He caught the last glimpse of Tami's bare soles disappearing into the back seat of the blue Chevy.

"Damn, missed her," Bill said, adjusting his fly.

"She might want to leave it in the past," Howie said, "but she's a senior now. What's she going to do when she graduates? Is she going to stay here forever?"

"It would be rough, going into the outside world as a naked girl," Bob said, his voice fading into the cold winter night as the three of them started on back toward campus.

Part 7

Tami looked so beautiful, her eyes half-closed in that combination of love and ecstasy, the look she always had when she was atop him. Rod gently rubbed her forearms up and down as her breath shortened and she began another ascent -- "going up" to that mountaintop of euphoria that she visited so often.

She knew he was a little tired tonight. So preoccupied with work. He was grateful to get home, and they did the usual thing, him tonguing her while she lay back on the kitchen table. It didn't take much tongue work, fortunately. He brought her to four orgasms in fifteen minutes, about the usual to hold her through supper. He declined her offer to suck him, fearing that after he came he would fall asleep when he had so much work to do. Then they cooked up a quick macaroni and cheese. Tami further fortified herself with a tuna sandwich. And a bowl of soup.

They spent the next two hours working, he in bed going over the plans for the next phase of the project that he was supposed to supervise, she on the computer finishing an English Literature paper. English was not her favorite subject; she was sometimes afraid of the unthinkable, getting a B, but of course that possibility was remote. Looking up at her at the computer table, he couldn't help but fall in love all over again despite his weariness. Such a lovely, intelligent face, such a beautiful, golden body... He did not mind that so many others admired it, it made him proud. He especially liked her response to the many well-intentioned suggestions that she get a tattoo. "Absolutely not. A tattoo would be on display all the time. It would be a message to everyone who saw me." Why ruin such perfection?

She still had the basic modesty that she always had, but had gotten comfortable with her nudity. Of course -- she had no choice, did she? She expressed it once to him during one of their post-sex chats. They were lying on their backs, looking up at the ceiling, holding hands. "I had a dream once where I was a serving maid for a king in a palace and I was naked all the time. All the other maids were fully clothed. For some reason I had to earn my clothes back. The king and his rich friends kept visiting me in the kitchen, or walking by when I was mopping the palace floor or something, saying, 'All you have to do is this floor, or be a good server at the next feast, and you'll get your clothes and shoes back.' And I was ever so industrious, saying to the other maids, 'All I got to do is this job,' and when it got done the king would say, 'Just one more thing and you'll get clothes', and give me another task, while the other maids just rolled their eyes at my stupidity. All those men really wanted to do was look at my body, stringing me along. Well, f**k that. I'm not going to be that stupid."

That was only the second time he ever heard her use the "f" word. "So how did the dream end?"

"I'm not sure. I think I just escaped. Hopped out the window and into the meadow. Naked and free and smart. I wasn't going to bargain with God any more. That was what that dream was about."

Still basically modest, but not above flaunting her body when he was around. He remembered the graduation party for his class. It was at a swanky estate the college owned not far away -- formerly lived in by that creep Henry Ross. Rod was out there on the lakefront patio with the full bar and the buffet table, sipping a soda and trying to stay interested in what his Architectural Design professor was saying. He glanced around the crowd of students and professors and administrators, wondering where the hell was Tami?

He looked out to the pond and saw, far away near the marine dock on the other side, a fish or goose or something splashing in the water. Looking at it more he saw it was not a fish. It was someone swimming toward them. As he sipped and looked a smile started across his face and grew and grew. By the time Tami was a hundred feet away everyone's attention was drawn.

Like it was nothing, she got to where her feet could touch bottom, then walked up to the transfixed and silent crowd, water coursing off her hair and chin and now her nipples and now her knees, her copper sleek wetness the most beautiful sight of his life. Casually she hopped her naked dripping self up onto the patio, greeted a couple of people she knew, accepted the offer of a big cloth napkin to quickly dab herself dry, then went up to Rod and gave him a full-body hug and a kiss on the lips. And then ordered a martini and took her place among the suits and dresses, blending in with the party as the general buzz of conversation gradually returned. What an entrance!

Water was definitely her element. Another vivid memory was last May when he came to meet her when she got off work. She was on that grounds crew job, the replacement for her gymnastics scholarship. She probably could have sloughed it off, but being Tami, felt obligated to continue. So she had always put in her twenty hours a week. The day had been brutally hot. Sweating buckets in his suit, he found her hefting uprooted shrubs into a chopper while the chopper driver, union labor no doubt, sat up in his cab. She grunted with every heave of the heavy shrubs, her body stained with dirt and sweat and leaves. As always, she had an audience, people stopping for a moment before going on with their business. When Tami saw Rod and knew her time was up, she said, "Hit me Jose!" Another worker, walking by past a water pipe, picked up the hose and trained it on her. She danced and spun around as the water pelted her all over, with her trademark "Woo - hoo!" as Jose laughed. One could feel, with some envy, her delicious sense of relief at being clean and cool. As she put it later, "Only I get to experience that!"

She was now proud of being naked, though the fact her condition had been forced on her was never mentioned when she was around. By now it was an open secret around campus that as a freshman she had declared nudity her religion and been cajoled into various research that left her with an allergy to clothes and a greatly increased sex drive. And that she had spent her first summer making it back from California without clothes or money or outdoor gear, just her bare body. But not all the details were known, certainly not the more unpleasant ones. The original reason for her nudity -- that she had been caught streaking on a sorority dare her first week, then to avoid expulsion frantically gave the excuse that nudity was her religion, which turned out to make the college afraid to expel her on First Amendment grounds, causing Dean Jorgon and Henry Ross, the campus attorney, to coerce her into an escalating series of humiliations to get her to admit that the religion claim was a hoax -- had never gotten out.

As to her family back in Providence, information was tightly controlled. She was absolutely clear that they should know nothing except for her decision to go naked and her allergy which was being cured. It would greatly concern her if they found out she had been so mistreated and been through so much shame and abuse. Even as to that horrible summer, the cover story she had fed her parents during her calls, that she was doing a project for one of her math professors -- they had never learned anything to the contrary. Fortunately there was little danger her parents would find out anything. Except for Tami and Rod, they didn't know anyone up here, and on the rare occasions that they spoke to one of her teachers, she would take the teacher aside first to make sure no hints of anything but a happy life leaked out.

Her current life really was happy though. One time a half-drunk guy at a party told her, "Too bad you can't wear clothes." Rod felt about to slug him when Tami, draining her beer, said, "Too bad you can't be naked."