The End of Blanke Schande

NOTE: Blanke Schande is a college where female students are required to be naked at all times, which research has found turns out better adjusted males and stronger, more self-assured females. It has a main campus in south California. It has a satellie campus in Alturas, in the far northeastern part of the state, where there is snow on the ground from October to April, but where the rule of nakedness still applies. If you want to learn more about Blanke Schande, see the many Yahoo groups devoted to the college which contain both pictures and stories.

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"Oops," Sara said, her breath a little cloud in front of her, as the tiny pea-sized snowball fell from between Shelly's fourth and fifth toes, the new polish on the fourth toe glistening in the bright March sun. Sitting cross-legged on the soft damp snowy ground, Sara put the little brush back into the bottle and with busy fingers balled up another toe separator, her big tanned boobs swaying slowly as they hung in front of her, huge brown nipples erect like all female nipples were for most of the school year at BSC-Alturas.

Sitting at the concrete table, Hank, Ahmad and Corey looked on as Shelly sat in the snow, her back towards them, leaning against the bottom of the concrete chair, turning her foot this way and that appraisingly.

"Looks very nice," Ahmad said as Sara began the challenge of continuing the sunburst design on the little toe nail. Shelly was shy and invited encouragement. It was a wonder that she had applied up here to the Alturas campus, but now that she was in her second semester and paired up with Scott, who had been a rather obnoxious virgin, they both seemed a lot more at ease.

"Another fine day," said Corey, shielding his eyes from the glare of the snow on the field up in front of them, the wide open expanse on the edge of campus in front of the redwoods in the distance. They were sitting around after lunch, basically doing nothing until the next class at 2. He unzipped his jacket and then shifted his butt, which was freezing on the damp concrete. Corey, again, felt an odd twinge of envy for the girls, required by college rules to be totally naked at all times. Wet clothes made you colder. It was actually safer to be like these girls with their bare butts in the snow, having merely wet skin that would dry off and warm up quickly as soon as they got up. Of course, the girls had been "conditioned" -- the cryokinesthetics classes, the "five-minute chill", and all the other things.

The guys in their coats over heavy flannel shirts, jeans and clumpy boots, and the naked girls sitting in the snow, sat around silently. "Must be almost forty degrees," Hank said.

Jerry and Bob Eggles and Keroy bounded down the path, passing a soccer ball around with the impressive skill of swift sneakered feet. Now the three guys spread out into a triangle on the quad, kicking to each other, with some fine headers and knee shots and even a shoulder punch or two. Sara looked up briefly, to make sure her work on Shelly's toes wouldn't be ruined by an invading soccer ball, but she was protected by the table.

Responding to Hank, Sara said, "Probably fifty in the sun, but see all the ice in the shade, actually it's about thirty," and of course any BSC girl's word on this topic was to be trusted. Holding the brush in her fingers, she stretched, her huge breasts jutting out languidly, as she savored every ray of the warm sun on her bare back.

Ahmad's stomach grumbled. They all could hear it and chuckled. Chinese food for lunch; the guys were hungry again, though not the girls, who found themselves stuffing themselves every meal, their bodies' reaction to the demands of an increased metabolism. The main campus girls were fanatics about keeping their bodies in shape, being that any ounce gained was immediately visible, but after a semester or so at Alturas a girl knew that five or so extra pounds in winter was no shame. In the dining hall it had been a standing joke, the girls going up to the salad bar four and five times, obeying Nature's call for extra fortification through the cold months, the little tummy pooches, the extra weight on the thighs and boobs. Nature compensated for it every April as the weather got warmer, when the girls easily sweated the pounds off again.

Ahmad sighed. Too bad they couldn't go back to the dining hall. But Mrs. Magnuson was a stickler for the rules. You couldn't re-enter for the same meal and that was that. Also no carrying food out. Bags had to be left out on the racks, and Mrs. Magnuson had been known to check the pockets in the guys' jackets for contraband such as fruit or a cup of yogurt. Ahmad took his mind off food by watching the two lovely forms of Alice O'Reilly and Melissa, the girl who loves to climb trees, as they sauntered by the other side of the quad past the shower heads. They passed by Ellie and Keisha, lounging in the snow, chatting about something. Ellie, leaning back, stretched her legs out, idly lifting snow with her toes and flinging it sideways. Alturas girls liked to do that, probably because before they got here it would have seemed so weird and unbelievable. The possibilities of the human female.

Hank smiled as his girlfriend approached, tan and lithe and tall and purposeful and serious as always, though with a smile and a nice little wet kiss on the lips for him. For the tall dark-haired girl with the neat short pony tail it was time for her afternoon sprint. Wendy Mac was now captain of the track team and had been put in charge of training others. Two companions in sweat clothes and sneakers clumped along behind her in the wet snow, Tommy Chen, who had just made the team, and that girl Susie, a senior at the local high school.

"'Afternoon," she said to everyone, and then immediately got into the business of stretching and her two pupils followed her lead. Three right feet, one of them bare, extended onto the edge of the cold concrete, then they switched as muscles and tendons got ready. Wendy looked at Susie's sneaker and sighed with exasperation. She didn't have to say it. Hank had heard Wendy and Susie having that conversation several times before, Wendy trying to get her to run barefoot, stressing the importance of toe thrust, Susie resisting, Wendy saying you don't have to be naked, several famous runners had run barefoot, it's just a matter of toughening the feet, Susie resisting again. Susie looked up to Wendy, that's why she asked to train with her. . . Hank and Wendy, lying in bed at night in his dorm room, had discussed what might be going on in Susie's mind. Maybe she was attracted to the naked life but didn't want to admit it. Or was too intimidated by the prospect. Perhaps she saw being barefoot as the first step, a "gateway drug" to the "hard stuff" of the naked BSC lifestyle which she could not yet face. Now was the time for Susie to apply to BSC, if she was going to do it. Just wait and see . . .

The two pupils copied their leader's upward stretch, Wendy in the middle, reaching up to the sun, her body a tall naked "X", legs apart, toes spread and grasping the clean slush, eyes closed, firm breasts sticking out with nipples pointed and hard in the cold, over the narrow concavity of her tanned tummy and strong back. Corey took this in and said, "You're looking very lovely today, Miss Appleby."

This was a little joke, a reference to Wendy's apple-sized breasts. Such a compliment was also a standard polite way of asking a girl to "present". She smiled. "Why thank you Mr. Soggybottom," she said with deadpan tartness, and she pivoted on one bare foot and extended the other widely, past Corey onto the far edge of the table. She flexed her pelvis forward and pulled her lower lips apart, revealing the pink inside, then pushed forward again until a dark cave appeared. "Mmmmm . . . " The automatic reaction of any male to such a sight escaped from Corey's mouth without embarrassment at its triteness as he tilted his head to see better. Ahmad smiled too, as did Hank, who like any BSC guy was flattered whenever his significant other was asked to present. It was a way of being told, "You have a gorgeous girlfriend!"

The moment seemed to linger and suddenly Hank and his friends realized that Wendy and her charges were halfway across the field, gathering speed as their muscles got warmer, the tall naked girl clearly more effortlessly than the other two as she paced them. On the other side of the table Jerry and Bob Eggles and Keroy continued their soccer workout, now getting closer together and focusing on headers.

Lisa, a thin girl with black hair and glasses, and Sandy, a bleached blond and the oldest of the BSC students, dodged by one side of them and stopped at the table, toting their bookbags. "Hi lover," Lisa said, grabbing Corey's hand as she stood next to him and he glanced down lovingly at her pubic patch so near his face. "That was the worst chow mein I've ever had," Sandy said with her usual frankness. Sandy was a trip. 35 years old, majoring in biology with an eye to becoming a neurologist someday, she had been a practicing nudist for ten years before applying to Blanke Schande. The girls never knew what to expect when they went into town with her. Alturas was kind of a Wild West cowboy town. The townspeople had learned to live with the occasional naked females from the nearby college, but as BSC girls knew from the orientation sessions and also from their natural instincts, you should be discreet and shouldn't be "out loud naked" there, like stretching and sticking out your boobs in front of the old guys sitting on the bench on the commons. But Sandy, not having worn a stitch in so long, usually forgot that she was naked and would do just that kind of thing without being the least bit aware of the scene she was making.

Ahmad's stomach rumbled again.

Lisa dropped her bag and got up onto the table. "But -- " Hank was about to mention that nobody had asked her to present. She anchored her feet wide apart, toes pointing out, then squatted in front of Ahmad and Corey, Corey chuckling as he saw the yellow-green appear between widening pussy lips and then, with a little straining grunt --

She handed it to Corey, a pear purloined from the dining hall, then stood up and jumped back down onto the soft snow. Corey sniffed the pear with a smile. "Thanks, Babe. . . Though I think Ahmad would need this more than me." He went out to the untouched snow under a nearby tree and wiped the pear off and returned.

Ahmad hesitated a little but his stomach decided for him. "Thanks," he said, munching.

"Who wants gum?" Sandy said in the singsong of an old TV commercial that only she was old enough to remember. She flung a leg onto the table and extracted a small apple from her lower lips. It was grabbed by Hank, who nibbled it gratefully.

Ahmad had already wolfed down the pear and thrown the stem into the snow under the tree. "You girls amaze me," he said, not for the first time.

"I can't complain about the taste," Hank said between munches. "Next I wonder if you'll carry a banana."

"You'll know that, if we're trying to hold back orgasms as we walk," Sandy said.

"Actually, bananas slip out," Lisa said. "We've tried."

Lisa and Sandy, bucking the snow-sitting habits of BSC girls, sat cross-legged on the seats across the table across from the guys. It was actually quite warm in the sun and Hank and Ahmad slipped off their jackets, sitting this winter day outside in their flannel shirts. After a few moments, Sandy said, "Janeane says that you can carry a banana in the rectum, if you're careful, because the sphincter holds it in." Then she said, "She says you can carry a lot in there, fruit, vegetables, anything without a sharp edge."

Hank started chewing more slowly, with growing mock distaste.

"You might think there's a danger with fecal matter, but she and Jean say that they can tell when their rectum is empty and nothing is about to enter it."

Lisa, continuing this abuse of Hank, added, "I suppose you can become sensitive to what's in your lower colon."

Hank coughed and put the apple down, looking at it as if to inspect it for brown specks. "Real appetizing."

What's college without gross-out humor? Everyone laughed and Hank got back to his apple. Of course BSC girls kept themselves scrupulously clean, inside as well as out; every toilet in their dorms had two attachments, one that gave a kind of douche, the other a kind of enema.

Lisa got up and ran out next to Jerry, motioning to get a turn, and kicked a few to Keroy and then got a couple of headers in. She had been on the soccer team in high school and was still quite good, even after making allowance for kicking with bare feet. She got in a high kick, her toes over her head, her spread pussy lips red and flushed with the cold and with her exertions.

After that little workout she said bye as the three athletes went along down the path, still passing the ball. She went back to the table, still panting a bit, and brought a folder out from her bag. Corey exhaled as if in exasperation. Hank and Ahmad, still munching, looked at it warily. As she opened it Sandy looked at the guys quizzically.

Professor Tereshkova, the Body Awareness teacher, walked by in her parka and leggings and furry boots, waving to the students with her little crooked smile, then walked on toward the faculty building with her slight but recognizable limp.

This reminded everyone. "That was brutal this morning," Corey said. The other guys agreed.

"Ooohh!" Lisa said with a theatrical shudder, thinking back. Body Movement Class, a.k.a. "Eroticize" class, the required morning class for BSC females, under Tereshkova's direction, 30 minutes starting at 8 a.m., during which the girls practiced aerobics, then the various "presenting" positions. Of course it was all out in the open; at the main campus, it was in the middle of the big sunny quad next to the palm trees so that the girls were on full public display and anyone could stop and look. Here at Alturas, on really cold mornings the good professor held it inside, in the gym. Wherever it was, the guys were naturally attracted to it and could not help from looking, no matter how long they'd been at Blanke Schande, no matter how much you told yourself you'd gotten used to the sight.

This morning had been overcast, well below freezing -- 20 degrees Fahrenheit according to the thermometer outside one of the dorms -- and windy. And the professor brought the girls outside! The girls tried to protest but in seconds found themselves doing stiff jumping jacks on the icy platform, trying not to slip with their bare feet. The aerobics were not so bad, the vigorous muscles heating up despite the bitingly freezing ocean of air in which they were immersed. But then to hold still for the presenting positions! Around the platform, guys stood in their heavy coats, clouds of breath in front of them, not being able to resist watching with a mixture of lust and horror and pity and amusement as the fully-clothed professor walked around, checking out the hands spreading buttocks apart as the icy wind bit into each exposed anus, curled its way between each pair of pulled-apart vaginal lips, while the girls squealed in protest . . .

It was good natured squealing. The girls knew they were in capable hands. They envied Elena Tereshkova in her warm furs and boots but she had earned it. It was an open secret -- she was a survivor of Blanksk Shchandiy Oblast.

"It was a Soviet experiment," was the way Lisa had learned it last year, from Terry, a senior about to graduate. The six nude females were munching on pine berries as they sat cross-legged around a fire out on the ridge that warm night, on their "camping trip", a special modular course during which they lived out in the wild for five days, taking nothing with them but their own nude bodies, sleeping on the soft pine needles under the stars, eating the wild plants they had learned about, drinking and bathing in the cold pure water of the streams. "The Soviets loved experiments, even as the Soviet Union was collapsing. Sometime around 1977 they heard about Blanke Schande, how it produced exceptionally strong and capable women. They were having problems attracting women into the professions -- too many of them were getting traditional again and staying housewives -- so the Soviet Ministry of Education decided to imitate BSC.

"Of course, being the Soviet Union, they made it compulsory. Compulsory social engineering, that's what they were all about. They set up a special 'Oblast', or administrative district, somewhere east of Moscow, and required all female college students to be naked at all times. But Russian women tend to be really Puritanical and traditional, so immediatley they all dropped out. So then the minister or whoever it was in charge, decreed that ALL women from the age of 18 to 30 had to be naked, except if they were going to college, in which case they could put clothes on when they graduated. That got the women back into class."

"Boy, that was nuts," Lisa had observed.

"I'll say. Maybe they were desperate. Like I said, the whole system was collapsing. Well anyway those Russian winters are COLD. Alturas is nothing. Imagine going out when it's 40 below!"

"You'd be dead," another girl said.

"Not if you run like hell from building to building," Terry said. "And then one day the inevitable happened. Some girls were staying out in a kind of forest bunkhouse they had and a fire broke out. They called the fire truck but it broke down on the way -- a typical broken-down Soviet truck -- and the building just collapsed in flames, forcing the girls outside with nothing but some thin blankets to put around them. By the time help finally arrived they had been stuck outside for almost an hour. Elena was one of them. They put her into immersion therapy and it was touch and go. Finally after two weeks she could get up out of bed. Others got frozen worse. Their parents went ballistic and the whole project was quietly shut down soon after."

A horrible story but true. It was hard to look at Ms. Tereshkova's crooked smile, the slight limp, without an almost overwhelming feeling of respect, for what she had been through and then, AFTER that, deciding on studying cryokinesthetics and leading the girls through erotocize class, even on bitter cold windy mornings.

When Lisa told Corey this story he had been floored. A baseball player in high school, who did a lot of reading on the history of baseball, he immediately thought of a homely analogy. "Like Herb Score," he said.

"Who?"

"Herb Score. He was a great pitcher in the 50's, I think, and one day a wicked line drive hit him right in the eye, almost killed him." Lisa cringed. "And he came back. That's the amazing thing -- to get up there and pitch again after being almost killed, hit in the eye like that. As soon as he got better he came back, the next year I think, he got back up on the mound and pitched again. He wasn't the pitcher he was, but he came back, like Tereshkova did . . ."

"Uh, right," Lisa said. She supposed the analogy was kind of apt.

"She knows where the edge is," Corey said.

"What?"

"Ever read Hunter S. Thompson's book on the Hell's Angels?"

"Um, no." Corey was full of obscure references this night.

"He writes about motorbiking up the Coastal Highway, back before it got all built up, when there was no traffic or lights, taking the curves as fast as possible, getting close to 'the edge'. . . 'There's no way to tell where it is because the only ones who know where it is are the ones who have gone over.' That's her."

"Oh -- hey --" Corey had succeeded in putting a comforting thought in Lisa's head: the girls were in no danger fron the cold at Alturas: Tereshkova knows how far one can go, where the "edge" is. Some time later Wendy told Lisa and Corey about Tereshkova using the phrase, "the limit". It was a bitter cold night and Wendy had been walking down that long roundabout forest path to the back of the dorm with her and with Olga Vashetkovskaya, that junior from Siberia who Tereshkova naturally hung out a lot with. It was so cold and such a long walk that even Wendy was getting worried. Looking down at the four white bare feet next to Tereshkova's boots, she had said, "Shouldn't we be running? I've been shivering for five minutes." The professor said, "Don't you girls worry. You're nowhere near the limit. Just get under a hot shower when you get in."