Naked Till You Make Itbycowboy109©
Ms Donnel had always been a hip college teacher. She wore clothes with black sharp corners and shiny metal buttons. English and theater was her teaching staple. Her true passion was in opening our minds to new information and experiences.
Once in theatre class, she guided us through a yoga session. Mind you, this was at a time, when nobody really knew what yoga was, but everyone knew that it had to do with devil worship. I still vividly remember lying on my back on that red brick floor with the white square lines in between. At the height of anticipation for a brisk wind to flow through the hall whirled up by a summoned demon, I finally gave into her requests to close my eyes. And, I never close my eyes but to sleep and keep a bug from flying in.
Eerily quiet, lying on my back, I felt the presence of my ten theatre classmates. Everyone else had left the afternoon program already. Only the ethereal imprint of long lunch lines and screaming was left in the school hall. The teacher taught about sinking our tail down to the center of the earth to ground ourselves. How demonic! Would I be able to tell me ma about this. No, unless I wanted to spend an afternoon in church for deprogramming by our pastor.
"Naked till you make it!" the loud and clear voice of the little woman with the black hair and pointy glasses echoed through the large school auditorium. "Going on stage, we often feel naked and exposed. In dream mythology, dreaming about being naked means that we fear not being prepared. In psychology, we look our fears directly in the eye. And, we find out, they are nothing but shadows on the wall looking like monsters."
"Naked till you make it. What would happen, if you were naked on a stage and everyone could see you? Nothing."
"We are going to rehearse the first act of our play naked. And, everyone gets to do their part over and over until it is perfect. Once you get that bliss of everything working, you can get dressed again."
Ms Donnel lifted her pointy triangular nose before tilting her neck down to unbutton her black blouse with the utmost focus. She dropped the blouse on top of the counter for the lunch line. Her knee long gray tight skirt followed down with a side to side hip movement. Her tall black leather boots fell sideways without her legs inside. The pale pasty body of Ms Donnel was visible.
Her body was average, yet showed that she was a young teacher. Her boobs were thin rectangles. Her face kept the same studious, serious, and focused look. That's why she didn't seem naked and nobody laughed. The faces of the other students were tense. Nobody gestured. Everyone looked.
Sonya, the blond chubby girl of rich parents with a cheerleader attitude, stepped forward as the first. Her face smiled and shined with glee at being open minded and progressive. Her colorful t-shirt came off quickly. The jeans fought tooth and nail coming down her hips. Her panties had golden and red prints on cotton. The cotton was a narrow brief that had eaten itself into her baby fat and vaginal-anal cleft. The sexiest part of her body were her juicy calves.
Roni was the long natural black haired girl with her hair colored red. She was the punk girl that loved snowboarding and drinking beer in alleys with her clique. Her eco hemp t-shirt that called to protect the whales came over her head and revealed her black see through bra. Her legs were tall and slender. Her skin was extra white as Snow White's. Her naval had a ring piercing. And, her shoulder had a star tattoo.
With the unofficial leaders in the nude, everyone else had to follow. And, lastly the boys followed as well. There were only three boys in the group, because theatre in our college was mostly a girls' thing. My biggest worry was getting a boner from all the nudity around me. What turned me on the most was seeing all the little girlish panties rolled in a bunch on the floor. They genuinely called sexy, while the naked girls' faces transcended the explicit nature of the moment.
My own clothes were briefs that my ma had bought me. The rubber band had worn out, so that they often slipped down my butt. The t-shirt had been worn for two years now. The socks had a hole at the bottom that I was careful to conceal. My idea that socks could have holes because of shoes had failed today. My ding-dong had shriveled to its smallest size, where the balls almost seemed larger. I hoped that it would stay this way.
"Ms. Donnel is so brave to teach us this risky theatre technique," said Roni into my ear, while the first dialog was held on the stage. Roni was my secret dream girl friend. The two girls on stage were talking fast to get through their part. Ms Donnel, ever patient, corrected them and had them retake. The college maintenance supervisor was watching on from a respectful distance, while leaning on his seven feet wide broom.
Dave was a stud. His pecs and abdominal muscles clearly showed their definition. His light brown hair was like a powerful lion mane groomed with hair product. His brown eyes twinkled with confidence. His pubic hair was shaved. Emma next to him blushed with red cheeks. Her body jerked from nervous laughs, when her eyes did not glance down at Dave's jewels.
The corrections from Ms. Donnel threw the two back to the beginning of their lines over and over. Dave's feet stood wider apart with increasing pride with each repetition. Emma on the other hand needed many reminders from Ms Donnel to take a deep breath. When Dave offered to massage her shoulders, her face only grew redder like a melting nuclear reactor. However, her body relaxed. And, with joy, she was allowed to jump down the stage and take cover in her clothes.
Andrea was an entirely different case. Andrea had to say a monolog. Andrea stood on the stage with one hand covering both boobs and the other covering her vagina. Andrea had very long dark hair. Her hair reached below her butt cheeks. Undoubtedly, some of that hair must have gotten stuck between her tiny butt. She was of small stature. We always made fun of her undying love for horses. Her face had the big jaw and nose of a horse as well.
"Andrea, before you do your line, I really want to you feel the freedom of being out of clothes. Stretch your arms out and dance around the stage as if you were bird of prey soaring in the sky," encouraged Ms. Donnel.
Only a tear started rolling down her face to drop on her breast. Then, she plopped down on the ground with her knees against her chest. That's when I saw her vagina lips for the first time. In between her ankles, I could spot the vagina between her pulled up thighs. My breathing turned long and controlled to avoid sporting an erection.
With much love and encouragement, the bird of prey slowly stood up and stretched her wings. Andrea's face filled with joy and pride, as she had a psychological breakthrough. Her jumping and soaring arms took over the whole stage. Like a flower opening, Andrea was happy to own her experience of being naked, being seen, and taking up space in this world. Ms. Donnel clapped with a face glowing to be alive.
Andrea's arms reaching out to the audience and her purposeful bow during the monologue were so much more dramatic than all the other students' acting. Maybe, she had the breakthrough to become a theatre star.
Mine was the final part. Sonya was Magdalene pregnant with baby Jesus. Mine was Joseph searching for an accommodation for the night. On the first run of our dialog, I thought we were perfect. My voice came deep from the diaphragm. I had slowed down my words to fight against the rush of nervousness. Sonya was perfect as always.
But no, Ms. Donnel tried hard to suppress her laughter. She said that we were a couple and I had stood farther away from Sonya than a smelly street bum in the subway. So, I had moved closer until Sonya grabbed me by the side for a warm side hug. The audience agreed with Sonya's take on being a couple.
The blood inside of me boiled and wanted to escape my body as sweat. Sonya had always inspired me in class. She played the piano and had the most varied and imaginative wardrobe. She was outspoken in class about her opinions, which I had always listened to with intrigue. You'd think that I would have talked to her. However, Sonya publically stated once that I probably hated her as much as she did me. To not lose face, I had agreed with her that I distasted her and wanted nothing to do with her.
Even now her daring display of affection with me in the nude on a stage, that way of being daring and bold, only made me more fascinated with her. I could feel her warm body and smooth skin on my side. With my arm wrapped around behind her torso, I could sense her body. It was small, flexible, and alive. Once she dropped her hand and by accident flicked my penis. That moment spooled back over and over in my head like a tape that had been stuck.
I looked down at her face. Her tongue was wet and juicy surrounded by red lips and a mouth that was so outspoken. Her nipples were red and the shape of a ¾ inch nut. Her boobs moved with ripples and bounces, when her whole frame took in deep inhales to talk out her part. Most of all, the most sensuous part about Sonya was being in her intimate space, being in her world, being close to her view on the world, the smell of her breath. Really, her promise of being exciting and living in a world of rich ideas, novel adventures, and confidence is what I longed for.
My penis rumbled a bit. It moved. I felt the flesh firming. My eyes were trying to glance away, but the whole audience was filled with naked flesh. Realizing that this would be one of the happiest moments of my life with Sonya made me sad, because I could not fully show my enjoyment and happiness of the moment. I had to hide my sexual feelings. I had to hide my feelings for Sonya. I almost cried, but I held my head high to conform to the expectations of the script.
Ms. Donnel released us. Sonya in her free spirited nature was self assured enough to hug me. I felt her breasts against my naked chest. I felt her nipples, hard clumps. Out of modesty, I bent forward to pull my hips with that penis sticking on it away from her. But, somehow, I don't know how, my penis touched her belly anyway. And, for a little bit I believe that my penis must have been long enough to reach down to the clit of the short girl's clitoris. I hope and pray for that just a little of her juices stuck to the glans of my penis, too faint to see.
Those lovely chubby butt cheeks of hers bounced away, while they twinked, winked, and bubbled.