Brigid's New Uniform
Rod tried to fight his way in to see what the crowd of kids was looking at, without seeming like he was trying to imitate the gametime moves of the football team guys who were in their uniforms this morning. There was one overhead light that was brighter than the others, in the center of the lobby, and that was what they were crowding around. Rod was not a short guy but he couldn't get a glimpse, especially since some of the Tunemasters even came to school in their tall shako hats. Unsuccessful at getting a view from the front, he went around the other side and finally burst through between Jaycee of the football team and Lorenzo, his fellow trombonist.
His mouth dropped open at the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
The naked white girl, seen from behind, her skin gleaming in the bright light, arms extended, showing herself off to the people in front of her, her bookbag on the floor next to her bare feet, with her baton threaded through the shoulder straps.
She can't really be naked, Rod told himself, as he caught his breath and licked his dry lips and gulped. They wouldn't take away Brigid's uniform entirely, and actually make the band's majorette march absolutely stark raving naked, without a stitch, every private part of her fully on view, in front of crowds at football games, down the main street in town, in front of her friends and her parents and brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and teachers and the TV cameras, in rain, wind, sleet, snow storms, marching herself into frostbite and hypothermia -- it would not only be downright cruel but against the law, indecent exposure --
As he thought these unbelievable thoughts Rod looked at Brigid's tight, tiny, white-girl butt, the cute dimples over her butt crack, her slim waist, the thinly muscled shoulders. And now the lovely slope of her breast came into view, jiggling as she turned slightly, then more . . .
"Beautiful", a girl said as Brigid turned, her arms still out, her toes flexing as she slowly rotated. Now she caught Rod's eye and said, "Hi Rod." Rod smiled weakly and in shock -- the naked white goddess has singled me out --
He looked down to her breasts, then down to her totally shaved crotch. He had never seen a totally naked live girl before, and certainly not so close in such strong light. Now his eyes strained as he noticed something odd. Her nipples weren't pink, really. Well no, the circular areas -- it was called the areola, everyone could see now that Brigid's were a little bigger than the size of quarters -- were pink . . . but the actual nipples were -- green??
"I like your new -- circlets," Jaycee said.
"They're called 'bits'," Brigid corrected him, padding a couple of steps toward Jaycee, and then holding her breasts up to him to show off the "bits" Rod gulped again. As they looked, they saw that the end of each nipple -- not the whole nub, the size and color of a pencil eraser, but the top of it -- was wrapped in green thread. The thread was tied on, in a little latticework, rather pretty in its own microscopic way, which slightly compressed the nub tip. The green circular cover made a pleasant contrast with the pinkness of the rest of the nub, and the pinkness of the areola.
"You must be good with crochet," a girl said. Brigid smiled, and blushed with pride, still holding out her breasts, as if showing off a prize-winning cake.
"Nice job on the nails," Debra said. Brigid extended her fingers in front of her breasts, then looked down and spread her toes. Green nail polish. It figured the new uniform would be green, for the St. Patrick's Day parade.
Looking downward at her pretty toes brought everyone's attention to her crotch. A lower-pitched older woman's voice was heard. "The bottom is pretty too, Brigid." It was Ms. Thomas, one of the guidance counselors. Rod suddenly noticed there were teachers around too. Maybe Uniform Day had developed an informal tradition of its own, the majorette showing off her new uniform.
"Thanks. You should thank Ms. Kleinfelter," Brigid said, edging her feet apart and spreading her legs. What bottom part? Then Rod realized that the slit between the shaved pussy lips was green also -- a thin thread, running from the top of the slit to somewhere below.
"How does that stay on?" Virginia asked.
Brigid smiled and rolled her eyes. "It's tricky. I'm glad though. Those straps " -- she motioned around her hips -- "were uncomfortable, cutting in when I moved around." Actually they hadn't been "straps", they were more like "strings". Again, Rod mused, they changed the majorette uniform in the direction of taking something away, when they could have just as well made the "straps" more comfortable by widening them, like they were last year, or widening them more, like the year before.
They watched as Brigid turned around again slowly, proud and happy to have the privilege of wearing what everyone agreed was a beautiful uniform. "The committee really outdid itself this time," said Mr. Haufenstedt, the Typing and Data Entry teacher.
The Homeroom bell rang.
"Okay, kids, break it up, get to class." It was Mr. Poznik, one of the hall attendants, a little old guy, but not someone to be disobeyed. As the crowd dispersed Rod pulled up his bookbag and began the trudge to Social Studies, one of the classes Brigid was not in. He turned and saw her walking away with Debra and Lucia, her bookbag slapping her bare buns as she practically skipped to class, the baton in her hand. Debra was in her full-coverage Tunemasters uniform and Lucia, not on any team, was in her big black pants and jacket, both girls in boots, a strong contrast to the naked, barefoot girl in between. But of course, she wasn't really naked.
Social Studies class was just agony. The teacher was Ms. McCabe, a thin white lady around 35 or 40 with blonde, tied-back hair who was -- well, "chilly" was the best word for her. She hardly ever smiled. And the topic they were studying now -- the early Middle Ages -- the best word for that was "boring".
Rod's mind was scrambled anyway from thinking about Brigid's new uniform. He made some attempts to figure out the square-inch area of each of her "bits" but couldn't concentrate. He looked at the eraser on his pencil -- the size and color of Brigid's nipple -- and rubbed it, which made his dick hard. Bad idea, gotta stop doing that. He looked at the globe on the window sill. If the globe was Brigid's breast, a "bit" would be the area of -- what -- Poland? No, less than that. Estonia? Monaco?
"Mr. Sykes," Ms. McCabe said. She had a severe face and looked like she might have been a model, or an actress, once.
"As we were saying," she said in exasperation (Rod realized he hadn't been listening), "the Merovingian Dynasty, who was the real ruler?"
Rod looked at the edge of the ruler that was sticking out of his notebook, like his dick sticking out inside his pants, and realized he was completely lost, even though like everyone he had his textbook out.
"Um -- "
"The master of the palace," MsMcCabe said, trying to sound patient. "And the king?"
Rod's eyes fell on a phrase in the book. "He was -- he was just the titular head."
"That's TIE-tular, long 'i. 'Right. Now Ms. Sorensen -- "
Rod's face burned with embarrassment as he realized he had mispronounced the word so that he was saying "tit". He thought he heard someone snort. He couldn't get his mind off the band majorette's breasts. And everyone knew what was on his mind. He was quite certain about that.
He looked straight ahead, at the back of the kid in front of him, not daring to see anyone else's glances, any smiles at his very revealing slip of the tongue.
Suddenly he wanted to get Brigid as far away from his mind as possible. He looked at the globe and tried to imagine it was the Earth and not a model of Brigid's boob. He tried to imagine he was in one of those faraway countries, thousands of miles away, where there were no marching bands and no majorettes.
He actually managed to get through the rest of the class and the next one, Visual Arts, where he played with markers and construction paper and did some abstract designs, nothing having to do with live persons or bodies.
Third period was math, a class Brigid was in, and what was more, her assigned seat was near the front. Rod was in the back, one row over. He could pay better attention here, because his skin coverage calculations had gotten him to like math, at least a little. They were on algebra now, doing problems on the board for Mr. Gianelli.
Rod was lucky. Brigid's desk-chair was not quite in line with the others so he got a good look at the side of her that stuck out. She was second from the front. Rod surveyed the kids in her row, starting with Millie who sat next to him, from back seat to front. Shirt, blouse, sweater, sweatshirt, bare shoulder, sweater. Jeans, sweatpants, skirt, dockers (ugh, Stanley! you've got to un-nerd yourself!), bare hip, jeans. Boot, sneaker, heel, sneaker, bare foot, sneaker.
Now Brigid turned a little and lifted her hand to scratch behind her neck. A little sliver of her breast came into view, like a crescent moon, and jiggled. Then she put her arm down again.
Now she did what she often did when she had her normal clothes on: crossed her leg and sat on it. Her bare toes stuck out into the aisle, wiggling from time to time as she listened and read and wrote.
And now she had a question, raising her hand. The breast bounced again, then swayed to rest. The question was about "completing the square". Mr. Gianelli explained it carefully and concisely, the overhead lights glinting in his thick-lensed glasses.
"Why don't you take the next problem to the board, Miss O'Dierna," Mr. Gianelli said. Brigid got up and bent over to get her notebook, her waist seeming pencil-thin, then walked up to the board, proudly, as if to show off her uniform, though you couldn't see any of it from the back. She braced her feet slightly apart as she picked up the chalk and started writing numbers.
"And problem number 7, uh, you, Mr. Sykes."
Lord, give me strength. Rod tried not to trip over his feet as he went up to the board. I have to not do anything stupid, like saying "tit" .
Number 7 was not hard. Rod knew about completing the square and got started on it. He tried not to look at Brigid, who was to his left. He could swear he could feel heat radiating from her bare skin. He was getting hot himself, under all his clothes. He glanced down at her pretty bare feet, with the green toenail polish, next to his marching boots.
Brigid was left-handed and Rod was right-handed, and his peripheral vision told him he had an unobstructed view of her breasts, jiggling and wobbling tightly on her chest as she worked the chalk. He loved the way they moved when she was in her majorette uniform, either in circlets or these new "bits", not strapped down by a bra, moving independently, one jiggling while the other swayed. . .
He looked over as casually as he could to her breasts, then went back to finishing problem 7. Then his face got hot as he realized that everyone in the room, certainly all the guys, was watching Brigid and would have seen him eyeing her boobs. This was one of those times he was so glad he was black, and not a white person whose blushes were visible to the whole world.
He finished and looked over to Mr. Gianelli, which fortunately meant looking away from Brigid. "Very good, Mr. Sykes."
He got back to his seat, avoiding all eye contact once again, feeling a new wave of sweat under his clothes. As he sat down, Brigid finished, and turned to face the class and Mr. Gianelli. This time her face reflected not pride in her uniform but concern about her math.
"No, you don't complete the square that way, Miss O'Dierna," Mr. Gianelli said. "It should be one-sixteenth, not one-eighth. You added instead of multiplied."
"Oh right -- sorry -- " Brigid quickly lurched over to correct her mistake. The class attentively followed her motions. "Is that it then?"
"Yes, correct." Brigid picked up the eraser and vigorously erased her work, a little embarrassed at having got one wrong. Such a perfectionist!
She turned to return to her seat and was almost there when Millie called out: "Bridge -- look -- "
Brigid looked down uncertainly at her bare legs. "What?"
"Oh." Somehow she had gotten chalk over her nipple so that the bit on that one was now white. She went up to Mr. Gianelli. "Mr. Gianelli, can I go to the bathroom. I've got to -- "
"My uniform -- "
"What?" With his poor eyesight Mr. Gianelli couldn't see what Brigid was pointing at. Finally she went up to him and cupped her breast, holding it up to him.
"Oh, yes. All right, Miss O'Dierna." He fumbled with a desk drawer. "Let me get you a hall pass."
"Wait, Bridge, I've got a wipe." Millie got up with a medicated tissue from her bookbag.
"Could you do it, Mil?"
"Okay." As Brigid stood in the aisle, looking down with concern, Millie bent down and squeezed her friend's breast so that it stuck out, and carefully dabbed the chalk from the delicate latticework of Brigid's bit. Soon the nipple tip was once again green, fitting for an Irish lass.
The class went on for the next few minutes, during which Mr. Gianelli reviewed the quadratic formula and the guys in the back of the room reviewed Brigid's shoulders and either her left or right butt cheek, depending on which side of the room you were on.
"Attention. Brigid O'Dierna, please report to the Principal's Office." It was the scratchy voice of Ms. Kennedy, the Main Office secretary.
This announcement jolted everyone. What is going on? It could not be because Brigid was in trouble. She was the least likely kid in the school for that. Maybe having something to do with the parade tomorrow? But then wouldn't it be Sarge who would have to see her?
Mr. Gianelli seemed unperturbed. Looking up at the loudspeaker after the announcement died away, he said, "Well Miss O'Dierna, I suppose you'll need that hall pass after all."
Brigid seemed as puzzled as Rod. She walked up and got the pass, and with a quick shrug, trotted out the room. They heard the slapping of her bare soles trailing away in the hall.
Minutes went by and it occurred to Rod that maybe Brigid had a family emergency. He had heard somewhere that her mother had a heart condition or something like that. He watched the clock and tried to engage with the classwork. More minutes went by. . .
Almost half an hour later, just before the period ended, there was the slapping of feet again in the hall, which could only be Brigid. She had her hands crossed over her breasts and she walked with her head down and her legs together. Putting the hall pass on Mr. Gianelli's desk, she went back to her desk and sat down.
"We're on problem 14, Miss O'Dierna."
So there was no family emergency, Brigid was back in class. But Rod detected something wrong. The majorette slouched in her chair, foot sticking way out onto the floor of the aisle, elbow on the desk, propping up her head. When the bell rang, she grabbed her bookbag and was the first one out, walking again with her breasts covered and her legs together.
Rod snaked his way through everyone else, determined to catch up with Brigid in the hall. He finally did, on the concrete stairwell in the far end of the hall, the one that hardly anyone used.
Rod caught up with Brigid as she went through the fire door at the end of the hall and into the north stairway, a dreary place with no tile walls. Few kids used these stairs because it was the long way around to wherever you were going.
He found the scantily-clad majorette leaning against the cinder block wall, dropping her bookbag at her side. She again crossed her arms over her breasts, and looked down, her flat tummy going in and out with her stressed breathing.
At first he stood there. It was just him and her. The heavy metallic fire door closed behind him with an echoing thud. Then he said, "Brigid . . . is something wrong? You don't look right." In spite of his concern he was proud of himself, in being able to speak clearly in her presence, with his heart racing so.
Brigid looked down and flexed her toes. The smooth concrete floor must have felt like ice to her bare feet. "Rod . . . do you think I'm . . .N - naked?" She clutched her arms tighter around herself, and crossed one knee in front of the other.
Then she slid down to the floor, the cinder blocks rough against her bare back, until her bare butt cheeks were on the floor, her knees up to her chin. It seemed like she wanted to disappear into the wall.
Rod was dumbstruck, fumbling for an answer. "Um . . . well. . . you wear a lot less than the rest of us . . . but . . .um . . . That's being a majorette."
She looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his brown eyes, as if daring him to tell her the truth.
The fire door burst open and two guys, Phil and Bill, bounded past them and down the stairs. Phil looked up and said, "Brigid! Must be Frigid!" Bill laughed. Then they were gone, the fire door downstairs clanging shut with an echo.
Rod shot a look of arrows down at where they had disappeared, then returned his gaze to the love of his life. There was no heat in this stairwell. He could feel the drafty chill even through his uniform. "It's cold here . . . Let me help you up."
"No. . . I'm a majorette," she said dully as if by rote, "I'm used to the cold." Then she looked up. "So am I . . . naked?"
"Uh . . . Majorettes have . . . uh . . . skimpier uniforms than everyone else. That's true in any band." Suddenly warming, he said, "You're Brigid, the Tunemasters majorette! We're practically famous, and you're our leader! Brigid, you've shown us how being a majorette is . . . like . . . it's the hardest job in the band. It's being an athlete. And a dancer. You work hard at it, all those tricks you do, those high throws. . . you're our inspiration, what you go through for us and for the school. You're one of the great ones, Bridge!"
Brigid looked down at their feet. She stretched her foot out and wiggled her big toe against the toe of his marching boot. "Thanks." They were silent for a moment, she sitting against the wall, he looking down at her.
The fire door opened, with a waft of warm air from the hallway. This time it was Jaycee and his new girlfriend Nilda, a Hispanic girl with dark skin and big boobs. She wore her soccer team uniform. They waved and passed by, absorbed in each other. Rod smirked, thinking how hard it must be for his friend to keep his eyes trained on his new girlfriend's face and not further down.
Brigid watched them disappear downstairs. She was on the soccer team too, and Rod was afraid she was going to say, "I should have worn my soccer uniform instead of . . . this!" But she didn't say it. She would have said it a moment ago. He gave himself credit for his little pep talk.
She let him help her up, and brushed dust off her butt, her hand slapping the bare skin. "Am I O.K. back there?" she asked. She turned to show him the back of her body, which was entirely bare, from her bare heels up to her red, tied-up hair.
He looked closely. The light here was pretty dim. "Um . . . you've got some dirt under your shoulder."
Brigid tried to reach back there with her hands but couldn't. "Get it for me."
"O.K." He brushed his hands as quickly as he dared from her shoulder blade down to the small of her back. It gave him a thrill. Her skin was not cold at all, considering the chill in here. "There, it's gone."
Of course, she would have done the same for him, brushing dirt off the back of his jacket. Tunemasters took care of each other. It was something Sarge always stressed, part of what he called 'the teamwork ethos'.
Brigid turned up one foot, spreading her toes, then the other, checking for dirt. Suddenly she stood up straight and wiggled her shoulders, making her breasts dance, the bits pointing crazily here and there, left and right, up and down. She swung her hand behind her neck. "Akkk!"
"Somethin' back there -- it's icky -- "
Rod got behind Brigid and looked. "Oh it's a -- " He hesitated a moment before saying it. "Spiderweb."
"Eee!" Brigid jumped up and down, dancing wildly, the thudding of her soles against the concrete echoing throughout the stairwell. "Eee!" Her little squeals echoed too.
"But no spider, don't worry!" Actually he wasn't sure about that. But there was a cobweb that came down from the ceiling and had fastened against the wall. Brigid must have caught part of it when she squatted and leaned back.
Rod wished he had his uniform gloves. As it was, all he had to work with was the bare skin of his hands. Then he realized how spoiled he was, thinking about all the bare skin Brigid had to deal with. The nerdy numbers went through his head again as he smoothed the dead filaments of web away from her pretty, delicate, white neck, then away from her back. 96 percent versus 0.5 percent coverage . . . 4 percent versus 99.5 percent exposed . . . He quickly cleared his throat and said, "Sorry, but -- " He then passed his hand quickly across Brigid's right butt cheek, sweeping away the last bit of cobweb that had gotten stuck to her skin down there.
"Got it all," he finally said. Brigid turned around to see Rod trying to rid his hands of the sticky grayish strings. He paused for a minute to say to himself: I'll bet that cobweb momentarily doubled the amount of covering Brigid has on her body.
Finally Rod freed his hands from the web and they watched as it floated to the floor, between their feet.
"Ohhh -- " Brigid shook her whole body with relief, glad to be rid of it. Her breasts bounced back and forth, just like that time, in that burger place during the Foxboro parade, to check her circlets to make sure Debra -- or was it Virginia? -- had put them back on securely. "Thanks Rod."
"Glad you're feeling better," Rod said. He was curious. "What made you so . . . worried? What brought that on?"
Brigid looked up at the ceiling and said, "The PTA or someone had a question about my new uniform. . . so I got called to Ms. McPherson's office and I showed them . . . It was two parents, Ms. Hernandez, you know her? . . .I don't know the other one . . .then I waited outside . . . they didn't think I heard them, the door was closed . . . but they were complainin' and sayin' I was naked."
She uncrossed her arms and looked down at her breasts. Then she cupped them and looked at her thread-clad tips of her nipples.
"Those . . . bits . . . are beautiful," Rod said. "Your whole . . . um . . . uniform is beautiful." He then decided to say it. "Just like YOU are beautiful, Bridge."
She looked at him and he bit his lip. She then gave him a little peck on the cheek. "You're a dear." Which with her Boston-white-girl accent came out, "You're a deah."
Rod knew what to do next -- he kissed her back, right on that left cheek.
He wanted to embrace her in some way but couldn't think of what would be the right thing. He decided to be satisfied with the memory of feeling her skin when he brushed the dirt and cobwebs off her. So he said, "Are we still on for after lunch?"
"Remember yesterday, I said I wrote something for clarinet."
"Sure, let's eat together so we can get out together."
This is going good. . . "There should be a couple of practice rooms open then." Actually there were only three practice rooms in the band area, next to the Big Instrument room where his trombone was. There was no sign-up for those rooms; you had to grab was what available. This could be another time when they could be alone . . .
Brigid looked down at his uniform. She took a few breaths. She was almost composed now, almost back to her old self. Then she fingered a couple of the buttons on his jacket.
"Nice uniform," she said.
He felt it was O.K. for him to step back and look down at her bare lower lips, and the green thread in between.
"How does that . . . bottom . . . stay on?"
"It's called a 'wisp'."
"Bits and wisp."
They laughed together. As they both looked down, she parted her legs slightly. Rod wished he had a magnifying glass, then smiled at the mental image of him looking at her like that.
"You didn't answer my question, Bridge."
He smiled. "Don't be coy. You know what I mean. How does your . . . wisp . . .stay on?"
Brigid looked to the side, then fingered his buttons again, this time up near his neck. Then she straightened out the frill of his sleeve, and cleared her throat. "Well I suppose I can tell you . . . just something girls know . . . and Ms. Kleinfelter of course -- "
They looked at each in surprise -- fourth period! Both hated being late for class. Then with relief they said the same thing. "Gym!"
"We're on basketball," Rod said as he pushed open the heavy fire door and they went out into the busy hallway. "It's a lot of sweat. I have to wash my gym clothes at home every week now."
"Ewww," Brigid laughed through a wrinkled nose. "The unit we're on now, we're not wearin' gym clothes, just whatever feels comfortable. Judo," Brigid said. "Lots of fallin' down on mats."
"Yes I know, we can hear you girls through the partition."
"We're not THAT overweight!" she laughed as they got to the gym wing and parted. He saw Brigid strut down the hall, shoulders back, toes flexed up, proud to show off her Tunemasters majorette uniform. She linked up with fellow Tunemasters Debra and Millie in their "full coverage uniforms", then they disappeared into the girls' locker room.
He went in with the guys and got to his gym locker. As he took out the crusty socks and black-and-white (school colors) shorts, Rod thought of that temporary Brigid, the frightened, nearly naked creature in the stairwell, so cold and vulnerable. It was so unlike Brigid to be like that. He was glad he helped restore her confidence.
Basketball was O.K., but he really preferred baseball, or at least softball. But it wasn't quite the time of year for that yet. Their gym teacher, Mr. Wheeler, was a good guy, though he looked like he needed some gym himself. He weighed about 300 pounds. Like Sarge, he used to be in the Army, and called the kids "men".
The boys lined up in front of the folded-up stands and waited for Mr. Wheeler to come out with the ball bag. But he was in the little gym teachers' office, door open, talking on the phone. Finally he came out and said, "Men, Ms. Blackmon is out sick, and they couldn't get a substitute. So today I've got the girls as well as you guys."
He lumbered over to the partition and said, "No basketball today, men. Dodgeball with the girls." Lots of groaning, though of course they didn't mean it.
Mr. Wheeler pressed the button and the accordion partition began retracting. As the girls' side of the gym came into view, he went back to the office and hauled out two big red playground balls. "Take it easy, no rough stuff. . . Though I'm not sure you guys will be the winners."
"Yeah, right!" Sammy said, expressing the general feeling. Now the retracting partition revealed the girls, one by one, first Kendra, then Millie, then Debra, Elisa, Rhonda. . . Rod held his breath . . . finally Brigid . . .
End of Part 2