Brigid's New Uniform
The game of dodgeball started slowly, each side afraid to go after the other, but soon both sides got more aggressive and each found their style. The guys, at least the stronger guys, lost any inhibition about throwing as fast as they could. Rod wasn't among the strongest but he tried not to cower in the back like the unathletic boys. He protected the right flank, dodging successfully and throwing his shots as hard as he could -- at the girls' legs, the best strategy.
The girls were more artful, faking and shifting. Except for Brigid, who became a hurricane to be avoided. She grabbed the ball whenever she could and charged! Red hair swinging, she thundered right up to the line and demolished the boys with her left-handed cannonballs. Part of it was she looked more heavily protected by clothing than did the other girls. True, she was just like the others, in a white T-shirt, black-and-white shorts, and sneakers with white socks. But it was so much more than she had been wearing to her other classes that she looked fully clothed, while the other girls, who had been wearing much more than Brigid, looked half naked and defenseless.
Was Brigid wearing her majorette uniform under her gym clothes? As the game went disastrously on, the boys losing more and more teammates to Brigid's shots, Rod decided that she was. She had to be wearing those "bits" on her nipples. Otherwise she would have to unbraid those threads beforehand, and re-braid them afterwards. The tiny, intricate latticework on the ends of her nipples looked like it took a long time to weave. As for the "wisp" between her pubic lips, well. . . he still didn't know how that stayed on.
Rod got eliminated when he dropped a weak throw from Millie, pretty embarrassing. He watched from the sidelines as Brigid and her friends finished the boys off. That body conditioning class was really in evidence. Even though Brigid was not the tallest or the heftiest she looked the strongest, stronger than most of the guys even. Any lack of confidence she had, back in that stairwell, had been wiped out. Seeing her sweating through her T-shirt, the bands of her sturdy, somewhat-larger-than-average sports bra showing, the muscles of her arms rock-hard as they flexed -- he suddenly imagined Brigid playing dodgeball in her majorette uniform. . . what a turn-on . . .
Afterwards the boys sulked into the locker room, defeated. Though once the shock was over they thought it was hilarious -- beaten by the girls at dodgeball! "What a bunch of pussies we are!" was Lorenzo's reaction, echoed by others. As Rod got dressed, pulling out his band uniform and carefully starting on the buttons, he smiled -- until Sammy cracked, "You really got a load of Brigid's tits in math, Sykes!" Rod's face flushed, remembering getting caught looking over at Brigid's bits when he was at the chalkboard. "Shut up," he said, jokingly, but he really was embarrassed.
In the lunchroom he kept an eye out for her. She had suggested they eat together -- this was really turning into a me-and-Brigid day! . . . He caught her on the lunch line. She was easy to see from a distance, her bare skin next to everyone else's full-coverage uniforms or regular clothes.
They walked to her usual table, she being careful where she put her bare feet, watching for spills. They sat with the same crowd as yesterday, Debra and Virginia and Jamal, except this time Jaycee came by with his new girlfriend Nilda. Jaycee and the big-breasted soccer player had been inseparable lately.
"Dammit," Brigid said right away. Her first forkful of mashed potatoes had dripped onto her right breast, on the upper slope, about an inch over the "bit". She wiped it off with a napkin, her breast crushed under the weight of her fingers, jiggling with the napkin's back-and-forth motions.
"One nice thing about being the majorette," Nilda remarked, tossing her dreadlocks back as she ate her salad.
"Yeah . . . landing there would cause a stain on my jacket," Debra said, pointing to the "T" insignia to the right of the buttons on her wool uniform, under which she had the benefit of two more layers of covering, namely her blouse and her bra.
"Still a bother," Brigid said. "There, did I get it all?" She leaned forward to show them the top of her breast. The small reddish flush from the napkin rubbing was disappearing on her pale white skin.
Everyone nodded. They ate in silence. Rod looked sideways and tried to detect the contours of Nilda's breasts, but he couldn't. Her soccer shirt was too baggy. Not so with Brigid. He watched the motions of her breasts, the nipples capped with those tiny green thread bits, as much as he discreetly could. Everyone knew the precise size and shape of the majorette's breasts, the way they swayed and jiggled and bounced as she walked and talked. Now, they projected outward over her plate, wiggling with little tremors as she lifted her fork and chewed. Every motion of her body, no matter how slight, seemed to set off some kind of ripples through those round, firm mounds. When it came to public exposure Brigid had very experienced boobs.
He wondered how those boobs compared to Grenicia's, last year's majorette. One obvious difference was that Brigid was white. Her breasts changed color with the temperature, or with her exertions. They were a bit firmer too. Were they bigger? Grenicia's were more covered up, with those big circlets . . . Compared to the sizes of their bodies, Brigid's boobs ertainly were bigger. Grenicia was a big girl, taller, bigger hips, and a big black-girl butt. Thunderous thighs. She could probably kill someone with her baton, just from being naturally strong. Maybe Brigid could too, all that working with weights recently.
He concluded that Brigid's boobs were bigger. As she leaned over to get her milk they stuck out even more over her tiny waist, mountains over a concave valley.
He briefly glanced around. Obviously most of the guys in this big cafeteria were catching an eyeful of the school's majorette whenever they could. Well, she was used to it. . .
"Time to go?" Brigid said.
Rod looked at the clock and cursed himself for losing precious minutes. Time to get away to the band room, if they ever could. He practically inhaled his jello dessert and the two of them grabbed their bookbags and were down the hall in a minute.
They were lucky. All the practice rooms were empty. He led her into the one in the back. Each room was tiny, with room for maybe three chairs and stands. They all had windows, but at least the one in back seemed more secluded.
"Here," he said, nervously placing a sheet of music on her stand as she assembled her clarinet. He had stayed up late writing it, in his overly neat music notation. It was a passage from "You Make Me Feel Brand New", off one of his father's CDs. He had a vague idea of the clarinet's range, and knew it was written in treble clef and one note above its actual sound (both foreign ideas to a trombone player). He hoped he hadn't messed it up too bad. He also hoped his choice of a sexy tune wasn't too obvious. But Brigid really *did* make him feel "brand new".
His trombone, of course, needed no assembling except for inserting the mouthpiece. He watched her suck on her reed, moistening it, trying not to think of her sucking on his dick. He though of her bare butt on the metal folding chair, her bare feet on the dusty tile floor. As she screwed the sections of her instrument together and lined them up, he thought of that sentence in the Tunemasters handbook -- "marching in a full coverage uniform with a horn". It was odd to see the majorette with an instrument. Her uniform went with tossing a baton, not with playing a clarinet.
Now she sat straight up, feet flat on the floor, and played a couple of notes, the first a squeak. "Bleahh," she said quickly, then she played a scale. "I'm not a real good clarinetist," she said. "I'm flattered you picked me for this. You could have gotten Georgene." Georgene was the band's best clarinet player, a quiet and very pretty black girl. He'd had a crush on her back in fifth grade.
"Well I like you," he said with a smile. Here she was, thinking this was a music theory assignment she was helping him out on, when it was actually just an impulsive idea to get them together alone.
A few preliminary toots on his trombone and he was ready. "Let's go. . . One, two, three . . ."
They struggled through the first few bars and it sounded awful. Trombone and clarinet is not a good combination, he realized. They stayed together and didn't get lost, but it sounded clumsy. Brigid was laboring through the middle part. They ended up together, at least.
When they were finished Brigid leaned over to reach her little clarinet case on the floor, and got a pencil out. She then leaned forward to write some fingerings in. Her breasts, seeming the size of grapefruits in this tiny room, leaned forward too. They jiggled and swayed as she sat straight up again and played a few notes.
"I think I'm flat," she said.
Rod snorted. The whole school can see that Brigid O'Dierna is decidedly NOT flat. Realizing how crude it sounded, he quickly turned his snort into a clearing of the throat to prepare for playing. He blew out a few idle notes.
"Play a B flat," Brigid said. She was right -- she *was* flat, at least in the musical sense. Rod adjusted his tuning slide. They tried again and were in tune.
"This is a bad register on clarinet," Brigid said, and began playing that middle part, working about three keys with each note. Rod thought: Brigid is not one to make excuses. She must be right. "I'm switchin' keys too much . . . How about up an octave?" She played the section again and it sounded more fluid. "In fact the whole thing can be played up an octave. Watch." She inhaled and started from the top.
Again, she was right. He didn't realize a clarinet could go that high. Then she came to the middle section. There was a quick five-note figure that she stumbled on. "Sorry." She played it again, then again, just that figure. She licked her lips with a furrowed brow and played it again. And again.
She went on with that figure ten times, twenty times . . . She was lost in her own world, just her and that figure, trying to master it. Rod watched as her face got a little red, and then the area over her breasts started getting red too. Her toes slowly wiggled and flexed on the floor with her level of concentration. This is typical Brigid, he told himself. Practicing over and over, just like with her baton, determined to get it just right.
"Got it!" she said, exhaling. She played the figure perfectly, then smiled at him with satisfaction. "Sorry, I get caught up in these things." She leaned her bare back against the chair, relaxed the instrument between her legs, then stretched out her leg and propped her bare heel up on the chair to the side. They both watched her stretch her toes as she caught her breath.
"It's what makes you great," he said jokingly.
They smiled at each other and he looked over from her toes to her strong, bare thigh. "You killed us in gym, we were at your mercy."
"Haaa!" Brigid said with a lusty grunt, pumping her fist, causing a chain reaction in her breasts. "I am a Tunemasters majorette, invincible! No gettin' over me!"
"Must be that body conditioning."
"Oh yes -- yes yes yes," Brigid said, her green eyes brightening. She placed her clarinet upright on the floor and stood up. "You know bein' a majorette, your body is like, part of your uniform. I'm gettin' vain about it, I admit." She stretched her arm up as high as she could and extended her foot to a point, just her big toe touching the floor. "Look at these muscles."
She flexed from her hand all the way down to her spread-out little toe. As minimal as her old uniform was, it at least had that little string around her hips to hold that T-shaped bottom on, the one that had covered and partly cut into her pubic lips. Without the string crossing part of her, she looked so much more naked. And she was right about the muscles. From the little bulge along her foot, up to the hard calf, the rock-like thigh, the tight butt, the slim but powerful-looking shoulder and arm muscles . . . Brigid was more wiry and stronger-looking now. Also a bit thinner around the waist, if that was possible.
Rod nodded, showing he was impressed.
Brigid seemed to think for a moment, then said, "Feel my glutes." She poked her finger into the thickest part of her butt cheek. "C'mon, feel 'em."
Rod put his trombone aside and hesitantly shifted in his chair. He reached over with a pointed index finger and, biting his lip, poked into the muscle. It was as firm as a fully-inflated football. Bravely, he poked with all his fingers together, though just the tips, much as he wanted to cup the cheek with his hand. "This glute is in fact dangerous," he said.
As she sat down, Brigid said, "the exercise allows me to move around better too. You really should sign up."
They sat there and looked at each other.
"Brigid, I think you are wonderful."
"Me too." She blushed and laughed. "I mean I think *you're* wonderful too. Such a dear." ("Dee-ah.")
They looked at each other, not breaking their gaze. Their gaze deepened, with affection, but with growing amazement, nervousness, fear, but finally with a conviction that holding hands and jumping off a cliff was the right thing to do and they were going to do it. They were going to kiss.
Their heads moved a little closer. Then a little more. Brigid started to move her hand up off her bare thigh --
KNOCK KNOCK! The door pushed open. Rod and Brigid jolted in their chairs.
It was Ms. Kleinfelter, of the Band Committee, an oldish lady with cat's eye glasses on a chain over her gray business-like jacket.
"Hello, Miss O'Dierna, hi young man," she said in her stuffy old voice to Rod. "Sorry to interrupt your practicing, but a, uh, situation has come up as to the majorette's uniform. If you don't mind," she said, looking at Rod, "we have to speak with the majorette here."
"No that's O.K.," Brigid said, looking at Rod. "He's a good friend of mine."
"This conversation is personal to the Tunemasters majorette," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"No, he's good," Brigid said. She gave a puzzled but meaningful look at Rod. Whatever this was, it obviously had something to do with that business in the principal's office.
"Over here, Jens," Ms. Kleinfelter said, calling down the hall.
An even older man stood in the doorway, hunched in a tweedy jacket and rumpled clothes and thick-soled work shoes.
"This is Mr. Charlton, the Vice President of the Board of Education."
Brigid and Rod both stood up out of respect, and shook his hand.
"The majorette, obviously," Mr. Charlton said, looking Brigid up and down. He looked at Rod. "You can sit down, young man," he said, with forced geniality.
The tiny room got even more crowded with the appearance of a thin, secretive-looking man meticulously dressed in a three-piece suit.
"And this is the school system's attorney, Henry Cross," Ms. Kleinfelter said. Mr. Cross gave a barely perceptible nod.
Ms. Kleinfelter was a bit nervous for some reason. "Miss O'Dierna, sorry for the, uh, intrusion, but I just wanted to show these men your uniform, the mechanics of it, to make sure that it, uh, complies with . . .ordinances. . ."
Jens Charlton, the Board V.P., shuffled forward to stand in front of Brigid. Though bent over, he was still a good deal taller than her. The remains of his gray hair, on his temples and in his mustache, contrasted the bald black scalp shining in the overhead light. "Sorry to bother you miss," he said, looking at Brigid's face with his very thick glasses, "but . . ." Hunched over, hands in the pockets of his jacket, he looked her up and down. "Now that we've got you going around in practically nothing, our lawyer Mr. Ross here -- "
"Cross," the lawyer guy said.
"-- Right, Mr. Cross is going to tell us if this 'nothing' is legal."
"It's a little cramped in here," Henry Cross said. "And Dr. Brophy is yet to arrive. May I suggest the room next door?"
"It's called the 'big instrument room'," Ms. Kleinfelter said, "for obvious reasons."
"Ms. O'Dierna," Ms. Kleinfelter said, "if you don't mind, this will only be a few minutes while we discuss your uniform. Let me say I think it looks very good on you."
"Thanks," Brigid said, blushing. A few moments ago she had been pumping her arms like some super woman, proud of her muscles. Now in the presence of three grownups she was shy and deferential. But as she looked down she straightened up, her breasts out, hips straight, toes pointed, proud of the bits and the wisp and her meticulously painted fingernails and toenails.
"Mr. Sykes, if you don't mind," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"No, he's my friend," Brigid said. "I want him around."
The three grownups looked at each other. Finally Henry Cross said, "She is within her rights. In fact it might not be a bad idea."
Rod and Brigid looked at each other. She smiled at him, her green eyes twinkling, and he smiled back.
The "big instrument room" was actually not much bigger than the instruments kept there. A row of lockers on one side held the trombones, and the bass trombones that Lorenzo and Jaycee played in concerts. To the right were the big lockers for the bass drum and the other drums, then one of the two sousaphone chairs. The band had only one sousaphone player this year, and it was the other chair that was out in the band room, ready for use. To the other side was the big cross-bar frame, extending almost to the ceiling, that held the bells and triangle, and also some empty hooks hanging from above. It too was hardly ever used. Finally, the cymbal locker. All this clutter left not much floor in the middle. At least it was more space than in that tiny practice room.
Brigid followed the others obediently, looking at the dusty, cold tile floor as her bare painted toes followed Ms. Kleinfelter's heels, Mr. Charlton's rubber-soled shoes and Henry Cross's wingtips. In his marching boots Rod brought up the rear, looking closely at Brigid's bare rear.
When they were all standing in the hallway of the big instrument room, Ms. Kleinfelter, pride showing through her nervousness, said, "This, gentlemen, is the style of the new majorette uniform, to be worn in all future parades."
They had arranged themselves in a semi-circle and Brigid stood before them, blushing but obviously complimented, feeling -- pretty? "And -- and this is the uniform the rest of the band wears," Brigid said, turning to Rod, not wanting to leave him out. "Very nice, don't you think?"
"Yes, yes," they said, looking at Rod briefly. "It's full wool on the outside, the shirt underneath is cotton," Ms. Kleinfelter said. "Note the ruffles," she added, a little hurriedly as if for the sake of completeness. "It takes about five yards of fabric, but it's worth it." Rod, surprised to be pointed out, stood up straight. Brigid beamed at him.
They quickly turned their attention back to the majorette. "Turn to and fro, dear," the old woman said. "As you can see, the new style uniform allows maximum freedom of movement for the majorette's baton moves, which are part of the band's reputation and which are very distinguished. The majorette leads her fellow Tunemasters, of course, and is an asset to the band. She is the first thing the crowd sees and a first impression is very important. Mr. Watson could talk a lot more about that, but he is currently teaching a class.
"Ms. O'Dierna, you might know, is very accomplished at what she does. I'd ask her to demonstrate with her baton but she can't do any throws in this little room."
Brigid hesitated and then said, "Actually I can, not throws but . . . some other things."
"Well maybe not now, dear," Ms. Kleinfelter said, with a grandmotherly laugh. "The point of this little meeting is to -- "
"I think Dr. Brophy's here," Henry Cross said.
"Hello - o - o," came a booming voice from past the practice rooms. "Over here," said the lawyer. Now entered a large, balding man with a big mustache, wearing a three-piece suit, like Henry Cross's, though several sizes bigger and a little rumpled, as if he had just played soccer in it. He had toted a big, black, box-like suitcase, like an overgrown attache case.
"Dr. Bernie Brophy," he said, giving a vigorous and bone-crushing handshake to each of them. He briefly glanced down as he shook Brigid's hand. "Hello Miss." Her breasts jiggled as he seemed to shake her whole body.
"'Doctor'?" Mr. Charlton said as he looked up at him through his thick glasses. "What's he here for?"
"You will see in a moment," Henry Cross explained. "Dr. Brophy specializes in sports medicine. He is a physiatrist."
"As I said, you'll see."
Dr. Brophy put his suitcase down and now there were five people, Rod included, looking at Brigid.
"The first modification was to the the top of the uniform," Ms. Kleinfelter said. "As you can see, we did away with the circlets," she said, her finger pointing at one of Brigid's nipples, then the other. Brigid stuck her breasts out helpfully. "The old circlets were either uncomfortable to put on, being attached with clips" -- Rod detected the slightest wince from Brigid, remembering those horrible old "bulldog" clips from last fall -- "or not very secure, with the grommet method. The T's didn't work out very well either."
Rod remembered those big plastic "T" things, attached to Brigid's nipples. He remembered hitting his head just before that ski resort parade, and having that dream about the T's getting twisted and yanked off poor Brigid. The actual parade wasn't too bad, except for the intense cold.
"So we developed the braided thread 'bits'." Ms. Kleinfelter's fingers came very close to Brigid's nipples now as she pointed. Brigid looked down at them as did everyone else. "This is basically simple sewing thread, mercerized, though the uniform here is not so much about the material as to how it's put on."
"So she braids it on?" Mr. Charlton said, leaning closer, trying to bend down, adjusting his glasses. "I'm sorry, but it's hard for me to see . . ."
Brigid stepped toward him. She wasn't a short girl but the old man's eyes were still a good deal above her. She lifted her breasts up closer to his eyes. Not that they sagged -- Brigid's breasts stuck straight out. A paper clip placed under one of them would have fallen unhindered to the floor. But they were big enough and stood away enough from her body so that she could push them up a couple of inches.
Henry Cross turned on the overhead lights, never used except at night, when the band had a concert. The lights were quite bright.
Mr. Charlton bent forward as much as he could to see the nipples that Brigid presented to him. "Oh I see," he said. The green weaving capping the ends of Brigid's nipples twinkled in the bright light. For the first time Rod noticed that the thread was shiny. The effect was lovely -- that was the only word for it. It kind of reminded him of the electromagnet wiring from science class yesterday, only green instead of copper-colored. "Quite a piece of work here," the old man contined. "You say braided?"
"Yes, I instructed Miss O'Dierna on it. Quite simple, really."
"Could you demonstrate?" Henry Cross said. This puzzled Rod. What did he mean by that?
"I have a sample," Ms. Kleinfelter said, reaching through her pockets. At first she was unable to find anything but then she brought out a tiny envelope, the kind that would hold a padlock key. She grabbed inside with her fingernail and pulled out a thread about three inches long. "Oops." She had dropped it. Rod bent down to help her look for it. The tiles were a little greenish so it wasn't easy, but he finally found it next to his boot. Glad to be helpful, he held it up between his thumb and forefinger.
"Give it to Miss O'Dierna."
Brigid held it up for everyone to see. Rod thought: this slender three-inch thread is half of Brigid's entire top. . .
"Perhaps you can braid it for us," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
Brigid looked around uncertainly. "How about on Rod's finger?"
Ms. Kleinfelter was going to use her own finger but thought this was just as good an idea. "Sure. Use the pinky."
Rod held out his pinky, surprised to be taking such an active part. He thrilled a little as Brigid's fingers held his, as she looped the thread around his pinky and began braiding. She crossed the thread once, twice, but then uncrossed one, confused. "Um . . . it's at the wrong angle. I'm used to doin' this on . . . me. Sorry."
Brigid thought for a moment, as everyone stood there uncertainly. Finally she said, "Rod, get behind me, stick your hand under my arm." Rod soon found himself close up to Brigid's bare back and shoulders. He looked down below at the rest of her. He had seen her from the rear all year in parades, with that string around her hips, and going down her butt. She seemed so naked with it gone. . . He dared not touch his body against hers, close as it was, for fear that she would feel the hard-on fortunately hidden by his thick wool pants.
Rod couldn't see what was going on up front, but could feel the thread again being woven around the tip of his pinky as Brigid's strong left arm held his hand close to her. He exhaled. How he wished she would hug him with those lithe bare arms!
"No, this is too big," Brigid said. Again she undid the weaving around Rod's pinky.
"Here," Ms. Kleinfelter said suddenly, bringing out a pencil. "Hold this, Mr. Sykes. The eraser can simulate the majorette's nipple." The pencil was placed in Rod's hand and now Brigid could do her weaving magic in earnest. Rod looked down at Brigid's bare toes flexing on the floor, echoing her mental exertions, and tried to detect the rebounding of her movements in the slight vibrations of her butt cheeks, so white and firm. The left one tremored, ever so slightly.
"There," she said. Her arm released Rod's hand. She held up the pencil eraser for all to see.
"Remarkable!" Mr. Charlton said, nodding his old bald head. "So fast!" Brigid smiled, pleased and also a little relieved.
"It's a crochet pattern, basically," said Ms. Kleinfelter.
"How does it come off?"
Out of the tiny envelope Ms. Kleinfelter fished out a little tweezer. Brigid carefully poked it into the side of the eraser, wiggled it a certain way, and the braiding came unraveled with a tug. In a moment it was once again a three-inch length of thread, dangling from the tweezer for all to see. Ms. Kleinfelter put it back into the envelope.
"Remarkable. . . So this . . . free-standing . . . 'top' . . . is the way to go?"
"Yes," Dr. Brophy said in his loud voice. "With a strapped on top there is the danger of what's called 'runner's nipple', caused by friction with clothing, chafing the breasts. A problem when the moving around is as vigorous as with the Tunemasters majorette." Rod looked back at the door. This man's voice was so loud he was sure it could be heard out in the hall. "So this braided bit is probably the most comfortable alternative."
"Is that true?" Mr. Charlton said, looking up at Brigid's face.
"Well, they were a little funny at first, but after a while I didn't even feel them," she said, looking down at the bits.
Mr. Charlton looked down again. "So you say, Mr. Cross, that these are compliant?"
"Yes," Henry Cross said. "The local law refers to 'entirely exposed', and in another place it says, 'nipples'. Reading these together, we have a good faith argument that so long as the nipples are not entirely exposed, the uniform is compliant."
Mr. Charlton, and indeed all of them, looked at Brigid's bits appraisingly. Then he said, "Are they secure? They're not going to fall off, are they?"
"No," Ms. Kleinfelter said. She nodded at Brigid. Brigid then took a breath and violently shook her breasts from side to side. Then she took another breath and did it again. She looked down as her boobs came to rest. The bits were still on.
"There . . . is the matter of . . . weather," Henry Cross said, looking at the doctor. "Isn't it true that those . . . parts . . . change with conditions?"
"Oh yes." Bernie Brophy bent down to his attache case, which for him was a long way down. "It is room temperature and dry here, of course. But the human body . . . uh, where is it? Oh here . . . The human body undergoes changes with moisture and temperature, particularly the latter. . .and this is especially true of female nipples . . ."
As he stood up he presented a little battery-operated blow dryer. He turned it on, the sound echoing through the small room. Brophy's voice was even louder to be heard over it. "I'll give it a minute to heat up . . . to simulate a very hot day . . .
"Here," he said, handing it to Brigid. "Put it on your bits for thirty seconds. I'll let you know when time's up."
Brigid handled the dryer uncertainly. Then she aimed it one bit, then the other. She looked up at Brophy who nodded that she was doing it right.
They all stood there as Brigid's bits, and more importantly the nipples they only partly hid, were blasted with hot air. "Nipples expand with heat," Brophy practially shouted over the noise. "Let's see."
Rod thought back at that cold, rainy football season, then the winter parades. When was Brigid ever treated to a hot day? Maybe at the end of the year, the big Memorial Day parade. . . God, that blower was hot as blazes!! He could feel the heat even from where he was. Brigid, directly under its blast, started sweating as the seconds ticked by slowly. She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. Her nips must feel on fire!
Finally Bernie Brophy nodded and Brigid thankfully turned the little dryer off and handed it back to him. Her entire chest was flushed and red, as was her face. It was as if she had been standing in front of an oven. They all looked down at her nipples, engorged and reddish, the bits seemingly about to pop off. With a nod from Ms. Kleinfelter the majorette shook her reddened breasts again. The bits stayed on!
"And now," Bernie Brophy said, his voice only a little softer now that the dryer was gone, "we will see how the uniform stands up to rain and cold."
"Yes," Ms. Kleinfelter said. "Unfortunately a majorette has to march through rain and wind. Even sleet and snow, this year." "So I heard," Mr. Charlton said. "I don't know how you stand it, Beverly."
"I keep moving," Brigid said. Her stock response. Delivered with strength and pride, Rod now realized, remembering the photo in her living room of her leading the band in the White Mountain Winter Parade.
"Her name's Brigid," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"Oh yes . . . right," Mr. Charlton said, taking his glasses off and wiping them. "So you've marched in some frigid parades. Frigid Brigid, you might say, hee hee . . ."
Everyone rolled their eyes, including Brigid. Even Henry Cross betrayed a slight eye-flick upward.
When the old Board V.P. had put his glasses back on, Bernie Brophy stood up from his attache case with a thermos that turned out to be full of ice cubes.)
Dr. Bernie Brophy, equipped for everything, had brought a salad tong, now holding up an ice cube. "Applying this to the nipples will simulate the effects of rain on a cold day. I understand there were many such days this past year."
Brigid was taken aback by this. As she was given the tong she exchanged glances with Rod. "Go ahead and rub it over the bits, Miss, and also around the areolas."
"The -- ?"
"The pink circles around your nipples."
Well of course Brigid knew what areolas were, but she had only read the word, and never heard it pronounced. Neither had Rod.
As they watched, the majorette gingerly touched the ice cube to the "bit" capping her left nipple. She inhaled, then exhaled, her concave tummy betraying every nuance of the motions of her diaphragm deep within. Now the cube went past the bit, and circled the exposed part of the nipple. Now it touched the areola, the pink circle that was a little more than an inch across. Everyone watched intently. The frost started condensing on the outside of the cube and now it glided over the areola on a coat of water, starting to melt.
Rod guessed it must be a relief to Brigid to feel something cold on her nipples, after that hot blow dryer. But she had to keep on and on, per instructions. She transferred the cube to the other bit and began noodling it back around the nipple, and around the surrounding pink circle. As she continued to ice her nipples she shivered a little.
Brophy pointed to her left nipple. "Notice how it is puckered and hard, not only wet but also the volume is reduced. Yet the braiding seems secure. . . Notice also the raising of the pores on the areola." He hardly needed to point that out. Brigid's pink circles were now bristling with raised bumps that looked like pimples. "Not really relevant to the uniform, but this shows the arousal of the sebaceous glands underneath the skin." The areola was also puffing out, like a cone. This caused the bit to stick out further. Her entire breast looked pointier than usual.
They looked intently as Brigid continued icing the right nipple and areola, until that breast stuck out as much as the other. She looked up at Brophy, who nodded for her to continue. Back to the left nipple. Her bare shoulders twitched as she shivered again, causing her boobs to jiggle. Drops of water now fell from the extending pink cones at the ends of her breasts, falling down to the floor, just missing her toes.
She closed her eyes and went back to the right nipple. "That would be good, Miss," Brophy said. With relief she handed the tong back to him, closed much tighter now around what was left of the ice cube.
"Now see if the bits stay on, dear," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
Brigid put her arms down to her sides and shook her breasts violently. Bits of water flung out, hitting Brophy in the face, sprinkling Mr. Charlton's glasses. Even Ms. Kleinfelter and Henry Cross got their share. The four grown-ups laughed aloud.
Brigid stood there in alarm, her breasts coming to rest, her puffed-out areolas and hardened nipples glistening with water. She wondered what she had done and was confused by the laugher. Rod looked on, just as alarmed.
But it was O.K. "Good work, Ms. O'Dierna," Ms. Kleinfelter said as the grown-ups brushed the water off their faces and clothes. Mr. Charlton wiped his glasses with a tissue from his pocket. With nearly sightless eyes he looked toward the majorette's boobs. "Well, I can't tell direct, but I bet those things stayed on, or we would've felt 'em pop out at us."
Indeed the bits had stayed on. Brigid looked down at them.
"So you see gentlemen," Ms. Kleinfelter said, reassured, extending her hand to Brigid's breasts as if introducing them, "the bits not only are comfortable and unobtrusive, but they also stay on under any possible parade condition!"
Henry Cross raised an eyebrow. In a slow, quiet voice he said, "We haven't tested all possibilties."
"What do you mean?"
The lawyer glanced briefly at Brophy and then said, "The ice cube was at the freezing point, maybe just below. But there have been occasions . . ."
"Yes," Brophy said in his loud voice. "I am told that at an engagement in Vermont recently, the temperature at parade time was 18 degrees Fahrenheit, with a wind chill of just below zero. A short parade, of course; the majorette here was in a coat until march time. But there is that period of exposure to take account of. And there were other parades that were almost as cold."
This time what he brought out of the attache case was a spray can. Rod and Brigid looked at it with widened eyes. What -- ?
"Inside this can is a dry ice emulsion."
"Dry ice?!" Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"No, don't worry, I'm not asking the majorette here to risk freezer burn, or frostbite." He aimed the can upward and gave it a quick toot. It looked like white smoke and it quickly disappeared. "By the time it leaves the can it is a lot, um, warmer than dry ice. But a few seconds of application will simulate, say, half an hour at zero wind chill. Far greater than she would ever actually endure."
This big bear of a man, heavily clothed in his three piece suit, approached the nearly naked majorette with the spray can in his hand. Rod saw Brigid's toes flex and knew she was reflexively thinking of backing away. "Now don't worry Miss, this will sting a bit, but only for a second."
Everyone held their breath as the spray can approached Brigid's left nipple. Brigid shut her eyes as if about to get a needle stuck into her arm.
The jet of white frost, actually bits of frozen carbon dioxide mixed in air, shot at the nipple and areola. Brigid's eyes popped open and her teeth clenched. The blast went on and on. It was actually only ten seconds but it stretched out like forever. The girl hyperventilated so as to endure this shock to her most sensitive area. Finally it stopped. But for Brigid the ordeal was only half over. Brophy moved the can over to the other nipple, which was in similar fashion subjected to a tiny blizzard, an icy blast of subfreezing air.
When it was over the ends of Brigid's breasts were covered in white frost. The white areas extended past her areolas, covering almost half her breasts. It looked like white spray paint. The bits were invisible; for all one could tell, Brigid had been entirely bare-breasted before being sprayed.
She looked down at her whitened boobs in what only could be described as horror.
"The whiteness will disappear in a few seconds, Miss," Brophy said. "Now see if the bits are secure."
Brigid gulped and shook again. This time it was little flecks of icy whitenss that sprayed out at the grown-ups.
Ms. Kleinfelter smiled as the whiteness melted into wetness and tiny bits of green started showing through. They had stayed on.
"Thank you, Miss, sorry for the discomfort," Brophy said, putting the spray can away. "But you've shown that the top part of the new uniform is as tough as you are."
Brigid smiled, complimented. But then she shivered and said, "I'm cold." It was so rare for her to actually say that, no matter how cold she felt in her tiny uniform. She cupped her breasts with her hands, gently rubbing and massaging her nipples and areolas, warming them back up, getting the feeling back.
They all watched her cupping her breasts, rubbing them. "Good job on the fingernails," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"Thanks," Brigid said, briefly spreading her fingers. The nail polish, black and white in even divisions, was meticulously done. As she continued to cup her breasts she looked at Rod. She looked so sexy doing that. He remembered the first time he sat down with her, in that fast food place during the Foxboro parade, how she cupped her breasts to comfort them after taking off those horrid clipped-on circlets, how she looked up at him with an amused and embarrassed smile. He was so in love with her!
"So that's that as to the uniform top," Mr. Charlton said. He peered through his glasses at Brigid's head. "What about the little crown she had?"
"Oh, the tiara," Ms. Kleinfelter said. "We just had to do away with that. It kept falling off, or almost so. What the majorette does these days is just too vigorous to keep anything on her head."
"I see . . ." Now Mr. Charlton looked down, to Brigid's cleanly shaven pubic lips, and the little sliver of green between them.
"And what about the bottom part?"
"What about the bottom part?" Jens Charlton said, his thick glasses peering down at the majorette's crotch. The rest of them, Ms. Kleinfelter, Henry Cross, Dr. Bernie Brophy, and Rod, all looked down there too. Brigid herself looked down at her smoothy-shaven pubic lips, and the green sliver inserted in between.
Rod and Brigid looked at each other. Sixth period -- he had Woodworking, she had Spanish. They were both conscientious students and hated being late.
After the long bell ended, Mr. Charlton said, "Don't worry kids, we'll be done in a bit and then we'll take you to the office to get hall passes. Got to get you by Mr. Poznik." They all smiled, even a faint smile from Henry Cross.
"So what about the bottom part?" the old man said again, looking down at the lower part of the new majorette uniform.
"It's called a 'wisp'," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
Mr. Charlton rubbed his chin, and bent forward to the extent his old spine would allow. "Can't see it too good from here."
Brigid looked down and slightly parted her legs, hoping to give the Board Vice President as good as view as possible.
"I think it's very pretty," Rod said. Then he realized he had spoken out of turn. Or perhaps not. Brigid smiled at him. Then she opened her legs a little more and stuck her crotch out, happy to show off the lovely green wisp.
"Well thank you, young man," Ms. Kleinfelter said with a rare smile. From her standpoint, at least, Rod had said the right thing.
"Still hard to see," Mr. Charlton said. "I have to report to the Board, you know."
They stood around, trying to think of what to do. Then Bernie Brophy, his large bulk turning to the sousaphone chair, said loudly, "Why doesn't she get up on that, brace herself with the instrument?"
It was a wide metal chair with clipped uprights to support the big, round, white sousaphone, so that you could just slip in from the side and play that thing, without having to hold it up. Last year, with Brad about to graduate, Sarge had tried to get Rod to switch from trombone. It was too exhausting. That thing took a lot of wind. And the low notes sounded like farting, which made him giggle. So now they only used the one sousaphone out in the band room, played by Myron, who was built like a tank and was strong enough to march with it.
Red was glad he hadn't switched. As a sousaphone player, he would've spent the year marching in the back row, never enjoying the close-up view of Brigid.
The majorette in her new uniform looked over at the chair uncertainly. "Go ahead," Bernie Brophy said, "if you could just climb up on it and face us, it will bring your uniform bottom up to . . . uh . . . eye level."
Should she climb up and turn around? Or skittle up backward? Brigid decided on the second course. She faced her observers and, looking to her sides, braced her toes on one side of the seat, then the other. She reached back and grabbed the big round bell of the sousaphone with one hand, then the other, as her all-but-bare breasts swayed and bounced. Finally she placed each foot onto an arm, her toes curling over the sides. Her butt rested uncomfortably against the bottom of the bell. Her knees were bent and it was an awkward position. But it brought her crotch up to their faces and, with her thighs parted, they could see the green wisp to full advantage.
The grown-ups gathered around, Mr. Charlton in the middle, their heads leaning as close as possible without bumping into each other. Rod stood on one side. He looked up at Brigid's face, high above, and gave a reassuring smile. Brigid's smile was a little less confident, maybe because of her precarious perch. The extended posture made her tummy concave, and it breathed in and out, a sign of the stress on her muscles. Of course, Brigid was in great shape and could deal with it.
Ms. Kleinfelter pointed to the smoothness of the girl's vaginal lips, Brigid's clear white skin almost gleaming in the bright overhead light, without a trace of any razor rash. "Notice the fine job Miss O'Dierna did with depilation. Along with the nails, the majorette's efforts at getting ready for the march must be meticulous." Ms. Kleinfelter also pointed to the perfectly done polish on Brigid's toes, which were spread out over the end of the arm of the chair.
"Yes, I see that," Mr. Charlton said, adjusting his glasses. "It seems risky, a razor down there."
"Since 1998 the use of a razor has been necessary. But done correctly there is no hazard. And the finishing is easy also, right?"
"I use . . . cream," Brigid said, looking briefly behind her to adjust her grip on the sousaphone bell. The effect was to cause her chest to stick out. Rod glanced at the momentary jiggle and the bits on her nipples. It was interesting to see them from this angle, above his head. He also noticed how round and firm Brigid's breasts were. The size of oranges, more or less. The roundness of their bottoms sloped into her chest, above the visible contours of her ribs, with no hint of sag.
Sixth period began. They could hear someone moving into one of the practice rooms. Rod remembered that his bookbag and instrument, and Brigid's, were in one of them. No, these kids were using one of the other practice rooms. From the sound of voices he could hear it was Lynn McCabe, and either Thalia or Danica, flute players. They would have no reason to come into the big instrument room.
"I can also see the effects of the body conditioning class," Ms. Kleinfelter said. She was right about that. Brigid's strained, spread out posture emphasized the definition of her inner thigh muscles, her firm calves. Up above, her triceps and biceps were well-defined in the harsh light.
No, it was Danica, not Thalia. As the four of them appreciated Brigid's muscles they could also hear Danica and Lynn begin chatting.
"I oversee that class," Dr. Brophy said loudly, his voice echoing off the walls. "Ms. Janowski says Miss O'Dierna is one of her most dedicated students. She's always trying to lift more weight than the week before." He pointed to Brigid's opened thighs. "Notice the adductor muscles. She is very strong for someone her size. I'll bet she could bench press 200 pounds."
Brigid smiled, with a little twinkle of the eye, which told everyone that he was right about that.
Danica and Lynn began an out-of-tune scale, low notes that sounded pretty crappy.
"Go ahead, push me," Bernie Brophy said playfully. "Push me with your foot, right here." He opened his jacket and pointed to the vest underneath. Covering his shirt, undershirt, and of course he also wore pants, underpants, shoes and socks.
Brigid, clad only in a few strands of thread, smiled and braced one foot flat onto the chair seat. She stretched the other out and pressed it against Dr. Brophy's vest. He leaned forward. Brigid marshaled her thigh muscles and pressed back against the vest. Her toes braced and spread out among the buttons.
He leaned forward more, only to be met with more resistance. "See?" he said to Mr. Charlton, Ms. Kleinfelter, and Rod. And also to Henry Cross. "I weigh 260. This is a strong girl!"
He stood back up and brushed off his vest, and closed his jacket. It was a little tight. "I should weigh *less*," he said with a loud guffaw. "Maybe *I* should start taking that class."
They all laughed. And now Mr. Charlton said, "Now about that bottom part."
Through the closed door they could hear Danica and Lynn began ascending scales up to the top register, sounding pretty painful.
Brigid crept back up into her former posture, reaching back with her hands, her bottom sitting against the sousaphone bell, her knees bent and her thighs splayed, her toes curled around the arms of the chair.
"How is that . . . wisp . . . fastened?" the old man said.
Ms. Kleinfelter said, "Well it is hard to see, but it begins by braiding around the . . . uh . . . feminine anatomy, the little part that sticks out. The braiding pattern is different than on the bits because the purpose is to pull, rather than grab."
Now, the sounds of flutes tooting some high arpeggios. As they warmed up the girls sounded a little better.
Brigid looked down at her crotch. "I loop the thread once, then pull a little, then two cross-braids, and after that the rest is easy."
"I'm unclear on this," Mr. Charlton said. "What do you loop around?"
"My . . . clitoris," Brigid said, blushing. She mispronounced it, so that it rhymed with "Delores".
Behind the door, Rod heard Sammy's voice. He had busted in on the flute practice and was joking around with Danica.
"Oh . . ."
"Yes, it has to be drawn out first," Ms. Kleinfelter added.
Sammy was joking about the football uniform he almost decided to wear. This being Uniform Day, the three of them, Danica and Lynn and Sammy, were in their full-coverage wool uniforms now, just like Rod was.
Brigid squinted a little. "It feels funny at first, me bein' tugged down . . ."
"But it is very secure," Ms. Kleinfelter said.
"Well that's one thing, make sure it doesn't fall off in a parade, in front of the mayor and the crowd and the TV and whatnot," Mr. Charlton said. "Strange, but . . . creative."
"Thank you," Ms. Kleinfelter said, complimented.
"Yes, you deserve a lot of credit for your uniform designs," Mr. Charlton said. "Everyone says that."
Back in the practice room, Danica said to Sammy, "Your buttons are crooked."
Sammy said, "There's so damn many of them, it takes me f**kin' half an hour . . ." Oh boy, that must be embarrassing, Rod thought. He and Brigid exchanged quick glances. This old guy is on the Board of Education and he's overhearing students using profanity.
Mr. Charlton, looking down at the wisp and then up at the bits, seemed not to hear, or maybe pretended not to.
Ms. Kleinfelter jumped in quickly: "The important thing is to present an attractive appearance, while affording a minimum of interference with the majorette's moves. . . This new uniform has about one-tenth the coverage of the previous one. In total, about a third of a square inch."
"Your pants are crooked too," Lynn said, evidently to Sammy. Now they heard both girls giggling, then laughing out loud.
Rod's mind wondered what was going on back there, but then his mind spun into those calculations again. One-third of a square inch! 3000 square inches of skin . . . 1/3 of a square inch . . . the rest of the band had 96% coverage . . . As the grown-ups contemplated the wisp in Brigid's crotch, he did the math: One-hundredth of one percent of Brigid's body is covered. Marching down the street, each of the rest of the band members was wearing 9,600 times as much as the majorette was.
He looked down at the fingernail on his pinky. Brigid has less coverage on her entire body than the area of that little fingernail. Yet she thought of herself as fully turned out, and was proud to wear that one-third of a square inch of a uniform.
Mr. Charlton said, "The other question is, is it compliant? It looks like just one strand down here." He pointed to the sliver of green between Brigid's pubic lips.
"Well your blouse is not even with your jacket," Sammy shot back. More giggling.
Henry Cross said, "True, there is just one strand of thread. The ordinance says only that the genitals must be covered. But notice how, with a female this age, the labia majora are continuous with the surrounding skin. There is no legally defensible way to distinguish. Further, the clitoris is braided, and the single thread has utility in covering the unseen parts. Therefore in my opinion it is compliant."
"Nothing to see, in other words."
"Yes, that's essentially it."
Mr. Charlton stood back, wrinkling his chin. "I am impressed. I think the Board will be too."
Ms. Kleinfelter and Henry Cross exchanged little smiles. Rod smiled proudly up at Brigid. She must have been relieved, because she broke out into a wide smile, her teeth shining in the light, her green eyes squinting.
They stood there, looking at Brigid's lower lips and the single thread between them. Her toes readjusted on the chair.
"It's supposed to be nice tomorrow," Lynn said.
"Finally, a parade that's not -- " It was hard to hear what Danica was saying but it sounded like the last word was "freezing".
"No, we'll be sweating our nuts off in these things instead," Sammy said.
"Speak for yourself!" Danica said. More giggling. Not much practicing was going on in that practice room.
Brigid's bare pubic lips, legally covered with the single thread, shone in the light for the benefit of the grown-ups.
Then Mr. Charlton said, "Of course, there's one more . . . area . . . to concern with."
"Yes," Ms. Kleinfelter said. "Uhhh. . ."
"Ms. O'Dierna," Bernie Brophy said, "can you turn yourself around on that chair?"
End of Part 3