Perfect Streak Read online

  The gyrating came to an abrupt halt, and a wave of fear could be sensed rippling through the crowd, bringing it to near silence in less than five seconds. Only Dr. Z could overpower a mob with three short words. Only she could cut through the tightly packed student body that had worked with diligence to muscle out any of the other faculty members who tried to come to the nude girls’ rescue.

  The boys lowered Hildy and Dara to the floor. Both girls were unsteady on their feet and needed to hold onto each other just to keep from falling over.

  “My office!” Dr. Z growled at the two crying, nude girls shaking before her. “Now!”

  The girls were out of options. Shamefully—and, at this point, purposelessly—they both placed arms and hands over their tits and pussies and followed the provost to her office while parting cheers echoed from their randy classmates.

  * * * *

  Inside Dr. Z’s office, Cindy was already there, still nude and hunched over on a long, wooden bench that served as the waiting place for people who came to visit the provost. She'd been captured by the hefty biology professor, Dr. Fine, who had been coming from the other direction to retrieve something from her classroom and, instead, ran into the hysterical streaker in the corridor. Cindy was collared by the large faculty member, stripped of her paper bag mask, and dragged to Dr. Z’s office, where just outside a crowd of hopeful classmates was already gathering gathered and readying readied photographic equipment.

  The moment Cindy saw the crowd, she screamed and tried to bolt in the other direction. Dr. Fine, known as a no-nonsense woman, wasn’t about to let her captive escape the wrath of justice. She clutched at the nude student, attempting to grab hold of any part of the girl’s anatomy that afforded itself. Cindy’s unwillingness to follow the professor turned into a struggle, which then turned into a scuffle. Were it not for Dr. Fine’s large frame, the adrenaline coursing through Cindy’s veins at that moment likely would have allowed her to escape. As it was, the professor had great difficulty moving Cindy the last forty feet to the provost’s office.

  “Can you give me a hand?!” Dr. Fine called out in desperation to another female faculty member whom she saw in the vicinity.

  Several nearby students took the biology professor’s plea as an open invitation, and they attached themselves to the naked girl’s body. After several moments of tugging, shoving, and—for the most part—groping, Cindy was deposited into the provost’s office where the then most pressing concern of the provost turned to getting all the “helper” students back out of the office. Only Dr. Z’s presence was able to bring about that result, and finally Cindy was left to herself on the wooden bench to await whatever punishment was to come.

  When Dara and Hildy were ushered into the room and told to have a seat next to their “partner in crime,” the three of them resembled a picture of nude agony.

  Sitting there as trio, Cindy’s thoughts turned to their missing partner.

  “What happened to Susan?” Cindy whispered to Hildy.

  “Got away, I guess,” Hildy huffed. “That bitch!”

  IV Room 118

  The moment she felt the warm sunshine hit her bare skin, Susan began to doubt the wisdom of what she'd diddone. Having seen the exit right in front of her as she ran down the corridor, she bolted outdoors. It wasn’t to get to her car—which was locked and, even if she could break into it, she had no idea how to hotwire it. Rather, it was to take a desperate gamble that she could get to her clothes by climbing through a window into Ms. Pantaget’s classroom. The room was on the first floor, and it had windows that ran the full length of it. All she had to do was find one that was unlocked. The problem was that Ms. Pantaget’s room faced out onto busy Harrison Avenue. There was never a time of the day when some vehicle wasn’t driving by, and the unobstructed view from street to school building meant Susan’s naked outdoor dash would be on full display to any and all passersby.

  Once outside the door, there was no place to hide. She was stood nude in plain sight, and the cars were rollinged by. The thought that flashed through her mind was that she might take the paper bag off her head and tear it into a sort of tiny makeshift garment she could at least hold against the front of her tits and maybe also her pussy. It would take up valuable time and offer only the slightest assistance toward modesty. But it would also mean revealing her face and her identity to anyone who saw her. It would take just one fellow student to happen upon her without the bag over her head, and she’d be up the creek. Besides that, there would be no way to fasten the bag in place, and she’d have to let go of it to open and climb through a window. Better, she concluded, to forgo modesty in favor of anonymity. So she darted across the small lawn that was the buffer between the street’s sidewalk and the building.

  Honking began almost instantly. People spied her already, and she wasn’t even halfway to the room’s windows.

  “Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” she heard herself panting. Even perv Susan had never before done anything as scandalous as public nudity on the streets. It wasn’t just embarrassing—it was dangerous. What would she do if someone stopped his car and got out to chase after her? She had no idea. “Just keep running!” she told herself, trying to ignore the sounds of the horns and screeching brakes.

  Susan reached the nearest window of the art classroom. Her clothes were just on the other side of the pane. All she had to do was get it open. She felt for the edge of the window frame and gave a tug. It was locked. Shit! She moved to the next window. Also locked. She went down the row of windows, trying each in the desperate hope that one would open and put a merciful end to her nude adventure. But every window was locked down tight. The gamble hadn’t worked, and now she was not only naked, but also outside where her own personal nudie show had become a spectacle for the public at large.

  If it was possible for things to get any worse, they did when a group of stoners, who were'd been hiding out in the park adjacent to Valefour, peeked out from their hiding place. They must' have heard the car horns and were alerted to the fact that something was going on. They had to have spotted the naked girl running around outside their school. It would be hard to miss her. For the first time since the stoners discovered marijuana, their interest in smoking weed seemed outmatched by something else. Five boys and three girls abandoned the solitude of a wooded area in favor of chasing down the bare-ass girl on the school lawn. Susan saw the boys and girls coming and panicked. What to do? Where to go? She couldn’t go back to the door she'd used to exit the school. That would mean having to run in the very direction of the oncoming stoners. Turning in the other direction would mean running down the street with no place to duck for cover. Just to get back into the school, she’d have to run to the next open door, which was all the way at the end of the block and around the corner. It would mean at least a seventy-five-yard jog down a busy street in the nude.

  The stoners were closing in. It was too late to go back to the first door. A streak down Harrison Avenue was the lone alternative. Susan took off down the sidewalk.

  Her sudden movement, coupled with a gust of wind that came up from out of nowhere, pushed a burst of air under the folds of Susan’s paper bag. Without warning, the bag was lifted off her head. She whirled around to see the bag tumbling away behind her. There wasn’t time to reverse course to try to retrieve it. Susan would just have to keep going without the bag. She was now a non-anonymous streaker on a crowded public street, and she felt as though she was just going towould die when she saw there were people ahead who' had stopped their cars to take out their cameras and cell phones.

  “I’m gonna kill you, Hildy!” Susan bellowed as she dashed naked down the street.

  Squatting in front of her was a man focusing a camera. He was getting a full frontal view that she could tell would allow for lots of shots of flopping tits and exposed hairy cunt. The thought of it angered Susan, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. When she was within about ten feet, she zigzagged to the left to pass the man, who then spun a
round to take shots of her bare ass running away. Susan spit the word “Asshole!” at the man as he snapped pictures of her backside. Then, recognizing the irony of that exclamation—she was, after all, now showing him her own asshole—she grunted, “Of course!”

  She turned the corner and saw a janitor, Mr. Pressley, having a smoke just outside the door that was her intended destination. Mr. Pressley was an older man with a gruff disposition. Without fully understanding why, most of the students were afraid of him, and Susan was no exception. His presence in her path caused her to stop short. It was an ill conceived decision. A moment later, the stoners caught up with her. Prodding hands were all over her body.

  “I got a tit!” was the boast of one of the boys.

  “I got her ass!”

  “I’m feelin’ pussy!”

  “Whoa! That’s hairy!”

  Overwhelmed and tuckered out from the sprint, Susan had neither the strength nor the comprehensive reasoning to figure out how to get herself out of this predicament. Before she had a chance to do anything about it, she was being felt up by a group of horny boys, as well as some drug addled girls.

  “My turn! My turn!” was repeated over and over as elbows muscled in from the back of the crowd and hands reached toward the prize at the center.

  “Hey, I got some pussy hair!” was the proud announcement of one of the boys who held up two dark pubes that had come loose within his fingers.

  The others apparently viewed this as a precious souvenir.

  “I want some!” demanded another boy as he dove his fingers toward the dark furry triangle between Susan’s legs.

  “Me, too!”

  “Yeah, gimme some pussy hair!”

  Hands darted toward her crotch.

  “Yaaaaaaaaaauuugh!” Susan yelled as she tried to pull back her unguarded beaver from the predators who'd marked it as their prey.

  “Cmon! Give us some pussy hair!” was the menacing, insistent cry of one boy. “You’ve got plenty!”

  Susan wasn’t anxious to have her pubes ripped out by the roots. She tried to fight her way with swinging fists. However, the stoners far outnumbered her, and they had the advantage of being better rested than their nude prey, who had now been on a continuous run ever since leaving the stage of the Assembly Hall. In seconds, two boys had her bare ass pinned to the ground. They pried her legs open, and a couple of girls sat on each leg to keep her from moving. Then came the big harvest.

  One after another, stoners grabbed clumps of her pussy hairs and pulled with all their might. If they grabbed too many hairs, all that would happen is it would stretch her skin under the strain of the pull. But, if they clutched a judiciously sparse amount at one time, the hairs would give way and pop out.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” yelped Susan as she felt her crotch being denuded of its curly, brown carpet.

  “I’ve got three!”

  “I’ve got five!”

  “I’m goin’ in for more!”

  It was a pussy hair plucking free-for all. Every boy and girl was helpinged himself or herself to all the pubes he or she could gather. And soon the competitions began.

  “Mine’s longer than yours!”

  “Mine’s curlier than yours!”

  “Mine came right outta her pussy lips!”

  “Well, I’m gonna get me some pussy lip pubes!”

  The repetition of pain from the ongoing plucking was driving Susan crazy—not to mention the humiliation that came from thinking to herself that these stoners considered her patch their very own personal garden.

  “Hey!—get back! Get back!” a deep voice interrupted with menace. “I said get away from her, ya little pukes!”

  It was Mr. Pressley pushed his way into the crowd. The stoners seemed to respect what for them represented a male authority figure, and they moved back a few steps.

  “Where are her clothes?” demanded the janitor. “Well? Where are they?”

  “She was naked when we found her,” one girl offered.

  “Get the hell outta here!” barked the man, “Ya hear me?!”

  Obviously, the stoners weren’t about to challenge him as since they raced off in the direction of the park. Mr. Pressley stared down at the naked girl sitting on the ground and rubbing her pained crotch.

  “I don’t suppose you can walk home that way,” he said with a dubious look.

  “My clothes are in Ms. Pantaget’s room.”

  “Well, I’m not walkin’ ya all the way over there like that. C’mon. The office is closer. Dr. Zabrinski’ll handle this.”

  * * * *

  Hearing a commotion outside, Hildy turned toward the office door just as it opened and Mr. Pressley rushed Susan inside. He did his best to use his body to block gathered students’ view of the nude girl. As a human shield, he wasn’t all that successful, but, at least, he got her into Dr. Z’s office where her three nude companions squirmed on the bench. Susan’s entrance wasn’t long after Hildy and Dara had joined Cindy. So Dr. Z hadn’t yet had a chance to do much other than close the door and instruct her secretary, Mrs. Ross, to call the police.

  “Well, how nice you could all make it to our come-as-you-are party.” The provost scowled at the four naked girls seated before her. “Where’re your clothes?”

  “Ms. Pantaget’s room,” Hildy gulped.

  A mousy girl named Vicky DiMarco poked her head in the door. “You need any help, Dr. Z?”

  Vicky was a first-class suck-up when it came to Dr. Zabrinski. She worked as a student assistant to the provost a few hours each day, mostly doing light clerical work. Hildy and her friends disliked the little brown-noser, and they often told her so to her face. Now Vicky had a ringside seat for her tormentors’ shaming, and Hildy fumed as she thought what a delicious moment this must have been for that kiss-ass bitch.

  “Victoria, take the master key and get their clothes out of Ms. Panteget’s classroom,” the provost ordered.

  “Okay” responded Vicky.

  “Be quick about it. I’m anxious to see a lot less skin around here.”

  Vicky retrieved a key from a desk drawer and hurried off toward the art classroom. She left the door wide open after she exited. That gave the crowd gathered outside the office a fine view of the four naked girls on the bench.

  Susan was the first to notice the open door. “The door!” she pleaded. The girls did their best to cover up as cameras were pointed in their direction. Dr. Z realized what was happening happened and shut the door.

  Dr. Zabrinski was a plump, austere woman with grayish hair and a perpetually hardened stare. Everyone knew she' had been dealing with student shenanigans for decades, and she had no tolerance for it.

  “And I thought streaking went out in the 80s,” she grumbled. “Someone wanna explain this to me?”

  None of the girls answered.

  “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

  Still there was silence. Eventually, Cindy eeked out a pained, “We’re sorry.”

  “Sorry,” muttered the provost as though it were the most idiotic thing she’d ever heard. “They’re sorry.”

  “Police wanna talk to ya, Dr. Zabrinski,” said Mrs. Ross, holding out the phone receiver.

  Dr. Z took the phone.

  “This is Loraine Zabrinski…. Well, we’ve got some streakers here at Valefour. Four young ladies…. Yeah, that’s right. Totally naked, right through our assembly…. Yeah, they’re all over 18. That makes ‘em adults—supposedly…. No, they’re still sittin’ here nude in my office. I just sent a girl to get their clothes…. Names are Susan McGruder, Cynthia Wicks, Dara Javitz, and Hildegard Bowlers. All students…. Oh, I imagine hundreds of ‘em, based on what I saw goin’ on. Y’know, everyone’s carryin’ a camera these days…. All four? I dunno. You’d have to ask around. I don’t know who’s got what as far as identifiable pictures go…. That legal?... Yeah, okay. I can do that…. Okay. Thanks.”

  She handed the receiver back to Mrs. Ross.

  “They’ve got a couple of cars i
n the area,” the provost told her secretary. “They’ll be here soon. Meanwhile…”

  Dr. Z glared at the four naked girls., “Stand up, nature girls.,” she ordered.

  They girls did as they were toldordered.

  “Just stay like that,” was Dr. Z’s command as she ducked into her private office. The girls looked at each other with uncertain expressions. Then, all of a sudden, there was a click. Hildy turned to see the provost with a small digital camera in her hand. Before the girls realized what had happened, Dr. Z had snapped a full-length photo of the four nude girls standing in a row. Evidence—a clear, unblurred, fully identifiable shot that could later be used to prove for the court, without doubt, the naked truth of who' had done the streaking.

  Of course, Hildy expected copies would also end up in many of the local cops’ private collections of nude arrestees’ photos. Just a perk of the job for the boys in blue, she supposed.

  “We’ll call that Exhibit A,” the provost quipped without humor.

  Almost as a reflex, the girls spun around, trying not to face the camera. Presented with the sight of four naked asses, Dr. Z shrugged and took a second shot.

  “Okay, we’ll call that one Exhibit B,” she said with an un-amused expression.

  “Actually, it probably ought to be the other way around,” smirked Mrs. Ross.

  “Huh?”

  “‘A’ for ‘Asses’; ‘B’ for ‘Boobs.’”

  The provost huffed at Mrs. Ross’s joke. Dr. Z was never anything other than all business.

  “Put a copy of each on disk for the police to take as evidence of who did the streak,” instructed Dr. Z as she handed the camera to her secretary. “They say they need that. If they want any more, they can ask the students.”

  “Or get ‘em off the Internet,” Mrs. Ross added. “I can’t imagine they’re not already there.”

  Vicky returned to the office. She left the door open wide as she delivered a message.

  “Dr. Z,” she reported, “their clothes aren’t there.”

  The naked girls’ faces registered horrified amazement.