Strange Days

"Nobody told me there'd be days like these.

Strange days indeed."

— John Lennon,

Nobody Told Me

Rachel's Story

"I have been finding treasures in places I did not want to search. I have been hearing wisdom from tongues I did not want to listen. I have been finding beauty where I did not want to look. And I have learned so much from journeys I did not want to take."

— Suzy Kassem,

Rise Up and Salute the Sun

Throughout my life I've had it easy. That's not a boast nor a confession, simply a fact. In school I was top of the class in all my subjects. I was captain of the debating team and president of the student council. I think I'm above average good-looking. I'm not sporty but have a trim, healthy figure. This has all come with little effort; and that also is not bragging, because I never really earned it. My best qualities are the product of genetics and upbringing, factors that are not within one's personal control.

It is the awareness of this unearned privilege which (I hope) has prevented my becoming a smug perfectionist or a spoilt brat. Indeed, it has impelled me to constantly push myself, to pursue fresh challenges, to expose myself to new experiences and open my mind to unexpected insights, to discover what strengths I possess and test where my limits lie. So when I began studying at university and living away from home, my extended horizons expanded my opportunities to explore unfamiliar paths. And where those paths might lead, I had no idea. But that was the point.

I considered several options for on-campus accommodation and settled on Lakeside Hall. I was keen on the ethos of self-reliance, but also on the fact that it was very selective in its admissions policy. I wasn't being snobbish. Having been an overachiever for so long, I welcomed being a fish out of water and (to continue the piscine metaphor) a little fish in a big pond. And of course, in the transition from schoolgirl to uni student my life did change, in several ways besides moving out of town. I expanded my social life. I tried to become more spontaneous and adventurous. I resolved to stay assertive but be less bossy. I made a real effort to improve my fashion sense. I experimented with alcohol and some other (innocuous) drugs, although I have never seen the appeal of mood-altering substances. I lost my virginity.

I tried to stay true to my boyfriend. Mark and I had been a couple for a few years; and my teenage naïveté led me to believe our relationship would last a lifetime; but it did not survive separation. Although we both went on to tertiary study, we were living three hours' drive apart. His was a "provincial" university; and as well as being discouraged by the distance, I believe he resented the fact that I attended a more prestigious institution. So while I don't regret that I gave up my virginity for him, I had no strong pangs about our splitting. Indeed, to be honest, I felt a little relieved to be cutting one of the ties to my adolescence.

In academia I thrived. While I hadn't found ivory towers or halls of ivy, being a university student was everything I hoped it would be and most of what I expected, with none of the things I dreaded. I loved my subjects, enjoyed my classes, scored well on my exams and assignments.

I got on well with my roommates — tall elegant Zahra, brittle romantic Cassandra, and especially Stephanie, petite, pert and perky. Our quarters were modest though not cramped, and Lakeside Hall had enough amenities that four hundred residents could live together without friction. In fact, when we moved on to twin-share bedrooms in our second year, the break-up was a little traumatic. But Steph and I stayed together, while Zahra and Cassie had the room next to ours. On the other side were lithesome Layla and sultry Selena. Directly across the corridor from them were two guys, Matthew and Tony, who could often be heard, usually late at night, crossing the gap. Steph and I would listen to the climax of their rendezvous through the walls, and sometimes we ate popcorn.

When we returned after the summer break as sophomores, Stephanie was on crutches. She'd sustained an ankle fracture while on an "adventure vacation". It didn't surprise me. Steph was a wild child. Notwithstanding her diminutive stature and playful disposition, she was tough, tenacious and utterly fearless. And she displayed those qualities not just in the face of physical challenges, but mental ones as well. She hated being in any sort of comfort zone. However, she wasn't like me. She had no need or desire to test herself. What she sought was sensation. She wanted to live each moment of her existence as intensely as possible. This took her to some strange places; and I eventually followed, out of curiosity although to this day I'm not sure why I stayed.

Steph belonged to a club devoted to adventure. It was based at Lakeside Hall and had around forty active members, all female. Its guiding philosophy was a form of hedonism, to celebrate "the outré", going beyond what's normal and safe, with "ultimate" sports and unconventional challenges. But it seemed to me more thrill-seeking than adventure-loving, and indeed the club was, as much as anything else, a way to prove that women can have balls as big and brassy as any man's... at least metaphorically. This didn't appeal to me, and Steph's injury was my vindication.

She vanished most weekends, to reappear on Sunday evening or Monday morning. I was intrigued but also disappointed, because it meant we shared fewer fun times. So when she invited me to one of their Saturday night gatherings, I eagerly accepted. The theme was "extreme cuisine". It featured an appetizing assortment of creepy crawlies, bugs, grubs, worms, spiders, boiled, baked and battered. I was proud of the fact that I was far from the first to start heaving and retching. But no one actually vomited.

The following weekend's activity was an escapade in the wilderness; but I was rostered to work. In lieu of fees and charges, except for nominal levies, Lakeside residents are assigned jobs in housekeeping and catering. I could have arranged to swap schedules but was in any case suffering from a mild cold.

I spent Easter with my family. After that there was an election for the House Committee. I thought about nominating but had sated my taste for student politics in my schoolgirl days. But I was impressed by the fact that most residents took enough interest to vote, and that ten of the twelve elected members were females. I instead answered my call to public service in two ways. I signed up for a refresher program for the first aid course I'd taken last year. The classes were held at Lakeside Hall for residents and were run by Olivia, a qualified doctor engaged in postgraduate study.

I also volunteered as a sophomore counsellor for one of the tutorial groups which mentored first-year students. The group leader, Lorelei, was a postgrad, and we provided advice, assistance and counselling on issues involving the transition from school to university and from living at home to the communal lifestyle of Lakeside Hall. Lorelei was conscientious but not very approachable. So I carried most of the load (which I didn't mind). My acolytes were four girls, Michelle, Patricia, Priya and Kendra, and two guys who were roommates. The latter stood out not so much because they were the only males in our clique of eight but because they were diametrical opposites personality-wise. Daniel was introverted and socially awkward albeit in a likeable way, intelligent and attentive. Ben, on the other hand, seemed to me a little off — not exactly creepy, but unkempt and shifty-eyed, and more supercilious than he had any right to be. He was condescending towards women and didn't like getting guidance from us.

On Saturday night before classes resumed after the ten-day Easter break, the Lakeside House Committee hosted a party. The theme was "Naughty Nightie Night". Twee appellative notwithstanding, it was one of those affairs which had given "Lakeside Hell" a reputation for dissolute depravity on other parts of the campus. And it's not like the notoriety was entirely undeserved, even if the disapproval was inspired (I believe) mostly by envy. The post-Easter party was a traditional highlight of the sexual and sensual

dolce vita

. The previous year's theme had been "playboys and bunnies", and before that "pirates and their booty". So it was essentially an excuse for the women to loosen up and let go, strip down and show off. We turned out in our most slinky, seductive lingerie; and while not everyone got into the spirit, most of us did. It was nice to look and feel supersexy and ultrafeminine, to revel in being female. I wore a charmeuse, floral-pattern teddy with garter belt and stockings. The latter were not my standard style... but neither was being out in public in my undies. Stephanie, whose usual mode was sweatshirt and cargo shorts, had transformed from adorable to delectable in a rose pink bra and thong panties and a black lace choker. Most of the males were elegantly attired in tuxedos Bond-style, or outfitted in Hefner-style smoking jackets. So perhaps the gender contrast was sexist; but no one was pressured into anything, and nobody took it seriously.

Around mid-evening Steph found me in the crowd and suggested that I stay away from our room for the next hour or so. She had in tow a young guy I'd seen around the place. The straps of her bra were already dangling unhitched, so she didn't need to say anything more.

While I never saw Daniel that night, Ben was one of the James Bond wannabes. I noticed that he spent most of the evening hovering around the older girls. His stare lingered a little too long on their lingerie-clad forms, including his sister's. (Emily was a third-year student, absolutely gorgeous, who for some unfathomable reason doted on her brother.) He complimented me on how sexy I looked, which might seem innocuous, but when combined with unsubtle nonverbal cues it came across as sleazy. Being charitable I think he misread the situation. Even dressed as we were (slutty, if you will), engaging in "normal" social interaction, looking good and feeling great, we didn't need or want to make a big deal of it. That's why no one (except Ben and one or two other guys) felt the need to comment, apart from an initial, flattering "You look great!" Those girls who wished for special attention won it with more provocative poses and suggestive words... which was fine. Self-confidence comes in multifarious forms.

Ben also made a point of letting anyone who'd listen know that I was his group counsellor, as if this were important news. He associated clothing, or its lack, with status; and I don't think he saw women through any lens but his own. Therefore my

déshabillé

condition redressed his neophyte role on campus.

Now I am aware of my tendency to overanalyze, so I shall move on.

Six weeks after the Naughty Nightie Night, Stephanie invited me to the club's latest caper. She was unusually coy about the details until she'd wrested an acceptance from me. And when she revealed that it was a "CMNF" party all she got was a blank stare. She clarified, and was mildly surprised when I nodded (albeit in silence). It was one of those club activities which convinced me that the club's real

raison d'être

was the pursuit of the thrill. I was curious about how I would cope with such a challenge; and I convinced myself that it would be no big deal to be stark naked in front of friends, acquaintances and strangers. After all, I hadn't worn much more on the lingerie night. And I was, in a way, reassured that the males were to remain fully clothed. It wouldn't be an orgy.

Stephanie said I should bring a male partner. Richard and I had been together for a few months. It was a casual affair, more than a fling but less than a love story. But I decided against choosing him, and fobbed him off that Saturday night with some lame excuse. Whereupon Steph hitched me up with mutual friend Jake, and I laughed at her selection because he was openly gay. But she reproached me because that doesn't mean being "one of the girls"; and Jake told me later that he can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of female nudity. It was hard to argue with that.

As for my outfit, I decided to make an ironical statement — a "sugar-and-spice" ensemble of blue denim miniskirt, tangerine blouse and knee-socks, and big-buckle Mary-Jane shoes. I fixed my hair in unbraided pigtails; and the look would have been complete with painted-on freckles; but I felt that any hint of mockery would seem like false bravado. The venue was a house just off-campus, a short walk from Lakeside Hall, owned by a woman named Charlotte. Most of the people from the "extreme cuisine" banquet were there. Everyone came in male-female pairs. I was put a little off-stride to see Daniel, but was glad that Ben hadn't been invited.

Charlotte was a former Lakeside resident doing research of some kind at the university. Statuesque and voluptuous, she had an aura of sensuality that she projected onto everyone around her. Her husband James was very handsome even if he gave off a silkily suave "toy boy" vibe. He clung to and was constantly petting and fondling his wife, which she appeared to tolerate rather than enjoy. Apart from that, she appeared to be the one in control. So their relationship had an odd dynamic. It was as if they were role-playing (but it was impossible to tell what was role and what was real).

In my authorial collaboration with Daniel I am leaving him to describe in detail most of what happened that night. But my biggest revelation was that, having overcome a modicum of initial shyness, I had no problem stripping naked, and even enjoyed myself. But taking off our clothes was a drawn-out process, whereas I would have preferred a quick undressing. And with the men watching, I could feel each item being peeled off my body; it was like a chill breeze on my skin. Their male gaze was like clammy hands groping and probing my curves and crevices. I tingled on the outside and tickled inside. I felt my face becoming flushed and my nipples hardening. That, I confess, was disconcerting, like what a guy must feel with an untimely erection, but in my case without clothing to hide it. Yet I didn't feel embarrassed, at least not as much as I expected.

However, it surprised me that some of the women didn't react as I did. Either they weren't as keyed up or they hid it well. By contrast, Charlotte (whose lustrous torso bore no hint of tan lines) made no effort to conceal her arousal. But what none of us felt was visible shame in being naked. I didn't see anyone try to cover herself. Indeed, doing so would have made her more conspicuous, in no way diverting attention away from her nudity but revealing humiliation rather than confidence and pride.

The men tried to maintain eye contact, but I couldn't blame them when their field of view drifted southward. Of course, they kept their clothes on. In fact, its one-sided nature gave our nudity an extra piquancy. Yet there was no sense that we females were debased or objectified; and while I hesitate to use the term "empowering", it was a liberating experience, divesting myself of my inhibitions along with my clothes. The erotic context was undeniable, and yet most of the time I felt less sexualized than on the Naughty Nightie Night. For while it's been said that the essence of dressing sexy is to show your best and hide the rest, revealing everything allows you to convey assertive eroticism without being wanton. So the mood of the evening was a sort of free-spirited innocence.

Even so, we played some very intimate games. We were relaxing after one of these and had split spontaneously into separate knots of guys and girls. It fascinated me that while the men kept looking at us — they couldn't get enough of the décor — the female groups had reflexively turned inwards, as if taking a break from the males' attention. But as a result I was able to see the faces of the other girls when Charlotte and James came into the room bearing large bowls filled with ice cubes. The expressions ranged from alarm to bewilderment to delight. Somebody groaned. I admit that it took me a few seconds to catch on, then I started shivering, before any ice had left its bowl.

Charlotte explained that "ice-play" is a marvellous way to stimulate your brain and body at the same time but in different ways. She announced that we would be blindfolded as well, to enhance the experience. My suspicion that this party was more than merely (

merely

?) CMNF was solidifying.

We played in two-couple rounds. Jake and I were paired with Stephanie and Dev (short for Devraj, her guy from the lingerie party). We were assigned the second session and watched enthralled as the girls who went before us responded to the ice. Some were jiggly and jittery, others remained passive. When they were finished (and the girls, to my relief, looked disappointed), Stephanie was selected to go next, simply by being nearer to the vacated coffee table. She briefly clasped my hand as Dev wrapped a black satin sash about her head and over her eyes. The two guys guided her, by her arms, to the table, and as she sat her jaw dropped and she emitted a cute and comical "Ooh!" Jake touched the surface of the table and grinned. It was an evil grin. Steph's body twitched as she lowered her bare backside onto the tabletop, which was made of frigid marble. She squirmed as she lay flat on her back. I shuddered as I awaited my turn.

It was strange watching little Stephanie (and the other girls) being both tormented and titillated by the ice. At one point she whimpered and bit her lower lip which I thought would bleed. She grasped the legs of the table to steel herself and to keep from interfering with the men's work. She pressed her knees together until the guys prised them apart, but did not resist when Dev ran two lumps of ice down her belly, between her thighs and into her. She wriggled and giggled. When it was over, she almost leapt from the table, still blindfolded, her skin glistening with ice-water and sweat.

"Over already?" she sighed. "Do we get a second go?

Jake beckoned for me to replace her, with a cartoonish leer. He blindfolded me and both guys assisted me to lie down. I expected that the table would have been warmed by Steph; but marble is a wonderful conductor; it had absorbed her body heat completely. So the first contact was a jolt to my system. Yes, it was pretty illogical to be fazed by that, given what was about to happen.

I tried to remain stoical as the two guys began by rubbing the ice on my earlobes, lips and cheeks, along the edges of my blindfold and across my throat. Then they slid the cubes, never lifting them from my skin, over my chest, caressing my breasts and teasing my nipples. I think my body spasmed once or twice. But though I started out tense I soon found myself (to my amazement) relaxed, almost tranquil. It was a weird sensation which should have been unpleasant but was instead delicious. When the ice first touched my sensitized teats I was expecting something like an electric shock. Instead it was more of a tingle, with a slow pulsation as blood rushed in to warm my flesh. The ice was already partly thawed so it wouldn't stick and could slip and slide over the skin. And the meltwater tickled as it trickled down my sides to pool under my back, bottom and thighs.

Being sightless really did make the experience more intense even though, from having watched the girls who came before me, I knew what was next. The guys stroked my stomach. The water filled my navel and then dribbled into my cleft.

"Spread your legs," Jake whispered. Gay or not, from the tone of his voice I knew he was enjoying the game.