"santa's Elves Will Do What?"

You realize that soon I'll be telling you only what I HEARD happened to the "elves" on their gigs? Only my own experience is first-hand; actually, I considered telling only my story, and, you know, maybe I will. It has GOT to be the most extreme. It may be a warning to bright, idiotically naïve high-school girls about playing elves from Camel Toe Village and waltzing into Christmas Eve gatherings of strange guys.

The five of us met again after classes, in the same conference room of the library, for a report on the project: raising money for our pathetically undersubscribed Christmas fund by hiring ourselves out to Christmas Eve stag parties. We all had assignments from the first meeting, when Chairwoman Lana Erickson ended up convincing us to strip as a pledge to go through with this...um..."plan." We had stood around this same conference table—the library was closed-bare boobs projecting and pubic triangles pressing the table's edge—depending on how long our legs might be. Five Knights of the Round Table pledged to help hospitalized and institutionalized kids this Christmas. Oh, fuck, read chapter 1.

Meeting two. All of us dressed in respectable school-day skirts and blouses—there's a dress code at Iron Mountain Regional—except a guy who sat silently beside Lana. Kevin Rondo is tall, built, blond, and supercilious beyond enduring... Just what we needed, I figured. But Lana had worked him over, apparently, so he just sat staring at his lap.

"Right," said Lana. "Thanks for coming, girls. I have a lot to report. I've had 25 enthusiastic responses to my email to potential Christmas Eve gatherings of mostly men."

"Fuck," said Georgia, drawling out the word. "We goin' to get the whole senior class involved?"

"No," said Lana. "We are not. If it gets that big, and the whole thing becomes public, then, as some anonymous pessimist put it—'all hell will break loose.'"

She looked around. "As a footnote, here, I said 'mostly men' responded. But there are bound to be SOME women at these gatherings. So think about their reactions, girls, so you can be ready."

"Oh, my God, right..." I said slowly. "Women just loathe younger women who are getting all the men's attention. They're going to want us burned at stake."

The always weird Georgia said, knowingly, "Or like maybe impaled on an 11-inch dildo, with a 10-pound weight hanging from each tit."

"Shut up, Georgia," snapped Gerry. "Who needs your pornographic fantasies?"

"Ain't a fantasy, honey," said Georgia in a tone of weary wisdom. "Happened to a friend of my older sister, Jen."

"That's what they do girls in South Carolina? No wonder you left."

"Nope, happened in New Orleans, whore house in the French quarter. Bunch of Texas guys. Ended up paying her 25 grand for the inconvenience. Couple months, her tits were about normal."

Lana had leaped to her feet. She brought down both fists on the table. I hadn't seen her lose it like this. "WHY are we arguing about this CRAP?"

"Yeah, it can't be that bad in a Boston suburb," said Marcia doubtfully. "Get on with it, okay?"

"Right," said Lana, with a long exhalation. She sat down. "The 25 are too many. I got back to them—in person"—she looked up and grinned. "I told them we had limited resources, this was a charity, so we thought the size of the gift should be the deciding factor."

"But how many?" I asked.

"Just the six of us," said Lana "This has GOT to be discreet. I told disappointed customers that next year is a possibility, IF this is kept under wraps..."

"Mind telling us the so-called 'bottom line'" drawled Georgia.

"Bottom line, there are six groups willing to pay—I mean, donate—15,699 to the kids' fund for our services." She looked up, that adorable Swedish girl's face, with the perfect skin and deep dimples, framed in chestnut hair, radiant with pride.

"Shit," said Gerry, with her thoughtful frown. "What do they want for THAT kind of money?"

"I made clear we are not selling sexual services," said Lana. "Indeed, in one case I had to mention that just to suggest a price for sexual services violates state law."

Gerry had glanced at Kevin, first, but now was looking down blushing. "I don't mean that, so much," she said. "But for that kind of money they want us to bulge, right?"

Marcia said, with her usual want of delicacy, "You mean your tits won't be big enough?"

Gerry gulped, redden further, but nodded.

To our astonishment, the subdued Kevin looked up at Gerry with I think a rather adoring grin. He said, "Gerry, with these guys a bare chest, a décolletage, and a pretty face are going to be a sensation. Are you ready for every guy in the room to stare at your chest and look love sick and never, ever stop yearning to bed you?"

For Kevin, that amounted to a speech.

Lana turned to him. "That was very nice, Kevin," she said, "and I agree. And since no one has asked, I remind you that I said, "'Six groups.'" She nodded, smiling, "I had one, I guess, liberated women's group—a local chapter of a well-known pro-choice organization—that was VERY upset with my offer until I said I could provide a..." she frowned. "Well, a male elf."

She said, looking down at the agenda, "I spoke with Kevin Rondo about assisting in our charitable efforts for the children of Iron Mountain and he generously agreed to be screened for involvement. She turned to him, smiling, and said, "Kevin, just take off your clothes."

She might have dropped a 10 pound dumbbell in his lap. His head whirled to her. "WHAT?"

"I said we had to screen you for suitability. I know all these girls have sexy bodies..."

"This is an interview?" He sounded dazed.

"Kevin, dear..." Lana's voice was soft as fingers sliding over sensitive flesh, "we're all your friends, here. How long have you known us? But this woman's group is donating—she glanced down at her notes—2,500 for the bulge in your green elf jockstrap-just as the guys are paying for the well-filled bra..."

"Here," she said, and stood up. With a grin at him, she pulled her black sweater over her head; she didn't even bother to unhook her bra. She dragged it down rather roughly, so her boobs popped up, the nipples stiffening a bit from the treatment. I actually began to get excited myself. "Okay?" she asked.

Kevin stared, stood up, and slowly his hands moved to his belt. He muttered, "Oh, jeez, but now I have..."

"So? My tits are stiff."

Abruptly, ask one yanks off a bandage, he shoved down his pants and underwear. His legs were long, pale, with some light freckles. Got to admit, the view was breath-taking—I mean, for me, anyway. This was THE hunk in our grade.

To our shame, not one of us acted like demure ladies. We STARED at it. Very thick and very long, as pale as ivory, rising from a bed of light blond hair. And this thing was actively stirring, now. As we all rudely stared, it was rising, arching back, the foreskin withdrawn so we saw the glistening dark berry.

"Oh, Christ," said Kevin, his face about as red the head of his penis, and his voice shaking. He pressed his hand tight over his eyes.

Lana reached down and gave the rigid dick a playful slap, which made Kevin jump up about three feet, and his stiffo was bouncing. She said, "It passes, Kevin. You are part of the team."

She became businesslike. "Okay, costumes. As I said, Kevin will wear a green jock strap, with cloth tucked-in all around so a fringe of light and dark green triangles point down? Got it?"

"No," said Georgia in that sleepy voice of hers, "I don't. Can't picture it."

"This might help," said Lana. She slipped a large color photo out of her folder and held it up, two fingers pinching either side.

"Oh, fuck," I said reverently. It was the girl's version of the costume. Essentially, a green thong and a tiny bra, each with a very small fringe of light and darker green triangles pointing downward. And dangling at front and center of both top and bottom were two suggestive green strings. Just pull them and the bra or panties opened and slid off?"

Utterly unnecessarily, I said, "that's you?"

"Duh," said Lana.

I hate that word but I couldn't believe what I saw. Kevin was staring at it with his mouth open. Finally, just to break the silence, I said, "Nice little hat, though. Kevin's wearing that, too?"

"Sure," said Lana. That's our trademark.

Georgia drawled, "Honey, I'll wear that. But we're all gonna get raped. You know that, right? Wear your diaphragm and don't fight it."

I wish someone had laughed.