Strange Days

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

Strange days indeed."

— John Lennon,

Nobody Told Me

Author's note:

This story takes place in Australia, where the academic year runs from February through to November. It is based (very loosely) on actual events and places. All of the featured characters are versions or hybrids of real people (including yours truly).

Daniel's Story

"Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee;

As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be

To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use

Are like Atlanta's balls, cast in men's views..."

— John Donne,

To His Mistress Going to Bed

From an early age I had a serious crush on my next-door neighbor. Almost three years older than me, Laura was and is gorgeous — brunette, with warm hazel eyes and a fine figure, slim and shapely. In addition to her exquisite looks, Laura was and is clever and strong-willed, an energetic high achiever. At school she threw herself into just about everything. She joined clubs, served on the student council, won academic prizes and athletic honours. She was also a thrill-seeker. Despite her diminutive stature she was tough and utterly fearless, engaged in sports such as mountain-biking and rock-climbing. Yet she was also incredibly sexy. When not acting the tomboy she reveled in being a girl. She was proud of her body and legs, which she liked to show off in short skirts, snug-fitting tops and barely-there bikinis; but not in a vain or wanton manner. Laura was a flirt but never a tease, nor a prima donna.

I don't know if she consciously played on the juxtaposition of pretty and petite with the difficult and dangerous, but the contrast could be striking. For example, when she was sixteen she won a junior motocross championship, against boys as well as girls. She was the smallest rider in the field and prevailed by sheer daring and determination. She sauntered off the track looking triumphant in her mud-spattered leathers, high-fiving her friends and fans, reeking of fuel and exhaust fumes, her dirt-caked face barely recognizable but for the patented Laura grin — outwardly modest but betraying at the edges her sublime self-confidence. Yet a few hours later she turned out for the awards ceremony completely transformed, prodigiously feminine in a little pink party dress. I was thirteen at the time, and while my infatuation was already well-developed, that was what pushed me into straight-out idolatry.

Not surprisingly, Laura was the most popular girl in the neighborhood, exacerbating the anguish of my unrequited crush. In high school she was attended by a retinue of admirers and acolytes. She went through several boyfriends and the occasional girlfriend. Her preference was only slightly biased in one direction. What was most demoralizing for me, however, was that when word got out that we were close, I was besieged by potential suitors seeking an introduction or hoping for a recommendation.

Of course, I never expected for myself anything more than platonic. Besides our age difference and dissimilar natures, almost diametrical opposites in many aspects, because neither of us have siblings we developed a surrogate big sister—little brother relationship which ruled out anything more intimate.

Naturally Laura had flaws. She could be stubborn and at times dogmatic, most often about trivial things. She could be bossy, although she would call it assertive. She was intolerant towards people she judged to be stupid; and even if they were, she could come across as arrogant. She was fully aware of her charm and charisma, and would act abrupt and sometimes cruel towards devotees who overreached themselves. But it was impossible to disparage her, because everything she did was done with style. And that came out in the fact that although she must have known of my feelings for her — I was not very subtle — she never made a big thing of it, nor had me feeling awkward.

So when she went off to university, it was something of a relief for me. I was finally freed from the torments of Tantalus. I had long since abandoned any thoughts of entering the temple of Laura.

For the next three years I saw Laura in person only intermittently. She had lived with her mother since her parents' divorce. They didn't get on and Laura rarely came home. But we kept in touch. I think I may have been her anchor; so maybe she was not as fancy-free as she pretended. In any case, I followed her to the university three years later — not in a stalkery way, although we ended up living in the same student accommodation.

Nestled amongst the trees in a quiet corner of the campus, Lakeside Hall is in actuality five multi-storey apartment blocks connected by covered walkways. Four are mixed-sex dormitories housing both undergraduates and postgraduates in twin-share suites. The fifth wing accommodates first-year students, with males and females occupying alternate floors in four-bed units. Altogether Lakeside has four hundred residents, of whom just over three-fifths are women, which mirrors the university's population.

When I applied for admission Laura didn't mock my choice and in fact helped me through the process. This was vital because Lakeside is rather selective. What sets it apart from other residential colleges is not just its secluded location but the fact that it's fully autonomous, and organized on a self-help basis. There are no full-time paid staff. All residents are rostered for catering and housekeeping duties. The seniors also provide peer support, mentoring and tutoring. This collaborative philosophy extends to governance. All internal affairs are managed by an elected house committee. There's a manager and a proctor, but they are essentially honorary officers with only nominal responsibilities. Most importantly, fees and charges are very low. And all this is possible because Lakeside is independently funded by a network of alumni and "friends". One of the benefits of this system is that there is no strong imperative for residents to hold down an outside job. This allows more time and energy for academic, social and cultural activities.

My interview for admission went smoothly and I settled in quickly. My roommates were typical of what you find among freshmen from out of town. There were only three of us because the fourth hadn't turned up. Ricardo was the popular kid in high school who struggled to cope when he transitioned to the much bigger arena of the university. But he sought solace in varsity sport and found his niche. Ben was a scruffy, indolent rapscallion whose attitude was to study just enough to pass. His major saving grace was his sister Emily. A third-year student, she doted on her brother more than he deserved. At our first encounter she was wearing a candy-striped, strapless playsuit; and it was impossible not to be smitten by the transcendent vision of honey-blond hair, sapphire-blue eyes, lustrous legs and delectable décolletage. But she had a gentle soul, was unworldly and intellectual, and did not seem aware of her own resplendence.

Meanwhile, I'd met Caitlyn. She was a "townie", a local girl living on-campus. There were lots of these at Lakeside, more than at most of the university's residential houses. She was a second-year student; but we were enrolled in a similar course, the history and philosophy of science, and became study buddies. We complemented each other, having our particular academic strengths and interests. She was quiet and sweet-natured, with brown hair and eyes, a cute flush of freckles and an endearing way of tilting her head during a conversation, as if showing a sense of ease or trying to get a different view — it was hard to say which, perhaps both. Gradually a closer bond developed.

We celebrated Caitlyn's birthday on the weekend before Easter by visiting her parents. I didn't ask why she wasn't living with them. But there was something oddly appealing, almost seductive, about life at Lakeside Hall. I mean odd because as soon as you arrive it's like your senses tingle. There's an aura of mystery, secrecy even, as if something is going on beneath the surface or behind the curtains. And it's easy to attribute this to the relative isolation and the brooding eminence of the surrounding, dense woods, which are positively spooky at night. But even before I arrived I knew of its unorthodox reputation; even if actual claims about what went on there were always vague. The legends of debauchery and diabolism could be dispelled by a brief tour.

Still, I am reminded of Plato's famous allegory of the cave. For people trapped within, their only glimpse of the reality outside consists of shadows moving on the walls.

As the year progressed, the shadows came into sharper focus. But life at Lakeside for the first three months was comfortably mundane. I quickly settled into the routine of university life. I enjoyed my classes and did well in all my subjects. There was less pressure than in high school! Almost before I knew it the first semester was coming to a close.

Confounding my initial reservations, the Hall proved an excellent environment both educationally and socially. However, I was mostly content to hang out on the fringes of other people's social circles. Neither a hermit nor an outcaste, I have nonetheless never been good at, or for that matter interested in, having my own clique or coterie.

Laura continued to act as my guide and guru, although I tried to be not too dependent on her. That was not just out of pride. She had her own, crowded life. She had no permanent romantic attachments that I knew of, yet was as popular as she'd ever been. Those friends of hers I met were very much her personality types — adventurous, impulsive, unconventional. Not surprisingly, she was a member of a women's "adventure club". Guys joined in their activities, but I was not invited. Yet I didn't feel slighted. I had no interest since my pastimes have always tended to the sedentary. Which doesn't mean I'm a wimp or a faint-heart. It was just that I subscribe to the theory that you're allotted only so many heartbeats in your lifetime, and it's illogical to use them up before you have to. Still, as a result I began to see less of Laura as the semester progressed.

I got most advice and assistance from Rachel, a second-year student. She was very attractive, like Laura, with lively, olive-green eyes, auburn hair and an enigmatic smile. She had a keen intellect and a sharp, rather acerbic wit, but was passionate once she'd found a cause worthy of her time and effort. She was the sophomore counsellor in my "tute group". These were mentoring groups, each consisting of half a dozen first-year students with a senior tutor and a sophomore assistant. They helped us newbies on issues involving the transition from school to university.

There was just the one other guy in the group, and that was Ben. Whereas he and I were callow freshmen, the four girls came across as more sophisticated. Michelle I knew from high school; Patricia was in one of my classes; Priya was a visa student from India; Kendra was an athlete enrolled at the Academy of Sport. Our group leader was Lorelei, a postgraduate student whom I found to be rather standoffish. She did her job well, but it was Rachel who held us together. Her satirical commentaries on conventions and institutions were an epiphany for us neophytes.

We met once a week during the first term, once a fortnight in the second. Ben and I, outnumbered by the females, felt I must confess a little overawed. The girls were all very intelligent, articulate and highly motivated. It was hard not to feel that we mere males didn't measure up to their standard. That was nonsense, but I think it had something to do with the Lakeside Hall culture, which was focused on collaboration and a collective effort. This ethos, I believe, favours women, who tend to be better at interpersonal relationships and social interaction. But also, I don't think Ben and I were ideal specimens of manhood. I was immature and he could be obnoxious. The girls tolerated us — which was enough for me. I think Ben expected more.

***

One Saturday in May Laura invited me to a social gathering planned for that evening. I suspected, being given so little advance notice, that I was a last-minute replacement; but I was not going to turn down the summons. Nevertheless, the way she phrased it intrigued me. She asked me to be her escort. Now it's possible I misinterpreted. She may have simply meant to reinforce that this was not a boyfriend-type date... not that I was expecting it to be. On the other hand, the meaning I inferred was that she wanted a chaperone. This was very peculiar, coming from such an independent-minded young woman.

However, she enlightened me.

"It's C-M-N-F." The letters came out rather slurred, into something like "seemeneff," as if she wanted to blurt it them as quickly as possible. In response to my blank look she continued: "That's clothed male..."

"Yes, I know what it stands for," I replied.

"Naked female," she said anyway, needing to finish it. "So you know about these things?" She smiled, but with an odd, penetrating gaze into my eyes.

"Purely academic. I was just..."

"Do you have a problem with it?" she cut in. "If you're not interested..." She laughed at my expression. "I thought as much. Anyway, I have to go. See you at six."

She didn't wait for me to react further. When she was gone I tried to analyze her words, looking for some disillusioning loophole. I even suspected it might be some crude practical joke. Laura did have an off-beat sense of humor; but she wasn't malicious. Yet I did find it odd that she couldn't find an escort from her cohort of consorts. For it did not occur to me, at the time, that she was trying to draw me into her social circle. That's how naïve — translation: pathetic — I was back then.

So I decided to play along and see what happened. I didn't let Caitlyn know, making up the lie that I had a family commitment... for which I felt only slight guilt. I surmised that the party was an adventure club event. The context was some sort of "I dare you to..." battle of the sexes. The men's reciprocal challenge was so innocuous that I don't recall it, so I think they got the better of the deal. Of course, that depends on your perspective, and I never heard any of the women complaining.

We met at the appointed hour and walked to a house not far from Lakeside Hall. I was nervous and Laura must have been as well, because she was in an abnormally chirpy mood, shooting off rapid-fire sentences in a high-pitched voice. Given where were heading, I felt some irrational disappointment that she was wearing a heavy sweater, jeans and boots.

When we arrived, around two dozen people were already gathered in the living room. It was very large, more of an entertainment area, and the furniture had been shifted to one wall so everyone could mingle and not plant themselves on a sofa. Once everybody had turned up, there were thirty or so. Females slightly outnumbered males. One of the women was Rachel. She looked adorable — not a word I use very often — in a blue button-up miniskirt, apricot-yellow blouse and knee-socks, and shiny black shoes with oversized silver buckles. Her hair stuck out sideways in unplaited pigtails. Her partner was a guy named Jake who seemed to show only a half-hearted interest in her. It was only midway through the evening that I discovered that he was not her boyfriend, but an escort like myself. We said hello and Rachel seemed disconcerted by my presence. When I remarked off-hand that we'd be seeing each other again on Monday, her face took on a rosy pink hue.

For the first thirty minutes or so it was just like a regular party, although the atmosphere was subdued. All the females were fully dressed. Indeed it was a cool evening, so there wasn't much skin visible at all. We drank beer and wine and listened to music. We chatted and got acquainted. Our hosts were a tall, graceful, extremely attractive woman in her late twenties named Charlotte, and James who had an irritatingly square-jawed handsomeness.

Around seven o'clock, Charlotte turned the music down and the thermostat up. At least, I think she switched up the heating. It may have been my internal temperature rising. She didn't say anything, but the sudden drop in the noise level caused everyone to look about, and that's when she began unbuttoning her blouse. There was no announcement and no fanfare, nor was this a slow and seductive striptease. She started laughing and swapping jokes with her audience, and after she had pulled off the shirt she whirled it over her head a few times before letting go. It sailed across the room and came in to land atop one of the bookcases. We all cheered, and the other women began removing their tops. Every single one was wearing a bra, which I am sure was no coincidence. Most had two layers to shed, so the air in the room was momentarily filled with flying garments.

Charlotte's flamboyant opening gesture was a clever ice-breaker. After we males had ogled the ladies for a while, and they had checked out each other, the proceedings went back to almost normal, except that every so often one of the girls would remove her skirt or slip out of her jeans. The half-dozen who had worn dresses were already in their undies after the first cast-off, which made it a bit easier for the rest. At one stage, a couple of the guys attempted to speed up the process by taking matters directly into their own hands. These efforts were swiftly deterred. In any case, such action proved unnecessary, as before long all every female was down to her bra and panties.

Laura had looked around and then shrugged as she handed me her wine glass before reaching down to take off her boots. She grinned, apprehensively, as she unbuckled her belt, unzipped and opened the front of her jeans and pushed them down to her knees. She blushed when she realized how much interest was focused on her; and I felt proud that my partner was the center of attention. She fluttered her eyelashes and performed a pert pirouette before kicking off her denims; and as she took back her drink she curtly instructed me to retrieve them and her boots and place them with her sweater on a table in the corner.

Laura was as stunning and sexy as I'd ever seen her, in a white satin halter-neck brassiere and matching briefs, trimmed with lacy frills. There was a little lavender bow at the tip of each breast, and another on her panties located cheekily over the crotch. After the initial jitters she did not seem at all self-conscious as she stood there being assessed and admired... except for a twinkle in her eyes and an impish curl of her lips.

Just as Laura was finishing her performance, Rachel discreetly unhitched her skirt and let it fall to her ankles. When she'd stepped out of it, Jake picked it up and deposited it on the table with the rapidly growing pile of discarded clothing. She was wearing a mauve lacework demi-cup bra adorned with tiny woven blossoms, and a miniscule thong panty. But the girl had a certain style that made her look demure even when all that covered her sweet body could have easily fit into my trouser pocket. But then she stripped the ribbons from her hair, and the pigtails unraveled into two disheveled clumps. The effect was cutely comical, especially atop that lusciously unclad body.

If this was as far as things had gone that night, it would still have been a fantastic party, and I doubt that anyone would have been disappointed. Not all the bodies were perfect, but all were well-toned and pleasing to the eye. This was hardly unexpected considering that most of the women belonged to a club which demanded a high level of health and fitness.

Around eight o'clock Charlotte made the next move. She called into a huddle three of the other ladies, apparently at random. After conferring, they turned to face the rest of us, unfastened their bras and, following a few seconds of deep breaths and suppressed giggles, took them off. That prompted a most agreeable chain reaction, and within a matter of minutes every female in the room was bare-breasted.