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Naked at school stories

Scrolling through my search terms of May , I looked for the unusual ones. There was lot of searching for pinching nipples and submissive positions, as well as no panties and anything to do with anal. The following search terms caught my attention:. Yes, the cane stings and I really long to feel it again, even though I am slow to admit this, as I am afraid of the pain of the cane. There is just little energy for it at this moment. I saw this search term and pictured myself kneeling in the corner, surrounded by silence and with no knowledge as to what would follow. The image in my mind was enough to understand that in a way I need this, to feel my submission ground me. The time will come…. My mind went all over the place when I saw this search term. I pictured girls in their plaited skirts and white blouses, white socks and black school shoes.
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This comes from my Booby Naked collection of personal stories.
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There was this one day I had to go to the bathroom, but then a couple of my friends were jump-roping and asked me to join in. Apparently, I was so excited to jump rope that I completely forgot I had to go to the bathroom. While one of my friends was jump roping, she messed up and fell. I started laughing my head off When it was time to leave, my friend whispered in my ear, "Amanda, not to embarrass you or anything, but you are wet As embarrassing as that is, I had to go the rest of the day with a big spot on my jeans. My best friends were spending the night at my house, and we were picking out thongs. Well they dared me to go to the grocery store and wear a lime-green polka dotted thong and wear a shirt with a big rip in the middle. When I went there, guess who was there? My dad told me to come here, and then he spanked me.
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So, what I did, is I moved it. The original concept is intact, but I moved it to a different school. My tale takes place at Westport High, a school in a city about 50 miles away from Central. The success of The Program has caused other neighboring school systems to implement it. My tale takes place about 10 years after Karen initiated The Program at Central. The program has been implemented for two years at Westport, and it has not gone particularly well. My story takes place at the beginning of the school year of the third year of the program-a last-ditch effort to see if Westport can make it work as well as Central had. Jared and Amanda, two Juniors, are picked to start the program that year. As is my wont, this is, despite the random debauchery so common to the Naked In School stories, a rather sweet little tale. PS: Anyone wanting to read the rest of the Naked In School series, my buddy Gary has thoughtfully archived all the rest of the tales.
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This comes from my Booby Naked collection of personal stories. Before making that film, he had already written and directed home movies, starting at the age of 9. Do you remember drama club? Drama club was all we had. There are two essential qualifications to be an actor. First, you had to be loud. Second, you had to be able to read and memorize lines.

Luckily I could, and after a 6th grade drama class with Mrs Filardo, I was ready. Filardo was an actress; everything was a lavish gesture; she spoke precisely and carefully. She was from New York, the home of Broadway. She made us do breathing exercises, lying down on the carpet, during class. I loved that stuff. I was Man Two. I had exactly one line. But it was a terrific line! I was married to Woman 2 , a Tall and extremely cute 8th grader who had five or six lines.

I thought that the mere association with Woman 2—we were after all married—would provide a boost to my social life. The play could be boiled down to one joke. It was awful.

Here was my single line:. Woman 2 starts talking about her pet rock named Nickie. Nickie had a cold and a temperature and was coughing all night. Man 2. Oh, yes, I heard him talk. And I also hear bells. And Whistles. And I see dancing ostriches. Great big purple dancing ostriches! Now to you this line may have seemed dumb, but in middle school the speech brought howls of laughter, and even a little applause. It was the big line of the play. We did 5 performances. I had practised this line over and over in front of the mirror at home, but I had never let my parents hear.

But when I came onstage that night and the play began, there was a problem. Someone messed up a line and skipped an entire page of dialogue; they had skipped over my line. Woman 2—my wife— still had several lines left, but I had none. I played the boy on the street corner. When Scrooge wakes up and realizes it was all a dream, he goes outside and calls a random boy on the street.

Scrooge: Hey, Boy, you know that shop down the corner that sells turkeys? Me: You mean the one with the turkey as big as me? Me: Yes, sir! Running away.

And then my big break happened. We were doing a murder mystery. I played one of the bystanders, when suddenly the killer had to drop out; he was failing algebra. So I become the killer. Oh, my fall was great. Falling was something I had a natural talent for.

I made sure my parents got to see that. The next year I did minor roles. I played Officer Delaney, this dumb cop who was chasing after a teenage hoodlum wrongly accused of stealing a car.

Then I went to speech tournaments. I did duet acting, interpretive prose, dramatic interpretation. I was good—or so I believed. In the semifinal round, I found myself competing against two black guys. They had timing, grace and total command of the audience.

I had never seen such talent before. Then I saw a girl — my age— read a story about her dying mother. She alternated between poetry and song and dialogue and tears and laughter—it was incredible. I was crying! I never cried at movies, but this girl—this talented girl—just made me cry. She was that good. It left quite an impression. These people were actors. I was not. I did not belong in their club. Sure, I went through the motions.

But I knew no matter how hard I tried, I could never reach the level they had already reached. Drama, I realized, was not my thing. But what WAS my thing? Basically I had to use a drawl and act rich.

But in my heart, I knew this was an awful part for me. I was a Yankee. On Go Western day, me and my siblings were totally clueless, totally out-of-place. My mother would ask us if we wanted to have Teh-cos for dinner. The other thing was this play had songs. Ever since the 5th grade, I vowed never to sing in public.

I was in 4th grade choir, and I enjoyed it, but when 5th grade came along, a new music teacher came, along with the requirement that we had to audition individually. I still remember that audition. The woman played the piano, while I tried to sing. But nothing came out. I started singing, and the woman looked at me with a perplexed, almost horrified expression. But as luck would have it, they changed the rules, and everyone was admitted into choir anyway. I sang in a special section. But how do I tell the drama teacher about my lack of musical talent?

She said the cowboy had to sing in a group number, no solo. So I agreed. Shoppe wanted to do a musical rehearsal. I was terrified. I ended up staying home from school for an entire week and a half just to avoid drama club.

I would watch TV while thinking about the classes and rehearsals. But when I heard what came out—I became nauseous. Finally after a week, I returned. I knew I had to face the music, and besides, Mom was growing suspicious. So I come to rehearsal, nervous and eager to get it over with. Then, Mrs. This was my nightmare raised to the fifth power. So I sang the song quickly, and after my song was over, I felt relief. But we still had to watch that videotape. And when we came to my song, a miracle occurred; there was no laughing or snide looks or comments from the teacher.



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