Diary of Carolyn

DIARY OF CAROLYN

Chapter Seven

Copyright 1997

Skull Duggery

This is a work of fiction

At this point, I would have done almost anything for a hot shower and a bar of soap. I considered going back to the lake to at least wash the crap off, but seeing how that damn lake was the reason for my current predicament, I decided to try to make the pump house. I absolutely begged for sunrise as I shook and shivered my way along in the damp cold predawn air. I felt like cursing Murphy, but held my tongue just to play it safe. After all, as miserable as I now was, the fucker, oops, I mean fine fellow, did save from the campers. Instead, I cursed myself for not being able to just have walked up on that beach and proudly strolled right by those foolish bastards. As I looked at my crap covered body and smelled the rancid odor emanating from it, I thought, who am I calling foolish?

The sun's fiery ball had the first finger hold on it's daily climb over the eastern horizon as I came within sight of the old pump house. With the opportunity to clean the now dried on excrement from myself only steps away, my spirits began to lift. That was, until the thought of pouring the icy well water over my already near frozen body entered my foggy brain. Oh well, compared to my agonies so far, I told myself it would be like a walk in the park. No pun intended.

It was more like a walk through the pricker bushes, but, after much effort, I transformed myself from Carolyn the human cesspool back to Carolyn the closet nudist and sometimes pain slut. The sun had by now cleared the horizon and the warm early morning rays filtered through the treetops forming little dancing dots of light on the forest floor. As I squatted by the east wall of the pump house, trying to take advantage of every bit of warmth available, I carefully looked over my cold bluish white skin. I checked every part of myself I could manage looking for any possible unnoticed injuries. Finding none, I then began to wonder if I would have any lasting effects from the hypothermia. I had experienced. I guessed not. As cold as I had been, in reality, it had been a fairly warm night. Although I had intended to head straight for home after cleaning up, the warm sun felt so good I decided to stay awhile and rest.

It was close to noon when I awoke with a start, hearing what sounded like footsteps somewhere on the other side of the pump house. My familiar lump returned along with that sinking feeling that accompanies fear as I tried to imagine what it was. I frantically looked for anything I could use to cover my nudity, but there was nothing. Images of everything from little kids to forest rangers to space aliens raced through my mind until a telltale pungent odor found it's way to my nostrils. Skunk. Relief instantly overcame my anxiety as I peeked around the corner of the pump house only to find one of nature's smelliest creatures, with the possible exception of me as the human cesspool, foraging for it's breakfast. I carefully gathered what I had stashed the day before and left the busy little skunk to his task.

I started to feel much better as I walked the next hour to the woods edge. With the filth cleaned off, and the shivering cold only an unpleasant memory, I took my sweet time getting to where I had hidden my clothes. Even so, it seemed like no time before I was picking my old dress from under the tree where I had left it. As I shook the leaves off the dress, I had a crazy thought. I pondered this thought for a couple of minutes before making up my mind. Do it. I stuffed my dress into the duffel bag and headed completely nude across the open field to my house. I felt really brave as I exposed myself for all to see. Of course there was no one within eyesight to expose to, but I can imagine, can't I? And besides, I thought to myself as I entered the empty house, it's a start. Never before today had I had enough courage to cross that field naked, day or night.

I spent the next couple of hours soaking in a hot bath going over in my mind my not so much fun lake ordeal. The strange thing is, even with all the nasty extremes I was forced to endure, having overcome it all made me tingle inside. In fact, with a little help from the detachable shower head my dad had installed, I tingled myself into a not so bad orgasm. Then I thought, I'm the only one who uses this upstairs bath. I wonder why my dad installed this great toy. Could he be more aware than I think?

I made several more excursions that summer, but none were truly extraordinary until after I'd begun my senior year. Being a senior was great. Especially if you had enough graduation points accumulated. I did. You may think I do some weird and dumb shit, but for what it's worth, the last IQ test I was given scored one hundred sixty. Not bad for an almost eighteen year old pain slut.

To explain briefly how these points work, you get points for each course that you pass all through high school. The number of points needed to graduate are figured on an average students capability to accumulate by the end of their senior year. If one is fortunate enough to keep their grades high, and take a few extra courses, the only courses they have to attend during their senior year are those considered mandatory. Therefore, in my case, from noon Thursday until Monday, no school. I also had Wednesday afternoon off and if I really had something going, I could always skip Thursday.

Before I tell you of my next encounter, I need to preface it with a little background. There was a girl in my class named Kristen Castillo. Although we had been classmates since, I think, fifth grade, other than occasional greetings and seeing her at various school activities, we had no other contact. Actually, not unlike myself, Kristen pretty much kept to herself. I did know that Kristen's family kept her from much dating, at least according to most reliable gossip, and in this case it was. Apparently for cultural reasons, of which I will never understand or agree with, she was not allowed to date boys not of Latin decent as was she. Hammond Indiana was and is the epitome of white America, leaving her little to chose from.

In fact, other than Robert Vega, who reminds me of that little gang leader, Jesus I think was his name, that played on Hill Street Blues, she had dated only one other. I don't think this guy met with family approval as they broke up before he got out of the hospital. It's a sad situation because Kristen falls into that enviable category of drop dead good looking. At any rate, both Kristen and I ended up being volunteered to write the script for the senior play. Which, by the way, neither of us were too happy about. I doubt they censor letters from San Quentin as carefully as they did our script. I did however, manage to get one of the actors to substitute the word fuck for luck in the performance for a small fee. It didn't cause much fuss, but gave me a good measure of personal satisfaction.

I got the shock of my life one afternoon while we were working on our script. It happened when I accidentally bumped head on into Kristen while paying absolutely no attention where I was walking. Kristen, being a good head shorter than me, ended up ramming her boobs straight into my rib cage. What I felt when we impacted, were two hard, and oddly familiar I might add, metal like objects on her breasts. And, I would probably have passed it off to my over active imagination, had it not been for look of pain that briefly crossed her face. I couldn't believe what I was thinking could be true. I had to somehow find out for sure. I mean, gawd, even I had never wore my nipple clamps to school!

Until this moment, I had never even considered that there could be someone else with the same weird attraction to pain as myself. And this girl comes to school with her nipples clamped. That was pretty extreme even by my standards. I looked at Kristen every chance I had wondering if she realized I was on to her. She didn't act any different or anything. The thought of her being into the same things as me had me ready to explode. After what seemed like hours of trying to think of ways to approach her, something my father once said kept coming to mind. "If you want to know something, just ask. The worst that can happen is you may get told to fuck off." My dad always gave good advice.

So, armed with my measure of parental advice, I whispered into Kristen's ear. "I'm impressed, I never tried wearing mine in school." At first she gave me this real startled look. Then, realizing exactly what I meant, she started looking embarrassed. "It's all right," I told her, "I'm into the same thing myself." As we talked, she became less and less embarrassed. We found that until now, neither of us had ever talked with anyone about our private pleasures. I was fascinated by what she described having done to herself, some of which made me wince at the thought. I had never considered myself to be any slouch when it came to standing pain, but if what I was hearing was true, Kristen gave new meaning to the word. We spent the rest of that school day relating our experiences to each other. As we parted after the last bell, Kristen agreed to come to my house the next morning saying she wanted to show me some neat stuff. As I walked home, I wondered what I had got myself into this time.