“I know this seems unusual,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “But you need to understand that on Magisteria, women are only allowed to wear clothing when given permission by the man in charge of them. For the duration of this visit, you will experience what it would mean to join Magisterian society. A full sense of what that entails.”
Several of my classmates gasped. Brequa’s eyes went wide, but there was something in her expression that looked almost eager. Mabola simply tilted her head, as if filing this information away for later analysis.
I wanted to refuse. Every fiber of my Hippolytan upbringing screamed at me to protest, to demand our rights, to march right back onto that transport. But my voice seemed to have disappeared somewhere between my brain and my throat.
“Come now, girls,” Ms. Haspor said. “I know this is uncomfortable, but you’re all adults. You’ve had your wellness classes.”
Wellness classes. Yes, we’d had those. The dorm mothers had been kind but clinical about it all, teaching us about human sexuality and hygiene as if they were explaining how to operate a food synthesizer. Bodies were biological systems. Reproduction was a natural function. Everything had been so dispassionate, so careful, so safe.
But those classes hadn’t prepared me for this. They hadn’t taught me how to feel about my own body—about the way ithad changed over the past few years, developing curves and softness in places that still felt foreign to me. I knew some of my classmates had figured out how to be comfortable with themselves. I’d heard them at night in the dormitory, the quiet sounds they tried to muffle beneath their blankets. I had tried it myself once, tentatively exploring, but I’d stopped almost immediately because of the pictures that came into my head.
Pictures I didn’t want to examine too closely. Pictures of… of strong hands and commanding voices and…
No. I pushed those thoughts away now, just as I had the night I’d let my fingers explore, down there between my thighs.
Around me, my classmates were beginning to comply. Brequa had already pulled her tunic over her head, giggling nervously as she folded it. Mabola moved with her usual efficiency, her movements precise and unhurried. Others followed, some blushing, some chattering to cover their embarrassment.
Nudity on Hippolyta wasn’t something we were supposed to be ashamed of, really… but I didn’t think I was alone in feeling embarrassment about it anyway. Especially since being nude, in the showers for instance, didn’t ever involve seeingboysnaked. I knew what it looked like, from the pictures in wellness class, the thing they had down there, and I knew what they did with it, with a woman, when she consented.
Hippolytan education to the age of nineteen, though, was single-sex, in order tominimize distraction, according to our teachers. We would have our first chance to meet boys in two weeks, in fact. As far as I could tell, none of us really knew how to feel about that—except that we all looked forward to it because it also meant that we had nearly finished school. We would enter a transitional phase of life when we could choose among variousinternships all over the Hippolytan economy. I had tentatively decided on an advocacy office, having won most of the debate and public speaking prizes at school over the past few years.
“Jendra,” I heard Ms. Haspor say behind me, “do we have a problem?”
I swallowed hard and turned to look over my shoulder at her.
“No, Ms. Haspor,” I told her, reaching for the hem of my tunic.
She nodded, her face wearing an understanding sort of expression.
I began to pull my tunic up, pushing away the unwelcome shiver that had gone through me at the sound of her words.Do we have a problem?
I swallowed again.If we had a problem, I couldn’t help wondering,what would happen then?
I pulled the tunic over my head, feeling the cool air of the facility touch my skin. My fingers fumbled with the fastening of my pants, and I stepped out of them, folding them with unnecessary care to delay the inevitable. The bra came next, and finally—my face burning—I slipped off my panties and placed them in the cubby with the rest of my simple Hippolytan clothing.
I stood there naked, my arms instinctively crossing over my breasts, acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin. Around me, the other girls were in various states of undress, most of them giggling nervously or stealing glances at each other. I tried hard not to do the same kind of furtive looking, but I couldn’t help it: I found myself noting who had the biggest breasts and even the most hair covering their pussies. My face got hot as I realizedI didn’t have nearly as much of that grownup thatch as Mabola did.
Then I noticed something that made my breath catch.
Ms. Haspor was unbuttoning her own tunic.
I watched, stunned, as our chaperone methodically removed her clothing with the same matter-of-fact efficiency she brought to everything. Within moments, she stood as naked as the rest of us, her magnificent, mature body somehow making the situation feel even more surreal.
I tried desperately not to stare, but Ms. Haspor’s swelling breasts and large nipples drew my eye inexorably, and…
I had to bite my lip when I saw that she had no hair between her thighs. I could see the cleft of my chaperone’s pussy, as clearly as I could see Brequa’s, where it seemed hair hadn’t really started to grow. Had Ms. Haspor removed hers? Had sheshaveddown there, or done something else to take away the fur? And…why?
I had the dismaying feeling that if I thought hard enough, I could figure it out. Thinking more about it, though, I told myself, was thelastthing I wanted to do.
