My dad had already left for work, but he left his newspaper on the table. Sometimes I checked out the Friday fashion section for hot chicks wearing glamorous clothes, but that day all the coverage was on fashions for separated guys.

All the designers were going nuts, or perhaps the reverse. They were clearly trying to outdo each other and become early trend-setters. One guy was pushing bare-midriff dress shirts with short little ties. Another was promoting lightweight shirt-kilts that looked an awful lot like dresses.

Various designers showed kilts and pants of various lengths, most with side zippers, some in back, and all matched to suit jackets.

A suit outlet was pushing skin pants, skin shorts, and business briefs with matching jackets. If you can't picture a business brief, imagine a navy or gray pinstripe wool and lycra Speedo. Yeah. Some also had business thongs, even though it seemed strange to cover up your flat spot and show your butt.

Swimwear was insane: everything from wet suits to tiny little crotchless thongs. Who had anything to hide?

The only consensus seemed to be that separated guys should show more skin than intact guys (or "bulgies," as some of the writers called them).

* * * * *

All of that was OK, but I had my own fashion issues to resolve.

Wearing a green plaid kilt the day before seemed to have gone OK, but doing it again was still edgy. With no small trepidation, I put on the red plaid one. It felt, uh, familiar.

I suppose lace-up shoes and knee socks would have been more traditional, but I opted for bare legs and the red flats Mom had bought me. Up top I wore a tight black t-shirt with red and white lettering. Could I really go out like that?

Mom passed by and told me I look great.

"I'm not sure I can really go out like this," I told her.

"Why not?" she replied. "You did it yesterday. Just open the door and go. There are no rules for guys like you and your dad."

"Do you think I look like a girl?"

"No, but look at yourself. Except for a couple of hours a couple of times a week you're not exactly a guy, either. Now grab your bag and hurry before you're late."

That damn bag again! It was late, though, so I just sucked up, grabbed it, checked my hem, swallowed, and headed out.

* * * * *

"I like your skirt," a girl from my History class told me between periods. Her name was Brenda, and she was hot, and she was wearing a pretty short skirt herself.

"It's a kilt."

"Whatever. How do you like it?"

"It's comfortable but kind of freaky, too. My Mom bought it for me. Maybe she's crazy."

"Oh, I don't think so," Brenda replied. "What have you got under there?"

"Nothing," I had to admit.

"Is that no undies or no naughty bits?"

"Neither."

"Let me see."

"What? Here in the hall?"

"Sure. I like looking at separated guys and you've got nothing to hide, right? Just lift up your skirt."

"It's a kilt."

"Whatever. Just lift it up. I'll stand in the doorway so you can face the wall."

It seemed really odd to expose myself there in the school hallway, and especially to a girl. Still, I'd always found her attractive, and that's what she wanted, and maybe I wasn't actually exposing anything. I lifted.

"Wow, there's really nothing there," she cooed. "Can I touch it?"

Surely, I thought, the hall monitors would be on us in a second. But Brenda the hot chick was giving me all this attention! She'd never liked me before, and least not that she'd shown.

"OK," I allowed, and then she stroked and rubbed my flat spot all over, then again, then again. Of course it did almost nothing for me -- no more than holding my hand - but it was still exciting in a mental sort of way. This hot girl was paying attention to me!

"Is everything OK here?" asked a deep voice behind me. It was a hall monitor!

"Ah, sure," I stated while dropping my hem.

"Just fine," Brenda reinforced.

"I take it you're separated," the monitor addressed me.

"That's right," I told him.

"Well, you're gonna have to prove it. Lift up," he ordered.

"What? Why?" I protested.

"Just do it," he ordered, and so I did, and then he took a good look.

"OK, no problem," the monitor eventually told me.

"What? How?"

"You weren't showin' anything," he explained, "but don't go running around without pants or makin' a habit of this."

"OK," I readily agreed.

"C'mon, let's show my girlfriends," Brenda encouraged.

"We need to get to class," I objected.

"OK, then, later," she promised (or threatened) and then we both headed off.

* * * * *

History class was a surprise. I still wasn't used to wearing a kilt, and I hadn't planned on it riding up so far when I sat down. I was practically sitting on my bare butt! I had more room in front, of course, but not enough for the hem to reach the seat between my legs. And speaking of legs, I was showing an awful lot of them.

Cliff's friend Mark, still dressed in regular clothes, took a seat across from me and stared. I knew he couldn't get turned on and I thought he was straight but even so, I threw him a dirty look. A guy deserves some privacy.

Brenda sat across the other aisle showing a surprising amount of leg herself. Raising herself up a little, she pulled the back of her hem forward. This gave her more to sit on and more up front, but slid the waistband down to her butt crack. She looked at me and winked, and then I pulled my kilt down the same way.

The teacher droned on. Brenda crossed her legs. I winced, but then did the same. Oh yeah, that's right, no problem, nothing to squish. Wonderful. Mark tried the same maneuver but his pants needed more slack. He loosened his belt but that still wasn't enough.

It was weird sitting there in class with my legs exposed almost to the crotch. Part of me felt like crawling into a hole and part like sliding a finger up and down my thigh. I found myself dangling one shoe from my toes.

Brenda wiggled in her seat, adjusted her blouse, and pulled on a bra strap. Then she rolled her tongue around her lips and raised an eyebrow.

Mark unfastened his waist button and tried again to cross his legs. No go.

A girl named Donna was sitting behind Mark. As he squirmed, Donna kneed his butt through the seat back. Mark turned around to look, and I turned around to look, and then the teacher told us all to pay attention. Of course, that made everyone turn around and look.

Brenda sat up very straight, shook her hair, and created another small spectacle. She was showing off her hair and her tits, and both were spectacular. She breathed heavily, making her breasts rise and fall, and then she looked over at me.

I adjusted my kilt again, this time to show Brenda most of my hip.

Mark opened his zipper, slid down his pants a little, and finally succeeded in crossing his legs. Several more people began were staring at him.

Donna slipped off her shoe and probed Mark's back side with her toes.

I shifted because my thighs were sticking to the seat. Everyone around me took notice.

Then the bell rang and Donna sped away.

It had been interesting, of course, but none of it had turned me on in the slightest. You can't turn out a light bulb unless you have a bulb. Something was definitely missing.

* * * * *

"What was that?" I asked Brenda during lunch.

"What was what?" she teased. Her clothes, I noticed, were primly back in place, or at least as prim as a skirt that short could be.

"You know, in class this morning."

"I was bored and I liked your skirt and your legs," Brenda explained.

"It's a kilt."

"Whatever."

"Why are they so tan and so even? Have you been going to a tanning salon all along?"

"Olive skin runs in my family So, are we going to do that again? We have English this afternoon."

"I dunno. It loses something if you do it too much. But I guess you liked it."

"It was different," I allowed, and then she scowled, and then I corrected myself, "Yeah, I liked it."

"Even without a dick?"

"Nothing like that ever happened when I had a dick."

"Yeah, I could see that," Donna stated. "You were always kind of an ordinary guy, and girls were probably afraid of what your dick might wanna do. I hear those things have a mind of their own."

Enough so to live in a glass box and crawl around, I reflected.

"Yeah, they sorta do," I had to admit.

"Is your dick gonna reattach tonight?" Brenda asked.

"No, it just did last night."

"You wanna sleep over?"

"Where, at your house?"

"Right. My parents don't care if I mess around with dickless guys. Just don't bring it along, OK? Leave it home or something."

"What time�"

"We're goin' out cruisin' at nine o'clock. Be at my house at eight. Here, I'll give you the address. Don't change clothes and don't stand me up, OK?"

"OK," I promised, wondering how on earth I'd explain it to my parents.

* * * * *

All afternoon I wondered what I'd gotten into. Brenda didn't sit near me in English. Cliff had no clue anything was going on. Mark's pants-down episode in History was making the rumor rounds, and so he wasn't talking.

After school I told my mom I was staying over at Cliff's house. I showered, washed my hair, and put my kilt and t-shirt back on. Two items didn't seem like much clothing for a date but that's what Brenda wanted. I thought about shaving my legs but that would've been stupid. My body hair, like my full-time dick, was gone forever.

At eight o'clock, still wearing my t-shirt and kilt, I rang Brenda's doorbell. A man, no doubt her father, answered in a robe he hadn't bothered to fasten. He was smooth from nose to toes.

"Oh, hi, you must be Troy," he greeted me. "I'm Bruce Zeller, Brenda's dad."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"You can call me Mr. Zeller," he replied. "I just need to check you out."

"Huh?"

"Lift your skirt."

"It's a kilt."

"Whatever."

And so I lifted my kilt, proving to Mr. Zeller that I had no dick or balls. I guess he was just being careful.

"OK, you pass. No going home later to pick up your stuff, OK? Brenda's probably waiting for you upstairs. It's the first door on the left."

I expected the door on the left to be Brenda's but in fact, it was the bath. The flow of shower water was clearly audible.

"Uh, Brenda, it's Troy," I greeted her uncertainly through the door.

"Oh, Troy, good," she replied. "C'mon in."

With great care I opened the door a crack and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just throw your clothes on top of the hamper," she instructed.

"Why?" I insisted.

"So you don't take a shower with clothes on. What would you wear later?"

By then I had the door open six or eight inches and Brenda's outline was vaguely visible through the shower door. Then she slid the door wide open, held out a washcloth and soap, and ordered, "Wash me."

I should be used to this, I told myself. I'd seen Izzy naked, and seen her whole family naked, and even been naked with them myself. Brenda, however, was spectacular. Her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, her hips, and her legs were all incredible. Thick black hair covered her pussy, and of course she was wet everywhere. Water cascaded down her hair, breasts, her abs, her legs� everywhere.

"C'mon, wash me. Throw your clothes on top of the hamper," she urged.

"Are you sure it's okay with�" I began.

"Of course, silly, that why I only date separated guys. Now are you coming in or do I have to spray you?"

I came in. I worked up lather. I scrubbed her back, her butt, her legs, her pussy, and her breasts. I squirted shampoo and washed her hair. I squirted conditioner and worked it in. I'd dreamed of such a moment for years but I sure missed my bits. Without them, it was more like washing a car, except that I already knew what a car looked like.

"What about me?" I asked as we finished.

"I presume you took a shower before coming here. Now dry me," she ordered.

First I slid a soft towel across every incredible part of her body. Then she wanted me to dry her hair. Then she wanted a hundred strokes and complained about each tangle. She didn't dry me, though. Instead, when we were done, she simply told me, "Dry yourself and bring your clothes to my room. It's down at the end," and then, still completely naked, she strolled down the hall.

Somehow I dried myself, combed my hair, and took time to pee. After that I grabbed my kilt, shirt, and shoes and headed down the hall. I couldn't believe I was walking around somebody's house naked again. What if somebody came?

When I got to Brenda's room I started pulling up my kilt but instead she stopped me. "You can do that later. Dress me," she ordered.

Brenda sat open-legged on the corner of the bed and told me what to take from her closet and dresser. Basically it was a lacy black bra, matching panties, a purple low-cut nylon blouse, a smooth black leather skirt, and black steel-tipped high heel boots. She also had me take out accessories like a hairclip, deodorant, earrings, assorted jewelry, and a purse.

"Put on my bra," she instructed, and at that I made a face. "No, silly, on me," she continued, and for a while I made a mess of it. Eventually, however, I learned how to hold the bra open, scoop up her breasts, slip the straps over her shoulders, and hook the back with the proper tension. The panties, blouse, and skirt were less trouble.

"You're gonna be hopeless with makeup," Brenda decided, so she sat at her table and did that herself. In the meantime she finally let me get dressed. Big deal: a t-shirt and a kilt. I felt half naked and completely plain.

"Move all the stuff from my red purse into the silver sequined one," she instructed. "No, wait, just my keys, phone, and wallet. You don't know what makeup and girl stuff to take."

Finally, after about an hour, we were ready to go. Mr. Zeller had shucked his robe and was bringing his wife a drink. Mrs. Zeller was sitting in black lingerie and boots and fingering a riding crop.

* * * * *

Donna insisted on driving. With few delays she picked up Donna and another friend named Jeanette. Donna was wearing a skin-tight black minidress. Jeanette wore a royal blue halter top and some scandalously short white shorts. All three were knockouts and loaded for bear. The three girls sat in front and put me in the back.

Cruising, it seemed, consisted of driving past an assortment of local hangouts: a few fast food joints, a bowling alley, a couple of cineplexes, some popular corners, a few parties, and anywhere else the girls could think of. As soon as they pulled up somewhere they checked the number of guys wearing normal pants. If there were too many, they drove on without leaving the car.

Donna found someone she liked outside a music store. He was dressed in sky blue skin shorts and a denim vest that looked more like a bolero. Donna chatted him up for five or ten minutes, then made him drop trou, and then led him to the car.

Jeanette hooked up with a guy in an arcade. I didn't see what happened; I only saw Jeanette get out, go in, and return with a guy ten minutes later. This one was wearing a black fishnet track suit.

Brenda drove home with her friends still in the front seat and us guys in back. It was weird sitting next to them with all of us dressed so strangely.

After parking in the drive Brenda herded us to family room, which had two sofa beds and a futon. There she immediately stripped to nothing and so did Donna and Jeanette. It seemed the routine was familiar to them.

I couldn't believe being with three hot naked girls all at once. The sensory overload was mind-numbing. If I'd had my dick on, I'm sure it would've gone crazy.

I completely lost track of what the others were doing. I only knew that Brenda opened one of the sofa beds, pushed me backwards onto it, and then crawled on top of me.

At first Brenda kissed me and I kissed her back. Then she shocked the hell out of me by sticking her tongue inside my mouth! "Kiss back," she ordered me after a while, and I stuck my tongue into hers. For a while after that we played a war of tongues.

As we kissed I could feel Brenda's tits against my chest, and then her warm pussy against my stomach. Then she slid up and told me to kiss her breasts!

At first I just kissed them on the side. Then, at her urging, I sucked on them. I couldn't believe I was doing that! It was like a dream. Then she told me to curl my lips over my teeth and bite her nipples. She moaned and flexed for a while, and then she told me to run my tongue over her nipples as well. Her breathing intensified.

"Eat me," she gasped between breaths.

"I don't want to make you bleed," I objected.

"No, kiss the top of my pussy. Find the little hard spot. Tongue it like you've been doing my breasts. Oh hell," she told me, and then she twisted around so her pussy was right over my mouth.

"Where is it? All I see is hair," I had to ask.

"Oh fuck. Part back the hair on each side. Hold it there. My pussy's down the center. Now eat!"

Brenda's pussy had a strong acrid smell by then, a scent I'd never expected from a girl. Usually they were so clean. And her pussy was wet, too, with some sort of gooey stuff. "Eat, eat," Brenda insisted, so I did.

Somehow she tasted better than she smelled. It took me a little while to find the hard spot she'd talked about, but eventually I got it and she let me know in no uncertain terms. "Now work your tongue," she insisted and after that she mostly said things like, "Do it," "That's it," or "Keep it up," or "Faster, faster."

Eventually her whole body tensed, and then shook, and she started screaming so I stopped. "No, idiot, keep going," she screamed, and then I resumed.

After a few minutes she calmed down, but then she wanted me to do it again. And again. And again. Eventually my jaw and my tongue got sore -- so sore I couldn't continue -- and so Brenda rolled off of me and gasped for a few minutes.

"What about me?" I asked after some time had passed.

"Sorry, I can't help you," she told my toes. "I have sex organs and you don't. That makes it a one-way street. Maybe that sucks but that's the way it is."

"I just thought there might be something�"

"I used to stick my finger up the guy's butt, but none of 'em liked it and I just got a shitty finger. So now I don't. Anyway, you just made it with a girl. You made a girl cum. That's something. You gonna go home or stay here?"

"It's late. I'll stay," I decided, and then she got up, peed, and made me wash her pussy.

"Everything OK?" she asked as I kept clearing my mouth.

"I've got hairs in my teeth," I explained.

"Yeah, well, that's gonna happen. OK, you take the sofa bed. I'm going upstairs. Maybe I'll see you in the morning." Then, not bothering to dress, she headed for her room.

The others were already done. Donna and Jeanette took the other sofa bed, leaving the guys on the futon.

* * * * *

The next morning I learned that the other guys were named Sam and Wyatt. Sam had been Donna's pickup in the fishnet track suit. Wyatt was Jeanette's in the skin shorts and vest. Quietly, so as not to wake the girls, we peed, cleaned up, and got dressed in the hall bathroom. Sam raised an eye at my kilt but Wyatt didn't seem to care.

After a while Mr. Zeller came downstairs wearing a completely flat pale yellow sports thong. "You guys can leave whenever you want," he told us. "The girls will probably sleep past noon."

We left. Outside, I asked the other guys, "Is it always like this?"

"Yeah, girls like separated guys because we seem safer. Sometimes their parents insist on it. And of course it's always one-sided," Wyatt explained.

"Maybe we'd have more fun together," I remarked.

"No, man; zero plus zero equals zero," Sam stated, and then he pulled a few hairs from his teeth.

"I hate that," I told him. "I thought girls didn't have pubic hair, or shaved it or something."

"You must've been looking at old pictures on the Internet," Wyatt surmised. "Girls don't do that anymore. We're smooth and they want to be the opposite. It's an acquired taste."

"I'm with you there," I told them. "Where I can find some mouthwash?"

* * * * *

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