Brigid’s New Uniform, Part 5

Ms. Kleinfelter said, “Well it is hard to see, but it begins by braiding around the . . . uh . . . feminine anatomy, the little part that sticks out. The braiding pattern is different than on the bits because the purpose is to pull, rather than grab.”

Now, the sounds of flutes tooting some high arpeggios. As they warmed up the girls sounded a little better.

Brigid looked down at her crotch. “I loop the thread once, then pull a little, then two cross-braids, and after that the rest is easy.”

“I’m unclear on this,” Mr. Charlton said. “What do you loop around?”

“My . . . clitoris,” Brigid said, blushing. She mispronounced it, so that it rhymed with “Delores”.

Behind the door, Rod heard Sammy’s voice. He had busted in on the flute practice and was joking around with Danica.

“Oh . . .”

“Yes, it has to be drawn out first,” Ms. Kleinfelter added.

Sammy was joking about the football uniform he almost decided to wear. This being Uniform Day, the three of them, Danica and Lynn and Sammy, were in their full-coverage wool uniforms now, just like Rod was.

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

Brigid squinted a little. “It feels funny at first, me bein’ tugged down . . .”

“But it is very secure,” Ms. Kleinfelter said.

“Well that’s one thing, make sure it doesn’t fall off in a parade, in front of the mayor and the crowd and the TV and whatnot,” Mr. Charlton said. “Strange, but . . . creative.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Kleinfelter said, complimented.

“Yes, you deserve a lot of credit for your uniform designs,” Mr. Charlton said. “Everyone says that.”

Back in the practice room, Danica said to Sammy, “Your buttons are crooked.”

Sammy said, “There’s so damn many of them, it takes me f**kin’ half an hour . . .” Oh boy, that must be embarrassing, Rod thought. He and Brigid exchanged quick glances. This old guy is on the Board of Education and he’s overhearing students using profanity.

Mr. Charlton, looking down at the wisp and then up at the bits, seemed not to hear, or maybe pretended not to.

Ms. Kleinfelter jumped in quickly: “The important thing is to present an attractive appearance, while affording a minimum of interference with the majorette’s moves. . . This new uniform has about one-tenth the coverage of the previous one. In total, about a third of a square inch.”

“Your pants are crooked too,” Lynn said, evidently to Sammy. Now they heard both girls giggling, then laughing out loud.

Rod’s mind wondered what was going on back there, but then his mind spun into those calculations again. One-third of a square inch! 3000 square inches of skin . . . 1/3 of a square inch . . . the rest of the band had 96% coverage . . . As the grown-ups contemplated the wisp in Brigid’s crotch, he did the math: One-hundredth of one percent of Brigid’s body is covered. Marching down the street, each of the rest of the band members was wearing 9,600 times as much as the majorette was.

He looked down at the fingernail on his pinky. Brigid has less coverage on her entire body than the area of that little fingernail. Yet she thought of herself as fully turned out, and was proud to wear that one-third of a square inch of a uniform.

Mr. Charlton said, “The other question is, is it compliant? It looks like just one strand down here.” He pointed to the sliver of green between Brigid’s pubic lips.

“Well your blouse is not even with your jacket,” Sammy shot back. More giggling.

Henry Cross said, “True, there is just one strand of thread. The ordinance says only that the genitals must be covered. But notice how, with a female this age, the labia majora are continuous with the surrounding skin. There is no legally defensible way to distinguish. Further, the clitoris is braided, and the single thread has utility in covering the unseen parts. Therefore in my opinion it is compliant.”

“Nothing to see, in other words.”

“Yes, that’s essentially it.”

Mr. Charlton stood back, wrinkling his chin. “I am impressed. I think the Board will be too.”

Ms. Kleinfelter and Henry Cross exchanged little smiles. Rod smiled proudly up at Brigid. She must have been relieved, because she broke out into a wide smile, her teeth shining in the light, her green eyes squinting.

They stood there, looking at Brigid’s lower lips and the single thread between them. Her toes readjusted on the chair.

“It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow,” Lynn said.

“Finally, a parade that’s not — ” It was hard to hear what Danica was saying but it sounded like the last word was “freezing”.

“No, we’ll be sweating our nuts off in these things instead,” Sammy said.

“Speak for yourself!” Danica said. More giggling. Not much practicing was going on in that practice room.

Brigid’s bare pubic lips, legally covered via being bisected by the single thread, shone in the light for the benefit of the grown-ups.

Then Mr. Charlton said, “Of course, there’s one more . . . area . . . to concern with.”

“Yes,” Ms. Kleinfelter said. “Um. . .”

“Ms. O’Dierna,” Bernie Brophy said, “can you turn yourself around on that chair?”

Brigid, perched on the sousaphone chair with the precariousness of the grip of her fingers and toes, looked to her sides and down below. She first stuck her crotch out, her pubic lips almost in everyone’s face . . .

“I could never wear one of those thong things,” Danica said, two closed doors behind them. Which made Sammy laugh. Rod shut his eyes. What the hell was going on back there in that practice room?? They had no idea the Board Vice President, and the district physician, and Ms. Kleinfelter, the Fashion Design teacher, were standing here, within earshot. Before they know it they’ll say something that can’t be ignored by these folks and then they’ll be in trouble.

The majorette looked behind her and ungripped one hand from the sousaphone bell. She turned her upper torso around, her breasts bouncing as she abruptly switched hands on the bell. Her knee twisted out toward them.

“No, bikini bottom is the limit for me,” Lynn said. “Nothing less.” “Me neither,” said Sammy. “Whoa, whoa!” said the girls. “No, I mean on hot babes!” he said, laughing. “Really!”

Brigid’s delicate shoulder blades were now facing them. Bracing her weight against the bell, she brought her feet flat onto the seat of the chair, then spread them apart. She stuck her butt out to the extent she could.

“Is this O.K.?” she said, turning her head to them and looking down over her bare shoulder. Rod looked lovingly down her spine, her visible backbone, the back muscles narrowing down to the inward slopes of her narrow waist, the cute dimples over the hard glutes, the Y-shaped indentation over her butt crack. If her body was part of her uniform, it was by far the most beautiful part!

Mr. Charlton looked up at Brigid’s bare buns.

“No, spread your legs a little, Ms. O’Dierna,” Ms. Kleinfelter said. “We can’t see the, uh, rest of the uniform bottom.”

“I hate seeing thongs on the beach,” said Sammy, who probably had never actually seen one there. “Keep your flabby butts to yourself!” “Ewww!” said Lynn.

Brigid’s taut, trim butt cheeks separated a little as she brought her toes up to clasp one of the arms of the sousaphone chair. Now, she did the same with the other foot. Something green could be seen up inside there . . .

“Could you get a little higher?” Ms. Kleinfelter said.

Brigid looked down at the sousaphone to see what she could climb further up on. Her breasts probably blocked her view a little. Now, she brought her right foot up to the sousaphone’s valves. Her hips tipped and her right butt cheek moved higher . . . With uncertain toes she clasped the tops of the valves, and hoisted up her right leg. Her hips were tilted away from them now and she could stick her butt up more. “How about now?”

Her tight little butt cheeks were now separated enough to reveal a green button-shaped thing in between. “Yes,” Ms. Kleinfelter said. “That’s good, thank you.”

Brigid looked down at her toes, then up at the wall in front of her. Her shoulders and arms moved slightly as she adjusted the clutching of her fingers on the top of the sousaphone bell. She was perched like a cat that had scampered up the front of the sousaphone, about to pounce up to the ceiling.

Ms. Kleinfelter pointed to the green button as Mr. Charlton peered in closer. “What’s that?” he said.

“It is a braided part of the wisp, we call it the ‘snowflake’. It covers the anus.”

Mr. Charlton said, “Hmmm. How does it stay . . . on?”

“The end of the wisp is a knot that goes inside. That secures it and anchors the wisp from the lower end.”

“Won’t it . . . pop out?”

“No, it expands once inside. It doesn’t come out until extra lubrication is applied.”

From the practice room, Lynn said, “You wouldn’t catch ME wearing one of those. I like my butt covered.”

“Yeah,” Danica said in a cutting voice. “Those girls who –” Their voices were blocked out by some trombone playing. Rod guessed it was Jaycee, in the third practice room, probably showing off for Nilda. In fact he was certain about that — Jaycee was playing Beyonce’s “Sweet Dream” with corny slides going up and down.

“Trust me,” Brigid said, turning around with a little smirk, “it doesn’t pop out.” She smiled down at Rod and shrugged her shoulders.

“The design of the snowflake is very individualized,” explained Ms. Kleinfelter. “The braiding pattern is, again, in the crochet style, and it is based on six radiating aspects, and many different designs are possible, hence the name, snowflake. See the work that Brigid did.” Ms. Kleinfelter’s finger pointed, practically stuck in between the majorette’s butt cheeks. “A very pretty design, wouldn’t you say?” Indeed it was, delicate and intricate, like a real snowflake. And even around her butthole Brigid was beautiful — the clear, white skin in the valley between her butt cheeks.

“Try this,” Bernie Brophy said, giving a large magnifying glass to Mr. Charlton. Dr. Brophy’s attache case was equipped for everything.

The old man took off his glasses and peered through the magnifier. Rod was so close that he could see the enlarged image. The green snowflake was pretty, even in such a place. He could see the darker color of Brigid’s sphincter skin through the tracings of thread. A contrast with the whiteness of the rest of her. He had always thought of that area of the body as dirty, of course, but Brigid’s was pretty. It was odd to think that, but it was true.

“Yes . . .” Mr. Charlton said, his wide-open eyes straining as he tried to focus. “Good work, Miss O’Dierna.”

Rod could tell that Brigid, facing the wall again, was blushing with pride. “Thanks,” she said. Her toes readjusted their grip on the valves. They were pressing nos. 2 and 3. Rod tried to remember his two lessons with Brad. What would that note be? C? F sharp? He suddenly imagined Brigid placing her anus onto the sousaphone and farting some low notes. He suppressed a giggle.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?” the old man said. “And is it safe?”

Bernie Brophy said, “Provided the proper precautions are taken, and it is inserted and taken out gently, it’s perfectly safe.” Rod suddenly remembered the enema bottle in the bathroom of Brigid’s house . . .!

“And . . .” Mr. Charlton turned back to Henry Cross. “Compliant?”

For the first time, Henry Cross leaned forward to take a closer look at Brigid’s all-but-bare body. “The anus must be covered. Again, to the extent the area is contiguous with and not separate and distinct from the surrounding skin, we believe it cannot be called part of the prohibited, uh, body part. The creases of the sphincter, and the differently colored skin, are in Miss O’Dierna’s case probably about half an inch across, and the braided ‘snowflake’, as it’s called, adequately covers that, uh, area.”

Brigid had taken little breaths while trying to remain still. Now, she took a deep breath and straightened her back. She looked up at the ceiling. Rod thought he saw her butthole twitch, and the snowflake with it. He saw that freckle that Jamal had pointed out, on the inside of the left cheek, a little above and to the left of her butthole, the freckle that he and all the other trombone players had watched at that last football game, as icy rain washed over it . . . Brigid’s clasping toes changed position and now they were on valves 1 and 2. E flat? G?

Mr. Charlton shook his head with wonder. “Amazing, what you’ve done, Miss Kleinfelter. Again, you deserve congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Brigid turned and looked down on everyone.

Ms. Kleinfelter looked up at her and said, “Ms. O’Dierna, you can come down now. Thanks very much!”

Rod saw his chance to help. He stepped forward so that the tasseled shoulder of his jacket was pressed against Brigid’s bare hip. She put her arms down around his neck. As he helped her hop down he felt the bottoms of her breasts press against his face. They were warm and soft. Heaven!

The majorette’s bare feet slapped against the floor and now she stood before them, shaking her muscles out, bits pointing back and forth.

“It might be interesting,” Bernie Brophy said, “to show how that snowflake, and the knot, how they get braided.”

Ms. Kleinfelter got out the pencil from before, and the tiny envelope. This time the thread she pulled out was about twelve inches long. Brigid held the pencil between her thighs, the eraser end sticking out behind, below her butt. With quick fingers she braided the thread around the sharpened point in front. The point, Rod realized, represented her clitoris. This used up about three inches of the thread. Brigid tugged on the remainder. Amazingly, the braid stayed grabbed onto the point. Then, she pinched off three inches of thread and her fingers began to shoot in and out, around and around, forming a web and then shrinking it tight, then another web . . . In less than a minute she had made a “snowflake”.

This left four inches of the thread. “Now the end of the wisp,” Ms. Kleinfelter said, “is a special knot, related to what’s called a ‘monkey fist’ knot. Ms. O’Dierna has to sit . . .”

The Fashion Design teacher and the majorette looked at the sousaphone chair. It was obstructed by the sousaphone itself.

“I can sit on the floor,” Brigid said. Before anyone could say anything, she had placed her bare buns on the cold tiles. She stretched one leg out, then leaned forward with the almost-completed wisp in her fingers. She spread her toes and looped the end of the thread around her second toe, and went to work with flying fingers. The remaining thread was wrapped into a netting that covered the top of her toe, down to the base of the painted toenail. Now she slipped it off her toe, wrapped one final loop of thread around, and pulled on the snowflake to tighten the netting into a round knot.

Brigid got up energetically, feet slapping on the floor, breasts bouncing, and handed the finished wisp to Ms. Kleinfelter.

“Note that this knot is spherical, with air inside, like a hollow ball,” Ms. Kleinfelter said, crushing the knot between her fingers like a little grape. ” Once inside, the natural action of the internal, uh . . .” She looked to Dr. Brophy.

Bernie Brophy said, “The moistness of the internal membranes act so as to expand the size of this threaded sphere. This makes it more secure and also more comfortable.”

“IS it comfortable, Miss O’Dierna?” Mr. Charlton asked.

Brigid thought for a moment, as if picking her words carefully. “I feel it at first, but then I don’t notice it, except with some types of throws. It’s O.K., really.”

“Afterward,” Brophy said, “with vaseline, it comes out, and can easily be rinsed and cleaned and put away until the next parade.”

Ms. Kleinfelter held up the newly-braided wisp one more time for Mr. Charlton’s benefit, then put it away in the tiny envelope.

“Again, my congratulations,” Mr. Charlton said. “So . . .” He looked at Brigid, who was standing next to him, at her bits and down at her crotch, where he knew the wisp was in there somewhere. “This is a . . . green uniform because she’ll wear it tomorrow at the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.”

“Yes, the new uniform is event specific,” said Ms. Kleinfelter. “Let me show you something. And Miss O’Dierna too. . .” From her bag she presented an elegant black-felt case, a foot long, an inch wide, that looked like a case for a necklace. She opened it up, carefully. “I’ve made these in one piece, to be cut up by the majorette for braiding.”

On a bed of plush, shiny white satin there lay a golden thread, eleven or so inches long. She dangled it gently from her fingers. “This, Ms. O’Dierna, is for next month, the End of Winter Carnival Parade up in Vermont, I forget the name of the town. This is the uniform you will wear.”

Brigid pinched the thin thread between her thumb and forefinger and draped it lovingly over her other hand. It was hard to see the fine, shiny thread but it did look gold, once you detected it. “Oh wow. . . it’s beautiful!” She showed it excitedly to Rod. He nodded; yes, he supposed the gold thread was beautiful.

“And this,” said Ms. Kleinfelter, introducing another thread, “is what you will wear for the Memorial Day Parade.”

Brigid held it up to the light. “Oh, red white and blue stripes. I see!” She placed both uniforms, both slender threads, back into the case, careful to line them up next to each other. “Thank you very much, Ms. Kleinfelter!”