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Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 4
Fri Jun 8, 2018 2:46pm

Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 4

The administrative offices of the Georgia State Regional Library,
Atlanta: four doors, usually open, on the edge of a large room not open to
the general public lined with low bookstacks strewn with seldom-used
reference materials, on top of which were a series of out-of-date
computers, not quite ready for disposal, but not connected or in use
either. A large room that no one has ever figured out what to do with.
On the first door ("Dareen Alkaras" in small letters) is a
finely-wrought color drawing of a hilly desert area with a tiny stone
structure in the hill on the far right. The title, "Waiting in Damascus",
is in little letters at the bottom. Though depicting daytime, there is a
crescent moon above with a small star between its horns. In front of the
tiny stone house is a yet tinier figure, looks like a woman in a long burka

waiting for someone.

Underneath the drawing, a rectangular rug swatch, with a complicated
pattern. If you look at it long enough, you will see that if you turn each
little red-and-black pinwheel one fifth of the way, it becomes a mirror
image of the pinwheel next to it. Above the drawing, a recent addition, a
small American flag.

Inside the open door, a sparely decorated office with a computer and
filing cabinet behind it, pictures of family members, including an old
woman with twinkly eyes looking out from under a black veil, a poster on
the wall of a big bouquet of flowers, then two college diplomas, a picture
of an adorable little white dog lying on its back on the grass looking at
the camera with a satisfied look, being that it is chewing on a huge bone,
and right next to the desk a framed message, "One Day at a Time". Next to
that, a little hand-shaped sign, "Lefties Rule!"

The next door: "Jamal Nathan Jackson" in somewhat bigger and more
permanent-looking letters, a picture of a crowd of people in a public
square, a small American flag, and inside, another desk and file cabinet, a
large orange and black rug tacked to one wall, at the front of the desk is
a miniature ceramic football mounted on a tee, and then there are diplomas
(not in Library Science, but Computer Technology), and over them the
picture of Malcolm X shaking hands with Martin Luther King, a chance
meeting and the only photo of them together. The desk itself is a
paper-strewn mess and on the edge is a little squeegee which says, "Desk
Cleaning Machine".

Between Ms. Alkaras's and Mr. Jackon's doors is a large photo of James
Earl Carter, Nobel Peace Prize winner and former President and someone we
Georgians are very proud of, thank you very much.

The third door: "Billy Stonewall Gibbs", a photo of the "General Lee"
from the old "Dukes of Hazzard" TV show, half-turned as it flies through
mid-air, the Confederate flag visible on its roof. Above the photo, a much
larger American flag than the others. Mr. Gibbs being on vacation, the
door is closed.

The fourth door, set a little further apart from the rest, "Katharine G.
Hom, Administrative Director", nothing else on it but a small American
flag. Inside, a very neatly kept office with black and white photos of a
distinguished looking Asian man and his wife standing on a stage. To their
right is a flag on a pole, the Union Jack. There are four diplomas on this
wall, the first dated 1972.

By 9:30 Mr. Jackson and Ms. Hom were in their offices. Ms. Hom likes
classical music and her radio is on. Mr. Jackson doesn't mind.

Dareen was late this day. She darted in around 9:45, quickly saying hi
and then going into her office. She thought about closing the door but
that would draw attention.

"Hi Dar -- " Jamal gets up and his lanky frame ambles over to her
doorway. "Are you O.K.?" She had called in sick yesterday. His glasses
glint in the overhead fluorescent lights and he is concerned. "I -- I like
you new hair," he says after some hesitation.

Dareen looked up and smiled. "Thanks." Jamal was so nice to her. He
had noticed the new violet luster of her hair. She had tried to make the
best of it by wearing it as plain as possible, combing it straight and long
so that it went halfway down her back, not realizing that this style tends
to turn men on more than any other. She knew Jamal was trying not to look
at her chest, and hoped her blazer was doing as good a job as possible of
concealing it. Yet it really was hopeless. As she looked down at her
current project -- some pages she had printed off the internet the other
day -- she had to push them a little away from her so that her breasts
didn't block the view. She suspected (correctly) that Jamal, like most
men, had spent a lot of mental energy trying to guess what her bra size was
and what her breasts looked like. And now -- well, this was going to be

The trip here was difficult too. She couldn't help noticing people
trying not to stare on the subway, the occasional glance of disapproval
(usually from an older woman) as if to say, "Those breasts are fake, you
must be a topless dancer or a whore." The guard at the front desk was nice
as always but his usual "Good morning, Dareen" seemed to catch in his

Dareen closed her eyes and took a breath, feeling her chest heave up and
down. I've just got to get used to this as long as it lasts. She said a
short prayer -- Allah, help me through this. . .

Jamal and Dareen and Ms. Hom worked through the morning. Dareen closed
the door twice like she always did, for her morning and afternoon prays on
the little sajjada she kept rolled up under her desk. Ms. Hom came in
once and pretended like everything was normal, but her boss was always
something of a sphinx. Not a bad boss, but she never laughed, rarely
smiled, she was all business.

The day ended. Another trying ride on the subway. Dareen was relieved
to get home and close the apartment door behind her, only to find Elly in
an uncharacteristically glum mood. She was listlessly eating cereal in the
steamy apartment, flapping her flip-flop against the floor, and reading the
Democrat-Argus. Dareen had read it this morning. There was a big
editorial about clearing out the topless clubs over in Buckhead, and as
usual they implied that anyone who disagreed was morally corrupt or a child
molester. On page 2, meanwhile, was a big story about a girl who was
making her way through college while stripping. It had pictures.

Elly looked glumly up at her roommate. "I see you're still the same."

Dareem went into her bedroom and stripped to her bra and panties. Yup,
still the same. She turned on the air conditioner and got into shorts and
her biggest T-shirt. When she got out to the kitchen Elly got more
expansive. "I feel like there's something wrong with me, like I'm in a
dream." She looked up at Dareen and ventured a direct stare at her
roommate's breasts. "You got hit by lightning and changed and, like, flew.
I say to myself, Please tell me this isn't happening. I couldn't think at
work today, I didn't have any energy. Dar, tell me this is all a dream."

Dareen felt Elly's gaze and thought of trying to cross her arms in
front. But in dejection she looked down and then, as if in surrender,
pushed her firm mounds out so that they seemed to protrude halfway over the
table. "No, it's not a dream."

"You must have gone through hell today."

"I felt people staring. But work was O.K."

Elly smiled a bit. "How did Jamal react?"

"You know how he is, he's always nice."

"He's probably jerking off now thinking about you."

"Oh Elly!" Elly could be so crude sometimes. She had visited Dareen's
office several times and had met Jamal. "He WANTS you!" she had said to
Dareen after that first time. This time, though, she was not in her usual
playful mood.

Dareen sat down and brushed back her long straight violet hair. "Can
you go with me to mosque?" That was in two nights.

Elly was brought up Muslim too but didn't really observe; she didn't
pray and hadn't been to mosque in maybe a couple of years. Dareen always
went -- as Elly would put it, "go mosquing". There was one nearby.
Sometimes when she saw her parents she went to the old one in Dunwoody, an
hour away. But her car, which Elly had gotten towed back after that night
of lightning, was still in the shop. Not that Dareen was into seeing her
parents in her current condition. But at mosque so many of the women went
heavily clothed, she could really bulk up so that no one saw her new

Elly cleared her throat. "I hate to say it but maybe you and I can both
use some mosquing right now."

. . . .

The next day the air conditioning was broken in the library and it was a
hothouse. Jamal took off his tie, Ms. Hom took off her sweater. But for
Dareen there was nothing she could do. She certainly couldn't take her
blazer off. She was sweating bullets and in misery. She even had to use a
tissue to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Underneath, her wide bra
straps dug into her back, into her shoulders, the cups squeezed and encased
her. Clothes were just so uncomfortable with her new body. Maybe she just
needed things that fit better. But it was hot, hot, hot . . . At least
since she didn't sag any more she didn't have that terrible heat rash
problem on the undersides. Still it was hot, hot, hot . . .

Jamal asked if she would join him for lunch. They limped along the
sweaty, sunny Atlanta streets to the little diner on the corner. Dareen
had her sunglasses on, which allowed her to ignore people's reactions.

Jamal was the perfect gentleman as always and didn't look at her body
even when they sat down in the booth. "Can I get you a drink?" the teenage
waitress said, glancing casually you-know-where. Jamal actually felt in
the mood for a gin and tonic (his favorite summer drink) but was mindful of
that "One Day At a Time" sign in Dareen's office. He had always decided it
wouldn't be right to drink in front of her. So they both ordered sodas.

"Hot . . . as . . . blazes," Jamal said, using a napkin to wipe his

Dareen nodded. "It might be cooler if you shaved your head." Black men
with shaved heads look so elegant, she mused.

Jamal smiled and ran his hand over his medium-cropped hair. "I tried it
once, it didn't help a lot. Also my head is shaped funny. There's like a
little dent right here."

The sweating girl smiled. "You must be really suffering in those
clothes," he said. "Well I'm really modest."

It's easy to eat light when it's so hot. They were halfway through
their salads when Jamal finally said something. "Dar, are you O.K.? You
seem different the last couple of days."

Dareen felt the urge to tell him something to explain her new
appearance. He deserved to know something. She hadn't even told him (or
anyone else except Elly) about her upcoming breast reduction -- but was
that still going to happen? Could she still get medical clearance for
surgery? Too much to process. She decided to fudge it. "I haven't been
feeling too good. Some kind of bug." And felt miserable about saying such
a lie. Though maybe it was a little bit true. No -- it was a lie.

"Hope you get better."

"Thank you."

A little later they got to talking about work. Particularly that
meeting with the higher-ups at the State Education Department last week.
The Homeland Security department was going to install filters and
monitoring equipment in all the internet surfing computers in state
libraries. Well, one could see how that might be a good idea to track
terrorists. Everyone could see the inevitability of it. A few months ago,
Dareen and everyone else had been fingerprinted. That's just how it is
these days. Yet . . .

[to be continued]

  • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 3 - donnylaja, Thu Jun 7 5:06am
    Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 3 "Why you hiding your boobs like that? And what's with the pants?" Elly was always direct and by now one might understand how she just had to say something.... more
    • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 4 - donnylaja, Fri Jun 8 2:46pm
      • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 5 - donnylaja, Sat Jun 9 9:38am
        Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 5 "I wish they'd just give the software to US, and then let US install it," Dareen said. She had been asking a few too many questions at the meeting until she got ... more
        • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 6 - donnylaja, Mon Jun 11 12:14pm
          Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 6 Unseen high over the Atlanta suburbs, the solitary human body glided quickly and silently several hundred feet up, like the largest of the birds. Yes, there was ... more
          • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 7 - donnylaja, Tue Jun 12 1:04pm
            Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 7 Pedro Villareal was an amiable fellow of about 30 who lived with his wife Josefina and two kids in one of the basement apartments. Though Elly knew her desire... more
            • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 8 - donnylaja, Wed Jun 13 10:04am
              Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 8 She sat up, reaching forward to clutch the tips of her unbra-ed breasts as they pressed out against her white flannel pajamas. Something was wrong, or about to... more
              • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 9 - donnylaja, Thu Jun 14 2:48pm
                Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 9 "Allah we pray to you that our fears shall be eased, that we shall not suffer, that the cause of this terrifying bomb shall be discovered and laid to rest." It... more
                • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 10 - donnylaja, Fri Jun 15 11:50am
                  Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 10 Looking up at the mountains, in spite of the wind blowing around them which mussed one's hair, one saw the circling eagles, the blue sky with clouds. Tremors... more
                  • Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 11 - donnylaja, Sun Jun 17 8:14pm
                    Dareen: The Story of NakedGirl, Part 11 It wasn't a tingling in her nipples, like with that "pulse bomb". But it was a definite feeling that something bad was happening, or about to happen, and she... more
                  • Very well done thus far. I wrote a story with the same basic title back in 2004. Still sitting unfinished on my asstr page after all these years. For the past few months I've been working up the... more
                    • thanks - donnylaja, Mon Jun 18 10:50am
                      I've read your story and it's amazing how we came up with such similar ideas at about the same time. Mine, also, was written in 2004 and was attuned to the politics of that year. In some places you... more
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