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Dean Peterson Brush looked every bit the old English academic, sat at his desk wearing a most uncomfortable-looking green tweed jacket over a deep brown shirt. A pair of gold thin-rimmed glasses were perched halfway down his slender vulpine muzzle. He barely moved when he heard the light knocking on his office door.

"Come in." he called.

The door opened slowly and a small black-furred catgirl entered the room, her eyes locked on her feet, her ears down. Following her was a golden canine girl with a similar downcast look that contrasted greatly with her bright fur and clothes.

Finally, a tall equine woman, grey maned and stern-faced, entered. "Mr. Brush." She spoke, curtly.

"Ah! Ms. Harding. So, these are the two young ladies at the centre of all this commotion I've been hearing about?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Brush." Ms. Said, directing the two young ladies to take a seat. "Jennifer Anderson and Claire Hayworth. Two of our media students."

Peterson shuffled forward in his chair trying to fix the two girls with a look, but their eyes stayed locked firmly on their own toes. "Well." He said, pushing his glasses a few centimetres up on his muzzle, "Would someone care to fill me in on the situation?"

"Perhaps it'd be best if I show you." Ms. Harding said, producing a small digital camera from her shoulderbag. She walked over to the TV screen hanging in the wall and swiftly connected the camera. Peterson obligingly turned the screen on and passed the remote to Ms. Harding so she could find the correct channel. She spoke as she worked. "Do you know young Mr. Bookson? Dustin?"

"I believe I do. He's our A/V maintenance guy, right?"

"Indeed. He keeps all our media equipment running and doubles as a TA assisting students in class and in their own projects. Helpful fellow. Well, these two were working on their project for the Young Documentarians event. They, Dustin and another young man called Mitchel were setting up in one of our studios when Dustin had an accident. I'll play the tape from roughly that point."

She clicked a button on the camera and the black screen flicked into life. At first there was a blur of motion and a loud clattering noise following by a loud thud and a number of exclamations of shock and concern. After a few seconds it became clear that the camera, evidentially affixed to a tripod, had fallen and was now only displaying a static shot of a cream carpeted floor and a back wall. The audio, however, was crystal clear.

"Is he okay?" Came a light male voice.

It was swiftly answered by a shuffling sound and another voice, this time a girls. "Yes. He's breathing. I think he's just knocked out."

Peterson looked away from the screen and glanced at the two girls before him. This was Jennifer's voice, he was sure. Claire had moved to put her head in her hands.

"Okay. You two stay here and keep an eye on him." Came the male voice once more; this must be Mitchell. "I'll go and get help."

There were footsteps and the sound of a door being hastily pulled open. The footsteps faded into the distance and were shut off by the sound of a door swinging closed. There were a few seconds of silence before a soft rustling sound, like that of cloth being ruffled. This continued for several seconds before a new voice broke the quiet: Claire.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Never done basic first aid? You're supposed to loosen any tight clothing to make sure he can breathe freely."

"But... just his collar would be enough, right? Do you have to open his whole shirt?"

"Better safe than sorry. Hmmm. That belt looks tight too. Could you get that?"

"I... I don't know..."

"Come on, Claire! This is important! It's for his health! We need to take as good care of him as we can! He'll understand."

"Oooh. Okay."

"There you go. Those are some tight jeans he's wearing too. Best slip them down a bit."

"Really?"

"Do you want to explain to the first-aiders when they get here that we sat and let an unconscious guy suffer breathing troubles because you were embarrassed?"

"Ooo-okay... Ummmm..."

"Oh, come on, you wear belts! You know how they work!"

"This is different! There. Umm... Okay. I'm going to unzip his flies now."

"Ooh! White."

"STOP THAT!"

"Sorry. Those jeans are still quite tight though - perhaps we should tug them down. Here, I'll help. You grab the other side."

"Uhhhh."

"Come on! Gently lift his hips and... pull! There. All the way down to his knees."

"Okay. Okay. So. This is fine. We're looking after an unconscious guy, and we're making sure that his airways and chest and stuff are unimpeded, so there's no breathing difficulties and that's why his shirt's open and his jeans are round his knees. It's fine. Well just tell people that. It's fine."

"Hmmm. Oh dear."

"What?"

"Look at his waistline."

"Uhhhh..."

"No, seriously - look. See that."

"What, it's just a mark from his waistband."

"from his underpants though."

"So?"

"Soooo They're obviously too tight!"

"Oh no! Jenny! No!"

"Look! If it's pressing on his middle that could be putting pressure on his diaphragm which could cause breathing issues. It's not our fault the silly boy doesn't wear briefs that are his size!"

"Ooohhhh!"

"It's for his own good!"

"We can't!"

"Sure we can. We have to! Look, let's do it together, that way we're both responsible and neither of us will get into trouble, right?"

"Ooooh!"

"Okay. Get a grip on the waistband and... Down we go!"

"OOOOHHH!"

"There. See. Painless."

"..."

"You can look you know. You're an adult. It's not like it's scary. I mean... It really isn't... Poor lil' fella."

"No. I'm not moving my hands. I'm gonna keep my eyes covered until a professional gets here."

"Oh my gods, you've never seen one before have you?"

"I've seen lots! Just... Never in person."

"Just look."

"Oooh. Fine..."

"There. See. Nothing to be afraid of is it?"

"I Guess not... It's kinda cute, I guess. I thought it'd be bigger."

"Most of them are... I mean, they do get bigger too. You know that, right?"

"I'm not a child, you know! I'm just..."

"Inexperienced?"

"... I suppose."

"Well, consider this a learning experience. This is the shaft... And under that are his little balls..."

"Knock it off! I know what they are!"

"Well. Go on then."

"What?"

"Touch it."

"Wha?"

"Look. It's just the two of us here. He's out cold. I won't tell and it'll be good for you."

"Good for me?"

"Like I said. Learning experience. You might level up!"

"You suck at nerd jokes."

"Go on. See what it feels like. There's no harm!"

"Oooh. Okay..."

"... Oh for heaven's sake. Use your whole hand. It's a dick not a dead rat!"

"... It's soft."

"Feels cute, huh?" Try his sack now."

"Oooh."

"Don't squeeze too hard."

"Oh!"

"OH! Well, that's a good sign. At least that's working."

"It's warm."

"Hmmm..."

"What's wrong?"

"Well. I was just thinking about how this looks."

"NOW you're thinking about that?"

"Okay. I hear your concerns. You did make this point earlier. But we did have genuine reasons for doing what we've done... But if they come in and see him with a stiffy... That's kinda difficult to explain!"

"Oh gods! You're right! What do we do?"

"Well, we've got to make it go down, I guess. Before anyone comes. I'll be lookout."

"Wait? What? Make it go down? How?"

"How do you think?"

"Hmm? Oh... OH! No! I can't!"

"Sure you can! You brought him this far in record time! I reckon he likes you!"

"Jenny! No! Please!"

"No sign of Mitchell yet, but he can't be far off with the first aid kits and the first responders."

"Ooooh! Fine!"

"Careful! You'll never do it like that! You need to be gentle at first, then build up. You'll just give the poor boy friction burns if you keep on like that!"

"Well what do you suggest? You're the freaking expert, apparently!"

"Moisten him up."

"What?"

"Get him wet. It'll feel better and make the stroking easier."

"How?"

"Oh, for heaves sake. Use your head, girl! Literally! Saliva!"

"Oh! Right! Ahhhmmmmmm"

"Woah!"

"Mmm?"

"Nothing! You're doing great! I just didn't' think..."

"Mm?"

"I thought you'd just, like, spit in your hand or something."

"Mwah. Oh gods!"

"Nonono! You're fine! I mean, you got the whole thing in there and everything. Way to go, girl!"

"Oh shut up. Oh!"

"Wow, he's really reacting! Speed up, Claire! You're almost there."

"I'm almost... Oh no! Ahhhhhmmmmm"

"WOW!"

"Ghmmmmphhh"

"Oh my word, girl! You are incorrigible!"

"Mmmphhh! Shut up!"

"I mean, for your first time, to do that is..."

"Shush! Look I didn't have a choice, did I? Or do you want to explain the spooge all over the place?"

"Oh! Right! Yeah... I see."

"Oh gods. So salty..."

"Ah! Here they come! Get in position, Claire! Fix your face!"

At this point there was the sound of a door bursting open and a commotion of voices before Mrs. Harding turned off the recording.

Mr. Bush was slowly, firmly massaging his face with his palms in a clear display of exasperation and incredulity. "I assume Mr. Bookson is seeking some form of recompense?"

"Actually, no." Mrs Bush said, moving to stand behind the two girls. He has merely asked for a bit of paid leave until this has all blown over. As of right now he's visiting friends out of state."

"So it's just down to a suitable punishment for the ladies here, then. Well. If it's just that tape and the few of us here who are aware of the full extent of this situation. I assume it was Mr. Bookson who brought this to your attention? Then a period of suspension and some kind of... unspecified mark on your records should suffice. You two are lucky this serious a matter is so well contained."

Mrs Harding shook her head. Claire seemed to be trying to curl into a ball in her chair, and Jenifer had a, a look on her face.

"What?" Mr. Bush asked, with not a little dread in his voice.

Mrs. Harding cleared her throat. "The footage we saw was from one camera that had been knocked over. But the studio was fully set up and there was nothing wrong with the other two cameras." Mr. Bush's eyes widened, but Mrs. Harding continued before he could say anything. "And it was footage from those cameras that was shown at the Young Documentarians Film Festival last night. Under the title 'Sex Ed. A Learning Experience.' "

Mr. Bush's face was one of sheer horror at this point. Mrs. Harding, however, continued with her bad news. "Apparently our bidding filmmakers thought it would be a good idea to present the situation as a sendup, fly-on-the-wall documentary about... How did you describe it, girls?"

Claire didn't move, but Jennifer was able to answer, "Pushing boundaries by demonstrating an individual exploring a new and taboo experience."

Mrs. Harding sighed. "Although it was a primarily student-led and attended event, copies of the 'documentary' have been given out and there are multiple copies online. It hasn't reached local news yet, but I imagine they'll pick up on it soon enough."

Mr. Bush dropped his hands to his desk and looked at the two girls before him. "Do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?" He asked.

Claire continued to attempt to disappear into her chair, but Jennifer looked up, her eyes wide and pleading. "We've gotten great reviews."