On cue Cassandra grabs the bottom of her t-shirt and pulls it swiftly and smoothly over her head. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and I stare for a second at her perfect, small breasts. Her long hair falls over her bare shoulders and it occurs to me that if the café business ever fails she could easily turn to modelling. She’s almost impossibly thin and the denim shorts cover so little she’s as close to being naked as she can be, and still be legal. I’m suddenly insanely jealous of the combination of brains, beauty and youth.
I turn back to the camera.
“Well,” I say, “I’m sure you’re anxious to find out a lot more of how this very unique business runs. So, without further ado, I’m going to put on my uniform and join Cassandra for ‘A Working Day’ at the ‘Naked Women in Shorts Café’”
I try to look confident as I fumble at the top button of my blouse with my free hand. I pop it open, and then the second, before Jim takes the camera off of his shoulder and I stop. He only has eyes for Cassandra, of course.
“That was great Cassandra,” I tell her, meaning it. Cassandra’s smile widens further. “Now, is there somewhere I can get changed?” I was only unbuttoning the blouse for show, of course, and I had no intention of working topless for the day. But with that intro I doubt there’d be a single viewer changing channel when this went out on air.
The Reverend Mother awoke early as usual. She had come to a decision in the night: Sister Sarah had seemed thoroughly submissive the previous day and, although she wanted to break her spirit, she didn’t want to destroy her entirely. As a reward for her good behaviour, she would end her punishment a day early.
She took Sarah’s habit from the locked cupboard and marched towards her room. If she arrived before the alarm went then Sarah could re-join her Sisters in wearing the habit from now on, assuming she continued to behave herself.
She lifted the latch to Sarah’s room and pushed the door open, and then dropped the item of clothing to the floor when she saw the two young nuns, still sleeping, one naked and one in a nightdress, their limbs intertwined on the narrow bed.
I was inspired by the video below to write a little story about being stripped whilst crowd surfing. Now, before you get your hopes up, the girl in this video doesn’t get anything taken off, but it’s pretty hot all the same.
Obviously, in my story things go a little further… It’s intended as a bit of fun and some pure escapism. I’m sure if it ever happened it would be nothing short of terrifying, but as a fantasy it’s quite exquisite.
Have you ever been out with someone who’s just a bit too much of a gentleman? Yes, I know that’s a rarity and I should thank my lucky stars, but the problem with Martin was that even after three dates he still didn’t seem to realise that I fancied him like crazy.
“Thanks for bringing me, Martin,” I said, looking away from the stage for a second and smiling at him. He had lovely grey-blue eyes and an odd mixture of confidence and shyness. He wasn’t at all like the guys I used to date; the big dumb blonds, as I thought of them now. I just wished he had a little of their, shall we say, forthrightness? With them, if I escaped a first date without a hand on my boob I considered myself fortunate. With Martin I was lucky if I saw even the idea of a goodnight kiss flash across his face before nerves got the better of him.
It was my first music festival, and a beautiful summer’s day with it. I wished we’d bought tickets for the whole weekend, and if Martin had any sense he’d have suggested sharing a tent. I’d even have said yes to sharing a sleeping bag, but I doubt he’d ever be so bold as to ask.
And before you ask, I wasn’t just desperate to sleep with him because I’d had a couple of beers; at the start of the day I’d already decided that, one way or another, I was going to find out if he actually found me attractive or not. I’d even planned to start the day with a not-so-accidental towel drop, but when I’d told Martin I wasn’t ready he’d waited out on the street. I just hoped that skinny jeans and a sleeveless top was sexy enough for him, and I guess I’ll have to find another way to get naked before the day was out. I’ve even deployed the wireless pullover bra in case Martin had no idea how to undo a clasp.
My train of fantasy was interrupted by two guys lifting a young woman into the air in front of me. I was about to complain about blocking the view to the band when she fell back towards us and I automatically lifted my hands to stop her.
More hands joined, and the next I knew it we were pushing her over our heads as she stretched her arms above her. She seemed to glide effortlessly over the tops of the crowd, sometimes twisting and rolling, progressing slowly on a meandering path across the park.
Hands grabbed at her and she let out a shriek. She moved her arms to her side and gripped her t-shirt as someone became over-enthusiastic about the presence of a young woman’s body and tried to lift her top.
“Woah!” I said involuntarily. Martin had seen it too and his eyes were wide.
As I looked back at the girl her arms were above her head again, and more hands had pushed her t-shirt high enough to expose her stomach. She didn’t seem to mind, having found a level of exposure that she was comfortable with. Other hands tugged at her jeans and she shrieked again and grabbed her belt.
“I love your, er,” I said as I looked her up and down, desperate to pay a compliment in return. “I love your tattoos.” Natasha had a magnificent set of multi-coloured tattoos: on her arms, on her shoulders, on the tops of her feet and her ankles, spiralling up her leg and thigh and across her stomach. Oh yes, now I remember the important part of describing Natasha, and why I was surprised, or even shocked, at meeting her. I’m able to describe Natasha’s tattoos in such detail because Natasha was entirely naked.
“Why, thank you,” she said, looking down at herself. I joined her in staring at the young naked body in front of me and wondered whether I was dreaming. “I’ve been collecting them for years. I started with a few small ones like this.” She twisted around and pointed to an owl tattooed on her shoulder before turning back quickly as I tried to tear my eyes away from the way her tiny breasts wobbled as she spun around. “And this was next,” she said as she twisted her leg outwards and pointed to a small butterfly at the top of her inner thigh, although all I could think of was that I was staring directly at her immaculately shaved vagina. “That one was for an old boyfriend, who wanted something that only he would see.” She shrugged and her breasts wobbled again. “I guess everyone gets to see it now.”
She put her hands on my hips to raise herself up again. I jumped at the sensation of her warm hands on my bare skin. It was such a contrast to the still cold steel around my ankles and wrists.
“Now,” she said, “How does that feel.”
Her eyes were sparkling and I felt as if she had admitted me into some kind of inner circle. I wasn’t used to being so… accepted and it made me feel warm inside, but my skin was tingling at the realisation that I was nude and helpless, for the moment at least.
“Even… odder,” I said, “I feel… I feel so naked.”
Lisa smiled as if that was exactly what she wanted.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, “You are naked.”
We both laughed and I took another nervous sip from my glass.
“Here,” she said, and with one hand firmly on the small of my back and another more gently touching my stomach she pushed me gently backwards and I let myself sink down onto the sofa.
When Mia opened her eyes I returned to my questioning. “Artists have often worked with nudes,” I said, “So, why don’t you hire a model rather than doing all this yourself?”
She seemed to welcome the question. “Partly, honestly, it’s money. How much is it going to cost to hire a model for days on end, with no idea of whether anything of worth will come out of it? And then, once I started, I realised the insight I had I couldn’t gain any other way. I had to experience the art as well as creating it.”
“And your compositions,” I continued, “There are other artists that work with nude individuals and groups. But in your pieces, there’s only ever one nude: you.”
It seemed another topic Mia was prepared for. “We are doing very different things and, in my work, I think the juxtaposition is much sharper if there is only a single nude. I think many nudes can be very visually appealing, but a single nude poses more questions; it forces the viewer to interact with the representation of an individual.”
Hearing a noise, I looked around. An elderly man was barely twenty feet away from us along the path. I started to reach for the raincoat, and then realised the futility of it. He smiled as he came alongside us, waved his hand and said something in Spanish. Mia replied with a grin and tilted her head towards me. His eyes followed her direction and we exchanged a smile. I looked at her, wanting to know what had happened.
I looked wistfully at my clothes crumpled on the chair: I’d have preferred to have gotten undressed after my outfit had arrived, not before. Then I glanced up at the table across the room, laid out with drinks and empty glasses. I noticed what looked like a pair of handcuffs on the far corner and then averted my eyes in embarrassment. I don’t know why.
Lisa saw me looking at the table. “Let me get you a drink,” she said as she stood, “Gin and tonic, I believe?”
I nodded and sat nervously on the edge of the sofa with my hands folded in my lap. I looked again at my jeans and t-shirt, wondering if I could put them back on until Tina arrived with my outfit.
“Just a sec,” Lisa said, and she picked up my bundle of clothes and left the room with them. That answered the question of putting them back on without even asking it, I guess.
I heard her go upstairs and then a minute later she reappeared with a rectangular cardboard box.
“Here,” she said, “I’ve got these for you.”
She handed me the box. It looked like a shoebox, and I hoped it had more than shoes inside.
I opened the box: it did only have shoes inside. Gorgeous, strappy stilettos; light cream colour with sparkling insets.
“These are for me?” I asked looking at them.
“Just to borrow,” Lisa said as she made us both a gin and tonic, “Do you like them?”
“They’re gorgeous!” I said. And so much more glamourous than anything I owned.
“Here you go,” Lisa said, handing me my gin and tonic. I took a sip and waited for the alcohol to have some effect: hopefully it would help me to get over the discomfort of sitting around naked.
Lisa put her drink on the table beside her and took one of the shoes out of the box.
“Here,” she said, kneeling in front of me. She lifted my ankle with her hand and slipped the shoe onto my foot. I giggled at the tickling sensation as she fastened the thin leather buckle.
Miss Ashdown watched as Jessica caressed the keys and the piano sang in response. She envied her for her passion and, perhaps a little, for her physique too as she moved up and down the scales. She noticed how Jessica moved her position on the stool to stimulate her body yet further, how she would lean into the piano as if she wanted to climb on top of it, and she could feel the essence of the young woman’s sexuality in every passage she played.
Finally, Jessica was finished and, again, she sat with her eyes closed and her fingers and her toes resting lightly on the keys and pedals. Miss Ashdown broke the spell with a gentle touch of Jessica’s forearm.
“That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” she told her student.
Jessica opened her eyes and smiled dreamily. Oh, how she wished there really was her mystery man in the audience, ready to make love to and to bring her own performance to a crescendo.
Miss Ashdown smiled back at the girl and waited for her to recover. She watched her young, bare breasts rise and fall, with just the hint of a shudder from deep within. Finally Jessica spoke.
“Miss Ashdown?”
“Yes, Jessica?”
“Does this mean…” she said, looking down at her naked body, “Does this mean I have to take lessons like this from now on?”
“I’ve got enough footage from out there,” he said, “So I guess we can get started.” I nodded. I saw him glance at my cleavage; I realised, in all the time we’d worked together, that this was probably the first time he’d seen me in anything other than a blouse. Strangely, I felt flattered that, even with Cassandra’s and Sue’s breasts only a few feet away, I could still provide a small distraction, even covered as I was.
“Let’s do the intro first,” I said, and Jim propped his camera up onto his shoulder. The red light came on to show he was recording. I grabbed the microphone he held out for me and stood still with the café counter behind me with the girls working away.
“Here we are inside ‘Naked Women in Shorts’ to see how the business runs. As you can see, Cassandra and Sue are busy behind me, and I’m in my uniform ready to lend a hand.”
At this point, Jim should be filming me from the chest upwards. Hopefully, with my shoulders bare, the viewers will be assuming that I’ve stripped off as well. I paused for a second.
Jim gave a thumbs up: it was the sign that he’d pulled back to get my bikini top in the frame.
“Well, you didn’t think I’d be willing to bare all on my salary, did you?” I said as I shrugged. Jim smiled and the red light went off as he stopped recording.
But the main thing I noticed was Mia: by her presence she commanded the space. She was wearing… well, you can probably guess what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing. I recognised the red heels from the other day and, besides those and her thick black hair, her bare, creamy skin seemed to cast a light on the room. On her hands and forearms were a pair of long, silk gloves, but that was the only part of her skin that was covered.
She had a large, gold-sprayed handbag hooked on the crook of her elbow, an oversized watch on one wrist and a bracelet on the other, and a large braided necklace around her neck with a single stone which hung between her breasts. Long earrings almost reached her shoulders and, to crown it off was, well, a crown, or rather a tiara that sparkled in the intense lighting.
I smiled; the image of her was seductive, sensual, erotic and also comical all at the same time. If she had been wearing a long, flowing evening gown it would have been easy to dismiss her as the new-money wife of a rich footballer. Yet, by being naked beneath all of the accessories, she was offering commentary on money instead of trying to represent it.
I looked at some of the other guests; there were more than a few who were wearing at least one item resembling something that Mia was sneering at: a brash watch, a tasteless necklace, or a “look at me” handbag. Admittedly, no-one else was wearing a tiara.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and I wasn’t the only one. “Amazing, isn’t she?” a voice said from beside me.
I turned around and saw a late middle-aged man in an expensive suit with a neatly trimmed beard and grey hair.
“All those things that many people aspire to and yet, if you removed them, Mia would become more beautiful as each item disappeared.”
He had a point: her nakedness served to highlight just how drab those expensive items were by comparison.
Kara Bryn 