Center of Attention

A collection by P.A. Choi

Copyright 2021 P.A. Choi

Cover design by P.A. Choi.

Table of Contents

The Second-Cutest Nudist

The Naked Girl of Rue de Nue

A Fanciful Image

The Grecian

The Loft Apartment

By Her Pale Skin

About P.A. Choi

The Second-Cutest Nudist

The sun was at its highest point and Kellyanne felt the sweat trickle down her side and she stretched on her lounger by the pool and let the sun bake her bare body, shamelessly displayed face-up before nature and the rest of the people relaxing at Nude Gardens Nudist Park.

Her posture piqued the attention of others, looking at her long leg draw up and the wedge of dark fur there nestled between her thighs as she stared blankly at the sky from behind her sunglasses, a content smile on her face. She knew she attracted many a gaze, and she honestly didn't care. Most women her age avoided the nudist park for modesty, even though people at places like this were friendly and non-judgmental and well-balanced. Some women—young, attractive women, mainly—still shied away from coming here to bare all. Kellyanne would only occasionally see a woman her age and physique, usually with her family—there was one well-known girl who showed up every summer with her family in a giant camper, and she was very personable and well-liked. She had no shame, and she seemed to enjoy life to the fullest. She was perhaps unusual in that regard. She must have grown up in a nudist family. Kellyanne did not. She found out about this place, just an hour away from her apartment, and decided to give it a try. Never the shy one, she instantly fell in love with it. It was so freeing. She came on summer afternoons and even on some evenings after work. She could never get her friends to commit to going, so she was probably the only girl her age who came alone. But it was safe to do so here. The staff and community were good about sniffing out perverts, much different than at a nude beach, where anybody could walk right in. Despite that, human nature was inevitable and beauty was beauty, and many an appreciative eye delighted in the sight of Kellyanne's soft and slender outline slipping into the pool or rinsing off under the outdoor shower, as she now prepared to do, to wash off the sweat. It was a fantastic feeling, after roasting in the sun, to lose all her perspiration and feel fresh as when she had stepped out, and the exhibitionism of leaning back and letting the water cascade down her breasts and abdomen while about two dozen people watched was exhilarating, but not in a sexual way. Kellyanne enjoyed showing off, but she didn't consider herself an actual exhibitionist. She just liked feeling beautiful, liked being beautiful, liked being a picturesque scene in this sunlit park full of old and fat sunbathers and scampering children. It set her apart, and she didn't mind being in the spotlight.

It was as she was finishing off, shutting off the water and flinging her wet hair, that the gate creaked and into the pool area came a small group of newcomers, clothed, two guys and two girls, and they all were struck still by the sight of Kellyanne glittering wet in the sun. She smiled inwardly (and maybe betrayed a little bit of amusement on her face) as she walked back to her chair and picked up her towel, standing there before all and taking off her sunglasses to dab her face. When she lowered the towel, the sunlit deck was blindingly bright, and she caught the backs of the newcomers going into the clubhouse, though the last guy glanced over his shoulder at her and they met eyes And then he hurried inside.

She let the smile grow now. The others around the pool were unconcerned, focused on their books, or watching their kids, or falling asleep under the sun. What to do now? she thought to herself. She had had her fill of tanning. She decided she would go inside and get some water, and deviously, this would give the newcomers another opportunity to be amazed by her casual nakedness. She left her sunglasses and took her towel, carried under her arm and not flung over her shoulder where it would cover up her chest, or tied around her waist as some other women did, and she felt powerful in a way as she circled around the pool like a model on a catwalk, taking a trip around the deck so that nobody would miss her. And then she approached the shade of the clubhouse awning, nodded at an old man and lady sitting there, and stepped into the cool interior where her eyes had to adjust before seeing the group of old guys sitting at the long table and looking up at a NASCAR race which she couldn't see but could hear, and their eyes lowered to her briefly and nodded in greeting. Everybody was so friendly here, she recounted again, and she walked past the table, thrilled and happy to feel the cool air conditioning on her bare flesh, and the flesh of her rear-end flex as she walked. Out of the corner of her eye, before she turned to the back wall where the drinking fountain, coffee, and snack machines were, she saw that the newcomers were in the office with its long picture window, and she knew her backside was the first thing they would see if they were to look out that window. But it was not her intention to show off. Rather, it was something in the back of her mind as she went over to the table with the coffee pot and paper tablecloth powdered with spilled creamer and grabbed a styrofoam cup to fill at the fountain.

She turned around to drink, tipping the cool water into her mouth and feeling it course through her body as she looked and saw the group coming out of the office, still clothed, and walking like jerky marionettes, stopping again at the sight of her, then acknowledging the leather-skinned men sitting between them and her, before making their awkward way out into the sun. Then it was just her and the regulars, and the NASCAR announcer excitedly narrating the race, and she up-ended the cup until there were only droplets jumping onto her tongue, and she turned around and filled it again. As she drank her second cup, she could hear the rumble of a large camper and knew that another set of new arrivals were coming. It was going to be a crowded afternoon. It sounded like the perfect time to go for a swim. But first, she had to pee.

When she came back out onto the pool deck, Kellyanne saw that the latest caravan was not in fact newcomers but the popular girl and her family, spreading out and saying hello to all the regulars. Now Kellyanne wasn't the only attractive woman to draw eyes; the twenty-something daughter of the family was youthful and energetic, infectiously cute, a combination of her braces-laden smile and the puff of her dark pubic hair below, which she carried in such a carefree manner, not hiding, not flaunting, effortlessly pretty. Then there were the two girls who came with the newcomers. Kellyanne scanned her eyes for where that group had ended up and found them setting up at a row of loungers not too far from her own. Both young women were undressed, and while not as captivating as the popular girl, they were nonetheless attractive, a little thicker, full breasts, one of them more golden than the other, the other with distinct tanlines that her auburn hair brushed as she turned around and looked out at the pool. Of the two guys, one was wearing bright orange floral swim trunks, and the other was nude, applying suntan lotion to his arms and standing sideways so the muscular trunk of his torso appeared long; a hearty stalk of a man. The seated one was staring at the popular girl, but his eyes flitted briefly over to Kellyanne, and he flinched because she was now looking directly at him. He regarded his female companions briefly, then looked down forlornly at a black bag at the base of his chair.

Kellyanne dismissed the group and eyed the water. With glee, she jumped right in, and it was ice-cold on impact, but quickly warmed up. As she came up above the surface, the sun burned her wet shoulders. She would not stay out long; she had gotten plenty of sun already. But the dip would limber her up, and then she might go sit in the shade and have a drink while watching all the new people look across the deck at her. The newcomers seemed to be here partly to gawk, and to be gawked at, for as she glanced their way, their eyes were all over, zeroing in on the popular girl until she joined her family, which apparently made them feel weird, so they only glanced at her, then went about whatever it was they were doing. The two women were just standing there fluffing out their hair, while the naked, muscly man made for the pool, and his still-clothed compatriot took up the bag and began unzipping it.

It was Kellyanne's turn to gawk a little, as in between lazily paddling from one end of the pool to the other, she stopped momentarily to watch the muscly guy wade into the shallow end, looking somewhat awkward, moving past the jumping and splashing kids, moving naturally past the popular girl without holding his eyes on her for too long, and more or less looking like he didn't know what to do, so he just leaned forward into the water and swam. Kellyanne took her eyes away and had reached the end of the pool near her chair, and near the newcomers, who, to her surprise, were staging what appeared to be a photoshoot right there by the side of the pool. The two women stood with hips canted, the tanned one fluffing her hair still and the auburn-haired beauty with her hands on the edges of the pale "v" of her untanned skin, contrasted with her dark landing strip. All the while, the swimming trunks guy clicked the shutter on a large camera with an expensive-looking lens. Now, all the polite park guests, who never stared, were now staring.

Kellyanne could hardly believe it. If anything marked these young people as newbies, this was it. The photographer, briefly distracted by her in his peripheral, glanced over at her and sheepishly smiled. He held his camera as if he meant to swing it over and capture her, but he appeared to be having doubts.

Soon a clothed person, the office clerk, a man in his fifties wearing jeans and a flannel shirt which looked all too hot for this weather, came storming around the pool.

"Hey, you can't take photos here," he said. "No cameras."

The photographer stood up, the lens pointed at the ground as if were a loaded gun. "I was just photographing my friends," he said. The two women lowered their arms and stood about impatiently.

"Don't care, it's against the rules. People may get caught in the background that don't want their photo out there. Now put that away, or I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Alright, alright," the photographer said, putting up his free hand. "Sorry, I didn't know."

The clerk watched, and Kellyanne did, too, as the photographer sat back down on his lounger and took up the black bag to put away the camera. The two young women walked over and took seats on the two loungers to his left, splaying out as if they were still waiting for someone to photograph them. The tanned one sighed. Finally the clerk seemed satisfied and turned to go back to his hole, and Kellyanne turned to look at the others in and around the pool. People went back to their own devices. The muscly guy was now getting out of the water, looking over at his friends from afar and hurrying over, and the popular girl, in the middle of tossing a foam football to a little girl, looked on with some concern.

The photographer's lounger squeaked as he slouched back on it, and Kellyanne looked back over at him. "Shit," the man said. His nude friend came over, standing with his small hook-shaped penis right at his eye-level.

"What happened?" he asked his friend. The photographer looked up, then quickly averted his eyes, and looked angrily at the ground.

"We aren't allowed to take pictures," he said.

"Well shit, there goes our plans," the nude guy said.

"I'll just lay here," the tanned girl said with her eyes closed against the sun. "Might as well relax."

"Shit, I got an upload to make this weekend!" the photographer grumbled. "I guess we'll just have to do a shoot indoors."

"Lame," the tanlined girl said, turning on her side and looking coyly down at the photographer. "Everybody does indoor shoots nowadays."

Kellyanne was still watching from her spot by the side of the pool, apparently forgotten by the photographer until she spoke up. "Excuse me... are you guys like a model agency or something?"

The photographer's eyes rose to meet her innocent face hovering there on the pavement.

"Yeah," he said. "I run a nude model site. I've been wanting to do some nude-in-nature photoshoots, but it's damn hard to find a place to shoot them. Even in a nudist resort."

The tanned girl, eyes still closed and detached from the scene, snorted.

"You know there's a walking trail just down the way," Kellyanne told the dejected man. "You can get away with taking some pictures on it. It'd be a lot more scenic, too."

This seemed to pique the man's interest. His friend was now turned towards Kellyanne, his toned six-pack now facing her, and the tanlined girl sat up.

"Oh yeah?" the photographer asked.

"Yep. there's a nice creek at the bottom of it, too, it's real pretty. It would be perfect."

The photographer looked at each of his friends. The tanned girl was still affecting sleep and ignoring the rest of the group. "Gee thanks," he said. "That might be just the thing."

"Well let's go," his nude friend said, poised to march right to the trail. Then he stopped and turned back to Kellyanne.

"Um... where is it?"

She raised a dripping hand out of the pool and pointed beyond the gate. "Just out there," she said. "Just go to the other end of the parking lot and the entrance to the trail is right there."

"This creek... is it easy to find?" the photographer asked.

"It's a little off the beaten path," Kellyanne admitted. She had been there herself, walking one day until she heard a distant trickle that she was determined to find. She had to traverse down a thickly-wooded sidehill, but soon she could see the water glittering in the sun, and she came out into a picturesque scene that just begged for a naked woman in it. She obliged, and obliged herself to bathe in it, enjoying the chill water and then sunning herself on a rock, feeling a million miles away from her job and her small apartment, feeling like she was in the middle of Lord of the Rings. "It's kind of a hidden secret," she concluded.

The tanlined girl was now folding up her towel and shifting on her feet next to the nude guy. Her dual-shaded breasts were half-hidden, the visible half just so casually revealed. The photographer was scooting towards the edge of his seat now. "Could you show us?" he asked.

A moment of hesitation took over Kellyanne. She expected him to ask as much. The thing was, she wasn't against going. She kind of wanted to see what beautiful scenes they would be able to make. The young group waited, and even the tanned girl finally opened her eyes and sat up. It was quite a picturesque yet candid scene; if Kellyanne were a photographer, she would very much like to capture this subject in such a casual nude display, instead of the lurid poses that the swim trunks guy concocted. Finally, Kellyanne pushed herself out of the pool before them, rising up as the water cascaded down her body, and she looked at them, only a few feet away.

"Sure," she said. "Let's go."

Kellyanne grabbed her towel and dabbed off quickly but not thoroughly, slipped her feet into her sandals by her lounger, while the tanned girl got up, and the rest of the nudist park watched as they were all led along by Kellyanne, single-file, like the Pied Piper leading his flock. The popular girl watched them go as she stepped out of the shallow end, stopping and folding her arms over her small chest and looking like she was about to shake her head, but Kellyanne looked away from her as she headed towards the gate. Wordlessly, her flock followed, the guy with the camera still wearing his trunks as she looked back to make sure they were with her. In another minute, they were entering the trailhead that broke up the treeline. Here they broke formation, and the camera guy came up to walk side-by-side with Kellyanne.

"So what are y'all's names?" she asked first.

"I'm Steve," he said. "And back there is Tommy. And Sandra—" he motioned to the girl with the perfect tan, who barely lifted her hand as she walked along, looking at the quiet nature enveloping them and softening the hard features of her face just a little bit—"and that's Lea," jutting his thumb at the auburn-haired girl with the tanlines, who smiled warmly at Kellyanne.

"What's your site?" she asked next. Steve cleared his throat.

"Angels Among Us," he said.

"Charming."

"Too cheesy?"

"Nah, it's nice. A little sappy, but I like the premise."

"Strictly just tasteful nudes, though I was thinking of doing some hardcore videos."

Kellyanne raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Well, maybe. Maybe a separate label."

"You know, this type of thing isn't really something that people at a nudist resort would appreciate," Kellyanne said.

"Yeah, I figured. I don't want it to be too exploitative, I just love sharing the beauty of naked women."

Sandra, the tanned girl, sighed at this behind them. But Lea stepped up beside Steve and Kellyanne and beamed her approval.

"I'm all for it!" she said happily. "There aren't many sites like that anymore. It's all hardcore and it all looks the same."

"So that's how you're going to set yourself apart?" Kellyanne asked. "Are you clever with that camera?"

Steve hunched his shoulders a little bit and looked at the ground.

"Well, I'm a bit of an amateur...."

"Because if you really want to set yourself apart, you should make sure your photos are out of this world. Do something that not everybody else is doing."

"Well... hopefully my selection of models will help with that!" Steve then said proudly.

"So you guys have release forms and all that?"

"Yeah, I got my bases covered. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just wondering..."

"I was actually wondering, too..."

"What's that?"

"Do you want to pose in some of these shots?"

Kellyanne had a laugh; she could only imagine herself positioning her body so that the camera could capture every intimate, split-second detail missed by just the naked eye; the implied motion of her arms, the collection of beaded water on her skin. The every crisp fiber of her pubic hair in the sun...

"You got any of those release forms handy?" she asked.

"So you'd do it?" Steve asked rather excitably.

"Maybe. Sounds kind of exciting."

"There's some in my bag." He slowed his step. "If you wait a second, I can—"

"Let's save it for when we get to the creek."

"A-alright. What’s your fee?”

Kellyanne stopped for a moment. She hadn’t considered that. These two girls were paid models, afterall. She had no idea what to ask.

"Where is this creek, anyway?" Sandra asked from behind. "It's really far out here, huh?"

"Not that far," Kellyanne called back, then looked around. "Actually.... here. We break into the woods here."

"We're really roughing it, huh? Lea  asked, looking down at her vulnerable body as if imagining branches and thorns tearing it up. And, at her bare feet. "I hope I don’t step on any thorns." Tommy, still an Adonis, charged past her and helped lead the way to their destination.

"It's not that bad," Kellyanne said, letting her eyes fall briefly on Tommy's butt as they descended down an overgrown trail down the slope. "Just watch your step." She could feel her sandals slipping as she traversed the path, and knew that any of them could take a fall very easily. She felt the familiar thrill of having found this place for the first time herself, and felt the leaves tickle her bare skin and relished the air all over her. And then there was the trickle of the creek approaching. "Here we are," she announced.

They stepped out onto a clearing by the shore of the creek. There was a large rock which they walked out onto, and below that, a wet, sandy inlet, and before them, a rushing waterway complete with a photogenic waterfall. The sound of the water was overpowering, but Kellyanne thought she heard Lea take a breath at the sight.

"Excellent," Steve said. "Fantastic." He unshouldered his bag and put it on the ground, where he opened it and took out his camera. The others stepped up to the edge of the rock and looked out.

"I don't even know where to start," Steve marveled as he screwed on a new lens.

Tommy looked out at the water and then turned to survey the group, looking at their two ladies and then at Kellyanne, imagining where to put them. Lea took the initiative and climbed down the rock to put her bare feet in the water, and she stood in the current unsuredly as Steve took his camera in hand and furiously tore off the lens cover to begin shooting. Candid shots already ensued, with Lea delighting herself in the water and the shutter clicking.

"So you just go off the cuff, huh?" Kellyanne asked him. He shrugged a little bit, keeping Lea in his viewfinder.

"Just gotta catch this," he said.

"Gotta catch 'em all," Sandra replied, and stepped past Steve to block his view of Lea, fluffing her hair again on the rock. Steve repositioned himself and captured Sandra from behind, a glorious outline, with Lea waist-deep in the background.

"Fantastic."

"How about that release form?" Kellyanne interrupted. Steve looked up from his viewfinder, surprised. "Oh, right."

He crouched down again to root in the camera bag while Lea enjoyed herself and Sandra just stood on the rock, almost looking bored, but Kellyanne's heart was thrumming. She now wanted to be down there, frolicking in the creek, seen by the camera lens, captured for all. And get paid for it. She still did not know what to ask for. Tommy was waiting, observing her entry into the scene.

"Here you go," Steve said, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen. "Um, where to sign it...."

"I'll just use your back," Kellyanne said, approaching the flustered man. He handed her the paper and pen and then turned around, and she flattened the sheet against his warm back, where she could feel his muscles tense as she pressed the tip of the pen against his flesh, as her knee bumped into the back of his, and her breast brushed his skin. She could feel the nylon of his shorts against her upper thigh, very close to her most sensitive area, which shuddered and twitched all on its own.

“Did you settle on a price?” he asked as she scribbled on him.

“If you don’t mind... can I converse with your models later, in private?”

“You mean I’m signing you on without knowing how much I’m going to have to pay you?”

Kellyanne laughed. “I understand. Just pay me the same thing that they’re asking for.”

“Okay. Not everybody has the same price. I can average them out, I guess.”

“How much is that?”

“I can’t say right now; confidentiality and all that.”

"Oh, right." In truth, Kellyanne wasn't really worried about the money. But it was only fair that she got paid. "So aren't you going to dress down like the rest of us?" she asked him over his shoulder, her breath traveling along the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver. She completed signing and stepped back as he turned around and accepted the signature.

"Well, uh... I'm the photographer."

"What, so you have to wear shorts?" she teased with a good-natured smile that came naturally to her, as if she were teasing an old friend.

Steve smirked as he bent down and slid the release form carefully into its resting spot, then he picked up the camera again. "Well the pockets are handy for carrying things," he said, holding up the lens cover in one hand as evidence. Kellyanne just raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever you say..."

She turned to approach the edge of the rock, where Sandra was still standing, an arm gently wrapped around her waist and the other across her chest. Kellyanne looked out at the inviting water. Lea was wading to the other side, body rising to the weed-ridden opposite bank.

The camera shutter clicked. Kellyanne was a little startled. She didn't realize Steve was going to start shooting already. She was double-startled when she saw him, camera raised and squinting through it like a sniper rifle, and no longer with the distracting neon orange florals below, just bare skin, a puff of black, and a wink of noodle. She smiled at him, and the smile, so candid, was caught, perhaps the most charming shot of the whole set. Plenty more were taken, with Kellyanne kicking off her sandals and now braving the waters, delighting in scooping up whole handfuls of it and throwing it into the air before her, each droplet freeze-framed in mid-air before her face and her sun-kissed skin. Later, when she looked at those photos, she was struck by all of them, how perfectly they captured the spirit of casual nudity, but also with the effect of the somewhat erotic, not lewd in any way, but charged with a strange, almost supernatural energy. She did not regret posing that day.

It was maybe an hour or more later when they packed up and left (or rather, Steve packed up his camera; there was not much more to collect other than that), and they walked, with towels (and Steve's shorts) slung over their shoulders. They walked silently back to the main part of the resort, and once there, eyes followed them again as they sought out a new set of chairs. The ones they had been sitting at were now occupied, and they found themselves at the dense patio area directly in front of the shallow end, with four rows of loungers and lots of people, and it was there they awkwardly sat and talked about their venture, while the other guests glanced at them. It seemed Steve was now finally enjoying the nudist resort on its own merits, and not just as a means to his end. Kellyanne resumed her posture on the chair that she had been in before Steve and his crew had arrived, and she listened to him talk, but eventually he quieted down and she closed her eyes and drifted off into a half-sleep while the departing sun warmed her abdomen, all of her, splayed out unashamedly, her legs laying flat, nothing hid by raised limb or a conveniently-placed book, there for all to see, and now people did glance at the group, unsure about these young and fit sunbathers, perhaps forming rumors in their heads of what could have happened on that photoshoot by the creek. Kellyanne did not see these faces, for her eyes remained closed, and she was half on another plane of existence, a plane of existence where she floated through the air, nude, deprived of any sense except for the wind buffeting her skin.

She opened her eyes abruptly for some reason, as if she sensed there was someone looking at her. Steve, to her left, was looking her way, but not at her. She turned her head to see the popular girl, that celebrated "cutest nudist," walking by, heading for the gate alone, her side profile a thin s-curve of nearly seamless golden skin interrupted by the faint impression of a swimsuit that was once worn somewhere else. She did not glance at them, or perhaps she did, out of the corner of her eye. It was hard to tell. But once she disappeared through the gate, Steve said in a low (but not low enough) voice: "Man, I wish I could get her to pose."

Kellyanne looked back towards him, noted maybe a few heads slightly turned in their direction. "I don't think you'll ever get her to do that," she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"She always comes with her huge family. I don't think she wants to be associated with something like that."

Another head two rows ahead of them moved.

"Shame," Steve concluded, then re-adjusted himself on his chair. Kellyanne rested her hands on her stomach, wondering if she should go pee or if she should just relax out there some more. She was in relative shade now on this side of the pool, and with the sun having traveled to the treetops behind her. It was very pleasant laying here. And now she suddenly felt like she was part of a group. No longer was she the lone girl who came to the resort just to relax and then leave, becoming known for her contented solitude. Would this group be back? she wondered. Perhaps Steve would attempt to photograph more girls at the creek, or in other private areas throughout the resort. Or maybe his friends were now hooked on the place. She looked over at them; Sandra leaned back with her eyes closed and the lengthened line of her mouth seemed to express subtle happiness now rather than irritation, and her hands were folded under her breasts, which rose and fell with the breath of sleep, and Lea, to her left, was turned over on her stomach, hoping to eliminate the tanlines from her butt, and Tommy had sat up, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of water and surveying the people in the pool. They did all look content. Perhaps they would come back. If they did, though, would Kellyanne want to be associated with them?

The Naked Girl of Rue de Nue

Now I don't get many stories quite like this—I have done some strange human interest pieces during my career, from a man living way out in the countryside and who had not seen modern France (he asked me how the Allied Forces were doing and kept saying "what?" when I told him the war was long over), to, more similar to this, a family that decided they were going to live on a nude beach, literally, as they came to visit and loved it so much that they started gathering branches and making their own hut—nothing comes close to this one, though, for the story was not far outside in the country somewhere but right here in the city, and unlike most news centered around the city, this news was... I suppose "positive" is a weird word to use here. That would depend on the reader. But it definitely would be a refreshingly non-negative story. The subject in question is the now-famous "naked girl" of "Rue de Nue," Paris.

There probably won't be a reader that doesn't know this girl, an Asian-American living in a humble flat on 1324 Rue de Naevus, who for some reason decided she wanted to start living her life nude, and, well, nobody stopped her. It wasn't clear what her business in town was or what she did as a career; she was not a student. Whatever her motivations, she rubbed off on others in the unit, who also decided life was better without clothes, some unfortunately so, so that the street came to be known as "Nude," or, "Rue de Nue." Yes, people know all about that. But they don't know who this naked girl is, and that's my job as an intrepid journalist.

I will admit I had some preconceived notions in my head as I walked down the rain-slicked cobbled sidewalk towards 1324, and already had the thesis of my story formulated out of thin air: annoying American twat shits up Paris with her perverted version of what she thinks European culture is like, but perhaps that was a little judgmental before having met her. It turns out, the story really fleshed out, no pun intended, once I met her and stayed with her for several hours. I'll confess, a lot of the stories are already written on assumption before I interview a subject, mainly just to get one or two good quotes in there. This one is different, and I'm not quite sure if I'll be able to print it in its entirety.

I rang her at the front of her building and didn't have to wait long. Her voice was lacking in energy for someone who had gained so much attention, and it had a pleasant nasally quality to it as she said "oh, sure, come on up." I wouldn't have minded waiting out there a little longer, to steel my nerves a bit and reassure myself of what I was going to ask her. I wasn't so much nervous about being in her presence; it's not like we haven't had a nude protester in the street about every day the previous summer.

You wouldn't have known anything was strange about the building from the outside. Even though it was affectionately called "Rue de Nue," it wasn't like residents of 1324 were walking out to go to the café in the nude. Yet. As I climbed the staircase, a door above opened, and down came a portly, pale man with a round, hairy belly and a diminutive little penis that flipped and flopped as he stomped down the stairs. "Good day," he said as he passed frozen me, left there gaping at the brazenness of it all. He reached the bottom and went around the corner, apparently to go get his mail. By the time I was at the top landing, I could hear his footsteps coming back up, and I hurried to find the room of the naked person I was actually looking for.

She opened the door within seconds of my knocking, and my breath was taken away a little. I couldn't help myself; she was a vision, standing there in the open doorway, her hand resting on the frame by her head as she leaned her body casually against it. Her face was neutral, her black, shoulder-length hair with a little bun tied atop it, and her skin, despite a life of who-knows-how-long perpetually in the nude, still had the milky, pale pallor of someone who doesn't get a lot of sun.

"Welcome," she said. "Come on in."

She stepped aside to bid my entry, and I slipped in, passing perilously close to her thick-ish body. She did not appear uncomfortable with my closeness. She shut the door behind me and I was left standing in her foyer, facing her as she turned around, presenting to me the neat little triangle of her dark pubic hair which I averted my eyes from as I looked directly at her. My notebook was tucked under my arm and my free hand wandered, not knowing what to do with itself. "Well?" I asked.

"Come in and have a seat," she directed me, extending a hand towards her living room, where a pair of couches sat before a large open window, curtains un-drawn and letting in the gray light of the rainy day. It seemed she was not shy about neighbors looking in on her. Of course. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. I told her I'd like a water, and then sat down and got comfortable on one of two leather couches and watched while she went about her kitchen, her body floating from one end to the other and her pert, small butt raising up into view from behind a counter as she reached for a glass. Then, she was sitting across from me, crossing her legs and resting her hand on her knees.

"Well," I started, after clearing my throat, slaking it with water, and then opening my notebook in my lap while pretending that the notes there were more interesting than the woman before me. "Tell me about yourself. What are you doing in Paris, and what made you decide to live your life in the nude?"

"My name's Steffi, Steffi Smith," she began, speaking formally, as if she had practiced for this moment. Her hands never left her knee, and her nudity below was covered by her crossed legs, though her small-but-well-formed chest remained exposed. "I moved here last year to get away from all the mess going on in the States."

"Yes, very unfortunate," I said, trying to sympathize with her.

"And I don't really know what I wanted to do."

"You don't work in the city?"

"No. I sell art online, so I can do that anywhere."

"Ah, I see. It would be hard for you to find employment considering, well, considering your dress. Or lack thereof."

"Maybe," she said. "Though it would be nice if that weren't a barrier to employment."

"Is that your ultimate goal in all this?" I asked next. "To normalize public nudity? Is that why you did this?"

"It wasn't my goal at the beginning. The only reason I stopped wearing clothes was, well, because it no longer was comfortable. I left America because I wasn't comfortable, and when I got here, I figured, I may as well start being comfortable, so I stopped wearing clothes."

"I imagine you can't leave your apartment that way," I asked her.

"I know, I do. I go out to get coffee or get food to-go. Nobody stops me. It's nice getting out in the sunlight, too. I have no restrictions."

"It seems you've inspired people in this building to live the same way."

"Yes, that's when I thought I wanted to be an agent of change."

"What's the big deal with having to wear clothes, though?" I asked her. It seemed rather stubborn to want to try to live like this, difficult as it seemed to be.

"They're useless!" she said, her voice elevated. "What's the point? I only need them when it's cold, or when I'm going to be in the sun for a long time, it's good to put on something, but otherwise, when I put on a shirt, I feel overheated, and it's always uncomfortable leaning back on the couch and having to pluck at the fabric because it bunches up and tightens around your body. If it's hot out, it's miserable walking around with clothes; they get sweaty, and you just feel awful. It's much better naked. It kind of pisses me off that people make such a big deal about it. Even here."

"Did you figure you could get away with something like this in Paris, as opposed to back home?"

"A little, yeah. I mean, I know people just don't go walking naked in the streets, but I figured they wouldn't bat an eye if I decided to step outside."

"So you've gotten some pushback?"

She thought for a moment. Her eyes traveled to the ceiling and she chewed her lip.

"Not pushback. But attention, I guess you could say. A little too much. Guys whistle at me in the street. Some stare and even follow me."

"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, you might be inviting some of that."

Now her face appeared angry.

"Why, though? Have they never seen a naked girl before? My point is, it shouldn't be that big a deal. So I'm naked. So what?"

"So it's your determination to change that that keeps you going."

"No. I mean, maybe now, I guess. I almost stopped doing it, but it was the other people in this building that started going around naked too that motivated me."

"So you're hoping they can join your movement?"

"I'm not looking for people to sign up or anything, but... it was just nice seeing that not everybody in this city is a pervert."

I bit my lip at that one. her country had a lot of room to talk. "You've really gotten that much trouble?" I asked her, trying to steer the conversation towards defending this dirty, wonderful city.

"Even before I started walking around naked, people would whistle at me. They're a lot more leery here, worse than in America. What's worse, the ones that don't leer or stare completely ignore you because you're American. If you don't mind me saying, Paris is kind of an unfriendly city."

I nodded my head in sympathy. "Yes, it can be hard for an outsider," I said. Especially an outsider that makes a spectacle of herself, I thought privately. She went on.

“At first the people in this building were kind of like that. They would stop and stare. A couple of them whistled. Others asked me if I was okay. They didn't seem to understand."

"Naturally," I cut in, and she looked at me dirty.

"After a while, though, they didn't ask anymore. They just got used to me. It was the same when I would go to the café. I think they got to looking forward to me showing up."

I wanted to say, again, naturally, but I didn't. I shut up and listened.

"That is the kind of annoying part," she continued. "I'm sort of a spectacle when I go out. It's not like that in here. And it wouldn't be like that out there if others were naked, too."

"I don't think many people would be willing to do that," I finally said.

"And that's a shame. It's so much more comfortable in the nude."

"Not everybody is as comfortable with their body as others."

"They would be. Look at some of the people in this building. They're not models. But they don't have any shame."

She was right. I remembered the man on the stairs. "So what are you saying?" I asked her. "That you think Paris should be a clothing-optional city?"

"Yeah, I think that would be nice. It would be better for everyone."

I jotted this down. Indeed it was a controversial idea. I doubted my publisher would want to print this American's candid thoughts about our culture, and her bold plans for how it ought to change. There would be many, I was sure, who wouldn't like it. I considered how I might edit it down, though I would probably not have much of a story after that. "So what are your plans from here on out?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "No plans. Just do what I've been doing."

"Might you consider traveling farther out in the town to test peoples' reactions?"

"I've thought of that. I'm a bit scared to, honestly."

"Well I'm sure you were scared to try it out here in this building," I said. She smiled at this.

"Yes, I guess so."

I couldn't believe I was encouraging her to do this, but if any of my suspicions about her motives had been confirmed during that interview, I wouldn't have. I can say, however, that Steffi Smith is honest in her convictions. She really believes in what she is doing, unconventional as it is. I couldn't disagree with her on the comfort angle; as somebody who has enjoyed swimming nude on our clothing-optional beaches, I can attest that being in the water, at least, and coming out without wet clothes to bog you down, and letting the sun dry you off in seconds, is quite a sensation. I would imagine that trying to carry on daily life without the benefits of pockets or sweat barriers would be challenging and impractical. She disagreed, though.

As I brought the interview to a close, I pulled out my iPhone and waved it before her. "Do you mind having your picture taken?" I asked her.

"No, of course," she said, and she straightened her posture on that couch. I raised the phone and opened up the high-end camera app and framed her in the shot, from the shoulders up, her dignified face looking serious and regal in the gray light. I took a couple for safety and then put down the phone.

"Is that it?" she asked. "Don't you want to get all of me in frame?"

"If you want to. I figured that wouldn't be something you'd be interested in. Plus, I don't think I would be able to publish them..."

"Might as well. Your readers will want to see all of me, as I am. I'm not ashamed."

"Well alright, then," I said, and I stood up and walked around to the back of my couch to get far away enough to capture her entirety in the frame, sitting there primly on the couch like a countess, just in the absence of clothes. Her most offensive part was teasingly hidden behind her crossed legs. That is, until I took a few shots and then she stood. My heart skipped a beat, and I framed her, full-frontal by the light of her window, where she looked almost spectral, surreally naked in such a homely setting. She posed with her hands at her sides, hiding nothing, then folded them in front of her, teasingly hiding now. Then she turned and went out to look through the window, and I captured her from behind, a mysterious picture of eroticism and innocence, all her body bare but greater mysteries outside, where none may be aware of the naked girl looking out. They were wonderful pictures, for ones taken by an iPhone camera. I once again wondered if I should even present them to my publisher. Surely we couldn't print them.

"Well thank you, Steffi, for your time," I said as I pocketed my phone and she turned around. I slowly, unassuredly, approached her and extended my hand. She gingerly took it and we shook. With that, she showed me to the door. "Keep in contact if you should want me to add anything to the story," I said.

"Thanks, I will. I'm assuming I may see a pre-release version?"

That wasn't normally our custom, but I told her she would. Then I was out in the empty hall, walking towards the stairs as I thought over how to handle this sensitive story. As I reached the top step, another apartment door opened and an equally-young, equally-pretty woman stepped out, all in the nude, auburn hair above and below, and she looked at me and said "oh, hello," as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. She took the stairs alongside me and soon outpaced me, so that I was looking at her posterior bouncing down the steps. I thought about asking her a few questions as well, but when I got to the bottom, she was already disappearing out the front door, perhaps on her way to the café as Steffi had done, though she did not have a purse on her. Perhaps she was going for a rainy afternoon walk. I stepped out into the slightly chill air and the rain indeed had picked up. I tucked my notebook under my arm to protect it and walked quickly to the train station, my clothes growing increasingly damp and my soggy collar clinging to my neck. I imagined, then, what it would be like to be walking this route nude.

On the train, I looked through the pictures I had taken—constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was spying—and was struck by the beauty of them. It was pretty incredible that I could get such great-looking pictures off an iPhone camera, but the quality of the photos is owed to the model, I think. I was just the middle-man. I decided I would push to use those photos with the story, even if they did censor them, though censoring them would go against the point that young Miss Smith was trying to make. No, I would push for them to be published uncensored. The publisher would assuredly get a kick out of that. It would probably get us a lot of attention, and would make that issue of the paper the highest-selling. And perhaps, maybe, it would bring more attention—good attention, hopefully—to Steffi and her cause. By the time I got off the train, I had decided that I would keep all the details in the story, from the young woman's negative opinion of Paris to her determination to change the course of its culture. It was a brave story, and it deserved to have an audience.

I am still working on the story.

A Fanciful Image

Chuck's company truck rumbled down the rough gravel road towards the campground area. He had the windows down, and the air was damp. It had been raining earlier, but the overcast sky was now thinning out to admit a little bit of sun. He tossed a cigarette out the window, knowing it would land on wet leaves, so he didn't feel guilty about it.

He turned left to take an even bumpier road that winded through the dripping trees that led into Common Park, a cozy little riverside camping area where guests could pitch up tents or set up their campers. There were charcoal grills, a gazebo, and a playground, and not a paved surface in sight. The wooded, private community kept everything rustic.

There was a loud violet VW Beetle parked in front of a long swinging footbridge and Chuck parked next to it. Across the river was the rustic Pool Center, a big, woodsy one-story building with a half-basement level, encircled by chain-link fencing and overlooking a shallow Olympic-sized pool and an expansive patio. Chuck got out, glancing at the Beetle, and went to the bed of his truck to hoist out the bags of chlorine and spare pump parts, and then he made his way across the bridge. he hated the way it swung, especially as he carried all this weight. He stopped halfway through on unsteady feet, looked out at the river below, and then looked forward, as the Pool Center came into view. There were no cars in the parking lot; the storm had chased everybody out, but he knew the attendant was still there, for the gate was open, and the Beetle parked by the bridge must certainly belong to her (no guy would be caught dead driving that, he figured). He imagined it must be pretty boring over there with no guests to look after, but he supposed the people that worked there looked forward to their quiet days. Many spent their entire shift, guests or not, reading a book, and the building had arcade machines, plenty to keep one occupied while they waited for their shift to end. Chuck wondered what he would catch this attendant doing when he entered. He had to make sure he didn't catch them off guard, but at least it wasn't dark. Closing time for the pool was nine pm, and he knew many attendants hated being there at night, especially when they would have to walk out to the side gates out in the back lawn and lock them up. Many an attendant had been startled half to death by Public Safety arriving to do their patrols. He would make sure not to scare whoever was on duty, especially if it was a girl, for they would no doubt feel vulnerable alone in this big property in the middle of the woods. And since he had chosen to enter via the park, and not the road access, she [they] would not have heard his engine. Chuck kept all this in mind as he stepped off the bridge and walked along the wet grass alongside the Pool Center until he came to the soggy, ashen gravel parking area and approached the wide-open gate.

The bags were heavy in his hands now, and he entered the expansive pool deck and headed towards the shed just to his right to set them down. He wiped his brow; it definitely was humid. Before getting out his keys to unlock the padlock on the shed, Chuck scanned his eyes over the deck and over the building, with its wrap-around railed porch that overlooked the lower area, looking for signs of somebody. They were probably inside. He didn't bother calling out "hello," but he left his bags and approached the building, meaning to climb the small set of porch steps and walk around to the rickety screen door on the left side of the building and gently knock to announce his entrance.

The clipboard for guests to sign in on was hanging by a lanyard from the railing post at the bottom of the stairs. At the top, a plastic pool chair sat with a book laying on the wooden bench built into the rail: a clean, shiny copy of some political commentator's latest think-piece, a torn bit of paper sticking out as its bookmark. Chuck regarded it briefly, imagining the person who was reading it, and turned left to knock on the screen door and announce himself.

Nobody answered, and he entered the building. The front area, with snack machines, plastic tables, and a cowboy shoot 'em up game, was silent except for the swirling ceiling fans trying to cast out the hot air. A counter overlooked the front room, behind which was a small employee kitchen and a time clock, various papers, but no attendant. A small hallway to the right led through to the room behind the counter and then past it to a game room in back, full of arcade games like NBA Jam and Mortal Kombat, all encircling a set of pool tables, but nobody was playing at any of them. The building was devoid of life.

They're probably taking a shit, Chuck thought. He left the building to return to the porch, peering out over the railing at the grassy area below, where the bathrooms were, along with an open room directly underneath the game room that had picnic tables, a large mirror, a mural painted by a local resident depicting a river scene; a room that mostly went unused. Charles spat and then decided to go put the things in the pool shed. He made his way back out to the patio and walked to the shed, unlocking it and setting the bags inside. When he was done and locked up, the attendant still hadn't made an appearance, and Chuck was getting a bad feeling in his gut, so he decided to go downstairs and check things out.

The men's and women's bathrooms were on opposite sides of the building, but it didn't matter which side Chuck went down, because the open room with the mural connected both sides. Despite his certainty that the attendant on duty was a woman, he took the men's side down, even though it was farther away from the pool shed. It just made him feel a little better. He walked past the front of the building and took the stairs slowly down, dreading what he may find there, thinking of the beginning of Law and Order episodes where someone finds the body. He thought about calling out but decided against it for some reason. Trust your gut, he always thought.

It was dead quiet at the bottom. The entrance to the men's room was immediately to his right, and he peeked in. Nothing in there but a dripping faucet and the smell of shit. He wrinkled his nose and regarded the sidewalk that led ahead to the mural patio, and he approached it cautiously.

As he rounded the corner, movement immediately caught his eye, and he stopped still at the sight of the person who was making that movement. Standing there against the pastel river scene on the opposite wall, perched on long legs before the mirror with her back facing him at a three-quarters angle, was a young woman, unable to see him either in the corner of her eye or by the reflection because of the angle, and those long legs she was perched on were bare, as was the butt that piqued out above them, as she raised her slender arms to her head to adjust a straw sun hat. She observed her nude self in the mirror, canting her head and the plane of the hat’s brow with it, as if what she saw there in her reflection was interesting, and she let her hands drop and pointed them out in a dainty pose. Her skin was cream-colored, surreal to see all uncovered in this setting. She seemed to be poised to do a pirouetting little twirl to assess her whole self in the mirror, but Chuck backed away before she began. She never saw him, and he quickly made his retreat.

So that's what they do with their time here, he thought as he backed up to the step and then turned around to go up. He didn't want to bother her, didn't want to suddenly surprise her with the way she was, for what would strike terror in a woman more than a curious man creeping up on her while she was nude? He took the astounding sight with him up the stairs and across the patio, and out the gate, talking himself out of it as he went, asking himself why he didn't remain back there to introduce himself to the girl and catch her in her nude private time, to enjoy the sights once she turned around and presented to him her bared front that was hidden from him. But he listened to his gut and was halfway across the bridge before he gave serious thought to turning back, but by then it was too late, and he got in his truck, sighed, and started the engine.

*****

Jane took a twirl in front of the mirror and delighted in the fancy, sophisticated image in front of her: her nude body, as delicate and delectable as she herself felt, complimented by the fashionable hat atop her head, which complimented her golden hair. From head to toe, she was beige and gold, except for the strip of black fuzz between her tawny thighs and the cherry-tips of her small breasts. She drank in the image, and then froze, for she thought she heard something, and then, standing there, looking at how completely exposed she was, she began to feel afraid, for anybody could walk up on her distracted down there.

She turned and looked out at the grassy lawn outside the patio. It was being kissed by the sun. More guests were bound to show up soon. She better get upstairs. Cautiously, she stepped closer to the end of the patio, looked up at the stairs, and waited for any other noise before stepping out into the open and climbing up to the patio above, where anybody standing outside the gate could see her. It was pointless to be shy, though. She had left her clothes in the kitchen.

Jane enjoyed working at the pool, particularly when a storm would come up and she would have to tell people to get out of the water, and when the storm wouldn't relent, they would all leave, but she remained, and she would have the place to herself. In her quiet time she enjoyed reading without having to worry about watching out for kids getting out of control, or she would tour the pool deck, collecting loose change as she found it and using it to play an arcade game. But more than that, she just relished the rustic scenery, all the lush trees fresh with rain, and in those moments, where she was sure she was not going to be bothered, she liked to walk around nude.

It felt so refreshing. Sometimes, she took off her polo and shorts and dove into the pool for a skinny dip, but she was always paranoid when she did, fearing that she would be a sitting duck if someone should decide to come in. Other times, she took items out of the lost and found, some of the most unbelievable things one would expect to be left behind at a pool, like sashes and stockings and gloves and even some fashionable hats, and she would try them on, complimenting her nude body with fashion, and she would enjoy her dress-up in front of the mirror downstairs, another vulnerable spot to be if your clothes were far away.

She climbed the steps now and stood out on the pool patio, the sun coming through the clouds and warming her bare skin, and she looked out at the parking lot and saw satisfactorily that there were no vehicles there, and no vehicles arriving, for she could look out at the full stretch of the parking area to the road beyond, and standing there, observing, she realized how exposed she was, how somebody could also see her as well as she could see them in the distance, and the feeling thrilled her, but she turned around and bounded up the stairs to the covered porch, deciding she should seek shelter while the sun came out, for more people were sure to come.

The inside of the Pool Center was muggy and damp, and didn't feel half as good as standing out in the breeze and the sun, but at least she didn't have to worry about her clothes sticking to her skin and feeling all sorts of uncomfortable. And if she did hear a car's engine, she could retreat into the kitchen and grab her uniform from under the counter and slip it on before the guests would even make it through the gate. Walking around naked in here was perfectly doable, and feasible.

Going around the counter, Jane dropped the hat off in the lost and found nook and then turned around and looked at her clothes, and decided to keep them off for the moment. With nothing to do, she let herself drift into the back room, where all the arcade machines were lined up on the walls, and where she climbed up onto one of the pool tables and splayed herself out.

She sighed, feeling the itchy fabric of the pool table on her back, and the draft from the ceiling fan above her slightly chilling her skin. She could lay there all day, though she was admittedly bored. She probably had about five hours left to go in her shift. Eventually it would start getting dark, and perhaps then, if no more guests were coming, she could finish off her shift nude outside, going to lock up the gates with the grass tickling her ankles, and sitting by the front with her book with the cool night air on her skin.

She hugged herself at the thought. It sounded nice. Lazily, she rocked back and forth on the pool table. She reached down idly and tweaked her pubic hair between her fingertips, let it go, and then pinched some more again while staring at the ceiling fan going 'round and 'round. She almost entered a sort of trance, but the faint sound of a car door slamming snapped her out of it.

She bolted up, heart seizing, and listened again. Then she definitely heard a child yelling.

She threw herself off the pool table and rushed behind the counter, where her clothes sat on the shelf. It took all of two seconds for her to pull on her shorts and put her shirt over her head, then she slipped her feet into her leather loafers and fluffed her hair as she stepped outside to greet a family coming in to enjoy the afternoon.

"Welcome, come on over and sign in!" she said effortlessly as she came around the corner and picked up the clipboard from where it hung. If only they had known that seconds ago she was naked...

*****

Night had consumed the community, and the shadows were filled with crickets and the threat of more rain. Taylor Greene, of Public Safety, took his pickup down a narrow, slick paved road that led from the ritzy villas to the lower elevations by the river where the campgrounds were, and the Pool Center.

He had heard some stories, boy had he heard some stories. One of the other officers, Sheila, had passed along that Chuck the pool guy had seen one of the attendants cavorting about naked when there was nobody at the pool. That brief bit of information, passed on as just random trivia, held in Taylor's mind. He knew who was working the pool tonight: it was Jane, the quiet girl. Just the thought of her prancing around the pool without her clothes drove him mad as he imagined it. He never would have thought she would be one to do something so racy, but then again, he knew little of her at all, except that she always smiled when he stopped by and seemed to be very mild-mannered. It just went to show that you never knew every aspect about someone's life, and he supposed everybody that worked at the pool fought boredom, and for Jane, her way to combat it must have been just to toss off her clothes. Why, he did not know, but he sure wished he had been the one to stop by that afternoon instead of Chuck. Not that that's why he was heading over to the pool now. It was merely part of his regular route, and it was customary to stop by and make sure everything was okay for the attendant closing up in the dark. He had no delusions that she would still be prancing about naked. She had surely put on her clothes by this point. But the image of what she might look like under that polo and those shorts would hang in the back of his mind when he saw her. It was a fanciful image to carry him through his dull night.

He turned his truck sharply to the right at the bottom of the hill and rumbled onto the gravel road, his headlights slashing wet leaves and then throwing themselves out into the darkness, illuminating not much, until the lights of the Pool Center came into view. The patio lights were on, as were the shimmering bulbs below the surface of the water, casting celestial light over the pool furniture, and as he got nearer, there was another celestial sight right there, on the other side of the pool.

The outdoor showerhead was on, and its infinite droplets glowed in the light as they cascaded down the glowing form of who he assumed to be Jane, though he had never seen her like this. Her hair was plastered wet against her neck, and her bare back had rivers running down it, which coursed over the bare domes of her pale-looking butt. She pivoted on her feet, raising a leg to rinse it off, then lowering it and lifting the other one, as if dancing in place before him, her butt flexing in delightful ways as she worked her legs and his headlights splashed the pavement.

At his intrusive light, Jane turned around, and it was definitely her, though her face wore surprise, as she obviously wore nothing else. Taylor sat slack-jawed in the cab of his truck as she faced him, looked at his blinding lights, then gently wrapped an arm around her small chest before turning away from him to shut off the water, lending just the briefest sight of her bare vulva and its neat little dark stripe there, then her butt again. Then she turned, and decided to let her arm fall. She walked away from the showerhead. Taylor got out of his truck. He gulped and adjusted his cap as he stood by his vehicle and watched Jane drift along the edge of the pool, like a ghost in all those shimmering lights, and come around the end to head towards him and the gate. He finally stepped forward, realizing he was now getting the encounter he had been hoping for.

"Dressed a little light, aren't we?" he said good-naturedly as he stopped at the gate and Jane came up to him just five feet away.

"I didn't expect anybody else to come," she said. "I like to rinse off at the end of my shift."

As she spoke, she worked her hands again, beginning to cover her small pear-shaped breasts and, alternately, the little stripe below, but she did so noncommittally, letting her hands fall again, since Taylor, as admitted, had seen everything.

"Someone said they saw you streaking around the building when they came," Taylor said, and Jane's eyes widened a little.

"Oh really?"

"It's no big deal, I don't care" (and indeed he didn't, though he tried not to stare, keeping his eyes on hers, with everything below just out of focus, but delectably there). “Just put on some clothes before you leave."

"Oh, I will," she then said, and a smile grew on her face as she realized she was not in trouble.

"Save that stuff for when you're home," Taylor added.

"Sure thing. Well thanks, sir."

She stepped back, looking ready to head back inside. The droplets of water were running down her body and it was driving Taylor mad, but he just adjusted his cap and said: "Well you have a good night. I guess everything else is alright here?"

"Oh yes, just fine."

"Alright, then. I'll leave you to it."

And with that, Taylor stepped back to signal that he was done, but he could not tear his eyes away from the girl, and thought how crazy it was that he was leaving so soon. But what was he going to do? Hang around the pool with this naked college-aged girl? His wife would surely kill him. Plus he had no intentions of being the subject of any controversy later, such as narratives that might include him welcoming himself when he wasn't welcomed, of pressing and intimidating this girl. So he just turned away, headed back to his truck. When he was opening the door, Jane was walking back to the building, her butt cheeks shifting with her each step, jiggling slightly, their way of saying goodbye. Taylor took a deep breath, let it out, and climbed into his vehicle, and when he started his engine, Jane had disappeared back inside the building.

Perhaps I oughta stay, he thought. He couldn't leave her like this, naked and alone in the dark in a lonely building in the middle of the woods. Anybody could come up on her, as he did. And with all the riff-raff at the campgrounds...

But, remembering the potential bad optics of the situation, he backed his truck out, turned it around, and drove back up the road, where he eventually cut his headlights and wheeled the vehicle around, pulling it off on the shoulder, killing the engine, and watching. He reminded himself he was not being a voyeur; he had to make sure she locked up safely.

*****

Jane did not in fact get dressed as she finished closing up. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason to now. Plus, she wanted the crisp night air to finish drying her skin as she walked out. She went about the building, closing up the shutters, feeling so vulnerable out there on the porch, lit up by the lights from the windows before the shutters cut them off. She had already locked the side gates, right at dusk, daring to walk out there in the nude, where in the half-light, residents who lived beyond the gate might crane their necks and see her pale shape in the grass. It was thrilling. All that thrill had dissipated, though, at the final release of being caught.

She should have known better. Public Safety always made their rounds at night. But she had gotten so used to being nude, throwing her clothes back off once the family—the only other guests she had had that day—had left, that it had begun to feel like her naked body was her uniform, and not the too-thick polo with its stupid logo. Her sanctioned uniform was at this point an inconvenience, something she had to put on every time she heard an engine rumble, though when she heard the Public Safety officer's, it was much too late.

It was amazing that he didn't seem to care. The fact that he was an older man made it so awkward; she knew he was relishing every second of seeing her, but after the first second, she had ceased to care, especially when he expressed that he didn't care.

Still, the knowledge that someone else had seen her, when she had no clue that they were there, gave her some pause and instilled a little bit of caution in the back of her mind. Perhaps on her future shifts, she would be more careful. Maybe she should stop doing this, for she was bound to get caught again, and perhaps next time it would be a resident with some choice words to relay to the head of the resort. For now, though, she was still emboldened enough to finish up her shift, clock out, grab her book and her useless clothes, and close the door, walking past the glowing pool until she reached the switch to douse the lights, and then she had nothing but the cover of darkness. Crickets, her only audience now, chirped in the background as she set her things down outside the gate and locked it. She felt incredibly exposed now, truly naked in the dark, beyond which anything could lie. With a little bit of fear, she grabbed her things and headed towards the swinging bridge, barely visible in the gloom. As her loafers crunched on their last spot of gravel and soaked up the dampness of the grass, Jane glanced over at the vast parking lot and the wall of shadow beyond and swore she saw the glint of a distant lamplight on metal, and the faint shape of a vehicle out there. Truly, somebody, anybody, could be hiding out there, but then she thought, with a sense of comfort, that it was just the officer, waiting there to make sure she closed up safely. Or to gawk at her. Not that he could see much with the lights now shut off. With a confident breath of fresh air in her lungs, Jane headed for the bridge, and it swung with her weight, swinging wider as she got out in the center, where she paused for a moment to look out at the blackness below where the river gushed, and with the breeze traveling parallel with it and ruffling her hair, brushing against her bare skin, she felt like she was suspended in nothingness, just naked in a void. It was such a surreal feeling.

Up ahead were amber lights high atop a telephone pole that looked down at her car. The foot of the bridge was completely bathed in that orange light, and as she stepped out into it, she was front and center for anybody to see, though beyond the light there were only shadows which may or may not contain campers with sleeping people. If only they would look out their windows... Jane unlocked her car, threw her stuff—including her clothes—into the back seat, then slammed the door loudly, loud enough to catch the attention of anybody still in the park, and she climbed naked into the driver's seat, feeling completely dry now, and relishing the comfort of the fabric against her bare butt. She started the engine.

She drove home like that; she did not have far to go, traversing only graveled back roads through the dark community, the most light she would encounter being the lights at the entrance of the park, which spilled into her windshield and exposed her there, but after that, it was all darkness, and she never felt more secure naked than she did behind the wheel, with only the dashboard light on her breasts.

The drive took less than five minutes. Soon, she was turning off on the small gravel road on which she lived, and there, at the start of the road, before she encountered any other houses, she stopped, left the engine running, and opened the door.

Back into the cool night she stepped, ever-more conscious about getting caught nude now, and she opened her back seat and grabbed her clothes. Slipping her feet quickly out of her loafers, one-by-one, she fed her legs into her shorts and then shimmied them up. She pulled her shirt on over herself, feeling regretful to finally get dressed, and then before any vehicles could pull onto the road, she got back into her car and rumbled along. Another fifty yards and she was in front of the driveway of her house. There, the porchlight was on, bathing the driveway in orange. She got out as if she were just getting back from a normal day at work, which she was, and she closed the door and headed for the porch steps. A nostalgic, homey feeling filled her as she felt the wooden boards of the porch through her loafers and looked on at the warm light spilling from the kitchen window. She unlocked the door and stepped inside to the din of the TV, on CNN, as it always was, 24/7.

"Hi, grandma, I'm back."

Her grandmother looked up from her recliner, her face delighted. "Oh hi, dear. Did you have a good day at work?"

"Just fine. It was slow... and relaxing."

"That's nice."

She spent the rest of the evening getting something to eat and sitting with her grandma and watching the news until her grandma got tired and retired to bed, and then Jane stayed up, taking off her clothes and throwing them in the washer (though they were not that dirty, since she barely wore them) and then surfing around on the internet in the wee hours of the night, the few hours she ever had all to herself, except for those precious days at the pool, where she could truly be herself more than she could here. She fell asleep at her desk, nude, and only got up to put on a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt at four in the morning, where she then slept for a couple more hours before getting up and spending the rest of the day with her grandma. She looked forward to her next slow day at work. If only her grandmother knew how she would spend it…

The Grecian

Cole was a little despondent. He walked up a narrow cobblestone alley that curved and curved up a slight hill. He was lost in his thoughts. The thesis for his study on the Greeks' worship and admiration of the body—particularly men, as was known, with their perfected athleticism immortalized in marble—was at a standstill. Worse than a standstill: he did not fully know what his thesis was anymore. He had had a good idea, but now that he was in Greece to get some inspiration, he was drawing a blank. There was not much inspiration to grab from being here, though he had visited a museum to look at those very statues, examples of human physical perfection, but he did not know what to say about them. He supposed his thesis was merely a question: why do we worship the body? Or how can society strive for perfection in modern times? And what of the differences between idolizing the muscled man and iconifying the virginal woman, as seen in statues of the Victorian era? Were those statues "human perfection," or were they merely masturbatory tributes created by horny men? And was that also not what the male Greek statues were? As one could see, Cole still had too many questions to make a decent thesis, or a paper...

Which was why he found himself strolling up that alley, sorting through his thoughts, or even trying to clear them altogether, for hopes that once his head was empty, inspiration might enter. He recalled an old Buddhist teaching, that a mind full cannot take in new information. But was his mind full? He supposed it was; it was full of fascination which had led him on this journey. Then why was he so stymied? He thought also of something Ernest Hemingway had once said, and that was that it was hard to write about a place if you were still currently there, that it was better to write about something else until you are back at home and then more effectively able to reflect. Cole figured that perhaps that's what he should do, but he had to do some sort of research while he was here. He had to write something. But maybe he should just enjoy the city, he thought. Amass some experiences. The alleyway almost ended, but before it turned around the corner and emptied into a large courtyard, there was a dark wood door and a dusty window, upon which were affixed stickers that plainly spelled out the word "bar." Maybe a drink would do me good, Cole figured, and he entered.

*****

"Oh yes, I — — — she'll be back. She probably has been around already, and —, would you recognize her?"

Cole listened to the two older men chittering in Greek as best he could, missing a phrase here and there. He nursed a mixed drink that the slightly-condescending bartender recommended to him with a smirk. It tasted fruity and had the faintest kick, and halfway through it, Cole already felt like he was swaying on his stool, so he sat and listened to the two gruff men speak, glad that he had learned the language and loving the opportunity to study and listen to it.

"I —— the next time she ——- — walk down this alley, she'll have to wear clothes. Can't —— — with that twice."

"Um, excuse me?" Cole butted in, in his best-spoken Greek (it was not his best). Both men looked at him, surprised. "Who are you talking about?"

The old men exchanged glances and started to smile. "You're a tourist, yeah?" one of them said. Cole grimaced and straightened his posture.

"I am here to research a paper."

The man spoke slower, more deliberately:

"You were not here two weeks ago?”

Cole shook his head. "No. Giatí?"

Again the men exchanged glances. The one who had spoken had a well-trimmed gray beard which made it look like he was always smiling, and the other man was clean-shaven, though one would wonder how he ever shaved effectively, for his face was a map of wrinkles and grooves and looked as smooth as concrete, and his mouth seemed to be in a perpetual frown except when something amused him, as it did now. Finally, the bearded one looked back at Cole.

"Well you missed out. I forget what day it was, but—"

"It was Tuesday," the other man cut in. "Definitely Tuesday. I wouldn't forget it."

"So it was Tuesday...”

"Not even the middle of the week, the most hopeless day ever."

"You're retired. We both are."

"I'm sorry," Cole cut in. "Please speak slow, I am not so good with Greek."

"I just hate Tuesdays," the man continued ranting at his friend. "That is why that Tuesday was the best I'd ever had."

"Either way," the bearded man re-adjusted his gaze on Cole and his voice suddenly changed. “To make this story easier for you, I will tell you in English.”

Cole smiled. “Thank you.”

"It was the middle of the afternoon on a... Tuesday... and we were both sitting here when someone sees a girl walk past the window there behind you."

Cole glanced behind him at the dusty window with "Bar" spelled backwards and imagined how well he'd be able to see somebody walking by, somebody naked, apparently.

"And it was a naked woman," the bearded man concluded and confirmed. "So of course, we had to go look."

*****

She was like a mirage, seen through the grime on the glass, but the sun spilling into the alleyway from directly above made sure her skin was bright and golden, and there was no doubting, even as she moved past and was briefly obscured by the big stickered letters on the window, that she had not a stitch on, at least up top, for as her chest passed from behind the backwards "R" floating before her, the points of her upward turning breasts faced the sun, as if drinking its warmth, and against her tan skin, her nipples, like the pistils of two flowers, were ruby-red. And then she was gone.

All in attendance at the bar—the two old men who drank there daily, as well as a lonely, frail young man and even a classy, middle-aged woman who had come to drink alone and who had drawn the eyes of the lonely man until right just then—spilled out onto the cobblestone sidewalk. And there was the vision, making her way up the curve, eyes to the left, looking through windows, the line of her back a gentle, flowing S-curve as her hips canted to the side, a flawless backside, the inverted heart, with the shadow of a line separating the two golden hemispheres. A straw hat sat upon her head, the only thing she wore except for heeled sandals on her feet, and golden hair spilled from underneath the hat and hung to the middle of her back, above the gently swaying naked butt, now shifting as her hips canted in the opposite direction. If only she could have been seen from the front, most of those spectators hoped, following her like a cartoon character follows the scent of hot food. But an old woman, sitting at the outdoor table of the café near the top of the hill, was as still as a statue, and her mouth was open in an expression of eternal shock as the nude girl walked past her, freezing her with her shocking, bold nudity perhaps as Medusa petrified warriors in myth. And then the woman passed her, slipped around the corner, with the bar procession in tow, even the bartender, who had stepped out to see where all his patrons were going. The old woman still wore her expression of shock, her mouth open like Munch's The Scream, and the old bartender stopped at her to make sure she was okay.

All out in the courtyard had stopped when the woman exited the alley. She was the only thing in motion, besides the birds fluttering through the main circle, as she made her way to the fountain there. It was like everything else but her and nature had stopped. The bar procession spilled out of the alley just in time to see her lean over the ledge of the fountain and extend her hand into the crystal shower and apply the moisture to her collarbone before turning around to survey the place, and it was then that the three men and one woman finally saw her from the front, her body a frame around enticing features: the twin winks of her areolas held in the perfect half-circles of her breasts, the dense, perfectly-shaped triangle framed between her elegant thighs which tapered down to her shins and her feet rooted to the ground, deciding where to take her next. The base of her chest glittered with the fresh water that she had applied there, and her face, in the shade of her hat, was youthful, with a faint smile of someone enchanted by a lovely afternoon walk. Then she saw her spectators, and the smile grew. She waved, an energetic, rapid, and dainty gesture of her hand before her arm dropped and swung and she swung her body to the side and kicked one leg out, her destination decided now. People standing dumbly outside the shops and cafés stepped aside to let her pass, and she passed so near to them, their eyes enlarged at the surprising and unexpected sight of her frontside, while the bar spectators got one last look at the crease in her back and her pleasantly-tanned backside before she slipped into another alleyway, and then all that were present in the courtyard began looking at each other, as if to ascertain what they had seen was real.

*****

"And then nobody saw her ever after that," the bearded man concluded. "Everybody was so shocked that they didn't think to follow her, but when people started moving again, someone looked into the alleyway, and nobody was there. There was a street on the other side, but there were also some—what do you call them?—fire escapes. For apartments above. I think she's staying somewhere there."

"Well that's a fantastic story," Cole said, his imagination running wild with the scenes that the old man described and wishing he had experienced them himself so he could put them to the page. That's the type of thing that would inspire him: an incident, a chance encounter, something so memorable that his thesis could only be formed in a parable. He wished he could be scribbling down something right now, but he was self-conscious about taking out his notepad and writing there at the bar like some type of tabloid reporter. Instead he asked: "So is she a native of this city?"

"No, I don't think so. Definitely American."

"What makes you say that?"

The old man narrowed his eyes at Cole and smiled.

"You don't do something like that in a place where you live."

"Why American, though?"

"Only an American would be so brazen."

Cole shifted a little bit on his stool. "Well I don't know," he said. "We tend to be a little... more reserved than that."

"Oh, I don't believe that. I see those Spring Break videos."

Cole could only shrug at that. Perhaps the old man was right. But rampant exhibitionism and hedonism practiced by unbridled college kids was one thing. This incident seemed like something entirely different, and complete comfort and casualness with one's body so as to just walk through town without any clothing seemed uncharacteristic of the American culture he knew. It was what he assumed Greece would be like, at least in attitude. He said as much. The old man laughed.

"No, nobody goes walking around naked here," he said. "Though the weather certainly does invite it. I wish more girls did that."

The other old man laughed and elbowed his friend and said something in Greek.

"Well maybe if you're lucky you'll get to see her, too!"

“Yes, maybe he’ll get lucky,” the bearded man responded, and passed the smile to Cole. Cole laughed, thinking of his project and how that would be the perfect encounter to represent the content of his paper. "That would be nice," he said.

The second man began rattling off in Greek: "Stay, you —— get lucky. I ——- come here every day, but now I ——- more than once —— in —— —— I'll see her again!"

"Well, cheers to that," Cole said. He reached for and lifted his drink, the ice in which had melted as he had listened to the story. The bartender was still nowhere to be seen. Both old men raised bottles of beer and they all tapped glass. Then Cole left some Euros on the bar and got up to leave.

The sun outside had passed over the alleyway and no longer beat down into it as the old man had described in his story, and it was somewhat cool there as he turned left and walked uphill toward the iron table and chairs sitting outside the café that was mentioned, the chair where the old woman had been given the shock of her life and where nobody sat now. There was nobody else in the alley at all, nobody else until Cole reached the top and stepped out into the courtyard, almost as he had imagined it, though it was smaller, and there the fountain threw its water up and a few people sat by cafés outside. Cole took a trip around the circle, perhaps hoping against hope that he would suddenly meet the girl from the story, but really he was just looking for a scenic route home, and he took the next alley, which led to a street opposite and which he was certain was the alleyway mentioned in the story, for there were metal fire escape stairs there on both sides, and he looked up at their landings and watched for curtains parting to reveal a beige, feminine figure watching from above. But there was nobody up there and he stepped out onto the next street and began walking back to his hotel.

*****

He did not write much after that, though he attempted re-describing the scene which had been described to him, bringing attention to the brazenness of the woman's act, of the reactions by the citizenry, and the observation of how strange it was that people should be so captivated by simple nudity when everybody knew what a naked woman—or a man—looked like. Perhaps it was also the beauty, and he could only imagine that the woman was incredibly beautiful, as the old man had described her. It harkened back to his half-completed thesis, and he pondered, but then was stymied once again.

This found him a few days later on the deck of a pleasure yacht, having remembered the words of Hemingway and having decided that he would spend the rest of the trip just enjoying himself, of drinking in the local culture, and perhaps when he came out of it, he would have something to write of Greece itself, and perhaps how its culture ties into the culture of its past, with the story of the girl being center to all of it. He had little else to write about, so he just took a magazine with him, a science magazine describing the ecosystems of exotic locations, along with his notebook (just in case), and decided he would relax in the sun and tour the deck, people-watching as the yacht took its little tour up the coast. It was a sizable yacht that he was lucky enough to be granted entry onto because of some connections that his former boss had, who upon hearing of Cole's trip, hooked him up with the opportunity. Taking a boat around the beautiful coast was one of the must-do things if one was to travel to the Mediterranean, so, stymied as he was, Cole figured "why not?" He brought his bag with his notebook and magazine and wore shorts and a thin button-up and donned some sunglasses to walk around the deck as the boat bobbed and weaved through the gentle waves. There were many other sightseers on the trip, other tourists who barely regarded him, though he looked at some and smiled. There were many couples, many tanned and square-jawed men and tawny and slender-limbed women, and there were a few in bathing suit tops and skirts, which made him think of his studies of the admiration of the human body, and here was a procession of somewhat of that ideal, most of the tourists physically fit, at least artificially, through a gym, and artificially-tanned, some of them, though others had the ruddiness of skin that had earned its stripes under the sun. It all seemed at least a half-attempt to achieve the physical perfection of the bodies celebrated in statues that inhabited this country's museums, and it made Cole reflect on himself, on his own body: was he up to even these false standards? Looking upon the chiseled torsos of the athletes of the past made him feel self-conscious about his own body, with its flaws, but he was in fact not out of shape. He participated in moderate exercise, and his body was thin, with the most definition being in his arms, but his stomach and chest were as smooth as a girl's, and his skin as pale as a statue itself. He considered himself average at best, though under the sun, with his studies in his mind and not necessarily the narcissistic displays in front of him, he felt motivated to tan a bit more, to tone a bit more, and he almost wished he could strip naked right there, like the girl from the old man's story, and at least get the tanned part down. At least his legs would tan. Below his knees, anyway.

And then there was a small commotion toward the bow of the ship, which was currently anchored to allow for some fishing and to take in the view of the city miles out, obscured by a haze, but the people there near the bow were looking out at the opposite side, looking down, and Cole shouldered his way through the group to see what he assumed would be a whale or a shark, but was surprised to see, gently splashing, the golden skin of a person, and the wet, golden hair of her mane along her back as she paddled, and rising up behind her, two wet domes of a nude butt.

The people beside him were chattering and laughing, and pointing, some with fingers, others with their phones, as the woman blissfully stroked in the vibrant blue water. And then she turned, facing the crowd, and worked her way slowly to the ship's side, grasping a ladder there. The crowd stepped back, but Cole less so, as the swimmer ascended over the railing and water fell down her gloriously nude skin, the upward-facing tips of her breasts pointing forward as she leaned in to step over the rail, her legs separating and the tuft of wet fur there protruding and distracting the eye, and then her wet feet plopped on the deck as she briefly faced away from the crowd, her butt sheaning with water and mystifying Cole with not only their aesthetic beauty but with the instant recognition of what had been described to him. Then the woman turned around and faced the crowd, smiling as if she had just been interrupted in some private affair, and she shrugged and said: "Just going for a swim. Water's great."

"Aren't you afraid of sharks?" a young man asked her, and the woman shrugged again, simply saying: "They don't bother me." Then she walked away from the crowd to a plastic lounger where there draped was a towel and a baby-blue-colored dress. A small purse also hung by its strap. The woman picked up the towel and started dabbing her hair, and the people actually dispersed, satisfied and no longer overly curious about a sudden naked woman. But Cole was transfixed. He was left standing alone by the railing while the others went about their sight-seeing, and he watched as the girl finished her hair and barely passed the towel over her skin before grabbing her dress and merely slinging it over her shoulder, carrying the towel at her side that was half-covered by the garment she had once worn on her bare body. She looked at him, and that was his queu to speak. "Excuse me," he said in English, and she turned her head towards him. Cole somehow found the bravery to step forward, to approach this woman in her most vulnerable state, though she did not seem so vulnerable. She seemed as bold and brave as the statues of muscled men which spurned his studies.

She said nothing as he stepped up to her, only looking at him expectantly, half her body laterally hidden, the other half, like the erotic half of Two-Face, looking back at him, teasing him with one perfectly-shaped breast and one thigh and the corner of her thigh-juncture teased with a hint of hair; one half modest, the other half open.

"Are you the girl that was walking through the courtyard two weeks ago?" he plainly asked her, and her smile changed and appeared knowing.

"I might be," she said. Her voice was rich, with a surprisingly deep tone and a hint of scratchiness that suggested someone who smoked and brought to mind a maternal feeling, though it was alluring all the same. "Come to meet me again?" she continued.

"I've never met you before," Cole said. "I've only heard about you."

The woman smiled differently now and seemed pleased.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What's your deal?"

"What's my deal?" she answered. She seemed amused.

"I mean, why are you doing this?"

"Why, because it feels great!" she said and raised the towel to pass it over her hair again, fluttering the dress a little and dispelling the duality of her covered and un-covered self. "This is what a Mediterranean vacation is supposed to be like, wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose..."

Glancing over his shoulder, Cole saw that not everybody was completely ignoring the woman, and that some still cast their eyes or outright stared as he conversed with her, and up above, at the captain's cabin, he saw the white-uniformed man with his black-billed cap and gold insignia step out and fold his arms displeasingly. Then Cole returned his attention to the girl.

"So you're not worried about getting in trouble?"

"Nobody's asked me to stop, have they?"

Cole glanced back up at the captain's deck, and the frowning man had retreated back inside.

"Guess not."

"I like to make my own rules. Life's more freeing that way."

"Must feel weird, though, being the only one."

She remained standing there before him, one hand playing with her towel, the other hanging by her side, by her naked hip.

"I don't mind being the center of attention."

Indeed, she was the center of his, and it was surreal to be standing there and talking to her while she was half-nude (literally) mere feet in front of him. And yet it felt strangely natural, normal, mundane, the more he talked to her.

"So what's your deal?" she asked him. "You just having a nice vacation?"

Cole now perked up.

"I'm actually here to get inspiration on a paper."

“Oh?” she asked, absent-mindedly dabbing her hair again. "You're a writer?"

Cole blushed.

"Yeah, trying to be."

"What's your paper about?"

"Well, it's partly why I had to come over and talk to you."

She raised an eyebrow but did not say anything. She waited, and others passing by watched her conversing with Cole.

"I'm writing an essay on the Grecian ideal of the body, and how it factors into modern life."

"Now that does sound interesting."

"I've been a little stumped on what to say about it, though. I haven't really gotten much research done except for to stare at some statues."

"And lucky enough, you met me."

"Y-yeah."

"Most of those Greek statues are men, though."

"True, and I want to reflect on that, too. Like the idolization of the peak male vs. what the idea of the ideal female physicality is."

"Like those Victorian statues."

"Yes, yes."

"Young, child-like. Delicate. Is that how I appear?"

He assessed her carefully, and didn't have to feel shy about it.

"No," he said honestly.

"Would you call me ideal?"

He assessed her again, her slender arms, her flawless skin. She was not the ideal of physical prowess, she did not have defined muscle tone, she did not look like a warrior or athlete. But there was something ideal in her sun-kissed skin and fearless nudity that a monochrome statue probably couldn't quite capture. She had the healthy look of someone who lived under the sun and shaped their body through their lifestyle.

"Yes," he said.

“Sounds like you might like to interview me.” She pulled her dress off her shoulder, revealing herself fully again, and sat down on her lounger. She crossed her legs and perched her hand on her knee so that she was teasingly concealed.

"S-sure, I'd love to," Cole said.

"Have a seat. If you're ready."

"Yeah, yeah, I have my notebook in my bag."

"A writer always should have one handy."

Cole pulled up a free plastic chair next to the lounger and sat down, putting his bag in his lap and pulling out his notebook and pen while the woman waited patiently. He could hardly believe the situation, sitting there so casually with a beautiful, picturesque naked woman, her arms and legs covering her intimate parts and making her an image of intertwined tan limbs and torso, all the same lovely hue from top to bottom, and while he sat and opened his notebook, people passed by, casting a curious eye at the curious pair, and so Cole began to think up questions to ask her. He started off by asking her why she did this, and exploring how she got so comfortable in her own skin, and she, not surprisingly, revealed she had grown up visiting nude beaches, and had had parents who were not prudish or bashful about the human body, so nudity at home was quite common, too. She had simply had a different upbringing than he, and he thought back to his assessment of American culture, at once prudish and overtly sexual, which led him to ask her about eroticism. Was it not perhaps sexual to be exposed like this, or was the separation between sex and nudity something she held to? She surprised him by answering that they were interlinked, that while not directly connected, sexuality and nudity often overlapped, as was natural. A physically attractive person was attractive no matter what, naked or clothed, and in her view, an attractive body was no different than an attractive face. There was nothing to be ashamed about in sexuality.

"So in nudist beaches," he asked her, "do you look down at less attractive people who decide to take off their clothes?"

"Not at all," she said. "Everybody has a right to be naked."

"But you would not call them ideal?"

"That's not something I think about. That's you."

Cole squirmed in his chair a bit.

“Look at it this way: your body is your temple, and you should take as best care of it as you can.”

"Do you think it's wrong to focus so much on the physically attractive?"

"No, not at all, either. I already said, there's nothing wrong with sexuality."

"What about children? There are children at nude beaches, no? Is it not wrong for them to see somebody nude, who is sexually attractive?"

"It's not my fault that I am attractive," the woman said. "What's the harm if they see someone like me, as long as I'm not doing something lewd, one would say."

"Some would say that merely being nude is lewd."

"And those people are prudes," the woman replied. "So a child sees somebody who is like one of your statues, so what? That's what a body can look like. One doesn’t become indecent just because they’re in shape."

"But you say there is nothing wrong with sexuality, either."

"No."

"So what if people were having sex on the beach in front of everybody?"

"Well, sex should be intimate. Private. But sexuality should not be."

"I don't follow."

"There are limits, my dude," she said. "It's not so black and white."

"I see."

A silence passed, as Cole thought of what to say. The woman uncrossed her legs and swung them up onto the lounger, stretching out, now fully exposed, her intimate—sexual—region now absorbing the sun, her chest thrust up to drink from it as well; totally shameless.

"So do you see an issue with objectification?" he asked her.

"It's always an issue," the woman said. "But the answer always is: does the object of objectification have agency?"

"Agency?"

"Is she expressing herself as she pleases?"

"I see. Do you think objectification wouldn't happen if everybody was nude?"

"No, of course not. We still objectify people in their clothes."

"So you don't think things would change that much if everybody were allowed to be nude?"

"No, not much, which is why it should be allowed."

"But why? Wouldn't it create problems?"

"At first, maybe, but once people got used to it... Personally, you know, naked is better."

"How so?"

"It's just healthier. Look at me, my skin is breathing, I'm getting a healthy tan. Meanwhile you got people swaddling their skin, even though it's hot out. They are pale and sweaty underneath. Does that sound healthy?"

"No, I guess it doesn't."

"So being forced to be clothed even in weather like this should be a crime," she concluded.

"I think many people would be uncomfortable with others nude."

"At first."

"A lot of people would be uncomfortable being nude."

"Would you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why?"

Here Cole paused. The answer was obvious, and it was the same answer that anybody would have: self-consciousness.

"You should try it," the woman said. Cole only laughed.

"Here?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I'd probably get in trouble..."

"People nowadays would rather see a naked woman than a naked man, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Screw it. Do it anyway."

Cole let his notebook drop on his lap. "Are you daring me?" he asked.

"No, I'm encouraging you. Look how comfortable I am."

Indeed she did look like the picture of comfort, laying there under the sun. Cole looked around at the others, walking around and tugging at their shirts to get a breeze. There was some functionality in their clothes: some of the tourists' loose shirts looked pleasantly drafty, and straw hats shielded their faces, protecting them from burns.

"I think there's a limit, too, to nudity," Cole concluded. "Imagine if we were in a desert."

"Well we're not in a desert. We can go inside anytime we want."

"True..."

"Point is, if you can be naked comfortably, without having to fear being ravaged by the elements, then why wouldn't you?"

The hypothetical answers flooded into Cole's head: modesty, decency, self-consciousness. But all those didn't seem to matter now.

"I don't know," he finally replied. The woman said nothing and turned her head to look straight up and close her eyes against the sun's rays, and she almost looked like she was going to fall asleep, so innocently there, her most delicate features unhid and presented for the world without a care, and looking upon her, Cole felt suddenly incensed, and he picked up his notebook and stood. The woman's head tilted towards him ever-so-slightly and a small smile crept upon her face. Cole sat his notebook and pen down on the chair and took off his shirt.

In this setting, taking off one's shirt wouldn't be so strange, as it was, afterall, swimming weather, but taking off one's shorts was something entirely different, and something he began to do with a furiously beating heart as the shorts went down and over his loafers and, underneath, wearing nothing else, his most intimate part was exposed. He felt the warm kiss of sun on his bare butt, and his lesser self hung free, just as unobstructed since it was commando under his shorts, but now with a pleasant cooling sensation as the air blew by him. It got him a little excited, sent a thrill down his spine, and, coupled with the sight of the woman before him, urged his sexual part to twitch inwardly, invisibly. He picked up his notebook and draped his clothes over the arm of the chair, and sat back down again, the plastic smooth and warm under his butt. Now the woman's eyes opened, and they smiled in their own way at the sight of him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the other tourists had now stopped and were starting to gawk again. They had gotten used to the presence of an unclothed woman, but now a man fully exposed renewed their curiosity. Up on the captain's deck, the frowning man stepped back out and looked more concerned than before.

"That's the spirit," the woman said. "Don't you feel better?"

"A little," Cole answered, "but also a little weird." Indeed he felt like the center of attention now. Everybody was looking in his direction, everybody could see every part of him that he was self-conscious of, and perhaps unlike at a nudist beach, people were quickly appearing to not be accepting.

"It's weird at first," the woman said. "It's always weird at first."

He sat there, with the woman's eyes turning over his bare abdomen, and his penis lolling in his lap, which was quickly obstructed as he picked up his notebook again, thinking of what next to ask, and he was glad for the concealment, because the twitching, troubling sensations seemed to be urging it to a state that might not be acceptable in such a public setting. He was not used to this sort of thing, obviously. He had always assumed nudist resorts and beaches, and "colonies," as some called them, were full of nothing but exhibitionists, and he feared that the woman had just goaded him on so she could pull him into that fetishized world. At the same time, he also felt supremely comfortable in that chair, with the spray of the ocean settling on his bare shoulders, with his crotch able to breathe and not be suffocated under a layer or two of fabric. It was a feeling he had never experienced before. Unfortunately, as he held his notebook and scratched his brain, he felt the tip of his erection bump the cover in his lap.

Finally, breaking his trance of nakedness, the naked woman spoke: "Have anything more to ask me?"

Cole looked at her, looked down at his notebook, and knew that he did not. He had enough dense conversation to write a paper much differently than he had originally planned. And perhaps a separate or combined write-up on his experience here, and the tale of this woman in town. It would be an epic paper.

"No, I don't think I do,” he finally said.

"Well then why don't you put your notebook away?" she asked, and Cole froze. Of course he couldn’t do that. By now his erection was firmly pressed against the bottom of the notebook and there would be no playing it off if he were to reveal it. The woman seemed to know this, for her smile was devious. The pressure (both literal and figurative) was unbearable. Just as he had decided to just let it go when he took his clothes off, Cole removed the notebook from his lap and crooked it in the chair beside him, and his erect penis bobbed up in the air before him and before the woman's amused-seeming eyes. Not amused was the captain, who now unfolded his arms and flinched, like he was stopping himself from taking a step forward.

"S-sorry," Cole said to the woman.

"Don't be. Why would you have to be sorry?"

"Well I don't seem to be much in control of myself."

"What's there to control? You're excited, so your body is excited. Nothing you can do about it, but no need to be ashamed of it."

"He seems pretty displeased," Cole said, looking up at the deck as the captain turned once again and stormed into his cabin, perhaps not to ignore the situation this time but to make a call, or to prepare to come down and tell him to get dressed.

"See? Nobody cares," the woman said.

"I think it's just the opposite."

"You worry too much."

"No, this feels weird."

Then the woman did the most surprising thing: she leaned over, reached out, and gently ran her fingers along the now-formidable trunk of Cole's penis. It twitched, and she gently closed her hand around it.

“Wha—”

"This thing here," she said, waggling it gently back and forth as Cole took in a sharp breath, "is beautiful, in its own way. You feel me?"

"I feel," Cole said with a shuddery breath. His entire body was paralyzed.

"It's the involuntary expression of sexual passion, and I think it's magnificent. See, the male body is a marvel, especially this—" she waggled it back and forth in wider arcs now—"this thing is most magnificent of all when it's impassioned."

"U-huh..."

Devilishly, she ran her thumb over his rubbery head and it spasmed in her grip.

"There's something about it, how urgent it is. Guys like to think they're showing dominance with it, like it's a sword, but I like to think of it like a little worm."

She squeezed lightly, then pulled her grip to the top so all her fingers could roll over his head, and she pulled down again, leaving it glistening now, and leaving Cole gripping his armrest.

"...And the way it wiggles and squirms, just begging for some release, I think it's kind of cute. And hypnotizing. And there's that moment, when it's had all it can bear, where you can practically feel its tension about to slip, like one more tiny touch could set it off. I like that the most."

He wasn't quite at that stage yet, but he knew the feeling she described, and internally begged to reach it, even out there in the open, under the open sky and before the eyes of everybody, people he had forgotten were there. He almost turned his head if not for the warming, growing sensation as she moved her hand along his tool, and then—

"Excuse me, this has gone on long enough. We're going back to shore, please put on your clothes and leave."

Cole was frozen as if in a nightmare now, looking up at the stern captain as he stood right over them. The gentle hand of the woman still massaged and worked Cole's dick, and the insatiable urge to let her keep going, to keep experiencing this pleasure, took hold of him despite the unpleasant audience. The woman didn't seem intent on stopping, either.

"I'm sorry," she said, her hand still working. "I was just admiring nature's fine art."

"I don't care, get dressed, cover that thing up, now."

But Cole let out a shaky breath, the woman's hand closed around him firmly, and she circled her thumb on his head again, repeating the motion over and over as he wriggled in her grip and then released, bursting and running rivers down her knuckles.

"Jesus Christ," the captain muttered and averted his eyes, then stomped away. Cole could barely keep his eyes open and focused, and he watched the captain leave, and in his place, a circle of tourists stood around them as the woman pumped the last bit of passion out of him and he let out a groan at the almost-intolerable contact of her fingers on his head.

"Beautiful," she said, still holding onto him, letting him go limp in her hand. A phone camera flashed.

"Oh God," Cole said, and raised his hand to block his face.

"Show's over," the woman said to the gawkers, but only a few backed away. She finally let go of Cole, looked at the mess on her hand, and reached for the towel. Cole reflexively reached for his clothes and threw them on his lap, regretting it the instant he did it since they would no doubt get stained, but he was willing to accept that if it meant to hide the pathetic sight of his spent and exhausted penis lying on his leg like a beached whale that had thrown up.

"You're crazy, you know that?" he told her. She just laughed. He realized now that she was more obsessed with the body than he was. She truly was a fascinating person to have met on this trip. He just wished he could have met her in that manner a little more privately. Luckily, the gawkers started to thin out, and they were more or less alone again. The woman pulled on her fingers with the towel and then threw it behind her again, stretching out on the recliner as if she had just had good sex.

"How much do you wanna bet that he's not gonna come back?" she asked him with a smirk.

"Doesn't matter. We're definitely headed back to shore." They were: the docks and the hotels were coming more clearly into view.

"Wanna just walk off naked together?"

Now it was Cole's turn to laugh.

"We're gonna get in serious trouble, aren't we?"

"I doubt it. Not as long as I'm with you. Don't worry."

In no time at all, the ship was docked. Cole had remained where he was, with his clothes in his lap, and the woman just relaxed as if she had all the time in the world to do as she liked. Then the captain came strutting up to them.

"Alright. Off. Now."

He didn't even ask them to get dressed anymore, and the woman sat up and took her towel and dress and stood, smiling at the man and daring him to look below her shoulders, and Cole watched her turn her full-frontal profile from the man and watched her butt wiggle right there at eye level as she slipped her feet into a heeled pair of sandals and then Cole stood, a fresh hard-on threatening to emerge as he let his clothes fall away from his lap and collected his notebook and bag. The captain looked at them sternly as the woman grabbed her purse and shot him a friendly look, dangling the bag along at her side as they left. All the others on the yacht clapped and cheered behind them.

Naked, soles on the dock, they stood there together, looking at each other eye-to-eye, both on equal footing now.

"Where to from here?" he asked her.

"How about a drink?" she said, and nodded toward a beachside bar not too far away. he smiled and nodded, and they both turned and walked nude toward the end of the boardwalk. Cole felt extremely uncomfortable, his pubic hair damp with semen and his penis dripping what was left, and he quickly dabbed himself with his own shirt. He guessed he would not be getting dressed for some time.

They sat down at a table outside where nobody was seated, and when the server came out, she was frantic and marched up to the table. "The nude beach is farther down, you can't be here like thees,” she said in her marked accent.

"Just a martini for each of us and we will be out of your way," the woman said. She didn’t even bother to ask Cole what he wanted. She reached into her purse and pulled out two large bills. The server grimaced, narrowed her eyes at the two of them, and then quickly took the money as if were toxic, and then hurried inside. Then Cole and the woman were alone yet again, sitting quite comfortably with a wonderful view of the ocean.

"So... do you have enough 'inspiration' for your paper now?" she asked him.

"Almost. I'll still be at a loss as to what to say. I'll have a lot of thinking to do on it."

The server came back with their martinis and then quickly left. The woman raised her glass and Cole picked up his.

"Cheers," the woman said.

"Yeah, Cheers, uh... what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm Jackie."

"Cheers, Jackie."

They clinked glasses. They drank. Cole drank in her image again, but it was all so natural, even after the seemingly unnatural thing that had happened moments ago. Despite that, he was still incensed with her beauty, with the way the sun graced her uniquely-shaped breasts, curved perfectly on the underside, pointed upwards on top, and the way they settled there as she leaned forward a little and sipped her drink. She could tell what was going through his mind.

"So are you in agreement about the artistry of the male body?" she asked him.

"Well, almost. I don't think the ancient Greeks saw it quite the same way as you."

"Oh, I think they did."

He laughed. "Maybe. But in the end, I'm still a guy, a normal guy with normal likes, and well..."

"Yes?"

He raised his glass to her.

"That's pure art right there."

She smiled, set down her glass, and then picked up her chair to move it back so she could stand, and she stepped around the table to face him, her body presented to him fully, that dense, neatly-shaped triangle of hairs looking back at him.

"Do you think so?" she asked. She stood so close that his knees bumped into her legs, so close that he could make out the texture of gooseflesh at the edges of her pubic hair, and the lips of her vulva half-hidden below the forest. It made him lick his lips.

"Yes," he said.

Then she reached forward to take his hand. Delicately, she lifted it from his lap, ignoring his passion which was beginning to spring up again and instead guiding him to her skin, resting his palm on the side of her hip, and withdrawing her own. There, given carte blanch, Cole glided his hand over her skin, and it was as smooth as porcelain, completely flawless. He guided it behind her and traced the curvature of her butt, very firm, with a little bit of give, and again, so smooth it made him stand up on end right away. With his other hand, he caressed her thigh, and she just looked down at him and smiled, picked up her martini and took a delicate sip as his left hand flattened on her stomach and then traveled down, pressing into her crisp hairs and then leaving his fingers to trail through them, ending to brush against her lips, leaving his fingertips moistened.

She sat down her glass, took one of his hands, and guided it up to caress her breasts, which were as soft as pillows, pillows that he wanted to collapse into, though an even more inviting sight was before him, and he instinctively leaned forward and moved his face closer to that fine assemblage of hairs and skin.

Again he lost all awareness of the world around him, and it all came crashing back, literally, the waves roaring and the seagulls screaming. A waft of wind ruffled his hair, and he realized the absolute brazenness with which he and she carried themselves. But still, nobody else was out there on the graveled patio, and the server was nowhere to be seen. When he turned to face Jackie again, she was settling her butt down on the table, and she raised one leg to rest on his shoulder, opening the furry valley of his desires. He licked his lips once more.

"I do recall," she continued, "that in pagan cultures, a woman's vulva is revered as a flower, as the mother, as a source of life. Paying homage to it was a high honor."

He stared into the beyond, contemplating her words, hypnotized by the ridge of her prominent lips, edged by fur, and feeling sudden holy inspiration, Cole buried his face into it.

"Thattaboy," he heard her say, but it was a distant voice, as he was lost in her, lapping at her lips like it was the fountain of youth, running the center of his tongue through her groove, penetrating seconds later, and her hand gently pressed on the back of his head and he heard the faintest of pleased noises coming from her, and he imaged her leaning her head back and closing her eyes, but he did not pull away from his duties to look. He slathered her, then hooked his tongue inside her, sucked on her, felt the warmth flooding into his mouth, the slightly bitter smell, the dampness on his nose, and he was lost in it. Fully erect now, his penis bobbed in the air, seeking pleasure, but he paid no attention to its soft pleas, concerned more with pleasing the owner of the cradle of life, and of pleasing himself with his worship. In time, he could lose his seed again, which was the ultimate sacrifice, a tribute to this woman's eroticism, or so she would say. He recalled the ancient history she mentioned, and knew it fully. It soon entered his mind to mingle with his Grecian studies. It would be an interesting paper, indeed.

And then, much like their previous fun, they were interrupted by a shrill and panicked voice.

"What the hell? No! Get off!"

The voice made him freeze, and he only tore his face away from Jackie's nest when he saw the motion of the server rushing forward in his peripheral, and Jackie took her leg off his shoulder, leaned up, and hopped off the table.

"Get out, get out!" the server cried, and Cole felt himself panicking. That was two incriminating acts he had on him now. Jackie did not seem disturbed. She merely grabbed her things and took one last, long sip of her martini.

"I'm sorry... Cole stammered.

"I don't care, just go, go on down to the nude place already. You know, get a room! Just get!"

Cole found himself standing and scrambling to grab his things, trying not to forget something. He had his bag, within which was his notebook, so he was good, except oh yeah, his clothes. How could he forget? He felt very strange completely naked, but with his loafers on his feet. It actually made him feel more naked in front of this angry, young server. Feebly, he collected his shirt and shorts and held them to his bare skin, contemplating putting them on right there, but the server was shooing them away, so he followed Jackie's lead. She was calmly walking away, her dress and towel again draped over her shoulder, her purse hanging by a finger, her butt barely hidden behind the fabric which terminated right above it as it gently swayed with her steps, and he fought to keep up.

Walking side-by-side now along the beach, Cole feeling ever-more self-conscious and vulnerable, wanting to get dressed right away so he could end this sudden nightmare, he queried Jackie again.

"So what now?"

"That was nice, wasn't it? I've had my fill. It looks like it's getting close to the end of the afternoon." She looked up at the sun as she said this, as if she could determine the exact time by its position. "I should probably get back. I actually leave tomorrow."

"Did you want to go to the nude beach?" Cole asked, hopeful.

"Oh sweetie, there is no nude beach here. That girl was mistaken."

"Oh."

"Believe me, I checked."

"So that's it, then?"

Jackie stopped and turned to him.

"Had that much of a good time, huh? You may see me once again. How much longer are you staying?"

"A few more days."

"Where are you from, anyway?"

"Connecticut."

"Shame. I'm from Malibu."

"Can I have your number?"

"Honey, I don't want to disappoint you, but don't think we're going to be becoming an item or anything."

"No, of course not. But I was thinking maybe I could have your contact info in case I want to, you know, follow up on any questions I might have. For my paper."

Jackie smiled warmly and raised her purse, fishing in it for her phone. Cole followed suit and found his still in his shorts pocket.

"What's your number?" she asked, and he gave it to her. She quickly dialed him and he tapped her number into his contacts, hastily filing her as "J," and then he put his phone away.

"Talk to you sometime, uh..."

He flinched. He realized that all this time, he had not told her his name.

"Cole," he said.

"See you sometime, Cole. Ta-ta."

And with that, she turned and set off down the beach, heading toward God-knows-where, but surely not toward the apartments in the courtyard where he and the guys from the bar suspected she had stayed. She remained nude, her garments still draped over her shoulder, and she headed towards umbrellas set up on the beach farther out, to no doubt shock the people who were sitting there. And soon, she was a distant yet delectable shape. Then she was just a shape, an indiscernible collection of colors. Cole was left standing there naked on the beach, and as he turned around, he saw others storming down a hill towards the sand, with the intent, no doubt, of confronting him. Quickly he dropped his bag and fed his legs, still with his shoes on, through the leg-holes of his shorts, and had his shirt on (he felt a small sticky spot and imaged a particular smell) and his bag picked up before the people got too much closer, and he hurried and walked in the same general direction as Jackie just disappeared toward, breaking left and walking up a paved pathway that led to the edge of town. He walked until he was back in the thick of the city, and walked through the alleyways that he had been through before, thinking of stopping at that bar one more time, for he could have used another drink (he had barely touched his martini), but he was also tired, and desired more to just get back to his hotel and sleep a long time, so he did.

*****

That evening he did stop by the bar, refreshed from the nap but still desiring a little alcoholic lubrication to loosen his mind for the work that it had ahead of it. While there, he saw the two old men from before.

"Well hey, there you are. Have you seen that girl yet?" the bearded one asked, in English, and Cole told him: "Yes, yes I have."

"Oh yeah? Do tell."

And so he began, knowing that his story was a hundred times better than that man's story had been, and the recitation of that story served as the opening to his treatise on the allure of the human body.

The Loft Apartment

The wind seemed to blow straight through the thin sash that Sasha wore as she made her way down the slushy sidewalk to the post office, the first time she'd been out in months. She should have at least kept her coat, but she had gotten rid of everything and sold what was worth something. A coat was kind of necessary in Chicago in the winter, though. She cursed her stupidity, but then again, she really hadn't expected to have to go out, but the new lamp she ordered came to the post office instead of her stoop, and that irritated her. Maybe she would stop by somewhere and get a new coat. She didn't know anywhere close enough to go without driving, though, and she was cold. She just wanted to get her package and go home.

It was already dark, and the city was aglow in orange from the streetlamps. The road was like a still river of molten amber. Sasha turned the corner, admiring the lively winter scene despite her trembles, and right as she turned to the next street, a car came speeding by, throwing up a sheet of dirty water. The next thing she knew, a sharp, cold wave hit her abdomen, she lost her breath, and her floral sash was streaked in brown. "Goddammit," she said aloud. Nobody was near to see her misfortune. She hurried along, her loafers squishing and squeaking on the pavement. The post office would be warm, at least.

It wasn't. Sasha stood shivering as she waited in line, and people cast worried glances at her, probably thinking she was a vagabond. The clerk looked at her with equal concern, but didn't address her dress as he retrieved her water-stained package containing the new lamp she had fallen in love with, the lamp that would go just perfectly in the living area of her loft apartment, which she had had plenty of time to get accustomed to during the pandemic. She thanked the man and faced the harsher cold again, biting her lip in preparation for the buffet of wind to cut through the thin fabric and freeze her skin, for she was naked underneath the sash.

The walk home didn't take as long as the trek out, and soon she was in the halls of her apartment building, smiling awkwardly at the old woman in the elevator who stared at her mud-smeared sash and the faint image of her red areolas through the wet cotton, the stabbing nipples removing all doubt of what she was seeing. The woman left on her floor, looking back once over her shoulder before the elevator doors closed, and then Sasha was alone, as she had been used to for the past few months, and then she was on her floor, and fumbling her keys out of her purse, soon entering the oven that was the climate of her apartment.

She let out a big sigh, set the boxed lamp down next to the door, and tore off her chilly garment. Her skin accepted the heat. It felt like a godsend, but nothing would compare to when she would get under the steaming, hot water of her shower. She tossed her wet and muddy sash into the sink, where she would wash it later, for her apartment didn't have a washer and dryer, which was why she didn't have any clothes except for that lone sash. She had gotten sick of using the coin laundry, and her apartment cost her an arm and a leg, so she decided, on day one hundred and thirty-five of living in isolation, that she would get rid of all her clothes and live in the nude, saving her the expense and hassle of unnecessary laundering. She hadn't really thought things through, though. That was in August. It was now November, and the city now reminded her of one of the things it was famous for.

She made her way to the shower, and in less than a minute she was under the steaming spray, letting out a sigh of relief and feeling herself rejuvenated. Soon dried and bare-naked, not having a stitch to put on nor caring to, Sasha stepped out into the open floorplan of her apartment and flicked on the overhead lights, throwing harsh, white illumination throughout the expanse that she soon hoped to remedy with the new lamp, which would go on the reading table by her couch.

The high windows showed the glittering winter wonderland outside, and the windows of apartments across the street, and no curtains hid the view of Sasha strutting through her apartment in the nude. She didn't care. What would be the big deal if someone saw? Perhaps she even had a nightly admirer. She'd give him (or her) a show. It wasn't a concern. So long as the voyeur wasn't someone she knew, it didn't bother her.

She drifted over to the front door again to unbox her lamp when she heard the loud buzzing of her cell phone, still in the purse, which she had set on the kitchen counter. She irritatedly moved away from her new purchase and got the phone out to answer it. It was Tammy, one of her best friends.

"Sash! How's it going?"

"Oh hey, Tammy. I just got home with a new lamp, I was gonna set it up."

"Oh, how's the apartment feeling? I guess you've had a lot of time to get settled."

"Yeah. Didn't expect for a pandemic to hit right when I got it. It's nice. It's a little lonely, though."

"Same here, me and Tom are going crazy. But hey, we just got inoculated, and we figured: hey, there's lots of people we haven't seen in a while. We thought we might come over."

Sasha eyed her dirty sash in the sink, worry growing at the base of her neck.

"Sure, I'd like to, sometime."

"Well we were just down the street. We got a pizza!"

"Oh, well, tonight isn't really—"

"Oh come on! What could you possibly have going on? You know, it only takes about five minutes to set up and appreciate a lamp."

"I know, but you see, I, uh..."

"We picked it up from Bobby's Pizzeria."

Sasha salivated; it had been a while since she had had the perfection of Bobby's greasy pies. And she hadn't eaten dinner. "Well, you see—"

"Come on! It's been almost a year!"

"I was just explaining. You can come on over. But, you see... well, maybe it will make more sense when you get here. You're open-minded, right?"

"It’s me, Sash. Of course I am! What you got going on?"

"Well, I've made some adjustments to my wardrobe," she explained. "Got sick of paying to do the laundry. And since I've not been going out..."

"I understand, you don't have to be shy with us. Dress as casual as you like, we don't care."

"Well, the thing is..." I'm not dressed at all, she wanted to say, but she couldn't get herself to say it.

"Don't worry about it. See you in four minutes." Then Tammy hung up.

Sasha let the phone fall to the counter. Her hand was trembling. She looked at her lone garment, wet and discarded in the sink. There was no way she could wash it, let alone hang it to dry, in the insanely short amount of time Tammy had given her. And she certainly wasn't going to put it on again. She had just gotten air-dried, and felt marvelous, and was looking forward to a night sitting by her new lamp, reading more of some J. A. Jance, not having to worry about entertaining guests, and not having to worry about going back to her desk and logging into work, where she would sit for hours glancing at the street outside. That monotony wasn't until Monday. No, she had her perfect, private evening planned, and—

There was a knock at the door.

Sasha took a big, shuddering breath. Tammy's boyfriend Tom would be with her; what would Tammy think if Sasha opened the door and presented to him her naked body? True, they were all good friends, and frank with each other, but this might be too much. There was no choice, though, and Tam had Bobby's Pizza...

Swiftly, without hesitation, Sasha opened the door and watched the-at-first delighted, then shocked, expressions of her two friends.

"Hi..." then silence.

"Come on in,” Sasha said. The two of them both stood there, the warm pizza box cradled in Tammy's arms, Tom behind her with mouth agape, both of them dressed much more warmly than Sasha was. "Come on, before you let the cold air in," she said. They did not budge.

"Sasha, what the hell?" Tammy finally said. She appeared about ready to drop the pizza, and Sasha tensed in preparation to rescue it.

"I told you I made some adjustments," Sasha said, her voice cracking as her eyes darted from her friends' shocked faces to the teetering pizza, and finally she moved forward and took it. "Come on in, I hope you understand. I literally don't have anything to wear."

She walked to the kitchen with the pizza while Tom and Tammy stood and then eventually entered, Tom closing the door but looking over at Sasha the whole time, his eyes wide as the dinner plates she was pulling out of the cupboard.

"Seriously, Sash, what is this?" Tammy asked.

Sasha let out a big sigh. "So money's been tight since I moved in. And then Coronavirus happened. It's not like I lost my job or anything, but I've already been pinching pennies because this place is like twelve hundred bucks—"

"Nice place, by the way," Tom finally said.

"Thank you. So this place is so expensive, and it's ridiculous what they charge to do laundry, so I just figured I wouldn't do it."

"So what, you gave away all your clothes?" Tammy said.

"I sold some. The designer stuff. I needed a bit of extra cash."

"Yeah, but... what about going out and all that?"

"I got this," Sasha said, lifting her dirty sash out of the sink. "I wear this when I got out, but I haven't had to do that much. I'm getting my groceries delivered now."

Tammy just shook her head, and it hit Sasha how directly she was exposed to her friend—both of her friends—and how little she cared all of a sudden. She left her chest open and unobstructed as she dropped the sash back into the sink with a plop.

"Yeah, but... Christ, don't you even have a coat?" Tammy said as she finally took off hers. It was apparent that she was sweating. It was pretty warm in the apartment.

"No... I guess I wasn't thinking."

"I guess not!"

"I'm sorry. Is this going to be awkward? I mean, with Tom here, too."

"I-I'm fine," Tom said, gazing at Sasha's bare form. He took off his coat as well, once he saw that Tammy was doing the same. She shot him a look, though, but then looked back at Sasha. She sighed.

"Well I guess we have no choice,” she said with a hint of irritation. “Hate for this pizza to go to waste. You know what, Sash? You're weird."

"Wouldn't be the first time you called me that," Sasha said. "Wow, this looks good."

"Where shall we sit?"

"We can eat by the couch. Check out my space!"

Indeed, both Tammy and Tom seemed as much drawn in by the spaciousness of Sasha's apartment as they were by her unexpected nudity, the latter of which they seemed to be getting used to as they hung their coats over the kitchen chairs and walked with Sasha, her butt waving back at them as she took them on the short two-cent tour. Then they took the pizza to the coffee table and sat down around it, Sasha taking the loveseat, and Tom and Tammy the couch opposite, all of them huddled in front of her glass coffee table. Eyes were averted as Sasha reached forward to take a slice of pizza. It was thin-crust pepperoni, her favorite. She hadn't eaten it in so long.

"So you've been living like this... for how long?" Tammy asked.

"A couple months. It's actually pretty cozy. It's great not worrying about what to put on."

"Uh-huh..."

Her friends stared as she ate, the flopping and bending pizza slice just inches above her undulating breasts, and Sasha couldn’t help but feel their eyes all over her, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious about it, but she knew the only way to get comfortable in this situation was to move forward, boldly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. This had been her "ordinary" for a while already.

Tom was the one to finally reach for a slice of pizza. He just couldn't seem to wait. "Nice place you got here, though," he said.

"Thanks, you said. I really do like it."

"So what are you going to do if you need to go out?" Tammy asked.

"Well I got my sash," Sasha said, motioning towards the kitchen.

"Yes, but that's not going to keep you warm!" Tammy exclaimed.

"Like I said, I didn't really think this through."

"I'll say."

"Hey, lay easy on her," Tom cut in.

"Oh, of course you would defend her being naked!"

"I'm just saying..."

"It's alright. Yeah I might go out and buy a coat or something."

"I'll get you one. Consider it your Christmas present."

"Thank you."

"Jesus, though, Sash."

"Hey, this is nice. I haven't put on a stitch for at least a week. And it's pretty damn comfortable, if you don't mind me saying so. Man, this is good pizza."

"Mm-hmm."

"So how have you guys been?”

"Oh you know, this and that..."

And so Tammy related to Sasha all they had been through, getting laid off but getting another job almost right away—that was Tammy; Tom wrote stories on Amazon and made his living at home—and actually having to visit the office in person, which made her nervous, but Tammy wasn't one to let things bother her for too long. Just like now, where Sasha's nudity in front of her boyfriend didn't seem to bother her anymore. The magic of the passage of time seemed to do its trick, and by the time there was only one pizza slice left, Tammy was pulling at her collar and not even looking at Sasha weird anymore.

"Sure is hot in here," she said.

"Yeah, well I keep it hot, for obvious reasons," Sasha said. She imagined that she was the center of the attention, even though they were not staring at her anymore. She could feel it. It was weird being the only nude one in the group. She almost wanted to suggest that they disrobe. It would have made her feel more comfortable, but it would be weird to suggest it.

"So it's really been comfortable here, just laying about naked?" Tammy asked. "What do you do after you poop?"

"I take a shower," Sasha said matter-of-factly.

"But you don't feel, like... unsanitary?"

"No, not after I've showered. If I'm clean, then what's the big deal?"

"Have you sat naked on this couch?" Tammy asked next.

"Yeah..."

She shifted in her seat, but quickly gained her composure. "It sure is hot in here," she repeated.

"Sorry. It's a necessity."

"Well, if you're going to be like this," Tammy said, looking over to Tom. "Then I might as well be, too."

And with that, she stood, and much to Sasha's shock, Tammy unbuttoned her thick shirt, underneath which was a t-shirt, which she peeled off as soon as she got rid of the outer one, and soon her cream-colored skin was graced by the harsh lights. As Tom stared wide-eyed, she undid her bra.

"Might as well get comfortable, if you're going to keep it that hot."

That's the spirit, Sasha almost said, but sat, delighted, as her friend disrobed, moving on to her slacks, which she took down quickly, along with her underwear. Now she was standing nude in the middle of Sasha’s living room, and Tom's mouth fell open. His lips worked on forming the words: Tam, Tam, what are you doing? but he soon fell into disbelief as his girlfriend threw what was left of her clothes aside and sat back down next to him.

"Oh, do you want me to set something down on the couch?" Tammy asked.

"You're fine," Sasha said, though in honesty she would have preferred it. She didn't want to be an ungenerous host, though. Tom's eyes were all over now, and he quickly appeared to be scared, scared of two naked girls!

"Is this.. should I... do we need a moment to talk, Tam?"

Tammy shrugged. "I just felt like it. I don't know, I think Sasha has got to me here."

Sasha smiled at this.

"So this isn't a threesome?" Tom asked.

Tammy sighed. "No, Tom, this isn't a threesome."

"Okay, good."

And just like that, Tom suddenly felt more comfortable about what was going on, and he stood and unbuttoned his shirt. Before the two girls, he opened it and bared his chest, and then took down his pants and bared the rest. His cock flipped out, and Sasha tried not to show that her eyes had moved towards it (she was only curious) and then he sat down on her couch next to Tammy, both of them adjusting themselves in their seats and not yet fully comfortable.

"Well, this is weird," Tom announced.

"It's not bad," Tammy said.

"It's great," said Sasha. "You guys didn't have to take off your clothes to feel included, but I'm kind of glad you did. I was feeling weird here."

"It's okay," Tammy said. "I understand." She leaned back in the couch, glancing over at Tom, and she let her body relax. It was the first time she actually looked at ease, her limbs loosening and her chest collapsing. Tom, on the other hand, still seemed to be adjusting.

"The only thing that sucks," Tammy said, "is I wish I’d had a fresh shower. I've been sweating under my coat."

"You're free to shower if you want," Sasha said. "It's all yours."

"Gee, really?"

"Being naked is best when you're nice and clean. I take a shower every day, I hate it when I'm not smelling fresh."

"Well that settles it then. Tom?"

Tom looked surprised to be addressed, and he blinked his eyes and looked at his newly-nude girlfriend.

"Yeah, sure, if you want to."

"Great, I’ll go first. Towels in the bathroom, I assume?"

"Yeah," Sasha said. "There's a linen closet in there."

"Cool. See you in a bit."

Tammy stood, her body raising above Tom and Sasha, and she moved away from the couch, disappearing to the back of the apartment where the bathroom was. Sasha was left alone with Tom, who shrunk into his seat on the couch and looked supremely uncomfortable. Sasha didn't know what to do; she felt a little awkward herself. She felt as much looked upon as Tom must have felt, and in an effort to ease the awkwardness, she opened her mouth.

"Do you want anything to drink? I have some rum."

"Gee, alcohol would be good right now. I think."

Sasha laughed and got up. "Don't worry. I don't intend for anything weird to happen. This isn't what it might seem like."

"I don't know, it's just weird, you know?" His eyes followed Sasha as she went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. "Never hung with anyone like this before."

"Me neither," she called from the kitchen. "But I like it. There's no pressure."

"Yeah, I guess."

She returned to the coffee table with a glass and a bottle of rum, and she tipped some into it before going back to fetch two more glasses.

"Need any ice?" she asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

So she returned with a little bucket of ice from the freezer, and sat down comfortably across from Tom, both of them getting used to the naked sight of each other. The rum definitely helped. By the time Tammy was walking out of the bathroom, Sasha and Tom had already worked up to chatting casually about the latest HBO show.

"Ah, drinks," Tammy said. "Great. Hey babe, shower's yours."

"Oh, o-okay."

Reluctantly, leaving his glass, Tom stood up and idly walked towards the bathroom while Tammy took his place on the couch. She poured herself some rum and seemed happy on that couch, curled up, smooth and naked, no clothing to interrupt the seamless display and feeling of her skin against her own skin, of her skin on the fabric. She looked almost ready to curl up and fall asleep.

"Okay," she said. "I'll have to admit, you're doing it right."

"I wasn't trying to change minds," Sasha said. "But I'm glad you're comfortable."

"Your heat bill must be through the roof, though."

"It's a little high," Sasha admitted, thinking to herself how much more it cost to heat her apartment for nude living rather than just spend the change to wash some clothes.

"So was Tom behaved?" Tammy asked next.

"Yeah, he was fine. A little nervous, poor guy."

"As long as he wasn't staring."

"Well, maybe a little, but it can't be helped."

Tammy frowned a little, but only a little.

"So did you want to watch a movie or something?" Tammy asked. "I don't know what you had planned tonight, but we were wide open."

"Yeah, a movie would be great," Sasha said. "I can see what's on Netflix."

"So you're all set up, then?"

"Oh yeah. I need something to entertain me while I'm home all the time."

"I hear that."

"It's great seeing you," Sasha added, and didn't mean that in the literal sense that she was seeing her naked, but it was striking how after having not seen her friends for six months, she was getting used to them in a whole different way. It was kind of liberating. She felt more at ease with Tammy than she ever had before. Then Tom came wandering back into the room, looking like he was lost, still a little awkward to be so exposed to the both of them. He slowly took his seat, and then Tammy revealed the plans to watch a movie.

"O-oh, yeah, sure. ...Naked?"

"Yeah, silly, I wouldn't have taken a shower otherwise."

"Okay."

"Here, help me turn the couch," Sasha said, getting up, and Tammy and Tom got up as well so that they could position both the couch and loveseat to face the television that was mounted on the wall. Then they were seated again, Tammy was re-pouring drinks, and Sasha picked up the remote to bring the television to life. She had envisioned a night of sitting by her new lamp and enjoying her book and the feel of her clean skin on the couch, but now at least the latter sensation was enjoyed with two friends she had not seen in forever, and with the new liberating feeling that she didn't have to hide this enjoyment from them. They watched the movie—Midsommar; Sasha didn't quite like it—and when they were finished, the darkness of the night outside grew even deeper, as did the imagined chill that would await Tom and Tammy once they suited back up. They didn't seem to want to leave just yet, and they each poured themselves another drink.

"I'm real glad you guys came out," Sasha told them. "Thanks for not freaking out when I answered the door."

"All good," Tammy replied. "I'm really glad we stopped by now. Right, Tom?"

Tom no longer had the delay of a shocked reaction. He nodded his head affirmatively and said: "you bet."

They sat there and drank and talked about their plans for once COVID lightened up on their lives, and they made plans at least to come back and do another movie or game night in the near future, perhaps even inviting a few more friends, with the same dress code in mind.

"You think they won't mind?" Sasha asked, thinking of her friends Kate and Patty, who were modest, religious girls.

"They might be weirded out, but let's give them a chance to try it," Tammy said. "I think we have a new tradition on our hands."

Sasha was filled with gladness. For her private pleasure to be suddenly shared with her friends and possibly expanded to her whole friend circle was an overwhelmingly wonderful thing to contemplate, and she was almost sad to see Tammy and Tom put on their clothes, as they were no doubt sad to do.

"It's gonna be cold as hell out there," Tammy complained. "Not looking forward to it."

"Get home safe," Sasha said. "I'm gonna snuggle up in the bed and fall asleep, I think."

"I might need another shower when I get home, just to warm up."

"Sounds like a good idea. And maybe put on something warm, huh?"

"Actually, I think I might just turn up the heat instead." Tammy smiled at Sasha as she said this, Signaling that her way of life might now be adjusted just as Sasha's was. "Come on, Tom. See you, Sash."

"See you."

Tom looked a little bewildered, imaging, perhaps, the rest of the night that was to unfold in the nude, surprised it was even a possibility, as if staying for a few hours at Sasha's didn't open up all possibilities. As the door closed behind them, Sasha suddenly felt proud about being an agent for that change, and no longer did she regret giving away all her clothes. She didn't need to go out anymore, not until it got warmer, at least. Her friends could come to her, and she wouldn't need to hurriedly get dressed to greet them. It was a bright outlook for the rest of the bleak winter. And, looking down at the doormat, she smiled at her lamp, still packaged up there, and she bent down to take it and go unpack it to enjoy the rest of her evening, but she would end up falling asleep on the couch before she ever got more than a page into her book. She awoke in the morning, not chilled in the slightest, and the sunlight came through her high windows and warmed her bare skin. It was the start of another wonderful day.

By Her Pale Skin

Word of her had traveled through the village, from gossiping mouth to hungry ear amongst people going about their chores. It floated through the tavern like the layer of tobacco smoke that perpetually hung in that place. It exchanged between laborers in between their labors. The first word of the rumor may have occurred at Miss Swanson's chicken coop, as Old Lady Helga passed by on her return from visiting her late husband. She had told Miss Swanson that a ghost was stalking their graveyard, the ghost of a young woman, and she must have been a ghost, for she had lost the need for clothing. It was understandable that this rumor would spread.

Which young lady of the village was streaking in the graveyard at night? So the question went. There were several young, eligible maidens who were suspect, but nobody spoke up. Nobody was keen on going into the graveyard after dark, either. The town's youngest and bravest adventurer quietly made his way up the little path to the graveyard one night to try and see for himself. He went without alerting anybody, for he did not want the streaking woman to find out and be warned, and he was sure she was a living woman and not a ghost. When he discovered her naked, she would be embarrassed and docile, and he would woo her in the moonlight, a fine scene for an off-duty adventurer. He ended up running back into the village, screaming, alerting plenty of people of his failed adventure. "She's a ghost, alright!" he had cried as he lay on the ground next to the chicken coop while Miss Swanson dabbed his forehead with a damp cloth. "I could tell by her pale skin!" The villagers attempted to calm him, and none wanted to follow in the young man's footsteps. So the rumor continued to grow. People only visited the graveyard during the day, some staying right up to the edge of evening in case they could catch the form of the naked woman materializing as Old Lady Helga had seen, but they would chicken out at the last minute. If the caretaker who used to live in the little hut on the far side of the cemetery had still been alive, he may have been the one to sit up and confirm or deny the supernatural nature of the night visitor, but nobody watched the graveyard anymore, and the little hut sat empty and abandoned.

So it was that it was common custom to not enter the graveyard at dark, and the ghost there was accepted as a local resident, a curious curiosity of the town, and they spoke of it little, which was not just a way to cope with the impossible, but a pointed effort to keep the rumor from escaping the village and spreading to the market town, where thrill-seekers would hear and no doubt come trompsing into the peaceful village. It was better this way. So the residents of the sleepy community carried on their days like normal.

The spirit of adventure still burned low, refusing to go out for those with obsession and imagination, namely, amongst two residents literally low to the ground: young Gauge and little Eddie, Eddie, who always sat down for a ghost story and who often stared at the night sky in wonder. Gauge was slightly older, old enough to pretend that childish distractions didn't enchant him, and a more quiet and withdrawn kid than Eddie, who was like a wind-up toy that never ran out of spring. It was such that it was difficult to keep Eddie quiet as they crept up to the graveyard path barely seen in the dark.

"Sssh, Eddie, someone'll hear us," Gauge said in a harsh whisper.

"I heard that if you wanna attract a ghost you have to wear garlic around your neck. Too bad we don't have any."

"That's to keep vampires away, dummy."

"Oh. Gosh, I sure hope there aren't any vampires here."

"Maybe the ghost will scare them away," Gauge said. He was getting a little annoyed, and a little tense with the fear of being caught sneaking around at night.

"I don't think vampires are scared of ghosts," Eddie continued.

"Shh."

They reached the graveyard path, which climbed up a shallow hill and through the trees which crowded on each side as if waiting to pounce on little boys. Gauge held his breath and walked past them, though he knew better than to be afraid of the trees themselves. It was what could be hiding within them that was the danger. What those things could be, he had no idea. Eddie, meanwhile, was completely ignorant of danger. He skipped along next to Gauge and outpaced him a bit.

"Hey, don't rush ahead," he hissed to his younger friend (He strained to think of him as a "friend,” more like an annoyance who refused to leave his side. But since there were no other kids Gauge's age in town, Eddie was his only real companion. The only other kid his age was a pretty girl named Monica, with flowing auburn hair and eyes that always made him immediately look away. He did not have the nerve to talk to her). Eddie almost disappeared in the shadows but then stopped, hunching over and facing the side of the path. Gauge could hear something crunching softly, and he hurried to close the distance between him and Eddie. When he was right up on him, the younger boy spun around lightning-fast, and his face was all black except for the gleam of his teeth.

"Blaaaargh!" he yelled, and Gauge would have screamed if his heart wasn't blocking his throat. Eddie removed the oval piece of thick tree bark he had hung on his face. "Haha, gotcha. Isn't this fun?"

"I almost died, Eddie. And don't goddamn scream, we're not supposed to let people know we're out here, remember?"

"Oh, right."

They fell back into step again, this time Eddie safely by Gauge's side.

"Where'd you get that thing, anyway?" Gauge asked Eddie.

"I took it off the tree," Eddie said. "It just fell right off. Like the eye holes?" He held the makeshift mask up to his face again and flitted his eyes up at Gauge. He could barely see them in the shadow, until they neared the end of the path and the moon came out to shine on his face.

"Yeah, nice. Alright, here we are."

Eddie took the mask away from his face but continued to carry it beside him like his favorite toy. But he fell quiet as they approached the open gateway to the small graveyard, the stone arches glowing unnaturally in the moonlight, and the graveyard beyond in shadow. True to a graveyard's aesthetics, scraggly weeds grew around the fence, another sign of the caretaker's absence.

Gauge looked at Eddie and held his finger to his lips. Eddie finally got the idea and shut up for once, and they crept up to the gate but did not go through it. Instead, each of them hid behind either side of the arch, like two cowboys in a shootout against a posse of gunslingers, their heads peeking out not for men, but women, not for a living soul but a dead one. As the moon's light traveled with a passing cloud, the graveyard was revealed as if by a moving spotlight, and Gauge trained his eyes. His chest tightened; he almost did expect to see a ghost out there. He knew better than to really expect one, but the mood was just right that—

And there it was.

He blinked, and it was still there. A pale shape absolutely aglow, either by the moon or by its own illumination, and then it slipped away. He didn't hear Eddie react, but couldn't look away to see if he had also spotted it. Then it appeared again. It looked like it passed behind a tree and was making its way across the graveyard. He could make out very human-looking shoulders, and long, not-quite-glowing hair between them. The hair was almost dull compared to the pale skin. This time she did not disappear, but she turned away from them, heading up the hill deeper into the cemetery. Gauge finally looked at Eddie, and Eddie had definitely seen it, because his jaw was hanging open. He still clutched his mask at his side. Gauge stepped out of the cover of the arch and tapped Eddie on the shoulder.

The poor kid nearly jumped, but Gauge had his finger to his own lips again to remind him to be quiet. Then he jerked his head towards the direction of the ghost and he mouthed the words come on. And so both of them quietly crept into the graveyard, careful on the dusty stone pathway, but favoring that over the grass, where they could step on a twig or a pine cone. Gauge was not sure about ghosts' ability to hear, but he had a sneaking suspicion that this was no ghost, for in that second glimpse of her, the woman appeared as solid as himself. His heart still beat furiously. For what purpose did a woman have to come to the graveyard at night and take off her clothes? She probably had a young man with her, and that man would surely be angry with Gauge and Eddie for discovering them. Or maybe the woman was a witch. She would surely gut and skin them both alive. Gauge suddenly wanted to turn back. He had seen the famous ghost. That was good enough for him. The tantalization that it was a nude woman did not draw him in anymore; the fear was greater. But Eddie had other ideas, and he moved ahead of Gauge as if the witch were reeling him in on a fishing line, and Gauge wanted to hiss for him to stop but did not want to make any more noise, so he caught up with Eddie.

They came up to a tombstone and crouched behind it, peeking their faces over the top. There was no sight of the woman, just the empty cemetery, empty except for the rows of shadowy headstones that looked like a formation of troops. The trees loomed on all sides, framing the graveyard in a little perimeter, cutting it off from the rest of the world, and above, the moon lit wisps of clouds that drifted through the sky like ghosts on their way to the afterlife. The graveyard traveled upward on a slight rise, the rows of tombstones like seats in an amphitheater, all deceased assembled to watch the living come and play their games. Gauge and Eddie left their hiding spot and moved upwards, taking a set of stone steps carefully in the dark, up onto the next level. This would have been the perfect opportunity for Gauge to grab Eddie's hand and take him home, but he knew that if he did, Eddie would protest, and they would be found out. And then they might have a buck-naked witch chasing them down with a knife in her white-knuckled hand.

The next level was as empty as the first, and Gauge began to wonder if there really was a ghost, and that she had vanished into thin air. Eddie obviously wanted to voice that very same thought, but Gauge could see him straining to keep his mouth shut, knowing that stealth was important now. They followed the stone path around a bend and up a slope onto the next level. It felt like they were being pulled farther and farther away from safety, and that soon they would be cut off from any hope of escape. That's what Gauge thought, anyway. He didn't know why he thought that. But he was about ready to abort the mission when they both saw her.

She was crossing their level from the left, walking slowly, with little, prim steps on her bare feet and big swinging arcs with her arms. She was looking up at the sky, and Gauge could hear her take a breath and sigh. As she exhaled, her bosom dipped, and he was hypnotized by the subtle bounce to them, the subtle motion of all her skin, the muscles of her thighs and the jiggle of her rear-end as she passed right in front of them, not looking down at all as they gawked at the puff of jet-black fur in front of her. Gauge felt his mouth snap shut when she said "oh, hi there."

He thought he heard Eddie squeak like a scared rabbit. Gauge's eyes shot up to meet the woman's, which were looking at both boys with soft wonder. Her lips formed a smile. her body turned to face them. Gauge's heart did another stunt, this time swelling up in his chest at the sight of her now full-frontal to them, a perfect symmetry to her breasts and her outline, to her dark triangle and the gap beneath. He realized he was scanning his eyes down her body, and he pulled them back up. She was still smiling.

"What are you two doing here?' she asked. She made no effort to cover herself, letting her hands hang by her sides and presenting to the boys her full glory. Gauge guessed she just didn't care, and he also guessed what he could possibly say next. He was a dumb mute for the moment. Luckily, Eddie spoke up for him. "We were comin' to see the ghost!" he said.

"Oh. There's a ghost?"

"Yeah, you," Eddie replied, rather matter-of-factly.

"Well I'm not a ghost.”

"They said it was a naked woman," Gauge said. "People seen her every night."

Now the woman laughed. "Oh dear..."

"Why do you come out here naked?" Gauge finally asked, and the woman shrugged.

"Because it feels nice," she said. "The night is the only time I get to be by myself. I like walking out here."

She seemed completely unconcerned that the boys had all the opportunity to gawk at her. They didn't. Not too much. Well, Gauge did not gawk too much. Glancing over at Eddie, he saw that the younger kid was absolutely staring, and not at any particular region, but all over, and especially her eyes. There seemed to be some divine communication between those two pairs of eyes.

"But why naked?" Eddie now asked. His child's inquisitiveness was taking over.

"Well," the woman said, and backed up to settle against a large tomb behind her. "The night air is kind of warm, there's really no need for clothing right now. It lets my skin breathe. And it feels nice. It feels nice to have the moonlight and the air on your skin. It makes you feel like part of nature!"

"Part of nature, eh?" Eddie's eyes fell away from the woman and digested what she said. It seemed to weigh on his mind for some reason. Meanwhile, the woman hoisted herself up on the tomb and sat there, smiling down at the two of them. Gauge had trouble meeting her eyes, his own eyes distracted and traveling all over, past her knees as she crossed her legs.

"I'd say don't tell anybody that you saw me here, but I guess everybody already knows," the woman said next.

"Well, they don't know you're a person," Gauge said. He was getting a little better at looking this woman in the eye, instead of everywhere else. She sat with her arms braced behind her, so that her naked chest was thrust out, hard for his eyes to ignore, but her lap was hidden behind her crossed legs, though that didn't help in the distraction of her long limbs and the endless skin. Gauge didn't know what to make of it, but he was glad that this woman wasn't a witch. 

She was looking at the ground now, smiling to herself with a sudden thought that must have sprung up in her head. What that thought was, Gauge did not know. Then her attention shifted and she looked back at the boys.

"Well, I guess when you two get back home, you can tell them that you saw the ghost!"

This made Gauge smile, and it was weird to be smiling and looking directly in the eyes of a naked woman sitting—looming—over him. It made his heart flutter (the third exercise for his organ that night). "You boys better get along, though," she continued. "You don't want your parents to worry about you." Or to catch her with them, Gauge was mature enough to think. Something about that told him that this woman was at least trust-worthy.

"What's your name?" he asked her, like he was flirting with a girl at school.

"I better not tell you that," she said with a grin. "This sort of thing is innocent, but I don't want people knowing and then getting my reputation ruined. I do have a reputation, you know."

"I understand."

"You can call me, uh Elenore."

"What's that?"

"Isn't that Edgar Allen Poe's dead wife?"

“I don’t think so.”

“Pretty sure it was. I think she was in one of his poems?”

"That's creepy."

"Well, ghosts are creepy."

"I guess."

"Oh—your friend."

The woman's—Elenore's—eyes rose past Gauge and looked beyond at the lower level of the graveyard where they had come from, and streaking through the moonlight grounds was a new pale shape, smaller, with less definition than Elenore except for the small, flipping protrusion that instantly made Gauge realize who this was. He looked down and saw the bark mask discarded on the stone sidewalk with Eddie's clothes. "Goddammit," he hissed. The woman behind him was laughing.

"I guess he got into the spirit," she said as Eddie ran back and forth under the moonlight like a dog who had gotten out of the gate. Gauge scooped up his friend's clothes and started to run after Eddie, turning around briefly and getting one last glimpse of "Elenore" on her regal perch on the tomb (he was pretty sure now she was thinking of Lenore from The Raven, but he didn’t correct her).

"I gotta go," he said.

"Take care. Be safe!" Then the naked woman was gone from his night, traded instead for his naked little companion, who he chased all over the graveyard while trying not to raise his voice too much.

"Eddie! Eddie goddammit! Get your ass over here!" But Eddie's ass bounded through the tombstones instead, and his laugh carried above the hushed boughs. They were going to get caught for sure. Somewhere in the rows above, Elenore was probably watching, laughing quietly to herself at the scene playing out. Eddie's laughter was what filled the air, though. He was absolutely beside himself, running free past the less energetic graveyard crowd.

"Eddie, come here! Someone is going to hear!"

Eddie stopped and looked at him briefly, and once again, like a dog, let out an airy laugh and then tore off again, going down the stone steps to the bottom level. Gauge followed with his friend's clothes bundled under his arm. When he got down the steps, slowing so as to not trip down them and crack open his head, he dropped Eddie's clothing and swore to himself and bent down to pick them up. He briefly looked behind him, up the hill, to see if the naked woman was still there, but he saw no trace of her.

When he turned around again, he had lost sight of Eddie, too, and again he swore to himself. He hurried towards the archway, where Eddie had no doubt ran out, heading back to town without his clothes. Gauge could not fathom what the kid was thinking; he must have gone crazy. He hurried, running through the arch and sprinting down the pathway, terrified with each passing second that Eddie was lost forever, that maybe he hadn’t even left the graveyard and was instead still back there, wandering around, and Gauge was going to barge into town and someone would see him and ask what was wrong and then he would have to explain himself. He was sweating, and it wasn't from the exertion.

Then he saw Eddie up ahead, a pale shape bounding through the tree-shadows. Gauge didn't call out; he just ran. He raced past the trees that had frightened him so much earlier, and by the time he caught up to Eddie, they were coming into town.

"Stop!" Gauge hissed as he reached him. He grasped his naked shoulder and tried to avert his eyes from his small tush. He didn't want to see Eddie this way (he didn't like seeing Eddie much at all, for that matter, on afternoons when he left the house to take a walk, and Eddie, having set out for his own adventures, would spot him and tag along). "Stop!" he repeated, and Eddie finally stood in place, and he didn't seem at all embarrassed. He was breathing heavy from running, and the look on his face as he gazed up at Gauge was of pure elation. "What the hell were you thinking?" Gauge asked him. "Put these clothes on, hurry."

"What y'all doing there?" came a husky voice, and Gauge's blood froze.

It was Tom Bear, the local smithy. Gauge had no idea what he was doing out this late. Perhaps taking a walk. Or perhaps he had heard the commotion somehow. But now he and Eddie were rightly screwed.

"Mr. Bear! I, uh..."

"What in the hell?! What the hell are you doing naked? Put your goddamn clothes back on, you'll catch a death of a cold!"

Gauge thought it was curious that Mr. Bear said that, because it was quite a balmy summer night. He took Eddie's clothes out from under his arm and thrust them at the young boy, who only held them for a moment as if he was not sure what to do with them, but under Mr. Bear's watchful eye, he began to climb into his pants. Gauge then realized he had left Eddie’s shoes behind. He didn’t even remember seeing his shoes; what had he done with them?

"Now what in the hell is going on?" Mr. Bear asked. "You shouldn't be out this late."

"We saw the ghost!" Eddie blurted out before he pulled on his shirt. Then, as his head popped up through the neck-hole: "I got naked just like her!"

"You what? You saw her?"

Gauge went to open his mouth to make up something, but Eddie continued to rattle off his mouth.

"Yeah, she's just a normal person like you and me! She likes hanging out in the graveyard naked!"

"Eddie..."

"A normal person, you say? And she told you to take off your clothes?"

"No, she just said how nice it was. She's right!"

"Eddie!"

"Well that does it," Mr. Bear said, hitching up his pants. "So we got a pervert hanging out in our cemetery. Go on home, boys. I'll take care of this."

Gauge was helpless to make any type of protest, as Eddie, now fully clothed except for his feet, was patted on the back by Mr. Bear and urged along, and then he himself was ushered forward, while Mr. Bear marched up towards the graveyard path. This can't be good, he thought. "Mr. Bear, you aren't going to tell—"

"Just get on home. You did nothing wrong. There's gonna be hell come to this town though, you can bet on that. Now git!"

Gauge was left walking along, kind of numb, while Eddie bounded ahead of him as if there was nothing wrong, bounding with the same energy that he had earlier without his clothes. Gauge looked back only once, to see Mr. Bear disappear onto the path, his posture rigid and sure, anger evident even from the distance, and then Gauge turned and went on towards home, with no intention of telling his mother anything beyond what he had planned on saying if he had come home without having bumped into anybody from town.

*****

Tom Bear hurried up the graveyard path which his townspeople had been too afraid to traverse on in the night, but he had no fear, only anger. He was not about to let some pervert prey on the town's children, even if she was a young, attractive woman. Nossir, he was not going to allow it.

He marched past the sentry trees, unafraid of what could be hidden in their shadows. There could indeed be someone hidden in their shade: a sex freak, a young harlot bent on corrupting all that is good and decent. She was no ghost. She was just a normal person, like anybody else in the town. No, not like anybody else. She was not normal. She was a freak. And despite that, she was a resident of this town. That disturbed Tom very much. He would drag her back and have her tarred and feathered in front of everybody. Yessiree.

The graveyard seemed quiet and abandoned when he approached the gate. A little bit of foreboding filled his soul. He dashed it aside. He was no longer a scared child. He was a man, and he was not afraid of the perversion of man. Or woman. Let alone ghosts. He marched into the graveyard without minding the heaviness of his footfalls, letting his shoes scrape on the pathway and reverberate his weight as he marched along. He was marching to an audience of one, it seemed. There was nobody in the graveyard except for a mist that hung over everything and which might have been a collection of ghosts.

He had no idea where this naked woman was at when the boys had seen her, so he climbed the first set of steps onto the upper level and kept walking, scanning his eyes for bare flesh, or for any movement that was not a night bird or a rodent. The only movement seemed to be the mist. He took a path onto the next level, and there, as he stepped past some graves, he saw her.

She was sitting—quite disrespectfully—on a large tomb. Her back was to him, bare and white as fresh-driven snow. The line of her spine met the top of the crevice of her butt, the soft flesh of which squished down on the stone as she sat there, seemingly oblivious to Mr. Bear. He did not call out, but marched straight for her. His heart got angry the closer he got to her, with the realization that she was really here, that she would so dare to present herself here in these hallowed grounds as she was, that she had, just moments ago, bared herself to mere children. Yes, he was angry, and he marched right up to the tomb, and he was sure she could hear his footsteps now, and when he stopped right before her, he cleared his throat. The woman did not move.

"Excuse me," he started. The woman straightened up in her seat, and this made Mr. Bear feel powerful. He was about to dole out the law of the land on this rebel.

But then she turned her head over her shoulder, twisting her body only a little, and her face was nothing but black, a void, save for her gleaming teeth. She screamed. It was an otherworldly—yes, supernatural—scream, and before she finished screaming, before Mr. Bear could gawk at the side-profile of her breasts as she turned, he himself turned and ran. Her delectable features were less important than the pure terror exhumed by her face, and the terror filled him, and he ran and tripped down the stone steps and tumbled on the pathway and then got up and continued running, until he disappeared through the archway and down the graveyard path.

The woman let the tree-bark mask fall from her face and she laughed, quite beside herself. She laughed more openly than she did when she observed the pure joy of the child embracing the night. She laughed with all the amusement that her pursuits had given her. All these nights, she had snuck out here and taken off her clothes just to be alone, to be away from the hum-drum of the village. To be herself. And on this night, she didn't mind that she had so many intruders. She was amused by the legendary status she had suddenly gained, and with that amusement, she leaned back on the tomb and lay on her back, looking up at the stars and laughing, laughing like a maniac, or a twisted ghost. So be it. She was now the naked ghost of the graveyard, and with that man's terror spreading to the other residents, she could safely enjoy herself, because the only people coming into the graveyard now would be those that would assume she were something more than she was. It gave her a sense of power. She laughed, and her laughter was heard in the town, and the residents there were terrified.

More fun, naked adventures await in ”Why Be Embarrassed? You’re Only Naked!” “The No-Dress Code!” ”Life’s More Fun Naked!”

About P.A. Choi

P.A. Choi has had a long, proud career of writing erotica for seven years, where he has mainly pursued his favorite themes of exhibitionism, public nudity, and the fine line between naturism and eroticism.

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