The Mystery of Naked Girls

A collection by P.A. Choi

Copyright 2020 P.A. Choi

Cover design by P.A. Choi.

Table of Contents

Naked Angels

The Forest of Naked Girls

Intimate Sharing 2

The Cutest Nudist

Would You Clothe A Naked Girl?

A Naked Girl Walked into My Office

About P.A. Choi

In shadowy halls, bookcases climb endlessly into the ceiling, their tops hidden in the shadows. Among these shelves, a figure walks, slowly, into the light of an amber lamp sitting on a nearby desk. It is our host, a refined-looking older gentleman, with salt-and-pepper scruff on his aged face. He looks directly at the audience, and his face is welcoming.

"Welcome. Tonight I would like to explore a very tantalizing topic. One that can take hold on one's attention until there very well seems to be nothing left. Be warned... It is time for our journey to begin."

The host throws a giant switch, looking like something from Frankenstein's lab, and a host of computer monitors and glowing instruments light up in the area around the amber-lit desk. He goes over to what appears to be an electron microscope, a giant, monolithic tool with an eerie, green glowing screen. The man peers into it.

As if peering into another world, a scene is brought up. Is it magnification? Or teleportation? What is before us is, quite simply, a fair young woman, with light chestnut hair, very long, which falls over her chest, her bare chest, hidden behind the veil, and as we are treated to a wider view, we see that the entirety of her is uncovered, and unashamed. She stands in a wooded area, her hand briefly passing over the lightly-furred area between her thighs. She seems to be in a meditative state.

Our host takes his gaze away from the vision. He looks directly at us. "Naked girls," he says. He stands straight and adjusts the lapels of his jacket as he walks through his shadow library.

"For millennia, the image of nude young women has driven men mad, driven them to artistic pursuits or even war. And there seems to be no stop to this apparent madness, a madness that can spring up without warning, and then fade just as quickly. But it never truly fades, as we are about to find out. What is the source of this obsession, and what causes some men to devote quite possibly their whole lives to such an idealized image? It is almost as if there is a supernatural power that compels them."

The gentleman briskly walks to a corner of his study and consults an ancient-looking CRT monitor.

"Knowledge surrounds these library walls. And with these instruments, that knowledge can be ours."

The graph on the screen is a crude outline of a nude woman, standing in profile with her hands at her sides. Her silhouette fills up with rows of color as apparent data is being collected. A flashing window comes up on the monitor to confirm such an assumption: Data collected, processing...

The old gentleman steps away from the computer.

"It seems stories retold of encounters with such obsession endure through the ages. What are we to make of this? There are many strange tales, strange and enticing, to be sure. Let's see what we can learn from them...

An awful grinding piece of machinery cries out in the dark like a wounded animal. It is just a dot matrix printer. Our host walks up to it and tears off a short length of paper to examine it, and his eyes seem to pass over what is on the page with keen interest. Then he looks up.

"Our first story concerns one certain phenomenon linked with our obsession, in which a young journalist is taken down a rabbit hole of strange and exciting reports, of encounters with... young women, without their clothes. But are these young women even human? Could they perhaps be some manifestation of all this obsession just acknowledged? Read on, and find out."

Naked Angels

Somewhere out in a dreary countryside in Great Britain, in a sagging house that sat in a soggy field of gray-green, a story happened that was never told to anyone, instead being kept as a private memory, a pivotal point in the life of the person who experienced it, but unbeknownst to that person, it was one juncture in a web of mystery, and also hope.

Cameron Breechum sat alone in the cold kitchen of his dilapidated house, an ill-maintained home he inherited from his parents, both now long-gone. It had once been a farmhouse, but his parents had abandoned farming long ago, as did Cameron, before he ever got the opportunity to be an heir to such tradition. Now the property was a plot of land that was too big for one person, too much space for him to live in; a house full of empty rooms and a rolling field surrounded by dense woods that all emphasized his loneliness. He had nothing to do, and worse yet needed nothing to do, with an inheritance good enough to live on, but no aspirations to do anything with the leisurely time that that money bought. And worse yet, Cameron hated the land here. Everything was dreary, sapped of color. It always seemed to be raining. As it was now. It hit the tin roof and created a lulling white noise that would have carried Cameron off to sleep if his soul wasn't anchored down with unrest. The open kitchen door, letting in the warm air from the late-summer night—for it was always colder inside the house than it was outside—also let in the noise of the rainstorm so that the hammering drops weren't just taps on the roof but battering artillery fire on the planks of his front porch. The gusts of wind blew in a fine spray, wetting the floor, and sick-looking leaves came in with it. He would not be cleaning it up. Nature could take back the house for all he cared, and it seemed he would be sitting here until its takeover was complete, for he knew not what else to do. But he wanted out. He wanted to leave this area, wanted to travel to a bigger town, or even London. Somewhere with other people. Somewhere where the silence at night wasn't deafening. But even then, he knew not what he would do. He feared he would feel the same sitting in an apartment and listening to the rain there as he felt right here, and that fear was the most troubling of all.

And then, as if blown in with the leaves, a figure stepped into the open doorway, and threw out all those thoughts and feelings at once.

It was a woman, that much was apparent, but Cameron wasn't so sure that was fully the case. It seemed to him she was more like an angel. She stood in the open doorway completely nude, her body a warm figure against the black canvas of the night, her slick hair tied back in a bun, her seamless skin painted in faint relief and soft shadows from the kitchen light, highlighting the raised and depressed features of her prominent breasts, her flat stomach, the mysteries below hidden in shadow so that it was unclear whether that was a triangle of pubic hair or darkness that the sink light couldn't illuminate. Her knees came together and pointed to the side, making a zig-zag line of her legs that communicated not distress, but careless comfort, as also evidenced by her face, which though neutral-looking, betrayed a faint upward turn of her small mouth, as she looked not at Cameron, but at the room itself, peering at the entranceway to the living room to her left, as if taking in this new surrounding, and finally she settled on frozen Cameron, as if she had just noticed him, and the faint smile turned into a more noticeable one, the poutiness of her lips thinning into a pleased line of expression, her bright eyes twinkling in the kitchen light, and she opened her mouth, and the softest, most quiet voice escaped, but it had no trouble registering in Cameron's ears despite the noise from the rain, as if her voice occupied all space in the room without the need for her to shout.

"You live here all by yourself?" she asked. It was such a straightforward question that it took Cameron aback, or perhaps it was because of the sudden sight of her. He thought it was like the perfect setup to some steamy fantasy film or dreamy romance novel, and he ashamedly realized this thought came before any worry that this naked woman suddenly at his doorstep might be in some trouble, but his guilt was allayed by the fact that she didn't look like she was in trouble. She carried herself as if she were on a little stroll, and she seemed in command of her world.

"Yes, I do," he said, frozen in place as she stood in his doorway collecting water droplets on her exposed shoulders..

"How nice," she said, and stepped into the kitchen, her bare feet flattening the leaves that had blown in. "It seems quite peaceful here." She came into the light, which traveled along her body, illuminating new regions and shading others, and he saw that she did indeed have a stark-black growth of very human-looking pubic hair between her tawny thighs, despite carrying herself with the elegance of something not quite human, and she was tantalizingly close, as she stood mere feet away from the kitchen table, casting her eyes around the room again before settling back on Cameron. She didn't sit, nor ask to, she merely stood looming before him, forcing him to look upon all of her.

"W-who are you?" Cameron asked her.

She re-assumed her smile. "You may call me Valenta," she said. "And you are?"

He marveled; he wanted to say I meant who are you and what are you doing here naked in my kitchen? but instead, he said: "I'm Cameron."

"Nice to meet you, Cameron."

The silliest thought passed through Cameron's head at that moment: was she a robot? The resulting smile on his face from the amusing question caused the smile on the woman's face to broaden. She turned from him, as if done with their conversation, and she faced the sink, running her hand along the metal rim, and her naked butt was now facing him, the softest of skin swathed in lightshadow.

"Um, why are you here?" Cameron asked next, and the woman who called herself Valenta turned from the sink to fully face him again, the sudden view of her frontal nudity was a slight bit less shocking.

"I am just traveling," she said matter-of-factly. "It is something like, what do you call it? Vacation."

She's an alien, he thought next. A naked woman alien from a planet where they wear no clothes.

"And do you usually vacation inside other peoples' homes?" he found himself saying quickly, surprised at his own brashness. The woman seemed slightly hurt.

"I apologize," she said. "Is this area off-limits?"

Cameron didn't know how to reply to that oddly-worded question, and in his silence, she filled in with her explanation. "I was not able to help myself," she continued. "This place has a beauty to it. I had to explore it."

How could you see? he wondered, It's pitch black out there. She surprised him with a response that seemed a direct reply to his thought, but which could have stood on its own.

"There is a perfect mystery to a rainy countryside hidden in the night," she said. "What goes on under the clouds, hidden behind the curtains of downpour? What is going on in the lonely house sheltered from the storm? There are many stories hidden in the darkness. I find them fascinating."

Cameron sat there with a blank stare. He had been ready to ask her why she was naked, but he was completely sidetracked. The woman turned from him again, again showing her butt to him as it shifted and moved with each tender step until she was at the doorway, and there she stopped and placed a hand on the frame.

"Look out there," her voice said, as if filling directly into his ear. She said nothing else, and the statement felt like a command, so Cameron felt himself rise from the table, as if by no command of his own. He walked across the coldly-lit kitchen to the naked back of the woman peering out at the night. When he was right behind her, she lowered her hand and stepped aside, and he came up next to her, detecting the faint smell of cinnamon mixed with the fresh rain that tickled his face.

"What is going on out there in the darkness," Valenta continued, her lips moving softly, "that we cannot see? Maybe there is an animal, fatally wounded with a predator's teeth marks on its belly, breathing out its last. Or maybe out there, under a makeshift shelter, a person is sitting and watching this same darkness, thinking about life up until now. Maybe somebody is swimming in the pond out beyond those trees, with their wet clothes lying on the shore and the rain bouncing from the surface of the water and coming back up at them, hitting them from two directions while they laugh. Or perhaps out there, there is another house, lit like a beacon out in all that darkness, and another person is sitting at a table much as you are. What is even beyond that line of trees? Can you see them, barely visible in the dark? There is so much mystery, and it amazes me."

Cameron was struck silent, looking out at the endless void of night and realizing he never looked at it the way this strange person had looked at it, and he for a moment was more captivated by all that nothingness than he was by the outline of Valenta's delicate chest in the corner of his eyes or the faint phantom of contact between his shoulder and hers.

"I never looked at it that way," he found himself saying, his eyes and voice pointed out into the expanse and getting lost in the rain. She turned to him, and her smile was even greater, and he forgot the field for a moment and looked into the gaze of this strange and fantastic woman, seeing for the first time a greater view of the depths of her eyes, which were a curious silver mixed with flecks of blue, and the longer he looked into those eyes, the less he was able to look away. They hypnotized him, drew him in, and he thought, fearfully for a moment, of vampires, but that thought faded away and was replaced with the most overwhelming sense of love emanating no doubt through those very eyes and transmitted into his soul. Then she turned and stepped out into the darkness, but the trance, if it could be called that, still remained. Cameron wasn't frozen in place; in fact, he turned to watch the woman go and he had all the faculties of his movement, but the overwhelming warm energy still coursed through him, so that he smiled even though his beautiful night visitor was leaving. He didn't call out, and she didn't say any parting words. She just walked through the rain, a naked ghost in the darkness, her body a light, sinuous line against the black backdrop until it grew thinner, fainter, and then vanished. And Cameron did not linger at the door. In fact, he shut it; she would not be coming back tonight. He went to the sink and shut the light off, smiling to himself, and then he retreated to the depths of the house, to his room, and laid down to go to sleep.

*****

The muffled sound of kids playing outside ebbed through Joe Keen's upstairs study as he put the finishing touches on his current story, breezing through it for syntax before sending it off to his editor at Worldweird News, the online tabloid he wrote for. Next would come the part where he poured himself a drink (just one; his boss could e-mail back right away) and relax.

This was a strange story, assigned to him as a small human interest piece with a weird spin, but as he interviewed the man the story was about, Joe was left with a sense of the truly bizarre and an intuition that this was the start of what could be a much bigger story. He had been assigned to interview an ultra-conservative Muslim man who had always been vehement in his detest of Western women until one day he met a completely nude girl outside his job and dropped all his fundamentalism. It was a topical and amusing story, with the lure of sex (it sells) to draw readers in. "The Power of Naked Women Soothes All," or something like that. It was one of those mundane, perfectly true stories that filled the inner pages of Worldweird News' website. Only the main headliners were super-fantastical, conspiratorial, or altogether made-up. But when Cameron talked with the man, the story that unfolded wasn't so simple and mundane. It left him with questions.

The man's name was Yasif Khursheed and he ran a Middle Eastern restaurant on the outskirts of Atlanta. He claimed he was locking up for the evening (he closed at eight, and as it was summer, it was still light out, the back parking lot covered in a comfortable dusk), still fuming from the sight of some teen girls who had come into his restaurant in Daisy-Duke shorts and tank-tops that were cut above their midriff. It angered him every time he saw a girl come in dressed as if she were a Playboy model, and it always put him in a bad mood as he returned home, and he hated taking that negative energy back to his family. It was a shame he didn't drink, he said.

But as he walked to his car, a curious thing happened. A girl stepped from around the corner of the building and looked at him. She had dark hair, pulled neatly into a bun, and she had the most inquisitive look on her face, as if Yasif sparked her curiosity for some reason, and she was completely nude. She didn't even have shoes on her feet.

Yasif froze and couldn't believe what he was seeing. Anger was already welling up inside of him. He thought at first that it was one of the girls who had come into the restaurant, coming back here to tease him since it was obvious he was displeased with them, but those girls were shorter with curly blonde hair, and this girl was tall, her hair a dark brown—almost black—and her skin olive. She looked somewhat Asian, but Yasif could not tell. Even after talking to her, he couldn't peg her nationality, and by the time they finished their conversation, he was not uncertain that she could be some angelic being.

Yes, he talked with her. At length, according to Yasif. She walked across the parking lot towards him, her thighs flexing and shifting a scandalous view of her triangle-shaped pubic hair, and which hypnotized and shocked Yasif, who could not look away, and who wanted to grow angrier with each closer step she took for her tempting and corrupting his mind, but he could not get angry. All the rage that had built up while shaking his head at the other girls vaporized in the presence of this commanding woman. He could not quite understand it.

When she reached his car, stopping near the trunk on his side, facing him from a respectable distance, she looked at him and asked: "Why are you angry?"

For the life of him, Yasif could not answer her. He could not form words. He broke the trance to look to the side, past his building and to the street beyond, not wanting to be caught in this dingy parking lot talking with a bare-naked woman. What would that look like? And when his gaze returned to her, her nude form was one again shocking, the way she faced him and didn't bother to cover any part of herself up but at the same time didn't flaunt, didn't thrust out her chest or cant her hips in a provocative manner. She just stood there, as she was, and she wanted to know what angered him, and he could not answer because there was no anger in him. So he asked her a question: "Why do you have no clothes?"

She didn't seem to mind him skipping her inquiry. "I have no need for them," she said. "I would ask why you are wearing clothes, as it is warm. Is it for protection?"

Yasif found himself answering instinctively: "It's for decency."

"Interesting," the woman replied, and her eyes studied his slacks and his button-up shirt. Yasif then found some of his vindiction and spoke up to the shameless girl.

"You should not be walking around like that," he said. "Men will chase after you. They will forget their responsibilities, and you may get hurt."

The answer that she replied with gave Yasif much pause: "If they forget their responsibilities in the face of what they see as beautiful, then that is passion, they should embrace it. If they should seek to harm me, though, they have a sickness in themselves that needs cured, and I am not the source."

Yasif, again, did not know what to say, and did not even attempt to press into the fact that she didn't address her own danger, that she didn't explain what would happen if she did get hurt, as if she assumed she were invulnerable. That effortless confidence put it in Yasif's mind that she was invulnerable. Immortal. Untouched by worldly pains. He was sure then that he was looking upon the face of God, or some aspect of him. And before he could inquire anything further from this strange person, she walked past him, down the car and coming very close to him so as to make him shudder, and she walked to the front of the car and through the bushes and into the next parking lot, where she continued on and was soon out of sight. Yasif let out a breath, and braced his hands on his car, for they were shaking. It took him a moment to collect himself, and then he got in his car, but he sat there for a few minutes, sorting the encounter in his head, wondering if he had just imagined it, worried he was going crazy, and wondering if she would show up again. And as he sat there, he was ashamed that he was aroused, sitting there in his car with the crotch of his pants constricted tight around his excitement that wanted to break out. He felt like a pervert who sits alone at the edges of a lonely parking lot waiting to pleasure himself in front of others. It made him feel dirty, but the persistence of his arousal soon burned into his mind the desirable image of the beauty he had just beheld, and he was overtaken by the joy of it, not by the base desire to defile it, and he wanted to go home right away and draw her image, though he could not draw. His son could, though, and he almost wanted to describe the woman to him so that he could immortalize her, but knew he couldn't bring something so strange and awkward up to him. He thought about writing it, but he was not good with letters, so instead he just started his car and began a slow drive home, and when he pulled out onto the road and was finally moving, his arousal dissipated, and in its place was a calming, warm feeling that did not leave, and when he arrived at home he was smiling, and had none of the anger that he left work with. He was more or less at peace, but he could not go without expressing what he experienced, so he was vocal about it. He told a truncated version to his wife, and he told a friend, and word traveled, and that's how the lead reached Joe's editor and traveled to his inbox as an assignment. And what a story. It was not quite what Joe had expected. None of his editor's information hinted at the element of the supernatural that he got from talking with Yasif. He had assumed it was just going to be a funny story about a streaker that changed a man's outlook on life, but it seemed that it was more than that.

Not that he cared to explore it any more that afternoon. It was time for a drink, and then, if his editor didn't e-mail him back right away, it would be time for another drink. He was done thinking about naked girls.

Little did he realize that several days later, after the article had published (he did end up having a second drink, and a third, and he slept like a baby), there was a discussion going on at an anonymous internet forum, a discussion that would have interested him greatly, but of which he found out about later.

It was a sub-forum dedicated to paranormal talk, an interesting mix of tongue-in-cheek topics and serious discussion. One was just as likely to find a topic where someone had claimed to have had a cookout with grey aliens in their backyard as much as they would a seemingly-sincere abduction story. Regular divination threads existed alongside Hilary-is-a-reptilian threads and "guys, I swear, next month is the true Apocalypse, for real this time" threads. And amongst those regular discussions, one mundane thread popped up, and only stayed afloat because of the legit feel of its story (honest, authentic discussion was a rare gem on this forum), and because of the enticing nature of it. That, and there were other people who identified with it.

"So I had a spiritual awakening thanks to a naked woman," the post began.

>be me

>be a girl

>decide one day I want to try going to a sex club

>don't even know why, just want to try to do something different

>go by myself

>right away there are people fucking out in the open, a girl getting eaten out on a table, gloryhole room, etc.

>walk around a bit suddenly wondering what the hell I'm doing here

>some girls are prancing around naked or dancing on elevated platforms

>go to bar area

>get a drink and there's this guy looking me up

>we end up talking

>go to a private room and take off our clothes, get right to fucking

>it's so procedural, it's clearly not a big deal and it kind of weirds me out the whole time

>finish up and go our separate ways

>I feel like going outside now

>when I'm standing out there, this naked girl comes out of nowhere

>just walking along like she has no care in the world

>looks right at me and says

>feeling ashamed?

>I say yeah, and she tells me I don't have to be

>goes on this spiel about the beauty of uninhibited but controlled passion

>says we are celebrating eroticism, or something like that

>sounds to me like bullshit, but when she looked into my eyes, it was like I was hypnotized

>start to actually feel what she is trying to say

>she says something like, you are not garbage

>I ask her who she is, she says she is just a visitor

>walks off like there's nothing to it, nobody ever sees her, and pretty soon I'm all by myself again

>don't go back in, but go to my car and digest all this for a while

>feel pretty okay

Among the replies of "show tits," "nice story" and "tell us what she looked like" was one interesting reply: "Hey! This happened to me, too!"

"Likely story," someone else said.

"Mine's a little different, but it's more or less the same, and I never told anybody because it was so weird.

>be me

>pining for this girl in my apartment complex, never had the guts to talk to her

>one day I pass her on the way out, and I hear two guys saying something about how she sucked one of their dicks

>spend that evening sulking in the dark in my apartment

>suddenly there is movement

>this naked girl, I shit you not, comes into the room

>tan skin, black hair above and below, medium tits, no sense of shame

>literally says you have no reason to be upset

>I'm like wtf, don't even remember what I said

>it's like she's reading my mind, already knows everything about me

>puts her goddamn hand on my shoulder and I nearly faint

"And here's where my story differs from yours. She got me off. When she was touching me, her boobs were so close to my face, and I got hard. Naturally. And it was like she automatically knew. She smiled and her eyes looked down slightly, and she said 'it's a natural thing, it happens every day,' and she ran her hand down my arm, across my lap.

I was fumbling with my zipper immediately. She kept her hand there and she looked down and smiled like I was showing her a puppy or something while I let my proverbial dog out, and right away, her fingers are over it, lightly, like petting an actual dog, and this is the first time a girl has ever touched my dick.”

"Haha, nice story," came an immediate reply. "Learn to greentext, bitch," came another. "No, go on..."

“Sorry, I hate greentexting. I can't stay with it. Basically she told me it's because of my inexperience that I have these feelings, and she was stroking my dick while she said it. Really kind of humiliating. Did she really have to point out that I'm a virgin? I was feeling brave, though, and I went to touch her. Her breasts looked so damn soft. But right before I did, I froze up, and I came. I came so hard, I don't even know if I got any on her. There's probably a collection of semen under my desk, but I never found it. She kept her hand on me as I came and shook and then finally relaxed in my chair. I let out a breath and looked away only once, just closed my eyes for a second and let this euphoria wash over me, and when I opened them, she was gone. I was pretty disappointed, but strangely satisfied, and in a weird way, kind of at peace. I guess this was her roundabout way of saying 'have sex.’”

The replies after that were mostly sarcastic. "Yeah right, loser. Have sex." one poster said. The original poster of that thread didn't seem to pay this story any notice, and it looked like any serious discussion was more or less over, until one poster replied with "uh guys, you should take a look at this," and what followed was an internet link, which when clicked on, led to a story that read: "Religious Man Meets Naked Angel."

*****

The thread was archived and easily-findable when Joe Keen found out about it. He was brewing a pot of coffee, idly researching his next story, an apparent sighting of a "pink monster" in someone's backyard, when his cell phone rang, and it was his editor. His editor rarely called, so he picked up.

"I just sent you an e-mail," the editor said right away before Joe could even say hi. "Take a look at the link in it, read it, and then get back to me. I think we have your next story. Finish the pink monster thing, though. This next one will take some planning. I'm thinking a series of stories. Have fun." And then he hung up.

Joe held the phone in front of him, a little perplexed, and then he returned his attention to his computer and opened up his e-mail before getting his coffee. His current story would have to wait a few minutes, he'd just look at this first. The e-mail was just a web link, and when he clicked it, it brought him to a website he had never seen before, some sort of discussion forum, with anonymous users and walls of text. It looked like a long read, but the first line grabbed him right away for its familiarity: "So I had a spiritual awakening thanks to a naked woman." He decided to go get his coffee.

*****

"Someone commented on the story," his editor told him later when he visited his office (another rare occurence). "Said they experienced something similar. I tried to get in contact with this person, asked them if they'd maybe liked to interview for a second story, but they declined. Said everything we need to know is on that forum post. Did you read it all?"

Joe nodded in his chair facing the editor's beat-up desk in a windowless, fluorescent-lit room "Yeah, I read it. Pretty coincidental, isn't it?"

"The claim is they were talking about these encounters and then somebody happens to show them our article." (It always bugged Joe when his boss referred to his work as "theirs.") "Now these internet forums are known for their pranks. It could be a practical joke at our expense."

"But we're not ignoring it, right?"

The editor shook his head.

"We can't just take something found on a website and call it news, anyway. This isn't CNN. I want you to do some digging. There have to be other stories like this out there. Find a connecting thread, whether it's real or not. Maybe start with poking around that forum, see if the same people are posting."

"It's all anonymous."

"You can tell by the way people write. But just see if the topic comes up again, too. Maybe even insert yourself into some of the discussions. See if you get sent on any threads of information."

And so Joe attempted to set about his research, first putting the finishing touches on the story about the pink monster and sending it off and away out of his mind ("a young man was smoking on his back deck and claims he saw something vaguely humanoid and bright pink, like a raw chicken, scrambling across his yard, he called the police, nothing was found, yada yada").

The problem was he didn't know where to start. How does one research a topic such as this? He began by revisiting the forum and crawling through the most recent topics. They were all trite, often tongue-in-cheek, and hard to decipher because of the board lingo being used. And nobody was talking about naked women (outside of the normal capacity). It was as if people had already forgotten about the story.

As he searched, he ran the thesis of his article through his head: "Strange Naked Women Visit Strangers in Need," or something like that. The connecting thread between the encounters seemed to be sexuality, and Joe figured that would be the theme of the article: sex-positivity, a nice inspirational article with modern sensibilities. As it didn't matter if the stories were fabricated or not, he considered posting a new thread on this forum and querying the people there for more tales. It would be easier than having to make them up. But navigating the website's functionality was a little challenging for Joe. A few minutes later, after figuring out what the "name" and "options" fields in the submission form meant, and after composing a short and concise question, "Hey, remember that thread where the two people met strange, naked women? Anybody else experience anything like that?" he hit "submit post." He was immediately greeted by a screen saying: "you must submit a picture with your new thread." "What the hell," Joe muttered, already annoyed at all the hoops needed to be jumped through just to start a discussion, but as he backed out of the window and saw the posts below his prospective one, he could see that every single topic was accompanied by a picture at least tangentially related to the topic, or humorously unrelated. He sighed and opened a new tab, and typed into Google something everybody has done at some point: "naked woman."

Naturally, a gallery of sultry porn stars cascaded down the page. Joe went about to scrolling, looking for one that would capture the spirit of the article he had already written. He didn't want something too typically steamy, but then again he needn't spend an hour finding the perfect picture. Did all of the users of this website tire over their posts like this, he wondered.

There were some nudist pictures scattered with the porn stars, more natural and candid photos, but seeming to still have the purpose of being titillating. That was closer, but not quite the image he was looking for. Then he came across artistic nude model images, titillating, but tasteful, with a hint of the spiritual. This was getting closer, he thought, and he kept scrolling, hoping the perfect one would present itself. And then it did.

It jumped out at him, the model seeming to stare right at him, even though she was looking just off-camera. It felt as if she would turn her eyes at any moment. She was strikingly beautiful, Asiatic-looking, with tanned skin and lips strangely lighter in color, and her black hair was tied firmly behind her head as she looked off with an inquisitive glance. The photo was from the chest-up, as she stood against an adobe wall, and her chest was a delicate pair of spheres that seemed to glow. Joe immediately saved the picture and returned to his post submission, attached the image, solved the captcha, and hit submit. His post appeared, waiting for replies, and he returned to the image again. There was something captivating about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was more than just eroticism, but plenty of that as well. He clicked on the image to follow the web link it was associated with and he was more than surprised at what it turned up.

"This is the girl who visited me that day. She was more than gracious enough to allow me to take her picture. Isn't she marvelous?" read the caption. What Joe proceeded to read was an account of a lovelorn young lad who was distraught over a breakup, only to one day encounter an unexpectedly nude woman on a forlorn walk meant to calm his restless spirit, only this proved to stir him up more than ever, but in a positive way. Indeed, he no longer yearned for the girl that had cut him out of her life, but he did not in turn yearn for this supposed naked angel that presented herself to him in the quiet shade of a park, when nobody was looking and nobody could interrupt. Instead this girl served to remind him that there were plenty of fish in the sea. Or so that was what he took away from it, based on his writing. Naturally, Joe was intrigued. This was exactly what he was looking for. He quickly bookmarked the page to refer back to later and decided to check on his anonymous board thread to see if any new info had come in.

"You are banned, for the following reason: posting NSFW content in a SFW board," read the screen that greeted him.

"Well shit," Joe cursed, but he had already found his lead, and he returned to the young man's blog to read the whole story, and to see if there was a way to contact him. He found his e-mail, and wrote a message to the young man, asking if he could use his story in a constantly-evolving piece about what was appearing to be a repeat phenomenon. He asked, of course, with all the journalistic integrity of his position, as suddenly, Joe felt he wasn't just a tabloid writer, but was really getting to the bottom of something.

And what followed was an internet journey through under-appreciated stories and seldom-heard tales. It took some digging; Joe did not immediately find another account such as the one he read on the young lovelorn lad's blog (who never responded back to Joe; upon further digging, he found that the blog post was written fifteen years ago), but he was determined, and after a day of searching, he found another tale, on a feminist blog called Bad Bitch, wherein a young woman told a tale of being put off by what she initially felt was her lecherous grandfather, who would often comment on young, attractive women, innocently enough, but with a leering enough edge that it bothered her, until one evening, while spending a day by the lake with her family, the authoress found herself alone, only momentarily, as another body made its company with her. The author was quite shocked to find a naked woman coming out of the lake and walking up to the shore to face her as she strolled along, and the two women met face-to-face in a shady little inlet where the sounds of people and dogs echoed in the near-distance.

"She would have mystified my grandfather," the author wrote. "She sure mystified me. For a moment, I felt like I was seeing the world through the old man's eyes, for this was something he no doubt fantasized about when he looked out on the lake. The water was glimmering off her body as she stepped out. She looked glorious. I don't know who she was, what she was doing out there, what gave her the bravery to skinny-dip in a public place in broad daylight, or how long she was even holding her breath, because it seemed like she was coming up from out of the water after it had been sitting still and undisturbed. I couldn't have missed her swimming across. I was looking out at the lake for a full minute before she appeared."

What the author described next was a quick conversation wherein the naked woman simply stated "beautiful view, huh?" and it was not clear to the author whether the skinny-dipper was referring to the lake or to herself, and the author decided it was both. She also decided something was odd about this girl, from the obvious, to the way she also talked, which seemed strange, alien, like a person from another culture, which perhaps she was; a culture that didn't have hangups about swimming nude out in the open.

The article, like the blog post, was not recent, but it was more recent than the boy's encounter; only a few years ago. Joe sent the girl an e-mail as well, and sat and thought.

*****

Mysterious Naked Girls Part of a Global Phenomenon

When last month we reported on a man who was visited by a strange, nude woman and given an almost spiritual sense of calm, it was thought to be an isolated incident. But it seems his account has occurred to others in the past. And in the present?

Joe never got an e-mail back from the two young people, so he went through with his story anyway, condensing and re-telling each incident together as a large patchwork, and hiding the tellers of those stories behind anonymity, not mentioning the blogs they came from. What he did put at the end was something he and his editor debated about, and Joe was unsure he liked the idea, even though he was the one who mentioned it first.

Have you encountered a naked angel? We want to hear about it. Send an e-mail to editor@worldweirdnews.com with a detailed account.

Joe felt a sting of regret reading that at the end. He had only suggested it on passive instinct, he opening his big mouth, and the editor loved it so much he downright insisted it be there, and Joe now worried that they were about to get flooded with a bunch of made-up accounts and junk, and now, he didn't know if he wanted all that. He wanted the true stories, because he knew there was something at the bottom of all these visitations. It was thanks to them that he felt himself ascending above a mere tabloid writer. Unbeknownst to the editor, Joe began making notes of his own.

*****

It was as predicted, and worse. The editor saw fit to just forward every e-mail he received to Joe, so that Joe was inundated in claims of visitations, questions, and comments of approval.

"Hey, I'm glad you wrote that story. I just saw a naked girl walking down my street the other day. I bet she was one of them! Crazy! Keep doing what you're doing."

"I own a strip club that used to be doing very poorly until I met one of these angels. Give me a call, I hate e-mail."

"I don't have a story, just wanted to write in and say I'm a fan. Really love this story, I hope there is more!"

"I'm pretty sure my sister is one of these beings."

And so forth. Joe starred the ones that caught his attention, but otherwise turned his attention away from the flood and thought about how to get research of his own. It was obvious to him that the connecting theme seemed to be sexuality. These women—if they indeed were women—were trying to impart a message of positivity in the way their beneficiaries looked at sex. That much was apparent, from the Muslim man, to the girl who visited the sex club... their attitudes were being adjusted by these beings. It was with this starting point that Joe sucked it up and addressed one of the e-mails forwarded to him by the editor, the most obvious one reflecting this theme: the strip club owner. It also seemed the most viable to contact, since it was connected to a real place of business, and not some random yahoo. So Joe waited until one afternoon and dialed the number provided in the e-mail. Unfortunately, he got a voicemail, and it didn't sound like one belonging to a place of business. Rather, a gruff recorded voice introduced itself as Gus and beckoned Joe to leave a message, so he did, as professionally as the subject allowed him. Then he went back to his thinking, which wasn't getting him very far.

He wasn't far in his thinking, either, when "Gus" called back.

"Yeah?" the man said when Joe said hi, as if Gus had not listened to his voicemail, so Joe re-introduced himself, and the man's demeanor lightened. "Oh yeah, I'm glad you called. Give me a second." There was a minute of shuffling on the other end and the sound of voices in the background that eventually was shut out with the audible thud of a door closing. Then Gus proceeded to lay out his story for Joe, a story of a man out of his luck with a business that was hemorrhaging money, with workers who had no motivation, who stole from him, and a clientèle who ordered cheap and never tipped, not to mention dancers burdened by drug addictions and alcoholism. His place of business was the exact image of the seedy strip joint that marred the streets of downward-spiraling neighborhoods. But then something happened.

"It was just another slow evening, there were only a couple people drinkin', there wasn't even anybody on stage, and this girl walks in the front door like she's ready to audition right on the spot, because she didn't have a stitch on.”

Joe leaned forward in his chair. This sure sounded like the usual story.

"And she was more beautiful than any of my dancers, more beautiful than any girl I ever seen really, and she had a class about her, even though she wore less than any of the girls in my place did.. Somethin' purifying about being completely stark naked, that's how my mind thought of it when she walked in, walked past the seating area without the people there even noticing her, and walked right up to me as I'm polishin' the bar, and she says: 'you've lost your sight.'

"Now I don't quite know what she means by that, and I tell her 'no ma'am, I certainly haven't,' as I get in an eyeful of her, and she goes on to say I've lost sight of what a place like this ought to be. She tells me I should be celebrating beauty, and 'roticism, that it ought not to be treated like somethin' shameful, like a vice. My place is where people come to smoke and get drunk and look at nasty ladies getting nasty. Always thought that's what a strip club is supposed to be like. But even before she told me what was wrong with the place, I had visions, yes I did. After she left, I drew up that vision, changed the name a little bit, and got about cleaning the place up. Tried to make it non-smokin', but had to settle to make one area smokin' and the rest clean. Invested in some higher-priced liquors and better food than just greasy stuff, and most importantly, cleaned up our acts. Got rid of a lot of the sleazy costumes and just focused more on full nude. Well people really liked that. But I tried to make 'em do less lewd stuff, no really explicit stuff, no tacky stuff. No private lap-dances. Had to clean up some of the girls, too. A lot of them are already used to this stuff. Some of 'em stuck around, but some of them went to the other strip clubs. I brought in new ones, literally new ones, girls just starting out dancing and not accustomed to what the usual place was like. This also meant younger girls. Well, people sure like that, too. Either way, it took a bit to transform, but you wouldn't recognize the place from what it was before that girl visited. And the business has been booming. People are coming in. Not my usual crowd. Most of them left for the other places. But I got whole new regulars now. And there are no fights, neither."

"What's the name of your business?" Joe asked.

"Jennifer's Gentleman Club. Used to be Gus's Guy Joint. I was gonna name the place after the girl, but she didn't give no name and I didn't know what to call her, so I let one of the senior girls who stayed take the name, 'cause she liked the new angle so much. I made her manager. Who would've thought that some random nude girl would just come in and change the outlook of my place? That's why I figured, it must be one of them girls you guys wrote about. Love your site, by the way. I thought about writing you when you did that first story, but didn't think on it too much."

"Thank you for your time, Mister Gus," Joe said, as his fingers flew across the keyboard of his laptop in front of him, jotting down the notes for the direction of his investigation. Investigation. He liked that word.

"Tell you what, that would be a good idea for a reality show," Gus continued. "Like Bar Rescue? Only instead of that screaming guy, it's a naked girl."

"That'd be something. Have a good day, now." Then Joe ended the call.

*****

I think I've narrowed down just what it is that draws these so-called "naked angels" to people, what it is about these people that pinpoints them as someone in need of help. I thought at first it was people with a stunted view of sex, but that's only one aspect of it.

Before I went out on my own, I answered one more e-mail, because it struck me so much, the guy's apparent sadness, and the lifting of that sadness, and I may have also overlooked it had I not talked to the owner of that classy strip joint.

Most of his story was in the initial e-mail. Some guy down on his luck, lost his job, lived in a shitty apartment in the most ghetto area of his town. Stuff was always broken, pipes always leaking. It was always grey and rainy outside. It reminded me of when the movie Avatar came out and there were inner-city people who said it made them depressed because their world wasn't as beautiful as the world in the movie. This guy didn't do anything but sit in his dingy apartment and listen to the noise his neighbors made on the other side of the wall, and pretty soon he wasn't going to be able to pay for this little slice of life. Then one evening, just like the boy from the anonymous forum, a naked girl entered his home suddenly, as if appearing out of thin air in the next room, and comforted him. Naturally, he wasn't comforted at first, until he looked into her eyes, and he reported feeling calm and serenity emanating from them like ray beams. Sounded like a classic naked angel to me.

The things she told him had little to do with sex, however. Unlike the other boy, and perhaps halfway like the young man who was torn up over a lost love, this woman told the man not to despair, not to let the apparent dreariness of his surroundings affect his decisions as he figured out what to do with his sudden unemployment. She told him to seek refuge in his own mind, to quiet it, and let thoughts pass him by instead of grabbing onto them, and to look at the grey streets outside impassively. If he felt he needed to move in order to make his life better, then so do it, she urged, but she told him to not blame his surroundings for his unhappiness. It was an odd message to be delivered by a pretty nude courier, but all the other hallmarks were there. This is where I started to realize the true nature of these women, or this woman, if she is indeed one teleporting entity. Replying to this e-mail and waiting to talk with the man revealed that he was in the northeast. The strip bar owner was in the south, as well as the Muslim man who began me on my journey. So far, I can only assume all my reports occurred here in the United States. The accounts on the anonymous forum gave no indication of where they were, but it can be assumed from the manner of speech used that it was here. Is this a geographically confined phenomenon, something uniquely American? I can only assume so. My only chance I can think of to find out if there are naked angels beyond our shores is to wait for more e-mails from the boss, though I am less enthusiastic about turning in another tabloid short. If I could meet one of these angels myself, I would quit on the spot.

For now, though, I've kept my own independent study local. After the above e-mail, I did a weird thing, perhaps a foolish thing, but I printed out the photo that the one young man had taken of his nude benefactor, sensibly cropped out her bare breasts, and hung it up on the cork-board at a local grocery store near me, with the message: "Have you met her? Call me," and my number. I also took another copy of the picture and kept it on my person as I walked through town, stopping at cafés and bars and libraries and everywhere, idly watching people to measure up which ones I might approach. This proved to be a silly tactic. All I needed was a fedora and a trench coat and I could have been a film noir detective. The people I stopped probably thought I was mad. They obviously didn't read Worldweird News. And it was perhaps foolish of me to think I could find another contactee right here in my own town, that the phenomena would reveal itself as dense and ever-reaching the more I zoomed in. But I was rewarded with a phone call, an answer to my grocery store flyer, the same day I had put it up. The call came in in the late afternoon, and it was an old man, and he told me he was visited by a woman similar to the one in the picture.

The details, though, were a little different from the stories I had been gathering. Most importantly: it happened outside the U.S.

The man sounded about seventy or eighty but he said he was in the Bahamas the previous year on the invitation of his granddaughter, who, it is significant to point out, is a nude model, and who, it is also significant to point out, the grandfather did not approve of. But she was doing very well for herself, and was traveling to a resort on an island for a series of shoots and then downtime, and she invited her grandfather not to watch (he stayed out of her work, sensibly), but to give him a much-needed vacation, for he had always wanted to sail, but never pursued it as a hobby, and there were sailboat tours on the island. Not to mention beautiful seaside cafés and a casino. It would be the perfect trip for the old man, and he confirmed that it was an excellent trip, especially considering what he was about to share, which changed his outlook on his granddaughter, and perhaps even his life.

It was so much more brief than the other encounters. The old man said that for the first half of the trip he was uncomfortable, because he knew that his granddaughter was posing nude somewhere at the same moment he was having a mojito and enjoying the view of the ocean. Just a thousand feet farther down the beach, he gathered, his granddaughter was standing naked in front of a photographer and a lighting assistant, just bare in front of them both and in front of God and anybody else who passed by close enough. He didn't like it, he didn't like knowing about it, and he brought up his discomfort subtly one or two times at the beginning of the trip, and his granddaughter would brush it off. He didn't go sailing. He just drank away his anger. And it was while he was doing that, getting buzzed but not getting any more distracted, that a sudden sight shifted all that thinking.

Across the outdoor patio, leaning against a rail in front of a grand view of the sea, was a naked woman, casually leaning there like she belonged there and looking directly at the old man. There were only a few people out on the patio, but nobody seemed to notice her. The old man described her as olive-skinned, with black hair tied back tightly behind her head, with a pouty expression that seemed faintly turned up in a smile, as if she were amused by what she was looking at, and the sun seemed to be absorbed in her skin, in her twin medium breasts which were full and weightless, with cherry-dark areolas, and her thighs were pressed together framing in their convex a narrow angle of hair, almost blending with her tan skin. Her legs were pointed out, as she reclined against the railing. It looked like she had been there for some time. The old man said he did not know how he didn't notice her before. But she was the most shocking and beautiful sight he'd seen. He was sure she had to be one of his granddaughter's model friends, which would also explain why nobody else seemed shocked by her presence. This was sounding to me like a dead-end story. A nice story, but not a naked angel. Until, that is, the old man described the sudden reversal of all his residual negative feelings that had lifted but not fully dispersed at the surprising sight of the naked woman, as he locked eyes with her, and then, he said, it was as if his whole spirit was filled with a new replacement feeling, a feeling of adoration, joy, almost euphoria. Combined with the sight of her, the old man said, he suddenly felt that if this was the type of feeling his granddaughter was creating with her photos, then he was A-okay with it. He didn't question her anymore during the trip. And he did go sailing. The naked angel apparently disappeared from the patio after that moment, when he smiled down at his drink before lifting it up in celebration rather than sorrow, she was gone, either walked off or vanished into thin air. While on the boat, though, he did see other women swimming in the water close to the shore, very quickly apparently nude, their shimmering skin showing seamless as it broke the water's surface, and they looked to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps these were actually his granddaughter's friends. Or maybe the island was just more comfortable with recreating in the nude. It seemed to be so, and the old man said he found it refreshing and he at that moment suddenly felt foolish about all his past prudishness. The sailboat tour guide noticed his gazing eyes and laughed, and told the old man about some old sailor from a hundred years or so ago who used to go sailing in the nude with a boat full of young women, and the old man laughed and imagined it, and it was at this rambling tangent that I thanked him and steered the conversation towards ironing out any other possible missing details, and then bid him a good day.

So it seems that the reaches of these beings is indeed beyond our shores, if that story can be counted along with the others, considering they still center around American citizens. What that means for me, I do not know. I can't exactly go roaming the earth looking for them.

But I did continue roaming the town. And I found one other unlikely witness: an old bum, who I don't know why I stopped to show him the picture and ask if he'd seen the girl, except that maybe it was because he made eye contact with me. I was surprised when his eyes lit up and he said "oh yeah! I saw her! I saw her lots of times! She used to come to this park wearing just her smile and she would talk with me. I even sketched her. Made some money off of it too. Now she didn't quite look like that girl there, but I get the same feeling looking at that picture as I did when she was around."

I was suspicious of this one. I couldn't be so lucky as to find two people in the same town on the same day who had encountered these angels. I also encountered a strange man at a café, an old man in an ice-cream suit and a straw hat who looked ready to go to smoke cigars in Havana. He saw me looking at him and made introductions, so I figured why not and showed him the picture, and I was surprised when he said he did in fact meet a girl similar to her, and in fact was longtime friends with her, and he even named a university after her, and he handed me a card and encouraged me to visit in the future. It's called "Jelena Parks University," though I can't find anything about it online. Another dead end. It seems the world is full of crazy kooks when I ask everybody if they've met a strange, naked girl.

So I believe my next step is indeed to meet one of these naked angels. And I know now that they visit people who are in need of a reminder of the world's beauty. Am I one of those people? I can't say my world is beautiful, but I do not feel bereft, downtrodden, or in need of upliftment. I will admit I do not know if I am convinced of the message that the people I've talked to and read about have received. It seems rather sappy. And in some cases, permitting of promiscuity and objectification. But maybe I need straightening out. Maybe if I project my doubts out into the ether, a naked angel will come to me.

To sew these doubts, I will for the time being return to my e-mails. Perhaps sorting through dozens of sophomoric ravings of ogling naked women will instill the cynicism in me needed to deem me worthy of a visitation. And perhaps, in sorting through these, I may also end up determined that the source of all these sightings is in fact human.

*****

It was a rainy afternoon as always for Cameron, but unlike past days, where he just sat inside and stared out at the deluge, he decided to take a walk in it. He dressed light: a windbreaker over a thin t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and sockless sneakers on his feet. It was warm enough, just a slight chill in the air as summer wound its way out. But he wouldn't catch a cold. He wanted to tour the land around his house and see the beauty that he was reminded of by Valenta, the strange woman that visited him that night not long ago.

Indeed, it was beautiful. Soaking up the rain, the trees and the grass seemed to grow more vibrant, glistening and pure green. He swore they didn't look so green in days past. What was different about this time?

There was still a little sadness, a little listlessness, clinging to him on this quiet day, where he woke up in a quiet house and didn't have a thing to do except hear the rain, but for the first time, wanderlust had bitten him. Even walking through the field, though, his steps were slow with a little bit of melancholy, though as he looked far out at the line of trees and desired to see what was beyond them, the melancholy was replaced bit by bit with curiosity.

He walked down a gentle slope in the field and was before the treeline, dripping with rainfall like moving curtains, and he stepped through into the hushed forest, where the raindrops pattered on the leaves far above in a muted fashion as if he had stepped into a house. He recalled the pond Valenta had pondered about, and decided he would find it.

There was something spooky about walking through the forest. It seemed as untouched as since when some knight or caveman or dinosaur had walked it. The ever-reaching hush soothed him but also seemed to contain the threat of possible ambush. By what, he did not know. Did anybody even walk in this forest, he wondered. How had he never let himself explore out here? He had years to have had taken the opportunity.

Wary of wandering too deep and getting lost, Cameron was set on turning back until he saw the dancing of deflected raindrops through a thinning in the trees. He hurried his step now, and stepped out into a serene view of the remarkably clean-looking and large pond, stretching for a hundred yards, and with a rising hill to the right, upon which Cameron saw the most startling sight: another person, tip-toeing carefully down the steep hill in bare feet, looking intent on entering the clean water. A young woman, bare altogether.

She was not Valenta; her brown hair cascaded far past her shoulders and she walked with none of the supernatural grace that his midnight visitor had, though her physicality was otherwise similar: slim, fullish in the chest, with a winking darkness of her nether hair as she moved her legs deliberately on her way down the hill, and then froze as she saw him.

He immediately felt bad for staring, though it was only coincidence that she wandered into his view, and he was frozen with the same inability to process the situation as she was, though his cause was the sudden delight of seeing such an arresting sight and hers was the shock of being discovered and perhaps even the thrill of it, for she did not run, didn't shout, and as she shook out of her shock, she suddenly did something unexpected (as unexpected as appearing in the first place): she waved. Unprepared for how to respond, Cameron did the first thing that came to him: he waved back

This seemed to mollify her, for she smiled and pivoted her body left and right, and then continued her descent down the hill, and Cameron watched as she entered the water, ankles splashing and then graceful figure slipping into the opaque azure, and he thought he might like to take a dip himself.

"It seems our young protagonist may have found some important factor, some essential source, as to the object of our obsessions. Who are these supposed naked angels? Science and superstition may never be able to solve this.

"But one other story seems to explore further, and reveal maybe just the breadth of how far this obsession goes into the subconscious. Two young boys venture into the forest. And what they find there excites fantasies that they have been entertaining for, oh, as long as they've been able to get a rise out of themselves, you could say. What they encounter in these woods is not unlike the discovery of our "naked angels," though these boys get to experience, much to their—and perhaps our—delight, a bit more sensual, definitely sexual, pleasure from these visitations by beings fully unknown..."

The Forest of Naked Girls

"Wouldn't it be cool if we saw a naked woman out there?" Ben said as he and Richie kicked stones down the abandoned train tracks. It was an innocently silly thought. Who would take off their clothes in the middle of these scraggly woods and walk around? Then again, both Ben and Richie had tried it before, in a patch with trees to separate them so they didn't have to see each other naked. It was a little fun, but the bug bites were too much. They hadn't tried it again. But what were the chances someone else would try the same thing? And a girl, no less?

"Fat chance of that," Richie said, giving one decisive kick to a rather large stone and rooting in his jeans pocket for a cigarette. "Why would we ever be so lucky?"

"You never know..." Ben said, and he wrinkled his nose at his friend as he lit up his stolen smoke. And they continued on, talking about girls still, and seeing them naked, because afterall, they were both teens, and as a result, endlessly horny.

"I saw Janet naked one time," Ben said.

"Oh really?" Richie puffed hard on his cigarette and looked intently at Ben as they walked. "See everything?"

"Well no," Ben said. "She was spending the night over with my sister and I was in the hallway when she hollered through the bathroom door that she didn’t' have a towel, and she had me hand her one through the door. I saw her shoulder and the side of her leg."

"Lame."

"I didn't mention the mirror yet."

Richie waited, the gravel crunching under their sneakers as they walked.

"I saw her butt in the corner of it," Ben concluded. "It was so slim and curvy, it looked like Christina Ricci's."

"Fucking nice," Richie said, and took one final puff of his smoke and tossed it into the tracks ahead of him. "I guess you can get lucky."

They walked on, trailing off in their conversation until they came to the entrance of the trail they were looking for, and they stepped off the tracks and entered the thick of the woods. They had been here plenty of times before. They always walked around in the woods behind their neighborhood. They were bordered by a residential area on one side and an old brickyard on the other, and though they didn't cover that much land, they were so dense that it felt like one was in a different world. and every time they went exploring, they found a new branch of pathway to explore, so that those meager woods felt like an ever-expanding frontier. Being rural kids in a po-dunk town, this was a large source of their entertainment. They had video games, sure, but when they weren't exploring the fantasy lands of Legend of Zelda, they had their own adventures to go on in their back yard. It was a nice balance.

They traveled their usual entrance route, taking random turns and taking note so that they wouldn't get lost, all while talking about matters of eroticism and school gossip and video games and other imaginative things that would captivate the imagination of young teenage boys. Richie fished out another cigarette and prepared to light it.

"Be careful you don't burn the whole woods down," Ben warned.

"You always say that," Richie said.

"Just want to be safe."

And so they went, taking a left turn, then a right turn, then going straight past an intersection of paths, until the sounds of the outside world, and indeed, of the usual forest sounds themselves, seemed to quiet down. A concerning hush fell over the whole forest, and both boys noticed it.

"Hey, I don't think we've been in this part of the woods," Richie observed.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Ben said. He nodded ahead of them towards the path ahead, which seemed to lead through a thinning-out in the trees, leading to what looked like a field up ahead. "Take a look," Ben said. "Wanna check it out?"

"Hell yeah we're gonna check it out." Richie threw down his cigarette and marched for the clearing and Ben stomped the ember out. They traversed through some thick overgrowth, the trail becoming a little less passable until they tromped out into the edge of a small field, patches of shoulder-high grass occupying a portion of it, but a well-beaten avenue traveled by who-knows leading to a wall of a thicker and more dark-looking area of the woods.

Both boys marveled. It felt like they were in a private grove in the middle of one of their massive video game worlds. "Dude," Richie let out. Ben only passed his eyes over everything in silence. Indeed it felt like they were in a remote and private area of a vast forest. How they had never found this area was beyond either of them, but they both knew how labyrinthine these woods could be.

"Say," Ben said. "This would be a good area to try walking around naked again."

"Eh," Richie said, waving a hand. "I don't know if I wanna do that." In all honesty, he didn't really like the idea of stripping down naked in front of his best friend. It weirded him out. That Ben was so fascinated with the idea of nudism was something alien to Richie. Coupled with his natural adolescent fascination with the female form, Richie didn't know if it was an honest desire to live a-natural like the Indians or to have an excuse to hang his willie out in hopes that a naked female would see it. Either way, it wasn't quite his bag. If a girl walked out naked in front of him, that would probably change his attitude towards shedding his own clothes, but as it stood right now—

"Whoa."

As if on cue, as if what Ben had been talking about earlier had been prophecy, there she was, walking along the treeline like Bigfoot in the famous Patterson-Gimlin tape, a figure, a feminine figure, a very alive figure of fair skin and slender limbs, a naked woman walking through the trees, as shocking to the eyes of the young boys as if Bigfoot himself had stepped out of the wilderness, only much better for the pleasant outline of her breasts and sloping butt, as she stepped deliberately through the thicket on her way to God-knows-where, but Ben's thoughts had been given form; a naked woman indeed had decided to walk naked in these woods, and they were lucky enough to have caught sight of her.

And then, just as alarming, she caught sight of them. In the middle of her Sasquathcian strut, the woman turned her head towards the boys and looked surprised to see them, and she slowed her stride, coming finally to a halt and turning her body full-frontal to face them, shocking and mystifying the boys with her twin pink-tipped breasts and wedge of woodland fur between soft thighs, all presented for them without any hint of modesty, shame, or any of that.

"Oh man," Richie found himself saying. "We lucked out."

The woman looked at them curiously as Ben was at a loss for words. Indeed neither boy knew what to do when faced with the unbridled nudity of a naked woman right before their eyes, and the woman smiled at their shock, a smile that sent tremors running through each of their hearts, and she turned from them and took a step into the deepness of the woods, showing off her milky-white butt and pausing to look back and see if the boys were game to follow. She raised her hand and motioned with her finger, "come on," and then tromped through the trees into the darkness of the hitherto-unknown stretch of woods.

For the briefest moment, she was gone, and they were alone again. "Dude..." Richie stammered, managed, out; Ben was still at a loss for words.

"Let's follow her," Richie said.

Ben said nothing. He did not do anything. Nothing in his experience could prepare him for this.

"Dude."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"This is it."

"What?"

"'Wouldn't it be cool if we saw a naked woman out here?' Remember? you said that. And now it's happening."

"Oh God..." Ben said, as if he had not thought about it one bit.

"Let's go."

"Okay."

And both boys set forth into the new frontier of woods, hot on the trail of the naked woman who presented herself to them.

It was darker and more foreboding once they passed the field and into the new barrier of wilderness; for a moment the new woods were so dense and dark that they thought they would never catch sight of the bare flesh that they so fantasized and obsessed about. The magical mysterious naked woman of the woods was soon to be a faded memory (the boys would do their best to keep it from fading too much, as memories tend to do). Soon the woods took on a mysterious and deep quality unlike any other area Ben and Richie had been in up until this point. Eternal shadow seemed to be at the edges of their field of sight, as if they were in the fabled Lost Woods of The Legend of Zelda. And then, in that deep shadow untouched by the sun, a very legend for their own memories emerged.

Not just one, but five, eight, at least ten naked women inhabited these dark recesses of the forest. They had been relaxing on the bare forest floor, bare as the first of their group who the boys had discovered. Some of them were standing, as if in mid-frolic, and a few more of them stood to greet the young male explorers. They all bore the same features as their predecessor; ample, maternal breasts and hairy wedges of mature growth, fair skin like they were elves out of a Tolkien novel, but filled-out, hearty, with meaty thighs, not dainty and skeletal like an elf. And they all bore warm smiles.

"Holy cow holy cow holy cow," Richie chanted, as he was soon surrounded by these naked women of the forest. There were definitely more than ten of them now. How many delights did this place hold?

There was almost a feeling of fear in Richie. To be come up on so suddenly by such a large group. And traditionally there was nothing threatening about the idea of a group of naked women, but they were all older than the boys, and they could have been a convent of Satan-worshippers who dance nude and sacrifice children to their dark lord. These thoughts passed through Richie's mind, but only briefly, up until one of the women stepped up to him and gingerly took his hand.

His heart must have broken out of his ribcage then. To be touched so tenderly by a woman fair and naked! She was smiling, and pulled him gently towards where her friends reclined on beds of moss. There they made erotic landscapes: gentle curves of cream-colored slopes and summit oases that were their areolas, isolated groves that were their vulvas, delicate canyons hidden that were their butts as they rolled over on the ground, their slopes snow-drifted Antarctic mounds, with a Lovecraftian secret just visible at the terminus of the canyon, marked by the rough outline of forest that resided at the front.

She let go of his hand and nodded towards the woodland den of relaxing nude women, as if to signal for him to relax as well. Richie was all taken aback, and couldn't help but pass his eyes over his naked guest, and the myriad of bodies laid out on the forest floor before him, all while Ben stood back, gazing at everything, petrified, afraid to even move, letting Richie do all the moving for him. And Richie took the initiative for his friend, pulling off his t-shirt and taking the naked women's example: to relax in the forest nude. All his hesitations about getting naked in front of his friend faded away in the presence of these ladies, though there was some hesitation. Once the shirt was off, and he was standing as if getting ready to get into a pool, he faltered, not yet reaching for his belt, where he would cross over from normal nakedness to the taboo kind, the kind not normally accepted, even alone, but now in the company of a gaggle of naked women, all adults. The belt loosened, and he took down his jeans, standing there in his boxers, feeling rather odd, not wanting to look back at Ben, favoring instead the steady eye of the woman before him, as she studied his disrobing as if she had never seen a male body before. Most curious, her eye did seem to be, over the jutting-out of the fabric of his cotton shorts, where his adolescent arousal fought to get loose. With no further delay, seeking to get to that release himself, Richie took down his boxers, and his erect cock flipped up and free, and he stood rigid before the naked woman and her reclining friends.

Something like delight crossed the woman's face, and she motioned again towards the bed of moss, eager to have Richie lay down with the other naked women. Of course he had no qualms about that. He looked back at Ben, who still remained frozen, and staring, both at the female nudity, and at the nudity of his friend, all impossible to believe, even for a boy who had just seen a partially-naked view of his sister's friend just the other day. Richie quickly looked away from him, returning to his more immediate surroundings, and stepped into the gathering of bodies, falling to his knees, his erection hovering over the legs of the women who rolled over and smiled up at him. He wanted to take himself into his hands right that instant, to relieve himself of the pressure built up. He wanted to shoot his load over all of them, in a cathartic release of his desires. But instead, he dropped to his butt, feeling the itch of the forest floor on his cheeks and his scrotum, and he nudged closer to the woman immediately near him. She smiled so warmly and stretched her arms on the ground above her head, which spread and flattened out her breasts. It looked like she was inviting him to lay on top of her. His heart going crazy, afraid of misinterpreting the gesture, Richie lay on his side next to her, cuddling up to her. His dick brushed against the side of her thigh, and she made no reaction, except for pleasant sighs of comfort. He could lay his head on her chest right that moment if he wished (he did wish!). He could throw an arm over her and let it sink into her soft hills. But for the moment, he lay there, looking at her as she looked up at the forest sky, not knowing what to do with his left hand, finally resting it on his abdomen, where his fingertips teased her skin.

The standing woman took a knee on his other side, sitting there for a moment and watching him relax. Richie rolled over and looked at her, wondering if she was about to do what he thought (hoped!) she was going to do, but she took his hopeful looks as an invitation, instead, to cuddle up on his other side, and Richie found himself sandwiched in between two nude beauties, with his unfulfilled erection protruding like a flag of surrender. And surrender he did, to the comfort, to the serenity of lying naked with naked girls, with the forest sounds returning, birds chirping above him and the distant sounds of cicadas, and the cold-warm touch of the women's skin next to his, the heat of them emanating from within. Once again he was at a loss as to what to do with his hands. He chose to rest them on his stomach, but that gave him so close access to himself that he found the desire to reach down and urge on his pleading penis to be irresistible. 

But then the hands of the woman to his left graced over him, her arms crossing over his arms as she passed her palm lightly over his tight chest, giving him tingles. She smiled and caressed him, seeming to enjoy this close act of cuddling, and Richie leaned his head back to see what Ben was doing.

"Ben! Ben, come on, why are you hanging back? Come on in!"

But Ben was still standing where he was, until one of the women, who was leaned up with her arms graced over her bare knee, smiled at him and motioned with her reclining hand that it was okay to come closer. When he didn't budge, the woman stood, much to Ben's petrification (in more ways than one), her bareness more front-and-forward as she stood full-frontal and walked slowly to the shell-shocked kid with her hand outstretched. But Richie cast this sight aside to return to what was going on around him, as the woman's touch traveled treacherously close to his spire, tracing on his stomach and barely touching the edge of his own forest, causing him to twitch at his summit, his totem, begging for homage. The woman did not seem intent on pleasing his little god, though, and Richie could not figure out if she was teasing him or if she was being completely platonic, but it was driving him mad, and he lay there as a bundle of nerves as she caressed his abdomen, as his legs pressed against her legs, and the legs of the woman on his other side, whose breast rested on his arm, and it was all too much, the raw sensitivity in his penis feeling as if it would burst at the merest touch, so begging was he of release, and he couldn’t take it anymore, and he reached out to take the matter into his own hand.

The woman did not seem to mind. She smiled and glanced at him while continuing to rub his belly, while in five gentle strokes, the pressure built and then popped, and Richie shot off onto himself, the first long stream reaching almost to his chin and landing across the forearm of the woman, who stopped massaging him and lifted her hand. Richie closed his eyes and shots number two and three and dribbles four five and six left him, and he sighed, and when he opened his eyes, the woman was not there. Neither was the woman to his right, for at first he thought he had offended the one on his left, but it was as if they had just vanished. He sat up. Indeed, all the women were gone. Ben sat cross-legged on the forest floor, grinning and panning his eyes all around him, as if he were still being treated to wonderful sights.

It took Richie a while to gather his senses. It was as if he were a fish yanked out of the water. He looked down at himself and his semen was still shiny on his chest, running down to collect in his pubic hair. How to clean himself up without using his shirt or without getting poison oak or something horrible on him were the least of thoughts crossing his mind, as he sat and tried to figure out what had just happened. But the longer he sat and thought, the more unnerved he felt, until he no longer wanted to be in this forest. A fear nudged him to get up, get dressed, get the hell out of here.

In front of him, Ben had his eyes squeezed shut and was shaking his head back and forth, as if rubbing it between two invisible breasts. Richie hurried to his feet, slaking off his ejaculate with the ridge of his hand and walking over to Ben, ignoring his clothes for the moment.

"Ben, come on, let's get out of here, Richie said, but Ben did not notice him at first. He was too busy in his unseen pleasures, seen only by the stupid grin on his face.

"Ben," Richie said, with a little more urgency in his voice. His friend looked up and instantly reeled at the looming nude form of Richie and his half-erect cock.

"Come on man, I don't wanna see that," Ben said, and massaged an invisible hip with his hand.

"We gotta go, I have a bad feeling."

"Really?"

"Yeah, let's just get out of here." He didn't bother explaining. Ben looked up at his invisible woman as if to get her opinion, and then he looked at Richie again. Something in his face seemed to click. The understanding seemed to be that Richie was suspicious of the women, that maybe they really were Satanists. That would do for now, just so long as they got out of there.

Reluctantly, Ben stood, and held out his hands as if they were holding those of the woman Richie could not see. Ben smiled at her and nodded, a silent goodbye, and he stumbled along with Richie, looking over his shoulder the whole way as Richie bent down and scooped up his clothes and they left the grove.

They walked in silence, and Richie was still nude, as they made their way back to familiar territory. When they were in more open forest, where the sun returned to warm Richie's bare shoulders and where they were, presumably, out of earshot of the women, Ben asked: so why'd we hurry out of there? You think they were gonna kill us?"

Richie remained silent for a moment, trying to find the right words. Both boys were imaginative, and had open minds, but would Ben's mind be open enough to accept what Richie experienced? Would he think he was trying to play a trick on him, or that perhaps he was crazy? Was he crazy? No, certainly not. One couldn't just not see something that was really there. So instead Richie just said: "yeah. I don't know, I had a real bad feeling all of a sudden."

“Well then it's good we got in and got out. Dude, that was so awesome! This is probably the best day of my life."

Richie was silent. They kept walking.

"I wonder what they were doing out here? Who do you think they were?"

Richie was again silent. That question was at the forefront of his mind, but he wasn't sure it was something he wanted answered.

"You're gonna put your clothes on, right?" Ben asked next. They both stopped. Richie faced him with his loose piece hanging free, and Ben averted his eyes.

"What?" Richie said. "You were the one who wanted to walk naked a while ago."

"Yeah, but I didn't really want to look at your schlong," he said, holding up his arm.

"Fine," Richie said, and dropped his clothes and began stepping into his boxers, bits of grass sticking to his feet and itching his legs as he pulled up his jeans. His skin was sticky with his cum and the shirt clung to the dried river on his abdomen. He felt gross as hell. He would need to grab a shower when he got back home. But all he wanted to do was sit and think.

He didn't talk much as they made their way out of the woods and back to the train tracks, running what had happened through his mind over and over. Ben did most of the talking for him, excitedly going over everything he saw and everything he felt (with his hands), but he could tell something was bugging Richie. "Are you alright?" he asked him when they stopped at the tracks. "Do you feel bad or something?"

"No, I'm fine," Richie said. "Just a little spooked, that's all."

"You really think we almost died back there?"

"No," Richie thought, and on that answer he was telling the truth.

*****

It was dark when Richie retired to his room. He and Ben had departed at the dirt crossroads between their neighborhoods, and Richie had finished the walk home with some silence for once to think things over. He walked slow. When he got home, he felt he did need the shower, and felt refreshed when he got out, though not any better mentally. He returned to his room naked, still wet at the nape of his neck and on his forearms, and he sat at the edge of his bed in the dark. The harder he worked his brain to unravel the mystery, the more tired he became, until the weight of fatigue was too much, and he found himself nodding off with his elbows on his knees. So he rolled over and into bed, pulling the sheet over his nude body, feeling it glide over his skin, and he smelled the soap scent on him and was lulled off to a quick sleepy surrender. And as he nodded off, in that hypnagogic state between realities, a form stepped from around his bed, shining like polished silver even in the dark; the nude form of a woman, the traces of light and shadow accentuating pert breasts and in faint relief painting the hidden recesses of her Venus in fur. And from behind her, another figure came, and then a circle of them stood around Richie's bed as he fell through the veil into dreamland, with this epiphanic thought the last conscious thing he carried with him: though he may have came, they would never leave.

"Well these two boys definitely seem to have come across the spark of just what drives all the men in the world mad. For when we are young, we pine for those developed beyond our experience, so that they may introduce us to experiences beyond ours. May these boys carry with them the memories of that occasion for ages to come. This story most definitely moved me, as I hope it does you.

"Our next story delves into what happens when a young woman who's shared her charms with a younger male gets reciprocated with the outpouring of passion. She is quite unprepared for the mixed feelings she is given. But the young man, however, is awash in his feeling. As so are we. Let's watch..."

Intimate Sharing 2

Carter rushed to the door when he heard Madeline's knock. His heart, likewise, was knocking on his chest, and he could barely keep himself from shaking. After the monumental afternoon he spent with Madeline two days ago, this would be his chance to take it further, to put them on equal footing. He didn't know if it would be well-received or not, but he was going to do it: he was going to take off his clothes with her, and he hoped she would do the same again.

She was smiling warmly as he opened the door, a metal travel mug of coffee in her hand. If the lid had not been securely on, it would have been steaming and would have perfectly complimented her smile, and the warmth he was feeling deep in his chest.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," Carter said back, with a shaky voice. "Come on in." He stepped aside and his dream girl, the girl he'd had a crush on since he was eight, who was a few years his senior, and who he had had the fortune to see naked and lay next to just two days ago—but it still felt like yesterday in his mind—entered his home. She wore nylon gym shorts and a grey tank top, which outlined and brought attention to her smallish chest which he had seen without any inhibitors and he had more than just his imagination to rely on, not that he needed it; it struck him as funny that this outfit was in a way more alluring than seeing her exposed, that the form-fitting fabric and thin straps over her small shoulders did more to entice the mind. But they were not magical. Watching in suspended time as she dropped all her articles of clothing in front of him—for what reason, he still could not figure out—was indeed nothing short of magic.

"So what are you doing today?" she asked as she wandered into his house, passing through the living room, slowly headed towards the kitchen, which seemed to be the base of operations anytime either of them came over to the other's house.

"Oh, nothing much," Carter said. "Have the whole house to myself today. I was probably going to play videogames, mostly, but I figured I'd call you first."

They entered the kitchen. Madeline meandered to the island counter and leaned against it, and Carter stood at the entryway, pulse pounding and hands wringing as he thought of what to do. Should I do it now? he wondered. Should he step out and take off his clothes and then come back in? Would that be acceptable? Or should he ask first? Wouldn't that be weird?

"What do you want to drink?" he asked her instead.

"I got my coffee,” she said, cradling her travel mug, and Carter kicked himself for forgetting. Madeline leaned her arms on the counter and looked at him inquisitively. The way she leaned over made her tank top hang down and the wide cleavage between her small breasts became exposed, not that that should be shocking to him anymore.

"Oh, let me grab something real quick,” he said. He turned and hurried out of the kitchen before she could ask anything, and he retreated to the living room and stood there, ready to grab his shirt and pull it off, but his hands were frozen at the hem. He stood there, not shaking, but completely petrified. Then he moved. He moved back into the kitchen.

"Hey Maddy?" he asked as he entered. she was still waiting patiently at the counter.

"Yes?" There was something in her eyes that was knowing.

"Do you mind if I take my clothes off?"

He didn't stutter this time. He impressed even himself. Madeline seemed pleased, as well, for another warm, heart-melting smile spread across her lips.

"Sure," she said. "That would be okay."

Madeline leaned against the counter and watched as her words affected Carter, causing him to freeze up, as if he didn't expect her to say "yes," and so casually, and she had to smile. The poor boy was still hung up on this naked time. She thought again if it was the right thing to do, to suddenly take off her clothes while in his house, but she dashed that doubt and told herself it was a healthy thing for Carter's maturity. And was it right for her to allow him to get naked? Was this inviting a step over a boundary into the traditional sexual give-and-take of a couple? She did not know. She did not intend to be in a sexual relationship with Carter, her honorary little brother, but she did allow herself a little randy amusement at seeing him fumble his clothes off.

It started slow, much slower than she had done, for he had much more hesitation. He pulled his shirt off slowly, and his torso underneath was skinny but with a little boyish musculature on his arms. Then he stood there, like a scared little boy, not knowing if he had permission to take off the rest, but he already knew that he did. With a clumsy hand, he undid his belt and took it all the way off for some reason before dropping his jeans, and then he stood there in his own kitchen in his underwear, with a prominent tent pushed out from his aroused penis.

Madeline let herself smile, and laugh, and this made the boy freeze again, and then, locking eyes with her, he took down his underwear, his penis flipped free, and he bent down to drop his garment to the floor, before standing up straight and exposed to her just as she had been to him. And then he was like a deer in headlights, and though he was vigorously erect, pointing and wobbling at her, it felt more like seeing one's younger sibling nude before a bath. He was hopelessly cute in his innocence and his eagerness to bare himself to her, and Madeline knew she saw him now as he truly was. She leaned away from the counter.

"I don't want to put you on the spot," she said, and right away she went about peeling off her tank top, freeing her breasts before him, which she felt no hesitation towards, and which felt nice because she had been sweating under that thing since she had gotten out of the shower.

Just as quickly, she dropped her gym shorts and stood nude in Carter's kitchen before him, and she kicked her clothes to the base of the island counter and looked at his awe-stricken expression as he looked her over.

"Well, now we're both naked. What do you want to do?"

It felt like a loaded question. But the ball was in his court. They were in his house, now. As long as he didn't ask to have sex with her. Then she didn't know what she would do. She figured his first truly sexual experience still needed to be with a girl who he would definitely have a chance with.

He was just as frozen as he was right before he took his pants off, so he had no suggestions. "Wanna watch a movie again?" Madeline offered, and after a solid second, the naked boy nodded his head (his upper one).

"What do you want to watch?"

More silence, and awkward staring between the two of them, at their naked bodies, one feminine and slender, one scrawny yet masculine.

"Or we can just talk," Madeline offered next. Through his haze, Carter found his awareness, and shook his head "yes."

"Were you still going to get something to drink?" she asked next. He sprung into motion then, shaking his head of the haze that clouded it and exclaiming "oh, yeah!" and then busying himself in the kitchen in the nude, reaching up into the cupboard for a tall glass and flexing his youthful butt, which Madeline allowed herself the pleasure of appreciating before he turned around and set the glass down on the counter and then went to the fridge to produce the pitcher of tea. The amber liquid poured into the glass from shaky hands, connected to the taut, slightly—toned chest of the boy pouring it, and Madeline waited patiently, smiling that warm smile that she knew was probably driving Carter nuts.

"So, you think of that movie?" she asked him as he poured.

"Uh, I don't know. I was trying to find a download of Joker."

"Oh yeah! That looks like it might be pretty good."

"If you give me a minute," Carter said as he capped the plastic bottle of sweet tea and carried it back to the fridge.

"Sure," Madeline said. "If you can find it. I wouldn't mind watching it."

Carter left his glass on the counter and left the kitchen, saying "alright, I'll be down in a minute. We can put it on the TV."

And so Madeline was left standing alone and naked in the middle of Carter's parents' kitchen, the most perplexing situation she could have ever imagined that she'd find herself in. She sipped her coffee, leaned back on the counter, and waited while Carter did whatever he needed to do, and the longer she stood there, the more aware of her own nudity she became, and the more she realized she was naked in another person's house, a person who had  pined over her for so long. Was this right? she wondered.

In another few minutes, he was back down, bounding down the stairs noisily on his bare feet, tromping into the kitchen with his bare body, his penis now softened and flipping about as he walked.

"Okay," he said. "I got the download started, if we want to get situated."

Madeline smiled and grabbed her coffee, and Carter crossed through the kitchen for his tea, passing ever-so-briefly past her, their bare skin brushing, and Carter froze in his tracks, while Madeline made her way to the living room.

She splayed herself out on the couch, relishing the feeling of the fabric on her bare skin, wondering if she should have asked if they should lay down towels or sheets or something, but not caring overall, just drinking in the comfort of relaxing nude in someone's home. Then Carter entered, holding his glass, and taking a moment to catch his breath at the sight of her splayed out nude on his couch. Then he completed his journey and came up to her, sitting his glass down on the coffee table and standing there confused about where to sit. There was an easy chair, and then there was the couch that Madeline currently took up half of. Where to go? he probably wondered, and Madeline waited. After a moment, Carter thought long and hard (hah!) and finally took a seat bravely next to his nude crush. Without faltering, he picked up the remote and turned on the smart TV, readying the menu for the movie they were about to inject into it.

"So..." Carter began, relaxing there nude next to her, his dick beginning to rise as if ready to wave its flag of surrender. "What do you know about the Joker?"

Madeline smiled and shrugged and sipped at her coffee. "Just that it's supposed to be pretty good," she said, cuddling up on the couch while Carter cowered next to her. "And that a lot of people are riled up about it."

"Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous," Carter said, trying to affect the personality of a young man unaffected by the nude presence of a conventionally attractive nude girl next to him. His squirming betrayed otherwise, as his body rubbed up against hers, and Madeline unaffectedly raised her mug to her mouth and sipped her coffee. When she set her mug down, she readjusted herself on the couch, feeling the friction between their hips, and the trembling of poor Carter. Then, once again without thinking, in an effort to relax, she extended her arm out along the back of the couch, behind the boy, like a young man putting his arm around a date's shoulder. And Carter instinctively leaned into her, and soon she had the scent of his freshly-washed hair in her nose as his head nestled on her shoulder, and the knuckles of his hands, which he held as if not sure what to do with them, brushed against her thigh. He was cuddled up on her like a child to his mother, and it filled Madeline with a sense of warmth, outside the actual warmth of their bodies together.

Well, it was almost maternal. Carter's waving member, now tilted in her direction, painted a different picture, (if one could paint with a penis). But then again even young boys may get an erection in the most innocent of settings. Innocently then, Madeline reached out her hand and brushed his thick trunk with the back of her fingers. It resisted and wobbled at its canted angle, and Carter shot his eyes to Madeline, as if surprised things had gone this far, as if looking at her to assure that this was okay.

"It won't go away, huh?" she said to him, running her knuckles on it again, leaning it downwards and then releasing it—sproing!—and Carter shuddered.

"H-how could it?" he said, resorting to stuttering again, and Madeline understood perfectly. Indeed, how could he not be excited in a situation such as this, innocent as it was? But was there any need to feel guilty about it? It was without guilt, then, that she opened her hand and gently wrapped her fingers around his shaft.

She didn't know why she did it; her feelings hadn't changed. But there was something irresistible about seeing him so helplessly, painfully erect without any way to relieve it. perhaps she wanted to let him get off so they could relax normally. Or perhaps she just wanted to feel his dick in her hand. It was admittedly a nice dick, thick for somebody so thin, and it jumped and pulsed in her palm as she gently stroked it, like comforting a small bird, except this bird's state of mind would be nothing but agitated.

The realization of all his childhood lust was more surreal than Carter imagined. In a dream-like state he leaned into Madeline, her skin soft against his chin, and felt the constant massaging work of her hand on his dick, a feeling that outmatched what he could give himself, for it did not stop. When he hit a peak of pleasure, his hand was not there to ease off, and when the pleasure continued to climb, he lost all senses of reality, cuddled up next to the love of his life, her hand—hers!—on his most sensitive and intimate part, intimately bringing him to a state of mind he had never experienced. And, barely able to keep his eyes open, the peak came and shot out the end, so forceful it almost hurt. It left him instantly exhausted, and as he collapsed into Madeline, the euphoria left and the sight of white splatters all over his and her thighs brought him back to reality, and he could hardly believe it. His heart rate did double-time as he realized where he was, and with who, and what she was doing, and he stammered out an apology: "s-sorry!" but Madeline only laughed, and continued to stroke his shaft. Guh.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said, rubbing his shoulder with her other hand. "That's what happens when you jerk off a dick."

It shocked him, to hear her say the word "dick." They had always talked about anything, occasionally discussing matters of sex, but he had never heard her use that exact word, nor so casually, while the object in question was in her hand, oozing out its last. It felt so scandalous. Then he shuddered as she gave one last, light squeeze and then took her hand off of him.

"How about you go get something to clean us up with, though? We got a mess here."

He nodded his head and regretfully took it from where it rested on her shoulder, sitting up straight and looking down at himself, at his half-mast cock, and the squirted mess before him, feeling a sudden shame. He stood and inwardly stepped around the coffee table, conscious of his penis now, still mostly hard and dripping at the end. A single drop fell to the carpet and he swore to himself. He hoped none had gotten on the couch. His parents were going to kill him.

In the kitchen he tore off a generous swath of paper towels and applied one to himself, dabbing up his thighs and the end of his dick, and then he wetted the rest under the sink and returned to the living room.

Seeing Madeline relaxed and nude on the couch filled him with that surreal feeling again. She looked like something from a dream: a Venus in his house, shamelessly nude, her arm back on the top of the couch, her ripe-plum breasts catching the soft light from the window in a way he had not seen last time, and an inviting smile on her face. That he was standing here naked in front of her was something he never thought would ever have happened, no matter how hard he had fantasized. And as he approached her and kneeled before her, without hesitation wiping up the pearly dots of his own semen from her thighs, staring down at the triangle of fine crisp hairs between them and the crevice visible underneath, he did not know what else he could fantasize about.

"Thanks," she said. "You didn't have to do that." Then she patted his head. He nearly fainted, staring down at her bare lap, so faint it felt like her hand would push his face down into it, and as he finished dabbing at her thighs, his increasingly hesitant hand glancing the edge of where her pubic hair began, he raised it, hovered it over her, then looked up.

"Can I touch it?" he asked her.

He almost regretted saying it as he detected a look of doubt on her face, her smile fading as she chewed her lip. Then, to his astonishment, the smile returned.

"Go ahead," she said, and Carter was frozen where he was, looking up at her and hardly believing it. Then he returned his gaze down below.

He dropped the paper towel and lowered his shaking fingers to her lap. He hesitated, and trembled above it. Then he lowered and sank his fingers into her light carpet. The hairs were surprisingly soft, and he ran his fingertips through it until he reached the crevice. He traced the edges of it, and Madeline trembled a little.

He looked up at her, and saw her smile tinged with nervousness now. Indeed he was nervous, too; he had no idea what he was doing. So he finished tracing the edges of her lips until he got brave enough to trail his pointer finger between them, taking a copious amount of moisture with it. Madeline let out a soft laugh. The smell was potent; raw, but intoxicating. Carter instinctively lowered his head closer.

"Kiss it," Madeline breathed. Carter looked up briefly at her.

"Put your mouth on it."

There was something commanding in her voice, a tone Carter had never heard come out of her, but he obeyed and looked back down at her now-glistening, swollen labia, and he descended on it, slathering it with the sloppiest, most passionate kiss he had been saving up for his first. He never would have imagined it would be like this. He lathered her with his mouth and ran his tongue through her crevice as he did with his finger, and now a little moan escaped his honorary big sister, sister no more. What did this mean for them? he wondered briefly as he more vigorously applied his mouth in between Madeline's legs, but it was a brief thought, as he was distracted by the salty taste of her and the tightening of her thighs around him. And then she pressed the top of his head down deeper into her, and he gladly submitted. Like an eager dog he began to lap her up, and with each action, Madeline's breathing increased, and he felt the warm flow pour over his tongue, and soon lost all sense of self, existing only to lick and suck like a ravished animal.

What was she thinking? How did she let it come to this? She had fought with herself long and hard to make sure this was a platonic type of intimacy. Was she naive to think that it could be possible? Was she—she trembled as Carter did his vigorous work. She was beside herself, something so cute and pure about his eager face between her thighs. What he lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm (heaps and heaps of enthusiasm), and the novelty of the situation and the few successes he had in his exploring of her succeeded in making her come. She was worried she was going to pop the poor boy's head between her legs like a grape, for he did not know when to stop, and she was just short of screaming. She fumbled at his hair, and finally he looked up at her, grinning like a child who had just been given the whole cookie jar, and the throbbing in her ebbed.

"Enough," she said. "Enough for now. G-good job."

Adorably, he lay his head across her bush and looked up at her imploringly like a puppy. She patted his head like one, and he lay there, snuggling in her wet lap like he could fall asleep there, while she wondered about what would happen next. Could they go on like normal after this? It was funny, that they had done all this and had not so much as shared a kiss. Was there a possibility for mutual sexual exploration without romance? Platonic sex? Was that a thing? The more she sat there and let the hormones go to sleep, the more she had the sobering thought of what it would be like to have Carter following her around at college once he started. What Pandora's Box had she just opened? Furthermore, what exactly would Carter take away from this? She began to ask, but then the front doorknob turned, and before any of them could move, the door opened and Carter's father, in his finely-pressed business suit, entered, and froze.

"Well," was all he said, and he had a smirk on his face. Neither Madeline nor Carter could come up with anything to say, and Carter Senior quickly went upstairs and then came back down moments later carrying a manila folder, and then disappeared out the door with a salute, saying "well I'll leave you to it," before closing the door.

"Enough pure experience to shatter the bones. What young Carter must have been feeling. What Madeline must have been feeling in return. A mutual exchange of intimacy, and wonders, wonders abound. What a lucky young man that Carter must have been. And that makes me wonder about the lusts of such young men, as we will see with Danny, who goes on his first expedition to a place where everybody is nude: the nudist park, where he encounters...

The Cutest Nudist

The way she walked, the way she smiled, the dark twinkle in her eye and braces-laden smile, the thin trim of her body and the tanglepuff between her hips all combined together to create the image of the cutest nudist in the entire nudist park.

Things at the nudist park aren't sexual, but a pretty face is a pretty face and a pretty body is all the same. A delight to look at, and to be around, for her winning smile and jokey talk made her a favorite memory among the visitors there. And perhaps many a crush among the young boys gazing for the first time on a girl without her clothes.

- From “Adventures in Nakedtown”

Danny was incredibly nervous to be headed to his first-ever nudist resort. It wasn't something he asked for, but as his parents were open to the idea, having both been to a nude beach separately once in their lives, they thought it would be good for developing a healthy outlook on the body. They didn't make him go; they merely asked him, and after some thought (half of it lustful), he agreed to go.

He was already a teenager, and had plenty of lustful thoughts, which was exactly why his parents figured it would be a good idea to be presented with nudity normally, socially, with normal people, not with glamorous models making lusty eyes on a screen. They knew he looked at porn. They weren't stupid. And they knew he looked at the web page of the nudist resort they were planning to go to and may have been decided mostly by the lucky coincidence that some of the people in the photos were young, fit, attractive women. And they were right, that was a major deciding factor, and what edged the nervousness of taking off his clothes in front of people with excitement: he would get to see some real live naked women!

"Now son,” his father told him, “I'll just let you know, so you don't get disappointed and don't get the wrong idea, most people at nudist resorts are fat old hippies. You shouldn't go there expecting to see hot ladies, and even if you do see some, it's not acceptable to go there for that expectation."

"So you think there will be hot ladies there?" Danny asked his father with an eager face.

"There very well may be, son."

His parents had talked about it for some time before they proffered the question to Danny. "What if there's a girl there his age?" his father asked. "Then that would especially be the reason why he should go," the mother replied. "He needs to learn to respect women."

Not that he didn't, but occasionally Danny would be a little too open on his observations of hot ladies, sometimes in public, sometimes at the dinner table when an attractive actress or newscaster would come on the television screen, and it was this that made Danny's mother a little hesitant. Was his mindset too set in stone? They would find out.

Indeed, he looked on his phone the night before their departure and scrolled through the images of the resort's website again. There were old people there, fat and red-skinned, and there were little children as well, which made Danny feel awkward to look at. But for every one or two of those attractive women, twenty or thirty-something women who looked just like the models he'd seen on some websites, the expectations that his father warned him about remained intact. He definitely was going to see some beauties, he thought. That would make his day. But a fear was also at the bottom of all that expectation. Could he really take off all his clothes in front of his family, and scores of strangers? He never let his parents see him naked, always getting dressed in the bathroom after a shower, and he never showered at gym class. He hated it when his dad would come out of his bedroom in his tighty-whities. Flat-out, he was uncomfortable with nudity and shy about his own. What if he did see an attractive woman? Would he get an erection and get kicked out? He didn't want to ruin this for his parents, who seemed to be thinking about this for a while. But above that worry, he yearned, and he scrolled through the website some more...

*****

The fear doubled and overtook the yearning when they left the house in the morning. His heart would not stop beating fast, even though he was sitting still in the back seat. About halfway through the trip, it started to calm down, but the trip was only an hour and a half, and as they got on more rural roads, Danny's heart-rate picked back up again.

They had been surprised to find a nudist resort so close to home. And in fact, it was not the only one. Just within three hours of where they lived, there were three of them. Danny's parents had to do some research, for some of them were adults-only, swingers clubs disguised as nudist resorts. But they picked one that was ANNR-certified and with everything they read about it, the more perfect a choice it seemed. And now they were rumbling down a gravel road towards the gate, and Danny was fidgeting his hands in his lap, but also looking anxiously out the windows, scanning the new landscape, as if he would see naked people right away roaming outside the grounds.

It took a moment at the gate, as his parents pressed the call button and waited, and then conversed with the mundane-sounding man on the other end, and Danny grew anxious. And then the metal gate rumbled open, and they were passing through. His eyes went scanning again. No naked people, just a dirt road that ended at a fork, with mobile homes and lawn chairs and college football team flags decorated out front. It looked like any rural residential area. Their vehicle took the left fork, and soon there was a clubhouse looming up ahead. Danny could see the pool, glittering blue in the sun, and then the beige profiles of nude people walking along the patio. This was it, he thought. This is Naked Land now.

The car pulled closer and then entered the parking lot of the clubhouse, and the pool fell out of his vision, blocked by the terrain. Then the engine stopped, and all went still.

His parents got out alarmingly fast, too fast for Danny. He wanted to collect himself a little bit. But soon he found himself grabbing his bag and following his parents as if being pulled along by a string as they approached the open chain-link fence which surrounded the pool and clubhouse area. And there were all the naked people.

Danny was surprisingly calm. There was a strange, dream-like quality to the scene, something he was not accustomed to seeing: old people, bronzed ladies with flowery sashes around their hips and nothing else up above, scampering toddlers, and a yippy dog running past. All sorts of different types of people hanging about and having a good time just as clothed people would around a normal neighborhood pool. But they were all naked. And none of them were sexy, Danny noted, except that he admitted that the sun-baked breasts of the old ladies in the sashes were appealing, something he noted in lightning-quick glances. He wasn't supposed to stare, he knew that.

They made their way inside the clubhouse so his parents could go to register for the day, and there were almost as many naked people inside as there were outside, and it was even weirder in the close proximity. Danny had to pass closely by a very hairy and pot-bellied man with a little thumbtip-sized penis that he had no choice but to see, for it was right in front of him, and he shrunk into himself. He was glad to get into the closed office, where the male receptionist there was thankfully clothed. He took his mother's credit card and told them they were good for the entire day and asked if they were planning on spending the night. "We don't know yet," his mother said. "We're just feeling it out today," saying this with the knowledge that if Danny wasn't okay with the setting, they could leave at any time.

"First-timers, eh? Well if you decide to stay, we have some extra tents to give you if you want to set up in the campground area. All the cabins are rented out for the weekend."

His parents thanked the man and he told them to have a good time, and then they were out of the office, passing again through the clubhouse, all three of them observing their surroundings. There were pool tables, dining tables, a back area where it looked like parties were hosted, a television showing a football game, which a group of men was actively watching from the dining tables, and towards the back there was an entrance to the bathrooms, and an open shower right there, with no walls or curtains for privacy, Danny noted. And then they were out into the sun again, and the sound of splashing and kids screaming, and Danny's heartbeat finally started to pick up again, because this was the moment he would be taking off his clothes, he knew.

His parents moved towards a set of lawn chairs and set down their bags, then looked at each other as if to ask themselves is it time? And then without much more hesitation, and no fanfare, they began to take off their clothes. Before Danny's shocked eyes, he saw his mother pull up her slim beach dress to reveal not a bathing suit underneath, but nothing at all, and his father unbuttoned his shirt like any normal man at the beach, except he started taking down his shorts as well, and Danny was faced with the sight of his parents naked, something he hadn't seen since he was very little. He averted his gaze.

His parents didn't seem to pay attention to him, as if he now did not exist, but in actuality, they were not wanting to put pressure on him, or give him the unwanted awkwardness of being stared down when one undresses. So the both of them walked towards the shallow entrance of the pool, -side-by-side like an old couple perfectly comfortable with each other, for they were. More comfortable than Danny felt he could be. He was left standing by himself as his parents slipped into the water and mixed in with the gaggle of other swimmers and loungers, who all fit in in their own special way.

And then there was Danny, standing there like a sore thumb, a funny inversion on what one would have expected. He wanted to lay out on the lounge first, but it would be too searing hot in his clothes, and he did not have trunks to wear; they were not necessary to pack. Next, he would have liked to have gotten in the pool, but as he passed his eyes quickly around the area, passing them extra-quick past the guest, he saw, among the rules posted on a metal sign on a wall, "must be nude in the pool."

Well, he thought. That sure narrows down my possibilities. He knew if he didn't play along, it would only sour the whole trip. They might as well have just packed up and left. He didn't want that. And it wasn't that he didn't want to take off his clothes, it was just that he was incredibly nervous about it. But everybody there seemed to be old, unattractive, and, most importantly, completely uninterested in him, even as he stood out now, so without any more thinking, he took off his shirt, and, in a weird moment that was on the precipice of normalcy, took down his pants as well. The only time it was normal to be standing in one's underwear was in a changing room or one's bedroom. And now he removed that odd feeling and traded it for another as he took his underwear down. At once he felt a strange combination of being helplessly exposed and completely free. And now he hardly knew what to do, except to gather his clothes and put them beside his lounge chair, knowing that everybody was looking upon his bare body. But as he turned and faced the pool, nobody was, except for his parents, who were smiling. His father raised his hand and waved him over.

"Come on in, son!" he called. "Water's great!" And so he walked the line, feeling somewhat like walking the plank, but that feeling faded the closer he got the entrance of the pool. And he stepped in. The water was warm around his ankles, and he leaned forward and let himself fall into the water, submerging and feeling weightless, completely weightless, no swim trunks collecting air and water, nothing to restrict him and nothing to stop him as he kicked his legs and surged through the water like a dolphin, and when he came up, it was like being reborn. And there, just like his birth date, were his parents, grinning lovingly.

"How's the water?" his father asked him.

"Great, just great!" Danny replied. "It's all great!" and he dove under again. It seemed his reservations had been dissolved. Thus, what was to be a pleasant afternoon began, as Danny swam from one end of the pool to the other, dipping under a volleyball net that was stretched across the middle, resting on occasion as he watched all the other people enjoy themselves—watched, not stared, this time—and he swam until he could feel the tips of his fingers and toes wrinkling, and had a little nervousness climbing in him about getting out of the water again, and walking before all the spectators nude, and dripping, like some softcore porno. But it was a nervousness that was not equal to all the anticipatory energy he had built up all that day.

The number of people around the pool seemed to multiply, and it looked like it was becoming an outright party around here, and music crooned out of a beat-up radio and the sounds of engines elsewhere in the campgrounds rose up in the thick air, including one rumbling engine that grew louder and louder.

"Alright, Brad and Tina are here!" someone said from the line of wooden chairs sitting under the eave and shade of the clubhouse. It seemed everybody knew everybody around here. Danny was curious about who this Brad and Tina were. But he dunked under the water again. He didn't even worry about staying close to the security blanket of his parents. They were already out of the water, laying out on their lounge chairs, soaking up the sun. So Brad enjoyed himself, swimming back and forth as more and more people began filing into the pool, when the gate creaked and up the sidewalk came a very attractive couple, perhaps a few years younger than his parents but much more energetic and much more tan, the husband wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and shorts and the woman wearing an elegant flowery dress of very light material. He was handsome, and she was very pretty and distinguished-looking, but they were not what kept Danny looking in their direction, for as they entered the patio, they turned towards the awning, and Brad saw that more people were behind them. There was a gaggle of kids, and a couple of older people, perhaps grandparents, and walking among them was the prettiest girl in the whole resort, perhaps the only girl of favorable age, appearing to be in her early twenties, with chestnut hair that just touched her shoulders. She was wearing a colorful and thin sash that accentuated hidden curves of her body that would not be hidden much longer, if fate had it. Danny lost all his manners in regards to staring, for she would turn eyes in any setting, and his previously-abandoned anticipation was fired up again by his imagination, conjuring up images of what may come. And unbeknownst to him, his head and body pivoted in the water as the girl and her family made their way into the clubhouse, and his parents definitely noticed.

A chorus of greetings came from the open door as the family entered. Apparently they were a popular group of people at the resort. Danny had his own cynical idea as to why, and he kicked himself for thinking it. He tried to go back to enjoying his swim, to returning to the innocent joy he had newly discovered, but his old mind weighed him down, and he paddled ineffectively.

An unbearable amount of time passed, and it seemed that that beautiful girl and her beautiful family were deciding to stay inside, much to Danny's disappointment, a disappointment he was trying to temper. But then, there was another raucous uprising of voices, and the father stepped out, nude like a Greek statue, and served a beach ball into the water, and from behind him scampered the young children, running straight into the pool. As he stepped to the side, his wife appeared behind him, having lost her dress, and none of her dignity. And she was definitely the prettiest sight in the whole park. That is, until she stepped aside, and there she was.

The way the sunlight warmed her skin, she might as well have been glowing. The solar scent of the air was bright enough to highlight a faint down at the edges of her arms, and gentle enough to highlight the softness of her features, the cotton-soft look of delicate breasts just a shade lighter than the rest of her golden body; a trim stomach, leading down to a shocking and cute tuft of hair that shifted as she walked, so casually, to the steps leading into the pool, walking as if she were any normal pool-goer, but for Danny, she definitely was not. And then she slipped into the water and was half-hidden, and Danny turned away, to swim towards the deep end as the father walked around and hit the ball to his kids, who spread out in the shallow end and slowly took it over. The music seemed to be getting louder, and more and more people were walking by the edge of the pool. Danny saw all the bare soles of their feet pass as he leaned on the edge and tried to avoid looking at the beautiful girl for a few moments, because he could feel, without question, that thing that he read of so many novices fearing: the dreaded erection. Thank God he was in the pool, but he did not want to face the crowd knowingly waving his new friend at them. And there were so many people diving under the water now... would they be able to see? Could it be discerned by someone looking down through the rippled surface, the extended, distorted dick? His heart was beating fast again, but not from his previous misguided anticipation; he was going to get in trouble. He knew it. But he managed to lean there long enough for the ebb of his arousal to recede, leaving him longer than he was initially, flapping loose in the current of the churned water. He braved turning around. The object of his affection was wading through the shallows, dipping herself into the water and leaving nothing to see except her gleaming wet shoulders, as her father held the beach ball above his head, presenting it to a few of the other guests, who dipped under the net towards Danny's side of the pool so they could begin a water volleyball game. Danny decided to get out, for now, and he made for the only ladder, which was on the side of the pool opposite from where his parents were sitting. The shallow end was too crowded with naked bodies to push through to get out, and he would pass thrillingly close to the pretty girl, and he wasn't ready for that yet.

Pulling himself out of the pool was perhaps less desirable, as he felt on display right away, rising above everybody below, and he quickly walked around the deep end, feeling naked all over again, and especially self-conscious of his penis, which he hoped nobody looked at long enough to notice, well, that it was longer than before. But at least he wasn't hard. He had mastered that part. He walked around the deep end and towards his parents, who turned their heads towards him and smiled. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw that girl rise out of the water so that her breasts broke the surface, gleaming with water. He hurried to his chair.

"Having fun?" his father asked in a tone that sounded loaded with an unasked question. "You definitely seem to be taking to it." But you seem troubled all of a sudden, his phantom voice then said.

"Great," Danny said, taking a seat on his towel, which was splayed out on his lounge chair. He was positioned right next to his father, and his mother was on the other side. Danny lay on his back, feeling confident that his lesser self would not get the better of him in this situation. It felt supremely weird to be lying nude next to his nude father, and he tried not to even let his eyes pass over his lap. "I'm just gonna rest a bit," he finished, and he spread his arms above his head and propped himself on them, letting the sun do its beginnings of baking a tan into him.

"Put on some sunscreen if you're going to lie out for a while," his father said. "You sure don't want to get burned down there."

He laughed at his father's directness. "Okay," he said, and he leaned back and observed the volleyball game beginning, three strangers on one side, and the Adonis father, his trusty sidekick son, chest barely above the water, and his Venus daughter, chest and stomach very much above the water. And she moved so gracefully, casually, gently as she readied for the ball's eventual return once her father served it. And she would jump to hit it, her chest bouncing slightly and her grin spreading, and Danny helped himself to watching, watching intently, as the girl moved and jumped and bounced through the water, and he had the inclination again to avert his eyes, and as he did, he saw his father's watchful glance in his direction. He saw his mother take out a book. Then he returned his eyes to the pool.

The girl jumped high for a spike, impossible to ignore. The ball was hit successfully but sailed out of bounds, and bodies bounded out of the pool to go retrieve it. Everybody seemed to be drawn in and focused on this game, and more and more people flooded into the water to spectate or possibly be the next person in line to play. Danny thought it might be fun; perhaps it would loosen him up a bit to be hitting a ball back and forth and paying attention to its trajectory over the net, and it did look like the people there were having a lot of fun. But still, he couldn't help but imagine himself possibly within inches of the pretty girl's skin, and he could hardly bear the thought of it. Definitely not ready yet.

His father returned his own attention to something far and distant; he seemed to be looking into the horizon; he wasn't concerned with the parade of bareness in front of him. Danny tried to adapt his detachment, but the ball from the game sailed over in his direction, and the one to come and get it was the pretty girl, pushing herself out of the pool by the edge, rising up and sheeting water off her body, mere feet in front of him, like a slow-motion erotic kineograph, like a softcore movie right before his eyes, as she was shamelessly displayed for him, stepping onto the pavement and suddenly moving at normal speed as she walked beside his lounger to bend over and retrieve the ball, so close and immodest next to him, and then she was skipping back to the edge of the pool to throw the ball back into the water, and she stood before him presenting her butt, which looked directly back at him as she wiggled on her feet and then jumped into the water, relieving him of the tantalizing sight, but not of the discomfort caused by it, and he felt the sudden need to roll over.

He could feel his father looking in his direction, and he could very well feel the threat of the very public arousal he was about to display, and the pressure of it smothered between himself and the chair. but now he looked out at the grassy field behind him, and no beautiful girl took up his vision, as much as he realized that turning himself around would give him a perfect covert view to the greatest show on Earth, but he did not quite like the idea of being a voyeur, and would not be able to sustain a comfortable position from where he was.

But now, with the pressure on his groin, he could not relax, he could not loosen up, and he was perpetually in peril, with the thoughts of the girl in his memory, and unable to turn over. His buns were doomed to be burnt. Then he heard his father's chair creak.

"Looks like a fun game," he said as he stood up. "Might be fun to join."

"In a little bit," Danny responded from his face-down position. "After I rest a bit."

His father laughed, as if a teenager needed a moment to rest, and he walked away from them, towards the pool to get wet again. Now Danny was alone with his mom, with the empty chair between them, and she got lost in her book. Danny got lost in the grass below him, watching an occasional bug navigate through the tall blades, and feeling an occasional bug on his butt, which he reached behind himself to scratch. And, eventually, he rolled over, feeling safe from public displays of indecency now.

The game seemed to have tapered off, the players just lazily batting the ball back and forth without a care for a score, and the pretty girl was smiling and laughing as she lightly tapped the ball over the net so the guy on the other side could miss it. She seemed so naturally comfortable with herself, wading through the water like a fae from a fairy tale, though Danny found himself less moved. Perhaps he had gotten used to seeing her in front of him. Something must have changed, because he found himself standing up, and walking slowly over to the steps. His father was there, wading over to the corner to chat with some redneck-looking guys, complete with cigarettes and Bud Lites.

"Hey Danny," he said as Danny stepped into the water to admit his lower half some privacy. "This is my son," he introduced him.

"Glad to see you come out," one jovial redneck with a big bushy beard and a sunburnt chest said, and he raised his beer. He was very friendly, as everybody here seemed to be, but Danny's eyes strayed to the left, towards the net, where the angel was standing. Then, causing a jolt to Danny's heart, she turned around and grinned, holding up the ball.

"Hey!" she called. "Anybody else want to join in on a game?"

She seemed to be looking directly at him, even if the question wasn't meant for just him. Danny faltered where he stood.

"Go on, son," his father nudged him. "Have some fun."

The old rednecks appeared amused at Danny's bashfulness, so as not to be a laughing stock for his father, he nodded and waded towards the one person he'd gravitated towards but had been too afraid to be close to.

"I'll play," he found himself saying as he got closer and closer, as if drawn in by a string, much like he had been drawn along on an invisible cord behind his parents. Closer and closer to that scandalously attractive, naked body, so close as to see the water droplets rolling down her little breasts, which he saw only in the edges of his vision. Her beaming smile was even more terrifying to look at.

"Great," she said, and dipped under the net to be on the opposite side. Other people came up; another one of the little kids, a small girl who stood on his side; another younger teen boy who Danny had not noticed earlier, and the girl's mother, who joined her. The father had retreated to the shade by the clubhouse and was now watching his family play.

The girl served, and the game began, the ball going directly for Danny so that he had to concentrate on it rather than on her. And he had to do most of the work, as the girl's younger sister or cousin or whoever she was was much too short to be a valuable player, but luckily the other boy was spry and athletic enough to assist when Danny could not reach the ball, and Danny found himself throwing his body all over his side of the watery court, crossing paths and brushing by the two nude youths, feeling very strange about doing so, especially as, right before him, he had admitted to him all the staring and amazement he could want, as the cute girl leaped out of the water, baring all in heroic spikes, bouncing her bouncing parts as she maneuvered around her side, facing him directly in those thrilling little moments between serves, and crawling out of the pool with her rear end sticking up when she had to chase the ball, where Danny caught sight of the folds of her vagina, while her mother smiled at him from the other side of the net, her own bared and beautiful breasts capturing his quick glance. He breathed a ragged breath; this all made him feel very dirty. He had no place here. He was a creep, and he was getting his fill, and none of them seemed to care. One thing was for sure, though: he was not hard. Not in the slightest. Running around and participating in the game diverted most of his energies. He had no time for involuntary shows of attraction. That in itself was somewhat reassuring, as was the fact that he was having honest, innocent fun, and after many rounds, he was more lost in the game than in the fact that he was playing it with a remarkably pretty and remarkably naked girl, and her naked mother, and naked younger siblings. He played for so long that he started to feel light-headed, and eventually he backed away from the net and admitted aloud that he was worn out. He actually needed some rest this time.

His father was still relaxing in the corner of the shallow end with the jovial old men, and he was smiling warmly as Danny waded up so his waist was above water. He wasn't shy about being exposed anymore.

"Get you some water, son," he told Danny. "You don't want to get dehydrated."

"There's free water bottles in the cooler up there," one of the old men said, pointing towards the front of the clubhouse, and Danny found himself stepping out of the pool, dripping dry all over the pavement, once again feeling odd to be strutting by nude in front of all the people seated below him, but it felt slightly less weird than before. It felt a little more natural. He made his way to the front of the clubhouse and towards the friendly-looking people who were relaxing there, sitting in wooden chairs and drinking and laughing, and he noticed that the girl was also heading towards the same place, climbing up the ladder out of the deep end and trotting over to where her towel lay. It was hard not to appreciate how pretty she was, and how hypnotizing it was when she picked up her towel and dabbed at her body, but he tore his eyes away to ask an old woman if he could get a bottle of water.

"Sure, hon," the rather red-skinned and ivory-haired lady said. "Help yourself." Danny opened the cooler and took a sweating bottle, and stood gulping it, feeling the cool liquid course through his body as he faced out towards the pool, where he saw his mother look up from her book.

Then the girl came over to where her dad was sitting, and other people pulled up chairs and continued what looked like an ongoing chat.

"Sure glad you guys made it out, Brad," one of the old men said. "Didn't know if you were going to make it."

"Oh, we always gotta make it out when the season starts," Brad said, while his daughter stood next to him, dabbing her hair. He then looked directly at Danny, which was unfortunate, because at that moment, he was looking at the bare body next to him.

"Did y'all have fun?" he asked Danny. It felt loaded, like when his father asked him the very same thing. He didn't like when adults asked direct questions like that. It always made him feel like he had done something wrong.

"Yessir," he said.

The man smiled, and the girl looked at Danny as she finished with her hair and smiled as well, and she laid her towel out on a plastic chair next to one of the round tables, just outside the shade of the awning, and sat opposite her father.

"It's always a fun time when Judy and the gang come visit," a man said, walking through the group with beer in hand. Judy. So her name was Judy. "Judy" smiled up at the man, and then got up and walked over to the coolers, to where Danny was standing, and his heart fluttered helplessly as she came incredibly close, with nothing to cover her, nothing to hide her delicate features.

"Excuse me," she said, pleasantly, and Danny stepped aside as she opened one of the coolers and retrieved a Bud Lite to take back to her seat with her, and she walked slowly, her hips swaying with her steps and inviting Danny to see with the slightest glance her dancing backside. Danny was in kind of a daze, watching her sit back down and relax with the older nudists, and the conversation carried around him. Someone asked Brad if they were cooking tonight or if they were coming down for dinner, and someone asked Judy if she was going to cook. Apparently she had a mean recipe for green bean casserole.

And so the conversation went on, and Danny felt like he had had enough of standing around, and made to walk back to his lounger with his water, but then his dad appeared in front of him.

"Hey son, wanna grab me one of those waters?" Danny found himself grabbing another bottle for his father, and then, much to his combined horror and satisfaction, he was leading him over to the seated group, something Danny would not have had the bravery to do on his own.

"Heya friend," one of the old-timers greeted his dad, and Danny brought up the rear, carrying the two bottles and half-hiding behind him. "That your son? Nice to see people bringing their kids out here."

"Mind if we sit?"

"Aw hell, sure!"

And so Danny found himself seated right across from Judy, desperately trying to control his errant gaze so that it did not rest too much on her, while the adults talked. The man Brad seemed to be quite the social butterfly, as he joked and lead the conversation, and Judy would occasionally add in her own comments and just sit there with her beer, pleased to be relaxing as she was with refreshment and sun and good company. The little girl they had played volleyball with came up to Brad and asked if she could have a juice, and Brad gladly got one for her out a smaller cooler he had sitting next to him, and then she scampered off.

"So you guys come here regularly?" Danny's father asked.

"Yep, in our camper. We'd live here if we didn't have work in the city."

"Some people do live here, don't they?" Danny felt brave enough to ask.

"Sure they do. Got people living in trailers and cabins all up that hill there." He pointed to the land rising beyond the chain-link fence.

"I'd buy a cabin here," Judy said, rolling her beer can between her palms.

"I'll be glad when you do," an old woman said as she walked out of the clubhouse and leaned on a chair near them. "I need your help, Jude, could you hang the streamers in back with me? You're more spry."

Wordlessly, Judy got up and left her beer, happily walking with the old woman inside, swaying her bottom carelessly. And suddenly Danny found himself bored in the gathering.

"That's my daughter," Brad explained. "She goes to college, but she commutes from home. Savin' up money, so I don't mind. And she takes to coming up here just fine. We been visiting since she was her niece's age." The niece, apparently, being the small girl. Danny's father was nodding.

"It's good you got them growing up with a level head." Though he didn't look towards Danny, Danny felt that he subtly was. Then his mother showed up.

"Having a little get-together?" she asked.

"Sure, have a seat, honey."

"Y'all want some drinks?" Brad asked.

"Oh, we're fine," Danny's father said. And Danny sat as his parents and the other older folks chatted. He occasionally answered a question with a "yes" or whatever short one or two-word phrase was appropriate, and watched the pool and the people relaxing in and around it, and the rolling hilly terrain beyond, with an occasional car passing by, carrying even more nudist guests, who would come in clothed and in short order be naked, some disrobing right on the patio, and some of them were young, college-looking kids, young professionals, types that surprised Danny. And some of them were women, and good-looking, but he was not as transfixed as he was earlier, and Judy never came back outside. After a while, they were back to the loungers, and Danny was back in the pool, and this time he felt a haze of boredom. It seemed there was not much to do but to talk and swim or lie in the sun, which was nice, but wasn't something he'd want to do all day. So when he came out of the water again, he announced he was going to take a walk through the rest of the resort.

"Okay," his mother said. He was surprised neither of them insisted on going with him,  but he was well old enough to take care of himself, and the place seemed safe and friendly enough that nothing bad would happen.

"Don't go outside the gate," his father said. "You'll be arrested on the spot."

"I won't," Danny said, and he slipped on his flip-flops and made for the gate without a towel, a bag, or anything on his person. When he was outside the chain-link fence and walking along the dirt parking area towards the gravel road that lead up the hill, he felt weird to be walking such a far distance away from the pool and still not putting on clothes. There was something freeing about it, and he felt a wanderlust in him. He wanted to walk all over this place with nothing on and with nobody to tell him to stop.

As he reached the road, he noticed a grassy area on the other side of the parking area with tents, grills, and in the near distance, a lush wall of trees. He wondered if there was a walking trail here; could one just walk straight into the woods and still be within the boundaries of the resort? He imagined it: a wooded wonderland, where one could walk on through the thick trees and be at peace, like a creature of God. He imagined taking that path, wandering further and further in the nude, and finding a creek, say, at the bottom of a hill, which he would have to traverse carefully down, but once at the bottom, he could wash off all the dirt and mud he had accumulated on his feet, and while he would be sitting in the rushing water, there would be a crack of a twig, and out would come Judy, walking carefully down the hill, her hands held out to keep her balance, and she would smile at him. Danny would shyly stay in the water while she came up to a rock by the edge and sit and talk with him, and finally he would come out and lay next to her, alone in the woods with her, and she would ask him directly about his lustful eyes, and he would give full confession, but she would understand, and she would put a hand gently on his shoulder, nudging closer to him so that their bare thighs touched, and in the privacy of that creekside hideaway, she would not mind when the flesh in his lap started to stand up...

...But for now, he turned right and walked up the hill, and the sounds of the swimming pool slowly faded into the background.

The farther away he got from the pool, the more he realized the rest of the resort would be boring to see. Definitely nothing like what he had just imagined. It was just gravel roads, and he passed some cabins, and farther up the hill, he could see trailers with wooden porches built onto them. The novelty of walking through all of this naked, however, was pleasant and slightly thrilling, so he kept going. There were lanes all along up the hill, so Danny turned onto one of them, giving his lungs a break (he had actually started to break out in a light sweat from the uphill climb; a dip underneath the open showers when he got back would feel nice).

This was the lane with what were apparently the rented cabins; each one had a metal number hanging next to the door. They were small little cabins, sitting on cinder blocks, but they looked cozy. The curtains were drawn on one, with a small sedan parked beside it. The next one looked larger and Danny could see through the picture window as he passed, but nobody was inside. Everybody was probably down at the pool, he thought. A few more cabins lay on the lane, but towards the end of the line, there was a giant camper pulled onto the narrow shoulder. It looked more like a bus, long and rectangular, with curtains on the windows and a wooden red door like would belong to a house. It was pretty much a moving house. As Danny got closer, he saw a cable and hose trailing on the ground from the camper to the wall of the nearby cabin, hooked up for power and water. And, as he got even closer, someone else was coming up the lane from the opposite direction, someone with an unmistakable profile.

He gulped, froze in his tracks, but slowly regained his motion as Judy swayed up the dirt road towards him, like him, carrying nothing, except a jangling set of keys that he heard as she got close. She saw him just as he saw her, and she smiled.

"Hey there, taking a walk?" she said as she came up and stopped before him.

"Y-yeah, just got bored. So this is your camper, huh?"

"Yep," she said, turning her head to admire it. "We go on epic trips with it. You could live in it." Then, without missing a beat, she jangled her keys. "I just came up to get some stuff from the fridge. Guess I'm helping with dinner tonight. You guys get to have some if you're staying!"

Danny sure hoped they would be staying, but didn't get to put it in words before Judy smiled and turned to the camper, and he perhaps watched her a little too long as she stood in front of the red door and unlocked it, disappearing up the little steps. The second the door shut he went on his way, walking slowly with his head pointed at the ground as he thought.

It was two o'clock when Danny arrived back at the pool, and he saw that his parents were both in the water, wading around and taking lazy half-laps from one end to the other. The place was packed, and it almost made Danny tense after the quiet, peaceful walk. His parents waved at him and he smiled and waved back, heading through the side door of the clubhouse to go to the open showers he saw there. Another strange feeling: to be turning around under the water, rinsing his body off, in view of anybody that walked by. He once again felt like he was in a softcore porno. But nobody cared. Nobody even walked by. He came out of the clubhouse dripping wet, having not grabbed his towel, and as he saw his beckoning parents and a dozen other people having fun, he jumped in and the water was warm compared to the chill of the shower, and he spent the next thirty or so minutes swimming around and chatting a little bit with his parents when they rested at the side of the pool, and more or less, he spent the duration of his stay in a state of relaxation and didn't even think of Judy, nor look covertly at any of the other younger, attractive women that were there. But he was looking forward to a possible dinner. He suddenly panicked, however, when he mentioned it to his parents, and they reacted with doubt.

"Oh, I don't know," his mother said. "I don't know if we wanna stay here too late. Do we really all want to sleep in a tent?"

"We can just have dinner and then leave," Danny said.

"We still have an hour and a half to drive back. We'd be tired."

"Excuse me, what time is dinner?" Danny's father asked a man who was passing by the side of the pool where they were resting.

"Hungry already eh?" The man laughed. "We usually start sometime between six and seven. It's meatloaf tonight, and Judy's making her green bean casserole!"

"Sounds like a fall asleep type of meal," Danny's father ruminated, and the man went about his way.

"We won't feel like driving after that, that's for sure."

"We can sleep in the tent," Danny pressed. His parents both were silent in contemplation for a moment, as kids splashed in the background.

"We'll stay right up to dinner," his father finally said. "I feel bad about eating a  full helping if I'm not paying, but we can politely accept a little, hang out for a bit, and then leave."

Danny sighed, but that was reasonable enough. He really wanted to spend a night in the tent, but his parents just weren't ready to totally rough it. "Alright," he said.

He was in a little bit of a funk for the rest of the afternoon, knowing that the end would be coming soon, but his spirits lifted when Judy returned to the patio and jumped into the pool. She swam lazily around, apparently getting in a quick dip before she had to work, and at one point she passed by him, close, so close, her body planing on the water like an alligator floating down a river. "You staying for dinner?" she asked.

"For a little bit," Danny said. "We gotta go before it gets dark, though."

"We'll give you some to take home," she said, and winked, and it nearly made Danny keel over (but he was, thankfully, floating).

It was hours later as Danny was laying dry on his lounger and the sun was beginning to fade and his parents were putting a few things into their bags when people began congregating around the plastic tables in front of the awning, and Judy came out of the clubhouse, wiping her brow, her other hand on her hip, and she looked marvelous from the other side of the pool. "Almost ready," Danny heard her voice carry across the water as she talked to one of the people sitting there. As she walked towards the coolers to grab herself a beer, Danny's mother suddenly said: "well, are we about ready to go?"

Danny shot her a look so quick that his neck nearly snapped.

"But dinner! We were going to stay for a little bit of it, right?"

"Yes, but let's get things packed up at least," she said.

"It is starting to get dark," his father said.

"Sundown's not for another two hours."

"Yes, but you know I don't like driving at night. It's my eyes. You enjoy yourself though, son. We'll do the packing."

And it was with a heavy heart that Danny lay in his chair while his parents put things back in their bags—and even put their clothes back on!—and Judy stood by the clubhouse, one hand propped up against the wall as she talked with somebody seated before her, and one hand cradling her beer, with her ankles crossed, and the black of her pubic hair formed into a narrow triangle, hovering right in front of the man's face, who didn't seem to care, just as much as Judy didn't seem to care that Danny was leaving, which hurt.

As his parents walked away towards the gate, he leaned up and considered getting in the pool one last time. But he knew that would only delay their departure and would annoy his parents, so he got up anyway, and instead of getting into the water, he walked around towards the clubhouse. He walked straight for Judy, who's back (and butt) were to him. She turned around as he neared, perhaps sensing him, or more likely seeing the face of the man she was talking to change.

"Oh, hi," she said. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Danny nodded grimly. "Yeah, we're getting ready to."

Judy held up her finger. "Hold on, then," she said, and she set her beer down on the nearby table and turned the corner of her mouth up in the most sweetly intimidating smile Danny had ever been given before turning around and bouncing her way to the side door, leaving him standing before the seated old man, who looked at him curiously, as if assessing Danny.

His parents were coming back through the gate and noticing Danny had moved over to the clubhouse, and were walking up just as Judy came back out holding a large styrofoam to-go box in her hands.

"Oh," his mother said as they came up. "How thoughtful of you. Thank you very much."

"It's a pretty big helping," Judy said, transferring it to Danny's hands, and he felt its immense weight as he faced her, inches away, nude, and he managed, somehow, a trembling "thank you." And then there was another powerful smile. And then she turned and headed back inside so quickly that he realized he had been seeing in slow-motion again.

"Well, get dressed, son. Let's get going."

Danny stood there in a daze for a moment, nodding to the space where Judy had been standing. "Okay," he said, but he stood there one half-minute more, cementing the last image of Judy smiling in his mind so he could take it with him.

*****

The sun was almost all the way down by the time everybody finished their dinner, but the work was not done yet, for there were pans to be cleaned. Jude (her name, in fact, was spelled with an "e," but pronounced as "Judy," something that always interested people) got to relax for a moment, feeling gratified at how pleased everybody was with her string bean casserole, which they sang praises for more than the meatloaf. And, she thought of that boy, who was so obviously taken aback by her, and so obviously a newbie. She hoped he had taken away something positive from his little trip to the resort and was not merely remembering it because he got to look at naked girls. She smiled at the memory of how he fumbled out his words when standing in front of her. He seemed innocent enough.

With a sigh, she got back up to go inside and help clean the pans, only to find that much of the work had already been done. Soon it was time to relax as the moon came up and enjoy more beers with the good people still hanging out. Her parents had taken her niece and nephews back up to the camper to get ready for bed, and she was down there on her own. Rarely did a crowded Saturday night end early. There would be drinks and revelry until well after midnight, and at around ten, the dance would start in the back. These were the best get-togethers to be had anywhere, and Jude always looked forward to them, and never wanted to quit.

She found herself back out under the night sky, with the glow of the pool lights casting shimmering blue over the patio, but nobody was in the water; everybody was sitting or standing by the clubhouse awning, and Jude curled up in her plastic chair, bringing her thighs against her chest, and resting her can of beer on her knees. There was a slight chill in the air, but hardly enough to warrant putting clothes back on, though a few guests did finally put on shirts or robes. The old man—Tom was his name—who she had been chatting with when the boy had come to say goodbye came up and sat down in the rocking chair against the wall across from her. They smiled, and his smile was pleasant and charmed, and there was an element of what was in the boy's eyes there. Of course, Jude always noticed this; everybody was charmed by her, but especially men. It was only natural. But these nudists were so used to the human body that, to them, the sight of her youthful form was no different than a pretty face, and all of them were able to see past that to the person inside, because nobody ever treated her any different here, and she had never had as many long conversations where she didn't care how long they went on as when she spoke with people here.

Soon someone passed by and thanked her for the casserole, and Jude left her thoughts to be in the moment. She forgot about the boy, and got into discussions about old movies, and politics—the only thing she didn't always like discussing with some of the people who came here, but only some—and eventually the dance did start. In the back room of the clubhouse was a wide, open floor, with an L-shaped arrangement of couches, and a projector screen for karaoke. It started out with people doing bad renditions in front of their peers, and when they gave up trying to sing, the dancing started, and Jude was in the center of it, skipping and twirling her attractive body, joining with an older man for a pair dance, letting him gently take her hand and twirl her before him. If the boy had seen that, he would have fainted. But there was nothing dirty in the dance; while some nearby resorts had adult-themed events after-hours, everything here was clean, even if there was a hint of the erotic, for a young woman to be moving her body to the tune of dances, which have eroticism in their soul. She captivated the dance floor with that energy, but did not betray the wholesome image that she also carried, and that characterized nudism, and it was this image that Danny, back, home, lying in his bed, also held, along with the knowledge that he would be back. And next time, they would be renting a cabin and spending the night.

"Well, that was a fantastical, heartwarming story, was it not? I am filled to the core with what this young boy learned.

"It is funny, isn't it, how some people's decorum may disintegrate in the face of pure nakedness on the part of a female girl? One could blame our high-strung society, obsessed with protecting what is pure, secretly driven to pervert anything that is holy."

A set of doors in the back of the room slide open with a buzzing sound, like something out of Star Wars, and a pretty middle-aged woman in a long skirt steps out, holding a folded map in her hands.

"Good evening professor," she says in a curt voice with a pleasant nasally quality to it. "I have your trip ready."

"My trip?" the professor asks his secretary.

"Why yes, did you forget? I have found the coordinates to the infamous island resort you were interested in."

"Oh yes!" our host exclaims, slapping his head. "How could I forget? How could I forget about Junioress Park?"

"Are you ready to go now?"

"Yes, yes, let's get it started, I'm sure our viewers would be eager to see the fabled 'island of naked girls.'"

A strange smirk comes across the face of the secretary, as if she is knowing, or jealous, or just amused. She guides our host over to what looks like a changing booth, but the doors are metal.

"Step inside, and you will be transported there in just a moment," the secretary says. "Oh, you might want to give me your coat."

Our host eyes his tweed covering and slowly takes it off.

"It's very hot there," the secretary explains. "I'd be surprised if you kept even what you have on."

"Well, we shall see," the host says, and he pulls open the heavy door and steps inside the stall.

"Be very still," his secretary explains. "It will take a moment."

The host nods and the pretty woman closes the door on him, their eyes meeting in that last second before all goes black for our host. Then there is a bright flash, which he closes his eyes against, and he doesn't open them again until he hears the call of seagulls.

He opens them. Before him is a wide beach, endless as can be seen, and filled to the edges with girls, scampering about naked under the sun. Our host takes a step out into this wonderful scene.

He observes a host of girls laying out in the sand, baring their bodies to be bronzed, tempting his eyes towards the tufts of hair and soft, splayed-out skin. He continues walking. A group of four girls scampers along the surf, chasing each other, their bodies working and flexing beautifully, and our host is mystified by their natural beauty outside the erotic. He turns. Everywhere he looks are tanned bodies moving under the sun. He considers taking off his own clothes; his dress shirt and slacks are quite muggy in this tropical heat. He loosens the top buttons on his shirt as an errant frisbee lands at his feet, and he interrupts his undress to pick it up and hand it to a charming young girl who approaches him, all smiles, and nothing else. He nods at her and smiles himself as she takes the frisbee and resumes her games. Everybody on the beach seems to be happy, seems to be in complete comfort. What a wondrous utopia this is. As our host turns and surveys the sea, he suddenly remembers that he is hot, and begins to undo his shirt, until there is a great white flash, and before he knows it, he is in the solid blackness of the closet.

The secretary opens the door, and even the low lighting of the study is blinding.

"So, what did you learn?" the secretary asks.

"That simple, nude recreation is the most pure and rewarding leisure time that can be had. And, the most beautiful."

"Indeed," the secretary says. "I was hoping to go in your place."

The professor raises an eyebrow at his assistant.

"Well, if you must, I suppose that you can take a moment to relax in the sun while we conclude our studies."

The secretary smiles. "You do what you need to do, professor."

With that, our host turns to us and leads us on our way, no longer in his tweed coat, but his white, sweat-stained shirt presented before us, quite uncomfortable-looking.

"What a strange world we live in, to be bound by clothes even when they inhibit our quality of life. So one woman discovers, when she encounters a younger girl in the streets, most surprisingly, without her clothes. And she is faced with the moral question: "would you clothe a naked girl?"

Would You Clothe A Naked Girl?

Stacey Adams stepped off the bus and her business heels splashed in a muddy puddle. She cursed, shook it off, and made her way left, down the sidewalk towards her penthouse. She couldn't wait to have her car back, but the mechanic told her there had been some "complications." All she had taken it in for was an oil change. She huffed, breathing in the cool air of the oncoming autumn. It had finally started to cool off, and the nights were a tad chilly and the following mornings were downright biting. She would have to get her warmer business coats dry-cleaned soon, she thought to herself as she pulled in the collar of her light blouse and caught sight of her breath in the streetlamp she passed under. Then, to her shock, something else that caught her sight in a light across the street was much more alarming than her breath.

It was a young woman, strolling down the opposite sidewalk as if she had no care in the world, and she mustn’t have, because she wore no clothes. Her bare shoulders were rolled back as she walked quite comically, and her chest was thrust scandalously forward, two round, golden domes of sin, forming a profile of a sloping backside and a bare hip, her thick thighs moving back and forth and revealing glimpses of a dark pubic area also scandalously uncovered.

The girl passed and was quickly almost out of sight, her bare butt flexing and swaying as she neared the next intersection, and Stacey had the sudden urge to yell out.

"Hey! Are you alright?"

The girl didn’t seem to notice her, and kept walking, crossing the intersection in front of the glare of a waiting car's headlights. She didn't even seem to care what the reaction of the driver inside would be. Her eyes were straight forward, and her step was cheerful and chipper. She must be on drugs, Stacey thought, and hurried down the sidewalk, her heels clack-clack-clacking, to catch up to the naked girl. At the intersection, she jaywalked diagonally across, and the car began to turn left and honked at her. She put up her hand in a polite but urgent gesture and hurried to the other corner, the girl growing smaller and smaller ahead, a small, wiggling naked figure. Stacey tried to trot the best she could manage in her heels. The girl was walking so damn fast. She thought about taking the heels off to run, but didn't want to get her stockings torn and soaked with nasty sidewalk water. Thankfully, though, the girl appeared to have stopped. She was standing in side-profile now, peering into a shop window, her breasts hanging before her as she leaned forward.

"Hey," Stacey called. "Hey," and the girl finally turned her head towards her as she came up, panting and heels tapping. She had the fade of a smile on her face, and her piercing blue eyes were fixed with wonder and confusion, and perfectly complemented her golden hair, which flowed over her shoulders like silk and almost made Stacey jealous. Damn, she thought. I'm going to have to find out who her hairdresser is.

"Are you alright?" she asked the girl. "Do you need help?"

"Not at all. I'm just fine! I was just walking home."

Her directness and matter-of-fact speaking floored Stacey, and the way she turned to face her without covering up any of her body, so that her eyes fought briefly to meet the girl's, passing over her shameless, neatly-trimmed, auburn pubic strip, up to her perfectly symmetrical, lively breasts, and the inquisitive face now looking at her with just as much confusion as Stacey had. She felt stupid asking, but it was the only logical next question.

"Then... why are you naked?"

"Why I'm always naked," the girl said with a shrug and a bounce of her chest, which made Stacey flinch with shame.

"Forgive me for asking but... are you on drugs?"

"Nope," the girl said, shaking her head, and fluffing her perfect blonde hair. "Not at all." Then, she squinted her eyes at Stacey and grew a wry smile. "You must not be from around here."

"I live just up the street..."

The girl shrugged, and her expression lightened. "Surprised you haven't heard about me. Well, I have to get going!"

With that, she canted her head with a smile and turned to walk away, bouncing her butt practically in Stacey's face.

"Wait," Stacey said, following. "Do you need a place to stay?"

"No, I said I'm on my way home, remember?" the girl said, looking over her shoulder at Stacey.

"But where's home? A shelter?"

"What? No! It's right here."

And then the girl stopped in front of a tall, newly-built apartment complex that Stacey had always known of. It was one of those posh, ultra-upper-class condominium buildings, way above her pay grade. This girl lived here?

"You live here?

"Yep, a few years now." The girl punched a combination onto a panel next to the glass doors and a green light came on as it buzzed and she opened the door.

"Wait, you really live here?" Stacey asked, standing in the open doorway. "But how?" The girl turned around, holding the door open still.

"I bought a condo, of course. I like this area."

"But what do you do?"

The girl was starting to look annoyed at Stacey's constant questions.

"You're getting a little nosy, aren't you? If you don't believe I live here, why don't you come on up and I'll show you my place? But first, what's your name?"

Stacey was beginning to feel like she was the naked one. She could still hardly believe that this girl, too young to be advanced in any career, could afford this place, and why on Earth she would be walking around in the streets naked, like an animal.

"My name's Stacey."

The girl smiled, a more polite, courteous smile. "I'm Tanya. And I'm a nude model. Come on in."

The girl stepped aside so Stacey could enter, but not far aside enough that Stacey wouldn't have to squeeze through to avoid brushing against her prominent breasts. So that explains it, Stacey thought. Well, at least some of it.

"So why do you walk around naked, even outside?" Stacey asked as she carefully stepped into the lobby of the building she only ever imagined living in. The room was cool, the ceiling high and expansive, and everything seemed to gleam. Tanya let the door fall closed and fell into step beside her as they slowly made their way to the elevators at the end of the lobby.

"I'm a nude model not particularly because of the money necessarily," Tanya said, "but that I just like being nude. So I found a job that suits that, and I stay nude all the time."

They reached the elevator and Tanya pushed the hail button and waited, and Stacey felt so strange to be chatting casually with a young woman while her bare breasts floated below her field of vision.

"Yes, but how is that even allowed?"

"That's why I asked if you're not from around here," Tanya said.

The elevator beeped and opened, and they entered. Stacey stood uncomfortably close to Tanya, almost touching her cotton-swathed shoulder to Tanya's bare one as Tanya pressed a button and they rode up to the twentieth floor.

"Some allowances have been made," Tanya explained. "First, in this building, and then on this block. The city ordinance and the police are okay with it, as long as it's contained to a close proximity of the building. I walk around naked all the time. I go to the little café just down the road, I even shop for clothes, which is fun."

Stacey took all this in. She was pretty sure it was farther than a block away when she saw the girl. She obviously liked skirting with the barely-permissible. She obviously didn't like skirts.

The elevator beeped and opened again, and Stacey followed Tanya into a nicely-carpeted hallway so quiet that even one's footsteps dissolved into nothingness.

"When I first moved here, I of course was naked in my condo all the time, but sometimes I would venture out into the halls naked. That sure surprised a few people. It was then that I spoke to the manager of the building and asked permission to be nude at all times, at any place in the building. And things just went from there."

As they walked down the hall, a door opened and a pink mass of flesh stepped out: a man, in his sixties, portly, balding and with a pair of glasses and a smile, also nude, closed his door and strolled towards them.

"Hi Tanya," he said with a quick salute, and kept walking past them. He had a little penis that flipped as he walked, but he didn't seem to notice as much as Stacey did. She froze in her tracks and Tanya kept walking a few more doors until she noticed Stacey had stopped. The naked man was behind Stacey; she was staring off into space.

"Come on," Tanya said with a quick wave, and Stacey came back into this world again. She slowly began to move and catch up with Tanya. "My place is just up ahead."

Tanya stopped in front of a door and, without any pockets or purse or keys, fingered in another combination on yet another keypad, an implementation, Stacey began to figure, of the accommodating staff.

The door beeped and Tanya stepped in, reaching for a light switch as Stacey fell in behind—but not too close behind. When she entered, she stepped into a modest and small but impeccably clean and modern apartment, with a wide window framing the view of the city lights. An open living and dining area was furnished with maroon leather furniture, and several giant framed prints of Tanya in the nude were hung, to give Stacey an idea of what she looked like under a photographer's lighting and lens. A bookshelf sat behind the couch, filled to the brim with what looked like old, battered novels towards the top and thickening out to big, giant art books towards the bottom, probably books of nude art and photography. Tanya moved to the left and flipped on another light to reveal a nook of a kitchen, with gleaming granite countertops.

"As you probably figured, this is a nudist condo complex now," Tanya said as she opened a cupboard and fished out a glass. "When they allowed me to walk around naked, I guess some people got jealous, and they started doing it, too. It sort of became decreed unofficially. For the HOA it was a way of 'equalizing,' since I was probably distracting as a model, but with everybody walking around naked... would you like anything to drink?"

She was now standing by her refrigerator, slowly filling up her glass with water. Stacey stood there and stared as she tipped the glass back and drank thirstily, trickling rivulets down her chest. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and continued. "I was going to have a glass of wine, myself."

Wine. That sounded good.

"Wine would be good," Stacey said. "Thank you."

Tanya turned back around and opened the cupboard for two wine glasses.

"So everybody in this building is naked?" Stacey asked as Tanya came and set the glasses down on a wooden table near the counter peninsula and popped open the cork of a bottle of red that had been sitting there.

"Not everybody, but most of them. It's 'clothing optional,' so everybody can do what they want."

"So is this like an adult swingers' residency?"

"What? No. It's nothing like that. It's just nudist. There are families here, even children."

"Children?"

Tanya looked up at her with a raised eyebrow and then raised a glass for her to take.

"Yes, there's nothing wrong with that," the scandalously naked girl said, waiting for Stacey to take her wine. "It's just the body."

Stacey was shocked, and finally took her glass. She needed a nip.

"There's nothing sexual that goes on here," Tanya continued, then paused to take a healthy sip of her own wine. "Besides what would normally go on in any building."

"Yes, but, your work is sexualized." Stacey’s wine hand was trembling now.

"To a degree," Stacey agreed. "But nothing more than you'd see with fashion models."

"Except you're naked!"

"Well yeah, there's that. But you can be naked and non-sexual. I happen to be pretty, so people like to look at me, and there's sexual appeal in that. But it’s the same as looking at a pretty face. Or at least, that's how I see it."

"I was just raised a little differently," Stacey said, and took another drink of wine—a big one.

"So was I."

"Where were you born?" Stacey asked, taking yet another sip, an inquisitive sip. She was beginning to be fascinated by this shameless naked girl.

"Here, not too far. I've lived near the city most of my life. My parents just taught me not to be ashamed of my body, or to shame anyone else's. And I guess I took those lessons to heart."

"They know what you do?"

"Oh yeah. Of course they do. They're a little leery that I'm in the spotlight, but they're happy for me. I'm happy for me. I couldn't have been any luckier to have found myself in the place where I am now, where I can make money off of how I love living and where my environment supports it. It could be better, though. Maybe with time, this won't just be a nudist condo, but a naked street."

"A naked street," Stacey repeated, letting the words dance on her tongue like naked pagan dancers deep in the woods. It didn't make her feel good. A whole street full of people living in the nude? And with children? She could not get past that. They weren't animals, for Chrissakes.

"Sounds great, huh?" Tanya said, apparently of a different opinion from her guest. "Like a whole group of people, getting back in touch with nature. It'd be better if there were a little more nature around here, though. That's what I truly like. Come, look."

Tanya took her wine glass and walked out towards the living room, looking like somebody enjoying time unclothed at home without the company of someone else there. It was so surreal. Nevertheless, Stacey followed.

Tanya motioned to the pictures on the wall. They depicted her kneeling by a stream. One had her gazing off of a mountaintop, her butt facing the camera as she shielded her eyes from the sun and took in the view, and the view took in her. Almost all of the pictures depicted her in nature, except for a couple, one showing her getting out of the bath, laughing at the photographer as she grabbed her towel; a very candid picture, and another showing her rolling around in bed, the sheets wrapping around her naked frame until they became a part of her, all the same shape, just different textures.

"These were taken up at the McCallister Nature Preserve," Tanya said, holding her wine glass and looking on with pride at her pictures. "Nobody bothers us up there, and it's so beautiful. It's so much more beautiful when you're nude. It's a different kind of beautiful, though, a kind you see with your feelings."

Stacey didn't know if she was all about what this girl was spouting, but it did sound nice and convincing.

"Even still," Tanya continued. "Being naked is nice no matter what, as you can see from the other pictures. Rolling around in bed, getting out of the shower without having to put anything on... you feel so much cleaner. Everybody says being naked is 'dirty,' but it's actually the complete opposite. I hate that word. When it's used to describe what's natural, anyway."

"The whole world's dirty," Stacey said, meaning, to her, that there was so much scandal and hyper-sexualization, even in their mainstream media, and that there was so much openness about things that should be private, that she sometimes worried that they truly were in an era of depravity, but what she also could have meant, and what Tanya must have interpreted, was that the world literally was covered in dirt, that to be with nature, one was caked with earth, that what we wash off our hands is what makes up our planet, and that there really wasn't anything "dirty" about that at all. That must have been what Tanya had interpreted, for she nodded her head and said "Yeah! The whole world is a sandbox, so just dive in!"

It was a quaint philosophy. Stacey had to admit it moved her a little. And it reassured her, despite Tanya's uninhibited nudity, her absolute willingness to show off her body, that she was not displaying rank sexual acts or deviancy reserved for the darkest corners of the internet. There was something wholesome in those pictures. One caught her eye, a much smaller one, an eight-and-a-half by eleven photo of a different nude girl sitting on the porch of on old cabin, with a clothed, fat old man sitting next to her and grinning with all the carefree attitude of someone happy at where he'd gotten in life. The girl's 'naughty' parts were half-hidden, as her arm graced her front and half-hid her nipples, and her crotch was pinched between her thighs, but not hiding the dark smudge of her pubic hair. Nothing in the photo brought focus to it, either. It was just there, treated as normally as the man's denim overalls and laughing smile.

"What's that picture?" Stacey asked.

"Oh," Tanya said. "That's another nude model. I never met her, but I did meet the guy who photographed her. I love this picture so much. They were shooting in this field and found this old house, and this guy was just living there, out in the middle of nowhere all by himself, and he was tickled pink at having his backyard be the scene of a nude photoshoot. He was a widower, but seeing that model and having her hang out on his porch lifted his spirits. He wasn't pervy or anything, in fact he was so uplifted by the whole thing that they gave him one of these prints. It's kind of an inspiration for me."

"Hmmmm..." Stacey said aloud, not quite moved by the story herself and pondering how somebody could be "inspired" or "uplifted" about a dirty old man leering at a young naked woman, but she had to admit there was an element of the photo that could almost be described as magic. Perhaps she just wasn't hard-wired to see it fully.

Tanya turned from the photos and took her wine to the leather couch, leaning into it with a puttering squeak and cradling her glass above her lap.

"Have a seat, if you like," she said, and Stacey turned towards her, taken aback by the strange and alluring sight of this naked girl sitting primly on her couch, almost looking like a slightly steamier photo, one where the model is making eyes at the symbolic lucky guy off-camera. But she was not doing anything to be alluring. She was merely sitting there as one would sit in the presence of a houseguest.

"I probably should get going," Stacey said, taking a bigger sip of wine. "I have some reports to go over tonight, so I shouldn't really be out late. I had just followed you because I thought you might have been in trouble. It's been interesting talking to you, though."

"Thanks, I enjoyed sharing my thoughts."

"And thanks for the wine." As she said this, she tipped the glass back to finish it.

"You ought to try getting naked on your way out."

Stacey choked that last gulp down.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she said, lowering the glass with a gasp.

"Sure you could! You're in the best setting for it. You're allowed to be naked here. Nearly everybody else is naked, and nobody will judge."

"I'm a bit older and more beat up than you," Stacey continued defending. "It wouldn't be pretty."

"Did you see that guy back there in the hall? It doesn't matter. Like I said, nobody's going to judge. You can walk all the way downstairs and all the way outside and nobody will stop you, either."

Stacey stood there with her empty wine glass, shaking her head. What this girl was describing was a complete fantasy, because there was no way in hell she would do any of that. She wouldn't even be able to step out in the hallway. It just wasn't her.

"Not that I'm trying to pressure you or anything," Tanya added. "If you really are uncomfortable with it, then don't. But most people are uncomfortable with the idea at first. And most of them love it afterward."

"Not me, I bet," Stacey said. "Like I said, I was raised different."

"That's fine."

Stacey held up her wine glass.

"Would you like me to take this back to the kitchen for you?"

"I'll get it. You can leave it on the coffee table there. Want me to see you out?"

"I can manage. Thank you, truly. You are a fascinating person."

Tanya smiled and raised her wine glass, once again looking like something out of a Cinemax movie. "Thanks. Feel free to stop by any time if you'd like. And if you catch me on the street, don't forget to say hey."

"I won't. I bet for sure I wouldn't miss you."

With that, Stacy bowed her head and made for the door, and Tanya took her glass and stood, walking with her towards the kitchen.

"Have a good night," she said as Stacey opened the door, and she turned back to look at the girl one more time, standing there casually, a wine glass in each hand, one full, one empty, hanging on her fingers like the weights of Lady Justice, with no robes to cover herself, and the glasses contrasted from each other like the two women's contrasting opinions. It was the last and most poignant image Stacey had of her.

"Thanks," she said. "You too," and she turned and walked out of the apartment.

In the hall, on the way back to the elevator, Stacey played through the weird and unexpected twist her night had taken, and this encounter which was something like a dream, and all the things they talked about. And she played through in her head the imagined scenario of her doing what the young woman had suggested: walk on out of here buck naked. She laughed at herself. How could she ever bring herself to do something like that? How could anybody? Luckily, the hall was quiet and there was nobody out, so there were no other naked people for her to encounter on her way out.

When she reached the elevator, she pushed the button and waited, and thought some more. How indeed could she do something like that? That was probably the thought that passed through most first-timer's minds if what Tanya said was to be believed. And how did they get over that hurdle of that thought? They just did it. She imagined herself again, standing in the hall just as she was now, but with nothing on, and riding the elevator down and stepping out into the lobby in the altogether. And she laughed.

Well, there is nobody in the hall, she thought to herself. If she really wanted to try it, now would be the time to get over that hurdle. Like Tanya said, there were no consequences for public nudity here.

Was she really thinking about this? She shook her head at herself. She shook her head, but at the same time, she began unbuttoning her blouse. She suddenly wanted to step out of the elevator nude just as she imagined. There was literally no peril in doing so. Still, she felt her brain screaming at her "what are you doing?!" as she opened her shirt and dropped it at her feet, like some striptease show, standing there in her white bra, which she was already going about unclipping.

By the time the elevator opened, she was naked. The worst part was feeling the muffin top at her waist that the stocking slip made, but when she peeled that off, she suddenly felt better, more free. The muffin top was gone. Sure, she had a little bit of a paunch, and felt it with her hands, and the rough, veined skin underneath, and then her fingers reached the edge of her bushy, coarse pubic hair, reminding her that that too was exposed, and little exclamation marks went up in her head. And then the elevator doors started to close.

She stuck her hand out to make them open again and grabbed up her clothes in a tight bundle and hurried in, slipping back into her heels as she stumbled inside. Hear heart was beating furiously now, with many magnified fears all occurring at once. The fear of getting in trouble [null], the fear of being judged [possibly null, if Tanya was to be believed] and the fear of being sexually approached [very possible]. Standing in her heels added to the feeling of inappropriateness. She felt like a showgirl with them on, and they made her butt stick out just as they were designed to do. She thought about kicking them off and carrying them, but then she lost the ability to think as the doors opened again, and she was looking out at the lobby.

There was nobody there, thank God, but she remained in the elevator, unable to take that step out onto the high-ceilinged room, a place where it didn't feel like one belonged naked. But when the doors began to close, she stuck out her free hand and tottered out.

She felt like a star in the spotlight, though no eyes were on her. She felt embarrassed, to be displaying her old, weathered body, and she also felt... comfortable. Besides the heels, which went tap-tap-tap on the marble floor, she felt incredibly unrestricted, not in the sense that she could go anywhere she wanted, but in the sense that her body could move any way it wanted. The pinch of her bra and the pain at her waist were gone; it was like she was floating through the air. She would have kicked off the heels as well, but as she slowly walked through the lobby, drinking in the sensation of being refreshingly naked, and growing surprisingly more and more used to it with each second, like a cheap thrill that goes away and needs to be replenished again, she thought she would try to expand on that feeling, and she didn't want to walk on the sidewalk on her bare feet. She could hardly believe it, but she was walking towards the front door.

She wanted to feel what the cool night air was like on her skin, that all-over feeling that she already felt now, only possibly better. She wanted to be able to look up at the moon completely bare, like a primitive human from thousands of years ago. Would there be something in that appeal of nature there like Tanya had described? One thing was for sure, though: going out there almost guaranteed being seen. But it was allowed. Nobody would arrest her. And before her brain could convince her otherwise, she was hitting the green exit button and stepping out into the cool night.

The sounds of cars in the distance and the general hum of activity of a city at night alarmed her and made her realize just how naked and exposed she was, and she froze there on the wide sidewalk in front of the building. The air bit harshly, enough to make her want to put on her clothes soon. But for the moment, she focused on the feeling. She could see lighted windows above, and looked for silhouettes of anybody that might be looking (on this street, she imagined there might be lots of voyeurs). She could not see the moon. But she did feel an incredible swell in her chest, and the distinctive coolness on her bare butt cheeks, and an odd feeling from her pubic area as if it were able to finally breathe for the first time. And then there was the sound of an engine, and as she looked down, a car slowed to a stop in front of her, and she instantly recognized the pudgy face of Tom, her boss.

Oh shit! she thought, but the look on his face was strange, not too leering or shocked, but merely puzzled, as his window rolled down.

"Stacey?" he said. "You live here too?"

She was still frozen, on display for him like a statue at a museum, and the first thing he asked was if she lived here? She suddenly imagined him naked, living his life in this strange, affluent condominium. It did not fit at all with her previous images of him.

"Um, no," she said, fumbling with her hands and beginning to cover herself with her bundled-up clothes which she held in front of her. "I don't, actually."

"Just visiting then, huh? I was just getting back."

"I had no idea..."

"Yeah, it's not something I really advertise. People would think about it the wrong way, you know? Glad to see you have an open mind, though."

She couldn't think of what to say, but the more she stood naked in front of him, the more she wanted to get the hell out of here, even though he didn't seem to care about her body.

"I'd lose the heels, though," he said. "You look like a showgirl."

Her shock disappeared and she looked squarely at him.

"Well, I gotta get in. See you tomorrow at work."

And with that, he pulled forward and turned around the corner into a ramp leading to the parking garage, and Stacey was left standing confused on the sidewalk, a whole host of questions and hypotheticals running through her head, and she stood there long enough to forget that she was naked out in public.

"What a strange journey that was. May Stacey carry on the things she has learned into her own life. That a naked girl could empower somebody into a new way of thinking! What type of alignment may she end up adjusting to? Imagine... as you will imagine, at this next story, a very important story, a story of what happened when a naked girl walked into my office."

A Naked Girl Walked into My Office

It was somewhere close to midnight, I'm not sure of the time, when I was sitting in my office, pouring over old books and reports, and was interrupted from my monotonous obsessing by the most surprising visitor.

I usually don't like surprises in my office that late at night because my office is more like a library. It in fact encompasses two different rooms and a mini-maze of bookshelves, with my desk tucked away in a hidden nook in back. I usually have a secretary helping me, and after dark the cleaning lady arrives, shuffling through the shelves like a lumbering caretaker amongst tombstones. But neither my secretary nor the cleaning lady were present. In fact, they were long-gone. So I don't like to think about visitors in my library. At least I used to not like to think about it. That's sure to change now. When this encounter ended, it was after three-thirty, so God only knows how much time had transpired. And I'll go ahead and break the suspense: my visitor was a naked young woman.

I shall get the descriptions out of the way, I suppose. She appeared from behind the tall bookshelf that hid me from the rest of my library. I didn't even hear her approach. It was the movement at the tops of my eyes that made me look up from the book I was helplessly staring at and it was fear that made my heart seize up, but then it was something quite different that made it cease to beat, for in the amber illumination of my desk lamp this young woman's skin was aglow from head to toe, the light bathing her in quiet fire and her jet-black hair swallowing the rest. And her dark eyes looked directly at me, as if she expected me to be there.

I said I'd get the descriptions out of the way, so here I go. She was very shapely, not thin nor too thick, but wide in the hips, and with ample bosom that the light played on so salaciously, crescent moons of lamplight on their undersides; the mute salmon red of her areolas. And between those hips was a jet-black wedge that had twinkles of reflected light on its many crisp fibers. I don't know if I took in all these shocking details in an instant, or if there was a substantial amount of time before she spoke, but when she did speak, she said: "Do you intend to be here all night?"

Naturally, this confused me. She said it like she knew me, and I racked my brain; had one of my fellow chums arranged for a call girl to come surprise their workaholic colleague late into his studies? I considered it, but that didn't seem like something my friends would do. Was this girl on drugs? Did she somehow wander into the supposedly-locked university building and roam its halls in the nude, only to come up, whether by elevator or the stairs, to my office, thinking it to be someone else's den? I imagined her wandering the shadowy halls nude, and the campus outside before that in the moonlight. Was she nude the whole time? I wondered. It was a strangely arousing thought, but perhaps it came from the topic of my studies, which just happened to involve the erotic and the depraved. Maybe it was my fellows pulling a prank, I thought, and that's when I finally made my reply to this naked girl, who had not moved from where she stood, permitting me to gaze uninterrupted at her uninterrupted body. I said "did Gregory put you up to this?" and her reply only further puzzled me. "I'm here because of you."

I leaned back in my chair. I looked at her. I couldn't help but look at her. This was going to be an interesting night, I thought.

I asked her many more pressing questions, questions which she answered cryptically or outright dodged, and she only took one or two more steps further into my secret nook, otherwise just standing there without a hint of shyness about her every bit of being exposed to me, and once I was sure that there was not some confusion or that I wasn't about to be seduced and that she wasn't about to produce a knife out of somewhere, I asked her to sit if she'd like. So she did. She sashayed close to my desk and to the small leather chair in front of it, practically strutting, each step deliberate and on tip-toes (no wonder I didn't hear her coming), swaying her hips and that teasing triangle with each step, and angling her knees elegantly as she lowered her naked butt into the seat of my guest chair. She delicately crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, not hiding her pubic hair at all. And she just sat there and finally smiled at me.

"Okay, what do you want?" I asked her. "I will admit this is a nice interruption, but it's still an interruption, and I'm very busy."

"I know," she said. "I can feel your concentration for miles."

"And now it's no doubt gone."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

She had a coy turn of her mouth as she said that last part, and I suppose it was true; I was now studying her, every alluring and delectable curve of her full-figured body, and tangentially related it was to my work, as I was researching the historical legacy of prostitution, and stemming from that, the dominant male ideal of femininity throughout the ages, and stemming from that, the modern-day concept of "the male gaze." My studies have always been focused on the more "risqué" aspects of history, though as of late those studies have turned completely saucy, thanks mostly to a young man who visited me lately and asked for a record of moments in history where women went inexplicably and shamelessly nude—outside the normal situations of communal bath and social nudity. That young man was a strange fellow, and I thought of him just then, as I beheld a woman inexplicably and very shamelessly nude.

"And what have you learned?" the woman asked me next. It was as if she already knew what I was studying.

"That people throughout history are obsessed with sex," I said. "What else is new?"

"So that's it, huh?"

I cocked my head at her. I asked her what she was getting at. And once again I asked her who she was. She told me "every creature is obsessed with sex, at least the ones that procreate. But humans are different, aren't they? It's not really sex they obsess about."

"Yes it is," I said with a laugh. I was letting myself relax and enjoy this puzzling conversation. I might as well enjoy myself, I thought. Though it was hard not to enjoy a conversation with a beautiful naked woman. The more obvious enjoyment, of course, would be laying down with said beautiful naked woman. We really are obsessed with sex, see? But this naked woman didn't agree. No, she shook her head—rather scoldingly—and again strangely arousing—and she said: "other animals don't make statues of the things they want to have sex with."

"Well they can't," I said. "They don't have the capacity to."

"They fuck anything that moves," the woman said.

"Have you ever been a teenager?" I told her, laughing again. "So do we." I was not expecting her poker face.

"The basest among you, perhaps," she said. I was starting to find it weird how she referred to all of humanity in that detached way. "The rest of you, though, those with the capacity for thought, well, it is often filled with the idea of beauty, is it not?"

I could see what she was getting at. Literally as well as figuratively. She had quite a figure.

"So you took off your clothes and came up to my office just to prove that to me?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "I came because you called."

Now I was lost again. But I of course had misunderstood what she meant. "I haven't picked up my phone since before the sun went down," I said. "How did you get in here, anyway? Did you come from outside like that?" I was starting to think that maybe I should pick up the phone to call public safety, but I didn't add that part.

She stood then, and came right up to my desk. "Yes," she said.

"Yes what?"

"I came from... far outside." I think that's how she put it. "I came because I heard your call."

"I said that I didn't call, dammit."

Now she sat herself on the edge of my desk. I watched her bottom squish on the polished wood, her bare hip facing sideways to me, the roughage of her lap peeking up above her thigh, and those breasts hovering over me, and her leering look.

"Look, I uh..."

"Touch me," she said. Her palm flattened out on the desk between her hip and my hand, and she looked to reach out to me and make me go through with her request, but my hand moved of its own accord and lifted slowly to those floating breasts, surprisingly soft, and buoyant. She looked down at me intently as I cupped one large palmful and traced the contour until the bump of her stiff nipple. She looked down at me and didn't make any change of expression from her seemingly amused smile. I followed her breast up to her shoulder, passing my right hand through a curtain of hair, then up her neck and along her jaw. Her skin was like hot fire, not unlike the quickly-building passion that drove my left hand to lightly touch her hip and trace up the tops of her gluts to the small of her back, while my right hand descended between her breasts, down her soft abdomen to the forest of her lap, feeling the bristly down, and then tracing her thighs. I had the image of myself then, panting senior professor in his fifties, lurched over his desk and groping a woman half his age, probably a student! It was not a good image.

"Touch me all over," she said. "Touch me and make a statue out of me." She swung her legs across my desk and I scooted back as she planted them in front of me and lifted her butt off my papers to stand. My hands quickly traveled to the new unexplored area. Her butt was as smooth as the polished wood on my desk, not a bump or bristle, as if she were an erotic supernatural creature come to life from a cheesecake magazine. I wanted to see it, but I was looking face-to-face with that wedge of dark hair, and the teasing of nether-lips at its bottom. I felt her hands on me now, first on my shoulder.

"Pay homage to me," she said. Then her hands went to the top of my head. She didn't push. I collapsed my face flatly onto her bush, kissing hair, my lips flattening the bristle to the skin underneath, to the landscape hidden. She smelled human enough.

What am I doing? I thought, wondering if she was a student (who else could she be?) as she slid her butt back on the desk and opened her legs to me. Carefully she draped one leg over my shoulder, and I braced my hand on it as I leaned in and paid her requested homage.

It has been probably twenty years since I have performed cunnilingus. I've had sex since then, of course (of course, though I am an unmarried man, but of course!), but this particular task was something I was unsure if I was skilled at, not that I didn't know what I was doing, but because the girl didn't make a sound the whole time. After a few quiet minutes of licking and lashing, I would pull away and look up, but she would only gently press my face back into her. She was moist enough, not gushing or squirting, but leaving my short beard damp when I was eventually done. And I was only done when my mouth was tired. I probably ate her out for nearly an hour, and I became quite accustomed to the entire layout of the house of her femininity. It was a narrow house of pillowed walls, and the doorbell didn't seem to work, though I found it in the bushes and worked on it with my tongue, teasing and dashing against it to no audible effect. But finally, I did feel her hips tense and rise slightly. I guess I was doing okay.

I resorted back to licking her vulva from bottom to top when my jaw could no longer labor, and it was after five or so hungry laps that I decided it upon myself that I was done, and I leaned back in my chair and looked up at her for approval, and she had that sly smile on her. She dropped her leg from over my shoulder and stood again. I heard the old, fragile book I was studying fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

The woman widened her stance and straddled my lap. Snugly she pressed into me, her weight pressing down and stirring to life my sex, and she graced her arms on my shoulders. I looked down at her fine breasts and I instinctively buried my face in between them, whetting her cleavage with the moisture from her sex, spreading the joy as I traveled my lips from the valley to the summits, to the tiny stiff spires. She seemed to let me have my fun. She didn't stop me, her hands still resting on my shoulders, and when I backed off she was smiling down at me like a mother. Her hands slid the fabric of my shirt around on my skin, until they descended to the top-most button where she fingered it like a clitoris.

"Would you like to mate with me?" she said, oddly worded. I nodded my head of course. The top button popped open. Her other hand was massaging everywhere. "Do you want to mate with me because I am a hole, or because you are struck by my beauty?"

"Beautiful," I dumbly said like a caveman. "You're beautiful." She smiled and undid the next button. And then, suspensively, the next. I helped her, and then I was furiously tearing open my shirt, trying to slide it off my back as I sat pressed between her and the chair. She helped me off with my undershirt, and then slid off my lap so as allow me to unbuckle my belt. She pulled the pants off for me, and with dignity pulled at the elastic of my tighty whities and freed the titan underneath.

Okay, am I touting myself a little too much? Either way, I was waving like a flag for her as she pulled my underwear down to my feet, her head coming close, so close, to the urgency of my arousal. Her hair fell over it and tickled my crown. Then she climbed up on me again, bracing herself on my shoulders, and she lowered herself onto me. I slipped in with the warmth and snugness of forgotten years, and she fell against me, her breasts pressing into my chest, and we made love, or the imitation of it. It didn't matter. As I looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman that had ever taken her clothes off in front of me (scratch that, straight-up introduced herself to me naked), I could hardly believe I was having sex with her at this very moment. But the raw, persistent pleasure of her intimates closing on and pulling on mine was a pure ecstasy that kept me rooted in the scene, with little spacial perspective to doubt, and so great as the ecstasy that I feared I was going to cut it short right then. So awash in the moment was I that I didn't consider the fear of inseminating a student, or being part of a campus scandal. I only rocked in the chair with her, slowly, like the waves of the ocean, her breasts lifting away from me and softly collapsing on my chest again, over and over, my hands on her smooth back, the weight of her in my lap, the tickle of her pubic hair and the building pressure below.

"Oh, oh."

She stopped immediately. It was as if she could read and sense every aspect of my body. She slid off of me and stood, my urgency left tense and twitching. I was panting and staring at her in protest, but she splayed herself out on my desk, spreading the remaining papers there. I thought I was going to eat her out again, or to resume fucking her from that position, but she said: "touch me again, touch me and commit me to memory."

Okay, I thought. I stood, my arousal waving over her like a sword on a fallen enemy, and I ran my hands up her abdomen to her breasts, now semi-flattened by gravity, then down her abdomen again. She tilted her head to gaze directly at me.

"Now sacrifice to me," she said.

My hand stopped (in the middle of her stomach). I didn't quite know what she meant. I was wondering if I had just stumbled upon the occult underbelly of the campus, or if she was going to have me sacrifice a child, but she reached up to me, or rather, to my littler me, merely brushing it with her fingertips.

"Sacrifice," she said. Now I understood, and I took myself into my hand, my right hand, while I continued running my left up and down her abdomen. I jacked off. I didn't quite feel myself while doing it. It wasn't something I would quite do, to just masturbate onto a woman. It felt disrespectful. I had never done anything like that in my younger exploits. This was something strictly for porn. Yet I massaged my cock in my grip, and it glistened and stiffened as the god of sacrifice waited patiently, eyes fixated intently on it, and I couldn't stop jacking, though I wanted to, if only to savor this moment and record it in time. But I suppose that was my responsibility afterwards: to immortalize this moment. Or at least to immortalize the woman who had brought me to this moment. And the moment quickly came, as did I. Through my fingers my ribbon launched with a sudden spurt, the violence of it surprising me, and I watched as I emptied onto the abdomen of this strange, angelic naked girl who had walked into my office, and who now lay on my desk with stripes of white appearing on her stomach, and she writhed and twisted under me as every last spurt emptied onto her. Her fingers traveled to her stomach to play in the white rivers there, fingertips depressing into my viscous passion. And then, for the briefest moment, I closed my eyes, and I wonder if that may have been a mistake, for when I opened them, she was gone.

I had felt her rubbing my forearms as I embraced the euphoria behind my eyelids. And maybe it was the sudden termination of that touch that made me flutter them open, for she must have made her escape. All that was below me were my scattered papers. The book was still on the floor. My naked angel had departed.

It might satisfy you that I did check to see if my desk was striped with my own semen, that I checked if this magnificent visitor was just a figment of my tormented imagination. But there was nothing there. Take from that what you will. I never saw my naked visitor again.

I certainly heard about her, though. It seems campus gossip of a naked girl wandering the grounds one night had spread, answering my question if she had entered my building the way she had entered my office. When my previous client returned, he was wide-eyed with amazement about it, as if it confirmed his secret theory. The look on his face when I told him that that naked girl had been in my office! He was really interested in my story now, and he's now in constant contact with me. And I might say that I'm no longer troubled in my studies, but impassioned. Driven, now. For I have had an enviable encounter with what my client claims has visited countless other people, and what is undeniably supernatural. He, who is writing a book on the phenomena, is quite jealous that I have had an experience while he has not. It is probably no coincidence that it happened shortly after meeting him. Perhaps he is immune, while I am not.

I think about what the strange girl had told me of beauty, and tried to think: was it the feeling of the sex with her that was memorable or was it the visuals? The feeling was undeniable, but it is her image that haunts me. Maybe haunts is the wrong word. Lives with me. For I am obsessed now with the object of beauty, and I have pledged to dedicate my tenure to delving into its allure and mystery. It's time for our journey to begin.

- Professor Tom Dougherty

All is quiet. Our host looks at us somberly, as if he is remembering his past.

"That was quite an interesting story to wrap up with, now wasn't it? Just who was that young woman? I may never know."

The metal closet door opens and the professor's secretary steps out, no longer in her blouse and skirt, but completely nude, her body incredibly tan, her areolas incredibly dark, the hair at the top of her thighs as black as the hair on top of her head. The professor turns to look.

"What did I miss?" the young woman asks.

"I was just telling of a mysterious encounter with an enticing woman, and I am reminded of it again now. I see you have gotten into the spirit of things."

The secretary blushes and brushes her hair out of her eyes, yet she makes no attempt to cover herself. "Why yes, I took what you said to heart. I could have stayed there forever."

"Indeed," the professor says, politely taking in her naked presence and then averting his eyes to us, the viewers. "Indeed I could have myself. But I have important work to do."

"So you finally got to your story?"

"Yes, I have. If you haven't guessed by now, dear viewer, the man who had a naked girl walk into his office was none other than me. That must have been two years ago now. I am forever affected by that strange and erotic encounter. So much so, that I have devoted my life to delving into its mystery. Two years and I still don't feel that I've made any progress. But perhaps if you, dear viewer, have taken something from all this, you may branch out and perform your own parallel studies, and perhaps together we may unravel the questions that hover over this arousing topic."

"Well, I have to go," the secretary says. "Don't stay up too late." She goes to the desk and grabs a purse, but appears to have left her clothes behind. The professor looks back at her, then at us again.

"Naked girls," he concludes. "A fascination whose mystery is as great as its wonders."

"See you Monday, professor."

The secretary walks out of the room as if she were clothed, her naked rear-end waving goodbye, and the professor is alone. He goes to the wall and turns off the giant switch, and the various computer monitors and instruments cut off, and the only light is the lamp at his desk. Then he walks out of the study, past the dark bookshelves, to a window filled with pale moonlight, where he looks out. We follow out the window, where we are not on some lonely mountaintop or secret lair, but a quiet college campus, the building we were in quite unassuming, drab, and in need of upkeep. The professor can barely be seen in the dark window, and the secretary is pale under the moonlight as she walks nude to her car.

You’ve solved the mystery, now discover the magic in “The Magic of Naked Girls” and “Naked Girl Adventures!”

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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