by Molly McMann
It was Saturday morning and Betsy woke next to Kate feeling less stressed than she had since the whole move to Huron began. Somehow she was managing to fake her way as a nudist, despite all of her continuing embarrassment and fear, and she was determined to keep on doing it if necessary. She still didn’t know how she would resolve her situation for the long term, but her highest priority was not losing Kate.
Kate now slept beside her, a slight frown on her face as she dreamed. It was 8:30 and Betsy slipped carefully out of bed and tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly. Downstairs in the kitchen she made the coffee, strong just the way Kate liked it, and while it was dripping she stepped outside and walked down to the front gate to get the newspaper. Across the street, people sitting outside at the cafe looked up at her. A bicyclist came by and gave her a grin. It had been a week and “Betsy the nudist” was becoming known in the neighborhood. She cringed a bit at the thought of being known that way, but at least it was slightly less embarrassing to be seen by someone the second or third time than it was the first. Her neighbors seemed to be adapting to the idea of her nudity quicker than she was. Feeling an unaccustomed confidence, Betsy gave a little wave to the people across the street, picked up the newspaper and casually walked back to the house. She brought the paper and coffee upstairs, waking Kate at precisely the correct time.
“Good morning, my love,” Kate said sleepily as she pushed herself up to a sitting position and accepted the coffee cup.
Betsy had intended to go back downstairs to make breakfast, but instead she found herself saying, “hey, I was thinking maybe we have breakfast at the cafe, or maybe ride our bikes over to one of those restaurants near campus?”
Kate smiled. “Good idea. Let’s get in a good ride first so we’ll be hungry.”
While Kate read the paper, Betsy jumped into the shower and 20 minutes later they were outside getting their bicycles ready. Betsy wore only sneakers and her riding helmet. They set off and Kate led the way and the pace, exploring the neighborhoods around them and charging up a steep hill toward the campus. Betsy struggled to keep up and sweat began to trickle down her body. They crested the top of the hill and Betsy felt the cool breeze on her skin as they coasted the short distance down to the busy corner at the edge of campus.
They parked their bikes and Betsy used her palms to wipe the sweat from her brow and the back of her neck, running her fingers through her hair to fluff it out. The restaurant’s outdoor seating was full but they were the first in line for the next table and stood a few minutes by the entrance surveying the posted menu as they waited. Betsy felt all of the eyes surveying her as well, but she was almost enjoying it. Her bicycle seat tended to make her a bit horny even under normal circumstances and this was increased now that there was no fabric between her and the seat.
Finally they were seated and Kate was going on and on about something at work. Betsy was not interested in the details, but paid sufficient attention to respond properly if her input was solicited. She had learned from hard experience that it was not good to be caught not paying attention. Now, she heard Kate mentioning “the auction tonight.”
“The auction?” Betsy repeated carefully.
Kate looked at her. “I told you all about it before, sweetie,” she declared.
“Oh, I know,” Betsy lied. “But it’s tonight?”
“Yes, and I signed you up to volunteer.”
“Oh, um, doing what?” Betsy’s throat tightened a little.
“Just carrying the artwork back and forth during the bidding,” Kate said. “Which reminds me we need to go shopping to get you something to wear.”
Betsy felt an involuntary moment of hope that somehow magically her situation had changed, but intellectually she knew that couldn’t be. Wary of some kind of trap she made sure to respond correctly. “Something to wear??” she repeated with just the proper amount of incredulity in her voice.
Kate laughed, her eyes shining with love that Betsy absorbed happily. “Don’t worry, dear. I just meant you need some white gloves. All the art handlers have to wear gloves and they provide those cheap throw-away gloves, but I think we should buy you something more elegant. You wouldn’t mind wearing long white gloves, would you babe?”
“Ooooh,” Betsy cooed. “You know I like accessories.” She was feeling good from the combination of Kate’s attention and the lingering influence of the bicycle seat, but also worried about what this event would be like. But being assigned to carry the artwork could be good since that was probably done behind the scenes. Still she’d be in public at least part of the time. “So how will, you know, normal people be dressing?” she ventured to ask. “Sounds formal.”
“Oh yes, I think it’s a rather dressy affair. Soooo I think we need to get you some new shoes also.”
A few hours later, they were at a nearby shopping mall and Betsy was trying on some fabulously expensive white shoes. The salesman eagerly knelt in front of her, expertly slipping a succession of heels onto her, like Prince Charming with his glass slipper. He tried — Betsy could tell he was really trying — not to look up the long stretch of her legs to her crotch, so available from his vantage point. Betsy wanted to discretely put her hand in her lap, but Kate was watching and that would annoy her. Betsy allowed herself to be on full display and even gave the salesman a chance to take a long look at her when she turned her head pretending to be interested in some far-off display sign.
There was only one place to buy long white gloves, a Saks Fifth Avenue store, and after that they went to a hairdressers’ shop. Betsy closed her eyes as the hairdresser leaned her back in the chair and washed her hair in the little sink. She tried not to think about how exposed she must be in that position.
It was mid-afternoon when they got home. “There’s just one more thing you need to complete your ensemble,” Kate said, taking a wooden box out of one of her dresser drawers. She lifted out a dazzling string of pearls. “My grandmother left these to me when she died. She thought I was just a tomboy who would someday blossom into femininity. I’ve been saving them for just the right girl.”
“Oh, my god, Kate, they’re beautiful.” Betsy wept as Kate clasped the antique double-strand of pearls around her neck. It was almost like being given an engagement ring. Kate called her “just the right girl.” There were dangling earrings to match. “Saving them for just the right girl.” Betsy was so focused on these elements she was able to keep her mind off of the event itself. After a light dinner she took a bath, being careful not to get her hair wet. It was piled up on top of her head so it was easy to keep it out of the water.
After her bath Betsy carefully went through what her “dressing up” routine had become, putting on body lotion and her makeup, fussing a little with her hair. She carefully lifted up the beautiful pearls and put them around her neck, and then she put on the earrings. She slipped on the white shoes, which had narrow heels about an inch taller than most of her other dress shoes. She slipped on the long white gloves and looked at herself in the three-way mirror in the bedroom. Behind her, Kate was getting dressed in a black silk pants suit with a low white blouse that showed her tanned cleavage. She tied a narrow red scarf around her neck, giving the suggestion of a bow tie. The overall effect was tuxedo-like, but not at all masculine.
At 7 p.m., they pulled up in Kate’s car at the entrance of the Museum of Art, which was hosting the auction in its grand marble lobby. There was valet parking and Kate walked around the car to open Betsy’s door and took her white-gloved hand as Betsy stepped out into the lights of the museum entrance as a young man in a vest took the car keys and drove away.
They stepped inside and into a crowd of people in which all the men were in dark suits or tuxedos and all the women in the most fashionable evening dresses. Betsy felt overwhelmingly, unquestionably, alarmingly, astonishingly nude — and yes, everyone was watching her — and yet somehow she also felt elegant in her pearls and her white gloves that might have belonged to Princess Di or Jackie Kennedy. Betsy held her head high as Kate escorted her through the crowd and toward faces she recognized from Kate’s office. Kate’s boss, Dr. Strunk, greeted them cheerfully and re-introduced her all around. A sign above declared tastefully that the firm, “Peabody and Strunk” had generously sponsored the evening’s festivities.
White-jacketed waiters carried trays loaded with champagne flutes, and Betsy was hoping one would come by her quickly, but just then a young man dressed all in black bounded onto the stage and tapped the microphone. He wore tinted eyeglasses of the most trendy shape and sported sideburns despite having a shaved head. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “We’ll begin the auction shortly, but first a few announcements. Most importantly, the Kingsley Art Association wishes to thank our generous sponsor, Peabody and Strunk, for once again making this annual event possible.” He clapped his hands and all the audience applauded as Dr. Strunk nodded in acknowledgement. “Secondly, those of you who have volunteered to be art handlers, please make your way back stage for instructions.”
Reluctantly, Betsy left Kate’s side and worked her way through the crowd — as everyone watched her — and joined three other people and the bald man with the sideburns (his name turned out to be “Ian James” and he would correct anyone who simply called him “Ian.”) Though he was clearly gay, Ian James declared Betsy to be “absolutely adorable” and “wonderfully daring” as he shook her hand. “And you even have your own gloves,” he gushed. “How so very Grace Kelly!”
The instructions were simple: Wear your gloves, handle the objects carefully, make sure everyone can see them and don’t break anything. Ian James demonstrated the proper ways of holding an object in a frame versus three-dimensional works. Betsy, who had hoped her job would be entirely behind the scenes, now learned with horror that in fact she would be carrying the objects onto the stage and holding them up throughout the bidding.
The artworks to be auctioned were all lined up next to numbered markers corresponding with their place on the auction brochure. Ian James went back on stage and with a flourish announced the first item, which happened to be Betsy’s. With a gulp, she nervously walked out on stage carrying a small painting and held it aloft, pacing to the left and then to the right to allow all in the audience to see. And boy could they see! The stage was two feet off the ground and everyone was sitting in folding chairs in front of her. As she looked out at the sea of faces it was clear that not many eyes were actually on the painting she held above her head. She wished she could say: Hey, my art is up here.
The bidding began and Betsy had to stay on stage walking to the left and right until the item was sold. Gratefully, she ducked back stage again as someone else carried out the next item. All too soon it was her turn again, and this time as she came out onto the stage there was a bright light in her eyes. It was a camera crew from one of the local TV stations, HNBC Channel 5. She hesitated, wanting to back away and make someone take her place but she was already on stage and there was nothing she could do except soldier on. So again she held up the artwork wearing her white gloves and nothing else but her high heels and pearls. This time the bidding went on and on, almost as if the purpose was to keep her on stage as long as possible while the TV camera followed her every move.
When she was backstage again she peeked out and noticed with relief that the cameraman had lowered his equipment, perhaps having gotten enough footage for what she hoped would be a very brief and very late-night news item. But when her turn came again the camera was back on. And so the night went on until — finally — the last item was sold. Betsy and her fellow volunteers were dismissed from their duties — though this happened only after Ian James brought them all together on stage for a round of applause as he announced each of their names. Betsy got the loudest applause and she saw the TV reporter scribbling in her notebook.
At last, Betsy was off the stage and making her way through the crowd again — wanting only to find Kate and go home. But when she was only a few steps away from Kate’s table someone called her name from behind, and when she turned she was facing the TV camera again and the TV reporter who was saying into her microphone, “and here’s Betsy Andrews, the surprise star of tonight’s gala auction. Betsy, are you enjoying the evening?” She thrust the microphone into Betsy’s face and the cameraman stepped closer.
She was trapped. “I . . . I . . . yes, it was very nice,” she stammered. She began to turn again, hoping to make that the end of the conversation, but the cameraman turned with her and she could now see past him to the table where Kate, Dr. Strunk and four or five other people from the company watched smiling at her. Kate gave her a look that Betsy understood — give the interview.
“We couldn’t help but notice that you’re a nudist, Betsy,” the reporter said. “So you’re registered under the new full-time nudist law, I’m assuming?”
“Yes,” Betsy said, aware of Kate’s eyes on her. “I . . . most certainly am a full-time nudist.”
“Can you tell our viewer’s what it’s like being naked all the time?”
“No!” Betsy blurted. “I mean . . . I’d rather talk about the auction. It’s . . . it’s for a good cause and . . . .” Here, her eyes again caught the sponsorship sign hanging above the entrance, so she said, “the auction is sponsored by Peabody and Strunk, which makes such a huge difference for all of these artists because . . . Peabody and Strunk’s sponsorship gives them this opportunity to become better known and to see their art appreciated, so I just want to thank Peabody and Strunk for doing that.”
Betsy did her best, but there were only so many times she could say it, and the reporter kept bringing the conversation back to her nudity, until Betsy finally gave in and said, as convincingly as she could, “I have always wanted to live as a full-time nudist and since coming to Huron I have been able to finally live as I wish. I no longer own any clothing at all other than shoes and hats and things of that nature. And I’m very . . . very happy this way.”
That finally did it and the camera crew went away to annoy someone else, allowing Betsy to rush into Kate’s arms. Everyone at the table cheered her and praised her effusively.
“Betsy sweetie, you were fantastic,” Kate said, kissing her on the mouth.
“I dare say you were,” Dr. Strunk agreed. “I should hire you in our Marketing Department.”
“And you did a wonderful job during the auction,” piped in a man she’d been introduced to but whose name she’d now forgotten.
“Have you done modeling work?” asked one of the women. She was probably in her 60s, but beautiful and looked like a former model herself. Betsy shook her head in response, both in answer and wanting to put an end to any and all conversation focused on herself. “You have such poise,” the woman went on, “and natural beauty. I could introduce you to some people.”
“Oh Alexandra, think of what you’re saying,” someone else said. “A nudist wouldn’t want to model clothing.”
Ex-model Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Dear, there are many avenues in modeling, and Betsy here would be a fabulous model for jewelry, hats, shoes, makeup, hair care products and so on.”
Betsy was smitten by the compliment, but what she really wanted was a glass of wine and no more attention on herself. There was no waiter nearby and Kate had a vodka tonic in front of her. “Can I have a little sip,” she asked quietly.
“Take it all, babe,” Kate said, handing here the glass. Betsy took a healthy gulp, the liquor burning her throat as she swallowed. Kate liked her drinks strong, and typically ordered a double. Betsy felt the buzz almost immediately and took a few more healthy swallows, finally starting to relax. The glass was soon empty and it had been just what she needed — more than enough actually since she didn’t normally drink anything stronger than wine. But when the waiter came by Kate ordered two more of the same and suddenly Betsy had another full glass in front of her.
A half-hour later the second glass was nearly empty too, and Betsy was feeling wonderfully drunk. She was beginning to appreciate the erotic feelings that had been building within her during the evening. The band began playing a slow-dance tune that was among Kate’s favorites, and they looked at each other and grinned. Kate led her out to the dance floor and they danced in an embrace as Betsy felt Kate’s fingers caressing her back, her sides and her hips. That song ended with a quick segue into a swing-dance tune and Kate led her into a jitterbug. Betsy danced and twirled and occasionally caught glimpses of herself in the mirrored walls. She felt like she was in a dream in which her nudity was normal and special at the same time. People were watching them, but everyone smiled.
It had turned into a magic evening, but Kate made sure they were home in time for the 11 p.m. news and set the TV to record. The broadcast started off with the usual summary of news stories to be covered in the half-hour, and among them was a tease to the annual art auction “where we met this art fan,” and there was a two-second clip of Betsy holding up one of the paintings during the bidding. It was over in no time and Betsy wished that was all there would be, but they kept teasing to it every time they went to a station break and each time it was a slightly different snippet of footage. If it was a tease for viewers it was working well on Kate. She was caressing Betsy’s body throughout the news, but whenever they showed a clip of her, Kate’s fingers quickly made their way between her legs.
They saved the actual segment until the very last few minutes of the program and they gave it several minutes of air time. The reporter’s voiceover gave the basic summary of the art auction and how much money was raised, but the footage was nearly all Betsy on the stage with the camera looking up at her from below. Betsy would have been mortified watching it all except that Kate’s fingers were dancing on her clitoris during the entire segment. She was on the verge of climax, but too distracted by wanting to see what came next. Naturally, they used every second of her proclamation of nudism and edited out most of her babbling about the importance of the auction and its sponsor, but one of her “thanks to Peobody and Strunk” comments was included, prompting Kate to momentarily take her hand away long enough to pump her fist in the air and declare “yes!”
Just as the news ended, Kate’s cellphone chimed to indicate a message received. Betsy was left in sexual frustration as Kate read the message and then made a call. “We watched it too, Alice,” she said. “Wasn’t Betsy great?” As she talked, Kate also fiddled with the TV remote. She had recorded the entire news program but now she was selecting her favorite moments for replay. As she hung up the phone, Kate pressed the play button and there was Betsy on the screen again saying “I no longer own any clothing at all,” and there she was holding a painting as the camera zoomed in on a closeup, her breasts bobbling just a little as she walked across the stage. Kate climbed between Betsy’s legs and began to kiss her clitoris as Betsy lay back watching the screen. Kate’s selections were set to loop and as Kate continued her work Betsy felt the orgasm coming as she whispered the lines along with herself. “I no longer own any clothing at all,” and “always wanted to live as a full-time nudist,” and “very happy this way.” Very happy, very happy, no longer own any clothing at all . . .
On Sunday, the day after the auction, Betsy was home alone while Kate was off on a long run. She checked her e-mail and there was one from her sister, Hannah. The subject line was “do you know this is on the Internet?” Oh no, Betsy thought. She opened the e-mail. “Bets! Can’t believe what I’m seeing. I mean — it’s cool, really. Absolutely a cool thing to do if that’s what you want to do. But it just doesn’t seem like my kid sister. I’ll call you today so we can catch up. Meantime, take a look at this link. Thought you should know it’s on the internet.”
Betsy hit the link and it was the complete news report. Like a zombie she watched the whole thing again, not knowing what to do. Before it was over her cell phone rang and it was Hannah.
“How did you find this?” Betsy nearly screamed over the phone. “Has everyone seen it?”
“Woah, sister,” Hannah said. “First things first — are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I told you about Kate and . . . the nudity thing.”
“Yeah, but last I heard it was just in her apartment. You told us about moving to Kingsley, but . . . you didn’t mention this.”
Betsy poured out her story, leaving nothing out. “But I didn’t think everyone in the world would see me! Has the whole family seen this?”
“I think just me, Roy and David so far,” Hannah said.
“Roy and David??? Oh my god, they watched this?”
“They’re the ones who showed it to me, Bets. Perhaps you don’t know this about our brothers, but they like to search the Internet for pictures of naked women.”
Betsy sighed. That did sound like her brothers.
“But Roy went to great length to explain to me that they’re not into porn, just pictures of real-life women going nude. It’s like their moral code or something. And in that noble pursuit, they found the auction footage.”
That sounded like them too.
Roy and David were not actually Betsy and Hannah’s brothers, but their first cousins — and step-cousins at that. Not blood relations, but they’d all grown up in the same house like siblings and Betsy considered them her big brothers.
Betsy and Hannah’s mother had two sisters, one of whom adopted twin boys (Roy and David). When Betsy was eleven, a car accident took the lives of her mother and her aunt and uncle. Betsy’s father had never been in the picture so her mother’s death left All four children orphaned. The only surviving member of their parents’ generation was the youngest of the three original sisters, Mindy, who was in her late 20s and still a party girl. Aunt Mindy had been so certain she never wanted children that she had her tubes tied so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Fate tends to mess up the best of plans, and Mindy became the single parent of four children.
“So you’re not being forced to do this, right?” Hannah probed.
“No, not really.”
“But you’re afraid of losing Kate if you don’t, aren’t you? Is she really that shallow?”
“No, Hannah, it’s not like that. She’s really good to me, and I love her. And I want to do this for her.”
“For her? Okay, Bets, if you’re happy then I’m happy. You want me to tell the rest of the fam, or do you want to do it? The boys won’t be able to keep it a secret for long you know.”
Betsy sighed again. “I guess the worst part was over anyway — the boys. I’ll tell everyone else, but I don’t want anyone thinking Kate’s making me do it.”
“Well, you put whatever spin on it you think best and if there are any details you told me that you don’t tell the others, I promise to keep quiet about them, okay?”
The sisters went on to talk about other things and when they hung up, Betsy spent an hour crafting and re-crafting a supposedly casual two-sentence email to her siblings and Aunt Mindy, sending them the link and saying it was “just something I wanted to try for a little while.”
* * * *
The next day was Monday and Betsy had an appointment on campus. It was still two weeks before fall classes began, but Betsy had signed up for a student job during this brief period. She appreciated Kate’s willingness to fully support her, but felt obligated to contribute financially if she could. Of course, when she’d made this commitment she was still assuming she’d be able to wear clothes.
Instead, on Monday morning Betsy rode her bike through campus wearing only her sneakers and a ballcap turned backwards in the breeze. In the basket over the rear wheels she had her helmet and rollerblades in case she needed them for the job. Her work assignment was with the campus mail service and she had been told they used a combination of bicycling and rollerblading to get around campus. She was a little surprised that snail mail was still such a big deal, but apparently the aging faculty members were slow to adopt digital forms of sharing their papers. The job recruiter had told her that these two weeks before classes started were the busiest as all the profs were gearing up for the new school year.
Betsy found the campus mail center, took a deep breath and pushed through the door. A man in his 30s with a bushy beard and tiny round glasses looked up from his desk and and stared open-mouthed as she walked towards him. Sometimes Betsy felt almost comfortable going naked, but this kind of reaction always made her intensely aware of it again, self-conscious of the natural movement her breasts made as she walked. And of course he was seated, so now she had to stand there in front of his desk waiting for him to figure out where her face was. When he was slow to do so, she waved her fingers in front of her breasts to capture his attention.
“Oh!,” he finally said, looking up to her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I was staring, wasn’t I? That was rude of me. I was just . . . surprised. Are you a nudist? I mean, officially, as in legally registered?”
“Yes,” Betsy said. “I’m a registered nudist.”
“Wow. So . . . so all the time . . . you never . . . ever?”
“I always go naked,” Betsy said, trying to sound like she actually believed it herself. “I don’t own any clothing.”
“Wow,” he said again. “I’m sorry, but I just . . . never met anyone who . . . I mean, I know it happens in some places of the province. The court ruling and all, but gosh I never . . I’m sorry, am I babbling?”
“YES!” someone yelled. A girl with frizzy magenta hair rolled over to them on her blades. She wore tight shorts, a tube top and pads on her elbows and knees. “Reggie, you are such a 9th grader sometimes.”
Reggie was blushing. “Sorry,” he said again.
“It’s okay,” Betsy said, trying to be casual. “I don’t really mind it.”
“I bet you don’t,” the magenta-haired girl said.
“Now you’re the one being rude, Mel,” Reggie said.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. But she must like people looking at her if she goes naked all the time. My name is Melody, by the way. And you?”
“Betsy,” murmured Reggie and both girls looked at him. He held up a piece of paper. “I have your work order here.”
“What size are you?” he asked.
“Your shoe size. We have to issue you some skates.”
“Oh. I brought my own.”
“Can’t. Gotta use our equipment.”
“Okay. Six and a half then.”
A few minutes later, two other student employees walked into the office — a skinny black girl with huge hazel eyes and an ultra-handsome guy wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt that showed off his perfect body. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw Betsy wearing nothing but a sleek-looking pair of black rollerblades with matching knee pads, elbow pads and helmet.
“Hey, you’re the naked girl from the TV news!” the girl said in a voice that seemed to big for her. “I was just telling Dean about you and here you are!”
Betsy rolled over to them, wanting to get the feel of the skates and making the effort — as she always did nowadays — to act like being the only naked person in the room was perfectly normal.
“This is Betsy,” Reggie called from his desk. “And Betsy, that’s Dean and Shandra.”
Dean grinned at her with perfect white teeth. “Totally cool,” he declared. “You are absolutely, totally cool.”
And he was absolutely handsome. Betsy considered herself mostly lesbian, but every once in a while she encountered a guy she found attractive and Dean was definitely one of them. “Thanks,” she said shyly.
“Yeah!” Shandra put in. “Welcome to the team. I saw you on the news last night and I thought, baby, that is one brave chick.”
“I don’t care if she’s cool or brave, and I don’t care that she’s naked,” Melody yelled from the rear doorway. “I want to know if she can skate, because if she can’t then it’s just gonna be more work for us uncool scaredy-cats who like to keep our private parts private.”
Shandra snorted, “girl listen to you talkin’ about private parts when those big titties of yours always bouncing around.”
“Bite me, Shandra,” Melody said as she pushed her way out the door into the back parking lot. The rest of them all followed.
Reggie handed Betsy an empty soda can and said, “see that trash can at the far end? Skate over there an drop this in it and come back here.”
“Is this a speed test or just to see if I can skate?”
“Speed is important. Show us what you’ve got. I mean, you know, show us how fast you can skate.”
Betsy was a pretty good skater and made the drop flawlessly. “How was that?”
“It sucked,” Melody answered. She picked up a rock and took off like a jet. She swung around the trash can and Betsy heard the clunk as the rock landed. Melody skidded to a stop in front of her. “That is what not-sucking looks like.”
“Show-off,” Shandra muttered.
Betsy picked up another rock. “Okay,” she said, “let me try that again.” Determined to impress her new co-workers, Betsy took off again, going as fast as she could towards the trash can. She skidded around it, dropping in the rock with perfect timing, and was about to push off again when one of her blades caught in a big crack in the asphalt at the edge of the lot. For a critical split second her foot was stuck in the crack and before she could yank it free her momentum carried her off balance and she began to fall — backwards.
Although it seemed to be happening in slow motion, Betsy could not turn her head in time to see where she was about to land and had no idea whether she would hit hard pavement or soft grass. Fortunately for Betsy, she was headed for a soft landing. Unfortunately, it was a giant mud puddle. And not just a water puddle, but truly mud. There was a bank of outdoor faucets nearby and some of them leaked, producing a patch of ground that was perpetually sodden. The grass had long since died and trucks backing out had spun their wheels in it, producing what was now a thick muck of yellow-brown soupy mud some eight inches deep.
This was where Betsy was headed, butt first, her feet now both off the ground and nearly as high as her head as she soared, still in slow motion from her perspective. As her butt touched the surface of the mud pool, time speeded up again and she came to earth in a dramatic splash.
Dennis, Melody, Dean and Shandra rushed across the parking lot to make sure she wasn’t hurt, but as soon as she assured them she was unharmed they all fell into fits of laughter before they could bring themselves to help her to her feet.
Shandra was the first to make the effort, but she had so little body weight she didn’t have much leverage, and when Betsy was almost to a standing position her muddy hands slipped out of Shandra’s grip, and she fell backwards again making another splash and setting off another round of laughter.
This time, she got mud in her eyes and had to keep them squeezed shut as Shandra and Dean helped her out, successfully this time.
“There’s a garden hose right over here,” Shandra said. “We’ll help you get washed off.”
Unable to see, Betsy allowed them to pull her by the hands as she rolled back across the parking lot. Then she felt the spray of cool water on her body and put her face and hands into it, clearing her eyes. Blinking blearily, Betsy could now see that it was Dean who was spraying her off while the others stood around watching. As she used her hands to wash off the mud under the spray of water, Betsy felt more embarrassed than she had at nearly any time since this whole stupid predicament began. She felt humiliated by her pratfall into the mud, and now she was taking a public shower in front of an incredibly handsome guy who made her feel a rare heterosexual arousal. He grinned at her with just the right balance of good humor, sympathy and unabashed appreciation for her nudity and Betsy could not help but feel a sensual reaction. The mud was in her crotch and she had no choice but to use her hands to wipe it out as she would when taking a normal shower. As her fingers grazed her clitoris, accidentally she told herself, Betsy hoped her shiver, if noticed, would be assumed to have been caused by the cold water instead.
When she was clean, Betsy stood there dripping because there was no towel or anything to dry off with. Shandra and Dean said words of encouragement, but Melody had skated over to the bags of mail and selected a stack of about a dozen envelopes and handed them to her along with a small clipboard with a pen attached.
“Okay, here’s your first real assignment, rookie. That’s the Administration building right next to us so you might as well do these first. The whole stack goes to the president’s office and you can just leave them with his secretary, BUT this one here on top is registered so you need to get the signature of the recipient, which is President Gaines. The secretary will want to sign it for him, but it’s supposed to be signed by him not her, got it?”
Betsy opened her mouth to protest, but what could she say? That she couldn’t go to the office of the college president naked? So she didn’t argue. She just took the bundle and clipboard and skated off determinedly at top speed as Melody shouted “and TRY to be fast without killing yourself.”
In seconds she was at the entrance and pushed through the brass-plated oak door. Through the glass, she could see that the interior of the building was just what one would expect a college president’s offices to look like — dark paneled walls and polished marble floors. As she entered she was hit with a frigid blast of air conditioning — much colder than normal air conditioning and more like walking into a freezer at the grocery store. At first she assumed it felt extra cold because she was still dripping wet, but then she saw that everyone working at the desks inside wore heavy sweaters.
Betsy’s skin erupted in goosebumps and her nipples became jutted out as she skated down the long hallway towards the president’s office. Water still ran from her hair down her naked body and she half expected the drips to freeze into icicles hanging from her nipples. She skated through the double doors and stopped at a desk where a woman sat bundled up and typing while wearing gloves with the fingers cut off.
The woman looked up and studied her dubiously, saying nothing as Betsy smiled and handed her the stack of mail — all but the registered letter which she now held up. “Mail service,” she said unnecessarily, “and I have this one that needs President Gaines’ signature.”
“I’ll sign for it,” the woman said, reaching out for it.
“Um, I really need him to do it,” Betsy said in her most officious manner.
The secretary shrugged and hit the intercom button. “Sir there’s some mail that requires your signature.”
“Be out in a moment,” a staticky male voice replied.
For several seconds Betsy stood there on her skates feeling both conspicuous and nearly frozen. Finally she whispered, “is it always so cold in here?”
The secretary frowned and gestured toward the president’s door with a slight nod of her head. “He prefers it this way. You’re Miss Andrews, I assume?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
The woman smiled for the first time. “There’s only one registered nudist enrolled in this school, so if you were someone else I’d have to call Security right about now.”
Betsy laughed nervously. “No, it’s just me.”
“And why are you so wet?”
“Well . . .” Betsy was trying to conjure up a reasonably concise answer to the question when the president’s door swung open and the man himself appeared in the doorway. He was in his shirtsleeves and did not look the least bit cold. His ruddy face momentarily registered the shocked look Betsy was now so used to seeing, but he quickly recovered.
“Ah, our nudist student, I presume.”
“Miss Andrews,” the secretary said. “She brought the mail.”
“Did she now? And where do I sign?” Betsy handed him the clipboard and started to sign, but then stopped. “Say, Dotty, let’s get a photo of this for the newsletter. First nudist student at Avery College and all.”
The secretary produced a small camera from her desk and the president struck a pose next to Betsy as if he were signing but not actually doing so. “Smile, Miss Andrews,” the secretary said. “You look like a deer caught in the headlights.”
Betsy forced a smile and the flash went off. The president quickly scribbled his name, handed back the clipboard and disappeared again into his office. “Have a nice day, dear,” the secretary said as Betsy turned and skated away. The cold was starting to make her shiver as she hurried down the hall and out the main doors. The summer heat was a blessing on her cold skin, still wet in places. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms.
Melody was right outside straddling her bike while still wearing rollerblades. The bag of mail was strapped to a basket in back. She grinned at Betsy mischievously. “How’s the weather in there?”
“You did that on purpose,” Betsy said.
“I didn’t do shit. The mail’s the mail and we deliver it wherever it’s addressed. I can’t help it you want to go everywhere naked.”
Betsy couldn’t respond to that, so she just said, “okay, what’s next?”
Melody gave her another stack. “This is all for Harrison Hall, which is right there. Each envelope goes to a room number so you go up and down the halls to each of the rooms. If the prof is there, you go in and hand him the mail. If the door’s shut you leave it in the mail slot. I’ll do the building next to it, which has twice as much mail and I’ll still be done before you are.”
Betsy did her best to beat Melody, skating down the hallways as fast as she could manage while ducking and and out of doorways. Many of the professors were indeed in their offices, all of them looking up in surprise to see a naked girl bursting through their doors and disappearing just as quickly as she left letters and packages. In a way, it helped to be in such a hurry because this way Betsy couldn’t afford to be tentative and indecisive and barely had time to look in anyone’s face.
When she emerged from the building, there was Melody already done with her own deliveries. “I can’t help it I’m not as good as you,” Betsy said as she caught up. “It’s only my first day.”
“You won’t be as good as me on your 100th day,” Melody said. “But you don’t totally suck. At least you’re pushing yourself.”
Betsy was smitten by this glimmer of a compliment and was determined to win Melody’s approval. Had Betsy been more vain she might have realized Melody was in fact jealous of her. Melody dressed as provocatively as a non-nudist could, and was accustomed to being the girl being stared at. She was a little too plump for her tight shorts and a little too busty for her tube top and now she had to compete with a beautiful nudist who had clearly never had to struggle with her weight.
For the next hour they hit every building on the way to the food court plaza where Melody announced, “Lunch break. Do whatever you want, but make sure you’re on this spot in exactly 30 minutes.” And with that, Melody dashed off towards one of the umbrella-shaded kiosks that sold hot dogs.
Betsy hadn’t realized she’d be so far away from the mail center at lunch time, and had left her little wallet locked up with her bike. She had no money with her and would not dare ask to borrow from Melody. Betsy often skipped lunch anyway, though the exercise had left her hungry, so she skated over to a shady spot near the fountain where she took off her helmet, rollerblades and pads. She sat on the edge of the fountain, dangling her feet in the cool water, but it wasn’t enough. The day was hot and Betsy had been sweating most of the morning. She edged her way along the stone ledge until she was largely out of sight of the crowd in the plaza and then slipped into the water, submerging luxuriously and then standing up again running her hands through her hair to comb out the tangles.
When she opened her eyes Dean was sitting on the edge two feet away. She jumped and almost covered herself out of instinct, but caught herself in time.
“Sorry,” he said. “I waved to you just before you went under, but I guess you didn’t see me coming.”
“No, I didn’t,” Betsy said, “but that’s okay. Um, where’s Shandra?”
“Over there somewhere. She’s a slow eater — mostly because she has a billion friends and always bumps into someone she has to talk to.”
Betsy appreciated the fact that Dean’s eyes looked right into her own, never drifting down. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the sunshine, dripping wet and feeling her nipples pucker in the breeze. But Dean led her into an effortless conversation about the classes they were taking and where they lived and where they were from. Betsy found herself avoiding mentioning Kate or the fact that she was a lesbian, both of which she knew she should bring up.
She noticed Dean was carrying a paper cup with a plastic spoon sticking out of it and he noticed her glancing at it so he held it out to her. “Couple strawberries left in here — want ’em?” Betsy was famished from all the exercise and gladly took the cup. Inside were three strawberries and she ate each one slowly and deliberately, closing her eyes as she savored them.
“So,” Dean said, sneaking a look at her body as she closed her eyes, “you’re probably tired of getting this question, but how long have you been a nudist?”
She had indeed been asked that question several times, but somehow didn’t mind that he asked. “Actually only about a week, full-time anyway. Before I moved to Huron I couldn’t go nude in public like this.” She looked down at her body and brushed a drip off of her breast as Dean watched.
“So, you glad you’re doing it?”
Normally she would have insisted that of course she was glad, but she wanted to answer more honestly. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she said. “Going naked once in a while is one thing, but this is so far beyond that, not really having the choice anymore and having to go naked every minute everywhere you go. Sometimes I . . . well, sometimes I’m just uncomfortable around people.”
“Not me, I hope.”
Betsy smiled and met his eyes. “No, actually, not you.”
“Well good. Maybe we could go out sometime.”
Betsy bit her lip, wishing the little flirtation could have gone on longer. “I’m in a relationship,” she said.
“I was afraid of that,” Dean said. “Someone as beautiful as you would never be single for long. Tell your boyfriend I said he’s a lucky guy.”
“Um, girlfriend,” Betsy corrected.
“Ahhhhh. Wouldn’t have guessed it, but that’s cool.”
Betsy wanted to say something further, but there was really nothing to say. Even if she’d been single she didn’t actually want to go out with Dean. She just liked it when certain guys were interested in her. She looked up at the tower clock and realized she only had two minutes before she was to meet Melody. Dean had to go too and they waved goodbye as Betsy put on her skates and pads.
She dropped the empty cup in a trash can and made it to the meeting spot just as Melody arrived on her bike. “What’s next, boss,” Betsy asked cheerfully.”
Melody was finishing an ice cream cone and handed Betsy another stack of mail. “These go to those two buildings over there,” she said, “and when you’re done, you’ll only have one more set of deliveries to make.”
“That’s good,” Betsy said, glad her work day would soon be over.
Melody smiled. “Well,” she said. “That last batch could take a while. Meet me at the entrance to Fraternity Row.”
It took an hour for Betsy to complete the next set of mail deliveries, going from room to room, surprising more professors with the unexpected sight of a beautiful girl popping into their offices completely naked except for rollerblades, knee and elbow pads and a helmet. When that was done, Betsy still had to skate halfway across campus in the heavy, humid afternoon to meet up with Melody as planned at Fraternity Row.
As Betsy had expected, Melody was there first. Betsy could easily pick her out from afar because of her magenta hair. She was sitting on her bike and hitched up her tube top as Betsy approached filmed with sweat from the mid-afternoon heat.
“About time, newby,” Melody said. “I coulda done this myself and been done by now.”
Betsy was getting used to Melody’s taunts. “Perhaps you should have,” she said with a big smile.
“Oh no. This is your assignment, girlie. I did it last year — your turn. There’s only the five frat houses, but you’re delivering a registered letter to each so you need someone to sign for it — and not just anyone who’s home, but one of the four frat officers: the president, vice president, treasurer or secretary. The letters are basically an annual warning from the university president about what kind of behavior would get them kicked out and shit. That’s why it’s gotta be signed by a frat officer so if the frat gets in trouble they can’t claim they didn’t know the rules.”
“So I knock on each door, ask for an officer and get the signature to deliver the letter, right?”
“Sounds easy, but it’s not. Theoretically, the officers should be available because this is week they do all their chapter organization shit, and most of the regular members haven’t arrived yet — which is good for you because instead of 40 guys harassing you in each house there should be only a few right now. Bad news is the officers know this envelope has to get signed by one of them so you should expect a certain amount of teasing and deal-making to go on.”
“Yeah, like last year when I did this delivery I had to chug a few beers and show my tits. Your tits and everything else you got are already on display so I dunno what they’ll ask of you. But the easiest way to get the sig is to play along as much as you can.”
“Drinking on the job wouldn’t get me in trouble?”
“Long as you can still skate straight and do your job, Reggie doesn’t care.” Melody handed Betsy the clipboard and the five envelopes. “Try to be back in the office in an hour,” she said, grinning. “If you can.”
Betsy had no intention of spending an hour appeasing frat boys, but she had to at least try to get the signatures. She crossed the street from campus to the short lane of houses known as Fraternity Row. Only four of the five houses were clearly visible. Two looked like typical frat houses with unmowed grass, beer cans lined up on the porch railings and odd bits of furniture in the yards. Two other houses looked reasonably well cared for. The fifth was at the end of the lane and up a long driveway hidden in the trees.
At the first house, Betsy had to skate around trash to get to the front door. She knocked, and the door opened and Betsy was greeted by a grinning frat boy and the wafting scent of stale beer and male body odor. Betsy quickly identified herself and her mission, and the guy, still grinning and apparently stricken speechless, welcomed her inside. There were dirty plates on the floor and beer cans everywhere.
“This is totally awesome!” the guy whispered to her earnestly. “I’ve watched that TV news clip from the auction a hundred times on the Internet and I kept hearing about people spotting you on campus and I’ve been waiting and hoping that someday I would see you and here you are delivering mail to my house! This is so great.” He stood there gazing at her body up and down.
“Um, thank you,” Betsy said. “That was sort of sweet, but I’m in a hurry. Is one of the officers at home.”
“Yes, oh yes, right. You just stay right there.” He backed away from her towards the stairway, not taking his eyes off of her. “Guys!” he shouted. “Get down here, right away.”
“What for, dick-brain?” came a voice.
“Because, dear shithead, that nudist chick is standing in our living room.”
Footsteps tumbled down the stairway and three more guys shoved their way into the room. They all stood and stared.
“Is one of you the chapter president?” Betsy asked.
“That’d be me, baby,” said the tubbiest of the four, regaining his composure and walking over to her. “And what can I do for you?” He clearly hadn’t showered that day, and perhaps not the previous day.”
“Just sign here.” Betsy thrust the clipboard at him.
“Oh, the annual president’s bullshit letter? And you have to get a signature or you can’t deliver it, right?”
Betsy sighed. “That’s what they tell me.”
He stepped closer to her. “And what would you do to get that signature?”
Shy as she normally was, Betsy had tried to prepare herself for what might be demanded of her. “Nothing that involves touching you,” she said firmly.
This putdown elicited whoops from the other frat boys. The chapter president laughed along. “Okay, okay” he said, “I wasn’t expecting you to perform sex acts or anything, but you hafta do something to earn the sig. And the way you can do that is . . . to play a game of air hockey with me!” He gestured behind him to what had looked like a battered blue table.
This didn’t seem too bad. “One game,” Betsy said, “and then no matter who wins you sign, right?”
“Oh there’s no question who will win, sweetie, but yes I’ll sign either way. My name’s Jim, by the way, and these guys are just toads. You can ignore them.”
Betsy skated over the dirty carpet to the air hockey game. She remembered playing one at a party when she was maybe twelve.
One of the other guys opened two cans of beer and set them on the edge of the table. “So here are the rules,” Jim said. “We play to 21 points, but I spot you 10. If you score a point I chug this beer and if I score a point–”
“– I’m not going to drink a beer every time you make a point.”
“Don’t get ahead of me. As I said, if YOU score I will chug a beer, but when I score — which I will do frequently — you merely have to take a SIP, just a sip, of you’re beer. Deal?”
Betsy just wanted to get it over with so she agreed. The game began and the other frat boys had by this time whipped out their phones to record her every move. The game surface was low — being originally intended for children — and Betsy was taller than usual because of her skates, which meant she had to lean over the table to play. In this posture there was nothing Betsy could do to prevent her breasts from bouncing and jiggling as she played the fast-paced game. And all the while the camera phones were zoomed in on her from a few feet away.
Despite her preoccupation with whether her jiggling breasts would soon be the stars of another Internet video, Betsy somehow scored a quick point. “Ooooh!” she exclaimed, happy with this unexpected achievement.
“I was just thirsty,” Jim said and quickly downed his first beer. The next several points went rapidly to him and Betsy took tiny sips of the beer. She managed to score two more points so Jim tossed back two more beers, but he continued to score easily and soon won the game. Betsy had taken 21 sips of beer but her can was still half full and, true to his word, Jim signed the form.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said putting out his hand. She reluctantly shook it as he said, “see, you touched me after all.”
Betsy just smiled and said goodbye and thanks as she made her escape out the front door and down the steps. One house down; four to go, she thought as she skated down the sidewalk and around to the next house. This house was much better tended than the last one and when Betsy rang the doorbell she was greeted by a cleaner-looking frat boy and a less-smelly living room.
He was, of course, just as awestruck as his neighbors at the unexpected turn of good fortune that brought a naked girl into his house. He introduced himself as “Josh,” and told her that the only officer home at the time was the chapter treasurer, but that he was in the shower.
“He’ll do just fine,” Betsy said. “I can wait for him.”
This made Josh even more pleased, but he was very polite and made an effort not to ogle. “Can I get you something to drink or anything?”
“Water would be nice,” Betsy said, and followed him into the kitchen. He offered her a seat at the little kitchen table and she gladly took it, both to get off of her feet and to hide the lower part of her body. The table was even clean.
Josh put the glass of ice water on the table, and as Betsy drank he went to the counter and brought over a plate covered by tin foil. “Would you like a brownie?” he asked, pulling back the foil. “My mother made them.”
Betsy had eaten nothing all day except for three exceptional strawberries and she was famished. “They look wonderful,” she said, “thank you.” She selected a big brownie and tried unsuccessfully to eat it slowly.
“They’re good,” aren’t they?” Josh said. “Mom sure is a good cook. Have another while I get Todd.”
Josh ran up the stairs and Betsy consumed another brownie and a half by the time the two boys scrambled back downstairs. Todd was just as pleasant as Josh and signed the form without fuss or gamesmanship.
“Thank you so much,” she said appreciatively as she got up to leave. “And thanks for the wonderful brownies.”
“My mother made them,” Todd said.
“I thought your mother made them,” Betsy said to Josh.
Josh and Todd looked at each other and Todd said, “we’re . . . brothers.”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “So we have, like, the same mom and all.”
“Different dads, though,” Todd put in. “My dad was the handsome one. His dad had an unfortunate genetic condition that we don’t like to talk about.”
Betsy laughed, enjoying having a conversation that didn’t focus on her nakedness.
The third house was even more decrepit than the first had been. The yard hadn’t been mowed all summer and there was trash everywhere. A naked female mannequin stood on the front porch and Betsy gave her a sisterly wave as she passed.
The door stood ajar and creaked farther open as Betsy knocked on it. “Anyone home?” she called. “Mail service.” The thought crossed her mind that if she called “naked mail service” she would be more likely to elicit a response, but she could not bring herself to say it. “Hello!” she called again, stepping just inside the now-open door so she could see around the corner into the living room. Two guys lay sprawled lifelessly on the floor and another was slumped over in a sitting position on the couch.
For a fleeting moment Betsy’s mind registered it as a murder scene, but she knew it was more likely they were just passed out from drunkenness. An empty tequila bottle on the coffee table supported this theory. She walked on her skates across the littered carpet and squatted down next to the closest guy on the floor. She put her hand on his neck and he was warm and still breathing. Had he opened his eyes at that moment he would have been rewarded by the view of a naked girl squatting over him, her crotch inches from his face. Alas, he slept through the opportunity.
Still feeling like a detective at a crime scene, Betsy looked at some papers scattered on the coffee table. One was an agenda for a fraternity organization meeting and it gave the names of the new officers. The new president’s name was “Bryan” and she guessed it was the guy on the couch because he held in his hand a croquet mallet with the handle sawed off short and three Greek letters painted on it. She guessed this served as the frat’s ceremonial gavel which would have been passed along to the new president. “Bryan!” she shouted, leaning over next to him and patting his cheek. “Bryan, you need to sign this.”
He started to stir but only to reposition himself before drifting off again. Betsy took the mallet out of his right hand and put her pen in its place, holding the clip board under it. “Bryan, sign your name for the … beer keg delivery.”
Bryan stirred again in response to his news and opened his eyes in a squint, the sunlight too much for his hammered hangover.
“Just sign your name here,” Betsy said again, holding his hand right over the form. He did as he was told and the signature was fairly legible. As Betsy turned to leave, Bryan’s eyes finally came into focus and he saw her for the first time. Betsy paused a moment in the doorway looking back at him as he struggled to a standing position and reached out at her as he tried to step forward. But the coffee table was in the way and he crashed over it as Betsy skated out the door and down the path to the sidewalk.
Betsy found herself laughing as she skated in the glorious sunshine. The trees and grass around her were stunningly green and alive with movement in the breeze which caressed her skin and reminded her afresh of her nudity. But as she looked down at herself she didn’t feel at all embarrassed, but full of joy at the circumstances that had led her to this perfect moment. Being naked now seemed the greatest idea in the universe, and being naked all the time was mind-boggling. “I don’t own any clothing,” she whispered out loud. “Not a thing, not a stitch. I go naked all the time!”
Somewhere amid her epiphany, Betsy knew that what she was feeling was not entirely natural. She was definitely under the influence of something. It wasn’t the half of a beer she’d consumed, and although she wouldn’t put it past those guys to have spiked her drink with something stronger, she’d seen the can opened so it couldn’t have been tampered with. Besides, this lovely feeling wasn’t anything like being drunk. She was high. The brownies! Oh, those sneaky boys. “My mother made them,” both of them had said. Betsy laughed again, having figured it out, but she was glad — overjoyed. She twirled on her rollerblades, put out her arms and turned her face up to the sun absorbing the sunshine like a gift on her skin.
She almost dropped her clipboard and the last two letters, having forgotten them. She was delivering mail. That’s what she was doing. Betsy was naked and delivering mail to boys in frat houses. What a great thing to do! And here she stood on her skates in front of the fourth house and she could see the backs of four heads through the picture window. She skated up the path and stepped smoothly onto the porch and came to a perfect stop in front of the door, watching her own reflection in the glass. She pressed the doorbell and watched giddily through the window as four heads turned toward her.
Betsy stood on the front porch of the Gamma Delta frat house wearing her rollerblades, helmet, knee and elbow pads — and nothing else. She’d been going naked in public for a week, but had never felt truly comfortable doing so, until now. At this moment she didn’t merely feel comfortable, but truly overjoyed at her condition.
She knew she was high and she remembered how embarrassed she’d felt going nude before. Logic indicated that her current feelings were a temporary effect of the drug, but instead she felt that her eyes had finally been opened to the beauty of her situation. She was a true nudist, not a reluctant pretender who only went naked because a misunderstanding.
That is what was going through Betsy’s mind at rapid velocity as a boy wearing a plaid shirt and glasses opened the door and and looked at her with the same awe-struck joy she had seen in so many faces. Now she gleefully basked in his appreciation as she announced her mission to deliver the registered letter.
In the living room six more boys looked at her just the same way. They were sitting in front of a big screen TV, on which another boy was saying, “Avery House, are you hearing me?”
“We need a brief adjournment,” said one of the guys in the room. “I so move.”
“Second!” another shouted.
“All in favor – AYE!”
“What’s so important, Avery House?” asked the boy on the screen. “We were in the middle of my budget presentation.”
“This is what’s so important,” said a boy, pointing a video camera at Betsy.
“Holy shit,” declared the television.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Betsy asked sweetly. “If one of the officers could just sign for this letter I’ll be out of your way.”
“No, no! It’s fine, no problem!” all the boys insisted in overlapping declarations.
“Holy shit,” whispered the television.
“Oooh, cake,” Betsy said. Noticing a half-eaten sheet cake with white icing and the remains of Greek letters printed in blue.
“Would you like some?” a guy asked excitedly, quickly cutting a piece and scooting it onto a paper plate which he held out to her as an offering.
Though what she really needed was a bit of solid food, Betsy loved cake — especially the kind from the bakery because the icing was so light and fluffy. She tucked the clipboard and two remaining letters under her arm and held the paper plate in her left hand leaving her right hand free.
“Are there forks?” she asked, prompting the three boys nearest her to simultaneously lunge for the table, each one wanting more than anything to provide a plastic fork for the naked girl. But in their chivalrous ardor, two of the boys began wrestling over the container of forks, and as they did so one of them bumped backwards into Betsy, pushing the cake against her left breast. The boys gasped and apologized as Betsy pulled what remained of the cake away from her body. Nearly all of the icing had been transferred from the cake to Betsy’s breast.
One of the boys offered her a wad of paper napkins, but Betsy declined. “Can’t waste this icing,” she said. “It’s the best part.” As the boys watched in amazement, Betsy used her finger to scoop up a glob of icing from her breast and put it in her mouth. Back and forth her finger went as Betsy became entirely focused on the delicious task at hand. It took several minutes and as the icing gradually disappeared it was replaced by a shiny film of saliva as Betsy licked her finger and sent it back to rub another dab of white or blue from her skin. She had to pay particular attention to her nipple, which had become more difficult to clean now that it was puckered and erect. When she finally finished, Betsy looked up to see that the face on the TV was gone and had been replaced by a zoomed-in view of her saliva-shiny left breast.
“Hey, why is my boob on TV?” she asked, “and could one of you sign this thing?” Like most girls, Betsy tended to be self-critical about her appearance, but her breasts were so perfect it had been hard for even her to find fault with them. And now, seeing her breasts on the big screen Betsy felt a rush of joy at the realization that these were hers. On the excuse of wiping the wetness from her skin, she ran her hand over her breast, watching herself do so on the screen. She lifted it and let it slide out of her grasp. She adored seeing the little bounce it made and feeling it at the same time. She had breasts, what fun, and she was so wonderfully naked in front of these adorable boys.
“I guess I can sign it for you,” one of the guys said as he took the clipboard. “You’ve earned it. Oh and the reason you’re on the TV screen is that we were in the middle of a web conference with our other chapters.”
“Yeah, this is our national meeting. We have more than 500 houses across the commonwealth, and at every one of those 500 houses there are some very happy brothers watching what’s on that screen.”
“Holy shit,” Betsy whispered as she took back the clipboard and began rolling herself backwards toward the door.
When she was back outside, Betsy was again awestruck by the sky and the trees and the entire natural world and how her own naked reality belonged in it. She skated faster and faster down the lane and whirled around a lamp post on the sidewalk. The fifth and final frat house was way up on a hill overlooking the campus. It was a mansion once owned by one of the founders of the college and he bequeathed it to his own fraternity.
Betsy felt like an Olympic athlete as she skated up the steep, winding driveway. By the time she reached the top she was sweaty but barely winded, like a race horse. She rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a butler, though a very young one. At the Omega Epsilon Omega fraternity, first-year boys worked as house servants and took their roles seriously. Charles, the student who opened the door to find a sweaty naked girl on the porch, was 19 and had served as a butler for his entire freshman year and the summer following it. Now, he was nearing the end of his year of servitude. When the new crop of freshmen arrived and were initiated into the fraternity, he and the other sophomore members would be considered full-fledged Omega Men, though they would still not have as many perks and privileges of the upperclassmen.
“Good afternoon, miss,” Charles said, managing not to let his surprise show beyond a momentary widening of his eyes. “May I be of service to you?”
Betsy politely identified herself and the young butler bowed and said “do come in please.” She stepped across the threshold and glided a few feet across the shiny white and black checkered floor. The mansion was beautiful inside, but did not appear to be air conditioned.
When Betsy explained that she needed the signature of one of the fraternity officers, Charles said “I’m afraid they are all away on errands at the moment, Miss Andrews, but I am quite certain they would regret having missed your visit. If you would not mind waiting, I will attempt to contact one of them by telephone.”
“Thank you so much,” Betsy said, bending her knees slightly in her best attempt to curtsy while naked and on roller-skates.
Charles bowed and left the room, but returned quickly. He was carrying a large silver basin which he placed on a nearby table. It was filled with water. “I must apologize,” he said. “I would have invited you to freshen up in our lavatory, but I’m afraid I do not personally have sufficient authority to invite a non-member of the fraternity to that portion of the house.” He placed a white washcloth and a hand towel on the table next to the water-filled basin. “This is a poor substitute, I realize, but I thought perhaps you would like to freshen up while I attempt to reach one of the masters of the house.”
He left the room and Betsy found herself drawn to the cool-looking water. She took off her helmet, dipped her hands in the water and splashed a little water on her face. It felt wonderful. She unfolded the pristine white washcloth, wetted it and washed the sweat from her neck and then her chest. It felt so perfect that she continued, submerging the cloth in the cool water and then washing her arms and breasts and stomach. She unlaced her rollerblades and took them off and also her knee and elbow pads. Now completely naked, she continued giving herself a bath with the wet washrag until all of her body had been cleaned and refreshed. The water ran down her skin and pooled a little on the polished tile floor. Not wanting to dry off, she dropped the little hand towel to the floor, pushed it around with her feet and stood on it as she continued to wash.
Charles returned. “I’ve reached our president and vice president, who are both returning to the house at once to meet you, Miss Andrews. May I . . . may I bring you another towel perhaps?
“That won’t be necessary,” Betsy said, “but Charles would you be a dear and do my back?” Dutifully, Charles took the rag and gently rubbed it on Betsy’s back, watching the trickles of water roll across her perfect butt and down her legs to the floor. As he did so, Betsy heard the sound of a car screeching to a halt and footsteps hurrying up the front steps. The door swung open and two young men posed in the sunny doorway wearing suits and smoking cigarettes.
“Ah, very good,” Charles said, still holding the dripping rag. “If I may make the introductions, Miss Andrews, this is our chapter president, Reginald DuPont, and our vice president, Trevor Kennedy.”
“Charles, you are the finest butler ever minted,” declared Reginald DuPont. “Now be a good fellow and bring us some cocktails.”
The boys sauntered over as if they were auditioning for the latest Oceans 11 movie — or perhaps the original with Frank and Dino because their haircuts and suits were so deliberately retro. Still dripping with water, Betsy started to explain her mission, but the boys already knew from Charles. “Yes, yes, of course we’ll sign for the letter,” DuPont said, “won’t we, Trevor.”
“Absolutely, Reginald, but we must at least share a brief cocktail before we allow Miss Andrews to depart from our sight.”
Trevor gestured toward an arched doorway where Charles was mixing martinis near a cluster of three leather wingback chairs and among them a full-length mirror that stood in its own brass stand like the one in Alice in Wonderland. Betsy was drawn to it and watched herself walk towards it, the marble floor cool under her bare feet. She stood in front of the mirror for a scant moment, wanting to make eye contact with herself and to check herself out, and then she accepted the seat Charles offered and sank down in the rich leather chair. Her skin was still streaked with drips of water so her butt slid wetly on the leather.
Reginald and Trevor sat opposite her, each in his own wingback. From a tray, Charles placed extra large martini glasses on little tables next to each chair. The boys raised their glasses in toast to her and Betsy acknowledged with a little sip of her own drink. It was too strong for her taste and made her lips tingle.
“Miss Andrews,” Reginald began, “may I call you Betsy?” She nodded and he went on. “Betsy, you are probably tired of being told this, but you have the most extraordinary breasts I have ever seen.”
“Absolutely, Reg,” Trevor put in. “Perfectly formed, and an ideal size.”
“With such a lovely upward tilt!”
“And the nipples of a Greek goddess.”
“Indeed, Trevor, Aphrodite would jealous.”
“Oh now stop, you two,” Betsy declared, not really wanting them to and truly enjoying her embarrassment.
“We’re actually quite serious,” Trevor said. “Our lives have been forever blessed by your decision to register as a full-time nudest and enroll here at Avery. The school should name a building for you.”
“And by the way,” Reginald said. “We were so preoccupied with your breasts that I forgot to mention that you have a perfectly formed bottom.”
“I noticed that also,” Trevor said. “A firm little butt, yet so nicely rounded.”
This additional compliment gave Betsy the excuse to jump up and look at herself backwards in the mirror. “Do you think so,” she asked as if modeling a dress she might buy. “I never really get to see it.”
“And if you would forgive my boldness for saying so,” Trevor said with hands clasped in sincerity, “your smooth, hairless vagina is of unparalleled beauty.”
“Such voluptuous, pouty lips,” Reginald added in the whisper of one describing a priceless work of art. Betsy stood regarding herself in the mirror. Like most women she had a tendency to be self-critical, but now she felt utter contentment with her body and joy at its perpetual exposure.
“Quite so, Reginald,” Trevor said, “and just behind those lovely, pouty lips lies proof that the female body has evolved to a more perfect form than the male.”
“Ah Trevor, you’re referring to the clitoris, of course. Yes, the female has the only body part exclusively devoted to sexual pleasure. What does it feel like, Betsy? Are you able to describe the sensation created when you touch your clitoris?”
Without questioning whether she should do so in front of boys she barely knew, Betsy slipped her right index and middle fingers through the slit of her vagina and slid them wetly upwards. “It’s hard to describe,” she said with a shiver. “It’s almost electrical.” She rubbed herself steadily, looking at herself in the mirror with the boys in the background. “I feel it everywhere inside of me, down to my toes.” She rubbed some more and felt an orgasm nearing, and it was only at this moment that Betsy recalled that she did not normally masturbate in front of people. She also remembered seeing her cake-covered breast on television.
Reluctantly pulling her hand away, Betsy turned facing the boys. “Please tell me you’re not recording this,” she said.
“Certainly not,” Reginald said. “We would not do that to you, Betsy. Though we each have camera phones in our pockets, they remain there because the men of Omega are above all honorable in the treatment of women. I can promise you, Betsy, not only that we will not record this moment — but also that none of the three of us shall ever mention it to others or in any way disclose what you have blessed us to witness. We swear.”
“WE SWEAR!” declared Trevor and Charles in unison as Reginald went on.
“We three Omega men will forever keep this secret, we swear.”
Betsy felt a wave of affection and gratitude for each of the boys. “Thank you,” she said as her hand came back to her clitoris and she began to rub it again, watching the boys watch her. She turned back to watch herself in the mirror, with the boys behind her. “Thank you,” she repeated in a whisper.
“We thank you, Betsy,” Reginald said. “Are you enjoying being a full-time nudist?”
“Oh yes,” Betsy breathed. “I so love being a nudist. I’m going to stay naked all the time, all the time. I’m going to go naked all the time.” Betsy nearly shouted the last sentence as the orgasm broke through her. Still rubbing herself, Betsy staggered backwards as Charles rushed to push her wingback chair behind her and she fell into it.
In the mansion’s great hall, the grandfather clock ticked as the three men of Omega quietly waited for Betsy to open her eyes. And when she did they began to applaud.
Sprawled back on the chair, her legs spread, Betsy suddenly became aware of her situation. She closed her legs and sat up straight. “Oh god,” she said in a whisper. “I can’t believe I did that in front of you.” She was still high, but the feeling of eroticism had left her and in its place she felt embarrassment. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“WE SWEAR!” all three boys chanted.
Betsy got to her feet, knowing she should get out of there. Her martini sat on the little table nearby, barely touched. She picked it up and drank it down in two gulps. Holding the glass to her lips she could smell her fingers and she felt sticky between her legs.
Betsy put down the empty glass and looked for her skates and pads still lying in a heap on the floor next to the table that held the silver bowl in which she had washed. Instantly she knew what she wanted to do. It was the perfect thing. She walked over to the table and carefully moved the silver bowl to the floor. Then she squatted down and sat in it. The water level went up to the rim, but only a little splashed out. She put her fingers in the water to wash them off and under the water she caressed her vagina, cleaning it well. She allowed her finger to slide briefly all the way into her vagina and then she gently washed her tender clitoris.
Although she had still been high when she sat down in the bowl of water, now at this specific moment the effects of the drug left her. She was herself — just shy Betsy again, sitting naked in a silver bowl of water on the floor of a mansion as three well-dressed boys watched her, two of them sipping martinis.
Still sitting in the bowl she grabbed her elbow pads and slipped them on, then her knee pads and her skates. But with her skates on she couldn’t get out of the bowl on her own. Seeing her struggling to do so, Charles rushed over and assisted her and as she rose to her feet Betsy felt the cool water running from her crotch down her legs.
“I really should go,” she said as she put on her helmet.
“Of course,” Reginald said with a bow and handed her the signed form. “We are honored to have met you and hope you will visit us again sometime.”
“And you won’t tell–”
In a moment, Betsy was outside again, skating down the long driveway and then down Fraternity Lane to the busier street that ran along the edge of campus. With the back of her hand she felt her butt, still wet and cool. Dozens of people were nearby, watching her skate by, and a car full of guys honked its horn as it passed.
Though only a few moments ago she had felt exultant in her nudity, absolutely convinced that it was the perfect thing to do, now Betsy felt as she usually did — embarrassed. She was naked and had to go naked every day. How had she let herself get into this situation? How long would she have to do it? For Kate. She was doing this for Kate. Betsy tried to ignore the people watching her as she imagined telling Kate about her adventurous day. Kate would love hearing all of the details — well, most of them anyway. Betsy would leave the last frat house out of her story. There were some things Kate didn’t need to know.