What a Girl Will do for Love, Part 4

By Molly McMann

“So, little sister,” Hannah’s voice said on the phone, “are you still going everywhere naked?”

Betsy sighed. “Yes.”

“And it’s been, what, three weeks now?”

“Three and a half – more if you count before we moved to Huron. But back then I only had to go nude in Kate’s apartment. I wish it could have stayed that way, and not . . . turned into this.”

“Well, you should have told Kate the truth – that you’re not actually a nudist.”

“I know, Hannah. Don’t you think I know that? It just happened so fast. We only met two months ago and you know I had never ever slept with anyone on the first date, but somehow it happened, and then she just really seemed to want me to . . . stay naked in her apartment, so I did. And when we were, you know . . . being intimate . . . she wanted me to talk about how much I liked . . . being naked. God, Hannah, I’m so embarrassed telling this to my big sister.”

“It’s okay, Bets, I’ve told you all kinds of stuff about my relationships, and you—“

“—practically never had one before.”

“Betsy, you’ve had relationships.”

“Not like this, Hannah. Not anything so . . . intense. I swear I fell in love with her that first night. I wanted so much for it to become a real and lasting relationship and not just physical. I wanted her to fall in love with me — and she did!”

“I think that’s wonderful, Bets. I truly do. I’ve got nothing against Kate, and I hope to meet her soon. And she obviously loves you because she took that job in Huron for you.”

“Yes, and stupid me didn’t make the connection that Huron is the only province in the commonwealth where people have the right to be full-time nudists. I didn’t know she had turned down better job offers so she could give me what she thought I wanted.”

“But you kept telling her you wished you could go naked everywhere.”

“I said that during SEX, Hannah! I thought it was just role-playing. Jeez, I’d never been with someone who wanted me to talk during sex before. I don’t know the freakin rules! Yes, I said it, and I liked saying it – as a GAME. It wasn’t until we actually moved here that I realized what she’d done – the sacrifice she made so she could bring me here to Huron – and then it was too late. And she was so . . . so happy about being able to . . . give this to me that I . . . I didn’t want to disappoint her, and before I knew it she’d gotten rid of all my clothing and I’ve been going naked ever since!”

“I know, Betsy, I’ve seen you on the national news twice now. Nudity may be legal in Huron, but it must not be very common. The way the TV news treats it, you seem to be the only one.”

“That’s another thing I didn’t know about when this started. I thought at least there were OTHER nudists. And technically there are, but not in Kingsley. They all live in those beach towns of the Southern Peninsula where the lawsuit originated. The High Court ruling made public nudity legal in the whole province, but only for people who are SO committed to nudism that they never, EVER wear clothing. Up here in Kingsley we have WINTER, so who in their right mind would commit to year-round nudity?”

“Well . . . you did.”

Betsy sighed. “I did.”

“Which is fine if that’s what you truly want. I just . . . don’t understand why you still haven’t told Kate how you really feel. You think she’ll dump you if you’re not really a nudist? Surely she’s not that shallow, Betsy.“

“She’s not shallow, Hannah, so please stop saying that! It’s not just whether I’m a nudist, but whether I’ve been honest with her – and I haven’t been, Hannah. I’ve been lying to her all this time, and she will never forgive me for that.”

“You don’t know that. Why can’t you—“

“I’m tired of talking about it,” Betsy interrupted. “Maybe I’m getting used to it. Maybe this is what I want now.”

“Betsy . . “

“It’s what I want,” Betsy whispered.

“If you say so.”

“I do. And I have to go now.”

“Okay, then. Well, I guess the whole family will see you naked at Solstice then.”

“Maybe they will.”

No they won’t, Betsy promised herself as she put her phone back in her purse and stepped off the curb to cross at the light in the middle of downtown Kingsley. She was naked except for jewelry, sunglasses and red, 3-inch heels. Her golden brown breasts bounced delicately as she strode past cars stopped at the light. Wherever she went, everyone nearby paused what they were doing and watched her go by.

No, definitely before Solstice this would get resolved, Betsy was determined. Her brothers may have seen videos of her naked on the Internet, but there was no way she’d let them see her naked in person.  Roy and David were technically Betsy’s adoptive first-cousins — not even blood relatives — but they’d been in her life since she was 10, and in her heart they were her brothers.

Betsy located her bright green VW convertible at a parking meter in a bustling shopping area. She’d left the top down and the leather seat was toasty hot from the sun as she slowly lowered her bare butt onto it.  She had been thinking of getting custom cloth slipcovers installed, but hadn’t ordered them yet because — she kept telling herself — surely she’d be wearing clothing again before they arrived.

The other problem with leather seats on a hot day was the sweating. Betsy’s back, butt and thighs were slippery wet by the time she got back to Avery to the little blue house with a white picket fence a few blocks from the college. When she was finally indoors, Betsy flung herself face down on the bed.  As she felt the breeze from the ceiling fan blowing her dry, she slid her right hand under her body and began to touch herself.

Betsy did not understand how something that made her so embarrassed could also make her so very, very aroused as well, but after being naked in front of so many people downtown, it had taken all of her will power not to masturbate in the car. She hadn’t entirely succeeded, allowing herself a few touches at red lights. Fortunately, Betsy’s car was a stick shift, so her hands had been kept occupied most of the time.

Most days, she tried to hold off until Kate came home. Invariably, Kate would drop her briefcase as soon as she walked in the door and take Betsy in her arms. Kate’s hand would quickly be between Betsy’s legs and Betsy would have her first orgasm of the evening right there standing up in the kitchen. Some days, however, Betsy could not wait and took care of the first one herself. Kate would have to work a little harder to get the second one out.

The only time Betsy really wanted to be a nudist was when she was well on her way to having an orgasm. Then, the prospect of being constantly nude seemed like a wonderful idea. In those moments, everything was simple and her problem was solved. She would simply accept her situation and live as a nudist! She wanted to be a nudist. She wanted to stay naked all the time. All the time. All the time.

Betsy’s legs went stiff and she buried her face in her pillow so the neighbors wouldn’t hear her scream. Afterwards, she rolled over to feel the breeze on her front. Now, without the distraction of sexual arousal, she was back to being timid, mousy Betsy — cringing in embarrassment at the thought that she had to go naked everywhere; that she did not even own clothing anymore.
How had she gotten herself into this situation? What could she possibly do to get out of it — other than telling Kate the truth and risking what might follow?

Kate might have accepted her not being a nudist if Betsy had confessed a long time ago, but would Kate forgive Betsy for lying to her all this time? Kate was a bit prickly at the best of times, easily perturbed if the least detail of her preferred routine was out of order. Betsy was always apologizing for something, and Kate always forgave her and transformed back into the loving, protective woman Betsy had fallen in love with so quickly. Too quickly perhaps. If things had gone more slowly this stupid misunderstanding might never have happened.

As Betsy fretted over these questions and doubts for the umpteenth time, she felt another unpleasant sensation — a familiar dull cramp.

“Crap,” she whispered to the bedroom ceiling as she counted back the days in her head. Yes, she was about to start her period. Somehow, she had convinced herself that she would surely find a way out of her predicament before her next period came, but that had not happened. And this meant the entirety of her outfit the first day of the school year would be shoes and a tampon.

It was bad enough Betsy had to start her senior year in college completely nude. Now she realized she would also be on her period. Although she was apparently the only full-time nudist in the Kingsley metro area, Betsy knew there were other nudists down south. What did THEY do about this, she wondered.

Calling up the Huron Nudists Association website, she searched for “tampon string” but was dismayed to find only photos of women proudly showing how they had decorated their strings with ribbons, bangles and even jingle bells. Betsy searched again, this time for “HIDE tampon string” and found a video featuring a perky naked blonde named Libby sitting on a bed.

“I love going everywhere naked,” Libby confided to the camera, “but that doesn’t mean I want the whole world to know when I’m on my period. So I hide my tampon string by cutting it super-short so it stays inside. I know what you’re thinking: if the string is that short how do I get a grip on it? Well, there’s a simple trick to that, and I’m going to show you right now.”

Betsy watched amazed as Libby rolled onto her back, brought her knees up and over until they touched the bed and her torso was upside down, displaying herself as prominently as could be. The camera zoomed in to show a white string of normal length dangling from her upside-down pussy, which now entirely filled Betsy’s computer screen. With deft movements, Libby made a loop and tied a knot less than an inch from where the string disappeared into her shiny pink vagina.

“Now be sure to use safety scissors for this part,” Libby sang out cheerily as the round-tipped scissors appeared in the close-up and she snipped the string just below the knot. “Ta-dah!” she cried, rolling off the bed acrobatically and hopping to her feet, where she stood with her legs apart so another close-up could establish that indeed no string was visible. “And when it’s time to take it out, just feel for the knot and pinch it with your fingernails,” she said as with a flourish she whipped out the still-pristine tampon and held it out by it’s tiny, knotted string

Betsy put her open laptop on the mattress beside her and played the video again as she followed the instructions. It took several tries before she got the knot high enough, but it worked. She left the last one in as test and went about her weekend routine — which included mowing the grass.

Betsy loved the little blue house with its pretty front lawn enclosed by the white picket fence — but having a lawn meant mowing it, and Kate had made it clear this would be Betsy’s task. Saturday morning, she came out the front door wearing a ball cap and tennis shoes but stopped short when she looked across the street.

She didn’t think she would ever get used to living across the street from a cafe with outdoor seating — not as long as she was a nudist — but at least during the summer there had only been 10 or 12 people scattered among the tables. Now that the semester was about to start, all the tables were filled with returning students — and their parents.

The little blue house had come with a lawn mower — the old fashioned kind powered only by the person pushing it. Though the yard was not very large, Betsy was soon perspiring from the effort. She avoided looking across the street, but she felt all of those eyes on her and began worrying that the tampon string might be showing. She looked down at herself, but could not be sure from that angle so as she turned the mower at the far side of the fence, Betsy gave herself a quick touch and was relieved to feel no string sticking out. But as she pushed the mower towards her audience, she would start worrying again so each time she made the far turn she did a quick check.

By the time she finished the lawn, Betsy was sweaty and wanted to go in and take a very private shower, but first she had to water her flowers. The picket fence was lined with flower beds of lavender petunias but they could only be reached from outside of the fence and the garden hose didn’t reach that far. So Betsy had to fill her watering can up by the house, walk out the gate to the sidewalk barely 10 feet from the cafe tables. And because the watering can was not large enough, she had to make the trip back and forth several times.

The rest of the weekend Betsy practiced her knot-tying and got fairly good at it, but each time she pulled it out she was disappointed to see it was still clean. Betsy was blessed with a very light and brief period — a single, half-bloodied tampon would signal it had come and gone.

By Monday morning it had still not come, so at 7:23 a.m. Betsy stepped out on the porch carrying a purse and wearing only sandals, jewelry and a tampon with a very short string. She stepped through the gate and kept her chin up as she walked down the sidewalk past the busy cafe and towards the college.

She had been going everywhere naked for three weeks, but on this sunny morning Betsy felt more exposed than ever before. It had been difficult enough being nude among the relatively sparse summer population, but now everywhere she looked she saw 10 times as many people as before. And they were all looking at her.

Betsy fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses and hid behind them as the crowd enveloped her – everyone walking towards campus. Amid the hubbub of voices within earshot, she heard variations of “Look, it’s her. Betsy Andrews . . . Avery nudist — the one in the videos . . . Goes everywhere naked . . . Doesn’t own any clothing . . .”

Betsy’s first class was in an old lecture hall of a hundred wooden desks bolted to the floor and rising in tiers. She wanted to go to the back, but the top rows were already pretty full and she did not want to have to jostle her way through a crowd so she sat in the front row. The professor stumbled through his first-day lecture, unable to keep his mind on his notes.

At least in that class no formal effort was made at introductions, but her second class was small and the prof insisted that everyone tell something about themselves. When her turn came, Betsy avoided saying anything about her nudity, but of course someone asked right away. Yes, she had to say, I am a full-time nudist . . . no, I no longer own any clothing . . . yes, I love being nude. Her big lie.

Before her third class, Betsy ducked into a restroom stall to check her tampon and was disappointed to see it was spotless. Hurriedly, she inserted a fresh one, but realized after she’d cut the string that the knot wasn’t quite high enough and what remained of the string was longer than it should be. She tried to tie another knot higher up, but now the string was too short for her to work with. She only had one tampon left and didn’t want to waste one so early in the day so she stuffed the slightly-too-long string inside and hoped it would stay put.

This had also made her late, so she had to run, which made her even more self-conscious because now everyone was watching her breasts bounce. As she entered the classroom, Betsy heard someone calling her name. Lots of people knew her name, of course, so she assumed it was another stranger until she realized that the skinny girl in the tube top and low-cut denim shorts was Michelle.

Michelle was an art student and life drawing model who routinely went nude in the Art Building where she spent most of her time, but because she was not registered she had to dress when elsewhere on campus. She was pointing to the open seat next to her so Betsy shuffled her way down the row, as people moved their knees or half stood to let her pass. They all got a close-up view of Betsy from behind while those in the row ahead looked over their shoulders to watch her hairless pussy passing only inches from their eyes.

Michelle threw her arms around Betsy in a hug as if they’d known each other all their lives – though in fact they’d only met once before. It had, of course, been an intimate meeting — a roller skating collision and tumble that put their faces in each other’s crotches before they knew each other’s name.

“I was hoping we’d be in a class together,” Michelle squealed, jumping up and down in enthusiasm. Obeying the laws of physics, the tube top became dislodged from her bouncing breasts and fell to her waist. Michelle ignored it for a few seconds and then casually pulled it back up with no more embarrassment than if her sandal had come off her foot.

The lecture began, but Betsy could not concentrate — being preoccupied first by Michelle’s exposed white skin, and then with her own pussy when she noticed a bit of the string was sticking out. She could not resist poking it back in, but a few seconds later it slithered out again. Chances are, no one would have noticed the tiny bit of string, but those seated nearby could not help but notice she was periodically sticking her index finger a knuckle deep into her pussy.

When class was over and other students began filing out, Michelle was laughing. “What have you been DOING down there?” she cried. Betsy hurriedly related her predicament and spread her legs a bit to show Michelle the string.

“Heck, I can help you with that little problem,” Michelle declared, slipping off her chair and kneeling between Betsy’s legs, “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

“Michelle!” Betsy squealed as the other girl used her thumbs to spread open Betsy’s outer labia.

“This’ll just take a sec,” Michelle assured her. “I could do this with my tongue if you hadn’t already cut the string so short.”

“Do what with your tongue?”

“Tie a knot in your tampon string. Don’t you know that’s a thing?  I came in second in a contest once. This way’s quicker though.”

Betsy had been having a difficult enough time fending off sexual arousal just sitting next to the oh-so-nearly-naked Michelle. Now, she had to concentrate on  not having orgasm as the other girl’s fingers wiggled inside of her.

“It’s a slippery little sucker,” Michelle muttered, her face inches from her task. At this moment, two other girls came into the room for the next class.

“Woah,” one of them said. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies.”

“Oh, it’s not what it looks like,” Michelle laughed. “Just helping my friend the nudist hide her tampon string.”

“Oh wow, it’s Betsy Andrews!” one girl exclaimed, and both girls ran around to squat next to Michelle in order to be face-to-face with Betsy. “I’m SO glad to meet you. You’re my hero!”

“Um, thank you?” Betsy replied awkwardly.

“Got it!” Michelle announced triumphantly. “Now we just have to snip off the excess so it won’t slip out again.”

“I have some little scissors,” Betsy said, feeling around in her purse for the little gold scissors.

“I got this,” Michelle said, and as the other two girls watched wide-eyed, she leaned her face into Betsy’s vagina. Her lips went inside of Betsy’s lips and puckered as she sucked in the string and began sawing at it with her teeth. Betsy had by this time found her scissors, but said nothing and only held them secretly inside of her purse as she let Michelle continue.

After a few seconds, Michelle leaned back, stuck out her tongue to show the tiny bit of string and then spit it across the room. The other girls cheered and applauded as Michelle grinned, her nose and chin shiny wet.

Betsy reached in with her thumb and forefinger and felt the new knot in the now ultra-short string.“Oh thank you, Michelle!’ she gushed, throwing her arms around her new best friend. “This is such a relief.”

Michelle buried her face in Betsy’s neck, wiping her chin and nose dry against Betsy’s skin, and then whispered into her ear, “anytime you want my face in your pussy, just ask.”  Lost in the moment, Betsy slid her hands up and down Michelle’s bare back, from her shoulder blades all the way down to the cleft of her half-exposed butt crack.

The mood was broken as more students burst in for the next class, all of them noticing Betsy the nudist as she hurriedly gathered her things and the two of them made their way against traffic and out into the hallway. Betsy was in the lead, so she ended up brushing against the bodies of nearly everyone she passed — particularly certain boys who pretended to be making way for her only to step closer at the last moment so they could brush their arms against her breasts.

Out on the sidewalk, Betsy and Michelle each had classes in opposite directions so they hugged goodbye and Michelle kissed her sloppy wet on the cheek. Betsy watched as Michelle ran off, her shorts riding lower and lower on her back, exposing most her her butt crack until just before they nearly fell off she pulled them up again, glancing over her shoulder at Betsy as she did so.

Though she compulsively wanted to check the tampon between every class, Betsy only had one left and forced herself to wait until 4:00 when she was on her way to her final class of the day. She ducked into a ladies’ room stall and felt for the knot. The tampon slipped out easily and she was overjoyed to see it was bloodied just the right amount to assure her that her period was over.

“Yess!” Betsy shouted, her voice echoing in the empty bathroom. After flushing the tampon down the toilet, she washed her hands and splashed herself between the legs to be sure she was all clean. That last bit of cleansing soon turned out to have been unnecessary because outside she discovered it was pouring rain. Betsy’s last class of the day was on the far side of campus, and now she was late so she began to run. Elated at the burden just lifted from her, Betsy laughed as she splashed past people huddled under umbrellas who called out her name.

Ever since childhood, Betsy had always enjoyed getting rained on and at least one benefit of her new lifestyle was that she could do so without the inconvenience of wet clothing. She got to her classroom a few minutes late and burst in dripping. It was another small class, with 10 or 12 other students sitting in folding chairs in a circle. The prof, a slightly hunched woman in her 70s with short white hair and reading glasses perched at the end of her nose, was telling the students she wanted them each to stand in the middle of the circle and tell something interesting about themselves. “And let’s begin with you,” the prof said to Betsy, gesturing for her to step into the room.

Rainwater still ran in rivulets down her body as Betsy stepped into the middle of the circle. She would have hated this a few hours ago, but now she felt so relaxed. “Hi I’m Betsy Andrews,” she sang out,” and I’m the nudist you may have heard about.” Again, her classmates were full of questions and this time Betsy didn’t mind giving the answers. When she said, “I love being nude,” she almost meant it.

By the time class was over, the rain had become a downpour. While those around her struggled through the rain with their umbrellas and sodden clothing, Betsy strolled as she would in the sunshine, mentally replaying every second of her encounter with Michelle – in particular that electrifying moment when Michelle had stuck out her tongue to show the bit of tampon string, her chin and cheeks wet from Betsy’s pussy. Betsy had been assuming Michelle was straight – she had a boyfriend after all – but surely she was at least bi to have done that so casually. Stop it, stop it, Betsy lectured herself. Michelle’s sexual orientation was irrelevant because Betsy was in a committed relationship with Kate. Michelle was a friend and nothing more.

“Tell me all about your day,” Kate said that evening as she massaged Betsy’s clitoris in the kitchen. She had barely put down her briefcase and and umbrella, and was kissing Betsy’s neck and back. “Don’t leave out . . . a single . . . detail.” Betsy did elect to leave out a few details, mentioning Michelle only in passing, though it was Michelle that she thought of as the orgasm came upon her. It was Michelle, not Betsy, who was a real nudist. It was Michelle who should be naked all the time. All the time. Naked all the time.

The following day, Betsy had to go through all the introductions again with a different set of classes. As before, she found this excruciatingly embarrassing the first class of the day, but by late afternoon she was feeling sufficiently aroused to at least take the edge off. She supposed she should be grateful for that. With so many people around, Betsy kept expecting to encounter disapproval or rejection, but everyone seemed to adore her.

Amid all of the faces looking back at her, Betsy was searching for one face in particular — Dean’s. She wondered if he’d go shirtless in class, wearing only those threadbare white denim shorts. Betsy was pretty sure he went commando because she could often see the shape of his slumbering-but-easily-woken penis down one tight pant leg or the other. Yet he seemed to be magician-deft at adjusting himself when the need, ahem, arose. She would look down and suddenly now it would be standing at attention behind his zipper. She didn’t have much experience with penises, but did not see how it could have executed that maneuver on its own.

Although she had stolen occasional peeks at that region of his body, Betsy spent more time looking at his bare chest and sun-freckled muscular shoulders. He had an unruly shock of reddish-brown hair, and stubble of the same color along his strong jaw line. Mostly, she liked to look at his eyes. They were big and ultra light blue, with delicate reddish eye lashes. More than once during those two weeks, Dean’s eyes and Betsy’s eyes had locked together so intently that Betsy thought they might kiss, but they didn’t. And shouldn’t, she had to remind herself afterwards. They were just friends. It was reasonable to want to see your friend, she told herself as she peered through the crowd in vain.

By the third day of classes, Betsy was feeling marginally less uncomfortable because at least the introductions were over and she wouldn’t have to give her why-I-am-a-nudist speech. She was also looking forward to seeing Michelle.

Again, Michelle was wearing something oh-so-skimpy – a light green t-shirt that she had cut so short it showed the bottoms of her breasts even when her arms were down. If she raised either hand over her head a nipple would pop out under her shirt. Down below, she wore what appeared from a distance to be matching bikini bottoms. Up close, however, Betsy could see otherwise.

She laughed. “Michelle, are those panties?”

“Maybe,” Michelle winked. “Anyway what’s the difference? They cover the same territory.” It was true that the panties were approximately the same size and shape as bikini bottoms, but unlike a bathing suit they were just thin cotton with no backing. In the humid August afternoon, the thin, damp cloth clung like a second skin along the clefts of her butt and pussy.

“If I was as brave as you, I wouldn’t have to wear these at all,” Michelle said. “I really want to register as a nudist, Betsy, but it’s such a commitment. Not even owning clothing! That’s so extreme, but it’s what I WANT I think. I’m so confused.”

Betsy longed to tell her the truth — that she didn’t want to do this at all, but she could not make the words come out of her mouth. She felt like she’d be letting Michelle down, and besides it was risky to tell anyone because somehow it might get back to Kate. If nothing else, Betsy did not want her lie to be Michelle’s inspiration.

“You’re right to be cautious,” she said. “Take your time thinking it over.”

Michelle grabbed her hand. “How did you know it was the right thing for you?”

“Well, I . . . with me it was . . . I can’t explain it, but if you don’t feel sure of it, maybe that means this lifestyle isn’t for you. You still get to go naked a lot, right?”

“Just in the Art Building and my dorm, and they’re close together so I’ve been going naked walking back in forth — but I’m not technically supposed to do that outdoors because I’m not a REAL nudist.”

“You are so a real nudist,” Betsy insisted, tears welling in her eyes as the two girls hugged in class while the prof tapped his microphone, and the room began to quiet. Betsy wanted to say more, but there was no time and the lecture began. Michelle didn’t let go of her hand until they had to start taking notes.

On Friday morning it was raining again and was forecast to remain steady all day. Betsy thought of wearing tennis shoes or flip flops, but decided that going barefoot would be better in the mucky wet. Her hair was just going to get wet anyway so she tied it in a single braid down her back. The elastic band that held it, along with a few rings, made up the entirety of her ensemble. To carry her phone and other necessities, Betsy had a little, waterproof back pack sized for a first-grader (it had a picture of Ariel the Mermaid on it) but it was a good substitute for a purse.

As she had earlier in the week, Betsy found the warm rain irresistibly arousing. At the lecture hall, everyone else was burdened with sopping clothing and umbrellas, but Betsy felt free of all that. She considered stopping at to the restroom to dry off with paper towels, but decided not to. In the theater-styled lecture hall, all the aisle seats were taken so Betsy had to excuse herself and shuffle sideways down a row, stepping among the long legs and big tennis shoes of a dozen guys. Being civilized college students, they knew better than to touch her inappropriately, but of course were free to take full advantage of the visual opportunity.

She found a seat in the middle of a row and very soon the seats next to hers were occupied by grinning, nervous boys and the lecture began. Betsy sat up straight with her knees together and tried to listen while her skin slowly air dried (except her butt and back which would remain slippery wet throughout the class). The guys at her left and right made humorous comments about the prof and a few of their bon mots made her giggle.

When class was over and everyone stood, Betsy felt the remaining water on her back and butt trickle down her legs. It didn’t matter because the rain was still coming down in sheets. Her little bag tossed over her shoulder by one strap, Betsy walked directly out into the storm. The quickest way to her next class was across a grassy courtyard. Low-lying, it was almost entirely submerged and Betsy had to wade through it, the water lapping around her ankles.

At her next class the cycle repeated, and by late morning Betsy was more aroused than she had ever been in public. It was as if some pagan god of the rain were making love to her every step of the way between classes. When lunchtime came, she did not want to go indoors so she bought a cup of fruit from an outdoor kiosk and sat alone among the tables that on a nicer day would have been crowded. The rain had slackened to a light sprinkle, but lightning flickered behind dark clouds hanging low in the sky.

Everyone else was indoors, crammed into cafeteria booths whose windows looked out at the tables where Betsy sat in the sprinkling rain eating her cup of fruit. She knew they were all looking at her, but it took a moment before she realized they could also see under the table where she had allowed her legs to splay comfortably apart. Betsy sat up straighter and crossed her legs, but as she did so a strawberry slipped from her spoon and landed between her thighs, just as she crossed them. She had caught it but squished it so when she uncrossed her legs she had to use her fingers to gather up the pieces and put them in her mouth. She still had strawberry sauce smeared on her so Betsy scooped it up with her wetted fingers and sucked her fingers as she did so.

During those few seconds, Betsy had forgotten she was being watched and when she looked up and saw all the faces again she felt a wave of arousal that she could no longer ignore. It was barely 1 p.m. and she knew she could not possibly get through the afternoon without having an orgasm. It was going to happen one way or the other, so she decided to take charge of it . She considered going to a restroom, but the least little moan would echo and Betsy could not trust herself to be quiet. She had noticed a park bench at the top of a grassy hill overlooking the cafeteria. People inside would still be able to see her, but she’d be too far away for them to realize what she was doing. She hoped no one had binoculars.

Betsy climbed the hill, and as she reached the bench the rain started coming down harder again. She sat and crossed her legs, draping her left arm casually over the back of the bench and resting her right hand in her lap. Except it was not resting. She tried to keep her elbow from moving as she looked casually down at the faces in the windows below. She did pretty well until the very end when she faced the sky and moaned along with the thunder.

The downside to having an orgasm in the middle of the day was that without the arousal to distract her she felt only intense embarrassment when she went to her next class. It did not help that the air conditioning was set too cold, making Betsy’s nipples pucker into points that no one in the class could resist looking at.

After that class, Betsy was glad to get back out into the sensuous warmth of the rain. A busy afternoon later, the last class of the day was her favorite. It was a philosophy discussion class and the prof was good at getting Betsy and her classmates into freewheeling debates. Everyone got to know each other, and Betsy enjoyed the conversations so much she almost forgot about her nudity and was disappointed when the prof said they were out of time.

A group of six or seven students, one of them nude, went out the side exit together still debating, but now the subject was which bar to go to.

“Let’s go to that new place — Inspector Something.”

“McClavel’s,” said Lu Chen, “Cool place, and I hear it’s M&M night.”

During this conversation, everyone else had stopped under the small overhang putting up umbrellas as Betsy kept walking a few steps out into the downpour. She turned back and stood waiting for them, hands on her hips.

“You mean M&Ms like the candy?” she asked.

“No, silly,” Lu Chen laughed. “Margaritas and marijuana.” She stepped out into the rain under her umbrella as the other students cheered in acclamation at the choice of McClavel’s

“You’re coming too, aren’t you, Betsy?” Taylor asked.

“Oh, I really can’t,” Betsy said, honestly disappointed. “My girlfriend will be home any minute and we always go out to dinner on Friday nights.”

“Invite her along!”

Betsy pondered the possibility, unsure if she wanted to mix the two worlds. “Well, I need to go home first at least. I’ll ask and maybe we’ll show up.”

“Don’t forget — McClavel’s!” Aaron called after her as she parted from the group, but then she heard one of the girls say to Aaron, “she’s not going to come, stupid. She’s too cool for us.”

Stung and perplexed by that last comment, Betsy jogged home, splashing through pools of water, her bag flopping wetly against her back. When she was indoors, she dumped her possessions out of the bag to make sure they were still dry. Her phone showed an unread message and it was Kate. “Sorry, babe, I have to go to a work thing so we can’t have our usual Friday dinner. But don’t you dare sit home alone. I order you to go out and party naked somewhere. It’s Friday night; there must be something going on. You can tell me all the sexy details when I get home at 8.”

As she stood dripping in the kitchen, Betsy told herself she really should do what Kate had expressly told her to do. Kate would be expecting her to go out and would be annoyed if Betsy didn’t obey. That’s what Betsy told herself as she stepped in front of the full-length mirror and saw her reflection smiling back at her. Should she put on different jewelry? Try to do something with her wet hair? No, she decided. She would wear absolutely nothing. She took off her rings and looked at herself again as if that made much difference — yet somehow it had. Now she was wearing only the elastic band that held her braid in place. so that had to go too. She pulled it out but decided not to try doing anything else with her hair. It could just unravel on its own.

Now she was perfectly, absolutely nude, but there was still the question of the purse. She’d been lugging it around all day, and wanted to be free of all burdens. But leaving her purse at home would mean going out with nothing at all — no money, no phone . . . and no key! Feeling a sudden rush of certainty that THIS was what she must do, Betsy stepped out onto the front porch and slowly closed the door. Her free hand drifted to her crotch and pressed firmly as she slowly and deliberately pulled the front door until she felt the latch click. Wiggling the doorknob with one hand and her clitoris with the other, Betsy knew she was committed. Forcing both hands to her sides, she turned, stepped off the porch and walked out into the rain.

Betsy decided to head for McClavel’s to see her classmates, but first she was going to look for Michelle . . . or maybe even Dean. She hadn’t spotted him all week, and she had no idea where to look for him — but Michelle might be at the Art Building. Betsy made her way there, imagining she would find Michelle naked inside. Maybe they would embrace in a slippery “friendship” hug.

When she got there, the doors of the Art Building were locked and Betsy did not know the keypad code. She walked around the building glancing in windows, but saw no one. She knew Michelle’s dorm was nearby, but which one? Betsy stood in the rain imagining the wet embrace happening in Michelle’s dorm room . . . next to her bed. That would be . . . a really bad idea. She turned and splashed her way through the sodden grass towards the edge of campus where Avery’s little downtown began with a ragtag assemblage of quirky bars.

Betsy could see the distinctive “Inspector McClavel” sign — the two “c”s in the name painted to look like handcuffs — but she went the other direction to loop around the long way. It wasn’t much of a plan, but she was hoping against hope to somehow randomly bump into Dean. After all, she told herself, it was a Friday night and he might be here somewhere. Betsy didn’t want to jostle her way into the crowded bars, but she took a good look as she passed the open windows and canopy-covered patios. Betsy had the street mostly to herself because of the continuing downpour. She heard people call her name and always looked in case it was Dean, but it never was.

McClavel’s had oversized windows that rolled up in sections like garage doors, and Betsy walked along the windows looking inside. Dean was not there either, but she did spot her friends from class. They were sitting near one of the big windows and cheered as they spotted Betsy approaching.

“Hi guys!,” she said cheerily, putting her elbows on the broad window sill and leaning partway in. She knew in this position her breasts, shiny wet and dripping, were very much on display. Meanwhile, the rainwater running off the roof was pouring onto her back and running down her legs.

“Join us!” Aaron implored her, pulling an extra chair over to the table. Aaron was tubby and overly hairy, but always had clever and funny things to say in their classroom discussions.

“Okay, where’s the door?” Betsy asked, looking around.

“Just climb in the window,” said Lu Chen. “That’s what I did.”

Betsy put one long, shiny-wet, sun-browned leg over the window ledge and pulled herself up, briefly straddling the window sill before swinging her other leg around until she was sitting on the sill facing in. She knew as she was doing so that she was giving her classmates an exceptional glimpse of her spread-open pussy, but in her current frame of mind that felt wonderful. She sat there on the sill a few seconds, letting everyone get a good look, and then she hopped down as they all watched her breasts bounce with her landing.

Someone poured her a margarita from a pitcher and someone else pushed the bong over to her. Soon they were all laughing and doing impressions of their professor. Aaron was particularly good at imitating her Northeastern accent.

Betsy made sure to tell everyone that she only had an hour before Kate was likely to be home. Naturally, the conversation turned to how she and Kate had met and what brought them to Huron.

“We came so I could go naked all the time,” Betsy said truthfully, and she was feeling so aroused that it almost seemed like it had been her idea. With some prodding, she told the story of how she gave away most of her clothes before the move and was down to a single dress as they made the drive, and how she had taken that off just before they crossed the border and let Kate throw it out the sunroof.

“You littered in our province?” Taylor asked in mock umbrage.

“We littered just BEFORE we came into your province,” Betsy corrected.

After an hour Betsy said her goodbyes and climbed back out the way she’d come, pausing midway to ask what the reading assignment was for Monday’s class. She already knew the answer, but just wanted an excuse to linger on the window sill with one leg partway out to one side in a seemingly natural but very exposed position. She pretended not to notice, of course, telling herself that as a nudist she could act oblivious to whether she was on display.

“So just Chapter Three?” she asked to drag it out. “I thought there was an article or something also.”

“Not this week,” Aaron explained to her pussy as Betsy gazed out across the crowded bar, thrilled to see that all eyes were on her.

“Okay, well see ya!” she finally said and swung her other leg around so that she was sitting on the sill facing outwards. This still gave everyone a nice view of her butt and Betsy paused another few seconds before hopping off the sill, landing on her bare feet in the squishy grass as the rain made her gloriously wet again.

She had only consumed one margarita but had two hits from the bong and was feeling its euphoric effects. That on top of the accumulated eroticism of the afternoon and evening had put her in desperate need of an orgasm. She skipped and jogged past the other bars and people on the street with their umbrellas and rain ponchos who waved at her and called out her name.

When she turned off the main drag to a side street where no one was close by, Betsy gave her clitoris a quick burst of attention, but forced herself to stop before she got to the corner. She was only a few blocks from home and if Kate was not yet there Betsy decided she would take care of things herself. She just needed to get indoors first.

That was the only thing on her mind as Betsy turned a corner and saw Dean. He was across the street under the shelter of an awning wearing only those skimpy white shorts and flip flops. He was looking down at his phone and didn’t notice as Betsy began to run towards him. Only at the last moment did he look up when she was nearly upon him. Fortunately for him, a stout awning post was at his back as 110 pounds of wet, naked girl slammed into him.

“Where have you BEEN?” Betsy demanded, her legs squeezing his waist, ankles locked together, and her arms wrapped around his neck so that their faces were mere inches apart.

Dean smiled that crooked smile of his. “It’s nice to see you too,” he said. “Actually, I spent the last couple of hours waiting in line at the Apple store to get my new phone which is, um . . .” He looked down and Betsy followed his gaze to where his left arm was trapped against her body. Only then did she pay attention to the feeling of something hard pressed against her pussy.

“Omigod, is your phone . . . down there?”

“Yep.”

“Is it waterproof? Because of the rain I mean?”

“The, um, wetness won’t hurt it,” Dean said, “but—“

“Sorry, I’ll get down,” Betsy said, and unclasped her ankles.

“Wait. Don’t move yet,” Dean said, holding her against him with his other hand now on her butt. “I haven’t bought a case for it yet, so it would be really unfortunate if it dropped onto the sidewalk.”

Betsy tried to resume her position, but felt the phone sliding against her crotch. Trying to keep it from falling, she pressed herself against him, locking her ankles again. The phone stopped its downward descent, but in doing so it slipped partly into her vagina, the edge of the phone firmly pressing against her clitoris. And then Betsy felt something else.

“Oh-oh!” she gasped. “I think you’re . . . getting a phone call.”

The phone buzzed audibly as it vibrated against Betsy’s clitoris. Three times, then a fourth. “How many times will it . . . um . . . do this . . . um . . . before it picks up?”

“Gee, I’m not sure,” Dean said, taking his time. “I usually make it four, but I haven’t set this one up yet, so . . .” As he spoke, the phone continued to buzz a fifth, sixth and finally a seventh time, but Dean made no effort to extract it. Betsy was content to ride it out as well, and used the time to gaze into his eyes.

The buzzing finally stopped — about two rings short of an orgasm — but before Betsy could catch her breath a woman’s voice came from her pussy, saying “Hello loverboy.” Dean’s already large eyes widened and he reached his right hand under Betsy’s butt while moving his trapped left hand and the phone slipped out of her. “Too busy to answer, are you?” the voice went on as Dean almost dropped the slippery phone and had to catch it against Betsy’s left butt cheek.

“Bet I know what’s keeping you busy,” the voice continued, as Dean fumbled with it to find the mute button. “I saw the video of you with that ultra-hot nudist chick, and I saw how you looked at her. You can’t fool me, little brother — you are in love! Now call me and tell me all about it when you’re not busy between that girl’s legs.”

The phone finally went silent and Dean shoved it in his pocket. “That was my sister,” he says unnecessarily. “She thinks she knows everything.”

“She was pretty close about . . . being between my legs,” Betsy giggled as she reluctantly brought her feet to the ground but kept her arms around his neck. “Was she right about anything else?”

“Well . . . you are ultra-hot.”

“I meant . . . that other thing.”

Dean put his hands on her wrists and gently pulled her arms away from his neck. “Am I in love with you? No, I’m not — but only because I work pretty hard at not letting that happen. It takes a lot of mental energy, but I have a policy against falling in love with lesbians who are already involved with someone else. How is Kate, by the way?”

At the mention of Kate’s name, Betsy came back to reality. The eroticism of the rain, not to mention the alcohol and marijuana in her system, had clouded her mind and allowed her fantasies to seem real. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Betsy admonished herself as she took a step backwards away from the embrace.

“Um, Kate’s fine,” she said, ashamed of herself, but now she remembered the time. “Oh crap, she’s probably getting home right about now, so . . . I guess I should . . . go.”

Dean sighed. “I guess you should.”

Betsy turned away, angry at herself and broke into a run, afraid that Kate would be mad if she came home to an empty house. Betsy made it there first, but then remembered she had left her house key inside. Despite the conflicting emotions rolling around in her head, Betsy felt a jolt of arousal at the reminder that she was locked out naked.

But now she saw Kate’s car approaching and in a moment they were both in the kitchen.

“Hey, my beautiful wet nudist,” Kate said putting her hands on Betsy’s hips and kissing her. Betsy wanted them to embrace, but didn’t know if it was okay to get Kate’s work clothes all wet. She let Kate push her backwards onto the kitchen table. Betsy leaned back and slid wetly on the surface of the table as Kate put her in the desired position. Sitting down, Kate lifted Betsy’s legs until the backs of Betsy’s thighs rested on her own shoulders.

“Tell me about your day,” Kate said as she began kissing Betsy’s pussy. “Tell me everything about your day.”

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The writings of Molly McMann