What a Girl Will Do for Love, Part 7

By Molly McMann

Betsy came home from the airport to an empty house and cried herself to sleep. When she woke in the morning, she cried some more. Walking to class, she had to pass Dean’s apartment, but he was gone — off on a romantic adventure in Italy with Michelle.  Betsy missed Dean, but Michelle’s absence felt much worse.  Later that day when she had a break in classes, Betsy’s feet took her to the Art Building and to Michelle’s little bit of studio space. She curled up in Michelle’s hammock and wept silently so the other art students in their own cubicles would not hear.

That first day, Betsy sent three emails and 10 texts to Kate, but Kate’s replies were few and brief. She was really busy, of course, Betsy told herself. Don’t pester her. That night they talked on the phone — or rather Kate talked and Betsy cried. The second day, Betsy felt a little better, but had conflicting feelings about an email she received from Michelle. It was filled with happy stories about all the fun she and Dean were already having in Rome. Betsy was glad for them, but felt desolate and left out. She replied with false cheer and did not mention that Kate was gone now too.

That evening, Betsy watched bad TV for three hours and ate popcorn for dinner, counting the minutes until Kate would call. She tried to be more cheerful on the phone, prepared with a semi-sexy story about having to give a presentation in one of her classes and how the boys who normally sat in the back row crowded together in the first row of seats.

“You know,” Kate said, “normally I’d be touching you while you told this story and you’d come before your story was finished. I miss that.”

“I miss it too,” Betsy said.

“Well maybe we need to make . . some adjustments.”

“Like, um, what?”

“Like YOU play with yourself while you tell me about your day, and I get to hear you come.”

“Phone sex?”

“Or you could videotape yourself doing it and send that to me.”

Betsy laughed. “I’m not doing THAT.”

“Then do the other thing, and no one will ever know you did it except little old me.”

“But I already told you my story, and I don’t have another one.”

“You could tell it again. I’ll bet it would sound like a whole different story that way.”

Betsy was pretty far from being in the mood to have an orgasm by any means, and especially not this way. “Can we save that for another night?”

“Let’s try it tomorrow night.”

The next day Betsy was eager to find some little experience she could use that night to make Kate happy. It shouldn’t be hard for a naked girl to find a sexy experience to talk about, but after all this time most of her day-to-day experiences were variations of things that had happened before. There was always some guy leering at her or giving her a stupid pick-up line. It helped when she felt more sexy herself, so she started giving herself strategic little touches throughout the day. She couldn’t be too obvious about it because someone was always staring at her, but a naked girl can graze her nipple whenever she wants, and fold her hands in her lap with her hidden pinkie in just the right spot. Betsy was already well practiced at these maneuvers, and by noon had managed to get herself quite worked up.

In the afternoon, she intentionally cut through the Student Center recreation room where lots of guys were playing pool, ping-pong and video games. Everyone noticed the Avery nudist and everyone pleaded with her to join them. She claimed at first to be dreadfully busy, but after some wooing conceded to play just one game. She chose ping-pong because it would be more bouncy. The guys adored her and took lots of pictures which she knew would go online immediately. After one game, she said she really truly had to leave but then let herself get talked into a quick game of foosball. This involved more bouncing, especially because Betsy jumped up and down with excitement every time her team scored a point. She was play-acting, at least at first, but ended up having a very good time and hugged all of the boys as she said goodbye.

That evening Kate was calling early because she was going out on a business dinner, so Betsy hurried home and was propped up in bed when her phone rang at 7 p.m. “Tell me about your day,” Kate said, and Betsy did. It was a very sexy story with lots of exquisite little details. Betsy got herself to the very precipice of an orgasm, but could not quite get comfortable doing this on the telephone, so . . . she faked it. Some of her moans were real, but the big ones at the end were embellished. “That was nice,” Kate said afterwards, “but it didn’t sound as good as the ones I give you.”

“I like it better when you do it,” Betsy said.

“We’ll have lots of catching up to do when I get home, but right now I’ve got to run. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Betsy said, her voice catching in her throat, but the line was already dead.

It was only 7:30 and Betsy did not want to spend another evening watching TV. She had to busy herself with something, and masturbation didn’t count. Through the bedroom door, Betsy’s gaze fell on the far wall of the living room — where the six paint swatches had been taped to the wall for weeks. She and Kate had talked and talked about painting the living room, but couldn’t agree on a color — though all of the swatches were some slight variation of light blue.

A rebellious thought came to Betsy. She could decide this herself without Kate’s approval. It would be all done by the time Kate came home and if she didn’t like it, well . . . maybe she should have stayed home. That’s not what Betsy would say of course. She’d apologize like she always did, even when she knew she wasn’t wrong, and then it would all be forgotten. She took her favorite paint swatch — it was called “Rapture Blue” — back to the hardware store, where all the men working in the paint department offered to help her at once. She bought three gallons, along with brushes and drop cloths, plus she rented a fancy roller that pumped paint directly from the can to the roller. The salesmen showed her how to use it and talked her into practicing holding it over her head to reach the ceiling. Betsy knew what they were doing, but after her unfinished masturbation session she was in the mood to give them a little show.

Back home again, Betsy put on her favorite music (that Kate disdained) threw drop cloths over all the furniture and got to work. The job went pretty quickly because of the roller-pump contraption, but she couldn’t get the hose connected tight enough and it leaked all over her hands. When she decided she really needed a glass of wine, Betsy wiped her hand on her hip and butt cheek so she wouldn’t get paint on the refrigerator door. In addition to dealing with the leaking hose, Betsy had trouble regulating how much paint was sent to the roller and so she splattered herself quite a bit more than what would have happened with a normal roller. This was especially a problem when she did the ceiling, and it probably didn’t help that by that point she had consumed half a bottle of chardonnay and was dancing as she worked. 

Once, when she leaned over to adjust the pump, she lost her balance and put her butt against the wet paint on the wall. This made her laugh until she had to pee, and when she went to pee she left Rapture Blue paint on the toilet seat and had to clean it up before it could dry, which made her laugh more.

By 1 a.m., Betsy had finished the job and used up nearly all of her paint. After she cleaned up her brushes and the roller she felt exhausted and flopped down on the dropcloth-covered couch just to rest a little moment. That’s where she woke the next morning — ten minutes before her first class. She didn’t have time to shower or even brush her teeth, but just grabbed her Ariel backpack and ran barefoot out the door.

She got to class just in time, realizing only as she grabbed the door handle that her hand was blue, as was much of her arm. She looked down at herself as she entered into the classroom. Her chest, shoulders and stomach were speckled with countless Rapture Blue dots while smears of Rapture Blue decorated her thighs and hips where she’d wiped her fingers in between sips of wine. Quite a bit of Rapture Blue had managed to get itself between her thighs and along the sides of her pussy. Betsy’s classmates and professor had a great laugh at her appearance and she laughed with them as she explained what had happened, concluding her story with a plea for some chewing gum since she hadn’t brushed her teeth. Everyone who had gum eagerly contributed to the cause and Betsy stuffed the extras into her backpack to use later.

It was her busiest day of the week — she did not even have a lunch break — and so Betsy had no choice but to go from class to class looking as she did, managing to pop into the ladies’ room long enough to see that her face and hair were even more speckled than her chest. She was also barefoot, but fortunately the weather was mild for November. By the middle of the afternoon, she was feeling impossibly grungy from not having showered and had gone through a dozen pieces of gum but still wished she could brush her teeth. Though she only had 10 minutes between classes, she decided to cut through one of the dorms to grab a lightning-quick shower. The hallway was empty as was the restroom, but as she got into one of the shower stalls, Betsy noticed the row of urinals on the opposite wall. Uh-oh, she thought, but she would be quick. There was a liquid soap dispenser in the stall and Betsy hurriedly washed herself. Had  she more time and a washcloth she might have gotten the paint off, but she was grateful just to feel clean again.

After a quick rinse, Betsy hurried out of the stall, thinking only about getting to her next class, and nearly collided with two naked boys.

“Oops, sorry,” Betsy said as she squeezed the water out of her hair. This little task put her elbows up and her breasts out, but Betsy thought little of her own nudity and was just trying not to look at theirs. “I was just passing through and wanted to grab a quick shower before my next class. I didn’t realize this was a boys’ dorm. Sorry.” Betsy said all of this with her eyes averted as she edged her way to the door.

“Omigod, you’re the nudist chick!” one of the boys exclaimed.

“Um, yeah that’s me. Well–”

“We’ve seen you on campus, but never . . . so close,” the other boy said. “Is that blue stuff body paint?”

“No, just regular paint,” Betsy said. “Like from painting walls. I thought more of it would come off in the shower, but–”

Though she had been steadfastly not looking down, some small movement had caught her peripheral vision and Betsy involuntarily glanced down to see that both boys now had full erections. Their eyes followed hers and they seemed to become aware only in that instant of their own nudity and the alert state of their penises. Both gasped and covered themselves as Betsy fled from the room.

She ran outside into the sunny but brisk afternoon, still wet from her shower. Now late, she ran the rest of the way to her class, where she was unable to stay focused on the lecture. Betsy had extremely minimal past experiences with penises, especially erect ones. She often saw their bulging presences beneath the pants of nearly every male she met — most memorably Dean’s — but seeing one in the flesh, so to speak, was rather new to her. As Betsy made her way to her final class she was feeling quite aroused, though not in that uncontrollable, need-to-masturbate-right-now kind of way. It was juuuuust right. She could feel the sun on her skin though the air was cool; she was freshly showered (though still covered in paint dots); she had just seen two very erect penises, and now she was headed to her favorite class.

It was her favorite not because of the official topic, but because she liked the prof and the other students, who included her friends Lu Chen, Taylor and Aaron. Though they could not fill the void in her heart left by Michelle and Dean, they were fun to be with. Taylor had blue hair on one side of her head and shaved the other side, Aaron was a tubby and overly hairy computer major who reminded her of a big teddy bear, and Lu Chen had surprisingly large breasts for an otherwise petite Asian girl. Betsy liked how these friends dealt with her nudity — mostly ignoring it, but giving her just enough teasing to make her feel sexy and special. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but Betsy didn’t actually like it when people never-ever acknowledged that she was naked. They meant well, she knew, probably thinking she wanted to be treated exactly as if she were clothed, but she was secretly disappointed when that happened.

It was a small discussion-style class of about a dozen people seated in a circle on wooden stools. Although it was possible to sit on such a stool in a ladylike manner with legs crossed, this was not easy to maintain for an hour, and Betsy had become so comfortable with this group that she no longer attempted to do so. And because the class was so late in the day, by the time she got to it Betsy was usually feeling more than a little aroused.

When she walked into the room, everyone noticed her painted-splattered skin and the teasing began.

“Nice outfit,” Taylor said.

“It must take forever to do your makeup in the mornings,” Lu Chen added.

“You’re going to start a fashion trend,” someone else put in.

Betsy had told the story a half-dozen times already but launched into it again, now enjoying every detail. She even demonstrated how she had tried to use the leaky paint roller and how she’d accidentally put her butt against the wet wall. Everyone howled with laughter and Betsy felt comfortable and appreciated. As class was ending, Aaron called out, “party at my place,” which he often did. Although Betsy had sometimes gone with them after class to a nearby coffeehouse, she could never stay long because she always had to get home to make dinner for Kate. For that reason, she had also never gone to one of their parties though they always invited her.

“Hey Betsy,” Taylor called. “You just told us your sweetie is out of town, so ya gonna come this time or go home and splatter more paint on yourself?”

“I’m all done painting,” Betsy said, “so . . . yeah . . . I guess I could come. But I think I’ll run home first so I can finally brush my teeth.”

“No need to do that,” Aaron said. “My roomies and I keep a supply of new toothbrushes on hand just in case one of us has a lady spending the night.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve never needed them,” Taylor said, prompting a chorus of laughter.

“Sadly, not I personally,” Aaron admitted, “but one of my roommates has had a conquest or two.”

“Women aren’t conquests, Aaron,” Lu Chen admonished.

“I meant my roommate has been fortunate in meeting one or two strong women who chose to express their femininity by having sex with him.”

“That’s better.”

Betsy contentedly walked along with five of her classmates to an apartment over a garage that Aaron shared with his two roommates, Zach and Evan. They were both home and were expecting the group, but they weren’t expecting Betsy. Naturally they knew Aaron was in a class with the sexy Avery nudist and they’d been hoping for weeks that she’d come over with Aaron’s other classmates, but she never had — until now. Stunned by their newfound good fortune, both were reduced to that stupid-grin, deer-in-headlights look Betsy had seen on hundreds of other guys’ faces. Sometimes it made her want to hide, sometimes it just annoyed her and sometimes it made her feel good — as was the case just now.

“You’re probably wondering why I have these blue dots all over me,” she said, knowing she was giving them permission to scrutinize her body. “You see, I was painting my living room last night and . . .” Betsy told Zach and Evan the story she’d been telling all day, but for them she pointed to different parts of her body saying things like, “and here’s where I must have scratched an itch or something.”

As this was going on, Aaron was putting frozen pizzas in the oven and handing out beers. The others settled in on two mismatched couches and dragged in additional chairs from the kitchen. Betsy sat on one of these as Aaron fired up a bong and passed it around. Having consumed half a bottle of wine the night before, Betsy declined the beer but had two hits from the bong by the time the pizza was ready. It was the best frozen pizza she had ever eaten. When she was done, she whispered to Aaron, “so, about that toothbrush . . .” He laughed and led her to the bathroom where he showed her a drawer containing a dozen unopened toothbrush boxes. Betsy selected one and was soon making near-orgasmic moans of satisfaction while brushing her teeth. As she did so, she looked at herself in the mirror and was happy with the girl looking back at her. She giggled, knowing she had gone to all of her classes with paint speckled all over her naked body, and then a tingle vibrated through her at the reminder of her constant state of undress. “We’re naked,” her reflection seemed to reveal to her, as if she had been unaware of it. “We go naked all the time, in front of everyone!” Rinsing her mouth, she smiled back at her reflection and put her toothbrush back into its little box. “Can we put my name on this,” she asked sweetly, “in case I ever need it again?”

The prospect that the Avery nudist might have an ongoing need to brush her teeth in their bathroom animated Zach and Evan, who nearly spilled their beers and sent their pizza plates flying as both leaped up to assist her. They crowded into the tiny bathroom with her, wrestling for control of a Sharpie marker. Zach won that contest and carefully wrote “B-E-T-S-Y” on the box. “Could I also use your shower?” Betsy asked as she picked at one of the paint blobs on her left breast. “Maybe I can get more of this off.”

“Absolutely!” Zach gushed, sliding open the shower curtain. Betsy immediately had second thoughts when she saw how dirty the shower stall was. Fortunately, Evan had an alternative suggestion.

“I’m in the theatre program,” he said, pulling a jar of cold cream off a shelf. “We use this to take off latex stage makeup so it should work on latex house paint too. You just rub it on your skin for a bit until you see the paint loosen up and then wipe it off with a tissue.”

Betsy accepted the jar and squeezed her way out of the bathroom, resuming her seat just as the bong was passed to her again. She took one more hit, promising herself she was done. Kate would be calling in a couple of hours and she wanted to be clear-headed by then. Curious how well the cold cream would work, Betsy opened the jar, scooped out a little with her finger and rubbed it on her forearm, working it slowly into her skin until she began to see the blue paint dissolve. She grabbed a tissue and wiped her arm, delighted to see how cleanly the paint had come off.

The bong came around again and Betsy accepted it without thinking and then went back to work on her arm. Music, laughter and conversation swirled around her like wisps of smoke as Betsy became utterly concentrated on her task. Discarded blue-stained tissues collected in a pile next to her chair as Betsy cleaned her arm and then her shoulder and then began work on her chest. She found the process intently fascinating and was aware of little else around her as she painstakingly removed every blue dot from her left breast. All the paint came off easily except from her nipple, which had become so hard and puckered she was unable to get all the paint out, and the more she determinedly worked at it the more puckered her nipple became.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, Betsy was aware that all conversation had ceased, and even the music had stopped. In the silence she heard Lu Chen’s voice saying, “Earth to Betsy,” followed by shushing sounds from the guys.

Betsy looked up, her fingers still busy at her nipple. “What?” Everyone laughed and Betsy realized she had been putting on a show. She felt her face get hot with a blush, but it was the kind of blush that felt fun and sexy and she reveled in it. “I’m so sorry, was I disturbing anyone? I could do this later.”

The men in the room hurriedly encouraged her to carry on, and Betsy did, moving on to her right breast. Now, however, she was no longer oblivious to her audience. She made sure to clean her breast very thoroughly, though again her nipple required extra attention. “Could we have more music,” she asked, now rubbing cold cream on her belly. The party went on, and Betsy casually participated in the conversation, even as she spread her knees to clean all around her pussy.

“How’d you get so much paint down there?” Taylor asked teasingly.

“Gosh, I just can’t imagine,” Betsy said, rubbing cold cream along her inner thighs and delicately along both sides of her labia. “For some strange reason I must have touched myself here a lot.” She looked up at all the eyes focused between her legs — she wanted to see their faces as they watched her — and when she looked down at herself again her open pussy was glistening wet. Grabbing several tissues, she wiped her thighs, folded the tissues to the clean side and wiped again, this time up along her pussy itself to dry it off. Pretending to have found a remaining bit of paint, she made a show of scrubbing it with the wad of tissues while with one finger she pressed through the tissues on her clit.

Betsy knew she could not maintain this ruse more than a few seconds without losing control and openly masturbating, so she forced herself to stop. Acting as if she’d done nothing more unusual than tie her shoes, Betsy casually stood and inspected her work. Most of the paint on her front was gone, but she had not yet done her face. She stepped among the crowd of bodies to a full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and began cleaning her face and neck. In the mirror, she could see everyone still watching her, their eyes now on her butt.

Betsy’s eyes were drawn to her own reflection. Only the girl in the mirror knew her secret feelings and they grinned at each other conspiratorially — both of them knowing there was more work to be done. As she more-or-less finished her face and neck, Betsy turned and looked over her shoulder to inspect her still-blue bottom in the mirror. She began applying cold cream to it.

“Looks like you could use some help,” Evan noted.

“Not from you,” Betsy replied, wagging a finger at him.

“I could do it!” Lu Chen blurted, and then quickly added, “um, if you need me to.”

Betsy held out the nearly empty jar. Amid hoots and cheers from everyone else, a blushing Lu Chen scooted her chair close and took the cold cream. Betsy leaned against the door and stuck out her butt. “You really have to rub it in,” she said.

In the absence of Michelle, Lu Chen was Betsy’s closest friend, though they did not have the same physical closeness because Lu Chen was straight and engaged to a boy who attended a different college. Betsy was secretly attracted to the elegant Asian girl and her heart raced as Lu Chen began rubbing cold cream on her butt.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Evan said. “How did your entire ass get covered in paint?”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you guys that part,” Betsy said, and with relish she re-told how she smooshed her butt against the wet wall.

“You need to bend over some more,” Lu Chen instructed. Betsy gladly did so, putting her hands on her knees and jutting out her bottom. “Jesus,” Lu Chen said, you’ve got some way in there.”

“Is this getting too personal for you, Lulu?” Betsy asked.

“I can take over if you need a break,” Zach offered.

“No you can’t,” Betsy said. “That’s girls-only territory.”

“Need my help?” Taylor asked.

“Well, I could use an assist with that blue spot right there,” Lu Chen said, spreading Betsy’s cheeks as Taylor knelt beside her.

“I’m on it, boss,” Taylor said, sticking two fingers in the jar and rubbing them on Betsy’s perineum. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t get paint all the way in here leaning against a wall, Betsy. Care to revise your story?”

“It probably . . . just , . . dripped there,” Betsy whispered, swooning at the touch.

“Sure it did, Taylor muttered as she swirled the cream with her finger and dabbed at it with a tissue. “Okay, we’re done here,” she said, “but I think I just turned into a lesbian.”

“Me too!” Lu Chen said. “I’m gonna have to break up with my boyfriend.”

Betsy reluctantly resumed her seat and the party went on awhile longer. The sun was going down and she needed to get home. Saying her goodbyes, she hugged everyone in the room. Outside, the temperature had dropped so Betsy jogged to keep warm, waving along the way to people who called out her name.

Evan had let her keep the remains of the cold cream, and when she got home she worked it into her hair to loosen the globs of blue paint. She let it set a few minutes while she tidied up the living room, then she washed her hair in the kitchen sink and wrapped a towel around her head. It was almost time for Kate to call so Betsy poured herself a glass of wine and propped herself up in bed. The phone rang promptly at 9:00.

“Hi, Kate!” she sang out.

“Hi, babe. How are you?”

“I’m great, Kate. Today, I–”

“Glad to hear,” Kate interrupted. “I’m up to my ears rescuing people from their own incompetence. It’s no wonder they haven’t been hitting their goals. You won’t believe what I found in the financials today.” With that, Kate launched into a five-minute speech about workplace minutiae that Betsy no longer tried to follow. When Kate reached the end of her rant, Betsy said what she always said. “Well, I guess that’s why they need you.”

Betsy’s wine glass was nearly empty when Kate finally said, “tell me about your day.”

“Well . . . “ Betsy said. “It’s kind of a sexy story. I don’t know if I can tell it to you without . . . you know.”

“Ooooh, then by all means tell it to me that way.”

“Okay, well it started last night after we talked. I decided to finally paint the living room, so–”

“I thought we were still deciding on a color.”

“I picked one, and–”

“Which one?”

“Kate, you don’t care what color it is. You just like to decide everything, but you weren’t here so I decided.” The words came out unplanned, and Betsy bit her tongue and winced, waiting for Kate to yell at her.

There was a silence and then Kate said, “okay, so tell me all about painting the living room.”

Betsy exhaled and told her story as she slowly began to caress herself. By the halfway point she was rubbing her clit vigorously, and the orgasm came as she was describing how she had to spread her legs in front of everyone to remove the paint from her inner thighs. She didn’t mention the attention her butt received from Lu Chen and Taylor.

“That’s my girl,” Kate laughed afterwards.

When Betsy woke the next morning she lay in bed looking at the ceiling remembering all that had happened, especially Lu Chen and Taylor spreading her butt cheeks to clean the paint off, and the guys leaning forward in their chairs to watch. What must she have looked like? Betsy popped out of bed and ran to the full length mirror. Bending over and looking over her shoulder, Betsy used both hands to spread her cheeks. Jesus, she’d even put her anus on display, which was somehow more embarrassing than showing her pussy.

Betsy had never thought of her anus — or anyone else’s — in a sexual way, certainly not in terms of inserting anything into it. But seeing one was such an intimate thing, or should be. She vividly remembered seeing Michelle’s up close when they fell out of the hammock together and began tickling and wrestling with each other and somehow ended up in the 69 position rolling down the carpeted ramp in the Art Building. It seemed to happen by accident but Betsy knew Michelle contrived it. Still, no one forced Betsy to put her face in Michelle’s pussy. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but during that moment Michelle’s anus was right there in front of Betsy’s eyes.

As she took her shower, Betsy wondered if Kate would want to try having sex in that position. Probably not. Aside from the height difference, Kate was very particular about sex. She would make love to Betsy in different ways, but circumstances had to be exactly right for her to have an orgasm of her own.

As she left the house wearing her usual tennis shoes and ball cap, Betsy felt optimistic that she wouldn’t be going to school naked very much longer. The conversation with Kate about the paint color seemed like a watershed moment in their relationship. It was such a small thing, but Betsy had been deferring to Kate on every little thing for their entire relationship. It wasn’t healthy. Betsy needed to assert herself within their relationship and demand to be treated as an equal — and in doing so she could regain her clothing.

And she had a plan. She was going to buy a coat — which Kate had already encouraged her to do — but then she would start telling Kate how even with the coat she was having trouble dealing with the cold weather, and that she was getting sick from it SO she had decided she needed to give up on full-time nudism. She did not have to convince Kate to LET her wear clothes again. It was Betsy’s decision whether to be a full-time nudist, not Kate’s. Just as she had with the living room paint color, Betsy needed to TELL Kate that SHE had made that decision for the sake of her own health.

As she gave herself this pep talk, Betsy was passing a coffeehouse where she sometimes bought a morning latte. She had time so she stopped in and got in line. The coffeehouse was brightly lit with skylights and as she glanced down at herself Betsy noticed she still had some blue paint on her nipple. She reacted instinctively, licking her finger and trying to rub it off. When that didn’t work, she began picking at it with her thumbnail. She was absorbed in doing this when she heard a “can I help you?” and looked up to see that the line had moved ahead and it was her turn.

Her latte in hand, Betsy was making her way among the crowded tables toward the exit when she heard someone call her name. Everyone on campus knew her name, of course, but the voice did sound familiar and as she looked towards the sound she saw magenta hair. It was Melody.

Though Betsy had caught a glimpse of Melody now and then on campus the past couple of months, the two had not spoken since the end of summer on their last day working together for the campus mail service. They had not exactly been friends but now Melody was smiling at her and waving her over.

“Hi Mel,” Betsy said, stopping at the table. “It’s really nice to see you!” Her heart raced because she had always tried to be friends with Melody, but had gotten rejected over and over, but maybe things were different now.

“Nice to see you too, Betsy,” Melody said with a big smile. “I was just telling my parents how we used to work together.” Only now did Betsy look at the other faces at the table — a middle-aged couple, a high-school-age girl, and a toddler in a child seat. “Mom, Dad, this is my friend Betsy — the Avery Nudist,” Melody said. “Betsy, this is my mom and dad, my sister, Caitlin, and our little brother Timmy. They’re all here for Parent Day.”

“She’s NAYkid!” Timmy announced loudly as Betsy nervously looked around, realizing for the first time that the restaurant was filled with families instead of the usual student crowd. “That lady is NAYYY-kid!”

“Shush, Timmy,” Melody’s mother said, and then to Betsy she said, “we are very pleased to meet you,” but her expression did not say that. With narrow eyes and tight lips, she might as well have been saying, “well, aren’t you a slut!”

“Yeah, we’re very glad to make your acquaintance,” Melody’s father said, standing up and holding out his hand. Betsy had to lean across the table to accept his handshake, putting her boobs in front of his scowling wife’s face. She found herself trapped in that position for an oddly long time as Melody’s father kept a tight grip on her hand as he told her boobs how very much he respected her lifestyle decision.

“NAY-kid!” Timmy shouted.

“Well, I should get to class,” Betsy said when she finally pulled her hand free.

“Might I ask you a personal question?” Caitlin said primly. Betsy only blinked mutely at the 15-year-old with braces and pigtails, who took her silence for acquiescence and went on. “I read online that you had permanent body hair removal. How old were you when you first did that?”

“Um, 16. Why?”

“See, Mom?” Caitlin said triumphantly. “LOTS of girls do it at my age.”

Caitlin’s mother glared at Betsy and said through clenched teeth, “SOME girls may do so, but your father and I believe 18 is the appropriate age for a young lady to decide whether to permanently remove all of her pubic hair. You MIGHT later regret having that . . . that unnaturally exposed look.”

“But it sure does look fine on you, Betsy,” the father said, his eyes now intently focused on Betsy’s crotch.

“Wait!” Betsy squeaked, her face burning. “I meant I had my legs and underarms done at 16. I didn’t have my . . . I didn’t do the rest until recently.”

Now both Caitlin and her mother were scowling, as Caitlin’s father repeated, “mighty fine.”

“Did your parents come for Parent Day?” Melody asked, and as they made eye contact again Betsy realized Mel hadn’t called her over to be nice. Betsy’s embarrassment metastasized into rage. “NO, Melody,” she growled. “MY parents aren’t here because they’re DEAD, and if you were REALLY my friend you would have KNOWN that!”

As Melody’s expression transformed from smugness to horror, Betsy turned on her heel and stalked from the coffee house. Her fury carried her almost all the way to her first class, and then she began to laugh. Poor Melody. No wonder she was messed up with parents like that. Her dad was totally creepy and her mom must be really uncomfortable with that board up her butt.

Betsy felt slightly guilty about what she’d said. It was true that her parents were both dead, but her biological father had only been an anonymous sperm donor — whose status as “deceased” had only been mentioned because it meant the available samples could not be replenished from the same source.

Betsy’s mother, Annie Andrews, had been a free spirit who always did what she wanted to do. She dated various men but didn’t want any of them for keeps, so when she decided to have babies she used a sperm bank. Annie knew she wanted two children, timed two years apart and she wanted them to have the same biological father. She also knew exactly what she wanted in terms of the donor’s physical characteristics and intellectual accomplishments — which led to the late Mr. X, whose only flaw was his inability to continue providing sperm (being already dead). But it all worked out. First came Hannah, then Elizabeth aka “Betsy.” Meanwhile, Annie’s older sister Rachel had a husband but was unable to get pregnant so they had adopted twin boys.

Everything went exactly as Annie and Rachel had planned — until they were both killed in a car accident that also took the life of Rachel’s husband. That’s when their youngest sister, Mindy, did a lot of growing up. She was then in her late 20s and had been so certain she never wanted kids that she’d had her tubes tied so she wouldn’t have to worry about birth control. She had tattoos, traveled with metal bands, had sex with metal bands (especially drummers) and did more than her share of drugs. That life came to an abrupt end when her two sisters died, and it fell to her to finish raising four children. But Mindy never looked back. She gave up nearly all of her bad habits except for cussing and the occasional secretive joint behind the garage.

Aunt Mindy would certainly have come to Parent Day had Betsy invited her, though she lived pretty far away, and Betsy now wished she had paid enough attention to know Parent Day was even happening. She smiled, imagining how Mindy would have handled Melody’s parents. THAT would have been fun to watch.

If Betsy’s only family had been Hannah and Aunt Mindy, she wouldn’t be worried about Solstice. She had talked to both of them on the phone a dozen times since moving to Huron and both had been supremely supportive of whatever Betsy decided she wanted to do about nudism. Roy and David were another matter. Though they were technically her adoptive cousins, she thought of them as brothers and could not imagine going naked in front of them.

Despite her detour through the coffee shop, Betsy was early for her first class. Some students were already in the lecture hall while others were hanging out in the building’s lobby — one wall of which was a gigantic mirror. Betsy sauntered over to the mirror on the excuse of examining her hair. The streaks looked even greener in this light. She put down her coffee, shrugged off her backpack and stood close to the mirror with her hands in her hair feeling for any remaining blobs of paint. She was not actually concerned about her hair, but was only using it as an excuse to stand close to the big mirror and look at herself. What DO you want, she asked her reflection, which only smiled coyly back at her.

“Hey Betsy,” Ben called as Betsy watched him and Tony approach in the mirror. “Cool highlights.” Ben and Tony were in her class and often sat next to her, doing their best to chat up the Avery nudist.

“Thanks,” she said, “but it was kind of accidental.” Because Betsy’s classes alternated days, Ben and Tony had not yet heard her painting story. She related it in brief to explain how the green got in her hair, but added, “and I’ve still got little bits of blue on my skin, like here on my nipples. See?” Here, she displayed her chest, picking with her fingernail at one of the blue spots still embedded in her aureola. Her nipples had gone hard again so the paint was trapped in the little crevasses.

“Wow,” Tony said, taking this excuse to lean his head down close to examine Betsy’s nipple. “I dunno how you’re gonna get that off. Maybe someone could, you know, suck it off? Cause that would get the paint wet and the person doing it could maybe use their teeth really gently to scrape off the paint. That’d be my advice.”

“That’s a great idea,” Betsy said, playing along. “But my girlfriend is out of town. Who could I get to do that for me?”

Before Tony or Ben could collect their wits to respond, a fourth person joined their little group. It was Tiffany, a glamorous bleached blonde who always had perfect makeup and stylish outfits. “What’s up?” she asked.

Betsy innocently summarized the conversation up to that point, adding “but that would be a very personal thing to do, so I think I’d be most comfortable with a girl.”

“Totally,” Tiffany said, snapping her gum. Her lips were purple, matching her eye shadow. “But that would probably take awhile to do — you know, softening it up and sucking it off without it being painful to you.”

“You’ve got a point,” Betsy said thoughtfully, grabbing one nipple with the fingers of both hands to turn it upwards for examination.

“I got the three o’clock hour open on my sked,” Tiffany said, looking at her phone as the guys nearly chewed their fingers off taking it all in. “We could meet at my room so we’d be comfortable on the bed while we do it.”

“It’s a date,” Betsy sang out. The carillon bells were ringing, signalling the start of classes. Ben and Tony reluctantly backed away as Betsy and Tiffany both tried not to laugh.

“You knew I was kidding, right?” Tiffany whispered.

“Darn it,” Betsy teased. “I was looking forward to that,”

“God it’s warm in here,” Tiffany said. “We’d better get to our seats.”

That night, Betsy had another new story to tell Kate, and she gave herself an amazing orgasm with Kate unable to do anything but listen. In the morning, Betsy woke with a vague memory of a sexy dream about purple lipstick. She could not quite remember it, but began playing with herself again — thinking about her encounter with Tiffany but imagining that the scene had played out differently. In this version, Tiffany actually did suck on her nipple — right there in the lobby with Ben and Tony and others who crowded around watching. Tiffany worked hard at it, shifting from one nipple to the other as Ben and Tony inspected her progress. As this happened, Betsy looked down at her breast to see a purple lipstick kiss surrounding her wet nipple and decided she would leave it there all day so everyone would see it. Just as the orgasm was cresting, the scene in Betsy’s mind changed again and now it was Michelle instead of Tiffany. She was naked except for purple lipstick . . . and Dean was there watching. Alone in the house with the windows all closed up tight for winter, Betsy let herself cry out Michelle’s name.

Twenty minutes later, Betsy stepped out on her porch naked. For mid-November it was surprisingly warm, though still cold enough that normal people were wearing coats and jackets. As she walked towards campus, Betsy regretted having indulged in her bout of morning masturbation. Drained of all erotic feeling, she was left with no shielding from the competing feeling of stark embarrassment at being so, so, SO naked.

Whenever this happened it seemed to take her by surprise because she’d been going naked for so long. Most days she could keep this feeling in check, and lots of days (especially lately) she actually felt very good about being naked. She most definitely intended to STOP going naked, but had come to be able to tolerate it — sometimes even enjoy it — except immediately after an orgasm. Then it was like the classic nightmare in which one is suddenly and inexplicably naked at school or work. She would feel convinced there had been a cosmic misunderstanding and any moment she would be ridiculed or hauled off to jail. And she would fret about all the photos of her that were now on the Internet. Those would NEVER go away. Even if she could somehow stop this insanity NOW she would be haunted by this foolish decision for the rest of her LIFE!

These were emotions she had experienced many times, and always before she had tried to minimize her exposure until the feeling subsided. But on this day, she decided to be different. She was no longer going to allow her insecurities to control her. She could not go back in time and change her past choices. She could not make all those pictures disappear. All she could do was take control of her life going forward. She decided to just accept that feeling for what it was — and own it. She took a detour, making herself walk the long way around campus along the busy street where morning commuters honked at her as she waited at crosswalks.

Betsy felt . . . empowered. She was not sexually aroused — not yet anyway — so her primary feeling at this moment continued to be pure, unsexy embarrassment. But this time Betsy embraced it. She let that feeling envelope her without trying to stop it, but also not allowing it to control her. It was just an emotion — and actually an interesting one — so very intense. She almost . . . liked it.

By the time she got to her first class, Betsy was feeling that little tingle deep inside that she knew would soon flower into sensual arousal. It was still tiny compared to the nonsexual embarrassment that still burned in her, and she decided she liked this moment, and intentionally paused in front of the big mirrored wall pretending to fuss with her hair as she watched others watching her. Lifting her hand to her head, she brushed her wrist against her nipple and watched as it hardened in the mirror. This was the moment she loved most, when arousal blossomed and overwhelmed her fears.

“Betsy!” some guys from her class called as they clustered around her. “How’s everyone’s favorite nudist doing today?”

She turned to face them, her hands now clasped behind her back so that nothing was hidden from them. “I’m doing good, thank you,” she replied politely. “Really good actually.”

This was Betsy’s first Friday since Kate left on her trip, which meant her first weekend on her own. She felt guilty about being excited about it, but the truth was she was eager to take part in the socializing she’d heard her friends talk about on Monday mornings. Tonight they were going bowling!

Betsy went home after her last class of the day and did some housework before taking another shower. She didn’t want to carry her purse or backpack so she tucked a 10-dollar bill in her shoe and hid a spare house key under a flower pot on the porch. Kate wasn’t calling until 10 pm so she had several hours. The day had been fairly warm for the time of year so Betsy didn’t bother with a hat.

At the bowling alley, Betsy quickly found Lu Chen, Aaron and Taylor, plus Aaron’s roommates, Evan and Zach. They all went up to the shoe rental station and everyone teased Betsy about having to strip off her entire outfit in order to change shoes.

“You don’t technically hafta wear our shoes,” the girl at the counter said. “You just can’t wear those tennis shoes.”

“I can bowl barefoot?” Betsy asked.

“Just don’t drop a ball on your foot, but yeah.”

Betsy loved that idea because she could be “entirely” nude. It was silly given how naked she already was wearing shoes, but for some reason she found it tantalizing. She took off her tennis shoes, making sure not to lose her $10 bill, and tucked them under her seat. They each took two practice rolls and Betsy luxuriated in the feel of the polished wood beneath her feet and the attention she was getting from the players on the adjacent lanes. Betsy was not a very experienced bowler, but she had physical grace and natural (if largely unpracticed) athleticism. They had broken up into two teams and by halfway through the first game it was clear that Betsy was the best player on her team, which included Lu Chen and Aaron (both of whom were terrible). On the other team, Taylor, Evan and Zach were similarly mixed with Zach being the best. So the two teams ended up being well matched, and Betsy and Zach were the indisputable leaders of the two teams. This made it quite competitive with plenty of good-natured trash-talking and brazen attempts at distraction. Betsy really got into it and was determined to win for her team. Every time she rolled a strike or picked up a spare she would jump up and down excitedly, which made her boobs seemed equally enthusiastic.

Along the way, beers and pizza were purchased and Betsy contributed her $10 to the cause, not wanting any change to have to carry back home in her shoe. The beer made her have to pee, and so three times she had to make her way across the length of the building to get to the ladies room. The place was packed with people, less than half of them Avery students, and so most of those present were getting their first chance to interact with the nudist college girl they’d seen mostly on TV. Older men whistled at her and asked her to pause for photos. Betsy cheerfully complied, though more than once she felt a coarse hand on her butt cheek. She decided she could tolerate that much, so long as the hands did not become any more adventurous than that. None did.

Betsy was having so much fun, she didn’t realize it was already 9:30, and because she’d left her phone at home she needed to leave very soon to be there for Kate’s call. The old Betsy would have frantically dashed off in the middle of the game to be sure she was home when Kate called. The new Betsy was not so uptight. She was eager to talk to Kate, but if she was a little late she would just call Kate back. No big deal. As it turned out, the final game deciding the “championship” between the two teams lasted until 10:05. Betsy scored the most points, helping her team win by a scant two points but besting Zach by five. She took personal pleasure in the latter and gloated shamelessly.

By 10:15, Betsy had put on her shoes and was saying her goodbyes — dispensing hugs liberally to anyone who wanted one. Outside in the chill air, she ran all the way home, feeling exuberant and wanting to be sure she returned Kate’s call no later than 10:30. When she got home, she retrieved the key she’d left under the flower pot and burst in the door panting. She grabbed her phone, expecting to find several escalatingly annoyed voice messages from Kate . . . but there were none at all.

That was odd. She tried calling Kate but just got her voicemail. Then she tried texting, and a few minutes later she tried calling again. Betsy was starting to worry. What if something had happened to her? They weren’t married (not yet anyway), and Betsy didn’t even know if Kate had listed her as the emergency contact. Should she start calling hospitals in New Westbrook? No, it had only been 20 minutes; she was probably just busy or forgot about the time.

At 11:00, Betsy’s phone rang. “Hi, Babe,” Kate’s voice said.

“Oh Kate, I’m SO glad you’re okay. When you didn’t call at 10, I started worrying that–”

“We agreed to talk at 11,” Kate said. “I was having drinks with a client and kept seeing those texts from you.”

“Wait — you were reading my texts as I was sending them? Why didn’t you reply?”

“Because it would have been rude, and this was an important client. It was bad enough I had to keep looking at my phone every time it vibrated just in case it was something important.”

“Something important?” Betsy repeated. “No, it was only me.”

“Honey, I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t important also, but you should have waited. I told you I’d call at 11.”

“Actually, you said 10:00,” Betsy said. “But it’s fine. I guess I overreacted because you’re so far away and–”

“I SAID 11 o’clock, Betsy. You’re always getting things like that wrong. It happens all the time.”

The thing that actually happened all the time was Betsy apologizing, even when she wasn’t wrong. That wasn’t happening this time. “Kate, it’s right there in your text from this morning,” she said calmly. “Just scroll up and you’ll see it.”

Kate’s voice hardened. “I don’t know why you want to spend our evening call re-litigating who said what when,” she said angrily. “That’s just petty, Betsy, and I won’t play along. Now, do you want to talk about something else or not?”

Betsy sighed. “You’re right, Kate,” she said. “You’re always right. So . . . tell me about that client you were just meeting with.”

“Oh, he was SUCH a jerk,” Kate snorted, her voice casual again. “He deals in annuities, and the thing most people don’t understand about annuities is that . . . “

Betsy put the phone on speaker a placed it on the coffee table. Then she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She was on her way back to the living room when she heard Kate say “. . . and if he takes my advice he’ll improve his yield nearly 10 percent!” In the silence that followed, Betsy made a face and inaudibly mouthed the words, “Oh Kate you’re so smart! They’re lucky to have you!”

“Betsy, are you there? Can you hear me?”

Betsy reached for her phone and pressed the red disconnect button. Picking up the TV remote instead, she was channel-surfing when her phone rang. She reached for it and pressed the decline button, then turned off the ringer.

“Gosh, Kate,” she said out loud as she clicked through the channels. “We sure have been having trouble with cell phone reception lately.”


The writings of Molly McMann