Molly and the Toilet Paper Mummy Costume

By Molly McMann

This happened about six years ago when I was living with an amazing group of women in a huge Victorian house in a quirky neighborhood in a certain American city.   My little room on the 3rd floor was literally only large enough for a single bed, a dresser and a closet rod in the corner.   It did have a great window, though, with individual panes of wavy old glass, through which I’ve watched the snow and the rain and the harvest moon.

The owners of this house are a pair of sweet, butchy lesbians who proudly refer to themselves as dykes.  Actually, most of the women in the house were lesbians — but not the kind men fantasize about.  These were short-haired, flannel-wearing, beer-drinking women who probably hadn’t worn a dress since 6th grade.  Everyone got along and we’d spend many evenings sitting around the kitchen table together, drinking and cooking while arguing about politics and favorite movies.

And it was within this rowdy, but supportive group of remarkable women that I started going naked.  It just seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to undress in my little 3rd floor room and then come down the grand front stairway to the first floor to join the Roommates in the kitchen.  The only tricky part was that other friends would drop by and walk right in the front door without bothering to knock.  We called them the “Honorary Roommates” because they were there so much.  They were all women, but not all gay, so occasionally a solitary boyfriend or husband would be in the mix.  There was a narrow little servants’ stairway off the kitchen that I could use for a quick escape to the 2nd floor if I needed to, but if I had a few drinks in me (and the Roommates mixed them strong), I was ready to meet just about anyone.

I remember that year Halloween fell on a Sunday so that was going to be the official downtown-party night, but on Saturday night we were all going to a small party at the apartment of some Honorary Roommates who lived in another neighborhood.   Because of my comfort level with all of these women, I decided to go to this party as a toilet-paper mummy with nothing underneath.  I bought one of those huge packs of Charmin and wrapped myself up, starting at the ankles.   When I ran out of one roll, I used scotch tape to attach the end to the beginning of the next roll.  And being a girl mummy I made myself a nice little skirt in the process. I left my face uncovered with some hair sticking out and put on Goth-style eye shadow and red lipstick.

So we got into two cars – me, very carefully to avoid straining my costume — and drove across town to a neighborhood of big brick duplexes with grand second-floor balconies.  I had taken shoes with me, but they seemed goofy with my outfit so I went barefoot as we crossed the street and up their walk.  It was chilly, but not bad for late October and I noticed a bar down on the corner in front of which some people in costumes were hanging out.

When we arrived at the party, I made sure everyone knew I was naked under my wrappings, which were holding up pretty well — almost too well.  I hadn’t decided how exposed I wanted to become, but I certainly wanted a little unraveling to show a strip of skin here and there.  So I purposely broke a perforated seam or two and let the ends trail as I walked around the party with my vodka tonic.

Things were going fine and I was unraveling nicely and flirting with male and female alike when someone suggested we go down to that little bar on the corner.  I wasn’t crazy about the idea but at least my outfit wasn’t too far gone yet so I tidied things up by breaking off the trailing parts and tucking the ends securely inside the wrapping so I wouldn’t unfurl any further.  I was by this time showing some midriff, a bit of thigh and one shoulder.

We walked down the sidewalk, me still barefoot, and to the bar.  It was crowded enough that there was no place to sit, but not so crowded that you had to jostle through.

So I had another vodka tonic and there was good music.  I felt pretty good about our barmates, who seemed to be upstanding citizens who would not take advantage of a girl wearing only toilet paper.  About half were dressed up in some way or other.  So I untucked a bit here and there and let a little more unraveling take place.

But then I really had to pee.  Hadn’t thought ahead about that and the logistics were going to be difficult.  I confided in my buddy Shelly and we both went into the ladies room where fortunately there was a nice roomy handicapped stall.  Inside we began unwrapping me in the middle and Shelly had to roll it up in her hands because I insisted that it not touch the floor if it was going back on my body.  Shelly is just about my best friend — even though she annoys the shit out of me.  She is my fiercest protector, but she will sometimes push me to do things I’m not ready to do, and we argue like the Dude and Walter in “The Big Lebowski.”  So in that stall she kept unwrapping me even after we had gotten above my waist and I told her to stop but she kept on and I could not physically stop her without breaking it.  She didn’t stop until my boobs were uncovered.

I finally got to pee, but now there were other women in the restroom waiting to use the only stall so we went out to the open part of the restroom to rewrap me.  But it was hard to re-do because we didn’t have the scotch tape and we ran out of TP before we got to my breasts.   But of course, we were in a restroom, so one thing we had was toilet paper.  When the stall was empty again, we pulled out a bunch of paper and started wrapping it around my chest.  But this was the extremely thin and fragile toilet paper that always seems to be in the public restrooms, so even when we were done it was pretty precarious.

I went back out to the bar but with every step I could feel my delicate bodice loosen.  By this point I just wanted to get back to the apartment where my costume could fall apart all it wanted to.  I started making my way around the bar tugging on sleeves and telling the roommates I was going to head back when this guy dressed as a space alien pointed his space gun at me.  I realized about a second too late that he had one of those super-soaker water guns covered in silver duct tape.

Sploosh! I was hit in the chest with what felt like a pitcher of water.  My entourage intervened, but the damage was done. The flimsy public restroom toilet paper on my upper chest had almost completely disintegrated though my breasts were still partly covered by a thin film of wet tissue paper.

Now it was definitely time to go back, and I made my way to the door, but with every step I took the movement of my breasts caused the wet blobs to slide a little. Outside, it was cold and the air on my wet chest made me shiver. Some of the bar patrons were standing around outside smoking, and right then I felt the wet slushy paper dislodge and in one mushy sheet it slid off my body and splattered on the pavement and on the tops of my bare feet leaving my chest bare and shiny wet in the light of the streetlights and neon signs.

Although this felt pretty exciting, I really didn’t want to stand topless on a city street for very long, so we walked the half-block back to the apartment and when we were almost there I tore off some of the remaining wet toilet paper around my ribs.

Only about a third of the original party guests had made the field trip to the bar so the rest of them got to see me make my entrance with my chest exposed and wet, and I very much enjoyed that moment too.  I was safely with a controlled crowd, mostly women, though there were by this time at least four males.  One of the women who lived in the apartment came up and asked me quietly if I wanted anything to wear.  I glared at her as if to say “no, and don’t ask me again” and she smiled and said “just checking.”

After the initial fuss of how I looked and explaining what had happened, I slipped into the bathroom to check myself out.  I could easily have shifted around my remaining wrappings, but I didn’t want to.  In fact, I decided my waist was not nearly low enough so I unwrapped a couple rows and let the end trail to the floor.  I went out and mingled and as I moved I could feel the paper around my waist loosen and fall away a little at a time.  I pretended not to notice until I had a bit of red pubic hair showing and then I tucked in the end of the paper to prevent it from going any further.  This was just about right for the moment, I decided, and for a while it was.  But then a bit later as I was standing there chatting with a couple I barely knew, Shelly came up beside me and put her hand around my waist, and before I could stop her she wormed her hand down my butt crack inside the wrappings and jerked her hand backwards, instantly ripping away every scrap of toilet paper above my thighs.

I resisted the instinct to cover myself with my hands, but I felt myself blushing.  Everyone laughed and applauded and whistled and I sucked that attention up like a junkie.  Now I was really committed.  I had not brought any clothing with me and I was naked except for what remained on my arms, legs and head, and I let that continue to unravel.  And Shelly helped this process along by coming up to me now and then and wordlessly undoing some of the remaining wrappings on a leg or arm, and then disappearing with the wad of toilet paper which I heard her flushing down the toilet.  I knew she was gradually removing and destroying all of my costume so there would be nothing left.  It was interesting because even though I was already completely exposed everywhere that mattered, it was arousing to have her remove the coverings of my arm or leg.

By the time this process was nearly done I wanted to wash my face to get my zombie eye makeup off, but my feet were dirty too and I could smell the smoke from the bar in my hair, so I asked one of the reidents if I could get in the shower and she said sure and got out a towel for me.  So I threw away what little remained of my outfit and had a nice hot shower.  Afterwards I toweled off and went back to the party as I brushed out my wet hair.

And this was a nice feeling too, coming out of a shower all fresh and clean and walking out of the bathroom into a party in someone else’s home where I had no clothing at all.  I had been nude in front of them only moments earlier, but then I had been “in costume” and now it was just freshly-washed me.

It was late by this time and the roommates were pretty sloshed.  Although I had had a bit to drink myself, it was hours ago and my shower had made me alert so I volunteered to drive.  We said our goodbyes and went back down the stairway outside.  My hair was still wet and it was pretty cold but I felt elated, and confidently led the way the half-block distance to the cars.  There were still a couple of people standing outside the bar and I waved to them as I opened the car door and got in behind the wheel.

The writings of Molly McMann