Naked on the Red Carpet

The sound of the door opening was startling, as was the heavy sunlight and crisp sounds that flooded in.

But the biggest shock came from the face of the man that appeared above me. He looked like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to see, and turned to his colleagues as if unsure of what to do. Did he open the door too early, while I was changing, or fixing a wardrobe malfunction?

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

He was about to close the door but it was as if wires got crossed in his head when I extended my hand to him.

“It’s fine,” I said with a smile as I watched him struggle with himself over if he should take my hand. If he would get in trouble for touching Jennifer Lawrence while she was completely naked. “You going to help me out?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time he accepted my hand. His gloved hand against my naked hand stood out to me, which was weird since the biggest juxtaposition should have been my naked body next to his clothed body. But naked feelings were always hard to predict, irrational, and exciting, which is what made the feelings so compelling.

“Don’t be,” I said.

And with the unpredictable feelings carrying me into this unimaginable moment, I set evening sandal to the red carpet and let the gloved hand lead me out of my seat. I felt weightless, like I was standing on the moon by the time I stood up outside of the limo.

And there it was. That…feeling. That amazingly surreal feeling of being naked outside. I could feel the sun on my skin, the wind at my soft spots, and the uneasy and odd feeling that told me something was off. Even my sight was a bit thrown off. Everything looked like a smudge of black blurs and green and yellow and red blurs around me that I knew were people in their outfits. But I still didn’t feel as if I’d stepped into my fantasy, even though I knew I was naked and standing outside the car.

This doesn’t feel real.

It felt like some facsimile of reality, but not reality itself. More like a dream. Everything felt so blurry and unclear, and time felt slow and unnatural. My body felt numb. Was I sleeping? Would I wake up? Did I want to wake up?

I went to look back at Darren but when I turned my head all I saw was a flash of him leaned over, pulling the door to shut it in my face.

It wasn’t until I heard the door lock that I realized everything had been mute. But now I could hear loud and clear. The commotion around me was startling. But I didn’t look at where it was coming from. Not immediately. I fought the instinct to pull at the door handle, knowing Darren had locked me out, and I was now out here naked with nowhere to run. Was that cruel? Or was it necessary?

Suddenly, I heard thunder as I turned away from the closed door of the limo. But it was a beautiful day outside, not a grey cloud in the sky. But the unreality of the situation struck me like lightening, as did the blinding flashing light. But this wasn’t bad weather. The thunderous sound were voices. So many voices. And the light was from paparazzi cameras.

This wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. I was out here naked. And people saw me. Lots and lots of people. Even if I managed to jump back into the limo, this was already a scandal of epic proportions. I’d been see naked in public. Naked on the red carpet at the curbside of the Dolby theater.

A part of me had been so nervous about these first few moments. I thought I would be so shaken that I would literally faint whenever I got out of the limo. I figured if I could just manage to survive the first few moments, those first few steps then I could survive every step down the carpet. All 900 feet.

I felt as if I needed to slip into the role of Dominika again so I could be naked but not afraid. Vulnerable but not powerless. Exposed, with the possibility of being fucked, but with my agency intact. I would need her attitude of refusing to be intimidated by peering eyes to make it through this and not faint.

So I did my best to channel Dominika’s spirit. And although I felt really strange, I didn’t feel like I was about to faint. I felt surprisingly ready to begin my naked journey.

This isn’t so bad, I thought as I took those first baby steps away from the locked limo, away from Darren, away from my dress. And shit, away from my purse and phone. I only realized then that I’d forgotten to take the clutch purse with me. But that didn’t stop me from moving. The growing commotion and shocked faces and pointed fingers didn’t stop me either. I was committed now.

I got this. This isn’t so hard, just one step at a time.

My resolve to keep moving forward was tested whenever several men in black tuxedos stood before me. I could see on their laminated badges that they were security. And when I looked up, I could see on their faces that they were shocked and confused over what they should do with me. While I stood there naked, I finally let myself look at the other arrivals pouring out of their vehicles. They were looking directly at me even as they walked across the street.

“Ma’am, you…you’re..?” one of the men muttered. “Do you know you’re not wearing a dress?” It was a stupid question, but it sounded totally sincere coming from him. He legitimately didn’t know if I knew that I was naked.

“I know,” I said. Having to acknowledge it added to the rush of embarrassment I felt.

The man looked around while I saw a few others whisper in their ear pieces.

“I’m not sure we can let you through like this,” he said.

Before I could say anything I heard and felt the limo behind me pulling off. Then I felt a breeze blow against my naked skin. And then I began to be able to distinguish the commotion around me.

“Oh my God.”

“She’s naked.”

“Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Naked.”

“Who is that?”

“That’s Jennifer Lawrence. That’s Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Naked.”

“Naked.”

“Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Naked.”

“Naked.”

“Naked.”

“Jennifer Lawrence. “

“Jennifer Lawrence.”

Jennifer Lawrence.

“NakedJenniferNakedLawrenceJenniferLawrenceNakedNakedNaked.”

It really sunk in how alone I was as I watched the limo that brought me here leave me where I stood surrounded by security and guests, and paparazzi, and fans behind gates. And I was the only one naked. And my public nakedness was now forever captured. For eternity.

Oh my God. What have you done, Jennifer. What have you done?

“Mrs. Hudson says to let her through,” one of the men said right when I most wanted to curl up into a ball and die. “She’s cleared. Let her through.”

And as if God had made a commandment, the men moved aside. I gathered what was left of my fragile composure and picked up my feet, which were far heavier now that I truly, deeply, sincerely knew that this wasn’t a dream I could float through. I was really naked at the Oscars. I was walking on the red carpet as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Hands at my side, chest forward, smile on my face. And it felt so overwhelmingly unnatural.

I felt like a robot fighting against my programming. Programming that told me to cover my tits, cover my pussy, and run after that limoscene. Programing that was computing error messages for every step I took towards more public exposure.

But I wasn’t a machine hardwired to run away from being naked in front of the world. I was flesh and blood. Naked and blushing. Fighting the instincts that felt core to my being. Instincts that were supposed to protect me. Fight or flight instinct that alerted me to danger and dictated how my body reacted without any conscious thought from me. Survival instincts. Run and hide instincts. Instincts that must have evolved millions of years ago to feel so rooted in my mind, body, and soul.

But that wasn’t right. Humans hadn’t evolved to cover their naked bodies. We evolved to be afraid of heights, to be afraid of being eaten by beasts hidden in the grass. That was the human condition. But something changed. Civilization happened. We covered our bodies in fabrics. We conquered the skies, and tamed the wild, and stopped being prey. Our fears evolved and adapted and now our flight or fight instincts were in our cultural interactions.

Panic over viral tweets, and anxiety over public speaking, and dread over stepping on the scale, and embarrassment over bodily functions. We ran from social taboos the way our ancestors used to run from lions and tigers. But for reasons I thought rational, but didn’t feel emotionally right at this very moment, i wasn’t running. I felt like a dumbass gazelle walking towards a pack of hungry hyenas, my flesh soon to be devoured and never fully digested. And what kind of stupid creature ignored alarm bells and eagerly walked into the den of predators?

You, you idiot.

But still I walked, going against all intuition, all instincts, all logic. The smarter, better part of me was screaming run, run, run, hide, hide, hide but I ignored her and stepped over a crease in the carpet as a group of men and women joined me in the walk across the street to the entrance of the red carpet ceremony.

There were people, maybe a dozen or so walking with me, no more than 4 or 5 feet away. I didn’t recognize anyone in particular but I hadn’t looked hard either. It was the easiest way to cope at the moment. Just walking and pretending I didn’t really see anyone pointing and looking.

There was a mass of clothed people up ahead at the entrance, which was a security checkpoint hidden by red and gold curtains and walls. It was hard to tell if they were workers or stars or guests of the stars because everyone, down from stars to janitors were required to dress up . The only people I easily recognized by their roles were the photographers snapping photos with their cameras as if their life depended on it.

For some of them, maybe a big part of their life did depend on getting the perfect shot of my naked body. The one shot, that just perfectly captured the look on my face, my breast, and vagina, with the perfect lighting and framing. There were going to be thousands of photos taken of me. Only the best photos would be sold.

As I took a step onto the curb, I glanced to my right and noticed the bodyguards tasked with keeping an eye of my jewlery walking quickly behind me. One of the men turned away right as I caught him staring down at my naked ass. The other guy just looked shocked and dismayed, even as he tried to walk behind me looking as inconspicuous as possible.

I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to get used to the shock of everyone. I wasn’t going to be able to get used to any of this.

While trying to come to grips with all the confused people looking my way and bare the emotions their stares provoked, I moved past Oscar, the tall golden statue that stood at the entrance of the event, signifying that this was the Academy Awards red carpet. I looked up at the statue, which had to be 30 feet tall, and a silly but fitting thought stuck me. Was Oscar naked? He looked naked, standing there on a platform holding a sword.

The thought, as brief as it was, really illustrated the desperation of my situation, as I was trying to find solidarity in a naked inanimate object. But finding someone, anyone that could relate to how it felt being naked and surrounded by people would have been comforting. And as I stepped forward in line at the security clearance, I was anxious to find any comfort that could help get me through this.

I should have had that drink, I thought as I made it to the front of the line.

“Uh, do you have any bags or anything?” the security man standing near the body scanner.

“Does it look like she has a bag?” another officer said, before I heard sniggers from all around me. “Come on through ma’am”

I moved quickly through the curtains that hid the scanner and officially stepped foot into the red carpet event. The sight of hundreds and hundreds of clothed people as far as my eyes could see was stomach turning, as was the immediate screams and yells and cheers I heard coming at me like an avalanche.

Fight or flight told me to cover myself and run. But I was there to engage with everyone, talk to them, hug them, kiss and smile and laugh with them. That was my role to play. That was how I wanted everyone to remember this stunt of mine. A confident, happy, naked woman that came and saw and conquered the red carpet.

But as seemingly every head in my vision turned towards me and every camera flashed in my direction, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was what they were seeing. Were their cameras capturing the trembling of my limbs, the tension in my walk? Could they see that the chipper, how-do-you-do-just-swell smile on my face was an act? Did they know I wasn’t actually confident? That I was actually a ball of nerves.

I felt really nauseous. But I made myself swallow the wetness in my mouth and didn’t dare spend more than a second reacting to the horrifying thought that I might vomit on the red carpet. Instead, I tried to remember how I made it through the nauseous, near faint feelings I felt when I first revealed my naked body to the cast and crew of my last film.

It had been nerve racking at first, but it had mostly dissipated after I allowed myself to get lost in the role and become Dominika. When it became obvious that the cast and crew were more embarrassed at being exposed to my naked body than I was at exposing it, I even began to enjoy being naked around them.

So this is just like that. Find that inner resolve, get lost in the role, and enjoy this.

I breathed through my nose, holding my smile steady, and walked forward, hoping I presented a fully empowered naked woman unaffected by the weight of their stares. Hoping I looked like Dominika.

After attending the Oscars for several years now, I was intimately familiar with the setting. The familarlarity helped with providing me some comfort as I was faced with so many other unfamiliar feelings.

The layout of the event was basically in the shape of a huge upper case L, and I was now at the top of the L.

To my left were four press booths, where hundreds of still photographers were piled on top of each other, cameras pointed at the arrivals fresh through the curtains. I always felt like the Oscars still photography area was more intimate than other festivals and shows. They were much closer to the carpet, than say the media at the Globes.

The big dogs, like the LA Times, Getty, NY Times, AP, Oscar.com. had top placement throughout the carpet, but I knew from memory that more than 500 members of the media were packed into this confined space of screaming journalists.

To my right was a wall, perhaps 50 feet long, that was a prestigious white and gold, and said 90scars, in reference to this being the 90th anniversary. Every noteworthy arrival would have their photos taken in front of these walls and cement that they were part of Red Carpet history.

If you weren’t noteworthy enough, you were ushered through the second path behind the wall and eventually brought behind the velvet rope that seperated the stars from everyone else.

Even on the star side of the rope, there was another velvet rope that seperated the carpet into two paths, a press line, and a non-press line that stars could step into when they were done with their interviews and photo ops. Speaking of photo ops, those were available everywhere. They had smaller 12 foot tall statues and decorations and posters of past stars like Marilyn Monroe, Charlie Chaplin, Bette Davis, and Orson Wells all over, so there was never a lack of Oscar-approved spaces available to pose and say cheese.

That was really the point, to be honest. The red carpet wasn’t as much about the stars, or our gowns, as it was about the Oscars, itself. The ubiquitous branding and references to the event itself was supposed to speak to the prestige, and importance, and legacy of the event, and you were supposed to feel special by just being a tiny part of what made it special.

That grandor and self importance was hard to deny, even when I wanted to pretend like being at the Oscars no longer felt epic. But the overwhelming feeling of being at this prestigious, one of a kind red carpet truly washed itself over me as I stood there. And with it came the bone chilling reality that I was crashing this prestigious, one of a kind carpet with my naked body.

Not the more laid back, less serious Golden Globes red carpet, or the edgy, anything goes MTV Awards red carpet. No, I was naked at the Holy Grail of all red carpet events. And it felt like a terrible sin. Blasphemy at its most irreverent.

But there would be no repentance tonight, if all went to plan. I needed to be unabashed and proud about displaying my body. And that started with an excellent photo shoot in front of the hundreds of photographers screaming my name.

But just as I was about to take my place in front of them, I saw Dawn and Jennifer Todd emerge from the sea of clothed people. They both were dressed conservatively, Jennifer Todd in a black gown, her red hair flowing freely down to her bare arms, Dawn wearing a dark green blouse and black pencil dress. They moved quickly towards me and the looks on their faces made me fear that they weren’t happy about me showing up like this.

But Jennifer Todd shook her head with a laugh as she approached me. “Oh my god, you did it, you actually did it,” Jennifer Todd said as she embraced me with a hug and cheek kiss. The flash of light from the cameras felt palpable, even more than the feel of another woman pressed against my naked skin.

Dawn followed her with a hug and cheek to cheek kiss, though she looked a lot more apprehensive about actually touching me too closely. Or maybe she was just apprehensive about allowing me here in the first place.

I wanted to preemptively take responsibility for the uproar I was causing. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know. It really was last minute. I’m still not even sure it’s real.”

“Oh it’s real,” Jennifer Todd said to drive home the point.

“No worries, dear,” Dawn said. “We weren’t totally convinced that you had actually changed your mind about doing this.”

“Yeah, after we talked to Darren I made sure to talk to the people that mattered and make them aware that the option was still open,” Jennifer Todd replied. “Speaking of which, where is Mr. Aronofsky?:

“Oh, he decided not to come,” I said. I was still trying to process the fact that they’d talked to Darren. “When did you talk to him?”

I guess the way I asked made her feel as if she shouldn’t have let that fact slip. “Briefly a few days ago. He led me to believe he would be your date. Is everything okay?”

Her pointing out that he was missing made me feel even more naked. The ONLY one naked. And I also felt deceived, or betrayed. Why had Darren talked to them without letting me know? What all did he tell them?

“I’m absolutely terrified and nauseous and a little pissed but aside from that everything is fine,” I told her with a smile.

They looked at each other, as if unsure how serious they were supposed to take my words, before arriving at a laugh.

“Well, you look wonderful,” Dawn said, presumably to cheer me up, or take the focus off my confessed negative feelings.

“Jaw dropping,” Jennifer Todd added. “I’m in awe of you.”

“You and everyone else,” I said while taking a brief look at everyone just staring at me.

“You better get used to those compliments,” Jennifer Todd smirked. “You still going to do the interview with ABC, right?”

It was clear she was still excited about the ratings for her show.

I nodded meekly before looking over to the latest arrival to the red carpet. It was Wonder Woman herself, Gal Gadot, accompanied by a man in a suit that I presumed was her husband. She was wearing a stunning gown that looked as if it was made of diamonds and silver. The kind of thing I would have loved to wear to an event like this.

But while I was checking out her wardrobe and envying her being dressed, she was checking out my lack of one, and the nonplussed look on her face as she walked by us was hard to stomach. The man at her side, however, took just a single glance my way before looking straight ahead as if he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. It was the first time I saw someone react to my nudity by looking away so quickly.

The couple proceeded to the spot on the carpet where the media could take photos against the wall backdrop. But seemingly half of the photographers were still distracted by the scene I was causing merely by standing there naked. Many of them still had their cameras pointed towards me, steadily snapping, while Gal posed.

How stupid.

Gal, with her hair bunned up, and her lips a dark red looked absolutely gorgeous in her gown. And these idiots were missing out on capturing that beauty. I obviously wanted attention by making this crazy decision to step out in public naked, but I already felt irritated at my body taking attention away from other beautiful women.

“Shoot her,” I pointed towards Gal with an annoyed look, which only caused even more people to point their cameras towards me and snap.

Gal herself turned to look my way, and while I anticipated her being annoyed with me, I was relieved to see her looking very amused. She blew a kiss and waved at me before I heard a million snaps of the camera capture the entire exchange. The man at her side had stepped back to allow Gal to pose for photos solo, but even he threw a glance back my way and I could see him trying to contain a grin.

Oh God.

Laughter seemed to move through the crowd around me which was contagious enough that even I started laughing at how absurd this all was. But at least in the moment it was playful absurdity. No one seemed offended or angry. Just confused, curious, and more than a little tickled.

When Gal moved on down the carpet, Dawn motioned for us to move ahead and not block the path for any of the other arrivals. The red carpet was usually a well oiled machine of stars arriving, being photographed and interviewed and ushered through without causing any major jams or lines. But my naked body was obviously a monkey wrench that was causing people, stars, security, and media members to just stand there in amusement and confusion and not go on with the program.

While I moved forward it looked as if Dawn and Jennifer Hudson were going to duck the media but I grabbed Jennifer Todd by the hand and motioned for them to both join me for photos.

I’d just wanted to avoid having to take my first poses by myself, but as the two ladies moved into position with me against the wall, it dawned on me how momentous this actually was. This was the President of the Academy and the producer of the show.

Two of the most powerful women in the industry. And they were agreeing to pose with a naked actress on the world’s most prestigious red carpet. I’m not sure if I could say they were standing in solidarity with me, but as they put an arm around my naked waist and I put an arm around their clothed waists, I knew that this would be seen as their stamp of approval.

They posed with me for what felt like a few seconds, but was probably enough for hundreds of photos to be taken, before they thanked me (for what? I wasn’t sure) and said I was brave and beautiful.

“Good luck tonight, Jennifer,” Dawn said, her eyes showing that she truly meant it. She looked terrified for me. “We’ll be watching you every step of the way down the carpet and making sure everything is okay.”

“We support you,” Jennifer Todd added. “If anyone gives you shit just remember we have your back. If anyone asks, you have clearance and freedom to express yourself. It’s perfectly legal.”

“Provided it’s not sexual,” Dawn made sure to clarify. Right as she said it I caught her looking at my nipples. And hearing sexual while having her look at my boobs made my nipples harden up. Thanks a lot, Dawn, I thought as they left me standing there, naked with hard nipples.

I’d posed for the photographers, so I could have followed Dawn and Jennifer down the line but I could I hear the needy hunger in the voices of the photographers as they called for me. They wanted solo poses from all angles. Some of them sounded like they were going to go hoarse as they screamed for me. They wanted this badly. And begrudgingly, I had to admit to myself that I wanted to give them what they so desperately wanted.

I tried not to focus on my nerves or the onlookers watching. I set my attention on the cameras and concentrated on poses that were almost second nature to me, after years and years of red carpet appearances. First came the hand on hip, intense sexy gaze pose, which I held steady for several seconds of non-stop camera snaps. Then came a slight turn with both hands on my hips and a soft smile.

“Over here!”

“This way!”

“Right in front of you Jennifer?”

“To your left, please!”

The screaming voices of men competed for my attention as I went through a few more conservative poses. I hadn’t been looking at anyone in particular but I spotted a cute guy near the back screaming “over the shoulder,” and when I locked eyes with him, I felt compelled to specifically give him what he was asking for.

Oh, so you want to see my ass?

I turned to my left, giving him, and everyone else to his side a perfect view my face peeking over my shoulder. Or, put another way, a view of my naked white ass. Tanned nicely after a day in the sun.

I knew it wasn’t the best ass in the world. Not a pancake, but in the era of brazilian butt lifts and Instagram models with perfectly rounded and shaped asses, it probably wouldn’t be considered that impressive. But it was my butt, damnit, and I was going to show it off as if I was Kim Kardashian.

“Beautiful,” I heard several men say but the one that really got me going was the “so sexy” from someone that had a very foreign accent. It really illustrated how universally appealing a naked ass was. And hammered home that my naked ass would be shown across the world. The thought made my knees feel weak, even as I tried to hold still as everyone whistled and commented on the pose.

After holding that pose as best I could for several seconds, one of the organizers of the carpet motioned for me to keep it moving so the other arrivals could quickly get some shine. I made my way down the carpet to the next booth of photographers and resumed posing, starting with the hand on the hip pose, this time with a big smile to shake things up. The calls for my attention continued, this time with more flattery and pet names.

“Gorgeous, Jenny. Big smile up top!”

“Looking good! Right here, down the center Jennifer!”

“Straight ahead darling!

“Here Mademoiselle! This way Mademoiselle! Belle!”

I ended up looking over my shoulder at the french photographer. He had the best view of me, with my sight directly aimed at his camera lens. I wondered how much money this view would get him. Thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? More? And then I started to imagine how he – and everyone else for that matter – would settle on the photos they wanted to sell.

As soon as the red carpet event was over, they would probably run over to their laptops and quickly download the thousands of photos they took of me. Then they would scan through each one, looking at my naked poses, looking for the images that could grace magazine covers and headline news articles. They would pick those out, maybe touch them up in photoshop, or leave them raw, I wasn’t sure, before offering them to all of the major publications.

But what would they do with the other 99.9% of the naked photos they took of me? Would they keep them on a few external hard drives to collect dust? Or would they look at them when they weren’t on the clock. Perhaps focusing on the photos where some of my more intimate spots were captured. A little bit of pink, a little bit of pussy lips. Photos that couldn’t possibly be printed. Would those photos give them a boner? Would those photos make them want to free their boner from their pants? Would those photos make them have to touch…

I caught myself right as I felt myself getting wet. Thinking about this had been a mistake. Stop making this sexual you fucking pervert I all but screamed internally as I ended my pose. I waved goodbye at the journalist that kept screaming my name and turned to quickly move out of there, afraid that they had captured the change from unaroused to aroused.

I couldn’t let anybody see that I was starting to get turned on. One, I didn’t want to be kicked out and arrested. I would never live that down. Two, being turned on made this even more embarrassing. And being embarrassed would only feed the arousal. I could NOT let that happen.

But as I moved into the press side of the velvet rope, I could tell that this was going to be a fight. I was naked. Utterly naked. My wildest fantasy had come true. The same fantasy that I’d masturbated to dozens and dozens of times in the past few months. Public nudity at this point was intertwined with arousal for me. Even if I was publicly nude for non-sexual reasons, I couldn’t deny the heat building between my legs as I moved past the walled off media area and into the most public part of the carpet.

To my left were dozens of booths with media outlets from all over the world. To my right were bleachers filled with hundreds of screaming fans. I felt like I’d prepared myself enough to handle both sides of this experience. But what made my bones feel stiff was the sight of what felt like an endless sea of clothed men and women right in front of me. There were people dressed in black tuxedos and colorful gowns as far as my eyes could see. Clothed people covering nearly every inch of the capet.

It should have been a familiar sight. But it felt like something I’d never actually experienced before. In this case, it was. Everyone had something on, except for me. That was a horrifying emotion that made me realize I actually hadn’t yet reached the depths of embarrassment.

After I stepped out of the limo nude and endured the stares, I thought that was as embarrassed as embarrassment could get. But I was wrong. So, so mistaken. And that horrified me. It made me wonder, how much further was there to the bottom of this pit of embarrassment?

Was there even a bottom? Or would every moment reveal a new layer of embarrassment that would torture me every second I was out and exposed like this? Like an endless roller coaster drop of airtime. How long could I even endure such endless tortuous excitement?

I spotted the big Golden statue far in the distance that marked the entrance of the Dolby theater and the end of the red carpet experience. This was the landmark to reach. The peak of the mountain. The end to my naked journey. Once I reached that spot, I could put on a jacket, run to a restroom and dress myself.

But my God, it looked so far away. Like football fields away. Especially with so many people standing between my naked body and the exit from this self-imposed exposure. I made it up in my head that I was going to move urgently because I didn’t think I could prolong this experience now that I was actually experiencing the full intensity of the feelings. But even that meant I was probably going to be spend at least 30 minutes naked out here.

Even if I were to take off running to get to the safety of the Dolby theater, it would take several minutes to maneuver through this maze of clothed bodies. For a second I imagined myself darting and weaving through the crowd, my tits and ass bouncing and jiggling obscenely, bumping into people, saying sorry, losing my balance and falling on my ass, having to kick of my heels to move quickly to safely make it to the end of the carpet, all while ushers ran after me to tell me no cutting, and no running, big no-no’s on the carpet.

I shuddered at the thought of that level of embarrassment. I just needed to steel myself and survive the next half an hour like I’d already survived these first ten minutes. If I managed that, and actually made it naked through this unnerving mass of stars and screaming fans and camera flashes, I was sure I’d be able to survive anything else life ever threw at me.

My publicist found me on the carpet and shook her head with a laugh, a reaction to my public nudity that was becoming common, and ushered me through to the first of five ABC stages, where a female producer for the show responded to the sight of me by shrieking. I couldn’t help but laugh at her.

The publicist and producer had an exchange while I focused on the backstage area where everyone was scrambling to set the lights and move the chords and do whatever it is they were doing to make their live show possible. It was clear how much of a distraction I was, as everyone kept looking my way every few seconds.

“You’re on in 45 seconds,” the producer said before motioning for me to go up the three steps that led to the small stage where Sara Haines from The View was waiting with a mic in hand. I couldn’t help but notice the royal purple gown Sara was wearing. It was a good look on her.
“Nice dress,” I blurted out as I approached her and stood on the marked spot where the stars were interviewed. She responded with a big laugh and just looked at my naked body, from my boobs down to my bush. Could she tell that I envied that she was wearing clothes? Or did she think I was being completely facetious?

“So, you don’t mind if I ask you about what you’re…wearing do you?” she said with an eye-raised smirk that I somehow interpreted as mean spirited. Like, right in the here and now, she was better than me for the simple fact that she had on a dress and I didn’t. Or maybe I was just feeling petty because she didn’t say thank you to my compliment.

“Sure that’s fine,” I said, trying to push my possibly imagined slight to the side.

“I want to ask why, specifically. Get the scoop for your nudity. You good with that beautiful?”

“Mm-hmm,,” I nodded, though in that moment all I could really concentrate on was the producer counting down before we went live on air. With that kind of pressure weighing on me, my mind felt really weak and unable to do much heavy lifting. What WAS the reason I was naked right now? I was drawing blanks.

I couldn’t remember the reason. Well, not the high-minded reasons at least.

“Ten seconds,” someone shouted from backstage. It sunk in then that everyone from home was about to see me. Even if my nudie bits were blurred, they were going to see that I wasn’t wearing anything. This was a big moment for live television, and that both excited and terrified me.

I clasped both hands in front of my belly and held them near my vagina. I don’t know why. I guess I couldn’t ignore my instincts while watching the producer give us hand signal that we were now live.

“Welcome back everybody to the Oscars Red Carpet Live,” she said in an upbeat cheerful tone befitting of a host welcoming an audience back from commercial break. Then she turned to me, and her eyes burned with glee. “I feel very honored to have a very naked Jennifer Lawrence join me tonight. I have to ask beautiful, how do you feel right now?”

I’d expected her to say nude but just unexpectedly hearing her describe me as naked me gave me an intense feeling of exposure and made me bring my hands even closer to my crotch to hide what I knew was blurred. “I feel like I’m very naked,” I answered simply and honestly.

From the corner of my eye I saw several backstage assistants laugh at my answer. Even the cameraman had a big grin on his face. I couldn’t avoid wondering if they were laughing with me, or at me. The uncertainty seemed to only make my nipples harder and my pussy wetter. Oh God, not here in front of these cameras, live in front of the entire world.

“I bet you do,” Sara giggled. “You look gorgeous. But is there a reason why you decided to come to the Oscars so very naked? Does it have anything to do with timesup or meetoo?”

She was cutting right to the chase. Fortunately, I was good at memorizing lines. And while I couldn’t articulate the actual reasons for my decision to shock the Oscars with my naked body, I knew I would be able to recite Robert Opel, the naked streaker’s reason for shocking the Oscars, and everyone else with his naked body.

“Have you ever heard of Robert Opel?” I asked Sara.

I could tell she was uncomfortable with me turning the spotlight on her with this trivia question that she obviously didn’t know. She clearly didn’t want to say something stupid by not knowing, so I saved her by saying “He was the naked streaker. He ran across the stage naked at the Oscars like forty years ago and threw up a peace sign.”

“Of course, yes,” she nodded. I still wasn’t sure she knew what I was talking about but she went along with it. “So this is, what, an homage to the naked streaker?”

“Robert Opel,” I clarified, not wanting to just refer to him as a naked streaker. “Robert was an artist, an activist, a proud and out gay man with a fabulous 70’s mustache and a nice butt. And he was also a teacher. Well he was a teacher before he got fired for having the audacity to show his naked body at the Oscars.” I paused to roll my eyes. I realized it was helping with my nerves to talk about someone else’s nudity and not just my own. “Do you know what he said when he was asked why?”

She really wasn’t liking that I kept putting her on the spot but she laughed and nodded for me to continue.

“And I quote. It all sounds serious and heavy but part of it is to examine our attitudes about who we are and what we look like. How important is it if I come to you this afternoon wearing green pants and this kind of shirt or that kind of gown or no clothes on at all? What does that really mean? How much information can you really transmit to each other on the basis of what you’re wearing? End quote.”

“Wow, that’s incredible, amazing. So the streaker really inspired you tonight huh?” she asked before shoving the microphone back into my face.

“I watched his documentary and a lot of what he said has stuck with me. RIP Robert.”

“Yes absolutely, RIP Robert. So do you feel like you should win best dressed tonight?”

I couldn’t help the chuckle that fell out of my mouth as she so quickly segued from a dead man to a naked woman. “I’m thinking worst dressed.”

I saw more laughter out of the corner of my eye. They were really getting a kick out of this. I was still trying to kick away my unwanted arousal.

“Maybe worst dressed but stunning either way,” she followed up. “Speaking of which, how do you get your body to look so red-carpet wonderful?”

“Well I ate In and Out and Dunk-N-Donuts a few days ago. Had my mom’s famous meatloaf last night. A few colonics later and here I am. It’s been quite a week.”

“Well there’s that,” she smiled.

We didn’t end the interview there. She asked me a few more questions but I mentally checked out around that time. When the interview actually ended and she handed the broadcast over to Michael Strahan so he could interview Salma Hayek, she leaned over and whispered “I really think what you’re doing is amazing.”

It sort of surprised me. But as I looked at her I could tell she was being genuine and it made me feel bad for thinking she was looking down on me this entire time just because I was naked. “Thank you Sara,” I told her before turning to the rest of the broadcast team and waving. “Have a great night.” Half of the behind the scenes workers waved back at me.

I felt accomplished after finishing the interview. I was glad the audience at home had at least some explanation for it all.

On my way down the steps I nearly stumbled as the fans in the bleachers abruptly started roaring with excitement. It was the first time I allowed myself to truly look in their direction. So many of them were up there and nearly all of them were looking in my direction. What else was new? In a red carpet of A-listers and mega stars, I was the naked person. You had to look at the naked person.

As I moved away from the stage I was steeling myself for joining the rest of the stars on the carpet and slowly making my way down but I was approached by a woman from the very next booth. “Hey Jennifer, I’m Janet. I know you just did ABC, but would you be up for doing an interview with the Hollywood Reporter? We’re ready, like now, so you wouldn’t even have to wait.”

I looked at the line of clothed people on the carpet and then at the booth where the crew from the Hollywood Reporter were all staring at me. I wasn’t really in a hurry to immerse myself in that big ass crowd of people. “Sure, I guess that’s fine.”

“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Janet said. I could see this was a personal victory for her, getting an interview with naked Jennifer Lawrence.

I followed her and again nearly stumbled up the three steps. Two near stumbles in less than a minute wasn’t a good sign. Usually I had stumbling missteps because walking in high-end stilettos with a floor length gown was kind of hard. But now I realized I was nearly stumbling because I was shaking with nervous energy every time I took a step.

My body just wasn’t used enough to this exposure. My nipples were like rocks and I had goosebumps and my heart was pounding. It was as if my body was working overtime just to walk at all, let alone coordinate enough to go up and down steps.

The producer was right about not having to wait because as soon as I was in place on stage next to my female interviewer, the cameraman motioned that we were a go.

“I’m here with the amazing Jennifer Lawrence. Thank you so much for joining us on the Oscars Red Carpet,” the woman said with a smirk.

“Thanks for having me,” I said with a smile. I wanted to be a lot friendlier and open than I’d been with Sara. I didn’t need to be defensive or interpet words or smirks as hostile. People were having fun with this, I could too.

“No thank you,” she continued. “I’ve had many red carpet interviews before but this is a first…….” she motioned towards my naked body and said “Just wow. I can’t even come up with the words…”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” I said before making an exaggerated face of horror.

“Oh it is wonderful. I mean can you hear the crowd? They have cheered nonstop for you since you have arrived. The latest applause was the loudest I’ve ever heard on a red carpet.”

I turned back to look at the crowd in the bleachers. They were too far away for me to really see any of their faces. But just seeing and hearing them react to me looking their way was enough to give my body another jolt of electricity.

I turned back towards the camera and shrugged “I think they’re cheering because Tom Hanks just arrived.”

“I dunno. I love Tom but something tells me he isn’t the source of the commotion,” she said with a sly grin.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said with a feigned sigh.

“So talk about your state of dress,” she said.

“Well, I guess I’m styling the J-Law skintight wardrobe.”

She laughed. “Yes, from the birthday suit collection, right?”

“Oh yeah. Vintage, 1990. One of a kind. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person to ever wear it.”

“You are so right about that,” she giggled. “And again you look so amazing. I’m so jealous.”

“You look pretty damn good yourself. And you have actual clothes on. Wanna trade?”

“If I could trade anything right now it would be the confidence you have in yourself to pull this off,” she said. “You’re my hero right now. Everyone else here is clearly uncomfortable in our stuffy outfits. But here you are, on the carpet, looking so radiant and confident.”

“I’m glad you see confidence when you look at me,” I told her honestly. “I’m actually pretty terrified. Maybe I should get an award nomination if I look like I just have it all together.”

“I’m convinced you should win all of the awards tonight.”

“Only award I’m winning tonight is least dressed.”

She laughed really hard. “See what I mean? I love how you keep your wits and just slay the carpet with your one of a kind personality. I honestly wouldn’t guess that you’re terrified. You seem so cool and calm and collected right now.”

“I’m naked,” I told her. “Seriously. Like, really naked. I’m not hiding behind anything. I don’t have any photoshop or airbrushes to hide my imperfections. So I’m really letting people see me. Every scar and pimple. It’s scary.”

“Is it liberating at all?” she asked. “You just seem to free. I have on the tightest spanx ever, just crushing my organs, so I can tuck all of this in,” she said as she rubbed her gut. “And then standing around for hours in these six inch monsters.” She pointed to her feet with a sigh.

“I know, right?” I laughed. “It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? I’ve almost fallen twice in my heels in the last few minutes. I already have an irrational anxiety over walking up stairs. But now I’m combining it with a fear of being naked. And it’s like….”

I was a very expressive person and often used sound effects, facial expressions, and my hands to communicate. And in this moment, it felt much easier to articulate how being naked felt by making noises and faces than speaking. After the host laughed at the goofy noise and face I made, I decided I should probably stop making noises and answer her actual question.

“To be honest, it does feel liberating. I was supposed to wear a dress for this event that my body didn’t agree with. So I decided not to wear it. Just like I made a choice to wear a sexy dress out in the cold in London when the internet exploded like it wasn’t feminist or something. But to me, the choice to wear the dress or don’t wear the dress or don’t wear anything is…empowering. I’m not sure if there is anything more empowering than freedom of choice, freedom of expression and all of that. I feel more agency now after making the choice. And a lot more comfortable. It’s important to feel comfortable in your own skin.”

“You are so right about that Jennifer. That is an incredibly important lesson. You hear that, ladies? Love your body and feel comfortable in your own skin. Awesome insight and advice that we should all take to heart.”

“So what’s stopping you?” I asked with a predators grin on my face. I remembered how fun yesterday had been with my mom and Sherry and decided I really enjoyed coaxing women into following me into the dark side.

Her eyes grew wide as she choked out a chuckle. “One, not having Jennifer Lawrence’s confidence.”

“Don’t be silly. You don’t need to be me in any way. Just gotta say you know what, screw the rules, screw the traditions, this is our night. My feet hurt, this underwear sucks, and I don’t need it to be beautiful or red carpet ready.”

She looked incredibly shy and bashful with the spotlight turned on her. I really found it fun to encourage women towards letting go but I realized there was a bit of danger in doing it so publicly, in front of cameras. A gentle suggestion was fine, but anything more and our little segment would have turned from fun and friendly to a tad hostile. And I didn’t want to come off as a bully. But I did want her to take something off, so I found a compromise.

“How about this,” I said, pointing at her heels. “You take off those six inch monsters and I’ll take off mine.”

“Ooo that does sound tempting,” she said, biting her lip.

“And I bet you’ll feel really free after you do it,” I smiled.

“I think I can do that,” she said. “But wait, am I taking them off for this interview or…”

“Once they are off, they are off,” I told her. “As long as you’re working tonight, they are off.” I looked towards the Access Hollywood crew. “You hear that everyone? I’m giving her permission to interview people feeling comfortable.”

One of the producers responded by simply giving us the thumbs up. The look on her face suggested that she knew this was great TV, even though this wasn’t live and wouldn’t air until after the actual show was over. But they would be able to post on their site that a naked Jennifer Lawrence convinced their host to take it off. Oh God, when phrased like that it felt really naughty.

And it felt really naughty when me and her decided to take off our heels at the same time. I would have had to bend over to take them off, and I wasn’t about to bend over in front of all of these people and cameras, so I motioned for help from the crew. Two guys happily came over to bend down, unlace my sandals, and then help me out, while another guy attended to the host.

When my bare feet hit the podium floor, an even stronger feeling of being naked washed over me. There were so many layers to being naked in public but this feeling felt way more intense than I thought it might feel. It took the host saying “whew that’s much better” for me to focus on anything else but the reality of being barefoot and naked and surrounded by people.

I looked at her and was surprised by how flushed she’d become. She looked like she didn’t know how to contain herself. And it didn’t just look like slight embarrassment. I could swear I also caught a hint of…sexual excitement on her face.

When we ended the interview, I motioned for my security to carry my heels and I walked down the steps without worrying about tripping over my heels. As I went down the steps I wondered what was the bigger deal; her being barefoot or me.

The analytical part of me conceded that this was a much bigger deal for her. She’d been fully dressed and now she was standing barefoot in public. That was a big change, objectively. From dressed appropriately to underdressed.

I was naked to begin with. My tits and ass and pussy were on display. So exposing my feet and toes didn’t seem like such a big deal. But why oh why did it emotionally feel like a big deal? Like I’d entered a new realm of sensation and exposure. I’d thought I would just be saving myself from potentially stumbling by taking off my heels, but I truly hadn’t been prepared for everything to feel so much more intense once the bottom of my freshly pedicured feet hit the soft, nylon walkway.

The texture was so silky and gentle against my skin, even though the ground it covered was firm. Walking on the scarlet rug felt equal parts stimulating and unnatural, and even after taking a dozen or so short steps, I still couldn’t quite make my body grow familiar with the feeling.

This was crazy. How was it possible for me to lose inches in height from taking off my heels but feel even larger, even more seen as I moved barefoot on the carpet? It must have been because taking off my heels had only made me hornier, and I was sure the signs of arousal was starting to really reflect on my exposed body.

And then I started to worry that I’d been too raunchy and sexual by getting the host to take off her shoes. Did I come off as a drunk bimbo trying to encourage others to slut it up and take it off? Or was I being silly by even thinking that taking off shoes was sexual, or slutty? But if it wasn’t sexual, why did I feel so turned on after doing it?

Reluctant arousal was absolutely the last state I wanted to be in when I spotted someone’s kid on the red carpet out of the corner of my eye. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for actors to bring their kids to the red carpet. And judging by how old the kid looked, he’d probably already seen a million naked girls on the internet. But that fact still didn’t sit right with me as I stood so very naked before him, his parents, and everyone else.

I slipped behind a few tall guys, and ducked and dashed behind a few other people until I was out of sight, nice and hidden behind a wall of clothed people. And then I felt like an idiot.

You big dummy, how can you be out of sight? You can’t hide when you’re naked inside of a crowd. The wall of people have eyes and they are looking right at you!

I looked behind me and saw that my security were still close by, keeping an eye on the jewels. One of them carried my heels with him.

Seeing them only made me wonder where Jill and Jordan were. Darren had promised me that he would send them to the carpet with a jacket and dress for me to slip into when this experience was over.

I looked back towards that big Oscar statue near the entrance of the Dolby Theater. The spot at the end of the long L that marked the end of this experience. It still seemed so far away. In this moment, I felt as big as the statue. Impossibly large, where everyone could see me. And feeling so big somehow also made me feel so small.

I thought I could handle this. But being naked, and barefoot, and so exposed and visible to hundreds of people and flashing cameras made me feel as if I’d overestimated big time. Like I was the dumb frog sitting in a water pool on the stove and only now realized the pool was boiling.

But I couldn’t hop out of this predicament. I was here. I was barefoot and naked at the Oscars. And I was surrounded by people that would not let me get away.