The Bureau

In a matter of seconds, the alarm would engage, and Angela would have to explain to a bunch of security guards what she was doing in a high-security engineering office she didn’t work at on a Saturday afternoon. And why she wasn’t wearing any clothes, but that would be the least of her worries.

To avoid that, she needed to move, fast. But a crucial choice gripped her. Mark hadn’t brought the shirt down from the upper floor for her, but it might still be somewhere up there. Then again, he might also have taken it back with him, to destroy it or whatever, or he may have even left it on the floor in the high-security computer room that Angela didn’t have the right fingerprints to get into.

Even if it was accessible, there was no time to fetch it. Angela told herself this repeatedly as she sprinted through the corridor, down the last set of stairs, and into the building’s lobby, the wind at her sides. Bare feet slapped against tiles as she ran for the door, slammed the open button, and slid out into the parking lot.

The door clicked and locked behind her, and she heard the final series of beeps that meant the alarm had engaged. There was no going back now.

Angela stepped gingerly through the parking lot, casting glances back at the office building. She didn’t appreciate being abandoned there by Mark, but at least it was private and empty. Now she was out in public again and any random passerby might spot her.

Something was hanging in one of the upper floor windows of the office building, Angela noticed. It couldn’t be. It was! A blue square, which could only be Mark’s shirt, was hanging up on a third-floor window handle. It looked to be missing a few patches from the back, but still appeared very much wearable.

Angela threw her head back and screamed. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she raged and stomped around the parking lot. If she had just taken a little less time in the shower, or a bit less time trying to dry her hair! If she had just chosen to check upstairs before leaving! Maybe she could have made it, and she would have had a shirt.

But no, she had to sprint to outrun the alarm. She had had just enough time to get out and no more. And she hadn’t known about it when she was showering, nor had she known Mark would abandon her with a mere note.

Now she had nothing. No shirt, no shoes, no phone (she’d left it drying on the grass at Mark’s), and no idea when or if Mark would come back for her. She wrapped her arms tight around her body in a pitiful self-embrace.

As if to prove to her that things could still get worse, a police siren ripped through the air. It was coming this way. Angela knew if she was caught by the police, she’d be arrested for indecent exposure. That was not how she needed to end this horrible, horrible day. She glanced back at the office. No cover there, not even an alcove or a tree to hide behind. So she ran.

The police siren neared. Angela sprinted down the sidewalk, bare feet slapping against asphalt, breasts heaving and making her wish for her sports bra with every step. The police car was going to come down this street any moment now, and she was still too far from the nearest alley. There was no way she could outrun it.

There! There was an open door to the building on her left, and it didn’t look like there were any people inside. Angela turned on a dime and sprinted up two steps at a time, clearing the entrance and diving to one side of it just as the police car turned the corner. Breathing hard, she crouched against the wall and waited for the car to pass by.

The siren soon faded into the distance. The police car hadn’t come to arrest her, either for breaking into Mark’s office or for running around town in the altogether. But now that the immediate threat was gone, she had a thought. Didn’t people who got arrested for public nudity usually get bundled into coats or blankets? Would that… could that be worth it, actually? Trying to solve this problem by herself hadn’t exactly been working out so far. Everything she did just seemed to expose her to more people.

The police car was long gone, so it was too late to change her mind about being arrested. She looked around the dim, vacant lobby she’d found herself in. As her eyes adjusted to the weak light, she noticed a signpost with some writing on it that was far too good to be true. She got up and moved closer, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. But sure enough, there it was.

“2nd floor: Bureau of Clothing”

And then, underneath it, in smaller letters:

“Give me your poor, your tired, your naked. Free coverings for all who need them. Open 24/7.”

A charity! A clothing charity that explicitly mentioned “your naked”, i.e. herself! And this one wouldn’t require payment with money she didn’t have. Maybe she wouldn’t need to get arrested after all.

Angela put her hair back in place and covered herself with her arms. She proceeded cautiously but optimistically up the stairs, to the local office of the Bureau of Clothing.

As she ascended the last few steps, a reception desk came into view. Behind this desk sat a neat little man in spectacles and a sweater vest. “Bureau of Clothing, how may I ass— oh! Oh wow!”

Angela sheepishly made her way to the counter, arms wrapped tight around her body. “Hi,” she said.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” said the man at the desk. “Welcome to the Bureau of Clothing, one part of the three-pronged National Helping Hands Initiative, in which our government has pledged to feed the hungry, heal the sick and clothe the naked.”

“Yes, great, I’m the naked. Could I get some clothes, please?”

“Certainly, ma’am! Just sign the entrance register here and we’ll kick off the process.” The man held a pen out in front of Angela.

Angela frowned. “Would it be possible to, uh, get some clothes first?” she asked. “I’ve, uh, got my hands full here.”

“Procedure is procedure, I’m afraid,” the man replied, his voice sickeningly chipper. “Just follow the process and we’ll have you dressed in no time.”

“What about your sweater vest? Could you let me wear it, just for a bit?”

The man put a shocked hand to his mouth. “Heavens no! That would be a gender mismatch. The big bosses would have my head! No, no, we must follow the proper procedure.”

Maybe this place hadn’t been the godsend it initially seemed after all. Getting clothing out of these people might take a while. Angela turned to leave but felt a hand on her upper arm.

“Please don’t go,” said the man. “We want to help you, we really do. We haven’t had a full nude in ages! Please, sign the register, and we’ll get you some clothes.”

The man seemed genuine enough. And whatever happened in here, well, it was probably preferable to going outside and getting arrested. Angela reluctantly pulled her right hand away from covering her crotch and took the pen. She filled in her name, cellphone number and reason for visiting (“To get clothes”) in the blocks provided and signed at the end.

“Alright then, that’s all in order, right this way please!” The man motioned for Angela to enter a door to his left. She thanked him half-heartedly and proceeded through, holding her right hand between her backside and his spectacles.

The room beyond was a standard public office, with rows of ancient chairs against the walls, and a few snaking mazes of stanchions leading to windows, behind which bored government employees sat. Angela’s entry raised a few murmurs from these individuals, but no one rushed out to help her.

Thankfully, there were no lines, or indeed anyone present other than the place’s staff. Angela walked over to the first window and greeted the woman behind it. The woman’s eyes betrayed a very slight spark of life, but she said nothing.

“I’m here about some clothes,” Angela said, feeling ridiculous.

“I can see that,” the woman replied, her eyes traveling slowly up and down Angela’s body. “This counter’s for footwear needs, you’ll want the next one.”

While Angela did have some footwear needs, they were not her most pressing concern just then. She thanked the lady and moved to the next counter, which was staffed by another, almost identical lady.

“Hello, I need some clothes,” Angela said.

“You need more than I can give you. This counter’s for tops, you’ll want the next one over.”

“I don’t have a top.”

“Yes, I can see that. You don’t have anything. Next counter.”

Angela sighed and moved to the next counter, which was staffed by a fat, bald man, who licked his lips as she approached. Angela shuddered, and said, again, “Hello, I need some clothes.”

“This counter’s for bottoms. You’re looking for whole outfits, next one over. Can’t have ladies running around topless.”

“Really? But it’s fine to have them run around naked, like you’re making me do?”

The man smiled. “We’re here to help, but you need to follow procedure. It’s the only way to get it right.”

Angela moved to the next counter, where she found a bright, smiling young lady with red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a lovely tan blouse and blue mini-blazer. Her name tag read “Kate”. She seemed far too alive for this place, and closer to Angela’s age than any of the others.

“Hello there,” said Kate, a sympathetic look on her face as she looked Angela up and down. “You look like you’ve been through a lot today. But you’ve come to the right place.”

Angela sighed in deep relief. “Thank you. Please, tell me what I have to do to get some clothes.”

Kate leaned on her counter and pointed towards a desk in the corner of the room. “Grab a copy of form 3A, fill it in with your details and bring it back to me. That’ll be enough for us to kick things off.”

“This seems like an awful lot of admin for a naked girl who just needs something to cover herself. Can’t you just give me something to wear? At least something temporary, like a gown?”

A musical peal of laughter escaped Kate’s lips. “Oh honey, this is a government department. We’ll do our best for you, but we just don’t have the resources to give out temporary gowns to all comers.”

Angela scowled. “But the sign outside literally says that you will give clothes out to all comers!”

“All comers who follow the process,” corrected Kate. “We need some information from you so that we can allocate you the right clothes, tailored to your needs. Well, not literally tailored, but you get my meaning.”

Angela had a vision of Tammy’s bedroom. Was this just going to be a boring, drawn-out and bureaucratic version of that? She hoped not.

“Form 3A,” repeated Kate. “Come now, you must be getting cold.”

“Yes, I am,” Angela said between gritted teeth, before slinking off the find the form.

The desk in the corner of the room had a few scattered papers on it, one of which appeared to be a dog-eared, faded copy of Form 3A, Full Outfit Application for Totally Naked Individuals (TNIs). That described her pretty well. She grabbed the pen in her right hand and leaned over to fill in the form, her left arm still covering her breasts. Her lower body was by necessity exposed, with her rump protruding. She tried to tune out the low whispers of the place’s employees and pretend that they weren’t all looking at her.

The pen took a few tries before any ink came out of it, and the little boxes on the form were the smallest she’d ever seen. Face screwed up with concentration, she slowly filled in her personal details. There didn’t appear to be another copy of Form 3A, and if she screwed this one up they’d probably send her bare ass packing. Kate would act apologetic about it though.

Name, surname, nationality, sex, age, address, contact details, favorite color… past the personal details section, the questions on the form got a bit strange. In addition to her favorite color, it asked where her favorite place to do clothes shopping was and what her monthly clothing budget was. Sensing a trap, she filled in N/A for the first and $0 for the second. Didn’t need them deciding she didn’t qualify for help just because she wasn’t usually naked.

It also asked when last she’d been to a nudist beach (truthfully: never) and if she’d participated in any orgies over the last month (gross!). She filled in “none” for fabric allergies, checked “No” next to “Do you suffer from vestiphobia or related phobias?” and put an even bigger check on “No” next to “Do you feel comfortable in your own skin?”

The last question on the form read, “For how long have you been without clothes?” Angela glanced around the room and spotted a wall clock. The time was almost 3pm. Her hairdresser’s appointment had been at 7am. “8 hours”, she wrote, and it made her want to cry.

Angela sniffed and put the pen aside. She picked up the form and held it against her front, using her free hand to cover the butt that Baldy had been making lewd comments about the whole time she’d been writing. Probably thought she couldn’t hear them, but the prolonged humiliation of public nudity had heightened all her senses. She felt every gust of wind, heard every low whisper and shocked gasp. She saw every look of disgust, disapproval and pity.

“Here you go,” said Angela to Kate, pushing the form through the gap under the glass.

“Thank you, Angela,” replied Kate, smiling beautifully. “And might I just say, I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Angela coiled a strand around her finger. “I’ve certainly paid for it today.”

Kate scanned over the form, turned it around to look at the other side, and then nodded. “This all looks in order,” she said. “Please take a seat, and I’ll call you when we’ve finished processing.”

Kate smiled and disappeared from the window.

Angela walked over to a row of chairs against the wall and sat down on one, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. She glanced over the room. The people behind the windows all had their heads down, pretending to do something, ignoring her. The man would occasionally glance up at her.

Angela yawned. How long would they keep her waiting? The room’s stuffy air made her feel drowsy, but not enough to sleep. She would have needed horse tranquilizers to fall asleep while naked in public. So she sat and stared at the wall.

Eventually, Angela heard a door to her right creak open. “Right this way, Angela,” Kate said, peeking her head out.

Angela stood up and approached the door. She gasped at what she saw there. Beautiful, elegant Kate was naked from the waist down! Angela caught a flash of red landing strip and then dutifully averted her eyes, casting them down at Kate’s high heels.

Kate reached out to touch her shoulder and usher her through the doorway. “This way,” she said, heels clacking down the narrow corridor. She had a small, round butt. Angela scurried to walk abreast of her, though the space barely allowed it.

“You’re not wearing any panties!” she hissed. “You’re a Bureau of Clothing official and you’re not even fully dressed!”

“Budget cuts,” Kate replied nonchalantly. “I spend most of my time behind a window, so the higher-ups decided it didn’t matter if I wore anything below the counter. And there’s always a need for more clothing to give to deserving cases like you.”

“Even underwear?”

“That’s usually the first to go.” The way Kate’s blouse shifted as she walked let Angela know that she wasn’t wearing a bra either.

Angela recalled the protestations of the man out front when she’d asked for his sweater vest. Maybe he would have given it to her if she’d been a man. That… appeared to be how things worked here? She suddenly felt a new respect for the Bureau staff, especially brave, bottomless Kate.

The corridor opened up into a large open room, which was furnished with a desk to one side, a stool in the middle, and a treadmill next to the stool.

Kate cupped her hands over her mouth and called, “Horatio, I’ve got a new TNI for you! Female, mid-twenties.”

A door on the other side of the room flew open, and in stepped a small, hunchbacked old man in a dark suit. He was both bald and clean-shaven, walked with a stick and gave off the impression of a turtle. Angela shuddered as his hungry gaze drank her in.

“Thank you, Kate,” said the turtle-man, Horatio. He looked down at a paper he was holding. “I have a copy of… Angela… right here.” He shuffled over to the two women, moving at a rapid pace for one so old and unsteady.

“Delighted to… meet you, Angela,” he said. And then he took her hand, her right hand which hovered in front of her crotch, brought it up to his lips, and kissed it. “Let’s get you… measured.”

Angela chuckled uncomfortably as the man produced a tape measure from an inner coat pocket.

Kate nodded to Angela, then Horatio, and turned to go. “Ah, Kate,” said Horatio, stopping her. “Before you… go. The Riverview branch… contacted me. They need… a blouse. It’s urgent.”

Kate stood motionless with her back to Horatio. A moment passed, and Angela thought she detected a flicker of anguish pass across the young lady’s features. It was a look she knew well.

Kate stood still for a moment longer. Then she slowly nodded and shrugged her shoulders. Her blazer fell to the ground. Then there was a flash of red and white as flicked her hair forward and pulled her blouse overhead. It was the fastest Angela had ever seen someone strip. And all of a sudden, she wasn’t the only naked woman in the room.

Kate’s heels clacked across the floor as she strode purposefully towards what looked like a mail chute in a corner of the room. She folded her blouse into a neat bundle and deposited it.

“They’ll… appreciate it,” said Horatio.

Kate turned around to face Angela and walked over to retrieve her blazer. Her breasts were about the same size as Angela’s, but a little perkier on Kate’s larger frame. But Angela only caught them in the corner of her eye, as her gaze locked on Kate’s. The two naked women shared a moment of understanding, before Kate picked up her blazer, put it on and did up the buttons. Angela was briefly jealous but decided she couldn’t begrudge the woman her single item of clothing, which barely came down past her navel.

Once Kate had departed, Horatio looked away from the entrance and back at Angela. “On the stool,” he said.

Angela did as she was told.

“Arms out,” Horatio said, snapping his tape measure.

Angela shot him a pleading look.

“Arms… out. We need… measurements.”

With great reluctance, Angela pried her arms from the spots they were covering and stretched them out at her sides, giving Horatio a full view of her breasts and bush.

Horatio licked his lips and went to work.

He measured her height. 5’2″. He measured her bust, waist and hips, lingering on the first and last. 34-30-40. He took some additional measurements of each breast, admonishing Angela to keep still. Then he measured the length of her legs, arms, and torso, then the circumference of each calf and thigh. He measured her head from all sides and measured the length of her hair. He measured her feet, down, across and up.

Despite Angela’s whimpering protestations, he measured the inside of her thighs, assuring her it was necessary if she really, truly wanted clothes. He made her get off the stool for this and stand with her legs spread.

As he measured, his wrinkly fingers brushed her pussy lips, and she shuddered in revulsion. This was assault. This whole thing was just wrong. She felt like running far away, letting the whole world see her body if only to get away from those hands.

But then it was over, and Horatio put his tape measure away. “Now… fitness,” he said, motioning towards the treadmill.

Exactly why a fitness assessment was required to give her clothes, Angela couldn’t guess. Maybe they wanted to know if she should get active wear or casual wear, something stupid and pedantic like that. At this point, she was just going with it. Getting clothes at the end would be worth it. Even if she had nightmares about this horrible man fingering her for a month.

So Angela dutifully stepped off the stool and onto the treadmill. Horatio brandished two handfuls of suction cups on wires and started gleefully sticking them on her tummy, her legs, her arms, her boobs and her ass. Why not? If this was a real government department, she was going to have to lay a complaint later.

The treadmill started, and Angela was running. Slowly at first, but at an ever-increasing pace. She watched the speed counter tick up, and up, and up. She pumped her legs and arms, faster and faster. Hair flew around, breasts bounced, ass and thighs jiggled. Horatio was transfixed.

The pace kept on increasing, and Angela struggled to keep up. She was breathing hard now, sweat dripping from her forehead and down her torso. Some of the suction cups came loose and fell off, but Horatio didn’t seem in a hurry to do anything about that. Faster and faster she ran.

Finally, Horatio glanced at the small rectangular device that was on the other end of the suction cup wires and said, “Enough,” hitting a button. The treadmill quietened, slowed down, and Angela came to a jogging stop. Her body glistened with sweat, and she stumbled off the treadmill and fell to her knees with exhaustion, then sank to the floor in a heap, butt in the air.

A splash of cold water on her back startled her, and she turned over. Horatio loomed over her, holding a water bottle. “Open,” he said. She opened her mouth, and he poured the rest of the water bottle into her face. She gulped down greedily, coughing and spluttering.

When she was done coughing, Horatio helped her to her feet. Her skin was streaked with gray dust from the floor, that had mingled with her sweat and the water. Horatio produced a clipboard, jotted down some final notes, and then looked up at her and motioned towards the door at the far end of the room. “You may… proceed.”

“Thank you,” she said, still catching her breath. Then, shakily, she walked towards the door, feeling the old man’s eyes take one last, long, loving look at her backside.

She pushed down the door’s handle and opened it a crack, just enough to poke her head around. “Hello?” she said.

“Ah, you must be Angela!” came a booming, self-assured male voice from the next room. “Come in, come in!”

The presence of a new man immediately returned Angela’s self-consciousness, and she slowly pushed open the door, pressing her front against it and covering her behind with her left arm.

“Of course, of course, you’re the TNI,” said the man inside the room, locking his pale blue eyes on her own. “Take your time, everything at your own pace.”

The man sat on an armchair in the middle of the room, which was positioned beside a psychologist’s couch. These were the room’s only items of furniture.

Dr Paul, as he introduced himself, looked to be in his late thirties. He had a brown beard and was balding, with brown hair that only grew on the sides and back of his head. He was wearing black suit trousers with shiny black shoes and had a tie slung loosely around his neck. His hairy, muscled torso was bare. Between him and Kate, Angela’s hopes of getting adequate clothing for herself were falling fast.

“You appear to have some concerns about my attire,” said Dr Paul. “Let me assure you that we BoC staffers are at the bottom of the list when it comes to getting clothes. We’re a selfless lot, giving the very shirts off our backs to help the less fortunate.”

Angela smiled weakly, her body still pressed up against the door.

“Now, please take a seat on my couch. Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll look away while you approach.”

Dr Paul turned his head to face the far wall, and Angela peeled herself off the door. She pulled her dark hair forward so it fell over her breasts and walked to the couch, where she lay down carefully, keeping both hands in her lap.

Once she was settled, Dr Paul looked back at her, resuming his intense eye contact. After that pervert Horatio, she appreciated that.

“Now, Angela, I just have to do a quick mental evaluation, and then we’ll have everything we need to get you those clothes you’ve been looking forward to. You’ve been very patient with us, and the Bureau thanks you for your understanding. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a TNI, so we’re all a little rusty on the procedure.”

Angela smiled. “As long as I get those clothes.”

“Right, right, and of course you will. I just have to run through a few questions with you. First question: do you wear clothes at home?”

“Yes, always.”

Dr Paul noted her answer down on his notepad. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

Angela made a face. “No, and I definitely won’t now!” This was a lie.

“Do you wear clothes during sex?”

Angela harrumphed indignantly. “What kind of question is that?”

“Yes or no, please ma’am.”

“…No, of course not. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything!”

“Do you enjoy being the center of attention?”

“No!” Angela screamed. “I’d give anything for people to just ignore me again!”

“Do you have any exhibitionist tendencies?”

“Dr Paul, I have gone through hell today trying to get dressed. I don’t like people seeing me naked!”

Pen scratched against paper. Then Dr Paul asked, “Would you rather be topless or bottomless?”

“Neither!”

Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow. “Choose one.”

Angela pouted. “…Bottomless, I guess. A bit easier to hide, especially if your top is long enough, at least some of the time. But really, honestly, neither!”

“If you were trapped on a tropical island and your clothes rotted away, would you make new ones out of leaves?”

What kind of questions were these? “I would,” Angela answered. “But knowing my luck, they’d just get stolen by wild animals, or maybe I’d be allergic to all the leaves on the island.”

“What is your best feature?”

“My cute little nose.”

“Below the neck?”

“My strong calves.” She wasn’t playing this game.

“Worst feature?”

Angela thought for a moment. “It’s a tie between my boobs, butt and vagina.”

Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t really believe that.”

Angela sighed. “My thighs are a little flabby.”

Dr Paul made a couple more notes on his pad. “Thank you, Angela, we’re done here. Please proceed to the next room when you’re ready.” He stuck out a hand to shake, and Angela took it. Then he stood up and pulled her into a hug. His chest hairs tickled her skin.

“I really think we’ve made a breakthrough here, Angela,” he said in her ear. “I’m so happy you came to see me!” And she could feel it too.

His strong arms made her feel warm and protected. Maybe, under different circumstances… but not now. She was too confused, too vulnerable. And what could he possibly mean by “breakthrough”? She hadn’t even been here ten minutes or been asked any serious questions.

Dr Paul released her from the hug and shut his eyes, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thank you, doctor,” Angela said, as she slipped across the room and to the next, hopefully final, door.

The room beyond was even emptier than the last two had been and was completely dark. There was a painted wooden board in the middle, in front of which was a… camera. Angela froze up and darted to stand behind the camera.

“It’s okay, Angela,” came a familiar voice, speaking from somewhere in the ceiling. It was the sweater vest man at the front desk. “The camera won’t engage until you’re standing behind the clothing board.”

Angela glanced at what the man had called “the clothing board”. It was one of those gimmicky picture-frame things with cartoon characters who had cut-outs for heads. You were supposed to stand behind it and take a picture of yourself with the body of a strong man or a princess. But instead of cartoons, this board had a life-size photograph of a 1950s couple. The man wore a suit, and the woman a modest red dress with white polka dots.

“Just step behind the board so we can take a picture for our records,” said the man.

Angela couldn’t speak. “Is this a joke?” she stammered at last. “I’m still standing here naked, after all your forms and tests and questions, and you want me to pose for a picture!”

“Not a naked picture!” clarified the man. “You’ll be completely covered by the board. Look, this is the last part of the procedure, and then I’ll give you your outfit. I have it right here, ready to wear.”

The man’s assurances calmed Angela down substantially. “I guess I’ve played along so far…” She took a few steps and positioned her head in the cut-out of the 50s housewife.

“Good, good,” came the man’s voice. “Say clothes!”

“Clothes!” Angela shouted, beaming in anticipation of her long-awaited outfit. She wondered if it would be the same as the one on the board. Old-fashioned, but cute enough. She could make it work.

The camera flashed, and she was done.

“Out the door to your left,” said the voice.

This door was already open, and Angela stepped through it. She was back on the stairwell, face-to-face with the chipper, sweatervested man.

“Congratulations, Angela, you are the… first… Totally Naked Individual to come through a Bureau of Clothing assessment and receive an outfit scientifically formulated to your body, personality and priorities.”

“Great!” said Angela. “Where is it?”

“One moment.” The man ducked behind his counter, rummaged around for a moment, and then appeared again, smiling triumphantly. “Here we go! One outfit, custom designed for Miss Angela Wilkins.”

The man was not holding any clothing, nor were there any shirts, skirts, pants or even panties and bras hanging on the wall behind him. Angela feared the worst.

“I… I don’t see it.”

“It’s right here,” the man continued, proudly pointing at his outstretched palm.

Angela glanced down. “You’ve got to be joking.”

In the man’s hand was a single loop of elasticised black fabric. A hair-tie.

“Please, please, try it on.” The man’s smile got even wider. “This really is my favorite part of the job!”

Maybe he was giving her one piece of her outfit at a time, thought Angela. Yeah, that must be it. Another bureaucratic process. Starting with the top of her head, working down to the tips of her toes. She reached out and plucked the hair tie from his outstretched palm.

The man looked at her expectantly. “Go on, put it on.”

She coughed, glancing severely down at the arm in front of her breasts. So far this was like the only guy she’d met today who hadn’t seen her nipples, and she would have liked to keep it that way.

The man didn’t get the hint but repeated his exhortation for Angela to put on the hair tie.

Angela sighed wearily and relented. She dropped her arms to her side and pulled her hair back, then slipped the hair tie around it and snapped it into place.

The man clapped. “There we are! The outfit looks great on you!”

The outfit, he had said. There wasn’t going to be anything else.

Angela was fuming. “The outfit indeed! I came here, asking for clothes, and you promised you had them for me. Then you not only kept me naked, wasting my time with forms and weird questions but brought in an old man to grope me! All so you could give me a hair-tie! A hair-tie, so I could pull my hair away from my boobs, and let you ogle them, you pervert freak!”

The man’s smile fell instantly. “Calm down, ma’am, or I will have to ask you to leave. This outfit is scientifically formulated for your unique situation, using the latest advances in clothing science.”

“You can take your clothing science and shove it up your ass!” Angela screamed, turning around and stomping off towards the stairwell.

The sound of skin slapping against concrete came up the stairwell, and a lanky, curly-haired man came running towards the Bureau. He was completely naked, with both hands clasped firmly over his crotch. He stopped dead at the sight of Angela, and they locked eyes.

Angela felt a flash of envy for him, having such an easy job of covering himself. “Good luck getting anything decent out of these assholes,” she said, as she passed him on the steps. “It sure didn’t work for me.”