“I’ve been looking for you all day!” said the blonde woman, placing a hand on Angela’s forearm. “After all the excitement this morning, I only realized when I got to the car that Rosa had given me someone else’s clothes. I tried to come back and give them to you, but the salon was closed when I got there, and I couldn’t find you.”
It had all been a mistake. A misunderstanding. Angela considered the counterfactual. If she had stood in front of the salon, naked in that dreadful long corridor, for just a few minutes longer, she probably would have gotten her clothes back then and there. What a thought.
“I was going to search through the mall for you, but people were starting to arrive, so I got nervous and went home to get dressed. I guess you were definitely gone by the time I got back. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to get arrested.”
Angela smiled. “Oh, public nudity is legal now. The police told me.”
“Really?” asked the woman. “Wow, okay, that’s good to know.”
In light of this knowledge, Angela thought about asking the woman to take off her dress so she could have it. It was really small though, fitted to the woman’s slim banana build. Angela would probably rip it if she tried to put it on, and that was no way to repay a woman who had earnestly tried to correct her mistake.
“To be honest, though,” the woman continued, putting a hand under her chin, “I don’t think I could have done it, even if I’d known it was legal. Getting a naked early morning haircut was thrilling, but that was the first time I’ve done anything like that. I still have to work up to crowds. I’m just not as brave as you are.”
Great. Angela was now being complimented on her bravery by an exhibitionist. It had been one hell of a day.
“It’s strange, though. This morning, you seemed really upset about taking off your clothes. You were covering yourself with your hands and looking really stiff and nervous. Even when I tried to break the ice with a compliment, you still seemed really tense. But here you are!”
“Here I am,” said Angela flatly.
“My name’s Dorothy, by the way. And yours?”
“Nice to meet you again, Angela. Listen, I’ve got your clothes in my car. Let me know once you’re done here, and then we can go grab them.”
Angela’s face lit up. “I’m ready to go now.”
“Oh…kay.” Dorothy looked surprised. “But let’s have a drink first. On me.”
Dorothy looked at the cocktail menu, smiled, and waved a barman over to order two Naked Ladies. Their drinks arrived, and Angela slowly sipped hers. This much alcohol on an empty stomach was quickly killing the last remaining hang-ups she had about her nudity. Maybe she should have started drinking this morning and saved herself a bunch of mental anguish.
Dorothy was a lawyer at a prestigious firm, on track to make partner. Angela talked a bit about her job in marketing, but there wasn’t too much to say. It paid the bills, though she now knew for a fact that she could get a lot more money for dancing with her clothes off. She winced at the memory.
“Isn’t it just the most incredibly freeing feeling?” asked Dorothy, changing the subject to what she was really interested in. “To let it all hang out, feel the wind on your skin.”
“Swimming’s nice,” replied Angela. If she ever got a place with a pool, she decided, she wouldn’t wear a costume when she was alone.
Dorothy’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t it? Swimming costumes are such ridiculous garments. A very recent invention, and one we’d be better off without.”
Angela and Dorothy finished their drinks and headed out of the bar, to the disappointment of many of its patrons. The Square was noticeably emptier now. A squat middle-aged man had wheeled a hot-dog stand in front of the club. His eyes bulged when he saw Angela. Her eyes bulged at the sight of food.
“I’m really starving,” she said to Dorothy. “Could you buy me a hot-dog? I’ll pay you back, it’s just, well…”
Dorothy laughed. “I can see very well that you don’t have any money on you. Don’t worry, it’ll be my treat.”
The hot-dog man offered up a prayer to the sky as the two women approached his stand. Dorothy paid for a hot-dog, and the man managed to prepare it while looking at Angela the whole time. He handed her a stuffed, dripping roll with a shaking hand, which Angela took gratefully and immediately scarfed down. The man nearly fainted.
The hot-dog disappeared in record time, and Angela felt better.
“You’ve got a little…” Dorothy started, then scooped a dollop of sauce off Angela’s left breast. She put her finger in her mouth and winked. Angela blushed.
They thanked the hot-dog man and walked down the street to Dorothy’s car, which was the only one parked in a large lot off to the side of the square. A river rushed past the lot on the other side. The wind was starting to pick up, and Angela shivered.
Dorothy pulled a remote out of her purse and unlocked the car, then reached into the backseat and pulled out a bundle that Angela had been thinking about all day. Her clothes! She took them gratefully, turning the bundle over and over to take in each garment. Her gray tank top, great for running in. Her leggings, so stretchy and comfortable and flattering. Her sports bra, properly sized and comfortably secure. And her plain, black exercise panties, which would soon once again cover her pussy and whole ass. Some of her friends had told her she should start wearing g-strings with her leggings because of the line, but she’d always been too modest for “stripper panties”. Now she savored the thought of having two whole layers of fabric over her crotch.
Angela was just about to slip into her panties when Dorothy cried, “Wait!” Now what? Angela had her clothes back, in her hands. What could possibly happen now?
“Please, Angela, before you get dressed, I need a picture. To inspire me. Come, stand back.”
Dorothy motioned Angela back, and took the panties from her hand, struggling a bit to loosen Angela’s vice grip. “I know it’s getting cold now, but it’ll be really quick, don’t worry.”
Angela relaxed. She’d been naked all day, what was another minute or two?
Dorothy dumped Angela’s panties on top of the pile of her other clothes, and then pulled her own dress over her head. Needless to say, the exhibitionist wasn’t wearing any underwear. She dropped her dress on top of Angela’s clothes.
Dorothy produced a suction-cupped phone holder from the backseat of her car and put her phone in it. Then she closed the door and attached it to the window, before putting her phone in it. She tapped on the screen a few times, setting up a photo on a timer, and then slunk back to pose with Angela.
Being the taller of the two, Dorothy put an arm around Angela’s shoulder and pulled her in. Bare flesh touched bare flesh. It was warmer than being naked on your own.
Dorothy led Angela through a bunch of poses, smiling, laughing, and looking in turns bashful and haughty. They got some booty shots as well. Then, for the final photo, Dorothy had the idea they they should toss their clothes in the air above their heads.
“I don’t know,” cautioned Angela, “the wind’s getting awfully strong.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Dorothy, and as she spoke, the wind died down. “See?”
Angela reluctantly went along with the plan. Dorothy set her phone camera to take a series of rapid shots, so she could pick one of them as the best action pose. Both women took a portion of the clothing bundle in their hands.
“Three… two… one… go!”
Angela and Dorothy jumped in the air at the same time, flinging their clothes up. It was at this moment that the wind picked up, stronger than it had been before, and blasted the clothes away, away, away, and down into the river below.
Angela could only watch in shock as her beautiful exercise outfit disappeared from sight. She rushed to the edge of the lot and peered over the guardrail, but the strong river current had already washed her things out of sight.
“Oops,” said Dorothy. “But check out this photo!”
Angela looked at Dorothy’s phone. Two smiling naked women in mid-jumped looked back at her. One had an elaborate blonde up-do, a slim, angular body, a smooth hairless pussy and a pair of smart black heels. The other, intimately familiar, was short, curvy, with long black hair and a full bush, naked but for a hair-tie around her ankle. An arc of clothing hang in the air above them, and Angela could hardly bear to look at the image of those black panties she’d held in her hands just moments ago. The women were happy, excited, smiling, but there was just a hint of sadness in the shorter one’s eyes, which you could see if you looked real hard and long, or if you knew her well.
“Stunning!” said Dorothy.
“It’s a nice picture.”
The women returned to Dorothy’s car. Angela revealed that she didn’t have a ride, or any way to get home without her phone. Dorothy was only to happy to drive her home. “It’s the least I can do after stealing your clothes and then throwing them in a river.”
The ladies hopped in the car and began the long drive. Angela sat in the passenger seat, back up straight, breasts visible to anyone who cared to look. Dorothy knew her as an exhibitionist, an inspirational one at that, so it was too late to hide now. And that was okay. She was still kinda drunk.
Half an hour later, Dorothy’s car pulled up in front of Angela’s condo. Angela thanked her for the ride and let her take her phone number. Dorothy would be in touch about paying for the lost clothes. Both women got out of the car, and Dorothy smiled at Angela. “Thank you for tonight,” she said, pulling Angela into a tight hug. “Let’s do this again. Next time, I’ll do the Square naked as well.”
Angela made vague affirmative noises, but had about as much desire to intentionally repeat any of the day’s experiences as she had to go on a date with Mark. Dorothy squeezed her hand and disappeared back into her car.
Angela waved and then turned to face her front door. One of her neighbors, George, was sitting on his porch, staring at her. “A-Angela?” he asked. “Is that you? Who’s your friend?”
“You have a wife, George,” Angela snapped back, ambling towards her front door and then bending down to retrieve the spare key from below the doormat. “Don’t tell her about any of this, okay.”
“Yes ma’am!” George said, catching a glance at Angela’s ass as she fished for the key.
Angela found her key and opened her door, home at last. She shut it quickly behind her and collapsed against it, exhausted from the most insane day of her life. Against the back of the door, she noticed her running shoes and socks, as well as her phone. They must have been pushed through the mail slot.
There was sticky note on the back of her phone. “Hope you got home safe -M”
She turned it over. There were hundreds of messages and missed calls. She couldn’t deal with that right now. It could all wait for the morning.
Angela staggered to her room, threw her phone on the bed, and pulled a dressing gown out of her wardrobe, wrapping it tightly around herself. The soft felt was almost orgasmic against her cold skin. She sighed in deep relief and collapsed on top of her bed, asleep the instant she hit the blanket.
The sun was high in the sky when Angela finally awoke the next morning. She’d slept in the same position all night and there was puddle of drool on the blanket next to where her head had landed. She had a splitting headache and a sore back, so it took her a while to pick herself up.
Yesterday’s events seemed faraway, unreal. Had they all been a dream? Angela was naked under her dressing gown, so maybe not. She could also feel the hair-tie against her ankle. Her phone buzzed with three new messages.
She would deal with that soon, but first, it was time to take a shower. And then clothes. She looked lovingly at her closet.
Once in the bathroom, Angela had to give herself a small pep talk before she was ready to remove her dressing gown and be naked once more, even if only for a few minutes. Eventually she succeeded, dropping the gown and then darting into the shower and turning on the tap before it had even hit the floor. She had a quick shower and then dried and wrapped herself in a towel. How wonderful to have a towel!
Angela returned to her room and dug through her closet for a full outfit. Panties, bra, socks, shoes, jeans, T-shirt, sweater. She greedily pulled on each item of clothing, savoring the touch of the fabric. She pulled the hair-tie from her ankle, having forgotten to remove it for her shower, and put her hair up.
For the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Angela was fully clothed. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was no wide expanse of pale skin, no nipples or pubic hair. She couldn’t see the bottoms of her breasts, or her belly button, or the stubborn fat on her thighs. Normal, modest girl Angela stared back at her, dressed in blue jeans and a light green sweater over a purple T-shirt. She felt like herself again.
Now she was ready to deal with her phone. She lay down on her bed and steeled herself before unlocking.
There were missed calls and messages, but mostly there were pictures. Angela’s friends and acquaintances had been sending her pictures of herself since Saturday morning, but they had only come through now that her phone had connected to her home Wi-Fi. None of her friends had taken any of these photos; they were just passing on things they’d seen in community chat groups and other parts of the internet. Some friends were worried about her, others wanted to help, and others sent pictures with captions like “hey this naked chick kinda looks like you, weird”
There were photos of her standing in front of Tammy’s front door, hiding between cars at the hospital parking lot, scrunching herself up in the backseat of cars, standing bottomless in front of the fence at Mark’s place and running down streets at sunset. Pictures that she had no idea how anyone could have taken, but were nonetheless real.
Even the picture of her standing behind the board at the Bureau of Clothing had leaked, and Angela noted with annoyance that there’d been a mirror on the wall behind her, which she hadn’t seen in the darkness. But she had to admit that it made for an appropriate visual representation of the place.
The strip club forbade patrons from taking pictures, so there weren’t any shots of her at her most compromised. But most of the photos were of her walking through the square, sitting at the bar and… dancing with Donato. Those last ones she kind of liked. The shots from the slow dance, where much of her body was artfully hidden behind his… well, maybe she would get one framed.
As she scrolled, her phone would ping with new photos. Angela was inundated with her naked body. Then she noticed that some of the photos were actually videos, and she watched herself stroll through the Square, smiling and blushing. Had she really done that? It felt like a vivid dream. She look past her own body, to the faces of the people who were watching her. Some were shocked, some rolled their eyes, but most were just staring. She saw a girl mouth the word “slut” in the background of one of the videos, while she was shaking her ass for the college boys. She felt dirty, shameful.
Angela put her phone down and got up from her bed. She looked at her clothed form in the mirror. Could this serious, normal girl really be the same as the one in those pictures and videos?
A small piece of cardboard lying on the floor caught her eye and she picked it up. It was the card Madame Claire had given her, which advertised the contact details and very vaguely described services of one Claire Berkowitz. She was surprised it had stuck in her ankle band for long enough to reach home. There was a web address written in neat handwriting on the back.
Curious, Angela copied the web address in her phone’s browser. It took her to a private image on a photo-sharing site, which wanted a password before she could see it. She looked back at the card and noticed that the word “Candice” was written underneath the address. This was the password.
The second photo Ms. Shenkovich had taken of her popped up on the screen. The one where she looked like a magazine centerfold. Bouncy tresses of luminous black hair. Long lashes and ruby-red lips. Spotless porcelain skin from her face to her toes. Little glints of glitter sparkling on her breasts, tummy and butt-cheeks, shown in Ms. Shenkovich’s handheld mirror. A cute tuft of curly black hair covering her crotch.
Angela looked from the photo to her reflection. Wholesome, clothed Angela suddenly seemed dour and frumpy. She loosened her hair and fluffed it up a bit. That was better. She wondered what makeup brands Ms. Shenkovich had used.
Then her phone started buzzing with messages for an unknown number. It was Dorothy, sending her the pictures of them she’d taken in the parking lot. They were sexy. Angela lingered on the last one, where they were throwing their clothes in the air. There was, as she’d previously identified, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but it was mixed with joy and a sense of freedom. She remembered the exhilaration of that moment, when they had literally thrown their clothes to the wind.
The sweater was making her overheat, so she pulled it off. And she didn’t really need to wear shoes in the house, so she took those off too, with her socks. Now that the initial euphoria of getting clothing again had worn off, she was feeling… what? Happy, warm, content, certainly. But a little constricted. These were quite tight jeans, after all.
Angela undid the button on her jeans and was hiking them down when her phone rang. It was Rachel, her best friend. She hadn’t sent Angela any photos, so maybe she didn’t know about what had happened to her. She was so busy with wedding planning, maybe too busy to hear about some naked chick partying in the Square.
“Hi Rachel,” said Angela, picking up, still struggling out of her jeans.
“Hey bestie, how are you?” Rachel’s voice was sweet and caring, even over the phone.
Angela wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’m… better,” she said at last, as the jeans finally slipped free of her thighs.
There was a long pause. Angela wondered if Mark and Tammy had mentioned anything to her other friends. Probably not, unless they’d really twisted the stories to make themselves not look like assholes.
“Everyone’s talking about you, Angela! And you’re in all these photos! It’s really crazy! I couldn’t believe it at first, but that smile is unmistakable. I mean, I’m your best friend, and I had no idea you had this side to you!”
Angela didn’t know what to say. Her fleeting hope of having a normal conversation with Rachel had been shattered. But at least she wouldn’t have to break the news.
“The pics are stunning, by the way, you look really good. I need the deets on your glute exercises.”
“Th-thanks Rachel,” Angela stammered, just then stepping out of her jeans and opening her closet to find some shorts.
“Anyway, I can’t talk too long right now, just wanted to call and let you know that you’re beautiful and I fully support you. But please remember to wear your bridesmaid dress for the wedding! I need all eyes to be on me.”
Angela found a pair of pink short shorts. “I will, don’t worry.”
“Good. I want to hear all about your night. We should meet up for coffee this week so you can spill! The Angela I remember wouldn’t even wear a string bikini, so I want to find out what you’ve been hiding from me!”
“How about tomorrow after work? My place?”
“Done… but please put something on, for my sake.”
They said goodbye to each other and both hung up. Angela buttoned her shorts, then sighed deeply and fell back on her bed. She would tell Rachel the truth, the whole story, and about how horrible she’d felt and how glad she was to finally be clothed again. Then maybe her best friend would stop thinking she was an exhibitionist.
Angela’s feelings were all in a tangle. She had hated the embarrassment of being naked against her will, and the lack of control she had felt, and all the ways that people had used and abused her. Tammy’s contrivances, Mark’s probing finger, that old man Horatio’s perverted measurements. The charity store worker’s backhand.
But she’d enjoyed the compliments, and the feeling of water against her skin, and even the breeze, though it was sometimes a bit cold. And if she was really honest with herself, well, dancing at the strip club was kind of fun too. She wouldn’t be taking Madame Claire up on her offer, but maybe she could phone and find out if she could hire Ms. Shenkovich to do her hair and makeup again. That would be a massive improvement on Rosa’s.
She’d also had fun at the Square, and everyone had been really nice to her, even if the thought of all those eyes still made her blush. And she’d met Donato. Would he even have noticed her with clothes on? And, more pressingly, what should she wear for him next time? Could she really follow up last night with a date in one of her boring old conservative dresses? She wanted him to enjoy looking at her body, like he had during their dance.
Yesterday had been the worst day of her life, but also the best. Certainly the most stressful and exciting. Even some of the worst parts were kind of funny, looking back. Not all of them. And while she didn’t quite want to admit this to herself, the best parts had come at the end, when she’d bent to the will of universe and stopped trying to find clothes. Maybe there was something to that. Tonight, she would try a little experiment.
Angela passed the rest of the day inside, finally responding to all of the messages she’d received. She told her concerned friends that she was safely home and clothed again, and didn’t need any more help. She told the friends who hadn’t identified her in the pictures that indeed her resemblance to the naked girl was striking, and that that was amusing but also kind of embarrassing. She sent a message to Dorothy thanking her for the pictures and the ride. She left messages from Tammy and Mark on read. She prayed for a call from Donato.
Once the sun had set, it was time for the experiment. Angela’s condo was a single storey with a small yard. She opened the back door and went into her garden, where a variety of plants were growing, which she dutifully watered.
A ladder was propped up against the roof shingles. She liked to go up there sometimes to think. It wasn’t entirely safe on the angled roof, but there was enough flat space to sit and let her feet dangle down the side, and the little bit of danger was kind of exciting.
But there definitely wasn’t enough space to undress on the roof, so Angela did that first. She pulled the t-shirt over her head, and unbuttoned and pulled down her shorts. She unhooked her bra and pulled down her panties, leaving everything in a heap on the grass. It was the easiest thing in the world.
Angela climbed the ladder and cleared a flat space to sit. She gingerly set her butt down and dangled her bare legs and feet. She looked out at the quiet suburb, leafy trees and houses stretching as far as she could see.
Then, slowly and carefully, she raised herself to a standing position, in the middle of the roof. She spread her arms out and looked up at the night sky. It was dark under the new moon. The wind whistled past her. It whipped up her hair and she enjoyed its cool touch on her nether regions. Maybe there was something to the Bureau of Clothing’s scientifically formulated non-outfit after all.
But then she had been naked. Now, she was nude.
Angela heard the neighbor’s door rustling and quickly got down off the roof. She didn’t want to upset George’s wife. And maybe she wasn’t perfectly at ease with all of this just yet. She gathered up her clothes and went back inside. She liked being normal Angela. But she also liked being nude Angela sometimes. There was enough room in her life for both.