Nine

Late winter, and a night as cold and as silent and as dark as the grave. The worst of the weather was over but spring had limited itself to shoving up a few snowdrops. The temperature was above freezing but still nipple stretching cold as Marion locked the back door and hid the key beneath her usual flowerpot. She was confident that Brain would sleep on as she had spent the evening filling him with single malt. Just the right amount to ensure uninterrupted slumber until morning. There were to be no more close calls.

The lane behind their garden was an untidy rubbish strewn mess, but at three o’clock in the morning, when all but the owl slept, it was paradise for a middle aged naked woman. With every sense fully alive Marion slipped along the lane skipping from one shadow to the next. Her destination was the nearby wood with no name. One obstacle stood between her and the forest, and that was the blind street. It was named thus as it led to nowhere. Sixty years ago a small housing estate had been planned but bankruptcy followed by the Luftwaffe had put construction on hold, and then along came the Green Belt legislation which killed the project forever. All that remained was the beginnings of a street flanked by the blind sides of two houses. No one would see her as she slipped across the road. And if they did, who would recognise her, after all nobody would be looking at her face.

Marion reached the end of the lane and stopped. She was as vigilant as a bird on garden feeder, alive to every sound and movement in the shadows. Something wasn’t right. She felt in through the soles of her running shoes. Standing very, very still in deep shadow she checked behind and then ever so carefully she poked her head into the light to check the road. She caught a brief glimpse of a shambling figure before she jerked her head back into the safety of the dark. The sensible course of action was retreat, slip back through the dark areas and the calculated path through the garden. Something held her there, something inside her that felt the risk and fed off the danger of being caught. Marion held her breath and listened to the beating of her heart and waited. Nothing came past the end of the alley; he should have been there within seconds. Perhaps the interloper into Marion’s adventure had taken a wrong turn and returned to street. The staggering gait had suggested he was drunk. She had come so far now that she didn’t want to go back so carefully, ever so carefully she manoeuvred one eye so she could see. What she saw caused her to curse under her breath, the man had collapsed and was lying twitching on the ground, a dark heap spread across the line of amber light drawn by the street lamp on their avenue beyond. Somehow she knew he was not drunk. She shivered with the cold in the dark winter night as the realisation dawned that he would not survive if she left now.

With hindsight it was all so simple. She should have returned home, and telephoned for an ambulance saying that she had heard something in the street and when she looked there was a man clearly in some distress. Then she could have donned a long warm coat to become his Florence Nightingale. But the light of hindsight is always blinding and strong, and instead of being comforted by a Samaritan ,Tomas O’Leary was looking at an angel. He knew she was an angel because who else would be standing over him in the middle of a freezing night on a street to nowhere. He had been told all angels were naked and this woman certainly filled the bill, although he dimly recollected that angels were supposed to be hermaphrodite and this one was most certainly female. If was to be picky he would have chosen a younger, less plump angel to escort him to St Peter’s Gates, but she had decent sized breasts and a good figure and frankly he was in no position to complain.

Tomas O’Leary had suffered a mild stroke as he left the restaurant where he worked as a chef. This had confused him to the extent that he had caught the wrong bus. When he had realised his mistake he was far from the city centre and heading away from home. Having been assured by the bus driver that another bus was due in the opposite direction he had disembarked at the end of Belvoir Avenue. The shock of the cold air had triggered a second stroke, and now, blind in one ey,e and very greatly confused had staggered drunkenly along the avenue to the dead end street where his naked angel witnessed his third and almost fatal stoke. He smiled as she stroked his head, her long dark hair covering her face, he wanted to tell her he was prepared and waited as she began to speak. Tomas expected a voice of purity ushering him towards the heavens, instead a low gruff voice told him he needed an ambulance and asked if he had a mobile phone on him.

Stunned at the earthliness of his angel he asked a stupid question “Don’t you have one?”

“How could I carry a mobile phone” asked Marion in her own voice. Suddenly she realised she was squatting in front of him, his head level with her crotch. “Don’t answer that” she said quickly. By way of reply Thomas moved his on good hand weakly towards his jacket pocket. His naked angel understood. “What’s your name” she asked as she pulled the phone from his pocket. Surely she should know, an angel sent to usher him to paradise? Perhaps it was a test? “Tomas O’Leary” he mumbled, hoping that his name was on her list.

Marion took the phone from his pocket wondering what she should do next, the man was clearly very ill, but how could she stay with him. She retreated against the wall of the street very conscious that the light from the phone’s keyboard would illuminate her bare body. Quickly, before she had time to change her mind she dialled for an ambulance.

“What is the problem Sir” She smiled, her gruff voice had fooled them.

“I think I’ve had a stroke”

“What symptoms do you have?”

Marion reeled off what Tomas had complained of and told them where she was and that her name was Tomas O’Leary. She finished with a low moan that she hoped would be interpreted as another stroke and, leaving the line open returned to the prone chef. She carefully wiped off her fingerprints and laid the phone on the pavement. The plaintive pleas of the operator for more information, followed by the blessed announcement that the ambulance was on it’s way sounded like the public announcer at Waterloo Station in the quiet dark street.

“You’ll stay with me until the end?” Tomas asked weakly.

Marion smiled and assured him in a warm voice that she would stay until they came. She gripped his hand which was even colder than hers. This was not good, she was crouching over an ill, but fully clothed man, and he was colder than stark naked her. To Marion it seemed like an age, although in reality it was but a few short minutes, but finally the walls of the houses reflected the blue light of the emergency vehicle, and with it came the unlikely dawn of hope. Marion laid her hand gently on Tomas head and whispered into his ear. “They are coming now, I must leave now,” and with a final “good luck” Tomas naked angel sprinted for the alley way. She reached the haven of its shadow just as the lights of the ambulance swung into the road, picking up the mound that was Tomas. Whatever happened now it was out of her hands, she had done all she could. Marion’s main priority now was the race for home before any of her neighbours were woken and poked their nosey heads through the curtains.

At least the run had warmed her up she thought as she kicked off her trainers and put on the robe she had left waiting by the door. Quickly, but quietly, Marion climbed the stairs and went into Isla’s vacant bedroom where she opened the curtains just a chink and looked into the avenue, just in time to see the ambulance speed past, blue lights flashing. That must be good news she thought to herself, they wouldn’t rush if Tomas had died. There was even better news when she returned to bed, Brian was fast asleep, so he would have no suspicions.

Eight

Henri Dalcroix, nothing French but the name, sat in the small committee room of the students’ union of the University of Canterbury staring at the wall. The whole building was of a functional sixties design, the only hint of comfort being the paint covering the breeze blocks. This was the first meeting of the inner committee of Greensoc, the University undergraduate’s environmental society, emphasis on the mental he thought. He’d been here an hour now and he was bored, very bored indeed.
Chairman Louis Holding was true to his name, holding the talking stick and literally beating the committee to death. He was an earnest middle class boy from Surrey. Henri suspected his parents rode with the local hunt and this was Louis’ way of assuaging his family guilt. Next Louis sat Susan Blackwell, a pretty girl with a fine figure. Henri didn’t think she was aware of her sex appeal that was almost, but not quite, hidden underneath a grey shapeless jumper and bulky fatigues. Susie had a passionate belief that all humans were destroying the planet and was prepared to do anything to save it. He smiled, Susie’s resolve was about to be tested. Henri had no real interest in the environment either way. He had joined Greensoc for one reason, to get into Isla Shaw’s pants. This had taken a few weeks of protest marches and writing mass e mails, but success came eventually and, just as Isla’s father had feared, he had been making regular deposits into his daughter’s slot since the middle of November.

Louis had finally finished speaking and called for any other business. Here we go thought Henri, the rollercoaster is at the top of the climb and I’m in the front looking down at the drop.

“Yes” began Isla in a very business like way “Over Christmas I have been researching new avenues of protest and this seems a way of making our message heard” She dug Henri in the ribs and he dutifully handed around Isla’s version of econudes. The look on Louis’ face was priceless. The rest of the committee began to shift uneasily in their seats as the full portent of Isla’s vision began to strike home. In times of crises, however, true class will always triumph.

“Well Isla” began Susie “I’m not too sure of some of these claims, I doubt the energy saved on washing clothes would compensate for the extra heating involved”

The committee began to settle, it’s most ardent activist, was cutting straight into the heart of Isla’s plans.

“However,” she continued “I do think that when summer comes we have a strong weapon to wield against unnecessary air conditioning” The committee were as stunned as a fish suddenly confronted by a moray eel. “I’d like to propose we devote the next meeting to devising an action plan for a series of naked protests this summer”

Greensoc was silent, their own personal Galahad had seen the Holy Grail and there was no option but to join her on the quest.

Seven

Marion was comfortably slouched in an armchair in the lounge. The television was on but she was pinching the fat over her stomach. There was still a fair amount left although it was significantly reduced from the summer, in fact she had lost eight pounds in a month. This had been achieved without a single visit to the gym. Of course the Greek root of the word was gymnos which meant naked. I’ve invented a new diet, she thought, nudity in a cold climate.

Her reverie was interrupted by her husband who stole into the room as a thief into the night.

“Marion, will you put some clothes on the Jenkins’ will be here in a moment”

“You know perfectly well they won’t arrive for another hour. Besides” she gestured towards her clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room “I can get get dressed in a trice” Brian sighed, he had a strong suspicion she was well practiced at getting dressed in hurry.

“I hope this will not carry on all holiday”

“What dear”

“You, naked” he replied sharply

“And what’s wrong with my body. Too fat, too ugly, keep it covered at all costs”

“There’s nothing wrong with your….. in fact it’s….” Brian felt he was a small toy train that was about to come off the rails. As much as he tried to express his hopes, his fears, his brain was befuddled and his tongue severly twisted as his wife reclined, breasts spread across her chest idly curling her pubic hair in her fingers

Marion decided to change the subject. “I was thinking of shaving it off, like Isla.”

Brain was totally confused now “What?”

Marion smiled. “My pubes dear” She smiled as her husband blushed bright red.

Oddly enough, in the seclusion of her bedroom, their daughter was coming to the opposite conclusion and resolved to grow her pubes back. She was shocked at that thought, for there was no point in letting her pubic hair grow if her parents would not see the result. Even more startling was the thought of spending the remainder of her holiday in a state of casual nudity was oddly appealing. She had been about to get dressed and return to the lounge, but decided not to bother. So Isla went downstairs as she had come up, stark naked. As she entered the lounge and sat opposite her mother her father clapped his forehead in despair and stalked form the room.

“I think he’s finding it hard to adjust” Marion told her daughter.

“Frankly I’m not surprised” Isla replied “Why are you doing this Mum”
“I quite like being naked” she replied honestly.

“Mm, I can see the appeal. Do you think we are naturists?”

“You may be dear, but I’m a nudist”

Six

It had been the best of Christmastimes and the worst of Christmastimes reflected Brain as he dressed thankfully. The best because his wife had been thoroughly naked throughout, the worst because his daughter had also been nude. Total purgatory had been confirmed when he had been forced to disrobe himself. He had managed to preserve some dignity by careful use of the red paper napkin covered in silver stars that had been placed on the carefully laid table. He could have used all three as neither Marion nor Isla made use of theirs. “No clothes to protect dear” his wife had told him as she pulled his cracker. So they had sat there as the afternoon waned and the long dusk drew in, their sole attire being the paper hats from the crackers.

Still it was over now, or so he hoped. Giving the excuse that the Jenkins’ were coming soon he had scurried upstairs as soon as he had bolted the last of his meal. His wife and daughter had yet to follow, but he felt confident at the time they would. Now he was not so sure. He picked up his Christmas book and began to read. A good thirty minutes passed during which time he read and re read the first chapter several times. If asked Brain could not have told you what the book was about. At last, with something approaching great relief he heard footsteps on the stairs. He waited for the door to open, but it must have Isla as the footsteps went past and into the bathroom. This was the chance he had been waiting for. He had to speak to Marion alone. Brian hoped she had dressed but somehow he knew this would be an unfulfilled wish.

Five

Brian felt like he had been hit in the solar plexus. If he hadn’t already been sitting down he’d have collapsed. His mind was in turmoil, a thousand thoughts flashing this way and that much like a shoal of fish that had just caught sight of the shadow of the shark.

“What me”

“That’s the deal” replied his wife “or Jill and Howard get the biggest Christmas surprise since they were six”

“I’ll just go upstairs” said Brian, a defeated man adrift on the ocean with no hope of rescue.

“No” said Marion” you’ll spend half an hour pacing around worrying, looking the mirror tying to suck your stomach in”

Isla giggled.

“Treat it like a swim in the North Sea, it’s easier to dive straight in rather than wade out into the freezing waves”

Brian looked nonplussed. Where her husband wavered, Marion was resolute.

“Strip” she ordered. “Isla, go and get your father a sherry, I think he is going to need one after this”

Their daughter dutifully left, bare buttocks swaying as she walked.

“Right, quick” Marion told her husband, “I’ve done you a favour, get ‘em off while she’s out of the room”

With an impressive turn of speed, Brian was out of his clothes quicker than a teenager at an orgy.

“Woo Dad” Isla exclaimed when she returned, “looking good” As she handed him his sherry Brian gave a rueful smile. His first encounter with a naked waitress and it was his own daughter. Brian sat in the chair while his wife busied herself with clearing away all the clothes. Suddenly she was gone leaving Brain alone with no clothes and his very naked daughter. Fortunately he did not have to think of any topics for polite conversation as Isla had plenty to say.

“I have to admit, I quite like being naked” she was saying.

‘It must run in the family’ Brian thought to himself

“Give yourself half an hour and you’ll be right as rain, you won’t even notice you’re nude” she continued. Brian was noticing very much that his daughter was very nude, especially her shaven vagina which looked like for all the world like a small slot on a vending machine. Not without venom he hoped that no unsuitable boy had been allowed to pop his coins in there. Totally oblivious to his scrutiny Isla continued to prattle on about her favourite subject, the environment and a project she had heard of but was now going to investigate more fully called eco nudes. Quite understandably given the circumstances Brian didn’t pay much attention to his daughter’s invective. An understandable moment of inattention that he was later to regret.

One

Marion was washing a few plates in the kitchen when she caught sight of her friend and neighbour Linda in the window opposite. Taking care not to raise her hand too high Marion gave her a cheery wave. A mere five yards away across the garden Linda waved back and then shook her hand to indicate drinking a cup of tea. Marion nodded vigorously and held up her hand with fingers and thumbs splayed to indicate five minutes. She finished her washing up and peeled off her rubber gloves as she retreated carefully towards the hall her whole being was flooded by a familiar feeling of excitement and elation. With a just a hint of sadness Marion dressed, picked up her keys and made her way across the driveway to the house next door. Despite her warm jacket she shivered in the brisk December breeze that carried a hint of rain.

“Come in Marion” Linda shouted “the door’s open”

Marion pushed open the dark blue door and stepped into the warm hallway, her heels clattered on the Victorian tiles sending echoes resonating through the house. Linda was waiting for her in the kitchen, two steaming cups already on the table. Marion took off her thick green coat and draped it on the back of a chair. She glanced out of the window towards her own identical kitchen and smiled, her security measures were perfect. There was no way that Linda could have seen her.

“Aren’t you cold in that top?” asked Linda

“No, why?” replied Marion, in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner.

“Well it is the middle of winter. When I saw you in the kitchen I thought you were naked” said Linda laughing at her own joke. Marion laughed along; after all that was the reason she had put the top on. Not for the first time Marion considered telling her friend her secret, but wiser council held sway.

“As if” she replied scornfully.

Later when she had returned home Marion looked at herself in the full length mirror hanging in her hallway. She had to admit that Linda had a point. Her strapless top truly belonged to a bright sunlit summer’s day. And of course Marion would have appeared to be naked if all you could see through a window partially obscured by a large chopping board were her bare shoulders. “An easy mistake to make” said Marion to herself as she pulled the top over her head. Her large breasts fell loose. She examined them critically, pulling them to one side before letting them fall. She squeezed them together and watched them bounce, once, twice, three times before they halted. She sighed; there had been a time when they would have stopped on the count of one. Marion hung her top next to her coat, quickly removed the rest of her clothes and went and made herself some lunch.

As she ate her cheese and pickle sandwich Marion contemplated her journey over the last few months. Her adventure began, as most adventures do, by chance. One hot summer’s night when her husband Brian was away on business and her daughter Isla had chained herself to the railings of the nearby power station as one of her many protests about the state of the planet, Marion had found herself unable to sleep. The night was hot and humid without a breath of air and, in a fit of rebellion, which for Marion was as daring as her daughter’s, she removed her nightdress and lay naked under the sheets. Even so she was still unable to sleep, but now it was not the heat of the night that was keeping her awake, but the thrill of being nude, the feeling of the sheets against her bare skin. It was in this moment that she was pulled, as if by magnetism, to the window. Marion peeked through the window, should anyone see her it would be just her face, but would they suspect her to be naked behind the curtains? She smiled a secret smile as looked down into her garden; the shadows of the trees were deep and dark under the starry sky. And then an impulse took her, three times she went to the bedroom door and three times common sense prevailed and she drew back. The call of the wild, however, would not go away and on the fourth occasion the chains broke and for the first time in her life Marion walked naked though her home. She revelled in the freedom, the recklessness of the deed, the knowledge that she alone knew what she had done. And then there she was standing at the door to the garden.

“I’ll just open the door” she promised herself “I won’t go out. I won’t” She knew it was a lie and, once she had opened the door, and felt the air against her skin, all caution was gone. Lost in the moment she was out in the heavy summer scented air, feeling the cool grass against her bare feet. The rustle of an animal in the bushes brought Marion suddenly to her senses; she quickly crouched scanning the windows of the neighbouring houses, as a soldier looks for snipers. She was safe; the curtained windows looked down blindly. Stepping quickly to the left Marion blocked her neighbours’ view of her bare body with a large Vibernum. Slowly she worked her way back to the door to the house using the cover of several large shrubs. Marion hardly slept all that night, her mind racing with the thrill of her adventure balanced with the fear of having been seen.

The next day was torture, Marion waited for a neighbour to call or make some casual remark about her nocturnal venture. When her husband returned that evening she seriously considered confiding in him before someone told of her shameful display. She held her tongue and, as time passed Marion knew she had got away with it. “Never again” she told herself, but she knew she was lying. A week later on a hot afternoon she was walking in the garden, checking the sightlines, working out a path to follow where she couldn’t be seen. Three weeks later she was back again walking barefoot, bareback, bare everything through the bushes while her husband Brain slumbered sweetly on lost in a land of dreams. From there it was but a small step to living nude during the day, listening for the warning note from the engine of Brian’s car. A siren to send her scurrying for her clothes.

Two

Three o’clock on a winter’s morning, the ebb tide of the soul. As Belvoir Avenue lay sleeping, tightly wrapped in warm duvets a cold wind whistled through Marion’s pubic hair and stiffened her nipples to the point of pain Slipping silently through the frosty garden she was close to ecstasy. Marion had halted her nude forays at the end of the summer for fear of the cold and this was her first experience of a sharp winter’s night. Overhead the sky fizzled with stars as she followed her secret path towards the back gate. Here she paused and considered a brisk walk along the lane that led to the street. “No” she thought to herself as her breath steamed in the freezing air, “I’ll just see if the coast is clear, but I won’t go” Carefully so as not to disturb the nearby sleepers she opened the gate a sliver and peeked through. Marion quivered at the thought of her neighbours soundly snoring in their beds whilst she stood naked just outside their windows. If only they knew, safe staid Marion Shaw, never known to wear short skirts or revealing tops, a veritable nun of the community, roamed the streets at night wearing just her sensible shoes. She was pushing her luck; she knew this, and she knew with utter certainty that one day she would be caught. “Go back now” she told herself, but it was no use, the lane was clear and there was nothing between her and the silent street.

Brian Shaw woke with a start. Languidly he stretched out his hand to gain comfort from the warmth of wife but she was not there and the bed was cold. All sleepiness banished his mind began to race, ‘surely she isn’t out tonight’ he thought, ‘not in this weather.’ He climbed out of bed, shivered in the cold and groped for his dressing gown. Very carefully, so as not to warn his wife he parted the curtains a smidgeon, just enough to look out with one eye. There she was a pale glow at the edge of the garden. Brian sighed, and not for the first time wished that Marion would spend some quality time with him in the nude. What drove his wife to wander naked around the garden in the middle of the night was a mystery to him. Not once in their twenty years of marriage had she shown any exhibitionist tendencies. Even now, when it was perfectly obvious to Brian that Marion loved to bare all, she hid herself away under her staid clothes. She was careful he had to admit, and it had been just by chance that he had caught her, one night in September when she had stepped out from under the deep shade of the apple tree near his prize bed of chrysanthemums. Since that time Brain had tried to breach the subject of nudity with his wife, but somehow the opportunity never quite arose. He watched her naked skin glowing in the starlight as it moved towards the back gate. She wouldn’t dare? But she would; the gate creaked open and for the first time he glimpsed her whole, as she looked out in the lane. Even at the age of forty she had a fine figure, he admired her straight back and well rounded backside in the faint glow. A sudden panic gripped him as Marion turned and looked straight him. He held the curtains very still; even now Brian couldn’t let his wife know he had seen her, he just wished she could find it in herself to tell him.

Funnily enough this was exactly what his stark naked wife was contemplating in the freezing garden, when the light in her bedroom snapped on. Swearing quietly to herself she ran in zigzags across the garden for the door. Knowing that silence was more important than speed, Marion closed the kitchen door behind her and slipped into her dressing gown and slippers which she had left conveniently, arms spread wide by on the kitchen table. Picking up the glass of milk she had poured before going out Marion sat down and waited.

Brian gave his wife enough time to get into the house and cover her bare body before he started to go downstairs. He found her in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk. Sadly she wasn’t nude.

“Sorry” said Marion “did I wake you” She tried to sound calm although her heart was pounding.

“No, I just wondered where you were”

“I couldn’t sleep so I came down for a drink.” She finished the milk and said “I’m coming back to bed now”

“Oh right,” said Brian, trying not to look at his wife’s muddy feet.

At the top of the stairs Marion turned to her husband. “I think I’ll just have a quick shower to warm me up”
Fifteen minutes later she slipped into bed, he felt her warm naked body brush against him, her skin so smooth and fragrant. He reached out and gently, as soft as a feather touched his wife’s breast. Her whole body arched in ecstasy and Brian knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep from now on.

Brian woke with the alarm as usual. His mind drifted through the rollercoaster of last night, if that was how Marion was going to respond after a naked walk he decided he would encourage her to do it more often. His wife was already gone, up showered and dressed for the new day. She greeted as if the previous night had just been a mid winters night dream.

“You’re late darling. Hurry up and eat your breakfast.”

Before he knew it he was out of the front door and into the car. As soon a Marion heard her husband’s engine fade in the distance she removed all her clothing and went back to the crossword she had half finished.

That evening Brian lay awake in bed forcing himself to keep his eyes open. He felt like a small boy trying to catch a glimpse of Santa on Christmas Eve. Instead of a jolly man in a red suit sneaking into his room in the middle of the night, he was looking forward to a surreptitious glance of his wife in her birthday suit sneaking out of the room and into the silent frosty garden. In impatient expectation Brain tossed and turned, while his wife slept soundly, never moving from the bed until he was long gone to work on this dim winter morning. Of course if Brian had known what was going to happen he would never have slept at all that during that year’s Christmas Eve.