Ten

Brian was not amused. He was sitting in the plastic interior of an ersatz American diner with two of his work colleagues. John, a happily married philanderer and Jan, an unhappily married ditherer who was his latest objective. Jan had invited Brian along as a chaperone, and then proceeded to ignore him throughout the lunch.

“Did you hear about the naked angel?” John asked of Jan. Brian decided it was time to leave. He knew john’s MO and this was as tactful as it got. “Here Brain you might know something about this. It was in your area” A cold hand gripped Brain’s heart. “Apparently some chef was wandering around and had a stroke. Some woman who drives around nude stopped and gave him the kiss of life.” Brian looked at John through narrowed eyes, but John only had eyes for Jan.

“Is that what it’s like where you live Brian?” she asked, eyes firmly locked on Jan “all the women driving around in the nuddy.” She licked her lips and continued, “perhaps I should move there?” she smiled, John laughed, Brian asked sharply “And where did you get this information from?” This broke the spell.

“All over the Mercury, you get the local rag?” asked John.

“Yes, Marion reads it, but I never……. Look I need to get back” Brain rose hastily to his feet and gave John some money. “If that’s not enough let me know” he said as he left in hurry.

Jan turned to John, “what’s into him, do you think it’s true, people drive around starkers in his neck of the woods?”

John snorted, “It’s strictly Stepford around there, I doubt his wife takes her clothes off to have a bath.”

Even though he knew there would be one at home Brian couldn’t wait and went to the nearest newsagent where for the exorbitant price of 80p bought another copy of The Nelson Mercury. Hiding it under his coat like a schoolboy with a dirty magazine he scurried back to his office. The naked angel had made page 7, and it was clearly the work of a new girl who had been given the graveyard shift. She had taken a phrase muttered made by a very ill man and turned it into a half page spread.

‘Who is the naked angel of Nelson the banner headline screamed. The foundation of the article appeared to be the delirious ramblings of a chef who had been found lying in the street suffering from a massive stroke. During a casual chat with the ambulance crew she had learned he had been muttering about being saved by a naked angel. The crew had told her the man was hallucinating, but that had only spurred the journalist on to quizzing the staff at the emergency call centre. Despite being told that the patient himself had dialled for an ambulance, Julie Lewis had perused her story. The police were completely non committal when asked about the legality of a naked woman roaming the streets, pointing out that they had no reports of such a thing happening in the area, ever. The only man who had seen the naked angel was now lying in a coma in a hospital bed. Faced with such robust denial and the flimsiest of evidence the editor of the Mercury did what all newspapermen would do under such circumstances. Never allowing the truth to get in the way of a good story he published it. Normally Brian would have dismissed the article out of hand but for one minor fact, the man had been struck down thirty yards from his house, and, unlike the police Brain did know of a woman who roamed the neighbourhood in her birthday suit.

He stuffed the paper in his drawer and tried to get some work done, but it was no use, he couldn’t concentrate and as soon as it was politic to do so Brian sloped off home. When he arrived their copy of the local paper had arrived. Marion had not. He laid the paper on the hall table and went to make himself some tea. A few moments later he heard the key in the lock.

“You’re home early, dear” called his wife. She breezed into the kitchen and gave him a peck on the cheek

“I’d love a cup of tea” she told him, “I had a busy day. I can’t tell you the trouble I had sorting out that software companies books” She kicked her shoes off. “That feels good” she said with relief as she placed them in the utility room. “It was so hot there and the room was so stuffy” she complained as she unbuttoned her blouse. She stuffed that straight into the washing machine and proceeded to take off her skirt which she sniffed suspiciously, “Hrrmph that will have to be dry cleaned” she muttered draping it on the back of a chair. Brian finished pouring his wife’s tea while she continued her striptease. She dumped her underwear into the washing machine and sat down gratefully at the kitchen table. “Not joining me darling?”

“I’ve got a cup thanks” he told her.

“In the nude” she chastised.

“Trifle chilly for me” he told her. He rarely stripped, now and again she would get sulky and start to pout and tell him he was an old stick in the mud and he should join her. So to keep the peace and keep his wife naked around the house he would reluctantly bare all for an “in the all together evening”. But on the whole Marion didn’t seem to mind him being fully clothed while she wandered the house as nature intended.

Brain watched his wife carefully as she scanned the local paper. Not a flicker of acknowledgement crossed her face as she passed over the story of the naked angel. Nor did she remark on its closeness to home. Marion was able to pass nervelessly across the story because she had already read it. Someone had pointed it out to her at work.

“Don’t you live near Belvoir Avenue, Marion?” one of the two partners who ran the company had asked her. He pushed the paper towards her. Panic rose within her as she saw the headline. Mustering all the self control possible under the circumstances, Marion read the article. When she had got to the end she nearly collapsed with a mixture of concern and relief. Concern that the story of the nude rescuer was in the paper at all, and relief that Tomas was still alive. Better still he had not given a description of his personal angel.

“It’s all a bit flimsy” she stated noncommittally.

“Oh I don’t know” Dave continued in a mischievous voice, “We’ve all heard those stories about suburbia, a den of iniquity behind those net curtains”

Marion looked him straight in the eyes and replied coolly “Well I’ve never seen any naked women wandering the streets” emphasising the point with a nod. What is more it was the truth.

“Maybe,” Dave continued, “that is because you are the nude angel.” He winked. Marion felt her heart surge and warmth in her cheeks as she blushed bright red.

“Only joking, Marion” Dave put in quickly. He liked to tease Marion, who he saw as overtly prim and proper, but perhaps he thought to himself he taken it a bit too far this time. Marion smiled weakly at him, Dave misinterpreted this gesture of relief as an acceptance of his apology.

She was therefore steeled for Brian’s scrutiny, and had answers prepared fro any comments he might make about the article. That he made none brought forth a long held concern that her husband knew of her night time adventures. Not for the first time she considered telling him about her forays, because (and this sudden realisation shocked her) her recent close shave had only left her craving for more.

Before he could mention the article, the doorbell rang. Neither of them moved. Brian looked Marion, and she just sat at the table cup held in both hands, breasts brushing against her arms. “Shall I answer it?” she said, putting down the cup.

This stirred Brian, “Aren’t you going to put something on?”

“It’s probably Isla, she said she would be coming home for a few days, got a reading week.”

Brian shot his wife a suspicious look, why had she not told him this before he thought as he got up and went into the hall.

He opened the door to a pretty young woman with long curly hair. She introduced herself as Julie Lewis. Brain’s memory whirred and found an answer, the journalist who had written that story, surely she had not tracked Marion down?

“I’m just following up on my story of the naked angel, are you aware of it?” Brain nodded “I suppose you didn’t see or hear anything last Thursday?”

“Oh no, nothing at all” he replied guardedly.

Julie Lewis nodded, “Do you know of anybody who saw or heard anything?”

Brian looked at her, she was in her early twenties, had a nice smile and he could have made her day by asking her in to meet the naked angel, who was sitting on her bare bottom in the kitchen.

“No neither of us saw anything and none of our neighbours have spoken of it. In fact the first I heard of the story was in the paper”
“So what is your opinion of a naked woman roaming around in this area?”

“Well, um, as I read your report, there’s not a lot of evidence beyond the ramblings of a very ill man, unless of course you have some other witness.”

Brian was fishing now, this was dangerous. If she did have a witness it could arouse suspicions. She smiled

“No, not really, I’m just trying to get a flavour of the locality until Mr O Leary wakes up” She paused, “if he wakes up. Anyway thanks for your time.”

Marion was washing the tea cups when he returned to the kitchen. “Who was that dear?”

“Some reporter wanting to ask about a man who collapsed in the street last Thursday”

“Not the one who claimed he was rescued by an angel?”

“Yes, lucky I didn’t invite her in. She might have met one”

Marion gave him a withering look “You wouldn’t do that to me would you darling”

“But what if it was somebody else, like Linda next door, she would have just walked straight past me into here, and then she would have had a shock”

“Oh well” began Marion, “it’s bound to happen sometime, I’m fed up with scurrying for some clothes every time she comes around. I think it’s time she knew we were nudists”

Brian was stunned. It is not as if he hadn’t been expecting it, but it still came as a knee in the solar plexus shock, Marion had used the n word.

“What did you say?”

“We’re nudists Brian, or would you prefer the term naturist?”

No he wouldn’t actually, and come to think of it he rather objected to being called a nudist.

“So, does that mean you want to join a club?” he asked, heart somewhere around the soles of his shoes.

Marion gave it some thought, before replying. “No, I don’t think that is me really, but I’ll go along with it if you would like to do that”

His blood began to boil, do that! He was standing there in his business suit, not his birthday suit. She was the nudist not him.

“But I do think we should spend more time in the nude together, perhaps when the weather is nicer we could try being naked outdoors, I’ve heard that is nice, maybe we could find a nice quiet beach.”

Brain could barely believe his ears, he was about to explode, and the last thing he needed to hear was the sound of a key in latch and a cheery hello from his daughter.

“In here, dear” called Marion completely unaware of her husband’s distress.

“Hi dad” she greeted her father with a peck on the cheek. “Hi mum looking good, I like the outfit”

Marion kissed her daughter and smiled, “Bag full of washing?” she asked.

“Not much” she replied. Brian missed this; it was a portent of things to come.

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.