Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms

by Chuck Austen

  Clearly, my reptilian brain was now in complete control. Maybe I should…

  ‘Trust your feelings, Luke.’ A ghostly voice called to me from the beyond, startling me. I looked around nervously, a little scared, and saw a naked kid watching Star Wars on a video iPod. I shoved him away from me.

  Returning my attentions to Ms. Nuckeby I warmed with hope.

  “Isn’t there somewhere else to eat?” Mindie asked. “Where people have the decency to wear clothes?”

  “Not in this town,” Ms. Nuckeby shot back, unintimidated, and motioned to the exit. “Feel free to look.”

  “We really should eat,” I said, pressing the issue.

  “I’d rather starve,” Mindie said.

  “Well, I’m eating here,” I said. “I like the help,” I whispered, so no one else could hear. Ms. Nuckeby smiled at me shyly. “Anyone else?” I asked.

  Slowly, reluctantly, the others agreed to sit down to a meal and moved around Mindie—the rock, and the hard place. I heard her stomach growl, and she flinched, apparently annoyed that people might know she required food like normal human beings.

  “Sure you won’t join us?” the pastor asked, seemingly more comfortable in Mindie’s company than ours. There was no accounting for taste.

  “Oh,” Ms. Nuckeby said, “don’t force her if she doesn’t want to.”

  “No,” Waboombas said. “Please don’t force her if she doesn’t want to.

  “I don’t want to.” Mindie snipped.

  There you go.

  “Who knows how long it will be before we can get to another restaurant?” the pastor encouraged her, not really helping at all.

  Mindie sulked silently for a moment. Then her stomach roared again. The beast demanded to be fed and would not be denied.

  “All right,” she said, defeated, and stepped forward. But Ms. Nuckeby would not be so easily trumped. She held up a hand, pointing to the sign.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “nudity—is—required.”

  Mindie was momentarily caught off-guard.

  “What?” she said, finally. “But…but that’s outrageous! You’re letting them in with clothes.”

  “They weren’t rude to me.”

  Everyone looked at Mindie. For a moment, she was cowed. It couldn’t last, I knew, my life couldn’t be that easy. But for now, at least momentarily stunned and revolted by the very thought of naked strangers looking at her naked body, she appeared to feel even more exposed in her underwear and buttonless shirt-dress than if she were actually in the all-together. She clamped the shirt fronts so tightly over herself that her breasts rose fully under her chin, making her head look as though it were sticking out of an ass.

  Eventually the fear receded, as I knew it must, and her face darkened with a scowl that took on an almost demonic deepness. Her godfather, Satan, would be very proud.

  “I would sooner die.”

  “Okay,” Ms. Nuckeby said. “But die outside. Otherwise it’s a health violation.”

  Mindie huffed furiously. She stiffened—defiant—her head turning several shades of red (many not on any color charts I’d ever seen) until finally she turned and threw open the restaurant’s entry door expecting to exit dramatically. But her stomach growled again— like a pride of wild male lions on the veldt insisting that their women bring down a gazelle or two, and do it now, bitch. Like Mindie’s stomach, lions are sexist and mean when they’re hungry. Visibly embarrassed, she turned one last time to scowl at the rest of us before striding ferociously out of the building.

  Ms. Nuckeby smiled, the proud and satisfied victor.

  Grabbing the stack of menus and several towels from a bin— presumably for anyone who might be hungry for ribs—she turned, inviting us into the dining room and toward a booth. It took serious effort on the part of all us males not to stare at her lovely bare behind. The pastor averted his eyes so far upward he seemed to be looking directly to the source, saying prayers that were obviously going unanswered.

  I, on the other hand, took in our surroundings—which, upon second glance, were not as tacky as I had earlier assessed. Except maybe the rotting old moose-head that appeared to be a prime centerpiece. It hung over the center of the room, threatening at any moment to fall upon the naked herd of humans grazing at the salad bar beneath it. Other than that, however, the place was rustically charming. Obviously a ‘Nuckeby’ family trait.

  As I absorbed the ambience, I noticed Morgan succumbing to his baser nature—okay, his only nature—by blatantly ogling Ms. Nuckeby’s backside. I shoved him, wagging a finger at his rudeness. He glared at me and went right back to ogling, so I had to move in front of him to block his view. He leaned around me to see, and I jumped back again to screen him. It was a weird dance we did all the way to the table, and it made me wonder how this kind of lifestyle could possibly work.

  How did people avoid endless ogling and constant arousal? What was proper etiquette in this world? Would a woman be offended at a man’s sudden erection upon seeing her exposed bits? Would she be more offended by his lack of arousal? I already didn’t like the idea of other men becoming stimulated by Ms. Nuckeby. How did feuds and death-matches not spring up constantly all around us? Had people just gotten used to the random excitement of others and the drooling over one’s mate in this world? It was hard to imagine, and yet…I supposed this is what Ms. Nuckeby might have really meant when she talked last night in the closet about our different worlds.

  Whether ogling was acceptable or not, I was insistent with Morgan, refusing to let him take visual advantage of something that I was coming to think of as mine. I was obviously, as they say, smitten. Which is really a funny word when you say it out loud.

  As all this progressed around her, Ms. Waboombas, seemingly oblivious—as naked as anyone there, save for her ‘come-fuck-mehard’ stilettos—sashayed through the restaurant like a runway model, wanting attention, looking around with expectation and hopefulness, and waiting for someone to ogle her. Oddly, no one did. A few people stared intently at the pastor and Morgan, but the towering, ebonskinned, bare-assed stripper drew barely a glance.

  I, clearly, just didn’t understand this place. Perhaps all the folks here were naked because they were actually blind, and didn’t care how other people dressed. Or were we ‘sighted’ outsiders simply the only ones rude enough to stare shamelessly? I was lost. I could only hope our menus came with some kind of instruction booklet.

  Our hostess reached our booth—far in the back, away from any windows—and ushered us in, handing out menus. To Ms. Waboombas she also offered a towel.

  “What’s this for?” Waboombas asked.

  “To sit on,” Ms. Nuckeby answered. “You know, for hygiene.”

  Ms. Waboombas looked at the towel, then around the room at everyone seated at their tables. Each person sat with a towel between their naked bottoms and their seat cushion. It was like some perverse, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy moment. I checked around for a twoheaded president of the universe, but supposed he was in the men’s room negotiating a peace treaty with the toilet. Waboombas scrunched up her face, as did the rest of us, and we all grabbed for a towel, frantically placing them over our own prospective seats.

  “The specials are on the inside front cover of the menu,” Ms. Nuckeby said as we sat, then grinned at me. “I recommend the sauerkraut dogs.” I returned her smile. “One note,” she continued, “we’re all out of vanilla ice cream. There’s been a run for some reason. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Damn,” Ms. Waboombas said, rubbing a hand on my buttocks. “And you promised to spread vanilla aaaaall over me.”

  “We still have chocolate,” Ms. Nuckeby offered, seemingly unaffected and ever helpful. A woman had grabbed my ass, and she didn’t seem the least perturbed. Was that a clue to the local etiquette, or just her knowing it was all a joke. My head spun.

  “Chocolate’s always better,” Waboombas said delightedly, and sat beside the pastor, who squeaked in fear.

  “Your
server will be along shortly,” Wisper said. “Her name is Petal.”

  “Petal Nuckeby?” I asked.

  “Family business,” Wisper smiled. “She’ll take your drink orders.“ She looked pointedly at me. “Though I assume you’ll be wanting milk?” she asked me, rather seductively. “Not in overabundant quantities or anything.” She glanced down meaningfully at her perfectly proportioned breasts, then back up to me. “But normal amounts of milk.” She paused, staring at me a moment to see if steam exited any of my pores. “Just enough, and no more.”

  Pssssssss…

  “Just enough, and no more,” I repeated, breathily, suddenly overwhelmed by her.

  “I’ll be happy to get that for you,” she said, almost as breathily.

  “Oh, happy day,” Waboombas stuck in, scowling a bit into her menu. Her expression made me nervous.

  “So,” Ms. Nuckeby said. “If you’ll excuse me.” Then she spoke more to me than the others, “I have some things to do in the storage room.”

  She paused.

  “Which is just beside the restrooms,” she added.

  Another pause.

  “Customers often go in there by accident,” she continued. “And we understand. It’s not a problem. It happens.” She paused again and looked meaningfully at me. “Because it’s right next to the restrooms, so it’s very easy to make that mistake. Thinking the storage room— right next door to the restrooms—is also a restroom. Which it’s not. It’s a storage room. So that’s where I’ll be.” She paused. “In the storage room.”

  “Which is right next to the restrooms,” Waboombas said with sinister intent, still staring at her menu but seemingly seeing something else.

  “If anyone needs me,” Ms. Nuckeby said. “Right.”

  Ms. Nuckeby stared at me for a moment longer, then smiled, shifted once nervously, and darted off.

  I watched her go, feeling warmer all-of-a-sudden, and began to vibrate anxiously in my chair.

  Ms. Waboombas grinned at me darkly.

  “So, uh…” she said, “you gonna be heading to the restroom, then? I hear it’s next to the storage room.”

  “In a minute,” I said, avoiding her taunt.

  She looked momentarily disappointed, then regained her smile and suddenly wiggled closer to the pastor than she needed to. He scrunched over as far as he could toward the wall, extremely put out by the thought of being in contact with her bare, black skin, though he tried not to show it. I sat opposite him, and Morgan was sitting next to me, staring at Ms. Nuckeby’s ass again as she hurried away. He was about to fall from our booth while leaning out to catch the last possible fleeting glimpse of her before she rounded the corner. I shoved him to make sure he did.

  “Heeeey!” he said, after hitting the carpet.

  I stood up beside him and prepared to follow Ms. Nuckeby.

  “What’s with you?” Morgan demanded, climbing back into his seat. “She walks around like that—she’s gonna get ogled! It’s part of the deal!”

  “It’s still rude,” I warned him.

  “Not when someone runs around naked. When they run around naked, there is no ‘rude’. That’s a neon invitation.” He looked at Waboombas. “Right?”

  Wendy scooted the pastor into the wall. He groaned and placed his menu against it, reading intently as if every word counted.

  “Sure,” Waboombas said finally.

  “Right,” Morgan snapped, opening a menu, but not really seeing it. “And I am here to oblige. I’ll stare at that all day if I want to. And I do. What an ass!”

  “It’s nothing special,” said Waboombas, annoyed. She turned a dark eye to me, and when I said nothing, she moved her gaze to Pastor Winterly, leaning closer to him. “What did you think, Reverend? About the hostess’ ass, I mean—compared to everyone else’s ass that is.”

  He mumbled something about all God’s gifts being equal and hid deeper in his menu.

  “Yeah,” Waboombas said, smiling at me. “See? Nothing special.”

  “She was not equal,” Morgan said. “She was HOT! She could be a model, that girl was so hot.” He paused for a moment as if remembering something, and I froze. He looked skyward, as if reading something on the ceiling then shook his head and let it go. “She’d look awesome dressed like Supergirl.”

  Morgan didn’t seem to make the connection he, himself, had just made, and I thought I’d skated past it, when suddenly his face contorted like a white grape becoming a raisin in time-lapse—as if a memory were struggling to be recognized for admittance into the ‘by invitation only’ area of his conscious mind, and he was asking for its ID.

  I tensed and waited. But apparently the memory became annoyed and went looking for another party. He shook his head again and returned to looking at his menu.

  “Yeah. Supergirl,” he said.

  “I…uh….” I began.

  “…need to use the restroom,” Waboombas blurted, finishing my sentence and glancing up at me from her menu with only her eyes. Slowly, she turned her attention back to the printed page and smiled. “It’s right next to the storage room from what I hear.”

  “Yeah?” I said, and fidgeted nervously for a moment. “I hear that too.”

  Everything was quiet as Waboombas continued smiling and pretending to look at her menu, occasionally glancing up at me. After a moment or two of silence, I began to realize she wasn’t going to rat me out and I backed away.

  I was feeling home free and thrilled at the prospect of more confined spaces with Ms. Nuckeby, when suddenly Mindie bolted around the corner, completely naked and carrying a towel.

  The amply endowed Ms. Butterwycke was running very fast, holding her largesse in her hands as best she could. But there was far too much loose, fleshy material to be contained, and it flopped everywhere with tremendous slapping sounds.

  By the time she reached us, pale, white, fleshy things were sticking out between pressed hands, fingers, and arms. She stopped and stood beside me at the end of our booth, hopping around from foot to foot as if she were standing on hot coals. The overall effect was that of dancing, gelatinized mashed potatoes with legs. There were still blades of grass and splotches of mud stuck to her from the earlier freeway altercation with Waboombas, and they didn’t do much in the way of making her look less pale, or less naked. Incredibly, the lack of eroticism was mind-boggling.

  The rest of us stared at her with stunned expressions. Morgan smiled a bit and stared right at the shaggy fur of her crotch, for which she smacked his head.

  “OW!” Morgan cried, covering himself to avoid further attacks.

  “Let me in,” Mindie demanded, glaring at Ms. Waboombas.

  Waboombas sneered at her as if she were a fly trying to land on her shit.

  “Whattaya mean ‘let me in’?” Waboombas asked, nodding to an empty spot beside her. “Sit there.”

  “I want to sit on the inside!” Mindie screeched, apparently very near to losing it.

  “Fuck you. Sit there.”

  Mindie, still hopping, turned to Morgan and slapped his head again.

  “Stop staring at that and let me in,” she demanded.

  “What’s the big deal, Mindie?” Morgan asked. “Just sit…”

  With the strength of ten Mindies, she grabbed him and yanked him out of the booth, throwing him to the floor and nearly ripping his shirt off in the process. I was beginning to think she really should be tested for steroid abuse.

  Taking the hint, I moved aside before she could try any World Wrestling Federation moves on me. But she, apparently, couldn’t wait for me to get clear. She shoved me aside, hopped up on the seat and walked across it, dropping down into the spot I had just vacated moments earlier. She then positioned herself precariously with her towel in her lap, clamped her legs together and hunkered in against the wall as if she needed protection from an imminent nuclear blast.

  She glanced around nervously, continuing to scrunch down, seemingly afraid someone she knew might come by and see her, apparently not re
alizing that people she knew already had. Morgan was looking at her with undisguised lust, and even the pastor—still pinned against the wall by Waboombas—couldn’t help glancing her way rather frequently.

  We were in a room full of naked people—men and women—one already sitting at our table—but even I had to admit there was something transfixing about seeing someone publicly naked who would ordinarily never be seen without shoes, let alone clothes, someone who still desperately wanted to remain hidden. As long as I’d known Mindie, she hadn’t so much as exposed more than a little cleavage and her legs below the knees. What had possessed her to get completely naked here—now—in front of Morgan of all people, and the pastor of her family church?

  “I refuse to starve to death out in that car,” she snarled, piercing us with a terrifying glare, “while the rest of you stuff yourselves sick and talk about me.”

  She acted as if we had all, personally, locked her in a cage and poked her with sharp sticks.

  She grabbed a menu and tucked it in around her like a bra, then stretched her face out, oddly, attempting to read the food choices trapped between the laminated plastic, and her voluminous breast tissue.

  “And there’s no way I was going to leave you in here all alone with that chatty, brazen, food-service person, Corky. You were entirely too friendly with her.” She snapped a nasty look up at me, then returned to looking at the top edge of her menu.

  “I’ll have a salad,” Mindie said suddenly, and looked up at the others as if they were all losers for taking so long.

  I swallowed hard, and choked a bit. She’d picked up on the attraction between Ms. Nuckeby and myself. Was I being too transparent? Did it matter?

  “Soooo…” Ms Waboombas said in that tone that bespoke the coming of unspeakable horrors, “What are you going to get, Reverend?” I knew there must have been a reason she wanted to sit next to him, one that likely involved considerable pain and suffering for us all. “I was thinking I’d take the waitress’ hot dog recommendation,” she continued. The way she said hot dog, it clearly meant ‘pastor’s penis’. “Nothing like a good, old-fashioned wiener to fill you up and make you feel all warm inside.” She smiled at him meaningfully—though I’m not sure he understood that meaning. After all, he didn’t run screaming for the nearest exit. Then I saw one of her hands disappear under the table, and the pastor suddenly jumped.