I shuddered at the thought of seeing national news trucks on campus as I walked everywhere completely naked, news anchors saying my name and calling me the naked girl. What if my friends back home saw it? Even worse, what would my parents think?
“I’ll worry about that if it happens,” I said.
“OK,” Clarissa said and started the recorder app on her phone. Blake was already walking around the room snapping photos from different angles. “Do you go by Danielle or Dani?”
“You can call me Dani.”
“OK, Dani. I think it’s safe to say that quite a few people on campus were shocked today, the first day of classes after spring break, at seeing a naked girl on campus, just going about her regular business. What prompted this sudden change in your attire, or lack thereof?”
“Well, I had a bit of a revelation while I was at home on the break,” I began, starting my made up story as Clarissa held the microphone close to my face. “My cousin had gone down to South Padre Island, but she came home early. She’s a big girl, but she said she had worn a two piece. A bikini basically. She told me that people, other girls mostly but some guys too, had criticized her and told her that she should only wear one piece bathing suits. She felt humiliated, of course, and didn’t feel like staying after that. So, she and I spent some time together. We watched last year’s season of Game of Thrones, and in that last episode is a sequence where Cersei Lannister, one of the least likeable characters on the show, is forced to do this long walk of shame, naked, through the city with some annoying nun, or whatever she was, behind her the whole time, shouting ‘Shame!’ every few seconds.”
I did have an overweight cousin who went to South Padre Island, but I didn’t see her during the break. The last time I had seen her had been the month before, at my uncle’s funeral. And it had been a few months since I had watched season 5 of Game of Thrones, but that Walk of Shame sequence was very memorable.
“I read an article about that scene right after that. They had hired a body double and used CGI to put the actress’s face on the model’s body for the full frontal shots.”
“Lena Headey,” Clarissa said.
“What?”
“The actress was Lena Heady.”
“Oh yeah. And of course, the body double they used was just perfect, you know. Or what Hollywood says is perfect. And I got to thinking about what had happened to my cousin and how Hollywood has set our unrealistic expectations of what a naked woman should look like. I thought that if more people saw what a real woman looks like, outside of Hollywood, people’s expectations would change. We would be much more accepting of all kinds of body types. I mean, look at me. I’ve got a bubble butt and really thick thighs. I would never have been asked to be what’s-her-name’s body double. But I still think I’m attractive, even if I don’t fit that Hollywood mold. So, we got to talking about it, my cousin and I, and she said I should just go back to school naked.”
“So it was your cousin’s idea?”
I frowned. I hadn’t wanted to make that claim; it had just come out in the telling of the story. “She was joking, of course. I didn’t take it seriously until I saw something about the nudity laws in California on some website. I realized then that simple nudity, without any intent to sexually gratify anyone, is perfectly legal here.”
I glanced away from Clarissa and saw that the edge of the foyer had filled with people pressed against the walls, watching the interview but staying back to give Blake room to move around as he continued snapping photographs. I recognized most of them as being from the dorm, and I felt especially self-conscious, sitting there naked on the love seat and talking about my nudity.
“What website?”
“The article was somewhere on the AANR website. I probably couldn’t even find it now without some searching.”
“And what is the AANR?” Clarissa asked.
“The American Association of Nude Recreation,” I replied, hoping that I had gotten it right.
“So you’re doing this for your cousin?”
“No, not for her. For all women. Or, at least, any woman who has ever been made to feel ashamed of her body.”
Many of the people in the foyer burst into applause at this statement. I looked around and saw that most of those clapping were women of varying sizes.
“That’s awesome and admirable,” Clarissa said. “But there’s a big difference between the idea and actually carrying it out. How did it feel, that first time you stepped outside without your clothes?”
I smiled, glad that the fictional portion of the interview was over. “It was terrifying. But at the same time, it was exciting and empowering. I mean, I felt extremely vulnerable, being naked, but I also felt amazingly free. And pure. When we wear clothes, when we cover ourselves, it’s like pretending to be something. We dress up for a job interview because we hope to make the interviewer want to hire us. But that’s not us, what we are inside. Being naked is truth. It’s purity.”
I felt like I was laying the bullshit on too thick, so I stopped. But bullshit or not, I did kind of believe what I was saying. I did feel true, even though so much of this interview was a lie.
“So, how long do you plan on doing this?”
“Until the end of the semester.”
“Two months?” Clarissa asked in an incredulous tone.
“Yes. Unless they change the laws on me.”
I heard several boos at this prospect, mostly from guys.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Clarissa said.
I had a feeling that Dr. Slater would be very active in preventing any such thing.
“Now that we know why you’re doing this, I think we can all agree on what a noble cause it is,” Clarissa continued.
“Thank you,” I said, not sure what else I could add.
“I think that’s it,” Clarissa said. “You’re a sophomore, right?”
“Yes.”
“And what is your major?”
“English. Pre-law.”
“Awesome. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me. Do you have any questions of me?”
“When will this appear in the paper?”
“I am going to get it written up tonight, so it will be on the stand the next issue, Wednesday morning.”
“Ok.”
I actually thought having the story out on campus would ease the shocked looks I kept getting and make people more accepting of me. That would make getting around less of an adventure than it had been today.
Clarissa switched off her recording app, disconnected the speaker, and dropped everything into her purse.
“Could you stand up and take a few poses?” Blake asked me.
He had been respectful, and the interview, short as it was, had turned out well, I thought. So I stood up and took a few poses. Just about everyone in the foyer behind him started snapping photos with their phones. Almost everyone here knew my last name or could easily look it up on the dorm roster, so my hopes of keeping my name off my online photos seemed hopelessly futile. Still, I was loving the attention, and that tingling sensation returned with a force. I turned and gave everyone both profile views; I spun around and gave everyone a back view, looking over my shoulder at everyone.
“Thank you,” Blake said when he had taken several shots. “This is awesome.”
“Thanks again,” Clarissa said as Blake packed his camera into the bag.
Very few people had left the foyer of Holcombe Hall, and those remaining all stood watching. With a bit of embarrassment, I picked my black butt towel up from the love seat, folded it up, and stuffed it into my tiny hand purse.
“You’re welcome,” I said to Clarissa.
“Are you sure about not wanting your last name in the article?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think it matters much anymore.”
“So I can go ahead?”
“Sure.”
“Awesome! I think what you are doing is admirable, unusual as it is.”
Blake got h
is gear packed up, and he and Clarissa started walking out the front door of the dormitory. Wanting to get away from the crowd, I walked outside with them, wearing nothing and carrying only my little hand bag, as the people in the dorm murmured among themselves.
I walked with Clarissa and Blake until they turned to walk back to the journalism department. I decided to keep walking and let the group in the dorm disperse. The campus was not busy at this time of day, so I could walk with very few people watching. Still, every time I caught someone, especially a guy, looking my way, that tingling feeling reasserted itself. I knew I needed relief, and I thought that I would probably have the dorm room to myself if I went back. But with Diane and her boyfriend already having seen me a couple of times, I wouldn’t be surprised if she altered her normal routine. She and James were probably in the room now, waiting for me to show up.
I went into one of the science buildings and found a ladies room on the first floor. Thankfully, it was empty, and I went to the toilet farthest from the restroom entrance. It was the ADA-compliant handicapped stall, so it was very roomy. I straddled the commode without sitting down, and quickly went to work on my swollen clitoris. The first orgasm wasn’t satisfying enough, so I got myself off two more times, hoping I wasn’t making much noise. I managed to not cry out or scream, but the squishy sounds my hand made as I worked on my sopping wet vagina seemed to echo throughout the room.
I froze when the door to the ladies room creaked open, and I slowly lowered myself down onto the commode, two fingers still inside me. I heard the first stall door swing open, then close with a thud. Whoever-she-was peed, wiped, and walked out. I caught a glimpse of her through the space between the partition and stall door. She was a goth chick with hair dyed black and earbuds in her ears, her head bopping to the music. I was thankful that she had probably never heard me. I shuddered, and almost came again since my fingers were still inside my vagina. As soon as she left, I went back to work and orgasmed one more time. I waited until I caught my breath, then peed. I cleaned myself up with wet paper towels while standing at the sink counter, wondering how I would explain myself to anyone else who walked in. Thankfully, no one did. Once I was somewhat clean and dry, I looked at myself in the large mirror. My labia were more noticeable than usual, poking out from between the outer folds. Trying to tuck them back in would just further stimulate them, so I had to just go like I was.
During the entire walk back to my dorm, I couldn’t help but think that everyone who looked at me knew what I had just done in the ladies room. It was silly paranoia, and I know that being naked just made those feelings of shame and vulnerability even more intense. I took the side entrance and went up the stairs to my room, seeing no one once I was in the building. Diane and James were not waiting for me as I had feared, which was a wonderful thing. If either of them had noticed the state of my labia, no hole would have been deep enough to crawl into.
I spent the rest of the evening trying to work on that replacement paper for Dr. Finfrock’s class. I was always conscious of being naked, and that kept distracting me. Still, I made a lot of progress, and when Diane came in at 9:30, alone, I was almost finished with my first draft.
“Oh my God, you’re still naked,” she said.
“Yep,” was all I said in response.
She left again, and I saved my work and went to take a shower. I went to bed feeling tired but refreshed. The sheet felt strange against my bare skin. I had never even slept nude before, but it was comforting, letting the sheet caress my entire body, thankful just to be covered. The contract that I had signed for Dr. Slater had had a clause allowing me to sleep under a sheet and/or blanket during nighttime hours. I reflected briefly on just what a strange day it had been: the nervousness at meeting with Dr. Slater, the disbelief at her proposal, the feelings of both fear and arousal at being seen naked by everyone. Just before sleep overtook me, I wondered if anyone had ever had a day as strange as this one had been for me.
Chapter Seven: Day Two
I awoke at 6:15 on Tuesday morning feeling confused and disoriented, wondering why I had taken off my pajamas in the night, before everything came back to me. I rolled over and fumbled around for my phone to stop the alarm. The volume was set to get slowly louder until I woke up enough to turn it off so that it wouldn’t disturb Diane. I remembered waking up at one in the morning, realizing that I hadn’t plugged in my phone or my necklace microphone. Diane was sleeping in her bed by then. I hadn’t heard her come in. After running to the restroom to pee, I stumbled around the room in the dark getting both my phone and the microphone charging before going back to bed.
Just thinking about the microphone reminded me that at least one research assistant had been listening to me masturbate in the restroom of that science building last night. I wondered if it had been the incredibly handsome Greg, even though he had drawn the first shift yesterday morning. Imagining him listening to me caused those tingling sensations to return, and when they did, I pictured him not only listening but standing in the stall with me, watching. My hands were on my belly under the covers, and I slid one down, feeling the curve of my pubic mound, my first two fingers hovering past my labia close enough to give myself shivers. I don’t know how long I would have continued if Diane hadn’t snorted and turned over in her bed.
With a sigh, I rolled out of bed, grabbed my shower pack and towel, and headed down the hall. Stacy, my floor’s Resident Assistant, also had early classes on Tuesday and Thursday and was standing at the sink brushing her teeth when I walked in. She abruptly stopped brushing when she saw me in the mirror and spit a big mix of bubbly toothpaste and saliva into the sink.
“Couldn’t you at least wrap up in the towel?” she said.
I figured that would violate the rules of the study that Dr. Slater had spelled out, although there were no cameras in the bathroom (at least, I assumed there weren’t). No research assistants were around, and I wasn’t wearing the microphone because I was about to shower. But I still wasn’t going to take any chances.
“I could,” I replied, “if I felt ashamed of my body. But I don’t.” I shrugged, hung my towel up, and stepped into the shower stall.
I would like to say that I just showered and got out, but thoughts of Greg and the rest of the RAs looking at my naked body the previous morning in Dr. Slater’s office were too stimulating. As I touched myself, I relived the nude photo shoot with Blake in the dorm foyer, with at least two dozen people looking on at my bare breasts, my exposed buttocks, and my pubic region. When the orgasm came, I gasped and tried to hold back my scream but wasn’t entirely successful. I just hoped Stacy had finished brushing her teeth and had left the bathroom.
As I washed, I felt the regular post-orgasm shame that I usually felt. I couldn’t believe that I had done this three times in less than 24 hours. What was wrong with me? Dr. Slater had said that the focus of the study was how others reacted to me, but how could she not care what this study was doing to me? I had to push those thoughts and questions aside as I prepared for my day.
I had two early classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays which left most of the rest of the day free for work. Since I had been fired from the print shop, I didn’t know what I would do now. After brushing my teeth, blow drying my hair, and putting on just a dab of makeup, I slung my towel over my shoulder and returned to my room. Since I didn’t have to dress – couldn’t dress – I had some extra time. I logged onto my computer and checked my Facebook. Kevin had posted on my Timeline, “I love the new naked look.” There were no comments or likes, and he had just posted it last night about ten o’clock, which would have been midnight Central time. But all my friends back home, including my parents, could see the post. I clicked the delete button, wishing I had never approved Kevin’s friend request. I thought about all the other people from CVU I had added, any of whom could post something about my new nude adventures, either in text or, worse, a photo. How many were there? I couldn’t remember them all. Facebook had been wonderful for keeping up with
my friends back in Texas, but that had been when I didn’t have something to hide from them. I clicked on my account settings, and with some sadness, I deactivated my Facebook account.
I went over to my email and saw a message from Dr. Slater. “Dear Dani,” it said, “Thank you so much for volunteering for this project. I looked at some of the footage and listened to some audio from your first day, and you were wonderful. I thought your answers in your interview were genius. Please keep up the good work, and if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.” I was tempted to just delete the message. The more I thought about the project and how Dr. Slater had presented it to me, either strip now and go naked for two months or get kicked out of school, the angrier I got. She can call me a volunteer all she wants, but the fact is that I was forced into doing this.
I closed my email page without either deleting or replying to the message and put my microphone necklace on. All I could see was a tiny green light to indicate that it was fully charged. Diane started to move around in her bed, so I grabbed my binder, making sure my phone, room key, and Kindle were inside. I started to put some sunscreen on but thought that I wouldn’t need it this early. I had a break between classes just before 9:30, but that walk between buildings was short. My last class ended at 10:50, and I could duck into the bathroom to put some sunscreen on then. So I added the bottle to my binder, zipped it up, and left the room.
I went barefoot again since I didn’t like how the straps of those sandals rubbed the tops of my feet. And it had felt strange being naked with shoes on. If the only things I was allowed to wear made me uncomfortable, I didn’t see a reason to wear them. Forgoing the back staircase, I instead went to the elevator and pressed the down button. The butterflies in my stomach started up as I waited. Yesterday hadn’t been a dream, and I was really heading out naked into the world again. I shook my head, marveling that I was even allowed to do this, much less forced to.
The Volunteer Page 8