Naked Women In Shorts

by Kara Bryn

  "You have an invite, yes?" she asked me. I nodded; I had timed this interview to coincide with her new show. "Good. Then I should see you tomorrow evening. I'm afraid I will have no more time before then."

  We left the restaurant and she offered me her slender hand to shake. We had sat in the park in our underwear, we had shared a meal in our underwear, but we were still on formal handshake terms.

  "But, erm…" I began to say, "I need to come with you. You have my trousers and my blouse at your apartment."

  "Oh, yes!" Mia said. "I'd forgotten about that! But unfortunately, I'm not going back to my apartment. I need to go to the gallery now. You know your way to your hotel, no? I'll get your clothes to you before you leave, and you can borrow that coat for now."

  For Mia, it's easy to forget just how unnatural it is for other people to wear less than a "normal" set of clothes. But, then, I guess that's part of what she does: to challenge what normal is.

  But before I even had time to protest Mia had turned and was walking away down the street.

  I looked around me. I was in a foreign city in my underwear and a raincoat. This had been a crazy day and I didn't want it to get any crazier. The good news was that it was only a couple of blocks back to my hotel.

  I started walking, suddenly conscious, again, of everyone around me. Could any of them tell? Was my coat firmly closed over my chest? Was my stride short enough that I wasn't showing too much thigh? And then, did anyone even care? Did I care? I thought I did, but my lunchtime experience had changed that.

  The air had warmed over the afternoon and I felt out of place in a raincoat, even if, for the residents of Madrid, it was nothing near the peak temperatures they would see over summer. Despite my discomfort, I kept my arms clamped to my sides and virtually tiptoed my way around the streets.

  My journey back to the hotel was, however, uneventful, and I had time to wonder whether Mia had a point in asking what I was so worried about. I tossed her raincoat onto my bed and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Sure, there were things about my figure that I'd improve, but it was nothing to be ashamed of.

  Yet it felt strange to be standing around in my underwear even in the privacy of my hotel room. Why was that? It wasn't that I was cold. In fact, it was the perfect temperature. If anything, the only discomfort I felt was the under-wiring in my bra constantly niggling at my chest. I should be taking that off if I wanted to be more comfortable, not putting more layers on.

  It was as if I was ashamed in case somebody should walk in and discover me like this. I walked over to lock the door and put the chain on. Now it was impossible for anyone to get in, even with a key, so what was I worried about?

  Did I have a problem? An issue with my own body? It had never occurred to me before. I took off my bra and knickers and made an irrational resolution to spend the rest of my time in my hotel room as I was, naked, to see if I could gain some understanding of how Mia saw the world.

  The problem to overcome was that in felt instantly sexual. It wasn't that I always masturbated in the nude but, apart from getting ready in the morning, or for bed at night, or in the shower, I wasn't ever nude for reasons other than sex. It was a hard association to overcome.

  If I satisfied myself there and then it would put it out of my mind for a few hours, but then wouldn't I just be reinforcing the connection? No: I had to become comfortable, not to feel the tingle of erotic desires just because I was naked. The arousal was still there, but I resisted touching myself.

  Passing the next few hours in the hotel room was easy as I collated my notes from conversations with Mia to begin to structure the profile piece. While I was concentrating, sitting at the desk and typing at my laptop, I could forget I was nude. The urge to touch myself faded, unless I brought it to the fore. Then I would re-focus on my work and it would disappear again.

  Dinner time came and I contemplated ordering room service, but I needed to get out again. I put some clothes on and headed out to a café around the corner. I could eat tapas every day so it suited me down to the ground.

  I took to people-watching while I was sitting and eating. I was still getting glances from men and, seemingly, no less than when I was wearing not much more than the raincoat earlier. If anything, I was getting more attention, as a single female diner. I wondered if Mia's theory that clothes are just fuel for the imagination was more accurate than I had realised, but I was certain that if I was sitting there naked I would be getting a lot more attention. I shuddered at the thought. I guess when Mia did it she was actively trying to get attention. So the issue was: how did she cope with it?

  I returned to my hotel room. I removed the blouse and skirt I'd been wearing and was about to slip out of the rest of my clothes and adopt my confined nudist experiment when a strange desire took hold of me. I put Mia's raincoat over my underwear and went back outside, tracing a route amongst busy streets.

  It was barely nine o'clock so, despite being a lone female in her underwear and a raincoat, I felt I had little to fear from the streets of Madrid. What's more, I felt liberated, feeling the cooler evening air that would find gaps by which it could penetrate the coat. Still, I was not so foolhardy to try to replicate the experiment of removing the coat altogether and, within thirty minutes I was back in my hotel room.

  The experience had felt… normal, if something of an enhanced version of normal. No-one had stared at me, no more than they had before, but I had perceived much more about them. As I sat making notes, naked and becoming increasingly accustomed to that state, I couldn't help but wonder if the conventions that we all follow were overdue a shake-up.

  Most of the next day was spent in a similar manner: if I was in the hotel room, I abandoned my clothing. I was fully dressed outside of the room and left the raincoat hanging in the cupboard. When I went outside for lunch I almost resented having to dress up as society expected me to. I gained nothing from wearing clothes, save avoiding the judgement of others.

  That evening, I made my way to the opening night of Mia's latest exhibition. It was a private gallery: a small space, but a step up from Mia's other showings. She had told me that the theme was "Luxury", but I knew nothing more than that.

  I had packed a dress especially for the evening, especially since chances for me to dress up were few and far between in any case.

  I noticed from a couple of large cameras being carried around that I wasn't the only journalist inside. That was good: Mia would get more exposure (if you can excuse the pun).

  But the main thing I noticed was Mia: by her presence she commanded the space. She was wearing… well, you can probably guess what she was, or rather wasn't, wearing. I recognised the red heels from the other day and, besides those and her thick black hair, her bare, creamy skin seemed to cast a light on the room. On her hands and forearms were a pair of long, silk gloves, but that was the only part of her skin that was covered.

  She had a large, gold-sprayed handbag hooked on the crook of her elbow, an oversized watch on one wrist and a bracelet on the other, and a large braided necklace around her neck with a single stone which hung between her breasts. Long earrings almost reached her shoulders and, to crown it off was, well, a crown, or rather a tiara that sparkled in the intense lighting.

  I smiled; the image of her was seductive, sensual, erotic and also comical all at the same time. If she had been wearing a long, flowing evening gown it would have been easy to dismiss her as the new-money wife of a rich footballer. Yet, by being naked beneath all of the accessories, she was offering commentary on money instead of trying to represent it.

  I looked at some of the other guests; there were more than a few who were wearing at least one item resembling something that Mia was sneering at: a brash watch, a tasteless necklace, or a "look at me" handbag. Admittedly, no-one else was wearing a tiara.

  I couldn't take my eyes off of her, and I wasn't the only one. "Amazing, isn’t she?" a voice said from beside me.

  I turned around and saw a late middle-aged
man in an expensive suit with a neatly trimmed beard and grey hair.

  "All those things that many people aspire to and yet, if you removed them, Mia would become more beautiful as each item disappeared."

  He had a point: her nakedness served to highlight just how drab those expensive items were by comparison.

  "Yes, amazing," I agreed, although maybe not for the same reason, judging by how he was staring at her body. "But, do you think people would come here if she was twenty years older, or twenty kilos heavier?"

  "Of course not!" he said, "The effect would be lost altogether."

  It was a difficult point to argue against, but I still couldn't tell how much of his enjoyment was just the sheer pleasure of seeing a beautiful human body, to feel the titillation of a taboo broken, and, simply, to be given permission to leer at a naked woman.

  "I've been a patron for a number of years now," he said, "And I think this is her best work yet. I'm hoping to take something home with me."

  And you wish it was Mia? But perhaps I was judging too harshly. However, the look in his eyes told me that I wasn't too far from the truth.

  Mia saw me and came over, smiling widely. I smiled back. "You look amazing!" I said.

  She let out an exasperated gasp. "That is not the point!" she said. I hadn't meant it entirely like that, but the damage was done. Mia leant towards me and, with her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on first one cheek and then the other. I had no idea what to do with my hands; I certainly wasn't going to touch her. I'm sure she performed the whole act just to see how I would respond.

  "You know Mia already?" the gentleman asked, obviously put-out that he didn't have exclusive rights on her attentions.

  "Rosie is collaborating on a piece with me at the moment," Mia said. That was news to me.

  The man looked me up and down. I could see him wondering what I would look like naked, wondering if he would see photos of me hanging here at the next exhibition.

  "Yes," Mia continued, "We're exploring a written piece." His enthusiasm vanished. "And Rosie's very reserved, very English, and I'm helping her to see the world my way." In a flash his interest was piqued again.

  "Oh?" he said, "Is anything you've produced here yet?" He looked around the room.

  "It's very early," Mia said, "But come over here." She led us four or five steps across the room and pointed at a small black and white photograph. I recognised it instantly. It was the café from lunchtime, full of patrons eating, drinking and talking and there, in the corner of the room but perfectly clear, were the two of us sitting in our underwear with glasses of wine in our hands.

  I was shocked. Mia looked at me. "Carlo snapped a couple on his way out. This was the best one and I couldn't resist sharing it."

  I wasn't sure how I felt; it was as if my trust had been betrayed, but on the other hand there was no actual harm done. Besides, the pair of us looked really quite good. I was both embarrassed and proud at the same time.

  The grey-haired man was studying the photograph. Now my feelings erred to the creepy side. "That's very unusual for you, Mia," he said, "To be so overdressed?" It was obvious this photo wasn't going to be added to his collection, something for which I was grateful.

  "Well," Mia said, looking at me, "We've only just started working together. We have another day or two before you leave, don't we Rosie?"

  "We do," I said, before realising the implication of her question: that being photographed in my underwear was just the first step.

  And besides: how long had I been "collaborating"? As far as I was concerned, I was writing a profile piece, and I certainly wasn't going to be putting Mia's name in the by-line.

  But to Mia everything was blurred. She was there as artist, as host, but also as artwork and exhibit. I was journalist, but also collaborator, helping her to spread her artwork, and, as of today, also a prop in one of her pieces.

  Mia looked around. "Excuse me, both of you, but I must make sure I talk to everyone." I couldn't help but watch as her buttocks swayed as she strode across the room to bestow another awkward nude embrace on a client or acquaintance.

  The grey-haired man held out a business card. "I don’t know what kind of other work you do," he said, "But if it's anything like Mia's, then I'm interested. Send me some details." I nodded, with absolutely no intention of contacting him.

  I stayed another hour or so at the exhibition, looking at the various photographs, sketches and, video installations on display. The problem with so much of Mia's work was that, without Mia, it didn't seem to have the same value.

  I found myself wondering about the people who came to these shows and commissioned her work. Why does someone pay for a video installation of a woman walking naked in a department store? Can't they find such things on the Internet? Is this just a way of legitimising their kinks, of showing them in public without being called out? Something like money laundering, but for fetishes? And if it was, did it even matter?

  I left as confused as ever and returned to my hotel room. My new ritual was to close and lock the door, put the chain across, slip out of my shoes, remove my clothes and then place them tidily away before I was even two steps into the room. Perhaps, by making the room my nudist sanctuary, by not polluting it with even the association of being clothed, I could start to understand some of what I was seeing. I wasn't sure that two days was enough for that.

  Whatever Mia was doing, it was something more than just treating elderly men to the sight of a young, naked body. Her juxtapositions were carefully chosen and there was always a clear intent so that. And whenever the question of erotica was raised, the viewer felt that it had come from within them rather than from Mia. But then, surely she knew that arousal was at least part of the reaction she provoked?

  They say with art that, if you go home talking about it, then it must be worthwhile, and it couldn't be denied that Mia's show lingered in my mind. I wondered how many of the rich patrons at the exhibition that night supported her work as much for the after-dinner conversation as anything else. And again, did that matter? I was due to meet Mia for lunch again the next day and I was keen to delve as deeply as I could into this issue of art and erotica. If I offended Mia on the last day then so be it: I had plenty of material for my article already.

  The same thoughts were running around in my head as I fell asleep that night and I awoke barely in time for breakfast. I had just gotten back to my room and piled my clothes in the corner when there was a knock at the door. I reached for a bathrobe and slipped it on before opening the door. It was Mia, wearing her distinctive fur coat and holding a plastic bag which she held out for me to take.

  "Your clothes, I believe?" she said and, almost pushing me aside as she walked into the room. She looked around and her eyes fixed on my neatly folded pile of clothes. Did she have some idea of my new private lifestyle? I didn't see how she could, but then if there was one person who might be able to spot that pattern it would be Mia.

  "When do you leave?" she asked, skipping all formalities. She sat down in the chair I had been working at. I tried to work out what, if anything, she was wearing beneath the coat and, as ever, I had no idea. All I could see was that her legs were bare to above the knee and I would have put money on her being naked beneath the faux fur.

  "Um, tomorrow," I said, "early."

  I laid the plastic bag containing my trousers and blouse against the wardrobe.

  "Not much time," she said. I felt as if our lunch meeting would be plenty of time. She looked around the room. "You know, it is very warm in here?"

  I didn't want to tell her that I hadn't needed the air conditioning so much as I was working in the nude.

  Suddenly Mia stood, threw off the coat and tossed it on the bed. As I expected, she was nude. She sat back down on the chair and crossed one perfectly toned leg over the other.

  As I mentioned before, I'm not accustomed to being in the company of a naked woman, and certainly not in the privacy of my hotel room. I felt my face turning red: had I asses
sed this all wrong? Was Mia reticent to talk about relationships because I was a target for her? Had I given off signals? Was there any more of a signal than stripping to my underwear for lunch?

  But Mia stayed sat in the chair. If this was a seduction it was a very passive one.

  "I need to show you," she said. I wondered what I could be shown that I hadn't already seen.

  "Show me what?" I asked.

  "The stabilisers," she said, "You can ride without them." I began to understand what she might be getting at, and I dreaded the implication.

  She stood and walked over to me and put her hands around my waist. My mouth went dry. Have I gone too far to stop this now?

  But, to my surprise, Mia's firm grip just turned me ninety degrees to face the full-length mirror.

  "You are wearing just a gown, no?" she asked me.

  "Well, yes," I said, not sure if I should be agreeing with her or trying to give off negative signals.

  "And you feel exposed? Vulnerable?" she asked.

  "Well, no," I said.

  Mia smiled. It was the smile that meant she was leading me to a conclusion I couldn't avoid.

  "And why not?" she asked.

  "Well, because… I mean, it's just a bath robe. People are always wearing bath robes."

  She laughed. "And if you used the spa downstairs, would you put on your underwear beneath the robe?"

  "Well, no…" I said. I still felt uncomfortable with Mia's hands around my waist as she stood beside me.

  "Now, look," she said and her hands pulled at the cords of the bathrobe. She took hold of the collar of the robe and slid it off my shoulders. I was rooted to the spot as I looked in the mirror and saw myself standing there naked. It was one thing to do this when no-one else was around, but entirely another with Mia standing there.

  I wondered what Mia was going to do next. She looked around. "Where is my raincoat?" she asked. I pointed towards the wardrobe.