The Volunteer

by D. H Jonathan

  I opened it and took a long drink. Sylvia passed out the wristbands, and we all helped each other put them on.

  “Holy shit, there’s a naked girl,” I heard a voice say from up the row of parked cars.

  That tingling in my core, spreading out to my nipples and vulva, started with that and never stopped the whole day. We walked across the parking lot, stopping at the port-o-potty near the main entrance so that I could change tampons, and allowed our wristbands to be scanned at the gate to get into the festival. The guy scanning us looked at me, smiled, and then giggled.

  “You’re her, aren’t you? Naked Dani?”

  “Yes,” I said, wishing I had been given a more anonymous nickname. Andrew Martinez had been known as the Naked Guy at Berkeley, but most of the stories coming out about me had started calling me Naked Dani.

  There were two police officers at one end of the gate area watching the guy scan me in, and I instinctively hid behind Greg when I got through the gate. They continued to look right at us, but they didn’t say anything. Greg looked at the cops then back at me cowering behind him and took my hand.

  “See?” he said. “It’s all right.”

  I tried to relax my fears about the police, but we didn’t get very far past the gate before a group of high school age kids, both boys and girls, ran up to me.

  “Oh my God, I saw you on TV,” one of the girls said. “Can we get a picture with you?”

  I looked at Greg and said, “OK.”

  That opened the floodgates. Everyone wanted to pose with me for a photo. People posed standing next to me, an arm around my shoulder or waist, cute guys, pretty girls, older guys, and even a couple of older ladies. I felt like a rock star. Liz was standing back with her phone and getting her own shots of everything. Whenever a cute guy would pose with his arm around my waist, his hand on my hip, that buzz of arousal in me only increased. But people were respectful, and we didn’t have any issues with anyone trying to touch me inappropriately. Greg started to fidget, and I could tell he was getting impatient. We’d been inside the gates for a half an hour and hadn’t gone more than one hundred yards. I finally started walking, but the requests kept coming. I would stop for just a split second to let the person get his or her photo and then continue on. After one such request, Greg got on one side of me and Audrey the other, and we were able to walk away.

  “Holy shit,” Liz said from behind us. “They love you.”

  “They’re just not used to seeing a naked person out in public like this,” I said.

  Sylvia was far up ahead of us, pulling the wheeled cooler behind her. We walked past several art exhibits, sculptures of varying sizes and colors, but we didn’t stop at any of them for fear of being held up again by photo seekers.

  “Why don’t you come up here and walk with us?” Audrey said to Liz.

  “I’m enjoying the view from back here,” she replied.

  “Stop looking at my big butt,” I said, trying to cover it with my hands.

  “It’s not too big,” she said with a laugh. “I think it’s perfect.” But she did skip forward and walk next to Audrey.

  We found a spot near the large stage, and Audrey spread out a picnic blanket. Liz sprayed another coat of sunscreen on me, put some on her legs and arms, and passed the bottle around. The crowd started filling in around us as a punk band I had never heard of started their set on the big stage. They sounded pretty good, and we all got comfortable. Sylvia had only brought water, but Greg bought a couple of beers from a vendor and gave me one. People would turn their heads and look at me as they passed by us, and a few of them stopped to pose for photos with me. More bands played, and as the sun got lower, the smell of marijuana enveloped us. I had only ever tried smoking it once, way back in high school, and the burning sensation in my lungs had felt so bad that I had felt no effects of the drug itself. So I was never interested in smoking it again. But the people around us were very friendly, maybe because of the naked girl among us, and someone wound up passing a lit joint to Greg. He took a toke and offered it to me. I shook my head, and Liz eagerly snatched it up.

  Not long after that, both Greg and Liz wandered off in search of food. Audrey was next to me on the blanket watching and listening to the band on the stage.

  “Where’s Sylvia?” I asked her.

  Audrey shrugged. I tried to remember the last time I had seen Sylvia and realized that she had been gone for quite a while, at least through two bands’ sets. I stood up to look around for her and heard some catcalls behind me. There was no sign of Sylvia though.

  Greg and Liz returned with five burgers and fries, and we made short work of them, leaving Sylvia’s in the bag for her return. It was after eight o’clock, the sun long down, when Miley Cyrus was announced. Everyone around us stood up, and she put on an energetic, theatrical show. Sylvia returned well into her set and took me by the hand.

  “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” she yelled into my ear to be heard above the music and the crowd.

  I looked at Greg and shrugged as Sylvia led me to a roped off area that served as an aisle at the edge of the crowd. She dipped under the rope and held it up for me. When I bent down to pass under, I heard a guy say, “Holy shit!” right behind me. I had to blush thinking of the view I had given him. On the stage, Miley finished a song, waved to the crowd, and disappeared from the stage amidst thunderous applause.

  “Hurry up,” Sylvia said, almost running toward the stage.

  The crowd noise increased as Miley Cyrus reappeared. She wore what looked like a white bathing suit covered in sequins with long sleeves sewn on, her legs bare except for the fur edged boots on her feet.

  “Now, I know we are right by Coachella Valley University, home of a hero of mine, Naked Dani,” Miley Cyrus said. I was surprised at the loud roar of the audience at the mention of my name. “And I heard through the grapevine that she is actually here tonight.”

  The area around me seemed to explode as a spotlight hit me. I looked up at the stage and saw myself, naked, on the huge video board behind the band. The crowd erupted in its loudest applause yet.

  “Come on up here,” Miley said.

  Sylvia had abandoned me to the spotlight; I looked all around but couldn’t see her. I climbed the steps to the stage with the spotlight following me. Miley rushed to the top of the stairs, took my hand, and pulled me to the center of the stage. I looked out at the crowd packed onto the lawn as far as I could see. 90,000 people were looking at me, naked.

  “Thank you,” Miley said. “I appreciated what you said about me a couple of weeks ago on Stossel.”

  I remembered the clip of her in the show introduction and talking about her with John Stossel just in passing, but I had no recollection of what I said. So I simply shrugged and said, “You’re welcome?”

  Miley laughed and asked me, with her microphone on, if I sang. “No, not really,” I replied.

  “I want you to help me with next song. I think you’ve heard it before.”

  The crowd noise increased again as the opening notes of “Wrecking Ball” started up. Miley’s microphone was one of those things that attaches behind her ear, kind of like what I had worn on Stossel. She stood right beside me, leaning her head into me, our foreheads almost touching, so that audio of my voice could be captured. I tried to sing but stumbled over the words. Miley finally pulled away, and when the first chorus started, the lights exploded, and I was startled to see a large white wrecking ball swinging between us and the band. Miley turned her back to me and pointed to the zipper at the nape of her neck. I grabbed it and pulled it down a few inches. She then turned away, still singing, and pointed at me and then at the ball, nodding her head. I walked over to it, felt it go by, realizing that it didn’t weigh much at all. A stage hand pointed me to a small scaffold. I went up the stairs with him, and he caught the ball for me, helping me on, showing me where the hidden straps for my feet were. I grabbed the chain, and he pushed the ball out, swinging me across the stage.


  Miley had shed her outfit and was naked except for the furry boots. The crowd noise was deafening, and I could barely hear the song. Back and forth I swung, as the band played and the lights flashed. I was getting a headache, and I knew my tampon needed changing. I only hoped I wasn’t making a mess on the giant white papier Mache ball. The song finally ended, but the crowd was still screaming and yelling. The stage hand caught the ball and helped me off. I looked at it and felt relieved to see no mess on it. Miley stood in front of the stage, her arms in the air, legs spread apart and knees bent, showing herself off to her applauding fans. Seeing her made me think of Dr. Slater in my dorm room before the Stossel taping saying that she wouldn’t have wanted one of the girls who would have readily volunteered for her nudity project.

  Rather than rejoin Miley in the middle of the stage, I disappeared down the stairs where Sylvia met me.

  “That was incredible!” she said. “I had no idea you were going to get to ride on the ball.”

  “Me either,” I said.

  I took Sylvia’s hand and led the way this time, back to where I thought our row was. We slipped under the rope and walked between other groups, everyone standing and cheering me, patting me on the back or the buttocks. Miley Cyrus had left the stage, and the announcer was introducing the next band, Nine Inch Nails. We finally found the right blanket, and Greg took me in his arms and kissed me tightly. I kissed him back with passion. He tried to touch my pubic area as we kissed, but I remembered the state of my tampon and pulled away from him. The nearest bathroom was hundreds of yards away through throngs of people. I grabbed my hand purse and leaned back toward Greg.

  “Can you take me to the bathroom?”

  He nodded, and we made our way through the crowd. I heard several remarks, but Greg’s presence kept anyone from touching me again. We finally made it to one of the portable toilets that had a green vacant sign, and I excused myself.

  Greg was still there when I came out.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No, I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  I smiled, wishing I hadn’t been on my period, knowing that I would have let him fondle me all he wanted here. We made our way back to the others and enjoyed the music until well after midnight. Sylvia stayed on her phone most of the time, shouting to try to be heard, and I imagined that several news stories about my naked wrecking ball ride and how I had inspired Miley to strip down during her performance would be hitting the airwaves in the next few days.

  By the time we had made the walk back to Sylvia’s van and emerged from the line of cars leaving the parking lot, it was after two AM. Sylvia made yet another call on her phone, but being so far in the back of the van, I couldn’t hear her. Greg had his hand on my thigh, and I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder.

  I must have drifted off because I was startled awake by the side door sliding open on its track. I sat up and looked around. We were not back at the school but in a small parking lot, a busy street behind us. I could see a yellow Denny’s sign reflected in the window of a car next to us. Sylvia was standing by the door helping a sleepy Audrey step out of the van.

  “Let’s get an early breakfast. My treat,” Sylvia said.

  “What about Dani?” Greg said, his voice sounding dopey with sleep.

  “What about her? She can order whatever she wants.”

  “I can’t go in there naked. No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

  “You have shoes on,” Sylvia said. “I’ve already called ahead, and the manager on duty is thrilled to have the famous Naked Dani eat in his restaurant this morning.”

  I started to say, “You mean infamous,” but I held my tongue.

  I got out, feeling the cooler night breeze tickle my body. Sylvia led the way, and I followed. I think Greg, Liz, and Audrey were waiting for me to make the move and fell in behind me. The young kid serving as host took one look at me as we walked inside, and his eyes widened comically.

  “Uh, um, just a moment,” he said and disappeared toward the back.

  A little over half of the tables were occupied, and all conversation had stopped after I walked in. I ignored them all, looking at the stack of menus on the counter. The kid came back with an older guy in a white shirt and tie.

  “Good morning,” he said, his eyes glued to my body. “I’m Brian, the manager. Which one of you is Sylvia?”

  Sylvia raised her hand.

  “So nice to meet you,” Brian continued, grabbing five menus from the stack. “I have a table ready for you. Right this way.”

  We followed him back, and I heard several people whispering among themselves. I should have felt a self-conscious embarrassment at being naked in a public restaurant, but after five weeks of constant nudity, I was numb to it. This was how I was, and they could either accept me or not. I caught a young teenage boy staring at me, and I smiled back at him. He blushed and turned away, hiding his face from me. My heart seemed to melt even though my nipples tingled.

  Brian seated us in the back area where only one other table was occupied. I draped one of my black butt towels over the seat, and the five of us ordered breakfast. The people at the other table had also been at the festival and asked for photos with me, calling me the Wrecking Ball girl. Once our food arrived, I almost forgot about being the only naked person in the place until we got up to leave. Walking out, I heard snippets of more whispered conversations, but I refused to let any of it bother me. We piled into the van, and Sylvia drove us back to the campus. Greg walked me to the front entrance of the dorm and gave me a quick kiss good night. He looked as tired as I felt. When I got up to the room, I collapsed onto my bed and slept until Sunday afternoon.

  Chapter Fifteen – Semester’s End

  As the end of the semester approached, I started having dreams of being somewhere on campus wearing clothes and, fearful of being disqualified from the project and losing my scholarships, trying to rip those clothes off in a panic but not being able to get out of them, all the while asking myself where I had even gotten the clothes. Most people have nightmares about going to school or work either naked or in their underwear, so even my dreams were becoming backwards.

  Sylvia had continued to keep me updated on media requests and the stories being written and posted about me. There was quite a bit of fallout over the Coachella Music Festival, but most of the criticism fell on Miley Cyrus. There had been a clause in the standard Festival contract prohibiting nudity on the part of any performers. I hadn’t fallen under that clause, of course, being a non-performer, but the festival organizers had withheld payment to Miley Cyrus for her little naked act. I think that, in whatever state she gets herself into to be able to perform, the exhibitionist in her just couldn’t stand to have a naked girl on stage without getting naked herself. And maybe my presence made her feel that it would be OK. But I’m just speculating, of course. She and the festival organizers agreed to some kind of settlement when the festival came under fire itself from a few groups for allowing such explicit R and X-rated lyrics on their stage but not nudity.

  I kept my head down and concentrated on my studies. Greg and I did go out to dinner a couple of times, and we also saw the last movie in that Oscar Mistakes series, the original 1996 Fargo. I had seen an episode or two of the TV series but had never seen the movie. Greg and I both loved it, although being naked while watching a movie set in a Minnesota winter gave me just a few chills. That wasn’t too bad since it prompted Greg to put his arm around me and rub my arms and shoulders to make me feel warmer. Greg also convinced me to go to one of the campus dances which turned out to be really fun. Several people there were inspired by me and took their own clothes off. In all, I would say that about ten of us danced naked out of a crowd of about three hundred. Greg told me that several other naked people had been seen in various places around campus, most of them guys of course. I hadn’t seen any myself except for that group of streakers on one of my evening walks and the three guys in my swimming class. And apparently, according to Sylvia,
five or six college students had been cited for trying to walk across campus nude in other states where the laws against public nudity were a bit more vigorous.

  Sylvia had also told me about all the offers and honors I had received. Penthouse and Hustler magazines wanted me to do both photo and video sessions. I turned both of those down even though the money offered from each was in the six figures. If I did something like that, I would lose the argument with my father (and everyone else) that being nude was not necessarily sexual. The American Association for Nude Recreation had made me an honorary lifetime member, an honor which I accepted, writing them what I hoped was a nice letter in thanks.

  I breezed through finals week, feeling very confident that I had aced all of my exams. My last test was in Spanish class, and completing that exam was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I walked out of the room and didn’t know what to do with myself. There were no more papers to write, no more passages to read, no more verbs to conjugate. According to Dr. Slater’s contract, I had to remain naked until the last final exam period had ended, so I still had another day to just hang out. Greg was busy helping Dr. Slater with her data organization and working on his own thesis, so I hadn’t seen much of him in the last week.

  When I got back to the room after finishing that Spanish final, Diane was packing to go home. Her parents and younger brother were in the room waiting for her. I think she was probably delaying so she would get a chance to show off her naked roommate.

  “Wow,” her brother said when I walked in. “Hello.”

  After two months, I had gotten used to all kinds of reactions to me. “Hi,” I said.

  “Well, my goodness,” Diane’s mother said.

  Diane introduced me to her family. Her brother’s name was Steven and looked to be about sixteen, fresh red acne scars on both cheeks.

  “I saw you on TV,” Steven said, smiling and gazing at my breasts. “When Diane said her roommate was the naked girl, I didn’t believe her at first.”