by Kara Bryn
Mia pointed to the same table we had sat at the other day and, deliberately, she sat where I had been. I perched on the stool next to her, the wooden seat feeling cold and hard on my buttocks. Mia ordered something for us and, a minute later, the waiter brought us two glasses of wine and some plates of food.
"I'm glad you have become accustomed now," she said, mistaking my resignation for comfort. "But I am not sure I could become used to being accompanied by a nude woman," she continued, "I think, perhaps, I crave the attention too much."
So now we were getting to a core issue. I leant forwards, suddenly back to being a reporter with an article to write again.
"You mean you feel upstaged?" I asked. Was the beautiful, elegant Mia, upstaged my me?
"Perhaps," she said, "I mean, you are beautiful. I think men look at you just as much clothed as they do nude."
I blushed and looked around, and noticed a number of pairs of eyes pretending they weren't looking in my direction.
"But it has been very interesting," she continued, "And I thank you for that."
The waiter returned to see if we needed anything. Mia handed him her camera and he took a picture of us sat at the table. He said something and Mia laughed.
"He asked if I could send him a copy," she told me. I gave a half smile.
"I bet he does," I replied.
I had been getting hungry and the small plates of food were welcome, and the wine was making me feel better too.
"Tell me," Mia said to me, "The questions you asked me before. How would you answer them? Do you still think that my work would not exist without making men think of sex?"
I blushed again. "To tell you the truth: I do, mostly. I know there's more to it than sex, but I don't think you can separate nudity and sexuality, not in the minds of most men. Nor many women."
Mia looked across the room. "I agree," she said, "I didn't think I did, but I do. When I bring to mind that you're sitting here nude, that the waiter only has to glance across the room to look at your breasts, to stand beside you and imagine running his finger from your ankle to your neck, I suddenly feel very sexual." I nearly shook in my seat: I suddenly felt very sexual too and crossed one leg over the other to hide myself.
"But it is strange," Mia continued, "When I sit as you are, I feel none of that. Why is that?"
I couldn't really explain it to her. "Mia," I said, "I think maybe you're just different to the rest of us. Anybody could tell you that young naked women make men think of sex. Just because being nude doesn't make you think of sex doesn't mean anything. I'm not going to say what art can and can't do, but you're not going to get men to change that aspect of their psyche."
Mia looked thoughtful. "Perhaps," she said. Even now she wasn't going to concede anything. She looked around the room. "You'll have to excuse me a moment," she said and, leaving me alone again, she walked across the café in the direction of the toilets.
A few minutes passed as I sat there, naked, with one elbow leant on the table and my wine glass in my hand. Each time someone came into the café they would stare from afar, but they soon became accustomed to my presence.
I heard a movement beside me and was startled to find the waiter standing there. "Excuse me, seniorita," he said in accented English. "Your friend apologises but she was called away. She has paid the bill and this…" he slid another glass of wine onto the table, "…this is on the house."
He disappeared, retreating from my exasperated expression. So Mia had left without saying goodbye, and had left me to walk naked through the streets of Madrid to find my hotel again. That was so much like her that I should have seen it coming. At least I had a glass of wine to keep me company while I sat there, a nude, an object d'art against the backdrop of a Spanish café.
Passed For Promotion
The train trundled slowly between stations on the outskirts of the commuter belt. We were the last two passengers. I was pretending I was engrossed in my book while she muttered and shook her head in the seat opposite. With the distraction of that, and the attractive pair of legs that kept crossing and uncrossing, I'd hardly turned the page for the last half an hour.
"Can you believe it?" she suddenly said. I looked up for the first time. She was looking straight at me. She had icy blue eyes, full red lips, and long, blonde hair tied into a bun on the top of her head. She was probably in her mid-twenties and was stunningly beautiful.
"Hmm?" I said. It was all I could manage in response as my pupils dilated so I could take in as much of her as possible.
"They think they can just walk all over you," she said, looking out of the window. I followed her gaze. It was a warm autumn evening, with light still in the sky, and the open window allowed a welcome breeze to enter the carriage.
"Yeah…" I said, not really sure what I was supposed to say. I pretended to return to my book.
"Years they've made me wear this stupid uniform," she said. I looked up again. She looked very attractive to me in a bright red pencil skirt and jacket, white blouse buttoned all the way up to the neck and a mauve scarf tied loosely around her throat. In fact, I'm sure I've fantasised about a woman who looked like her many a time before.
"I think you look great," I said with a half-smile. Partly I was trying to calm her down, but maybe this was how she met guys and I didn't want to miss an opportunity.
"Not good enough to be senior cabin crew, apparently," she said. So that explained the uniform, and the bad mood.
I smiled, still not knowing what to say.
"Well, I've had enough of them," she said, and she pulled at the scarf tied around her neck. The knot unravelled and she screwed up the tiny ball of light fabric and stared intensely at it as she rolled it between her fingers. Suddenly, she tossed it out of the window.
"Been a tough day, huh?" I asked, wanting to offer some kind of support.
"Been a tough year, more like," she answered. Now she had my attention, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. "They make us wear all this," she looked down at herself and I followed her gaze, right down to her elegant, shapely legs and the bright red shoes on her feet. "And we all know it's just to keep the men occupied gawping at us on the flight." I could see why that would happen.
She suddenly stood in front of me, feet together, one leg slightly bent at the knee and her hand on her hip. "They just make us look ridiculous."
I looked her up and down again: she looked like a dream come true, but I didn't think saying so would help. Nor was I about to agree that she looked ridiculous.
"This jacket is always pinching at the waist," she continued, and as she spoke she unfastened the single button that held it closed, shrugged it off her shoulders, slid it down her arms and held it out in front of her as if she'd found a dead rat in her kitchen. She looked at it in disgust.
"Well, screw them, and their uniform," she said, and she threw the jacket out of the window. I watched as the wind took hold of it and it flapped into the bushes by the side of the tracks. My first thought was that it looked far too expensive a jacket to be throwing away, but then the thought was erased instantly.
"And these shirts nearly choke us," she said.
Still standing, she unfastened the button held tight around her neck. My eyes went wide as she unfastened another button, and another.
"We get trussed up like a turkey," she said.
Four buttons undone. Now five. I willed her to keep going. I could see her white bra through the opening. She pulled the blouse out of the tight skirt waistband.
"And it's all so the customers don't have to treat us like people," she said disdainfully.
She gave up fumbling with buttons and pulled hard at the bottom of the blouse. The last two buttons popped off and I watched as they rolled around the floor of the train carriage. She unfastened the cuffs as I tried not to stare at her chest and at her smooth, flat stomach. She pulled at the shirt sleeves with first one hand and then the other, almost tearing it off her arms, and then, without a pause, she bundled it up and threw it o
ut of the window.
Her hands went onto her hips and I stared at her as she looked down at me, her eyes blazing with anger. Her bra pushed her breasts together and she was breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell and it took all of my will power not to stare at it. My mouth went dry and I tried to moisten my lips with my tongue, and then realised how bad that must look.
"And they expect us to march up and down the aisle of a plane with our legs glued together." She looked down at her skirt and I followed her eyes. The bright red fabric hugged her narrow waist and hips. Her hand reached down to one side and she pulled the zip down. She slid her fingers into the waist and pushed the skirt down with both hands. It slid down her legs onto the floor and I tried not to stare at her white underwear. My breathing quickened as she bent down, picked up the skirt and it, too, was thrown out of the train window.
She remained stood there with her hands on her hips and I forced myself to look up at her face. Her chest rose and fell only a few feet from me and her stomach moved in and out as she inhaled and exhaled.
"It's like they don't want us to be who we are, you know?" she said earnestly. "And it's not written down anywhere, but I've known girls with flat chests who've been told they need to sort it out or else." She looked down at her cleavage and I was glad to have tacit permission to do the same. The opaque white fabric of her bra really did make the most of it.
"So we put up with wires digging into our backs and sides all day." She reached around her back and my mouth fell open as, in one smooth movement, she unfastened her bra and, with a shrug of the shoulders, it fell forwards down her arms. I found myself staring at her perfect, circular brown nipples. I was transfixed as her chest moved at the effort she put into throwing the bra out of the window.
"You know?" she said, and I looked up at her face again as she stood with her hands on her hips, "This is the moment where the rest of my life begins, and I'm glad someone's here to witness it."
I was very glad too; much gladder than she was, I'm sure. Her hands slipped into the waistband of her last item of clothing and pushed her underwear down her legs. I watched as it slid down her legs onto the floor. She bent, picked up the small bundle of white fabric, and it, too, was tossed out of the window.
"A fresh start," she said, and her hands returned to her hips. I looked her up and down as she stood there naked; red lips and red shoes shining in the electric lights of the train, her smooth, pale body in stark contrast to the drab interior of the carriage.
I didn't know where to look. Her eyes were too intense to return her stare, and I couldn’t keep staring at her chest, much as I wanted to, or her crotch. So I ended up staring at her feet and the bright red stilettos; the only thing she was now wearing.
Following my gaze, she leant forwards a fraction and looked down. "Oh, yes," she said, "Thanks for reminding me."
She slipped off the red shoes, bent and picked them both up in one hand, and they too were thrown out of the window.
"And I can wear my hair as I like from now on too." She reached her hands behind her head and her breasts looked, if possible, even more perfect as she lifted her arms.
She pulled a scrunchie out of her hair and shook her head. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders forming waves as it bounced, enjoying its new found freedom and seeming to represent how she felt inside.
"What do you think of the new me?" she asked and turned half one way and then the other.
"Erm… beautiful, amazing…" I said. There were no words I could summon that seemed satisfactory. She sat back down in the seat opposite, one leg crossed over the other. Her small foot bobbed with the movement of the train.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to disturb your reading. When I get worked up I get so self-centred." I realised my book was still in my hand.
"Oh, don’t worry, it's fine," I said, glancing down at it. It was better than fine. I don't know if I was in love, but I was very much in lust. I couldn't pass up this opportunity.
"You know," I said, "We're nearly at my stop. But, do you fancy maybe grabbing a drink? Sometime. You can tell me how your new life's going." I smiled, trying to make it sound friendly and casual.
She looked to one side in realisation and then let out a small laugh.
"I'm very flattered," she said, "And you seem a really nice guy. But… I'm afraid my husband's going to be waiting for me at home."
Of course. I would never be so lucky.
"Okay, no problem, "I said, forcing smile.
The train pulled into my station and I stood. I allowed myself a last, long stare at her amazing body.
"I hope everything works out for you," I said.
"Thanks," she said with a genuine smile, much calmer now, "And maybe I'll see you on here some other time."
I smiled and waved as I left the carriage. Married or not, I really hoped I'd see her again. If only to refresh the memory of the past five minutes.
The Naked Office
I'd always been a bit of a joker, and everyone in the office knew I was up for anything, and that anything goes. I've been with the company for three years now and we're a pretty close-knit group, especially after the film crew spent time with us last year. The partners had been approached by a TV company to make a documentary about a firm in a relatively boring profession i.e. law and to see how the staff would react to being holed up in a yoga retreat for a week.
Anyway, not wanting to miss out on the chance for fun, one night I'd put one of my bright red tops in with all the white meditation robes we'd been given. Everyone else's meditation robes, that is, as I left mine out. The next morning they came out of the wash a glorious shade of pink. It was pretty obvious who did it, since I was the only one sitting there in pristine white cotton for the next few days, and I loved every minute of it.
It had made better television than you might expect, and the documentary had helped the image of the company no end. So it wasn't entirely surprising that the company partners were open to being featured in a new program. What was surprising, though, was the premise of the program they'd signed up for: that we'd all get along together better if we worked naked for a few days.
As I said before, I'm up for anything, but I was surprised that everyone else was too. Anyone who really objected could take the week off and, to break us in gently, the first day was just going to be down to underwear.
Now, there was a fairly new cute guy in the office, Kieran, who I'd been making eyes at for a while, but he was so shy that he just blushed. All the secretaries flirted with him, but I think I was the only junior partner who did as well. I suppose I was the only female partner anywhere near his age, but he didn't seem to know how to react to the attention from a senior. I was having quite a lot of fun with him.
So I had an easy challenge for day one of filming: to see if I could make his boxer shorts bulge. Because I knew that, shy boy that he was, he would be wearing the biggest piece of underwear he could find. Actually, why hadn't he just ducked out of the whole thing? I would have put money on him skipping the week, but there you go.
Monday came around and I went all-out: white lace bra, knickers, stockings and suspenders, some fantastic delicate white heels, and then a simple skirt and blouse over the top for the journey into work. I arrived at the office and was disappointed to see the receptionist was fully dressed. A young woman holding a clipboard came over to meet me.
"You must be Jennifer," she said.
I raised an eyebrow. How did she know my name?
She smiled. "We've been reviewing the other program you were in. I recognised you from that."
I smiled back: so she knew who she was dealing with.
"How come the receptionists are all dressed up?" I asked her.
"Oh, that's how we always do things," she said, "We can't have people wandering in from outside and being met by girls in their underwear." She giggled. I couldn't see why we couldn’t have that, but that was me. "And then when you get into the office we lock the door behind
you. Just in case someone tries to wander in." I shrugged; it made no difference to me either way. She continued to explain the setup.
"We have a few screens around here for you to undress, and I'll keep your outer clothes until the end of the day." She showed me around the corner to couple of temporary screens in the corner of the room. "Put your things in here," she told me and handed over a cardboard box with my name on the top.
I went behind the screen, took off my skirt and my blouse and put them in the box. Holding the box in my hands I stepped out. I saw her eyes go wide as she looked my stockings and lace underwear up and down. There are no two ways about it: I looked absolutely stunning.
"Wow," she said, "I didn't expect that! So, the last documentary wasn't just a one-off?"
I handed her the box with my clothes in.
"Follow me this way," she told me, as if I didn't know the way to my own office.
I stepped through the door and heard it close and lock behind me. No matter how confident I was about how good I looked, walking into the office in my underwear was a surreal experience. I looked around at the twenty or so people inside. All the women were wearing thick, opaque underwear, either white or black. All the men wore oversized boxer shorts.
Heads turned as I stepped in and, playing to the crowd, I struck a pose with one hand on my hip. The room went quiet.
"Well, it looks like we've all forgotten something today," I said, and a laugh of relief rippled across the room.
There were a few fixed cameras around the room plus one man with a large camera on his shoulder and a director telling him where to point it.
I walked over to Kieran's desk. I may as well start as I meant to go on. He didn't notice me approaching so I put a hand on his bare shoulder; he almost jumped out of his chair.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, not meaning it one bit.
His head snapped around and his eyes instantly scanned me up and down, before he realised how obvious it was. He pointedly tried looking at a spot about two inches above my head.
