Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿For Want of a Mask by FinchAgent

   Chapter Five: The Boy

   Mark, usually so cool and collected, seemed almost more flustered and
embarrassed than Angela herself.  "A-Angela, w-what, h-how?  Are you? 
What? Is this?"

   Angela scooted her body around so that she was facing him, but still
crouching down to preserve whatever scraps of her modesty remained.  "It's
a long story.  But I'm so glad you're here.  I need your help, Mark.  Do
you have any clothes for me?"

   Mark held her gaze for a moment.  "Y-yes I do.  In the car.  Which is
right over there."

   "Awesome!" said Angela, smiling genuinely now.  "I owe you one."

   "Let's go," Mark said, extending an arm.

   Angela slowly rose to a standing position, and let Mark put a protective
arm around her back.  Hand clasping her upper arm, he led her swiftly
towards his Ford hatchback and opened one of the back doors to let her in.

   "There should be some things on the floor there," he said, closing the
door behind her.

   Angela bent over to look at the car floor, and found a slightly
threadbare red shirt, in what looked like a child's size, but a large
child's size.

   "My nephew's," Mark said.

   Angela pulled the shirt over her head.  It didn't quite cover her belly
button.  The shirt had a picture of a cartoon duck on it, who, Angela noted
wryly, was dressed in much the same fashion as herself.

   Mark exchanged glances with her.  "Okay, I'll drive you to my place and
we get can get something better."

   "Thank you."

   Mark got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot. 
Angela sat in the backseat of the car, upright and with her seatbelt on,
legs crossed.  If anyone caught the glimpse of her, they would probably
assume she was wearing particularly skimpy bikini bottoms.  Which she
wished was true.  At this point she'd be relieved to have a thong.

   "So, uh, Angela," said Mark, "how'd you end up naked in a hospital
parking lot?  Never thought I'd see you of all people in that sort of
predicament."

   Angela sighed, and began to tell him the story.  He didn't know Tammy,
so it didn't really matter what he ended up thinking of her.

   "Can't believe they're still enforcing masks at that salon," said Mark,
once she was finished.  "I haven't even seen anyone else wearing one in
months.  Really crazy that they made you go through that.  You should leave
a bad review."

   Angela could imagine it now.  "The trim was great value for money, and
Sharon is a very skilled hairdresser, but the nudist haircutting experience
they offer to maskless customers carries on long past its welcome.  Two
stars."

   "And that Tammy sounds like a real bitch," Mark continued.  "With
friends like that, who needs enemies?"

   After a short drive, Mark and Angela arrived at Mark's house, in a
different suburb from Tammy's.  It was quite a large, attractive house,
with a well maintained front lawn.  A wooden fence separated the front and
back yards.

   Mark parked in the driveway.  "We'll go through the back.  My mom is a
bit funny about having guests inside the house, what with COVID and
everything."

   So he lives with his mom, thought Angela.  Mark was a few years older
than her.

   Mark got out of the car first, and opened the door for Angela, standing
as cover as she climbed out, futilely pulling at the bottom of her shirt.
The two quickly made their way to the fence, and Mark unlatched the gate
and guided Angela in, one hand hovering very close to her butt.

   The back yard was large, and fully surrounded by wooden fencing, Angela
was pleased to note.  Its central feature was a rectangular swimming pool,
in which a tubby, pug-nosed boy of about eight or nine was currently
splashing around.  The boy froze when he saw Angela, and fixed her gaze.

   Angela pulled at her shirt with one hand and held the other one over her
crotch.

   "Uncle Mark," the boy who must have been his nephew, Billy, piped up,
"why is that lady wearing my shirt?"

   "Sorry," Mark whispered to Angela, "I thought he'd gone home already. 
Should have made sure the coast was clear."

   "She's stretching it Uncle Mark!" Billy screeched, paddling to the side
of the pool and hefting his rotund little body out.  "She lost her panties
so she's ruining my favorite shirt!"

   "Billy," said Mark, walking towards him, "this is my friend Angela.  She
needs to borrow your shirt for a little while, just until I can get her
something better to wear." Mark cast a pleading look backwards.

   Angela gulped, and walked forward, bending down in a now-familiar crouch
to keep her crotch as far from the boy's eyes as possible.  She released
her grip on the bottom of the shirt --- there was no way it would reach as
far as she needed it to anyway.

   "Hi Billy," she said softly, now standing on the bricks by the pool, her
eyes level with his.  "Thank you for lending me your favorite shirt.  I'll
take good care of it, I promise."

   Billy scowled, eyes focused on his prized shirt.  "You're stretching it
with your boobies!"

   Angela flushed red and sank into a lower crouch.  It was one thing to be
seen like this by women, another to be seen by men, but worst of all, she
decided, was to be seen by little boys.

   "Tell her to give it back Uncle Mark!" Billy cried.  "It's my shirt,
mine!"

   "Billy..." Mark began.

   His nephew was having none of it, and immediately flopped onto the
ground and started crying, screaming, and stamping his arms and legs. 
"Give it back!  Give it back!"

   Mark glanced helplessly at Angela.  He was seeming less like the shining
hero he'd appeared to be in the parking lot with every passing second.

   Billy suddenly stopped screaming.  A sly looking flicked across his
face. "If Auntie Angela doesn't give my shirt back, I'll hold my breath
until I pass out."

   "No, Billy, please don't..."

   But it was too late.  Billy sucked in a deep breath and shut his mouth.

   "I really don't need to deal with this," said Mark.  "Billy, stop it
this instant!"

   Billy's will was strong.  He kept his mouth resolutely closed as his
face turned redder and redder.

   "Ah, who am I kidding?" Mark sighed.  "Angela, I hate to say this, but,
could you..."

   Angela's eyes widened in shock, and she hugged the shirt to herself. 
"No!"

   "Please Angela, just give him the shirt.  Look, his face is turning
blue."

   And indeed it was.  But still Billy held his breath.

   "I really can't have my sister's kid pass out on my watch," pleaded
Mark. "Not again."

   "But Mark, I'll be---"

   "Don't worry, I said I'd get you something better, didn't I?  Just
please do this.  For me."

   Billy's whole face had turned blue.  He looked dangerously close to
fainting.

   "Uugh, fine," Angela replied, in disbelief of what she was about to do.
"I'll give you the shirt, Billy." She stood up slightly and put an arm over
her shoulder.

   Billy opened his mouth and breathed out and in, his face quickly
returning to its normal color.  Angela grabbed the shirt from the back and
pulled it up and over her head, then handed it to the boy, who snatched it
greedily.

   Naked once more, defeated again, she placed an arm across her breasts.

   "Auntie Angela's naked!  Naked!  Naked!" Billy jeered, making her feel
even worse.

   And then she felt a small hand shove the back of her leg, and she lost
her balance and toppled into the swimming pool.  "Aaah!"

   "Haha!" Billy jeered, scampering across the lawn to his towel.

   Sudden submergence was a shock to Angela, but she quickly regained her
faculties and resurfaced, gulping for air.  Her shoes and socks were heavy
with water, so she reached down to undo them.  Luckily her phone was
waterproof.

   Angela tossed both shoes, socks and her phone past the bricks and onto
the grass.  Then she parted the hair from her face to see that Billy had
disappeared inside the house.  She also saw a stern older woman looking out
of the open patio doors at her.  They briefly locked eyes, and the woman
made a disgusted face at her, mouthed the word "whore", and shouted for
Mark.

   "Yes Mother, I'll be right there!"

   "And come alone!" the woman snapped.

   Mark cast a sheepish look at Angela, shrugged, and went to join his
mother in the house, where both soon vanished from sight.  Angela bobbed in
the pool, and tried to tune out the muffled screeching that soon started
inside the house.

   It was almost noon on a warm day.  The water felt good against Angela's
bare skin, and she suddenly understood the appeal of skinny dipping.  Under
different circumstances, she might really enjoy this.  She cast a glance at
her soaked shoes and socks strewn across the lawn, and wiggled her toes. 
Now Angela was truly naked.

   Eventually, Mark reappeared in the back yard.  His posture was slumped,
and he smiled weakly at Angela.  "My mom doesn't want you in the house," he
said.  "She saw you take that shirt off in front of Billy and is now
convinced that you're, uh, corrupting the youth, or something.  I know, I
know, it wasn't like that.  I tried to explain, but mother is very, uh,
stubborn."

   Angela tried to imagine what his mother was thinking.  From one angle,
well, she did disrobe in front of child.

   "But don't worry, I'll make a plan to get you some clothes.  Sorry about
all this."

   Angela had been feeling a little mad at Mark, and that didn't really go
away, but now she also felt pity for him.  Well, really, it was more like
disgust.  What a weak and pathetic man, who couldn't even stand up to his
mother.

   Angela bobbed around in the water a bit more, keeping her body
submerged. To the casual observer, she looked like a normal, swimming girl.
But on slightly closer observation, it was obvious that she wasn't wearing
a swimsuit.

   After she got tired of swimming, Angela pulled herself out of the pool
and crouch walked to a spot on the lawn, where she lay down on her front,
with her legs pressed tightly together.  The grass tickled her belly, boobs
and legs.  This was the position of maximum coverage.  She splayed her arms
out to the side, figuring Mark had already seen plenty of her ass.

   Mark sat down on the grass beside her.

   "Could you get me a towel?"

   Mark grimaced.  "My mom's exact words were, 'let that hippy dry off in
the sun.'"

   Angela's disgust rose.  Couldn't believe this man, who she'd once found
attractive, was so deferential to his mother that he couldn't even do a
single small thing to help a young, attractive lady in distress.

   "It's, uh, pretty hot out," Mark said.

   He was right.  Angela could feel that she was already mostly dried off,
except for her hair.  Her shoes and socks still looked soggy though.

   "Listen, Angela, I---" Mark was cut off by a ringing phone.  His own. 
He took it out of his pocket and looked at the caller.  "Oh!  Better take
this, it's the boss."

   Mark put the phone to his ear and said hello.  A torrent of tinny voiced
speech erupted from the other side.

   "Uh-huh," said Mark.  "Yes, got it.  I do.  Got one right here." Mark
produced a marker from another pocket.  "Take it down now?  I don't have
anything to--- okay, got it."

   Angela caught the apology in Mark's eyes, but before she understood what
it was for, the lid had come off his marker and its nib was tickling her
back.  "Lay still," Mark whispered to her.  "This is extremely important."

   Despite herself, Angela lay still.  She was obeying a lot of orders
today, and most of them had been actively harmful to her.  But she felt
compelled by the force in Mark's voice.  A big, strong, fully clothed man,
using her naked body...  if not in that way...

   The writing continued down Angela's back, moving swiftly from left to
right, going lower and lower.  Mark nodded and made affirmative noises to
the person on the other end of the line, but showed no sign of slowing
down. Angela felt a pen stroke down the left dimple on her lower back, and
then the right one.  The pen continued.

   Mark was now writing on her ass.  Across one cheek and then the other,
one, two, three lines.  Angela thought her butt was too big sometimes, but
big butts were the fashion, so she didn't let it bother her.  She could
feel the finger of Mark's writing hand against her plump flesh.  Under
different circumstances, if Mark were less entangled in his mother's apron
strings, she might have welcomed it.  But right now she just felt
uncomfortable.

   "Turn over," Mark hissed.  He'd reached the end of her butt, and still
wasn't done.

   Angela was mortified.  "No way!"

   Then Mark grabbed her side and pulled her over, onto her back.  His pen
was on her collarbone before she could protest.

   A primal fear rose up in Angela's throat, and she breathed deeply
through her nose to calm it.  This was fine.  She was fine.  Well, not
really, but all Mark wanted to do was write down a really, really long
message.

   A line was written across the top of Angela's torso, and then he started
on her boobs.  Some marks on the left, then on the right.  His pinky
brushing the skin, grazing her nipples.  Mark tried hard to keep a straight
face, but she knew he was loving this.

   The message continued below Angela's boobs, across her rib-cage and down
her tummy, where she was extra ticklish.  She let out a giggle, jiggling
slightly and causing Mark to scrawl a letter.

   The writing continued, but Mark's pen was slowing down now.  Finally, as
his hand brushed the top of her pubes, the writing mercifully stopped. 
Mark nodded, made another affirmative sound, and said goodbye to the person
on the phone.  He rolled back, collapsing on his back on the grass.  Angela
caught sight of a bulge in his jeans.  Under different circumstances,
perhaps...

   "Sorry about that Angela," he said, righting himself, in the tone of one
apologising for a minor inconvenience rather than a very intimate invasion.
"I didn't have anywhere else to write, and my boss is very impatient."

   Angela sat up, her hands fallen at her sides, allowing Mark to
scrutinise his work.  He looked for a long time.  "You're very beautiful,"
he said.

   "So what's the purpose of this message?" asked Angela.

   "It's a code.  Yeah, the whole thing is.  We're very security conscious
at work.  I have to type it in to a computer at the office.  It's quite
urgent, actually."

   Angela raised an eyebrow.  "Do you have to do that now?"

   "Yes.  Stand up so I can take some pics."

   Angela gasped.  "I am not going to let you take naked pictures of me!"

   "But it's for work!  I'll delete them right after, I promise."

   "No." Angela folded her arms.  "Get me some clothes, and I'll come to
your office with you.  Then you can type your code out from the source."

   Mark cocked his head.  "Yeah, I guess that can work too.  Hold on, let
me go inside and get you something."

   Why Mark couldn't have brought something for her to wear out of the
house the first time was a mystery to her.  But then he wouldn't have
gotten to put his hands all over her naked body.  Not for the first time
that day, Angela felt she was at the center of a vast conspiracy, with the
single purpose of keeping her nude.  Everything she did seemed to make
things worse.  If she'd just gone home with Tammy, maybe she could have
gotten that black dress back.

   At the very least, she wouldn't now be both naked and barefoot. 
Accepting Mark's help had actually been net clothing loss so far.  But
perhaps not for long.  Mark reappeared in the back yard carrying a blue
dress shirt.

   "Is that it?" Angela asked.  She'd been hoping for a pair of pants as
well.

   "My mom doesn't want me to give you anything, so this is really the best
I can do."

   Angela sighed, but spread her arms out for Mark to slip the shirt over
her.  Soon, her arms and hands were covered by long sleeves.  Unlike the
last shirt she'd worn, this one was actually long enough to cover her, the
bottom of the shirt extending some distance past the bottom of her ass. 
She looked like --- well, she looked like Mark's sexual conquest, but at
least she was covered.

   "Come, let's go," Mark said, as Angela did up the last button.  "No time
to waste."

   Angela cast a glance at her still-damp shoes and socks.  "We can come
back for those," said Mark.

   The two left the backyard, exiting through the same wooden gate they'd
entered through.  Angela felt the sensation of being out in the open with
just a long shirt on and no shoes.  It wasn't too different from a dress,
really.  And after today, she'd probably be comfortable in any clothes that
covered her privates.

   Itsy bitsy teeny weeny polka dotted string bikini?  Better than nothing.



   Chapter Six: The Office

   Angela sat in the passenger seat on the way to Mark's office, feeling
almost normal.  Her feet were bare, which was a little weird, and obviously
she wasn't wearing any underwear --- that seemed especially hard to come by
today --- but she was covered now, and that was the main thing.  Mark had
to make a stop to enter the code written across her body into a computer,
and then he said he'd drive her home.

   "Do you wanna, maybe, uh, hang out some time?" Mark asked her, trying to
sound cool and aloof.  "I'll make sure my mother's not home."

   Angela scowled internally, but kept her face neutral.  So he wanted her
to come back to his place.  To "hang out".  And he didn't say it, but she
got the insinuation that the dress code, for her, would be the same as this
first visit.  Even now, Mark was probably thinking about how she felt under
his pen hand and hoping to jab her with a different long instrument.

   No wining and dining for the little nude whore.  Straight to business.

   She glanced at his crotch.  Difficult to tell from this angle, but she
didn't doubt her intuition.  "I'll let you know," she said, cognizant of
her need for him to drive her home later.

   "Cool," Mark said.  He probably thought she meant it.

   Mark pulled into the lot of his empty office building, swiping a key
card at the entrance boom gate.  He parked right in front of the building,
and once again got out to open the door for Angela.

   "This'll be quick, in and out."

   Marked swiped his key card to enter the main building, and led Angela up
some stairs and then down a long, winding hallway.  To both sides, she saw
big open-plan office rooms with rows and rows of cheap desks, swivel chairs
and computer screens.  Her bare feet tread noiselessly on the gray carpet.

   They came to an office at the end of the hall, which Mark had to use a
fingerprint scanner to get into.  The room contained a single computer with
a large screen against one of the walls.  Beneath a screen was a small,
cheap keyboard on a rickety desk.

   Mark walked up to the computer and tapped the space bar a few times to
wake the screen up.  Then he entered a password, and some commands.  A
minute or two later, the screen filled with a giant prompt, which read,
"ENTER CODE".

   "Okay, we need the code," Mark said, looking back at Angela.

   Angela checked around the room.  She didn't see any cameras, and Mark
had assured her that his office didn't have CCTV when she'd asked.  They
were on the fourth floor, so it was unlikely that anyone would be peeking
through the windows either.  And in any case, the blinds were all drawn.

   None of that made what she was about to do all that much easier. 
Slowly, with shaking hands, Angela undid the top button of the dress shirt.
This was the longest she'd been fully covered since the start of this
ordeal, and now she was taking her clothes off again.  It was even worse
than if she'd just been naked the whole time.

   "This thing has a timer, Angela," Mark said, when she was halfway down
the shirt.  "We don't have all day."

   Angela sniffed, suppressing a tear, and quickly undid the rest of the
buttons.  Then she shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, and let it fall
with her wrists still in the sleeves, like a glamour model posing for a
pin-up shot.  She turned around so that Mark could see the writing on her
back.

   Mark thanked her, and started typing.  She'd seen him type quite fast
earlier, but now he was slowly pecking the keys between long looks at her.

   "I thought there was a timer," she said.

   "Gotta make sure I get this right.  Take a step back."

   She did so, and felt a finger on her back.  Mark was tracing the lines.
The pace of his keyboard tapping increased.

   Mark's finger traveled lower and lower down her back, till he was poking
her butt.  Then the typing seemed to slow down again.

   "Hey!" Angela cried.  "Don't enjoy this so much!  And hover that
finger!"

   Mark, chastened, did as he was told.  He typed a few more characters,
and then paused.

   "Why did you stop?" Angela asked.

   "The last few letters are covered up."

   She knew what that meant.  With a sigh, Angela pulled up her arms and
let the shirt fall from her wrists.  The typing resumed.

   "Turn around," Mark said.

   Angela did as she was told.  Now she was facing Mark, from mere inches
away, with her arms at her sides.  His eyes were glued to her, and it took
a minute for him to start typing again.  He reached out a guiding hand.

   "None of that!" Angela snapped, slapping away a finger that was coming
perilously close to her chest.  "That real estate is off-limits." Of
course, Mark had already written across her boobs, but she couldn't just
let him touch them again.

   Mark's typing was slower, but he obeyed her wishes.  Having something go
her own way for once today made Angela feel a little better about
presenting herself so openly to a casual acquaintance she was coming to
dislike.

   At last, the code was completed.  Mark pressed Enter on the keyboard,
and the computer churned for a few minutes, before flashing a bright green
check mark.  A mechanical female voice said, "Authorization code accepted.
Please destroy this code at once."

   Mark smiled at Angela.  "Thanks for your help.  I forgot to mention,
you're going to have to clean that off."

   "Well duh." Angela made a face.  "Of course I'm going to clean this mess
off!"

   Mark's face was hard and serious.  "I mean now.  There's a shower in
downstairs, three doors to your right."

   That was a bit weird, but Angela supposed it would be okay.  A shower
sounded kind of nice, honestly.  She bent down to pick up her shirt, but
Mark was standing on it.

   "Some of the letters rubbed off on it a bit," he said, pointing at a few
black marks on the shirt.  "I'll have to destroy it.  Which is what my Mom
would have made me do anyway."

   Angela's jaw dropped in disbelief.  "Can't that at least wait until I
get home?"

   "Nope, we take security very seriously." Mark was already gathering up
the shirt in his arms as he said this.  "Now go wash yourself off,
thoroughly.  There should be a few bars of industrial soap in that bathroom
you can use."

   "Like this?" Angela cried, gesturing to her naked body.

   "Most people shower in the nude, yeah."

   "But can't you at least give me the shirt to wear into the bathroom?"

   "What for?  There's no-one here.  Just go shower, I'll figure out a plan
for something you can wear." Mark was curt, dismissive, and there was a
threatening undercurrent in his voice.  Angela suddenly felt afraid,
remembered the force with which he'd flopped her over on the grass.  The
feeling of being trapped as he loomed over, scrawling with his marker.

   Looking down at her bare feet, Angela trudged out of the room as Mark
held the door open for her.  He was hanging back to do a few more things on
the computer, so she'd have to find the shower on her own.  Though that was
preferable to spending any more time with Mark than absolutely necessary.

   She walked past the same boring open-plan offices, but it felt a bit
different now that she was naked.  She imagined herself sitting on one of
the swivel chairs, working hard at a laptop.  Her hair was done up nicely,
she had on a necklace, was wearing a fashionable pair of glasses and shiny
black pumps.  But nothing else.  No clothes.  The leather felt cool against
her backside.  She looked up from her laptop.  Everyone else in the office
was normal, clothed, except for naked Angela.

   She shook the vision out of her mind.  No, she was Angela, just Angela.
Nice, normal Angela.  She didn't even own any tops that showed cleavage. 
She'd had clothes before, and she'd have them again.  One weird, unlucky
day did not define her.  Would not define her.

   The bathroom was where Mark said it would be.  It was a male bathroom,
but there didn't seem to be female one anywhere near by, so that would have
to do.  Angela slipped inside.

   It was really no different from a female bathroom, aside from the
urinals on the walls.  The shower was in a corner of the room, and didn't
look like it was used often.  A stack of large soap bars was piled on top
of one of the sinks.  There were no towels, naturally.

   Angela grabbed a bar of soap and stepped into the shower.  She turned
the hot and cold taps on, and let the water come down warm up for few
seconds before stepping underneath it.  It felt good, rejuvenating.  And
for the first time today, Angela's nudity was not out of place in her
surroundings.  That also felt good.  Felt normal.

   The marks on her skin came off with just a little bit of scrubbing. 
Angela smiled at this; she felt as though she was rubbing Mark's unwanted
touches off her body as well.  A funny thought occurred to her: although
she was glad to be rubbing off the ink, she was making herself more naked
by doing so.  It didn't really matter, it mattered even less than losing
her shoes and socks did, but it was still kind of true.  Ink was a kind of
covering.  And maybe with enough...  She'd seen pictures where a model
would have an entire outfit painted on her body, and it wouldn't be obvious
that she was naked until you looked really close.  Maybe that was Mark's
idea for her next outfit: a black marker leotard.  Although if that was the
case he probably wouldn't have made her shower.

   Sharon.  Mark.  Tammy.  The blonde lady.  The big teenager.  Angela was
getting pretty sick of others getting to decide on her outfits.  Especially
because they all seemed to pick "no outfit" most of the time.

   Angela closed both shower taps and stepped out of the shower, dripping
on the tiled floor.  She inspected herself in the mirror, lifting each
breast, and then turning and rising on tip-toes to get a full view of her
butt.  All the ink was gone, as though it had never been there.  Satisfied,
she turned her attention to drying off.

   The bathroom had a hand blow dryer, which she wiggled and shook in front
of to dry off her skin.  She worked at doing the same with her hair,
running her fingers through it in lieu of a comb, but gave up while it was
still mildly damp.  At least it was freshly trimmed.

   She took another look at herself in the mirror, arranged her hair so it
fell over her breasts, and then turned to go.

   A car pulled off in the distance, and her heart jumped into her throat.

   Angela burst out of the bathroom, coming face to face with a sticky note
that had been freshly stuck up on the opposite wall.  She tore it down and
started reading.

   "Hey Ang, had to run, Billy emergency at home.  Back soon, hang tight."

   And of course, there was no sign of the shirt.

   But what was even worse was the sound Angela heard next.  The tell-tale
beeping of an alarm system about to engage.  Something Mark had neglected
to mention.



   Chapter Seven: The Bureau

   In a matter of seconds, the alarm would engage, and Angela would have to
explain to a bunch of security guards what she was doing in a high-security
engineering office she didn't work at on a Saturday afternoon.  And why she
wasn't wearing any clothes, but that would be the least of her worries.

   To avoid that, she needed to move, fast.  But a crucial choice gripped
her.  Mark hadn't brought the shirt down from the upper floor for her, but
it might still be somewhere up there.  Then again, he might also have taken
it back with him, to destroy it or whatever, or he may have even left it on
the floor in the high-security computer room that Angela didn't have the
right fingerprints to get into.

   Even if it was accessible, there was no time to fetch it.  Angela told
herself this on repeat as she sprinted through the corridor, down the last
set of stairs, and into the building's lobby, the wind at her sides.  Bare
feet slapped against tiles as she ran for the door, slammed the open
button, and slid out into the parking lot.

   The door clicked and locked behind her, and she heard the final series
of beeps that meant the alarm had engaged.  There was no going back now.

   Angela stepped gingerly through the parking lot, casting glances back at
the office building.  She didn't appreciate being abandoned there by Mark,
but at least it was private and empty.  Now she was out in public again and
any random passerby might spot her.

   Something was hanging in one of the upper floor windows of the office
building, Angela noticed.  It couldn't be.  It was!  A blue square, which
could only be Mark's shirt, was hanging up on a third floor window handle.
It looked to be missing a few patches from the back, but still appeared
very much wearable.

   Angela threw her head back and screamed.  Tears streamed from her eyes,
and she raged and stomped around the parking lot.  If she had just taken a
little less time in the shower, or a bit less time trying to dry her hair!
If she had just chosen to check upstairs before leaving!  Maybe she could
have made it, and she would have had a shirt.

   But no, she had to sprint to outrun the alarm.  She had had just enough
time to get out and no more.  And she hadn't known about it when she was
showering, nor had she known Mark would abandon her with a mere note.

   Now she had nothing.  No shirt, no shoes, no phone (she'd left it drying
on grass at Mark's), and no idea when or if Mark would come back for her.
She wrapped her arms tight around her body in a pitiful self-embrace.

   As if to prove to her that things could still get worse, a police siren
ripped through the air.  It was coming this way.  Angela knew if she was
caught by the police, she'd be arrested for indecent exposure.  That was
not how she needed to end this horrible, horrible day.  She glanced back at
the office.  No cover there, not even an alcove or a tree to hide behind.
So she ran.

   The police siren neared.  Angela sprinted down the sidewalk, bare feet
slapping against asphalt, breasts heaving and making her wish for her
sports bra with every step.  The police car was going to come down this
street any moment now, and she was still too far from the nearest alley. 
There was no way she could outrun it.

   There!  There was an open door to the building on her left, and it
didn't look like there were any people inside.  Angela turned on a dime and
sprinted up two steps at a time, clearing the entrance and diving to one
side of it just as the police car turned the corner.  Breathing hard, she
crouched against the wall and waiting for the car to pass by.

   The siren soon faded into the distance.  The police car hadn't come to
arrest her, either for breaking into Mark's office or for running around
town in the altogether.  But now that the immediate threat was gone, she
had a thought.  Didn't people who got arrested for public nudity usually
get bundled into coats or blankets?  Would that...  could that be worth it,
actually?  Trying to solve this problem by herself hadn't exactly been
working out so far.  Everything she did just seemed to expose her to more
people.

   The police car was long gone, so it was too late to change her mind
about being arrested.  She looked around the dim, vacant lobby she'd found
herself in.  As her eyes adjusted to the weak light, she noticed a signpost
with some writing on it that was far too good to be true.  She got up and
moved closer, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.  But
sure enough, there it was.

   "2nd floor: Bureau of Clothing"

   And then, underneath it, in smaller letters:

   "Give me your poor, your tired, your naked.  Free coverings for all who
need them.  Open 24/7."

   A charity!  A clothing charity that explicitly mentioned "your naked",
i.e.  herself!  And this one wouldn't require payment with money she didn't
have.  Maybe she wouldn't need to get arrested after all.

   Angela put her hair back in place and covered herself with her arms. 
She proceeded cautiously, but optimistically up the stairs, to the local
office of the Bureau of Clothing.

   As she ascended the last few steps, a reception desk came into view. 
Behind this desk sat a neat little man in spectacles and a sweatervest. 
"Bureau of Clothing, how may I ass--- oh!  Oh wow!"

   Angela sheepishly made her way to the counter, arms wrapped tight around
her body.  "Hi," she said.

   "Good afternoon, ma'am," said the man at the desk.  "Welcome to the
Bureau of Clothing, one part of the three-pronged National Helping Hands
Initiative, in which our government has pledged to feed the hungry, heal
the sick and clothe the naked."

   "Yes, great, I'm the naked.  Could I get some clothes, please?"

   "Certainly, ma'am!  Just sign the entrance register here and we'll kick
off the process." The man held a pen out in front of Angela.

   Angela frowned.  "Would it be possible to, uh, get some clothes first?"
she asked.  "I've, uh, got my hands full here."

   "Procedure is procedure, I'm afraid," the man replied, his voice
sickeningly chipper.  "Just follow the process and we'll have you dressed
in no time."

   "What about your sweatervest?  Could you let me wear it, just for a
bit?"

   The man put a shocked hand to his mouth.  "Heavens no!  That would be a
gender mismatch.  The big bosses would have my head!  No, no, we must
follow the proper procedure."

   Maybe this place hadn't been the godsend it initially seemed after all.
Getting clothing out of these people might take a while.  Angela turned to
leave, but felt a hand on her upper arm.

   "Please don't go," said the man.  "We want to help you, we really do. 
We haven't had a full nude in ages!  Please, sign the register, and we'll
get you some clothes."

   The man seemed genuine enough.  And whatever happened in here, well, it
was probably preferable to going outside and getting arrested.  Angela
reluctantly pulled her right hand away from covering her crotch and took
the pen.  She filled in her name, cellphone number and reason for visiting
("To get clothes") in the blocks provided and signed at the end.

   "Alright then, that's all in order, right this way please!" The man
motioned for Angela to enter a door to his left.  She thanked him
half-heartedly and proceeded through, holding her right hand between her
backside and his spectacles.

   The room beyond was a standard public office, with rows of ancient
chairs against the walls, and a few snaking mazes of stanchions leading to
windows, behind which bored government employees sat.  Angela's entry
raised a few murmurs from these individuals, but no-one rushed out to help
her.

   Thankfully, there were no lines, or indeed anyone other than the place's
staff.  Angela walked over to the first window and greeted the woman behind
it.  The woman's eyes betrayed a very slight spark of life, but she said
nothing.

   "I'm here about some clothes," Angela said, feeling ridiculous.

   "I can see that," the woman replied, her eyes traveling slowly up and
down Angela's body.  "This counter's for footwear needs, you'll want the
next one."

   While Angela did have some footwear needs, shoes were not her most
pressing concern just then.  She thanked the lady and moved to the next
counter, which was staffed by another, almost identical lady.

   "Hello, I need some clothes," Angela said.

   "You need more than I can give you.  This counter's for tops, you'll
want the next one over."

   "I don't have a top."

   "Yes, I can see that.  You don't have anything.  Next counter."

   Angela sighed and move to the next counter, which was staffed by a fat,
bald man, who licked his lips as she approached.  Angela shuddered, and
said, again, "Hello, I need some clothes."

   "This counter's for bottoms.  You're looking for whole outfits, next one
over.  Can't have ladies running around topless."

   "Really?  But it's fine to have them run around naked, like you're
making me do?"

   The man smiled.  "We're here to help, but you need to follow procedure.
It's the only way to get it right."

   Angela moved to the next counter, where she found a bright, smiling
young lady with red hair and sparkling blue eyes.  She wore a lovely tan
blouse and blue mini-blazer.  Her nametag read "Kate".  She seemed far too
alive for this place, and closer to Angela's age than any of the others.

   "Hello there," said Kate, a sympathetic look on her face as she looked
Angela up and down.  "You look like you've been through a lot today.  But
you've come to the right place."

   Angela sighed in deep relief.  "Thank you.  Please, tell me what I have
to do to get some clothes."

   Kate leaned on her counter and pointed towards a desk in the corner of
the room.  "Grab a copy of form 3A, fill it in with your details and bring
it back to me.  That'll be enough for us to kick things off."

   "This seems like an awful lot of admin for a naked girl who just needs
something to cover herself.  Can't you just give me something to wear?  At
least something temporary, like a gown?"

   A musical peal of laughter escaped Kate's lips.  "Oh honey, this is a
government department.  We'll do our best for you, but we just don't have
the resources to give out temporary gowns to all comers."

   Angela scowled.  "But the sign outside literally says that you will give
clothes out to all comers!"

   "All comers who follow the process," corrected Kate.  "We need some
information from you so that we can allocate you the right clothes,
tailored to your needs.  Well, not literally tailored, but you get my
meaning."

   Angela had a vision of Tammy's bedroom.  Was this just going to be a
boring, drawn-out and bueraucratic version of that?  She hoped not.

   "Form 3A," repeated Kate.  "Come now, you must be getting cold."

   "Yes, I am," Angela said between gritted teeth, before slinking off the
find the form.

   The desk in the corner of the room had a few scattered papers on it, one
of which appeared to be a dog-eared, faded copy of Form 3A, Full Outfit
Application for Totally Naked Individuals (TNIs).  That described her
pretty well.  She grabbed the pen in her right hand and lent over to fill
in the form, left arm still covering her breasts.  Her lower body was by
necessity exposed, with her rump protruding.  She tried to tune out the low
whispers of the place's employees and pretend that they weren't all looking
at her.

   The pen took a few tried before any ink came out of it, and the little
boxes on the form were the smallest she'd ever seen.  Face screwed up with
concentration, she slowly filled in her personal details.  There didn't
appear to be another copy of Form 3A, and if she screwed this one up they'd
probably send her bare ass packing.  Kate would act apologetic about it
though.

   Name, surname, nationality, sex, age, address, contact details, favorite
color...  past the personal details section, the questions on the form got
a bit strange.  In addition to her favorite color, it asked where her
favorite place to do clothes shopping was and what her monthly clothing
budget was.  Sensing a trap, she filled in N/A for the first and $0 for the
second.  Didn't need them deciding she didn't qualify for help just because
she wasn't usually naked.

   It also asked when last she'd been to a nudist beach (truthfully: never)
and if she'd participated in any orgies over the last month (gross!).  She
filled in "none" for fabric allergies, checked "No" next to "Do you suffer
from vestiphobia or related phobias?" and put an even bigger check on "No"
next to "Do you feel comfortable in your own skin?"

   The last question on the form read, "For how long have you been without
clothes?" Angela glanced around the room and spotted a wall clock.  The
time was almost 3pm.  Her hairdresser's appointment had been at 7am.  "12
hours", she wrote, and it made her want to cry.

   Angela sniffed and put the pen aside.  She picked up the form and held
it against her front, using her free hand to cover the butt that baldy had
been making lewd comments about the whole time she'd been writing. 
Probably thought she couldn't hear them, but the prolonged humiliation of
public nudity had heightened all her senses.  She felt every gust of wind,
heard every low whisper and shocked gasp.  She saw every look of disgust,
disapproval and pity.

   "Here you go," said Angela to Kate, pushing the form through the gap
under the glass.

   "Thank you, Angela," replied Kate, smiling beautifully.  "And might I
just say, I love what you've done with your hair."

   Angela coiled a strand around her finger.  "I've certainly paid for it
today."

   Kate scanned over the form, turned it around to look at the other side,
and then nodded.  "This all looks in order," she said.  "Please take a
seat, and I'll call you when we've finished processing."

   Kate smiled and disappeared from the window.

   Angela walked over to a row of chairs against the wall and sat down on
one, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.  She glanced
over the room.  The people behind the windows all had their heads down,
pretending to do something, ignoring her.  The man would occasionally
glance up at her.

   Angela yawned.  How long would they keep her waiting?  The room's stuffy
air made her feel drowsy, but not enough to sleep.  She would have need
horse tranquilizers to fall asleep while naked in public.  So she sat and
stared at the wall.

   Eventually, Angela heard a door to her right creak open.  "Right this
way, Angela," Kate said, peaking her head out.

   Angela stood up and approached the door.  She gasped at what she saw
there.  Beautiful, elegant Kate was naked from the waist down!  Angela
caught a flash of red landing strip and then dutifully averted cast her
eyes down at the woman's high-heels.

   Kate reached out to touch her shoulder and usher her through the
doorway. "This way," she said, heels clacking down the narrow corridor. 
She had a small, round butt.  Angela scurried to walk abreast of her,
though the space barely allowed it.

   "You're not wearing any panties!" she hissed.  "You're a Bureau of
Clothing official and you're not even fully dressed!"

   "Budget cuts," Kate replied nonchalantly.  "I spend most of my time
behind a window, so the higher ups decided it didn't matter if I wore
anything below the counter.  And there's always a need for more clothing to
give to deserving cases like you."

   "Even underwear?"

   "That's usually the first to go." The way Kate's blouse shifted as she
walked let Angela know that she wasn't wearing a bra either.

   Angela recalled the protestations of the man out front when she'd asked
for his sweatervest.  Maybe he would have given it to her if she'd been a
man.  That...  appeared to be how things worked here?  She suddenly felt a
new respect for the Bureau staff, especially brave, bottomless Kate.

   The corridor opened up into a large open room, which was furnished with
a desk to one side, a stool in the middle, and a treadmill next to the
stool.

   Kate cupped her hands over her mouth and called, "Horatio, I've got a
new TNI for you!  Female, mid-twenties."

   A door on the other side of the room flew open, and in stepped a small,
hunchbacked old man in a dark suit.  He was both bald and clean shaven,
walked with a stick and gave off the impression of a turtle.  Angela
shuddered as his hungry gaze drank her in.

   "Thank you, Kate," said the turtle-man, Horatio.  He looked down at a
paper he was holding.  "I have a copy of...  Angela...  right here." He
shuffled over to the two women, moving at a rapid pace for one so old and
unsteady.

   "Delighted to meet you, Angela," he said.  And then he took her hand,
her right hand which hovered in front of her crotch, brought it up to his
lips, and kissed it.  "Let's get you...  measured."

   Angela chuckled uncomfortably as the man produced a tape measure from an
inner coat pocket.

   Kate nodded to Angela, then Horatio, and turned to go.  "Ah, Kate," said
Horatio, stopping her.  "Before you...  go.  The Riverview branch... 
contacted me.  They need...  a blouse.  It's urgent."

   Kate stood motionless with her back to Horatio.  A moment passed, and
Angela thought she detected a flicker of anguish pass across the young
lady's features.  It was a look she knew well.

   Kate stood still for a moment longer.  Then she slowly nodded, and
shrugged her shoulders.  Her blazer fell to the ground.  Then there was a
flash of red and white as flicked her hear forward and pulled her blouse
overhead.  It was the fastest Angela had even seen someone strip.  And all
of a sudden, she wasn't the only naked woman in the room.

   Kate's heels clacked across the floor as she strode purposefully towards
what looked like a mail chute in a corner of the room.  She folded her
blouse into a neat bundle and deposited it.

   "They'll...  appreciate it," said Horatio.

   Kate turned around to face Angela, and walked over to retrieve her
blazer.  Her breasts were about the same size as Angela's, but a little
perkier on Kate's larger frame.  But Angela only caught them in the corner
of her eye, as her gaze locked on Kate's.  The two naked women shared a
moment of understanding, before Kate picked up her blazer, put it on and
did up the buttons.  Angela was briefly jealous, but decided she couldn't
begrudge the woman her single item of clothing, which barely came down past
her navel.

   Once Kate had departed, Horatio looked away from the entrance and back
at Angela.  "On the stool," he said.

   Angela did as she was told.

   "Arms out," Horatio said, snapping his tape measure.

   Angela shot him a pleading look.

   "Arms...  out.  We need...  measurements."

   With great reluctance, Angela pried her arms from the spots they were
covering and stretched them out at her sides, giving Horatio a full view of
her breasts and bush.

   Horatio licked his lips and went to work.

   He measured her height.  5'2".  He measured her bust, waist and hips,
lingering on the first and last.  34-30-40.  He took some additional
measurements of each breast, admonishing Angela to keep still.  Then he
measured the length of her legs, arms, and torso, then the circumference of
each calf and thigh.  He measured her head from all sides, and measured the
length of her hair.  He measured her feet, down, across and up.

   Despite Angela's whimpering protestations, he measured the inside of her
thighs, assuring her it was necessary if she really, truly wanted clothes.
He made her get off the stool for this and stand with her legs spread.

   As he measured, his wrinkly fingers brushed her pussy lips, and she
shuddered in revulsion.  This was assault.  This whole thing was just
wrong. She felt like running far away, letting the whole world see her
body, if only to get away from those hands.

   But then it was over, and Horatio put his tape measure away.  "Now... 
fitness," he said, motioning towards the treadmill.

   Exactly why a fitness assessment was required to give her clothes,
Angela couldn't guess.  Maybe they wanted to know if she should get active
wear or casual wear, something stupid and pedantic like that.  At this
point, she was just going with it.  Getting clothes at the end would be
worth it.  Even if she had nightmares about this horrible man fingering her
for a month.

   So Angela dutifully stepped off the stool and onto the treadmill. 
Horatio brandished two handfuls of suction cups on wires and started
gleefully sticking them on her tummy, her legs, her arms, her boobs and her
ass.  Why not?  If this was a real government department, she was going to
have to lay a complaint later.

   The treadmill started, and Angela was running.  Slowly at first, but at
an ever increasing pace.  She watched the speed counter tick up, and up,
and up.  She pumped her legs and arms, faster and faster.  Hair flew
around, breasts bounced, ass and thighs jiggled.  Horatio was transfixed.

   The pace kept on increasing, and Angela struggled to keep up.  She was
breathing hard now, sweat dripping from her forehead and down her torso. 
Some of the suction cups came loose and fell off, but Horatio didn't seem
in a hurry to do anything about that.  Faster and faster she ran.

   Finally, Horatio glanced at the small rectangular device that was on the
other end of the suction cup wires and said, "Enough," hitting a button. 
The treadmill quietened, slowed down, and Angela came to a jogging stop. 
Her body glistened with sweat, and she stumbled off the treadmill and fell
to her knees with exhaustion, then sank to the floor in a heap, butt in the
air.

   A splash of cold water on her back startled her, and she turned over. 
Horatio loomed over her, holding a water bottle.  "Open," he said.  She
opened her mouth, and he poured the rest of the water bottle into her face.
She gulped down greedily, coughing and spluttering.

   When she was done coughing, Horatio helped her to her feet.  Her skin
was streaked with gray dust from the floor, that had mingled with her sweat
and the water.  Horatio produced a clipboard, jotted down some final notes,
and then looked up at her and motioned towards the door at the far end of
the room.  "You may...  proceed."

   "Thank you," she said, still catching her breath.  Then, shakily, she
walked towards the door, feeling the old man's eyes take one last, long,
loving look at her backside.

   She pushed down the door's handle and opened it a crack, just enough to
poke her head around.  "Hello?" she said.

   "Ah, you must be Angela!" came a booming, self-assured male voice from
the next room.  "Come in, come in!"

   The presence of a new man immediately returned Angela's
self-consciousness, and she slowly pushed open the door, pressing her front
against it and covering her behind with her left arm.

   "Of course, of course, you're the TNI," said the man inside the room,
locking his pale blue eyes on her own.  "Take your time, everything at your
own pace."

   The man sat on an armchair in the middle of the room, which was
positioned beside a psychologist's couch.  These were the room's only items
of furniture.

   Dr Paul, as he introduced himself, looked to be in his late thirties. 
He had a brown beard and was balding, with brown hair that only grew on the
sides and back of his head.  He was wearing black suit trousers with shiny
black shoes and had a tie slung loosely around his neck.  His hairy,
muscled torso was bare.  Between him and Kate, Angela's hopes of getting
adequate clothing for herself were falling fast.

   "You appear to have some concerns about my attire," said Dr Paul.  "Let
me assure you that we BoC staffers are at the bottom of the list when it
comes to getting clothes.  We're a selfless lot, giving the very shirts off
our back to help the less fortunate."

   Angela smiled weakly, her body still pressed up against the door.

   "Now, please take a seat on my couch.  Don't worry, ma'am, I'll look
away while you approach."

   Dr Paul turned his head to face the far wall, and Angela peeled herself
off the door.  She pulled her dark hair forward so it fell over her breasts
and walked to the couch, where she lay down carefully, keeping both hands
in her lap.

   Once she was settled, Dr Paul looked back at her, resuming his intense
eye contact.  After that pervert Horatio, she appreciated that.

   "Now, Angela, I just have to do a quick mental evaluation, and then
we'll have everything we need to get you those clothes you've been looking
forward to.  You've been very patient with us, and the Bureau thanks you
for your understanding.  It's been a long time since we've had a TNI, so
we're all a little rusty on the procedure."

   Angela smiled.  "As long as I get those clothes."

   "Right, right, and of course you will.  I just have to run through a few
questions with you.  First question: do you wear clothes at home?"

   "Yes, always."

   Dr Paul noted her answer down on his notepad.  "Have you ever gone
skinny dipping?"

   Angela made a face.  "No, and I definitely won't now!" This was a lie.

   "Do you wear clothes during sex?"

   Angela harrumphed indignantly.  "What kind of question is that?"

   "Yes or no, please ma'am."

   "...No, of course not.  But I don't see what that has to do with
anything!"

   "Do you enjoy being the center of attention?"

   "No!" Angela screamed.  "I'd give anything for people to just ignore me
again!"

   "Do you have any exhibitionist tendencies?"

   "Dr Paul, I have gone through hell today trying to get dressed.  I don't
like people seeing me naked!"

   Pen scratched against paper.  Then Dr Paul asked, "Would you rather be
topless or bottomless?"

   "Neither!"

   Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow.  "Choose one."

   Angela pouted.  "...Bottomless, I guess.  A bit easier to hide,
especially if your top is long enough, at least some of the time.  But
really, honestly, neither!"

   "If you were trapped on a tropical island and your clothes rotted away,
would you make new ones out of leaves?"

   What kind of questions were these?  "I would," Angela answered.  "But
knowing my luck, they'd just get stolen by wild animals, or maybe I'd be
allergic to all the leaves on the island."

   "What is your best feature?"

   "My cute little nose."

   "Below the neck?"

   "My strong calves." She wasn't playing this game.

   "Worst feature?"

   Angela thought for a moment.  "It's a tie between my boobs, butt and
vagina."

   Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow.  "You don't really believe that."

   Angela sighed.  "My thighs are a little flabby."

   Dr Paul made a couple more noted on his pad.  "Thank you, Angela, we're
done here.  Please proceed to the next room when you're ready." He stuck
out a hand to shake, and Angela took it.  Then he stood up and pulled her
into a hug.  His chest hairs tickled her skin.

   "I really think we've made a breakthrough here, Angela," he said in her
ear.  "I'll so happy you came to see me!" And she could feel it too.

   His strong arms made her feel warm and protected.  Maybe, under
different circumstances...  but not now.  She was too confused, too
vulnerable.  And what could he possibly mean "breakthrough"?  She hadn't
even been here ten minutes, or been asked any serious questions.

   Dr Paul released her from the hug and shut his eyes, grinning from ear
to ear.

   "Thank you, doctor," Angela said, as she slipped across the room and to
the next, hopefully final door.

   The room beyond was even emptier than the last two had been, and was
completely dark.  There was a painted wooden board in the middle, in front
of which was a...  camera.  Angela froze up, and darted to stand behind the
camera.

   "It's okay, Angela," came a familiar voice, speaking from somewhere in
the roof.  It was the sweatervest man at the front desk.  "The camera won't
engage until you're standing behind the clothing board."

   Angela glanced at what the man had called "the clothing board".  It was
one of those gimmicky picture frame things with cartoon characters who had
cut-outs for heads.  You were supposed to stand behind it and take a
picture with yourself on the body of a strong man or a princess.  But
instead of cartoons, this board had a life-size photograph of a 1950s
couple.  The man wore a suit, and the woman a modest red dress with white
polka dots.

   "Just step behind the board so we can take a picture for our records,"
said the man.

   Angela couldn't speak.  "Is this a joke?" she stammered at last.  "I'm
still standing here naked, after all your forms and tests and questions,
and you want me to pose for a picture!"

   "Not a naked picture!" clarified the man.  "You'll be completely covered
by the board.  Look, this is the last part of the procedure, and then I'll
give you your outfit.  I have it right here, ready to wear."

   The man's assurances calmed Angela down substantially.  "I guess I've
played along so far..." She took a few steps and positioned her head in the
cut-out of the 50s housewife.

   "Good, good," came the man's voice.  "Say clothes!"

   "Clothes!" Angela shouted, beaming in anticipation of her long-awaited
outfit.  She wondered if it would be the same as the one on the board. 
Old-fashioned, but cute enough.  She could make it work.

   The camera flashed, and she was done.

   "Out the door to your left," said the voice.

   This door was already open, and Angela stepped through it.  She was back
on the stairwell, face-to-face with the chipper, sweatervested man.

   "Congratulations, Angela, you are the...  first...  Totally Naked
Individual to come through a Bureau of Clothing assessment and receive an
outfit scientifically formulated to your body, personality and priorities."

   "Great!" said Angela.  "Where is it?"

   "One moment." The man ducked behind his counter, rummaged around for a
moment, and then appeared again, smiling triumphantly.  "Here we go!  One
outfit, custom designed for Miss Angela."

   The man was not holding any clothing, nor were there any shirts, skirts,
pants or even panties and bras hanging on the wall behind him.  Angela
feared the worst.

   "I...  I don't see it."

   "It's right here," the man continued, proudly pointing at his
outstretched palm.

   Angela glanced down.  "You've got to be joking."

   In the man's hand was a single loop of elasticised black fabric.  A
hair-tie.

   "Please, please, try it on." The man's smile got even wider.  "This
really is my favorite part of the job!"

   Maybe he was giving her one piece of her outfit at a time, thought
Angela.  Yeah, that must be it.  Another bureaucratic process.  Starting
with the top of her head, working down to the tips of her toes.  She
reached out and plucked the hair-tie from his outstretched palm.

   The man looked at her expectantly.  "Go on, put it on."

   She coughed, glancing severely down at the arm in front of her breasts.
So far this was like the only guy she'd met today who hadn't seen her
nipples, and she would have liked to keep it that way.

   The man didn't get the hint, but repeated his exhortation for Angela to
put on the hair-tie.

   Angela sighed wearily and relented.  She dropped her arms to her side
and pulled her hair back, then slipped the hair-tie around it and snapped
it into place.

   The man clapped.  "There we are!  The outfit looks great on you!"

   The outfit, he had said.  There wasn't going to be anything else.

   Angela was fuming.  "The outfit indeed!  I came here, asking for
clothes, and you promised you had them for me.  Then you not only kept my
naked, wasting my time with forms and weird questions, but brought in old
man to grope me!  All so you could give me a hair-tie!  A hair-tie, so I
could pull my hair away from my boobs, and let you ogle them, you pervert
freak!"

   The man's smile fell instantly.  "Calm down, ma'am, or I will have to
ask you to leave.  This outfit is scientifically formulated to your unique
situation, using the latest advances in clothing science."

   "You can take your clothing science and shove it up your ass!" Angela
screamed, turning around and stomping off towards the stairwell.

   The sound of skin slapping against concrete came up the stairwell, and a
lanky, curly haired man man came running towards the Bureau.  He was
completely naked, with both hands clasped firmly over his crotch.  He
stopped dead at the sight of Angela, and they locked eyes.

   Angela felt a flash of envy for him, having such an easy job of covering
himself.  "Good luck getting anything decent out of these assholes," she
said, as she passed him on the steps.  "It sure didn't work for me."