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

   Chapter Eight: The Club

   Brimming with righteous fury, Angela stormed down the staircase, out of
the building and halfway down the street, too mad to even pay attention to
where she was going.  There was no-one around, but even if there had been,
she might not have noticed.  The sun was setting and she had wasted her
whole afternoon for a hair-tie.

   Which was still around her hair.  She had endured all that for something
that actually made her feel more naked.  Anger dissipated and was replaced
with embarrassment, keen awareness that she was standing naked in the
middle of a public sidewalk, and wasn't even covering herself with her
arms. Angela undid the hair-tie, sliding it onto her wrist and let her hair
fall back over her front.

   Just then, someone stepped out of a nearby fire exit.  It was a naked
woman.  No, almost naked --- topless with a g-string and heels.  Her hair
was platinum blonde and her makeup was almost comically overdone.  She was
a good six inches taller than Angela, and her figure was a perfect
hourglass.

   "Got a light?" she asked Angela, a cigarette between her fingers.

   "No, sorry," Angela replied.

   The woman frowned, then said, "I'll go get one from the dressing room,"
and turned around to go back in.  She glanced over her shoulder at Angela
and looked her up and down.  "You wearing a merkin?"

   Angela blushed, too embarrassed to answer.

   "Brave choice.  Lots of guys, they don't like that.  But some do, I
hear."

   Angela glanced down at her bush.  She'd never shaved it.  After its
heroic pussy-covering service today, she never would.

   The stripper disappeared back through the fire exit.  The phrase
"dressing room" stuck in Angela's mind.  A dressing room in a strip club.
What better place for a naked girl to get something to wear?  This was one
place were no-one would bat an eye seeing a naked woman walk past them,
where she could actually blend in.  She just needed to find the dressing
room, get a gown or something and then...

   Then she would be lost in the middle of town, without a phone or any
money.  But she would dressed.  And then anything would be possible.  She
could probably borrow one of the stripper's phones and call...  Rachel,
maybe?  If she'd just called her actual best friend in the first place, she
could have gotten dressed in the strip mall bathroom, rather than running
around town naked all day.

   Go inside.  Find the dressing room.  Get dressed.  Phone Rachel.  A
simple plan.

   But if she was going to go into a strip club looking like one of the
strippers, she would need to act the part.  That meant no more crouching,
no more covering and no more hiding behind things.  She would need to walk
casually, even slowly, and pretend to be completely comfortable in the
nude. Around lots of horny men.

   Angela straightened her back and put her hands at her sides.  Now she
was stiff, so she wiggled around a bit, shaking her arms and legs and body
to get loose.  Casual.  At ease.  Comfortable.

   Taking a deep breath in and out, Angela stepped through the fire escape.
A winding flight of metal stairs greeted her.  The steps were cold against
her bare feet.

   At the top, she had to use her elbow to open the heavy fire door a crack
and slip through.  Now she was in the club.  It was mercifully dark, but
she could see strippers walking about, and men of all descriptions sitting
around tables.  She bit her lip, fighting the urge to pull her arms around
herself.

   Casual, easy, she told herself.  Sensual, even.  Gotta look the part. 
And so Angela, who cried the first time she wore a bikini at the beach,
strutted naked through a strip club.  Every sense screamed at her to run,
or at least power-walk, but she forced herself to keep it slow, and even
made a few feeble attempts to sway her hips.

   One thing that made her stand out from the other strippers was that she
was barefoot.  The other girls towered over in their heels, and many of
them were tall and slender, making Angela feel like a squat dwarf.  For all
the compliments and lustful looks she'd received today, she still sometimes
felt like her body was too short and too fat, especially in the presence of
such willowy beauties.

   But she could still feel eyes on her.  She was turning heads.  That made
her feel better.  But also worse.  Angela, the good girl, the straight-A
student, who never wore tops with cleavage, was now Angela the stripper, at
least for the moment.

   Where was the dressing room?  Probably near the stage.  Angela walked
towards the stage, where a woman with green hair was swinging around a pole
to the cheers and shouts of a crowd of men.

   "Excuse me," she whispered in the ear of the shortest stripper she had
seen so far, "I'm new here.  Where's the dressing room?"

   "Behind the stage, door to your left.  You can't miss it."

   "Thank you."

   Angela found the dressing room.  It was empty except for an older,
foreign-looking woman, who was fiddling with something by one of the
mirrors.  She had a bit of a stoop and was far too well-covered to be one
of the strippers.

   Not wishing to having to talk to this woman and possibly give herself
away, Angela tip-toed into the room, scanning for something to wear. 
Bingo, there was a coat-rack of hanging gowns right by the door.  All
Angela had to do was reach out and take one.  With a pang of guilt, she
noted that this was technically stealing, and she might be leaving one of
these girls without a gown.  But they had their street clothes here, and
she did not.  This was no different from the destitute stealing food to
feed their families.

   Thus resolved, Angela clutched a puffy crimson dressing gown, but was
interrupted by a sudden stream of chatter in another language.  The older
woman had noticed her.  And she seemed angry.

   Angela released the gown, but the woman continued to shout and
gesticulate.  "English, English, only," said Angela, but the woman paid her
no mind, grabbing her forcefully by the upper arm while continuing to
jabber incomprehensibly.

   The woman pulled her to the other side of the room and gestured
feverishly at a full-length mirror.  Angela looked at her reflection. 
Seeing herself head to toe under the dressing room's harsh lights, she
understood what the woman had been freaking out about.  She was a mess.

   Angela's hair was frizzed up and all over the place.  The light coat of
makeup she'd put on that morning was mostly gone, except from some
crying-smudged eye-shadow.  Streaks of dried dust and dirt peppered her
body, and her feet were filthy.

   "Muddy little piggy," said the woman through a heavy accent.  These
appeared to be her only three English words.  Then she pulled out a phone
and snapped a picture of Angela in the mirror.

   With surprising force, the woman grabbed Angela's shoulders and forced
her down in a chair.  She disappeared for a moment and then reappeared
carrying a large bowl of soapy water and a brush, which she sat down on the
table in front of Angela.  Then she began to scrub.

   The scrubbing was fast, rough, and thorough.  With surprising quickness,
the woman attacked every individual spot of dirt on Angela's body,
scrubbing her clean.  She then set to work on Angela's feet.  Two new bowls
of soapy water were required before those were cleaned to the woman's
satisfaction.

   "Th-thank you," Angela stammered, though feeling raw from the harsh
brush bristles.  She wiggled her pink toes and then started to get up, but
the woman shoved her back down.  She then wheeled a portable hairdresser's
sink from corner of the room, ran it, and started washing Angela's hair,
gently massaging conditioner and then shampoo into her scalp.  This felt
relaxing, even luxurious after the harsh body brushing.

   Once her hair was washed, the woman brushed and combed it, smoothing out
all the tangles.  She sprayed some more product on it, and then got out a
blow-drier and blasted Angela's hair into a bouncy blow-out.  This strange,
angry foreign stylist had done a far better job with her hair than Sharon
had managed.  This was a style worth undressing for.

   The stylist started immediately on Angela's makeup.  Thinking of the
clownish look of the stripper at the fire escape, Angela tried to protest,
but the stylist was having none of it.  Fortunately, she did a nice job,
applying product judiciously to enhance Angela's natural features.  She
smoothed Angela's skin, darkened and fulled out her lashes and reddened her
lips.  Angela focused intensely all the while, hoping to replicate some of
this brilliant woman's techniques on her own.

   Once her face was done, the stylist made Angela stand up and applied
some oils and foundation to her body, smoothing out her skin tone and
obscuring some of the redness from where she'd scrubbed earlier.  She
worked quickly and with a light touch, even taking out a tiny brush to
neaten Angela's pubic hair.

   Finally, the stylist sprinkled a light smattering of glitter on Angela's
face and body, focusing on areas normally covered.  Then she led her back
to the mirror, and held another mirror behind her.

   Angela's jaw dropped.  She looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a
magazine.  Or rather, given her state of undress, a Playboy centerfold. 
She was almost unrecognizably hot.  The stylist smiled proudly and took a
photo with her phone.  Now she had a before and after.

   "Ms.  Shenkovich sure works miracles, doesn't she?" said a voice behind
them.  It was the stripper from the fire escape.  "And just in time too. 
We've got a vacant spot in the stage schedule.  New girl, you're going to
have to fill in."

   "Oh, no, I---" Angela's words caught in her throat.  What was she going
to say?  That she, a stripper who had just received a full beauty
treatment, was going to decline an empty dance spot, an extra opportunity
to make money at the one part of her job that didn't involve getting up
close and personal with businessmen's hard-ons?  "I"---she glanced around
the room---"still need to get dressed.  You know, so I have something to
strip out of."

   Clothes, glorious clothes!  But once again, clothes that she would only
wear for a few minutes.

   "No time," insisted the stripper, grabbing Angela's arm.  "The last
bitch didn't even take off her top, so the guys are all blue-balled now. 
They'll appreciate you dispensing with the foreplay and just dancing au
naturel.  Especially the rug lovers and foot fuckers."

   As she was saying this, the stripped was pulling Angela out of the
dressing room, away from any chance of clothes, and towards a stage where
she would need to gyrate in front of a rowdy audience of horny men.  On
further reflection, she appreciated not having to dress in clothes she
would have to slowly remove for an audience.  She imagined herself trying
to unhook a bra on stage and just breaking down crying.  To stay naked was
better.  But it still wasn't good.

   "Come on, you'll do fine.  You're gorgeous, they'll love you." They were
behind the stage now.  "What's your name, by the way?"

   "Candy," said Angela.

   The stripper raised an eyebrow.  "I'm Star.  But you'll need to choose
something else.  We've already got a Candy.  And it doesn't really suit
your whole sweet, earthy girl-next-door vibe anyway.  What about Candice?"

   "Uh, sure."

   Star smiled.  "One tip, Candice.  You might want to put that hair-tie
around your ankle instead."

   Angela had forgotten about the hair-tie.  She pulled it off her wrist
and slid it over her foot.

   Star nodded approvingly.  "Vodka?" she asked, producing a couple of shot
glasses from somewhere.

   Angela downed hers, and then Star gave her the other one too.  "You look
like you could use a bit more." Angela obediently downed the second vodka
shot.  It dawned on her that she hadn't eaten all day.  Then Star slapped
Angela's ass and pushed her through the curtains.

   Time froze as Angela stood before the crowd, her eyes bouncing from
dimly lit face to dimly lit face.  Fat, thin, tall, short, old and young,
the audience was a cross-section of the town's adult male population.  And
all of their eyes were fixed on her naked body.

   Every fiber of Angela's being screamed at her to wrap her arms around
herself, to cower down and run off the stage, to get away, far away.  But
it was far, far too late for that.  In search of clothes, she had
impersonated a stripper.  In hindsight, a very stupid idea.  And now she
had to uphold the illusion.

   What was the alternative?  Make a run for it back through the fire
escape?  That would cause a commotion and bring her right back to square
one.  No, she had to play this part.  She would dance.  She would give
these men a show.  She would make them love her.  And then she would return
to the dressing room, wrap a nice warm gown around herself, and try to
forget the whole experience.

   The crowd, which had cheered for her initial appearance, was now quiet.
Men fidgeted.  Someone coughed.  They were growing restless with Angela's
statue impression.  It was show time.  She wasn't Angela anymore, but
Candice.  She felt light-headed from two vodka shots on an empty stomach.

   Candice smiled, shook herself all over, and did a slow runway walk to
the end of the stage, the part with the pole.  Some of the men started
cheering, and a few of them shouted things like, "You're beautiful" and "I
want to bury my face in that muff!"

   Playing the part of a professional adult entertainer, Candice tried not
to let any of it rattle her, but she could feel a blush spread up her neck.
She advanced to the front of the stage, and...  then what?  The volume of
the music increased, and she tried to give herself over to it, to lose
herself in it.  She had never been much of dancer, but then, these guys
probably weren't all that discerning.  They wanted to see her body, was the
main thing.

   So she showed them.  Candice swung her hips, rose up and down on her
knees, pushed out her boobs.  The crowd hollered.  She clapped her hands
and waved her body, getting into the music now.  She whipped her hair
around and pouted at the audience, catching individual men with bedroom
eyes.  She couldn't believe what she was doing.

   Candice moved her arms, swayed to the beat.  Now she turned around, and
another cheer erupted from the crowd at the first sight of her bubble butt.
She stuck her hip out to the side, flashing a sultry look over her
shoulder, and then did the same on the other side.  Then she got low and
wiggled.

   Paper money fell all around her, and she felt hands slipping more notes
into the hair-tie around her ankle.  She didn't want to think about how
this money compared to what she was getting at her actual job.

   "Sit on my face please goddess!" shouted someone in the audience.

   Right, that was enough butt focus for now.  Candice smiled and winked in
the direction of the voice, but started turning around slowly, bringing her
boobs and pussy back into focus.  She moved her arms across her body, one
then the other, lingering only briefly in the covering positions they'd
been stuck in most of today.  Then she worked those into the dance,
playfully covering herself and making a shocked expression at the audience,
before slowly moving her arms away to show them the goods.  The crowd went
wild.

   Remembering Star's words, she moved her feet a bit, extending onto tip
toes, and even thrusting a leg out over the audience.  That ought to
appease the guys who liked feet.

   She played with her hair and touched her boobs, ran her hands down her
hips.  How else were strippers supposed to dance?  The audience seemed
happy as long as things were jiggling.

   She felty sexy, sultry, vivacious.  She craved and feasted on male
attention.  Or at least, she was acting the part of such a woman.  But
right now, as she was shaking her tits in front of a crowd of men, that
felt like a meaningless, even dishonest, distinction.  Angela was
dissociating from herself, drifting up towards the ceiling, watching this
short pale chick named Candice shake her big ass down below.  But Candice
was Angela.  And Angela was Candice.

   The volume of the music lowered and Angela heard an announcer's voice.
"Everybody give a big hand for Caaaandiiice!"

   The crowd cheered and threw more money.  The dance was over.  Candice
blew a kiss to the audience and squatted down one last time.  Angela swept
up the notes around her, and noted the bulging stack on her ankle.  Then
Candice turned around and walked slowly off the stage, exaggerating her hip
movements.

   Backstage, Angela let out a big sigh and stared at the floor.  She had
done it.  She had played the part of an erotic dancer, and she'd played it
convincingly.  The crowd loved her.  She was cradling a big pile of money
that said so.  And now to the dressing room.

   "You did great!" Star said.  "That's gonna be a tough act for me to
follow."

   Angela smiled at her and wished her luck as she made her own way to the
curtains.  Then she turned to the dressing room, coming face-to-face with a
round, middle-aged woman, who blocked the entrance.  She looked pissed.

   "I don't know who put you up to this, Missy, but I won't stand for it,"
she said.  "Tell whoever sent you that Madam Claire does not appreciate
being disrespected in her own club."

   Angela's face fell.  What was this about?

   "Don't act so innocent, Little Miss 'Candice'.  First, you come into my
club and dance on my stage without ever contacting me, or presenting
yourself for inspection.  Acting like any bitch can walk in off the street
and help herself.  Well, let me take your registration fee!"

   Madam Claire scooped up a chunk of the bills in Angela's arms.

   "Second, you present yourself to my dear stylist, poor Ms.  Shenkovich,
in a state of total disarray.  Tell me, did you roll around in some mud
before coming to dance tonight, just to tarnish my club's reputation?  That
was what they sent you to do, wasn't it?"

   Angela blushed and looked down as Madam Claire swiped the rest of the
bills from her arms.  "That will be Ms.  Shenkovich's fee plus tip." Angela
had to admit to herself that the fee was well deserved.  And she still had
money on her ankle.

   Madame Claire crouched, appeared to reach for this cash, but stopped
short, and reached out an arm to grab a tuft of Angela's pubic hair between
her thumb and forefinger.  She pulled, and Angela let out a yelp.

   "And third," continued Madame Claire, rubbing the hairs between her
fingers, "you disrespect the rules of this club and the law governing this
jurisdiction by appearing without a thong or merkin, which carries a heavy
fine."

   Madam Claire bent over and pulled a stack of bills from Angela's ankle.
An ironic part of Angela's mind was amused that she just been fined for
nudity in a strip club.

   "I was immediately suspicious when Star told me a new girl had actually
chosen the merkin option.  It's never happened before, we put it in as a
joke!  Men these days are allergic to hairy pussy."

   The Madam counted up the notes in her hands and then stuffed them all
down her blouse.  Then her expression softened.  "You're a wicked little
bitch, Candice," she said, and then leaned in close to Angela's ear.  "But
--- don't spread this around --- any of my other girls would have had to
work a week to pay off all that.  And you've still got money left over! 
I'll let you keep it."

   Angela put a hand to her mouth, shocked.

   "It's true," said Madam Claire.  "Sure, a lot of it was because men
don't usually get to see pussy at our club, and a hairy pussy is perhaps
more acceptable than they'd admit.  But there's also something about your
sweet, bashful little display that drove the audience wild.  Awful dancing,
really, but they couldn't get enough of it."

   Madam Claire reached down her blouse and pulled out a card.  She
crouched down and slipped it behind the remaining notes on Angela's ankle.
"Listen, if you want to go through the proper channels next time, give me a
call.  You're a beautiful girl with a fresh approach and I think we could
work out something mutually beneficial, better than whatever you're getting
at Girlies or whoever put you up to this.  Besides, they'll be mad that you
failed to sabotage me.  So think about it."

   "O-okay," said Angela, finally finding her words.  "Thank you, madam."

   The Madam smiled.  "Now, that was just between us two.  Give it a few
weeks, make your first night a Friday.  But for now, I have to be seen to
enforce the rules.  Can't have these other bitches losing respect."

   At that, Madam Claire's hard expression returned.  She raised her voice,
"Could I get two security personnel by the dressing room please!  We need
to remove an intruder!"

   Angela's face went white.

   "Nothing personal," said Madam Claire softly, as two large bouncers
approached Angela.  "Hope you can still see the benefits of my proposal."

   The bouncers took Angela by both arms and marched her away from Madam
Claire.  Both were over six foot, with granite faces that didn't so much as
look Angela's way.  Their biceps were almost the size of Angela's head.

   The bouncers marched Angela to the fire escape, through the heavy door,
down the rickety metal stairs, and out into the cold night air, where they
deposited her on the sidewalk, then turned around and went back inside,
slamming the door behind them.

   A minute later, a third bouncer appeared, looking confused.  "I was told
to throw your stuff out with you, but no-one could find it.  Star said you
didn't have anything."

   "You can't throw me out naked!" cried Angela.  "At least give me your
jacket!  I'll even pay for it, look!"

   Angela pulled the remaining money from her ankle and held it up to him,
spreading the notes.  It wasn't as much as she thought it would be.

   The bouncer scoffed.  "That's not even enough for one of my cuff-links,
lady." And he slammed the door in her face.

   Angela's shoulders slumped.  She looked down at her still-naked body and
shivered from a chill breeze.  Defeated once more, she slipped off into the
night.

   Five minutes later, Star emerged from the fire escape carrying a
dressing gown.  She looked left and right, but Angela was long gone. 
Shrugging, she pulled the gown over her own shoulders and lit a cigarette.



   Chapter Nine: The Square

   Angela trudged through the streets, looking right and left every so
often to check if anyone was approaching her.  When she heard a voice, or
the sound of a car coming, she crouched behind a trashcan, or in the shadow
of an alcove.  The sun had set hours ago, so she could hide in streets with
few streetlamps.  This was an upmarket part of town -"the patrons at the
strip club had all been wearing suits, after all -"so she didn't have to
worry about encountering vagrants.  She hoped.

   There were few people in the side streets she walked down, and she
managed to avoid most of them.  There was one guy who she'd almost walked
into, but he appeared to be high and was too absorbed in his own mind to
react to her nudity.  Maybe he even thought it was part of his trip.

   But she was getting closer to a popular area of town named The Square, a
block of bars and nightclubs.  That would be full of people on a Saturday
night.  Indeed, Angela could hear the faint sounds of music and revelry.

   And then she heard the sound of a police siren, mingled with the engine
of a car, rapidly approaching.  Angela turned and put an arm in front of
her face to shield her eyes from the car's headlights.  This was it, time
to get arrested for public indecency.  She closed her eyes and imagined the
warm coat they would envelop her in before slamming her body against the
hood of the car.

   The siren cut out and the car came to a stop.  Both doors opened and two
male cops got out: a young, nervous one from the driver's side and an old
one with a gray moustache and a bemused expression.

   "Good evening, ma'am," said the young cop, eyes fixed on a spot above
Angela's head.  "Nudity is prohibited in public settings.  I am required by
law to prevent you from causing further disturbances.  Please do not resist
arrest."

   The cop then pulled off his coat and started walking towards Angela,
holding it open in both hands.  Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she
thought she might kiss him.  Finally, clothes!  She was only too ready to
stop causing further disturbances.  Why didn't she do this earlier?

   "Hold on a second there Larry," said the older cop, ambling over to his
partner's side.  "I tried to hint at this in the car, but you can be real
thick sometimes, you know?" And then, turning to Angela, "Evening miss."

   Larry stopped in his tracks.  The coat remained separated from Angela's
body by several feet.

   "What do you mean, Bob?" asked Larry.  "Was there something else I was
supposed to say to her?"

   "It's bigger than that, son.  You haven't been keeping up to date with
your precedents."

   "Precedents?" By now, Larry was holding the coat loosely, in one hand,
letting it trail on the ground.

   Bob grunted in disapproval.  "Sunshine Valley versus PD.  Three months
ago.  An important precedent for this very case."

   Larry scratched his head.  "The one with the nudist resort?"

   "The very same.  Judge ruled in favor of them, against us.  Relevant
upshot: public nudity isn't actually illegal."

   "Really?  Wow."

   Bob glanced back at Angela apologetically.  "Sorry about all this ma'am.
My partner's still pretty green.  And might I just say, you're looking
lovely tonight." Then, to Larry, softly, "Look, if she's just walking
around, we can't do anything about it.  She'd need to be assaulting someone
or engaged in a public sex act for us to take her in, so put that coat back
on."

   The sight of Larry pulling his coat back on was heart-breaking.  Angela
glanced at her fingers, then down at her pussy.  Was this what she had to
do to get clothes?  Pleasure herself in front of two cops?  She lowered her
shaking hand.

   "Big fines for that sort of thing.  A few grand usually."

   Angela's hand jerked back up and she rubbed the back of her neck
nonchalantly.

   Larry had put his coat back on and he and Bob were climbing back into
their car.  "Have a nice night, ma'am.  Apologies for the mix-up," Larry
said.

   The cop car sped off, leaving Angela alone once more.  So public nudity
was legal, except for in a strip club.  That made a whole lot of sense.

   Angela looked at her hand again.  She was disgusted at herself for what
she'd almost done.  Would she have actually gone through with it?  A vision
flashed through her mind of Larry slamming her against the hood of the cop
car and cuffing her hands behind her back, juices still dripping from her
fingers and pussy.  No!  That wasn't her.  She was a temporarily naked
girl, not a porn actress.

   The sound of music from the Square was quite loud now.  Angela didn't
know this part of town well, but figured she couldn't be more than block
from the place.  She pulled the bills out of the hair-tie on her ankle and
counted them up.  It would be just enough for a drink.  Public nudity was
legal, the nudists had shown it.  She very much wanted to stop being a
nudist, but everything she'd tried so far had failed.

   "You win," whispered Angela, looking up at the sky.  "You hear me,
universe?  You win!  I give up!  No clothes for Angela, she has to stay
naked!  Fine, I'll do it.  I'll do it!"

   Angela sniffed, wiped the beginnings of tears from her eyes, and then
start off in the direction of the music.  She strode with her arms at her
sides and her eyes forward, a woman on a mission.  A mission to get a
fucking drink, because she sure could use one.

   The Square was bustling with happy people in various levels of
intoxication.  Most of them noticed Angela as she walked past, but apart
from a few wolf-whistles and some applause, no-one reacted to her with
anything other than their eyes.  Well, there also were a few camera clicks
and flashes, which she tried not to think about, keeping up her purposeful
stride.

   After a long day of running and hiding, of watching out for other people
and avoiding anywhere crowded, of increasingly desperate attempts to find
something, anything to wear...  this wasn't actually so bad.  Sure, Angela
felt herself redden at the particularly enthusiastic wolf-whistles, but
nothing bad was happening.  A few women she passed scolded their
boyfriends, and one even had her hand clapped over his eyes, but they
seemed more mad with their men for looking than with her for being there.
Some women even shouted cries of support.

   Angela felt a hand lightly touch her forearm.  She turned to see a
smiling woman.  "Excuse me.  I just wanted to say that I love what you're
doing here!  You're beautiful.  I wish I had your confidence.  Could I get
a picture?"

   The woman was so sweet and kind that Angela could hardly say no.  She
nodded, making the woman smile even broader.  "Beth!" she shouted.  "Come
take a photo!"

   A second woman, Beth, appeared with her phone.  The first woman put an
arm around Angela's back and pulled her to her side.  She smiled for the
camera.  "Say body positivity!" shouted Beth.  The phone camera flashed.

   "Thank you so much!" said the woman, after Beth had taken a few photos.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

   Angela waved goodbye and continued purposefully to her destination,
which was the closest bar she could find.  Before she reached it, two young
guys came running up to her.  They looked about college age and were
visibly sweating.  Finally, Angela thought, someone more embarrassed than
her.  She raised an eyebrow at them.

   "A-are you an alien?" asked the taller one, his eyes bouncing around
rapidly.

   "What?"

   "C-cuz your ass is out of this world!" said the other, shorter one.

   The line hung in the air for an awkward second.  Then Angela felt a
little bad for the boys.  They were really squirming!  "Aw, thank you," she
said, smiling at each in turn, "that's sweet.  Would you like a picture?"

   The looks on the boys' faces indicated their eternal gratitude.  She
posed for a picture with each, twisting her neck to get her face and
much-praised rear into the shots.  Both boys had hover hands, of course.

   After saying goodbye to the college boys, Angela reached the bar she was
headed for.  There was a line in front, so she dutifully took her place at
the back, behind a couple who studiously ignored her.

   Seconds later, one of the bouncers approached her.  "You can go through,
ma'am."

   Well, that was one benefit of being naked.  Angela thanked the bouncer
and walked with him past the long line of people waiting to be let in.

   Music was pumping inside the place, which appeared to be one of those
bars that turns into a club later at night.  The dance floor was packed
with writhing, grinding bodies.  Angela wasn't quite ready to do that
naked, so she went to the bar at the far end of the place, where the music
was a tiny bit quieter, and sat down on a bar stool.  A barman with long
hair and a beard materialized before her to ask what she would have.  If he
had any reaction to her nudity, he didn't show it.

   She looked up at the cocktail menu on a board behind the barman's head.
One stood out, and it was in her price range.  "One Naked Lady, please,"

   The barman smiled, shouting to a colleague, "A Naked Lady for the naked
lady!"

   As she waited for her drink, men started approaching her.

   "Nice tits.  Wanna fuck?" slurred a very drunk man in a baseball cap. 
Angela made a disgusted face and waved him away.

   "That outfit looks great on you," said a somewhat less drunk man, and
Angela smiled slightly.  "It would look even better on my bedroom floor...
wait, shit.  Fuck.  Uh, my bed?  It would look good...  ah forget it."

   The next man pulled his shirt off in front of her, revealing massive
pectorals and washboard abs.  He said nothing, just flexed and winked. 
Angela ignored him.  Vanity was so unattractive in a man.

   Her drink arrived, and she handed the barman the rest of the money from
her ankle.  The drink was good, refreshing.  The alcohol warmed her up, but
she had to remember to pace herself.  Her stomach growled, and for the
first time she realised how hungry she was.  Every other feeling she'd had
that day had been overwhelmed by an overriding feeling of embarrassment,
exposure, fear and shame at her nudity.  Now, between resignation to her
fate and the effects of alcohol, she had dialled that horrible feeling
down, and was beginning to notice others.  She was hungry and tired, but
this cocktail was good, really good.  She'd sip it slowly, and then figure
out how to get home.

   Angela glanced around, noticing a few other patrons nursing drinks
further down the bar, and some groups of people huddled at booths. 
Everyone seemed to be taking surreptitious glances at her, but looked away
when she tried to meet their eyes.  Groups of men were clearly psyching
each other up to go talk to her.  She saw one get up to approach but then
think better of it and sit back down.  Who knew nudity could be so
intimidating?

   Groups of women were side-eyeing her, whispering to each other and
adjusting their outfits.  She saw women pulling at their tops to increase
their cleavage and rolling up their skirts to show more leg.  One woman had
a nipple pop out, which she was quick to cover.  Angela smirked, tweaking
one of her own nipples.  Tonight, she had them all beat.  Even the most
extreme cleavage had nothing on her bare breasts.

   "Good evening, madam," said a voice behind her head.  She turned to face
a well-built man with strong features and a head of thick brown hair.  He
was dressed in dark chinos and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up,
and the top button undone to show a glimpse of the hair on his muscular
chest.  He held her gaze with his soulful green eyes, and then spoke, "I
could look into your eyes forever.  Would you like to dance?"

   Angela giggled, finished her drink, and held out a hand for him to take.
They proceeded not to the dance floor, but to an empty spot right there,
between the bar and the booths, and the man clicked his fingers and started
moving to the beat, eyes still locked on Angela's own.  She followed suit,
putting out her arms and slowly swaying her body.  This time, she was just
dancing, no thought to displaying her body for a horny strip club crowd. 
But she smiled when her partner would momentarily allow his gaze to fall.

   The two of them boogied, facing each other, but not touching.  Then he
took her hands and pulled her past him, arms over head, switching sides. 
He was a good dancer, knowing just how to lead.

   The music slowed, and the man pulled Angela close.  "I'm Donato," he
said in her ear, with just a hint of accent.  "Angela," she replied.

   "Thank you for this dance, Angela." He stepped and swayed to the slow
music, gently nudging her where he wanted her to go.  Her boobs pressed
against the fabric of his shirt, but he maintained a small distance between
their lower bodies, even as he stepped into the space between her feet. 
His arm was warm against her back.  Angela rested her head on his shoulder.

   The dance continued for a long time, but to Angela, it felt like no time
at all.  She was warm, safe, protected, in the arms of Donato.  He was slow
and gentle, showing admirable restraint, but Angela could tell that he
wanted her badly.  How could any man resist the allure of naked girl in his
arms?

   Finally, Donato released her, stepping back with only one of her hands
held in one of his own, extending his arm the full way.  Then he reeled her
in and tipped her back.  They stood for an instant, her bent back in his
arms, him bent forward, their faces close.  Then he kissed her.

   Cheers and applause went up from the booths and the bar.  Donato held
the kiss so long that Angela was gasping for air once it ended.  Gasping,
but happy.  So deliriously happy!  Nothing like this had ever happened when
she visited bars with her clothes on!  Donato brought her back up and let
go of her.  He was smiling too, a faraway look in his eyes.

   He took out his phone and asked for Angela's number.  She gave it
happily, syllables tripping over her lips.

   "I must go," he said to her, putting his phone away.  "Thank you,
Angela, for an enchanting dance." He kissed her again, briefly this time,
and then hurried off.

   Angela floated back to the bar and slumped down on a stool, a goofy
smile plastered on her face.  She twirled a strand of hair around her
finger and thought of Donato.

   But then a woman's voice snapped her out of her reverie.  "It's you!  I
can't believe it!" The voice was familiar, but difficult to place.

   Angela looked at her interlocutor.  A slight older woman, blonde hair,
blue eyes.  Aquiline nose.  Dressed in a short, strapless black dress.  It
was the woman from the hair salon!



   Chapter Ten: The Woman

   "I've been looking for you all day!" said the blonde woman, placing a
hand on Angela's forearm.  "After all the excitement this morning, I only
realized when I got to the car that Rosa had given me someone else's
clothes.  I tried to come back and give them to you, but the salon was
closed when I got there, and I couldn't find you."

   It had all been a mistake.  A misunderstanding.  Angela considered the
counterfactual.  If she had stood in front of the salon, naked in that
dreadful long corridor, for just a few minutes longer, she probably would
have gotten her clothes back then and there.  What a thought.

   "I was going to search through the mall for you, but people were
starting to arrive, so I got nervous and went home to get dressed.  I guess
you were definitely gone by the time I got back.  I'm sorry, I didn't want
to get arrested."

   Angela smiled.  "Oh, public nudity is legal now.  The police told me."

   "Really?" asked the woman.  "Wow, okay, that's good to know."

   In light of this knowledge, Angela thought about asking the woman to
take off her dress so she could have it.  It was really small though,
fitted to the woman's slim banana build.  Angela would probably rip it if
she tried to put it on, and that was no way to repay a woman who had
earnestly tried to correct her mistake.

   "To be honest, though," the woman continued, putting a hand under her
chin, "I don't think I could have done it, even if I'd known it was legal.
Getting a naked early morning haircut was thrilling, but that was the first
time I've done anything like that.  I still have to work up to crowds.  I'm
just not as brave as you are."

   Great.  Angela was now being complimented on her bravery by an
exhibitionist.  It had been one hell of a day.

   "It's strange, though.  This morning, you seemed really upset about
taking off your clothes.  You were covering yourself with your hands and
looking really stiff and nervous.  Even when I tried to break the ice with
a compliment, you still seemed really tense.  But here you are!"

   "Here I am," said Angela flatly.

   "My name's Dorothy, by the way.  And yours?"

   "Angela."

   "Nice to meet you again, Angela.  Listen, I've got your clothes in my
car.  Let me know once you're done here, and then we can go grab them."

   Angela's face lit up.  "I'm ready to go now."

   "Oh...kay." Dorothy looked surprised.  "But let's have a drink first. 
On me."

   Dorothy looked at the cocktail menu, smiled, and waved a barman over to
order two Naked Ladies.  Their drinks arrived, and Angela slowly sipped
hers.  This much alcohol on an empty stomach was quickly killing the last
remaining hang-ups she had about her nudity.  Maybe she should have started
drinking this morning and saved herself a bunch of mental anguish.

   Dorothy was a lawyer at a prestigious firm, on track to make partner. 
Angela talked a bit about her job in marketing, but there wasn't too much
to say.  It paid the bills, though she now knew for a fact that she could
get a lot more money for dancing with her clothes off.  She winced at the
memory.

   "Isn't it just the most incredibly freeing feeling?" asked Dorothy,
changing the subject to what she was really interested in.  "To let it all
hang out, feel the wind on your skin."

   "Swimming's nice," replied Angela.  If she ever got a place with a pool,
she decided, she wouldn't wear a costume when she was alone.

   Dorothy's eyes lit up.  "Isn't it?  Swimming costumes are such
ridiculous garments.  A very recent invention, and one we'd be better off
without."

   Angela and Dorothy finished their drinks and headed out of the bar, to
the disappointment of many of its patrons.  The Square was noticeably
emptier now.  A squat middle-aged man had wheeled a hot-dog stand in front
of the club.  His eyes bulged when he saw Angela.  Her eyes bulged at the
sight of food.

   "I'm really starving," she said to Dorothy.  "Could you buy me a
hot-dog? I'll pay you back, it's just, well..."

   Dorothy laughed.  "I can see very well that you don't have any money on
you.  Don't worry, it'll be my treat."

   The hot-dog man offered up a pray to the sky as the two woman approached
his stand.  Dorothy paid for a hot-dog, and the man managed to prepare it
while looking at Angela the whole time.  He handed her a stuffed, dripping
roll with a shaking hand, which Angela took gratefully and immediately
scarfed it down.  The man nearly fainted.

   The hot-dog disappeared in record time, and Angela felt better.

   "You've got a little..." Dorothy started, then scooped a dollop of sauce
off Angela's left breast.  She put her finger in her mouth and winked. 
Angela blushed.

   They thanked the hot-dog man and walked down the street to Dorothy's
car, which was the only one parked in a large lot off to the side of the
square.  A river rushed past the lot on the other side.  The wind was
starting to pick up, and Angela shivered.

   Dorothy pulled a remote out of her purse and unlocked it, then reached
into the backseat and pulled out a bundle that Angela had been thinking
about all day.  Her clothes!  She took them gratefully, turning the bundle
over and over to take in each garment.  Her gray tank top, great for
running in.  Her leggings, so stretchy and comfortable and flattering.  Her
sports bra, properly sized and comfortably secure.  And her plain, black
exercise panties, which would soon once again cover her pussy and whole
ass. Some of her friends had told her she should start wearing g-strings
with her leggings because of the line, but she'd always been too modest for
"stripper panties".  Now she savored the thought of having two whole layers
of fabric over her crotch.

   Angela was just about to slip into her panties when Dorothy cried,
"Wait!" Now what?  Angela had her clothes back, in her hands.  What could
possibly happen now?

   "Please, Angela, before you get dressed, I need a picture.  To inspire
me.  Come, stand back."

   Dorothy motioned Angela back, and took the panties from her hand,
struggling a bit to loosen Angela's vice grip.  "I know it's getting cold
now, but it'll be really quick, don't worry."

   Angela relaxed.  She'd been naked all day, what was another minute or
two?

   Dorothy dumped Angela's panties on top of the pile of her other clothes,
and then pulled her own dress over her head.  Needless to say, the
exhibitionist wasn't wearing any underwear.  She dropped her dress on top
of Angela's clothes.

   Dorothy's produced a suction-cupped phone holder from the backseat of
her car and put her phone in it.  Then she closed the door and attached it
to the window, before putting her phone in it.  She tapped on the screen a
few times, setting up a photo on a timer, and then slunk back to pose with
Angela.

   Being the taller of the two, Dorothy put an arm around Angela's shoulder
and pulled her in.  Bare flesh touched bare flesh.  It was warmer than
being naked on your own.

   Dorothy led Angela through a bunch of poses, smiling, laughing, and
looking in turns bashful and haughty.  They got some booty shots as well.
Then, for the final photo, Dorothy had the idea they they should toss their
clothes in the air above their heads.

   "I don't know," cautioned Angela, "the wind's getting awfully strong."

   "It'll be fine," said Dorothy, and as she spoke, the wind died down. 
"See?"

   Angela reluctantly went along with the plan.  Dorothy set her phone
camera to take a series of rapid shots, so she could pick one of them as
the best action pose.  Both women took a portion of the clothing bundle in
their hands.

   "Three...  two...  one...  go!"

   Angela and Dorothy jumped in the air at the same time, flinging their
clothes up.  It was at this moment that the wind picked up, stronger than
it had been before, and blasted the clothes away, away, away, and down into
the river below.

   Angela could only watch in shock as her beautiful exercise outfit
disappeared from sight.  She rushed to the edge of the lot and peered over
the guardrail, but the strong river current had already washed her things
out of sight.

   "Oops," said Dorothy.  "But check out this photo!"

   Angela looked at Dorothy's phone.  Two smiling naked women in mid-jumped
looked back at her.  One had an elaborate blonde up-do, a slim, angular
body, a smooth hairless pussy and a pair of smart black heels.  The other,
intimately familiar, was short, curvy, with long black hair and a full
bush, naked but for a hair-tie around her ankle.  An arc of clothing hang
in the air above them, and Angela could hardly bear to look at the image of
those black panties she'd held in her hands just moments ago.  The women
were happy, excited, smiling, but there was just a hint of sadness in the
shorter one's eyes, which you could see if you looked real hard and long,
or if you knew her well.

   "Stunning!" said Dorothy.

   "It's a nice picture."

   The women returned to Dorothy's car.  Angela revealed that she didn't
have a ride, or any way to get home without her phone.  Dorothy was only to
happy to drive her home.  "It's the least I can do after stealing your
clothes and then throwing them in a river."

   The ladies hopped in the car and began the long drive.  Angela sat in
the passenger seat, back up straight, breasts visible to anyone who cared
to look.  Dorothy knew her as an exhibitionist, an inspirational one at
that, so it was too late to hide now.  And that was okay.  She was still a
little drunk.

   Half an hour later, Dorothy's car pulled up in front of Angela's condo.
Angela thanked her for the ride and let her take her phone number.  Dorothy
would be in touch about paying for the lost clothes.  Both women got out of
the car, and Dorothy smiled at Angela.  "Thank you for tonight," she said,
pulling Angela into a tight hug.  "Let's do this again.  Next time, I'll do
the Square naked as well."

   Angela made vague affirmative noises, but had about as much desire to
intentionally repeat any of the day's experiences as she had to go on a
date with Mark.  Dorothy squeezed her hand and disappeared back into her
car.

   Angela waved and then turned to face her front door.  One of her
neighbors, George, was sitting on his porch, staring at her.  "A-Angela?"
he asked.  "Is that you?  Who's your friend?"

   "You have a wife, George," Angela snapped back, ambling towards her
front door and then bending down to retrieve the spare key from below the
doormat.  "Don't tell her about any of this, okay."

   "Yes ma'am!" George said, catching a glance at Angela's ass as she
fished for the key.

   Angela found her key and opened her door, home at last.  She shut it
quickly behind her and collapsed against it, exhausted from the most insane
day of her life.  Against the back of the door, she noticed her running
shoes and socks, as well as her phone.  They must have been pushed through
the mail slot.

   There was sticky note on the back of her phone.  "Hope you got home safe
-M"

   She turned it over.  There were hundreds of messages and missed calls.
She couldn't deal with that right now.  It could all wait for the morning.

   Angela staggered to her room, threw her phone on the bed, and pulled a
dressing gown out of her wardrobe, wrapping it tightly around herself.  The
soft felt was almost orgasmic against her cold skin.  She sighed in deep
relief and collapsed on top of her bed, asleep the instant she hit the
blanket.

   The sun was high in the sky when Angela finally awoke the next morning.
She'd slept in the same position all night and there was puddle of drool on
the blanket next to where her head had landed.  She had a splitting
headache and a sore back, so it took her a while to pick herself up.

   Yesterday's events seemed faraway, unreal.  Had they all been a dream?
Angela was naked under her dressing gown, so maybe not.  She could also
feel the hair-tie against her ankle.  Her phone buzzed with three new
messages.

   She would deal with that soon, but first, it was time to take a shower.
And then clothes.  She looked lovingly at her closet.

   Once in the bathroom, Angela had to give herself a small pep talk before
she was ready to remove her dressing gown and be naked once more, even if
only for a few minutes.  Eventually she succeeded, dropping the gown and
then darting into the shower and turning on the tap before it had even hit
the floor.  She had a quick shower and then dried and wrapped herself in a
towel.  How wonderful to have a towel!

   Angela returned to her room and dug through her closet for a full
outfit. Panties, bra, socks, shoes, jeans, T-shirt, sweater.  She greedily
pulled on each item of clothing, savoring the touch of the fabric.  She
pulled the hair-tie from her ankle, having forgotten to remove it for her
shower, and put her hair up.

   For the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Angela was fully
clothed.  She looked at herself in the mirror.  There was no wide expanse
of pale skin, no nipples or pubic hair.  She couldn't see the bottoms of
her breasts, or her belly button, or the stubborn fat on her thighs. 
Normal, modest girl Angela stared back at her, dressed in blue jeans and a
light green sweater over a purple T-shirt.  She felt like herself again.

   Now she was ready to deal with her phone.  She lay down on her bed and
steeled herself before unlocking.

   There were missed calls and messages, but mostly there were pictures. 
Angela's friends and acquaintances had been sending her pictures of herself
since Saturday morning, but they had only come through now that her phone
had connected to her home Wi-Fi.  None of her friends had taken any of
these photos; they were just passing on things they'd seen in community
chat groups and other parts of the internet.  Some friends were worried
about her, others wanted to help, and others sent pictures with captions
like "hey this naked chick kinda looks like you, weird"

   There were photos of her standing in front of Tammy's front door, hiding
between cars at the hospital parking lot, scrunching herself up in the
backseat of cars, standing bottomless in front of the fence at Mark's place
and running down streets at sunset.  Pictures that she had no idea how
anyone could have taken, but were nonetheless real.

   Even the picture of her standing behind the board at the Bureau of
Clothing had leaked, and Angela noted with annoyance that there'd been a
mirror on the wall behind her, which she hadn't seen in the darkness.  But
she had to admit that it made for an appropriate visual representation of
the place.

   The strip club forbade patrons from taking pictures, so there weren't
any shots of her at her most compromised.  But most of the photos were of
her walking through the square, sitting at the bar and...  dancing with
Donato.  Those last ones she kind of liked.  The shots from the slow dance,
where much of her body was artfully hidden behind his...  well, maybe she
would get one framed.

   As she scrolled, her phone would ping with new photos.  Angela was
inundated with her naked body.  Then she noticed that some of the photos
were actually videos, and she watched herself stroll through the Square,
smiling and blushing.  Had she really done that?  It felt like a vivid
dream.  She look past her own body, to the faces of the people who were
watching her.  Some were shocked, some rolled their eyes, but most were
just staring.  She saw a girl mouth the word "slut" in the background of
one of the videos, while she was shaking her ass for the college boys.  She
felt dirty, shameful.

   Angela put her phone down and got up from her bed.  She looked at her
clothed form in the mirror.  Could this serious, normal girl really be the
same as the one in those pictures and videos?

   A small piece of cardboard lying on the floor caught her eye and she
picked it up.  It was the card Madame Claire had given her, which
advertised the contact details and very vaguely described services of one
Claire Berkowitz.  She was surprised it had stuck in her ankle band for
long enough to reach home.  There was a web address written in neat
handwriting on the back.

   Curious, Angela copied the web address in her phone's browser.  It took
her to a private image on photo sharing site, which wanted a password
before she could see it.  She looked back at the card and noticed that the
word "Candice" was written underneath the address.  This was the password.

   The second photo Ms.  Shenkovich had taken of her popped up on the
screen.  The one where she looked like a magazine centerfold.  Bouncy
tresses of luminous black hair.  Long lashes and ruby-red lips.  Spotless
porcelain skin from her face to her toes.  Little glints of glitter
sparkling on her breasts, tummy and butt-cheeks, shown in Ms.  Shenkovich's
handheld mirror.  A cute tuft of curly black hair covering her crotch.

   Angela looked from the photo to her reflection.  Wholesome, clothed
Angela suddenly seemed dour and frumpy.  She loosened her hair and fluffed
it up a bit.  That was better.  She wondered what makeup brands Ms. 
Shenkovich had used.

   Then her phone started buzzing with messages for an unknown number.  It
was Dorothy, sending her the pictures of them she'd taken in the parking
lot.  They were sexy.  Angela lingered on the last one, where they were
throwing their clothes in the air.  There was, as she'd previously
identified, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but it was mixed with joy and a
sense of freedom.  She remembered the exhilaration of that moment, when
they had literally thrown their clothes to the wind.

   The sweater was making her overheat, so she pulled it off.  And she
didn't really need to wear shoes in the house, so she took those off too,
with her socks.  Now that the initial euphoria of getting clothing again
had worn off, she was feeling...  what?  Happy, warm, content, certainly.
But a little constricted.  These were quite tight jeans, after all.

   Angela undid the button on her jeans and was hiking them down when her
phone rang.  It was Rachel, her best friend.  She hadn't sent Angela any
photos, so maybe she didn't know about what had happened to her.  She was
so busy with wedding planning, maybe too busy to hear about some naked
chick partying in the Square.

   "Hi Rachel," said Angela, picking up, still struggling out of her jeans.

   "Hey bestie, how are you?" Rachel's voice was sweet and caring, even
over the phone.

   Angela wasn't sure how to respond.  "I'm...  better," she said at last,
as the jeans finally slipped free of her thighs.

   There was a long pause.  Angela wondered if Mark and Tammy had mentioned
anything to her other friends.  Probably not, unless they'd really twisted
the stories to make themselves not look like assholes.

   "Everyone's talking about you, Angela!  And you're in all these photos!
It's really crazy!  I couldn't believe it at first, but that smile is
unmistakable.  I mean, I'm your best friend, and I had no idea you had this
side to you!"

   Angela didn't know what to say.  Her fleeting hope of having a normal
conversation with Rachel had been shattered.  But at least she wouldn't
have to break the news.

   "The pics are stunning, by the way, you look really good.  I need the
deets on your glute exercises."

   "Th-thanks Rachel," Angela stammered, just then stepping out of her
jeans and opening her closet to find some shorts.

   "Anyway, I can't talk too long right now, just wanted to call and let
you know that you're beautiful and I fully support you.  But please
remember to wear your bridesmaid dress for the wedding!  I need all eyes to
be on me."

   Angela found a pair of pink short shorts.  "I will, don't worry."

   "Good.  I want to hear all about your night.  We should meet up for
coffee this week so you can spill!  The Angela I remember wouldn't even
wear a string bikini, so I want to find out what you've been hiding from
me!"

   "How about tomorrow after work?  My place?"

   "Done...  but please put something on, for my sake."

   They said goodbye to each other and both hung up.  Angela buttoned her
shorts, then sighed deeply and fell back on her bed.  She would tell Rachel
the truth, the whole story, and about how horrible she'd felt and how glad
she was to finally be clothed again.  Then maybe her best friend would stop
thinking she was an exhibitionist.

   Angela's feelings were all in a tangle.  She had hated the embarrassment
of being naked against her will, and the lack of control she had felt, and
all the ways that people had used and abused her.  Tammy's contrivances,
Mark's probing finger, that old man Horatio's perverted measurements.  The
charity store worker's backhand.

   But she'd enjoyed the compliments, and the feeling of water against her
skin, and even the breeze, though it was sometimes a bit cold.  And if she
was really honest with herself, well, dancing at the strip club was kind of
fun too.  She wouldn't be taking Madame Claire up on her offer, but maybe
she could phone and find out if she could hire Ms.  Shenkovich to do her
hair and makeup again.  That would be a massive improvement on Rosa's.

   She'd also had fun at the Square, and everyone had been really nice to
her, even if the thought of all those eyes still made her blush.  And she'd
met Donato.  Would he even have noticed her with clothes on?  And, more
pressingly, what should she wear for him next time?  Could she really
follow up last night with a date in one of her boring old conservative
dresses?  She wanted him to enjoy looking at her body, like he had during
their dance.

   Yesterday had been the worst day of her life, but also the best. 
Certainly the most stressful and exciting.  Even some of the worst parts
were kind of funny, looking back.  Not all of them.  And while she didn't
quite want to admit this to herself, the best parts had come at the end,
when she'd bent to the will of universe and stopped trying to find clothes.
Maybe there was something to that.  Tonight, she would try a little
experiment.

   Angela passed the rest of the day inside, finally responding to all of
the messages she'd received.  She told her concerned friends that she was
safely home and clothed again, and didn't need any more help.  She told the
friends who hadn't identified her in the pictures that indeed her
resemblance to the naked girl was striking, and that that was amusing but
also kind of embarrassing.  She sent a message to Dorothy thanking her for
the pictures and the ride.  She left messages from Tammy and Mark on read.
She prayed for a call from Donato.

   Once the sun had set, it was time for the experiment.  Angela's condo
was a single storey with a small yard.  She opened the back door and went
into her garden, where a variety of plants were growing, which she
dutifully watered.

   A ladder was propped up against the roof shingles.  She liked to go up
there sometimes to think.  It wasn't entirely safe on the angled roof, but
there was enough flat space to sit and let her feet dangle down the side,
and the little bit of danger was kind of exciting.

   But there definitely wasn't enough space to undress on the roof, so
Angela did that first.  She pulled the t-shirt over her head, and
unbuttoned and pulled down her shorts.  She unhooked her bra and pulled
down her panties, leaving everything in a heap on the grass.  It was the
easiest thing in the world.

   Angela climbed the ladder and cleared a flat space to sit.  She gingerly
set her butt down and dangled her bare legs and feet.  She looked out at
the quiet suburb, leafy trees and houses stretching as far as she could
see.

   Then, slowly and carefully, she raised herself to a standing position,
in the middle of the roof.  She spread her arms out and looked up at the
night sky.  It was dark under the new moon.  The wind whistled past her. 
It whipped up her hair and she enjoyed its cool touch on her nether
regions. Maybe there was something to the Bureau of Clothing's
scientifically formulated non-outfit after all.

   But then she had been naked.  Now, she was nude.

   Angela heard the neighbor's door rustling and quickly got down off the
roof.  She didn't want to upset George's wife.  And maybe she wasn't
perfectly at ease with all of this just yet.  She gathered up her clothes
and went back inside.  She liked being normal Angela.  But she also liked
being nude Angela sometimes.  There was enough room in her life for both.
   The End