Nude Enough

(Note to readers: All of the characters in this story are at least 18 years old, during all of the events in the story. There is a fleeting mention of interracial interest, in the past, never pursued. One character explores whether she might not be heterosexual, but does that through limited physical contact. This is an entry in the National Nude Day Contest.)

***

There I was, looking out at the balcony of my apartment. From the eleventh floor, the view includes a little greenspace, but all of it is within the city. No view of the lake.

It was National Nude Day, and I was nude, a few feet behind the closed glass door. Where I live, the COVID-19 lockdown had been loosened somewhat, but the lake beach was still closed.

Last year was my first Nude Day as a participant. It was great, but when it ended I had unfinished business. I told myself that I could finish it on next year's Nude Day. Now it was next year, and I couldn't.

***

I like the idea of nudism, but I have my doubts about its lofty principles. Nudity gets you closer to nature? Okay, but pass me the insect repellent. Clothes create class distinctions and cultural biases? I think exposed bodies do that too. Nudity doesn't have to be sexual? Well, maybe it isn't, for some people, but I don't think I'm one of them. And I'd have to assume that men who see me nude would have functional hormones.

Still, in July 2019, I was inclined to say yes when my friend Judy suggested going to the lake with her. The lake has more than a mile of public beach, and the county has always approved letting part of it go clothing-optional on Nude Day. That addressed the legality question. Also, being starkers there with Judy would seem safer, or less intimidating, than trying it alone. In addition, there have never been reports of trouble at the lake on Nude Day, and the county closes the beach at sunset.

It looked like the tough part of getting this excursion together would be convincing our friend Carla. The three of us knew each other from our gym, where we'd formed a team to play in a sports league. We were unattached, in various ways. Judy was divorced, Carla lived with her parents, and I hadn't dated much lately. The Nude Day discussion always presumed that we'd arrive and leave as a group, without men. As Judy put it, this would be a Girls' Day Way Out.

When the talk of Nude Day had arisen before, Carla found reasons to shoot it down, such as:

"I don't want to touch anyplace where there might have been somebody's naked butt. Everyone would have to carry around a towel to sit on, and keep track of which side goes where."

(Judy responded that we'd spend most of the time on our own towels, on the sand.)

"You'd have to put sunscreen where it's never been before. And what if you have to put on more? Can you touch yourself like that, with people watching?"

(Judy said that one could reapply on a trip to the ladies' room.)

"What if somebody steals my backpack? Then I'm stranded, and helpless, and also naked."

(Judy pointed out that the fieldhouse at the beach has lockers, and you can keep the key in a zipper-pocketed wristband.)

Apart from that, Carla didn't talk much, about herself or anything else. Lately she had seemed even more reserved, and generally unhappy. A week before Nude Day, as we sat at a coffee shop after leaving the gym, she didn't bring up any negatives, but at first said nothing at all. Then, as Judy was touting the excursion, Carla finally asked, "Why do you keep bringing this up?"

Judy, of all people, looked a little timid. "Maybe so I can do this before I get any uglier."

Carla and I shared a look, then directed it silently at Judy.

Judy hesitated. Then she said, "Okay. I did Nude Day at the lake last year, before you knew me. With Jeff."

Her ex-husband.

Judy looked around at the mostly-empty shop, then leaned in and lowered her volume.

"We knew that things weren't going well, and I thought Nude Day might stoke us up, get us back to banging until we could sort things out as people. That part of it actually worked. At the beach, he had this idea. We'd look around and find someone else on the beach we could get hot for, and if we really got turned on, Jeff and I would sneak off somewhere and screw.

"I saw a tall black guy, skinny but muscled. I think Jeff was staring at a blonde with big boobs. I told Jeff I was ready. We wandered to a cove next to a bluff, blocked from view by high boulders. We started making out, each thinking about the fantasy partner. But then we were gazing at each other and it was Jeff who was turning me on, and he was mouthbreathing and saying 'Jude my god you're so hot!' I wrapped my legs around him and he held us upright and pumped into me. He was sunlit and sweating, and I must have been too. We'd never had sex outdoors. I came and yelled and squirted and he came and yelled. I could feel him jizz in me! For those few minutes we were everything we had always wanted."

She smiled, with a faraway expression.

"But you still broke up," said Carla, always pouring ice water.

Judy raised an eyebrow. "We did. For a couple weeks after, we had great sex, and no arguments. Then it started to get same-old. And the stuff that we didn't agree on came back into the foreground. Fortunately, I'd stayed on the pill, so it was a pretty clean break. Nude Day had the effect of delaying our return to circulation by maybe a month."

"And you want to do it again?" I asked. Judy had never struck me as a beater of dead horses.

"Yes," she said, leaning back in her chair, grinning. "In honor of Jeff's great idea, and how he made me feel like the sexiest woman on Earth, for the only time in my life. I still remember those orgasms! Maybe three, I couldn't tell. And how he wept as he came, the tears on my sunbaked boobs." She blinked, and her eyes focused again. "I'll enjoy being nude there again, even if my body doesn't contact anyone else's." Then she whispered, "But if Jeff's there, don't be surprised..."

"You're terrible," said Carla. Her voice always seemed monotone, so I couldn't tell if she really disapproved.

"So you're out?" Judy asked her.

Carla exhaled, looking down.

"I'll do it," she said quietly.

"Why?" Judy persisted. "Peer pressure? Then if you don't like it, you'll blame us."

"No, it's..." Carla looked up. "I need to find out who I am. I won't blame you if I find out I don't like showing my naked body."

Judy and I said nothing at first. Carla wasn't just shy. We knew nothing about her personal life, if she even had one. We'd inferred that she seemed intimidated by her Catholic family and her parish community, and she was never in a situation to put herself first. Still, the fact that she was considering Nude Day told us that she didn't believe deep down in church dogma.

Finally I said, "You're okay if your family finds out?"

Her look was stern. "I'm 25. I keep overhearing things like, 'If she doesn't get married, she ought to be a nun.' I'm tired of it. There should be other options."

And we were silent again.

Carla actually smiled, and held out her hands towards us. Judy and I took them, unclear what was going on.

"I like you, and I want you to keep liking me," she said, sounding timid despite the smile. "Can you promise you won't hate me?"

"Why would we hate you?" Judy asked.

"Of course we won't," I added quickly.

"Thanks," said Carla. After quick squeezes our hands parted, and Carla's face again lost all expression.

***

I was given the name Cynthia, in honor of a great-grandmother I never knew. Growing up, there was the option of replacing that formal, flowery moniker with the diminutive of Cyndi. That is, my parents were already calling me Cyndi before I had command of post-toddler language.

To make matters worse, I never grew taller than 5' 1," and I have a doll-cute face. That made it much tougher for Cyndi to be taken seriously as an adult.

I work in wholesale auto parts and make a point of being very no-nonsense. After a few years of this act, my co-workers got the drift that I didn't want to be thought of as a cutie pie. In my career, at least.

In life generally, I've been okay with who I am and what I've done. But I was 27, and the solitary life was losing its appeal. It's been fun to sow wild oats, but what I've gotten from that has been pretty much the same oatmeal. Sometimes it's nice to wake up next to a guy, but other times the morning doesn't work out so well. I was starting to like the idea of a steady relationship, with good mornings every day. So far, though, I hadn't found anybody I'd always want to see the first time I open my eyes.

I think of myself as medium-sexed. What I felt going into Nude Day was mostly curiosity, but I couldn't deny that there was also some physical excitement. I had to remind myself that seeing strange men naked could impair my judgment. So far, my choice of partners has been pretty sound: No controllers, no losers, no braggarts who'd tell the world how I am in bed. This was no time to change that, with everyone's genitals visible.

***

Judy advised us to bring two bags or packs for our stuff, with the most important personal items (ID, money, phone, respectable clothes, etc.) to go in a locker, and the rest (hat, towels, reading material, sunscreen, etc.) to stay with our naked selves. I liked my big sun hat, and didn't consider it expendable, but if the kind of thief Carla worried about ran off with it, my life would go on.

When Judy picked us up in her SUV, she gave us wristbands for the locker keys, which we'd wear at all times while undraped.

"So we won't be totally nude," I said from the passenger seat, wiggling my banded wrist.

Judy snickered, and put on a crass guy voice. "Hey bay-bee, show us the left one too!"

From the back Carla said, "We'll be nude enough," sounding worried.

Judy angled her head that way and said, "Are you sure—"

"Yes," said Carla impatiently.

Carla had left the house clad as we were, in a sundress, for a normal beach day. Carla's mother had watched from the doorway. I was pretty sure Carla's family didn't know that this beach day was abnormal.

On the way to the lake we got into more discussion about nudism, with Judy in the default role as expert, from a single experience.

"My feet won't always be nude," said Carla. "Even if the beach is all nice sand, it'll get hot. I'll wear my sandals when I need them. So there!"

"Lots of guys have a thing for footwear," I said, glad that Carla was having a little fun.

"The whole idea," said Judy, "Is showing face and body at the same time. You could cover your face when you're nude, so people won't know it's you. But that's a disconnect within yourself. How many identities does a person have? One for the mind, another for the body? The exposed face expresses what's going on in the mind. It's what other people recognize in you. Their minds, engaging with your mind. When other people see your body, even in swimwear, they engage with your body, maybe adding some judgment or commentary. An exposed body is an expression of libido, sensed by the libido of others."

Neither Carla nor I had anything to say to that.

Into our silence Judy said, "What, I'm not allowed to do some deep thinking?"

Carla, stifling a chuckle, said, "Did you and Jeff talk about this in the cove?"

Which cracked us all up for a couple minutes.

But as we got closer to the lake, I got nervous. "If I expose myself," I said, "I become a potential fantasy object. Someone who sees a naked body might decide that the exposure is an invitation. A guy might take advantage, thinking that I've already given consent, and that nobody could blame him."

I was surprised by how that sounded, way heavier than my mood was.

Before I could walk it back, Carla put in, "What she said."

"In the words of my father," said Judy, "I could turn this car around right now."

"Judy, no, I trust you about today," I insisted. "Even if my silly little body gets shown all over the internet."

"Yeah, that too," said Carla glumly.

"Look, clothing optional, okay?" said Judy, exasperated. "When we get there, you can decide what to take off."

And when we got there, in the relative privacy of the women's locker room, we all took off everything.

It wasn't a big deal, stripping along with Judy and Carla. We did that at the gym, after our workouts and the games in our league, before showering.

There's something I haven't said yet. What our sport is.

"Okay, I guess this is it," I said, picking up my bag for the beach. As I did, I wanted to hide behind it.

"Not yet," said Judy. "Let's talk ourselves past this first."

"Huh?" said Carla.

"I hate how I look," said Judy. "I know I shouldn't, but I've spent my whole life suffering by comparison every time I look at a fashion magazine. I'll never be model-hot, but maybe I can be more confident. Let's each of us say first what we don't like about how we look, then build each other up."

"So each of us vent?" I asked.

"Not just yourself." Judy's eyes flicked nervously. "Say what you think is substandard about me and Carla, too." She looked quickly at Carla, and back at me as she went on. "I'm fond of both of you, and there are things about you I wish I had. But if I tell you what a stranger might think about you, it might help you face up to what all the people out there won't say out loud." She waved her hands. "Okay, look, it's my weird idea, I'll go first, then you rip into me. We don't have to finish if this bothers you."

Carla said, "Go ahead," before I could, so I nodded.

Judy stood up straight and put her hands behind her back. "I have narrow, bony shoulders," she said, which to my eye wasn't all that true, or noticeable, "and my breasts tend down towards the sides. My legs show veins I wish weren't visible. There are creases under my jaw that don't belong on a 29-year-old. The good news is that my horsey face won't get so much attention today." She glanced at each of us. "Your turn."

I flicked eyes at Carla. She didn't start, so I did. "Um...your skin isn't perfect, I guess. The dark spots. There aren't enough to be freckles, and there are too many to be beauty marks."

"Fair," said Judy with a nod.

Carla looked at me and said, "You took mine." She looked again at Judy. "I don't know, your feet look kinda big."

"Who wants to go next?" said Judy, I think relieved.

"I'll do it," said Carla with a sigh. "Too much below the ribs. If I got every carb out of my body, I'd still be pear-shaped. I sweat too easily." She then held a hand out to each of us.

Judy said, "Big dark nipples. They make the downward trend of your bust more obvious."

"Your posture," I said quickly, seeing it for the first time. "Slumping makes that downward trend worse."

"Really?" said Carla. She stood straighter, and started to look like the Birth of Venus.

"I'm short," I said, "Way shorter than I'd like, especially in the legs. I have almost no lips. Bicycling tones my thighs, but gives me too much of an ass, and my tummy stays round." And when I stopped, I was suddenly terrified of what my friends would say.

"Limp hair," said Judy. "Light brown, barely noticeable. Keeping it short makes it look like a skull cap."

Carla looked at the ceiling. "You! Took! Mine!" She looked at me. "Your nipples are, I guess, innies."

Okay, I thought, could have been worse.

"Now build me up," said Judy. "In this round you don't say anything about yourself."

"You have a great butt," said Carla, enviously.

"The shag is a good choice for your hair," I said. "Red benefits from swaying and bouncing. You seem energetic even when you aren't."

"Cool," said Judy, looking pleased. "Carla, my hair has nothing on yours. You could grow it all the way to your ass, it's like sable fur, shining like that."

"Your eyes are beautiful," I said, now the envious one. "Big and wide-set. If you actually want positive attention, take your glasses off now and then."

"Ooooh!" said Carla, almost giggling.

"And Cynthia, my dear friend," said Judy, "You're cuter than ten buttons. A sweet face you'll probably still have when you're eighty. Stick your B-cups out, so men will know you're legal."

"Even if they are innies," said Carla. "And I don't know if the biking does this, but your back is sleek, and curvy."

"Thanks," I said, never knowing what to say when I hear praise. "So now you think we're ready?" I asked Judy.

"One more thing," she said, gathering us closer. "Keep in the front of your mind what we are."

"Which is?" prompted Carla.

"Naked women."

Which got us outdoors on a laugh. As the sun touched and warmed our skin, skin everyplace, we leaned into it and strutted. I was excited, but not sexually. At least I didn't think so, but how could I tell? I mean, my vulva was out there, feeling the sun. The breeze went where it never had before, moving my pubic hair around. Okay, I guess it was sexual, or maybe sensual, but I don't think it made me horny. It was a new experience, stimulating, and I was enjoying it for that.

The beach where nudity was allowed wasn't very crowded, but the people I saw were all in the buff. Judy aimed us towards a big tree rooted where the grass gave way to the sand, offering some shade. We spread out our towels and anchored them with our bags. We lay down, propped up by the grass around the roots, and spent a few minutes just taking in the scene.

"There's...so many, um..." said Carla.

Judy lowered her sunglasses theatrically, and leaned at her. "So many what?"

Carla waved her hand vaguely, then murmured, "Penises."

Judy grinned. "I figured we should just sit and watch a while. To get accustomed."

We looked at men, couples, and more men, of various ages and body types, as they strolled by. Nobody was erect, but still...

"They're just there, right out in front. Pointing the way." Carla may have been appalled, fascinated, or both. Her glasses had transitioned to shades, making her even harder to read. "It's like...the men are being led around by them."

"They always are," said Judy drily. "It's just more obvious now."

I laughed so hard I was afraid I'd pee. Carla almost doubled over. Judy, deadpan, reached into her bag and got out one of the magazines that damage her self-image.

This whole time, we were aware of what was down the beach to our left. A volleyball net, surrounded by people roughly our age. As we calmed down, we watched them, off and on.

I leaned across Carla at Judy, and pointed at the net. "This is why you wanted all three of us, right?"

She remained deadpan. "Oh...you want to, um, participate?"

Carla said, "You expect us to go over there and barge in?"

Judy looked at the net. "They seem to have trouble getting a game up. We could help them out."

"We are not betting," I declared. But I got up, doffed my hat, and stepped out of my flip-flops.

"Could pay for a nice dinner," Judy grumbled, but didn't push further.

Our gym has a big sand arena. We're in a three-on-three volleyball league. Making best use of our skills, we've worked out that I'm the digger, Carla is the setter, and Judy is the striker. Hey, I'm closer to the ground than they are. Carla has deft hands and good peripheral vision, beyond the range of her glasses. Judy is 5' 9" with a good vertical leap.

Our team ranks in the middle of our women's league. We're not all that good. But we play together a whole lot, and I didn't think that was true of this nonchalant group we approached. Maybe ten men and six women in the group as a whole. Only three guys near the net, everyone else mingling around a beer keg.