So here I am. It’s New Years Eve, and I’m standing completely naked in the middle of a street in an unfamiliar part of town. How did I get here? I don’t mean physically because I know exactly how I got here; umpteen gallons of alcohol. How did I allow myself to sink this low?
*****
The truth is I’ve indulged in public nudity more times than I care to admit. New Years Eve was a great example. I was sensationally drunk and easily manipulated by the suggestions of my friends.
‘Hey Jeff....nudie run?’
‘….yeah alright.’
Ah, the humble nudie run. The inevitable last stop before being thrown into the watch house after a night of drinking. Its popularity has waned in recent times. It is no longer seen as the light hearted, whimsical misadventure it used to be. These days, people won’t even acknowledge your daring foray into public indecency. Such was the situation on New Years Eve. My friend and I disrobed and made our way to the street, chins up, chests out. Everything was going pretty well until we heard a car roar to life from behind us. I dare say the occupants of the car would have been able to see my ass clench and tighten as they turned the car on. Suffice it to say, I was alarmed.
I turned on my heel and made a mad dash for the house. My friend didn’t, however. He was enjoying his walk, so there was no way he’d be hurried along by some sanctimonious upstart, what with his car and pants and dignity. The shameless nomad eventually returned, got dressed and suggested that we go say hello to the people in the car. Hell, why not. It’s New Years! We did exactly that and were very surprised to find that they were a couple of the loveliest people we had ever met. We wished each other a Happy New Year, then went our separate ways.
On another occasion, I was completing a job for one of my previous employers in the oxygen-thief city of Ipswich. The uniform I was required to wear consisted of long trousers, boots and a thick shirt. It was stiflingly hot, exacerbated by the fact that Ipswich seemed to be ¾ of a mile from the Sun. I was driving home in my non-air-conditioned car when I spat the dummy and decided it was too hot. Just beyond the limits of the city, I pulled over to the side of the road in a quiet residential area. There was nobody around, so I stepped out of the car and, screened off to some degree by my door, took my pants off. My shirt was already off, so if it weren’t for my jocks I would have been completely naked. The gentle kiss of the Summer breeze felt good on my skin, so I stood there a little longer to enjoy it. I then saw a small boy riding toward me on his bike. Me, wearing nothing but jocks and a dopey grin. Words cannot describe the look of confusion and fear that was on his face.
A unique moment, I thought.
I waved to the boy. He did not wave back.
You see, I fancy myself as something of a revolutionary, like Guy Fawkes but without the stupid hat. I refuse to be censored by sentinels of vice and virtue and will continue to fight oppression in all its forms, especially the subjugation of public nudity. I encourage you, dear reader, to do the same. Next time you’re up to your tits in alcohol, throw your caution and inhibitions to the wind, take your clothes off and march proudly down the street. Declare to the world ‘I will not be silenced!’ and, if you’re a girl, ‘It’s fine for you to ogle my pink bits!’ If you do this, Guy Fawkes’ death will not have been in vain.
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2 comments:
I'm a little disapointed that you never suggest nudie-runs when I'm around. Saying that, I enjoyed your article, especially the part when you raped the boy.
I would totally be up for a nudie run if anyone suggested it around me, but alas, I'm the one who has to do the suggesting. One such occasion led me to create a monster.
Some guy, who I'd only just met that night was incredibly drunk and was pretty much doing anything people said. Somehow we convinced him to get naked, however he chickened out with just his jocks on. As he was stummbling around talking to about 8 people at once, I took initiative and dacked him (it seemed like the logical thing to do). He was quick to pull up, and I never saw anything other than some arse, but everyone else saw schlong, and I'm guessing the guy liked people looking, because several weeks later, I am told by a friend, that the guy seems to get naked whenever he gets drunk now. This wouldn't be too bad, except for the fact that this guy apparently has a big dick, and so he makes all the men in the room feel inadequate. If I'd known I was gonna cause so much saddening in the pants, I never would have laid a hand on his undies.
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