College-aged Mailgirl.

CONTENT NOTICE AND DISCLAIMER:

1.FANTASY AND ENTERTAINMENT: This story is a work of fiction and recreational fantasy for adults. It is intended solely for the entertainment of mature individuals. The author does not endorse or recommend engaging in these activities in real life.

2.ADULT CHARACTERS: All characters in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or they live in a parallel or alternate reality to our own.

3.EXPLICIT CONTENT: This work contains scenes of an explicit sexual nature, submission, and simulated harm. If you are under 18 or are offended by these themes, please do not continue reading.

4.SETTING AND 3D ARTWORK: Geographical environments are used solely to set the plot in the near future or in a parallel world or reality. No real people or events were used in the creation of this story or for the 3D-generated images. No models suffered actual damage in the process.

5.TRANSLATION: The author’s native language is not English. An automatic translator is used to share this work internationally. We apologize for any inconsistencies in language.

Author’s Note

The concept of the "Mailgirl"—nude messengers who deliver memos, files, packages, and other items between departments within an office building—was devised by Cambridge Caine. Other writers have since adopted the concept, adding their own personal touches; I have chosen to explore this universe by expanding it into a more realistic setting, one where social, demographic, and environmental factors play a significant role.

Traditional stories in this genre often lean toward BDSM or ENF (Exhibitionism Naked in Public), frequently framing nudity as a source of shame. In this work, I aim to show that reality can be quite different, depending on how each individual perceives nudity—approaching it from a personal and practical standpoint within a demanding professional environment. From my perspective, nudity is no cause for shame; after all, we all enter the world without clothing, and the adoption of garments in the early stages of humanity was merely a practical measure for protection against climatic variations, not a social requirement.

While I have situated this scenario within a realistic world—complete with labor laws and anti-harassment regulations—I acknowledge that instances of aggression, stemming from a lack of proper upbringing or sound moral values, could still occur. Nevertheless, if individuals are raised in communities grounded in strong, concrete values ​​of respect, they would not necessarily view workplace nudity as an immoral act.

Hello! My name is Sofia Ortiz , I’m from a city called Alajuela, located in the central valley of Costa Rica. The city itself is small, but it’s a nice place to live. Many people consider my country to have the highest cost of living, but there are places in the world with an even higher cost of living.

I have lived my whole life in my father’s house. My mother died when I was 5 years old and my father raised and educated me in his own way; it’s not that he raised me badly, but he has a very special way of thinking; for my father, life doesn’t give you anything unless you make an effort, and I didn’t really understand it until I entered university.

During the 5 years I was in school until I graduated from high school, he only gave me enough money for me to travel by bus from home to school and back, but he didn’t have money for something as mundane as food, so when I entered school at 12 years old I had to decide what was more important, traveling by bus or eating during the midday break, considering that I had to attend classes 8 hours from Monday to Friday with 3 breaks throughout the day.

Dad left very early every morning for his job as the postmaster in San José, the capital city of Costa Rica. He returned late at night every weekday. The following weekend, I told him that the money he gave me for school wasn’t enough, and in his typical way, he just said, “So what are you going to do?” Then he said, “Because what I give you for school is all I’ll ever give you, not a penny more!” At that moment, I thought, “What a cheapskate!”

The following Monday during the morning break, I spoke with the principal about the subsidized lunches. She very kindly explained that this assistance was for students from low-income families, and I didn’t fall into that category because of my father’s position and salary. When I explained why I wanted the help, she said, “You might think your father is stingy, but he didn’t have it easy at your age, and he asked me not to make it easy for you. So, you must decide what’s most important to you.” Considering that I had to take two buses to and from school, I decided to take only one. So, initially, I took the bus in the mornings from my house to the city center, and then ran the second leg of the journey home in the afternoons. About three months later, Dad bought me a new pair of shoes, since I had ruined the others by running two kilometers a day. When I explained why I had ruined the shoes, he just said: “If you ruin these other shoes, you’ll go to school barefoot for the rest of the year! I’m not going to spend any more money on another pair of shoes!”

The truth is that I used to walk barefoot all the time at home, even when we went shopping at the supermarket I used to go barefoot and while I was looking at my feet I thought about carrying my shoes and socks inside my backpack and going barefoot to class.

One day during the second term, when I arrived to catch the bus, it was so crowded that it didn’t stop to pick me up, so I had to run to school. It only took me 30 minutes to get there. Of course, I arrived drenched in sweat, and the PE teacher recommended that I wear athletic clothes for running and carry my uniform in my backpack. When I got to school, I was supposed to go straight to the gym showers, take a bath, change my clothes, and then go to class. After that day, I started running to school every day, both to and from school. Over time, I began saving money in a box in my room until I realized I should open a bank account. The money Dad gave me for transportation and the money I didn’t spend on food, I started putting into the bank account, creating a savings account.

During my second year of high school, my habit of running 10 kilometers every day led my physical education teacher to sign me up for a youth competition that offered a large cash prize to the winner, which I won and deposited into my bank account. Over the following years, I participated in various competitions, including marathons, winning prizes in some and not in others, but it all helped me improve my athletic abilities.

By the time I finished high school, my dad recommended I take the national and international university entrance exams, hoping to find the best offer to study business administration like him. When I received confirmation, I had two options: the first in my country, which is the best university in the region, and the second in Barcelona, Spain. My dad told me, “Either university is excellent, and I’ll help you with tuition or other expenses. It’s your decision which you prefer.” As usual, that means I have to find what I need, and even though what I’ve saved will help with expenses here or abroad, I’ll have to find a job to make ends meet.

Academically, the two universities are on par; their degrees are recognized on both continents, and it’s relatively easy to validate them, both here and in Europe. The difference lies in the level of difficulty. I’m familiar with the country and its customs, and even though both countries speak the same language, the Barcelona region has its own dialect that I’ll have to learn to speak and understand.

Finally, Dad showed me the degree my mother earned while studying medicine in Switzerland and his own degree from Madrid. He explained that his and Mom’s experiences with Doctors Without Borders and their universities abroad had been incredibly helpful, and that this was the main reason they fell in love while working and studying abroad. Honestly, I’m not interested in my parents’ romantic pronouncements, but the idea of facing a different social environment and studying abroad had appealed to me since I was a child, so I decided to travel to Spain to study at the University of Barcelona.

Initially, I planned to travel closer to the start of classes at the end of August, but Dad convinced me to travel earlier to get a job and to acclimate to the climate, which is different from my country’s. Another important decision was the study time. The degree itself takes three years, but to work and study, I had to take fewer courses and get a part-time job. So, while looking for accommodation options, I found a nice place in the city center, and Dad gave me the option of paying for either the direct flight in economy class to Spain or the accommodation. In simple terms, the old cheapskate wouldn’t part with a penny , so I accepted the direct flight with an open date on the ticket for when I finish my degree in five or six years.

I graduated in November and spent all of December looking for part-time jobs in Barcelona, but it was very difficult since most companies required experience, and in the case of students, I had to be studying in Spain and not about to travel. They mainly expected me to start immediately because of the Christmas season, but I wouldn’t be traveling until mid-January. In the end, my dad told me to relax and start looking for work when I got to Spain, which made sense, and I left the matter until I was in Spain.

My savings would only cover me for a maximum of three months, and my dad was paying for university, so my job was to cover other expenses like lodging, food, transportation, and unexpected costs. But I had my plane ticket and tuition covered, which was the most important thing at that moment. The rest would work itself out, like applying for any scholarships I might be able to get, but I’d look into that at university. I spent December researching places of interest and the cost of transportation and food, as well as learning a bit about the local culture and customs.

Regarding the city of Barcelona; my hometown of Alajuela is only 1 square kilometer, while Barcelona is about 30 times that size, or perhaps even more. Barcelona is more similar in size to San José, the capital of Costa Rica, with the difference that San José is in the Central Valley, more than 100 kilometers from our coasts, both Caribbean and Pacific, unlike what you see in that old movie “Jurassic Park.” Barcelona, on the other hand, is a coastal city, which makes it interesting because the photos I’ve seen show that even in January and February, people often run in athletic wear, just like we do here. But they also tell me that the winter is so cold it’s quite something. I’ll see how I adapt to the seasons! At the beginning of January, I was packing the clothes I was going to take, but Dad informed me that he had made an extra deposit into my account to buy winter clothes since I don’t have anything for winter in Europe. All the clothes we call “winter” here are considered autumn clothes in countries north of the 30th parallel. So Dad gave me the money to buy clothes at the airport store and a few other things while I find a job that will allow me to buy more clothes. In the end, what I would take was a backpack very similar to the one I used in school, which will also be useful to me at university.

For a while I was looking at pictures of places in the new city and I spent my time wandering around on Google Maps through the city in high-definition images to see how people dress in different seasons. Frankly, the clothes they wear are much thicker and warmer than what I had planned to pack in my suitcase. Thanks to Dad for giving me the money to buy clothes more suitable for the weather.

Dad said goodbye to me at home before leaving for work, telling me he’s bad at goodbyes and prefers to say goodbye the way he does every morning before going to work. Before he left, I confronted him, asking, “Dad, why weren’t you like my classmates’ parents were with me? Why are you so stingy?”

Dad looked at me and said, “Life never gives second chances, nor will it hand you anything on a silver platter, and it’s always demanding. Those who are given everything when they’re young never learn to face difficulties and will always take the easy way out, a path that always leads to ruin.” Then he said, “I’m not stingy! I taught you to face difficulties! In every trial, you found the best solution to the problem I presented you, and wherever you’re going to live and study in the coming years, I’m sure you’ll face many difficulties! And I’m sure you’ll succeed by making the right decision every time you make one!”

Then he looked at me for a second and said, “Frankly, I’m not worried about you going to study in Europe! I’m sure you can handle that challenge and you’ll overcome every difficulty life throws your way!” Then he did something he’d never done before; he took my head in his hands and kissed my forehead. And he left for work. The flight was leaving late in the afternoon, and I stayed there leaning against the counter with the coffee pot in my hand, wearing only the t-shirt I sleep in, staring at the door through which Dad had left for work. He left me thinking about the difficulties he said I was going to face, but looking back, his actions were meant to help me find solutions; solutions that allowed me to keep going, and although it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t hell either. A few minutes later, I went for my usual morning run through the city. I got dressed in my t-shirt and lycra shorts and, as always, went barefoot for a couple of hours while waiting for my flight to Europe.

Dad had already assured me that he wouldn’t see me off at the airport, so the 4 hours I spent at the airport waiting for boarding time I was completely alone without company, none of my “friends” came to say goodbye and the truth is that it wasn’t something that seriously affected me since the few “friends” I had were never very close to me since even they considered me the poor girl of the group.

After boarding, I spoke with the flight attendant, who told me the flight was 13 hours long and that I should sleep on the flight. She said she would give me a sleeping pill so I could sleep for most of the flight. About four hours into the flight, while we were over the Atlantic, she told me to take the pill so I could sleep for about eight hours. She said she would wake me up before our layover in Madrid, and then we would continue on to Barcelona.

When I arrived in Madrid I felt completely exhausted from sleeping in that uncomfortable economy class seat, but at the same time I was excited. The flight attendant told me not to leave her side until we arrived in Barcelona. Since I was the youngest and traveling alone, the flight attendant almost adopted me and helped me with the procedures in Madrid. Two hours later we were flying towards Barcelona.

In Barcelona, she accompanied me through the entire immigration process, then guided me to the store where I bought a very thick coat and some long lycra tights, and accompanied me to the bus station. She said goodbye there and went to catch the airline bus; I stayed with the transportation company representative, who explained how often the next bus arrived, the route, and the travel time. Then I asked if it was possible to walk, and he said yes, but that it would take more than 4 hours and 30 minutes walking. I said, “4 hours and 30 minutes walking? Then I can do it in 2 hours running, and since I was on a 13-hour flight, I think running will do me good!”

The man looked at me and said, “So you’re an elite runner, like the mailgirls !” I said, “I don’t know what that is, but I’ve been running every day since I was in school, and no, I don’t think I’m elite, I’m just good at running!” He told me to let the hotel or wherever I was staying that night know I’d arrived at Barcelona airport and was going for a run to exercise, so they could expect me later when I got there. I did what he told me, then programmed the route into Google Maps and started following the route my phone showed me as I ran.

After a few kilometers, just as I was reaching the Solidarity Park that I had to cross to continue my walk, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye among the hedges in the distance. When I stopped and paid attention, whatever I had seen in the distance for a second was gone, and I honestly didn’t know what to think. I stayed there for a moment or two and then continued running. Since I didn’t know what it was that I had seen, I put it out of my mind and kept running through the city.

I started crossing the city, but it’s very different from anything I know. In my country, buildings like the ones I was seeing would undoubtedly have been demolished already, since some engineers have the North American idea that old things are ugly and should be demolished to build something new, square, sterile, and efficient. But the buildings I’m seeing aren’t just old; they have a life of their own. They’re beautiful because of their age, fascinating because of the style in which they were built, and what’s best, they make me feel safe and secure as I run.

The buildings and tree-lined streets protect me from the wind and cold. I keep running; I’m halfway there, and I can still see these impressive old buildings. The city doesn’t just look old because of the buildings; it feels ancient because of the wealth of history held within them.

On an avenue I find hundreds of small tables covered by large umbrellas; at the tables people are enjoying meals that whet my appetite. I stop at a restaurant where I buy some fries with a very delicious pork and I stay for a while looking at the street, the buildings, the balconies and the people.

At the street crossing, about 100 meters away, I saw a young white woman running across the street. She was carrying a large yellow backpack, and on her arms and legs she had numbers painted in black. But what surprised me was that… she was naked, or wearing a skin-colored outfit so tight that it gave me the impression that she was naked. But the people who were looking in that direction continued talking as if that was the most common thing in the world.

For a moment I thought the girl was naked, but maybe it’s one of those skin-colored lycra tracksuits and because of the distance I thought she was naked, maybe that’s it, the distance made me see something that wasn’t there, it was just an illusion since nobody is talking about her.

After lunch, I continued my journey, walking while I digested my mid-afternoon meal. I was absolutely stuffed; it was delicious and very good—the food in Barcelona is excellent. As night fell, I arrived at the hostel where, God willing, I’ll be staying for the next few years while I study in Barcelona.

The manager greeted me as if I were part of her family. She’s a woman between 35 and 45 years old, but you can hardly tell her age. She’s clearly in great shape, and the photos on the wall behind the reception desk show her jogging happily. She took me to my room and showed me around. Sure, the place is small, but it’s very nice, almost like my room at my dad’s house. She said goodnight and told me she’d call me on the room phone in the morning to tell me to go in person to the job placement offices at the university and the city hall.

After a wonderful night, falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, I had breakfast with Mrs. Leticia, the owner and manager of the hostel. She told me to go to the university to update my information for the business administration program, which starts at the end of August or the beginning of September, and to register with the job placement service. From there, I need to go to the town hall to register with the job placement service. Then she told me to go to the bus stop to take public transportation, which would take about 30 minutes to get to the university, or I could walk, which would take 20 minutes, and then another 20 minutes to the town hall. When she told me that, I said that I could run the first part in about 8 or 10 minutes and the second part in 9 or 11 minutes.

Mrs. Leticia tells me, “You’re good at running! You should look for a job with the mail girls .” I look at her and reply, “I’ve heard that before! What exactly is that?” She answers, “They’re a group of girls who work at the post office, delivering packages and mail between different offices in the city; plus, they get paid very well.” And she adds, “That was my first job!” Then I ask, “And... where should I go if I want to know more?” She says, “Easy! To the post office near the pier. You can’t miss it; it’s a big, old building with a small plaza in front.”

As I was about to leave, another girl crossed paths with us inside the hostel, and Mrs. Leticia introduced me to her. She was… naked and had numbers tattooed on her arms and legs. She was also carrying a large yellow backpack. Mrs. Leticia said, “Wait, Mariana!” The girl turned around and said, “Good morning, ma’am!” Then Mrs. Leticia said, “This is Sofia, and she’s going to university. If you’re in that area, walk her home and explain your job at the post office.” The girl looked at me and said, “No offense, but I run really fast. If you can keep up with me and talk, you can walk with me!” Frankly, I didn’t know what to do. She was as naked as the day she was born, and it didn’t seem to bother her or Mrs. Leticia.

On the street, I asked her, “Why are you walking around like that?” She looked at me and said, “Naked?” I nodded, and as we started running, she told me, “I was told that a few years ago, when this kind of work started, it began in Japan. A company here in Barcelona bought the rights to the program and started working with pretty girls like us to keep the male employees motivated. There were huge riots here, but like everything , time passed, and it became accepted. Eventually, the company lost profits and went bankrupt. But the post office, which had huge delays in transferring packages between offices because the streets were so congested with traffic that it took up to two hours to get a package from a nearby office to the main office, and the same to get the package to the recipient, took the group and program of girls who were left without work when the company went bankrupt and started running for the post office.”

Then he said: You know, Mrs. Leticia was one of the original team members at the company that went bankrupt, and she continued working for the post office afterward!

Ten minutes later, when we arrived at the University of Barcelona in the city center, she said to me, “Here’s the university!” She kissed me on each cheek and before leaving said, “Several girls graduated from the university last year, and I’m graduating this year, God willing. So if you want the job, let me know, and I’ll talk to the program director. She’s always looking for new university students for the job.”

She continued running between the buildings, but I was surprised that no one insulted her or whistled at her or shouted anything vulgar at her; rather, it was the opposite, they said good morning to her, greeted her politely, and she ran with absolute tranquility through the city.

As I entered university I thought: If my father finds out that she offered me a job like that he will yell all sorts of things at me and never allow me to work in something like that…!

I introduced myself to the university receptionist, and she directed me to the new student office. There, a very pretty brunette was collecting several packages, and just like Mariana, she was also naked, with numbers written on her arms and legs. The girl kissed the office manager goodbye and left... just like that... as if it were the most normal thing in the world. The woman looked at me the way I was looking at the girl who had just left, and she looked at me and said, “Hey, beautiful, she’s not a pervert, she works at the post office!” Without taking my eyes off her leaving the building, I replied, “Yes, I know! A girl who lives in the student building where I live walked me here, and she works at the same place.” The woman looked at me and asked, “So what’s the problem?” I replied, “Aren’t you ashamed of being seen naked?” She smiled and said, “It’s like any other job! Why should you be ashamed?”

She changed the subject and gave me a 45-minute orientation before sending me to the employment office. Another 10 minutes later, I was in the town hall building, checking the job listings, when a tall, impressively muscular African woman walked in carrying a backpack from the post office. She greeted me as she entered, then left a package with the office manager, who barely noticed her standing there completely naked. Before I knew it, she was out of the office.

I spent the rest of January and all of February going to job interviews, but everyone told me they only offer jobs to seniors or recent graduates because first-year students don’t have the experience or education they require. It’s very painful that people like me, eager to work, can’t get a first job that will give us the work experience we need, but I can’t deny that employers are concerned about getting the best-qualified staff for the growth of both the company and its employees. And yet here I am, watching from the street as yet another door closes on me, and what’s worse, I can’t even think about asking my dad for help because he’ll undoubtedly say something like, “What are you going to do?” before hanging up and leaving me with a dead call.

I sat on a park bench looking at the job postings and noticed an ad from the post office that said: Mailgirls Wanted ! Requirements: Athletic, excellent physical condition, willing to work hard and run naked through the city. No experience required, excellent salary offered. I thought about what my dad would say about this, and he’d probably yell at me until I was speechless. And even though this “job” doesn’t require experience, if I’m honest, I can’t see myself running naked through the city. God help me find a job soon? Thanks!

As I was returning from the last interview, I passed by the back door of the post office and heard Mariana calling out to me. When I looked over, I was surprised to see three other girls, just like her, standing naked in the middle of the street. I waved to her from across the street, but she insisted I cross. When I did, she introduced me to the girls she was with and then asked, “How did the interview go?” She noticed my expression and said, “It was awful!” I didn’t really answer. Dad said, “If you don’t have anything nice to say... it’s better not to say anything at all!” Mariana peeked out the door into the building’s parking garage and called someone over.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman, like Mrs. Leticia, was at the entrance with us. Mariana introduced me to the woman and told me she was the manager of the mailgirl office . I greeted the woman, and without asking Mariana for help, she said to the other woman, “Boss... Sofia is an excellent runner and keeps up with me!” I looked at her in surprise, and then Mariana said, “She’s looking for work; I recommend her!” The woman told me, “I’m not going to force you, but if you want to earn 3,000 euros a month, come back here tomorrow for the medical and physical tests. If you meet Mariana’s standards, I’ll give you the job!” Then she turned and went back inside the building.

I didn’t thank Mariana and walked away from her and her friends, very upset. When Mariana caught up with me, she asked, “Sofia, what’s wrong?” I looked at her and said, “Have you gone crazy? I’m not a perverted exhibitionist like you!” Instead of getting angry, Mariana started laughing and said, “That’s the point!” She kept laughing, took my hand, and led me to a restaurant. There, she asked an older woman who was having coffee, “Excuse me, ma’am. What do you think of girls like me who run around naked in the city?” The woman frowned and replied, “I don’t understand what you mean.” Mariana said, “Do you think I’m a perverted exhibitionist for running around naked in the city?” The woman started laughing and said, “You’re not exhibitionists! Your job is like any other in the world!” If what you’re asking is whether it bothers me to see them running naked, I’ll tell you that if I had your body, your age, and your physical condition, I would run with you every day!

Mariana thanked the woman and took me to another table where she said: Look, Sofia, that way of thinking is very common in Latin America thanks to the conservative and puritanical Americans, but here my job is just a job. Besides, you have no idea how much money I save a year by not buying clothes, since I also go to classes while I’m here. And no, it’s not because I’m an exhibitionist, like you think; my parents in Colombia taught me that only prostitutes show themselves naked in public, but here there are topless and nudist beaches where people of all ages and genders go to sunbathe any day of the year when the sun is nice.

Then she said: Think it over, the job is good, it pays very well, and between now and when classes start you can work full-time, and when classes start you can work half-time, but it’s your decision. If you want to earn money doing something you like, like running, it’s your decision, and no, I’m not a whore or an exhibitionist.

The woman grabbed her backpack and ran off. I sat there thinking for a while, and when I got to the shelter, I spoke with Mrs. Leticia, who told me about her work 20 years ago. Then she said, “No one will think badly of you if you take the mailgirl job , and if you’re worried about what your parents will say, no one is forcing you to tell them what you do here... Besides, remember you’re an adult now, and your life is yours. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, and I’m sure Mariana and the other girls who work as mailgirls will too.”

By morning I had already made my decision, and when I arrived at reception naked, ready for the interview at the post office, Mrs. Leticia told me, “Go upstairs and get dressed!” To which I replied, “I’m going to accept the job!” She touched her forehead and said, “Oh, girl! First of all, you can’t go to the interview naked, because if you don’t have the post office ID badge and badge, they could arrest you and fine you! Second, out of respect for the interviewer and the company! But if you want, just wear some tracksuit! Shorts and a t-shirt!” I went back and dressed as Mrs. Leticia had told me to.

When I went downstairs, Mariana, Liu, and Tania were waiting for me at reception. They’re mail girls . Tania asked, “Ready to run?” I looked at them and said, “Yes!” The four of us went outside. They were naked, and I was wearing a tracksuit, but we were all barefoot. After we warmed up, we started jogging to the post office.

I spent the whole morning undergoing a series of physical tests and medical exams. Then the director, Ms. Amelia, told me, “When we have the results of the medical tests, I’ll let you know, and I’ll tell you whether you have the job or not! Today is Thursday, the results will probably be ready by Monday; I’ll let you know on Tuesday or Wednesday.” Then she said, “Go back to the hostel and relax. If everything goes as planned... you’ll start working with us on the Barcelona mailgirl team on Wednesday.”

For the next four days, all I did was follow Mrs. Leticia’s instructions. She got tired of me calling her “ma’am” and asked me to call her only by her first name. She sent me to different places in the city to run errands or deliver items in my backpack. Each time, I ran barefoot through the city and back. It was clear she wasn’t just taking advantage of me; she was also preparing me for when I got the job at the mailgirls ′ office .

Early Wednesday morning, Mariana was knocking on my door and said, “Come on, hurry up! You don’t want to be late for your first day of work!” I stood in the crack of the door, staring at the naked girl, and very surprised, I asked, “What should I do? Should I put on workout clothes or take them off? What should I do?” Smiling, she said, “How about we have breakfast first and then go to work!”

Then she said, ” Ah ! This is a permit from the post office so you can walk around the city naked today without any legal problems.” After breakfast, Leticia hugged me and said, “See, I told you so! I knew you’d get the job! Now, girls, go to work!” On the sidewalk outside the hostel, Mariana, Liu, Tania, and I did our stretches and warm-up exercises naked in front of the early morning passersby, who barely paid any attention to four young girls standing naked on the sidewalk. A few minutes later, the four of us were running briskly through the city. Frankly, I felt strange running naked in public, but since I was with them, I didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong or degrading. We were simply running naked, as if it were a marathon or some other athletic competition I had participated in before.

When we arrived at the mailgirls ′ office in the main post office building, Mrs. Amelia took me to another room that had a large machine. The machine closed what looked like bracelets around my arms, legs, chest, and waist. Suddenly, something very cold touched my skin, and Mrs. Amelia told me that what I felt was special skin paint that would wash off in six months. This paint had to be renewed every six months with my employee number. Now I’m mailgirl number 72!

After a few minutes, when the paint on my skin had dried, they took me to another room where they took my picture and gave me a blue collar with an identification card that proves I work for the Barcelona post office. The last thing was to pick up my new backpack, my new mobile phone, and the watch that I must wear at all times.

Mrs. Amelia showed me how to use the application and explained how they work in the offices. The goal is to transport packages between offices and occasionally deliver packages to companies or institutions that handle a large volume of mail. The idea is that we work between the offices and street mailboxes that are distributed throughout the city. If any package needs to travel outside the city, I will be notified that I must take it to the shipping center where it will be sent either by car, truck, or plane to its destination.

Mrs. Amelia explained to me that the main cause of traffic jams in the city was the postal service, as the mobile units would stay on the street while delivering or collecting packages. However, traffic flows much more smoothly in the city now that the mailgirls ′ office was created 20 years ago. During this time, more mailgirl offices have been established in major cities throughout Spain, which has greatly improved traffic flow across the country.

Outside the office in the main building’s parking lot, Mariana was leaning against a large package on a counter. Mrs. Amelia told me, “Since you’re new, you’ll be accompanying Mariana for the next three days!” Then she said, “Welcome to the Mailgirls Barcelona team!” Mariana told me, “Come and put this package in your backpack, we’re leaving!”

The initial “fear” of running naked in public had already passed when we jogged from the hostel to the main office, but now it was time to start working like any other girl on the team, carrying packages between offices.

That first day Mariana and I carried packages between the most distant offices and as Mariana explained to me, that’s normal; it’s rare for packages to be sent between nearby offices, but it’s not unusual for it to happen either. Also, with a staff of 20 mailgirls, several trips are made a day, and that way the offices don’t accumulate shipments for the end of the afternoon or for the first hours of the morning as happened before the creation of the mailgirls office .

Another important factor is delivery time. Back when the Japanese company sold the equipment and patents for the Mailgirls program , speed was prioritized over safety. This is why those companies ended up facing lawsuits for injuries and labor rights violations, as the Japanese company recommended using demerit points to reduce the pay of the workers, whom they practically kept as slaves running around inside buildings. However, in the city’s mail program, safety is prioritized over speed. So, if the transit time is 45 minutes, the Mailgirls have an extra 15 minutes to reach their destination, avoiding expenses related to workplace accidents or lawsuits.

That week was for getting used to using the app’s features, as Mariana would tell me: “Activate the ‘Ready to run’ message, which has the image of a pair of legs spread apart, as if I were running!” when leaving the hostel. For meals, she reminded me to press the “out to eat” option in the app, which is shaped like a plate, before taking a break, and after the break, press the leg button; then at the end of the day, I had to press the “end of run” button, which is shaped like two legs together, when arriving back at the hostel.

That first week was only three days long; the weekend is free for all staff. The following Monday, I was assigned what Tania told me was the most boring job: going around to all the street mailboxes and collecting the letters or packages people leave there. But I found it fun because at the end of the route, after collecting the contents of the last mailbox, I would run back along the beach. Even though the weather is very cold, running all day kept me at a pretty good temperature, and it’s nice to watch people going to the beach to get a tan and a good dose of vitamin D. But I suppose that after several months of doing that route, I’ll also see it as the most boring route, but for now, I like the street mailbox route.

By the time spring ended and summer began, the group of mailgirls had dwindled to 15 girls, as girls like Mariana, who were graduating that year, returned to their countries. I was sad, but I met a group of wonderful girls, and the colleagues I worked with now were excellent people. We almost always went out as a group for what they call “tapas night,” which is basically going from bar to bar enjoying the evening. Some nights, the first mailgirls, like Mrs. Amelia and Mrs. Leticia, would join us just to strengthen the relationship between the first generation and us, to tell funny stories, or not-so-funny ones, about working at that company that used that demanding and degrading Japanese program.

I love my job. Hearing people thank me for my efforts strengthened me to keep going. Every day was a new adventure, with new challenges, new opportunities, and new small victories. One afternoon at the end of summer, I received a notice telling me I had to be at the university for my first day of classes in 40 minutes. I realized I would need more time, that they should have told me earlier so I could go to the dorm to shower and get dressed for class. I called my boss and said, “Oh my God, I don’t have time! I have to shower and get dressed for class!” But she started laughing and said, “Silly girl! You’re a mailgirl . Mailgirls go to class in just their work uniform; you don’t need anything else.” Then she said, “Come on, start running, you’re going to be late! And when you get to the university, report to the academic administration for the required instructions!”

At the university, the rector explained to me the agreement between the universities and the post office that has been in place since the program was activated 20 years ago. Upon entering the classroom, only a couple of foreign students, possibly Venezuelan or Colombian, laughed when they saw me walk in naked. One of them said loudly, ” Wow ! The prostitutes here are real bitches!” The professor cut him off, saying, “You two, go to the rector’s office! NOW!” Thirty minutes later, the two foreign students returned with long faces and sat down in silence.

It took me a while to get used to the idea that for the rest of the year I would have to work half-time and would only receive half pay, but then I discovered that my half-time pay was higher than the full-time pay of many of my classmates. I also discovered that the arrangement between the mailgirl agency and the universities meant our expenses were much lower, and in the end, instead of seeing my savings dwindle, they began to keep pace with expenses, and after a while, they started to grow quite favorably. Ms. Amelia and Ms. Leticia explained to me that this was the biggest struggle they faced when they started the city’s mailgirl office, as some people wanted to maintain the demerit system to reduce salary expenses for the mailgirls . However, they stood firm in their convictions, and the fact that universities accepted the mailgirls ′ nudity as part of their job without moral detriment strengthened their purchasing power by reducing superfluous expenses such as buying clothes to go to class, given that everyone in the city sees us running around naked all day, every day.

Over time, I got used to working naked under the gaze of hundreds of people who live, work, or are tourists in the city. The following summer, I told my father a half-truth, or perhaps a half-lie. I mainly told him that going home for the summer would mean a high cost in plane tickets, and that if I stayed and worked during the summer, I would earn more money working full-time. I knew my father valued more than anything else—not so much the money, but the responsibility of the job. But initially, I wondered: How on earth do I explain to my father that I have a number tattooed on my skin and the importance of that number to my work? During that year and the following years, Dad would call me for my birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s. I never explained exactly what my job entailed, since, as he works at the post office in Costa Rica, his experience tells him what each job in a post office involves. All he knew about my job was that I worked in mail distribution, something so common and normal in post offices all over the world. Shortly before the start of the next term, a group of 40 girls applied for the position. Four of them were chosen, and together with me, we completed the team of 20 mailgirls . Each year, on average, four to six girls leave the mailgirl office upon graduating from university, and these vacancies are filled by new girls.

Dad never sent me money as a reward for passing each subject I studied at university. He knew I didn’t need that kind of help because of my work. Instead, he sends me a motivational greeting card, one of those he buys at party supply stores. Very typical of him! At the office, Amalia would buy a birthday cake with yellow and blue frosting, decorated with the birthday girl’s number, and at Christmas, she would organize a week-long trip to Gran Canaria, where we would meet and spend time with the mail carriers from other offices all over Spain. This is the kind of event that demonstrates the excellence of the Spanish postal service; for that one week each year, we travel to the eternal Atlantic paradise where spring is present even in the middle of winter in other parts of the world.

For the next 4 years I was part of a professional team of mailgirls , but like my classmates who finished university at the beginning of the summer, I was preparing to start my final year of university and next summer I will graduate in administration and then I will return home to my dad, where I will have to validate my degree and start looking for a job in one of the many companies in my country that require qualified business administrators.

After the holidays in Gran Canaria, Amelia notified those of us in our final year that the company RTV was filming a documentary about the Mailgirls program and that she had practically the entire program ready and only the interview with the Mailgirls was missing , but she would not authorize the interview of the youngest ones and asked for volunteers among the 5 of us who were the oldest; my 4 classmates belong to ultra-conservative Hispanic-American families and they refused to participate.

For my part, I knew that my father respects my decisions, but I also knew that the program would be seen in my country as well as in the countries of my colleagues, and even though Dad respects me and knows that I always make the best decision and the one that suits me best, it is also true that I haven’t informed him about this issue, but I prefer to be the only one who suffers from the lack of understanding than to allow my colleagues to be hurt, so I volunteered for the documentary interview.

The cameramen accompanied me for a week, and during the times when I wasn’t transporting packages between offices, the interviewer conducted the interview with direct questions, which I always answered truthfully, just as my father taught me. The questions were very personal, such as: “Does your family know what you do for a living?” I looked at the camera without looking away and said: “My mother died when I was 5 years old. My father is Antonio Ortiz, and he’s the director of the postal planning office in Costa Rica. He knows what the job of transferring mail between offices entails, but no; specifically, I haven’t told him that I’m a naked mail girl running around the city of Barcelona.”

When the interviewer recovered from the shock, he asked me, “Yes, we’re here with your father! What do you think he’d say to you, looking at you naked like this?” I looked at him for a moment and replied, “Frankly, I don’t know what he’d say, but he taught me from a very young age to be responsible and always make the best decisions. He’s always told me since I was a child that life doesn’t give you anything on a silver platter and that I have to make the best decision for myself.” Then I turned to the camera and said, “Dad, I know you’re going to watch this documentary at home. You like watching documentaries on this channel, and I’m sure you’ll see me like this. I’ll just say that this was the best job offer I managed to get when I arrived in this city, even though it’s not what I wanted when I came.”

The following questions were more related to the type of work, the working relationship between the mail girls and the other postal workers, and my experience of that relationship in a university setting. When the documentary was about to air on television, I texted Dad explaining that he should watch it, and then apologized for what he was about to see. After we watched the documentary, I waited for my father to call, but Amelia told me there was a chance he wouldn’t see it. I replied that he was so angry with me that he never wanted to speak to me again.

Days passed, and one morning I received a message from him inviting me to watch a program on Costa Rican television. The program featured current events and interviews with professionals from my country. The interviewer showed the scene where I was walking with the documentary’s interviewer and asked my father, “Antonio, what did you feel when you saw this?” Dad looked at the freeze-frame and said, “At first, I felt disbelief. It was impossible for me to describe what I felt seeing my daughter walking calmly, naked, with numbers painted on her skin.” The interviewer asked, “What do you think about Sofia’s answers?” Dad looked at the camera and replied, “My daughter always answers everything truthfully. She knows I didn’t like this in the slightest, but I’m aware that I taught her to make the best decisions in the most difficult situations. I can say with certainty that I expected three possible jobs for a young and beautiful girl like her, but I never imagined something like a job as a mail carrier at the Barcelona post office.”

The interviewer asked, “Antonio, do you want to say anything to your daughter?” Dad looked at the camera and said, “Working at the post office is an honorable job, and if the work you do in Barcelona is so respected by the community, how could I possibly be upset that my daughter does such an honorable job? And no, daughter, I’m not saying this for the cameras; I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I love you, and I’ve always trusted that you make the right decisions. And as you’ve said, this was the best decision under the circumstances you were in, so who am I to not support my daughter? To your colleagues, I say: ‘Girls, I respect all of you for doing the best job in the world delivering mail, a job that isn’t easy at all, but you do it very well. And if it’s worked so well for 25 years, who can say that this post office isn’t the best post office in the world?’” Amelia hugged me and said, “What did I tell you? Your dad just needed time to process the documentary and take in what you do at this job!”

Dad continued the interview on Costa Rican television and they talked about a program his office is working on, but he ended the program by opening his shirt and showing a yellow shirt with a big red heart and the number 72 in the center of the heart, that made me laugh along with all my colleagues and Amelia who was like another mom to me along with Leticia.

The year continued normally until a couple of days before my graduation from university, while walking calmly but at a brisk pace I thought I saw my father in a corridor of the post office building, when I returned and walked through the corridor there were 2 men talking in a room, but my father was not among them, so I returned to my work for that day thinking it was just my imagination.

My graduation night was absolutely insane. I had everything ready from morning till night, even my dress and gown, but then I got a message that Mailgirl 81 wasn’t fit to work and they asked if I could fill in for her for a few hours. Since the ceremony wasn’t until the evening, I agreed. What a crazy day! I spent the whole afternoon running all over town, and by the time I finished, I was at the mail center at the airport. It was total madness. I barely made it to the graduation on time. I didn’t have time to shower or dress for the occasion, and I showed up to receive my diploma dressed like a mailgirl, practically showing off my body. And honestly, I didn’t feel out of place at all in that room where everyone was dressed up, and I was just there with my ID numbers, my badge, and my postal phone indicating I had another delivery until I pressed the button to signal that the day was over. I was chatting with my classmates about everything that had happened when one of them said, “It’s like they intentionally wanted you working all day so you’d show up looking like a mail carrier to pick up your diploma!” I looked at her and said, “Better that way! I wouldn’t have had time to go to the hostel, change, and come back anyway! Besides, for five years everyone’s been staring at me running around the city naked, and being here like this makes me feel safer and more like myself!”

When it was time to receive the certificates, I was second in line, in order of grades earned during my five years at the university. When the dean of my department called my name, three voices started shouting their congratulations. I recognized two of them instantly, and I couldn’t believe the third. My father had told me he wouldn’t be able to travel to the graduation because of work, but there he was, along with Amelia and Leticia. I started crying as they handed me the certificate, and when I stepped off the stage, I ran to hug my father, my boss, and my second mother, Mrs. Leticia, who has supported me like no one else in Barcelona.

My classmates laughed at me, saying I looked like a little girl crying in her father’s arms, but they all calmed down when the headmaster said: “Sofia knows who she is, but the fear that her father would find out what her job was about caused her to suffer until everything was revealed in the documentary, except for one thing… Sofia… Leticia told us you were going to show up to graduation in clothes, so we all came up with a plan so you could arrive here just in time for your breathing to calm down… I’m sorry, but as is tradition, one of the mailgirls must graduate as a mailgirl , and this year we chose you.” Dad, smiling, said: “Amelia told me about the plan, and I agreed to it, and I’m so proud of you, my girl!”

I did my last week of work as usual; Dad spent the whole week with Leticia, and at night we would go for walks around the city. On my last day of work, along with the other girls who graduated that year, they held a beautiful farewell party for me. I wore a beautiful open-back dress and returned with Dad and Leticia to the shelter, where she placed my picture next to the other mailgirls who lived there.

At the airport, I was with Dad, Leticia, the team of 15 mailgirls who would be continuing, and Leticia, who accompanied us to say goodbye. That’s when Dad said to Amelia, “Is this all it takes?” She replied, “That and Sofia’s experience!” I looked at Dad, and he said, “I’ll show you on the plane!”

I didn’t want to cry, but being seen off by a true group of friends was more surprising than I could have imagined. They were more than friends; they were like sisters to me. And my two Spanish mothers left an indelible mark on me, much more so than the people I graduated with back home. On the plane, Dad told me, “Honey, your new bosses want you to be the director of this program, but you have to fight for it. If you succeed, this will be the future of our country!” Looking at the contents of the envelope, I looked up and, laughing openly, said to my father, “You’re crazy! Selling this in our country, with how conservative everyone is, will be impossible!” Dad looked at me and said, “If you... a real mail girl can’t sell it, nobody will!” I looked at him and said, “Good riddance! I’m going all in!”