Perching delicately on the corner of her desk Sasha gazed through her window at the street below. Her mother had made a comment about her doing it the previous day but this time she had remembered to put a gown on before sitting close to the window with the curtain open. Part of her mind wondered who had spotted her ‘bearing all for the world to see’ as it had been put but silently she didn’t care, unless it was the boy from the corner house.
She had seen him a few times at school and knew they were in the same year and in many cases the same classes. In many ways he stood out from the other boys because his interest in girls seemed to have developed a year earlier than most of them. While most of the boys were still busy worrying about cooties he had silently been spotted trying to develop new ways to discretely peek up girls skirts.
Despite his early interest in girls he had never seemed to have much luck getting any of them to go on a date with him. His methods of asking girls out were well known and ranged from secret notes to following his most recent interest around at school. Sasha had at one stage been one of his interests and could still remember the note he had somehow managed to get into her school bag. He had hinted to her a few times since her rejection about how he would love to see her in a bikini and she shuddered at the thought that it might have been him who had spotted her.
Gripping her gown closer to her chest she spotted Mr Burke from a few doors down and snorted a giggle as he ushered his prize winning tri colour corgi off the footpath. She could almost hear the poor dog’s claws fighting against him as it tried to gain traction on the concrete.
Straightening his undisturbed trilby Mr Burke glared silently at the rogue footpath cyclist that had caused him to take evasive action before picking his dog up and placing it back on the path. If it had been any of the local children they would know that this dog was his pride and joy and no one was ever allowed to get within 2 metres of it without a permission slip or verbal consent.
Hitching herself slowly off the desk she smiled as she remembered a man in his 70s who had been called into her school to teach them about cycling safety. Over the course of a fortnight each class in her year had been offered the chance to spend a couple of hours cycling with him as he taught them the rules of the road.
If it had just been his age that defined him as a teacher no one would have given him a second glance, it wasn’t unusual to have visiting teachers. The cycling helmet and florescent vest made him stand out even in a crowd of adults but the knee length shorts had been the finishing touch no one wanted to see.
She bit her lip as she remembered the 5 minute lecture one of the girls had received for cycling on the foot path during his lesson. The girl’s face had become redder as his finger wagged in front of her causing her to smile while trying to take him seriously. Niamh Deasy hadn’t helped the situation by mimicking his actions from behind him prolonging his speech with words about taking him seriously.
Casually she flopped against the bed feeling the draught caused by her sudden action waft her gown teasing her skin as its silk fluttered against her legs. She gazed at the ceiling reaching to her chest and stroking the necklace that Jim had almost presented her with.
Glancing over to the dressing table she smiled as she spotted the picture collage she had framed showing them both. There was only one in which they had been dressed and yet neither of them seemed to be worried about not wearing clothing. Huffing she pondered over why footpath cycling which was both dangerous and illegal was accepted by society but nudity through a window wasn’t.
Why was it her who was reprimanded for someone else having spotted her through her own bedroom window?
Why did she have to wear a robe just to entertain the rules of social etiquette in the privacy of her own room?
She gripped the loose cord hiding her body as she mulled over the questions lingering in her head jumping slightly as she heard a clatter from downstairs.
Her mother had already seen her once this morning making her way to the bath room with the same robe wrapped around herself. The silent smile as they passed on the landing had been all she needed to see to know that she was not going to get away with wearing just the robe all day again.
Dad had been the first to fully return to the textile way of life after their holiday to Zante but Sasha had decided that was more of a necessity. She didn’t think that his work place would accept him turning up to work wearing just a smile. Mum always followed close behind but generally she would spend the first morning in a robe of some kind and gradually move into clothes by the afternoon.
Every year Sasha was the last one to revert back to the rules that society set about being properly dressed even in her own home. Mum usually justified the need by pointing out that it was possible that they might have visitors and normally Sasha didn’t question it. This year she was more inclined to point out that visitors wouldn’t see her if she stayed in her bedroom or how easy it was to dash upstairs and dress if anyone arrived.
Fiddling with the cord holding her robe together she pulled it loose and opened the robe exposing her body to the white ceiling above her. Silently she closed her eyes picturing the sun on the beach in Zante that she had rested under with Jim. She could almost feel its warmth as she slipped her arms out of the robe and reached up to the necklace tracing her finger around the “S” slowly.
Her mind drifted to thoughts of what Jim might be doing now, now he was back at home and probably already comfortable back in the textile life. Stroking her hands over her body she felt the comfort, the freedom of the life she had left behind in Zante calling her.
Never before had it been quite so difficult to accept that clothing had to be worn now she was back at home. Turning her head she gazed over at her dresser spotting the pictures of Jim and her, focussing on the one of him painted from head to toe. He had mentioned social experiments where people wandered down streets in just body paint but even that wouldn’t be practical.
Who was going to paint her every day?
And even if someone did the weather was too unreliable, one rain shower and she would end up standing in the street naked. And then there was the complication of school where a skirt was compulsory, even the best artist in the world couldn’t make a pair of legs look like a skirt convincingly.
She knew she didn’t really have much of a choice, if she was going to leave her room she was going to have to do it with clothing on. Even with the best will in the world she was going to have to leave her room eventually or someone would know something was wrong.
Sitting up and propping herself on her arms she peered at the window, the sun was sparkling off the roof tops too far away for her to enjoy. Pushing herself into a standing position she paused remembering the words of her mother about being seen through the window. An image of that boy from down the street with binoculars sent a shiver down her spine as she tried not to imagine it having been him that spotted her.
“Sasha, I’m cooking rashers, will I do you some?”
At first her mother’s voice sounded like a pre-planned lure, a distraction to try to encourage her to leave her room, but she knew deep down it was simply a question. Somehow the idea that her mother was watching her and trying to think of a way to convince her to leave her room was creepier than the boy in the corner house.
Sasha had been talked into trying vegetarianism by her best friend Adele when she was 14 who had just watched a documentary that had convinced her meat was bad. At the time it seemed like it was going to be an easy thing and both of their parents had agreed to let them give it a go. Sasha had lasted less than a week before crumbling to the almighty rasher after smelling a full breakfast being prepared for her father and being presented with cereal instead.
Adele hasn’t lasted much longer although she had convinced Sasha that she was still keeping up her vegetarian regime until the day she was caught red handed. A bacon sandwich in her lunch box had given her away as undeniably having returned to mean eating and a full confession followed.
Sasha silently referred to it as a peace making food, a secret weapon that could be bought out to diffuse any situation. Some people insisted on talking things out over a pot of tea or trying to win affection back with chocolate but it was rashers that were the real weakness that seemed to bring people to their knees. Without hesitating Sasha placed her order through the closed door before accepting that doing so meant she now had no choice but to dress.
Stepping lightly she made her way over to her dresser spotting a neatly piled stack of magazines in the corner. Casually the flicked one open recalling the serenity she had felt while reading the articles in the solace of the cottage she had found in the woods.
Nobody knew about her unofficial naturist experience less than 10 minutes’ walk from her front door. Nobody had seen her, she was sure of that, if they had done her parents would have found out by now. Part of her mind wanted to be able to share her experience with someone but the only people felt like she could trust were Jim and possibly her best friend Adele.
She could almost hear the conversation with Jim, his voice reiterating her words while trying to sound like he didn’t think she was completely insane. Adele wouldn’t be much easier, she knew her friend would understand that she wanted a place where she could be by herself but couldn’t imagine Adele understanding her chosen dress code.
Pausing as she opened the top drawer of the dresser she realized that the lure of rashers had almost pushed her into a trap unprepared. On her first full day home she had received the beginning of the questioning about Jim and her and she knew it was bound to continue.
There hadn’t been enough information given for it to be considered as a settled matter and there was no denying they had been close to each other in Greece. It was her fault in a way for having insisted on Jim meeting her parents but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Confirmation of having her first boyfriend was in itself a double edged sword that she knew her friend had already been through.
Adele had been extremely excited when she announced to Sasha that she had been asked on a date by Ger who everyone had thought was gay. At the time she hadn’t been overly interested in him but she felt sorry for the hard time he was getting from the other lads and wanted to give him a chance.
Everyone knew the stories of the other girls he had fumbled through asking out just to be rejected. Adele knew she wasn’t his first choice but also know that she was the first one who had agreed to go out with him.
They had agreed to go to the village fun fair together which seemed like a good idea as it meant if things didn’t go well there were plenty of distractions. Hand holding had commenced from the moment they walked through the gate and Ger seemed content to keep it to that which suited Adele. Close seating on some rides left them almost sitting on each other’s legs but Adele knew it was the circumstances causing it and not his intention.
Everything seemed to be going well until they decided to have a go on the dodgem cars where despite his impressive driving skills another driver bounced into the side of their car. The jolt forced Ger to rock across Adele heavily landing hands first into her legs before looking up in horror and embarrassment.
Adele couldn’t help but feel her face flushing red as Ger gently removed his hands from her legs and manoeuvred out of the crash. The driver that had careered into them was still being reprimanded by the ride supervisor as their turn finished and they scuttled out of the arena. That had been the moment when Adele knew without doubt that their first date was also going to become their last. Her instinct was proven correct when Ger avoided even making eye contact with her between then and the end of the school term.
It seemed almost humorous to both Sasha and Adele that the main question her parents wanted to know the answer to after the date was whether she had kissed him.
Sasha pawed her way through the sea of underwear that filled her top drawer trying to justify the need to wear such garments. She knew that as soon as she covered whichever panties she decided to wear no one else would know or care which ones they were but if she didn’t wear them her mother would somehow know.
It had often scared her how much her mother seemed to know without even asking or being told. Mum had put it down to being intuition but that didn’t always explain things that were almost like a sixth sense. If she was going to spend the day walking around in a skirt performing handstands and cartwheels she could justify the panty requirement, but she didn’t plan to do that.
Reluctantly she threw a pair of panties to the bed and glared at her bra collection knowing that she really didn’t have any way of justifying the need for one. She glimpsed down at her breasts recalling the countless occasions when women had set them free had been a sign of protest throughout history. If she had been alive at the time of such protests she felt sure she would have joined her fellow women.
She recalled fondly the first time Jim had seen her topless remembering his fascination with these two mounds on her chest. In a way she knew that his gaze would have either been ignored or played on by other girls of her age but she had been glad when he had accepted them as just part of her. Depending on the owner she could see that breasts could be a distraction, nurturing tool or a method of getting attention - both wanted and unwanted all in one.
Shrugging her thoughts off she closed the drawer glancing at the single item of clothing that had so far been selected. The smell of rashers cooking acted as a pressing reminder of why she was accepting society’s request to dress before appearing in public.
For a moment she pondered over the idea of announcing to her mother that she wanted to try a naturist lifestyle at home. In theory she knew there shouldn’t be any reason for her parents not to at least consider her decision as a genuine one.
She could almost picture the scene; it would have to start with her confronting her parents dressed in some way or another. If she appeared in front of them nude there would be immediate tension so dressing for the announcement was by far the safest way.
Brining the point up with one parent at a time wasn’t practical either because she knew that by the time she got to her second parent they would have already been pre-empted. All it would take was one text or discrete phone call and they would have time to prepare their arguments against her suggestion.
If she was surprised and it was accepted she knew there would be conditions put on her request but in reality she felt sure wouldn’t happen. It was more likely that if she announced such a lifestyle change her parent’s would take action to try to ensure that she didn’t experience it even on holiday. The possible consequences were too risky, at least for now she had 2 weeks of naturism that they were willing to accept and participate in.
Feeling her stomach protest at the fact that it was being kept from the food that smelled like it was ready for her Sasha dug quickly through her bottom drawer. Without caring if her choice of clothes matched or complemented each other she decided on a T-shirt that would prevent the lack of bra strap being seen and a loose pair of shorts.
She huffed loudly to herself for not having the courage to at least see if her parents were willing to discuss the clothing requirement as she stepped into her panties. The elasticated waist felt tight against her skin despite the fact that she knew she hadn’t put on any weight since the last time she had worn them.
The single word announcement floated up the stairs reminding Sasha that her mother was immune to the struggle her mind was having. Without a second thought she slipped the T-Shirt and shorts on glancing at herself in the mirror one last time.
She could already see how different she looked with clothing on and knew deep down there was unfinished business that she wanted to explore further. Rashers may not be the answer to her mind’s questions but for now they were a distraction that she was willing to compromise her thoughts for.