What Happened to AlicebySikFuk©
(Disclaimer: This story may be a little too sick and twisted for the Romance category, but I didn't know where else to put it. It's definitely not a stroker, but it is X-rated. Thanks for stopping by.)
Alice laughed to herself as she stripped naked and stepped into the sheer seersucker outfit. With spaghetti straps on top and breezy loose shorts on the bottom, it was the perfect ensemble for a summer day. Flicking her hair back, she was startled by the jiggle of her boobs in the mirror. She had never gone braless in public before, but today would be different, because today was Nude Day.
She saw it on the internet, accidentally, while she was googling body image issues for a Sunday school class she was teaching at Pastor Bob's church. Alice wasn't the type to dwell on such prurient topics, but after two years of waiting for her dreamy Pastor Bob to notice her, she saw Nude Day as the perfect excuse to break out on her own, rid herself of her unhealthy infatuation with the handsome, young preacher.
Her plan was to hike up to the hidden cove at the north end of the beach, which doesn't sound that exciting, except that she would be naked under her revealing outfit. No panties. No bra. No nothing. Once she got to the cove, she'd strip naked, assuming no one else was there, of course. She wouldn't stay naked, but at least she'd be doing something she'd never done before.
Checking the mirror one more time, she let out a shaky sigh. What a shame Pastor Bob wouldn't be seeing her in the sexy outfit. She had purchased it last summer specifically for him, intending to wear it to the church picnic, but she chickened out at the last minute. But there would be no chickening out today. Today she would be working those spaghetti straps, finally taking charge of her life after years of standing by like a spectator. Yes, today, the spectators would be watching her for a change, marveling at her jiggling boobs and long legs, with her peachy ass like an exclamation point declaring her desirability.
Living just a few blocks from the beach, she had made the walk many times, usually lugging her Bible and other necessities in her Banana Republic tote-bag. Sometimes she'd write in her journal, gazing out at the pounding surf, but today all she brought with her was her clutch purse and a water bottle.
Striding down the slope towards the water, the wind fluffing her hair like the mane of a ship's masthead, she could feel her nipples puckering against her flimsy top. She glanced around casually, watching for the telltale signs that her almost-nakedness was obvious to the many onlookers, but no one was paying attention. They were all going about their weekend beach business, flying frisbees, walking their dogs, or dashing down into the crashing surf, whooping and hollering with abandon.
She made it to the shoreline without incident, other than encountering the piercing gaze of a gray-haired old man, watching her every move. And what a thrill that gave her. She was tempted to walk right past him, stopping so he could peek up inside her shorts, but she chickened out at the last minute.
Down at the waterline, she squeaked through the wet sand, her eyes darting one way and then the other, watching for signs of recognition. A few joggers passed, including a sinewy twenty-something with a goatee. He gave her a knowing smile, and she blushed. Could he tell?
She turned and watched him receding into the distance, wondering if perhaps she should follow him, when suddenly, a soaking wet dog bounded up and planted his wet paws against her tummy.
"He just wants to play" a voice said from over her shoulder. An older guy appeared; salt and pepper hair, pearly white teeth. "Here you go, Beevis" he said, flinging a piece of driftwood off into the receding water. "He probably thinks you're the neighbor who's always giving him treats."
Alice smiled at the man, but his gaze was fixed on her torso. She looked down and her heart jumped into her throat. The dog's paws had left big wet blotches on her gauzy shorts, and now her wispy brown bush was showing through as if she was wearing nothing at all.
"Oh my God," she gasped, clasping her hands in front of her. She spun on her heel and walked briskly down the beach, her heart pounding, waiting for the sickening thud of footsteps behind her. After a safe distance, she stopped and took a peek over her shoulder. Thank God the dog man was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she trudged on, hoping to reach the hidden cove before anyone else showed up.
The trail to the cove was perilous, snaking along the edge of the cliff. The water was a good ten or fifteen feet below, broiling with white foam as the surge of the waves crashed up against the rocks. She stopped to breath the salty air, and that's when it happened. An unusually large wave rolled in, and with a slap that sounded like thunder, she was drenched with spray. Recoiling from the blast, she lost her balance, and suddenly, she was skidding off the edge of the cliff.
In one of those slow motion moments, where time seems to stop, she realized if she fell straight down, she'd land on the rocks. In that split second, she managed to plant her foot against the side of the cliff and propel herself out towards the water.
"No!" she warbled, sailing like a seagull above the swirling caldron of surf. She belly-flopped into the water with such force, it almost knocked the wind out of her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the bone-splintering impact of her body hitting the rocks below the surface, but it never came. The water was much deeper than she thought. When she recovered from the impact and tried stand, she promptly sank below the surface, getting a huge mouthful of foam in the process.
"Help!" she gurgled, struggling against the powerful current as the water in the cove receded. She flailed, she splashed, and in a matter of seconds, her top was clear down to her waist, the broken spaghetti straps dangling like the tentacles of an octopus. But that was the least of her worries. The current was pulling her out towards the jagged rocks, and if the current won, she'd be bashed to bits. She grasped frantically at the seaweed-covered rocks, trying to get a hold of something, anything.
Just before she was tossed out into the treacherous depths, the current sighed, and reversed directions. She found a rock to hold onto, but her feet were still dangling, as if they belonged to a broken marionette. The next wave came in, and although she was able to hold on to the rock, her one-piece outfit was no match for the current. The rush of the water was like fingers stripping the pretty white cloth down her hips, till suddenly, she was naked.
She watched in horror as her new outfit floated out to sea, a pitiful little swirl of white in the choppy water. "I'm sorry, God," she babbled, "I didn't mean to, to..." she looked down at her nakedness, clutching her rock for dear life. Then it occurred to her. Perhaps it was just a dream. Everybody has naked dreams. She closed her eyes and then opened them again.
Nope. Still naked.
She waited for the last of the big waves to pass, and then there was a period of relative calm. Shivering with fear and exhaustion, she paddled back to shore. As she was pulling herself out of the water, she found her water bottle, but her purse was gone.
"Now what?" she asked herself, hugging her knees to her chest. It occurred to her that she could wait till dark, but could she really walk all the way home naked without someone seeing her? Would she get arrested? Would she get raped?
The feel of the sun on her back reminded her, she couldn't stay down here till dark; she'd get so sunburned, she'd probably end up in the hospital. She let out a sigh of resignation and eased to her feet. Perhaps she could find some kindhearted soul down at the end of the beach, someone who could loan her a towel, a shirt, a blanket, anything.
After traversing the trail, she poked her head out from behind a huge bolder, and saw no one within shouting distance. Emboldened by the deserted beach, she hopped down onto the sand, and then it dawned on her: at least the water bottle could be used for a bit of modesty. Perhaps people would think she was only topless, carrying her water bottle in front of her. She'd heard of people going topless down here, although she'd never actually seen any.
With the determination of a doomed prisoner marching to the gallows, she trudged up the beach, her tennis shoes squeaking in the sand. She could see people in the distance, but, so far, no one was staring. It reminded her of her high school days, when she was, for all practical purposes, invisible. But she was a far cry from high school, and she was certainly not invisible this time. A women of twenty-three with a good figure, nice breasts, a pretty smile, how could she go unnoticed? Especially wearing nothing but tennis shoes.
A pair of joggers approached. She slowed her pace, like in a dream when you're walking but you're not getting anywhere. She looked out to sea, imagining herself floating away on top of one of the white puffy clouds coursing along the horizon. She heard the footsteps coming closer. Suddenly, they stopped.
"Is this where the nude beach starts?" a voice asked, over her shoulder.
She was afraid to answer. She was a afraid to move. But what did it matter? "Apparently," she replied, her back to the unannounced visitors. She heard a rustling sound, and moments later, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two joggers sprinting lazily down the beach, their bare butts looking like marshmallows in the sun. It was a comforting feeling, knowing she wasn't the only one in their birthday suit, but she still had to try to get back home.
Another set of voices broke her train of thought. She turned just in time to see an older couple peeling their clothes off. The lady turned her back so the guy could unclip her bra, and then her loose tits rolled out like flapjacks at the church breakfast. She couldn't help but watch as the guy stepped out of his shorts, revealing a shiny patch of silvery pubic hair. She didn't know whether to be repulsed or relieved by the sight of his shriveled member. The only one she'd ever seen before belonged to her first boyfriend, and it looked nothing like the crumpled peanut between the old guy's legs. She made a mental note to never, ever join a nudist colony.
Heading on up the beach, her water bottle draped strategically between her legs, she was having no problem pretending nudity was normal. She had gotten really good at pretending in high school, telling herself she wasn't the homeliest girl at school, telling herself her prom date wasn't the most miserable geek to ever walk the earth.
As she gazed around the beach, she was amazed to see everyone getting naked with her. It was like when they do the wave at the football game, except instead of standing up and cheering, they were standing up and removing their clothes. With newfound confidence, she strode down the beach, swinging her water bottle by her side. People smiled at her, she smiled back. She puffed out her chest, watching her tits jiggling gently in the salty breeze. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling just like a movie star.
The human imagination can be a very powerful force, but it cannot remove clothing from strangers. The reality of the situation was that no one was taking their clothes off: it was all in her mind, the same defensive mechanism she'd used her whole life. On she marched, totally oblivious to the hoards of interested onlookers staring and pointing and snapping pictures with their cellphones. It wasn't until Mrs. Ammerman from church accosted her that she realized her predicament.
"Alice?" a quavering voice rang out from the crowd. "Oh my God, Alice, what are you doing? Where are your clothes?"
Alice froze, her heart pounding, her knees shaking. "No!" she gasped, desperately looking for an escape route. As she turned on her heel and dashed towards the surf, there was an audible groan from the stunned onlookers.
"Don't do it lady!" someone yelled. People were running towards her. She saw a woman holding up a beach towel, waving to her. A man peeled his T-shirt off and tossed it her way, but she would not be deterred. Fighting back tears, she dove headlong into the surf, the water stinging her naked skin like B B's from an air rifle.
She could hear the commotion behind her, but it just made her swim harder. Once she made it past the breaking waves, it dawned on her: all she had to do was swim down to the other end of the beach, find some rocks to hide behind, and wait till dark. At that point, she could empty a garbage can and use the plastic bag for a garment. Yes, that would be an excellent plan.
Out past the surf, the sea settled down to a reassuring ebb and flow, the swells buoying her higher, and then sinking her down into a trough, hiding the shore from view. She stopped to tread water and remove her shoes, which seemed to be weighing her down. As she did so, she felt something tugging at her leg. She looked down and realized she was at the edge of a seaweed bed, the long tendrils wrapping around her like vines. She gasped, craning her neck, trying to stay above the surface, but the vines seemed to be dragging her down into the dark green water.
"Help!" she gurgled, as the choking sensation took over. Struggling with all her mite, her last thought was of Pastor Bob, parting the water like Moses at the Red Sea. "I'm sorry Pastor Bob," she blubbered, "it was stupid, and I'll never do it again."
When she woke up, she was still trapped in the seaweed, but now it was around her neck. She flailed wildly, hearing the sound of the waves crashing as her bedside table hit the hospital floor.
"Ahhhh!" she gasped, suddenly aware of a seaweed tendril impaling her between the legs. She reached down and gave it a good yank. The pain subsided, but the seaweed around her throat was still trying to strangle her. She ripped at it, and as her hospital gown sailed across the room, she managed free herself from the viney beast.
"Calm down girl" the nurse's aid said, grabbing a leather strap and fixing her forearm to the side of the bed. Immediately, another one ran in the room and restrained her other arm.
"Hot chick, eh?" he said, his beady eyes feasting on her nakedness. "Look at those tits."
"Dammit George, this isn't a joke. Get the sheet off the floor and cover her up, and then get the doc in here. We need to push some Valium."
Unable to battle the seaweed, all Alice could do was thrash her head back and forth and wail, hoping Bob would hear her. "Ahhhh!" she gasped desperately, but the sound emerging from her throat was not what she had in her mind. It shocked her, and for a moment, she was puzzled. What had happened to her voice? Why couldn't she talk? Where did this bed come from? Did Pastor Bob arrive to rescue her in a boat carrying a bed? It made no sense. No sense at all.
"Pushing ten of Valium," a deep voice said, and then she was floating weightlessly in the dark green water. She closed her eyes and succumbed to the rise and fall of the ocean as it carried her away.
With Alice safely sedated and covered up, the nurse rifled through the clip board at the foot of the bed. "Is that Pastor Bob guy here? He might want to know that she's coming around."
"I'll have the desk call him."
"Good. Hopefully, he can take this nutcase home. I've never seen anything like it."
"I know what you mean," the tit-loving nurse's aid said, lifting up the sheet to gaze at Alice's naked body one more time. "Want me to put the catheter back in?"
"No, if she's mobile, we'll see if she can remember how to use the bathroom."
When Pastor Bob finally arrived, Alice's sheets had been changed, her gown put back on, and someone had brushed her hair.
"Oh God," Pastor Bob moaned. "Is she going to be alright?"
The doc looked at his clipboard. "Now that she's out of the coma, it would appear that way, although at the moment she's suffering from sever associative disorder." He flipped to the next page. "Her brain function is pretty close to normal..."
"Pretty close to normal? What does that mean?"
"Her brain function is within the parameters of a functioning adult, but we don't know yet if there's been any permanent damage. Luckily, the water was cold enough to slow her metabolism, and it's entirely possible that she'll make a full recovery."
At her bedside now, Pastor Bob took her limp hand. Of course, he was blaming himself for what had happened. Why hadn't he noticed that Alice was troubled, reaching out for help? The short answer is that she wasn't reaching out for help, but he still thought it was his fault.
"Are you the boyfriend?" the doc asked.
"No, I'm her Pastor."
"Does she have family in the area?"
"Not that I know of. No one responded to the newspaper article, and there's no contact information in her file, but we can ask her when she wakes up, right?"
Pastor Bob's question was met with silence. He looked around the room at the sullen faces. Finally, the doc spoke up.
"She's uncommunicative. She appears to have lost the ability to speak. Her associative disorder could end an hour from now, or a year from now. Or it could be permanent. The science in this area of medicine is still it its infancy.
"Oh Lord," Pastor Bob moaned, sinking into the chair next to her bed. He bowed his head while the room respected his silence. Then a nurse breezed in.
"Doctor?" she snapped, "room 203?" The doctor followed her out, and the others went with him, leaving Pastor Bob alone with Alice. He raised her hand to his lips for a kiss, and then placed it back by her side.
"We'll get through this, Alice, I promise."
As he was reaching for his chair, Alice started moaning softly, her voice a sickening monotone. Instantly, he was next to her, holding her hand. She opened her eyes wide and gasped.
"It's okay Alice. You're safe now."
The sound of his voice turned her gasp into a sigh, and tears flooded down her cheeks. Finally, Bob had found her. She so wanted to thank him for coming, but she had all the time in the world to thank him, so she just lay back and smiled. Or at least, she thought she was smiling. Relieved that Alice was showing signs of recognition, Bob hustled out into the hall. "Nurse?" he bellowed, "she's awake."
By the time he had returned to her side, she was frantic again, pawing at the air, kicking at the imaginary seaweed vines that had her entangled.
"Alice! Calm down. I'm still here."
She let out a quiet grunt, still unable to speak. If she was able to speak, she would have told Pastor Bob to not just up and leave her like that. It was rude and it hurt her feelings, and the least he could do was explain to her what the heck was going on.
The nurse arrived, took her vitals, and then suggested to Pastor Bob that he wait outside while Alice used the bathroom. Alice would have none of it. As soon as Bob left, the thrashing commenced, and the nurse had to bring him back in to calm her down,
"I think she's fixated on you," the nurse said, pulling Alice's gown back down enough to retain her modesty. "It's pretty common in these cases. Perhaps, if you don't mind, we could both walk her to the bathroom and see how she does?"
"Sure," Bob said, setting down his notebook on the bedside table. With one person on each side, they eased Alice out of bed and across the room to the bathroom, but she wouldn't go in without Bob. She just stood there, her white ass sticking out of the back of the gown, her hand clamped on Bob's forearm.
"Try giving her something of yours, an object that she'll connect with you. If the patient feels your presence through the object, then the separation isn't so traumatic." Bob thought for a moment, and then unclipped his white collar. "That's perfect," the nurse said with a smile. "Now hand it to her, and we'll see if it works."