tagLesbian SexA Topless Texas Tradition

A Topless Texas Tradition


Author's Note: Please vote, this is a contest piece for April Fool's 2018. I would like to the Alice_Rosaleen and mrssecondsamuel for their help editing and encouraging this story.


"Oh, come on, I'm not falling for an April Fool's joke," I said, balancing the phone against my hair, as I thought about what I was actually going to wear to class tomorrow.

Most of my clothes were dirty. Anyways. I had this idea that if I just aired out my bras somehow, they would be okay indefinitely to wear over and over again. I fit into a DDD-cup at Victoria's Secret, but I have a suspicion it was only because Victoria's Secret didn't carry anything higher than a DDD cup and so they just pulled largest size they had and convinced the girls with the bigger breasts that these undergarments actually fit through "sister sizes." But mine never did- at least not quite right. Though I never seemed to notice in the store.

"Google it if you want. I did it myself," my sister said casually.

"You walked around the campus naked?" I asked incredulously.

"Not naked. Topless. It's legal in Austin. Besides, it's like an Austin State University tradition."

"So, everyone goes around naked to class all day?"

"Not everyone. Obviously, it's mostly guys that go around shirtless, missing the point. But yeah, probably half of the girls will go topless at some point or another. Most of them don't during class, but if you do, it's not really a big deal."

"No way," I said flatly.

"It's really not anything once you get used to it. It happens all over Austin. I mean 'keep Austin weird' right? You should totally do it this year."

"So, I just...don't wear a top? Just show up to my morning class naked?"

"I mean, if you want," she said. "Who knows- you might make an A."

"It's Philosophy 101 at Austin State University: the Janitor's making an A," I retorted.

"Hey, it was good enough for me!"

My sister was incredibly proud of her career. Emily was nearly thirty now and had spent the past eight years as an elementary school teacher in her hometown. She had had her college experiences, enjoyed them to the point that she was always talking about them, and then settled down to have a family. Though that never seem to bother her, I couldn't imagine myself deciding to settle down ten years from now- giving up on my dreams for the comfort and stability of a 'normal' life.

I used to be more outgoing. For two years after high school, I did nothing but travel and stay with friends. I lived the crazy, party, no tomorrow, blackout drunk, no idea I had been fucked life and I was done with that. I reached a bottom at 20 and changed completely. I was serious about getting my grades together and getting into a real college, like University of Texas, especially since I majored in art and loathed the idea of teaching. So now, two years later, I spent more time inside: reading, studying, drawing, and painting rather than flirting or thinking about going around topless.

Though as I considered it, when I was home (I scored a single dorm), I did spend a lot of time naked, a lot of time taking pictures of myself (no faces) that made it to rate my boobs sites (my record had been 7.3), reading and watching all matter of porn before masturbating myself into a coma, cumming over and over again. Between work and studying, I barely had time to talk, and the time I did have I poured into my passion.

Now that Emily's identity was inseparable from that of mother, it was almost hard to imagine her going along with a college tradition which seemed so interestingly sensual. But even though she was my sister, right now I was thinking about how exciting her life had been, how exciting it would be to walk stark naked around the campus all day, showing off my every inch of my body, having someone finally see me. It wasn't that I wanted to be a sexual object; nudity just always seemed natural to me. I was often the subject of my own paintings; my breasts drawn in every angle, at every curve, all showing off how they sloped down at just the right angle and curved under with just the right fullness.

I always thought I was okay to look at, pretty even on the right day, but it had to be the right day. I had done away with the busty, rebel girl driven more from angst than actual anger and now emphasized the simple. I wore glasses now; usually I did my hair up in a messy bun or ponytail, bangs constantly falling over my lens-shielded eyes. But when I tried, when I actually bothered to straighten my long brown hair, to put on an outfit than emphasized the right curves, to flaunt my femininity, well I could turn a few heads.

I just didn't know that I wanted all the attention anymore. Attention had made me do some pretty risky, pretty stupid, pretty scary things. Scary not because the things put me in immediate peril, but because even the perverse excitement that comes from knowing any second I might be caught riding the cock of this random guy on a park bench gave me almost too much satisfaction. That I so eagerly sought these overly sexual exposures and displays scared me sometimes.

So, I sought them out in porn, in art, in erotica. Brunette woman, with darker skin like mine, tall, athletic yet feminine, finding themselves being the subject of everyone's attention. In real life, the men I chose were temporary and disposable, replaceable and largely irredeemable.

Everything changed for me in the middle of a one-night stand. I mean, literally during the middle as he was inside of me, I had a life-changing epiphany. This guy, not bad looking, was doing alright, I guess, though he was one of those who needed to ask about my orgasm in the same tone as a status report. And when he asked again (it wasn't happening), I thought, God, I could be drawing, I could be making something in the world, and creating something that would make me happy.

It sounds cliched, but I focused on me. Instead of surrendering to my urges to do something wild, fun, or sexual, I started working part time, took out loans, and went to college two years late, having done the wild spin out earlier. Sure, I still had needs, I just had other things to do than guys.

I found value in other things: in working hard, in earning my grades, and especially through improving my art.

In doing things for me.

I'm here at this Podunk school long enough to put together a portfolio good enough to submit to some real school.

"So why not? Who's gonna know?"

My sister's cut into my thoughts again. I couldn't believe she was still trying to sell me on this, but not as much as I couldn't believe that I was listening to her argument. My sister had continued to talk after I'd drifted off into thought, ignoring the actual voice for the ones competing inside my own head.

"Look, I mean you've been in school for a year and a half now," Emily said. "Really, Morgan, when else are you going to be able to walk into a building without a shirt and show off what our mama gave us? Not when you have two kids and a husband."

"I'm not doing it," I insisted.

"Look Google it," Emily insisted once more. "You say you're serious about this art thing, so come on! Experiment a little! Fuck, live a little, get out of the dorm. You have your 3.5. Might as well enjoy yourself before you're slaving away behind the brush for nothing."

"I won't slave away for nothing..." I cut in. "I'll just become a teacher like everybody else."

I guess it would be below the belt, if Emily cared about things like that. She had a supernatural sort of patience and an infuriating sense of condescending self-righteousness that translated from her work into her social interactions. Being nearly ten years younger than her didn't help, especially when Emily was left alone to babysit me. Back then it was all about covering up for her. Hiding cigarette butts, wine bottles, or more often boxes, and of course marijuana. Rebellion hit hard in her early twenties- protests, activist groups, 'save the earth so long as you're also smoking it' rallies. Then she met her husband John, and the phase passed...

Maybe I was missing out.

We talked about bullshit for a while, but I found myself still thinking about my sister, walking class to class with her perky little tits out for everyone to see. I kept wondering what her professors had thought, what her friends had said, or if everyone had just accepted it is normal. Of course, I Googled it and found that the tradition dated back to Austin's rather progressive laws promoting topless equality.

The tradition started in Austin State as a way of making fun of the more enlightened alumni of the puritanical Texas A&M was well-documented. Some girls even wore Aggie shirts to take off and burn. There were probably a few hundred committed to participating this year, though I figured maybe half would back out simply due to social norms, but it seemed like the movement had a progressive point about gender equality.

I found several legitimate looking sites, using April Fools' Day as a platform to call out the foolish double standard that allowed men to behave one way while forcing women to behave another. There were dozens of different messages, even a Facebook group. These people were actually gonna do it and begged people to join them. And it was all about equality, the right to take back our bodies as something to be shown as we chose!

Yes, I had suddenly found my stupid college cause, but it was fun to feel connected to my campus as I prepared to leave it.

That this happened here endeared the college to me. People were actually going to do this! I could hardly believe it. That women, for whatever reason, and there seem to be dozens of them, would stand together and show off their bodies as a sign of unity seem like something I could only take part in during college. How could I pass up an opportunity so unique? This wasn't doing a keg stand then streaking through the city like that one dumb ass Will Ferrell movie that just came out. This actually meant something.

But there was something else.

Something inside of me. Something that made me take out a razor and make sure to leave only the barest landing strip, even though I knew no one would be able to see my pussy. It was the same thing that made me reach under my blankets and start playing below the little tuft of hair I had left, softly touching my clitoris as I moved around slowly and softly, in gentle circles, teasing myself even with the moves I knew would work to perfection. Putting myself over the edge as quickly as possible, not because it was a chore, not because I needed the sleep, but because I needed to be satisfied as I thought about showing myself off to the campus.

I don't remember falling asleep.

I do remember the next day as a kind of continuation of lying in bed, debating back and forth if I would actually join in the fun. I hadn't actually heard anybody talk about it, but then again, when did I really ever talk to anybody? I spent all my time reading between classes, my textbooks or whatever novel I was worming my way through. I might have never noticed something like this.

A few times I got up in the middle of the night, and started looking through the official website. Of course, it wasn't on the school's website, but there were plenty of people posting and giving advice about how to ease into it. And I already knew of places like Barton Springs where it was perfectly common for women to just spend time topless in the middle of a public park. No one ever said anything on the official government website, and could I really imagine asking one of the university tour guides, hey is it okay if I take my top off? But Austin was one of the few places in Texas that actually allowed women to legally go topless. The rest of the state had the whole Panhandle up its ass about the very idea.

I hit the alarm on my phone before it went off, having spent all night working up the courage to join in on this political statement. I doubted that the creator of the site did so for truly altruistic motives, nor that nudity could be entirely divorced from sexuality. But outside of one guy, which was actually more a best friend than dating thing, my sexual experience had been staggeringly unimpressive lately, largely frustrating and stunted. I remember once being flirtatious, fun, and fucking all sorts of boys, notice I say fucking not dating, because I wasn't serious, about anything back then, especially my fucking grades. Even now, I only really cared about painting.

But God, doesn't everybody? Don't we all want to be some form of artist or entertainer? So, to have an actual career, I need a doctorate from a school with a respected degree. A place like the University of Texas where the name actually counted. So, if I didn't earn my GPA in these two years, I was fucking screwed, so I had no time to get fucked nor screwed at the moment.

So why not? I didn't have any friends here, and only a month left until I could transfer out. I could afford myself some fun.

I was up early enough to actually care about my appearance, if I was going to go actually show the world my breasts, it wasn't going to be looking like some creepy bag lady or a lazy slob who ran out of clean underwear, even if the latter was somewhat true.

I didn't want to overdo it, just polish myself up. Tinted sunscreen to even out my skin tone, mascara to frame my eyes and a lip stain just a shade rosier than my own. I wanted to look good, but like I hadn't tried to look good, so I just combed my hair out, emphasizing my bangs, my dark hair flowing down and stopping just below my breasts.

I ran a few inches under six foot, tall enough for a goalkeeper. I didn't run every day anymore, so I'd gained a few pounds, but it spread out well enough over my figure. Of course, I knew where every inch of flab had replaced my once entirely muscular body, but only I could notice. I still held an athletic figure.

No matter what, no matter how I tried, I always felt a sense of doubt. But I had played soccer in high school, at least my freshman and sophomore year when I actually gave a shit. When I quit soccer, it was really only my art teacher who kept me from dropping out of school altogether and doing God knows what other than smoking weed, wasting time, and sucking every guy who looked hot.

My body may have gained a few pounds, but I wore it in all the right places. I was an Amazonian Queen when I could muster the courage, and today, I knew I could. But I've always felt so self-conscious about my breasts, not the size, but my nipples. They always seem so big next to the porn stars with their artificial breasts and specially selected attributes. I did a turn in the mirror and saw how I looked, knowing that whenever I bent over even the slightest bit, it looked like they sagged downward simply due to their size. It was as always something I worried about, and one of the reasons I was so easy for so long. None of the men did anything but worship them, and I always craved that attention to sap away at my insecurities.

Because to me, my nipples also seemed a little too puffy, especially when I was cold or aroused. The tips stood out like almost little buttons or nubs that didn't seem normal compared everybody else's. But it'd been months since anyone noticed them in person. I didn't know which was worse that I couldn't remember the last time I had sex or that I couldn't remember the last guy.

I gave myself a look in the mirror. I had straightened my hair, my bangs stopping just before my eyelashes. My legs looked long and luscious, their dark tan drawing attention from the horribly short skirt I had chosen, one that I'm sure showed every inch of my most defining feature. I looked again at my breasts, trying not to judge myself. And then I realized this was the most time I had spent getting ready the entire semester.

How lame.

I think was that thought that sudden realization when I finally decided to hell with this and marched towards my dorm door.

My class is at seven, an ungodly time that no one would choose unless they had last choice as freshmen, like me. The hallways were clear, except for the random brightly colored leaflets and posters hanging over the communal space that touted the ability to join and do anything because everybody is crammed all into this tiny building. Inwardly, I felt I was lucky enough to have my own space.

I peeked out at the hallway, inching my way towards doing what I already decided in my head would be the easiest thing in the world. As if someone just seeing my breasts would just be the most casual normal thing in the world today. I had made up my mind but that didn't mean I was prepared to actually skip out the dorm door shaking my tits back and forth like a 'Girls Gone Wild' girl.

So, I ducked my head out one more time, and then sort of crept down the hallway, as well as someone can creep wearing heels and the miniskirt I had chosen that showed exactly the right amount of leg, nearly all of it. I was sure that if I bent over, every inch of my orange thong would've been visible. There was a reason I hadn't worn this outfit before and would not have if anything else had been clean or made sense without a top.

As I took each step, there was something that made me feel slowly safer. I had my books clutched against my breasts like a shield at first, as if this position would somehow preserve my modesty. I looked like a schoolgirl going to class for the first time with my books pressed against my bare chest as I made my way outside. Again, I found myself grateful that no one was around. All the confidence that I had in my own room, after spending so much time making myself up and getting ready for a class I usually showed up to with bags under my eyes and little more than pajamas had dissipated into a thin cloud of vanishing self-esteem.

That my classmates, even if there were over fifty of them in my philosophy class, would certainly see my breasts when I put down the book to actually highlight what the professor said, hadn't really hit home yet. I was sure it would be all stares. Certainly, more than when the blonde girl bothers to show up. The thought of all those eyes watching me, all those boys shifting uncomfortable in the seats made me more than just excited about a cause. There was something so exotically thrilling about the idea of being seen. Of having everyone notice me.

Of having someone think of fucking me.

I still had no idea what I will do when I see an actual person. It's a 7 AM class and I'm the type that's usually thirty minutes early, so campus is completely empty. I keep looking around and seeing no one, so eventually I drop my guard a little bit. It's still so early; I've got to be the first one in. Panic thoughts hit me that I might be the only one who goes through with this, and this might actually be just some bullshit April Fool's Joke.

But after all, my sister did it.

And the only barely rational part of me keeping my heart from forcing its way past my throat, keeping me from bolting, is the thought that it is already too late. I had to go through with this.

And here it is. My first chance to show someone my uncovered body. He's running down on the grass, eyes straight ahead as he jogs along one of the many paths on campus. He's the type that is always running without a shirt on, and honestly, neither of us would go unnoticed for entirely different reasons. He doesn't quite have a six pack or anything, but his muscles are well-defined, and there's a part of me that gets excited about that type of guy seeing me. Well not just seeing me...

He doesn't seem to notice me at first; he's at a far enough distance away. Normally he wouldn't turn his head at me, but today I'm not wearing anything. He's far enough away on the other side of the sidewalk, oblivious, so I don't feel the need to hold my books tightly to my chest. I even manage to let them drop, enough for him to see most of me. He doesn't notice at first; he just keeps jogging, and then he slows for just a second, his eyes darting towards my nipples. I don't know what to do other than cock my head and raise an eyebrow, hoping I'm far enough away that the gesture does not make me seem offended. He keeps running, a little slower, more jogging in place as I continue my normal route towards the Harrington building.

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