An Avenging Nudist

Note 1: The story below is a very dear one to me. Arguably, it is not the most erotic I have written. It revolves around my main fetish: public nudity at inappropriate places. It doesn't always happen, but in writing it I have grown to love my protagonist K. Really love her. Though she doesn't exist in the material world. I hope you will like, or love, her too. Forgive me if you feel there should have been more sex.

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An avenging Nudist

or how Kerstin got to play the fool

by Vitavie

Homage to Kerstin Pärsson

Note 2: The below story is set in one of those remote little villages in the North of Europe. The demographics are odd. Counting about 100 inhabitants, all are above 18. Young families don't live here, as schools and other children are far, far away. Consequently, everyone that is thinking about having a family moves away to bigger towns and only returns when their children have left home. So, the complete population is adult. The village punks that play a supporting role are the youngest on the scene and are between 19 and 21. They are no-good farmhands who will adapt in due course and be the farmers and foresters of tomorrow.

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His performance onstage was a great high for him. And for her. He feels like a rockstar. She makes him feel that way.

She had seen the concert by his band two weeks ago. He and she, they got talking, he still high on adrenalin, she ecstatically riding on the memories of a loud and powerful performance. They made out in the dressing room. He had experienced one moment of hesitation, but, hey, he was in a band and bands have groupies, it was no more than that, didn't mean anything.

He saw her again at the next concert, right in front of the stage. Boy, she was pretty. She found him in the dressing room and they found a private moment once more.

The next concert she suggested they'd go to his hotel room. He agreed. Since then, she travelled with the band. He assures himself, it's just for this tour. What happens on the road stays on the road. It means no more.

They drink a glass of prosecco in his hotel room. And another. She gets up from the bed, grabs her phone and selects what turns out to be nightclub music. Seductive music. She is a good dancer. He knew that from seeing her in front of the stage. She sways and gyrates like a professional stripper, when she takes off her shoes and hold-ups, lifts the green dress - that fits so well with her henna hair - over her head, to reveal that she doesn't wear knickers, just a purple bra, which she takes off now - rendering herself naked.

'God, she is so hot!', he thinks.

And he thinks no more as she approaches and pushes him onto the bed, undoes his belt and slides his black jeans complete with underpants down to his ankles. She then blows him, edges him to near-orgasm, then disengages herself, looks down upon his helpless shape and his twitching cock for a minute until she lowers herself upon it and starts riding him like a true amazon. In the past fortnight, they have made love at least fifteen times, in every position imaginable. This means that she knows very well how to postpone his orgasms until he goes near-crazy, imploring her to release him and let him die for a moment, which she doesn't grant him, doesn't grant him, doesn't grant him... until she is ready herself - and they explode together in a true Big Bang, thereby restarting the World.

He swears he will never let her go. There is just the matter of the one he loves... rather: loved... back home.

The tour is over, she must go back to work and he must go home to her, the one he loved so very dearly... loved, until recently. They exchange phone numbers.

'Promise me you'll get in touch,' she says. 'We have a good thing going and shouldn't stop.'

'No, no... I will call. Soon... I just have to...'

'Spare me... Do what you have to do and call...'

She casts him one final look, turns her back and leaves.

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K, she is anticipating M's return home. Home is the house in the country which belongs to K's grandmother. Granny has moved to a home for the elderly. She had to, but was ready for it, as her house was located in a small village, far away from hospitals and her son and daughters. No one wanted the house, except for K, who works from home for a call centre. And is a shy and private person, doesn't need the city life. She knows the faces of her fellow villagers and they know hers. Beyond saying hello or nodding in recognition she has no contact with them. In short: she does not bother anyone, is not bothered.

K has two girlfriends nearby, one from this village and one from a neighbouring one. She has a few friends in the city, whom she occasionally calls, or texts. In the year she has spent living here, she has received just a handful of visits from the city. Her two local friends she regularly meets with. Mostly for coffee at lunchtime and once a week she receives or visits both or just one of the pair for dinner. Once a month, the three of them go to the dances at the village community hall.

When she lived in the city, she had a few boyfriends. In essence, she was a private person back then. She looks fine, no issue. Took boyfriends because that is what you did. Had sex for the same reason, but her best orgasms were those she inflicted upon herself - in other words, she came best by masturbation. But she was not - is not - really a sexual person, one might say.

She wasn't really conscious of her body as an object of desire either. She thought nothing of changing clothes in the presence of a person, whether male or female, or persons plural. The fact that she was regularly reminded to hide herself did nothing to change that structurally.

All that changed when she met M. He was the bass guitarist in a metal rock band, who had repaired to the country. M was a patient, autonomous, equally introverted character. The band played at the Village Hall one time. The hall was filled with everyone from the village to begin with. In the end, only the population between eighteen and twenty-five remained. M and K got talking, he went home with her and that was that. The first night marked the first occasion where K experienced an orgasm while making love to a man. Now she was hooked to sex. The first few days they fucked twice a day. This was six months ago.

The band was starting to make it and had gone on their first nationwide tour. The first time K had been separated from M for more than a day or two. She was happy for him, but missed him terribly. Masturbating did nothing to replace him.

After two weeks of pining and waiting, here she was, expecting his return.

As if to make sure she wouldn't miss him arriving home, he noisily enters their house. She has dressed for the occasion, in a sexy blue dress, made herself pretty, and has a bottle of prosecco ready. 'Hush,' she says, 'Be silent. First, we drink.' She pours him a glass of prosecco, takes one herself and toasts to their reunion. Then they sit down and have another. She gets up from the sofa, grabs her phone and selects what turns out to be music to dance slowly to. Romantic music. She pulls him up and embraces him, a gesture he returns. She is a good dancer. He knew she was. She effectively leads him leading her. They slowly step and turn through three songs, her head resting on his shoulder and her arms holding him tight. Then, she disengages and moves an armlength away from him. She takes off her shoes and hold-ups, lifts the blue dress - that fits so well with her blond hair - over her head, to reveal that she isn't wearing knickers, just a purple bra, which she takes off now - rendering herself naked.

'God, she is going for it!', he thinks.

And he is tense as she approaches and pushes him onto the bed, undoes his belt and slides his black jeans complete with underpants down to his ankles. She then blows him, edges him to near-orgasm, then disengages herself, looks down upon his helpless shape, his hard cock twitches for a minute and then slowly deflates. She had the intention of lowering herself upon his cock and ride him like a true amazon. He is embarrassed. Never before did his virility leave him. K and he have made love virtually every day since they met, in every position imaginable. He knows that she knows very well that this failure is strictly out of the ordinary. He sees her think. He is afraid that she will sense what the reason is. Women always sense infidelity, as common knowledge tells him.

He is right.

'You've met someone else...'

'K...'

'I know it. Don't deny it if it is true.'

'K...'

'Have you met someone else?'

'... I have... Sorry.'

'I don't need your apology. So, it is true...'

She pauses.

'Get out!'

'But...'

'You have one hour to pack your stuff and be gone.'

She picks her clothes off the floor, but doesn't put them on, drops them again. She casts him one final look, turns her back and leaves the room.

He sits there and doesn't move. He feels numb. Deflated. He has cheated on her and he feels guilty. He loves her... loved her... he doesn't know... In truth, he has given his heart to the new girl. It takes a minute before her image appears in his mind's eye. When it has, the thought of her makes his cock rise again.

Yes, he is right to cut his ties with K and go to the new girl. This mess is... collateral damage. Sorry, can't be helped.

He gets dressed, gathers his clothes and the few personal belongings he has here. His bass and gear are still in the car. Before he leaves, he pauses... Without going to find her, he calls out, 'K, I am sorry! I really am!'

Is he? She doesn't answer.

He will never hear from her again. She is a sensitive girl.

Where is she? What is she doing?

We see her lying on their bed, her bed now. She is naked and lies face down, her head turned to the right and her eyes closed. She doesn't move. Her wet face is slowly drying. Thankfully, it is a warm summer's day or else she would be getting cold.

Sunday

It is morning when we see her finally move. She pushes herself up, turns and gets into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. It is a Sunday morning. No obligations, no appointments, no work to do.

Her demeanour, her gaze is listless.

She gets up and walks to the kitchen. Without getting dressed. Here is the lovely body that M has spurned. Because lovely she is.

Look at her!

A pretty face, blue eyes, a juicy set of lips, a healthy head of blond hair, a pair of breasts that could cause a modest war, slender, a nice dark-blond patch of hair down there. Naturally, she doesn't feel pretty, lovely, attractive.

She goes through the motions of brewing herself a coffee and preparing a bowl of muesli. Well, she moves well. There is grace in her, even now, when she is low... very low. But she is not conscious of it. She feels dead... He stripped her of her dignity... She feels she's been made a fool. She says aloud, 'Okay, I will play the fool.'

After spending an hour sipping her coffee down and emptying her bowl of food, spoon by spoon, she goes to the living room and finds her blue dress, stockings and underwear. She picks the garments up and goes back to the kitchen, opens the kitchen door and steps outside. A beautiful summer Sunday morning hurries to warm her nude shape, but she doesn't appreciate it. She goes to the barrel in which people burn their trash and drops the clothes in. She fetches a box of matches, lights a match and drops it in. It takes another five matches, which she mechanically lights one after the other, to get the fire going.

With a mass of dirty smoke rising from the barrel, she pauses a moment, then goes back inside. Within a minute she returns with her arms full of clothes. Without ado, she drops them in the barrel. She repeats this twice. Then, she fetches her pantihoses and stockings, her underwear, first an armful of pairs of knickers, then her bras. Her coats, her bathrobe... Yes, she burns all of her coats. No, she saves one. And the bathrobe. And her shoes. A shred of common sense remaining?

And then there is no more. She is well and truly naked.

She stands outside and watches the fire until it is down to a modest smouldering.

The hour is 11 am on this sweet and comfy Sunday morning. A time when she and M were used to taking a brisk one-hour stroll. Always the same one, along footpaths and dirt tracks, partly through woodland and partly between fields. A ritual, one might say. She doesn't think, puts on her red Converses and sets off in brisk tempo. Is she aware that she is naked? Does she realise that she is quite a sight, a pleasant, perhaps even pretty young woman strolling along? Her breasts, of course, are something to behold, as they happily bob along in a delightfully random pattern. Happily. She passes one farmhouse but doesn't appear to mind, or even be aware that someone might be looking out. We hear noises from the shed but there is no basis for suggesting anyone sees her. But who knows? We do know that no one takes her to task. But how about her? What does she feel? Does she enjoy the walk? We are not sure. Her gaze is introverted. She may still be in shock and oblivious to the world outside of herself.

She arrives home undisturbed and intact. She is warm. Is she conscious of this, does she feel warm? Or would she prefer to be cold?

Her girlfriend from the village, J, comes to call on her, as she often does on Sunday afternoons. She enters the house through the open kitchen door and finds her friend K unusually nude with a cup of tea and a slice of bread with cheese in front of her. K slowly turns her head towards J and, after a pause, says, 'Oh, hi...'

'Didn't you get dressed yet? Where is M?'

K answers the second question, 'He let me down and has another girl. I kicked him out.'

'Oh, dear. I am so sorry! When?'

'Yesterday.'

'Oh, dear... I am so sorry... You were so well together.'

'We were about to fuck and he couldn't. Then I knew.'

'I am so sorry. Come here.'

And J goes up to K and hugs her. We see that K closes her eyes and a tear appears. Then they disengage.

J says, 'And you didn't get dressed again...'

'No. He stripped me of everything I was.'

'I understand. Wait, I'll help you.' And J goes to K's bedroom. And returns emptyhanded.

'K, where are your clothes?'

'They're gone. I burned them.'

'You burned them?'

'Yes!'

'So, how will you get dressed?'

'I won't.'

'But you can't do that. And, why?'

'I can do that. I'm doing it. And, why? I want everyone to see that he's made a fool of me.'

'But, what will people say?'

'That I am a fool. I don't care.'

J argues some more, talks about the cold and the shame and how it isn't worth it. K doesn't care. J decides to let things run their course and K will come to her senses.

They sit and drink coffee and eat a few biscuits and then drink a glass of wine, and another, then decide to cook dinner together. They eat it, drink some more wine and have another coffee. J then leaves, but not before she has hugged and kissed K with more vigour than ever, as if that would thaw K back to normality.

The visit, for the most part, was pretty normal. There was some gossip and some laughter. There were no further references to that fact that K was stark-naked. Or that M was gone.

After J has taken her leave, K sits on the sofa for an hour, pours herself another wine and watches TV. Then goes to her bed, her warm and cosy bed. Thankfully, K doesn't think of it as 'their' bed. The wine will have helped. She doesn't think at all. Her hand does find itself between her legs but before her instinct makes her do the business, she falls into a blissful sleep.

Monday

K wakes up at seven and gets out of bed immediately. This is normal for her. She is not one to toss a while and then force herself out of bed. Perhaps at this point it is useful to say that K has slept nude ever since she moved away from home. So, there is nothing unusual about seeing her stroll to the bathroom in the nude and then take a long hot shower.

It is a working day. It has been her habit to take that one-hour stroll before breakfast and then start work, so, we see her step outside and set off. Has she dressed for the occasion? She used to don sports bra and sportswear before. But this time, she is naked. Not counting her Converses. She has burned all her clothes, remember? That will have included her sports bra and sportswear, wouldn't it?

Like yesterday, she is a sight to behold, pretty K, but she is oblivious. Farmer N is exiting his farmhouse when K passes. He has seen K pass a million times and they have always exchanged a short greeting. 'Hey!' She casts a look in his direction and utters the usual 'Hey!' His eyes are virtually popping out of their sockets, but the word 'Hey' leaves his lips all the same. And so she passes and from a distance everything is as normal. Except she is nude. She arrives home undisturbed and intact.

She makes herself tea and toast, eats it and then signs into work. She manages to not think about M and his departure. She is her professional self. She takes the dozens of calls she is dealt with as if she wasn't nude. We, the knowing silent onlookers, we know better. We are ashamed to admit that we very much enjoy seeing her like this, nude and otherwise as normal. But we stop short of the qualification that we lust after her. (Although we do.) Work is a welcome distraction for K, helping her dispel any thoughts of M and his absence. She loved him, you know.

In the evening, after K has cooked herself a healthy meal, J and K's other local friend, I, from the next village, present themselves. J has told I of the unusual situation and together they have resolved to make K get dressed. Making her, without forcing her. I has about the same size as K, so they have brought along a top, chemise, knickers, jeans and a dress. They couldn't manage a bra of the right size. The pair knock on the door, even though they know it is unlocked, and wait until K opens it.

'Hi, K,' says I and steps forward to hug her. J follows suit. K is no fool, and she has noted both the unusual knocking, the bag I is carrying and the somewhat forced cheerfulness. She says in firm voice, 'No, I won't wear your clothes. I am a fool and want everyone to know.'

J and I look at each other. Unconvincingly, J implores, 'But, K, be reasonable. You'll really be the fool; people will laugh at you. All the harder if the police will arrest you.'

'Let them laugh, let them arrest me. I don't care.'

'You are being unreasonable, K!'

'I certainly am, girls. I want to be the fool.'

'Shall we call M and try to have him come back to you?'

'No, he is done as far as I am concerned. I am a fool, but I am not crazy.'

J and I swallow their pride and the evening proceeds like normal. Everything seems fine. Emphasis on: seem to. J and I have to put in an effort.

They leave complete with I's bag of clothes.

Tuesday

Heaven by thanked for the fact that K manages to sleep well. She is so unsettled that without some good sleep she would lose it altogether. She wakes up naturally at about the right time, gets up, showers and sets off on her usual morning walk.

Farmer N appears to be looking out for her. 'Hey!', he exclaims, looking her over from head to toe, devoting noticeably more time than average to the bottom and top of her torso. Who can blame him? At least he doesn't bite. Nor does his dog, which stretches the leash he or she is on.