Don't Judge Me Ch. 03

It's not like I was *trying* to be seen naked, though, right? I didn't have any control over when she would open the curtain! Whatever, ok? Don't judge me.

Back in the changing booth, I crossed my arms and grabbed the hem of the long, body-hugging dress. I whipped it up and over my head, with it crackling at the sudden release of static electricity. Very suddenly, I was completely naked yet again.

The next dress was white cotton, It was a baby-doll style dress with an irresistible embroidered bateau neck. I could see it was going to be short. I looked more closely. Scandalously short! In fact, it was arguably not a dress at all, and may have been designed to be worn over jeans or shorts.

But I, lacking jeans, and without shorts, eyed it with trepidation. I was lucky to be fairly short, because on anyone taller it would simply be obscene. Either way, you certainly couldn't wear it out and about as a dress.

Nevertheless, as I carefully appraised the garment, and undid the hook and eye so that I could put it on, I found myself delaying, waiting for..., even willing..., the curtain to snap open while I stood completely naked with the dress in my hands. Wouldn't that be awkward!

But the curtain didn't open.

I slowly threaded my arms into the dress, getting ready to lift it over my head, perhaps suddenly to be paraded once again, the naked young woman with her arms stuck in a silly dress, exposed for all to see... Still, the curtain stayed shut. I strained to listen, hoping to hear those glorious boots stepping toward the booth, but I just heard the hubbub of shoppers, the confused jumble of at least three different music systems from various stalls, and a barker talking about "40% discount, today only".

I reluctantly wiggled under the dress and let it fall about my body, anticlimactically covering me, more or less. The curtain still stubbornly concealed me from the gawkers whom I so craved, just beyond it. I fastened the hook and eye to complete the fitting.

The hem barely covered my butt cheeks. I found myself tugging at it, as if to lengthen it, and feeling where the hem came to on the very top of my thighs. When I pressed the hem close against my body I could feel just the very edge of the lowest part of my bottom. Horizontally, on the other hand, the skirt was generous, and perhaps a full circle, though I didn't have room to spin and find out. It flared from the empire waistband, which nestled just below my boobs, but then the skirt suddenly stopped at it's barely decent length like a teddy or a short nightie. The bodice was tailored, and with the thicker cotton fabric and embroidery, it functioned well as a bra, and for my modest size I didn't need more support than what it offered. From what I could tell, the dress was very cute, but definitely risque, even when standing bolt upright. It would become indisputably indecent to move around in it, let alone bend forward even a small amount!

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to open the curtain. I felt like I may not have permission, but as I thought about it, I hadn't been told not to. This was a new sensation for me, wanting so dearly to be obedient that I was making up rules where there had been none set! I debated with myself for a few moments before I decided to go ahead.

I sheepishly drew back the curtain enough to peek out. I saw Miss Havisham standing there, expectantly waiting.

"Well, it's about time. Did you get lost in there? Let's see you", she bustled.

I drew the curtain all the way back and stood for her. I plucked at the sides of the hem, nervously self-conscious about how short it was.

"Around", she commanded. I spun slowly, first to face away from her, then all the way back around to face her. I was enjoying these instructions, and hoped it would last longer.

"Oh, miss, you there! Yes, can you wait on me, please?", she suddenly motioned to the stall holder, a woman almost her own age, who had been busily serving customers as well as chirping instructions to the two young girls she employed in the shop. She responded immediately to Miss Havisham, "How can I help you, Ma'am?"

"This fabric, will it shrink in the wash? I never know with these cotton items", Miss Havisham enquired, as I stood, apparently outside the conversation that was about me, or at least, about the garment that barely concealed me.

"Oh, yes, you'll have to wash it in cold water, and only with whites, of course. Certainly don't tumble-dry it. That's where you'll have a problem. There's a care label in there, probably up inside the waist band or something", the shop keeper touched the outside of the dress under my left arm to indicate where the label might be.

"Ah, of course, thank you", Miss Havisham responded, stepping forward and suddenly lifting the dress from that side to look inside the seam. This, of course, rendered me exposed almost completely below the waist, but with her elbow pushing me to bend over in the other direction so that she could gain access to the inner seam of the dress, I was unable to protect my dignity. The two women tugged and pulled at the dress from underneath in various directions, while tutting about how difficult these labels can be to find. Absent from their commentary was any mention of the naked young woman they found underneath, and exposed to the feasting eyes of the world!

The two women probably formed something of a shield, I consoled myself, so that I wasn't completely on display. But if anyone looked in our direction with any curiosity, I was certain they would see quite a lot of my bare skin between the two, including some of my more intimate bits! For my part, I was only able to see the bottom of two of the change booths, both women's feet, and a section of floor, as I had now bent almost right over around Miss Havisham. I held onto her waist to steady myself, and I became merely a prop in the label-finding drama unfolding behind and above me.

From beneath her elbow, and close to the fabric of her skirt, I realized I was able to fully experience Miss Havisham's perfume. It contained some sweetness, like lavender or vanilla, but there was also sandalwood and perhaps patchouli underneath, which rounded out the fragrance. A wonderfully indulgent scent, warm and sensual, but also mature and elegant. I soaked myself in it, letting the heady scent hold me in its embrace through my senses, while my physical body dangled, exposed and on display, far behind me.

Eventually they found the label and, with some additional mutual reproving of "the young ones" who presumably decided how small to make the text, finally settled the question of care for the garment. They let it fell back into place, and set me straight up again, then stood back nodding. "It's very pretty", they agreed.

"I think we'll wear this one home. I'll take the other two as well.", Miss Havisham announced, to my surprise. I hadn't expected this to end in a purchase. Mind you, I hadn't expected literally anything she had done, so in that sense it was in keeping with a theme. She shop lady scooped up the other dresses along with my discarded skirt and blouse, folded everything neatly, and tucked them into a bag to complete the sale. She managed to completely omit to wonder why I was without knickers, as she most obviously would have noticed.

Then we were on the go again, but now with a bag of shopping. And me, with my new dress constantly threatening to reveal just that little bit too much! But I didn't have time to think about how to correct for that as I scurried along behind Miss Havisham. It was just as well I had worn flats, with all the walking we were doing. They were pretty, but very simple. They might be worn through by the end of the day!

We were headed, at a brisk pace, towards the edge of the park, where the busy main road hummed and purred. Immediately as we cleared the large, sandstone, gargoyled gates, we turned left and walked along between the busy road and the high stone wall of the park. Suddenly, instead of a park full of trees and people and birds and grass, we were in a vehicle and asphalt world. The severity and griminess of it assaulted my senses. Whenever a large bus or truck rumbled past, I could feel the strong buffeting of the smoky air. My impossibly short "dress", also responded to those buffets, and I found myself often hopping a little, holding the edges of the hems down as best I could with both hands, to avoid a real scandal. Miss Havisham didn't break stride, pressing forward purposefully, oblivious to my travails.

In the park I had felt soft, and vulnerable in a gentle way, almost closer to nature in my semi-nakedness. The presence of people natural, and a softly erotic foil against which I could experience my little thrills. Out here, I felt the barrage of noise, dust, grime, and smelly pollution. I felt like a naked fish out of her safe water, flopping helplessly in a barren place. I was a white fluffy snowflake, in my little white baby doll dress, all lace and frills and glimpses of my bottom, thrust into a harsh, noisy, dirty world. Instead of a quiet thrill at the breeze up under my dress, as I had previously enjoyed, now I felt I was being violated, assaulted, by dirty air leering and grabbing at my vulnerability. Don't get me wrong, I liked it (don't judge me). Being molested, defenseless and frail, by the grimy dirtiness was a thrill, too. It's just it was different. Should I be ashamed? I don't even know any more.

We reached the pedestrian bridge, a narrow, long structure, built to take pedestrians and cyclists safely across a large, 5-way intersection of incessantly snarling traffic. There were several other pedestrians around, and some were also heading for the bridge behind us. We reached the bottom of the steep stairs, and I gulped. It would be impossible to remain unexposed and even nominally decent climbing these three flights of stairs! But Miss Havisham, not missing a beat, started up the first flight without looking back. What choice did I have? I had to follow.

The stairs were protected by a wrought iron handrail on each side. It was sturdy enough to stop anyone falling, but didn't offer any protection against people looking upwards at my outrageous nakedness. And anyone climbing the stairs behind us would be unable to avoid seeing all the way up my legs to my naked bottom as I climbed above and in front of them. It was a full buffet on display, I'm afraid, and no way to mitigate it. I resolved not to look back, to avoid the humiliation, and just started up the stairs. The cars whooshing by would, if they chose to, be able to look up and see not only my naked bottom, but my lower back and tummy also, as the dress floofed out from time to time in sympathy with the air which was moving about more unpredictably as we got higher above the level of the road. While I used one hand to hold onto the railing, my other was fighting to control the fabric as it was pushed sideways, forwards, backwards, and even straight up, sometimes! It was futile. It had a mind of its own, and it appeared to have a mind to cause me the maximum embarrassment. The best I could to was push one side down, and move that arm from front to back, to at least make a show of minimizing my humiliating predicament.

A truck tooted its horn loudly, and I jumped. I couldn't tell if it was in response to catching a fortuitous glimpse up my badly behaved dress, or whether directed in anger at some other motorist. My adrenaline was running hard as we neared the top of the stairs.

Involuntarily, I forgot my decision not to look back, and I turned briefly to see who was coming up behind. There were five people, all but one of them men, and all five had been following my naked progress up the stairs! Caught, they all immediately looked downwards, or to the side, rather than admit what they had been enjoying. It was the first time I had caught a woman - probably ten years my senior, gawking up my dress. But how could I blame her. Even a car wreck is hard to look away from, and my embarrassment was on something of a car-wreck scale. I instinctively ran the back of my hand down the back of the dress with my palm facing outwards, smoothing it down as if to reduce the extent of my exposure. It didn't of course. It just drew attention to me all the more, especially when I ran out of dress much too soon and ended up vainly covering my bottom with my hand which, as we all know, simply doesn't work. It was like being on a spit roast, just spinning slowly for all to see me in my shame and nakedness. There was no escape. It was relentless. I was helpless. I've never felt so alive.

I skipped forward to catch up to Miss Havisham, who must have been a very fit lady to have powered up those stairs at that pace, because I struggled to keep up with her. I glanced at the cars approaching from the near side of the road, and several times, as they zoomed underneath, I saw the driver looking upwards to check they were seeing what they thought they were seeing, or a passenger transfixed on the view above them. I hoped no traffic accidents were going to be caused by my misfortune, and I hurried along.

We reached the far side, and the traffic there was stopped, facing in the opposite direction to the rushing cars and trucks I had already... entertained. From the corner of my eye I could see a number of motorists or their passengers staring upwards. One poor fellow was being berated by his female companion, and I suspect it was caused by my situation (and his noticing it). Poor chap.

We descended the stairs on the far side, and I tried to keep everything about my posture as straight and vertical as possible to minimize the amount of flying fabric and flashing flesh. The motorists nearest the bridge, however, did catch more than their fair share of glimpses and gawks at my body. I couldn't prevent it... Even if I wanted to... Which I didn't... Is that bad...?

Once we were across the road, we turned into a much smaller lane, lined with two-storey town houses on each side. It was clearly an expensive area. My own flat on the other side of the park was in a street also lined with townhouses, but much less well maintained, and grotty, dingy, and cheap. It was what I could afford. These were immaculate.

We turned a corner and stopped at the first gate, set in a high fence. Miss Havisham produced an electronic fob from her little satin recticule which, I presumed, still contained my underwear, and the gate buzzed open for us. She motioned me through, and followed closely behind. As the gate clicked shut behind, I took in my surroundings.

I was in a garden that was far larger than I thought possible, based on what I had seen of the property sizes in the street we walked up. An ornate manor house was set back from the street so far that the garden was larger than the size of the whole building that I lived in! It was flawlessly kept, and surrounded by a high fence. It was possible to imagine the busy city, just outside the walls, might be a thousand miles away. A path meandered, enough to be quaint, but not so much as to take one out of one's way, on the journey from the gate to the front door of the manor, where it met the large circular driveway which ran past the front of the house. The gardens surrounding the path consisted of meticulously kept lawns and manicured hedges, shrubs, and several large shade trees with postcard-perfect picnic spots under them.

The manor house itself was adorned with trellises of climbing ivy, and the doorways and window frames were ornately decorated. I could scarcely believe it. The property was absolutely beautiful, and it seemed Miss Havisham was a perfectly fitting feature of it.

Quickly assembling themselves outside the front door as we made our way down the path were two young women about my age, and three who were in their thirties and forties. All were dressed in the style of 19th century servants, and they stood at attention, awaiting Miss Havisham, and, I suppose, me.

The whole thing was surreal. I didn't know what I was in for, but I had spent several hours now roaming around under Miss Havisham's instruction, lacking underwear and sometimes a whole lot more. I didn't know what to expect from here, but it looked like I had stepped into a fairy tale, and no matter what indignities my benevolent tormentor might impose on me (and perhaps in anticipation of them...?), I didn't want it to end.

O Em Gee, you're not going to believe what happened next. But I wasn't the one in control of all this, so don't judge me, ok?