My Flagrant Public Nudity

I squawked, "No, you don't understand."

She said, "You can help us understand down at the station, Ma'am."

Nodding to the other cop, evidently her junior, she said, "I'll take her in. Stay here and obtain witness statements from the nearest spectators," spitting out the last word. "Get several of the videos, which we know they have, and email them to the captain. If they give you any resistance, explain obstruction of justice to them and ask them if they'd prefer to have their cameras and cell phones confiscated. At the mention of a confiscated cell phone, most of these kids will start showing symptoms of withdrawal. Call for a squad car to bring you back to the station when you're done. And ask the campus guys if they'll help you collect the videos."

The campus guys agreed to this a little too eagerly if you ask me. The cop held my arm and led me away to her police car. The students, deprived of their unexpected morning's entertainment, booed lustily behind us. I said nothing and offered no resistance as she deposited me in the back seat. I was now legitimately and unequivocally terrified.

She seemed to park the car farther down the street from the station than was strictly necessary and led me along the sidewalk and inside. She plopped me down on a chair in a small, dingy interview room, removed the handcuffs and said, "Sorry, but this may take a while."

I sat there for well over an hour, idiotically hoping that this was just some nightmare sex dream from which I'd shortly awaken. I thought about my perplexingly ambivalent feelings on the quad. How I so wanted it all to end and so wanted it all to last forever. In equal measures. And, although I hadn't the foggiest idea how this would turn out, as the minutes crawled by, I gradually became, not precisely comfortable, but maybe acclimated to the fact that I was nude in a police station. It did have a certain appeal. Finally, the cop came back and said, "The captain wants to see you."

She escorted me to the captain's office and stopped me in front of her desk, still totally naked. The very idea of standing there like that before her in a building humming with fully clothed, uniformed, law enforcement officers was irresistibly delicious. It was such a perfect balance between monumentally humiliating exposure and unimaginable sexual stimulation. It was almost like an out-of-body experience, as if I were looking over her shoulder, drinking in the sight of my own starkly brazen nudity. I was breathing deeply, each breath stirring my breasts and setting them in detectable, delectable motion. My nipples felt hard enough to cut diamonds, and my clitoris seemed to tug against its moorings as if it could slip free and soar away on its own. And although I knew it was crucial not to let any trace of my elation show, it wasn't easy.

The captain was a handsome woman, probably in her forties, who looked me up and down with something of an amused expression. I half-heartedly asked for some jail clothes because I thought she would expect me to, but she said, "No." She stared at my breasts for a moment and said, "I doubt we have anything that would properly contain you." I glanced at her desk and the credenza behind her, both of which were adorned with photos that looked like they were of a husband and kids.

"Look, I can explain . . ."

She held up a palm and said, "Wait. I'm afraid you made a couple of serious mistakes today. According to all of the eyewitnesses, you blamed this on sorority hazing. That was your first mistake. That story may have been sufficient to convince the students what this was all about but not the police. Because if said hazing really were the case, then you would be accusing several women of kidnapping—a serious felony."

I started to speak, but she held up a palm again and said, "Don't. I know exactly what you're going to say: 'Oh, I could never press charges against my sisters.' That won't stop us from interviewing all of them. If they even exist. I've seen the videos. One of the first things I noticed was that when your right hand was freed, you made no attempt, however futile, to cover yourself with it. Nor do you appear inclined to do so now even though you have two of them at your disposal. You deliberately suppressed a reflex that would have been purely instinctive for just about every other woman on earth. I think you set this up yourself, and I think you enjoyed it immensely.

"The second mistake you made was when you escalated this by masturbating repeatedly in front of the whole student body. Not only was that an actual crime, but you turned yet another harmless episode of campus nudity into some videos that, by tomorrow, will not only have gone viral but also have been uploaded to every porn site on the Internet.

"You think we care about campus nudity? We have serious crimes to investigate. Sure, we get the occasional complaint, but we always refer it to campus security, and they always . . . do exactly nothing. The only reason we were even there was that some hysterical student called to report the aftermath of a gang rape. Well, that got our attention, but when we arrived, we found only a spectacular display of public masturbation.

"Indecent exposure. Lewd and lascivious conduct. Obscene public behavior. There are plenty of statutes that could send you to jail for a while. Some pretty stiff fines, too."

"Okay," I said desperately. "I'll tell you the truth. It was . . . I thought it was just going to be like flashing or a naked dare. I didn't know I'd be handcuffed. I didn't know I'd be forced to masturbate."

"Forced? Please. Eventually, the investigative wizards of campus security would have gotten wind of this, set you free and sent you on your way. But when you saw them coming, along with our guys, you not only kept masturbating, but you practically hosed down the cops. That must have been a real trip. You loved this, didn't you."

"No, I didn't. It was the the most humiliating experience of my life."

She looked at me for a long moment before picking up a microphone, pushing a button on it and announcing to the entire station, "Everyone into the squad room except Malloy, O'Brian and Jenkins. You guys cover the phones and the front desk. I'll need you later."

"What are you doing?"

"You're going to go into the squad room. There are about 20 occupied desks in there, but there will be some overflow. The morning shift change is starting, so there will be a lot more cops than usual. Unlucky for you. Or perhaps lucky as the case may be. You're going to move around the room, masturbating continuously and stopping by each desk for one full minute, standing just far enough away so that everyone at the desk can observe your naked self from head to toe. I'll watch the wall clock and tell you when to move on."

"No! You can't make me do that."

"Of course not. We could start booking you now and scheduling your arraignment. While we're doing that, you can begin to envision your trial. Sitting with your family and friends, watching some of those lovely masturbation videos on the big-screen TV in the courtroom. They'll probably have already seen them, but I imagine that watching them together, not to mention earning yourself some jail time, would be insufferable. I'm offering you a way out of this and most likely confirming my [and here she formed air quotes] theory of the crime."

She rose and led me into the squad room. She addressed everyone, saying, "If you don't have a desk, pull up a chair next to the people who do. Please remain silent. Okay, Dear, get to it."

I had no choice. I began masturbating, moving from desk to desk, but I think the captain was waiting for much longer than a minute to usher me along. All of the officers stayed silent but were clearly rapt. I had a shuddering orgasm in front of about every fourth desk, completely carried away by the outrageous sexual novelty of this. I mean, who has ever gotten to have multiple orgasms while masturbating naked in a crowded police squad room? Fortunately, I didn't squirt on anyone's desk, which probably would have been poorly received. Maybe that was just a one-off. Or maybe I was still rearming for the next time.

When I cleared the last desk, despite nearly fainting, I felt ready to start again at the first one, but I kept that thought to myself. The captain marched me back to her office. She left me in front of her desk and sat down behind it. She said, "I've been doing this for a long time. I went to college right here. A major in criminal justice and a minor in behavioral psychology. I know what I'm doing. An innocent victim in that squad room would have been curled up in the fetal position on the floor, sobbing and begging for mercy. But I would never have put an innocent victim in that circumstance. Now, we are going to do one final thing that should prove me right beyond question."

She picked up the microphone and called Malloy, O'Brian and Jenkins into her office. Two men and a woman entered. She invited them to have a seat, turned to me and said, "If I am right, you are an ardent exhibitionist who can have an orgasm without being touched or touching yourself, but merely by being closely examined while you are standing there nude. Put your hands behind your head and spread your legs about shoulder width. We are just going to sit here and talk about your naked body for a while. Those breasts are really something aren't they, Officer Jenkins?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely lovely. As fine as I've ever seen. Beautifully formed with lovely nipples that swell and harden even as we speak."

"Thank you. Officer Malloy, did you see her ass on the way in?"

"Simply stunning. It couldn't be improved upon. It's firm and high and perfectly curved, but she seems to be clenching it a bit right now."

"Sergeant O'Brian," she asked the woman, "what do you think of that clitoris? I think if I had one that large and protuberant, I'd kind of want to hide it with some pubic hair."

"Well, Ma'am," said O'Brian, leaning in for a closer look, "if I were a serious exhibitionist and really got off on people seeing my clit, and if mine looked anything like hers, I'd wax for damn sure and walk around naked whenever I could. I'm about to turn into a lesbian just from looking at it. Jenkins and Malloy, look closely at this clit. See how engorged it is and how red it's becoming. And I'm sure I don't have to direct your attention to the fluid streaming from her vagina. We're talking a waterfall-grade event here. Best mind your feet."

After a few more minutes of this, my legs began to buckle as yet another orgasm washed over me. It wasn't all that strong, but it was obvious enough.

"What a surprise," said the captain. "You have exercised some extremely poor judgment today, young lady, but you didn't harm anyone but yourself. Go on. Get out of here."

I felt a wave of relief but was still wary. "Ma'am, I'm still naked, and it's miles to the Sheraton. I'll get arrested again."

"Two point four miles north on Roosevelt Avenue. Same street as the station. I'll put the word out that you're not to be picked up between here and there as long as you stay on this street. It's a lovely day for a walk. I hope you learned a lesson. Now go."

I thanked the captain profusely and fled the station, intending to borrow a phone from someone and call Susan to come get me. But as I was walking down the steps, I was struck by unique feeling in my vagina. It wasn't an orgasm. It was more like . . . a realization. It was like my vagina had taken over the thinking for my addled brain. And making a better job of it, too: the captain had just thrown me into the briar patch. I had been given permission to walk naked and unimpeded for over two miles through the city's busy shopping district. Calling Susan would have been another bad idea.

I thought for a moment about the captain. The look of wry amusement on her face. Her caustic but lenient manner. Was it possible that I was about to do something that she had pleasantly daydreamed about but could never, ever do herself? She didn't even demand my name.

I also had an odd thought about the people on the sidewalks staring at me. I'm sure they could have easily entertained the idea of one day seeing a naked woman being hauled into a police station. Those loitering on the nearby benches may have recently seen just that. But who among them could have ever imagined seeing a nude woman leaving a police station unaccompanied and looking like she had just swallowed a flock of canaries?

I strolled along, my freely bouncing breasts and swollen clitoris feeling the warm breeze caress them. In less than a day I had become a different woman. Or become the woman I had always been meant to be. I felt joyously liberated.

I was beginning to attract a crowd, too. Some people who had been walking toward me wheeled around and began to follow me. Traffic slowed to walking speed. My walking speed to be exact. Unsurprisingly, the cars were encouraged to speed up by the blaring horns behind them. Other cars would then move up and instantly commit the very same offense they had just noisily condemned.

The cars' occupants were scrambling for their camera phones, and the expected comments rained down on me. "Great tits! Nice ass! Is that your clit, Lady?" I even got one shouted marriage proposal. People's reactions were overwhelmingly positive and wildly enthusiastic. This was turning out way better than Cercei Lannister's walk of shame. I hoped that I wouldn't cause an accident. But pedestrian collisions were far more likely since most of the people ahead of me were now walking backward and holding out their phones.

The crowd kept growing. A couple of the students who had seen me on the quad yelled out as much and began texting madly. It was an exhibitionist's dream. The only one naked in the the most public of settings with no fear of arrest and so many supportive onlookers. And you can believe that I took my own sweet time with it. I considered browsing in some of the shops, but by veering from the street, I might technically be violating the sole condition of the captain's dispensation.

Instead, I frequently stopped, chatted with people and allowed anyone who requested it to pose for pictures with me, hugging them to me and taking every opportunity to press my breasts up against them. Once, I just had to stop and ask one of the men for a clean handkerchief so I could pat myself dry between my legs. When I returned it to him, he looked at it as if I had just handed him the Holy Grail.

Much later, when I had almost reached the hotel, I stopped stock still, realizing that I was loathe to squander any of my one-day-only free pass. In front of a busy restaurant, I leaned my shoulders back against its cool glass front, spread my legs and began to pleasure myself in front of the ecstatic crowd.

With my back arched and my hips forward, I began running my hands up and down my body, kneading my breasts, pinching my nipples and rubbing my clitoris, both knowing (and showing) that this was all on me. No pretense of accidental nudity or coerced masturbation. This was just me, utterly nude and performing the most intimate of acts on a crowed street, giving up the last shred of my dignity and personal privacy to everyone. Giving them all of me. I tried to look into every pair of eyes that was locked on me as I slowly proceeded to bring myself to an orgasm. Again and again and again. I found, too, that I was still a squirter. I was sexually satiated, and my humiliation was total.

When I could no longer stand it, I staggered into the hotel and asked for a new keycard from the bemused desk clerks. When they asked for a photo ID, I informed them that it was in my room with the old keycard. They said that they'd have to send someone with me to verify my identity. Both of the male clerks volunteered. There was a brief argument over seniority, and the "senior" clerk accompanied me to the room where I showed him my driver's license. He departed somewhat reluctantly, and I crumpled onto the bed in exhaustion.

I saw that the phone's message light was blinking. I knew it was Susan and called her as I lay there. When she answered, I said, "Room 206. Get over here now," and hung up. She got there quickly.

"Oh, Liz, I'm so sorry," she cried as I opened the door. I gestured to one of the chairs, and she sat down. I just stared at her.

"Uh, what happened with the police?"

I told her about everything that went on at the station and about the long, nude walk through the city, saving that last little detail of my walk momentarily.

"Liz, can you ever forgive me. I just took those things you mentioned from your fantasies and dreams—the large numbers of people, the bondage, the public masturbation—and tried to incorporate them into your experience. I had no idea the police would get involved. I thought no place could be safer for this than a college campus."

At that point the phone rang.

"Uh, oh." I said. "That'll be the hotel throwing me out."

When I answered, the voice on the other end said, "Elizabeth London?"

"Yes?" I sensed trouble.

"This is Captain Mona Irving at the 6th Precinct. I saw you this morning." She put a lot of ironic emphasis on that "saw."

"How did you get my . . .?"

"I'm a cop, Elizabeth. I had two plainclothes officers following you on the street, mainly to make sure that you weren't mauled by your adoring fans, but also to make a video record of the proceedings. Recording your every step was the ideal cover; they blended right in with everyone else. But that stunt you pulled by the hotel was truly beyond the pale. I thought I might have taught you a lesson or gotten something out of your system this morning. Silly me. You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"

I knew she was right; that last display was way over the top. Listening to her, I felt like a chastised and chastened child. And I really was a little abashed. I became all contrition and obsequiousness, saying, "I'm so sorry, Ma'am. I know I went completely off the rails today. I just . . ."

"Today? You've never done anything like this before?"

No, Ma'am. Nothing like this. It's kind of like this terrible pressure that's been building up in me for years."

"Well, the boiler finally blew up today and took the rest of the ship with it. It was all my officers could do to refrain from intervening. They called me, and I told them to hold off unless we got a 9-1-1 complaint. Elizabeth, you are really, really lucky that we didn't get one. A few minutes after you entered the hotel, they went up to the front desk, flashed their badges and got a look at your registration. You're a long way from home. Probably your only good idea.

"You know, it's funny. The desk clerks had no trouble at all recalling who we were asking about. I guess a naked woman in a hotel lobby must stand out like a sore thumb. Really incisive police work, don't you think?" I struggled to suppress a laugh.

"I put a file on you in the system. No charges, no description of today's events, just a red flag indicating that if you ever popped up on the radar again, I was to be notified immediately. If you ever pull something like that again on my patch, you will find yourself, to steal a phrase from the late Hunter Thompson, 'fucked, broken and driven across the land.' Is that clear enough?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That's really clear."

"When are you leaving?"

"I have a flight out at six tomorrow evening."

"Until then you are under house arrest. I can't have you wandering around outside your hotel. Or outside your room for that matter. The traffic is still backed up to Panama, by the way. If you get hungry, call room service, which I'm sure will be interesting. Until it's time for you to leave for the airport, you'll just have to settle for masturbating in front of your open drapes." I glanced at them.