Naked Dress

"Okay, go," said Monica, and a large, uniformed man approached the car, reached for the handle, and pulled the door open.

I was assaulted immediately by a wave of crowd noise and a blast of chilly late-Autumn wind. Glancing out, I could see what looked dozens...no, hundreds of people waiting to see the stars arrive. My body recoiled from the noise and the cold and screamed at me not to leave the safety of the car. But then another security guy reached in a hand for me, and I took it...

I didn't just clamber out of the car like you normally would because I'd learned the hard way that some photographers and spectators at events like this would try to get in position to catch Celebrity Upskirt pics, and I wasn't having that. I squeezed my thighs together, pivoted my hips, planted my feet on the curb and let the security guy pull me up out of the car. And then all hell broke loose.

Pandemonium? Chaos? Bedlam? Not sure if any of those were adequate to describe the scene as I stepped out into the Spectators' Gallery. The crowd was bigger than I thought, probably several hundred at least, and they were SCREAMING. Sonya Shane, one of the hottest names in Hollywood at the moment, was standing there in all her naked dress glory. And the big, rowdy crowd of spectators, reporters and photographers was losing its collective mind.

"Beautiful!" shouted a man.

"Sonya, we love you!" screamed a woman.

"Fucking slut!" yelled someone else (okay, you can't please everyone).

But most of the individual voices couldn't be heard over the crushing collective roar. Well, except for the shrill voices of professional and iPhone amateur photographers trying to get me to turn their way, to strike poses, to show off the shocking dress and the gorgeous body underneath.

Bodies were pressing forward into the narrow red-carpet walkway, separated from me only by velvet ropes. Well, and a considerable phalanx of security personnel. The chaos was under control, if just barely, so I fought down my panic, smiled and waved at the crowd, and started moving forward.

But I couldn't move too far or too fast, because there were a couple of officially credentialed photographers (one from New York Times, the other I didn't recognize) inside the ropes, and they were blocking my way while they got their shots of me.

While I stood there, another gust of freezing wind rolled through, reminding me how naked I truly was. It was worse than being nude; not only was all my bare skin taking the wind directly, but the metallic rings that hugged my body were now icy cold.

And the wind ruffled my hair...no, not the hair on my head, which was held in a tight French braid, but rather my pubic hair. The Battle of the Panties had continued to rage after the fitting. Shazari had made a tiny adjustment to the panties, but refused to add more coverage after that, because of some obscure point of artistic pride that we couldn't fathom. Tiffany had continued to urge me to trim the bush, and I finally relented and did a bit of landscaping. In the end, I was covered, but barely. At least until the limo ride. Getting in and out of the limo had caused the panties to move a bit. I should have thought to adjust them before I exited the car, but...

But it was too late now. There was no way I was going to start fiddling with my G-string with a crowd watching, so I was just going to have to brazen it out. But I could distinctly feel my curly delights swaying in the breeze...and even though my dark hair would be hard to see against my black panties, some of those cameras had telephoto lenses...

Fucking hell...

Eventually, the credentialed photographers started backing up so I could proceed. People were still shouting at me: reporters barking out questions, paparazzi calling out instructions trying to get me to pose, and spectators yelling all sorts of things. Down here it was mostly spectators: celebrity watchers who wanted to get up close views of their favorite movie stars. At some events, I knew they sold tickets for this, while at others you just had to queue up hours in advance. Either way, these people were hardcore fans, and their energy was contagious if not a bit alarming.

But despite the arctic winds and the ravenous mob, I was starting to settle down and enjoy it. Clearly the dress was a huge hit, and this was my first big event since the "Queen of the Vikings" premiere, and the attention was a rush. As I relaxed a bit, my smile was easier, and my body movement was more natural, and I started responding to the posing requests.

I was starting to feel good. Good about being me, good about my body. I felt strong, beautiful, and sexy. Yeah, I was enjoying this whole naked dress thing, and I took a deep breath, and it caught in my throat, and my nipples, already tormented by the chilly wind, hardened even further. And something warm and sort of liquid rushed through my tummy...and lower...

I realized that I was becoming quite aroused...

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

After running the gauntlet of the Spectators' Gallery, my next obstacle was the Photo Zone. This was backed by a temporary wall, adorned with logos for The Event and its major sponsors. Mercifully, it blocked the cold wind, and someone had even been thoughtful enough to set up a few of those outdoor heaters you see in restaurant patios. And wow, was it ever well-lit... the lighting array was almost blinding, so I could barely see the crowd of semi-credentialed camera guys (allowed into this area, but not "inside the ropes").

Facing the sponsor wall, twenty feet from me, was a steel crowd-control barrier holding the photographers back, and another barrier thirty feet beyond that to keep the spectators separated from the photographers.

It looked like there were at least a couple dozen photogs, probably more like several dozen. They were loud and unruly, yelling at me to pose and turn this way or that way, but also yelling at each other as they jostled for position. No, not jostled; fought. Behind them, spectators were whistling and cheering and shouting at me. A slightly different form of bedlam from the spot where I exited the car, but bedlam, nonetheless. In fact, the overall crowd was larger, because people from the spectators' gallery were following along with me, squeezing up against people further up the line. The crowd was getting denser and wilder, and the security guys were looking nervous.

All this chaos over one little Viking Queen in a Naked Dress? Go figure.

I smiled and waved as I stepped out into the light of the photo zone, and the din increased exponentially. I gave them a couple of ordinary poses, front and back, but they were shouting for more. I curled my fingers like kitten claws and got a laugh from the spectators. Then I bent over a bit and stuck my butt out and pulled my shoulders back hard, making my boobs jiggle enticingly. Then I made a Betty Boop face and blew kisses at the crowd. That brought a shower of wolf whistles. Finally, I stood with legs straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and hands on hips. Adding a snarling scowl, it looked just like my pose in the "Queen of the Vikings" widely viewed promo poster. That brought a full-throated roar from the crowd and sent the photographers into a frenzy.

Then I noticed a woman in a business suit standing just beyond the photo area, trying to get my attention while being otherwise unobtrusive. She pointed behind me, and I turned to see a rapper named BigDee patiently waiting his turn. Maybe was having a little too much fun. I grimaced and mouthed "Sorry!" at him, but he just gave me a big grin and shrugged.

Suit girl ushered me to the next stage of my ordeal...

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

...the Interview Area.

At this event, there wasn't quite enough space for a decent interview area, so only two cable networks had been allowed to set up shop.

My first stop was at the Catwalk booth. Catwalk was the premier network focusing primarily on fashion. They'd assigned a reporter named Robert Afton, a sweet-faced dad bod with a soft grey beard, who was known for being congenial and professional.

"Sonya!" he beamed and gave me a quick hug. "You look absolutely sensational! What a gorgeous dress!"

"Oh, thanks Rob!"

"Sonya, this is one of the sexiest red-carpet looks I've seen in years! Tell us all about it, who's the designer?"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? The designer is named Shazari..."

"Oh yes, Shazari is a rising star, she had her own shows earlier this year in Sydney and Los Angeles..." He proceeded to rattle off several factoids about Shazari, then asked me the perfect questions to match a couple of bullet points Tiffany had made me memorize.

We both sounded like experts on Shazari, although I hadn't heard of her until a few days earlier, and I doubted Rob had either. Tiffany, working quietly behind the scenes, had earned her salary for the week.

"...and I have to give a shout out to my stylist, Tiffany Stroud," I concluded.

"Tiffany is the best," Rob answered, giving me a wink.

As I stepped away from the Catwalk booth, I almost collided with BigDee, once again waiting in the wings. He gave me another big smile, looking quite happy and smelling like weed.

"Damn girl, that dress is fire!" he said.

"Aw, thanks! Sorry I keep holding up the line."

"The night is your chalice, my lady. Drink deeply." Which sounded quite sweet, although a bit random.

Suit girl was standing by as well, and she ushered me to my next stop, which was...

...The Shark Pool...

Nina Sharnova, aka The Shark, was a glorified gossip columnist who had the top-rated show on CelebNet, an enormously popular network that handled news and gossip in the entertainment world. Fast and loose with the truth, beloved by her fans, despised by the celebrities she victimized: behold, The Shark.

Nina had been talking shit about me for months. First, she claimed (falsely) that I had caused drama on the set of "Queen of the Vikings." Then she reported, long before anyone else, that Georges and I were seeing each other. (Okay, she got that one right, but at the time, we were far from ready to go public.) And she had continued to talk about it, undermining our efforts to keep it low-profile and private.

The Shark gazed at me with cold, dead eyes and an evil smile as I stepped into her lair. The frigid wind was back, whistling through the rings of my dress and clawing at my bare skin. Her job was to strip me bare naked with her interrogation, but I was already nearly nude.

"Well, it's the Viking Queen herself!" she said. "Sonya Shane, what a lovely dress, you certainly have the world's attention tonight, my Queen!"

"Um...thanks, Nina."

"Any particular attention you're seeking tonight, Sonya?"

"Uh, haha, not quite sure what you mean..."

"Well, it looks like you're here by yourself, yes?"

"Yes."

"Thought you might be here with someone tonight..."

"Um, no..."

"So, the designer is Shazari, correct?"

"Uh, yeah." Fucking hell, how did she know that?"

"You support her cause, that's lovely..."

Her cause? What the fuck. Was Shazari funding terrorists? Was she a white supremacist? I felt a brief flare of panic but forced it back down. There was no way Tiffany would miss something like that. Nina was bluffing, trying to knock me off balance so I'd trip up over her questions about Georges. I just kept smiling and said nothing. She stared at me, letting a few awkward seconds tick by. I leaned away and started to turn, my body language letting her know that the interview would be over if she wasn't going to keep asking questions.

"So," she said, catching me an instant before I bolted, "Georges Marcineau!"

"No, I'm Sonya Shane," I replied. Her fake laughter at my joke was a cackle, and I tittered back.

"Rumors are, you've been seen with him, several times, out in LA."

"Oh, he and I are just friends," I lied. "And that's old news, I haven't seen him in quite a while."

"Just friends, of course," she said. "Yes, he's been in Morocco shooting 'Desert Assassin,' right?"

"I think so, yes."

"But they just wrapped, right?"

"I think so, yes."

"So will he be here later?"

"I think so, yes."

"Hmm," she hummed, then paused for a moment, letting me dangle in the chilly wind. "Almost four weeks over there shooting. A long time to be away from your...friend. You must have missed him."

"Terribly," I said. And I don't know why I said it, but it threw her off. She had expected another denial, and she needed a couple of heartbeats to decide if I was pranking her or if I'd just given her a big scoop.

"Great to see you again, Nina!" I said as I pivoted and moved away, taking advantage of her hesitation.

"No, wait, I --"

"Cynthia!" I yelled, waving and jogging toward a small crowd of people I barely knew, who were starting up the stairs toward The Event entrance. Nina tried to call out another question, but I had already escaped the Shark Pool.

And I don't know anyone named Cynthia.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

After clearing the wild bedlam of the Spectators' Gallery, the piranha feeding frenzy of the Photo Zone, and the shark-infested waters of the Interview Area, I now faced the deadliest peril of them all: my own peers.

The Red Carpet led me toward an ornate, marble staircase that would emerge onto the courtyard just outside the auditorium entrance. The staircase was wide but not very steep, consisting of two flights and a big landing halfway up. Someone in decent physical condition could easily jog the entire length without a significant uptick in their heart rate.

But I was in heels and little else, and my adrenaline was pumping from my interrogation with Nina the Shark, and my body and brain were sending me these bewildering fight-flight-fuck signals. I was dizzy and breathless as I started up the stairs, and I slowed my roll and took my time.

Which probably looked like I was just showing off, to the small crowds of my fellow celebs who had started to gather along the rails of the stairs. A knot of them was even blocking the Red Carpet itself, which is a definite breach in protocol, but what can you do. I didn't want to risk too many zig zags, so I selected a straight line opening just to the left. But that meant stiletto heel on bare, slippery marble, so I had to tread carefully. The last thing I wanted was a staircase tumble in a Naked Dress, especially with everyone...

...staring at me.

And oh my god, were they staring. Conversations mostly halted or turned into whispers. I did a quick scan of my new audience but didn't see anyone I wanted to stop and talk to. I exchanged waves and hellos with a couple of people I sort of knew, but there wasn't a conversational group in immediate range that I could duck into. I was on my own.

I began my ascent, focusing on each step, making sure my heel was properly planted each time. Click, click, click, one stair at a time, don't look down, don't look around too much...I was acutely aware of my breasts bouncing provocatively, my nipples (so hard they ached) scraping against the metal mesh, trying to burst out of confinement. I could see people ahead of me almost drooling as they eyeballed those titties. A cold breeze hit me from behind, reminding me I was almost completely naked back there; my slow, cautious pace was providing anyone behind me with a breathtaking view of my legs and ass.

Finally, I reached the landing at the midway point. Mercifully, I saw familiar faces in a group coalescing around Corinne Saunders. Corinne and I had been in two movies together and shared an agent, so I considered her a friend.

Corinne was a spectacular redhead and was one of the very few women who could arouse bi-curious feelings in me. Her warm, bosomy hug was quite welcome.

"Oh my god!" she enthused. "That dress...oh my god, you look so amazing, I'm speechless!" Well, she looked amazing too, of course. She was Old Hollywood Glamour in a floor length crimson dress with a thigh slit that seemed to go on forever. Major league cleavage, lots of bling, and an intricate hairstyle that was somehow immune to the gusty winds. Bravo!

I exchanged compliments with her and a couple other girls in the circle, but...speaking of wind...I was naked and freezing and needed to get inside a heated building soon to avoid frostbitten nipples. After catching my breath, I excused myself and resumed my journey.

Click, click, click went my heels. Bounce, bounce, bounce went my boobs. Eyes, eyes, everywhere: gazing, caressing, ogling, groping, penetrating. Don't wear a naked dress if you get freaked out by people staring at you.

I reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into the courtyard, which was crowded because only one auditorium entry door was open, so people were queueing up to get in. Before I could get in line, I ran into a producer-director duo who wanted to bend my ear for a couple of minutes. I didn't feel like talking business, but they were interested in putting me in their next project, so I had to hear them out.

Timing of their shoot was a big issue, and we were in the middle of negotiating that point when someone walked past me from behind and brushed their hand over my ass. Fucking hell! I wanted to spin around and tell them off, but I was in the middle of agreeing to a start date, so I just ignored it and kept talking.

Eventually I broke away and started toward the back of the line. An actor I sort of knew approached me like we were old friends and forced a hug on me. He held it a little too long, and his hands were moving around a little too much. Yeah, it was gonna be like that. I pushed away from him, not too gently, and opened my mouth to say something, when my ear pods clicked, letting me know I had a phone call. I just turned away from Mr. Hugs and moved into a spot where I could talk.

"Hey babe," said Georges. "You inside already?"

"Baby!" Once again, my face did that smile spasm that made my cheeks hurt. "Just outside, in the courtyard. Where are you?"

"Just pulling up," he said. "Be there in a couple of minutes."

"I'll wait for you in the courtyard," I said.

"Nah babe, go inside, it's freezing, I'll find you in the lobby. Fuck, I cannot WAIT to see you."

I stood there for moment after he hung up, smiling and glowing and melting despite the cold. My Man was back!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

And despite the cold, my legs overruled my brain and decided I couldn't just stand around in the lobby waiting for him. I strode back to the stairs and started clattering down, this time much faster. I wasn't even thinking about falling, I just needed to get to my...

...boyfriend...

Wow. That kind of hit me. Was he my boyfriend, like the rumors were saying? It sure felt like it. And I had a strong feeling that after tonight, the poorly kept secret would be out in the open.

I reached the landing, which provided an unobstructed view of the red-carpet obstacle course. I spotted Georges, who had made fast work of the spectators' gallery and was already stepping into the photo zone. He must have felt my eyes on him because he suddenly looked up, right at me.

It felt like I was hot by a laser beam. It felt like Cupid had just fired a point-blank through-and-through into my heart. My body went hot-cold-hot, and I felt warm liquid moving around somewhere deep in my reproductive organs. My vagina quivered. Even from thirty or forty yards away, those eyes just mesmerized me. His face was a mask of rugged intensity, hiding his emotions. Well, okay, it was probably lust.

"Leaving already?" chuckled Corinne, standing next to me. She'd seen my rapid descent of the upper stairs, just minutes after I'd passed her going the other way. She probably thought I'd left my tampons in the limo or something.

But then she followed my gaze...

"Oh," she said. "Oh my god. Oh." I tore my eyes away from Georges and glanced at her. She had a wicked, lusty smile on her face.