Tami Beethoven

Some unzipping and then the nearly weightless tan cloths came out. After two seconds or so, a massed chorus of female cooing filled the huge hall as cold shoulders suddenly got warm. Then laughter at the uninhibited cooing. Then another buildup of applause.

Now clapping was joined by whistling and shouts from the gratefully warmed women and the tuxedoed men. Rod and Ms. Louis- Jacques looked at each other and smiled. At a sign from Rod, Gretchen came out and bowed, now in her formal black dress, holding the long tunic made of Cherish up on a hanger, as the shouts got louder and more flashbulbs popped.

Her name was Caroline Unger and she was the stage manager of the event, and not one to let a good turn go unappreciated. She appeared from behind the curtain, clipboard in hand, pulling ferociously on a bare arm. And now the arm was followed by its owner.

One's first impression was of illness, but the bald scalp was tanned, the eyebrowless face strong and pretty, the naked bronze body lithely muscled, from the squared shoulders down past the firm breasts, the concave tummy, the bare lower lips with the little clit peeking out above, the strong legs and tough bare feet with widely spaced toes. Allergic not only to fabric but to her own hair now, she must undergo twice-weekly full-body depilations, a communal endeavor best done in the open air. Hence her desire to stay hidden and not a visual distraction to the proceedings.

Caroline Unger would have none of that. She turned Tami Smithers to the crowd so that the naked young woman could acknowledge their applause. Tears ran down many faces as they cheered the creator of this revolutionary fabric, which enshrouded so many bare shoulders in its warm, velvety embrace. Careful to keep her bare feet away from the carpeting, Tami bowed modestly, the constant popping of camera lights playing across her body. Gretchen walked over and handed her the tunic on the hanger.

Smiling happily at Rod and Gretchen, looking out at the standing, shouting crowd, thinking of people far away, Tami stood in the chilly auditorium air, holding up the wire hanger with the tunic next to her -- though not close, because she could not allow the merest touch against her tanned, cold-stiffened nipples, not even for a second.

THE END

(NOTE: Google "Caroline Unger" and "Beethoven")