Meeting Carmen Ch. 03.5bygossog©
(Author's note: At the midpoint of Chapter 3, after Lynn and Carmen's mutual dare spins out of control, Ken and Carmen sneak away while Lynn, still nude, directs her fury at Gary. Later, Carmen realizes she accidentally kept most of Lynn's clothes.
The original story leaves Lynn at that point. Somehow she makes it home and gets dressed again, but that was a story I hadn't planned to tell. Our first-person narrator, Ken, doesn't witness her journey, and can't report it. The narrative thread goes where he does.
However, many, many readers wanted to find out how Lynn got home. Whether it was prurient interest, or concern for her character, most didn't say. (With what I put my female characters through, who am I to judge, anyway?) I mulled this over, thinking about what perils might befall our attractive heroine. And this story was born.
We pick up the story after Carmen and Ken have left Lynn and Gary.)
* * *
I'm not going to cry, Lynn vowed, fists still clenched as her suddenly ex-boyfriend Gary slunk away. She stood her ground, watching him leave, making sure he wouldn't turn back. It had to be clear there was no chance to ingratiate himself with her and patch things up. What he had done was indefensible. Unfixable. Permanent.
She knew that keeping her composure was a lost cause: she had already created a public scene, standing here naked, screaming and swearing at Gary, beating him with her fists. The commotion had attracted about a dozen gawkers, appalled, aroused and captivated by the spectacle. Lynn had never even ventured out topless in public before. Now complete strangers were seeing everything, which was embarrassing enough. To be seen weeping in the middle of this would be intolerable.
Her first impression of Gary, back at the bookstore, had been right on target: he was a cad, a pervert. Worse than that, he had a fetish for women like her. He had been pawing through Playboy's Exotic Asians, after all. Page after page of those women, submissive or shy or sex-starved, wearing only half a swimsuit, or bits of underwear, or a see-through T-shirt... or, like Lynn now, nothing at all. How much more evidence did she need? How had she ever considered him charming? Why had she given him a second chance?
He wasn't getting a third. Good riddance. She wished him a lonely life, never dating again. She wished that every woman would see in advance what Lynn found out too late; pick up a disturbing scent, and subconsciously avoid him, without ever knowing why.
Gary took one last peek at her before rounding a corner. She gave him a basilisk's glare. It was wet with tears she was holding back, but it did the job. He turned and was gone.
Now to make as graceful an exit as possible, Lynn thought. She faced those staring at her, a few women, mostly men. "What are you staring at?" was her first thought, but she censored that before it could reach her lips. Too many facetious answers to that one. Something more direct came to mind.
"Shame on you all," she said, looking each person in the eye in turn. "This is none of your business. It's rude. Pathetic. Take a look at yourself." She had hoped the crowd would disperse, but human nature disappointed again. Some averted their gaze when she faced them, but a few men stared right back, challenging. One younger man convinced his friend to leave with him, but that was it.
She stood with hands on hips, to deny them the satisfaction of seeing a nude woman trying in vain to cover all her private bits. They had seen everything anyway, short of having her lay down and spread her legs. Already over and done. It was time to find her clothes.
Uneasiness started to set in as she looked around and found nothing. The onlookers offered no assistance. She spotted her sandals -- no help in covering her up, but at least she had found something -- and stepped into them. But where were her clothes? Taken as souvenirs? She willed herself to stay calm, to breathe regularly. She covered her pubic area with a hand, deciding everyone had seen enough of that, thank you very much. She scanned the faces of the crowd, looking for a sign of guilt, or a clue. Her resolve to not give in to fear or embarrassment was waning.
Finally she spotted her red bikini panties, which some dimwitted frat guy in a UW sweatshirt was almost stepping on. "Move," she said, and he did, a moment before she would have shoved him. She picked them up.
She kicked off her sandals and stepped into her panties, stooping down to pull them up. She paused, and looked around her: judging from her watchers, this position, leaning forward, legs bent, butt sticking out, was even more appealing. She shook her head and stood up. "You people suck," she muttered.
Where were the rest of her clothes? Her shirt, the red shorts, the bra...
Then she remembered. Carmen had convinced her to take them off, one by one, and kept them in her handbag.
"Oh, that stupid bitch," Lynn said aloud. She looked around, but knew that Carmen was long gone. Who knew when that ditzy girl would think to look in her handbag, and realize what she had done.
There was nothing more to do here. Lynn folded her arms over her chest and walked briskly away. If they followed, she resolved, she would start kicking crotches. After several yards she looked back; their attention had turned her way, as if watching a golf ball driven from the tee, but none had started walking toward her. The crowd's inertia, and individual unwillingness to be seen as stalkers, kept them standing where they were.
The terrace gradually curved, and soon the others were out of sight. In a way she was no longer indecently exposed: covered by her panties and her arms. She started to sort out her situation. Being no longer butt naked was a small blessing. Gary was her original ride home, so she'd need to find a taxi downtown; but first, as unobtrusively as possible, she would buy a T-shirt and some shorts, and be presentable again. Nothing fancy, just something inexpensive, who knows how much the taxi ride would cost anyway...
She stopped walking. She had forgotten her purse. It must be still on the ground near where they had been standing.
She sprinted back to the site, not bothering to cover up her breasts; it would be a quick pickup and she'd be on her way. If it was still there. When she arrived, the crowd of gawkers was gone, but the purse was gone as well.
"Oh, fuck me," she muttered. She prided herself on a good vocabulary and rare use of profanity; but when she was really angry she could swear like a rugby player.
A retired man in trousers and knit shirt was standing about ten yards distant, facing away from her. She folded her arms again and hailed him. "Sir?"
He turned and gaped for a moment before snapping his lips shut. "Yes, Miss?"
"Have you seen a black handbag here? Or anyone walking away with one?"
He furrowed his brow. "No, I'm sorry." He was staring at her legs now. He seemed disappointed at not being able to help. "You lost it?"
Of course I lost it, she thought. Keep up, will you? "Thanks anyway," she said dismissively.
Now what? she thought. What else can go wrong? What do I do now?
She didn't relish the idea of walking downtown in her condition and asking people if they'd seen her purse. The chances of recovering it that way seemed near zero, and she would just set herself up for more embarrassment. Even if she did recover it, she'd have to cancel all her credit cards anyway to be sure, and change the locks in her house.
Maybe going downtown wasn't necessary. Home was maybe 12 miles away as the crow flies, across mostly farmland. The biggest obstacles were the Konowoc River, an easy swim for her, and Route 29, which she would have to streak across. If her primary goal was to get home to safety, secondary goal to recover her purse, and third goal to be seen as little as possible, she could do this by walking home in a few hours and calling the police. Since due south was up the hill, that was where she would start.
The lawn led to the top terrace, the last row of flowers, and the back of the park. A dirt trail continued past some locked cabins and an empty, dusty animal pen. These belonged to the Forest Service, which was apparently off for the day. She was happy to have the path to herself; the fewer people she encountered between here and home, the better.
Her thoughts turned to Gary, and men in general. In third grade, in Austin, Texas, her nemesis was Billy Grout, a bully to the boys, and to some girls for good measure. Lynn was the only Asian student in class; Billy would mock her by stretching his eyelids in all directions, saying fatuous things like "Mommy's Chinese, Daddy's Japanese, baby all mixed up!" Sitting two rows ahead was Christopher, on whom she had a crush and believed was above such nonsense; yet one day Chris apparently made a socially tactical decision to join in with Bill and start mocking her as well.
I didn't cry then, either, Lynn recalled. I stood my ground. "I had no idea you're as stupid as he is," she had said, and turned away.
In fifth grade Mihae moved in, her family from Korea, and became best friends with Lynn. They were both lanky, long-haired girls, skilled at soccer, painfully bad at the violin. Though their families came from cities thousands of miles away, many kids in Austin considered them sisters, professed not to be able to tell them apart, and ascribed to them every stereotype they had ever heard: super brains, dog eaters, and on and on.
As they grew into puberty, rumors grew worse: they'd never have big boobs; they'd never put out; they'd always put out, if you got them drunk; their you-know-whats were sideways; and others Lynn would be relieved to forget.
In high school, freshman year, Chris changed his mind about Lynn and started hitting on her hard. She no longer felt anything for him, but was amused to see this boy, who yesterday was gleefully tormenting her, all of a sudden deciding she was desirable. He wasn't the only one. She and Mihae, both much prettier than even a year ago, started enjoying, and wielding, their new-found power.
By the time she came up to UW, ethnic humor was more rare, though she wondered whether people were truly more enlightened or the jokes were simply falling out of fashion. At least it was considered rude now. Older boys cultivated a different set of prejudices, anyway. Asian women were exotic (as in Playboy), submissive, unattainable, gold-diggers... any combination of the above. There were many like Gary, who enjoyed a preference, if not a fetish, for the Asian female form. Perhaps Gary's fetish clouded his judgement, and that led to what happened this afternoon. Perhaps Gary was just a more charming Billy Grout.
The park pathway curved left as Lynn walked, and a new swath of lawn, shaded by oaks and elms, opened up. It looked like the path would curve back toward the park, so she stepped onto the lawn, continuing south. The shaded grass still held some dew; the droplets cooled her toes and darkened her leather sandals. She smiled. Dumping Gary would free up more time for pleasant walks like this.
Distant voices from behind, male, caught her attention. She turned around, and wished she hadn't.
It was the guy who had taken their picture, and his two friends; the classy gentlemen who had suggested she and Carmen take off their shirts, and had generally been pests until Ken and Gary sent them away. Now her shirt was gone, along with the protection her friends provided. The three men walked toward her. How long had they been following?
"Wait up, sweet cheeks," one said. "We got plans for you." They were maybe thirty yards behind her.
The facetious nickname aside, he didn't sound like he was teasing. This was more ominous. They were serious.
She turned and continued walking, guessing it was best not to show fear, but unsure of herself. There was no one else around. Just the three guys stalking her, not saying much now, keeping focused.
Her sandals flapped against her heels as she walked. They were old friends; she remembered exactly when and where she'd bought them, and how much she paid. She had owned them for over five years. They were broken in and fit perfectly.
If this chase sped up, if she needed to break into a run, they would only slow her down.
As nonchalantly as she could, she slipped each one off, now feeling the cool grass on her bare feet. One of the guys noticed anyway, and said "She's gonna run." Her element of surprise gone, she took off into a sprint.
"Get her!" she heard one yell, and knew they were running too. She was in good shape, from years of playing halfback, running up and down the soccer field, building speed and endurance. However, at five feet five, she didn't have a long stride; her pursuers could be picking up a few inches at each pace. She worried most about that.
She chanced a look backward and saw that two of the men had almost halved the distance to her. Shit. She was already running at full speed. She tried to summon up just a little bit more.
A feeder root snaked out from an ancient tree to the right; she leaped over it. The sound of the men jumping over was just seconds behind. She could hear their breathing: they were working hard at it too. If only she could outlast them; she was doing fine, her breathing rhythmic, her pace good. To see them receding in the distance, bent over, hands on knees, dry-heaving would be the sweetest sight.
This image dissolved as the lead man tackled her at the waist. Her feet tangled; she pitched forward, arms out to protect herself, and fell skidding in the grass. He landed on top of her, momentarily squeezing the wind out of her. She tried to get up, but he shoved her down and leaned on the small of her back, pinning her. Her panties were yanked down to her knees. A hand forced its way between her thighs, working its way up. Her face was in the grass, she couldn't even see what was happening. Oh my god, the nightmare is here, her mind screamed, ready to careen into full-fledged panic.
"Flip her over," someone said. She felt hands at her shoulder and side. She obliged; there was little she could do on her stomach anyway, with her butt in the air. No leverage to punch, or kick, defend or attack. On her back, she could at least see her assailants now, three guys in a frame of lofty tree branches and a cloudless sky. Guy 2 was at her head, and held her arms down. He shoved them under his knees, so his hands could be free, and started groping her breasts. Guy 3 was at the side, watching for the moment. Guy 1 was trying to catch her flailing legs and finish stripping her.
He had no grip on her legs yet; they were her only weapon left. She locked her feet together and kicked out. The first blow glanced off his thigh and had little effect. The second was a direct hit, but to the meatiest part of his thigh. He grunted, swaying back a bit to absorb the blow, and kept scrabbling for her ankles and her panties. "Fucking calm down, will you?"
She needed to hurt with these kicks, and had been aiming for his crotch, but without success. Taking a cue from her soccer experience, and remembering the body parts players bought pads for, she aimed the next kick at the middle of his left shin.
"Ow! Fuck!" he shouted, hopping on one leg. "A little help here, get this bitch's LEGS!" He crouched again and grabbed at her panties, getting a good grip this time, bunched up in his fist, tangled at her knees. He dodged more kicks, and her attempts to dislodge them from his grip. Her calves were now fettered by the bunched-up material; she couldn't get the power and aim she wanted. "Come on..." he said, now pulling with both hands. She tried to clamp her feet together, to prevent him from removing the only clothing she had, but quickly her panties were off. Her legs, though, were free. He glanced at his little red prize, then took in the view of Lynn, now fully nude. She took that moment in time to aim a double-footed kick solidly at his groin.
"MotherFUCK!" Guy 1 shrieked, and toppled over. Her panties, released by fingers that now cupped his tender ballsack, drifted to the ground.
Guy 3 was still standing by; Guy 2 still kneeling on her arms. "Get her legs, Carl," he said, leaning forward a bit to enjoy the view. "No names, asshole," said Carl.
This next sort of kick would be difficult, Lynn knew; when she kicked out to full extension, she would naturally have almost no power at that point; there was no further the foot could go. Aiming was tougher, too; no solid base, and a long range of motion. Worst of all, the kick would take so long to reach its target that someone expecting it could easily dodge it. Time, however, was not on her side. This would be her best opportunity. She locked her feet together, braced her quads and abs, and swung her legs up and back, over her torso and head, toward Guy 2's face.
The right foot missed completely, swinging out into air and leaving her a little off balance. The left foot, however, caught his chin, which sounded a gruesome, yet satisfying click. The man yowled and fell back and she was free. She rolled to her left, away from Guy 3, and sprung to her feet.
"My tud! Bits cut by TUD!" Guy 2 yelled, hands over his mouth. Guy 1 was still on his back, moaning. Guy 3 stood there, stunned. It wasn't every day you saw a skinny naked woman take down two of your friends.
There wasn't much time. But she didn't want to go without any clothing at all. She gambled on the second needed to reach over and snatch her panties, and ran away.
"Kill that bitch!" Guy 1 shouted as he tried to get up. "Don't just stand there!"
She glanced back, and Guy 3 was on the chase. The other two were getting up, and would probably join in soon.
On Proxmire Avenue, a hundred yards over a hill from Lynn and the others, Rupert Loeffler rumbled his Gold Wing to a stop. The intersection was clear; he could have rolled through. He had left his wallet and license at home, though, and didn't want to risk being pulled over. Going shirtless and helmetless was bad enough. He had rolled out of bed, taken a look outside, and pronounced it an excellent day to go ride.
He was about to accelerate away when he noticed someone cresting the grassy slope to his right. He blinked, making sure he wasn't hallucinating. But as the person got closer, it was unmistakable: a naked woman. Brunette. Slim, and cute. And running for her life.
Chasing her were two guys, maybe twenty yards back; it looked like they were playing for keeps. The girl was fast, but where could she go? The roads here just led into the countryside. Unless--
"Hop on!" he yelled, patting the seat behind him. The girl vectored toward him. She had something red in her hand, maybe a bra. Her small boobs bounced as she ran. He positioned himself, ready to put the bike in gear. She was thirty yards away, then twenty, her pursuers very close. Ten, five, and she hopped on, swinging her leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.
"Hang on!" Rupert shouted, but her arms were already locked across his chest. "Go go GO!" she yelled as he accelerated away. The bad guys were still chasing, but once the bike was up to speed they were out of reach. Rupert glanced back, and they had given up, standing at the side of the road, flipping him off. He whooped. Man, nobody was going to believe this, he thought. He could hear his skeptical buddies already: so Rupe, some naked chick's in trouble, you swoop in, and take her away on your bike? Sure you did.
He'd worry about that when he got to it. Right now, the girl was hugging him tight, her sweet nude body pressed right against his. She had what looked like some panties, still clutched in her hand. Her small tits were squished against his back, her legs spread and wrapped around him. He was getting wood the more he thought about it. And wasn't this why a dude buys a bike in the first place: the chance to haul ass down the highway, with a hot naked woman hanging on for dear life?