Author's note: This is a submission in the
Literotica Nude Day Story Contest 2024
. Votes and comments are encouraged. All characters are entirely fictional and well over the age of 18. Copyrighted by the author 2024.
Enjoy.
-Kethandra
First Date: The Night Before Nude Day
By Kethandra Wilde
She stared at the naked woman in the mirror, back at the old racing swimsuit, and released a doubt-filled sigh. But it wasn't just the obvious differences in her body now from the willowy one she had had in high school, when the suit was new. Who wouldn't have insecurities after the idiocy of agreeing to be set up on a blind date at a friggin' Nude Day celebration?
The high-necked suit, blue with a wide red stripe down each side, had once been almost shimmering Lycra, crisp and vibrant. Something a superhero might wear. Now it was thin, worn, dull, as well as small, small, small.
New, it had been on the verge of being too big, barely needing any stretch as it covered her lanky diver's body as she'd piked, flipped, twisted before knifing with hardly a splash into the deep end of high school pools across this part of the state. Now, Laverne doubted its ability to cover her current body - both the curves that had come on late, during her junior and senior years in college, and the toned, graceful muscles she had built and maintained since then.
She dropped the suit, letting it crumple on the low carpet of the hotel room, slipped into a pose, flexing biceps like a bodybuilder might. She looked good, really good, and she knew it. But that didn't mean she couldn't have doubts or insecurities. Like why did such a toned, fit body - shadowed lines defining muscles in her upper arms and across her stomach - still hold onto these unlikely boobs, proud, firm and oh so very full, and her well-padded, heart-shaped rear?
And why oh why did she ever say yes to being set up with a nude blind date? And why had her cousin Charlene insisted that she bring a swimsuit for a day in the buff?
At least the hotel had a cozy bar. Earlier she'd ordered a vodka martini, dirty, and brought it to her room. Long gone now. She needed at least one more drink, maybe two, before she would be able to get any sleep tonight, worrying, wondering about what embarrassments tomorrow might arise. Arise? On Nude Day? God, she hoped not.
The bar was still almost empty. One old timer sat in silence watching a baseball game, the TV mounted high on a wall. A couple, not all that much younger, huddle close, almost hidden in a booth. And a younger man, roughly her age, sat by himself at a table. He looked up when she came in, his eyes performing an admirably discrete, quick scan over her, head to toe, before his attention returned to the small notepad open in front of him. No pausing on her tits, covered now by a snug T and a sturdy bra. She was used to eyes lingering on them, so the guy got points for that at least. As her roommate in college had said about them, "It's not like they're all that huge; they're just so out there." She had gestured with her hands to emphasize their utter lack of sag.
But Mr. Notebook hadn't taken the bait, not pausing as those dark eyes scanned her. And that wasn't the only reason he stood out here. Dark, thick hair to go with those bright, dark eyes, he was almost too handsome, didn't really seem to fit in this little Ohio town long past its economic prime. Not in that fitted dress shirt and those expensive-looking leather shoes. He took a sip from a tall glass half full of what looked like Coke. And rum maybe?
"Welcome back, Laverne. Another dirty martini?"
Ben? Was that the bartender's name? He had stopped shuffling glasses behind the bar, offering a friendly grin, one eyebrow raised as he waited for her answer.
"Sure. Perfect." She reconsidered. "Actually, let's make this one a double."
"Grey Goose. Shaken. Coming right up."
The first burning swig warmed her. The second seemed to already loosen the knots of nervous worry in her neck and shoulders.
"Hi. Aren't you friends with Mickey?"
Up close, standing, the fitted shirt flattered a strong chest. His slightly lopsided smile revealed straight near-white teeth. The notebook was gone, probably tucked into a pocket.
"I...may be. Do I know you?" She didn't try to keep the suspicion out of her voice, let it be a barrier to keep the stranger at s distance, regardless of how damn good he looked. Looked and smelled. Double damn. She'd caught a whiff of...man. Not cologne. Man. And it was as crisp as the collar of the tailored shirt.
"No." He frowned, reconsidering. "Not yet, I mean. You're Char's cousin, right? Laverne?"
"This is getting close to creepy. Who are you?"
"Sorry. I heard the bartender call you Laverne. There aren't many of those around."
Her nerves already on edge, the current conversation brought back the tension between her shoulders blades.
"Tell me about it. Wait. Never mind, don't. Tell me instead, in as few words as possible, how you know who I am. You're freaking me a little bit out."
"Am I? Try this." A hand waved through the air in front of him, his eyes almost closing. "I see all, past present and future, when I gaze into my crystal ball...s."
"Okay. That's it. Thanks in advance for the nightmares. I'm outa here." Another swig and she set the martini glass down, maybe too enthusiastically.
"I see more. You are soon...going on a journey." His eyes stayed lidded, in his mock trance. Amidst her annoyance, she'd still noticed he had nice thick lashes. Very nice.
"Obviously. Most people staying in a hotel are on a journey of some kind. Excuse me." She turned away, willing to abandon the remaining vodka to end this one-sided conversation. She'd come down to the bar because of her nerves. He was not helping.
" A journey of great...exposure. You fear to expose too much, too soon, to one you have never met. You have..."
"Wait." Her jaw was tight, teeth almost gritting. "What the hell did you say? Who are you? No bullshit."
"Sorry. Once I get going..."
"Don't then. Do not get going. Short sentences, no backstory. I'm tired and cranky and you aren't helping. Please. Who, what, how."
"Okay. First, to introduce myself, I'm Marco."
"That doesn't answer my...oh shit. Yes it does. You idiot!"
Tension unwound into action. She punched him square in one pectoral muscle with an extended knuckle.
"Ow. That hurt. I think your little fist just bruised my chest." Bright eyes twinkled as fingers probed the spot of the contact.
"Ow. I think your chest just broke my fist." She shook her hand out. He was really solid under the nice clothes.
"Now, Marco, why didn't you start your story that way last time, instead of going for the stalker-psychic theme? All you had to say was three words. That's all you had to say. 'Laverne? I'm Marco.' One. two. Three. But no. Crystal balls? Seriously?"
"I was ad libbing, badly. 'Hi I'm Marco' sounds a little weak in case you didn't recognize the name."
"Not recognize the name of the total stranger who I'm supposed to meet as a blind date at a freakin' Nude Day festival. Marco: that's all I know. Do you know how many times in the last week I've practiced said 'Hi Marco, nice to meet you' and wondered what part of you I'm supposed to take in a firm grasp and shake? Okay, now I sound like the creepy one."
"A little bit. Ow." Her knuckle hit the same spot at his answer. A good bartender, Ben was watching the exchange discretely but making no attempt to intervene, yet.
"You didn't need to agree with that." She shook her hand out again. "You have a really solid chest, Marco. Remind me to not have to hit you anymore."
"I'll try. I know what you mean though: first one to mention Nude Day touching sounds like a creep."
"Pretty much."
"Creep." The curl in his upper lip as he grinned was surprisingly endearing. It brought out her own smile. Maybe she's over- reacted to his approach.
