Esme Goes Narrowboating
Author's Note: In this world, all characters are 18 or older. There are no unplanned pregnancies. STDs don't exist. Any mention of a specific product doesn't constitute an advertisement or endorsement, and I have no financial connection with the manufacturer or any retailers. I acknowledge beforehand that naturalists don't make the same connection between nudity and sex that "textiles" often do, but this is a Literotica fantasy after all.
Several London eateries are mentioned in this story. They are real and delicious.
You never know where writing will take you; this is one of those times. I like Esme and thought that after her ramble she needed new adventures. As I organize my thoughts, the only thing I know for sure is that Esme will end up naked in public on a narrowboat while cruising the canals of England. There will be shenanigans before we get on the water, but I swear we'll get there. And, except for naked cruises offered by some narrowboat hire companies, nude rambling along towpaths might well be too public to avoid complaints and not worth the hassle. I invoke the imagination of a fiction writer.
For the most part, this is an independent, stand-alone story. It might help with some background to catch up on her first naked adventure in
Esme's Rambles
.
There is a reference to a Japanese character for loyalty, fidelity, and faithfulness. All are concepts associated with the crane in Japanese mythology. I inserted the kanji into the original document with a footnote to explain it. I have no idea if this will work in Literotica.
The astute reader will also notice a reference to a central character from an episode of Midsomer Murders.
Any comments and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.
*****
Esme held to the oath she made to herself: no more rambling by herself to masturbate naked in the woods. Her adventure in pursuit of that fantasy had turned out okay and was very enjoyable. She realized, however, that by herself and being so far from any refuge, she just wasn't comfortable trying that again. She felt the risks were too great. Anyway, those reservations didn't stop her from rambling naked. She became a regular with Eddie's group and really enjoyed the occasional extracurricular post-ramble get-togethers with Beth and Ray. She joined the club's WhatsApp group and kept up with rambles and events. One chilly January day, her phone dinged and she tapped to open a new message from Eddie that started "What does everyone think about..."
"What does everyone think about the No Trousers Tube Ride? Want to participate?" No trousers events were just that, no trousers but otherwise clothed. In other words, no one would be naked, although it was probably okay that someone could be. Maybe nudity itself wouldn't be illegal. It was just people riding the Tube after all. The Tube is way more public than a ramble path, and who knows what would transpire if someone were to make a complaint to the Transit Police. Too risky, but the most likely impediment to full nudity would be the chill and possibly drizzly, unpredictable London winter weather. Being naked in public in the city in January wouldn't be much fun. Esme did an internet search for naked events in London and discovered announcements for an upcoming naked bike ride in June. The Tube ride and biking events were both for charitable causes. It being winter, Esme, not having been naked in public for a while, either rambling or on a Mediterranean beach, quickly messaged back, "Let's do it!"
Esme considered pushing boundaries and being a tad naughty during the Tube ride. She pondered crotchless lingerie, a little string bikini, or a barely there G-string thong to expose her arse and raise other titillating questions. But she read the guidelines and reconsidered; she didn't want to get either herself or anyone else in trouble by tainting what was a quirky just-for-fun event. At the planned time of the day for the event, most travelers on the Tube would be on their way into or around the city for work. Esme headed over to John Lewis where she found a brightly colored jungle print low-rise boyshort-style bikini bottom. It covered much of her bum, but importantly the cut of the hem revealed a nice cheeky bit when viewed from behind. For some reason, she found "gluteal tuck" humorous and suspected the seams of many exposed panties would be, well, tucked there, but not hers. She would be above those shenanigans. She completed her outfit with a new wrap skirt, a white satin dress shirt with tails that were cut high on her hips to reveal her panties but cover her front and rear. She picked out a black lace half-cup bra and a men's red silk tie. Yes, she was fully aware the skirt wasn't trousers. Based on her rambling experiences, she had determined that such a skirt was the most convenient choice to take off and put back on for the ride.
The day of the ride was, well, cold and dreary, even by London standards. Esme was happy she was wearing her full-size puffy coat and trainers, and she wouldn't have to remove either to ride the Tube, sans "trousers," in relative comfort. At the rally point outside the South Kensington Tube station, Esme saw several of her fellow ramblers and joined the group. Beth greeted her saying, "You look ready." Esme's coat was unbuttoned revealing her white blouse, tucked into her skirt. Daringly, Esme had left several buttons at the collar unbuttoned. The bright red tie was low and loosely knotted, hanging down to obfuscate but garner attention to her open collar and what of her cleavage might otherwise be revealed by the gap above that lowest open button. The contrast of color between Esme's skin and her bra showed through her blouse. The bra cups barely covered her areolas. They might even have been peeking above the black lace cradling her breasts should someone look long enough and think hard enough about it. "And, daring," whispered Beth conspiratorially.
Esme was surprised to see Harold in attendance wearing his full on tweed hunter's kit and even a deerstalker cap. Harold was about Esme's age, close enough she couldn't tell if he was older or slightly younger. When he first introduced himself during a summertime naked ramble, he described himself as a reformed twitcher. Well, "birder," he sometimes insisted, because he didn't twitch. In light of his wife's health, he had to moderate his bird-watching obsession. She, unfortunately, was confined to a wheelchair having been injured in an accident that resulted in an irreparably broken back. To take an active role in her care, he had given up the obsessive last-minute overnight expeditions to various corners of the British Isles just to see a Blue-Crested Hoopoe rumored to have been spotted along the edges of some farmer's remote fields. In exchange for giving up twitching, his wife still made Harold get out of the house, anyway. "You're driving me crazy. I can take care of myself for several hours." He started rambling naked, which his wife thought was very funny. He didn't attend many rambles but when he did, he and Esme struck up a companionship. He was a fount of knowledge about not only birds but also could identify most of the plant life they encountered. Except for the fact that his eccentricity was now that he enjoyed being naked outdoors, he was very genteel and had a droll sense of humor. He much preferred puns and double entendre. He kept a little Leuchtturm notebook and a pocket-sized waterproof digital camera in the satchel he always carried on the rambles. He often stopped to take photos and make notes. He explained these were for sharing with his wife so she could participate vicariously. Esme found Harold attractive, but didn't know whether he'd be receptive of any relationship more complicated than wandering naked in a group together. Sometimes she fantasized herself in kind of a mixed-up version of Lady Chatterley's Lover. Harold's wife being the invalid Clifford. Harold taking the role of Constance, the wife with unfulfilled needs. And, she, of course, was Oliver, the lusty gamekeeper.
The group touched in at the station and an announcement was made for everyone participating in the No Trousers Tube Ride to gather around. The plan was to take the Piccadilly line 8 stops to the King's Cross St. Pancras station. There the official event would come to an end.
It was time to disrobe. Esme untied her wrap, folded it, and stuffed it into a little day pack she wore over her shoulder. She invited Harold to steady himself with one hand on her shoulder as he slipped out of his loafers (a consolation that didn't match the theme of his suit) and doffed his trousers. Standing there, legs bare and her shirt tails flapping, she became aware of the cold breeze from outside the station that was being pushed back by the warm air from the depths of the station as the trains arrived and departed below. It was exciting, but like everyone else sans trousers, she tried her best to look like a regular commuter going to work on a normal day.
Seated on the train, her coat open to show off her trouserless status, Esme looked around. Trouserless commuters were nodding to the tunes from their earbuds, reading papers or books, holding their shopping bags, those standing held or leaned onto the poles, talking to their companions, looking at the scrolling signs for information on the next station, mostly ignoring the announcements, all the things that happen on a regular day on the rattling, squealing, whooshing, jostling Tube. Except there were a lot of exposed legs below what otherwise might be considered business casual or shopping day out wear. As she looked around, she saw Harold doing the same. He flashed her a quick thumbs-up.
Esme demurely crossed her legs, one knee over the other. Women have a built-in skill to do this without compromising that delicate locale between their legs. Esme so wanted to do that, show herself to the young male passenger seated across from her. That was another something she fantasized about. Not today, however. She settled for his exploratory and appreciative quick look at the curve of her exposed flank that disappeared into the shadows and fabric of her coat. He was also sans trousers, and she could see his muscular thighs and well-defined calves, maybe a footballer? Esme gave him a quick "hello" smile and he shifted his gaze up to the Tube map and scrolling sign above her. He subtly shifted in his seat, one cheek and then the other. Caught. Esme smiled as she took the free newspaper from the empty seat beside her and looked intently at the front page, happy with her adventure and doing her best to control her more prurient and personal impulses.
Everyone seated stood up and made their way toward the doors as the train slowed as it arrived at the King's Cross St. Pancras station. There was a mixed rush as people shuffled off while dodging those waiting to get on. Esme saw Beth and Ray turn and follow the way out signs. She lost sight of Harold. The three of them walked briskly through the winding tunnels and up escalators to the main station entrance. There the bustle thinned out enough to stop in a small group without impeding anyone. Esme rewrapped and tied her skirt while Beth and Ray steadied each other as they stepped out of their clogs and pulled on their slacks. Beth commented, "That skirt is a really good idea. I'll have to remember that for next year. It looks so much easier than pants." She looked at Ray. "Sorry, honey, no wrap for you, unless you want to try a kilt. But you know what they say about what men don't wear under their kilts."
