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."
They found a Pret A Manger and stopped for coffee and a croissant to discuss what to do next. Even though it was cold, it had become a rare sunny winter day in London. Esme suggested they browse the shops in Coal Drops Yard for a while and asked if they liked Indian food. "We should have lunch at Dishoom near there."
"We have been to Dishoom at Battersea Power Station and really like it," said Ray,
"Wonderful. I like the industrial looking repurposed warehouse space at the King's Cross location. That's a plan for the rest of the day."
*****
Esme was divorced and mostly retired. She took pleasure in managing her investment portfolio and with her rambling she had expanded her social network. While Eddie Blackburn was the main instigator and organizer of the naked rambling group, Eddie was married and his wife was an avid rambler, too. Esme had gravitated to Harold as a wandering partner even though he was married. Esme enjoyed that Harold liked to talk about things he'd seen on his travels: the birds, the plants, the places. Their conversations as they rambled seemed to distract and comfort him and they fascinated Esme who had grown up a city girl. They struck up a platonic friendship (considering persons who casually see each other naked and one of the pair was married to someone else). Harold lived in London and when they traveled back after a ramble, they would sometimes have dinner, always going Dutch. Harold didn't make it obvious, he didn't get erect in Esme's presence on the rambles, but she came to the idea that Harold enjoyed her company maybe for more than just a rambling or dining partner.
After the No Trousers Tube Ride adventure, Esme's Tube fantasies occupied her mind more and more. She tried to figure out how scenarios of opening her legs, exposing, and touching herself might work. One day she experimented on the Tube. Under her wrap skirt, she wore a string only bikini bottom and an insertable toy. Anyone she flashed would see her swollen labia highlighted by the brightly colored strings on each side of her outer lips and the pink antenna of her Lush vibrator protruding from her vagina. Seated near the middle of the carriage, there were several passengers across from her. Anyone thinking about it would conclude she was just scrolling through Facebook or some other social media app on her mobile. In reality, she was manipulating the vibe's control app and passengers beside her who cared to look would see her finger moving on the touch screen and a scrolling graph. She would ramp up the vibrations to edge herself toward orgasm then back off. In the chaos of exchanging passengers at the stop before hers, her arm got bumped and she vibrated herself over the edge. She shuddered and moaned her release but covered it with a fake sneeze. She hoped.
In June, there was that naked bicycle ride through the city. Esme had wanted one, so she used the naked ride as an excuse to get herself an e-Bike. On the day of the ride, she stood in line naked to get a full-body paint job from one of the local volunteer artists. She got sunflowers on her breasts and a tulip blooming from her crotch. Stars graced the dimples on her backside. She had fun being nude in the warm, breezy weather, but there were lots of textiles watching and taking photos of the plethora of naked people. Being in full body paint wasn't the same as rambling nude across the countryside or secretly masturbating on the Tube.
