A Quiet Neighbourhood

I was bored.

That's my excuse. I was bored.

My name is Kendra Wilson and this is a story about how boredom, listlessness and depression can make you do some pretty crazy things.

First, a little background.

I'm supposed to be a college freshman, like most girls my age. In fact, I was – for a few months. But life doesn't always work out the way you want it to.

I suppose the biggest problem was that I didn't get accepted to the college that I wanted to do to, the one I'd set my heart on more than anything. Instead I ended up at one of those colleges that's nobody's first choice. And I knew from the start I wasn't going to get on there. The classes were hard and boring and the party scene was nowhere near what I had hoped for. I disliked my dorm, my roommate was a grouchy goth who chased me away every time she wanted to bang her boyfriend in our bedroom, and the showers were always cold. I missed home, my old highschool friends, my old life.

So, sue me, I quit. Well, dropped out. When you quit college, it's called dropping out, as my dad was quick to point out in one of the many disappointed lectures I heard from him and mom once I swallowed my pride and moved back home. Dropping out. Giving up on the path your future was supposed to take you. Giving up on life.

So, I gave up. I moved back home into my old bedroom and took the first, lamest job I could find. I work late shifts, until midnight, which means I'm home all day, while my hard-working parents are out at their own jobs. My parents are at work, my friends are all off at college – even the younger kids are in school during the day. I tried having a boyfriend, for a little while, but that didn't really work for me on account of the fact that the guy's life was even more of a mess than mine. So there's just me now. I live in the suburbs but it might as well be the moon, for all there is to do around here during the day time.

So my days are spent sitting around the house in sweatpants, watching kids shows, until my libido kicks in and I switch to looking at porn. That's my education now – a minor in the Cartoon Network daytime schedule, a major in idle masturbation.

I couldn't get into my dream college, and now at age 19 my biggest accomplishment is successfully managing to orgasm in every room in my house.

So if I say I feel like a bit of a loser, that's an understatement.

Anyway, this is the slump I was in. Bored and lonely at home during the day, I struggled to motivate myself. The chores my mom left me to do would go undone, I wouldn't shower or shave my legs (or elsewhere), I basically stopped taking care of myself.

I was depressed. Bored, lonely, depressed.

Then one day, something changed.

I decided as summer weather rolled in that I needed to do something, anything, to get me to do more than just watch TV, eat junk food and play with myself in the hours that my mom and dad weren't home. It wasn't easy to motivate myself by this point, I was actually in a major funk, so I decided to start small. I decided to try and at least take a walk each day, maybe go to the corner store or even just around the neighbourhood. I didn't live in the most exciting place on Earth, but getting out in the fresh air might be good for me, I reasoned, and might help me shake this feeling of ennui.

It was on my first few days of those walks that I noticed just how quiet it was around my neighbourhood during the day. Our neighbourhood is pretty affluent, everyone has a job, or is in school. I swear, on every single walk I took, I didn't see a soul. Alright, maybe the occasional maid or gardener working on someone's house while they were out, but no residents. It sounds incredible, I know, but I swear that our neighbourhood is to all intents and purposes completely empty during the daytime on a week day!

I'm not sure what it was that first put the idea in my head – sexual frustration; something I had encountered reading erotic fiction; or just good old fashioned boredom. But once I had realised that between 9am and 12:30pm my neighbourhood was a vast, empty playground, the idea of how to have some fun with it began to take shape.

The morning I decided to do it, I took better care of my appearance than I had in a long time. I had a lengthy shower, shaving my stubbly legs and underarms, before delicately taking the razor to my patchy pubic hair. I hadn't had a smooth pussy in a good few weeks, but I wanted to look my best. I blow dried my blonde hair, fastening it into a ponytail. I donned my underwear – ordinary, basic stuff, nothing fancy or unique – then pulled on a pale yellow t-shirt and a pair of grey shorts of the sort I used to go running in. I applied basic, natural makeup to my face, standard "girl next door" style, then shoved my bare feet into a pair of sneakers. As an afterthought I grabbed a dark grey baseball cap from my closet and put it on, pulling my ponytail through it. I looked like any young woman going for a morning run or taking a walk to the gym.

Then I waited. I waited, anxiety and nervous energy building in me. I hopped from one foot to the other, my stomach turning somersaults, until I judged it was sufficiently mid-morning and everyone in the neighbourhood would have left for the day.

I left the house, locking the door behind me. Then I did something unusual, something I don't normally do – I tucked the house key into the band holding my ponytail.

I walked through the neighbourhood, several streets, until I reached the corner store. I browsed the magazine racks but I wasn't here to shop – I had just wanted to get out and get an idea of who, if anyone, was around. In all the streets I had walked through, I hadn't seen a soul – it was perfect.

I left the store and headed in the direction of home. When I was out of sight of the corner store, and firmly back in the residential area, I stopped. I looked around me – no sign of anyone.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I grasped the waistband of my shorts, pulled them quickly down, and stepped out of them. Now dressed only in sneakers, panties and a t-shirt, I resumed my journey.

I felt very free without my shorts on but more than a little exposed – but by the time this journey was finished, I was going to be a lot more exposed than this!

I walked for another short distance. I was maybe two streets from my house and, again, I saw nobody. I stopped again and this time (being careful not to dislodge my hat) I pulled my t-shirt off over my head and dropped it onto the ground.

I was now out in public wearing only my panties and bra! This was both hilarious and exhilarating to me. I'd never gone in for any sort of public exposure before but here I was, in the street, in my underwear!

I walked quickly away from the dropped shirt, to remove the temptation to put it back on. Walking the street in my underwear felt incredibly strange – I was acutely aware of the bareness around my middle, between where my bra ended and my panties began. It was like nothing else.

When I was about 100 yards from the corner turning into my street, I stopped again. Again, there was nobody around. I laughed, a big grin on my face, as I reached up behind my back and unclasped my bra. I removed the bra and let that fall to the pavement, baring my breasts completely.

I'm a fully-paid up member of the itty bitty titty club, my boobs aren't ever going to be described as spectacular. But right then, bare in the morning sun on a suburban street, I've never felt more proud or happy with my body.

Wearing just a pair of white cotton panties, I resumed my journey, taking the next left into my own street. At first I cupped my breasts with my hands, a gesture of modesty, but then I realised, if I was caught at this stage, someone seeing my nipples was the least of my problems, and so I forced myself to walk with my hands by my sides.

At last, off in the distance, my house was visible. I was on the home stretch. Dare I complete my adventure?

Of course I dared!

Quickly, and without ceremony, I pulled down my panties and stepped out of them. I was now completely naked on a residential street in broad daylight! The sun warmed my bare skin, a light breeze caressed me. I felt reborn, all my unhappiness lifted, replaced with a simple freedom. Me, naked, in the world.

I quickened my pace, skipping, until finally I broke into a run. I was laughing, happy, and I ran naked towards my house. I grabbed the key from my hair as I drew closer, and had it in my hand ready as I reached my front door. I opened the door, closed it behind me, and collapsed against the wall. My fingers found my cunt without even thinking about it. I caressed myself passionately. My pussy was wet beyond belief, I was incredibly aroused, and I masturbated eagerly there and then, slumped against the wall in my hallway. I reached an incredible orgasm within a minute, crying out loudly in ecstasy, my legs trembling and my body soaked with sweat.

I sat there for a while, slowly caressing myself. I took my time this time – slow, lengthy touches, little movements designed to continue the stimulation of my aching treasure, until eventually I peaked again, moaning softly as I came, a beautiful, overwhelming climax.

Thoroughly spent, I stretched out on the floor, warming my naked body in the sun like a cat might. I felt incredible, almost delirious with happiness. I had never come like that in my life, and as for the thrill and enjoyment I had felt disrobing in public? It was out of this world.

I think I dozed off there, if only for a few minutes, but gradually I opened my sleepy eyes and re-attuned myself to the world around me. Without any great hurry, I stood, and walked shakily upstairs. I donned clean clothing from my closet, then pocketed my house key and stepped back outside. I retraced my steps, picking up the clothes I had discarded – first my panties, then my bra, and finally my t-shirt and shorts. I had chosen all items to wear that had no personal importance to me, in case I was unable to find them again, but luckily they were all still right where I had dropped them. I was somewhat disappointed by this – especially that the underwear hadn't moved. I kind of wanted someone to have come along and found them, to put two and two together and realise they had not long missed a girl running naked in the street, to curse their bad luck that they wouldn't see my bare butt, my nipples, my exposed, shaven pussy. I laughed to myself – I couldn't believe how kinky I'd gotten from just that one act in a few short minutes!

I felt a renewed enthusiasm for life from that moment on. Who cared that I was jobless and often alone? That just meant I had more time to indulge in my new hobby!

I became a bit of a nudist around the house when home alone, often taking a great deal of time to dress after showering, or slipping out of my bikini when sunbathing in the back yard to get more of an all-over tan. Well, the neighbours were all out, so nobody was going to see! My hand often found its way between my legs during these times, there was something about walking around naked that was intoxicating – but nothing made me hornier than being out of my clothes away from the house, in public where I could at any moment be caught.

I tried two or three other naked walks through my neighbourhood. Always the same pattern – leaving my house with clothes on, getting a certain distance away and then disrobing on the journey back. I did become more daring, though – instead of being fully-dressed when I went out, I would leave in just shorts and a wife-beater, no bra or panties. With only two items of clothing to remove I was naked much more quickly and for a much longer period of time – but I managed never to get caught and each time I'd burst through my front door, collapse breathless and masturbate to a swift and satisfying orgasm.

On my fourth attempt, however, things went a little differently.

As before, I left the house dressed in just running shorts and a wife-beater. My nipples were hard with excitement and stood out, visible through the ribbed grey cotton of my top. I walked through the empty neighbourhood and reached my desired location. This time, I had resolved to simply remove my clothes entirely at the start and walk the whole distance completely naked.

I grasped the hem of my wife beater and lifted it off over my head. I threw it on the ground and quickly pulled down my shorts and wiggled out of them. I stood there, naked on the street in the sun for a moment, the warm breeze caressing my bare skin. I ran a finger lightly over my rock-hard nipple and down, to brush my smooth, tender slit. I shivered delightedly, smiling as I bit my lip. One day I thought I would try masturbating out on the street, although I didn't feel brave enough yet.

I focussed myself, and set off, heading like all the times before in the direction of my house.

I skipped along, naked and happy, but didn't dawdle. The prospect of being caught was thrilling, but I still feared the actual reality. Plus, I really needed to get back and play with myself.

I arrived in my street and at my own front door with no difficulty and reached up to my hair to retrieve my key from my hair – only to discover with shock that it wasn't there! I had a horrible sinking feeling for a moment, imagining that I had lost my key and would have to spend time retracing my steps until I found it. But then I realised the simple truth – I hadn't ever taken my key out of the pocket of my shorts, meaning it was probably still there, back where I had discarded my clothing. All I had to do was return to my discarded clothes and I could pick it up, get dressed again and then walk home.

I was more cautious walking back than I had been getting home – nervous and jumpy. It was getting later in the day and I was conscious that some people may come home or at least be out and about on their lunch breaks from work. I found being naked in public exciting, but I didn't want to land myself in trouble because I had fancied some kinky fun.

Fortunately, it was still quiet when I arrived back at my clothes. I picked up my shorts and dipped my hand into the pocket – my key was there!

I went to pull my shorts back on, and paused. Why should I? One more naked trip through the neighbourhood wouldn't hurt. It was still quiet enough, and nobody would see me if I moved quickly.

Leaving my discarded clothes back on the ground, I walked quickly away and back in the direction of home.

I was just turning into one of the streets on my block when I saw the car. It was honestly the first moving vehicle I had seen on my naked walks, and I froze in panic. There was no way I could take cover before the driver saw me if they came in this direction, and my whole adventure could be ruined!

Fortunately, when they were still far enough away that I could tell myself they hadn't seen me (or at least, hadn't been able to see I was naked), they turned off into a distant side road. My heart, which had been pounding, gradually calmed down, but I didn't dilly-dally and made my way back home.

I was almost to my house, literally 10 meters from my driveway, when I heard the sound of an engine behind me. I again panicked, and did what seemed, at the time, to be the only sensible thing – I dived behind a nearby bush, crouched down and hid.

I watched as the car pulled up to the sidewalk. It was the same car that I had seen a few moments ago, I was certain of that. A sporty silver Lexus. The car came to a stop, and a window rolled down. I was so scared now. They had obviously seen me, and I'd foolishly chosen to hide rather than running for it. Any pleasure or excitement I had felt at being naked outside was replaced by fear, fear of getting into trouble, of having to explain to my parents why I was running around the neighbourhood in broad daylight with no clothes on. I huddled down, hugging myself and hoping they would go away.

"Kendra?" called a woman's voice from the car. "Kendra Wilson?"

A chill ran through me. The woman knew me! She hadn't just seen me running around naked, she knew who I was! Desperately, I tried to place her voice. She wasn't someone from school, or one of my parents' friends... Then I realised. The voice was that of Melissa Sanders. Melissa was a woman who lived down the street from us. She was about 15 years older than me – in her early to mid-thirties. Her parents had owned the house she lived in, but they had both passed away and Melissa had inherited. I'd always known her to say "hi" to but our family and theirs had never been particularly close, but she was always friendly towards me. That it was her who had caught me was some consolation, at least – she might not be so likely to tell my parents what I'd been up to.

"Kendra?" she called again. "Kendra, I can see you. I can see you hiding there, and I know you don't have any clothes on." Her tone wasn't unfriendly – she was more amused than anything else. "You can come out."

I didn't budge.

"Don't be silly," Melissa continued. "I've seen everything already. Why don't you stand up?"

I took a deep breath. Why not? Like she said, she'd already seen everything. And truth be told it was getting rather uncomfortable hiding behind that bush.

Slowly, I stood up, a "you got me" smile on my face. I covered myself with my arms, then gave up, feeling awkward, and let them hang by my side. It seemed dumb to want to hide my breasts or pussy from another woman.

"Very nice," Melissa called from the car. I blushed a little, enjoying the compliment. I'd always liked the positive reactions my body received from men, and now I was getting a similar reaction from a woman, I found I appreciated that too.

"Come over here," Melissa called to me. I hesitated, still wary of my own nakedness despite Melissa's positive reaction. "Don't be silly," she repeated. "Come over to the car. I won't bite – promise!"

Looking around to make sure nobody else was in the street, I stepped onto the sidewalk and walked quickly over to the car. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. But when I got close enough to the car to look down through the window, I gasped in shock and surprise.

Sitting in her car, Melissa was as naked as I was!

She didn't have a stitch of clothing on her, and I could see everything. I could see every inch of her bronzed body. I could see her round, full breasts, much larger than mine, her erect nipples and goosebump-textured areolas. I could see her flat, toned stomach, and shapely thighs. I could see her pubic hair, brown like the hair on her head, shaved and trimmed into a fine strip, ending abruptly in smoothness just at the point where her mound divided into her two lips. She had her legs parted slightly – whether from comfort or just from driving – and I could see the shiny pinkness of her slit, the hint of her inner labia between the smooth outer lips.

I was lost in the sight of her for a minute, and could only stand, speechless – until my gaze travelled away from her body for a moment – away, and towards her hand. Her hand, which was holding a cellphone, her finger pressing the button to take a picture. My picture.

She grinned, and turned the phone to show me. There I saw myself, captured forever in her phone's memory – stark naked on what was clearly my suburban street, stood gawking at the camera, nothing covered, everything on display.

I flushed, embarrassed, confused and furious.

"What the?!" I exclaimed.

"Sorry," Melissa replied. "I just wanted to get something so I could make sure you'd do as you're told."

I was dumbfounded – what did she mean?

"After all," she continued, her tone sweet and a little mocking, "you wouldn't want this picture to find its way to your mom and dad now, would you?"

I couldn't believe it! Here was my neighbour, for some reason driving around completely naked, and she had just taken my picture so she could blackmail me with a threat to tell my parents about me doing something that was not a million miles away from what she herself was doing? This was nuts!