Chapter 4 - Nayay Vayay

Kate's Exhibitionist Journey

Chapter 4 - Naykay Vaykay

In which Kate answers a new nude call to adventure, and very quickly gets in above her head with three clothed women.

"I want you to come, Kate."

I squirmed slightly in my seat and felt more than a little overwhelmed at what was being asked of me. Not to mention overwhelmed by my surroundings.

I was sitting at a table in a painfully trendy bar right in the middle of the City of London. The sort of place where high-flying workers in smart suits ordered expensive drinks and swapped anecdotes from their life in the public school system. Not the sort of place where a slightly awkward copywriter like me should be. Especially not one wearing her third-scruffiest pair of jeans and a patterned short-sleeved top which I was pretty sure had a noticeable stain on the front from where I'd spilled a dollop of salad dressing at lunch.

And yet, here I was. Sitting and sipping a glass of red wine from a bottle that had cost more than my last weekly food shop. And feeling deeply, deeply uncomfortable. That was the sort of woman I was now, apparently. Baring my whole body to a bunch of strangers on a beach, I was completely fine with. Sitting drinking wine in a bar, in contrast, was an exercise in crushing social awkwardness.

On the other side of the table, Nicole looked entirely in her element. She perched elegantly in her seat, dressed in a jet black business suit, her long, stocking-covered legs effortlessly flowing out from underneath her knee-length skirt. She even held her wine glass with a certain elegance, her hand delicately cupping it each time she took a sip in a manner that I was sure, if I tried to emulate it, would result in me somehow clumsily breaking my glass, to the annoyed glares of everyone else in the bar.

We had been friends since university, all thanks to the whims of whatever randomised computer program was used to assign first year students to rooms in the residential halls. We'd been neighbours in the same hall. Me in room 317, and Nicole in 319. And, on my first nerve-wracking day living away from home, she had taken me under her wing, almost like a big sister. She was, in fact, two years older than me, having taken some time off from her education before university to go travelling. Because of course she could afford to do that.

As our time at university had gone on, we had both formed closer friendships with people who lived more than one door away from us. Nicole had found more of her kind. Rich, demanding, driven women who knew what they wanted out of life, studying business degrees and corporate law. I had found more of my kind. Awkward, arty dreamers with no clue what they wanted to do when they graduated, studying English literature and philosophy. But our own friendship had endured, like some sort of odd couple. And even now, we were still close. We still loved spending time with each other, catching up. Though I wished she'd occasionally let me choose the venue. Somewhere a little heavier on kitsch reclaimed furniture and a little lighter on £85 bottles of French merlot.

But that was just Nicole. She wanted what she wanted. She had gone from strength to strength after university. Working her way up the ranks of the financial firm she joined as a graduate. She had even done exactly what she'd said she'd do back at university. Meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and marry him by the time before she turned thirty. No enjoying single life for Nicole. The sooner she found the right man, the sooner she could get married, and the sooner they could buy her perfect marital home, out in the Cotswolds.

And despite our surroundings, I knew that, as ever, she'd pick up the bill. Not in a flashy, show-off sort of way. More in a way that she was aware that this was all her idea, and it was only fair that she paid for it. But even if she understood her financial responsibility tonight, it seemed like she was somewhat oblivious to my own bank balance in general. Given what she had just proposed. What she wanted me to come along on.

She had dropped the bombshell after our first glass of wine, as casually as if she'd been asking me whether I wanted to go for cheap noodles at Wagamama after we'd finished the bottle. She'd asked if I wanted to come with her, and some of her friends from work, on a villa holiday on Spain's south coast. In two weeks' time. One of her party had been forced to drop out, and she'd thought of me first. And she acted like all of this was a straightforward financial decision for me to make on the spot.

I could just picture the wanton luxury right now. Nothing but the best. Some vast Airbnb property nestled in a perfect Mediterranean watercolour scene. All mod cons in the kitchen, a huge pool in the garden, luxurious furniture and fittings in every room. And all eye-wateringly expensive for a girl like me in my stained top and jeans.

"I'm serious," she persisted, taking another calculated sip of wine and setting her glass back down on the polished table, "I'd love for you to be there, Kate."

I squirmed again and took an altogether less elegant sip from my own glass.

"I know," I sighed, "And it sounds amazing. But...I'm not sure I can afford--"

"Don't worry about that," she cut in with a dismissive wave of her hand, "That's the beauty of it. Georgia's had to pull out, but she feels so bad she's not asking for her split of the villa costs back. All you'd need to pay for are flights and a bit of spending money."

I didn't want to admit it to my high-flying friend, but even that felt like an expense I couldn't really afford right now.

"But, I'm not sure if--"

"Flights are easy," she continued, "There's, like, a thousand budget flights down there every day, so no worries there. And spending money...sort of depends on what we do. The villa will have everything we need, so it'll only be if we head out for an evening."

I sighed patiently at the familiar pattern of a conversation with Nicole when she wanted something to happen. Each point you could think of to offer was usually dealt with by her methodical counter-argument before you'd even had a chance to make it.

"Ok, but it's super short notice--"

"It's over a weekend for the most part. Fly in Thursday evening, fly out Monday morning. Worst case, you can arrive later and leave early. I can pick you up from the airport."

"I don't even know these friends of yours--"

"They're lovely people. And it's not all going to be work talk, don't worry. That's not what this is. We just all wanted to blow off some steam away from our husbands. Simon did the same thing with his friends last month. Weekend golfing in Scotland."

"But--"

"And besides, if you really don't like them, we can do our own thing. Just the two of us."

I was getting out-debated at every turn. It was what had made her so successful at work, I assumed. And also what made her impossible to say no to. Especially when she dispensed with the cold hard facts and switched to the more devastating emotional blackmail.

"Come on, Kate," she pouted, reaching her perfectly-manicured hand across the table and taking hold of my own, "It's a little girls-only holiday. And we only really see each other for a night here and there these days, now I've moved away. I've been worried about how much more quality time we'll have together before...Simon and I start a family."

"Oh," I gasped, a little taken aback at that revelation, "Are you...?"

"Well, no. Not yet. I've got far too much on at work for the foreseeable. But I've started some interesting discussions with a friend of mine in HR about the sort of package the firm offers for career breaks. And while I really don't want it to hurt my position in the company, I also don't want to be one of those women who hit their late-30s before they get to their first antenatal class, y'know?"

I didn't know. At all. It was like she was speaking an alien language to me. Career breaks. Antenatal classes. I understood the concepts, but all of it felt like I was still decades away from having to think about anything like that. Even if I really shouldn't be. Still, despite the emotional bombardment, I remained pensive.

"Ok," she sighed eventually, seeing my expression, "How about this. I'll email you the details, and you just think about it. Alright? You don't need to answer now."

I sighed again, but reluctantly nodded back. She seemed satisfied enough with that to lean back and take another sip of wine.

"Excellent," she smiled, "So, now that's settled, what's new with you, hon?"

I think I might be an exhibitionist. But I'm not quite sure what that means. I've started eating breakfast in the nude, every morning. I constantly think about people staring at, and admiring my naked body, to the point that I'm masturbating to those fantasies every day. But I don't know how or where I want to act on those urges. A couple of weeks ago, I went on a six hour round trip to a nude beach and spent the day naked. It was one of the best days of my life. I even met this couple there, and even though the guy was this sexy hunk of a man, for some reason I got more turned on by his girlfriend. Which I still haven't got my head around. On three separate occasions, I've seriously considered withdrawing the thousand or so pounds I have in my tiny savings account to pay for a week's holiday at a top-rated naturist resort in the Black Forest. And I only back away from the idea when I remember that, if I'm just one naked person in a whole group of naked people, I don't really enjoy myself. Oh, and yesterday, I spent most of my lunch break standing nude in the changing rooms of an Oxford Street department store, staring at myself in the mirror.

That was the answer to her question. But I couldn't say that, obviously.

"You know," I shrugged back instead as I reached for my wine glass, "Same old..."

*****

As soon as I got back to my apartment, my phone chimed to acknowledge that Nicole had sent an email with the details. Just as she'd promised.

I didn't bother looking at it initially. I was too tired. I pulled off my dressing-stained top and threw it in the washing machine ready to start a cycle in the morning. Then I shrugged and took off the rest of my clothes, adding those to the machine as well and allowing myself a bit of bonus nude time. Even if it didn't particularly excite me to be naked at home by myself any more, it still felt good to do every now and again.

As I collapsed onto my bed, I reluctantly grabbed my phone again and pulled up Nicole's email. The villa was just as decadent as I'd imagined. From the photos, I could see that it sat way up on top of a hill, overlooking the sun-kissed coast below, seemingly entirely separated from the rest of the world. The inside was like something out of an episode of Grand Designs, a vast open-plan ground floor with a pristine fitted kitchen, a huge wooden dining table and a sunken lounge area complete with a horseshoe of carefully-plumped sofas. There were four bedrooms in total, each one three times the size of the bedroom of my apartment, and each with its own walk-in shower and full-length mirror. Outside, the luxury continued with a vast courtyard of a garden, complete with a pool and loungers to relax on. The perfect place to sunbathe--

I sat up in bed, suddenly a lot more intrigued. I checked the photos of the garden again. Two sides were framed by the house itself, and the other two by high brick walls, topped off with metal railings. So secluded, so secure. I swiped back through the pictures to the shot of the villa from the air, noting how cut off it was from any other building. All alone, on top of a lush, green Spanish hillside.

The perfect place to...sunbathe.

No Kate, I told myself immediately. Don't even think about it. You are absolutely not going on this holiday in order to get naked in that secluded sun-kissed courtyard. Nicole'll be there. To say nothing of two other women you've never met before. What the hell will they think if you start parading around in the nude?

Now, hang on, I countered my own internal thoughts. Who said anything about parading? I'd just be taking advantage of the gorgeous Spanish weather to get a tan. An all-over tan. And besides, Nicole and I have been friends for a long time. We used to go to the same Pilates classes, and we saw each other nude in the changing rooms all the time. We're all girls. There's nothing weird about this.

Yes there is, my mind hit back. Because you wouldn't just be trying to get a proper tan, would you? You'd be using it as an excuse to be nude in front of another bunch of people. You'd be using it as a way to act out another exhibitionist fantasy, without Nicole or any of the others realising what you were doing. It would probably even turn you on. Strike that, it would

definitely

turn you on. There's an awful lot that's weird about this.

But they won't need to know that, I countered again. It's all perfectly innocent. As far as they're concerned, I'm just someone who wants a nice tan, and doesn't mind lying outside in the nude if that's what it takes. We girls do that sort of thing all the time. I think.

And what about Nicole's friends? My mind persisted. A few hours ago, you were scared about going on holiday with people you'd never met before. Now you're not only planning on going on that holiday, but you want to take all your clothes off in front of them as well? That's not normal behaviour, Kate. You're not normal.

No, I'm not, I agreed. And I'm really starting to like that about myself.

Ignoring the continued pleas of my more rational mind, I swiftly typed out a reply to Nicole's email. I was in. I set my phone to one side and lay back on the bed in satisfaction. Without even thinking, my hand edged its way down south, and I began to gently play with myself. Picturing the sight of me, nude in the Spanish sun, with Nicole and her friends staring at my exposed body. It felt so wonderfully naughty.

At this point, I had no idea just how exposed I was going to be. I was in a state of blissful, sensual ignorance for what was to come. And I'd never felt so relaxed.

*****

I'd never felt so nervous.

A couple of weeks later, I stood at the top of the stairs of the villa, listening to distant cheerful voices from downstairs in the kitchen, and my entire body was shaking.

Relax, Kate. I tried to tell myself. This is what you want.

Everything had gone smoothly ever since I'd sent that reply back to Nicole. My boss had been fine with me booking time off, despite the short notice. I'd re-budgeted the rest of my bills for the next couple of months to afford my flights out here, as well as giving myself a modest pot of spending money. Although I'd been a little unhappy with the extra costs to get my luggage on the flight. Especially when, if things went to plan, I wouldn't actually wear a lot of what I'd packed. I'd continued with my gym regime in order to ensure that my body would be in as good a shape as possible for its, ahem, international debut. And speaking of things, um, going smoothly. I'd even found the funds to return to the salon and get my entire pubic region re-waxed.

I was ready.

And yet, just as I had done back on the sand dune, when I was preparing to expose myself on the nude beach, I had entered a last-second panic. Because, after two weeks of blissful relaxed ignorance and naughty mastubatory fantasies, the reality of what I was planning to do was now sinking in, as I teetered at the top of the stairs in my thin vest top and floral patterned shorts. Was I actually doing this? Could I really stand in front of one of my best friends, and two of her high-flying work colleagues, and casually announce my intention to spend the day sunbathing in the nude?

I bit my lip and squirmed slightly, trying to suppress the rush of arousal that the mere concept of my plan triggered inside me. Yes, Kate, I told myself. You can do this. You know you can do this. I took a breath and started down the stairs, hearing the voices getting louder as I descended.

I had arrived at the villa late last night after a dizzying taxi ride from the airport up a seemingly endless, twisting hillside road. The others had arrived earlier in the day and were already settled in, but an inconvenient late night flight was all I could afford, so by the time I'd gotten here, I barely had time to meet everyone before it had been time to go to bed.

Still, from what I had seen, the villa was just as luxurious as Nicole's email had suggested it was. I'd been given a brief tour before bedtime, and if anything, the photos hadn't done it justice. The entire place looked like some sort of fashion mogul's penthouse, each room the very height of luxury. I'd been taken aback to find that Nicole and the others had already ensured that the pristine open-plan kitchen was fully stocked. The wine rack was groaning under the weight of a dozen or more bottles, and the fridge was filled with snacks and fresh ingredients for our meals. My bedroom felt like it was fit for a princess. An elegant en suite, walk-in wardrobe, and the softest, most comfortable bed I'd ever slept in.

And best of all, while I hadn't been able to get a proper look at it in the darkness last night, the courtyard-style garden next to the pool looked as secluded and secure as the photos had suggested. Everything was exactly as I'd hoped. Despite my last minute attack of nerves.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and walked on into the kitchen area, where everyone was gathered around the marble kitchen island. On the surface of the island lay a small feast of breakfast items. Toasted bread. Freshly sliced tomatoes and cheese. A tall jug of orange juice. And a generous, steaming cafetiere filled with rich black coffee. The smell of the food and the coffee was wonderful.

"Morning," Nicole smiled as I walked in.

I smiled back, and sat down, accepting a cup of coffee and a plate of food.

I was still getting to know the other two women in our group. Ange and Maria. Two of Nicole's friends from work. But from what little I'd seen last night, I already liked them both. Even if, like Nicole often was, they seemed a little intimidating to me.

"Weather's fucking perfect today," Ange said to me as she chewed a mouthful of food.

Ange was the most intimidating of them all. A tall red-haired Australian with a rather foul mouth and oceans of self-confidence. I received a perfect demonstration of just how much self-confidence last night when, fuelled by the several glasses of wine she'd consumed before my arrival, she had gleefully talked to me at length about her recent boob job.

"Ten grand, these fuckers cost me," she had slurred, wobbling her now-ample chest at me as she did so, "Best thing I ever did. Guys can't get enough of 'em. They're like fucking putty in my hands. The guys, not my tits."

Nicole had moved the conversation along before the tipsy Aussie had gone as far as proudly asking me to feel her newly-minted DD-cups. But that wasn't to say part of me wasn't intrigued. I'd never felt fake boobs before.

Next to Ange, Maria cut an altogether quieter, more demure figure. She was shorter than her colleagues, almost as short as me, with shoulder-length black hair and a slim frame. We hadn't really spoken all that much last night, mainly because Ange and her new cleavage had dominated the conversation so completely. But she seemed friendly enough. And besides, I trusted Nicole's judgement in people. She was friends with me, after all.

I was very much the baby of the group, which was adding to my nerves, my sense of intimidation. Maria was the same age as Nicole, around two years my senior, while Ange had a few years even on them. She had explained last night, through glugs of wine, that her new chest was one of her many thirtieth birthday gifts to herself.