My Birthday Ritual

This isn't how I expected to spend my birthday night.

I'm sat in a police cell wearing one of those body condom things that forensic teams wear. I always thought they were paper, but they're actually really scratchy plastic. I haven't actually done anything wrong - they just don't know what else to do with me to "keep me safe" until my housemate can come pick me up.

It's not a cell like you see in American movies. This is a British police cell. It's a decent sized white box, with a single bed at one end. It kind of reminds me of my first student dorm room, except the mattress can be hosed down, and there's a stainless steel toilet in one corner. It's a private little cell for one, not an open plan holding cell for a dozen drunks.

I could really do with having a wee, but to do so I'd have to pull the entire suit down to my knees and I'm too embarrassed to do that. Which is pretty ironic, considering why I'm in here.

Why

am

I here?

Well, once upon a time there were these two very nice policemen. Their boring graveyard shift had been interrupted by a call to a house party where they'd had to explain that 2am was probably a good time to turn down the music. They were heading back to the station for a cup of tea when they saw a naked girl run across the street and down a footpath. They intercepted her at the other end of the path, wrapped her in a huge fluorescent jacket and took her to the police station. They were worried she'd been abused or attacked, but it turned out her drunk idiot friends decided that the perfect end to her 25th birthday would be to strip her naked and make her run home naked. So, they gave her an itchy forensics suit to wear and decided she would be safest staying in an unlocked cell until someone with keys could pick her up and take her home.

If you hadn't guessed, I'm the girl.

You might have also guessed that the story I gave the policemen is complete bollocks.

The short version of the real story is that I'd gone out drinking and got home safe about half midnight. I'd then deliberately stripped naked and locked myself out of the house, knowing the only key was the one I'd hidden in the pub garden.

The long story starts exactly 7 years ago, on my 18th birthday.

CHAPTER ONE

Imagine me aged 18. I looked pretty much the same as I do now. My hair was longer and I hadn't got the cartilage piercings high on my ear (or my other piercings) but I was pretty much the same as now. It was only 7 years ago after all.

I still lived at home with my parents on their small arable farm. I'm pretty sure my dad thought I was the village slut, and was always making comments about how he was glad we didn't live in the village where other people might see my scandalous underwear hanging on the washing line. My mum thought I had an eating disorder or body dismorphia because I wore baggy clothes that hid my shape rather than the tight outfits my friends wore.

In reality, I was still a virgin. I didn't want to be, but living five miles from the village and another 10 miles from first school and then college meant that having a steady boyfriend was hard work. That would change when I learnt to drive, but learning wasn't coming easy. I was so painfully single that most of the school assumed I was a lesbian.

As for the eating disorder, Mum couldn't be more wrong. I loved my body. Sure, I wanted slightly bigger boobs and a flatter tummy, but who didn't. If we'd known that thigh gap was a thing, I'd probably have worried about that too. Just like every other girl my age. No, my issue was with clothes. I hate clothes that made me feel trapped, so I wore the tiniest underwear and bikinis I could find, and made sure everything else was baggy. For a couple of weeks every summer, I got to wear fantastically light floaty summer dresses, but the rest of my adolescence I spent desperately avoiding every fashion trend that came along.

The tiny bikinis didn't help my dad's opinion that I was a slut, and I regularly got told off for sunbathing in the back garden where "anyone" could see me. He'd never tell me who that anyone was, seeing as how we lived in the middle of nowhere and the farm was so small he only got help in for the harvest.

Anyway, what was I saying?

Oh, yeah, my 18th birthday.

It was a really good day. Mum bought me a new phone and gave me money to buy clothes. Dad apparently still wanted a boy, so he bought me a knackered 3-series BMW and said we could spend the winter fixing it up in time for when I finally passed my test. He also gave me a key to the front door - which I still don't understand, because I'd had one for years and we rarely locked the back door anyway.

I had a double session with a driving instructor, trying to remember that (unlike a tractor) I wasn't sat in the middle of the car, so I had to watch out for things like bollards and parked cars. I then spent an hour or two lazing in the sun, before Mum called us in for a really good family dinner. I could see Dad was desperate to get back to the harvest, but he sat there and enjoyed it for me.

After dinner, I got changed and got ready to go out drinking with my friends at our favourite pub. Yes, it was my 18th, but doesn't everyone have a favourite pub from 16? Or is it just a country thing? Anyway, I went to the pub.

I got changed into a summer dress that was loose enough to make my friends despair, and short enough to make my mum choke on her tea. I managed to get out without Dad seeing me and making judgemental noises, and got a lift to The Rose with my friend Lisa. If I'm honest, it's a rubbish pub but it's close enough to college for a sneaky drink at lunchtime, and far enough away that the landlord could pretend he thought we were legal.

There were a dozen of us, drinking and getting steadily drunker and louder. We must have been bloody annoying. Then someone decided we should go into town for dancing. And more drinking, obviously. Plus flirting. We were still drinking at about half one when someone - Vicky, I think - told the barman he should give me a kiss because it was my eighteenth birthday. That would have been fine if he hadn't been serving us at least once a month for the last two years, and he threw me out on principle. The irony of getting booted out on the first day you are legally allowed to be there. Anyway, my so-called best friends - who are all younger than me - stayed and kept drinking while I stood in the dark outside the club, drunk, indignant, and confused.

I got myself a bag of wonderfully unhealthy fried potato products and unnamed greasy meat as consolation, and went hunting for a taxi. I found one who agreed to take me all the way home for my remaining cash and a share of my chips. What girl is going to turn that offer down?

He was cute in a stubbly older-man kind of way, and I was drunk, and I flirted and giggled the entire way. I found myself thinking about his hands wrapping around my wrists, and him kissing me roughly in a way that surprised me and aroused me in a way I wouldn't get to experiment with again for a few years.

Anyway, my point is that I was drunk and light headed and a bit distracted when we got to the bottom of the glorified farm track that leads to our house. We got about ten feet up it before the taxi grounded out and he announced I'd have to walk the rest of the way. I begged and flirted outrageously, but he wasn't going to change his mind. I got out of the car in a bit of a mood, slammed the door, and went face first into the drainage channel that runs up the side of the driveway.

It was only about 3 feet wide and maybe six inches deep, but oh, god, that water was cold. Properly bloody cold, even in early September.

Before I'd really realised where I was, the taxi driver appeared at the top of the bank and pulled me out. I was soaked. The clear water in the stream had turned my top from light white floaty thing to basically see-through and painted on, and the driver made a really bad job of not staring at my boobs in the moonlight. Part of me hoped he'd drive me the rest of the way just to spend more time with my boobs, but no. He took a good long stare while checking I was okay, then fucked off.

So, there I was, at the point where I probably could have started this story, at the end of our mile and a half long driveway, cold, drunk, and annoyed. It wasn't what I'd wanted from my birthday. I'd hoped for drinking and dancing, and maybe a hot but desperate boy with his hands in my knickers.

Instead, I'd been abandoned by my friends and my lovely floaty light clothes of joy had turned into evil rags of oppression, sticking to me and being all heavy and clingy.

I waited for my eyes to get used to the dark and started trudging up the drive.

Every damned step was like hell. My dress kept sticking to me, then peeling off again. My top felt like it had been glued to me. All the arousal that had been building up in me was gone. I... well, let's just say that even now I feel uncomfortable thinking about how horrible I felt.

I stared into the dark for a few minutes. There were no lights around, and even the farm machinery had given up for the night. When you think about it, I thought, a bra and knickers isn't any different to a bikini, really, is it? I mean, most of my bikinis are actually smaller than the bra and knickers I had on because these had some pretense of support. It would be fine, right? So, slowly, cautiously, I lifted my dress up around my waist. Oh, god, it felt so good. The air was still and it didn't matter that my legs were wet. I was free. I pulled it up over my head, cringing as the fabric peeled off my back and tummy and stuck to my arms as I lifted it.

It felt really great to be stood there in the dark, half naked. The only thing I didn't like was the feeling of my wet clothes in my hand. It felt so fantastically naughty too. No matter how I rationalised it, bra and knickers

were

different to a bikini, and I bloody loved it. Excluding my parents there wasn't another living soul for at least 3 miles, but I felt like there were eyes all over my body.

And it felt so good.

I stood there for maybe five minutes, just feeling the world around me before I started walking towards home. It's not exactly a smooth surface, but I knew it well enough to walk it in the dark without breaking anything. Instead I focused on the feel of the air on my skin, the tiny downy hairs all waving around joyously in the cool air. I felt electrified.

I was also becoming more and more aware of how tight and wet my remaining clothes were. A tiny pair of knickers and a bra that was more there for show than function. Both soaking wet, they felt painfully constricting. Grinning into the dark, I unsnapped the clasp on my bra and let it drop down my arms. The freedom, the cool air on my wet breasts, the naughtiness of it... I closed my eyes and stopped to take it in. I even bit my lip a little bit, which surprised me.

At this point I should probably be describing my perky boobs bouncing free from captivity but that's giving my bras way too much substance. I'm a C, but I was probably only a B back then. Bras were much more about form than function for my girls - something small and pretty that fulfilled the social obligation to wear a bra while annoying me as little as possible. No, the feeling was of general freedom and openness, not releasing my barely contained heaving bosom.

I kept walking, enjoying the air and the freedom. My free hand (the one without my clothes in it) kept brushing my naked thigh as I walked. Then occasionally brushing my belly and hips, catching annoyingly on my knickers. Nervously, I raised my hand and gently cupped my breast, gently teasing my nipple. Oh, this was the way to end a night out. I gently rolled my nipple between my finger and thumb. Enjoying myself and the darkness. Enjoying the way my forearm brushed against the other nipple... I squeezed a little harder than I meant and felt an electric shock of arousal hit me square in the clit. I was getting way too aroused for a walk in the countryside.

There was another thought running through my head as I walked and rubbed and teased. You probably already know what the thought was, but it genuinely surprised me. I held off for as long as I could, but by the time I got to the edge of the farm yard, the feeling was just too much. I braced myself on the gate and peeled my knickers off.

The feeling of cool air suddenly hitting my naked, wet, cunt was almost too much for me. I wanted this moment so much. The urge to slip a finger between my lips was incredible, but I wanted to enjoy these last few minutes of naughty nudity without spoiling them with wanking.

I walked through the farm yard carefully. Everyone should be asleep by now, but I avoided the security lights just in case, sneaking around like a naked ninja.

The beginnings of a fantasy started building up - I was clearly some kind of lethal assassin who chose to work naked so the noise of her clothes didn't give away her presence. I kept to the shadows, trying to avoid eyes everywhere - the eyes of lust filled guards who had been without female company for oh so long. I avoided the guards I imagined on top of the tall grain store. I tiptoed past the barn full of slightly drunk off-duty soldiers who would all want me. I crept past my 'new' car to avoid the mechanic I imagined was working late into the night. Every building was full of imaginary men who would do unspeakable things to me if they caught me...

I never said it was a logical fantasy.

My cunt was screaming at me to pay it attention. It wanted the little vibrator that lived in my bedside table. It wanted my fingers inside it, reaching for my g-spot...

I snuck round the side of the house and headed towards the back door, but I stopped suddenly - the back garden was glowing with flickering light spilling from a window. It was only dim light, but it might as well have been floodlit - someone was still awake, sat watching TV in the living room.

I doubled back and crept down the side of the garden, carefully avoiding the reach of the now all-too-scary security lights. If I got far enough down the garden I could look in through the windows without being seen. With luck, my dad would have fallen asleep watching whatever pointless sports they showed at half two in the bloody morning and I could sneak past him.

I got to the end of the garden and hid behind a stupidly overgrown rosemary plant - far enough away to be safe from the infra red sensors, but still within reach of the lights they controlled. In the living room, very much awake and alert, was my father. And my mother was snuggled up next to him on the sofa. Oh god. Straining to focus on the reflections in a picture frame above them, it looked like they were watching an old movie. They could be there for ages.

My mind already filled with dread, I tried to get myself dressed again. I got as far as pulling the cold wet fabric of my top down my arms before I freaked out and threw it across the garden. I'd rather walk into the house butt naked than put that back on.

I sat myself down, cross-legged on the grass and watched them through the foliage. How long would I be trapped out here, cold and naked? Naked. Oh god, naked...

My hand moved back to my nipple and started gently rolling it, pulling it. Oh fuck, I needed to cum. Slowly I allowed my other hand to slip between my legs, and I slid a finger between my lips, impressed by, and also slightly ashamed by, just how wet I was. Gently, tenderly, I started teasing my clitoris, watching my parents watching their movie, getting off on knowing that a wrong move by me could trigger the security lights and turn me into the floodlit star attraction.

Don't get me wrong, I had no desire for my parents to see me naked - let alone wanking - among their herbs, but the thought that I could be discovered doing this was triggering an incredible high. Those imaginary guards were now a real risk, and I loved it. I worked away at my clit, teasing either side, while I abused my poor nipple and fantasised about some unknown faceless boy, no, man, teasing me to orgasm here before laying me down and fucking my cunt for the first time...

I have no idea how long I lasted - probably not long - but my orgasm hit me like a wall when it came. I felt like I was at one with the garden, like I'd fucked every plant and shrub and tree in sight. I know, I sound like a hippy, but I was drunk and on a hell of an endorphin rush. As I collapsed backwards on the grass, something triggered the security lights, and I giggled uncontrollably knowing how close it had been. A few seconds later, a second wave hit me just as hard as the first. I lay there for a while, grinning and lazily playing with myself until I dozed off.

I woke, cold and aching, the sky lightening as the sun prepared to expose the day to the harshest security lights there were. I grabbed my still wet clothes and made a dash for the back door, not caring about the security lights, blindly assuming everyone would be asleep.

I opened the (predictably) unlocked back door, and hurried up the stairs as quickly as I could without waking everyone up. I closed my bedroom door and collapsed on my bed, wrapping myself in my duvet to keep me warm and to stifle another burst of giggles.

Once I calmed down, I climbed into the shower in my little en-suite bathroom and eased some warmth into my body.

And maybe worked on giving myself another orgasm...