This story follows on chronologically from
"The Pest"
although you don't need to read that missive first.
The Midnight Run
Confession is good for the soul.
So here's mine.
I am an exhibitionist.
There. I said it.
I'm either an exhibitionist or a pervert, or just plain weird. You decide.
And I dearly wish there were more exhibitionists. I really do. I like to think that there's a deep, spiritual joy in allowing yourself to be seen by someone else, another human being, especially in circumstances where nakedness, where nudity, is perhaps frowned upon. I'm not talking about circumstances where nudity would be inappropriate, undesirable or even downright offensive. That would be wrong. Rather, I'm talking about the innocent, the everyday, the normal. I discovered long ago that if I let a stray boob fall out at an inopportune moment, maybe in the supermarket, the swimming pool or the beach, and someone sees just a little bit more than they ought, then I definitely get a real buzz. Similarly, unless a person is diametrically opposed to such wanton displays of recklessness (and you can usually tell when they're not from just their basic body language) I can be fairly certain that they're enjoying the experience just as much as, if not more than, I am.
I don't flash a lot. Not these days. It's no longer the obsession it used to be. Just the odd time, here and there perhaps. I try to keep the worst of my urges under cover, suppressed even.
However, there are, sadly, those times when the urge to go just that little bit further becomes too much to ignore, and the need to undress and to run free builds and builds inside until it becomes a compulsion. I reach a point when I simply have to act and act now, or face a sleepless night wondering what might have been, or would be, or could be.
And I feel like that right now, at this very moment, as I write this missive. That's because I'm sitting on a crowded train stuck midway between York and Durham. It's hot, very sticky and desperately uncomfortable, and I'd love to just throw my clothes off and sit as nature intended, in my birthday suit. Alas, that just isn't going to happen.
I should also note that the gentleman presently sitting on my right, yes, you, YOU... is reading this missive when he knows he should not be. (Ah, that got your attention...)
As I was saying, I'm on a packed train and whilst a display of wanton nakedness might make the unplanned delay a little more bearable, I have a suspicion that if I were to disrobe then I'd be kicked off the train at Darlington and handed to British Transport Police.
Yes, in this instant, I must exercise caution. You see, not all of my exhibitionist activities turn out for the best.
Some years ago, during the probationary period for my first managerial role, I found myself working late in the office. I'd been handed a suite of programs to test and review before being taken live. I figured that if I put in a few more hours then I could kick the project into the long grass and earn a few extra brownie points from my Boss.
I stuck at the task in hand and, by 1030 pm, I'd reviewed all of the coding changes and handed off my bug reports/recommendations to the testing team.
And that was it. After months and months of effort, I was finished. Job done.
I really felt the need to celebrate.
I don't drink and I don't smoke so what else was there?
Yeah, you're ahead of me.
One of my most intense fantasies, so intense that I found the imagery utterly and completely overwhelming, was to get undressed and then walk the entire length of our offices in full view of my friends and colleagues, my seniors and my juniors, the board of Directors and the Tea Boy. I would parade myself slowly and deliberately, step by step, at a pace determined by the steady tick-tock-tick-tock of the office clock that hangs above the centre isle. I would pause in my meanderings, occasionally to bask in the warm summer glow that burns its way through the tinted windows up here on the sixth floor but mostly to roll around, to disport myself, on the large conference table that sits in the midst of these fawning, cringing heads.
In front of me, rank after rank of identikit workstations, impersonal and sterile, devoid of humanity. And behind each monitor, a single, lonely unaccompanied programmer, wishing their life away. Not one of these poor frightened souls dares to look up, maybe tries to catch a glimpse of the goodies on show, even for an instant, lest they find themselves dismissed on the spot.
Lord above. Do I have an ego problem or what? :)
Pardon me.
I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Worse, the image continued to surface time and time again, usually in meetings when my mind started to wander although mostly in the wee hours when I found sleep utterly elusive.
Obviously, the notion was completely out of the question. Or was it?
Why not just wait behind one night? Why not come in at the weekends? Do the deed and be done with it? Wouldn't that get rid of the problem? Well, no. It wouldn't because I work in the Banking and Insurance Sector and the entire floor was and probably still is under video surveillance 24/7/365 for security purposes.
So... what's a girl to do?
As a member of the Technical Support Team, one of my jobs was to check and maintain the Company's infrastructure, particularly the communications systems. This means I have access to those areas of the building not normally visited by the majority of employees. One of those areas was the very top of the building, which was roughly twenty stories above ground and home to the Company's Microwave array. Those aerials had a direct line of sight all the way down to Durham and beyond, and were critical for the Company's operations in the event of a broken underground line.
It was close to 11 pm when I made my way through a never ending series of locked doors and up to the roof. The building is certainly the tallest in the city so it's not over-looked. More so, there's a shoulder-high barrier to prevent jumpers (a problem in the past), but you can't be seen from ground level.
With my heart pounding, I took my chance and moved to dark space behind the main stairwell. Fearful of the ever present Security cameras, I did a quick inspection of the entire roof space but could find nothing unusual.
Once I was fairly sure that I had my privacy, I took all of my clothes off, pausing only briefly before removing my bra and pants.
The night air slammed into me like a very cold express train and, straight away, I began to tingle all over, goosebumps rising over every exposed surface.
I took a walk. A long slow delicious walk across the roof tops, my toes biting into the hard gravel surface, the wind nipping at my ass, blowing my hair in all directions. I wish more people could enjoy this experience, the sense of freedom, the sense of oneness. I really do. In any normal Universe, walking around naked in the middle of the night would be available on prescription from your Doctor.
And, for a time anyway, was almost certainly the highest naked person in the City of Newcastle upon Tyne. Something to reflect upon, no?
Every now and again I would pause to look over the rail at the people scurrying about below, and I wondered if they even suspected. Probably not.
