It was the stupidest thing I've done in my entire life; let's be honest, I knew that at the time but I still did it, silly cow! It was just before Christmas, and I'd gone with a few of my fellow teachers to the pub to celebrate the end of term – my first in my new profession. I'm Cathy Hull by the way, 23, pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way with a pale face, regular features, shoulder length brown hair (mousey, if I'm, being honest), and quite petite, five-foot-four with a slim figure. I'm from just outside London, and the school I teach at is about fifty miles north of my home town.
Anyway, yes, we were all at the pub, four of us by the end, and I suppose we'd had a few too many drinks by closing time. I certainly had. It was incredibly stupid, because I was due to get a train home the following morning, and my parents would love it if I turned up hung-over and smelling like a brewery. God knows what made me do it, but I told the others that I'd been on a few naturist holidays with my parents in my teens, and I quite fancied doing it again. It really feels quite liberating walking around nude in the open air, with the Mediterranean sun warming your body. After a few bad taste jokes about me ogling my dad's willy the conversation moved on.
About half an hour later, though, as I came back from the loo, one of the fellers, Marcus Stewart, brought up the subject of naturism again. I saw Judy Preece smirk – she and I have never been the best of friends – but it was only much later that I realised she had put Marcus up to it. He said something about nudism not being possible in Britain because of the climate. Trying to defend my lifestyle choice I told him that there are dozens of clubs in the UK, including one less than three miles from the school. Marcus nodded sagely. "So you enjoy being starkers in public, do you? Wouldn't you get embarrassed if someone you knew saw you?"
If I hadn't been so tipsy I might have seen where he was going, but as it was I plunged in with both feet. Of course I wouldn't, I said, the human body was nothing to embarrassed about, and people were too childish about the concept of nudity. Marcus nodded again, and said, "I'll bet you wouldn't go naturist in Britain though." I laughed and said I'd be happy to. At that Marcus leaned forwards with a suggestive grin on his face. "All right then, prove it. I dare you to do a streak, tonight."
I stared at him open-mouthed and told him not to be so stupid. I looked at Judy and the other guy with us, Dave Birch, for support. Judy gave me a challenging look, and Dave just stared into his beer, seemingly embarrassed by the whole thing. Marcus crowed, "I knew it, you're all mouth and trousers Cath!"
I felt myself blushing. "For fuck's sake Marcus, summer, inside the walls of a camp, is one thing. We're in the middle of a town in the middle of bloody winter."
Judy gave me a patronising smile, but said, "Don't listen to him Cathy, Marcus just wants to see your tits and fanny." Judy has a big chest whereas I only need a A-cup, so I thought she was probably being bitchy.
Marcus was still jeering at me, then, through my alcoholic haze, I thought I'd come up with a brilliant wheeze to shut him up. Oh God, it would never have happened if I'd just stuck with alcopops instead of moving onto beer. Slamming my glass down on the table, I said, "Okay Marcus, I will if you will." I smiled triumphantly around the table, expecting that to kill the discussion.
Marcus' smile wavered for about a quarter of a second, then he nodded and said, "Okay. Marshall Lane, when we leave here." Drunk as I was, I felt the blood draining from my face. I couldn't believe the twit had actually called my bluff. I was about to say I was kidding, and no way was I going to do anything so fucking stupid; but Judy was still favouring me with that superior look, and I wanted to wipe the smile off her face. I thought about Marshall Lane. It was three streets from the pub, a narrow cobbled byway no more than about 50 yards long, badly lit and lined with only warehouses and lock-up garages. Even so close to Christmas, with the town crawling with folk, it was bound to be deserted, with no householders overlooking it. It was freezing outside – I saw with dismay that snowflakes were beginning to lazily fall – but it would only take a matter of seconds, then I'd make damn sure that sodding Marcus bought me a coffee and a bacon roll at one of the all-night cafés in Market Street.
It was another hour before we left the pub. I kind of hoped that Marcus had either been joking or was pissed enough to have forgotten about his dare; but just before closing time he bought us both a large brandy, telling me with a wink, "I wouldn't want either of us dying of exposure out there."
I could feel my tummy churning with nerves as we started to walk towards Marshall Lane, and desperately hoped I wouldn't throw up. Dave clearly wanted nothing to do with it, and made his excuses and scuttled off into the night. When we got there Marcus beamed at us and said, "Right, I'll go first."
The snow was still slowly drifting down and I was trembling with cold and fear by then. Knowing I was whining, I said, "Marcus, please, this is silly, we'll both catch our deaths of cold. Let's just forget it and go and get warm somewhere."
Marcus had already stripped to the waist, goosebumps bursting out on his flesh. He looked as if he might have agreed with me, but just then bloody Judy chortled, "I've got ten quid here that says Cathy's going to bottle out of it once you've done your run Marcus. In fact, let's all three of us put a tenner in. If you do it Cathy, you get the pot; if you chicken out, Marcus gets it."
Of course, what I should have done – what I would have done if I hadn't been more sloshed than ever before after five hours in the pub – was told them both to grow up and stalked off home. As it was, I meekly took ten pounds out of my purse and gave it to Judy to hold. With it being Christmas I was already into my overdraft at the bank, and I couldn't afford to lose any money. On the other hand, an extra 20 would have just come in handy to tide me over. It did occur to me to suggest that, if Judy was so keen on the challenge going ahead, she get her kit off too and take her turn, but by then Marcus was naked apart from his shoes and socks, standing with his back to us. Teeth chattering, he muttered, "Right, to the bollard at the end of the street and back", and set off.
Now Marcus is 27, well over six feet tall with long legs and plays soccer and squash. He hurtled down the short street, tapped the bollard with a hand and raced back, his knob bouncing up and down as he ran. As he reached us Judy threw Marcus' coat around his shoulders and, shivering violently, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed his trousers, as Judy began to rub some warmth back into his upper body and, looking pointedly at his groin, joked about how cold it was. He was still breathing heavily, but he gradually recovered then, silently, the two of them turned and looked expectantly at me.
I don't think it had really hit me until that moment that I was actually going to do it. Almost in tears of anger and humiliation, I slowly stripped. Even then it didn't occur to me to do the sensible thing, tell them to sod off and walk away. In minutes I was down to my bra and pants. I'd had to take my shoes off to remove my jeans, with my bare soles on the cobble stones of the lane, and my feet felt like blocks of ice. I unlatched my bra then bent and, feeling the blood rush to my face, slipped my bikini briefs over my training shoes. As I straightened there was a flash of light and Marcus, still pale with cold, was grinning at me and waving his camera phone about. I screeched something at him and made a lunge for it, but he laughed and held it above his head, way out of reach. Realising I was just making things worse I stood back, rubbing my hands up and down my cold body, and snapped, "When I get back here, Marcus, either you wipe that photo or I'll be wearing your peanut-sized bollocks for ear-rings this Christmas." And with that I set off on what I thought would be the worst 30 seconds or so of my entire life.
As I approached the end of Marshall Lane, the slap of my feet on the cobbles sounding deafening in my ears, my eyes were caught by another flash. It came from in front of me, and for a split second I thought that someone else had taken a photo of me. Next moment, just as I reached the bollard, a white car nosed into view. A white car with a fluorescent orange and blue stripe down the side, and slowly flashing blue lights on top, and the word 'POLICE' stencilled across its bonnet. My heart nearly stopped in terror. I turned to sprint back to my supposed friends, in the hope of getting away, but as I did my foot slipped in the thin layer of snow on the cobbles and I went down, my knee connecting painfully with the road. As I righted myself I heard a strident male voice from behind me call, "Oi, girlie - come 'ere!"
In blind panic I sprinted in the opposite direction, but as I got halfway up the street I realised that Marcus and Judy were nowhere to be seen. Not only had they fucked off at the sight of the cops, they'd taken my sodding clothes with them. Just as that hit me, a hand wrapped firmly around my bicep and pulled me to a halt, making me slip on the cobbles again and land on my backside with a thump. Sniffling with pain, cold and fear, I looked up into the incredulous face of the female officer who dragged me to my feet. Shaking her head in amazement, she took off her thick jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, grumbling, "What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at, it's sub-zero out here."
The woman shoved me into the back of the car and slid in beside me. In the light from the street where they were parked I could see she looked somewhere in her 30s, hard-faced with tight blonde curls tucked under her uniform cap. Her male colleague, who appeared 40-ish, squirmed round in the driver's seat and leaned his elbow on its back while he looked at me. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, I pulled the woman's jacket tight around me. The car heater was turned up high and I felt warmth gradually begin to seep back into my frozen body. Then the cop in the front seat said, "Right, Lady Godiva, what's your name?"
The coldness in my body and my fear and shame at my situation combined to render me voiceless. I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. The guy sighed then, completely straight-faced, asked, "Okay, miss, have you got any form of identification on you?"
His colleague said, "Yeah, all right, very funny Bob", but she was grinning as she said it. Then she turned to me and said, "Look love, you're not doing yourself any favours not giving us your name. Now come on, what is it?"
I finally managed to whisper my name, then Laughing Boy in the front continued, "And do you have any reasonable explanation as to why you were running along a street stark naked at nearly midnight in the snow?"
