Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [104]
Mindie looked at Waboombas with disdain as the large, nude, black woman climbed out of the car, then noticed some wadded fabric pressed flat on the seat where Waboombas had been sitting.
“My clothes!” Mindie called.
“Oh,” Waboombas said, mock-surprised. “I guess I was sitting on them.” She shrugged expansively. “Who knew?”
Mindie snatched the bits of fabric from the seat, and turned, holding them out to me. “Well, at least now you have something to wear.”
I looked at them as if they had been expelled from the anus of a wombat, then looked at her in much the same way.
“You wanted me nekkid? I’m nekkid. Get used to it.”
“I was forcing you to be chivalrous,” Mindie snipped. “Something you should have been without my prodding. Now take these wrinkly clothes…”
“No,” I said, turning and starting to walk in the direction of the hotel.
Mindie stood where she was, astonished, and put her fists on her hips indignantly. “I am not going anywhere with you until you show some common decency and put my pants on!”
“Okay. Then you’re not going anywhere with me.”
“CORKY!”
“MINDIE!”
She stomped a foot. “Don’t mock me!”
I ignored her and continued walking. The others seemed unsure what to do. Mindie huffed.
“At least wrap the shirt around yourself.”
I kept walking.
“All right! I’ll wear the wrinkly shirt, and you can have your damn pants! Just give me a minute to change.”
She thought this was because I didn’t want to be seen in a something with wrinkles?
I stopped and turned to her as she pulled on my Waboombas mangled Ralph Lauren shirt, stunned that she believed my response to her was more a fashion choice than a reaction to her as an alleged person.
With the cave-woman underwear-bra still in place, and the crinkly shirt/dress now sufficiently covering her nether regions, Mindie wriggled out of the slacks, gathered them up and walked over, holding them out to me.
“I hope you’re happy,” she said, annoyed. “I look like I slept in a hamper.”
I just stared at her. I had no idea what to say. I was angry, shocked, and amazed all at the same time. I looked at the others—as if for guidance—and really didn’t expect, or get, any. What should I do next?
A breeze flowed over my skin—over all of my skin—lingering in places no wind had ever touched in my short lifetime, and the feeling was wonderful. Very sensual. Pleasant. Nothing bound me. No stitching slipped into uncomfortable crevices. No underwear crept up where it shouldn’t. No fabric pressed hostilely into innocent, bended flesh. Nothing pinched, tugged, twisted, hung, chafed, itched, or blistered. I felt free. I felt comfortable.
I felt good.
I looked at Mindie, holding the wrinkled shirt before her, and noticed she also held out the panties she had been wearing earlier in the day. She probably expected me to put those on as well. Heaven forbid anything should be hanging loose.
Heaven forbid indeed.
My world was—entirely—upside down. I felt, in more ways than one, that I was somehow standing on another planet surrounded by aliens. I no longer liked Mindie, but I would probably still marry her because her attitudes toward life were ‘normal’. Wrinkled clothes, sensuality, and nudity annoyed her. I really liked Ms. Nuckeby, but I could never be with her because her attitudes toward life were ‘strange’. She would think wrinkled clothes were no problem because she wouldn’t go near them. Yet, here I was, naked in her world and wanting to stay that way—but out of spite, rather than pleasure or comfort. My world was wrinkly clothes, binding fabric, and snotty Mindie. Not comfort, and pleasure, and Ms. Nuckeby.
I took the pair of pants and began to slide them on.
“Finally,” Mindie said.
“Aaaaaaaww,” Waboombas pined,