Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [142]
Slowly, steadily, Mindie shuffled in the opposite direction, away from them, me, and naked civilization in general, and was minimally comforted when the going became much easier over the damp sand. Not, of course, as easy as it might have been had she spent less time trying to cover her various exposed naughty-bits, but far quicker than rumbling, bumbling, and stumbling through the darkest jungles of Nikkid Bottoms had been.
She came to a large mound of rocks that resembled the droppings of some long-dead, Brontosaurus-sized horse, which had likely sat there for centuries, petrified near the waterline. Deciding she needed a rest, she ran around the pile of stones to squat and hide, and nearly fell over an elderly, naked couple making love in the sand. The pair was considerably older, though fit (if a bit worn), and had apparently decided to take full advantage of a beach that was supposed to be deserted while everyone made their way to the first night of the Summertime Soiree.
All three of the surprised individuals in question, Mindie the Monster, Old Naked Man, and Old Naked Lady, shrieked in horror. Scared and revolted, Mindie whimpered pathetic sounds of anguish, disapproval, and disgust, grabbed tightly to her crotch and boobs, and hurried away as if terrified the aged nudists might leap up from the sand at any moment in an attempt to have old-people sex with her. She lurched off, far into the distance, crying, stiff-legged, and faltering now, due to massive influxes of lactic acid. The aged couple watched her go, panting heavily with their own rush of adrenaline.
As Mindie receded down the beach, staggering, groaning, and moaning, the old man and old woman looked at one another, shocked and confused, each shaking their head ‘no’ to indicate that neither of them knew what the hell that was. After a moment of staring into each other’s eyes fearfully, they suddenly leaped on one another again, and began kissing passionately, returning, undeterred, to nature’s timeless, siren song of lust.
Farther along the beach, Mindie saw the stone bridge leading off the Island, and—breathing a sigh of relief—hurried that way.
At last she could get away from this crazy place and make it back to the real world where people had the common courtesy to keep their nudity hidden under clothes.
The crowd at the Summer Soiree was immense. I hadn’t seen so many naked bodies outside Hieronymus Bosch paintings of hell. The scene was decidedly more pleasant here though than in old Boschie’s twisted imagination. For one, there were no demons prodding people over flames with wicked-looking instruments of torture, only aproned chefs prodding roasting animals with barbecue forks.
Really, it was just a party like any other: People eating, drinking, and hitting on each other, families with children, couples of all variations, sugar, salt, fat, and cholesterol sprinkled with tall tales, jokes and laughter. People just happened to be doing it without being separated by layers of clothing, which—when you think about it— really saved time in the ‘what does this person look like naked’ department. The lack of knowing often plagues people seeking romance—particularly those who don’t want to get shortchanged when the evening is otherwise going so well—by bras stuffed with socks, or jeans stuffed with salami.
“All right,” Ms. Waboombas said, moving away from me and wading into the naked ocean, still wearing nothing but high heels. Morgan had decided to stay in the room, alone, possibly forever. “I’ll see you at the auction.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Got things to do. Don’t worry,” she said, sensing my nervousness. “I’ll be there.”
Apparently, she could see I wasn’t convinced.