Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [144]
“You have a mother?”
“Okay, now we’re movin’ into real dumbass territory.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be. Yes, I have a mother. And a sister, and three brothers.”
I held myself in check to avoid asking if they were all strippers.
“And they ain’t all strippers,” she said pointedly.
Damn. She could read minds!
“My mom’s an ER nurse, and she always says, ‘everyone’s a racist. It’s what we do with that fact that makes us good or bad people.’”
She studied me for a minute, looking intently into my eyes.
“I like you, Corky. I think you got potential as a human being. The question is: can you reach that potential, or are you just going to stay a bigot, and have to keep living only with people like you in your own little world?”
With that she backed away into the crowd, smiling sagely.
“Or worse,” she added, fading Cheshire Cat-like into the fleshy world of Nikkid Bottoms. “All alone in an even smaller world?”
I said nothing, but smiled at her, to show her ‘lesson learned’.
“See you at the auction,” she said, smiling again, then turning and melting into the sea of multi-colored skin.
I stood for a moment and continued smiling at where she had vanished, pleased to have gotten to know Ms…Wendy. Through her, I’d learned a valuable lesson this day.
Too bad it didn’t apply to my more immediate situation.
With that, I turned and wandered off myself into the strange, nude world surrounding me.
If you could drag your eyes away from the sea of exposed flesh, the town itself was immensely charming. There was a warmth to the buildings that I had only seen in the little towns of the midlands counties of England, like Bourton on Water, Minchinhampton, and Chipping Camden in Gloucestershire. The paths and many of the buildings appeared to be constructed of Cotswold stone, a beautiful material that gives everything a warm, honeyed glow—particularly at times like this, under a clear sky and the soft amber of a late evening sun.
The downtown buildings were all either connected or fairly close together as most small towns usually are, separated only by tiny, pretty little gardens and comfortable outdoor dining areas. The throughways themselves weren’t designed for car traffic, so there were no impatient drivers to fight your way around, which was good because it allowed you more space to avoid any accidental physical contact with naked people.
Everywhere, weathered stone was the predominant look, but dotted throughout was a nice contrast of half-timbered buildings constructed from raw wood; tidy little inns and relaxing pubs beneath shake-shingled roofs that beckoned you through their painted, wooden doors, each entry gently shaded beneath Tudor-style, jettied, upper stories. Every welcoming entrance displayed swinging, oldstyle, hanging placards bearing names that sounded more like steamy romance novels than places of business. ‘The Blacksmith’s Arms’, ‘The Matrons Table’, ‘The Swan’s Bed’, ‘Bridle and Harness’.
You have your notions of romance. I have mine.
I gratefully took all this warmth and coziness in as I walked alone through the naked crowd. I was truly appreciative of the private time as I really needed to think, and that was tough enough by myself, let alone distracted by the stripper and the gipper. I had to decide what, exactly, I was going to do once the auction was complete. Buying Ms. Nuckeby would be the easy part. Regaining her heart, and her trust, would take considerably more effort, and a weekend might not be enough. Especially given how completely I had seemed to sever our personal connection.
Unfortunately—as I said—independent thought comes hard for me, particularly given that I’m a bit hypoglycemic. Remember, I’d only had a little buttered newspaper for breakfast, and nothing else since. So I decided it was best to recharge the old batteries before tonight’s potentially taxing event and consider things over a hot meal. The last thing I needed was for my plan to come off beautifully, once I had one, then pass out due to low blood sugar as soon as I’d gotten Ms. Nuckeby all to myself.