Nude at the Music Festival

by G. Lawrence

A co-ed is tricked out of her clothes

This story walks the line between exhibitionism and reluctance. I am picking reluctance because of the way the story opens, though ultimately, it’s clearly exhibitionist. There is public nudity, tricks, and surprises. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * * * *

I met the girls at the coffee shop. They had advertised a bicycle for sale and I needed a new one with school about to start. In the photo, it appeared to be a nice 26-inch Shimano with a platform on the back for my laptop. And inexpensive. Just what I needed, for money was short.

Sammy’s Bean & Bistro at Halstead and 4th Street in downtown Huntington Beach was about fifteen miles from campus. I had just gotten back to Irvine from summer break and moved into the dorm a few days before. My name is Kathy Jaskel, a 22-year-old junior with long brunette hair, dark brown eyes, graceful legs and an ample bustline. I had done some modeling. Always tastefully. I was seeking a fashion degree.

“Hi, Katie,” the older woman greeted. She was about 26 years old, a bit round with short black hair. Her taller friend had her hair dyed red. She was thin with merry green eyes. I sat in the corner booth with them.

“I’m Forie,” she continued. “My gal-pal is Deena. Oh, and here come our best buds, Howie and George.”

Two good-looking young men about Forie’s age came to join us. All four were casually dressed for the warm late-August weather. I was a bit more formal, with a nice blue dress and white tennis shoes. The guys looked happy to see me. Forie grinned.

“Deena and I are gay so the boys don’t get any action from us,” she explained. “Howie and George like both guys and girls. They’re flexible.”

They looked at me with their question, not that my sex life was any of their business.

“Sort of straight, most of the time,” I responded.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” Deena observed, her voice pleasant. “If you want any of us, or all of us, just let us know.”

They laughed. I tried to smile, finding them very forward. But they weren’t creepy or anything like that. There was an underlying mirth that came through. Four free spirits not taking life too seriously. I almost envied them, feeling so burdened by finances and school.

“So, you like our bike?” Forie said.

“I need cheap transportation this semester. It looked perfect in your ad,” I replied.

“It’s a nice bike for $75. Did you bring cash?” Deena asked.

“Yes,” I said, starting to dig into my backpack.

“Oh, no hurry,” Deena said, holding up a hand. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

“Plenty of time?” I questioned.

“Why? Are you so busy you can’t hang out with new friends?” Forie said. “What do you think, guys?”

“You should hang out with us,” George agreed. He had deep brown eyes and a genial countenance. I hadn’t gotten laid in six months, giving it some thought.

“It’s a nice day. Blue and warm,” Howie said. “Let’s go for a ride. See the city. We haven’t been here long.”

“New to Huntington Beach?” I said.

“Drifted in a few weeks ago,” Howie answered. He was cute, too. Tall without being intimidating.

“Okay, I have nothing to do today,” I agreed.

The kids, as I thought to call them, though each was a little older than me, had all kinds of energy. Having no car, I rode with them to the pier and hung out for a few hours. The beach was looking great. Surfers. Volleyball players. Broad sand and rolling waves. Deena loaned me a daring black bikini that attracted plenty of attention.

For lunch, we went to Casey Tavern on First Street. They paid for sandwiches and beer. The waitress wore a skimpy outfit. My new friends were grinning at how shocked I was.

“There’s a bit of an event later,” Forie revealed. “Let’s have a little kinky fun first.”

My eyebrows went up, wondering what she meant. We went back to the car, a 2020 Toyota Camry. Howie was driving, George at shotgun, while I shared the backseat with the girls.

“Ready to get a little crazy?” Forie asked.

“How crazy?” I questioned.

“Bold and daring crazy,” she answered.

We drove about five minutes, then pulled over into a quiet parking lot off of Main Street.

“Let’s do this,” Forie said. “Howie, pop the trunk.”

I found myself being hustled out of the car, moving to the back.

“Okay, girls, time to get naked,” Forie announced. She wasted no time taking off her clothes, tossing them into the empty trunk. Deena began stripping, too.

“Come on, Katie. What are you waiting for?” Deena urged.

“Naked? Out here?” I replied, looking around.

“We’re not going to stay naked in the parking lot, you little fool,” Forie teased. “We’re getting back in the car and driving around, letting other drivers look at us.” She giggled.

“But not the guys?” I said.

“No one wants to look at naked guys,” Forie dismissed. “They are our drivers. And protection, if we need them.”

It made sense, and I didn’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud so I kicked off my tennis shoes, peeled off my socks, and began to unbutton my dress. By then, both Forie and Deena were already nude. I hurried to catch up, removing my bra and panties to toss into the trunk. Forie slammed the lid closed. I was naked in a half empty parking lot, my clothes locked away. The handful of people coming and going didn’t seem to notice us. Deena went to the rear door on the left. I followed Forie to the right as she sat in the middle. I was behind George, who turned around.

“You’re a looker, Katie,” he praised. “Nothing to be embarrassed about there.”

That was totally true. Forie and Deena were pretty enough but not in my league. Shorter, Forie had plump breasts, a black bush, and pale skin. Denna, tallish and skinny, had very small tits with a brown bush. The drapes did not match the curtains. I had perky c-cup tits, a slim waist, great legs. My lush brunette hair was long enough to drape over my nipples. Just barely.

“I see you shave down below,” Deena said with a giggle, noticing my smooth mound.

“It grew out over the summer,” I explained. “I was doing a lot of hiking and camping. A full bush helped against mosquitoes. The moment I got back, I needed more freedom.”

We fastened the seatbelts to begin our ride, three rowdy naked women with the windows rolled down. Forie and Deena liked to yell at pedestrians and drivers stopped at streetlights. I tended to duck down, hands covering my firm nipples. Several of our fans tried to take photos with their phones, but Howie usually had the car going again before that could happen.

“Isn’t this great?” Forie pressed, her eyes big as saucers.

“It’s different,” I had to say, scared to death and a little aroused.

By late afternoon, I’d already spent most of the day with them. They felt more like friends than strangers. We came across a busy festival. It was in the giant parking lot of a former big box store, maybe May Company or Sears. The building was boarded up. The area behind it had tents, pavilions, flags, banners, and helium balloons.

“This is the Fan Dance Music Festival,” Forie announced. “There are groups here from all over the Southwest. Let’s check it out.”

“We’re naked,” I observed, saying the obvious.

“Of course, silly. We’ll need to get dressed,” Deena confirmed.

“All three of you?” George said, sounding disappointed. It was funny because, despite distinct interest, he had been a gentleman the whole day. Both guys had. If I wanted to take one home, it would be a hard choice. Maybe both?

We cruised around the block. The former department store was on 2nd Avenue in the heart of the retail district. The boulevard seemed kind of empty. Times being what they were, there were many abandoned street fronts. Howie slowed to look down an alley between two large brick buildings. We could see the music festival visible at the far end about 100 feet away. Vendor booths, exhibits, and stages for performances.

“This looks like a good spot,” George said, studying the area.

“Yes, time to get dressed,” Forie agreed.

“Here? On a busy street?” I questioned.

“It’s not that busy,” Deena disagreed. “All of the activity is in the parking lot.”

That seemed true enough. Late in the day, most of the businesses on 2nd Avenue were already closing or closed.

Howie stopped a few feet past the alley. There weren’t many cars parked along the curb.

“Pop the trunk,” Forie said as Deena was opening her door. “Come on, Katie, let me out.”

I opened our door, taking a look before stepping out on the sidewalk. Forie scooted over. Deena paused, standing up while watching the street. I took a few steps toward the rear of the car, waiting for the trunk to open. One hand was across my tits, the other over my shaved pussy. It felt strange being on a sidewalk like that, gritty cement under my bare feet.

Forie had not yet emerged from the backseat, sitting in the open door. Deena had stopped, too. They both raised their phones, taking pictures. I hunched over, totally taken by surprise, anxious for Howie to open the trunk.

Deena ducked down, getting back in the car. Forie pulled her door closed. I heard it lock. The windows rolled up. The girls got on their knees, looking out the back window, laughing and taking more photos. It suddenly occurred to me: I was buck-naked on a downtown sidewalk and locked out of the car! Fucking hell!

I raced for the door even as the car pulled away from the curb. I hoped it was a joke. They would stop within a few feet and let me back in. That didn’t happen. They merged into traffic, slowed at the next intersection for the green light, and turned left away from the festival. In seconds they were gone, along with my clothes, my wallet, and my phone. They’d left me with absolutely nothing but bare skin.

I had never felt so humiliated. Tricked. The whole day had been a con to steal my kit. And there was only $85 in my purse! I didn’t even know their last names. I should have gotten the license plate of their car but that thought came too late. How could I have been so fucking stupid?

Okay, what to do? There was nothing on the sidewalk to cover myself with. Why did they have to keep the damn city so clean? There was a large street in front of me, a long alley leading to the music festival behind me. Probably with cops watching for trouble. Would they arrest me? I didn’t have enough for bail, let alone a lawyer.

Cars began parking on the street with people wearing festive outfits. Would they help me or call the police? One odd person in particular had me worried. A tall young woman in a long red cloak and a hood. She was looking at me, but not looking at me, if that makes any sense. As a large group approached, I ran into the alley, hiding behind a dumpster waiting for them to pass. They didn’t. They were using the alley to reach the festival! I saw a security booth near an open chain-link gate at the far end. Oh, god, they were going to see me.

I ducked down, knees up, sitting on my ass in the shadows. The damp asphalt was cold. I was quivering, heart pounding. How had this happened? I was a college student who wanted to buy a bicycle and now I was a naked fugitive in the city’s retail district. And if caught, what was I supposed to say? I was riding around the city without my clothes with two nude nutjobs who tricked me into getting out of the car? Yeah, that was a great story.

The group passed me, and then another. They didn’t appear to notice me at first. Until one older lady appeared to linger longer than she needed to, staring into the shadows. I started to panic. Should I jump up and run? Where? Where could I possibly go?

“Frank, look. A naked girl,” the woman said. An older man came up beside her, white hair and a high forehead. He used his phone for a flashlight and then took a photo.

“Not bad looking,” he observed.

Several more stopped to stare, not sure what to make of it. I huddled lower, not looking up, mortified. The crowd grew to eight or ten, none of them moving. Just watching. A group of young guys bumped elbows, jostling for a closer view.

“Think she needs a ride?” one said with a huge grin.

“I’ll give her a ride,” his friend replied, slapping his palms together.

And then my worst nightmare came true. It was a security guard walking in my direction. With intent and authority. His nametag read Brad Krinkle, a thick, short man in a rumpled uniform.

“Miss, please get up,” he said, standing over me. I rose reluctantly, hands covering my vital parts. He ran a flashlight over me to disperse the darkness. Then he took me by the elbow, walking back toward the festival where the light was better. Many stopped to look at us, gawking and laughing.

“Thought you’d streak the festival on my watch?” Krinkle grunted. “Make me look bad? Maybe get me fired?”

“No, it’s not like that,” I denied.

“I think it is. You’re naked in a public place. Breaking the law. Causing a nuisance,” he insisted, allowing even more people to see me. The crowd had reached twenty or thirty, hanging on the guard’s every word. Cameras appeared taking photo after photo. My face turned red. I was crying.

“Please don’t do this,” I begged.

“I’m sorry, miss. You are under arrest for indecency,” he said, handcuffing my hands behind my back. “I don’t have a blanket to cover you. You’ll need to be taken to headquarters nude. They’ll find something for you to wear. Eventually.”

I heard his snicker as tears ran down my face. And then everything changed.

“Wait! You can’t arrest her!” a woman intervened.

“What do you mean?” Krinkle said.

“She’s a nudist,” my rescuer answered.

“A what?” the wannabe cop questioned.

“I have her certificate right here.” The woman was in her early 30s, lithe with long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a red headband. Her outfit was colorful; reds, greens, and yellow. One of the music performers? The guard took the folded document, studying the wording with a frown. A moment later, he gave it back and removed the handcuffs, using a scanner to take my fingerprints.

“Okay, you have a 24-hour nudist permit,” he conceded. “It began two hours ago, so you’re in the clear for now. But if I catch you wearing any clothes, you’ll get 30 days in jail for violating the conditions. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I acknowledged, unhappy to be naked while grateful not to be in jail. Krinkle walked back to the security booth looking dejected.

“That was close,” the woman said. “My name is Amanda Cerritto. My sister and I sell body creams and play guitar.”

“Nudist permit?” I asked.

“We go to a lot of these festivals. Sometimes my sister, or our friends, get a little crazy,” Amanda explained. “We keep a permit ready just in case.”

“It’s a miracle,” I sighed.

“You’ll need to stay naked,” she warned. “If you violate the permit, I won’t be able to help you with that.”

“This is so humiliating,” I lamented, covering myself with my hands.

“You weren’t trying to streak the festival?”

“Hell no. I was trying to buy a bicycle from some sneaky rats. They stole my clothes and left me here.” Amanda laughed, which annoyed me.

“That happens more than you think,” she consoled, taking my hand. “Let’s go back to my booth. I’ll get you water, or wine, if you like. This won’t be so bad.”

I followed her down a busy lane. Tables were selling musical instruments, posters, candles, crystals, and all sorts of curios. Hundreds were looking at me with amused stares. I was the only one naked. Some smirked. More were surprisingly respectful.

We reached Amanda’s booth. Cerritos Creams and Perfumes. Her gangly sister, Grace, looked like a farmer in blue jean overalls and heavy boots, her long dirty blonde hair was tied back but stuck out in places like a scarecrow. She was my build, a bit broad in the shoulders. She pointed at me and chuckled.

“Our new nudist?” Grace said. “Gosh, Amanda, I thought it would be you.”

“I haven’t stripped at an event in over a year,” Amanda complained. “I expected to use the certificate for you.”

“I was thinking about it,” Grace admitted. “Who’s your friend?”

“Good question,” Amanda replied.

“My name is Kathy Jaskel,” I answered. “I’m a student at Woolbury College.”

“What are you studying?” she questioned.

“Fashion.”

They laughed so hard I thought they’d fall down.

“Why were you streaking a music festival?” Grace asked.

“Goddamn it! I’m not streaking!” I protested.

“It’s a long story,” Amanda intervened. “Katie, since you’re stuck here anyway, can you help with our booth? You do kind of owe us.”

“What do you need?” I asked, knowing it was true.

“We’re trying to sell our products. How about being a test subject? Sort of public relations,” Amanda suggested.

Oh, god, I thought. I’m going to be stroked and fondled the whole night. What if I start getting aroused? It would be so embarrassing.

“Don’t worry about that,” Amanda said.

“What?” I questioned.

“We know what you’re thinking,” she answered. “We have a towel and wipes under the table. No one will see if you get damp. And if it gets bad, you can go in the back and relieve the pressure. Are you gay or straight?”

“Mostly straight,” I reported.

“No problem. We know lots of cool guys,” Grace offered. “We’ll bring a couple back to fuck you if you get too excited.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, discovering myself in a whole new world. This all seemed perfectly normal to them.

Make no mistake. I did not consider myself an exhibitionist, but I was a pragmatist. When my parents said there was no money left after putting my older sister and brother through college, I didn’t cry about it. I got a job and a partial scholarship. When my long-time boyfriend started medical school and said I wasn’t wife material, I moved out the same day and never looked back. When I was skinny dipping at Lake Tanganika and someone stole my clothes, I didn’t whine. I found two horny guys and traded for what I needed. If a girl wants to get ahead in this world, minor distractions aren’t part of the agenda.

The festival was active, easily a thousand people. Maybe two thousand. Several stages had bands or solo artists playing. As much as I wanted to cover up, working with creams and perfumes kept my hands busy. My lovely tits were constantly on display. Many looked down at my shaved womanhood, noticing how red it was. At times I needed to get products from a bin, turning around to display my ass. It never failed to attract extra attention.

“We’re selling more than ever!” Amanda said. “You’re really bringing in the customers, Katie. Want a commission?”

“A commission?” I replied.

“If it keeps up like this, we can pay you $400,” she offered.

“Fuck yes,” I instantly agreed. That was a lot of money for me at the moment, especially after having my phone and $85 stolen.

Sales were still going strong when Grace suddenly shouted, “Mandy, it’s almost 9:30!”

“Yes, we’ve got to get going,” Amanda said, throwing a blanket over the table.

“Go where?” I asked.

“It’s our turn to play,” Amanda replied, grabbing her guitar. “We have the 9:30 to 9:45 slot on Stage A. It’s a prime time. Let’s go, you’re coming, too.”

“Me?”

“You can be our singer. You can sing, can’t you?” she pressed.

“I sing great, that’s not the point,” I objected.

“Don’t be a killjoy,” she answered, grabbing my hand. I was towed through the bustling mob to a brightly lit stage with giant loudspeakers, Grace right behind us. I didn’t even have time to think before finding myself center stage in front of a microphone. The crowd of several hundred did a doubletake and then applauded. I don’t know who was playing on the second stage thirty yards away, but their audience disappeared.

“We are the Cerritos Sisters,” Amanda introduced. “And this is our friend …”

I looked at her. Was she really going to say my name? In front of a huge crowd? All of them taking pictures with their phones? Amanda gave a sly grin. “Our special friend, Cassandra Wrongtree!”