Letting the Sunshine In

Author's note:

This is a story for the Literotica Nude Day Story Contest 2025. All characters are fictional.

The story title comes from the finale of the 1968 tribal musical 'Hair': The Flesh Failures / Let The Sunshine In, written by Galt MacDermot (music), James Rado and Gerome Ragni (lyrics). Quoted lyric snippets are the property of the authors. A complete list of songs mentioned appears at the end of the story, and the songs are widely available on streaming services.

My grateful thanks to Nynah and PennyThompson for their editing, for their many creative suggestions and for their advice as intimacy coordinators :-)

Written for all those who love music, whether or not you only sing in the shower!

Prelude – The Flesh Failures

The applause from the choir's second piece faded, and the church was quiet, waiting for their final number. Some audience members were leafing through the program, trying to work out if they should make a move to another of the competitions after this bracket finished, or stay and see the next choir. There were queues to get into this competition: people were lucky if they got seats.

The conductor was dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo and had long, blonde hair cascading down his back. He looked briefly around the choir, softly hummed a note, raised his hands, and signaled them in. A young man in the back row of the choir started vocalising a funky, driving bass line, the rest of the choir smiling, paying attention to him, trying to engage with the audience. The bass singer was also a blonde, wearing silver wire framed spectacles, a black shirt, tie and trousers. The others had various semi-formal outfits in black, with silver jewellery. They presented well, but some of them looked a little nervous, shifting their hands, or smoothing down their skirts or pants. There had been a notable rise in tension between the last song and this one.

The audience were watching, absorbing. The music was new for most of them: the song was from Hair, which had been a popular musical back in hippie times, but was an obscure piece in serious choral circles, particularly here in Europe.

A couple of men started beatboxing, supporting the bass singer with vocal percussion. They were good: disciplined, rhythmic, tight. Some of the audience members were tapping along.

A tenor started the verse of the song, building the narrative as the rest of the choir started adding harmonies and moving with the rhythm. The soloist was dark-haired, notably handsome, smiling and confident, engaging the audience with twinkling blue eyes. The solo passed to another tenor as the song continued to build.

The women hadn't had much of the melody yet, but as the song shifted into a second verse, an alto voice took up the solo. There was a slight edge to her voice: a change in timbre. She was in the front row, another woman standing closely behind her, touching her shoulder in apparent solidarity. The soloist was perhaps in her mid-twenties: thin but well proportioned, attractive face and clear expression, auburn hair piled on her head in a twist of some kind. She was wearing make-up, but a light sheen of perspiration was visible on her décolletage, peeping out from the top of her blouse.

Her voice carried across the space. The words were from the 1960s, from the famous Summer of Love, but they seemed eerily appropriate for modern times.

"We starve - look at one another short of breath, walking proudly in our winter coats, wearing smells from laboratories..."

A busty blonde woman near her joined in perfect harmony, soaring into a thrilling moment of musical frisson as she added her descant.

"... facing a dying nation, of moving paper fantasy, listening for the new told lies with supreme visions of lonely tunes..."

The choir swelled and built towards the chorus, the momentum growing. Something else was happening as well. Most of the choir were suddenly unbuttoning their clothing, led by the male and female soloists.

The audience started shifting, silent but on the edge of their seats as shirts and blouses were dropped to the stage, followed quickly by brassieres and other assorted tops. The curtains at the side of the church were suddenly opening, allowing shafts of late afternoon light to stab through, bathing the choir in bright sunshine.

The choir members kept undressing, shedding skirts, pants, and underwear as the music shifted into the final chorus.

"Let the sunshine in... let the sunshine in..."

Gasps and laughter started rising from the audience as the choir continued, their sounds merging and echoing as their exultant faces shone and the song reached its climax. And the conductor, still fully dressed, raised his hands and drove them ever higher as their voices soared to the ceiling.

Act One

Three months earlier

Glossary: full choir - a choir consisting of all voice types, including soprano, alto, tenor, and bass

The rehearsal had been intense. According to Derek, we had murdered Gjeilo, killed Whitacre, and smashed Lindberg. Anybody listening would think that there were pools of blood on the floor. Instead, we just had eighteen happy choristers, lapping up the praise of our charismatic young conductor.

All the better that we had earned it. Our little group was only six months old. It can take years for a choir to develop a good sound, and many choirs never attain that level where people other than their immediate family would willingly come to listen to them. We were well past that point and still climbing rapidly.

We were determined to be different. To start with, we were an auditioned choir with carefully managed numbers. With a talented and – let's face it – attractive leader like Derek, we were not going to be lacking for applicants. Derek didn't just select for good voices: he tested our willingness to blend, to submerge ourselves for the sake of the group in the quest for the perfectly balanced sound.

"Remember, a champion team always beats a team of champions," he would exhort us, sounding for all the world like a football coach. And to keep up the sporting analogy, he demanded that we work hard on our fitness as well, arguing that while the choir welcomed every body type and colour, we needed to show that we respected our bodies and that our whole selves were well-conditioned. It was a fair call: after six months of hard work, I felt better than I ever had in my twenty-six years.

I also felt like I belonged more, too. I'd been music-obsessed as a girl, coming from a music-loving family. My mother was into musicals, my father into classic rock, and they were always singing around the house, arguing over what was going to be played on the car stereo when we went on vacation, and generally having fun. I listened to the classic rock, introduced more modern music to their ears, and took my mother's side for active participation: I loved those musicals.

I'd never felt at home in the spotlight though: I wasn't one of those girls, lapping up the attention. I was in every school show, but as a member of the chorus rather than one of the principals. I often had a better voice, but I was awkward, gangly, uncoordinated on stage. Not pretty enough, not socially adept: no princess roles for me. It was frustrating, but I had also learnt the skills of helping make other people sound good.

I had matured a lot since then, but it still mattered that Derek didn't care what I looked like or whether I was one of the cool girls.

"Your voice is great, but you've got something even better, Angela," he said. "You listen and you blend. You have no idea how important that it is to a choir leader."

Well, at least somebody appreciated me even if I was never going to be a star.

It was a big commitment, and more than a few members had dropped out to join the community choir down the road. Their standards were lower, but you could have more of a life. Those of us who had stuck with it were the ones who tended to be single. Only a few of us women had had kids yet, and they treated the choir as their escape from the tough responsibilities of parenthood, while their supportive partners minded the kids at home. If the partners weren't on board, they couldn't really sustain the effort. It was a similar story for the guys in the choir as well. We were a young, pre-family choir, determined to be the best that we could be between leaving university and before real life hit us with responsibilities. And having Derek, a rising star at the nearby university, was an opportunity too good to be missed.

Derek's face was flushed as he got us to sit in a circle. His big, blue eyes were practically glowing. A light sheen of sweat covered him like he'd just been in a workout, although to be fair, conducting was hard work. His long, blonde mane of hair had just the right amount of ruffle in it to make me ache to reach out and smooth it down, but of course I didn't dare. It wasn't for lack of trying, but as far as I knew nobody in the choir, man or woman, had managed to light Derek's romantic fires yet. The guy was sex on two legs, but his private life was a mystery. Apparently, he really was married to his music.

I certainly wasn't giving up, and neither were a few others. My main rival was Christine. While she had the obvious advantage as a big breasted, blonde soprano with a voice of sparkling wine, I was still in with a chance. Of course, if you couldn't sing, it would be impossible to get Derek's attention. We hadn't worked out the rest of his secrets, but surely it wasn't an impossible task.

I admit that I preened whenever Derek praised the alto section, or gave individual praise. He always did the individual feedback one-on-one. Even if he was telling you off, at least you had his magnetic eyes focused on you while he did it, and nobody else could hear the criticism. Whenever he looked at me to ask "Angela, do you have a minute?" my answer was always going to be an emphatic "yes".

By the way, I'm not exactly an objective narrator. Nobody is, of course. For anybody who's been in a choir, I've given all the clues you should need about my biases. For the rest... the key word was alto. Altos are the other women in the choir. The sopranos get most of the solos and get to scratch each other's eyes out in fighting for them. They are more likely to be blonde, weight obsessed, manoeuvring evilly to stand in the front row and show off their enhancements, and to embarrass us all by screeching their high notes when they should really have recognised their limitations and their use-by dates. Meanwhile, us altos provide the harmonic bedrock, holding musical hands with the bass section, smoothing over the social differences, and submerging ourselves for the greater good.

Am I being fair? No, of course not: see above. But I'm not being entirely unfair either. Altos hold the world together, but we don't get to stand in the light.

Ahem. Anyway, Derek talked through some of the pieces we'd rehearsed, and then he changed tack.

"I have an announcement. As you know, we conductors network heavily. There's an opportunity that's come up that I think we should go for, but it will take commitment and a bit of fundraising."

There were quiet theatrical groans around the room as he said this last bit. None of us were being paid for this, of course. We already felt that we were giving a lot to the effort.

He smiled, briefly. "Yeah, I get it. But wait until you hear about the opportunity. A friend of mine is working in Germany at the moment, and they're on the organising committee for the World Choir Championships, which are being held in Munich in July. They think they can get us a wild card entry for the mixed repertoire a capella division of the competition. We would get to spend a week in Munich, competing with the best in the world and seeing the sights. I can cover at least half the cost through various grants. We can fundraise for most of the rest. You wouldn't have to cover too much from your personal funds, but of course you'd have to take leave from your jobs and so on. And we'd only have three months to prepare, and we need to agree by next week. What do you think?"

There was an excited buzz for a minute, and then we started asking questions all at once. How would we do the fundraising? How would we get there? What would we wear? How would we organize ourselves? Where would we stay? What would we sing?

He held up his hands and brought us to order.

"I can't answer most of those questions right now. We would obviously need to create a committee to manage things. I've done some financial estimates using flights, food and hotel costs, and I'm confident it's manageable. The main questions are whether you want to do it and think you can commit to coming."

There was some more discussion, and then he signalled us to a close. "Come back next week with a firm answer. If you're not sure whether you can commit, well, we can always run more auditions for those who can, or I co-opt some of my undergraduate students. But I'd like to take all of you if possible."

The man was charming, but good hair or not, he took no prisoners.

Glossary: accelerando- speeding up

I didn't waste any time at work the next day. I put in my request for leave, backed up with a letter explaining that this was a rare artistic opportunity. I told my boss bluntly that I would sell my unborn children for the chance to go. What I didn't say, of course, was that I was hoping that our conductor would be the father of those children, and there was no way in hell that I would be leaving the field clear for Christine. We got along, Christine and I, but on some matters, there could never be a truce.

It seemed like everybody else was going through a similar process, although they weren't all lusting after Derek. Believe it or not, there were some straight guys in our choir. I'd even seen some wandering eyes in my direction. I guess I was much less awkward now than as a teenager and I'd had some (mainly unsatisfactory) sexual experiences since school, but it still surprised me whenever anybody showed an interest. Anyway, for whatever reason, at the start of the next rehearsal, every single hand shot up when he asked who could commit.

I kept my hand up when he asked for volunteers for the organizing committee. Christine did as well, after a sidelong glance at me. We set a meeting for the following night and then plunged into an intense rehearsal. Derek had us ploughing through a range of music.

"We'll have time to sing three songs, but we'll prepare a concert's worth of material in case we can get some warm-up gigs," he explained. "And I'd like to have a few options. We'll prepare some Strauss, of course, as a simple mark of respect: he was born in Munich. We'll take lots of contemporary choral: it will be expected from us. And we'll try one of my own arrangements and see if it works."

"All from memory?" asked Pradeep, one of the tenors.

"Of course," said Derek. He looked surprised that Pradeep had even asked.

"Then can I request no Latin please?" asked Pradeep. "You can have any language you like as long as it's not a dead one. Life is too short."

There was a titter of laughter and agreement, and even Derek smiled. "Sorry," he said, "but there will be Latin. I'll try and keep the memorisation easy, but if you're not prepared to put in the work, there are other choirs."

He kept playing that card. It worked for him.

Glossary: a cappella- A performance style that features only the voice with no instrumental accompaniment.

The activity during the next month was frantic, and I was in the middle of it: being effective and efficient was definitely something that would get Derek's attention. We had to move quickly to get reasonable airfares and accommodation, and I took charge of both of those areas. I managed to find some twin share rooms at a fun-looking hotel in the north of Munich. It was a little way away from the centre, but it had a sauna and plunge pool, and that was enough for me: we would be able to take time out to de-stress between performances. The Committee agreed with my proposal, but I was a little puzzled when Ruby started giggling.

"You'll need to be leading from the front when we go to the sauna, Angela," she said. "I'll look forward to you showing some of your pointers," she added, and then bizarrely waved her hand towards my boobs.

James started laughing too, but controlled himself when he saw my bewilderment. "Have you ever been to a European sauna, Angela?"

"No," I said. "That's why I'd like to go."

"And we should," he said. "I agree with the choice of hotel. You may not have realised that we'll all be expected to be naked in the sauna. Personally, I'm fine with having our minds expanded. But we'll need to mention it to the choir at some stage. It's just one more thing that will bring us closer."

"Can we wear towels, at least?" I asked.

"Yes. But most of the locals don't. Towels are for sitting on for hygiene reasons, not covering up. Be prepared."

I had no idea that they did saunas naked together in Germany. I thought everybody wore swimsuits. I blushed, but it was too late to back out. Anyway, it wasn't like anybody had reason to be ashamed of their bodies, considering all the work-outs that Derek made us do.

I'll just have to suck it up and suck my tummy in. And we'll get to see what the guys are made of, as well.

If there was a non-Derek list, James would be at the top. He was clean cut, well-built, and classically handsome in an aftershave advertising kind of way, with a square chin and dark brown hair with a natural wave in it. And unlike an aftershave ad, when he spoke he was thoughtful, usually supportive, and sometimes hilariously funny. In technical language, he was a bit of all-right.

There were some other decent guys too. Chris didn't talk much and seemed to miss occasional rehearsals for some reason, but he was also nice-looking and always seemed to know what he was doing: he had an air of calm confidence about him. I liked his cute silver wireframe glasses, which looked good with his dark blonde hair. Ethan was a very attractive guy with medium-brown, well-styled hair and piercing blue eyes, and who always dressed very stylishly. Possibly he was gay, but I didn't know for sure (and anyway it never hurt to check). So, if I was interested, there were possible options.

But at this stage, there wasn't a non-Derek list.

Glossary: chiaroscuro- a term that translates as "light-dark" and describes the range of human vocal timbres from chiaro (bright) to scuro (dark).

The music was coming together well. With two months to go, we were solid on at least 40 minutes of material: enough for a short promotional gig. We would be able to bring some more songs up to standard before the trip, and search for that extra ten percent that would take us from a good choir to a great choir. From all that material, we would choose our three.

"All our songs will have something to do with light or dark," explained Derek. "I think we'll start our competition set with Die Nacht by Strauss. The lyrics are grim but that's okay as long as we end our set on a positive note. And it's musically brilliant. Then I think Lux Aurumque by Whitacre. There's your Latin, Pradeep: 'Light, warm and heavy as pure gold.' And for our last song in the set, well, I have an idea."

He passed around some sheet music.

"What's this musical? Hair? It looks like something my Dad would have liked," said Katie, one of the sopranos. She had a great voice and was slim with long, natural red hair, although she was a bit stuck-up.

"More like your grandad," said Derek, "but when he was cooler than you, Katie. Spaced out with wild hair. Free love all night, and then getting up after lunch to smoke joints and debate the meaning of life. Before he met your grandma, obviously."

There was a general titter. Katie looked pretty pissed at Derek, but she was wise enough to not bite back.

"This is the climax of the musical. The Flesh Failures picks up some of the themes, and then morphs into the final chorus, where they keep repeating the call to 'Let The Sunshine In'. In the film version, there's a great scene where they're massing at the White House' while they're screaming, protesting against the war and pleading for transparency," explained Derek. "There's more to it than that, but basically the song is referring to a lot of protest themes that people will still relate to today if we do it right, no matter what country they're from."

"We sing a capella, but this score has an arrangement for bass and guitar. What's your plan?" asked Chris.

Derek's smile broadened. "Luckily, Chris, we have a bass with a monster of a voice. I'm counting on you for the bottom end, and a couple of the other guys for beat-boxing. There are some solos as well, and I'll be running auditions for those next week."

Solos? The little girl hiding inside me pricked up her ears. One more chance to shine, even if the odds were against me.

Glossary: polyphony - musical texture consisting of two or more independent melodic lines

I hit that music hard all week. I read up on Hair and listened to the cast recordings to try and understand it. I looked up the obscure references to 60s influencers and old slang words. Some of the lyrics were shocking even by today's standards, but they were also playful and fun. I watched the movie three times over the weekend, and I cried when one of the guys got accidentally shipped off to Vietnam to be killed.

I had a little electric piano at home and I practised those solos, trying to work out how to wring the emotion out of every note. The first section was clearly for guys, so the basses and tenors would go for it. But there was another that was within my range. By the next rehearsal, I was ready to give it a red-hot go.

Derek was planning to hold the auditions just before the rehearsal, although it was a bit of a circus because half the choir turned up. When he arrived and looked at the crowd, he just laughed and shook his head.

"Right, we'll do it differently. We'll sing the piece again and again, and I'll change the soloists around until I'm happy."

We plunged in. It was a brutal process, but at the end of an hour, Derek stopped us and told everybody to take a break. "James, Jon, Angela, you've got the gig. Christine, you'll do the soprano harmony on top of Angela's solo. Katie, you're doing the improvisations over the end chorus: thanks for the big attitude turn-around. Ok?"

Solo achievement unlocked.

Glossary: irato- a directive to a musician to perform the indicated passage of a composition in an agitated manner, as if irate, angry, or passionate.

With six weeks to go, I was starting to hit a wall, and I wasn't the only one. Learning the music had turned out to be the easy bit. Derek was becoming more the issue. He meant well, but if it didn't relate to what the choir sounded like, he was slapdash and recently seemed a bit disconnected when we tried to engage him more. His back-of-the-envelope calculations of the cost of the tour had left much to be desired. There were a hundred things uncosted, a thousand details to sort out, a million things that could go wrong. We divided up the problems between the Committee members, but some of them took a lot of work. We were getting steadily more irritated about it.

We didn't have a choir uniform or 'look' for example, and choirs have broken into pieces before during petty little arguments on that topic. From looking at online videos, it seemed like the options could be broken into formal (tuxedos and ballgowns), ethnic (particularly for choirs from the 'Global South'), contemporary (individual choices that fitted a particular theme), and 'flour sack' (a uniform compromise look that was horrible on everybody).

Fortunately, Ruby took charge of that problem; she was into 'practical fashion', and quickly came up with some simple options to take to the choir for a vote. We settled on 'accessorised blacks' – allowing people to choose their clothes to suit their body type from a range of black options and with a lot of latitude for silver accessories of their choice. As long as they looked classy, it would be fine, and Ruby gave us lots of guidelines on styling up appropriately. Some of the guys needed a lot of help, to be honest, but it was all sorted out within two weeks. We were all made to bring our prospective outfits to rehearsal, and Ruby pronounced her judgements on us. It wasn't completely democratic, but we had no time to waste on sensitivities.

I was going to be wearing a pencil skirt on stage, black stockings, and a black business blouse, with a necklace of small silver beads, shell-shaped silver earrings and a silver claw hair clip to hold my long auburn hair in a modified French twist. I'd managed to find most of the pieces in thrift stores.

Sleeping arrangements were another nightmare. It was fine for us all to be sharing rooms, but who with? There weren't many couples in the choir. Pradeep was bringing his family, and a few others were bringing partners (including Ethan bringing his boyfriend, so that question was sorted out). Somebody had to draw up a list of prospective roommates. Christine and I shared that task, considering special requests from best friends, potential sensitivities, and a few other things. I was good at lists: methodical, precise, clear at breaking problems down into steps. But Christine was much better at reading people and following her instincts, so we made a good team.

We were sitting down together at my place after a Committee meeting, exhausted, with our 'revised final final list' in hand, when Derek, on his way out the door, turned his head and said casually, "Oh, Angela, Chrissie, sorry I didn't tell you this before, but I'm bringing my wife as a plus one and we'll need to share a double room. She normally stays away from my music things, but she can't resist a trip to Munich." Then he gave us a bright smile, and closed the front door behind him. It seemed like he wasn't up for a conversation about it.

We sat for a few seconds, gobsmacked, and then Christine looked at me, her eyes blazing.

"Now he tells us," she hissed.

"Married," I said, flatly.

"She's coming on the trip," she added.

"At short notice," I replied, waving my hand futilely over our perfect room allocations.

"Fucking Derek!" we said in unison.

There wasn't a 'Derek list' at all.

Glossary: throat-singing- a range of singing styles in which a single vocalist sounds more than one pitch simultaneously by reinforcing certain harmonics (overtones and undertones) of the fundamental pitch.

I met Christine for coffee the next day and made a confession.

"All my life, I've been trying to please the teacher," I said. "It was fine when I was a schoolgirl, but not now. And the lust wasn't helping either. I think this is helping me kick the habit."

She laughed and nodded. "You and me both."

"You always seem so confident and independent," I said, surprised. "You're way ahead of me."

"It's all an act, Angela," she replied. "Inside, I'm still just looking for approval like everybody else. One nod and smile from Derek during a song, and my panties get wet. Hopefully I can rein it in a bit now. I mean, he's still amazing and he's a hunk, but he's off his pedestal."

"Are there any men in the choir that take your fancy?" I asked, curious.

"There might be a few men or women that I wouldn't mind getting to know a bit better," she said with a smirk, "but no others that I'm really lusting over. Maybe I'll meet somebody exotic on this trip, like a 60-year old Mongolian throat singer who will seduce me to go and live in his yurt."

"I suppose they can probably do amazing things with their mouths, tongues and throats," I said, speculatively.

"I know I can always improve on my throat technique," she replied.

Then she looked more serious. "Was it just me, Angela, or do you think Derek is not wildly enthusiastic about his wife coming on the trip?"

I hesitated. "Now that you say that... it would kind of fit. He was so keen when he announced the trip. Now it's like there's a little bit of dissonance, but he's just carrying on. If we were rehearsing and there was a bad note, he would stop us immediately. But something's off for sure."

Glossary: polyrhythm - the simultaneous use of two or more conflicting rhythms

The next rehearsal was tough. I had taken to getting up an hour earlier every day to work on choir things before heading to the gym and then to work. Every day, I had a list of things to do, and worked through it as best I could. However, I was still falling behind. I was good at my job as a copywriter, and that translated well to this Committee role. I had a real attention to detail. But the number of details and problems to be solved was overwhelming me, despite the help of the others.

There was a particularly fraught question and answer session at rehearsal, before we took a break for coffee. People wanted to know details of all our movements during the week, so that they could book tours and work out which workshops and other events to go to, along with our own commitments. Others were suggesting different hotels, or lobbying Derek about the music, or complaining about our stage outfits (did they want us all to go for the flour sack option after all?).

It was all too much, and I was struggling to hold back tears. Pradeep in particular was really pissing me off with his constant questions. He seemed to be trying to make it a perfect holiday for his family rather than focusing on being in the choir.

Luckily, some of the others realised the stress that the Committee was under. I saw Chris lean over and whisper in Pradeep's ear, after which Pradeep thankfully shut up. Then, while I was still trying to answer a barrage of questions during the break, Chris came and put a coffee and a chocolate biscuit into my hands, and shooed the others away with a stern look.

"Angela needs a break herself, guys," he said. "Let's give her some space." And then he led me to a chair in the corner and sat with me, quietly sipping his own coffee.

"Thanks," I said gratefully after a minute's peace.

"I'm sorry you're bearing the brunt of it, Angela. Is there anything I can do? I've got a day off this Saturday. I can read, write, cook or run errands."

I was embarrassed. I nearly shooed him away, and then I caught Christine's eye across the room. She was watching me with a look of concern. She'd been super-helpful herself, but she wasn't quite a details person, and neither was James, who had also helped a bit. Chris, with his calm competence and authority, struck me as somebody who was.

"Actually, I really need to get on top of the detailed itinerary," I said. "I would love some help on Saturday putting it all together."

"Done," he said, and we arranged a time for him to come over to my apartment.

When he did come over that Saturday, he had a small tray of home-made chocolate fudge brownies, some coffees from a local café, and a good attitude. I'd made another list of jobs. We worked steadily through the afternoon, building a document that contained everything the choir possibly needed to know. We also spotted some problems with what the competition organisers had told us and found some work-arounds.

Christine came and joined us in the late afternoon, bringing some excellent pizzas.

"As your unofficial choir dietician, I'm telling you that it's okay to shovel these down in the name of the musical logistics," she said.

Chris gave a chuckle. "And from my perspective, I approve."

"What is it that you do for a job, Chris?" I asked curiously. "I know that you work on some rehearsal nights, but I didn't want to pry."

"I'm a doctor at the local emergency department," he said, mouth half-full of pizza crust. "We see a few cases stemming from bad pizza, but never from this quality."

"Impressive," Christine said. "I don't know how you do that job."

He waved her away, uncomfortable with our attention. "It's just a job."

Glossary: enunciation -The act of pronouncing words clearly.

Four weeks to go, and we had most of the logistical problems beaten. I was able to focus more on the music again, and was feeling more positive. There were still some memorisation challenges, but we were now up to the stage of thinking about simple movements to the songs, facial expressions, and so on. And there was endless tweaking of the sounds, of course, as was Derek's right. I was less grumpy with him now that we had worked through the practical issues.

I was loving his music choices. The Flesh Failures had polished up really well. For me, it was helped by the closer relationship with Christine. We were confident that we could harmonise perfectly. Harmony is not just about the notes: it's about the timbre, or the tone, as well as details of the phrasing. More than anything, it's about how we listen to each other, and we were hitting our stride.

The other choral pieces were sounding great too. When I read the translation of Die Nacht, written in the 1800s, I cried for all the losses and failures of my short life. Knowing that the poem's author had died the year of its publication made it even more poignant.

All the lights of this world,

All flowers, all colours

She extinguishes, and steals the sheaves

From the field.

The bushes are left, stripped naked,

Come closer, soul to soul;

Oh, I fear that the night will also steal

You from me.

The Whitacre piece, Lux Aurumque was also exquisite. I did have a bit of a giggle when I realised that the original words had been written in English and then translated into Latin: how pretentious was that? The words were beautiful in their original form: a lovely description of light displacing darkness.

The sequencing from those two songs to The Flesh Failures made perfect sense in this context, and the contrast in musical styles would certainly wake the audience up. The remaining issue was the staging. It felt like it needed more than what we were doing, which was basically just jiving more in place as the song climaxed with us singing "Let the Sunshine In!" over and over. Derek was achieving wonders with the music, but he didn't have much theatrical sense.

We discussed it at Committee, and decided to appoint Darlene, one of the altos, as our emergency choreographer. She was a drama teacher at one of the local schools, and we were really lucky to have her.

Derek put up some resistance.

"Just remember that our movements can't compromise the sound," he said. "And we've selected people for their voices, not their dancing."

The little girl in me breathed a sigh of relief when he said this, but the adult was disappointed. I wanted to push myself a little more, now that I had a bit more confidence.

Darlene took a middle path, trying out a few ideas but immediately discarding anything that wasn't going to work. We learned to clap with more enthusiasm, to smile and be attentive to the soloists and audience, and to adjust our postures to suit the songs. "The sound has improved," said Derek in wonder after a particularly good session.

With one week to go and a thousand miracles performed, we were ready for the trip.

Act Two

We stumbled into the hotel exhausted. A long flight in cattle class, not much sleep, and the usual hassles of navigating airports, immigration and so on. To be honest, I'd probably been a bit mean to insist that we take public transport from Munich airport to our hotel, but I argued that it was cheaper and would let us get used to getting around the city. Plus, the hotel wasn't ready to let us check in earlier anyway, as our flight had landed in the morning. I'd made a list of the things everybody needed to manage public transport for the week, and I expected people to follow it.

Anyway, we were tired and frazzled choristers. But there was also lots of excitement. There were World Choir Competition banners everywhere around the city: we'd heard that they had an extra 20,000 visitors for it. We saw groups wandering around wearing t-shirts advertising their choir (a marketing fail for us: we hadn't even thought about 'casual branding'). There seemed to be a lot from various provinces of China, and Derek explained that showing Chinese excellence to the rest of the world was an increasingly important thing for them.

"With a billion choristers to choose from, their standard is going to be pretty good," he said.

The city was also very neat and clean. The road traffic wasn't very heavy, but there seemed to be thousands of bicycles whizzing up and down the cycle lanes, and I got an earful from one of them when I walked in the wrong place by mistake with my suitcase. The place felt bright and cheerful in the summer sunshine, and the outdoor cafes were doing a roaring business.

Our check-ins were mercifully quick and efficient. Christine and I were sharing a room, and we were pleasantly surprised at how nice it was. We'd booked a twin, but it was technically a triple, with a queen bed and a single bed.

We looked at each other awkwardly when we saw the bed situation.

"I guess we could swap around so that we each get to use the big bed while we're here?" she said hesitantly.

"No, you take it," I said warmly, and then I blushed. "Um, and I guess we haven't discussed this, but if you have the need for company one evening, I could discretely vanish for a few hours?"

She blushed as well, but she didn't deny the possibility. "I should make the same offer, and offer the use of the bed with it!"

"I don't think that's likely," I replied, "but thank you. You never know. I might meet the Mongolians first."

We had a little giggle and busied ourselves unpacking. We didn't have any commitments until the morning, and there didn't seem to be any more burning logistical issues to sort out, much to my amazement. There was a lot to be said for German efficiency. We just had to try and stay awake for a few hours more so that we could get used to the new time zone more quickly.

Once we'd organized ourselves, Christine plonked herself down on her bed with a sigh and looked at me expectantly.

"So, Angela. Where's this sauna?"

I took a deep breath. Now that we were here, I wasn't sure if I had the courage. "On our floor, down the corridor, next to the gym. Um, I'm a bit tired though. And maybe people will need help sorting out stuff. I should probably keep myself available."

"Bullshit. You came here for new experiences. Let's go and look." She jumped up and pulled me out the door.

We found it easily enough. There was a clean area of lockers, an outdoor pool with a few people in it wearing bathing suits, a shower room, and a sauna with a glass door on it so that those inside could look out. There were several men and women inside, sitting on towels, chatting quietly. And yes, they were naked.

Christine summed up the situation. "Well, it looks like they have lots of fresh towels here. So, we could go and get our togs on, come back here for a swim, and then shower and get in the sauna."

Without time for further discussion, she dragged me back to our room, and rummaged for her bathers. I hesitantly did the same. It wasn't going to be as confronting starting with a swim, after all, and then maybe I could decide whether to go into the sauna.

I expected Christine to go into the bathroom to change, but she just whipped off her clothes where she was standing, facing towards me. She had a voluptuous body, with big, creamy breasts with large nipples, generous hips, and a trimmed but prominent triangle of dark blonde bush. She looked like she'd just stepped straight out of a Renoir painting: she was gorgeous.

I realised that I was staring and began to apologise, stammering, but she held up her hand to stop me.

"We're sharing a room for a week, and we're just about to head to the sauna together, Angela," she said gently but firmly. "I'm not going to cover up in front of you. I don't mind whether you do or not, but I'm not going to be offended."

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I stayed facing her and undressed, forcing myself to stay naked while I turned and found a laundry bag to put my smelly travel clothes into. I turned back towards her. She was watching me, smiling, and after a second, I returned the smile.

"That wasn't so hard," she said kindly. "And not that it really matters because I'm not into body shaming, but I wish I had your skinny body and your perky tits."

"You're jealous of me?" I said, bewildered. "When you look like a Playboy model? What we do to ourselves!"

I shook my head ruefully, and she laughed.

"You're right. When we're eighty, we'll look back at how pathetic we were. Our bodies are never going to look better than this."

We got our togs on and sauntered back to the sauna area, heading directly to the pool. It was warm and refreshing after our long flight. We just sat back and chatted for a little while, but then I had a thought.

"You know, if we're going to do the sauna, I'd prefer to start when no other choir members are here. I'm sure others will turn up soon."

"Good point," said Christine, and we went to the shower for a rinse off before wrapping towels around ourselves and heading into the sauna, finding spaces on the benches. It was steaming hot, of course. We got friendly nods from the other people there, who ranged from young to old. Most of them were just sitting on their towels with everything on display, not too worried about if people were looking, but I didn't see anybody staring. They were talking quietly, seeming to easily swap between languages as Europeans did.

Christine gave me a nudge, and then stood to take her towel off, refolding it so that she could sit down on it without any of her skin touching the hot wood. I took another deep breath and did the same, receiving a nod of approval from an older lady sitting opposite.

After a few minutes, some guys behind us got up and left, still naked, but they put some togs on to go into the pool outside. They stayed there for a few minutes, apparently cooling down, then they stripped in the public area, rinsed and dried off in the shower, and came back to join us. The woman opposite me and some of the others headed to the pool to do the same. Togs on, swim, togs off, shower, sauna, rinse, repeat. It was a weird pattern, but it made sense. And through it we were treated to a parade of swinging dicks and dangling breasts, moving in and out of the sauna with smiles and nods.

Pretty soon I was overheating, and with a glance at Christine we stood up to do the same. Togs on, duck outside, have a quick swim, rinse off, and head back into the sauna. I felt like an old hand already.

This time around we decided to be even braver and walk the short distance from the shower to the sauna stark naked, carrying a fresh folded towel, which is what the others had been doing.

We entered the sauna again and smiled at the others, before I did a big double-take. Some new people had arrived while we were showering. They were wrapped up tightly in their towels, legs together and sitting in their corner. Chris, James, Ruby and Darlene from our choir were on the patch.

Ruby, Darlene and James grinned at us, while Chris looked a bit more embarrassed. I smiled and sat down as before on the towel without covering myself, and partially facing them. Christine joined me, making a point of sitting with her legs slightly spread like the European guys had been doing.

After another minute, Ruby stood to take off her towel and sit as we were doing, and Darlene followed suit. They were both a little older than me, and seemed pretty comfortable with their bodies. Ruby was short, with flaming dyed red hair to suit her name, and a muscular body with small breasts. She had a thick patch of black pubes, but that didn't draw the eye. Rather, her right side was covered with tattoos, extending from her shoulder to her thigh. They seemed to feature romantic sea life themes – mermaids, dolphins and fish playing in the ocean on her torso and Neptune with his trident on the ocean floor on her thigh.

She saw me looking, along with some of the others in the sauna, and gave me an embarrassed smile. "Misspent youth," she said.

"I'm sorry for staring," I said, "but honestly you look fantastic." There were some murmurs of agreement, and one of the European women started asking her questions about the designs, which Ruby happily responded to.

Darlene had dusky brown skin. She was sitting directly opposite me, and even though I was trying not to stare, I noticed that she was clean shaven down below. A jagged pink horizontal line cut across her lower belly. It was like a C-Section scar, but not as small and neat as I thought they were meant to me. Various stretch marks criss-crossed her tummy.

"C-Section" she mouthed at me, and I smiled and nodded. She didn't seem embarrassed about it.

By this stage, the guys had gathered their courage, and both stood to rearrange their towels. Again, I tried not to stare, and failed hopelessly. James was well built, light skinned with dark brown curly hair on his chest to match his handsome head. He obviously worked out, and there wasn't a hint of fat in his belly. All seemed in order down below as well, although I didn't have a ruler to hand.

Chris... well. It took me a little while to register Chris' nice body, with muscles to match James rippling under his tanned skin. I was... distracted. When Chris had been rearranging his towel and sitting back down on it, he had had to, um, rearrange himself in the process. Dr Chris of the deep, powerful voice and the calm competence... was also hung like a horse.

Basses, hey? The natural fit for any self-respecting Alto. That non-Derek list was looking interesting again.

Glossary: accidental- a note that is not part of the prevailing key

A group of us had an early dinner at one of the local restaurants, sitting outside on the pavement in the evening sun, sipping some gorgeous German Riesling. I found myself sitting between Darlene and Chris, and got some time chatting with each of them. It was awkward with Chris, having just seen each other naked, but we managed to get through it, and I found out a bit more about him, including (importantly) confirmation that he was single. Unlike James, apparently: Chris mentioned in passing that James had a girlfriend who hadn't been able to come on the trip.

Darlene was easy to talk to. She had seen a lot of the world, working in various schools and performing on different stages. This was the first time she'd been in a choir, as she normally did theatre or was too busy with her students.

I plucked up my courage and asked her about her scar.

"I didn't know that you had a child," I asked.

"Emergency C-Section," she said. "He wasn't breathing when he came out. He nearly died. I nearly died then, and it got infected later too. I can't have any more babies: it might kill me."

"Oh!" I said, taken aback and cursing myself for asking.

"Having babies isn't always like in the magazines," she said, with a wry smile. "'We had a rough few years, and I'm afraid my 'bikini body' won't come back. But we're okay. He's at home with his Dad for this trip. We're not together any more, but we're on good terms."

She hesitated, then said "I don't want to cover up my scar - my 'flesh failure'. It's taken me a few years to come to this point of showing it in public, but I'm here now."

And here I was, nervous about showing my skinny young tummy.

Glossary: giocoso- musical notation indicating that a passage should be played in a light, playful manner

We were a bleary-eyed choir at breakfast on Monday morning, having had variously disrupted sleeps as we recovered from the jetlag. But as far as I could work out, nobody was missing. We had a 'friendship concert' performance later in the day, where we would get to sing in a community hall in one of Munich's suburbs. It was a good way to warm up towards the competition concert on Thursday. We were also going to rehearse during the morning, and Christine and I had to go and see the event organisers to get the choir's registration badges. So, a busy day was coming.

The breakfast was fantastic. Loads of fresh fruit, nice cereals, and divine European breads including dense brown German seeded loaves and Austrian kipferls. They had fifteen types of leaf tea as well with individual strainers to brew the cups properly, and some quality coffees.

"I could gorge on this all week," I said to Christine.

"You probably can, you're putting so much work into things," she responded, and loaded up her own plate with some more bread and some soft French cheese to go with it.

Derek and his wife Caroline joined us at our table. I had had a few weeks now to process the fact of Caroline, and I'm pleased to say that I no longer wished her to die a painful death under a herd of stampeding elephants. She was actually very pleasant. Like him, she was very attractive. She was slender, dark-haired with almost jet-black skin and a gorgeous, cheerful smile. We'd chatted a bit during the flight over, and I'd learned that she had supported him financially for the first few years of his career, when he was a starving musician. She was a lawyer, and the reason that we hadn't known about her was simply that she was still relatively early in her career and had a crushing workload.

"I love music, and I'm really proud of Derek," she'd said. "But my working hours are just stupid. I don't think I can do it for much longer. I told my boss that if I didn't get this week off, I was going to collapse. I'm looking forward to some time with Derek. And to hearing you all sing, of course."

At breakfast, we learnt that she was planning to explore the city during the morning, and then relax a bit before coming out to our 'friendship' concert.

"There's a sauna here at the hotel," she said excitedly. "What a good choice! Angela, was that your doing?" As I said, it was hard not to like her.

While Derek was distracted talking with some other choir members, we gave her a whispered briefing about the sauna and what to expect, with some of our other commentary thrown in.

"What are you giggling about?" asked Derek curiously as he returned to our conversation.

"Oh, just some anatomical observations of Munich so far," said Christine, innocently. But she couldn't stop smirking when she looked toward the table where Chris was sitting. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice.

We were put in a bus to go to our concert in the afternoon: the organisers apparently didn't trust us to use public transport. Fair enough, I guess: once we were on the bus, they knew where we were. We arrived at what seemed more like a village than a suburb, and joined two other choirs in a Lutheran church hall. One of the other choirs was Chinese, and the other Canadian. We had a bit of time before the concert, and started socialising. Of course, we gravitated towards the Canadians. They were from Quebec and didn't seem as relaxed and friendly as I was used to, but they were okay. I asked one of them how he was finding the food in Germany, and he pulled me aside so that his answer couldn't be heard by the others.

"The coffee is better here," he whispered. "But don't tell the others that I said that."

The Chinese were harder. They mostly smiled and nodded at us, but a few of them spoke English. They were from a small city in southern China of 'only' about 10 million people. For most of them, it was their first trip abroad, and it was a real shock. But they were also loving it, and had brought along some cheap gifts to give to us at the concert.

Music, I thought. Breaking down one Great Wall at a time to make the world a better place.

The Canadians sang first. They had brought along a merry mixture of French-Canadian folk songs and some more classical works, all in French. They were very good, but I didn't think that they were quite as good as we were, and I felt quite happy about that.

The Chinese went next, and my heart sank. They were phenomenal. Their pitching was perfect and they moved, clapped, and emoted as though they were all divided from a single cell. Like us, they had brought along a German piece, but most of their songs were apparently Chinese poems set to music. We had a printed program with the translations, but they didn't make much sense to me.

"These all seem to be songs about flowers and poets lost on the river," I whispered to my neighbour, Susan, who happened to be from a Chinese family herself. I had no understanding of China, and I realized straight after I said that that I was probably being rude.

She frowned at me for talking while the other choir was singing, but then relented. "I'll explain later," she whispered back.

I was feeling intimidated when it was our turn to sing, but Derek gave us a reassuring smile.

"You've got this," he mouthed at us, and I realised that he was right. We knew our material very well.

We sang through four pieces to start our set, including the Strauss song. That one was very well received by the locals, and in fact one of the old men in the audience told me later that he was actually a distant relation to Strauss' family, which felt surreal. We also did the Whitacre with the fake Latin (or at least, that's how I thought of it), and a piece about the Northern Lights by trendy Norwegian composer Ola Gjeilo. We also threw in an Australian folk song by Eric Bogle, about the futility of war and the scars of a WWI veteran. It didn't have much choral merit, but seeing the faces of the locals, I could see why it was a wise choice in this city that had been heavily bombed during WWII.

We ended our set with The Flesh Failures. It was the first time we'd sung it in public, and our only chance to perform it before the competition session in two days' time. I was nervous, but it went well, and I saw some feet tapping and smiles in the audience, including in the members of the other choirs. Some of the Canadians clearly knew it, and were grinning, and even singing along with the "Let the Sunshine In" chorus at the end.

The guy who had been complaining about Quebec coffee sought me out straight afterwards, and congratulated me on my solo. But really, it was obvious that he just wanted to tease me with his next question.

"Didn't Hair have a nude scene?" he asked. "I was a bit disappointed that you kept your clothes on."

"That was for a different song," I said, flushing. "Sorry that I couldn't satisfy your choirboy fantasies," I added with a smile to soften the barb. But I was annoyed.

He realised that he'd overstepped. "Je m'excuse. That was uncalled for. You really did sing beautifully. I loved it."

"Forgiven," I said, softening, and touched his arm. "Come and see us on Thursday in the competition, if you're free. And I'll come and see you on the Friday morning if I can." They were singing in a different division to us.

Susan sat next to me on the bus trip back. "That was great, Angela," she said. "I don't know what we could have done better." And then she spent some time explaining her understanding of some of the Chinese folk songs.

"Those poems," she said, "you need to put in the context of suppression of free speech. The choice of poet, the subjects discussed, the symbolism of different flowers, the ways that the bamboo sways in the wind... you can take them all as pretty and meaningless, or you can take them as subtle commentary on current affairs in China. I think we had a bit of both, but I don't know the politics enough to work it all out."

It was an interesting conversation. I'd been thinking about the ancient history of Europe, but the long history of China was next-level, and I knew nothing about it. I'd only been in Munich a day, and already my mind was expanding.

Derek and Darlene were seated behind us in the bus, and I could hear them discussing our performance. One phrase jumped out at me. They were talking about the end of the last song, where we were singing "Let the Sunshine In" multiple times.

"It needs more, Derek," said Darlene. "I was watching the audience. We're doing all we can musically, but we need more visuals to hold their attention. To take it over the top."

I couldn't hear Derek's response as Susan started talking again, but it got me thinking. Maybe the Canadian guy had a point.

Glossary: intermezzo– a short interlude connecting two pieces of a piece.

It was late afternoon when we got back to the hotel, but Christine and I decided that we would make time for the sauna on any day we could, so we went there quickly. Derek and Caroline were staying on the same floor as us, so we stopped to knock on their door. Caroline was delighted to join us, but Derek was heading out to a conductor's workshop at the conference.

"I was too nervous to go by myself," said Caroline once she'd organized herself. "And hesitant to ask you. Thank you so much."

We went through the same routine. Pool first, then showers, and into the sauna. It was a little crowded, but we found spaces, and pretty soon some of the other guests left.

I was getting better at not staring, but it was impossible to not notice that Caroline had a stunning body, with her perfect dark skin, shapely backside, and teardrop shaped boobs. I could see that Christine was struggling to not look and admire, as well as all of the men present. I'd learned my lesson with Darlene and didn't ask any personal questions, but Christine wasn't so shy. After expressing her admiration, she established that Caroline had Sudanese heritage and that her family had moved as refugees.

"I grew up in camps," she said to Christine. "But my father made us do all the sports that we could and to study hard at school so that we could have a better life than he did."

"And your mother?" asked Christine.

Caroline's face was neutral. "She died in Sudan," she said flatly.

Minefields, these sauna conversations. No wonder the Europeans didn't seem to chatter so much as we were doing.

Glossary: dissonance - musical harmony that is harsh or unpleasant to the ear

The next day was Tuesday. We had the morning off, and some of us went to see some of the other choirs sing in a competition session at a nearby city church. Again, the standard was phenomenal. It was intimidating, but it also underscored what a miracle Derek and his mysterious colleague had performed to be able to get us here at short notice.

After lunch, we all met in the old city area to do a 'flash mob' performance, just wearing street clothes. Because we sang a capella, it was easy for us to do compared to choirs that had accompanists with them. We just did two pieces, not including The Flesh Failures, and then Derek gave us the rest of the day off, because he had yet more networking to do. Caroline didn't seem to be getting much time with him.

"A heavy day tomorrow," he said. "We'll rehearse all morning, and then we've got to be at the competition venue in the late afternoon for a technical rehearsal. We'll only have fifteen minutes to do a sound check and then we won't see the place again until we're on stage on Thursday."

We spent two hours in the sauna that afternoon, with Caroline joining us again since she didn't know anybody else. Many of the other choir members were using their time for tourist things, but Christine and I were staying a bit longer after the competition to do all of that. In the meantime, we were addicted to the sauna. And Caroline was completely relaxed around us now, draping her spectacular body over the sauna benches without a hint of embarrassment.

"You and Derek aren't having any time together after the conference?" I asked Caroline.

She smiled, a bit sadly. "No, I have to get back to work. He's staying on for another conducting workshop."

Sitting behind Caroline, Christine flicked me a little look. Something was off here, but it wasn't our business. All we could do was be positive to them both. And perhaps rein in our drooling a little.

Perhaps. I had put Derek firmly into the 'don't touch' zone, but it was a struggle even for me around Caroline, and I didn't think I was into women.

Glossary: tremolo- musical notation indicating that a note should be played rapidly and repeated

I was still having trouble sleeping. On Wednesday morning, I woke at 2 am, and started cursing myself. If I didn't get back to sleep, I was going to be pretty stuffed during the day. I was lying in bed, awake, trying to think about calming things and not how irritated I was at being awake, when I suddenly realised that I wasn't the only one struggling to sleep.

There were faint, rhythmic sounds and shallow breathing coming from the other bed. It took me a few seconds to work it out, but then there was a moan, quickly suppressed, and I couldn't resist glancing over. In the gloom I could see Christine's silhouette. She was face-down on the bed, a pillow underneath her tummy. She was alone, but although I couldn't quite see, I presumed that her hand was between her legs.

Well, that's an idea, at least, I thought dreamily, and stealthily reached my hand down under my nightgown, softly rubbing around my crotch until I was aroused enough to wriggle my panties off and touch myself directly. I started thinking through some of the sights of the week so far: learning to nude up with Christine, the various guys with impressive bodies we'd seen in the sauna, Darlene's dusky tones, Ruby's illustrated skin, and Caroline's ebony perfection. The skin images, male and female, formed themselves into a mosaic stretched as a canvas across my mental mind. For a while, I just stroked my virtual fingers over the landscape, tracing the tattoos, the scars, the muscles, and then a series of breasts, chests, thighs and genitals of all types as I grew more excited.

My rubbing sped up. I focused on an image of Chris and his remarkable cock, with the rest blurring into a fleshy background.

I have a bit of a thing for laughter and sex. I get more aroused when I'm amused, and vice versa. Apparently, that's quite common, but it hasn't always gone well for me when trying for some special time with serious men. That's not a problem when jilling though. Anyway, for some reason, when I started thinking of Chris and his length, the next image was of me kneeling at his feet with a ruler in one hand, stroking him with the other hand to keep him erect. My fantasy self read out measurements in metric centimetres and imperial inches to Christine, who was somehow standing right next to me in my fantasy.

Together we had an imaginary conversation with some French Canadians, managing to mention the critical fact in the conversation:

"Did you know that our lead bass has a 97th percentile penis? So, what are the men like in Montreal? I've brought a ruler."

That would show them, for sure. Perhaps we could put it into a press release? I was a copywriter, after all.

I was grinning in the dark, and throbbing down below, but I needed more. I extended the fantasy: I decided that I could measure my own internal depth using a dildo, so that I could see if Chris could actually fit inside me or not. In my vision, I managed to bring myself off with the dildo at the same time as deciding that Chris could indeed fit with a bit of stretching, and then I imagined him slowly inserting himself. Suddenly I came in real-life in my bed, and clapped my (non-frigging) hand over my mouth when I realised that I'd moaned out loud.

A chuckle came from the other bed. "That sounded just as intense as mine was," said Christine sleepily. "I hope it was a good scene."

I was mortified, but tried to shoot back a sassy response. "I was thinking of bare flesh and a Chris-sized dildo. And, um, you might have been helping me work out Chris' size. What were you thinking about?"

"Forbidden fruit," she said.

"Derek? James? Not Chris?" I asked.

"Caroline," was her answer.

It took me a while to get back to sleep.

Glossary: rubato- to delve beyond a fixed tempo and to perform a bit faster or a bit slower depending upon artistic inspiration.

When we got to the competition venue for the technical rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, I was pretty tense. This felt very serious. We had to wait in various places for about an hour before it came to our turn on stage. The competition was going to be in a large city church. It wasn't that old, because so much of the city had been destroyed in the war, but it was nice enough. Inside, there were blinds covering the windows to keep the late afternoon sun from shining into our eyes.

"We'll just top and tail the first two songs to check our sound, and then we'll go through the 'Hair' one in full," said Derek. He pushed us through the first two pieces, and then started us into The Flesh Failures. He stayed in one spot to conduct us, but I noticed that Darlene was roaming around, looking at us critically and listening to the sound rather than singing in her spot in the choir. It was a bit distracting, but I managed to focus enough to get through my solo, before Darlene came over to discuss something with Derek just as we hit the final chorus.

He cut us off with a wave, and then left us on stage while he and Darlene went over to have a conversation with the technical crew, pointing at the blinds over the window. I was puzzled: what was the problem?

The tech lead seemed to be resisting what they were asking of him, but suddenly he shrugged and nodded, as if to say "well, if you really insist."

Darlene rushed back to us. "We've got four minutes before they kick us out. Derek will restart us at your solo, Angela. When the sunlight falls on your faces, everybody, double your smiles and emoting." With that, she slipped into her place, and we restarted the song.

Sure enough, when the chorus kicked in, blazing light shone into my eyes as the curtains along the wall of the church started opening. I remembered to smile as we bellowed out "let the sunshine in", getting louder and louder with Katie vocalising over the top of us and the basses doing their utmost to reinforce Chris' bottom end. We finished the piece in fine style, practised our bows, and then raced off the stage as they closed the curtains again and ushered in the next choir for their sound-check.

We were feeling high. It seemed like Darlene's bright idea had really added some "zing" to the rehearsal.

"I hope it's not cloudy tomorrow," she joked, walking with me, Ruby and Christine as we headed back to the hotel. "Or we'll have to pull out something else that's special."

"There was a Canadian at our concert the other day telling me that we should strip off because we were singing a piece from Hair," I said. "I couldn't tell if he was hitting on me or making a serious suggestion."

"That's an idea!" said Christine, laughing.

"Which one? Hitting on me or stripping?"

"Perhaps both," she said. "But let's focus on the stripping for now."

"I will if you will," I said saucily. "What's the difference between a sauna and a church full of well-dressed people?"

"You're on," she said. "Ruby? Darlene?"

"Are you serious?" asked Ruby. "Because I totally would do it."

"If we made it optional for singers?" mused Darlene. "And did it at the same time as the sunlight came in? It would carry a real message. People could take it as a plea for transparency, or a statement of honesty, or however they wanted. The point is that they would be talking about it for the rest of the competition."

"Wait – are we seriously considering this?" I said, shocked. "I was just joking around!"

"I'll check the competition rules," said Darlene. "If it's not prohibited, honestly we should."

"Don't discuss it with Derek," said Christine suddenly. "We need to give him plausible deniability."

"Could they boot us out?" I asked.

"Only if it's prohibited, I assume," answered Darlene. "Otherwise we'll be over and done before anybody's been able to make their mind up."

"We'd need to think about modifying our costumes to help us strip more quickly," said Ruby. "No knickers, perhaps? No bras for those who can get away with it?"

"Don't say that the guys can't wear underwear," I said. "Or there might be some accidents if they try to strip too quickly."

"Chris in particular," replied Christine, and we lost ourselves in inappropriate giggling the rest of the way back to the hotel.

We reconvened in the sauna, of course. Chris and James were there as well, and luckily we were able to talk for a few minutes without any non-choir members there. They were initially shocked, but we talked it through, and agreed that if it was optional, we could consider it.

Caroline was there as well. We were a bit nervous discussing this in front of her while intending to keep it from Derek, but she just shrugged.

"Do what you like," she said, "as long as you're not throwing him under a bus. He's gone off to meet other people again, so it's not like he's around to give input."

Her frustration was becoming obvious to everybody in our little clique. I squeezed her hand. "Anything we can do to help, Caroline?"

"Thanks, Angela," she said. "I'm with a great group of naked people who are looking out for me and discussing a nude choir performance. Life could be a lot worse."

"Can we do a secret undress rehearsal while Derek isn't here?" asked Christine suddenly.

"I don't see why not," I said. "I'll put out a message to the chat group to meet this evening, and I'll leave him out of it. We've got a larger room, so we'll try and squeeze in there. People won't be out partying tonight, since we're performing tomorrow."

Glossary: resonance- a series of vibrations that create a deep, harmonically rich sound.

A few hours later, we had the choir squeezed into our little hotel room. We swore everybody to secrecy, and then explained our idea. To my astonishment, it was well received. Everybody had either been to the sauna or seen the casual nudity around Munich's parks in the summer, and most people thought it was hilarious that we were planning to surprise Derek as well as the judges and audience.

"We're competing against some incredible choirs," explained Darlene. "We've not going to win. But at least we can be remembered and have some fun while we're doing it."

A few people weren't comfortable stripping, but they stayed and rehearsed with us anyway, and some of them even changed their minds and joined in. After a few attempts, we managed to stumble through the awkward process of removing our clothes without compromising the sound. It was even more confronting that we kept brushing up against each other since we were crammed into the room, but we wouldn't have much more room on the stage. I got used to belting out "Let the Sunshine In" with Darlene's tits bouncing into my back from the row behind me.

There was a lot of laughter, but people were still nervous. After we got the mechanics of stripping while singing right, Darlene called us to order. She explained to us a bit about the historical use of nudity in drama, including in Hair, and different ways that we could approach it.

"It's not just about titillation," she said, "although obviously some people will be titillated and some will be shocked. It's about the meaning that we can give to the song, and the honesty of what we can bring to the audience without any barriers. In this case, we want to show that we are opening our souls to them, casting off our modern pretences. I can guarantee you that if we do this well, every other choir in the performance will be looking that much more fake and contrived. That sounds brutal, but it's a competition. It should be brutal."

People dispersed to their rooms, looking more thoughtful, but still buzzing. After months of preparation, we had a big day coming, and we had three full songs to sing beautifully before we got to our minute of nudity.

Act Three

We tried to have a relaxed morning. Derek gathered us for a quick rehearsal. He was looking a bit seedy after whatever he'd been doing the previous night, but he seemed focused enough. He told us to relax and to go and listen to some other choirs before we met in the mid-afternoon to get ready. Christine and I slipped into some of the gospel choir competition, then next door to some classical choirs. Once again, the choirs were amazing. The events were really well attended as well. When we left the gospel choir event, there was a long queue outside for the spare seats.

Things got tenser in the afternoon as we dressed and primped ourselves before walking to the church where our competition was being held. We wouldn't get to see the other choirs perform; instead we were shepherded through a series of back rooms while the choirs ahead of us did their thing. We could hear them singing faintly and some rapturous applause.

With ten minutes to go, Derek called us to order and had Darlene take us through some breathing exercises before he gave us a final pep talk.

"Don't forget that we have to give it our all, right to the final notes," he said. "And we have to ramp up the emotion as we get to the end of the Hair piece".

I stifled a nervous giggle, and not because of the 'hairpiece' joke. He still didn't know.

Finally, we were shuffling onto the stage, the applause dying after our introduction. The church was full, with people standing at the back and a queue to come through the doors.

Derek, in a full tuxedo, brought us to attention, gave us a note, and launched us into Die Nacht.

The next ten minutes were a blur, but I know that we sang well. By now we knew these pieces backwards, and in the intensity of the moment we were completely focused, responding to every subtle movement from Derek's baton and every facial expression. Of course, there were small mistakes, but I also felt that we were listening to each other and matching our tones beautifully. When we got to Lux Aurumque, the music just seemed to flow effortlessly. Some of the audience had their eyes closed, drinking it in: the piece was very well known, so this was a good sign.

I felt myself tensing up again as Chris sounded the first notes of The Flesh Failures, but forced my breathing to settle, and schooled my expression as I smiled vaguely towards the audience, head inclined slightly to indicate that I was paying attention to the male soloists.

I noticed the Canadian guy who had teased me about Hair. He was sitting in the front row, looking straight at me instead of at those singing. I fought the temptation to give him a wink. It wouldn't be very professional, and it was probably best not to encourage him anyway.

There's a background chorus in the song as the choir builds. It rises under the male solo, just before the solo that I was doing. It talks about the end of life:

Eyes look your last

Arms take your last embrace

And lips, oh you, the doors of breath

Seal with a righteous kiss

The rest is silence

The rest is silence

For some reason, the force of these lyrics hit me hard as this section started, and just for a second I froze, my throat tightening, breath stilled.

I can't do this. I can't. I can't. The rest is silence

I must have shuddered visibly. I felt a light touch on my shoulder: Darlene, standing behind me on the tiered stage. And then, bless her, she moved slightly forwards, and, just for a second, she directed her voice into my ear as she sang "righteous kiss". She was lending me her courage and her confidence.

I cando this.

My heart restarted just as my moment arrived, and I heard my voice ringing out, buoyed by the others. When Christine's voice joined me in her beautiful soaring descant, I knew that we had it licked.

I noticed Caroline, sitting near the Canadian, watching me just as we sang the bit about "supreme visions of lonely tunes". I wondered what she would be taking from the song as she watched her absent husband conducting us, but she gave me a smile, and I just kept right on going.

My fingers were tingling, my skin vibrating. I could see that the curtains were starting to open as we raced towards the end chorus, and I started to focus on the striptease to come, I suddenly realised that I was aroused. My nipples were pressing forward, and I was slippery down below. I hadn't been like this at the rehearsal, but that hadn't been in front of a packed church and judges.

"Let the sunshine in, let the sunshine in!" we bellowed, and there was no time left to waste.

I managed to undo my buttons despite the shocks coursing through me, and when the sunlight through the windows hit my face, I was ready to drop my blouse onto the stage. Others were doing the same around me, and quickly whipped off the sports top that I had on. My aching, excited breasts were on view to the world.

I kept smiling, trying not to blink in the sunlight, and ignoring Derek's sudden wide eyes as he took in what was happening in his choir. He briefly faltered in his conducting, but quickly recovered and we powered on.

I found the little button and zipper on the back of my skirt, and it slipped down my thighs. I wore no panties. Apart from my jewellery, shoes and stockings, I was nude on stage, with Darlene's breasts once again jiggling into my back as we all powered together towards the final few lines. In a church. At a global choral competition.

I felt fantastic. My slipperiness down below felt like it was getting worse, and I vaguely wondered if a trail of moisture could be seen from the front rows. I wondered how the guys were coping: if any of them were as excited as I was feeling, they would be sporting magnificent erections. They'd been fine at the rehearsal, but then, so had I. Darlene had given them emergency instructions if it had happened: they were simply to move behind somebody else and put their pants on.

The audience was reacting now. Some were gasping or tittering, making shocked comments to their neighbours. Some were laughing, and some were puzzled. But most just seemed to be grinning, enjoying the moment as they took in our big reveal in the sunlight and matched it to the meaning of the song. I saw where the judges were sitting. One of them was writing furiously, not even looking at us, and I wondered whether he had even noticed that we were nude: he might just be listening to our sound. Three of them were attentive and smiling. The last one, a stern looking lady, was frowning. That was okay, if it was only just her. Darlene had checked the judging criteria, and there was nothing in there about wearing clothes: apart from the sounds we made she could only judge us on whether we were presenting ourselves appropriately to the songs. Which we were.

Caroline caught my eye again from the audience. She was shaking with laughter, grinning ear to ear. She was holding her phone in her hand, and she mouthed something to me, but I didn't know what.

Katie's improvisations over the end chorus had hit the stratosphere, and we belted out our final notes. We sounded perfect, as far as I could tell. Derek cut us off with a flourish, and then we stood there, smiling, while Derek took the bows on behalf of us. The applause was loud, with a few cheers and wolf-whistles thrown in.

We quickly picked up our clothes and filed offstage, trying to stay dignified, poised as choristers despite the nudity. I had goosebumps, and I knew that I would soon be shivering in reaction. I made eye contact with a few more grinning audience members as we were ushered out a side door and down a short, dark corridor. The Canadian guy was one of those: he looked stunned and happy, and he mouthed a "magnifique" to me as I passed him.

We were then sent unceremoniously onto the street outside, where we stood blinking in the late afternoon sun, still clutching our clothes and trying to stay quiet as the choir following us was announced to the audience. We had come out close to the line of people queuing to get into the church to see the rest of the competition. A few of them were starting to stare.

"Get dressed, everybody!" I hissed urgently, and made haste to do so myself. There was a crash and some cursing behind us: we were standing right next to the cycle path that ran beside the avenue, and three riders were picking themselves up from a tangle of bicycles, muttering and complaining about somebody being distracted.

In a minute we were dressed, the exit door was closed behind us, and I collapsed in laughter, chortling hysterically. The rest of the mob joined in, apart from Derek, who was standing a little to the side, looking like he wanted to explode, but also fighting an internal battle to stay calm.

Darlene was right next to him, and quickly acted to diffuse things. She wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug, then stood back and apologised.

"I'm sorry, Derek. We couldn't tell you, because we needed you to be able to distance yourself from us. But it was the right thing to do for the song."

Diplomacy triumphed, and Derek forced a smile. "Well, you certainly kept the secret."

If you had been more present this week, we wouldn't have been able to keep it secret, I thought.

"How did we sound?" I asked, wanting to diffuse things more.

This time, Derek's smile was genuine.

"Brilliant," he said. "The best you've all performed, for all three pieces. There was a little bit of unevenness when you were taking off your clothes, but I doubt if anybody but the judges really noticed. And also, the rays of sunlight looked fantastic. That was a great idea, Darlene."

We chatted a bit more, and then I called everybody to order.

"We've got a group booking at the Bavarian restaurant in the city at 8pm – just check your information pack for the details. And then some free time tomorrow to go and see what you like, before we meet for the awards ceremony and the party."

We virtually skipped back to the hotel. Christine and I headed for our room to change for a quick visit to the sauna. There was a knock on the door, and Caroline popped her head in.

"I'm just on the way to our room," she said, smiling, "but I wanted to say how fantastic you were, and to show you something funny."

She came in and pulled out her camera. Pictures weren't allowed during the performance, thankfully, but she had snuck a surreptitious photo of us anyway from her front row position. There we all were in our naked glory, with just a few members still dressed or only partially undressed. But right in the front row, looking completely oblivious, was Pradeep. He was watching Derek closely, and seemingly unaware that the men and women either side of him were stark naked.

"Fuck! He wasn't there at all yesterday! He didn't know! That's a lesson for him and for us," I said. "Mind you, it's inexcusable to skip a technical rehearsal or to not read your messages, so it's mostly on him.""

"I think he skipped out on the technical rehearsal to do a day tour with his family," said Christine. "So he didn't know about the sunlight thing either."

Caroline then showed us the next photo she'd taken. Chris had obviously seen what was going on, and had moved forward to swap with Pradeep, who was now in the back row, confused but apparently still singing.

And Chris, who had at least been hidden a little before as a backrow bass, was now out front in all his glory, his remarkable schlong dangling down, putting the other perfectly respective men around him to shame. Thankfully, none of them were erect.

I wondered if any other audience members had snuck photos. We could probably trust Caroline, but we had to be prepared for the story to get out there. And I needed to be okay with that personally.

As if reading my mind, Christine, who was the star female of the photo with her bountiful boobs, blonde hair and bodacious charm, gave me a little nudge and said "Angela, if photos get out, we might need to manage it, but for the record you look beautiful. I want you to look at the picture and acknowledge that."

I did as I was told. My first reaction was that I was pale and wan-looking compared to the others around me. Rosa, next to me, had her spectacular tattoos. Darlene was gorgeous of course, scar and all. Susan was cute, Katie was classically elegant and had her show-stopping long red hair, with neatly trimmed pubes to match.. But I made myself recalibrate. I was smiling as I sung, glowing all over with the sheen of my excitement, full of energy. My breasts were - what was the word she'd used? Pert. Nipples standing out, ready for action. Thankfully you couldn't see the moisture that I knew had been around my pussy, but it wouldn't have taken much thought for people to conclude that I was aroused.

"Everybody is beautiful in the photo," I finally said. "But okay. Point taken, and I'll be strong in the face of any body shaming. Can I have a copy, Caroline?"

Caroline nodded and went to leave, but Christine stopped her with a soft touch on her arm.

"Are you okay, love?"

Caroline hesitated, then plunged in.

"Derek didn't get back to our room until 6 am this morning. I was all ready to start a massive fight, but I couldn't do that to you guys."

"We've got your back," said Christine. "We can make space for you here, too, if needed. You shouldn't have to put up with this."

"Thanks," said Caroline, looking conflicted. "I might see you in the sauna?"

She rushed off.

Glossary: appassionata - a musical term that refers to passion and/or to a performance with deep feeling that mirrors and sometimes constitutes transcendental rapture.

She didn't come to the sauna, but as we were getting dressed for dinner, she knocked on our door again. She was dressed in a shimmering azure evening gown that set off her radiant black skin perfectly.

"Can I come out with you two?" she asked. She was looking at Christine as she said it.

"Of course," we both said.

We took a train down to the restaurant together, and chatted as the others all arrived. Almost everybody was there other than Derek, Pradeep, and a couple of others. Chris sat down next to me, with Caroline on my other side, and Christine opposite.

"I'm lost in the 'C's, I joked, and started chatting with Chris, who was his usual lovely self, bringing everybody else into the conversation and finding ways to compliment them all. Caroline responded in kind, telling him how impressed she'd been with his acapella bass work.

"I have to say, I won't mind a break from that bloody song," he said in his deep voice. "And I felt like people were staring at me when I stripped."

"I guess they were wanting to see whether you could keep the bassline going. There couldn't possibly have been any other reason," said Christine with a smirk, and Chris had the good grace to smile.

"Thanks for covering for Pradeep," I said. "That was a fail on our part, and I know that it exposed you more by putting you in the front."

"That's okay," he said, giving me a look of gratitude for acknowledging the awkwardness. But he didn't look completely comfortable, and after a kick under the table from me to Christine, we moved onto something else.

My phone pinged shortly afterwards, and I looked to see a message from Christine. It was to the point.

"Take C back to our room after dinner. I'll look after Caro."

I glanced at her, and she nodded sternly. It was an order, not a suggestion. Fair call.

The dinner was excellent. It was tourist fare: schweinshaxe (pork roast), leberkas (meatloaf), knödel dumplings, and käsespätzle (pasta and cheese), with salads and vegetables. And beer, of course, lots of it.

Most of the choir decided to head out partying, but I faithfully followed instructions and took Chris aside.

"Come back to the hotel with me?"

"For...?" He looked hesitant. Maybe he wasn't interested in me as I thought? I took the plunge anyway.

"For some intimate time, Chris. Without an audience. Unless I've been reading the semaphore completely wrong."

He relaxed, smiling. "The semaphore team is pleased to be of service."

I discreetly reached down and squeezed. "They certainly are."

We got the train back to the hotel. It wasn't about being environmentally conscious: it was just quicker. I dragged him into the room, and sat him down on the big bed.

I wasn't quite sure how to play this. I didn't want to just throw myself all over him, and it looked like he was wary of doing the same to me. We needed more atmosphere. I took out my phone and pulled up some music. My workout playlist wasn't ideal, but it would do. It was an eclectic mixture of songs from the 70s until now. I like music with interesting words and rhythms, and I hoped that Chris did too. If not... well, we would cross that bridge if we came to it.

Gold, by Australian Chet Faker was first on the list. It had a sultry beat, romantic, suggestive words. A solid start.

"The speakers aren't great on the phone, but you can add some voice anytime you want," I said smiling. He nodded and started softly humming along with the bassline.

I went to turn the lights down, but he waggled his finger at me.

"I want to see you."

I started dancing around the room, trying to keep my movements slow and sultry. I had a little black dress on. I had him help unzip it at the back, slowly removed it, and then placed it on his lap in a mock attempt to cover his prominent bulge. I followed that with the lacy black bra, leaving me just in matching panties and thigh-high tights.

"Leave the tights on," he breathed. I smiled and then struck a pose, hands on hips, lips pouting.

The next song came on, and Chris looked at me a bit startled: it sounded like a piano concerto, although I knew that it wasn't really.

That could have been smoother, I thought. But I'll make it work.

I kept dancing around the room, pretending to be a fairy next to a river, albeit with bouncy adult breasts not often seen on fairies. The song was Firth of Fifth by Genesis, an old prog rock classic from my father's record collection, released around when he was born. One memorable day he had explained the song to me, and why he loved it so much. The band had apparently become more poppy later, but I'd skipped that bit of their history because as I said, I love complexity. It was a masterpiece of swirling rhythms and extravagant fecundity as it described a river flowing to the sea.

What my father didn't know was that the song had made it to the top of another kind of list of mine. Long ago I'd realised that many of the rock classics with long guitar solos were trying to induce some kind of musical orgasm. David Gilmour's celebrated stratocaster and lap-steel lyricism on Comfortably Numb and High Hopes, for example, were perfect soundtracks for an extended session of flicking the bean, so long as you weren't too numb or high. Mark Knopler's intricate licks in Sultans of Swing and Tunnel of Love never failed to get the juices swinging down my own love tunnel. Don Felder and Joe Walsh's swoonful guitar duet on Hotel California makes me never want to attempt to leave... you get the idea.

Anyway, Firth of Fifth was now my go-to jilling song, because of the sensual effect of a particular musical motif. There was a beautiful, seductive flute solo that was later repeated as an exquisite guitar line, accompanied by a controlled explosion of bass, drums and keyboards, including a deep, deep bass line. It was the closest I'd heard to the feeling of an orgasm, which I found... inspirational, particularly as the climax occurred twice in quick succession. The musicianship was phenomenal, and I kind of wanted Chris to appreciate that as I danced before him, but there was one particular role I had in mind for him during the song. Like I'd said, the phone speakers weren't giving me enough bass.

I stood close to him and invited him to remove my panties.

"With your teeth, Chris," I directed, and he obeyed, alternating between my hips until they fell the rest of the way. He nuzzled into my auburn pubes, and slowly parted my lips with his tongue, before starting a slow, sensual licking as we got to the flute solo bit. It was bliss.

I grasped the back of his head and pulled him in a bit more, encouraging him to lick harder as the song continued. He got the hint and slipped a finger into my slippery canal, matching his tonguing and finger movements to the building climax of the song.

We got to the first musical climax, and I didn't have to say anything. He started humming the deep bassline, directly against my already purring pussy. Room-shaking vibrations were moving straight over my vulva and clit, penetrating inside, setting my body ablaze. I wailed along with the guitar as my orgasm exploded within and washed through me, the peak slowly ebbing and then returning again with the second musical climax.

Just as I reached the point where I was going to push him away through overstimulation, the music throttled back, and Chris sat back, grinning at me. His face was covered in my fluids.

"Nice start," I panted, and we just looked at each other while we recovered from the opening salvos of what was promising to be an epic night in.

The next song came on, and I giggled. Where have all the cowboys gone? by Paula Cole: a 90s favourite of my mother's. Paula was one badass songwriter: the song was tart, sad, sarcastic, but she had won a Grammy for her efforts.

"There's only one position we can do with that on," I said. I stood up and pushed him back on the bed, whipping his boxers off in the process. I spent a little while licking up and down his magnificent length before sitting astride him in cowgirl position, touching his cock with my folds. He smiled: he got the cowgirl joke, and he was happy for me to take the lead in trying to get his monster inside me.

I started slowly undulating along the length of his cock, leaving a happy moisture trail. He was gazing up at me, blissed out, his hands loosely holding my hips.

I bent down and put my hands on the bed either side of him, dangling my breasts towards his face. He took the hint and craned his head up to suckle them in turn, using a spare hand to tweak the other nipple. I was getting steadily more turned on, and I could feel myself starting to open up to him.

I took a deep breath. "Here goes," I said, and reached down to guide him slowly into my canal.

The song changed again. Paranoid Android by Radiohead, and along with that, Chris started to look apprehensive. I realised that, with his size, he must have had some bad experiences with girls who couldn't fit him. I didn't know if I was in that category yet, but I was determined to try. I had a long playlist of ideas, after all.

I gave him an encouraging smile. "It feels good so far. Stay with it, Chris: slowly does it. We'll get there, I'm sure."

Paranoid Android has lots of starts and stops, changes of tempo and of texture, and we used it to good effect as we got him inside me, one stanza at a time. I squeezed my nipples, keeping up my smile, and wriggling in unfeigned delight as his penetration continued. He wasn't entirely passive either, although he was obviously being really careful to not hurt me. He gently played with my clit, stroked my backside, and made sure to meet my eyes with what I can only describe as a smouldering gaze.

Smouldering, penetrating gaze from a fit, considerate guy with a deep voice. Rocking out to classic Radiohead. Two orgasms already in the bank. Things could hardly have been better.

And just like that, I realized that he had bottomed out. My amazing, incredible vagina had stretched to accommodate him, and the most studly man in the choir was balls deep in me. And we were only halfway through the song.

I leaned right down and kissed him, my breasts pressed into his chest, my tongue mashing urgently with his. He was a very good kisser.

I suppose I could have kissed him first, I thought. Before attempting the humongous cock. After all, that's how romances are meant to go. Perhaps all the nudity this week had made me just a little cock-obsessed.

I sat up again, and started moving up and down. He matched me with little motions of his hips. He was smiling happily now, his anxiety dissipated. Waves of sensation started rising within me as we moved together. This was all going to work just fine.

Suddenly he frowned again. "I'm sorry, I didn't organise protection. I'll pull out?"

Not after this amount of fucking work to get you inside, I thought.

"Fuck it, Chris. Fuck me. Come inside me. Tonight it's okay."

Another song change. Money, by Pink Floyd. Another odd time signature: 7/4, seven beats in the bar. It keeps things moving along. We locked eyes, and we went for it like the proverbial rabbits, finding a stable, pounding rhythm at a tempo that was seriously testing my new fitness levels. Thrust, jiggle (a shake of the tits), moan, thrust, grunt, moan, thrust, repeat. I started exaggerating every seventh beat as I undulated on top of him, and vocalising as I did so. He was laughing beneath me, doing his best to sing that bass line while directing most of his energy to thrusting upwards from the bed.

Men who understand that sex can be fun are so attractive, I thought. Even more so than men with big cocks. But when you have both, and they know their music... well, well, well.

Another paroxysm was building. Suddenly I was spasming wildly and wailing. The rhythm broke down, and I collapsed forward onto Chris as I shuddered through an entire minute of delirious, free-form jazz pleasure. Somewhere, a saxophone solo was wailing.

I was lost for a while, drifting in a sea of triple-climax endorphins, but something was nagging at me. Something huge, and hard.... Chris hadn't come yet.

"Sorry," I whispered, and then kissed him. "We'll get you there, I promise. Reverse cowgirl? Missionary? Doggy? Something weird?"

He thought for a moment, and then made his decision. "How about doggy?"

"Woof!"

I eased myself off him and posed for him on the bed, bottom in the air, pillow supporting my upper torso, love channel gaping and begging to be filled again. He positioned himself behind me, and I reached back to help guide him in.

The music changed again. Call on Me, by Eric Prydz. A good, straightforward thrusting song.

This time Chris was doing all the work, and I was his willing receptacle. He was penetrating even more deeply than before in this position, but it wasn't painful and the pleasure was intense. And his stamina was excellent. We kept going for another couple of songs before his urgency started to increase, and I felt his fingers adroitly find my clitoris again, teasing and then rubbing with full intensity as his tempo sped up even more. I started wailing again just as he grunted and shuddered, hot lava spurting deep within me as I went into yet more spasms on his big, beautiful cock.

He ground to a halt, panting. I reached to the bedside table for some tissues and handed him some, suspecting that we might need the whole box between us. And then we did the awkward rush to the bathroom while trying to not flood the carpet with our juices, and jumped in the shower together, where I lovingly washed him down and then he reciprocated, slowly memorizing my body with his tender hands.

We got out and dried each other, and then I led him back to bed.

"You don't want me to leave before Christine gets back?" he asked.

"I'm not sure that she will be back tonight. And she's seen you naked already. She would be offended if you didn't stay the night in her bed."

We lost ourselves in each other's arms, and slept like babies. Except without all that waking and crying in the middle of the night, of course. I dreamt of more guitar, saxophone and flute solos, accompanied by deep, deep bass. I was lost in an ocean of sound.

Movement Four

It was around 8 am when I woke to hear the door opening. I'd been snuggled into Chris, who was lying on his back. Christine tiptoed in, wearing a hotel robe. I gave her a sleepy smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry to wake you," she whispered. "I'll just head to the shower."

Chris stirred beside me, and Christine stopped, her eyes wide, hand to her mouth to hide a smirk. I was puzzled until I looked over and realised that he had morning wood: there was a huge tent in the sheets.

I gave her my best eyeroll and waved her off to the shower, before bending to the task of kissing Chris awake. I ignored what was happening for him down below: if he wanted to take care of that, he was welcome to. I was just a bit too sore to contemplate it. Happy sore, though. Good sore.

She didn't spend too long in the shower, and came out of the bathroom wearing a towel, rummaging in her stuff for something to wear while avoiding looking at us. It was a bit awkward, but Chris broke the ice. He still had his monster erection after I woke him up, but he had shifted and rearranged the bedding so that it wasn't so obvious.

"Morning Christine. I'll get out of your hair soon. And, um, thanks for the loan of the bed. And your roommate. She's nice and I don't really want to give her back."

While I was processing that last bit, Christine turned and finally looked back at Chris, clothes held in her hands. She smiled pleasantly, and said "that's okay. I'm heading down to breakfast. I'm really glad you two had a good night."

Something was wrong: she was being too formal. I quickly sat up in bed, heedless of the sheet falling off my bare torso. We were all well past worrying about that.

"Chrissie, are you alright?"

"I'll live, thanks Angela," she replied. "But we need to talk..."

Abruptly she reached a decision. "Actually, Chris, you probably need to hear this too."

She went to sit down on the bed next to us. Her towel fell off as she was doing this, and with a gesture of irritation she picked it up and tossed it back into the bathroom. She started putting her bra on over her magnificent boobs. Chris averted his eyes.

"You can look, Chris, it's not like we haven't seen each other," she said crossly. "And in any other circumstance I'd be demanding to help take care of that hard-on of yours, since Ange hasn't done her job this morning."

"What's happened?" I asked, trying to get her back on track.

"Sorry," she said, and shook her head to clear it.

"We went out after dinner," she started again, "after you two came back here for what I assume was a wonderful night of sexual congress. I was with Caroline. She was obviously grumpy about Derek's absence, but she wanted to have a good time. And I felt like she was coming onto me as an alternative, and as you know Ange, that wasn't necessarily unwelcome from my perspective. So I was thinking about just pulling her back here but also worrying about the moral aspects of that because I don't normally do married men or women..."

"And..." I prompted.

"And we went into a club, allegedly looking for those mythical hot Mongolians while I worked myself out, and there was Derek, doing his 'networking' with another choir leader. A really hot, blonde choir leader with bigger tits than me. She's apparently at a local university here in Germany, and it was her who pulled strings to get us all here. And they were mashing faces, and he had his hand up her skirt, in full view of everybody."

"Oh," I said.

"Oh," said Chris.

"Oh, indeed," she replied. "So Caroline realised that this whole trip was an excuse for those two to get together, and that the reason that Derek was keeping her at a distance and avoiding being seen with her in public was that he really didn't want her to come on this trip. And she just kind of collapsed. But not before she gave Derek the biggest slap I've ever seen at a nightclub, and that's saying something. I got her back here in an Uber, and I've been in her bed, comforting her all night. She's all over the place emotionally, and so am I."

She paused, and looked straight at me. "I didn't expect that last bit, Angela. I didn't expect to be such a mess myself today. Anyway, I've left her sleeping, but after breakfast I'll need to get back to her soon and make sure she's okay before we work out what to do next."

She stood up again to put her panties on, and I sprang out of bed, as did Chris. I noticed in passing that his erection had completely disappeared. No need for any assistance from me: we just needed some bad news to kill the vibe.

"Christine, let me know if she needs any kind of medical assistance," said Chris, suddenly all business, "but if not, I'll get dressed myself and see you downstairs at breakfast for strategizing. This is not just their personal disaster: we might need to deal with consequences for the choir. Is it okay if I tell James?" They were sharing a room.

She nodded, and I hurried to the bathroom. Chris was absolutely right. This could affect all of us.

Glossary: improvise– to make up music spontaneously

There was more news to come. As I grabbed some breakfast downstairs and sat down with the others, I had a text message from the competition organizers, asking me to call them urgently. I did so, expecting it to be about the incident at the nightclub, but it wasn't about that at all. They had some media outlets asking them about our nude performance yesterday, and they hadn't been able to contact Derek to discuss it.

"We've drafted a statement and we want to run it past you as a courtesy," said the woman on the call. "It's in German and English, but I'll just give you the English version. It says that your disrobing during the performance was arranged without the knowledge of the organizers and that we do not condone this practice. It is not a traditional part of international choir competitions. Any further comment should be sought from the choir involved."

My heart quailed. We could get some bad publicity for this, particularly if the story about Derek got picked up. But fortunately, my copywriting hindbrain was still switched on, and took over the conversation for me.

"That sounds a bit like you're condemning it, but as you know, it didn't violate the rules. Could you please add something like 'The disrobing was an artistic choice reflecting the lyrical themes of the material presented, in particular the presentation of a cultural folk song calling for greater transparency in public governance?'".

After some back and forth, they agreed to a version of that, and I headed back to the others and explained what was happening. As I did so, Chris got up and started rearranging the tables so that more of us could sit together.

"Breakfast Situation Room," he said, when I looked at him.

"Reporting for duty," said Darlene, moving from a nearby table to join us.

"Darlene, can you be our spokesperson on the symbolism of the stripping we get any direct enquiries?" I asked, and she gave me a thumbs up.

"Well handled, Madame President," said James.

"President?" I said, taken aback.

"Well, we don't have office holders yet, but we do have a Committee, and we can't rely on Derek. And you've been the most effective of all of us. So, Madame President, by acclamation, and to be confirmed once we have a choir constitution and election."

The others gave me a little clap, but I tried to downplay this. "We might not last beyond this week. This choir is the creation of a man who looks like he's disintegrating."

"He will if I have anything to do with it," said a voice behind me. Caroline placed her hand lightly on my shoulder, and sat down between me and Christine, who gave her a little side-hug. Caroline looked tired but composed. She had showered and taken the time to dress well in a dark green day-dress with jade earrings and a matching bead necklace.

"Are you okay? asked Darlene. "Do you need Chris to examine your poor hand? That was quite the slap!" She had evidently been at the club with them.

Caroline gave a grim laugh. "Righteous anger hurts less. I was thinking during the night that this has probably been going on for the last three years, while I was slaving away trying to keep us afloat and he was trying to get his current position. He's been very keen to go to all these choral events, even when he had no budget for travel. I'm so grateful to you guys for being so good to me. I expected you to take his side." She returned Christine's side hug as she said this.

"Honey, he's an amazing conductor, but as a human he's a lummox," said Darlene. "Our support was never in doubt once we knew you existed."

Caroline smiled wanly, and then her expression dropped again.

"I wonder if he was thinking through our future when he chose those pieces," she said. She recited some of the words from Die Nacht.

All the lights of this world,

All flowers, all colours

She extinguishes, and steals the sheaves

From the field.

We were silent, contemplating, before conversation slowly resumed. I noticed Chris quietly taking Caroline aside, obviously checking that she really was okay physically, before letting her rejoin the group with an encouraging touch on the shoulder. He met my eyes and gave me a reassuring nod, and then he leant down and whispered in Christine's ear, getting a nod and a smile back from her. He was a genuinely good guy.

Glossary: escape tone - a musical note that resolves dissonance by moving to a more stable note

We chatted a bit more over breakfast, and then my phone started ringing. The statement from the organizers about our performance had been issued. Some media outlets were starting to call, including from back home. I happily passed them off to Darlene, and delegated James to assist her as needed. He started making tea and coffee for everybody, and Ruby went and raided the pastry stand to bring us back a little platter of Bavarian treats.

It was a busy couple of hours, and then things started to settle down and we dispersed so that the poor hotel staff could have their dining room back. I spent a little time back in our room finalising the arrangements for the awards night and closing ceremony that evening. Another list, but it was short.

I was interrupted by Christine, who had Chris and Caroline in tow. She was looking excited. They were looking bemused.

"Time to take a break, Angela!" she announced, and the triple Cs and I hustled to one of the nearby competition venues, where there were a variety of community multicultural choirs performing. I didn't have a copy of the program with me, but I was happy to sit through a very nice Tongan choir singing gospel music, then the Canadian choir that we had met (I waved to the guy I'd been talking to, and teased him by fiddling with the buttons on my blouse while he tried to sing a French Canadian folk song about windmills with a straight face), followed by another Chinese choir (more songs about nature, but I tried to be tolerant). My attention was starting to wander, but then Christine clutched my hand as the next choir was announced, and the penny dropped. She had dragged us here to hear Mongolian throat singers.

They were fine, they really were. They looked like perfectly nice elderly and middle-aged men, and they sounded amazing, with harmonic vibrations penetrating our bodies. I still have no idea how throat singing works, and I probably never will. But I did notice that Christine had visible goosebumps. I put my arm around her shoulder, and sat in companionship with her and the others while the sound washed over us.

I wonder if I could teach them Firth of Fifth, I thought. Or give Chris some tips? He could probably make me come from the next room if he was throat singing.

We went out to lunch afterwards, and serious conversation resumed.

"I've changed my flights," Christine announced. "I'm sorry to abandon you, Angela, but I'll return home with Caroline tomorrow and help her pack up her life and erase Derek's. I don't think that anybody should do that alone. Chris has kindly agreed to step in and do the tourist stuff with you that we were going to do together. We've arranged all of that while you were doing your admin stuff. I hope that's okay with you, but it's happening anyway."

I digested that for a minute. The tourist stuff was neither here nor there, but yes, obviously it would be nice to spend time with Chris. But I had to question something.

"When you say, 'erase Derek's', you are going to keep things legal, aren't you?"

"Yes," responded Caroline. "But neither am I going to play nicely. I will put on my lawyer bitch face and go to see his head of Department. I will present the facts as I know them, and ask that consideration be given to his behaviour in relation to University standards. I will praise the choir and do my best to ensure that you are not dragged into this, but I don't want him to come back and spin a yarn. We can't pretend that what happens on tour, stays on tour. I've asked Christine to be my witness."

I must have visibly winced. This was brutal. Chris had been quiet up until now, but he looked at me directly and quietly sang a phrase that I now knew as well as my postcode:

".. listening for the new told lies..."

His meaning was clear. We had been singing about letting bright sunlight into dark corners all week. We had taken off our clothes in front of a packed audience and proclaimed our alignment to the message. Hypocrisy was not now an option.

Glossary: atonal music - music that lacks a tonal center or key and does not follow traditional harmonic rules

The Awards Ceremony was quite the event. There were thousands of people packed into a stadium. The organization of it all was very elaborate and well managed. We were allocated seating as a choir, and sat through a host of speeches and performances. Derek wasn't with us, but Christine grabbed my arm and pointed across the stadium. He was over with another group of people, sitting right next to somebody who looked like the blonde that she had described. I couldn't see his face very clearly, but it was him. Awkward, but I suppose he was allowed to be here.

The prizes for our division were finally announced. We didn't win. The first prize went to a choir that I knew were fantastic. We hadn't seen them perform as we'd been offstage at the time, but people had talked about them a lot, even though they hadn't stripped off.

To my astonishment however, we got second place. We screamed and yelled and hugged each other when we were announced. To get a placing like that as a three-month old choir was simply amazing, and we had worked hard for it. It was enough to put us on the map in choral terms, regardless of the turmoil around us.

Christine clutched my hand tightly when Derek went to collect the runner's up trophy on our behalf.

"It's his right to, even though he's a shit," I said.

"I know," she replied through clenched teeth, "but it's fucked."

But then, when the camera zoomed in on him and put his face on the big stadium screen, she burst out laughing. He was smiling as he accepted the award, but across his cheek was a huge red mark in the shape of a handprint, unmistakably a mark of Caroline's righteous wrath. I made sure to get a photo of the scene so that we could innocently share it on social media.

We cheered and giggled for another minute before we had to sit down and pretend to pay attention for the rest of the ceremony. But as we resumed our seats, I heard Pradeep's wondering voice behind me, asking his neighbour a question.

"Why does Derek have that mark on his cheek?"

Read the fucking room, Pradeep.

At least he hadn't skipped out on this event.

Glossary: body percussion- using different parts of the body, such as clapping, snapping, or stomping, to create rhythmic patterns or beats.

We went out partying after the ceremony, but I didn't last too long. I went with the triple Cs back to the hotel around midnight. After some awkward discussion, Chris went to sleep in his own room, and Caroline came into our room to share Christine's bed, avoiding a possible confrontation with Derek who still had his stuff in their room. I fell asleep quickly and awoke early in the morning. Christine and Caroline were both fast asleep, wearing sleepwear and with their arms loosely around each other. Caroline's beautiful face was as relaxed as I had seen it. I wasn't sure what the future might hold for her, but it was clear that she was appreciating Christine's support.

It was too early for breakfast, but I was feeling energized and wanting to burn off some energy. I quietly dressed in active wear and headed outside to the quiet streets for a run through the nearby Englischer Garten, a gorgeous swathe of parkland on the edge of the city. I was wearing my earbuds with my workout music pumping: the same playlist as two nights ago. It was glorious, and so much nicer than the hotel gym. I arrived back at the hotel glowing and pumped up for the day, almost wishing that I'd done a longer run. And of course I was more than a bit aroused by reliving the memories from my night with Chris.

I remembered to be quiet coming back into the room, in case they were still asleep, and slipped inside, closing the door gently behind me. I was flushed and thinking of some special 'me' time in the shower.

They weren't asleep.

They weren't quietly cuddling any more in sleepwear, either. Christine and Caroline were both stark naked, facing each other on the bed with their legs intersecting, one arm each locked around the other's thigh to hold them close, rubbing their groins together. Caroline was facing me, but she had her eyes closed in concentration, and she didn't see me. I couldn't see Christine's face, but she was making a lot of noise.

Scissoring, that was it. I'd heard the term, but I'd never seen it on the rare occasions I'd watched porn. They looked glorious, with Caroline's ebony legs intertwined with Christine's pale limbs, their spectacular breasts heaving on their chests, engorged nipples poking out, bodies shaking as they rhythmically wriggled and pushed. Caroline's black braids were swinging wildly around. Christine had a wild corona of blonde bed hair, shaking from side to side around her as she writhed. I could see the muscles on her back tensing and releasing as they thrust at each other.

It was the first time I'd watched people having sex in front of me, and I was mesmerized. I should have quietly turned around and left them to it, but I just couldn't. It was so magnificent. Their panting and moaning were synchronized perfectly, their high voices blending and merging, creating high harmonics. It was an aural feast: their own version of throat singing.

I'd been soaking in choral things for months and I couldn't help myself. Caroline's a soprano as well, I thought. I guess they're really not all bad after all.

The climax of their duet was a long held note, rich vibrato from two throats in unison, staggered breathing producing a continuous sound that embraced me and swept around the room, before softly dying away. Caroline's face was other-worldly. She opened her eyes and saw me, smiled dreamily for a second, then reacted and moved to cover her breasts.

"Um..." she said.

Christine snapped her head around, saw me standing still with mouth agape, and took the initiative.

"Morning Angela!" she said brightly. "How was your run? Sorry we forgot to put a sock on the door handle."

I shook my head slowly, still finding my words. I wanted to tell them how wonderful they looked, but I couldn't express it yet.

Unfortunately Caroline took my silence for disapproval, and started to visibly shrink into herself.

"I'm so embarrassed," she started to say.

That snapped me out of my trance. I rushed around to her and, heedless of my sweaty workout gear or her nudity, wrapped her in the best hug that I could manage. She seemed startled, but then relaxed and responded, although tentatively.

"No, I'm sorry!" I said. "I shouldn't have been staring. You two just looked so beautiful and sexy together like that, I couldn't take my eyes off you." I took a breath. "And Caroline honey, frankly, you deserve all the fun in the world after the shitty week you've had here. I regret that you only had Christine to work with this morning, but it seemed to come out okay." I gave Christine an evil grin as I said that, and she leaned over to give me a friendly punch on the arm.

"Hands off, Angela. You've already got a stallion to play with. This magnificent mare is mine."

I turned and gave her a hug as well, and then I sat back and looked at Caroline more seriously.

"Caroline, we talked yesterday about supporting you. It would be horrible to judge you on wanting to live a little after being lied to for years by an absent husband. I'd be jealous, except that as Christine so kindly pointed out, I've got a new toy and I'm not sharing him. And I trust her to support you. But the broader group will also be there for you. We're all peace and love in this choir after doing so well this week."

I stopped to take a breath. I could feel more motivational speech coming, but Christine cut me off.

"Right, Angela, that's enough. Now we've got that out of the way, go and have a shower, sweaty girl, while we two talk some more." She blew me a kiss as she shooed me away.

My arousal hadn't gone anywhere. I cheekily stripped right in front of them, and returned Christine's blown kiss before racing into the shower, where my hands went straight between my legs. I brought myself off in record time. I probably made enough noise for them to hear, and Christine gave me a big wink and a pat on my bottom as she came in for her turn while I was drying myself.

"Any other situation and I'd be jumping your bones right now, but I think a bit of monogamy might be in order instead," she whispered in my ear as she squeezed past me. I nodded: she was right. But I couldn't resist a light smack on her beautiful backside as she headed into the cubicle.

When I came out of the bathroom and started looking for some clothes to get dressed, Caroline got the chance to respond to my little speech.

"Angela, I appreciated your homily," she said. "Chrissie and I are going to take it slowly, I promise. I'm a bit wary of rebound relationships, and also I need to work myself out sexually. And I know she's your friend."

"Was that your first time with a woman?" I asked curiously. "I've never had that experience."

"Well, I don't know what Chrissie told you, but we did fool around a little the previous night, but it was kind of messy and awkward and we were holding back. This morning we woke up as you left, and I asked her if we could just go for it as though life was simple," she said with a smile, "and I got lucky. That was the best sex I've had in years."

Glossary: ritenuto: an Italian term instructing performers to hold back, slow down, and potentially sustain notes.

After we had breakfasted, we started to say our goodbyes. Caroline and Christine were heading to the airport, and Chris and I were staying another night in Munich before doing a bit more touring. The rest of the choir were dispersing in various directions. Derek had indeed collected his stuff during the night, and Caroline reported that he had left her a note that was slightly apologetic, but mostly accusatory.

"Apparently, it was all my fault for being boring and working hard to support him," she said grimly. "He'll discover that that's a red rag to a bull, but I'm fine. I'm over it."

We hugged them tightly and sent them on their way. Darlene was also one of the ones leaving for the airport, but she had time to show me some of the media articles that had come out, including a couple from our hometown that were reporting our second placing in the competition. Some of the articles were a bit salacious, but none of them were negative. Derek's name was barely mentioned, and amazingly there were no photos out there yet..

One of the interviews in a longer article really moved me. Darlene had really opened herself up, talking about her scar and birthing experience and then her own choice to strip in public while singing the song, celebrating her survival and that of her son. It was really personal to her, but it added so much more meaning to what we had been doing, and she was clear that other choir members would have different stories.

She had done a great job, completely reframing the initial 'unauthorized' narrative that the organizers had been pushing, and she got a huge extra hug from me, after I wiped my eyes.

Pradeep came past and formally introduced me to his family. I managed to put my irritation with him aside long enough to realize that they were quite lovely. They had missed our performance on Thursday because they were at some children's theme park, which was probably just as well. They were going off to Salzburg for a Sound of Music tour, and then on to Vienna.

"I heard that most of you got naked – is that true?" whispered Pradeep's wife to me, shocked, and had a fit of giggles when I confirmed it. "Perhaps I'll come and join, and he can stay at home with the kids," she said. She was holding a baby, and I suddenly realised why he'd struggled to manage his choir events and always seemed to be two steps behind us. Of course he was trying to do right by his family, but he was over-committed, and her needs came first. I hadn't seen it: I was such a klutz sometimes.

"You know what?" I said. "You look like you need time away from the family. You're really welcome to audition for us, and then we'll see what we can negotiate."

I couldn't help noticing that many of the choir members seemed to be quite touchy-feeling with each other, and I made a mental note to schedule a gossip session with Christine after our return: she was much better at digging up the dirt. By my count, there were at least two new couples (and possibly a throuple) in the choir, which must have been achieved with some creative room reassignments. Clearly we four hadn't been the only ones making body music together.

Chris and I went to the hotel sauna for a while. It was less busy now, and felt weird without Christine, but we had a nice time together. I also noticed a definite shift in attitudes around us, as the others there were clearly perceiving us as a young couple on holiday together. In a sense we were, although the 'couple' status was still coalescing. It didn't feel wrong, though. We had a few days to road-test it further before reality intervened.

In the afternoon, we wandered through the park to the Munich Residence, a palace complex that had been heavily damaged during the war and then substantially rebuilt. We spent the rest of the day touristing, before a romantic dinner together in the city.

It was really nice to just spend time getting to know each other better. Chris was a man who seemed remarkably free of red flags. He was clever, hard-working, considerate and physically attractive. He read books, sang (obviously), picked up nuances of conversation, and spoke about others kindly. I found it hard to understand why he was still single, and I plucked up the courage to ask him about that.

"I might ask the same of you," he replied with a smile. "I've had a couple of relationships that didn't go anywhere because they didn't work physically despite our best intentions."

He hesitated, and I leapt in.

"Because of your size?"

"Kind of, yeah. It's a bit of a mood killer if your partner is in pain, and I guess I wasn't very good at working that through. It's not something that you get taught about, is it? Having a big dick is meant to be like winning the lottery in life, but it's not like that. If word gets around, you end up having sex for the wrong reasons, and then everybody ends up disappointed."

He looked like he didn't want to talk about it any more, but then he seemed to change his mind.

"Angela, sorry, I'm not great at talking about myself. But can I tell you a bit more, and not have it get back to Christine and the others?"

"Of course."

"I actually struggled to come to the sauna that first time, and also to go through with the nude singing thing. I've seen a lot of dicks in my job. I know that I'm unusually large. But I've tried to hide that. I don't like to be stared at. I'm sorry, this probably sounds pathetic. You're a beautiful woman and you have to deal with people staring at you all the time, and you do so well. It's just been a bit of a battle for me this week. But I feel better now having gone through that, and the other night with you was wonderful. Best sex that I've had, with the best person I know.."

I touched his arm, mind whirring. I didn't really know what to say. Inner Chris was turning out to be more complicated than I had thought.

"Germany is a long way to fly to do the body image therapy that we've been avoiding at home," I said eventually with a smile, "but I think we have a lot in common. I don't think that I deal with things that well. And I'm not used to being told that I'm beautiful, but... maybe I can get used to it if it comes from you. And I'm glad you enjoyed the sex. I did too, and I don't want it to be a short-term thing."

He put his arm around me. "I'm glad you took the initiative. And I know there was some pretty heavy matchmaking going on around us."

"You mean Christine?" I asked. "Anybody else?"

"You know how I mentioned that James has a girlfriend?" he said awkwardly.

"Yes..."

"He hasn't as far as I know. He told me to say that to you, because he wanted you and I to get together and he thought you might be too interested in him. And he insisted that we go to the sauna where you could surreptitiously compare us physically. Against my protests. I said that you weren't that shallow, and he agreed but said it still wouldn't hurt to 'deploy every possible weapon at our disposal.'"

"Bloody interfering wingmen," I said in wonder.

He shrugged. "Don't say that we didn't need a push."

Fair call. It seemed that the list that mattered was the ways to get Angela and Chris together list. Although I had noticed that James and Katie had seemed very close as they left the hotel: nobody's motives are completely pure.

We went back to the hotel and fucked all night. No, scratch that. We made love all night. We'd worked out the physical basics the night before, as well as trying out some interesting rhythms. Now we explored. I managed to take a little of him in my mouth and even down into my throat, although I gagged a bit. He memorized my intimate geography. By the end of the night, I was confident that he knew every pleasure point on my C-spot and where my G-spot, A-spot, and non-spot erogenous zones were. I had had fun nibbling behind his ears, down his neck, behind his knees, and I had tickled the soles of his feet to establish what would break him into quivering, wobbly flesh.

"Once we settle on the B, D, E, and F spots, we'll have a full major scale," I said, cuddling him contentedly in bed.

"Play a few at once and we'll have chords," he answered. "Add some accidentals, and we'll have enough variations to last a lifetime."

Accidentals. I resolved to sort out the contraception situation as soon as possible.

On Sunday morning, a week after we'd arrived, we arose, tired and satisfied, and had a final, leisurely breakfast at the hotel before heading off to the train station to start our rearranged itinerary. We both had heavy travel backpacks, but they fitted well and we skipped down the station platform together to our carriage, holding hands.

Coda – Three months later

Glossary: Lieto Fine. Italian for "happy ending"

The rehearsal had been joyful, literally. Our interim conductor, Joy, was full of life. She was a young music lecturer, appointed by the University as a fill-in for the recently departed Derek, and on loan to us for our community choir. She had a school teaching background, and was enjoying working with adults but also bringing in ideas that she had been trying with 10 year-olds. According to her, in our worst moments there wasn't a lot of difference between us and a pack of noisy children, but she smiled when she said that.

Joy had good hair, like Derek. But, instead of a blonde mane, her hair was a swirling, exuberant, rainbow-coloured bird's nest, and it changed from week to week. Joy was a big blazing ball of fun, and we adored her.

She'd mixed us up. Once we knew the songs, we weren't allowed to sing with other people who were singing the same part. We had to blend the individual sounds around us into perfect harmonies. I was loving the chance to sing next to basses, tenors, and yes, even sopranos. Christine, Chris and I often stood together but we tried to change it around to avoid clique behaviour.

According to Joy, we had captivated her with the Beach Boys, seduced her with the Adams, and enveloped her with the Ticheli. That last one was because she had us standing around her in a great circle on the stage, eyes closed and coordinating with her and each other only through hand squeezes and slight changes in the texture of the air as we sang a song about Mother Earth and the pain of war. Earth Song, it was called.

We were nude again, as it happened. Only for that last song, but it was obviously another thing that Joy couldn't do with her school students. She'd told us, shyly, that she couldn't resist the experiment after reading about our adventures abroad, and then to prove her commitment to the cause, had stripped down first, slowly spinning to show off her own generously proportioned body, complete with rainbow-dyed armpit hair and pubes. She'd then invited us to strip if we were willing, and most of the choir had followed suit, including all of our new members.

Pradeep's wife, Saanvi, was one of those. Pradeep was taking the rest of the year off on choir nights to look after the kids, and Saanvi had slotted right in. She looked radiant right now, with her plump brown body, scars and all, and large, engorged breasts. She was still breastfeeding and had slipped out to express a little milk just before she stripped for this song.

Oh, and Joy had warmed us up with an a capella arrangement of AC/DC's "Big Balls". "Little musical or literary merit in this one", she said, "but it might be fun." And it was: I've never laughed so hard during a rehearsal.

I stood up to give the President's announcements. I didn't bother getting dressed yet: the heating was warm enough. There were some titters at this, and I grinned and gave a mock nude curtsey.

"I have some good news," I said. "The University has considered our submission and, taking into account the frank and full conversations following Derek's departure, have agreed to endorse us as a fully affiliated community outreach programme. That means that they will provide us with a conductor on an ongoing basis, a small travel budget for tours, use of their rehearsal spaces, and governance oversight. They will not seek to control us, but merely ask that we work closely with them ahead of any forthcoming nude performances."

I smiled and bowed as they laughed and all burst into applause. "Thank you to James, Christine, and Darlene for their assistance with negotiations. And of course to Caroline, who has taken the role of Choir Lawyer on a pro-bono basis."

"I've also received a letter from the organisers of the next World Choir Championships. They confirm an invitation to perform in the mixed repertoire a capella category but ask that we coordinate with them if we are considering any unclothed performances. They state that they will not forbid it as such, but they mention that the laws in the next host country are rather more restrictive around public nudity."

There were some more chuckles around the room, and also some cheering. I continued.

"I have a letter from the local Council. They are enquiring as to our availability to perform some pieces at a community festival next month, but ask that we carefully consider our proposed attire given the expected presence of families and valued senior citizens and religious groups." I clapped my hand to my mouth in mock outrage, to more laughter.

"Finally, I have a letter from the organizers of something called a National Nude Day festival. They are offering to pay us to attend their festival and give several performances. They would require that we perform nude, and the money is quite good."

I theatrically shrugged my shoulders, and gave my breasts a little jiggle in the process. "It seems that we have something of a reputation. I can't imagine why. However, I did want to mention that the Committee has talked about this, and decided that we actually want to be known more for our excellence in music rather than our nudity. So we might pull back a little unless for specific events, like this festival. I hope that future nude events are okay with everybody. If not..."

I paused. I knew that the old-timers were expecting me to channel Derek, but I'd decided to flip the script.

"If not, you're very welcome to stay, just as long as you show tolerance and respect for other approaches. We aim to be a high quality, but hugely inclusive choir. We'll stay as an auditioned choir, but once you're in, you're in. We'll make decisions democratically. We're committed to listen to each and produce beautiful harmonies. We'll make it work."

I walked back to my place and started getting dressed as the others went to the coffee break, chattering to each other.

Caroline was at rehearsal tonight, standing with Christine. She wasn't confident that her voice was good enough, and we had promised to have an honest conversation about that with Joy. But she was smiling. She'd been living with Christine while her old house was packed up and Derek's stuff was shipped off overseas to his new post near his lover in Germany. He'd taken a pay cut to go there, but at least he had a job, and the University had allowed him to work out a month's notice rather than marching him out the door. It was over-generous in my opinion, but it helped avoid bad blood. Caroline had been fine with that: she would benefit financially if the separation wasn't a complete train wreck.

We didn't expect Derek's new relationship to last. "Once a cheater, always a cheater," was Christine's opinion. But it didn't matter, as long as Caroline was well out of it. As for Christine's future relationship with Caroline, I didn't ask. It wasn't really my business. If they had something to say, I would hear soon enough. But I did know that Christine was smitten, and Caroline looked radiant.

Chris came over and gave me a big hug before planting a kiss on my lips. I was moving into his flash townhouse next week, and I was excited. Next month I was going to take him interstate to meet my parents, and then I would meet his family later on the same trip. And then... we would see. Chris was listening to a lot of classic rock and musical soundtracks ahead of meeting my parents, so he was putting the work in.

We would see. I'd left a note on Chris's fridge. It just had two names on it: Chris and Angela, and a love knot drawn around. In the back of my mind, there might be some work to do sometime soon: booking a celebrant, choosing a reception place, saving for a honeymoon, and perhaps choosing a new house with a proper garden and a music room with a proper piano. And a nursery. But right now, I could take a leaf out of Christine's book, by simply enjoying the ride.

For now, there was no need for any more lists.

Afterword

Thanks for reading! Please read, vote and comment on as many of the Nude Day 2025 contest entries as you can: it's greatly appreciated by authors. Thanks again to Nynah and PennyThompson for their considerable and cheerful assistance: the story and some of the song choices were much improved through their input.

For the sake of accuracy, please note that if the (in)famous nude scene from Hair is performed in a stage production, it is actually part of the song 'Where Do I Go?', which comes at the end of Act One.

Songs in order of first mention

The Flesh Failures / Eyes Look Your Last / Let The Sunshine In, from the musical 'Hair'.

Written by Galt MacDermot (music), James Rado and Gerome Ragni (lyrics) (1968)

Die Nacht (The Night) by Richard Strauss (1885), using a poem by Hermann von Gilm (1864)

Lux Aurumque (Light and Gold) by Eric Whitacre, lyrics attributed to Edward Esch (possibly a pseudonym of Whitacre), translated into Latin by Charles Anthony Silvestri, (2000)

No Man's Land (Green Fields of France), by Eric Bogle (1976)

Northern Lights by Ola Gjeilo (2008)

Gold by Chet Faker (Nicholas Murphy), recorded for Built On Glass (2014)

Firth of Fifth by Genesis (Banks, Collins, Gabriel, Hackett, Rutherford), recorded for Selling England By The Pound (1973)

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? by Paula Cole, recorded for This Fire (1996)

Paranoid Android by Radiohead (Yorke, Greenwood, O'Brien, Greenwood, Selway), recorded for OK Computer (1997)

Money by Roger Waters, recorded by Pink Floyd for Dark Side of The Moon (1973)

Call On Me by Eric Prydz, Steve Winwood & Will Jennings (2004)

Earth Song by Frank Ticheli (2009)

Big Balls by Young, Scott and Young, recorded by AC/DC for Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (1976)

Plus a few other songs with notably swoonable passages were mentioned... feel free to suggest more in the comments!