Godiva of Bourbon Street

1: Bourbon Street's Siren Call

I didn't belong here.

The second we turned onto Bourbon Street, I knew it in the marrow of my bones.

The crowd swallowed us immediately--bodies packed elbow to elbow, heat rising in greasy, boozy waves. The air tasted like fried food and spilled beer and human breath. Neon signs bled down the crumbling brick walls in pinks and greens and molten golds, throwing colors over the swarming street like a drunk god smearing paint with his fingers.

Somewhere above the roar, a brass band wailed a sloppy, jubilant tune. The cracked pavement vibrated under my sneakers.

I pulled my arms in tight across my chest, fingers digging into the thin fabric of my hoodie until the stitches bit into my skin. I wanted to disappear. Sink into the broken sidewalk and vanish like smoke.

Instead, I was tugged along, helpless between my friends' laughter and the crush of strangers pressing in from every side.

I kept my head down. It was safer not to look.

But I looked anyway.

I couldn't not look.

Everywhere around me--skin.

Skin slicked with glitter and sweat, glistening under the endless strobe of neon. Breasts of every shape and size, painted, pierced, swinging free without apology. Round bellies and jutting ribs, thick thighs and bony knees, muscled arms wrapped around strangers' shoulders.

Bodies paraded past in an endless, chaotic, glorious river--young and old, thin and wide, white and black and brown and gold, hair shaved into jagged patterns or flowing wild down naked backs.

A man painted silver from head to toe stumbled sideways, sloshing his drink and bumping into me.

"Whoops! Sorry, darlin'," he slurred, laughing, and before I could even react, he looped a heavy strand of beads around my neck with clumsy affection.

The beads thudded against my chest, shocking in their weight. I clutched at them instinctively, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He winked and was gone, swallowed back into the glittering tide.

My heart tripped over itself. Strangers touching me, noticing me--it should have made me want to bolt.

Instead, a strange, fizzy thrill fizzed up under my skin, impossible to ignore.

I saw thick curls between legs, tangled and proud; smooth, bald pubic mounds gleaming under glitter. Men laughed with erections bobbing unbothered, some small and twitching, some heavy and swaying like flags of surrender.

No one was hiding. No one cared.

The sheer riot of it--the raw, sweating, laughing reality of humanity unhidden--made my heart slam against my ribs.

I twisted the hem of my hoodie tighter, but my fingers were sweaty, slipping. My breath came fast and shallow.

I should have looked away. I should have clamped my eyes shut, shoved through the crowd, found some dark corner where I could pretend I was still the girl I was supposed to be.

Instead, I stared, heat crawling up the back of my neck, a helpless, dizzy pull rooting me to the spot.

Two women waltzed past, naked but for green beads strung across their chests, their hips bumping and hands clasped. One caught my gaze and winked, her smile slow and easy and utterly unashamed.

I whipped my eyes down to the pavement, heart hammering so hard it hurt, twisting my sleeves into knots.

It was so much.

It was too much.

And it was marvelous.

Not a freak show. Not a punchline. Not a sin to be hidden and hushed.

A cathedral of flesh and spirit, a symphony of movement and laughter and nakedness shouting into the night: Look at me. I am here. I am alive. I am not ashamed.

I had spent so long trying to shrink myself, trying to fold small enough to fit inside silence. To be safe. To be invisible.

Here, no one was safe. No one wanted to be.

Here, existence itself was rebellion. Celebration.

The music pounded louder, thick and hot, driving up through my soles, rattling my knees, making my fingers tingle. My body rocked without permission, swaying on the balls of my feet to some reckless rhythm I didn't know I remembered.

I should have been terrified. I was--but not the way I expected. It wasn't just fear anymore. It was something hotter, hungrier, almost electric.

But underneath it--sharp, bright, undeniable--was thrill.

I could feel it pulling at me.

The wild music, the glittering bodies, the pulsing heat--Bourbon Street's Siren Call, singing low and dangerous in my ears, promising if I just let go, if I just gave in, I could be a part of it.

Not watching from the sidelines.

Not hiding in the dark.

Alive.

Free.

The thought struck me so hard I staggered a little, bumping shoulders with a laughing woman painted gold and wearing nothing but beads and a smile.

I mumbled an apology I wasn't sure she heard, dragging my gaze back to the cracked sidewalk, willing my hands to stop shaking.

Out of nowhere, a girl with pink hair and smeared lipstick stumbled past, laughing, and pressed another strand of beads into my hand.

"You're so pretty!" she shouted over the music, beaming as if she truly meant it.

Before I could even stammer a response, she was twirling away, her bare back gleaming under the neon haze.

I stared at the beads tangled in my fingers, my throat thick. Pretty.

No one had ever called me that before--not like that, not like it was obvious.

I twisted the hem of my hoodie until the seams bit into my palms.

It was too much. It was thrilling. It was terrifying.

My heart beat too hard. My mouth was dry. My skin buzzed like it was trying to lift off my bones.

Under the fear, under the noise, something inside me burned.

The tiny ember I had buried so long ago flared to life.

The one that wanted to see.

The one that wanted--secretly, shamefully--to be seen.

It was crazy that I was even here. If you'd asked me a month ago, I would have laughed in your face. Bourbon Street? Mardi Gras? Public nudity? Flashing strangers for beads? Not in a million years.

I was the quiet one. The girl who kept her head down. The girl who disappeared into library corners and romance novels where other people had adventures.

I wasn't brave. I wasn't bold. I wasn't like Jenn and Cassie, dragging me through this wild river of bodies like it was just another Friday night.

When they invited me, I almost said no. I almost locked myself in my room and buried myself in a book and pretended none of this existed.

But late at night, lying awake with the invitation still buzzing in my phone, a different thought took hold.

You could watch.

Just... watch. Hidden in the crowd, anonymous and safe.

I wouldn't do anything. God, no. But to see it, to feel it, to get close enough to taste that wild, reckless freedom secondhand...

The thought made my stomach flip in a way that no date, no tentative brush of fingers in a movie theater, no clumsy first kiss ever had.

I wanted to see.

⸻

"Come on, shy girl!" Jenn hollered, looping an arm around me and yanking me closer. She tossed a handful of beads at a passing float, laughing as a drunken clown hurled a whole rainbow of necklaces back at her.

I stumbled against her, almost tripping, and had to laugh--half because it was funny, half because it was laugh or scream.

Beads rained from balconies above. Women twirled and spun, lifting their shirts, baring their bodies to the roar of approval below.

Camera flashes exploded like fireworks, dazzling and endless.

Jenn elbowed me, grinning. "Hey, look! Free show!"

I followed her pointing finger--and immediately regretted it.

Two women on a wrought-iron balcony, bare-chested and sparkling with glitter, pressed their bodies together, tossing beads and laughing like they ruled the world.

I jerked my gaze away so fast I nearly pulled something, clapping my hand over my mouth to smother the gasp that wanted to escape.

Jenn caught the move and laughed. "You're adorable when you blush," she teased, tossing a strand of purple beads over my head. "Lighten up! It's Mardi Gras!"

I nodded mutely, shoving the beads into my hoodie pocket like stolen treasure.

But my eyes kept flickering back, drawn like a moth to flame.

God, they looked so free.

Not embarrassed. Not humiliated. Not shrinking.

They danced, they laughed--and the world loved them for it.

A knot formed in my throat.

I twisted a lock of hair around my finger until it went numb, bouncing lightly on my toes, desperate to bleed off the electricity under my skin.

Part of me screamed to vanish, to melt into the pavement and vanish. Another part--the part I barely dared to name--ached to stay. To drink it in. To be seen.

Both truths tangled inside me, tight as the beads strung around my neck.

⸻

We drifted with the tide of the crowd, the music and noise rising around us until the world became a single living thing.

I lost track of time. I lost track of myself.

Sweat slicked my skin. Lights blurred. My heart battered my ribs like a caged thing.

I should have been terrified. I was terrified.

But a bigger part--the part I tried so hard to pretend didn't exist--was drunk on it.

This was what it felt like to be alive.

This was what it felt like to matter.

Jenn swung around, laughing, and draped a strand of gold beads over my head like a crown. "Glad you came?" she shouted.

I clutched the beads with shaking fingers, too breathless to speak.

I nodded.

Ahead of me, a man wearing nothing but a red feather boa and a cowboy hat spun in dizzy circles, hooting like a cartoon. His erect cock jiggled with each wild step, sending peals of laughter through the nearby crowd.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, but a choked giggle escaped anyway--loud and ridiculous and real.

For a second, I forgot to be embarrassed. I just laughed, the sound bursting out of me like a secret too big to hold.

And for the first time, I smiled--wide, stupid, unstoppable.

Jenn whooped and spun away, dragging Cassie into the churning crowd.

I stood still, hugging myself tight, feeling the pulse of music and life pounding against my skin.

Maybe I didn't belong here.

Maybe that was exactly why I was here.

Maybe, for once, it was okay to want to be seen.

Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to want more.2: Lost in the Madness

We pushed deeper into the crowd, swallowed by it like minnows caught in a flood.

Jenn's fingers were sweaty but sure, yanking me forward through the heaving, laughing, pulsing mass of bodies. Cassie whooped somewhere ahead, but her voice blurred into the roar of the street, impossible to pin down.

I clung tighter to Jenn's hand, weaving through swaying hips and swinging beads, until my arm felt ready to pull out of its socket.

Then--

A yank at my neck.

A stranger's hand caught the beads dangling over my chest and tugged hard, jolting me sideways.

I cried out, twisting away on reflex--

--and my hand slipped free of Jenn's.

Gone.

"Jenn?" I gasped, spinning around, panic already blooming cold and sharp under my ribs.

Faces. Costumes. Sweat-slicked skin. Neon glare. A hundred bodies between me and anything familiar.

"Jenn!" I shouted again, but the name shredded in the noise.

The crowd surged and twisted, and I was caught helplessly in the pull--

--swept off my feet.

My sneakers barely touched the sticky pavement. I was lifted, carried forward by the unstoppable shove of bodies, packed so tight I could feel every jostling elbow, every humid breath against my skin.

Hands brushed my sides, my back, my waist.

A chest bumped against mine; a hip slammed into my thigh.

Someone's hair whipped across my face.

I hugged myself desperately, nails digging through fabric into skin, heart hammering a brutal rhythm in my ears.

I wasn't moving.

The crowd was moving me.

It felt like drowning--no control, no air, no escape. Just a tide of flesh and heat and noise dragging me wherever it wanted.

I tried to twist, to shove my way to the edge, but I couldn't even lift my arms higher than my chest. The pressure was relentless.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

The beads strangled at my throat, digging in deeper with every shove. My breath came in short, panicked bursts, sticky-sweet and full of beer fumes and sweat.

Someone jostled me hard. I stumbled sideways, bumping into a laughing woman painted head-to-toe in glitter. She steadied me with a quick, warm hand and then vanished before I could even gasp out a thank you.

Everything spun.

The music, the lights, the shouting--too big, too loud, too much.

I twisted frantically, scanning for Jenn, for Cassie, for any familiar face. I saw only strangers: laughing, shouting, flashing bodies that didn't even notice me trapped between them.

"Jenn!" I screamed, but the sound barely carried past the next pounding bass note.

Terror climbed higher, sharp and animal.

And then--

The crowd shifted again, and I staggered into a loose circle.

Not empty. Not safe.

A ring of strangers had formed around me.

Their faces grinned and gleamed in the neon haze, sweaty and flushed and wild-eyed.

I froze.

Sweat slicked my skin, making every accidental touch stick and slide in ways that made me flinch.

Someone's breath hit the back of my neck, hot and sour and far too close.

The beads dug into my collarbone with every jostle, biting down like teeth.

My stomach twisted itself into a hard, sick knot. I tasted bile in the back of my throat.

Heat rolled off the crowd in heavy, humid waves, smothering my lungs until every gasp felt thick and syrupy.

Lights exploded behind my eyelids when I squeezed them shut. When I opened them again, the edges of the world blurred and spun.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged thing.

"Show us your tits!" someone whooped.

"Come on, beautiful!" a man hollered, tossing a tangled string of purple beads toward me.

"Show your tits!"

The chanting pounded against me harder than the music. A wall of sound, not words anymore but pure force, slamming into my chest, vibrating through my bones.

"Show your tits! Show your tits!"

My name didn't matter. My fear didn't matter. I wasn't a girl anymore--I was a drum for them to beat, a fire for them to stoke.

My ears rang. My legs buckled. My heart rattled like a loose marble inside a breaking box.

My skin prickled from head to toe.

They meant me.

Me.

Not someone behind me. Not some daring goddess with glitter on her nipples and gold paint on her thighs.

Me.

⸻

I clutched the hem of my hoodie, twisting it so tight my knuckles turned white.

I couldn't breathe.

The sticky heat closed in, pressing against every inch of my skin. The air reeked of beer and perfume and the raw electric scent of bodies too close for comfort.

Breathless, dizzy, I rocked forward and back on the balls of my feet, helpless, blood roaring in my ears.

They were chanting louder. Throwing beads at my feet, offering up grins and cheers and hands full of cheap plastic treasures.

And for one horrible, breathtaking moment, I didn't know what to do.

Part of me screamed to run, to claw my way free and vanish back into the shadows where I belonged.

But another part--wild, desperate, alive--held me frozen in the spotlight.

Because they weren't mocking me.

They were celebrating me.

Calling me beautiful.

Calling me brave.

Calling me.

⸻

Sweat trickled down the curve of my spine. The beads clacked and scraped against my neck. My chest heaved under the pressure of a hundred invisible hands.

I could feel every breath against my skin, every brush of sticky fingers, every heartbeat pounding not just inside my body but through it.

I was terrified.

But not only terrified.

Somewhere deeper, buried under the fear and the shame, something else cracked open.

Something hotter. Hungrier.

I wasn't invisible here.

I wasn't nothing.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't blending into the background.

I wasn't apologizing for taking up space.

I was seen.

I was wanted.

The thought staggered me.

My hands shook. My lips parted. My body trembled under the weight of it all--terror and hope and something dangerous and new crackling in my veins like electricity.

The chanting blurred into a single pulsing sound, the bass of the music threading through my bones.

I was trapped. Exposed.

I was going to faint. I was going to fall. My knees buckled again and I tasted blood where I bit down on my lip to stay upright.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

The terror was too big, too loud. It pressed against every fragile, breakable part of me--

--and then something inside me simply... gave way.

Like a thread snapping.

The panic ripped open--and underneath it was something wilder. Rawer. Hungrier.

A breathless, reckless, furious kind of joy.

And I had never, ever felt so alive.3: The Flash Heard Round the World

They were still chanting.

Still looking.

Still waiting.

The circle around me heaved and breathed, pulling tighter, bodies jostling closer, faces blurred under the neon wash.

"Flash for us!"

"One second, beautiful!"

"Come on, be brave!"

"Show us your tits!"

The voices hammered at me, louder than the music, louder than the wild pounding of my own heart.

I clutched the hem of my hoodie so tightly that my fingers ached. My arms trembled with effort. My legs shook, not from exhaustion, but from the unbearable, electric pressure building inside me.

I could still run.

I could shove through the wall of heat and sweat and laughter and vanish into the night.

I should.

Every survival instinct screamed it.

But deep in the marrow of my bones, something else -- something reckless and starving -- whispered back:

Maybe just once.

Just for a second.

Just one flash.

The beads around my neck dragged heavily against my chest, sticky with sweat, tangling tighter with every shallow, panicked breath.

The music cracked against the night air. Lights swirled and bled into each other, blinding flashes that made it hard to tell where the street ended and the sky began.

Another girl nearby lifted her shirt and flashed her breasts, laughing wildly as a storm of beads hailed down on her.

The crowd roared their approval--then turned back to me.

Still hungry.

Still chanting.

"Show us your tits! Show us your tits!"

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them open. Sweat slid down my spine.

I twisted a lock of hair around my finger so tightly that my fingertip went numb. My knees bounced slightly, restless, desperate to do something before the pressure inside me ripped me apart.

Now or never.

I didn't think.

I couldn't think.

I moved.

In one panicked, reckless lurch, I yanked up my hoodie.

⸻

The cool night air hit my bare breasts like a slap, shocking, electric.

My nipples hardened instantly, drawn tight by the sudden kiss of cold. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, a prickling shudder that raced from my chest outward, igniting every nerve ending.

For one frozen, burning second--

I stood there, exposed.

Flashes of light exploded in my face--blinding, searing, chaotic.

For a terrible instant, I thought the crowd was silent--

The air pulsed with noise.

The crowd screamed, a sound so loud it punched through my chest and rattled my bones.

The energy slammed into me, a wall of heat and sound and pure, feral joy.

Beads rained down around me, bouncing off my bare skin with stinging little kisses. Some struck my breasts, sharp shocks that made me flinch and laugh all at once.

I yanked my hoodie down with a strangled gasp, the fabric scraping over my too-sensitive skin. My hands were shaking so hard I almost missed the hem. My whole body trembled, caught between terror and giddy, dizzy disbelief.

The cool air still clung to my bare skin in ghostly kisses even after I covered up, a phantom exposure that wouldn't let me forget what I'd just done.

⸻

The world spun.

Flashing lights stung my eyes. The music blurred into a pulsing, underwater roar.

The heat of the crowd pressed against me from every side, thick and smothering, and I felt feverish, my skin burning from the inside out.

My heart battered against my ribs. My breath came in ragged gasps.

I clapped both hands over my mouth to stifle the sound clawing its way up my throat--

--too late.

A laugh burst out of me.

Loud. Wild. Raw. Unstoppable.

It ripped free of my chest like a dam shattering, like a scream twisted into something fierce and exultant.

I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to.

I doubled over slightly, gasping, laughter pouring out of me in jagged, breathless waves as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

I was dizzy. I was trembling. I was alive.

⸻

They weren't laughing at me.

They were cheering.

They were celebrating.

The beads clattered at my feet, pooled around my sneakers like spilled treasure.

Someone tossed a thick strand of gold beads, and it looped perfectly over my head, thunking against my collarbones. I clutched at it blindly, fingers scrabbling at the heavy, slippery plastic.

A man somewhere in the crowd shouted, "You're a legend, baby!" and the cheers redoubled, a fresh surge of wild, affectionate noise.

My face burned, but not with shame.

With something hotter. Brighter.

Pride.

⸻

I hugged myself tightly, beads sliding and tangling over my chest, the weight of them pulling me down into my body, into my skin, into the moment.

The cold kiss of the night air. The sting of beads. The heat of a hundred eyes on me.

It wrapped around me like a second skin--too much and not enough all at once.

And under it all, a pulsing, pounding truth:

I did it.

I flashed.

I survived.

I wasn't invisible. I wasn't silent. I wasn't some shy, shrinking nobody.

For one breathless, reckless, impossible second

I had been glorious.

And for the first time in my life, the world had loved me for it.

⸻

4: Hooked on the High

"More! More! More!"

The chant rose up around me like a living thing, pounding through the air, through the cracked pavement, through the frantic stutter of my heart.

Hands clapped.

Beads rattled.

Bodies jostled closer, vibrating with feverish, laughing energy.

I stood frozen in the center of it all, hugging myself so tightly that the strands of beads cut into my arms.

They weren't moving away.

They weren't getting bored.

They wanted more.

They're not mad. They're not laughing at you.

The thought hit me harder than the chanting.

They love me.

They don't hate me.

They're celebrating me.

My hands slid up to cover my burning face, fingers disappearing into my tangled hair, trying to hide the stupid, giddy smile that kept breaking loose no matter how hard I pressed my palms against my mouth.

Laughter bubbled up in my chest, messy and nervous and breathless. I shook my head at the crowd, half-denial, half-begging for mercy.

They only cheered louder.

"More! More! C'mon, beautiful!"

A string of beads hit my arm, bouncing off and disappearing into the writhing sea of bodies.

Someone whistled. Another tossed a cup of something sticky and bright into the air, raining drops of neon-pink liquid that splattered my sneakers.

I twisted the hem of my hoodie between my sweaty palms, the fabric damp and slippery, refusing to let go.

The music blared overhead -- bass thumping so hard it rattled my teeth, a heartbeat synced to the wild rhythm pulsing through the street.

Every breath dragged sticky, humid air into my lungs, hot and full of sugar and beer and bodies.

I could feel the slip of fabric under my palms.

The weight of the beads sliding over my breasts.

The rough texture of the pavement gritting against the soles of my shoes.

The cold air curling between the gaps in my hoodie, teasing the skin underneath.

⸻

I rocked slightly on the balls of my feet, bouncing, trying to bleed off the energy building too fast inside me.

I should leave.

I should push my way out of the crowd, find Jenn and Cassie, hide in the bathroom of some grimy dive bar until my heart stopped trying to punch its way through my chest.

Good girls don't do this.

Shy girls don't do this.

I don't do this.

But the beads digging into my skin said otherwise.

The lingering sting of camera flashes behind my eyes said otherwise.

The roaring crowd--still chanting, still reaching for me with glittering eyes and outstretched hands--said otherwise.

Maybe just a little more.

My fingers trembled so badly that the hem of my hoodie slipped and twisted under them, clinging damply to my skin.

I peeked out through the curtain of my hair, cheeks flaming, heart hammering so hard that the vibrations from the bass felt like a second heartbeat slamming into my ribs.

The crowd wasn't angry.

The crowd wasn't cruel.

They looked at me like I was a secret they'd been lucky enough to uncover--like I was something bright and new and wild, glittering under the broken streetlights and neon haze.

⸻

"More! More!"

Their chant blurred into the music, into the pounding inside my own head, until it felt like the world itself was chanting, pulling me forward, stripping me down.

I twisted the hem tighter. My hands shook.

I could feel the decision building inside me like a pressure cooker.

One more flash.

One second longer.

Be brave.

The cold kiss of air still haunted my skin, the ghost of exposure, of freedom.

I remembered the way the cheers had roared when I lifted my hoodie.

The way the camera flashes had exploded against my bare skin.

The way the beads had clattered and bounced, showering me like blessings.

And for a single, dangerous heartbeat--

I wanted it.

I wanted the roar.

The rush.

The impossible, incredible, reckless feeling of being seen and not judged.

⸻

I tugged at the hem of my hoodie again, feeling the tremble in my fingers all the way up to my shoulders.

The fabric clung stubbornly, sweaty and tangled with beads, resisting me, as if it could sense my fear.

I hesitated.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

The chanting surged again, louder, drowning out the music, the world narrowing down to the electric heat of the crowd, the bright glitter of beads, the roaring rush of blood in my ears.

My hands slipped under the hem, slick against my sweaty stomach.

I could feel the cool air already licking against the bare skin just above my waistband, teasing, tempting.

Another cheer went up, sensing the shift, the possibility, the trembling indecision radiating off me.

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood.

⸻

Just one more second.

Before I could think--

Before I could lose my nerve--

Before fear could slam the door shut again--

I started to lift.

A fresh roar exploded from the crowd.

But this time, I didn't yank my hoodie up and down like a scared rabbit.

This time, I lifted it slow.

Hesitant. Trembling. But deliberate.

Inch by inch, exposing the soft skin of my stomach, the curve of my ribs, the underswell of my breasts.

Somewhere deep inside me, a little voice -- the one that had spent years whispering hide, disappear, stay small -- screamed in protest. But for the first time, I didn't listen.

The cold air rushed in, kissing my skin, hardening my nipples instantly, drawing a sharp, involuntary gasp from my lips.

The beads slid greedily against my newly bared skin, cold and rough, dragging trails of sensation that made me shiver uncontrollably. The air didn't just kiss--it bit, leaving my whole chest prickling and raw.

Flashbulbs erupted in the night.

The bass shook the ground under my feet.

The glittering strands of beads around my neck slithered and clattered, heavy and alive.

The world tilted, spun--

--and I let it.

I let them see me.

I let them love me.

And for the first time in my life--

I loved it back.5: Bare and Beautiful

The chanting had faded.

The noise still swirled around me -- laughter, shouting, pounding bass -- but inside the loose circle of strangers, it was somehow... quieter.

Waiting.

Watching.

Breathless.

So was I.

I stood in the middle of Bourbon Street, my hands clenched in the hem of my hoodie, the beads sliding and clattering around my neck, my heart hammering so loud it blurred the edges of the world.

The air kissed the bare skin I'd already exposed -- my stomach, my ribs, the underswell of my breasts -- sending little shivers skittering across my overheated skin.

I could stop here.

I could laugh it off, duck into the crowd, find my friends, pretend none of this had ever happened.

It would be safe.

It would be smart.

It would be everything I'd always done.

Hide. Shrink. Disappear.

I bounced on the balls of my feet, the beads slipping and slithering over my skin with every nervous twitch.

I could still feel the ghost of the last time I'd flashed -- the rush of air on my nipples, the heat of the crowd's roar, the explosion of flashes blinding my eyes.

The memory burned against my skin like a brand.

And underneath the fear, underneath the dizzy, stomach-clenching panic--

I wanted more.

⸻

I sucked in a breath so deep it rattled my ribs.

If I'm doing this...

I curled my fingers tighter around the hem of my hoodie, heart screaming against my ribs.

If I'm doing this...

I glanced down at my hands, at the beads wrapped like chains around my neck, at my scuffed sneakers planted firm on the broken pavement.

The crowd shifted and murmured, sensing the moment coiling tight.

I blew out the breath. Shaky. Trembling.

If I'm doing this, I'm doing it all the way.

⸻

Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hoodie up over my head.

The beads clattered and snagged, catching for a heartbeat before sliding free, cold and bright against my flushed skin.

The cool night air swept across my newly bare shoulders, rushing down my arms, feathering over the swell of my breasts through the thin cotton of my bra.

I folded the hoodie carefully -- because if I didn't, if I just dropped it, I might bolt. I needed the ritual. The control. The proof that I chose this.

The ground was rough under my fingertips as I set it down.

⸻

The chanting started again -- softer this time, coaxing.

"More, more, more..."

I reached behind my back with shaking fingers, fumbling for the clasp of my bra.

Sweat slicked my skin. The hooks caught once, twice. My fingers slipped.

The crowd shouted encouragement -- cheers, claps, whistles that twirled up into the night air like bright-colored streamers.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a heartbeat, grounding myself in the grit of the pavement under my sneakers, the music thudding low and primal in my bones.

You can do this. You want this.

The clasp gave way.

The straps slipped from my shoulders.

I peeled the bra down my arms and folded it neatly on top of my hoodie, my hands trembling so badly that the fabric almost slipped free.

⸻

My breasts were bare now.

Fully exposed.

The cool air licked across them, curling under the beads, teasing my hardened nipples with every tiny shift of my body.

Camera flashes popped and flared.

The crowd whooped and cheered, a living, breathing wall of sound wrapping around me like a second skin.

I hugged my arms around my ribs, laughing breathlessly, burying my face in the messy curtain of my hair for a second to gather myself.

I was half-naked on Bourbon Street.

I was half-naked, and they were cheering me.

⸻

The jeans were next.

My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up.

Maybe this is far enough.

Maybe this is too much.

Maybe I'm crazy.

The beads shifted with my movements, slipping between my bare breasts, clacking softly with each ragged breath.

The fabric of my jeans was stiff and rough against my too-sensitive skin as I fumbled with the button.

It popped free with a tiny snap lost in the roar of the crowd.

I dragged the zipper down, the metal teeth rasping.

The waistband loosened.

I hesitated, clinging to the denim like a lifeline.

⸻

Another deep breath.

Another slow exhale.

The crowd's chant shifted into a low, rising roar -- wordless now, pure energy.

They weren't demanding anymore.

They were begging.

Cheering.

Loving.

They're not laughing at me.

They're celebrating me.

⸻

I shoved the jeans down my hips, over my thighs, stepping out of them with clumsy, shaking legs.

The pavement scraped my bare feet as I kicked free of my shoes.

I folded the jeans and set them atop my little pile of clothing like offerings at an altar.

I was down to my panties now -- thin purple cotton, the only barrier between me and the wild night air.

The beads tangled across my bare chest, cold and alive.

The music pounded, the lights blurred and spun.

My body was trembling, my breath coming in wild gasps.

One last step.

One last breath.

My hands froze on the waistband, the terror so big it felt like the world narrowed to the tiny patch of skin I was about to expose.

And pulled them down.

⸻

The night air slid across places that had never known it before--across the small of my back, between my thighs, across every secret place I had always hidden.

I was naked.

Fully, gloriously naked.

Under the neon lights.

Under the wide, hungry, starless sky.

Under the gaze of a hundred strangers.

The beads clattered against my bare skin, slipping and bouncing with every tiny breath.

My heart roared in my ears, louder than the music, louder than the cheers, louder than the bright, shattering flashes exploding around me like fireworks.

I stood there.

Bare.

Shivering.

Smiling.

My face burned. My skin blazed. My soul soared.

I lifted my chin.

I let them see me.

All of me.

And for the first time in my life, I didn't flinch.

I embraced it.

⸻

The crowd went wild.

Whistles.

Cheers.

Shouts of love and wonder and reckless celebration.

Flashes burst like stars.

Beads rained from balconies and arms and hands, bouncing off my bare shoulders, sliding down the curve of my hips.

I knew, deep down, that something had cracked open inside me--and no matter what happened next, I would never be that small, silent girl again.

I laughed -- raw and reckless and free -- the sound swallowed up by the night, by the crowd, by the unstoppable, undeniable joy crashing through me.

I was bare.

I was beautiful.

I was alive.6: Clothes Gone, Freedom Found

The cheers were still crashing around me, loud and chaotic, dizzying as ocean waves.

Camera flashes popped like fireworks against the neon-washed sky.

I was naked.

Naked.

Every inch of me tingling with cool air and heat and sweat and the wild roar of strangers' voices.

Heart hammering, I wrapped my arms around myself, beads rattling between my bare breasts, slipping across my belly, coiling against my hips.

I turned--reaching automatically for the little pile of clothes I had so carefully folded--

And froze.

The sidewalk was empty.

No hoodie.

No jeans.

No bra, no panties.

Gone.

⸻

A flash of blind panic shot through me, white-hot and searing.

I spun in place, bare feet scraping against the rough pavement, my breath slicing in and out of my lungs in sharp, shallow gasps.

I was trapped. Exposed. A hundred strangers' eyes crawling over me, and no shield, no armor, no way out.

Where?

Where were they?

I darted frantic glances over the heads of the surging crowd, searching for the familiar flash of fabric, the safe anchor of denim or cotton.

Nothing.

The beads slithered and bounced against my bare skin with every desperate movement, sticky and slick with sweat, clinging in places that made me burn even hotter.

The ground was rough and broken under my feet, little pebbles pressing into my heels, the grit of the street scraping my toes raw.

The air tasted thick -- beer mist and sugar, cigarette smoke and neon light -- sticking in the back of my throat.

Somewhere nearby, a girl laughed, flinging a cup of something bright and sticky over her head, droplets of it misting my skin in a fine, cold spray.

I gasped, shivering violently -- from the cold, from the shock, from the staggering, impossible realization.

⸻

I'm stuck.

I'm naked and stuck.

My hands fluttered uselessly at my sides, nowhere to hide, nowhere to cover, nowhere to run.

The crowd around me wasn't laughing cruelly.

They weren't mocking.

They were still cheering -- hooting and clapping and shouting words I couldn't even separate anymore, just a wall of noise and light and wild, delighted energy.

They weren't seeing a disaster.

They were seeing me.

Bare and glowing and alive.

And loving it.

⸻

Someone near the front of the circle -- a man with a feathered Mardi Gras mask and flashing bead necklaces stacked up to his chin -- cupped his hands around his mouth and called out:

"Hey gorgeous! What's your name?"

A ripple of laughter and whooping shot through the crowd at the question.

I blinked, frozen for a heartbeat.

Name?

My real name tumbled to the tip of my tongue, a reflex -- but I swallowed it back.

I couldn't give them that.

Not the girl I had been.

I wasn't her anymore.

Not here.

Not now.

A wild, giddy, unstoppable laugh burst free from my lips -- so loud and reckless it startled even me.

I straightened up, still shaking, but different now -- not just from panic, but from something bigger and brighter burning under my skin.

I tossed my hair back with a messy flick of my fingers, letting it fall wild and tangled down my bare back, my body slick with sweat and glitter and neon light.

I planted one bare foot against the cracked pavement, struck a playful, ridiculous little pose, one hip cocked high, chin tilted bold and proud.

The beads slithered across my skin, cold and slick, as I moved, painting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

And I called out, clear and strong, riding the tide of laughter and flashing lights:

"Call me Mistress Godiva!"

⸻

For a split second -- one, terrifying, breathtaking heartbeat -- there was silence.

And then the crowd exploded.

Wild cheering.

Laughing.

Whistles piercing the thick night air.

"Mistress Godiva!" someone chanted, voice hoarse with delight.

"Mistress Godiva! Mistress Godiva!"

It caught like a spark to dry wood --

--more voices joining, clapping, stomping, shouting my new name until it vibrated up through the soles of my bare feet and rattled my bones.

Beads flew at me from all directions -- bouncing off my shoulders, slipping down my arms, clattering over my breasts, tumbling around my ankles.

I spun in place, arms thrown wide, laughing so hard my ribs hurt, my body alive and slick and free.

The rough scrape of the street, the cold slap of beads against sensitive skin, the glittering mist of thrown beer and perfume and neon-touched sweat --

It didn't matter.

None of it mattered.

I was naked.

I was celebrated.

I was alive.

I knew, even then, that this moment would blaze inside me long after the music faded -- a fierce, defiant ember I could carry always.

⸻

The little voice -- the one that had spent years whispering hide, stay small, don't be seen -- was still there.

But it was drowned now.

Swallowed whole by the roar of the night, the wild beating of my heart, the unbelievable, unstoppable joy flooding every inch of my skin.

I twirled once, beads slithering over my body, laughter pouring from my mouth unchecked, the cheers crashing down like a thunderstorm.

"Mistress Godiva!" they chanted.

"Mistress Godiva!"

I threw my arms up higher, head tipped back, letting it all wash over me -- the sound, the lights, the heat, the freedom.

Mistress Godiva.

For tonight, at least--

I belonged to the night.

And the night belonged to me.7: The Walk of Freedom

I don't remember deciding to move.

One second I was laughing, twirling in the storm of cheers and flying beads--

--the next, I was walking.

Striding, barefoot and naked, right down the middle of Bourbon Street like I owned it.

And God help me--

I felt like I did.

⸻

The beads clattered against my chest, sticky and cold and alive, slipping over my breasts, coiling against the curve of my hips.

The air kissed my bare skin everywhere -- across the small of my back, the inside of my thighs, my stomach, my arms -- raising goosebumps and making my nipples bead tight against the cooler night breeze.

Every step scraped rough against the cracked pavement, tiny pebbles digging into the soles of my feet, but I barely noticed.

The music pounded and roared around me, the bass thrumming inside my chest like a second, louder heartbeat.

The crowd parted in front of me like I was some kind of miracle--

--staring, cheering, shouting my name like a chant carried on the night air.

"Mistress Godiva!"

"Mistress Godiva!"

I tossed my head back, letting my hair tumble wild down my back, grinning so wide it hurt.

I was giddy, buzzing, drunk on it--the attention, the love, the heat rolling off every packed body pressed along the street.

⸻

People threw beads toward me like offerings.

I caught a thick, glittering strand out of the air and spun it once around my fingers before slinging it out into the crowd, laughing.

The man who caught it shouted something incoherent but joyful and blew me a kiss.

A woman in a green feathered mask lifted her plastic cup toward me in salute.

Someone else -- a tall guy with neon face paint -- jogged up, holding his phone out, his voice a pleading shout over the music:

"Selfie? Please? You're legendary!"

I laughed, heart pounding in my throat, and struck a goofy pose -- hip cocked, arms thrown wide, grinning like a fool.

He snapped the picture and whooped, fist-pumping the air.

I kept walking, barefoot and bare-assed, and the crowd kept loving me.

Sticky beer mist sprayed through the air as someone popped open a drink nearby, showering my legs in sweet, fizzy coolness.

I shivered but didn't stop.

Didn't hide.

Didn't shrink.

The beads rattled and clinked with every step.

The lights blurred into rivers of pink and gold and green, washing over my flushed skin.

People cheered.

Women and men alike shouted compliments.

Some clapped.

Some just stared, mouths hanging open like they'd spotted some exotic bird let loose into the night.

I was exotic.

I was wild.

I was free.

⸻

A group of girls in matching tank tops screamed when they saw me, jumping up and down.

One ran up, laughing breathlessly, and pressed a cheap tiara into my hand.

"For the Queen of Mardi Gras!" she shouted, giggling as she scampered back to her friends.

I stared at it -- the silly, glittery thing sparkling in the neon lights -- and without thinking, jammed it onto my messy hair.

The crowd roared even louder.

I threw my head back and howled with laughter, hands lifted high like I could catch the stars.

I wasn't hiding anymore.

I wasn't shrinking.

I wasn't pretending.

I was me.

All of me.

Naked and alive and loved.

⸻

Somewhere up ahead, through the swirling lights and jostling bodies, I spotted them--

Jenn and Cassie.

They stood frozen in the middle of the street, mouths open, eyes huge, hands full of beads and plastic cups, staring at me like I'd sprouted wings and flown straight out of my clothes.

I almost doubled over laughing at the sight of them--

--their wide, stunned faces--

--the way Jenn dropped a whole handful of beads and didn't even notice.

I bounced toward them, barely able to walk straight through my own giddy joy, beads clacking wildly with every step.

Cassie recovered first.

She scrambled out of the daze, digging frantically into her purse.

A second later, she yanked out a crumpled hoodie and half-ran toward me, shoving it out like a peace offering.

"Here, here--take it--!" she stammered, cheeks flaming.

I stopped just in front of her, panting with laughter, skin shining with sweat and mist and the pure electricity of the night.

I looked at the jacket.

I looked at her.

I looked at the stunned, cheering crowd still chanting my name like a prayer.

And I grinned -- wide and wicked and gleeful.

I tossed my hair back, planted my bare feet against the rough concrete, beads sliding and bouncing and singing against my body--

And waved the jacket off with a flick of my hand.

"I'm good!" I shouted over the roar, spinning in a full circle just because I could, just because it felt like flying.

The beads slapped and slid against my bare chest as I spun, the cool air racing up my thighs, across the tender skin between my legs, leaving a trail of electric sensation in its wake.

The crowd lost their minds again.

Jenn clapped both hands over her mouth, laughing and crying all at once.

Cassie whooped and pumped her fist into the air.

They weren't laughing at me. They were laughing with me -- cheering for me -- seeing me, all of me, and loving me anyway.

A nearby group picked up the chant again, stomping and clapping:

"Mistress Godiva! Mistress Godiva!"

I tilted my head back and let the wild, hot, glorious noise flood through me.

⸻

The beads clacked and slid over my skin.

The pavement scraped my bare feet.

The cold breeze kissed every inch of me, slipping between my legs, teasing my ribs, brushing across the small of my back.

I was naked.

I was radiant.

I was unstoppable.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew there was no going back -- not to the small, scared girl who had lived half a life in the shadows.

I wasn't a ghost anymore.

I wasn't invisible.

I was burning, shining, alive.8: Crowned in Beads and Light

I was still spinning, still laughing, still flying in the slipstream of cheers, when a pair of strong hands grabbed me by the hips and lifted--

Lifted me clean off the ground.

For a dizzy heartbeat, panic fluttered in my chest -- too high, too naked, too much -- but I shoved it down and laughed anyway.

I squealed, half in shock, half in helpless laughter, beads rattling and slithering across my sweaty skin as the world tilted around me.

A man's voice shouted up, grinning and breathless:

"Hold on, Mistress Godiva!"

Instinct took over.

I grabbed two handfuls of messy hair -- thick and sweaty under my fingers -- clinging for dear life as he hoisted me up onto his shoulders like a goddamn trophy.

⸻

The crowd roared.

The ground fell away, the rough pavement and sticky beer puddles and endless press of bodies dropping into a blur below me.

I teetered, beads slapping against my ribs and hips and thighs as I struggled to balance.

The man's broad hands gripped my calves, steadying me easily.

I wobbled once, laughed wildly, tossed my hair back -- and threw my arms wide open.

⸻

The streetlights exploded overhead, dazzling in my eyes, halos of gold and white and hot pink burning against the dark.

Camera flashes burst like fireworks, freezing me in brilliant staccato bursts.

The music pounded in my bones, so loud and deep it felt like the world itself was dancing with me.

Sticky-sweet air -- sugar and rum and sweat -- wrapped around me in dizzying waves.

The air rushed icy between my thighs, the beads scorched trails across my damp skin, the lights seared my eyes until the whole world burned gold and pink and wild.

My thighs squeezed against the stranger's shoulders, slick with sweat, the muscles in my legs shaking from exhilaration and fear and too much laughter.

Beads tangled and clattered around my neck and arms and torso like a living, glittering web.

Somewhere along the way, someone had draped a second tiara over my head -- crooked, sparkling, ridiculous.

I didn't fix it.

I didn't care.

It wasn't gold. It wasn't jeweled. But this tiara -- crooked, cheap, glittering -- was the first real crown I had ever worn.

I was naked, glowing, dripping with sweat and neon and noise, riding above the crowd like some wild pagan queen.

And it was glorious.

⸻

"Mistress Godiva!" they chanted.

"Mistress Godiva! Mistress Godiva!"

I laughed so hard my ribs ached, the sound bursting out of me in reckless, breathless waves.

The crowd stretched out endlessly around me -- a sea of upturned faces, grinning, shouting, throwing beads into the air like offerings.

A bead necklace hit my bare shoulder and slithered down my chest, catching briefly between my breasts before dropping into my lap.

I tossed it out into the crowd without thinking, laughing like a kid at Christmas.

Someone splashed beer up into the air again; the mist rained down, cool and sticky against my flushed skin.

I shook my head like a wet dog, spraying glitter and sweat and happiness in every direction.

⸻

I couldn't stop smiling.

Couldn't stop laughing.

Couldn't stop shining.

This was mine.

This body, this night, this wild, impossible joy --

--mine.

No shame.

No apologies.

No shrinking.

Just me, naked and alive and crowned in beads and light.

⸻

The man carrying me spun in a lazy, clumsy circle, giving the crowd a full view, and I leaned into it, arms stretched to the sky, head thrown back, mouth open in a triumphant howl of laughter.

My hair streamed down my back, wild and tangled and damp.

My skin gleamed with sweat under the endless explosions of camera flashes.

The tiara wobbled precariously on my head but didn't fall.

Beads rattled and clinked with every slight bounce and sway, sliding over the curves of my body in teasing little kisses.

The music, the chanting, the shouting--it all blended together into one crashing, roaring ocean of noise that filled my ears and lifted me higher.

⸻

I wasn't just part of the night.

I was the night.

Mistress Godiva.

Crowned and sparkling and shameless.

Alive in every nerve and breath and beat of my too-full heart.

⸻

I caught a glimpse of Jenn and Cassie again through the whirling, chaotic blur --

--both of them laughing, crying, dancing, hands cupped around their mouths as they screamed my name with the crowd.

The sight hit me like another bolt of electricity straight through the chest.

They saw me.

Really saw me.

Not the small, quiet girl I'd always been--

--but this girl.

Wild.

Brave.

Magnificent.

And they loved her.

⸻

I lifted my arms higher, palms open to the sky, to the lights, to the roaring crowd, to the endless, glittering flood of life crashing around me.

I let go.

Completely.

No fear.

No walls.

No doubts.

Only the rush of air on my bare skin, the press of a stranger's strong shoulders under my thighs, the sticky-sweet mist swirling around me, the heavy ropes of beads clinging and sliding and singing against my body.

I laughed--

Long and loud and wild--

Laughed until I was breathless, until the sound blended with the music and the shouting and the night itself.

I laughed until it felt like the stars themselves were laughing with me.