Naked for a Cause: The Wilcannia Strip

Part 1 - Wilcania Pub

Part 1: A Simple Mistake

I don't know why we decided to travel so far for a water-skiing trip. We live in Sydney--surrounded by water--yet somehow ended up broke, stranded, and my wife standing completely naked in a country pub in Wilcannia.

It wasn't meant to go like this.

We'd packed everything. The Lewis ski boat was hitched to the back of the Navara, the kids were strapped in, snacks were loaded, sunscreen on standby. We were headed to Lake Menindee to meet up with friends--ten boats, nearly forty people, all told. It was the kind of rare long weekend where everyone was free, and we'd finally managed to wrangle all the kids, work rosters, and last-minute cancellations.

I had a few extra days off, so Tamara and I left early with the kids. A mini road trip--just the four of us, some early sun, and the promise of a cold drink by the lake before the chaos of the full crew arrived.

We stayed overnight in Dubbo, and the next day pushed on toward Wilcannia. The drive was long and flat, red dirt stretching out either side of the road. The sort of remote landscape that makes you feel very far from anywhere.

We were just rolling into town when I noticed the fuel gauge sitting on empty.

"Of course," I muttered as we coasted into the BP on Martin Street.

I started filling the tank. The car took about sixty litres. Then I rolled it forward and began filling the boat. Tamara came out of the servo with snacks--chips, lollies, a couple of sausage rolls in a brown paper bag--and started rifling through the glovebox.

"You got my wallet?" she asked.

"Didn't you use your card?" I replied.

"You've got it. Remember? I gave it to you after dinner last night. I didn't want to take a purse to the pub."

I stopped pumping fuel. That sinking feeling hit us both at the same time.

We tore the car apart--under the seats, in the door pockets, even the ski jackets in the back. Nothing.

Tamara called the Heritage Motor Inn in Dubbo, and to our relief, they had it. A small overnight bag, left under the bathroom vanity, my wallet tucked inside. It was safe. Just not... here.

I explained the situation to the servo owner. He was cool about it. "Happens more than you'd think," he said. Still, he wanted to keep the boat in his storage shed overnight--just as security. Fair enough.

Now we had a new problem: no money, no food, and nowhere to stay.

Tamara called the local hotel. The guy on the phone--David--was surprisingly understanding. She explained we'd pay in full once we retrieved the wallet. He didn't hesitate. "That's fine," he said. "We'll sort it."

It was already late afternoon when we pulled up out the front. Tamara offered to go in while I stayed in the car with the kids. The Queen's Head Hotel looked like something out of another time--tin roof, faded signage, battered screen door swinging in the breeze.

She walked in, shoulders back, dressed in a tight singlet and denim skirt, her usual mix of laid-back and disarmingly put together. She asked the bartender for David.

He appeared immediately.

David was in his mid-fifties, built like an ex-footy player with a few extra years behind the bar. He had long grey hair in uneven plaits, a thick beard, and tattoos running down both forearms. The kind of man who looks like he's lived a lot of lives--and made no apologies for any of them.

"Thank God you're here," he said, locking eyes with Tamara. "I'm David. Let's go."

Before she could say anything, he took her firmly by the arm and led her through a door behind the bar.

Tamara shot me a confused look over her shoulder. I jumped out of the car and followed them down the narrow hallway, past a row of rooms and an old billiards table.

At the end of the corridor, David finally looked back at me.

"You with her?"

"Yeah," I said, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

He turned back to Tamara. "Name?"

"Tamara."

"Real name or stage name?"

That caught her off guard. "Uh... real."

David jotted it down on a yellow notepad. "I'll show you the room shortly, but I need your RSA and a form of ID."

Tamara's eyebrows lifted. "Sorry--my RSA?"

"Responsible Service of Alcohol," he said, as if it were obvious. "You're working tonight, yeah?"

Tamara blinked. "Sorry, working?"

"Yeah, yeah. Waitressing. The usual setup--work the shift, room's free. You're the one the agency sent, right?"

That's when it clicked--for both of us.

David thought Tamara was the waitress he'd booked for the night.

Tamara looked at me, startled but not entirely put off. She had done bar work before, years back when we were younger and renting. She still had her RSA, and more than once had said she missed it. Missed the noise, the energy, the tips.

"I think there's been a mix-up," I said carefully. "We're just the family from the BP. You said we could stay until we got our wallet back."

David blinked. "You're not with the agency?"

"No."

He let out a long breath and rubbed his face. "Well, shit. That's awkward."

Tamara hesitated. "Do you still need the help?"

David looked up. "You serious?"

She shrugged. "If it gets us the room, why not? I haven't worked at a bar in years--but I'm not shy."

He grinned. "You've got no idea how happy I am to hear that. My other girl bailed, and tonight's going to be chaos."

Tamara smiled faintly, but her voice had a nervous edge to it. "What do you want me to wear?"

"Just what you're in is fine," David said, already turning back down the hallway. "You'll be great. You start in an hour."

Part 2 - The Bet

I planned to grab some food once they were settled. David had been generous--he'd said the beers were on the house tonight, which I appreciated. Tamara had gone downstairs earlier to check what Dave wanted her to wear for the bistro shift, but she hadn't come back up yet, so I headed down to the dining area.

She was already hard at it. Tamara was in her element.

Hair tied back, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room and the adrenaline of service, she weaved effortlessly between tables in the front bar, tray in hand, heels clicking on the timber floor. The Sharks vs. Sea Eagles match blared from the mounted TV in the corner, and the pub was packed with high-vis and stubby holders.

Everyone here was backing Manly. It wasn't even a debate--it was Wilcannia, after all, and half the patrons tonight were old-school footy diehards from the central west who'd grown up hating the Sharks.

Everyone but Tamara.

She was proudly, vocally, and unapologetically on Team Cronulla. And she wasn't quiet about it.

Fifteen minutes in, Manly were up 8-0, and one of the tradies near the fireplace--brickhouse build, tattooed neck, probably ex-second rower--gave Tamara a sly grin.

"You wanna swap teams yet?"

Tamara leaned on his table, chin tilted in mock sympathy. "Mate, enjoy the lead while you can. Sharks always leave it late."

Another bloke chimed in. "If Cronulla win, I'll do a nudie run around the bar!"

Roars of laughter. Some clapping.

Tamara raised her eyebrows, playing it cool. "Yeah? You reckon?"

"Deadset," the Manly fan said, puffing up. "They're not coming back."

She just smirked. No counter-wager. Not yet.

By halftime, the Sharks had clawed back--12-8. The pub was getting louder. More beers, more yelling, more edge. Tamara was taunting every Manly table like it was her personal stand-up set.

"Hope you packed your running shoes, sweetheart," she called out to the nudie-run bloke, dodging between tables with empty schooners stacked on her tray. "You might wanna limber up."

Another Manly fan laughed. "If they win, we'll all do it!"

Tamara laughed too. "Alright then! Nudie run for every Manly supporter--heard it here first!"

She was loving it. Owning the room. Owning the moment.

With eight minutes left, Cronulla crossed again. Then again.

20-8.

The bar turned glum. Tamara spun around, triumphant. She tossed her arms out wide like a victorious queen and strutted past the pool table.

"Oooooooh it's getting real quiet in here!" she called. "Where are all the Sea Eagles now, huh?"

No one had an answer. The Sharks were rolling.

And then, with full bravado, she stopped at the original guy's table, leaned over, and shook his hand theatrically.

"I'll tell you what--if Manly win this, I'll do the nudie run myself."

The room roared. Cheers, laughter, whistles.

And right then--as her hand left his--Manly scored.

Converted. 20-14.

The entire pub exploded. Half the room was on its feet. The other half pounding the tables. Tamara's face fell in exaggerated horror.

"Oh, you're kidding me..."

The final five minutes were chaos.

Every tackle, every offload, every stumble drew screams. The front bar was one giant collective exhale and bated breath. Right in the thick of it, the Cadia Valley Mines coach pulled into the parking lot, headlights sweeping across the front windows. Dozens of work boots hit the gravel as thirty-odd men disembarked, filtering toward the bistro.

Dave's big booking had arrived.

At the same time, Bevan and Belinda, Tamara's brother and sister-in-law, pulled up on the far side of the carpark. Bevan clocked the coach, leaned out the window.

"Looks packed."

"Should we wait for Everyone else?" Belinda asked.

"Yeah. Let's just give it a minute."

Back inside, the match hit its final minute. Cronulla kicked off.

Everyone expected a settle set--maybe golden point overtime.

Then--Manly went for the field goal. Nailed it.

21-20. Final whistle.

Stunned silence. Followed by screams. Half the room went off like a bomb. Tamara's mouth hung open. She slowly turned back to the table of Manly fans, eyes wide.

The bloke grinned at her, arms raised. "A deal's a deal."

But Dave appeared at her elbow before she could reply.

"Tamara--I need you in the dining room. That coach that just pulled up? They're here early and hungry."

Everyone in the room knew the score. Knew what she'd promised.

"Tell you what," Dave said, giving her a wink. "You get through dinner service, and then we'll circle back to the bet, yeah?"

Relieved--or at least bought some time--Tamara nodded, grabbed her tray, and disappeared into the throng of arriving miners.

Part 3 - The Proposal

The dining room was chaos.

Tamara had her hair up again, face flushed, trying to juggle drink trays, dodging elbows and shoulder slaps from every direction. Eight tables of eight miners--hungry, rowdy, half-lit--had hit the place like a wave. Dave and his wife were in the kitchen, flat out. You could hear the clatter of plates and fryers from behind the swinging door. The only other people helping were a couple of the local boys--blokes who clearly owed Dave favours and were here pulling beers and bussing tables just to keep the place afloat.

That was the kind of guy Dave was. Say what you will about him--he looked like a biker, talked like a bouncer--but he had time for people, and they paid it back.

It took close to an hour before the tempo calmed. Tamara didn't stop moving the whole time--dropping plates, fetching drinks, fielding banter like a pro every time she passed the kitchen door. The miners were relentless with their chirping.

"You're the nudie run chick, right?"

"I've got twenty bucks that says she's a screamer!"

"Oi, Tam, what time's the main event?"

Most of it was loud, dumb, but not aggressive. She handled it well--smirks, eye-rolls, one-liners. She didn't back down. That alone seemed to earn her respect.

I was parked back in the bar by then, chatting to whoever wasn't watching the TV or telling the story of the game for the tenth time. Every second bloke wanted to talk footy, the other half wanted to talk about Tam.

That's when Dave walked over and introduced me to Wayne.

Wayne was one of the miners--bigger bloke, weathered face, voice like gravel. He shook my hand and said he had a thought.

"I heard about the bet," he said. "The nudie run."

I nodded, not sure where he was going with it.

"I saw this thing once," he said. "Pub in Narrabri. Girl lost a bet, but instead of just doing a streak, they auctioned off her clothes one by one--bra, undies, the whole lot. Raised nearly five grand."

I laughed uneasily. "Sounds like a hell of a fundraiser."

He held up a hand. "Here's the kicker. We got a bloke with us--Josh. His little girl's in Westmead. Five years old. Stage three neuroblastoma. She's been there three months. They're behind on everything--bills, fuel, rent back home. We've been trying to think of something to do."

I looked at him, and the pub seemed to fall away for a moment. All the noise, all the bravado--it felt small.

Wayne shrugged. "You don't owe us anything. But I figured... if your missus was up for it, maybe this nudie run turns into something real."

I told him I'd speak to Tam.

I found her near the kitchen pass, refilling a tray with beers for Table Six. She looked exhausted--but lit up when she saw me. A flicker of real affection in the middle of the madness.

I told her what Wayne had said. Told her about the sick kid. How the whole thing could mean something more.

She didn't say anything at first--just stared at me, processing.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

"I mean... it's a bit mad," she said. "But if it helps someone, and no one's being a creep..."

I shrugged. "They're already being creeps."

She smiled at that.

I asked, "How would you feel, really, if it went that far? Fully nude, in front of everyone?"

She bit her lip, thinking. Then she said something that surprised me.

"It's weird, but... kind of exciting? I mean, where else would this ever happen? It's not like we're ever gonna be here again."

We both laughed.

"I can't believe I'm even considering this," she added. "But if it's safe, and it's for something good..."

I squeezed her hand. "No one would believe us when we get to camp tomorrow."

Tam laughed, her voice low. "No one would believe any of this."

Part 4 - The Reverse Auction

Dave wiped his brow with a dishcloth and slid the final plate across the pass. "Last one," he grunted. Bevan nodded his thanks and set the food down at the table where our crew--Jason, Belinda, Nanette and the rest--were finally tucking in.

Bevan glanced toward the kitchen, taking in the state of Dave and his wife. Exhausted. Absolutely wrecked.

"We'll head into the bar after this," Bevan offered.

Dave wiped his hands and gave a quick warning. "Mate, just a heads-up... there's about to be an auction. Might be a bit of nudity involved, okay?"

That landed like a bomb.

Nanette froze with a fork halfway to her mouth. "Seriously? That's what goes on around here now?"

Jason gave her a look--half apology, half regret. "I didn't know anything about it."

"Yeah, well," she huffed, setting her utensils down. "Seems like you can't go anywhere these days without someone getting naked. I swear, if I see so much as a nipple, we're done."

"It's for charity," Belinda muttered.

"Don't care. That's not what pubs are for. If the boys want to act like schoolboys, they can go watch from the bar. I'm staying right here."

Jason gave Bevan a glance across the room, caught between curiosity and survival instinct. He sat back down.

Back inside the bar, Wayne gave me a firm handshake and a nod of gratitude. "You told her? She's really in?"

"She's in," I said. "She wants to do it."

His eyes softened. "Mate, you have no idea what this means for Josh's family."

I nodded. I did know. And I knew what it meant for us, too--what it meant for Tam to feel seen and wanted and wild for once, but on her terms. Even if it made my stomach twist.

Dave climbed up onto the bar, drink in one hand, mic in the other. He raised it to his lips and the crowd's volume dropped to a buzz.

"Alright, you beautiful bastards, gather in," he shouted. "We've got something very special for you tonight. Before we get carried away, I want to say this is all in support of a damn good cause. You've all heard about Josh and his little girl. Well, we're doing something tonight that's brave, bold, and bloody generous."

He turned and helped Tamara up onto the bar. She stepped up carefully in her heels, face flushed pink but smiling--composed, confident. I felt a quiet thump in my chest.

Dave continued. "This stunning woman has agreed to be part of a reverse strip auction. That's right--reverse. You're not bidding to take clothes off... you're bidding for her to keep 'em on."

The place erupted in laughter and whistles.

"Let's kick it off. Who'll give me a bid to keep Tamara dressed?"

Silence.

A few murmurs. Some shouts. Then I stood up and called, "Fifty bucks!"

The pub exploded.

Chairs scraped. Glasses slammed down. Guys were roaring, cheering, laughing. Tamara caught my eye and shook her head, amused and mortified all at once.

Then more bids started coming.

"Sixty!"

"Eighty-five!"

"A hundred!"

People were pulling out wallets, waving twenties in the air. Some were pooling money at their tables.

Dave held up a hand. "Alright, alright. You lot are dangerously generous. We'll call it there. Reserve met! Money in the hat, let's get this done!"

Everyone clapped and cheered. Bills were tossed into pint glasses and trays. Tamara gave a little bow and hopped off the bar, back to work like nothing had happened.

Ten minutes later, I was back near the bar when Wayne pulled me aside again.

"Mate, that was genius," he said. "The reverse angle? Dave killed it."

"Glad it worked."

He hesitated. "That said... we would've raised double if she'd actually gone through with it."

I looked at him. "Funny thing," I said. "Tamara wanted to do it."

Wayne's eyes narrowed with interest. "You serious?"

"Deadset."

He exhaled, then nodded toward Dave. "Let's run it again. Proper auction this time. Nine o'clock."

I found Tam again, let her know the plan had changed--again. She looked around, saw the bar still packed with the miners, the locals, even a few tradies filtering in from outside. She raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone's okay with it?"

"They will be. It's your call."

She smiled. "Let's make it count."

Dave popped his head into the dining area. "All good--nothing risqué in the main room. Auction's staying in the front bar."

They nodded, relieved. Bevan and Jason led the group to a quieter table out back--a semi-covered beer garden just off to the side, with picnic tables and potted palms. They couldn't see the bar from there, which suited everyone fine. Some of the footy club guys were now helping behind the bar, slinging drinks and collecting glasses like they were born to it.

From inside, we heard Dave's booming voice again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you lucky, thirsty lot--it's on! The real auction is starting now!"

A roar of approval shook the room.

Wayne and I were down toward the front, close to the bar. Tamara was making the rounds with a tray, working the crowd like a pro--flirting, teasing, driving the price higher. She paused at each table, gave them a wink or a line--"How much is that worth to ya, boys?"--before moving on. Everyone was pulling out cash.

Nanette could hear the noise, but not see the show. She rolled her eyes. "Still at it, I see."

Belinda sipped her drink. "We don't have to watch it. But if it raises money for that kid, who cares?"

Nanette said nothing, but didn't leave. The drinks were cold. The food was good. And like it or not, the air had shifted--something big was about to happen.

Two guys climbed up on the bar, one on either end.

The room fell quiet for the first time all night.

It was time.

Part 5 - The Auction Begins

The bar was humming, thick with bodies and half-cut regulars, when Dave's voice thundered over the PA.

"Alright, ladies and gents, the moment you've all been waiting for... we're just waiting on Tamara, and then the auction begins!"

At the back, Reuben leaned over the counter trying to catch the bartender's attention--until that name caught his ear.

"Tamara?" he muttered.

Dean, beside Belinda, cocked his head. "Did he say Tamara?"

Belinda looked up from her glass. "Sure sounded like it."

Jason snorted. "No way. Couldn't be our Tamara."

Bevan raised an eyebrow. "Imagine if it is."

Backstage - Staff Bathroom

Tamara was pacing, stomach twisted in knots.

Morgan gently held her shoulders. "You alright?"

She shook her head. "I feel sick."

"You don't have to go through with it. But you said yes. Everyone's behind you. And this--this is one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments. For a good cause."

She took a breath. Steeled herself. "Okay. Let's do it. But stay close."

They walked into the bar together.

On Stage

Tamara stepped up onto the bar with Dave's help. The pub surged--roars, whistles, the kind of primal electricity you can't fake.

Dave raised his arms. "Alright, settle down! You degenerates are about to witness the bravest woman I know. Tamara has agreed to a strip auction. That means you lot pay to take the clothes off. Every dollar goes to little Connor's cancer treatment. You know what to do!"

At the back, Belinda stiffened. "Tamara?" she repeated.

Bevan leaned in. "No bloody way."

Jason stood on tiptoes. "Can't see a thing."

The Auction Begins

"Let's start with the shoes!" Dave called.

Tamara laughed nervously, tapping the mic. "Yeah, I'm starting with the heels--no way I'm toppling off this bar."

"Fifty bucks to ditch the heels?" Dave shouted.

"Fifty!" Morgan called.

"Sixty!"

"Seventy-five!"

"Sold!" Dave said, grinning. The crowd erupted as Tamara stepped out of her heels, holding Dave for balance.

"Next up--the top!"

"Fifty!"

"Eighty!"

"One hundred!"

"She's nervous, folks," Dave riffed like an old-school cattle auctioneer, "but she's doing this for a bloody good reason. One hundred--do I hear one-fifty?"

"One-fifty!"

"Sold!"

Tamara peeled off her shirt. Cheers shook the walls.

Then came the shorts. Bids flew. Dave spun and teased, narrating like a horse race. The tempo built.

Jason leaned forward. "You reckon Morgan knows?"

"I hope he's involved," Belinda said, eyes wide.

The Bra Reveal

Dave handed Tamara the mic. "How we doing, Tam?"

She swallowed, voice trembling. "This is absolutely terrifying... but also kind of... amazing?"

The bar roared back in approval.

Near the rear tables, Belinda just stared. "Is Morgan really letting her do this?"

Bevan smirked. "Reckon he's more than letting her. He's in the front row."

Jason laughed. "Mate, when we get to camp--nobody's gonna believe this happened."

Dave raised his hands. "Now--who's got money for the bra?!"

The campers jolted into motion, pushing toward the front.

Still grinning in disbelief, Belinda threw her hand up. "Fifty bucks for the bra!"

Tamara's smile froze. Her eyes scanned the room--and then locked on them.

Bevan. Belinda. Jason. The whole damn camping crew.

Her face went white.

Morgan saw it instantly. He followed her gaze--then winced.

Tamara turned away, hands to her face, overwhelmed.

Morgan moved closer, quietly reassuring. Wayne came around too, checking the commotion.

As she bent to whisper to Morgan, her little G-string caught high between her cheeks, giving the crowd a view nobody missed.

Dave, oblivious, kept the show rolling. "Fifty--do I hear sixty?!"

Tamara straightened. Squared her shoulders. Faced the lights.

The fear hadn't vanished--but something else had taken root.

She raised the mic. "Well... I guess the reunion's come early."

Another explosion of cheers--louder this time. Rowdier. Electric.

Dave played it up. "We've had the heels... the top... the shorts... and now--the moment you've all been waiting for--who's got money for the bra?!"

"Two hundred!"

"Three-fifty!"

"Four hundred from the big guy in the flannel!"

Tamara exhaled slowly. Hands reached to her back... unhooked the clasp.

Silence fell like a spotlight.

She held the bra to her chest for a moment--then let it drop.

The place erupted like a grand final whistle. Glasses slammed. Men shouted. Women cheered.

Tamara stood topless. Flushed, but upright. Arms at her sides, chin lifted.

Unapologetic.

Dave held the bra aloft like a trophy. "Sold to the lady in the back for four hundred!"

Jason clutched Bevan's shoulder. "Mate. Wildest bloody trip we've ever done."

Belinda was speechless.

The Final Round

Tamara raised the mic again. "I've come this far... might as well finish it."

Dave lit up. "Final round--what do we have for the G-string?!"

"Five hundred!"

"Seven-fifty!"

"Eight hundred!"

"One thousand!" Morgan's voice again. Firm. Proud.

Tamara locked eyes with him. A private smile in a public arena.

More hands shot up. Smaller bids, rapid-fire--twenties, fifties, coins.

Tamara played it up--egg­ing them on, teasing with gestures and eye contact, a performer in full flight.

Dave milked it. "Sold! Two thousand to the man with the best damn taste in town!"

Tamara waved, grinning. "Make some noise!"

The crowd obliged, deafening.

She turned her back. Breathed deep.

Then calmly--deliberately--hooked her thumbs into the waistband.

Slowly, she slid the panties down over her hips. The G-string clung between her cheeks. She bent slightly, enough to spread and drop it clean.

A pause.

Then she turned.

Nude. Fully. Gloriously.

The pub detonated.

Lights flashed. Beer flew. It felt like a siren had gone off in every Aussie heart at once.

Dave grabbed her hand and lifted it like a champion fighter.

"Ladies and gentlemen--give it up for the Queen of Wilcannia!"

The noise didn't stop for minutes. And Tamara--naked but unashamed--stood in the glow of something fierce and strange.

Morgan couldn't take his eyes off her.

Not out of lust.

Not out of shock.

But pride.

Part 6 - The Nightcap

Belinda giggled wickedly as she tapped out a group message.

"Auction's over. Come back in for a nightcap ????????"

Nanette replied instantly: "On my way!"

Out near the beer garden, Wayne had just finished collecting Tamara's clothes--well, all except the G-string, which had somehow vanished into the mob. He passed the bundle to Morgan with a grin.

"Did a quick whip-around," Wayne said. "Asked the fellas if they'd throw in a few bucks to keep her behind the bar... just as she is."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, amused. "And?"

"They paid. Generously."

Morgan laughed and tucked her clothes under the bar, then made his way back to Tamara.

She blinked at the news. "Wait... they took all of my clothes?"

"Except the heels," Morgan smirked. "I may have... negotiated to keep those on."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was electric.

Morgan gave Dave the heads-up--Tamara was staying on duty, naked. Dave just slapped the counter and laughed. "Bloody legend."

And so, Tamara kept serving. Confident. Naked. Glowing. The pub had thinned slightly, but the energy was still warm, still buzzing. Every time she bent forward to pour a beer or leaned across the counter, the blokes whistled and clapped--but it never turned crude. Somehow, the nudity had passed from shocking to celebratory. Iconic.

She scanned the pub. "Hey... where'd my camping crew go?"

"They're still out the back," said one of the boys. "The lads are serving them."

She froze. "You're joking."

He shook his head. "Saw it with my own eyes."

Tamara paled. "Oh my god. They saw all of me."

"Well... yeah," he said with a shrug. "But it raised over three grand. For Connor. You're a bloody legend."

By now, the pub was winding down. The miners and locals trickled out. The boys who'd helped earlier handed over their aprons with cheeky salutes, giving Tamara the reins for the last stretch.

Meanwhile, Morgan had slipped outside and rejoined the camping group. They were stunned to see him.

"Mate, where the hell'd you go?" Jason asked.

Morgan laughed. "Long story. Lost my wallet. Ran outta fuel. Ended up here."

Belinda narrowed her eyes. "Wait... are you saying you brought us to this pub?"

Morgan shrugged. "Technically... yeah."

Nanette looked around. "Where's Tamara? Is she with the kids?"

Morgan just smiled.

A Few Minutes Later

Tamara, still nude except for the heels, took a deep breath and stepped out the back door of the pub, tray in hand. She spotted them instantly.

Jason's mouth dropped open.

Bevan nearly choked on his beer.

Belinda straight-up screamed.

Nanette blinked once, twice. "Holy sh--Tamara?!"

Tamara smiled, cheeks burning but posture proud. "Drink orders?"

There was a stunned silence. Then the group exploded with laughter, whistles, applause.

"You're seriously naked right now?" Belinda gasped.

"Fully." Tamara poured a beer without flinching. "Auction rules."

Nanette leaned in, eyes wide. "You're just... comfortable like that?"

Tamara grinned. "Let's just say... I've adapted."

A moment passed. Then Nanette, quietly, almost to herself: "God, I wish I had the guts."

Tamara caught it. Held her gaze. "You'd be surprised what you're capable of."

Last Drinks

They laughed, drank, and recounted the madness of the night. Tamara finally poured herself a cider, sat on a stool--still nude--and clinked glasses with them.

Jason shook his head. "You're a bloody icon, Tam."

"Yeah," Bevan said. "Queen of Wilcannia."

Tamara raised her glass. "To Connor. To chaos. And to one hell of a story."

They drank.

Morgan watched her from across the table--nude, fearless, radiant--and couldn't help but smile.

Not because of what she'd done.

But because of who she'd become.

## Part 7 - The Morning After ##

The morning sun was already high as the convoy of campers rolled back into the bush site, tyres crunching over gravel and dust. Birds chirped, tents rustled, and the smell of eucalyptus hung in the air like a clean slate.

But nothing felt normal.

Jason pulled up first, engine ticking as it cooled. Bevan and Belinda followed in their dual cab. Morgan's ute eased in last, with Tamara riding shotgun--wrapped in a towel, hair still damp from a hasty pub sink rinse, her G-string still missing in action.

No one spoke much.

Not yet.

...

Morgan watched her from across the fire--nude, fearless, radiant--and couldn't help but smile.

Not because of what she'd done.

But because of who she'd become.

## Part 8 - Two Months Later ##

It started as a TikTok. Just 20 seconds long. Censored, blurry, and shot from behind.

The caption read:

> "This woman--whose name I never got--raised over $3,000 for my nephew's cancer treatment by stripping on a bar for charity. Thank you, stranger. You're braver than you know."

> #WilcanniaWonder #StrippingForCharity #RealHeroes

The audio was nothing but cheers. You could barely make out the figure on the bar--just enough to tell she was smiling, topless, arms raised as a crowd erupted around her.

By morning, it had 400,000 views.

By the end of the week, it had passed two million.

...

Morgan walked in mid-reaction, saw her face, and quietly reached for her phone.

He watched the video, then turned to her.

"You okay?"

Tamara wiped her eyes. "I think so."

He nodded. "You're a legend now."

"No... I was just a woman at the right place, with not enough clothes and too much heart."