Nothing Left to Hide Pt 2

Megan

Explaining Nude Day to Human Resources had been the easy part.

Megan stood at the entrance to the kitchen staring at me.

I stood in the living room completely naked, holding absolutely nothing, which somehow made the situation worse. At work I'd at least had my phone, my wallet, a desk, paperwork, something to occupy my hands. Here I had nothing except two arms that suddenly seemed six feet long and no idea what a normal naked person was supposed to do with them.

Megan's blue eyes dropped again.

I watched them do it.

Face.

Chest.

Stomach.

Lower.

Then immediately back to my face.

"Blake."

"Yeah."

"Where are your fucking clothes?"

"In my car."

She stared at me.

"Why?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"You're standing naked in our living room."

"I'm aware."

"Your dick is out."

That made me laugh despite myself.

"Yeah. That's generally part of being naked."

"I know how naked works."

"Okay."

"I'm just trying to understand why it's happening in my house."

"Our house."

"Don't get technical with me when I can see your balls."

I lost it.

I couldn't help it. After an entire day of people gasping, staring, laughing, complaining, calling HR and debating corporate policy, something about Megan standing there in athletic shorts and a faded blue T-shirt telling me not to get technical while my balls were out finally broke me.

I laughed.

She tried not to.

Her mouth twitched.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing at you."

"You're definitely laughing at me."

"I'm laughing at the situation."

"You're the situation!"

That made her laugh too.

For maybe five seconds we both stood there laughing like idiots.

Then the laughter died.

And I was still naked.

That was the strange thing I was beginning to learn about nudity. Humor could make you forget about it for a few seconds, but eventually the joke ended and there you were again.

Megan crossed her arms.

"Start talking."

So I did.

I told her about the email.

Her eyebrows rose immediately.

"You thought Nude Day meant actually nude?"

"It said Nude Day."

"Blake."

"That's exactly what HR said."

I told her about the parking lot. Darren. The khakis. The beige shirts. Realizing everybody else had apparently understood something I hadn't.

When I got to the part where Darren told me to go back to the car, she interrupted.

"Wait."

"What?"

"You knew before you walked inside?"

"Technically."

Her mouth fell open.

"Technically?"

"Yes."

"So this wasn't an accident."

"The initial nudity was an accident."

"The initial nudity?"

"After that it became more of a disagreement."

"With who?"

"Eventually Human Resources."

She put both hands over her face.

"Oh my God."

"It gets better."

"I don't think it does."

I told her about walking through the lobby.

The gasps.

The laughing.

The woman who turned around.

The phone call from HR before I'd even reached my desk.

Megan slowly lowered her hands.

"You walked through your entire office like that?"

"Yes."

"Everybody saw you?"

"Pretty much."

She looked down again before apparently realizing she'd done it.

This time she didn't snap her eyes away quite as quickly.

"Everything?"

"Megan."

"What?"

"I'm naked."

"I can see that."

"Then yes. Everything."

Her cheeks were pink.

That interested me.

Not because I thought she was turned on. At least I wasn't assuming that. But Megan wasn't usually easy to embarrass. We'd been roommates long enough that she'd walked through the apartment in tiny shorts and sports bras without thinking twice. I'd seen her stumble into the kitchen half asleep with her blonde hair looking like she'd been electrocuted. She'd seen me sick, drunk, hungover, shirtless, sweaty and once wearing nothing but boxer briefs because I'd spilled an entire bowl of cereal down myself.

This was different.

I continued.

I told her about HR.

When I got to "Show me the rule," she stared at me for several seconds.

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You stood in Human Resources completely naked and asked them to show you a rule saying you had to wear clothes."

"Yes."

"Blake."

"They couldn't."

"That isn't the point!"

"That's what she said."

"Because she's right!"

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe!"

"Then they should write a better policy."

She stared.

I smiled.

She pointed at me.

"That. That right there. That's why you stayed naked."

"What?"

"That stupid look."

"What stupid look?"

"The one you get when you know something is ridiculous but you've decided you're technically right."

"I don't have a look."

"You absolutely have a look."

"I don't."

"You do. I've seen it when you argue with the cable company."

"This is different."

"You turned your dick into a policy argument."

I laughed again.

"That's not exactly what happened."

"That's exactly what happened."

She walked past me toward the refrigerator.

And stopped.

Not because of me.

Because she had to physically pass me.

We had walked past each other in that exact spot probably a thousand times. The space between the kitchen island and the wall wasn't narrow. There was plenty of room.

But now we were both aware of the distance.

Or lack of it.

She hesitated for half a second.

Then walked past.

Her shoulder was maybe eight inches from my chest.

Nothing touched.

Still, I felt my stomach tighten.

Butterflies.

Again.

Megan apparently felt something too, because she reached the refrigerator and opened it with considerably more concentration than retrieving a bottle of water should have required.

She took one out.

Then looked at me over the refrigerator door.

"So you worked all day like this."

"Yep."

"And then drove home like this."

"Yep."

"Why?"

That was harder to answer.

"The work part or the driving part?"

"The driving part."

I leaned against the counter.

Then immediately reconsidered putting my bare ass against a shared kitchen cabinet and stood straight again.

Megan noticed.

"Towel."

"What?"

"If you're going to keep doing this, towel."

I blinked.

"If I'm going to keep doing what?"

"Being naked."

"You're already making rules?"

"If your bare ass is going on furniture that I also use, yes."

"That's fair."

"Thank you."

She took a drink.

"Now answer the question."

I thought about the parking lot. Picking up my underwear. Putting it on. Taking it off. Trying the pants. Sitting on the scorching driver's seat.

"I don't know."

"You drove home naked and you don't know why?"

"I didn't want to put my clothes back on."

Her expression changed.

The humor faded a little.

"You mean because you were making your point?"

"No."

That answer surprised both of us.

I looked down at myself.

"I mean I just didn't want them on."

Megan watched me.

"After being naked all day?"

"Yeah."

"At work."

"Yeah."

"With everybody looking at you."

"At first."

"What do you mean, at first?"

"They stopped."

She frowned.

"Stopped looking?"

"Mostly. That's the weird part. By lunch it was already becoming boring."

"Your coworkers got bored with you being naked?"

"Apparently I'm not as exciting as I'd hoped."

She smiled.

"I could've told you that."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I told her about Melissa forgetting.

The customers.

The older guy asking whether it was a protest.

The air-conditioning.

That got a laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

She looked down at me again.

"Cold?"

"Oh, fuck you."

She started laughing.

"Was it?"

"Yes."

"Like..."

She held her thumb and index finger closer together.

"Megan."

She laughed harder.

"I hate you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm really not."

I pointed toward her.

"Just so we're clear, that's a physiological response."

"So defensive."

"Because men have been unfairly judged by air-conditioning for generations."

She was laughing hard enough now that she had to put the water bottle on the counter.

And for the first time since I'd walked through the door, I stopped feeling like I needed to cover myself.

That was probably the exact moment everything began changing.

Not when I got naked at work.

Not when I argued with HR.

Not even when I drove home.

It was standing in our kitchen while my fully dressed roommate made fun of shrinkage.

The absurdity somehow made it ordinary.

Megan finally caught her breath.

"Okay. I'm serious now."

"Okay."

"Are you putting clothes on?"

I looked toward the hallway.

My bedroom was maybe twenty feet away.

I could.

There was no reason not to.

"No."

Her eyebrows rose.

"No?"

"I don't think so."

"You're just going to stay naked."

"I think so."

"All night?"

I shrugged.

"Maybe."

She studied me.

Then she picked up her water.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"You're an adult."

"That's surprisingly progressive."

"Don't push it."

She pointed toward the living room.

"Towel."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And if my parents come over, I swear to God--"

"I'll put clothes on."

"Immediately."

"Immediately."

"And don't make it weird."

That one caught me.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

"That's a very vague rule."

"Then use your judgment."

"Today probably isn't the best day to rely on that."

She laughed.

"Fair."

⸻

Dinner was where we discovered that "don't make it weird" was easier to say than accomplish.

Megan ordered pizza.

Normally we'd eat in the living room, but the towel rule meant I had to go get one from the bathroom first.

I returned with a bath towel wrapped around my waist.

Megan looked at me.

"Why are you wearing it?"

"You said towel."

"On the furniture."

"Oh."

I took it off.

Her eyes flicked downward.

Again.

This time I caught her.

She caught me catching her.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You looked."

"So?"

"So nothing."

"I've never seen you naked before."

"True."

"I'm allowed to be curious."

That shut me up.

She pointed at the couch.

"Put the towel down."

I spread it over the cushion and sat.

The sensation was strange. My thighs against terrycloth. Air across my chest and stomach. Nothing binding around my waist.

Megan sat at the opposite end wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

The contrast was almost comical.

She handed me a slice.

We ate.

For several minutes, nothing happened.

Television played.

Pizza disappeared.

Megan complained about work.

I told her Darren was never going to let me forget today.

It almost felt normal.

Then Megan shifted.

Her bare leg brushed mine.

Barely.

Just her calf against the outside of my knee.

It lasted less than a second.

My body reacted anyway.

Not instantly.

But enough.

A flutter low in my stomach.

Heat.

Then the unmistakable sensation of blood going somewhere I desperately did not need it going.

I looked at the television.

No.

Absolutely not.

I adjusted how I was sitting.

That made it worse.

Megan looked over.

I knew the exact moment she noticed.

Her sentence stopped.

I closed my eyes.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I really wasn't."

"You were."

"Blake."

"It's nerves."

"I know."

That surprised me enough to look at her.

Her face was red.

Not laughing red.

Flushed.

She tucked one leg underneath herself.

"I mean it," she said. "I know."

I glanced down despite myself.

There was no hiding an erection when you're completely naked.

None.

No waistband to adjust.

No shirt to pull down.

Nothing.

My dick had simply decided to announce that this situation was interesting.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"It's awkward."

"Yeah."

"It's not because I'm sitting here thinking about--"

"I know."

"Megan."

"I know."

She said it more firmly that time.

Then she looked down at herself.

Her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"You're not the only person whose body is being stupid."

I frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You can't say that and then say nothing."

She rolled her eyes.

"It's weird."

"What is?"

"This."

She gestured between us.

"You're naked. I've known you forever. Well, not forever, but long enough that you're just Blake. And now suddenly I'm aware that you're..."

She stopped.

"I'm what?"

"A guy."

I laughed.

"Glad we cleared that up."

"You know what I mean."

I did.

She rubbed her arms.

"I keep getting these little..."

She searched for the word.

"Butterflies."

That word landed differently.

"Really?"

"Don't sound so pleased with yourself."

"I'm not."

"You are a little."

"Maybe a little."

She threw a napkin at me.

I caught it.

"I'm not saying I'm turned on," she said.

"I didn't say you were."

"I'm saying it's..."

She exhaled.

"Stimulating."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That's worse."

"I know."

We both laughed.

She tugged lightly at the front of her shirt.

"And I'm warm, then cold, then warm again, and my skin feels weird, and..."

She stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Megan."

"My nipples are hard, okay?"

I blinked.

She stared at me defiantly.

"Happy?"

My eyes involuntarily dropped toward her shirt.

She immediately pointed at my face.

"Eyes up."

"Sorry."

"You are terrible at this."

"You literally just told me your nipples are hard."

"That wasn't an invitation to inspect them."

"Fair."

"And that's my point. My body is reacting too. It doesn't mean I want anything to happen."

"Exactly."

She looked at my erection.

Then at me.

"So yours doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"No."

"Mine doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"No."

"Great."

"Great."

She picked up another slice of pizza.

"Bodies are stupid."

I laughed.

"Apparently."

And that became our first real rule.

Bodies were allowed to be stupid.

⸻

Saturday morning, I woke up naked.

That wasn't unusual by itself. I'd slept naked before.

What was unusual was walking out of my bedroom without getting dressed.

I stopped at the doorway.

Megan was already in the kitchen.

Blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Blue eyes still sleepy. Gray athletic shorts. White tank top.

She looked at me.

Then down.

Then back up.

"Morning."

"Morning."

That was it.

No gasp.

No laugh.

No "Blake, your dick is out."

Just morning.

I poured coffee.

She watched me for a few seconds.

"You're really doing this."

"Doing what?"

"This."

She gestured at me with her mug.

"Apparently."

"All weekend?"

"I hadn't made a schedule."

She shook her head.

"You're so weird."

"You're getting used to it."

"I'm getting used to you."

There was a distinction there I wouldn't understand until later.

Saturday became an experiment neither of us admitted we were conducting.

I stayed naked.

Megan stayed dressed.

We cleaned the apartment.

Watched television.

Argued over laundry.

She made me put on an apron while frying bacon after I pointed out that hot grease and a naked dick seemed like a combination I'd rather not test.

She laughed for ten straight minutes at the sight of me wearing nothing but an apron.

"You look ridiculous."

"I'm practicing workplace safety."

"Your ass is still out."

"The danger is in front."

"That may be the smartest thing you've said since Nude Day."

By afternoon, she'd stopped looking every time I entered a room.

Not completely.

But mostly.

I noticed something else too.

When she did look, she wasn't always embarrassed anymore.

Sometimes she was simply curious.

She'd look at my chest while I reached for something.

My back when I walked away.

My legs.

Occasionally lower.

And if I caught her, she stopped pretending.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

"That's staring with a college degree."

She smiled.

"Maybe I'm curious."

"About what?"

She shrugged.

"What it's like."

"Being naked?"

"Being that comfortable."

I looked down at myself.

I'd almost forgotten.

That surprised me.

"At first you feel everything."

"Everything?"

"The air. Furniture. Temperature. People looking at you. Your own body moving."

Her eyes dropped briefly.

"Everything moving?"

"Megan."

"I'm asking scientifically."

"Of course."

She laughed.

"Seriously."

"Yes. Everything."

"That has to feel weird."

"It does."

"And then?"

"Then your brain gets tired of caring."

She thought about that.

"What about people looking?"

"Same thing."

"You don't care?"

"I care less."

"What about me looking?"

That question stopped me.

"That's different."

Her expression changed slightly.

"Why?"

Because you're Megan.

I didn't say it.

Instead I shrugged.

"Because I know you."

She nodded.

But I could tell she knew that wasn't the entire answer.

So did I.

⸻

Sunday was easier.

That was almost more unsettling.

I made coffee naked.

Megan walked into the kitchen wearing tiny sleep shorts and a loose shirt.

She bumped my hip while reaching for the sugar.

Neither of us froze.

Neither of us apologized.

My body noticed.

Hers probably did too.

But nothing happened.

Later we sat on the couch, me on my towel, Megan with her legs stretched across the cushions.

At some point her feet ended up in my lap.

She didn't move them.

I didn't ask her to.

We watched almost an entire movie that way.

Halfway through, she looked at me.

"Can I ask you something weird?"

"Given the weekend we're having, that's a dangerous introduction."

"Do you like me looking at you?"

I considered lying.

"Sometimes."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Really?"

"Sometimes it makes me nervous."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

I looked at her.

"Yeah. Sometimes I like it."

She nodded slowly.

"Why?"

"Because you're attractive."

That landed.

Her blue eyes stayed on mine.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"You know you're attractive."

"That's not the same thing."

I looked at her legs stretched across me.

Her thighs were thick and soft beneath the shorts, fuller toward her hips. Megan had always complained about them. She'd call them fat when they weren't. They were simply substantial, soft, unmistakably feminine.

"Yes."

She swallowed.

"What?"

"Yes, I think you're attractive."

Her cheeks turned pink.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"That's all."

"That was a lot of buildup for 'okay.'"

She smiled.

"I didn't know what you'd say."

"You've lived with me how long?"

"That's why."

I understood.

Roommates were safe partly because certain questions never got asked.

We had just asked one.

She shifted her feet in my lap.

"What do you like?"

"That's a trap."

"It's not."

"It absolutely is."

She laughed.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Blake."

I looked at her.

"Your eyes."

"Safe answer."

"Your hair."

"Also safe."

"Your legs."

That surprised her.

"My legs?"

"Yeah."

"I hate my thighs."

"I know."

"They're huge."

"They're not huge."

She looked down at them.

"They're thick."

"Yes."

"That's a polite word."

"It's an accurate word."

I squeezed her ankle lightly.

"They look good."

She was quiet.

Then:

"My stomach?"

I smiled.

"What about it?"

"It's not flat."

"No."

Her eyes narrowed.

"That was fast."

"You asked."

"You're supposed to say it is."

"But it isn't."

"Asshole."

"It's a little tummy."

She covered her stomach with both hands.

"Stop."

"You asked!"

"I changed my mind."

I laughed.

Then softened.

"Megan."

"What?"

"I like it."

She looked at me.

"Really?"

"Really."

Something shifted in her face.

Small.

But real.

She took her hands away from her stomach.

Later that evening she asked another question.

"Do you think I could do it?"

"Do what?"

She looked at me like I was an idiot.

"This."

"Be naked?"

"Yeah."

"Obviously."

"No. I mean..."

She tucked blonde hair behind her ear.

"Be comfortable."

I thought about Friday morning.

My underwear halfway up my legs.

My pants.

Taking everything back off.

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

"I'm serious. I didn't know I could."

She looked down at herself.

"I don't think I could walk into work."

"Don't."

She laughed.

"I'm not going to."

"Good."

"But here?"

I didn't answer immediately.

"Megan, you don't have to do anything because I am."

"I know."

"And don't do it because you think I want you to."

She looked at me.

"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Want me to."

There it was.

My stomach fluttered.

I could have lied.

"Yes."

She inhaled slowly.

"Okay."

"But that's not the same as asking you to."

"I know."

She stood.

For one insane second, I thought she was going to take her clothes off right there.

She didn't.

She stretched.

Her shirt lifted just enough to expose the bottom of her soft stomach.

Then dropped again.

"I'm going to bed."

"Okay."

She took two steps.

Stopped.

Looked back at me.

"Goodnight, naked boy."

"Goodnight, clothed girl."

She smiled.

Then disappeared down the hallway.

⸻

Monday morning she was dressed.

I don't know why that disappointed me.

It shouldn't have.

She was wearing jeans and a dark green shirt, blonde hair down around her shoulders.

I was naked.

She walked into the kitchen and stopped.

"You're going to work."

"Eventually."

"You're not..."

She pointed at me.

"What?"

"Doing this again."

"I don't know."

"Blake."

I smiled.

She knew immediately.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're thinking about it."

"Maybe."

"Friday was an accident."

"Friday morning was an accident."

"That distinction worries me."

I laughed.

Eventually I dressed.

Megan watched the entire process with an expression of exaggerated relief.

Underwear.

Pants.

Shirt.

Socks.

Shoes.

"There," she said. "Look at you. A functioning member of society."

"I feel overdressed."

"You're wearing jeans."

"Exactly."

She shook her head.

As I reached the door, she called after me.

"Blake?"

I turned.

"Yeah?"

"Wear your clothes at work."

I smiled.

"Have a good day, Megan."

"That wasn't an answer!"

I closed the door.

I made it all the way to the parking lot.

Then I sat in my car.

Looked at the building.

Looked at my clothes.

And smiled.

⸻

When I got home Monday evening, I was dressed.

That fact seemed important.

The apartment was quiet when I opened the door.

"Megan?"

No answer.

I put my keys on the table.

Something smelled good.

Garlic.

Maybe onions.

I walked toward the kitchen.

"Megan?"

"In here."

I rounded the corner.

Then stopped.

For the first time since Friday morning, I understood exactly what everybody at work had experienced when I walked through that glass door.

Megan was naked.

Completely.

Not halfway.

Not underwear.

Not a towel strategically wrapped around her.

Naked.

My brain tried to process all of her at once and failed.

Her blonde hair was down, falling over her shoulders in soft, slightly messy waves. Without clothes competing for attention, her blue eyes looked almost startling against her fair skin.

Then my eyes moved lower.

Her tits were fuller than I'd imagined from seeing her dressed, soft and natural rather than perfectly round, settling with their own weight. At their centers were enormous pink areolas, much larger than I'd expected, with stout nipples standing prominently from them.

She saw exactly where I was looking.

And didn't cover herself.

My eyes continued despite every civilized part of my brain telling me to stop.

Her stomach wasn't flat.

She'd been right about that.

There was a small, soft curve to it, especially below her belly button, the kind of natural tummy she'd spent years criticizing and I'd spent years barely noticing beneath shirts.

Naked, it didn't look like a flaw.

It looked like Megan.

Her hips widened softly beneath it.

Then those thighs.

Thick.

Milky pale.

Full high beneath her hips before narrowing toward her knees.

The thighs she'd called huge yesterday.

They weren't.

They were soft and substantial and beautiful.

And between them was something else I hadn't expected.

Hair.

A lot of it.

A full natural blonde bush, slightly darker than the hair on her head but unmistakably light, covering her pussy instead of the shaved look I'd unconsciously expected.

That was where I finally realized I'd been staring.

I forced my eyes back to hers.

Megan's face was bright red.

Her chest rose with a slow breath.

She was nervous.

Really nervous.

But she still didn't cover herself.

Neither of us spoke.

My stomach dropped.

Then fluttered.

Then did something entirely different.

And, because apparently my body had learned absolutely nothing over the previous three days, I felt the first unmistakable twitch inside my jeans.

Megan's eyes dropped.

Straight to it.

Then returned to my face.

Her lips twitched.

"Don't."

I hadn't said anything.

"I didn't."

"You were going to."

"I really wasn't."

She took another breath.

Her nipples were already stout, but as the cooler air moved through the kitchen I watched them tighten further.

Megan glanced down at herself.

Then back at me.

"Bodies are stupid."

That broke me.

I laughed.

She laughed too, nervous and breathless, one hand briefly covering her mouth but nothing else.

I looked at her again.

This time more slowly.

Not because I was trying to be polite.

Because I was beginning to understand what she'd done.

Friday night, she'd been shocked by me.

Saturday, curious.

Sunday, she'd started asking questions.

And sometime between my leaving for work that morning and coming home, Megan had made a decision of her own.

She wasn't naked because I'd misunderstood an email.

She wasn't naked because of an argument with HR.

She wasn't proving a point.

She had chosen this.

I swallowed.

"Megan..."

She held my eyes.

"Yeah."

"You're naked."

A smile slowly spread across her face.

"Very observant, Blake."

"I just..."

I looked at her again.

She laughed softly.

"Go ahead."

"What?"

"Look."

That shut me up.

Her cheeks grew even redder.

"I'm serious. You've been standing naked in front of me for three days. I know you're curious."

"Megan..."

"So am I."

The kitchen suddenly felt much smaller.

I was fully dressed.

She was completely naked.

And somehow that felt considerably more intimate than when our positions had been reversed.

She folded her arms for half a second, then caught herself and deliberately lowered them again.

"No hiding," she said quietly.

I looked into her blue eyes.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"I'm sure."

Then she smiled.

"Besides, I wanted to see if you were right."

"About what?"

Megan took one small step toward me.

"Whether your brain really does eventually get tired of caring."

Mine, at that particular moment, was nowhere close.