“That’s it. You lost the bet!” Jessie declared. “Now you owe us a dare.”
It was true. We sat in the campus tavern as the game ended. My beloved Chicago Bears had been defeated 27-24 by those rascally Detroit Lions. Most fans in the bar were as unhappy as I was, though they hadn’t made such a stupid wager.
“Don’t forget, you were warned,” Billie Hammer said, pointing at me with her smirking grin. The long-haired blonde had more to drink that I did.
Yes, I had been warned. Midvale Valley College was infamous for nude dares, and after escaping danger during my freshman year, I had finally fallen prey to its nefarious traditions in the fall of my sophomore semester.
“Okay, what do I need to do?” I asked.
“We’ll let you know when and where,” Jessie answered as they got up to leave. “It’s going to be a good one.” She was shorter and thicker than Jessie, with close-cropped black hair. A bit smarter, too.
Of course I didn’t like the sound of that, but what could I do? The sorority sisters were infamous for their dares. But welching on a bet simply wasn’t an option. It would not only reflect badly on me, but on my friends, and on my dorm. Even faculty and administrators at Midvale took the commitments seriously, seeing them as a test of character. My father always said the measure of a person is how they keep their word.
My name is Nicky Conran, nineteen years old at the time, 5’5, 125 pounds, and a good soccer player, though not varsity. I majored in mediaeval literature, participated in workshops, and liked to read romance novels. My flowing golden-brown hair and dark green eyes got me dates when I needed them, and there was one cute guy, Andy Carter, who I had my eye on.
Being a somewhat elite college, except for those of us who worked for a living, Midvale could be a community of its own, with well-organized social clubs and parties. I lived in Blue Dorm, four stories high with a hundred and fifty students. Jessie and Billie lived at the Victorian-era Delta sorority house, three stories high, with much bigger rooms and only fifty students. They threw money around like it was Halloween candy. I had suggested betting $20 on the football game. They wanted to bet clothing.
“Tough luck,” my friend Tom said, taking a seat next to me at the bar, a lanky dormmate wisely seeking a business degree. “What do you have to do?”
“They won’t say,” I replied. “How do these bets usually play out?”
“Streaking is common,” he recalled. “Running through the quad at lunch time. Or the mall. Posing nude for an art class. Being naked all day in the library. I heard they once ordered a freshman to strip at the Red Horse Tavern and stole her clothes.”
“The Red Horse Tavern is downtown. Two miles away,” I mentioned.
“And no one would give the poor kid anything to wear. She had a long walk home while cars followed her honking their horns,” Tom confirmed.
“That doesn’t sound like fun,” I lamented, finishing my beer. Which the campus had a special license to serve.
“Blue Dorm will back you up as best we can, but the rules are the rules,” Tom lectured. “The whole school will be hearing about this one.”
“Internet photos?” I feared.
“It’s possible, but usually not widespread,” he guessed. “If the Deltas get out of hand, the other sororities will retaliate. They lose bets, too. But you should expect something.”
I sighed, knowing I’d gotten myself into a fix. I would need to rough it out.
A week later, Jessie gave me a friendly call. They still hadn’t decided on the dare, she claimed, but suggested we talk about it at Cheryl Glastner’s birthday party on Saturday. Cheryl was a senior, not just beautiful, but quite wealthy, having a huge three-bedroom house just off campus. With a cavernous living room, brick patio, swimming pool, and chef’s kitchen, it was the go-to place for parties. I knew Cheryl from my mediaeval literature class, sharing a study group. She spoke French, I spoke Latin. My one true love Andy was also in the class, though I rarely had the nerve to speak to him.
I walked over from the dorms with Jessie and Billie, curious about their plans. It was a two-mile stroll on a pleasant fall evening, clear with a nearly full moon. They were smiling yet silent. We arrived about half past 8 o’clock, finding thirty guests attired nicely for the occasion. I wore my best yellow party dress, a loose knit sweater, and red tennis shoes. Cheryl had a lovely white dress for her 23rd birthday with black high heel shoes and a pearl necklace. Andy was there in a blue suit and striped tie. His old high school friend Mindy Parker arrived in a chocolate-brown Prada minidress. Mindy’s tall and lean boyfriend, Chuck the basketball player, looked dapper in a dark purple jacket and red tie. I knew all of them from various classes.
Entering the living room, we found a long table with snacks and a punchbowl, a foosball table where the dining table had been, and an open bar on the back patio. An elderly caterer was working on the birthday cake in the kitchen, his gray hair under a chef’s hat. The cake looked freshly baked.
“Quite the spread,” Billie said, heading for the punchbowl. Jessie went out the sliding glass doors for a beer. I wandered toward Andy and Mindy. Andy and I shared a writing lab. I knew Mindy from an art class the previous semester. A talented sketch artist. I had declined to pose nude for her, though I almost did. I’d seen Chuck at sports events on several occasions. A decent athlete but no superstar. But then, I wasn’t, either. We’d had lunch at the cafeteria a few times.
“Doing okay on the Chaucer project?” I asked just to make conversation.
“Fair enough, I suppose,” Andy replied. “The verse can be tricky.”
“At least it’s English,” I responded. “Mediaeval French can be harder.”
“Cheryl is helping me with the romance languages. I hear you know Latin?” he said.
“I was raised Catholic. All the kids in my family learned Latin,” I explained. “If you ever need help, I’m always around.”
“Thank you, that’s very generous,” he answered with a handsome smile.
This was going well. At least with Andy. Mindy looked a little jealous. Chuck seemed to have no idea what we were talking about.
By 9 o’clock, the crowd had grown to forty. Jessie went to the center of the room, raising her hands for attention.
“Everybody! Everybody! Listen,” she summoned. “We must thank Cheryl for inviting us here tonight to this wonderful party. The food is good, the drinks are better. And with her permission, we have a special treat for you. Nicky, come here.”
I got up from the couch where I’d been talking to Andy, stopping in the middle of the living room. Jessie and Billie had uncomfortable smiles.
“As many have heard, our good friend from Blue Dorm bet on the Bears last weekend, and she lost,” Jessie announced. “Billie and I are now cashing in on our dare. Nicky, to pay up on your bet, you need to strip. Right here, right now.”
“What?” I stuttered, looking around in shock.
“You heard me,” Jessie insisted. “Strip naked. Now. You won’t be wearing any clothes for the rest of this party.”
I could hardly believe it. Embarrassed stares from the crowd soon turned to nervous giggling. I was a deer caught in the headlights, knowing I needed to comply and wishing to hell that I didn’t. I looked at Jessie again, hoping it was a joke. It wasn’t. Billie produced a canvas bag with a zipper on it.
“Put your clothes in here,” Billie instructed. “You won’t get them back until the party is over.”
There was a round of amused laughter. With terrific reluctance, I took off my shoes, dropping them in the sack. Then my sweater, folding it neatly. I kept looking around, wishing someone would stop me. Maybe Cheryl, as it was her house. She smiled, waiting like the others. And the crowd grew, more coming in from the patio to see what the excitement was. I sensed no help coming my way. I unbuttoned my dress and let it drop to the floor, folding that, too. Even my purse, keys, and phone were in the bag. I slowly unclasped my bra, keeping one hand up to cover my perky 38B breasts. I was able to keep my nipples hidden, mostly, but my boobs were out there for the audience to see. Thankfully, my long hair provided a bit of protection. Only my panties remained as I stood there nearly nude in front of everyone. I’d never felt so humiliated.
“Isn’t this enough?” I quietly pleaded, a thumb in my waistband.
“Everything. Totally buck-naked,” Jessie demanded.
The panties slid down as I hunched over, disappearing into the bag. I was quick to use my other hand to cover my golden-brown bush. Thankfully, I’d not shaved in a while, so it was fuller than usual, providing a little secrecy. Billie zipped the bag closed.
“Delta House! Delta House! Delta House!” Jessie and Billie shouted in victory. I huddled in the middle of the living room, both hands hiding my front in a classic ENF pose, but nothing covering my butt. The partygoers surrounded me, commenting, a few poking at me. I wanted to slap the teasing fingers away but couldn’t while still shielding my modesty.
“Enough of that,” Cheryl said, putting a stop to them. “No touching without her permission.”
“No touching, but you’re free to take photos!” Jessie declared, pulling out her phone. There were clicks and flashes everywhere. Fuck, I thought. How did this happen? Could it get any worse? And then it did.
“You are so … shapely,” Mindy admired with a smirk, her camera staying busy. “The girls at my sorority are going to love this. And the fraternity guys, too. Maybe I’ll get to sketch you after all.”
“Glad it’s not me,” Chuck said, holding her purse so she could get better shots.
“Is there a Latin term for this?” Andy asked with the biggest grin I’d ever seen, his eyes eagerly running up and down my entire body, now flushing red. He was tall, with broad shoulders, big blue eyes, and a square jaw. I had fantasized about him seeing me naked, but not like this.
“Ego sum futuo stultus,” I responded.
“Which means?” Chuck inquired.
“I am a fucking idiot,” I answered. They laughed.
For the next hour, I staggered around the house trying not to be a spoilsport. Always protecting my modesty as best I could, for there was no rule against it. I’d stand next to a table. On the patio, I’d linger behind a fern. Occasional rude remarks were made, but encouraging words, too. Not everyone was mean. I declined to take my turn at the foosball table, for it involved using both hands on the rods. There was plenty of attention at first, and then as the novelty wore off, people found better things to do.
Being in front of Andy was the hardest, and he wasn’t shy about ogling me. Especially my slim waist, long legs, and bare butt. I kept my hands clutched before me, desperately trying not to show him everything. Cheryl asked me to help in the kitchen, perhaps to give me a break from the mob.
Mr. Rogers, the 60-year-old caterer, kept his composure. With Midvale Valley College’s reputation for nude dares, he couldn’t have been too shocked.
“Looks like you drew the short straw tonight,” he suggested, finishing the icing on the cake.
“I can place the candles,” I offered, not bothering to cover up around him. Though I kept a close eye on the door.
“Thank you. Is there any way I can help?” he said.
“No. I got myself into this making a stupid bet.”
“If it helps, you look really good,” Mr. Rogers complimented. “If I was 40 years younger and not married, I’d be hitting on you.”
I had to laugh at that. At least the evening had a bright spot.
After singing happy birthday to Cheryl and watching the candles blown out, a few of the guests headed home. I hoped the night was finally coming to a close so I could get my clothes back. And my phone. I’d heard it ring several times while trapped in the canvas bag. Jessie had other ideas.
“Everybody, Nicky has done a good job of hiding her bits tonight,” Jessie said, once again gathering attention. Twenty-five guests remained. “We need to give her credit for that. But we deserve more. Don’t we? Don’t we deserve more?”
“Yes! More!” several shouted.
“What more?” I asked, pushed into the middle of the room.
“We deserve a full-frontal view,” Jessie explained. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“No, I’m not doing that,” I protested.
“Full frontal!” Jessie proclaimed.
“Full frontal!” Billie joined in.
“Full frontal! Full frontal!” the excited crowd chanted.
“Let’s see your tits!” a fraternity guy demanded.
“And that bush,” another urged.
They’d already gotten glimpses of me all night. Did it really matter? Admittedly, my nerves were getting raw from all the teasing, which many had noticed. I sighed. If it would get this over with, a quick flash would be worth it.
“Okay,” I agreed. “On one condition. No photos.”
“We want photos,” a jerk said from the back of the room.
“No,” I answered. “That’s not negotiable.”
There was murmuring, but eventually the mob quieted down and reluctantly acquiesced. I made sure everyone promised with Cheryl acting as my guarantor. Then I stood next to the fireplace. They all waited. Expectant. Of course, I reconsidered many times, having protected myself all night as best I could, but it would only be for a few seconds. I spread my arms, revealing my nicely rounded body and flat tummy. My tits bounced out, not huge but plenty to admire. My womanhood came into view, my slender legs quivering from the humiliation. The audience leaned forward, filled with condescending grins.
There was a camera click. Mindy had her phone at waist level, having just taken a picture. Several gasped, and then snickered as I covered up again. Andy shook his head in disapproval but Mindy just chuckled.
“This is so great. Everyone on campus is going to love it,” Mindy gushed. “I should put this on a t-shirt.”
Cheryl went to speak with her but Mindy was adamant about keeping the photo.
As if reading my thoughts, I noticed Mr. Rogers bringing out a pitcher of fruit punch. I took it from his hands, walked up to Mindy as she looked at her phone, and poured it over her head, the deep red liquid soaking her hair, shoulders, and Prada dress. Even her shoes. Mindy screamed.
As partygoers retreated from the splashing, I raced into the kitchen, found the cooking supplies, and quickly reemerged.
“I’m sorry, Mindy. Please, let me help you dry off,” I offered. And then I threw a cup of baking flour on her face and tits, which turned into blood red mud.
“Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh my god!” she cried, trying to shake it off. The shaking only made it worse, wet flour flying everywhere as guests ran for safety. Soon photos were being taken of Mindy the Clown, her big eyes staring out of a caked face. I took her cell phone away and dumped it in the punchbowl.
My mission finished, I retreated to the refreshment table. A hand grabbed me from behind. It was Chuck, Mindy’s boyfriend, come to defend her honor. I didn’t waste a second. Having two big brothers who I constantly fought with while growing up, I was no weak woman to get manhandled by anyone. And anyone who tried was going to get fucked.
Spinning around, I threw a straight punch to his jaw, using my back and shoulder for thrust. Chuck went down hard, crashing on his right side. I picked up the punchbowl and slowly poured the entire contents on him from head to foot.
“Anyone still want frontal shots?” I shouted with both fists clinched. I was totally exposed now, but no one was taking pictures. The room was silent. In shock.
“Come on, you fucking hero. Get up and fight!” I dared, hovering over Chuck ready to kick him with my bare foot.
“No, that’s enough,” Chuck said, waving his hand. His shoulder was painfully hunched. Mindy knelt next to him, trying to help while spreading the red slop. It was everywhere. On her. The carpet. And now on Chuck.
“Anyone else?” I asked.
I backed up, watching. Trying to catch my breath. There were no takers. People started heading for the door. Friends got Chuck on his feet, Mindy reaching to steady him, and they followed the crowd out. Andy looked back at me, shaking his head. I guessed we wouldn’t be dating.
“Those bitches ran off with your clothes,” Cheryl said, coming up to me.
“I assumed they would. Though I wish they’d left my phone,” I responded. “I kept hearing it ring.”
“I’m sorry, Nicky. I gave those Delta creeps permission to do this,” Cheryl apologized. “I thought it would be a quick strip. A couple minutes at most. Nothing like this.”
“I’m sorry to have ruined your party,” I apologized. “I’ll soak your carpet and come back tomorrow. I know where to find cleaning supplies.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she said.
“I made the mess, I’ll clean it up,” I insisted, going into the kitchen. Mr. Rogers was a step ahead of me, already having a bucket filled with warm water. I added detergent and dripped puddles into the carpet stains, patting the spots down with my bare feet.
“Let me get you a robe. And a ride home,” Cheryl offered, feeling bad.
“That’s okay. I’ll walk,” I said, heading for the door.
“Naked?” she asked.
“I need time to cool off,” I explained.
The next morning, I was back at Cheryl’s house with a cart of equipment.
“I need to clean the whole carpet or the colors won’t match,” I explained, getting help to drag her furniture into the dining room. …
