_CHAPTER SIX_
Joanie was right about the weather. It was quite brisk by dinnertime.
Feeling somewhat foolish, I went up to the mess hall wearing a polo
shirt and nothing else. Joanie had donned her sweater again. A couple
of the thinner-blooded ones were more fully dressed. Nearly everyone
had something on, and generally the effect was a startling and
interesting one.
The program for that evening was, Joanie announced, Twenty Questions.
Everyone who was interested was to gather in the Social Hall about half
past seven.
I went over, but I didn't stay long. It's been a long time since party
games of that sort have held the slightest appeal for me. Not even the
interest added to the gathering by the semi-nudity of the players could
keep me from getting hopelessly bored. Bonnie was there, besides, and
she kept looking longingly in my direction, her expression alternating
between black hatred and hopeful pleading.
I waited until she became a member of the panel, and took advantage of
the moment to slip out of the Social Hall. Bonnie couldn't very well
leave the game and follow me.
I stood on the back porch of the building for a moment, shivering
slightly in the evening breeze. Night had fallen, but the moon was out
and lit the place up somewhat. The sky was clear and dark, with sharp
stars glinting away. I was pleased to see a shooting star. You don't
see them much in the Chicago sky.
Meehan had disappeared right after supper with a girl named Margaret
something, a skittish and plump spinster just on the wrong side of
thirty. Meehan, a smart operator if there ever was one, had probably
spotted Margaret for an easy lay without complications, and was off
making hay with her at the moment. I knew he was really leching after
Joanie Baker--what man with two eyes in his head wouldn't be?--but
Jack was enough of a realist to know that Joanie wasn't likely to come
across. So he was off with Margaret. I thought for a few moments about
the _mores_ of the nudist camp. People were touchy, in some respects,
of course. But in others, I saw, sex was a lot freer and easier here,
as you might expect.
For one thing, the absence of clothes made a spontaneous act a lot
simpler. Ordinarily you can be with a girl and start petting a little
and getting her warmed up, but then you start digging down through
blouses and bras and skirts and slips and corsets and whatnot, and
by the time you finish getting the armor off she's had time for a
few second thoughts and you don't score. But that obstruction was no
problem here. Once you could get a girl interested in you here, all the
intervening barriers of cloth did not trouble you. You could get your
hand on her bare skin and start working her up, and then it was the
simplest thing in the world to make love to her before she had a chance
to think things over.
With that big barrier out of the way--clothes--life was a lot simpler.
A lot of girls will give you a "No" because they're afraid you'll find
out about the birthmark they've got on their hip, or because they don't
want you to find out they wear falsies. But there was nothing to hide
here. Modesty was no longer a drawback to making out.
On the other hand, you had to consider that constant exposure to nudity
took away a lot of novelty and suspense. On at least four occasions
in my life I had seduced women for the prime purpose of finding out
whether they looked as good without their clothes as with them. (In
three out of the four, they didn't.) That motive was absent here. You
didn't have to make a girl in order to find out whether the stuff in
her bra was real or rubber. All you had to do was take a look the next
time you met her.
And so--they told me--after a few weeks a naked girl becomes a boring
thing, and what really lights you up is one with clothes on. I was
willing to believe that. But so far I hadn't noticed myself growing
jaded. No doubt Joanie Baker would have looked fascinating fully
dressed, but she looked plenty good the way she was.
End of philosophical disquisition. There's nothing like making a
drastic change in your environment for setting yourself reflecting
about the basic matters of your personality. Such as your reactions to
naked women.
But right now I found myself wondering about Harriet.
The waitresses were supposed to help clean up the mess hall after
dinner. But that took only about forty minutes, and more than an hour
had gone by since the end of the meal. I wondered where she was. I
surprised myself by feeling a pang of jealousy, and I discovered that
I was beginning to think possessively of Harriet already. I wanted to
know where she was, and I was subconsciously annoyed at the idea of her
walking around naked.
I went into the mess hall. The lights were out in front, but I went
around back and into the kitchen. The scene in there was strange. A
potbellied man wearing only a chef's tall hat was bustling around
tidying things up. Nick Riccio, completely naked, was helping him.
Two fellows in polo shirts were scrubbing dishes, and Lorraine, the
brunette waitress, was helping them. She was naked. Everyone turned
around and looked rather coldly at me as I walked in.
I felt flustered. But I kept control and said, "I'm looking for
Harriet."
Lorraine said, "She just finished here. She went over to the Social
Hall to look for you."
Thanking her, I beat a quick retreat. I didn't want to be around
Riccio any more than I had to, after our little set-to in the morning.
I hurried back to the Social Hall, where Twenty Questions was still
going strong, and I found Harriet standing on the front porch, peering
in puzzledly. I tiptoed up behind her and slipped my hands over her
breasts.