I'd like to say that I was never embarrassed as a matter of principle.

The truth is that there have been exceptions. The Bare and Exposed adventure was one.

Here is a ditty that recalls another one of these instances, though this time it did not involve a lowly act of betrayal by a partner.

Here I am, naked in a corridor of my art school. The school is deserted. Or rather was, until a minute ago. I have been scramming through corridors and rooms in search of my clothes and have most of them in my hands: my panties, my skirt, pantyhose, my bra and shoes. I only fail my T-shirt. Where, oh, where? God, let me catch it before him! Then he emerges from the men's room, with an ironic smile on his face - the school director.

He carries my T-shirt between index finger and thumb and stands before me. He looks at it demonstratively and then at my naked and flustered shape and beet-red face and says, 'You are looking for this.'

My friend of the night is a fellow-student who earns good pocket money as a night porter at our school. His job is to survey the school and keep out whoever might wish to steel the PCs, art supplies and, more importantly, student records. Art students are not the angels they would be in the interest of truth, life and humanity, but really as bad scoundrels as anyone. Still, being night porter is easy. Easy enough for him to invite me to come along and be with him this particular night. He was hot for me and I for him. Nothing serious, nothing lasting. This would be our first liaison, after a good history of flirting. We both had the pick of love mates - no reason not to meet at least once and mate ourselves.

He lets me in at 11 pm, when any chance of the ever-present director being there has disappeared. I had never been at school when it was deserted. Empty buildings fascinate me. They are very much alive to me, with the ghosts of the people that have and had been there, with their interactions, the tears and joys. I am drawn into the school's empty corridors and rooms and disappear from my friend's view almost immediately. The corridors are lit by emergency lighting only and by the light of the moon, where applicable. Spooky! The big square model drawing room with its stage, which has been graced by my form from time to time... The little gallery we have, with the arrays of paintings, objects and sculptures that appear to have come alive in the near dark... The assembly hall, the auditorium, the stairways, the upstairs corridors, dark corners... I am under the influence.

He catches me off guard when he suddenly creeps up from behind. I start upon his embracing me by the waist and putting his head on my shoulder, whispering, 'Come on, Vanna, I want to play. Play with me. Now.'

'Ah!... You devil!!' I overact the shock he has given me and shudder, 'You scare me to hell like this. And now you want me to play with you. Can I do that? Not sure...'

'You can and you must, my dear,' he smiles. 'You find yourself entirely at my mercy in this kingdom of mine. I will have you eaten alive before anyone notices.'

'Eaten alive? You will eat me alive later on, I hope, but only if you are a good boy and play nice.'

I take his hands and gently release myself from his grip. Then stand to face him.

'Grown up games later. Let's play hide and seek.'

'Mmmm... Not sure if that is what I want to do just now. I admit that I am in lust with you and ready to rip your pretty clothes off your pretty body.'

'So typical of you. Coming straight to the point. Not that I don't want the same thing. I just want it slower.'

I have to smile at the crazy little dance he puts on in response. Great moves in the hip department. Promising, but first...

'Save your energy, now! I have an idea. We'll do one and the other! If the seeker catches the hider before he or she reaches the kick post, the hider loses and sheds an article of clothing there and then, where tagged. He then becomes the seeker and so on. If the hider does make it to the kick post, the seeker loses, sheds an article and is the seeker once more. I am sure you grown boy remembers those rules. OK?'

'A silly game, Vanna. I guess you are the lady and will have your way. OK then.'

'Right. Lets play. I'll be the seeker first, for the count of 100.'

I turn to the wall, close my eyes and count out loud, '1, 2, 3...' and hear him scuffle off towards the left. I realise that I am suddenly not sure if I am in the advantage when it comes to the number of clothes. Booties with a small heel, pantyhose, panties, skirt, bra, T-shirt - that makes six. For him, shoes, socks, jeans, underpants, T-shirt, pullover - hm... No advantage there.

'.... 98, 99, 100 - Here I come,' I call out loud. All is silent in response. Towards the left, no.... He will have gone roundabout, just to be smart and catch me out. Not me! Ever so softly I sneak along the corridor, turn a corner and there he is, hiding behind a door, but for someone coming from the other direction! Ha!

'Jack!', and I stand marking the corridor. He could go round the long way, but then I would catch him at the post. He makes an impossible attempt to get past me and gets tagged. Victory! No matter how badly he wants to get naked, he can't stand to lose. Reluctantly, he drops his pullover! One down, five to go.

His turn. I also go left and also make a 3 quarters' loop, to the very door he was at, but hide inside the room. The room has two doors. I sit midway between them, ready to make it to the other one if he enters by the first. Great plan. Except that I do not hear him complete his counting, nor hear him approach nor, conversely, hear him not approach. I sit there in silence. My options are to wait until he enters, or make a dash at a random moment. Not good. I am impatient. After half an eternity I decide for the dashing. I quietly open the door, peak through the slit, see no one, open it further, slip out, intend to accelerate... and get tagged immediately.

'Damn! Jack! Bastard! Was my plan that easy?'

'Dear Vanna, I knew you'd try to be smart and figured you'd go to the place I was at myself. Yeah, serves you right, Miss Brains. Off with that kit.'

'Boots then. I hope you have a foot fetish.'

Off the boots and I with my bestockinged feet on the cold floor. Brrr... I also observe it is a bad choice as I slither across the shiny floor towards the kick post for the next countdown.

'..., 99, 100! Done!'

I go right.

I am sure he has noticed my handicap when he is squarely leaning in the middle of the corridor at the point furthest away from the post. Since he has the two options for getting back, he darts away just ahead of me. Not a chance; I cannot get the grip to even begin making speed and give up. He theatrically touches the kick post when I eventually make it there.

My wretched pantyhose then. He does not discretely avert his eye when I hitch up my skirt and strip the hose off. There is no way to do this elegantly. Pantyhoses should be banned. Only they are practical and warm. He rubs his hands as he says, 'We are making progress. I like your legs!'

Now it is bare feet on the cold floor. Better grip, but I cannot help feeling I am on a lost cause. After the countdown and searching, I know I am lost when I have passed a room just before he dashes out. I give a run for his money, but he beats me by 10 ft or so.

'Have you no mercy, Jacko? Is this the way to treat a lady?'

'Vanna, I would never treat a lady like this. Is it not the same lady, a smart one too, who suggested this game in the first place? And now she wants a break? You really disappoint me, you know. Now, come on and do your bit. At best you have four pieces left. Any of those will do. Go on!'

Mmmm... Skirt, T-shirt, panties or bra? Skirt it'll be. Zip goes the zipper at the side and down goes the skirt. My panties are revealed in full glory now. A typical 70's item I now say. Tiny orange briefs. The kind that barely covers the mound at the front and is low at the back, not nearly hiding the crack between my buttocks. I fling my skirt far behind me and make a curtsey.

'Is this better, Sir?'

'M'lady, it sure is. Three to go!'

My turn again. He goes off to the left. I noisily follow him that way when the 100 are done, but around the corner stop and sneak back the other way. I peak around the corner at the other end and to my great relief see him sneaking towards me, close by the wall. I shoot back out of sight, hold my breath and - lo and behold! - he simply rounds my corner, is tagged and beaten. Justice! Or was he not trying?

He reaches for his T-shirt.

'No, your shoes, my boy. Be a sport.'

He casts me a pitying look, but does what I ask.

'On one condition, though, Vanna. When you lose again, it'll be your panties. Bottomless is sexy, right? Deal?'

'You are a hard bargainer, Jacky. But I will be sport too. I am clean and beautiful down there. And my sight will slow you down. Deal!'

His shoes are off. He has let himself be impaired. Because I asked. And because game would be over too soon, perhaps. Well, he needs me later on so has to please me to a degree. That'll be the crux of the matter.

'Two down, four to go for you, right? Dear, oh, dear. Will I ever win?'

I lost my panties at the next turn, after he had sacrificed his socks! I was playfully livid with indignation, but could not really hold my own when it came to the question of whether or not this sacrifice was against the rules.

'Vanna, the rules are that you have to give up when you lose. But the rules say nothing about when you can NOT give up! Three to go for me. That is all there is to it.

'Now the sweet moment has come. Give up your modesty! Off with the panties! I am very willing to give you hand. Or I will watch with interest from a little distance. Whichever you prefer.'

I had to remind myself I did not mind to expose myself one bit, and that my frustration about the game as such was not to spoil this opportunity. Yes, yes, I was outwitted. And liked losing no more than he did. Should I sulk for a while, however? Nah!

With ceremony, I shifted the panties down, spread my legs, thrust my pelvis forward, pulled my labia apart and said, 'A cunt, there you have it. It is still mine, you know, and yours only to get if you are sweet. And...', turning around, bending forward and extending my ass, '... here you have a naked bottom, which you will not get.

'Two to go!'

When I started counting out with eyes closed, facing the wall, he did not move right away, but stayed and presumably studied me and my bottom for almost half the counts before he saw fit to split. I reacted by subtly, slowly swaying my hips. It worked! He hid in a stupid place, in a room with the door open. The only open door for miles. I entered quietly, but quickly, we scurried around - I bare bottomed and all of my thigh and rear muscles in action - and he was history. T-shirt off; two to go for either of us. (Better torso than I'd thought. Jack must have been a jock at one time.)

That was the last one I did gain. I lost my T-shirt in the men's room after an admittedly long search by that young man. The men's was close to the kick post and I had listened carefully, but what sound do bare feet make? I now was a creature dressed in bra. He and I agreed that that condition was even sexier than naked or, conversely, being topless.

The bra was lost an inch removed from the post, to which he beat me after a prolonged wild chase, during which he provided a running commentary of what he saw and felt; the bouncing bits of the distressed damsel - no patent sportsbra, no iron buttocks - and his growing arousal. My chest is heaving with my heavy breathing when I undo the clip and let my bra drop to the floor. I extend my arms and say, 'This is my body! There, you have seen it. Anything else for you, Sir?'

We made our way to the school's auditorium. The target was a number of sofa's behind the stage. There the naked me reduced the half-dressed him to similar form. I am not given to describe the subsequent sexual process in detail. He was evidently ready for me and I, never having seen his operative item and being well impressed - stout rather than long- I was ready on my part. He, the mind, was experienced and oriented to giving the woman her due, and very patiently yet decisively made love to me. When either of us was satisfied and exhausted, we fell asleep under the cover of a few musty drapes.

It was the doorbell that woke us up rudely. Action for the man among us. This was really too early in the morning to have expected action. He clearly had the advantage of his jeans and underpants nearby. He located his T-shirt in good time and thus managed to make it to the door in a fairly credible time. Who did he admit but the school director, who had some reason to be so early. My friend made the excuse of having been using the toilet and the director went his way. I remembered that my skirt was in the corridor along his way. I vaguely knew where most of my clothes were. Not in his office, thank God, where it might have been had he not kept it locked because of the student files in a side room. My friend came to inform me and together we listened to the man's footsteps disappear and his door close. No use thinking too long, for fear of him re-emerging, so I ran along the corridors after him - a pretty sight for my friend. Thinking hard I picked up my panties in a lecture room nearby, my pantyhose in another, found my skirt in a waste bin near where I had left it - put there by the director?. My bra then in the corridor but hidden or so. Too many articles and too much play to remember exactly.

All this went on at lightning speed. Where now was my T-shirt?

It was then that the director emerged from the men's room. The door we had heard had not been his office's. He carried my T-shirt in his hand. I had not bothered to put any of the other clothes on, as I preferred to collect what was mine in the best possible time. He knew me obviously, looked me over in a fatherly sort of way and smiled. When he offered me the T-shirt pinched between two fingers, he equanimously remarked, 'I am glad you have found the skirt where I have put it, Miss Vechian. We don't want you to go without, now.' He turned away and added over his shoulder, 'Yes, and tell your friend that he should not do it again, that in fact his night service is over' and walked off.

I got dressed in the ladies next door and that was that. My friend and I both left, separately, after a furtive kiss. I was back at school 3 hours later, in my occupation as a part-time nude model. I am sure it was coincidence when the director came in briefly to exchange a few words with the teacher, which would not have been about me... I did get the shivers, nonetheless.

Embarrassing! But why, at the end of the day? The circumstances? Because I had been rushing to avoid him seeing me like this? I guess. In fact, he would even have seen me naked before, in my capacity as a nude model. In an organised mode I would have been OK to confront him, might even have provoked him in the nicest possible way. Ah, the mind is an enigma!

You may want to contact Ms. Vechian.

Copyright by Vanna Vechian, 2004. Reproduction allowed only for personal use.

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