Nakedgirl 01: The Story of Dareen

(Note: this story has topical references to when it was written in 2004. Please make allowances.

This story also refers to practices of Islam. The references are respectful and no offense is intended.)

Part 1

In spite of the load in front of her she found herself running as if in a dream. It seemed so unreal, so silly, to keep running into the rain falling harder on this warm July night, away from her car, the sound of thunder in the distance. Yet it was hopeless to keep staying in the car. Dareen had waited an hour after the engine cut out and nobody had driven by on this old highway. She had had a feeling it was dumb to take this back road home, after that long day at the new library out past Alpharetta. So out the middle of nowhere, this area. Just hills and trees and endless farms. And now in the darkness it was hard to make out even those. She had to call her roommate Elly to come get her, take her back to their apartment in Peachtree Heights. But the battery in her cell phone had run out, and there was nothing to do but go out and find a house with a telephone.

Beginning to get soaked, she stopped under a tree, where the raindrops were at least intermittent. She really couldn't run, she had to hold her breasts in front of her, something that shamed her and looked ridiculous, but otherwise these big loads would yank painfully at her chest as they bounded up and down. She'd hated these oversized breasts ever since they began sprouting from her thin frame when she was thirteen. She'd had to give up sports, had to dress in ugly clothes like this brown floppy sweater. Thank God the insurance company finally approved the breast reduction operation. They said it would be scheduled probably in two months. Thank God!

Now a gust of wind and an almost deafening rush of rain. She clutched her breasts into her crossed arms as she looked at the thickening downpour. She would be here for a while, it seemed. Not being able to make out anything through the dark curtain of rain she thought, for the thousandth time, of what her life would be like with manageable breasts. She toyed with the hope of wearing spaghetti strapped dresses without needing an industrial strength bra -- yet, maybe after all these years of covering up, Ms. Dareen Alkaras had simply become a modest girl. It just suited her temperament. Maybe she was a throwback. She had spent all but the first two of her 24 years in this country, was totally Americanized -- her father had shortened their name from Al-Kharras -- yet she thought of her relatives back in Syria, especially her grandmother whose twinkly eyes looked at her from her black-clothed face in the photo in her bedroom. And who'd worn a head-to-toe burka all her life. Dareen wouldn't want to do that, and definitely was opposed to all that oppression of women that went on in Muslim countries, but there was something about the burka and being covered up that appealed to her: a kind of dignity and maturity, maybe.

Now a bright vague blotch at the horizon and a few seconds later, muffled thunder. Dareen had to get going. She didn't want to be under a tree when the lightning got close. She ran forward, going on pure impulse, knowing in the back of her mind that this was stupid, she should go back to the car. But if she did that she might be stuck there all night!

Panic pushed her from behind as she clutched her breasts and ran out, her poor two-inch heels a mess as they poked through the muddy grass. On and on she went, wishing she had a third hand as she tried to wipe the rain from her eyes. There seemed to be no end to this field -- she zigzagged trying to find some shape in the dark white shower of rain -- shit! One of her heels snapped. Finally, a light! She ran faster -- damn that broken shoe just flew off -- must get it later -- yuck, the squishing of mud through her pantyhosed foot. The shape of light was getting nearer...

A small house, like a trailer that had been built onto and was now a house in its own right. The front was dark; the light was coming from the back. Dareen slowed down, took her hands down from her breasts, and in spite of the rain still pouring down, crept carefully around to the back. She was already soaked; a couple of seconds more didn't matter. . .

To her surprise the back of the house was open, with a kind of overhead garage door that protruded like an awning and kept the rain out. She dearly wanted to seek its shelter but was intimidated by what she saw. For a moment she leaned in from the side, the rest of her body except for her head still getting deluged.

It looked like a rocket, or a ray gun from some old science fiction movie. As big as a car, a fat clunky metallic bullet bolted together, pointing upward with a kind of antenna at the end. In the pale fluorescent light it looked so otherworldly yet so much like your typical mad scientist contraption; that part of her, way in the back of her mind, felt like laughing. But she was wet and beginning to get chilly even though the night was warm; and she was more intimidated than amused.

A feeling that suddenly increased when a short, balding man in wire glasses and a mechanic's monkey suit appeared behind the big bullet, carrying a kind of diagnostic meter from a workbench in the rear. He screwed it onto something in the back of the giant bullet and turned some dials. Then he looked up. Dareen yanked her head back out of sight.

She stood there miserably in the downpour thinking of her options. This man was a whacko, yet she was wet and far from home and needed to call someone about her car. There was only one thing to do.

She placed herself well within the awning, dripping all over the floor, and was opening her mouth to say "Please" when she was met by the man's startled gaze. She immediately crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling the squishing of her sopped sweater.

"What? Who are you? Who sent you?" He looked about 45 or so, she noticed as he came closer. He brandished the little meter thing like a gun.

"Please," she bravely continued, "my car stalled and do you have a phone?" She withered under his gaze. Looking down at her stockinged foot where the shoe had flown off, wet and muddy, she saw the outline of her toes and moved her shod foot over to cover it.

To her mortification, the man saw this. "Quite a modest one, aren't you? . . . Well, O.K., you can use the phone, but . . ." He passed near her and looked out into the rain. Another dull flash of lightning came from far away. The wind died down for a moment. The man looked at her. "You don't know what I'm doing, do you?"

The wet, miserable, frightened girl shook her head. He looked at her skeptically. Then drew back to take a full length view of her. With a playful smile he said, "You should get out of those wet clothes," then went back to his work bench. When he came back he had a white lab coat and he threw it to her. "Take those clothes off and put this on."

She looked around for a door to a closet or someplace, not that she intended on doing what he said. "Yes, right here," he said, and she looked at him in shock. "I'm packed to the rafters here, there's no extra room for you to go to. Go ahead. Take them off."

Dareen clutched the robe to her chest for a moment to more completely hide her breasts that were already shielded by her wet sweater and her crossed arms. "Come on, Miss. Let's get to it. I'm a very busy man."

A flash of lightning, followed by thunder. The man looked out, startled by its ferocity and closeness. He raced back to the dials at meters. Not that Dareen noticed; she had dropped the robe and gotten the hell out of this bad place and this leering whacko.

The wind picked up. Now there was another sheet of light, covering half the sky. Two seconds later, thunder. The girl screamed. And turned impulsively, not back to the house, but in a zigzag to the left. Her breasts bounced crazily as she sprinted clumsily with one shoe. She prayed, "please Allah, please Allah, save me..."

Now, no wind. The hair stood up on her scalp. It felt like ants were crawling all over her body. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth too. She knew that this meant. This really was the end. She was about to get struck by lightning! A -- llah...

"AIEEEEEEE!!"

She felt herself being raised from the earth, then a tremendous bang like a cannon and blinding light, then a hammer blow from behind that pounded her into the ground face first.

For a second she was dizzy and could not think. Had she been killed? No, she was still alive -- and aflame!

"AIEE! AIEE!" She frantically rolled around in the wet grass. Then she got up.

Her clothes were ablaze. Running aimlessly, she tried with desperate and ridiculous motions to pat the flames away with her hands. It was no use -- to avoid being mortally burned she was going to have to rip off whatever was burning. Barely thinking, her mind on auto, survival instincts taking over, she ripped off her sweater, then her blouse. For a moment she reached behind to fumble with the six clasps of her bra but then just grabbed it from the front. Surprisingly after only one tug it came off. She threw the burning white thing down and it continued burning on the wet grass.

But her skirt was burning too. She hoped she could keep something on, but her pantyhose were on fire too and her remaining shoe. She landed her butt onto the grass and pulled them off. Then up and jumping. . . "No, no, please no. . . " But her modest mind was just a spectator to the primal motions of self-preservation. The panties were a ring of fire around her most private places. Whimpering and crying, she tugged them off and kicked the last of the burning things away from her.

Dareen crouched down, her toes in the wet grass, hands across her shoulders, feeling the rain beat down. Her body felt scorched but it was not aflame. As far as she could tell she was not burned, a miracle she should be thankful for. The wind had died down. She looked at her clothes lying here and there, still oddly aflame even though they were soaked with rain. Maybe it had to do with the lightning. She was in some weird terrestrial other universe now. Her skin still felt buzzy all over, like it was stuck into one big light bulb socket.

Then she looked down at her toes. They had a dull glow to them. In fact her feet, her knees -- as she stood up her entire body throbbed with a weak fluorescence. St. Elmo's Fire? She had heard of it.

And her breasts.

They stood straight up and out, round and firm, without a hint of sag. She had never seen them like this -- as if they were in an invisible push-up bra. Her nipples were erect and hard, the aerolas huge. "What are these?" Though no one was around, she was so embarrassed by them that she crouched down and covered herself again.

Then the glow went away and her skin was its normal dusky brown.

As the storm gradually left and things quieted down she duck-waddled forward to what remained of her clothes. She picked at them. The flames had gone and what was left was mere ashes that fell apart at her touch.

"DAMN!" Dareen yelled, slamming her hand onto the ground, which must have been very soft because her hand forced it several inches down. She was not one to curse or yell, but she couldn't help it. Naked in the middle of nowhere -- except for that crazy pervert.

Still crouched, she looked around. She couldn't see the house. Being naked she certainly had to avoid it now. She duck-waddled in what she thought might be the opposite direction, then realizing it was slow and silly to move that way, reluctantly stood up and walked, one arm over her breasts. It was odd -- her breasts stuck out so much now that her arm was well in front of her body as it crossed to cover her nipples, now huge and rock hard, poking into her forearm. They still bounced as she walked but more tightly now, not wobbly and jumping all over as she might have expected. What had happened to her?

At the top of the rise she saw the dull glow of the back of that nut's house. She turned in the opposite direction and, still with an arm across her breasts, started running across the dark wet fields, looking down to be careful where she put her bare feet that squished in the grass as she went. She had to find something, somewhere.

Part 2

As she minced over the dark fields in the drizzle, toes squishing in the grass, one arm over her breasts, Dareen kept telling herself. 'I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm running totally naked through the middle of the night. And not only that, but through the middle of nowhere, someplace I've never been where no one knows me. Stupid, stupid, I might get attacked or worse, a naked woman defenseless and alone.' But she had been zapped by lightning -- or by something like it -- and still felt unreal and a little dazed, like in a flip-side world where ordinary rules of nature and of behavior do not apply.

She started being aware of the sensations -- she had never run naked before, she was always a modest girl who always dressed and bathed quickly, she had never even lain naked when alone in her room. She had had boyfriends of course and had had a sporadic (and mostly unsatisfying) sex life, but even when making love she had preferred keeping under the covers, leaving something on, usually her bra and socks. And now look at her! Rain, not so pounding now but more like a steady drizzle, soaked her all over, every inch of her bare body. She felt it drip from her hair down her back, into her butt crack. Her bare butt was wet too, water coursing down the back of her legs. Her wet breasts, still unnaturally firm and outthrust, rubbed against her arm, one hard giant nipple poking into her palm. She felt the wet grass between her toes. These were such strange feelings; and they felt good.

She came to the two-lane road and got focused back on her plight. She wasn't sure which direction to find her car. Not that it would help her to go back to it. She would still be naked. Maybe wait there and some nice policeman would find her. About the police she had been of two minds. She had relatives who had been given a hard time or found it hard to get through airports, for a lot of Arab-Americans it was a fact of life these days. Yet she herself had not had any trouble, and she would hardly be suspected of being a terrorist, cowering naked and wet in a stalled car.

'Why am I doing this?' she asked herself yet again as she decided the car was to her right, yet she found herself turning left, and with crimped steps ran along the road, which with no street lights was as pitch black as the rest of the countryside.

She decided it was dumb to keep covering her breasts, no one was around to see, and besides, her breasts seemed like they wouldn't flop around in their new hard condition. So she dropped her hand and began pumping both arms, and soon she was running full bore, not really knowing why she was doing it or where she was going, what she was looking for, and now she ran faster, feet slapping against the wet asphalt, found herself running yet faster and faster, and...

She'd never felt so alive. And she was going so fast! It must have just seemed that way, her senses being so dislocated by what she'd gone through. Yet here she was, running barefoot down the street, and her feet didn't hurt, not even when she felt a pebble or two underfoot. That should hurt like blazes -- and yet it didn't. Now she took great leaps, seeming to jump twenty or thirty feet, thudding onto one foot before her toes sprang into another leap and thudding onto the other foot. 'What's going on? Am I really doing this? I feel like some sort of naked superwoman!'

Now there were some lights ahead and she slowed down. The rain was just a mist now, and she stopped in the middle of the road, feet apart, feeling the water drip from her hair down her back and into between her butt cheeks, and around in front to her wet forest of pubic hair. There was a store ahead with a gravel parking lot in front with gas pumps. Did she really want to just walk naked into there? Yet she had to get help, first of all get clothes.

She decided to run off some yards to the field on the other side of the road and wait and watch to decide what to do. It wasn't really necessary but she lay down flat on her stomach, feeling weird about it, knowing she was doing it to feel the grass along her front, another new experience. She wiggled and squirmed, enjoying the rubbing of the wet grass against her breasts, her bare tummy, her legs. She shook her head. These sensations were distracting her. Got to watch and decide what to do.

The store was called Peppy's Food Mart, a convenience store, and there was no one in it except a short man with a mustache, with rather dark skin, possibly Pakistani or something like that. Maybe he was Peppy. He was behind the cash register, making a list of some kind on a pad. He reminded her a little of her Uncle Rakhman; not only his face and stature, but the meticulous and fussy way he wrote. Behind him there was a big clock that said it was 12:30. It was broken, though; a few minutes went by and the hands didn't move.

The rain had stopped and all was quiet. As the minutes went by Dareen began to observe minutely to see what could be useful to her. There was a rack with clothes near the counter, mostly T-shirts it looked like. Well, that would be a start, she had no money, but surely he would at least lend her something to wear. The usual collection of junk food, the coffee machines. A telephone, in front of the clock. A magazine rack. Man, those biker magazines were all the same, women in the tiniest possible bikinis draped over gigantic motorcycles. Some news magazines, the usual cover stories about the Middle East. Newspapers. Ugh, the Argus Democrat (known around the Atlanta area as the "A.D.") what a rag! The latest lottery winner was on the front page: a guy with six kids. The little caption under his photo said he was 38, lived in Central Heights, not far from her, had a Bachelor's from Austin Peay...

Dareen felt a chill of something like fright and covered her eyes. Was this a dream? She was reading tiny newsprint from what must be two hundred feet away. Impossible. Yet true. She looked up and read the same caption. She could read everything else on the magazine rack just as easily.

She was grateful to be jolted into more mundane observations with the arrival of a car, a big old Thunderbird, pulling up quickly and braking in front of the gas pump with a violent jerk and the crunch of gravel. A tall black man got out with a 'do-rag and a very bulky sweatshirt down to his knees. He ran in.

Dareen's mouth opened as she saw the quick movements. The man grabbed Peppy's neck, shook him, then pulled out a little club (or maybe a gun) and clocked him two or three times. Peppy sank down out of sight. With skillful motions, the man pushed some buttons, popped open the cash register, cleaned it out and ran out to the car. He gunned the Thunderbird and sped off.

"Good heavens!" Dareen found herself saying. She got up, wiped some bits of wet grass off her bobbling breasts, and stepped forward. The Thunderbird was quickly disappearing down the road, dull red taillights diminishing into the misty night. The naked girl's insides burned. 'This was a wrong thing. I wish I could do something about it...'

And she was off. Running after the car as if pushed from behind by a force she could not control and could not resist. This is stupid, stupid, a little voice in her head said, yet she ran faster and faster.

And now she was catching up to the car! It just couldn't be. This had to be a dream. She wanted to grab the roof. Now she reached both arms forward and jumped.

She felt her toes leave the road and her feet rose up behind her. Wind whistled past her nipples, over her butt, through her toes. She was flying!