The Streak [Exhibitionism]

*“Oh my God, Em. Guess who I just got an e-mail from?”*

Em knew her roommate Cecily loved to make her blush. So when Cecily posed this question slowly, giggling on the common room couch, Em assumed it was from a dirty pen pal. She expected Cecily to read some erotic poetry from their Shakespeare professor, or show her a .jpg of some dining hall worker’s erection (the stress of finals week had a tendency to make everyone horny – even the townies).

Em closed her laptop, and played dumb. “Is it from our RA?”

Cecily, clearly enjoying her roommate’s ignorance, smiled devilishly, “It’s from the streaking team.”

Em, try as she might to contain it, felt the color rise in her face. She knew all about the college’s varsity streaking team. She and her extended family had watched them, and their bouncing body parts, make their annual sprint across campus on Accepted Students Day. Her mother, a good Christian Baptist from Georgia, was predictably horrified. Her grandmother, from her less-conservative father’s side of the family, had howled with laughter. For Em, seeing the display of skin was secretly the reason she had decided on Ryder College that day. She saw the buoyancy with which these students flaunted their bodies – in such sharp relief with her literally “buttoned-up” upbringing.

Clearly relishing seeing the pink collect in Em’s cheeks, Cecily cleared her throat, and read the aloud from her laptop.

*“Hey nudethusiasts. There’s gonna be a surprise streak this week for finals. More updates tomorrow for your nudie booties. Nakedly yours…”*

To avoid looking at her roommate, Em took a trip to the kitchenette and poured herself chamomile tea from her electric kettle.

“I didn’t know you got e-mails from the streaking team.”

“Oh yeah. I held the school flag for the Halloween streak. You didn’t recognize my cute ass?”

Em had never heard someone admit to being on the team – the streakers all concealed their faces to hide their identities. She assumed they were all sworn to secrecy. However, it didn’t surprise her that Cecily would want to show off her varsity swimmer’s body on land.

“I meant – I didn’t know there was an e-mail chain.”

Cecily nodded, “Sure. Anyone can be added to the e-mail thread. Here, I’ll add you now…”

Em knew that Cecily expected her to protest this. However, she was defiantly silent. Cecily’s eyes watched Em, as she stroked her laptop keys. She pressed “send” with a flourish.

“There – you’re in.”

Cecily turned the laptop screen toward Em, shoving her roommate’s face in what she had done. Em turned her face away, her pink cheeks now bleeding red.

That night, Em laid awake in bed, staring at concrete ceiling. Cecily’s mattress was feet away, and it was one of the rare nights where Em couldn’t hear the hum of her roommate’s vibrator, or her soft purr-like moans. Em would always pretend she was asleep when her roommate enjoyed herself. However, secretly, she would always lie awake – trying to guess the moment when Cecily would climax all over her bedsheets.

Em still got a special thrill when she was in the room when an orgasm was happening. It was something she couldn’t have imagined just a few months ago. She had barely started touching herself by senior year of high school, her fingers too paralyzed by the hellfire-tinged sermons of her Sunday school teachers. It was only when she started sending online applications for college that she discovered Internet porn. She prayed for forgiveness the first time she watched a video that taught her more about the male anatomy than she learned in any Sex Ed class. It wasn’t long before she spent nights with only one hand on her mouse, eager to make up for the lost years of thinking the Internet was only *Sherlock* gifs.

It was this Em that entered college, armed with a new vocabulary of sex acts. However, she was still too shy to put her studies into practice. Despite her attendance at all the keg parties and frat events, where she memorized the names and textures of every off-brand beer, she remained bound to the corner. Her virginity remained intact, as was her anxiety.

Em had never been naked in front of anyone who wasn’t a family member (and she only had the vaguest memories of taking baths with her siblings). She couldn’t even undress in front of Cecily, instead hiding in their closet when preparing for the day. Whenever she thought of the streaking team up to this point it was always as an observer. She tried to picture herself naked, wrapped in the colors of the school flag. However, the face she saw was always Cecily’s. She imagined her roommate’s agile form. Her long, toned legs forming perfect right angles. Only socks and sneakers and skin. Clutching the blanket that her mother had crocheted for her, Em found that she enjoyed this daydream more than she expected.

Around noon the next day, while downing a quick bowl of cereal between classes in the dining hall, Em received a message to her college address. The subject was simply, “Welcome to the Student Body.”

She immediately closed her laptop. Then, looking side to side to make sure no one was watching, she peeked at the screen. The e-mail read…

*Hello! You’re receiving this e-mail because you have been chosen to be a member of the varsity streaking team. Get your nudie booty to the library stairwell at 9PM tonight for your inaugural streak!*

“Did you get the e-mail?”

Em slammed her laptop closed again. Behind her, Emily stood with her lunch tray – her usual spinach salad, with tuna fish for protein. She was wearing her swimmer’s hoodie over her gym shorts.

“The streak is 9PM tonight. You should totally do it!”

“I don’t think so,” Em demurred, eyes tilting down. Cecily literally picked up her chin.

“Promise me you will.”

Em felt her body stiffen. She had always thought of her roommate as aloof – a slight bitch. From week one on campus she would disappear on weekends to the athletes-only parties. She had shown Em the Google Doc of all the buildings she intended to have sex in on campus before senior year, and cross-referenced it with a list of the acts she intended to perform. Such lofty goals required a rigorous schedule, one that made it difficult for Cecily to be home at an appropriate hour on weekend nights. So far that year, Em’s interactions with Cecily had been limited to reviewing her English essays last-minute.

Now, Cecily was looking at Em with sincere eyes.

“I want you to get out there. Don’t pussy out.”

It’s true that Em had tended to leave parties early out of embarrassment. Despite the fact that she clearly lusted for these dumb hunks built like Soviet architecture that populated frat parties, she could never overcome the hurdle of small talk.

In the moment, Em didn’t know why she responded to Cecily in the way that she did. Maybe it was to prove herself? Maybe it was her roommate’s persuasion? All Em knew was that she responded with…

“O…Okay. I will.”

Cecily clinched her roommate’s arm

“Great! I’ll see you tonight.”

Before she could rescind her acceptance, Cecily had disappeared.

Em sat, staring down her cereal bowl reduced to just powdered sugar. I should have gotten a salad, she thought to herself. Not that it would have transformed her body into Cecily’s, but at least she wouldn’t feel so bloated. She resolved to not eat until the streak that night.

After sitting anxiously in class, Em immediately went back to her empty dorm. She locked the door and did a full-body exam in the mirror. She raised her arms, imagining her flab in motion, and winced.

She packed a backpack, for her disguise and to stow away her regular clothes. She had seen what the streakers had worn, covering up their faces and nothing else. She chose a pair of plastic gold sunglasses she had worn as Elvis for Halloween, and found a straw hat and bandana she had worn at a farm-themed party in her first week.

She walked from her dorm to the library alone. She wore a light jacket despite the cold – she knew whatever she wore she would have to pack in her bag later. She imagined making the same trek back without any layers, and shivered.

She arrived on the second floor of the library early, pretending to browse the stacks. It was finals, which meant there were plenty of freshmen with steam silently pouring out of their ears at the study tables. Luckily, Em only had essays due – most of which she had finished early. Now, she had an entirely different assignment she had to complete.

She felt the anticipation in her knees, at the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t stop pacing. She went to the bathroom to pee, just in case. Then she went to the water fountain. Then she peed again. The entire time, the lump in her throat grew bigger. She looked around at the faces of her classmates. Did they know what she was about to do, with her backpack? Did they suspect?

She had opened up a book just to flip through the pages when she saw Cecily, also donning a backpack, scale the stairs.

Em hissed at her, “Cecily!”

Cecily turned. Seeing Em, she looked proud.

“I didn’t think you’d come. Are you nervous?”

If her roommate couldn’t tell she was shaking before, now she could feel it. Em nodded. Cecily laughed.

“Relax. It’s always hardest your first time. But then it’s easy.”

She led Em by the hand through the stacks, stopping at the door to the stairwell. Her hand on the bar, she turned to Em.

She smiled, “Ready?” Em nodded, reminding herself to breathe.

Cecily opened the door, and was immediately “shushed” by several of her classmates. Em followed her into the stairwell. What she saw is a panorama that would stay in her memory. When she was older, working on an assistant’s salary in the city by day, at night she would escape into that image.

Above and below, the stairwell was lined with bodies in states of undress. Some standing stark, others waiting to remove the last shred of clothing.

First, she noticed the men… These were men who would normally identify with Che Guevara, now bare except for the American flag bandanas covering their faces. Her eyes delighted in the sight of the precisely-carved hockey players, as well as the more abundant bodies of the bookworms and tabletop gamers (This was a school tradition, virgins included). Em’s eyes slid down their bodies, to the incline between their hips.

The *cock*. When she thought of that word now, for the first time it wasn’t clipped. It was long and slow – with a full arc. Whenever she saw an image of a penis online, it was erect. It always looked like it was carved in stone. She had never seen them with this playful flop. All vulnerable, soft and sweet. She didn’t know the penis could be so nonaggressive, and she preferred it that way. For the boys that covered their vulnerability, she wanted to remove their hands gently one by one. She wanted to nurture their members, kiss them to life.

Now the ladies…they were even more confident in their nudity. They sported their pubic hair proudly – there was something sexy about their overgrown gardens. Their bushes were dark and mysterious. They looked like they could ensnare a woman’s finger or a man’s penis, drag it down into a pink paradise.

And their tits? They looked just as good out of the packaging – young and supple. Side by side, you could compare the lengths of their erect nipples in this cold stairwell.

Em turned to Cecily in time to see her sports bra fall, in slow motion, into an open backpack. Before she knew it, she was looking up at her roommate’s bikini tan in detail. Her areolas – big and puffy – stood out in a pale stripe across her chest. Em’s eyes climbed up her body – it was a smooth ride, as she was fully shaven. Cecily nonchalantly tied her straw-blonde hair into a ponytail. She was cool, efficient. Seeing her, Em immediately thought of an article she read about athletes who had sex at the Olympic Village.

Cecily fixed her with a puzzled look. Em blinked – was she staring too long?

That’s when Cecily whispered, “What are you doing? You’re still *dressed*.”

No matter how many times she had looked herself in the mirror before this, doing naked jumping jacks, all her anxieties now came flooding back to her.

The baby fat in her cheeks. Her brown fringe, its tendrils framing her face. Not to mention she had a general surplus thanks to freshman dining habits.

Em took down her pants. Revealing underwear with a pink-heart pattern. Then she pulled her shirt – an anime tee – over her head.

Her roommate whispered to her, “Come *oooonnnn*, Em…”

Em looked around to see if anyone was watching her. The others were all consumed with their own preparations – donning cowboy hats and sombreros. The boys might have been more focused on not having erections than they were on her, this last clothed woman.

Em looked down, and could only see the milky pale skin brimming over her waist. She breathed out, thumbing the elastic band. And she slowly tugged down her panties. Suddenly her brown fluffy bush shot out of her underwear. Em wiggled her underwear down her hips, then let go. She quickly untangled her pants and underwear from her ankles, careful not to hoist her leg too high. She then snapped off her bra, freeing her pear-shaped breasts. She quickly threw on the costume sunglasses, and tied the bandana around her face.

Em’s hands then instinctively curled up, to cover her breasts and pubic triangle. Then her roommate touched her bare forearm, wordlessly guiding Em’s arms to her sides. Em looked at her, ghost-like through the fogged-up dark sunglasses.

She had never felt as connected with Cecily as she was in that moment, with Em’s roommate consoling her as she stood naked and shivering. Her hand so close to Em’s bare chest that it made her body throb.

The girl holding the college flag, who Em recognized her as the barista at the campus café, blew a whistle. Every cartoon character tattoo on her body was now visible. The stairwell quieted down as she spoke.

“There are some at this college who question why we streak. They wonder if it’s sexual. They wonder if it’s in protest of the convention of clothing. Well, we streak for one reason my friends…”

She turned around, and revealed “STREAK TO WIN” scrawled on her ass cheeks in marker. The stairwell erupted in cheers.

“Now let’s start the count!”

Em recognized more of her classmate’s voices as they counted off. There was the boy from her Econ class – the redhead. His junk looked like it was suspended in a cloud of Cheeto dust. Then there was Warren – the boy on the lacrosse team she had a crush on for all the superficial reasons – for his thick eyebrows and Superman look. His body bristled with jet black hair over his build, culminating in his thicket of pubic hair. And his dick, even flaccid, looked powerful. It took up most of the space between his legs, the tip wavering back and forth between his knees.

There was the girl who had clearly not read the material in her Proust class, the one who was always smiling. Katrina had more freckles than Emily had imagined. Even her pert little nipples looked like freckles on her flat chest. She was wearing an Opera mask, but Em could see her laughing. For a moment, Em wanted to feel that smile on her own lips.

All these people she saw clothed in her daily life were standing next to her, as physically exposed as they could ever be. Em felt the hormones in the air, the tension. She imagined what it would be like if she were to throw a match on this fire. She imagined Warren’s rough middle American hands on her back as he bent her over, his thicket of black pubic hair brushing her as he pulled in and out. She imagined her face in Kate’s itty-bitty bust. They were that much closer to that fantasy.

“Twenty-seven!” Cecily counted off, and nudged Em.

Em kept the count in a miniature voice – “Twenty-eight!” Still, masked faces turned instinctively in surprise as they recognized her. Em knew now that eyes were on her. No one in her adult life had seen her in full, and now she was on display. She imagined what they were all thinking – that’s what Emily’s tits look like. That’s Emily’s hairy pussy. She could almost hear the “click” of them taking mental snapshots. She wondered how they had reviewed her. But with her roommate so close, she felt brave enough to not hide. She stood with her back straight to the wall. Quietly, she felt a steady, drip-drip between her thighs.

They finished the count, and Em heard echoing cheers in the stairwell. The line was starting to move, albeit slowly.

A voice in her ear, Cecily’s – “Let’s go.”

They first emerged naked into the fluorescent lighting of the library, bright like a new day. They were slow at first, and Em had time to watch the solid ass of the boy in front of her. Then the line of runners jammed along the book stacks, and Em bumped into the boy. She made contact with his warm body, and for a second her mound touched his bare ass cheeks. She stepped back, wondering if he had felt that she was wet. He didn’t even look back. Maybe he had only felt the light brush of her pubic hair.

They entered the study area, and Em felt the college students taking their eyes off of their books and refocusing them onto her body. She wondered if they would recognize her.

She knew they were taking blurry Snapchats as she rushed by. Would anyone identify her? Somehow, she was thrilled by that. In that moment, she wanted to be seen by as many people as possible. She wanted her 19-year-old body broadcast, immortalized. The procession starting cheering, and Em joined in. She made a sound she didn’t recognize – a shriek of pure joy.

The group was off to a full run as they descended the front steps of the library. Em was worried about the cold, but now she barely felt it. Her sneakers touched the grass of the college lawn, and felt so much lighter than she had even earlier that day. She looked to her side as she tried to keep up with her roommate. She saw her roommate’s breasts charging ahead of her body – she was almost being led by the force of her tits. Em felt herself getting wetter, but she ran so fast that whatever moisture was between her legs was likely splashing the runners behind her.

They kept running. They streaked the science hall. They streaked the student activities center. By now, students had been alerted on social media and were waiting for them in lines. They were cheering her right back. She even gave out high-fives. She was out of breath, but kept running.

Finally, they arrived the glen on the other side of the lacrosse field. There was already a bonfire that someone had set, and they stood in a semicircle. Pulling off their bandanas, they looked like Adam and Eve’s holding Red Solo cups.

Em saw Cecily get close to Warren from the lacrosse team. They were standing face to face, and she was stroking his arm with her fingernail. Em knew the game that Cecily was playing – if he got even an inch more erect, his penis would rise into her. And then he’d have no choice but to follow her into the woods. Em could picture Cecily stretched out on the forest floor, as Warren ate her out. For the first time, she felt proud to watch her roommate get fucked.

Then, a girl interrupted to hand Warren a Red Solo cup. At the same moment, both Em and Cecily remembered that Warren had a girlfriend. Em could see why Warren was attracted to her – she had a rack that looked fun to play with, and a landing strip to ground his massive cock.

Em saw Katrina sitting naked and cross-legged on a log. She looked completely at ease with her lips fanned out. Em sat next to her, but kept her legs tight together.

“You’re in my Proust class, aren’t you?”

As Em nodded and sipped pure froth from her Red Solo cup, she felt proud.

Em saw the bodies painted with shadows and smoke. They looked like they themselves were burning orange, dying the same way they had arrived into the world – completely bare. Em realized that she and her classmates were burning. But this wasn’t something to despair. They had transcended.

Soon, Em would not be a virgin. She would have sex that next semester. The boy who was her first was actually on the streaking team the night of her first run. He would tell her about it on their first date in the dining hall. Em would often wonder if she had seen his member that night. What had she thought of it, divorced from his body?

Eventually, they did break up. Cecily would go abroad for a year in Paris, and they would lose touch. Still, Em always participated in the school’s streaks. She would be there every finals week, every accepted students day. She even held the flag as Cecily had.

The last time she streaked with the team, on the night before graduation, she let the moment weigh on her. In her adult life, she knew she would never streak again. She would never be able to streak the city she would work in or the suburb she would marry and have kids in. When she came back to campus for her five or ten-year reunion, her body wouldn’t look the same. And life would have happened to her – she would have obligations, a family or a husband or a job that would have kept her in clothes.

But she would always remember what it was like that night in December, when she finally felt herself burn.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jy2jzq/the_streak_exhibitionism