I stood in the examination room, staring uncertainly at my folded clothes, more than a little non-plussed by the doctor's abrupt departure.
I shrugged. I had signed up to be allowed to walk around starkers, didn't I? Might as well give it a test-run. I picked up my clothes and left the examination room, and found myself in a long carpeted hallway. A sign directed me towards the exit, so I went that way. Wanting to act as naturally as possible, I carried my clothes in a bundle underneath my arm.
It felt quite strange to be naked in a public space. Long years of conditioning made me feel as though I should duck into a corner somewhere to hide. But I reminded myself that the law was on my side. While these programs were really desperation moves by a government starved for tax money, rather than prompted by public demand, nearly everyone knew from the news sensation that there were licensed nudists and exhibitionists. I was within my rights, and no-one could shame me out of them.
I started to become excited by this tiniest, but most crucial, of empowerments, and my penis starting to swell with my excitement. (That Viagrill doesn't need a lot to kick in, does it?) Just then, a brown-haired nurse left a room, closing a door behind her. She didn't seem shocked, but looked directly at my crotch before glancing up to my chest for the tell-tale tattoo. Seeing it, she relaxed and gave me a smile. "Looking good," she casually joked as I approached.
"Thanks," I said, smiling at her. "I'm feeling good about it. I'm a bit surprised really. You seemed to be too," I joked.
"We don't get many exhibitionists in here I'm afraid," she said, looking down at your my swelling member. "My, you are enjoying this."
You're enjoying bantering with her, not to mention the way that her nostrils are flaring, but you're still uncertain what to do with your clothes. |