Jessica Jones, Nudist Of Hell's Kitchen

Jessica stood in the doorway of Alias investigations, hot tears of embarrassment and rage rapidly pooling on the floor around her flexing, frustrated bare toes. Her pale breasts heaved and her long dark hair waved it's way down exposed skin of her back, ending about a foot above her shapely naked rear. Yes, Jessica Jones, private investigator, superhero in her own right, was standing butt naked in her doorway, and there was little she could do about it. She waited for the police to send someone up to debrief her so she could get on with the apparently humiliating remainder of her life.

She had just walked home naked with a tailing police escort. Naked. In nothing but her smooth skin. And she was never getting dressed again.

How had this happened, she wondered? Shaking her pretty little head, Jessica tried to imagine that maybe, just maybe it wasn't true. But she knew all too well that the curse could not be reversed. She was stuck like this. Jessica Jones, proud owner (and shower) of a girlish naked birthday suit. She did her best not to slam the door and scream at the four walls.

How had she ended up like this? We need to rewind a few hours to when Jessica was still among those of us who have the privilege of wearing, well anything.