What do you think?

The bright June morning sun makes me squint for a moment as I step out onto the sidewalk. It's already shaping up to be a gorgeous day, a few wispy clouds drifting overhead in the faintest hint of a breeze. The warmth seems to embrace me as I emerge from the building; if I thought I felt exposed standing out in the hallway naked, this is a whole 'nother level, the sun and breeze caressing every inch of my skin and sending little electric tingles dancing along my nerves. I suddenly realize that I've never actually been naked outside before. How can that be? Right now, it seems like a Goddamn travesty.

My eyes swiftly adjust, allowing me to survey my street. I live in one of the small apartment buildings that are common in Boston's suburbs; more like it fill the rest of the block. The crowd around here is a pretty even mix of students and older folks. Speaking of which, as I take in the scenery, I'm faced with another person for the first time this morning.

Across the street, a woman who looks maybe in her fifties, white with short grey hair and sunglasses, is walking a Jack Russell terrier. She doesn't notice me right away, distracted by the energetic little guy zipping around her legs. As he runs over to sniff something on a stoop, though, she takes the opportunity to glance around. Behind her shades, I see her gaze pass over me once before her head snaps back; it's hard to tell with the lenses, but I'm pretty sure her eyebrows are trying to return to their home planet.

Well, this is it, says Rational Brain. The jig's up. And your life was going so well. Or at least okay. But Horny Brain is still at the controls, and she seems to know exactly what to do. Smiling gently, I raise my hand and offer the lady a friendly little wave, like everything about this is perfectly normal. Then, without hurry, I turn and head off down the sidewalk, the way the stranger came from, toward where I parked my car.

In whatever little box Rational Brain has been stuffed into, she waits for the disaster she knows is coming—for the lady to scream, or storm across the street and demand to know what the fuck I'm doing. But the disaster doesn't come. No one interrupts me as I stroll at my leisurely pace toward my parking spot. She's got to be recording this, then, right? For evidence when she calls the cops. Or maybe just to post on the Internet, and then someone from work will see it and we'll be so fucking fired. I don't even turn around to look.

What the fuck is happening to me? And why am I not completely freaking out about it?

As I reach my Prius, Horny Brain seems to decide I can finally check on the lady. I glance back to where I left her, Rational Brain tensing for the inevitable...and find her not even there anymore. Further down the street, I see her continuing on her way, tugging at her dog's leash. No phone in sight.

Rational Brain spins awkwardly in her box. Okay, so...so she clearly saw us. Like, for sure. But...she didn't care? She sure as fuck seemed surprised...how the fuck do you just walk away from a naked woman walking down the street in broad daylight?

Horny Brain doesn't seem interested in hanging around to analyze the situation. Fishing my keys out of my bag, I unlock my car and slide behind the wheel. Sitting down reminds me of the state of my pussy—wetter than before, if that's possible, and swollen and sensitive judging by how the upholstery feels against the bottoms of my lips. A shiver runs up my spine. A sudden impulse washes over me, to reach between my legs and show her some love right here on the curb. My hand twitches, heedless of Rational Brain's horrified shrieking, but when the dashboard clock catches my eye, I stop. 8:27. Enough time to make it to work, but I can't afford to dawdle. That seems to bring Horny Brain to her senses in a way that the threat of public humiliation and indecent exposure charges is apparently incapable of doing. Surprised at my suddenly responsible behavior, I find myself starting up the engine and hitting the road.

My commute is a blessedly easy drive down suburban streets. Though there's no gridlock to deal with, I'm far from alone, plenty of other drivers starting to pass me in both directions once I get onto some of the larger roads. I'm keenly aware of how exposed I still am, my tits no doubt fully on display for anyone who takes the time to glance over. Once, I hear a couple of short honks from another car nearby, but I don't have time to see who it is before I need to make my turn. Despite the simmering box of anxiety locked away in its dusty corner, no sirens approach.

As I sit at the red lights, I take advantage of my strange clarity to take stock of things. What do I know? Somehow, overnight, I seem to have stopped caring about other people seeing me naked. No, that's not right, exactly; the part of me that cares is still there, that's obvious. It just doesn't seem to be able to actually affect what I do or feel anymore. Judging by how close I was to masturbating in my car a few minutes ago, it's not just public nudity that I'm suddenly comfortable with, either. But when I thought I'd be late for work, I was suddenly all business. So maybe it's just other people seeing me that doesn't matter anymore? I'm still horny as fuck, thinking about how insanely bold I'm being, how the lady with the dog got such a good look at me, how exposed I must be to everyone driving around me—but I don't feel any of that urge to get myself off at the moment. Is it because I'm driving, and that would be dangerous? That would be nice, to know I'm not about to put myself in actual physical danger.

I'm so distracted juggling this dilemma and the driving, I don't realize I'm almost at the office until I'm pulling into the parking lot. Fuck. This is really happening, isn't it? I'm about to walk in there totally naked, in front of all my coworkers.

I am so fucking fired.