The Jogger is Naked

I write at the top of the next page:

The jogger was completely naked as she approached his bench. Feeling tired, she decided to rest by sitting down next to Zanzibar.

I look over at her, she is a little way off, coming nearer, but she is still wearing the same outfit. I look at the page again, my note is still there. I look at the jogger again, no change. Disappointed, I close the book. Maybe I’m pushing it. Surely the book couldn’t just make somebody’s clothes vanish. I’m pretty sure it managed to make a pen appear in my pocket, but I’ll concede there is a big difference between the two. Maybe I should try something else.

I open the book to the same page, and I’m shocked to see it’s full of text. It begins:

The naked jogger was feeling tired as she neared his bench. She stopped running and took a seat next to Zanzibar. She seemed at ease, but Zanzibar began to blush, embarrassed at this turn of events. He tried to think of a way to talk to her.

I look up, the blonde girl is actually naked! She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, and right in front of me she slows and stops, places her hands on her knees and rests, panting. She straightens and walks right over, not seeming to notice me. She is beautiful. Pale skin, curvy, she’s probably early to mid-twenties. Blue eyes, full lips. She has a narrow waist, long legs and large, firm breasts. Her stomach is toned, and her blonde bush is neatly trimmed. I avert my eyes as she sits.

I feel my face growing warm. This is awkward. She’s just sitting there, naked and gorgeous. Should I talk to her? Should I check the book?

Of course I should check the book. I try to find out what happens next.

Zanzibar chatted to the girl for a moment, beginning to relax. However, when he pointed out that she was naked she began to panic. Previously unaware of her exposed state she ran from the park, picking up the discarded newspaper from the next bench and using it to cover herself.

Well that’s easy, I think. I just won’t tell her.

‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ I begin. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I love coming here. Such a nice place to run when the weather is like this.’

‘Very peaceful, isn’t it? I’m Zanzibar, by the way.’ I’m feeling that this conversation is even more awkward than sitting in silence next to a hot naked girl.

‘Emily,’ she says. She leans over to me, I’m trying really hard not to stare at her tits.

‘I don’t suppose you have any water? I seem to have forgotten my bottle.’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘No problem, I’ll pop over to the shop and buy some.’

‘Let me give you some money for it,’ I offer. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t got any money on her. Where would she put it?

She looks at me suspiciously. ‘No, it’s okay thanks. I’ve got money in my pocket.’

I laugh. ‘What pocket?’

Shit.

She looks down and places her hand on her bottom, which is where I guess she is expecting her pocket to be. She shrieks, looks at me with her mouth and eyes wide. She grips her breasts in her hands and stands up, then tries to cover her pussy. She runs, grabbing the newspaper from the next bench, wrapping it around her waist without slowing down.

Okay, that could have gone better.

Maybe I should have written that she knew she was naked and was okay with it. I need to keep an eye on the details, clearly.

I wonder what else I might be able to do with the book.