Naked


Patrick had been in bed for nearly three hours. He lay there sweaty and naked - sprawled amid crumpled sheets. It was too hot to sleep, or if he did manage to drift off it was short and shallow, and he would find himself waking abruptly, startled by the slightest noise. A mess of open magazines cluttered by his bed documented his restlessness, while he had lost count of the times he had stumbled to the shower to cool off, or peer wearily into the refrigerator.
    Once again Patrick hauled himself out of bed and walked through the darkened house. He had grown so accustomed to seeing in the dark that it was not necessary for him to switch on a light. Through the kitchen window he could make out the shapes of the trees in his backyard as they quivered in the night air. He opened the door to see if the air had cooled, but was greeted by a warm breeze, which brushed lightly against his body. He found himself vaguely
aroused by this sensation, and realised that he was still naked, standing in the open doorway of his home. The warm air continued to caress him seductively, until his skin tingled all over. He took one step, then another, until he found himself in the middle of his barren, neglected lawn. In daylight Patrick would have been visible to Mrs Bowes, his neighbour, as she looked from her dining room window, as well as to traffic passing in the adjacent street. This
realisation, however, only aroused him further.
    He lay down upon the grass and looked up at the stars, thrilled by the prickling sensation of grass against skin. He became aware of the throbbing of his penis, and brushed against it with his hand, then gripped it and tugged back and forth several times. How coarse this
sensation seemed after the pleasure of his mere nakedness! How unsatisfying! Patrick let go of himself and stood up, then began to walk around the perimeter of his yard. He came to a corner crowded with shrubs and small trees, but instead of walking around it, he pushed through - even as thorns and branches scraped against his skin. Then he crouched on all fours and pissed, unconcerned that his legs were splashed by the spray, and that a warm stream trickled against his feet.
    Patrick remained on all fours and continued his circumnavigation of the garden, unperturbed by the roughness of the ground against his hands and knees, the scratching of plants at his body; in fact, he seemed to gravitate towards the wildest, most overgrown sections. Then he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. Patrick lay still against the ground, staring into the shadows. He thought he saw movement - a human shape crawling through the darkness.
    A fierce screeching of cats startled him - there was hissing, a crash through the bushes, the sound of an animal scaling the fence. Patrick got to his feet, suddenly aware of himself – his nakedness, the filth and scratches on his body, his overwhelming need for sleep. He
looked around, as though half-expecting to find a crowd of on-lookers but, of course, there was no-one. In the shower he reflected, with embarrassment, over what he had done. Then later, as he looked at himself in the mirror and saw the scratches and cuts on his buttocks and thighs, he grew aroused once more, and spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of strange fantasies, where he walked naked through busy shopping malls, or lived in the forest
like a savage.
    Patrick spent the next day in a kind of trance, unable to concentrate on the usual stream of customer queries and complaints.
    “Get lucky last night mate?” needled Colin, the office comedian.
    “About time you got laid,” added Barry.
    “Make sure you get an early night tonight, Patrick,” offered Theresa, his manager. “We need you to be alert - not asleep.”
    Patrick brushed aside these comments, blamed his condition on the weather - but laughed to himself when he considered the real reason for his weariness. He regarded his “romp” a childish adventure, not something to be overly ashamed about; and despite his fantasies of the previous night, did not believe it would happen again.

The following night a thunderstorm was forecast, and Patrick looked forward to getting a sound sleep. But as midnight neared the cool change had not yet arrived, and he found himself still sweltering in front of a barely effective electric fan, thumbing disinterestedly
through a sports magazine. Patrick crossed to an open window. The sky was overcast, and in the distance lightning flashed ominously. Mingling now with the warm air was a slight coolness and the smell of rain. He walked to the back of the house, and without hesitation,
peeled off his clothes and, once again, stepped naked into the garden.
    Patrick stood in the middle of the yard for a moment, assessing the coolness of the air as it licked at his skin - making him shudder with pleasure. Near the back fence he found a mound of weeds and leaf mulch, into which he urinated, listening to the crackle and splash of
piss against plant matter - his senses suddenly hypersensitive. Behind him, deep in the west, he heard the rumble of thunder. He walked around the house but found that he had no view of the approaching storm, every vantage point blocked by tree or fence. By climbing up the trellis at the rear of the house, and making his way carefully across the top of the pergola, Patrick found he was able to crawl onto the roof. He lay low and motionless, almost hugging the dusty tiles, which were still warm from the day’s heat. He could see into Mrs Bowes’ yard from here, as well as the Cunningham’s garden to the right. The street was also clearly visible, now quiet and empty of traffic. Across the road lay the darkness of the parklands, which stretched into the distance, until merging at last with the night. Patrick realised that he could be seen from the road, or the neighbour’s yards, but once again, found himself excited by this thought; his erect penis pulsing against the warmth of the roof.
    From the roof’s peak Patrick watched the storm as it raged in the western sky. The flashes of light against cloud, the sounds of thunder, drew closer and closer, and Patrick, anticipating a cloudburst, lay on his back, his naked body open to the sky. Now and again he felt splashes of rain, but these showers were brief, barely moistening him. It was as though the rain were trapped on some distant upper layer of cloud, unable to get through. Patrick
closed his eyes and tried to will the storm upon him.
    The thunder and lightning were above him now, but locked deep within chambers of cloud, as though the clouds themselves were shielding him. He saw only shades of light, patterns of shadow - the storm itself remained hidden. As it became clear that the storm was
passing, and would withhold its rain, Patrick realised that he had been masturbating, although there had been no climax, and his penis was now shrivelled and small.
    Awkwardly, he clambered down from the roof, catching his skin on the coarse wood of the trellis. And as he washed the dust from his body he found splinters in his fingers, in the soft flesh of his feet.


   

The cool change eventually arrived, bringing relief to the city, and Patrick gave no further thought to roaming naked through his garden, or climbing onto the roof. His main concern was that his neighbours may have seen him, and he attempted to act casually when he greeted them in the street.
    On Saturday night he reluctantly met up with some workmates at a local pub, but found he was unable to slip easily into conversation. He felt awkward and self-conscious and decided to go home early. He told the others that he had an awful headache.
    “Yeah, sure Pat. I bet you’re off to meet your secret lover,” joked Colin.
    “Go for it Patsy,” slurred Barry over his beer.
    Patrick smiled weakly in reply. At home he lounged in front of the television, flicking aimlessly from station to station. He ate the remains of a chocolate bar. Then he found an ancient copy of Penthouse, and attempted to masturbate. But the glossy photos of beautiful women did little to arouse him. He closed his eyes and tried to retrieve memories of former girlfriends, but the images were vague and blurred.
    Then he felt the scratches on his legs, and recalled the feeling of the air against his naked body, the warm roof against his skin, the tangled limbs of plants clutching at his arms and legs. His penis swelled in response. Desire welled within him.
    Patrick waited until after two o’clock before venturing outside. The air was much cooler than it had been on previous nights. His skin was alive with goosebumps. As before, he walked around the yard, crawled through the shrubs, lay upon the lawn; but he sensed that something was missing - some spark of excitement eluded him. Patrick looked over the fence into the street, which lay pale and eerie in the moonlight. On the other side of the street was the park, through which one could walk to the local shopping centre. The park was a favourite haunt of children, who liked to play sport on its open fields, explore its grove of olive trees, or paddle in the muddy creek. Patrick imagined himself there - found himself irresistibly drawn.
    He stood in the shadows, looking up and down the street - the only sound, the occasional hiss of traffic on the nearby highway. He waited until he was sure no-one was about, then let himself out through the side gate, and ran quickly across the road into the dark sanctuary of the park, his erect penis slapping against his belly. He made his way through a field of tall grasses, stopping to roll among them. Then, upon hearing a group of drunken youths stumble
across the park towards him, he climbed a tree and watched them pass. Near the playground Patrick found a cool patch of sand and lay there for some time, listening to the sounds of night: the secret songs of insects, the conversations of trees, clouds brushing against the stars. Then he swam in the creek, rubbed mud on his body, and squatted, shivering among the weeds - cold, yet exhilarated.
    Presently he came to the far corner of the park, from where he could see the shopping centre and its immense carpark. At this late hour even the yobbos had retired, taking with them their souped up Holdens and Fords. The empty carpark ached with loneliness - it was a wilderness that yearned to be explored. Patrick crossed the road, and keeping to the shadowed fringes of the carpark, he crept towards the shopfronts, their displays of groceries and clothing limp under the dim lights. Patrick caught sight of his reflection in the window – and was momentarily surprised by his nakedness, his dirty dishevelled appearance, his now shrivelled penis almost indistinguishable from the matted pubic hair. And as he considered his reflection he realised that he had discovered something important about himself, that he had passed through some previously impenetrable barrier.
    Patrick moved on beyond the shopping centre, continuing his trek into the endless suburbs. After a while he did not bother to hide himself, did not bother to keep to the shadows -    but walked, or ran, down the centre of the tidy, well-ordered streets. When he needed to
shit, he would squat in someone’s driveway and shit. When he needed to drink he found a tap and helped himself. And as the morning light began to creep above the rooftops he realised he was tired and began to look for some cool, quiet garden in which he could curl up and sleep.
    Maybe he didn’t hear the siren, maybe he didn’t care, but when the patrol car slowed behind him and showered him with light, it seemed as though the light passed right through him.



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