Laundry Night

“There are no nudes here,” he said. “This is not a nudist bar.”

I would like to have been reassured by this, but there were frankly far too many penises on display for me to take his words at face value.

“As long as you’re not expecting me to take my clothes off,” I said.

“I wouldn’t allow it. As I said, this isn’t a nudist bar.”

“Where are your clothes then?” I asked. I couldn’t help noticing that, whatever his protestations, the barman was completely naked.

“At the cleaners.”

I glanced around the bar. There were at least twenty men, all completely nude.

“Cleaners busy tonight," I said.

“It’s laundry night.”

“I see."

There was an awkward pause. I felt distinctly out of place, sitting there fully clothed when nudity was all around me.

“I don’t want to undress completely,” I said, “After all, I am the only woman in the bar.”

“Not allowed to anyway,” said the barman.

“I could take my top off, I suppose. Not my bra, just my top.” I took my top off.

The barman shot me a glance.

“Laundry night,” I said.

“Ah, okay, laundry is fine. But this isn’t a nudist bar.”

I sipped my drink. I’d hoped that taking my top off would help me blend in, but if anything it was worse, on one level I was conscious of sitting there in just my bra, on another level I was fully aware that I was the only person in the bar wearing clothes at all.

“I suppose I could take my jeans off,” I said to the barman, “You know, for laundry related purposes.”

"I suppose you could.”

"But don’t expect anything else, I’m not a nudist.”

“Pleased to hear it. This is not a nudist bar.”

I took off my jeans. I felt liberated sitting there in just my bra and panties. A couple of men came up to the bar to get drinks. My gaze carefully avoided their penises.

The men ordered their drinks and walked away, barely acknowledging my existence.

I realised it was a bit rude of me, sitting there with everything significant covered over. Tonight of all nights – laundry night. “I don’t mind taking my bra off,” I confessed to the barman. “After all, it needs a wash.”

It was a relief frankly. Nobody so much as glanced at my free-flowing breasts, it wasn’t that kind of bar.

The barman was busy with customers, the customers were busy with themselves, and here I was sat alone at the bar, naked but for my knickers.

“Of fuck it,” I said, loudly enough for the whole bar to here, “All right I’ll take them off.”

I took off my knickers and sat there naked.Nobody said anything, but for the first time all evening I finally felt I fitted in.

I took a satisfied swig of my wine. Chardonnay always ends with me taking my clothes off, I just can’t help it.