The Nudist

It was just ridiculous enough to be true. Then again, she could be making the whole thing up. It was just so hard to imagine Diane’s father, the respectable banker who never left the house without a suit and tie, thriving on a nude beach. But I supposed that the most respectable, uptight people did tend to be the most repressed. And being naked in the sand wasn’t exactly a scandalous kink.

Walking arm in arm, Lisa and I left DSW Designer Shoe Warehouse and made our way down the sidewalk toward the consignment shop. Lisa gasped and pulled me behind a street light.

“Hey!” I held onto the black pole and readjusted my shoe that had nearly come flying off. “What was that about?”

Lisa shushed me, but the disruption soon became obvious.

In the middle of the courtyard was Diane’s dad, wearing only what he had come into the world with. My jaw dropped.

“It’s only natural!” he yelled at shoppers. “This is how God intended us to exist!”

It sounded like a well rehearsed spiel—one that may have been practiced first on his family. Poor Diane.

Not long after we started covertly watching the scene from behind the street light and some bushes, police arrived. They tried to herd him out of the courtyard, but Diane’s dad was not going without a fight. I covered my eyes. Older, naked people should not go running, bobbing, and weaving. The debacle didn’t end until one of the cops deployed a taser, allowing another officer to tie a jacket around the man’s waist while someone else cuffed his wrists.

“At least Diane wasn’t here to see this,” I said, watching everything through a gap between my fingers.

“Don’t worry.” Lisa grinned and showed me her phone. “I videoed the whole thing.”