Roger's Day of Freedom

Roger had never really seen himself as a nudist, although he had seen himself naked.

Yet here he was, disrobing behind the high hedges of the Standing Pines Naturist Park and Camping Ground, just a small amount of foliage away from others of like mind, all intent on taking a day out of their normal lives to sun their unsunnables. The nudist camp was having an Open Day, and had invited potential naturists to come and see what the fuss was all about. One of those potential naturists was Roger.

Roger, before entering Standing Pines, removed his trousers and felt the breeze whistle gently past his thighs. As he trotted towards the main complex, it occurred to him just how refreshing it was to be truly free. A passing nudist - fellow nudist! - gave a friendly wave, and Roger was filled with a sense of benevolence, a sudden overwhelming conviction that the world was, after all, essentially good.

The Open Day passed quickly; by three the more hesitant nudists had left and the remaining guests had for the most part disrobed completely. A barbecue, a game of tennis and a rather creative round of quoits were in progress. Roger, sipping a beer and talking to a remarkably hirsute bank manager, reflected that he might, in time, become quite a fan of the naturist lifestyle.

As he was thinking this, the tranquillity was spoiled by the sound of cars arriving in the campsite's parking lot. The bank manager - who was also the head of the naturist society - frowned and excused himself.

When the bank manager came back some minutes later with a pair of policemen, the atmosphere of the afternoon changed instantly. Some of the less hardened nudists scrambled for their clothes. The bank manager, with the finesse of one who has been dealing with people, clothed or unclothed, for many years, gently herded the nudists inside so that the policemen - one old, one young - could briefly address them.

The older policeman cast his eyes around the sea of naked strangers and frowned. The younger policeman coughed and stared at the ceiling.

"Excuse me," said the younger policeman, who was having trouble deciding where to look, "for interrupting, but if I could just take up a minute of your time." He cleared his throat.
"There has recently been an incident at Rolleston-" for the prison lay mere kilometres away from Standing Pines- "and one of the inmates has-" he paused "-managed to leave the prison grounds."

There was a collective indrawn breath. Several members of the party were scared stiff.

"Now," said the older policeman, "there's really no cause for alarm." The younger policeman bit his lip and scuffed the toe of his shoe into the ground. The older policeman glared at him. The nudists decided to trust the younger policeman.

"We have no reason to believe the escapee would come here," the older officer continued firmly, "but we do ask that you keep an eye out for anyone behaving unusually, and be extra vigilant with your security until the inmate is back in custody." He cast his eyes around the sea of naked strangers. "Thank you." The policemen made to leave.

"This inmate," one of the naturists asked hesitantly, "is he...dangerous?"
The policemen shuffled. "We would advise that you don't approach him," said the older policeman.
"If you see him, retreat inside and call 111," added the younger policeman, helpfully.

The nudists shivered. The evening was getting chilly. The fun had gone out of being naked.

As the policemen left, one of the naturists called, "What does he look like?"
"He has a beard," said the older policeman, getting into the patrol car, "and short, dark hair." He paused. "Obviously, he would be wearing a prison jumpsuit."

As the policemen left and the buzz of conversation began Roger, newly converted naturist, smiled. For Roger had a beard, and Roger had short dark hair; but, like all the other nudists, he was not wearing anything at all.