Yarns Without Threads
|From pp 96:102, 129:131 and 135 of 1976 Futura paperback.|
In Chapter Five "In which Timmy comes to grips with nudism in the shapely forms of nicely born Sylvia Lestrange and swiftly aroused Cherry":
I squeeze through a gap in the hedge ... I suddenly hear a twig snap behind me. It it a heavy pheasant or - cringeville! A beautiful piece of crackling is willowing through the undergrowth towards me. This would be remarkable enough even if the bird was not starkers. Yes, starkers! Identical in lack of clobber to myself. Without a stitch of clothing to call her own. What is happening? ...
'Yew hew. Ripping, isn't it?' The bird is addressing me, like the sight of a naked geezer trying to hide his weasel behind a teasle comes as no surprise to her. 'Sylvia Lestrange. I don't think we've met. ... I think this is the best time of the day, don't you? Before everybody gets up.'
... 'It's all right,' I say, guardedly. ...
'I can see you're new here,' she says, nodding at my hands. 'You're hiding your parts. I've noticed lots of the chaps doing that. Actually, when you think about it, it just makes them more obvious. Much better to let them dangle.' What a funny woman. I wonder if she has escaped from anywhere. ...
'I'm certain they're no different to anyone elses. Not very pretty but nothing to be ashamed of.' She reaches down and pulls my hand away. 'There, see? I would never notice it.'
'Thanks,' I say. 'Oh well, better be getting along, I suppose.' ...
'Don't you fancy a tramp across the dunes?' says Sylvia. 'Jolly bracing.'
'I'm frozen,' I say. 'I don't know how you can stand it out here.'
'Practise,' says Sylvia. 'You'll soon get the hang of it.' ... 'We don't need all these togs, you know. We've conditioned ourselves to them. If we all went naked all the time we'd soon adjust. Come on, give me your hand. If you're cold we can scamper through the beech leaves.' ...
I allow myself to be dragged down an avenue of trees carpeted with last autumn's leaves. Sylvia kicks them in the air with whoops of glee ...
'That was fun,' I gasp. 'But I think I'd better turn back now. I - '
'Oh super!' interrupts Sylvia. 'There's Mummy and Daddy. I'll be able to introduce you. Yoo hoo! Mumsy!!'
I follow her waving mit and nearly have a heart attack. A middle-aged geezer and geezeress are ambling towards us down a side path and they are both starkers.
'Hello m'dear,' says the bloke taking a pipe from his mouth. 'What have you been up to, 'eh?'
'Just having an early morning nature ramble, Dadsy. I bumped into a fellow spirit.' ...
Sylvia's mum is ... just standing there very composed and upper crust.
'Hermione Lestrange,' she says, holding out a hand. 'How do you do?'
I dice with which hand to remove from my cluster and find myself giving a sort of nervous curtsey. 'Timothy Lea,' I say, squeezing her fingers. 'Pleased to make you - I mean, meet your acquaintance - I mean, make your acquaintance.'
Sylvia's mum's eyes narrow but she does not lose control of her stiff upper lip. 'And this is my husband, Edgar.'
Edgar takes his pipe out of his mouth again and shakes my hand. It is funny but it is shaped exactly like his dick - I mean, his pipe is. It curves out and then drops down. It is big, too. Very big. Not what you would expect if you saw Mr Lestrange with his clothes. It just goes to show. Nature is very indiscriminate with her gifts - good word that, isn't it? Indiscriminate. I just bunged it in for those of you who have been set this book for your 'O' levels.
'How d'you do, young man?' says Edgar. 'You look a bit chilly. ... Time for brekker, what? You'll join us won't you, Mr Lea?'
I am so cold and hungry that I will eat anywhere. Even in a lunatic asylum. 'Thanks very much,' I say.
'Is it your first time here?' inquires Mrs Lestrange as we stride down the avenue.
'That's right,' I say. ...
Ahead of us the outline of a red brick mansion shows through the trees and I am surprised to see that there are no bars on the windows. No wonder the inmates are wandering all over the grounds. It must have been them I saw on the beach and on the cliffs. It is a shame about Sylvia but at least she is with her mum and dad. It must make a difference if the whole family is round the twist.
The building hoves into view and - by the cringe! There are half a dozen naked bods playing croquet on the lawn. I glance towards a peeling signboard poking out of the shrubbery and suddenly it comes to me - like the squitters after eating a couple of pounds of unripe apples. 'Little Crumbling Naturists' Sanctuary' - naturists not naturalists! The place is a nudist colony not a bird sanctuary.
'Oh fantastic!' I say. 'You're not barmy after all.'
In Chapter Seven "In which Sid prepares to welcome C.U.N.T. and Rosie arrives":
... 'C.U.N.T.?' I say weakly.
'Confederation of United Nude Travellers,' says Sid. 'I'm arranging for them to hold a seminar here. It should really put the place on the map. ... C.U.N.T. is one of the most respected organs in world nudism. Its members travel round the globe spreading the massage - I mean, the message.'
'They're coming here?' I say. 'To Little Crumbling?'
'Yes,' says Sid proudly. 'The naked body will never have got so much coverage in this part of the world. ...'
'Oh Timmo, I really believe I've cracked it this time. The simple pastoral idyll, plus a few bob in your pocket at the same time. I don't know why I never got into naturism before. The feeling of the sun against your bare flesh. The sweet kiss of a barmy breeze. You know, I feel uncomfortable with clothes on these days.'
'Yes,' I say. 'It will be interesting to see how Rosie ... responds to life in the raw. You know, taking all her clothes off. ...'
'Taking all her clothes off?' says Sid, ... 'My wife! Are you mad? I'm not having Rosie wandering around in the buff with everybody gawping at her! What a disgusting idea. I'd better ring her up and tell her not to come. ...'
'You don't have to ring her up, Sid,' I say. 'Isn't that her getting out of that taxi at the gate?'
Start of Chapter Eight "In which Timmy is forced to go to unusual lengths in order to find a suitable candidate for The Miss Nude World contest":
'There you are,' says Sid. 'That's more like it, isn't it? It just took a bit of time, that's all. Cromer wasn't build in a day, you know.'
We are standing, naked, of course, inside the grounds of the Wonderful World of Nudism - oops! Sorry: W.W.O.N. - and peering through the bright green leaves at the site of Noggett Super Hols. It is two weeks after the initial unpleasantness between Rosie and Cherry - Cherry's black eye has nearly disappeared - and Sid has got used - well, almost used - to his wife and kids frisking around in the nude.
Extract Copyright © World Publishing Co Est 1976
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