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'You don't know what you've got till she's gone.'

Butch had challenged me to just go about the day naked, the way she had, and she really did look great on the Stossel show last night, and I found myself daydreaming about trying it. But not only was this not California, it was the 4th of April, in Pennsylvania, and spring mornings were just way too cold to think about doing this seriously.

Annette interrupted my reverie when she came in to the shared bathroom. "Still practicing for the party, I see."

"You know I didn't bring my clothes in here!" I tried being fake-angry, but she knew me well enough to know I was teasing her. Annette had, of course, put on her robe to walk over, and she still had her babydoll "nightie" on under that.

About that time, Megan walked in, and said, "Jim is in the suite, chatting up Jamie in the living room." Then, looking straight a me, "Of course, that probably won't bother you." She had a wicked grin.

Knowing that one of the guys was in the living room would normally have pushed me to wrap my bath towel around myself before walking to my room -- I've got to turn left and walk away from the living room about four steps before turning right into my room; it's not just two steps across the hall -- but I was kind of feeling it this morning, so I didn't. Because I was turning away from the living room, I couldn't see whether Jim had seem me walk naked back to my room, but I got a little tingle imagining that he did. In fact, I decided that yes, he did get an eyeful, without actually knowing it.

I could see that it was a cold morning: the sun had cleared most of the frost, but there was still some in the shadow of the building, but when I grabbed a heavy cable-knit sweater it struck me as not quite showing off that much. I didn't wear much more than necessary when it was warm, but a cold Pennsylvania winter had me pretty much bundled up for the past few months, and this past winter had been a lot colder than normal. I already had a black cotton thong on, and pulled up a fairly faded pair of jeans, a pair that really fit me well, but I decided that I wasn't going to wear that heavy sweater this morning. Because I'm so flat-chested I never wear a bra -- other than a sports bra for working out -- but if my boobs aren't big, I do have some pretty awesome puffy pink nipples, about an inch wide and a little less tall, and believe me, the guys like them when I'm wearing a shirt thin enough and tight enough to silhouette them. I picked out an old t-shirt, a grey one, that wasn't see-through at all, but fit tight enough to show off my nips just a bit. It wouldn't have been a crop top on most girls, but I'm so tall that it is on me, so there was a band of bare skin, just about an inch wide, between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my jeans, and that was with my arms down; if I had to reach up for something, a lot more skin would show. I'd just grab my insulated vest, and that would be good enough for today.

I was just about to leave my room when I spotted a pair of artfully ripped jeans on the top of my dirty clothes basket. Though I didn't normally buy the the deliberately cut stuff, a lot of girls at York did, and when I spotted a pair in my size that fit me really well, I bought them. Naturally, "artfully ripped" means a peekaboo hole in the thighs, but the manufacturers never put the rips anywhere in the butt or front. I picked up the jeans, grabbed a pocketknife off my dresser, and put a one inch slit right across where my right butt cheek would be. They'd have to go through the wash before the cut would artfully fray along the edges, but they needed to be washed anyway.

So, I grabbed my notebooks and threw them in my backpack to get ready to head for the DFAC for chow.

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