Film At Eleven

I drive off, still naked, leaving my ripped dress behind me, on the parking lot pavement, a souvenir for anyone who may be interested in acquiring one by which to remember me.

Last night, I decided to employ the stratagem that I just described. I needed a consolation for having to forego the watching of a report on the damage that a series of hurricanes did as they cut a swath of terrifying death and destruction through Florida, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Virginia. I had to work late, but, afterward, I visited a highway rest stop on my way home and changed into a special outfit.

Then, I visited a mall near my house. I pulled up and parked. I had on a faded, old sundress. To ensure that it ripped away easily, I had pulled out many of the threads along the seams. Swiveling in my seat, I placed my high-heeled shoes onto the pavement, and, as I stood, I closed the door firmly upon my dress. As I stepped away from my parked car, I heard a loud, satisfying ripping sound, and my dress fell away from me, exposing my pert breasts, my shapely legs, my compact buttocks, and my dainty cock and balls. Then, I went through the usual pantomime of locating my purse, retrieving my car keys, and unlocking the door. By the time I had gotten back inside my car, a crowd of men and women were staring, shocked, at me.

It was only as I drove off, leaving my tattered dress on the pavement as another potential souvenir, that I saw the TV camera and Mike Walling, a local reporter, who was interviewing members of the crowd.

Oh God! I thought, panicking. Had I been caught on TV?

At first, the thought that my whole, sordid little routine might have been caught on film was horrifying. If so, everyone in town--hell, everyone within the viewing distance of the local TV station (which is to say, everyone in Southern California) would see me get out of my car, apparently catch my dress in the door, and be stripped bare, showing my tits, ass, and male genitals! My secret would be