Then I changed the subject. I’d become fascinated by the stories appearing in the paper about streaking, and we began talking about the college campuses where those early streakers had made their mark, boldly baring it all, so naughty in their nudity, wearing nothing but a pair of sneakers. People cheering them on their way – the women’s breasts bobbing and the men’s cocks jiggling free of their briefs, naked as the day they were born.
“One of us should christen the track and go streaking,” I said. “Anyone up for that?” “Not me. No way!” Steve replied. “Me neither,” added Jimmy.
“Girls? How ‘bout it?” “I don’t think so, Adam. It wouldn’t feel right, being naked outside, where anyone driving by could see me. I don’t think it would be a good thing to do. It could be fun, I guess…”
“Don’t even ask me, Adam,” Mary interjected. “I’d have to be pretty shameless to do something like that. My mom told me those streakers should be ashamed of themselves, and I agree with her!”