It’s Friday night, just about eleven pm, and you are waiting for your friend to call you on your cell to say she is on the way. You check your outfit one last time before you run out the door.

Damn girl, you are one fine piece of ass tonight. Your only worry- Will I look better than my best friend? I hope she doesn’t wear that red dress or I will get no attention at all!

The car pulls up, and you are on your way. Five girls packed into a small car, blasting dance music, and talking about what a great time you are going to have that night! Someone lights up a joint, and the pre-party has started already.

The driver glares in her rearview mirror thinking, “How did I get stuck as the designated driver yet again…” Sorry baby, the rest of us have to get drunk to have a good time. Besides, if we don’t get drunk, we’ll just take it out on you in the end.

You get to the club; there is a line that wraps around the building. Big muscled, small-brained men guard the doors, checking Ids and making sure not to ever crack a smile.

Halt- who goes there?

It is I, little club girl. You don’t want to stop me—I’m hot and there are much larger, less fashionable girls in the line behind me.

You may pass GO and collect your funds on the way to Chelsea Street.

OK you’re in. It was freezing out, your skin is tainted a faint bluish color, but you did not break fashion commandment number seven- thou shall not cover thy body with a jacket, coat, or sweater lest you will anger the bouncer gods who will detain your entrance into the never world.

First stop- the lady’s room- where all the young maidens gather before the ultimate sacrifice. Reapply that lipstick, pull your top a little lower and your skirt a little higher, and give that foreign lady a whole dollar to get one piece of gum. And most important- check out what those other girls are wearing.

“Ew she is way too large to be wearing that top. Look at how her arms just bulge out. And the cellulite…”

Good, feel confident? Now it’s time to hit the bar. 1 drink, 2 drink, red drink, blue drink. It doesn’t matter as long as it gets you drunk. The lights are flashing, colors swirl into each other-a rainbow display of music on the dance floor. The designated driver is talking to you, but who can hear her over the music? She looks bored; better turn to your other drunken friends. Don’t make eye contact or she may make you leave early!

A good song comes on, but no one is on the dance floor. You have two choices—wait until the crowd gets on the floor or go out and start dancing with your friends while it is still empty. What do you pick?

Choice two- get out there and dance girl, dance. It is always better to be the first ones out because all of the attention is focused on you. It is your time to impress those guys and make the other girls jealous with your dance moves and supreme sense of style. The boys are ogling; the girls are sneering. You are a true dancing queen…

It’s getting hotter—people are beginning to crowd into the center of the floor. Drink, dance, drink, dance- a pattern is forming. The more you drink the freer you feel. Bodies sweating, pressed up against each other, music so loud you can’t even think straight—or is that the alcohol?

You see him there dancing his way over to you. He’s tall, he’s big, and he got all of the right moves. But then it happens- the rear attack of the “uglysweatyguywiththehugehardonpressedintoyourass.” You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with body odor. His hot breath is on your neck, and his slimy hands are groping at your body. He presses his stiffy into your butt, and you look towards your friends with a look of fear and desperation.

They are laughing at you and your predicament—sure it isn’t their bums being assaulted! You have one other option. Run off the dance floor and make a beeline for your sober friend who is sitting miserably on the couch in the corner in between two couples who are practically having sex with their clothes on.

She nods her head sympathetically as you retell your horror story. Wait- did she just roll her eyes? No- it must have been the trick lighting. It’s almost three o’clock, and they are setting up the free breakfast buffet.

There is nothing like runny eggs and cold bacon after a good night of drinking. The clubbers stumble into line formation as three Spanish guys shell out the food.

left, left, left, right, left- forward march!

You have to act quickly and find a seat or you are left balancing by a speaker with a cup of coffee, your plate, a napkin, and a plastic fork. Good thing super sober friend is saving that couch for you and your friends!

She jingles her keys singling the end of the night. Your lucky friend who hooked-up is kissing her guy goodbye while the rest of you look on. Damn her and her red dress. Who does she think she is anyway? The guys only go for because she has large breasts—otherwise she has the personality of a piece of dried up wood.

You squish into the car and head home. At first, everyone relives the events of the night, but one by one the partygoers begin to pass out. All of them, that is, except for Miss Designated Driver, who is contemplating locking everyone in the car and driving off of a bridge to a watery death.

As you stumble into your house and crawl into bed you think about what you will wear next weekend. You will surely get the hook-up then. If only you wore those silver shoes with the short pink dress…. You drift into sleep as visions of club outfits dance in your head.

<< Back to PureNudism.com Nude Gallery

Try browsing other nudist websites and you would still come back to PureNudism.com! We are the leader in everything nudism has to offer.

H
D

P
H
O
T
O
S