The Streak

by Matt Triewly

Preface

A moment of madness. Or a moment of liberation.


It's Saturday night or rather Sunday morning. It's cold. Frosty. I am walking back home. Alone. Drunk. Totally drunk.

Take all your clothes off. Run naked down the road. You know it's what you want to do, the perverted voice in my head urges.

Yeah, fuck it, I will, I respond.

The road is quiet and residential. Suburban. Posh.

I briefly look around at the handful of houses and the darkness behind the windows.

Good, I'll risk it.

Under the harsh purple-blue fluorescent light of the street lamp I strip off.

I am completely naked and I feel the chill air on my flesh. Bracing. Arousing. Liberating. Yet I feel apprehension. Fear even. Fear of prosecution. Exposure. Ridicule. Derision. Public humiliation.

But the Devil is with me tonight, whispering temptations in my ear. Exhorting me.

I pick up all my clothes and place them under my arm.

I am hard. Achingly so.

With my erection pointing the way. I run and run. Fly down the road. Hedges and gardens and trimmed lawns whizz past. The cold air flows round my nude body, engulfs it, caresses it.

I am intoxicated with arousal and a strange sense of freedom. I am... me. I am... now. Forever.

I begin to gasp for breath. I slow down. The spell is fading. And the voice of the Devil is nowhere to be heard.

I stop and dress as swiftly as possible. I have come to my senses.

God, you fool, you could have been arrested and charged with indecency. You would have been a laughing stock. You would have shamed your family. Maybe lost your job.

Yet, it was exciting, the Devil pipes up from somewhere.

I walk down the seven stone steps that lead to the front door of my house...

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