Saturday night had edged into Sunday morning. It had been cold, frosty, and I had been walking back home. Alone. Drunk. Totally drunk. And, I hadn't pulled. As usual.

Out of the blue a perverted voice in my head had said: Take all your clothes off. Run naked down the road. You know it's what you want to do.

Yeah, fuck it, I will, I'd responded.

The road had been quiet and residential. Suburban. Posh.

I'd briefly looked 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 streetlamp I'd stripped off.

I was completely naked and had felt the chill air on my flesh. It was bracing. Arousing. Liberating. Yet I had felt apprehension. Fear even. Fear of prosecution. Exposure. Ridicule. Derision. Public humiliation.

But the Devil was with me that night, whispering temptations in my ear. Exhorting me.

I had picked up all my clothes and placed them under my arm.

I was hard. Achingly so.

With my erection pointing the way I had run down the road. Hedges and gardens and trimmed lawns had whizzed past; the cold air had flowed round my nude body engulfing and caressing it.

I had been intoxicated with arousal and a strange sense of freedom. I had been me... totally me and I had felt... immortal.

But then I began to gasp for breath and my heart started to pound. I slowed down and realised that the spell was fading. And the voice of the Devil was now nowhere to be heard.

Coming to my senses I had halted and dressed as swiftly as possible.

God, you fool, you could have been arrested and charged with indecency. You would have been a laughingstock. You would have shamed your family. Maybe lost your job, I had thought.

I had briskly walked the last few hundred yards home and had hoped desperately that no one would run after and confront me, before descending the seven stone steps that had led to the front door of my house...