“You owe us a dare,” Mike insisted.

“We did ours.  Now you do yours,” Karl added.

“You did your dares two years ago.  We were still in college,” I protested.  “We’re out of school now.  Have jobs.  We’re past that kid stuff.”

“That just means your dare is long overdue,” Annie demanded.

I sighed, knowing my three best friends were right.  Mike had streaked the women’s volleyball game.  Karl posed nude for an art class.  Annie, being very adventurous at the time, had danced naked at a frat party.  Somehow, between finals and graduation, my dare had slipped through the cracks.

“What do you want me to do?” I conceded.

My name is Russ Thompson, 24 years old, 5’10 and 170 pounds.  I have a sleek physique, being a swimmer, runner, and tennis player.  My major was physical education.  My friends were all business majors.  And yes, now they were making good money while I labored as the poorly paid assistant manager of a suburban gym, checking memberships and mopping floors.

“We’ve entered you in a contest,” Annie informed.  “Be ready Wednesday morning.  Early.  It’s a long drive.”

“Drive?” I blurted.  They laughed.

They wouldn’t tell me where the dare was going to take place.  We got in Karl’s brand-new SUV, took the freeway north, and went into the desert over the Pear Blossum Highway.  Two hours later, we were in Barstow heading east towards Baker.  A sign pointed to an offramp.

“Headstone?” I asked.

“It’s a wild west ghost town,” Mike explained.  “It’s mostly abandoned now, but they still have special events here from time to time.  And a new one coming up.”

The asphalt road changed to dirt, and bumpy.  Scraggily trees and cactus stretched to the horizon.  I knew that mining was a big industry here in the 1880s and slowly died out twenty years later.  The parking lot at the bottom of the hill was empty.

“Looks like no one is here yet,” Karl said.  “The festivities probably don’t start until later.”

“What festivities?” I questioned again.

“It will all become clear,” Mike answered.  “Now get out of the car and take off your clothes.”

“Take off my what?” I exclaimed.

“Don’t pretend to be surprised.  You were grinning while I danced nude at the frat party,” Annie recalled.

“We were there to protect you,” I mentioned.  “And we did.”

“That was nice of you,” she agreed.  “But it doesn’t change your dare.”

We stood in the gravelly parking lot on a clear blue morning, the rear hatch of the SUV open.  While my friends smirked, I kicked off my sneakers and socks, tossing them into the car.  My Flash t-shirt went next, followed by my slacks.  Only my jockey shorts remained.

“Guys?” I pleaded.

“Everything,” Karl responded.  The shorts went into the car, leaving me buck-naked before them, hands crossed in front of me.  My face flushed red with embarrassment.

“You’re looking good,” Annie said, taking out her phone for a photo.

“Hey!  Don’t do that,” I complained.

“No rules about photos,” Mike said, also taking a picture.  “Thanks to Midvale’s internet, we’re all famous.”

That was true.  But I kept myself covered anyway.

“Let’s go,” Karl announced, leading me up the hill toward the old town.

Headstone had a population of 500 during its glory days.  Now it looked like population zero.  We passed Boot Hill, then a dilapidated barn with pealing red paint, and reached the lower end of Frontier Street.  It was the town’s only thoroughfare, about two dozen old wood buildings with plank sidewalks and verandas to resist rain.  Signs indicated that, in better days, there were tourist shops, an ice cream parlor, a restaurant and a saloon.  Likely for weekend visitors.

And then their plot was revealed.  A white banner with black lettering stretched across the center of the street read: HEADSTONE ANNUAL NUDE RACE.

“Oh, no.  Guys, don’t do this,” I whined.  “We’re adults now.”

“Russ, this is an adult race,” Annie replied.  “This is the one event of the summer that no children are allowed.  18 years or older only.  We signed you up and you’re going to run this race.”

“No, I can’t.  People will take photos,” I whined.  “I’ll be arrested.

“This is a perfectly legal event with no shame attached,” Karl clarified.  “It’s sanctioned by the county in keeping with Headstone’s ancient traditions.”

“Ancient traditions?” I doubted.

“Cowboys would come into town after a cattle drive, get drunk, and race through the streets nude.  Bets were placed.  The prettiest girl in town was the grand prize.”

“I don’t see any pretty girls,” I complained.

“Sorry, Russ, you’ve got no excuses,” Annie happily persisted.  “You are finally paying up on your dare.  We’ve been planning this for months.”

We? I wondered.  By the excited gleam in Annie’s eyes, I knew perfectly well who the mastermind was.  Mike and Karl were never this devious.  I looked around.  At the moment, the town was empty.  Uninhabited.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?

Annie looked at her watch and told me to stand under the banner, in the middle of the street.  Naked.  They took pictures.  I felt like a fool.

“Now you just need to wait for the other contestants to show up,” Karl said.  “Have fun.”

The three of them began to stroll back down the gentle slope to the parking lot.

“Hey, wait!  Where are you going?” I shouted.

“We’re getting lunch at Peggy Sue’s Diner in Barstow,” Mike answered.  “We’ll be back tonight after the race.”

“Tonight?”

“Probably tonight,” Mike said.  “If not, tomorrow morning at the latest.  And don’t bother chasing us, you’re not getting back in the car.”

Five minutes later, the SUV disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

“Fuck,” I muttered.  Was there even a race?  Or was this just a scheme to leave me naked in a ghost town?  I wasn’t particularly worried about being left there for a day.  A horse trough indicated fresh water was available.  An apple orchard looked ripe for plucking.  The old barn would protect me from the elements.  My survivalist training put me in good stead, though I wondered what to do next.

“Boy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” a man shouted.

I turned to see a shopkeeper coming out of a gift store.  He was a burly fellow in a long white sleeve shirt, black vest, and brown cowboy hat.  On closer inspection, the shop wasn’t the abandoned hovel I’d first expected.  Through big windows, I saw shelves filled with colorful western products.

“I’m here for the race,” I stuttered, completely stunned.

He stared at me like I was an idiot. 

More townspeople emerged from the old wooden buildings, not nearly so empty as I’d been led to believe.  There was a six-foot tall woman dressed like Wyatt Earp wearing a sheriff’s badge.  A slim man in a black suit resembling Doc Holiday.  A short plump lady in her early 50’s outfitted in rough leather like Calamity Jane.  A powerful man with a bushy mustache standing like Wild Bill Hickok with a Colt Navy revolver tucked in his holster.  At least a dozen more, all in quaint period costumes.  My costume was a bit more sparse. 

Do they live here? I wondered.  Or is there an employee parking lot somewhere that tourists aren’t allowed to see.  One thing for certain, the ghost town was filled with more than ghosts.

“What is this, Dan?” the lady sheriff asked the shopkeeper.

“Diane, seems he came to run in the race,” Dan answered.

That elicited a wave of laughter.  If I felt stupid before, now I was humiliated.

“I owed my friends a dare,” I tried to explain, covering up the best I could.  It took both hands to cover my front.  Nothing was covering my bare backside.

“Those three who drove off?” Sheriff Diane asked, sounding official.

“Yes.  We attended Midvale Valley College together,” I answered, squirming as I hunched over.  “I’ve owed them a dare for two years.”

“And they deserted you like this?” Wild Bill questioned.  “Where are your clothes?”

“Still in their car,” I shamefully admitted.

“Looks like they got ya good,” Calamity Jane said, grinning as her green eyes ran all over me.

“Son, let me explain a few things,” Dan said, immensely amused.  “First of all, the race was last week.  There won’t be another one for a year.  Second, they don’t race completely nude.  The women wear bikinis and the men have speedos.”

“By the strict definition of the law, you are guilty of indecent exposure,” Sheriff Diane declared, taking out handcuffs.  “I’ll need to arrest you.”

She bent my arms back, cuffing my wrists, leaving me helplessly exposed.  Half a dozen phones came out, taking pictures.  I dropped to my knees, feeling like crying.

“Now hold on a minute, sheriff,” Dan said, holding up a hand.  “Seems to me this young fella is the victim of a mean prank.  Maybe we can reach an accommodation?”

“And what would that be, Mr. Mayor?” Diane asked.

“It’s good this is Adult Wednesday, when the burlesque dancers play dancehall whores and put on our shows.  We’ll be expecting a good crowd later in the saloon with high-stakes poker and a rowdy bar.  Even a few shootouts.”

I noticed three women were already dressed enticingly in fringed vests, white feathers, and bustiers.  Many of the men wore sidearms.  I, of course, was wearing nothing at all.

“And so?” Doc Holliday questioned.  

The townspeople huddled outside the Long Branch Saloon, conferring.  There were raised eyebrows and guffaws.  They were a close-knit, happy bunch.

“Son, what’s your name?” Dan asked upon their return.      

“Russell Thompson, sir,” I replied.

“Well, Russ, we have a proposition for you,” Dan continued.  “We can call the county sheriff and have you transported down to Barstow for booking.  You’ll stay naked, of course, during your mug shots.  Or we can have a special nude race, just for you.  The publicity photos will be good for the town, which hasn’t been getting much attention lately.”

“Son, this won’t be so bad,” Doc Holiday consoled, significantly older than the real Doc Holiday had been when he died of consumption.  “We aren’t cruel, but you got yourself into this jam.  There’s nothing wrong with us wanting to get something out of it.”

I actually thought that was an insightful observation.  And I never suspected for a moment that the county sheriff would take me into Barstow naked.  Not unless they wanted a serious lawsuit.  It was a bluff.  Good natured, in my opinion.  I began to relax.  They were playing a game.  In a weird sort of way, I kind of liked it.  Not that I wasn’t totally humiliated, still naked and handcuffed standing in the middle of the street before the entire population.

“You may not be in this boat alone,” Calamity said.  “It’s not unknown for some of our dancers to strip naked and walk around the town pretending to be drunk.  And sometimes they aren’t pretending.  Afterall, Headstone is a party town.”

“What do you say, Russ?  Going to help us out?” Dan asked.

“Come on, don’t be shy.  You’ve got a decent package there,” Calamity said, pointing at my unsheltered manhood.  Many chuckled.  It was true that I had nothing to apologize for.  One advantage of working for a gym was staying in shape.  Running.  Lifting weights.  Chin-ups and sit-ups.  I taught classes.  My physique was agile rather than muscular.  Not especially hairy.  And my “package” was completely adequate.  Though it had been a while since I’d been between the sheets, there had been no complaints.

Mr. Martin McFly, the town photographer, started taking official photos while his lovely 21-year-old daughter Shay used a video recorder.  When I hesitated, Shay stepped up, lowered her camera, and gave me a fetching smile.

“I would personally appreciate it if you would say yes,” she suggested, fluttering her long eyelashes.  That kind of convinced me.

“Mister Mayor, please allow me to participate in your race,” I requested.  Dan nodded.  Sheriff Diane removed the handcuffs.

“Let’s have a tour with our prisoner,” Dan announced, taking me into the first shop.  It was filled with cowboy hats, vests, curios, and toys.  Shay and Mr. McFly followed close behind.  The video wasn’t intended to shame me.  They were seeking to boost business.  What better way than with a naked model?

Dan “sold” me a black cowboy hat.  A nice Stetson.  I was no longer completely naked.  I apologized for not having my wallet on me, which earned a big laugh.  In the next shop, I was fitted with leather boots.  Really nice ones, with carved designs and soft linings.  To my chagrin, Dan declared my costume now complete.  I kept trying to cover myself until Sheriff Diane warned that I might be handcuffed again.  They treated me to lunch, grilled cheese and lemonade.

Tourists began to arrive in the late afternoon and the town went into full wild west mode, greeting people in their shops and directing them to the Horseshoe Café.  Several men strutted around in long coats called dusters with six shooters in their holsters.  I was taken to the saloon, encouraged to drink several tall beers, and then locked in the rustic jail, where tourists could peer through the bars and see a naked prisoner awaiting trial.  I could be a bit of a tease, twisting so that my best parts weren’t quite visible.  Lots of pictures were taken.

At 6 p.m., with a crowd of seventy tourists watching, I was taken to the historic courthouse, which was also the town school and church.  There, with my hands shackled before me in old-fashioned manacles, I was put on trial for stealing a horse.  But the “iron” shackles weren’t really iron.  They were thick plastic molded to look like the real thing.  I pretended they were heavy, allowing the dangling chains to cover me.

The trial was brief, the sentence hanging.  They took me outside to the gallows, naked and shackled.  I was nervous, for the hangman’s platform looked real.  Calamity whispered to me, praising my acting.  Then I was strung up with a noose around my neck and Judge Spicer read the death sentence, preparing to open the drop hatch beneath me.  I really hoped the equipment wasn’t faulty.  And then at the last minute, exactly on cue, Mayor Dan said the horse thief should have a chance for redemption. 

“Let him race for his freedom!” Dan challenged.  The crowd applauded.

I had hoped to race without the restraints, but that wasn’t meant to be.  As they weren’t cumbersome, I doubted they’d be a problem.  The deputies took me down from the gallows to stand under the Headstone nude race banner.  Mr. McFly took several publicity photos, making sure the town signs were prominent in all of them.  Shay moved around with her video cam, getting reaction shots of the giggling audience.

“Mr. McFly,” I whispered.  “Can you really use photos of me like this in your publicity?”

“Son, we’re not dumb.  Your vitals will be blurred,” he answered.  “The unblurred photos will only be used in approved locations.”

“Approved?” I wondered.

“Hell, Russ. There are six dozen people here taking all kinds of pictures.  It’s too late to worry about your modesty.”

That was certainly true.

“He needs to dance!” Calamity suddenly decided, drawing her six-gun.  So did Wild Bill.  They started shooting at my feet, using real bullets and making me jump.  The observers thought it great fun.  It was good to be so nimble.  I could see where they were pointing, being sure to avoid the dusty impacts, and they were careful to watch my eyes, ensuring the choreography.  We made a good team.

“Time for the race!” Dan announced. 

Two of the dance hall girls used a chalk machine to make a yellow line under the banner, marking the starting point.  The crowd took up positions.  Shay was right in front of me in tight jeans, her red blouse open at the top.  She wasn’t wearing a bra.  I needed to focus before there was an embarrassing reaction.

“Three, two, one, go!” many shouted as a whistle was blown.

I wasted no time, running up the hill along old ore tracks toward the mining shafts littering the dry mountainside.  I soon found myself chased by many, including a cowboy on horseback.  Trying to hide was out of the question.  Where would I go, shackled without any clothes?  Only wearing a hat and boots?  I ran the designated course up a ravine, over a ridge, down a gully, and across a weed-covered flat.  I accelerated, leaving much of the pursuit behind.

In minutes, I was in the hills again.  Rusted mining equipment gave the landscape character.  Diggers.  Shovels.  Ore carts.  The trail narrowed, high on one side, drastically steep on the other.  The boots were excellent, keeping me steady.  After turning a sharp bend, I dropped down a steep slope much faster than anyone could have imagined.  Even the horse, struggling with the twisting trail, couldn’t keep up with me.  I had been a runner in college, after all, and still ran several times a week.

After a time, my pursuit gave up.  I was too fast, and they didn’t want to miss the end of the race, going back down to Frontier Street.  I paused to sit on a granite boulder, catching my breath, able to see the dry desert valley below me and the interstate highway in the distance. 

I thought this was a fun town with good people, even if they were a bit eccentric.  I wasn’t thinking of becoming a naked tourist attraction, but my job in the city wasn’t anything special.  I could open a gym here.  Teach yoga classes.  I had learned how to care for horses and livestock during summers on my grandfather’s farm in Ohio.  But would these people accept me?  Was it really something I wanted, or just a reaction to stressful circumstances?  I couldn’t know for sure, but I was having a marvelous time. 

After a few minutes, Shay came to join me.  I guessed her about 5’6 with a slender waist and nice round breasts.  Her luscious auburn hair hung to her shoulders.  Sitting next to her naked was embarrassing, but not enough to chase her away.

“You’re having a hell of a day,” she said, taking out a silver flask.  I noticed she hadn’t brought her camera.  “Do you drink?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied.  She took a sip of Tennessee bourbon and handed me the flask.  It was rich.  I coughed a little. 

“Smooth,” I concluded, getting a chuckle.

“May I ask, why did you do this?” she inquired, her accent more Philadelphia than California.

“I was going to be arrested,” I claimed.

“We both know that’s not true,” she responded.  “All you had to do was say no, and someone would have gotten you clothes.”

“What fun would that have been?” I replied.  She laughed, her deep blue eyes lighting up.

“I looked you up on the internet,” she revealed.  “You had a lot of social media in college, and not much since then.  Are you dating?”

“No, I kind of stalled out on dating.  And a lot of other things,” I admitted.

“That’s too bad.  You’re very good-looking, and gorgeously athletic.  I suspect you may be smarter than you look.”

“There are different kinds of smarts.  Mine don’t translate into big money or steady jobs,” I lamented.

“Maybe you haven’t found your niche?” she suggested.  “My dad and I moved out here when I was fourteen.  Jobs had dried up back home.  I got my engineering degree from UCLA and he has steady work now.  Parties.  Birthdays.  Bar mitzvahs.  The county has him doing special projects.  And the tourists here in Headstone, of course.”

It took me a moment to catch up.

“You’re not a photographer?” I asked.

“Not fulltime.  I’m an architect with a good eye for camera shots.”

Wow, I thought.  She’s not only pretty, but brilliant, and way out of my league.  She read my expression.

“Don’t start thinking that,” she admonished.

“Thinking what?”

“That you couldn’t date me if you wanted to.  I’m not looking for a professor, or a corporate CEO.  If I could have my wish, I’d want a guy who’s brave, gutsy enough to take on big challenges, and stays cool under pressure.”

Shay reached down to my knee, ran her hand along my leg, and then up the inside of my thigh, brushing my sudden arousal.

“Cool under pressure, but willing to be passionate,” she clarified, taking my swelling member in her hand and rubbing.  I bent over, my breath growing short, knowing I should stop her.  But I couldn’t muster the willpower.  I didn’t need to, for it wasn’t my decision.

“Stand up,” she ordered, sensing my hesitation.  I obeyed, nude on a mountain side before this beautiful woman.  She had me step through the chains in front of me, drew them up behind me, and tied them with a scarf.  Once again, I was totally exposed, unable to cover myself.  I pulled to see how tight the bonds were.  They were tight enough.  She grabbed my butt.  Ran her hands along my ribs.  Walked her fingers down my spine.  My flesh was tingling. 

“Sit down,” she instructed, an excited glare in her daring eyes.  I was sitting on the rock again.  Looking around to see if anyone was watching us.

“Good idea to keep a lookout,” she advised.  “Sometimes birdwatchers come here with telephoto lenses.  We wouldn’t want this on the internet.”

“What on the internet?” I thought to ask, for the whole town had already photographed me in my natural wonder.

“This,” she answered.

The next thing I knew, she was kneeling down before me, spreading my thighs.  Cupping my balls.  Stroking my dick back to its earlier ferocity.  It was so embarrassing.   And thrilling.  Like nothing I had ever experienced.  She glanced up from time to time, smiling at my reaction.  Having glory in her total control.  And then her mouth was on me.  I bent over, groaning.  Struggling for breath.  Helpless to stop her.  I felt like a sex toy in her hands.

“I’m not taking off my clothes with so many cameras around, so you won’t be fucking me on this hillside,” she warned.  “But I will make sure you’re rewarded for being so brave.”

It wasn’t over in a minute, or two, or five.  She’d bring me to the edge, back off, and start again.  I never said a word, completely overcome.  Tears in my eyes.  At times, the intensity was so great that I’d try to squeeze my knees together.  She’d push them wide again, giggling at my pathetic attempts.  Licking and sucking even harder.  When she finally granted me release, I spurted all over the desert floor.  In waves.  She grinned while continuing to work me until there was nothing left.  Shay was breathing hard, too.  Exhilarated.  And as desirable as any woman I could ever imagine.  Spent or not, if she’d been naked and I wasn’t tied up, I’d have been on her like honey on a ham.

Having accomplished her mission, she stood up, untied the scarf from behind my back, and used it to delicately dab her lips.

“I’ll be taking you back to my place tonight, and we’ll both be getting naked there.  If you’re agreeable,” she announced.  I looked up at her with watery eyes, my breathing still heavy.  I tried to talk but no words came out.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” she happily concluded, giving me a soft kiss.  And then, just like that, she was gone.  It took several minutes for my excitement to subside.

Everyone was waiting for me under the nude race banner, twenty townspeople and seventy tourists.  I came down the hill boldly, marching with confidence.  I had won.  I knew it, the town knew it, and our fans knew it.  Wild Bill fired a pistol shot when I crossed the finish line.  Judge Spicer declared me exonerated of all charges.  Sheriff Diane removed the shackles.  It was time to party.

We crowded into the Long Branch Saloon, a straw-covered floor and several balconies overlooking the bar and gaming tables.  I doubted that prostitution was really being practiced upstairs, but the girls looked ready for anything.  I was gifted with a western vest that just barely covered my junk, keeping me cautious.  Every time I reached for a beer, things could be seen.  Not that they hadn’t already seen everything.  Dan and the lively crowd were still enjoying my uncomfortable situation.

The burlesque dancers performed on stage, getting close to naked, and then mingled with the audience, wearing short skirts, feathered bonnets, and very revealing leather tops.  There was a roulette wheel and craps table where betting was legal.  Apparently, the town was on the border of an Indian reservation.

At a poker game, a “fight” broke out and the card shark was shot by Doc Holiday.  Wild Bill asked me if I wanted to sit in on the game.  After all, no one would suspect me of hiding cards up my nonexistent shirt sleeves.  I explained that I had lost my wallet, getting a gentle laugh from my new friends. 

While the party was in full swing, Dan, Diane, and Calamity took me aside.

“Shay says you don’t have much of a career in the city,” Dan mentioned.

“My degree turned into a dead end,” I admitted.  “Sometimes P.E. classes don’t count for much.”

“Russ, we’ve talked to the others.  We like you,” Calamity confessed.  “You took the most degrading day imaginable and handled it with real grit.  And spirit.  And humor.  That goes a long way around here.”

“We’d like you to join us,” Sheriff Diane said.  “We have a nice little community on the other side of the hill.  A lake.  A park with tennis and basketball courts.  We have cottages, a general store, and our own tavern.  It’s a good life.”

“You don’t need to make a decision now, but we don’t offer this to just anyone,” Dan insisted.  “We’re a close group, and you would fit in just right.”

Of course, I was stunned and a bit overwhelmed after such a bizarre day. 

“Would I be allowed to wear clothes?” I asked, getting a round of relieved laughter.

“Maybe not all the time, if Shay gets her way,” Calamity said.  She looked across the room to where Shay was standing at the bar, watching nervously.

It wasn’t a hard decision.  I was tired of being a poorly paid outsider working for a nothing gym and living in a dingy apartment.

“I’ll have my stuff up here by the end of the week,” I agreed, shaking hands on it.  “Can I have a pair of pants now?”

“Let’s not ruin the evening,” Calamity answered.

It was a rowdy party with loud music, dancing, drinking, and couples going to the rented rooms upstairs for sex.  Roleplaying was a big part of the game with wives pretending to be prostitutes and their husbands being cowboys fresh off the cattle trail.

And then I noticed something.  It was Annie, Mike, and Karl at a table in the far corner, wearing disguises.  Wigs and fake mustaches.  Had they been in town all along?  Watching the show?  Enjoying my humiliation?  Before I could react, Doc came up beside me.

“Don’t worry, Russ.  We’ve got this,” he said.  I didn’t know what he meant until a moment later when Sheriff Diane and Wild Bill appeared at their table.  They motioned to the guys, exiting through the saloon’s swinging doors, leaving Annie alone in the bar.

“Doc—” I started to say.

“You’re one of us now, son.  We stand up for our own,” the gray-haired gunslinger insisted.

Annie kept looking around, wondering where her co-conspirators had gone.  Two of the dance hall girls, Ellie and Maise, joined her, offering drinks and gossiping.  Annie still hadn’t seen me watching her.

About fifteen minutes later, Doc gave me a poke with his elbow.  Mike and Karl were being led back in by Sheriff Diane through a side door.  Their shirts and pants were gone, leaving them in shoes, socks, t-shirts, and boxer shorts.  She herded them to the back of the saloon where Bartender Sam handed them cowboy hats and tall beers.

“They were given a choice,” Doc confided.  “It was this or get strip-searched and spend the night naked in the hoosegow.”

“Could you really have done that?” I wondered.

“We locked you up, didn’t we?” he laughed.  “And according to Calamity, we have a score to settle with the varmints for embarrassing our friend.”

Calamity heard what Doc said and turned towards me, her eyes bright, and gave a thumb’s up.  She was quite the mischief maker.

Ellie and Maise left Annie, who was oblivious to the shenanigans, and went to flirt with Karl, and then with Mike.  The guys didn’t look unhappy, and I think they realized they were getting off easy, still partially dressed.  They made no effort to warn Annie that trouble was brewing.

“Your turn,” Bartender Sam said, handing me a pitcher of cold beer and pointing to Annie’s table.  Doc, Calamity, Dan, and Sheriff Diane were all goading me forward.  Shay had a big smile.  Mr. McFly had his best camera ready.  I quickly got with the program. 

“It is so nice to meet newcomers to our humble ghost town,” I said, suddenly appearing over her.  “We appreciate your patronage.  Let me show you our hospitality.”  And then I poured the entire pitcher of beer down Annie’s front.

“Oh, my god.  Oh, my god!” Annie shouted, jumping up.  If the entire saloon wasn’t watching before, they were now.

I quickly apologized and urged her to get out of the wet clothes.  Calamity and Shay came to help.  Though Annie mildly resisted, we soon had her down to her bra and panties.  Annie thought that was enough, but Calamity suddenly cut off the bra with her hunting knife.  As the crowd cheered, Calamity twirled the bra until tossing the garment over a rafter.  I looked up to see a hundred more bras draped over the beams.  When Annie saw the rafters full of bras, she realized she wasn’t getting hers back.  She used her hands to cover her breasts.  Of course, everyone in the bar was taking photos.  I pulled off her wig.

“Hello, Annie,” I greeted with a wink.

“Hi, Russ,” she shakily answered, trying to cover up.  “We didn’t know they’d keep you naked the whole day.”

“I still don’t see my clothes anywhere,” I pointed out.

“One thing led to another.  You’re kind of cute running around like this.”

“I know exactly what you mean.  Let me introduce you to Shay.  She’s been taking pictures of me,” I introduced.  “A lot of pictures.”

“I’m so glad to meet one of Russ’s old friends,” Shay said, raising her camera for several quick shots.  “He’s told me so much about you.  I’m sure we’ll be bosom pals.”

Shay reached to shake hands.  Annie exposed a breast to return the gesture.

“My other new friend here is Calamity Jane,” I continued.  “You need to watch out for Calamity.  She can be a bit of a prankster.”

“Some say that about me, but I got me a generous side, too.  Like helpin’ people.  Honey, we’ve got to get you out of these wet underthings,” Calamity declared, stripping off Annie’s panties.  She hunched down, trying to cover herself, red-faced.  Our audience applauded.

“Friends, friends, please!” I declared, raising my hands.  “We can’t leave this poor woman in a crowded bar totally stark naked.  Does anyone have a hat and boots she can wear?”