Lately the TikTok hype where girls, just of age, and some boys, ask their parents to take them on a family outing naked, has really set a trend among young adults still living with their parents. A naked girl, just over eighteen, walking with her family had become a regular sight in city parks, museums, and general leisure areas. The watchful presence of the parents lends the young adults' nudity an air of innocence, of purity. It's said to be a statement against sexualization of the human body.

Fay didn't mind watching a passing naked boy of her age, of course, but she shivered at the thought of joining them. Her parents had been talking about it to her for weeks. Fay could hardly believe it. Now she was eighteen. They actually seemed to want her to join the trend. Her parents had always been so protective and conservative about appearances. Yet here they were, nodding along to this TikTok trend about "reclaiming innocence". Where nudity was staged as a moral crusade, a shield against modern indecency by displaying nudity in its purest form. "Look," they seemed to say, "see how untainted our offspring is."

Fay watched her parents as they observed a naked girl, maybe one year older than she was, being paraded by her parents. Her mother sighed softly, “Look at her, such purity.”

Her father nodded, his eyes lingering on the girl’s hips before adding, “You would shine like she does, Fay.”

That evening, during dinner, the conversation between her parents again turned to seeing so many nude young people on the streets. Fay kept herself out of the discussion. Her father looked at her: “Fay, why don’t you want to join?”

Fay shook her head. “I don’t want to be stared at.”

Her mother smiled. “But you would look so beautiful.”

Fay shifted in her seat. “I don’t want to walk around naked and be ogled at.”

Her father sighed. “It’s such a trend right now. Everyone is doing it.”

Fay pushed her plate away. “I’m not everyone.”

“Fay, stop being such a spoilsport. Tomorrow’s the botanical garden picnic,” her mother spoke up. “Imagine yourself walking among the orchids, skin glowing. You’d be a vision.”

Fay stared at her untouched peas, imagining instead the prickling stares of strangers’ eyes on her thighs and chest.

Her father nodded, his gaze distant. “Saw the Thompson girl yesterday near the duck pond. Just... free. Like a painting come to life.”

Fay pushed her chair back, the legs screeching on the tile. “I’m not a piece of art to be put on display!” she yelled and fled upstairs.

In her room, she slammed the door closed and leaned against it, breathing hard. Downstairs, murmurs rose. She could hear her mother’s bright insistence, her father’s low rumble of agreement. She tried not to listen.

“...just once,” her mother pleaded. “All her friends are doing it.”

A pause. Then her father’s voice, softer. Fay’s nails dug into her palms. They weren’t talking about freedom or art. They were talking about exposing her. Fay slid down to the floor, hugging her knees.

The silence downstairs thickened. She could picture them: her father flipping through newsfeeds filled with glowing articles about "generational liberation," her mother scrolling through photos of smiling, naked teens at the botanical gardens. Their fascination felt like a slow, creeping vine, wrapping around the house, tightening. Fay rested her forehead on her knees. Tomorrow was the picnic. Orchids. Eyes. Expectations. The hollow feeling settled in her gut.

Downstairs, the murmur resumed, sharper now. "...just being stubborn," her mother hissed frustratedly. "It’s everywhere! The Wilsons took Veronique yesterday, she looked radiant!"

Fay imagined Veronique, always eager to please, posing near the fountain while strangers snapped pictures. Radiant, or exposed?

Her father’s reply was muffled, but the word "opportunity" drifted up, clear and chilling. They weren’t asking anymore. They were planning.

The next day, her parents took her to the picnic. To her surprise, they didn’t press her to go undressed. Maybe they had finally given up on her. They walked through the orchid pavilion together, Fay fully clothed in jeans and a loose linen shirt. Her parents kept pointing out nude young adults, supervised by their parents, sitting by the waterfalls or posing among rare blooms.

“Look at that girl’s posture, Fay,” her mother whispered, nodding toward a tall redhead laughing as her parents photographed her posing in front of some hanging vines. “She might be almost twenty-one, but she still carries herself like a young goddess.”

Fay watched the girl’s father adjust her hair, his fingers on her bare shoulder, the redhead trying not to flinch.

They settled at a wrought-iron table near the butterfly enclosure. Fay nibbled a cucumber sandwich while her parents chatted brightly. Then her father cleared his throat. "We've signed you up for something special, sweetheart."

He placed a glossy brochure on the table. The cover showed laughing teens throwing flower petals, all gloriously nude. Bold letters announced: "BOTANICAL BLOSSOMING DAY - CELEBRATE OUR YOUNG ADULTS UNVEILING IN NATURE'S SANCTUARY!" Fay's stomach dropped. It was set to begin in fifteen minutes.

Her mother beamed, leaning forward. "It’s the grand finale! A community flower shower for all the participating girls near the main fountain. Think of the photos!"

Fay pushed her plate away. "I told you. No!"

Her father’s smile tightened. "It’s already paid for, Fay. Everyone will be expecting you." He gestured toward a growing crowd near the central fountain, where organizers were setting up baskets of rose petals. Four girls her age were already gathering, shifting nervously as parents adjusted their hair or applied shimmer oil to their cheeks.

“Oh, Fay, just join the stage. See, all the girls participating are still wearing their clothes.”

Her father’s voice was smooth, reasonable. “Nobody expects you to undress immediately. The presence of the other girls will help you feel more comfortable.”

He gestured toward the fountain plaza, where organizers were arranging a semicircle of girls in their youthful spring clothes on a low wooden platform. Petals drifted through the air. Fay saw Clara Anderson, with her full bust and blond hair, standing near the front, wearing a blue dress, shifting her weight, clearly ill at ease. The girl's parents hovered nearby, beaming. She also recognized Jude from three streets over. Jude was already twenty-one. She was wearing denim shorts, a t-shirt, and a blazer, showing off her long, bronze legs. Her face was stoic. The other two girls, Fay only knew by sight, one of them dark-skinned.

Fay shook her head, pushing her chair back. "I'm not getting on any stage."

Her mother's hand clamped over hers, surprisingly strong. "Darling, it's just standing! Look," She pointed as the event speaker tapped a microphone. "They're starting announcements. We'll walk you over."

Fay yanked her hand free, her heart hammering against her ribs. The speaker's voice boomed across the garden. “We are waiting for the fifth finalist, Fay Henderson. Please join us!”

Fay flinched at her name booming through the speakers. She froze as her father stood, placing a firm hand under her armpit. “Time to shine, sweetheart.”

He pulled her up from her chair and steered her firmly toward the growing crowd near the fountain. Girls not on stage giggled at her reluctance. A boy nearly her age snickered. Easy for them, they weren’t being put up on a stage against their will. “Please...” Her voice cracked. But her father paid her no heed.

They reached the edge of the platform. The speaker beamed, waving Fay forward. "Ah, Fay Henderson! We saved you a spot!"

Her father nudged her gently but insistently onto the low wooden stage. The crowd murmured, dozens of eyes shifting to her. She felt trapped. Her mother appeared beside her dad, murmuring, "Just stand with them. Look at Clara, she's smiling!" Clara stood rigidly, arms clamped over her clothes.

The speaker tapped the mic again. "For our Nature’s Sanctuary finale, we celebrate youthful beauty in its purest form! We're going to have a big reveal party! These girls very much want to show us their natural beauty. We'll ask them one by one to reveal themselves in these beautiful, flowery surroundings. Parents, honor your daughters’ courage!"

Loud applause came from the assembled parents and passersby.

The speaker turned to Jude first, microphone extended. “Jude, show us how today's young adults embrace freedom!”

Jude’s expression didn’t flicker. With economical movements, she unbuttoned her blazer, shrugged it off, and handed it to her waiting mother. Then came the t-shirt, pulled over her head in one swift motion. With equal efficiency, she stepped out of her denim shorts. She was wearing beautiful purple lingerie. She unclasped her bra and finally stepped out of the lace panties, folding them neatly and handing them over to her mum. Naked, she clasped her hands loosely in front of her, her gaze fixed on the distant treetops. Only a slight tightening around her jaw betrayed any tension. The crowd murmured appreciatively at her composure.

Fay admired her courage. "She's as unwilling as the rest of us,..." she whispered to the older, unknown girl next to her.

The girl nodded. "Hi, I'm Esther," she whispered back. "I don't want to be here either."

The speaker moved to the dark-skinned girl next. "Gloria, blossom for us!" The microphone boomed.

Gloria flinched, her eyes already glistening. She fumbled with the hem of her floral sundress, her fingers trembling. A soft sob escaped her as she pulled it over her head, revealing her colorful underwear. The crowd's murmurs grew louder when she hesitated, frozen in her bra and panties.

"Go on, Gloria," the speaker urged, "It might not be easy at first, but once you've embraced your freedom, you'll feel liberated."

Gloria squeezed her eyes shut, unhooked her bra with shaking hands, and let it fall. Her panties followed in a quick, jerky motion before she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, shoulders hunched forward as if trying to disappear.

"Gloria, my dear, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Put your hands on your hips and do the little dance your dad promised us!" The speaker boomed.

Gloria hesitantly moved her hands to her hips and did a little wiggle. Her tears had stopped, but her eyes were red and her lips trembled. The crowd applauded weakly.

The speaker moved on to Clara. "Clara Anderson! Your parents tell us you've blossomed so beautifully this year! Show us nature's bounty!"

Clara whimpered, her hands fluttering uselessly near the buttons of her blue dress.

“Come on, sweetheart, just like we practiced,” her mother urged from below, her smile strained.

Clara fumbled with the top button, her fingers shaking. She managed two, revealing the swell of her cleavage. A low moan escaped her as she hesitated, her eyes darting wildly across the sea of faces. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a ragged breath, and with jerky movements, yanked the dress down over her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles. Standing in her matching blue lace bra and panties, her ample breasts heaved with panicked breaths. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, whimpering again as the speaker gestured impatiently.

“All the way, Clara! Embrace the freedom!” the speaker called. Her mother nodded vigorously.

With trembling hands, Clara unhooked her bra, her large breasts spilling free, and then hooked her thumbs into her panties, sliding them down her thighs to her ankles. She stood naked, arms crossed defensively, her face a mask of misery, her body shaking.

Then her name was called. Fay knew there was no escaping it. Everyone expected her to reveal her naked body to the neighborhood. Her fingers trembled as they found the first button of her linen shirt. The fabric parted slowly, revealing the hollow of her throat, then her collarbone. A hundred eyes followed each inch of skin getting exposed. The speaker’s voice dropped to a hushed, theatrical whisper over the microphone.

She undid another button. And another. The shirt gaped open to her breastbone. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades.

“Ah, the gentle swell of youth emerging,” the speaker said as Fay’s small, rounded breasts became visible above her lacy white bra. The crowd watched her intently. Fay’s hands shook violently as she pushed the shirt off her shoulders. It slid down her arms and down to her feet. She stood in jeans and a bra, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest.

"Now the denim," the speaker purred. Fay's fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans. It took three tries. The zipper rasped down excruciatingly slowly.

"Revealing the graceful curve of the hip..." The whisper over the mic felt like a physical touch. Fay pushed the jeans down her legs, stepping out of them one trembling foot at a time. Now only her white lacy briefs and bra shielded her. The silence was thick, oppressive. She felt the weight of the crowd's stares on the bare skin of her stomach and thighs.

"Such innocence in white cotton," the speaker murmured as Fay’s fingers hovered near her bra clasp. She hesitated, her eyes squeezed shut. A collective intake of breath from the crowd.

"The delicate buds of womanhood, waiting to bloom..." Fay’s breath hitched. With a choked sound, she unhooked her bra. It slipped off, exposing her smallish breasts to the gaze of the crowd. Goosebumps erupted on her skin. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

"Ah, the purity of form," the voice breathed into the microphone. "Notice the soft curve, the untouched grace..."

Fay felt the stares like hot needles on her breasts, on her nipples. She wanted to vanish. The speaker paused, letting the tension coil tighter.

"Now, the final unveiling. The sacred threshold where youth meets maturity..." Fay’s hands trembled violently as they hooked into the waistband of her panties. She hesitated, frozen, unable to move them down. Whispers rippled through the onlookers. A camera shutter clicked, sharp and intrusive.

"Don't be shy, Fay," the speaker murmured, the sound amplified but intimate. "Let nature admire its own perfection."

With a shuddering breath, Fay pushed the fabric down, inch by agonizing inch. First, the sharp jut of her hip bones appeared, then the faint bulge of her crotch, lower still. The crowd leaned forward.

"The gentle swell of the pubic mound..." the voice narrated softly, "...the delicate early womanhood, untouched and pure."

Fay hesitated.

"You are doing well, Fay, just lower those panties a bit further so we can enjoy your unobstructed freedom."

The speaker's voice was a velvet murmur over the speakers. Fay's knuckles whitened against the cotton bunched at her thighs. She forced the fabric down another fraction, revealing her shaved labia, impossibly vulnerable, exposed to a hundred stares.

A collective sigh rippled through the crowd as Fay froze, the lacy panties stretched taut just centimeters below her crotch. The sun, shining through the greenhouse glass overhead, struck between her thighs, shining on the white lace, illuminating her mound. Her delicate folds stood out, sharp, intimately, hovering just above her panties' gusset. The speaker’s breath hitched audibly into the microphone.

"Hold... hold still, Fay. Just like that. The perfect reveal."

Fay’s breath caught in her throat. Every eye in the crowd was locked onto her illuminated crotch. She could feel the heat crawling up her cheeks and, traitorously, also between her thighs.

The speaker’s amplified whisper sliced through the silence. "Exquisite... the delicate architecture of womanhood laid bare."

A ripple of murmurs spread, admiration, fascination, a hum of voyeuristic hunger. Fay felt the unwelcome flare of heat spreading between her legs. Panic, shame and violation, but beneath it all, something treacherous flickered, sharp and electric. Her body betrayed her, responding to the sheer intensity of exposure. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the dizzying rush, but the sensation pulsed, hot and insistent above the thin white lace still stretched just below her crotch. Her fingers trembled violently where they clutched the fabric.

With a choked gasp, she shoved the panties down in one frantic motion and kicked them away. She stood naked, utterly exposed, arms wrapped tightly around herself. But she couldn't hide the flush spreading across her chest, nor the faint dewiness glistening between her inner thighs. The crowd’s whispers grew louder. Someone muttered under their breath, “Look, she’s... ”

The speaker leaned into the microphone. "Observe," he breathed, "Pearls of dew on the petals of youth. A natural response to the beauty of vulnerability."

Fay flinched violently. His words painted her involuntary physical reaction as something poetic, something admirable, twisting her shame into a spectacle. Her skin crawled. The heat between her legs flared again, betraying her. She clenched her thighs, trying to hide it, but the movement only seemed to draw more attention.

Scanning the crowd, Fay’s gaze locked onto her parents. Her mother's eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape. Beside her, her dad stared, transfixed. His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip. His eyes weren't on her face; they were fixed lower, on the dampness between her legs. His transfixed gaze was worse than all the other stares. Like he’d gotten exactly what he’d paid for.

"Fay, you have given us a prime show!" The speaker gestured grandly at her trembling form. "A true flower opening herself to the sunlight. Nature’s masterpiece unveiled!"

His voice swelled with theatrical reverence. "This is how we celebrate a woman surrendering to vulnerability, blooming before our very eyes!... Now, last one up is Esther!"

Fay was relieved to finally be able to step into the background. She stood next to Jude, trembling as she watched Esther. Esther’s face was pale but set in grim determination as the speaker turned to her.

“Esther, reveal your blossoming!” The microphone boomed unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.

Esther didn’t hesitate. With quick movements, she unzipped her dress and let it fall, standing in practical cotton underwear. Her body was lean and athletic. Her hands shook as she unhooked her bra. The crowd murmured...