The Cosmos, The Arrivals Book 1 Chapter 15, Molly & Steph: The Bachelor Party, Day 9. Section 2. Molly: Streaks to the Bachelor Party. This will not be easy, Molly says to herself as she pads her way across the Backyard. She avoids the Mudpit and threads her way through the Post Henge. I’ve already given my panties to Steph. But if streaking is what Gamers want from me then I’ll either get to the Party or I’ll get fucked in the process. And I will beg to Pledge naked and cum be a Stripper next Term. First chance I get. Molly pauses at the edge of the alley. She knows. Once I step into the alley I’m no longer just naked in the Backyard. Molly glances up and down the alley, shudders, and acknowledges, I have to seriously streak now. This is not like walking across a loading dock at the Figure Drawing Class or hobbling from the van across an industrial parking lot to and from my so-called Medical Exam. This is a long run. I am out here without anyone to help. Molly steps carefully forward, moves along one side of an alley, and quickly discovers herself bruising her feet. “Ouch!” She controls her utterance; she finds she must move carefully. She chooses grass and sidewalks for ease on her feet in exchange for concealment. Must she move and gain cover quickly, bruising her feet is her only option. A car crosses ahead of her, and Molly foes her naked body into the bushes. Branches satch her mammaries, briars stick in the muff, and thorns mark her rearward-facing Hottentot mounds of flesh. Molly considers the bright sunlight and full shadows. I pulled my mooe wide open and masturbated on a beach in bright sunlight last Term. For a video shoot. She shivers. But streaking is different. I’m outside by myself, naked, unauthorized, and no crew. If I get caught I won’t be masturbating myself to climax; I’ll be gang-banged. Strapons, cocks, fucking machines, you name it. Molly keeps moving, even if it is hard on the feet. She picks out steps carefully. I wonder if paparazzi have been clued in and stalk me? She darts through a park, moving quickly, but observes nothing suspicious. She runs across the gravel along the edge of a small parking lot when two guys in a truck, turning in with a delivery, spot her, and she must crawl under a chain link fence to escape. I can’t take any chances. Molly checks her swinging mams and hanging belly and confirms that they are getting scrd up. Streaker getting spotted doesn’t necessarily mean streaker getting caught, but streaker caught means streaker jailed. And Jail is a place for penalties, punishments, and violat ion Molly assesses her situation as she darts and runs in fits and starts. I have to assume Gamers have my movement under control, Molly breathes to herself, because I am way over-extended out here. The Cosmos House and the Bachelor Party and are my only safe havens, and I’m somewhere in between them right now. If I wanted to escape there would be no place to run to. Molly gets down on her belly to crawl in the dirt under a hedge. The dirt streaks down her body and feels like worms. I sure hope Babs knows what she’s doing for cing me to volunteer to streak. Because I was taught long ago that “Babs ordered me” is no defense. I’m the one who put myself here. I “volunteered” to streak, so I’m the one who invites a capture. I haven’t been k id n app ed and then abandoned naked after my ransom got paid. Molly clenches her majonkers in one hand, keeps her head down, and runs the length of a hedge. Once again she fits herself into the hedge so she can see out. She discovers that she is closer to her goal than she realized. My last bit of streak, but the most dangerous. Molly brushes thorns off her gluteus maximus. Yes, I know about streakers who have made it. Like Penny and Coco, who made it to the Nugget. And Ginny and Lee streaked… although I don’t really know if they made it at all. But to each her own. I saw a streaker who got caught get handcuffed to the flagpole, get fed their handcuff key, and left to await its return so they could unlock themselves and return to their House. Molly’s hairy arms and legs reduce the scratchiness of the hedge she hides inside. Still, she shivers, and once again she confirms the number on the building across the street. There is a sign on the front with the name of a restaurant, but the neon is off and the windows are curtained. Cars have been parked behind. Molly distinguishes the side door to the building, halfway between the front and the parking lot. “Through that door is my destination,” she affirms. Molly considers her own body and the final dash, a traverse of high risk. Gamers know when I left, and they know I have to pass through this space before I can pass through that door. Once I pass through the door I am no longer streaking. And I’ll be safe. Getting caught streaking isn’t as severe as trying to escape, but it’s not a scene I wish to step into! Molly disc