And so she was soon at the bar: self-conscious in her nakedness, surrounded by textiles, and wishing the barman wasn't so bloody chatty with his other customers. And every now and then glancing back at Eamonn and Sheila, who were holding each other's hands and gazing into each other's eyes. Siobhan was hating Sheila at that moment. Smoothie bastard! Taking her ex and making him go shaven! Had the girl no sense of common decency? She studied Sheila's long back from her long thin neck down to her arse, slightly obscured by the edge of the table, and her slightly upturned breasts with their small button-like nipples. Even now, she couldn't deny that Sheila was pretty good looking. Not that that made her feel any the better.

"Hello, Siobhan. How are you?" suddenly asked Niall, who appeared beside her, with a note in his hand and a slightly shy smile on his face. "Is this the bar you usually go to? You don't go to the pubs in town?"

"Hiya Niall! No, the pubs aren't often so sympathetic to naturists as the Michael Collins. How are you?"

"I'm here with my pals," Niall explained, indicating his textile friends, sitting at a table, all male and all rather noisy. Not company towards which Siobhan felt especially attracted. What would they think about a naturist? "Normally we go to the Shamrock in town, but it was Ewan's birthday so we thought we'd stay at the college."

"Ewan?"

"He lives on campus."

"Oh!" said Siobhan, not at all interested.

"You can sit with us if you like. We're a friendly crowd."

Siobhan wasn't at all tempted, even though she was rather dreading spending the rest of the evening with Sheila going all goo over Eamonn. Wait till he goes off the boil, then she'll know better. "I'm sure you are. But I'm with my friends."

"Well, at least let me buy you a drink."

Siobhan hesitated, but then perhaps against her better instincts accepted. But she made sure that Niall bought drinks for Sheila and Eamonn as well.

As the two students stood by the bar, watching the barman chatting about the racing while he slowly poured a round of beers, Niall regarded Siobhan nervously. He smiled. Siobhan smiled back. She was still amused by his shyness and his not knowing where to direct his eyes when confronted by a naked woman, but she fancied that his slight awkwardness came from a desire to show the proper respect rather than any disapproval.

"There's a new Yves Irac film at the Playhouse," remarked Niall. "It's set in Nineteenth Century France during the time of Napoleon the Third. I think it might be based on a novel by Emile Zola."

"Oh, you mean 'L'Assomoir'? That's got some good reviews."

"It's subtitled though."

"I prefer that. You don't want the mouths moving one way and some American voice over the top."

"Do you want to see it? I mean, we can go together. Any day you like. I'm sure we don't need to book seats or anything. Would you like that?"

Siobhan smiled. Niall was so sweet. And, glancing back at Sheila and Eamonn, whose tongues were battling together, and no doubt Sheila's hand was stroking Eamonn's cock just like she had, Siobhan felt like a break from her usual friends. Even if it was with a textile. And Niall seemed pretty genuine. It almost certainly wasn't just to win some kind of bet with his friends, like some textile bastards who thought all naturists were easy lays.

"Yeah. Why not? Tomorrow night?"

Niall was clearly rather startled by Siobhan's favourable response. "Yes. That'd be good. Tomorrow night. Yes. We must. You say when and where."

Siobhan almost immediately regretted her acceptance after she'd accepted the drinks from Niall, and he went to join his friends and she joined hers. What sort of idiot was she, going out with a textile? But she chose not to stand him up, although he'd scarcely have been the first one to receive that treatment. But when she arrived at the JCR where they'd agreed to meet, she was not pleased to see that he had chosen to wear clothes. In fact, not just any clothes, but he'd obviously put some thought into putting on rather smarter clothes than he usually wore. No jeans. No sweatshirt. No trainers. He was even wearing a jacket with lapels, over his shirt and trousers. Jesus! The only thing missing was a tie!

Siobhan chose not to upbraid him quite so soon. She didn't want to start the evening off on the wrong foot. But surely he might have had some idea how embarrassing it was for her as a naturist, wearing only her sandals and carrying an ethnic cloth bag, to be escorted by someone wearing clothes. What would people think? In fact, Siobhan rather fancied that he was somewhat surprised that she chose to extend her principles beyond the campus. But, of course she would. It wasn't exactly illegal, even if there were still the odd places that wouldn't allow naturists on the premises. She vaguely understood when churches and cathedrals took such an attitude. After all, some quite old people went there and they had some pretty strange ideas about nudity. But also some shops, pubs and restaurants were rather restrictive. But a trendy place like the Playhouse? No problem. She'd been there plenty of times before, though admittedly not with a textile.

As Siobhan and Niall walked away from the bus stop along the slightly damp streets towards the theatre, Siobhan felt quite uncomfortable at the stares that were directed at her. Normally when she was with friends, the stare was distributed amongst her company, so she didn't feel singled out, but here, with a textile, she felt strangely naked and unclothed, even though that was what she obviously was, as she walked by Niall in his jacket and trousers and who was still studiously keeping his eyes off her naked freckled skin and on her face and eyes.

"You're looking a bit uncomfortable," Niall remarked after one of a series of comments about modern French cinema went unanswered. "What's the problem?"

Siobhan couldn't hold back any longer. "You are!" she answered abruptly.

"Me?" answered Niall, looking genuinely upset. "Why? What have I done? I mean. I'm sorry if... I don't know... But what... ?"

Did he have no idea? "Didn't you think that it might embarrass me to be walking along with someone wearing clothes? Don't you think people looking at us might not think we're a bit kinky or something? You wearing clothes and me not?"

"But I didn't realise that you wouldn't be wearing... you know... that you would..."

"What do you think I am? Some kind of part-time naturist? Do you think I'm only naked at college? Do you think I only take my clothes off for seminars and lectures?"

"Should I have... ? Should I be... not wear anything? Be like a nudist like you?"

"Well, of course. What do you think? If any of my friends saw us together, I don't know what they'd say. It's really really awkward for me to be walking around with someone with clothes on. I really thought you could have made the effort."

Niall stopped in his tracks, clearly distressed, pressing a palm against his temple and scrunching up his mouth. "I'm sorry. I just didn't... I just don't know anything about nudists... I thought that it made no difference..."

"Well it does! And, Mother of God, stop saying 'nudist'. I'm a naturist. Don't you even know the difference between nudists and naturists?"

"Well no. I didn't. I just didn't think it mattered. So. Should I take my clothes off and go round nude like you?"

"What good would that be? The damage is done now. And besides where would you put your clothes? You've got nothing to carry them in."

After a few minutes of silent pacing down the streets, lit by the early evening sun, the two of them arrived at the Playhouse. Fortunately, the outburst was soon forgotten after a couple of drinks in the Playhouse bar, both before and after the screening of 'L'Assomoir'. The two conversed about areas of mutual interest, of which Siobhan found she had a remarkable number in common with Niall. They both enjoyed Nineteenth and early Twentieth Century Russian and French novels. They both watched the same television documentaries on history and archaeology. They both had a guilty fondness for quite cheesy dance music. Soon Siobhan was laughing more freely and more happily than she had for a long time. Who could have imagined that a textile could have made her feel more free than any of her naturist friends?

As they wandered back from the Playhouse towards the area of town where Siobhan rented digs in a large Victorian building, Niall broached the very subject that had caused their dispute in the first place.

"Do you forgive me now for, you know, not being... you know, for wearing clothes and so on... ?"

Siobhan wasn't that easily mollified. "As long as you don't make the same mistake next time."

Niall looked suddenly discomfited. "You mean, if I'm to see you again I've got to be... I've got to go around naked like you?"

"Well, of course!"

Niall frowned. "I don't think I can really do that."

Siobhan stopped walking and looked at him. She was torn between her uncompromising views and her new affection for Niall. So far, he was a lot better than Eamonn. And even further ahead than Sean or Patrick or Liam. Or any of her other boyfriends or conquests. But it went against the grain to be seen with a textile. "I'm not sure I can accept that, Niall. Give me one good reason why you wouldn't take your clothes off for me? It's not a problem for me. Why should it be a problem for you?"

"I'm not a nudist. Sorry. Naturist. It's just not something I believe in. Any more than I'm a vegetarian or a protestant or an anarchist. And besides, I'd be really embarrassed. I wouldn't want people looking at me. I don't want people looking at my cock... genitals."

"Mary Mother of God! I'm sure your cock's no different to any other cock that anyone's ever seen. If I had that attitude about my cunt... Or my tits. Well, it's just not right. Nudity is the natural state. That's why I'm a naturist. If you can't be a naturist, I just don't know if we can see each other again."

Niall seemed quite crestfallen by Siobhan's uncompromising stand, but he sighed and directed the subject elsewhere. While Niall discussed the subject of alcohol abuse in the Nineteenth Century as portrayed by Emile Zola, Siobhan was still inwardly fuming. She'd more or less decided that if Niall wasn't going to take his clothes off, at least when he was with her, then, well, then that was that. And there was nothing more to say. And they might as well call it a day. But at least she'd show smoothies like Sheila who had the right principles. And Eamonn, of course. She'd show him too.

But when they arrived at Siobhan's digs, it didn't quite go as planned. As she stood at the doorway, hand in hand with Niall, about to say goodbye, or, as Siobhan had planned, 'au revoir' in keeping with the French film they'd just seen, somehow the words dissolved into nothing and they were wrapped arm in arm in the shadow of the porch, lit up only indistinctly by a street lamp. As Niall's tongue grappled with hers, and her bare skin pressed against his trousers, which were so obviously bulging with his desire, and she felt the indentations of his shirt buttons against her breasts, it became obvious that this evening wasn't going to end quite so soon.

"So? Do you want some coffee? You know, before you go back?"

This was Niall's opportunity to say that he had to catch the last bus back to his own digs, which were on quite the other side of the city, but when he assented it was obvious to Siobhan what would be happening next.

And indeed that's exactly as it was, when the two of them entered Siobhan's small bedsit on the second floor, past the bedrooms of all the other students, some of whom were still awake, and all thoughts of coffee were forgotten as the two of them resumed the cuddling and intimacy that they'd started outside the building. Soon, Siobhan knew all the fillings in Niall's mouth, as his hands traversed up and down her naked back, and he pressed his body against her front. And Siobhan was strangely conscious of his erect penis under his trousers, which she could feel even though her hands were elsewhere. This was something she wanted to find out more about.

As, of course, she did. "Come on, Niall! Off with your clothes! I should have told you. There's a rule in this place. And that rule is: 'No clothes'. Especially not if you're a man and so really really hot!"

It was only after Niall had finally divested all his clothes, which he did in a strangely awkward manner, that Siobhan saw one very good reason why he might be a little bit embarrassed to be seen in the nude. Niall's penis! Well, the Devil be Damned! Niall's penis was by far the largest Siobhan had ever seen. OK. So, it was fully erect. And that meant it was going to be pretty big anyway. But this monster was as long as her forearm. Almost. Or perhaps it was. Long and stiff and round and swelling. The veins blue and throbbing. The glans proud and hooded. Would it even fit inside her?

It didn't quite fit in Siobhan's mouth. At least not that easily. But she gave it as good as she could: the huge glans pressed against he tonsils as she ran her lips up and down and up and down its length. It was hot and strong smelling. But, unlike Eamonn, Niall's penis didn't lose its way too soon. It stayed as hard and stiff, if not stiffer, while her saliva dribbled down its length, as it had before she'd touched it. The strong odour blew out of her nostrils. Niall, meanwhile, had swivelled his body around so that his tongue was at her clitoris and he was licking at her labia and within the vaginal folds, through the thicket of hair, not perhaps as expertly as some of her lovers, but with plenty of concern and attention for her own sexual pleasure.

And it worked. Which surprised Siobhan. She wasn't normally a girl who came especially easily. A flash of blood darkened her vision, as she let the erotic moment sweep through her and let loose a cry which she heard only indistinctly. As she did later, a whole series of cries and yelps and whoops and gasps to which she let vent as Niall's penis found its way into her cunt and he thrust away at her.

Although she was wet (and, God in Heaven, she was wet!), even that didn't soften too much the pressure as Niall's penis bit by bit, centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch, slowly made its way deeper and deeper into her vagina, pressing against her stomach, stretching the walls of her vaginal cavity. And thrusting in and out, in and out. But Siobhan was only partly conscious of the fucking. She lay on her back. The fucking missionary position. When was the last time she'd been as unadventurous as that? And he pushed in and out, in and out, as she squirmed and writhed and wriggled, his buttocks pistoning above her crotch, his mouth sometimes on her ears, sometimes on her mouth, sometimes high above her, as he arched upwards.

And although she came and came and came, perspiration streaming down her flesh, a pool gathering on her chest, on her cheeks, underneath her buttocks and back, sliding and slipping against the long red hairs on Niall's chest, she was almost not aware of where she was and what she was doing. She was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, somehow centred on her crotch, as Niall thrust again and again into her. And still he hadn't come. How was this possible? How could it be that Niall could keep going so long, whereas Eamonn would have long since squirted out his little drip, and they'd be lying on the bed, thoughts of sex almost forgotten in some discussion on naturism and the law.

Finally, Niall did come. And he came with an explosion of semen, that squirted into the deepest recesses of Siobhan's cunt, and soon found its way out onto the sheets, onto her thighs, and dripped down from the huge knuckle sized glans in a long sticky trail to Siobhan's knee. Warm. Hot. And so much of it!

As Siobhan lay there, Niall above her, his penis twitching as it slowly deflated as further goblets of semen eased out and fell onto her stomach, she thought about seeing Niall again. Could she compromise on her naturism? Would she contemplate going out with him even if he chose to wear clothes? And having seen the packet he was storing away, she wasn't sure she wanted the world to be tempted by what he had on offer. She glanced up at Niall, who was exercising his penis with the palm of is hand. Jesus Christ! It was getting stiff again! The man had more sperm and energy to come!

She pulled herself up onto his chest, a hand taking the weight of his massive hairy testicles, giving the signal that, yes, she wanted more. Blessed Mary! She wanted as much more as she could. It felt so fucking good!

Would she see him again even if he chose to wear clothes? Christ! She'd even compromise to the extent of wearing clothes herself, if that was the only way she'd be sure of seeing him again. And, of course, to see and feel that fabulous cock of his.