Girls in a maze

I don’t know if universities still have Rag Weeks like they used to in my day, and indeed for my American readers I don’t know if you have such things over there at all, or perhaps they go by a different name, but back in the 70’s they were a big thing.  For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, this was a week in which students at the Uni did crazy things to raise money for charity.  I was 18 years old and in my first year as a student of botany, horticulture and landscape gardening.  A strange subject you may think for a modern girl, but things were changing back then and the ‘new’ universities were introducing degrees in all sorts of new things.  I had always been keen on botany and it seemed like a good course.

We had only been there a few months in our first year when Jack, a boy from the year above, came in to our lecture theatre with an announcement.  Rag Week was coming up he said, and it was tradition that the first year girls put on the money raising event for our college. 

“Try and do something good,” he implored, “last year was a disaster; we only raised eight pounds and twopence.  The girls at the school of physiotherapy raised over five hundred pounds.  Our school was last by a long way”

“What did they do to get that?” we asked.  We were amazed at the generosity of the townsfolk.

“Gave full body massages at five pounds a go,” he said, “quite respectable,” he added hastily,” but even so we, I mean they, were queuing up for them.”

“Well we can’t do that!” I exclaimed.

“No, more’s the pity,” said Jack, “anyway the stunt has to have something to do with our course.  And as I said – make it good.  You don’t want to end up pilloried.”

“Well, I for one am thick skinned.  If we come last I can take it,” I said.

“I didn’t mean pilloried in the figurative sense of the word,” said Jack, “the losers are literally pilloried.  It’s one of the money raising events.  One of the most popular indeed.  The losing girls have to stand in the pillory for twenty minutes and have rotten fruit thrown at them.  We get a lot of rotten fruit on our course,” he added glumly.

There were only four of us girls on the course:  me (I’m Josie by the way), Sue (the studious one), Jane (the feminist and deeply into women’s liberation) and Sarah (the flirt – always with the shortest skirt and the tightest sweater).

We met in my flat to discuss our plans.  I was the only one with a flat, having parents who were exceedingly generous for the age.  The others were in digs, or lodgings as you might call them.

We pondered our ideas:  a flower arranging competition,  an offer to landscape people’s gardens, weeding driveways and so on.  After an evenings hard slog we didn’t have much.

Next day we discussed our ideas with Jack.

“Flower arranging competition,” he said, “that’s what got us the measly eight quid last year.  To be frank I can’t see any of these getting us any money.  Come on girls, this is the 1970’s.  We need something sexy.  You don’t want to end up in the pillory do you?”

Sexy!  We were horticultural students what could we do that was sexy.

He looked at our baffled faces, “well you’re all sexy girls,” he said.  We’d never thought of ourselves like that, but in truth, and even though I say it myself, we were all young and good looking.  But what could we do that was sexy?

It was Sue who came up with the idea.

“You know the maze,” she said.  Did we know the maze?  Of course we knew the maze, it was the single most well know feature of the college botanical gardens.  Although the university was new there’d been botanical gardens and a horticultural college on the site since the seventeenth century.  Designed originally by Sir Isaac Newton the maze was considered fiendishly difficult.  It was an unusual maze, in that the aim was to work your way from one end to the other along narrow alleyways bounded by thick yew hedges.  We agreed that we knew the maze.

“Well I suggest that we ask if we can have the use of the maze for a couple of hours on Rag Week Wednesday, the college is bound to agree – it’s for charity after all”

We waited for her to go on.

“Then we try to get through the maze from one end to the other.”

“Well,” we chorused.  It hardly sounded earth shattering, and how was it sexy?

“Here’s the thing,” she said," We do it in our bra and knickers!” (for the edification of my transatlantic readers, she meant bra and panties)

We looked at her open mouthed.  Then Sarah spoke.

“Well I think it’s a great idea,” she said, “people would pay good money to see that.”

We looked at Jane, expecting an outcry about the exploitation of women.

“Isn’t that exploitative,” I asked her.  I can’t say I was really keen on the idea of running through a maze in my knickers.

“I don’t think so,” she said, “exploitation is when a woman is forced to do something by the oppression of men.  We would be doing this of or own free will.  I see this as a free expression of our will against male oppression – and in a good cause,” she added, “but I’m not sure it will bring in the money”

“Why?”

“Well it needs something a bit more.  Something to, well, spice it up a bit,” a sort of smile spread over her lips, “I know – it will work like this”

We waited in anticipation as she outlined the stunt, the stunt that was eventually to bring us lifelong notoriety in the college.

“We enter the maze fully dressed.  Once inside where no-one can see us we strip down to bra and knickers.  Then it is a race between us to get to the other side because – and this is where the excitement comes in – at the other side, just before the exit, there will be three track suits.  The first three girls through can put on the three track suits and leave demurely, but then everyone will know that the last girl will have to come out still in bra and knickers.  It will have all the elements of a good stunt.  A competition, a prize for the winners, and a suitable humiliation for the loser – and it will be really sexy as well.”

Sarah was really keen, “I know,” she said, “the loser will have to walk past the spectators when she comes out and we can sell tickets.  We’ll call it ‘The Walk of Shame!”

I got the impression that Sarah was aiming to lose.  She wouldn’t mind having her picture taken in her underwear and splashed all over the local paper, she held a secret aim to be a model.  So I agreed.  Somebody might get a glimpse of me in my blue serge knickers, but they were quite respectable, and Sarah would make sure she lost, and we’d raise lots of money for the poor and needy of the world, and – and it was a big and – we wouldn’t end up in the pillory.

Next day Sue went off to put the plan to Jack and the committee.  We were sure it would be greeted with acclaim.  But when she came back there was a slight look of panic on her face,

“What’s the problem,” we asked

“Well I put the plan to them, and at first they seemed enthused, all except Jack.”

“Well”

“He wasn’t so sure.  Apparently the girls from the Art College are offering to pose for photos wearing sexy silk underwear at five pounds a go and making a packet.  He said, he said…”

“He said what?”

“He said, compared with that who’d want to see four gardeners in blue serge knickers,” her face went bright red.  I suddenly realised that I wasn’t the only one with blue serge knickers.

We were crestfallen.

“So they turned down the plan”

“Not quite”

“What do you mean – Not quite?”

“Well they adopted a modified version of the plan”

“Modified?”

“Well…,” she was starting to look panic stricken.

“Well what?”

“I said we’d do it in the sexy French lingerie!”

“You what,” we screamed in unison

“It was the only way to top the art college girls.  I mean people would pay really good money to see that tournament – where the loser gets to have to do the walk of shame in the sexy French knickers”

“I can’t believe it,” I said

“Well it’s in a good cause,” wailed Sue

“I thin it’s brilliant,” said Sarah, “that would really get me on the front pages.  I mean who’d want to end up a municipal gardener weeding flowerbeds.” 

Her enthusiasm gave it away.  What publicity it would be for her modelling career that she was always going on about, that would make the national papers, never mind the local papers.  I looked expectantly at Jane.

“I agree,” she said, “that would show those men how liberated we are”

I was outvoted, anyway it didn’t matter as Sarah was clearly going to make sure she lost, and in the maze, well, I’d be wearing French knickers, but who would see through those thick yew hedges!

We met together the week before the event for final planning.  Sarah had been to scout out a supply of sexy underwear and Sue had been selling the tickets.  I waited expectantly for the good news.

The good news wasn’t so good after all.

“Ticket sales aren’t so good,” said Sue.  The Art School Girls are in sexy underwear.  They’re taking in all the surplus cash.  Still we’re making enough to escape the pillory and that’s one thing!”

We all breathed a sigh of relief.

Then came Sarah’s bombshell.

“It’ll cost us thirty quid to get decent underwear for four,” she said, “can’t get it cheaper.  I’ve been everywhere.”

“Thirty pounds!” we gasped in amazement.  That would take up all the money we’d collected.  We couldn’t afford that sort of sum ourselves.  We’d be lucky to make five pounds profit.  We’d be in the pillory and no mistake.

“That’s it then,” said Sue, “no underwear, no tickets sold, no money.”

Then I said it.  I don’t know why I said it, it just sort of came out.  I meant it as a joke really, but it’s strange how these things work out.

“No underwear,” I said, “that’s how we should be doing it to make money.  NO underwear.  In our birthday suits!”

I’d expected the others to burst out laughing, but instead there was a stunned silence.

“You know, I think she’s right,” said Jane, “that would really be popular!”

I saw a sudden smile hit Sarah’s face.  That would be it.  That would produce the publicity that would send her on her career.  Suddenly she was agreeing.  Suddenly everyone was agreeing, carried along by the enthusiasm of the moment.  Sarah picked up the telephone to tell Jack.  Let him know straight away.  Let him get the publicity bandwagon rolling.

By the next day of course reality struck us.  We’d said we would race through the maze in the nude.  We’d told everybody.  Jack had been beside himself with excitement.  The news was all round the college.  We couldn’t back out.  Not now.

Well, we’d all agreed to it, but as the day of the event grew nearer, and the publicity grew more and more, and the tickets sold like hot cakes we began to get cold feet.  We consoled ourselves that Sarah wanted to lose, that nobody would see us naked in the maze.

Finally the dreaded morning arrived.  It had poured and poured overnight but the day dawned bright and sunny, all hopes of a poor turnout were dashed.  We had agreed that we would turn up naked under our track suits (generously sponsored by a local sports company – very good publicity for them), go into the maze through the one way entry gate, then take off the track suits and throw them over the hedge to Jack waiting on the outside.  He would take them round the other end and leave just three for the first three girls home.  We went into the maze and rather sheepishly stripped off, looking at each others naked bodies with apprehension; and we threw the track suits over to Jack.

“Well, good luck Sarah,” I said, “you’ll cause a real stir when you come out naked.”

“Me!” she said aghast.

“Yes, you said that it would be good publicity for your modelling career.”

“I said good publicity for a modelling career.  Not mine! No way am I going to be doing a naked walk of shame”

I felt myself go weak at the knees.  Running unseen through a maze in the nude was one thing, possibly coming out the other end in the nude was quite another

We eyed each other suspiciously.  Only a week ago we had been friends, now we were mortal enemies.  Four naked girls and only three sets of clothing at the end of the maze.  In about half an hour's time three of us were going to be relievedly sipping drinks at the finishing line, the other would be walking past the onlookers miserable and naked, the butt of all the watching students.  Yes - we were mortal enemies.  I looked at the others, like me they were cringing and shaking.  How had we got ourselves into this mess.  We didn't even like being naked in front of each other.  We all dreaded the thought of that walk, completely nude, shamed in front of the crowd, with all those eyes watching.  I glowered at Sarah; we had only agreed to it because she had said she would do it as a publicity stunt, because she didn't want to end up in thirty years time dressed in dungarees weeding flower beds.  And now she had chickened out and one of us was going to pay for it.     

 

"What are we waiting for,” cried Sarah, and all of a sudden she was off, with the three of us chasing after her slipping and sliding in the muddy ground.  I heard a cheer go up and looked round.  We hadn't realised it but we were visible from the top of the college tower four hundred yards away  -  only our heads mind, from that angle, but even so students were up there, monitoring our progress and shouting the odds to the people below.  We soon all took different routes.  The maze was fiendishly complex and I continually had to double back.  From the shouts of encouragement from the tower it appeared that the others were encountering similar problems.  I rounded a bend  to suddenly see Sarah in front of me, and she was reading a plan of the maze.

  

I stood amazed. 

 

"Where did you get that from?” I shouted.  She spun round defiantly. 

 

"I hid it,” she said, clutching the map to her naked breasts, "there was nothing in the rules to say I couldn't.  I told you there was no way I was going to lose."

 

"That's cheating!" I expostulated, "how did you hide it"

 

"Not saying!" she said like a naughty child caught out doing something wrong.  

 

A sudden thought struck me. 

 

"Not up your...!”  the lengths some people would go to!

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy either!”

 

"Give me that!” I screamed and launched myself at her.  We wrestled on the muddy ground screaming and shouting.  My only thought was to get the map.  The map would get me out.  Somebody else would be naked.  I grasped, I pulled, and suddenly I had it and was running away down the alley.  I heard screams from behind me.  Sarah had been joined by the others, attracted by the screams.  I ran as fast as I could, trying to get away and read the map at the same time.  But the ground was muddy and extremely slippery.  Rounding a bend my feet went from under me and suddenly I was on the ground, the others were on top of me and a free for all fight was in progress.  At first I thought everybody was fighting each other, wrestling in a sort of mad  frenzy as the muddy ground became more and more churned up and our naked bodies became more and more covered in mud.  But then I realised everyone was fighting me.  I had the map, and Susie and Jane thought I was the one that was cheating.  The other three were ganging up on me to get the three sets of clothing.  They were of course too much for me, I found myself pinned to the ground  Face down  Sarah sitting on top of me clawing at my bare bottom and hypocritically  shouting  "Cheat, cheat! " at the top of her voice.  The others were studying the map. 

 

"I've got it!" shouted Jane, well she was the bright one, "keep her pinned down, give us twenty yards start and then come after us.” 

 

As soon as I was freed I tried to get to my feet, but Sarah had already joined the others, and before I could catch them up they were round the bend and out of site. 

 

Ten minutes later a great cheer told me they had found the end of the maze, the clothes and the exit.  There was no hope left.  It was me who was left naked.  There was only one way out and it was me who was going to have to perform the naked walk of shame.  I looked down.  My breasts were smeared in mud.  In fact I was covered in mud all over.  When I finally made the exit, and the watchers in the tower signalled my imminent appearance I  knew I was going to appear a sorry sight. But appear I was going to have to.  I steeled myself and stepped out into the glare of publicity.  I had decided to try and maintain some dignity by walking head held high, and not cringing, or scurrying with my hands over my private parts for shelter.  Let them look if they wanted to.  Well that at least was the idea.  Not so easy in practice.  I wasn't exactly used to displaying my private parts in public, never mind my mud smeared naked body, but that was what I was having to do.  My God, it was embarrassing.  I've never been so embarrassed in my life.  The press were there with their cameras of course, we'd made the national news, but at least people weren't  laughing; they were cheering.  And through the embarrassment, I felt a little thrill that all these people had come to see me in the nude, and were cheering my naked body.  I’d never thought I’d had a body that anybody would want to cheer, and there they all were, cheering.  I reached the end of the walk, and there was Jack, pretending to avert his eyes, and handing me a track suit to put on. 

"Josie," he said, "you were magnificent,” that showed the art college girls.  Over a thousand pounds and still rising."

As I stood there naked in front of everybody, the thrill of laying myself bare to their admiration grew.  I thought I’d give them one last thrill.

I picked up the garden hose, turned it on and sprayed myself with the cold water.  I turned round and round, washing the mud off and ensuring that everyone could see everything and I basked in the cheers of the crowd.

 

It was a big splash in the newspapers the next day.  The more sensational ones printing big pictures of me, tasteful as they always were, but my mud covered bum (somewhat excoriated by Sarah’s nails) and shapely tits adorned many a front page under the headline "girls wrestle in the mud for charity.”  I think five thousand pounds was the final figure and the record still stands. 

 

That's what started me on my career, I suppose, as I said I was tall, slender and good looking, and with all that publicity the offers came flooding in.

 

I visited the old college recently, parking the Porsche beside the famous maze, and walking through the park.  Sarah was there on her hands and knees weeding the flower bed, looking rather podgy I thought and frumpy in her gardener's overalls.  She didn't recognise me, or didn't seem to at any rate.