Larry the Trivial Nudist
Larry arrives in Altgeld: A stranger, a country store, and a deal for directions
Editor’s note: This story is a work of fiction, part of Stories, Planet Nude’s new creative writing section. Stories are available exclusively to paid subscribers for one week before they unlock for free readers. For this month only, get 50% off a paid subscription.
Larry the Trivial Nudist stepped inside the country grocery store. A relaxed, fit guy of retirement age, he wore sandals, and a black pima cotton t-shirt tucked into khaki cargo shorts. The store seemed dark, in spite of the dirty show windows that flanked the screen door. It had a high, stamped metal ceiling with hanging etched glass lamps and unmoving wooden ceiling fans. The ancient gondolas held packaged staples like salt, sugar, bread, and soap, and the place smelled of dry, unpainted wood floors, sweeping compound, and coffee that had sat on the burner all day. It was late afternoon.
A hatchet faced old fart in starched and pressed work clothes sat, reading a tattered Louis L’Amour novel, behind a glass display case full of paperbacks and magazines, bought for nothing from estate auctions, next to the ornate brass cash register. There was a dirty, white cordless phone next to the cash register. He watched Larry find the cooler that held the soda pop and milk (the township was dry) and bring two twenty-ounce Cokes to the register. He stood up when Larry laid a sawbuck on the glass.
“That all for you?” the man asked.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Larry took his change. “Is this Altgeld?” The store occupied one corner of a blacktop T-intersection. There was corn surrounding it and in the other corner. Two houses were across the street with hickory trees and sycamores in the yards. A few outbuildings separated the grass from more corn.
“Yep. You don’t look like you’re looking for me, though. Me and the missus live in the little house, and the big one’s empty.”
“No. Sorry.” Larry hesitated, then said, “I am looking for a somebody. Holly Sumner.”
“I know her. She’ll come in here from time to time. Used to try to get me to carry whole wheat flour and vegetables. Olive oil. That sort of stuff.”
“I suppose she would.”
“She couldn’t buy enough to make it worth my while. Nobody else would buy it. It’d just go bad or sit on the shelf until kingdom come.”
Larry opened one of the Cokes and offered it to the man, who declined it. Larry took a swallow. “Know how to get to her place?”
“What about GPS?”
“Never needed it before. My ex-wife calls me radar brains, so I’m not even sure which phone app GPS is.”
The man chuckled and said, “Never been to her place, but I know where it’s at. Word is she goes nekkid most of the time. People come by—city folk. Professors and whatnot” He giggled. “ Come a lot. Sometimes they come in here like you. I figure she’s got sort of a nudist colony down there.” He looked a question at Larry.
“Something like that.”
The man asked, “She a friend of yours?”
“Friend of a friend. How do I get there? I have directions, but I’m not finding her place.”
The man continued to look speculatively at Larry. He stooped down and opened a drawer under the display. He put a nudist magazine from the 1960s on the display top. It was called Sundial, and the cover photo showed a tanned, nude woman leaping out of clear, blue water, possibly playing water volleyball—A modest layout man had covered her bush with a red and white ball. A fire-engine red margin framed the more cool-colored photo. It was a vivid composition.
The man said, “You might be interested in this. Fifty dollars.”
“I think I saw this when I was a kid, but fifty’s too much.”
“Dirty Frakes told me he saw this very magazine on the internet for twice that. eBay or something.”
“Fifty would mean I’d have to go into town to get some more cash.”
“Forty bucks.”
“Twenty. You bought this with a lot of other stuff in a box for five.”
“That might be true. Thirty.”
“Okay, but you throw in the Cokes I just bought. Here’s my change and another twenty.”
“Nice doing business with you.” The man picked up the cash on the counter. “What you do is you head south. That’s that way. In a couple of miles, the road’ll sort of wind down a long hill. At the bottom there’s a pretty little valley. Pres Icenogle has some steers grazing there, and there’s a rusty old truss bridge over Anvil Creek. Don’t cross the bridge. There’s a mud road into the trees, and that’ll take you to your friend’s house. You want a bag for your book?”
“Nope.” Larry had finished his Coke. He left the bottle, picked up the other one and the nudist magazine, and headed for the door. “Thanks for the directions.”
A sunburnt woman with white hair came through the door. She was husky and barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a bathing suit top. She took in Larry and his magazine, grinned, and said, “You must be Larry Murphy. I’m Holly. I gotta get some stuff, then you can follow me to The Would. Did Fred make you buy that book before he’d tell you where I live?”
Fred said, “I didn’t make him do nuthin’. He come in here lost. We kind of got talkin’ and he offered that he’d be interested in seein’ a nudist book I picked up at Jim Dickey’s mother’s sale. Say, when are you going to let me come over for a cookout?”
Holly was by the laundry soap, loading herself with washing soda, borax, and Fell’s Naptha. “Fred, if it got around that you were at my place, Ruth would have your guts for garters. Or we can ask her to drop by, if you think I’m wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’d be interested.”
“No. I guess not.” Holly put the laundry things on the glass counter. “Got any beer cold?”
“It’s across the road the shed refrigerator.”
“I’ll take a six pack.”
Fred went out the backdoor. Holly took the magazine and flipped through it. “How much did your directions cost you?”
“Thirty bucks, but I got him to throw in a couple of Cokes. And the magazine of course.”
“Steep.”
“I can get it back on Etsy.” 🪐
Read more Stories:
 | A guest post by
|