Frontal Nudity in Downtown Asheville

My wife and I checked into the Hampton Inn on the outskirts of Asheville during our first trip ever to North Carolina.  We wanted to visit the Biltmore, a gift to my wife from me, and do a little shopping downtown.

As we were checking in at the front desk we overheard this couple checking out of the motel, asking the clerk about a woman in downtown Asheville, who was strutting around bare-breasted.

"It's not, you know, illegal here in Asheville," the clerk answered. "And you're not the first ones that asked about her either. She comes out about this time every Summer for a couple of weeks, you know, then goes back to where-ever-it-is she belongs. There's been, you know, a couple of complaints from businesses downtown but for the most part, they just, you know, ignore her."

My wife and I took casual note of the conversation and went back to tending our own business, looking forward to visiting the Biltmore, doing some shopping downtown, and oh yes . . . . the inevitable wine tasting experience.

It took a good part of the morning to make it through the whole house at the Biltmore. The mansion was a little on the warm side . . . . being the middle of June and all, but we took it all in stride. We wound-up outside at the stables next to the courtyard area. I seated myself at a table off to the side, got myself a mint tea and enjoyed the cooling breeze while my wife engaged herself with the gift shop.

After "lunching" at the Deerpark Resturant, we headed downtown for more shopping. I was missing my regular afternoon nap, which means that my awareness of downtown Asheville was somewhat dulled, and for the moment, I was content to just be the chauffeur. This was, after all, a "gift" trip for my darling wife.

"THERE SHE IS", my wife yelled! "SLOW DOWN!  THAT WOMAN OVER THERE.  SHE'S NOT WEARING A BRA. Don't you see that woman on the bus bench?  Look at her . . . . she's . . . . . BRALESS."

My awareness returned with a snap and I almost hit a parked cop car. "Turn around! Go back," my wife yelled. "I want to see if what I think I saw is really what I saw. Get closer."

"What'ya mean get closer?" I yelled.  Half believing what my wife was asking me to do. "For what possible reason on God's green Earth could you possibly have for . . . . . .

I didn't get a chance to finish. The half-nude woman began chasing our car. She was flopping-about and running after us . . . hands waving in the air. "C. Allen . . . . C. Allen . . . . is that you? C. Allen . . . high school . . . . remember?  History Class. Remember?Longtime no-see . . . . C. A-l-l-e-n."