The Bare Necessities (Non-Profane Edition)

Copyright ©
2013 John David Harding

All rights
reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations
in a book review.

All characters
appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Written in the
United Kingdom for National Novel Writing Month 2012 and published
in January 2013.

1. Preface
   

Hello there!

This is a
special edition of my book. After releasing the original, it was
suggested to me that there was too much explicit profanity within
the novel, and this upset them. This is therefore an edition that
contains almost no swear words as almost all references of “f**k”,
“s**t”, “c**k”, “p**s” and c**t” have been removed.

In November 2012 I
wrote this book for National Novel Writing Month – the challenge to
write a novel inside thirty days. It took me only two weeks to
write, but over a month to edit and over the holiday season, I sent
it to my group of alpha readers.

From their
responses, I made further alterations to be able to present the
book here today. I thank those people who gave up hours of their
time – David, Turbo, Gary, my wife and everyone who wrote to me
from the British Naturism forum. This book would not be as good, if
it wasn't for their hard work and efforts.

This is my first
fiction book under my real name, and I would love to receive
feedback – good and bad. My website is listed at the bottom of the
page and I will respond to messages I receive through it.

I am an
occasionally active member of the Macclesfield Writers' Group so if
anyone is in the Macclesfield area wants to try their hand at
creative writing, then we meet at the library on Thursday
afternoons; it's a diverse mix of characters and all are
welcome.

Hope you enjoy the
story.

Kind regards,

John

My website:
http://jdhardingbooks.wordpress.com/

Macclesfield
Writing Group:
http://maccwriters.wordpress.com/

1. Chapter I
   

“Oh for Christ's
sake,” the red-haired eighteen year-old cried. “Just hold it
still.”

“My sarong fell
off,” an annoyed voice yelled from underneath a green piece of
canvas. A crop of red hair, attached to another teenager, emerged
from underneath the circular tent, and the young lady frantically
retied the red fabric around her naked body. “Stop gettin' at me
Paige,” she moaned.

The 5ft 7in Paige
ran her hands through her hair, pushing it behind her ears. “Half
an hour, we've been trying to put this tent up,” she snapped at her
little sister. “You're in the tent, does it matter if you're naked?
Honestly, Hazel, just …”

The younger girl
grunted and scowled. “You know I hate it here. You know I hate
people seeing me … like this.”

“Then don't bloody
come to a naturist camp site then,” the eighteen year old spat.

“I didn't want to
come, you know that. Mum and Dad made me.”

Paige closed her
eyes and counted to three. “Can we please just get this tent up?”
The naked girl sighed and watched as her sixteen year-old sister
tried to put the sarong around her bosom, but it came loose as she
bent down and she dropped the pole for the second time in as many
minutes. “Hazel,” Paige yelled at her. “Mum and Dad'll be back
soon. They've only gone to the Supermarket. Useless little …”

“Go and do one,”
Hazel snapped aggressively, gesturing rudely towards her elder
sibling and kicked the pole with a clatter as she walked away from
the crumpled canvas.

“Yeah, go on. Go!
I'll get Jeremy to help me.” Paige bellowed at the retreating
figure of her younger sister, who took her silky sarong and held it
around her body, before grabbing her book from the grass and
walking purposely towards the little club house.

Paige swore at the
departing girl; she had managed to put up the little two-person
tent she shared with Hazel on her own, but the family tent was too
big for her to assemble without assistance and she just needed her
little sister to help hold the single pole as the guy ropes were
fastened.

Paige tried to
balance the pole herself, before running to tie the ropes, but had
to catch the seven foot wooden strut before it hit the ground when
it started to topple, and got a smack on the chin for her trouble.
The frustrated teenager cried in pain and flailed her arms in a
frantic, circular motion; her body was stuck in the canvas sheet
and she had to back out from under the collapsed tent. She wiped
her chin, and took a swig of the bottle of water and pondered her
options.

The stubborn girl
was not prepared to find her sister and ask for help, and had no
intention of waiting for her parents to arrive back at the naturist
camp site with her younger brother, Jeremy. They had expressly
asked her to put up the tents while they went shopping; how hard
can a ex-scouting tent be to put up?

Paige looked at
the canvas sheet from the 25 year-old tent and carefully put the
strut on the ground, lining the small spike at the end of the
wooden pole with the eyelet in the tent, but the pole would not
balance as she let go and she slipped as the weight came crashing
down on her.

“Do you want any
help?” Paige turned to find the source of the female voice and her
eyes rested on a naked, black-haired teenager – a couple of inches
taller than herself – standing next to the collapsed tent with a
towel in her hand. “You look like you need it?”

“Sure,” Paige
muttered. “Thanks. I haven't seen you here before.”

“Not been before.
Just a few days away from home,” the friendly girl replied. “Dad's
got Easter off work, so he wanted us all to come. Claire, by the
way.”

“Paige.” She gave
a smile and gestured towards the other side of the tent. “Could you
grab that pole? Once it is up I can peg out the sheet.”

Claire put her
towel on the floor next to Paige's water bottle, walked around the
large canvas sheet and grabbed hold of the base of the wooden strut
raising her seven-foot timber to a vertical position and Paige
waited for a few seconds, to ensure that the tent wasn’t about to
collapse. “Are you OK in there?” Paige asked her newly-acquired
friend, between the tent sheet.

“Yeah, fine.”
There was silence for a few moments before Claire asked. “Do you
come here regularly?”

“Three times a
year or so,” Paige replied as she picked up the tent pegs and
mallet, and began hammering in the first guy rope into the ground.
“Not always with my family, I came this time last year with my ex.
Only for Easter weekend though, but it was good to get away.”

Paige and Claire
spoke through the canvas shelter as the guy ropes were tied, and
then the flysheet was thrown over the top and fastened securely.
Claire, who was staying in a static caravan, was keen to know how
many teenagers came to visit and what the camp site was like, and
Paige was only too happy to talk to her.

They unfurled the
groundsheet into the tent, and Paige sat down taking a swig of
water, and thanked her. “I'm going to the pool. Do you want to
come?” Claire offered with a smile.

“Yeah,” Paige
replied. “Yeah, I do! 'Cause I think I deserve it.”

* *
* * *

“Nice try at the
end,” the voice of the coach complimented him as Jack lifted a
glass of beer to his lips. He was surrounded by his team mates, as
well as the players of the side his team had just beaten, and he
nodded in appreciation of the compliment.

“Yeah, bloody fast
legs for a big guy!” Another voice added, and Jack smiled
uncomfortably in receipt of the adulation and praise. “Not having a
problem playing for the 'C' Team. It'll be the Stiffs next.”

Jack smiled and
took a few sips from the glass of beer in his hand. His team mates
knew each other far better than Jack did; he had only recently been
promoted from the youth teams, but he tried to join in on the
conversation.

In response, a
couple of the players on the 'C' Team of the amateur rugby club
were keen to get to know their new Inside Centre and Jack was happy
to talk about his exclusive college where he was enrolled, as well
as the family firm which his father was encouraging him to
join.

The noise made by
the two rugby teams rose as the amount of alcohol that was consumed
increased, and a handful of drinking games saw Jack go from fairly
tipsy to very drunk. He got up, swaying and groaning, as he
stumbled to the toilets, feeling nauseous.

The drunken player
slumped against the toilet wall and took a few deep breaths that
caused him to dry-heave. His fair hair was ragged and his clothes
dirty and stained. He could feel the room spinning and gripped the
sink to stop himself from tumbling into the wall.

Jack rejoined the
group and passed on any further beer. He was called a “lightweight”
by his team mates but the eighteen year-old student knew that if he
accepted any more alcohol he would be violently sick, and it would
spoil his evening.

Jack was clearly
drunk, but he wasn't totally inebriated, and had some awareness of
his surroundings. His glass of water was laughed at, and he was
teased, but Jack wasn't the only player who had swapped ale for
something lighter and as the afternoon gave way into evening, he
felt the effects of the alcohol lessen.

He watched as the
young barmaid picked up the plethora of dirty glasses from the
table and he grabbed a handful of them that were stacked. “I'll
give ya a hand,” he offered and carried a dozen dirty pint glasses
to the bar. She smiled and thanked him, and he leant across the
bar. “I've seen you around, haven't I?”

The blonde girl
gave a defensive laugh. “Err … I don't think so.”

Jack nodded and
smiled at her. “Yeah, sure I have. You've been modelling haven't
you?” He gave a coy smile as she sighed and he chortled. “Yes,
that's it,” he exclaimed. “You were in Sexiest Women in Britain,
right?”

“No,” she said
firmly, closing the bar hatch with a bang and shaking her head as
she looked at the floor. “Now, would you like another drink?”

Jack pulled his
wallet out of his trouser pocket. “I'll have half a Guinness and
whatever you're having.”

“I can't drink
when I am working,” the slim barmaid told him and adjusted her
clothes. “And I guessed you knew that.”

“Well I will just
have to wait until you are not working,” he teased as she poured
the black liquid into the half-pint glass. “Won't I?”

“I don't think my
boyfriend would be very impressed, do you?”

Jack shrugged as
he passed the banknote over to her and she slid him his change on
the varnished bar with a smile. He took a few sips of the drink and
ambled back to the posse of players but the gathering was starting
to wind down. After finishing the drink, he said his goodbyes to
the thinning group of rugby players, and walked out into the street
with his rucksack on his back.

Jack stumbled as
he left the pub and hit the fresh air, and wiped his eyes. In front
of him, waiting at the bus stop opposite were two people he never
wanted to see again. The girl waved at him, but Jack feigned
deafness and blindness to walk away from that street; just what was
his ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend doing outside the amateur
rugby club?

* *
* * *

“The rumours are
rubbish.”

The tracksuit-clad
skinhead grunted from the other side of the desk. “Yeah … and they
said Villa 'ad scouts, like. Watching me at the Torquay game. I
scored, and I thought it was one of my better goals.”

Andre Wilson
sighed and rubbed his eyes, straightening his suit and wiping his
brow. He was exasperated. “Sorry, but it's not true. Ummm … they
might not be spending any money, but they aren't looking in the
Conference for players.”

Baz grunted.
“Scored two goals as well,” he muttered, barely moving his lips and
gestured wildly at his agent's representative. “Ain't worth scorin'
if Villa weren't watching. Why they not interested in me?”

Andre sighed and
puffed. “I'm not sure you'd fit into their system,” Andre stoically
replied, but Baz was insistent.

“Yeah, I'm good
anywhere. Last week, gaffer told me to play right wing, and I'm
like, 'I dain't like it,' but, ya know, I do it, 'cause it's a
game.”

“Would that be the
game you got sent off in?”

“Yeah,” Baz
admitted. “But that weren't till the eighteenth minute, like, ya
know. I nearly scored 'fore that.” Baz took a cigarette out of his
pocket and lit it in the small meeting room. “Don't mind d'ya?”

“No,” Andre
replied tersely. “Look Baz, if you want to move, then we could see
if there's any takers in the Summer, but it's tough market out
there. Clubs aren't carrying as many pro's on their books and we'll
see. Maybe a League Two club might want to take a nibble.”