My heart was racing, the pulse pounding in my head, ringing in my ears. I felt like I was walking on water, light-headed and barely in control of my actions. I felt for the door handle and pushed, perhaps hoping, even at this late stage that something would happen to prevent me from proceeding; the door might be locked, or someone might call me from the other side of the street or something, anything, to drag me away from this moment. But nothing happened.

The door swung open and I stepped in, sensing immediately the uncomfortable ambience of the launderette, the sultry, insufferable heat, the sweaty, damp, heavy air, and the overpowering smell of the machines, mingling electricity and hot air and washing powders, creating that familiar, slightly sickly aroma that all launderettes have. I was now inside and there was no way back. If I were to leave now it would draw attention to me and make it impossible to return anonymously later on. I had started, I had to finish.

I looked around anxiously, and there was no-one in the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking my good fortune, and hurried to an empty machine in the corner. Just as I raised my hand to my jacket button to begin stripping off I heard a tuneless whistle and turned to see the owner sauntering through from his back office.

"'Allo," he said in his thick Italian accent. His name was Rollo, and he was mid-fifties, fat and unclean, a real slob with two missing front teeth and a cigarette dangling in the resultant gap. He was actually quite a nice guy, and I had got to know him quite well in the days before I had a washing machine and used the launderette every week, but he made no effort with his appearance and tended to frighten or repulse people. And, frankly, at that moment, I had no desire to have any dealings with him.

"Hi," I replied noncommittally, pretending to search in my bag for something. I started to count my change laboriously, my head down but eyes alert, watching for signs of him moving off. He whistled non-stop, a tuneless dirge which sounded like a faulty central heating boiler and which at the best of times irritated me. Today, with my nerves frayed, it was driving me insane. He showed no signs of leaving but, I supposed, he was probably curious: here I was in a launderette, yet I appeared to have no clothes with me to wash.

I was beginning to panic, aware that I couldn't sit with my head buried in my bag for ever. Just as I was about to lose courage and flee, though, he grabbed a bag of service washes and disappeared into his back office. I had no way of knowing how long he would be, but I had no time for conjecture, and so I swung into action. Quickly, I peeled open the buttons of my coat. My hands were shaking and my fingers struggled with the smaller buttons of my blouse. As speedily as I could manage in the circumstances, I undid them and slipped the blouse from my shoulders. Immediately, the stale air of the room wrapped itself sweatily around my bared upper body. I tugged at my lycra skirt and rolled it over my hips and down to my feet, then stepped out of it and stood in my bra and panties in the middle of the launderette. I was terror-struck by now, and the pounding in my ears raged on, deafening me and urging me on insistently. I reached behind and unclasped the bra, allowing it to fall from my shoulders, and in the same downward movement I slipped my panties to my ankles. Hurriedly I hurled everything into the machine and stood erect for a second.

I was completely naked in the middle of a public launderette. I was terrified, but a thrill of nervous excitement was rampaging through my body. I could easily have put my coat on at that point and revelled in the relative cover that allowed, but I thought of my Master and willed myself to greater heights of daring. I wanted to delay the moment of covering-up as long as I could.

Anxiously, with one eye on the door and my ears alert for the approaching owner, I fed the coins into the slot, selected my wash and pressed the button. The machine clunked into action and the bowl began to fill with water, soaking my clothing. There was no going back. I remained where I was, still unclothed, a tingle of excitement rippling through my body as I watched the machine fill and begin its wash cycle. The sultry, humid air licked around my body, and combined with my nervousness caused my skin to break into a prickly sweat.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling noise from the back office and I immediately slipped my coat on. Turning my back to the corridor which led to the office, I began to button it up, but before I had reached the second button Rollo was back in the room. I blushed furiously and became flustered, my fingers struggling to coordinate the simple task of doing up the large buttons.

"You a'right?" he asked my back.

"Yeah, great," I replied, finally fixing the last of the buttons and turning to face him. In my triumph at managing to cover myself, I overlooked the fact that the coat barely concealed anything, and I was still patently half naked. Agonised, I watched as Rollo's eyes appraised my appearance, sliding up and down my body, paying particular regard to my thighs; with sinking dread I watched his eyes flit across to the machine and discern what was in it; with stark realisation, I sensed him put two and two together; and with a feeling of complete horror I knew that he knew. Rollo knew I was naked beneath my coat.