After meeting in 14th Street Park to prepare ourselves for our High Line adventure, and then heading up to the High Line itself for our mile-long stroll, topless, through a crowd of thousands of tourists and locals who possibly might not have been expecting to see a group of bare-chested women in their midst, we exited the High Line at its 34th Street terminus, elated and slightly exhuasted and many blocks from the nearest subway.

Did we put our shirts on for the last leg of our journey? We did not. It just felt too good, too healthy, too natural, to remain topless as we made our way through the city’s summer streets. Who needs another layer of fabric getting between her skin and the cooling breeze? Not us. So, fortified with a refreshing popsicle or two, off we went.

The east-west blocks between the river and midtown are long ones, and we got some looks as we crossed them. One or two odd remarks (“Get in,” said a man in a car. Did he really think we would?), one or two startled ejaculations (in the classical Arthur Conan Doyle sense of the word — “My dear Holmes!” I ejaculated), but overall nothing too untoward or troubling. We passed more than one male jogger wearing as little as we were, and by and large we got nearly as little attention as he did.

Eventually we got to the subway, where one of us got dressed for the trip home–

–and the other two just headed down to complete the trip as we were.

Having gotten out at Columbus Circle, we ended with a brief sit beneath a tree in nearby Central Park.

What lesson do we take away from this wonderful multi-stage experience? That female toplessness has been normalized sufficiently, at least in New York City, that not only can a group of more than a dozen topless women relax without causing a stir in a quiet park but even just two or three topless women can walk through other sorts of public spaces without giving rise to offense or distress — that of others or our own.

Also, that it is physically pleasurable, emotionally satisfying, and psychically healing to go bare-breasted outdoors, both because it is an assertion of equal rights — you can do this thing, and so can I — and because the simple sensation of it is delightful. (Maybe not quite so delightful in the subway. Nothing is as delightful there. But even there, it’s sort of fun.)

Would you like to join us sometime? Maybe not in the subway — that’s some advanced urban toplessness, for sure. But somewhere, sometime. Whether that’s on a grassy lawn in the park or a lounge chair on our favorite rooftop sundeck or wherever appeals to you most, if you’re a woman in the New York area and at all curious about what we do, we’d love for you to join us. Send us email (toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com), or message us on Insta or Twitter (@ToplessPulp), and we promise — we’ll find an event that’s right for you.