When Mia opened her eyes I returned to my questioning. “Artists have often worked with nudes,” I said, “So, why don’t you hire a model rather than doing all this yourself?”
She seemed to welcome the question. “Partly, honestly, it’s money. How much is it going to cost to hire a model for days on end, with no idea of whether anything of worth will come out of it? And then, once I started, I realised the insight I had I couldn’t gain any other way. I had to experience the art as well as creating it.”
“And your compositions,” I continued, “There are other artists that work with nude individuals and groups. But in your pieces, there’s only ever one nude: you.”
It seemed another topic Mia was prepared for. “We are doing very different things and, in my work, I think the juxtaposition is much sharper if there is only a single nude. I think many nudes can be very visually appealing, but a single nude poses more questions; it forces the viewer to interact with the representation of an individual.”
Hearing a noise, I looked around. An elderly man was barely twenty feet away from us along the path. I started to reach for the raincoat, and then realised the futility of it. He smiled as he came alongside us, waved his hand and said something in Spanish. Mia replied with a grin and tilted her head towards me. His eyes followed her direction and we exchanged a smile. I looked at her, wanting to know what had happened.
I looked wistfully at my clothes crumpled on the chair: I’d have preferred to have gotten undressed after my outfit had arrived, not before. Then I glanced up at the table across the room, laid out with drinks and empty glasses. I noticed what looked like a pair of handcuffs on the far corner and then averted my eyes in embarrassment. I don’t know why.
Lisa saw me looking at the table. “Let me get you a drink,” she said as she stood, “Gin and tonic, I believe?”
I nodded and sat nervously on the edge of the sofa with my hands folded in my lap. I looked again at my jeans and t-shirt, wondering if I could put them back on until Tina arrived with my outfit.
“Just a sec,” Lisa said, and she picked up my bundle of clothes and left the room with them. That answered the question of putting them back on without even asking it, I guess.
I heard her go upstairs and then a minute later she reappeared with a rectangular cardboard box.
“Here,” she said, “I’ve got these for you.”
She handed me the box. It looked like a shoebox, and I hoped it had more than shoes inside.
I opened the box: it did only have shoes inside. Gorgeous, strappy stilettos; light cream colour with sparkling insets.
“These are for me?” I asked looking at them.
“Just to borrow,” Lisa said as she made us both a gin and tonic, “Do you like them?”
“They’re gorgeous!” I said. And so much more glamourous than anything I owned.
“Here you go,” Lisa said, handing me my gin and tonic. I took a sip and waited for the alcohol to have some effect: hopefully it would help me to get over the discomfort of sitting around naked.
Lisa put her drink on the table beside her and took one of the shoes out of the box.
“Here,” she said, kneeling in front of me. She lifted my ankle with her hand and slipped the shoe onto my foot. I giggled at the tickling sensation as she fastened the thin leather buckle.
Miss Ashdown watched as Jessica caressed the keys and the piano sang in response. She envied her for her passion and, perhaps a little, for her physique too as she moved up and down the scales. She noticed how Jessica moved her position on the stool to stimulate her body yet further, how she would lean into the piano as if she wanted to climb on top of it, and she could feel the essence of the young woman’s sexuality in every passage she played.
Finally, Jessica was finished and, again, she sat with her eyes closed and her fingers and her toes resting lightly on the keys and pedals. Miss Ashdown broke the spell with a gentle touch of Jessica’s forearm.
“That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” she told her student.
Jessica opened her eyes and smiled dreamily. Oh, how she wished there really was her mystery man in the audience, ready to make love to and to bring her own performance to a crescendo.
Miss Ashdown smiled back at the girl and waited for her to recover. She watched her young, bare breasts rise and fall, with just the hint of a shudder from deep within. Finally Jessica spoke.
“Does this mean…” she said, looking down at her naked body, “Does this mean I have to take lessons like this from now on?”
“I’ve got enough footage from out there,” he said, “So I guess we can get started.” I nodded. I saw him glance at my cleavage; I realised, in all the time we’d worked together, that this was probably the first time he’d seen me in anything other than a blouse. Strangely, I felt flattered that, even with Cassandra’s and Sue’s breasts only a few feet away, I could still provide a small distraction, even covered as I was.
“Let’s do the intro first,” I said, and Jim propped his camera up onto his shoulder. The red light came on to show he was recording. I grabbed the microphone he held out for me and stood still with the café counter behind me with the girls working away.
“Here we are inside ‘Naked Women in Shorts’ to see how the business runs. As you can see, Cassandra and Sue are busy behind me, and I’m in my uniform ready to lend a hand.”
At this point, Jim should be filming me from the chest upwards. Hopefully, with my shoulders bare, the viewers will be assuming that I’ve stripped off as well. I paused for a second.
Jim gave a thumbs up: it was the sign that he’d pulled back to get my bikini top in the frame.
“Well, you didn’t think I’d be willing to bare all on my salary, did you?” I said as I shrugged. Jim smiled and the red light went off as he stopped recording.
But the main thing I noticed was Mia: by her presence she commanded the space. She was wearing… well, you can probably guess what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing. I recognised the red heels from the other day and, besides those and her thick black hair, her bare, creamy skin seemed to cast a light on the room. On her hands and forearms were a pair of long, silk gloves, but that was the only part of her skin that was covered.
She had a large, gold-sprayed handbag hooked on the crook of her elbow, an oversized watch on one wrist and a bracelet on the other, and a large braided necklace around her neck with a single stone which hung between her breasts. Long earrings almost reached her shoulders and, to crown it off was, well, a crown, or rather a tiara that sparkled in the intense lighting.
I smiled; the image of her was seductive, sensual, erotic and also comical all at the same time. If she had been wearing a long, flowing evening gown it would have been easy to dismiss her as the new-money wife of a rich footballer. Yet, by being naked beneath all of the accessories, she was offering commentary on money instead of trying to represent it.
I looked at some of the other guests; there were more than a few who were wearing at least one item resembling something that Mia was sneering at: a brash watch, a tasteless necklace, or a “look at me” handbag. Admittedly, no-one else was wearing a tiara.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and I wasn’t the only one. “Amazing, isn’t she?” a voice said from beside me.
I turned around and saw a late middle-aged man in an expensive suit with a neatly trimmed beard and grey hair.
“All those things that many people aspire to and yet, if you removed them, Mia would become more beautiful as each item disappeared.”
He had a point: her nakedness served to highlight just how drab those expensive items were by comparison.
“Do you know that feeling when you’re so desperate to see your partner naked that you’ll agree to anything? I do now.”
I’m very excited to announce my latest ENF story, The Naked Girl Across The Street, is available now for the Kindle.
It’s a story about a young man, Mike, who lives opposite a young woman who seems to have developed a penchant for exercising nude, cooking nude, eating in the nude, and generally doing anything she likes in the nude, with seemingly no regard as to just how well he is able to see into her flat.
He becomes increasingly fixated with her, but at the same time his affections grow for a co-worker named Alice. She seems entirely the opposite of his beautiful exhibitionist neighbour and he is torn by his desire for both women, yet frustrated by being able to form a relationship with either of them.
The Naked Girl Across The Street is a story about how an uneasy love triangle develops, and along the way Mike learns that his neighbour will go a lot further than just spending evenings at home naked.
I’m really pleased with how the book as turned out and I’m sure you’ll love reading it. Each chapter is built around thrills and erotic nude scenes whilst exploring the complex situation that develops.
And just as a teaser, here’s an extract from the first chapter:
Seeing Is Believing
I barely even knew her to say hello to, let alone her name, but every weeknight she’d come home, turn on the light and I’d catch a brief glimpse of her before she pulled the curtains. I was invariably sat at my small dining table with my laptop open, my face illuminated by the glow from the screen. No matter what movie or box set I was watching I always found myself distracted by her movements across the street. Perhaps it was because I was a single twenty-five year old man and she was pretty. Okay, no “perhaps” – it was certainly because I was a single twenty-five year old man and she was pretty. And because I was soon to be a twenty-six year old man and beginning to worry about how close I was getting to my thirties without meeting anyone.
This evening began in exactly the same way. I can’t remember what I was watching when the light in her sitting room came on but I was transfixed as she strode from one side of it to the other. I don’t know what she does for a living, but she’s usually wearing a grey skirt and white blouse when she comes home at the end of the day. Not that I’m watching in an unhealthy way, you understand.
She walked around the room and disappeared out of sight. Then the bedroom light came on and she crossed back and forth sorting out clothes. It was very rare for her to be in the bedroom with the curtains open and I tried to make it look as if I was staring at my computer in case she looked over. I wasn’t sure how much she would see of my face from the reflected light of the screen but eyes have this funny way of meeting even in the gloom and I didn’t want to be caught staring straight at her.
She began to unbutton her blouse. Yup, you heard that right: she began to unbutton her blouse. Whatever was playing on my screen no longer mattered. Her actions were hurried and she didn’t once look across the street. I presumed her curtains would be closed any second when she realised what she was doing so I had to imprint this moment on my memory while I had the chance.
She pulled the blouse off of her arms and tossed it onto the bed. I licked my lips as I stared across at her. Okay, from this distance she was only really a shape in a white bra and grey skirt, but my imagination was filling in plenty of detail.
She pushed her skirt down over her hips. I couldn’t believe this was happening, but she made such gorgeous shapes as she wriggled out of it. She had rather nice legs. They looked good from here anyway.
She reached behind her back and my heart was pounding as she began to fiddle with the clasp of her bra. As she fumbled she began to walk, and I let out a deep breath of disappointment as she disappeared into another room. Damn: show’s over.
Or so I thought, as she reappeared in the sitting room with her bra in her hand. She dropped it onto a piece of furniture. I wished I had better eyesight, because if her breasts were anything like I imagined them to be then she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
As she pushed her underwear down her thighs I slowly folded down the screen of my laptop, not wanting to make a movement that would attract attention but also not wanting for her to look up and suddenly see me staring across at her naked body. Her. Naked. Body. It still sounds good to say it.
She glanced up as I closed the lid. I froze. Surely her curtains would be closed now.
Yet still they weren’t, and as I watched her she stood, facing directly towards me, naked from head to toe. She raised her hands over her head and stretched upwards.
I realised I was craning my neck. I daren’t get closer to the window but my eyeballs were trying to drag me there regardless. She lifted one leg off the ground and placed the sole of her foot against her knee, and it dawned on me that I was witnessing the most amazing yoga workout I was ever likely to see.
Read the rest of the story in The Naked Girl Across The Street.