Jessica sat back on the piano stool and started playing. She genuinely could feel the freedom as her shoulders swayed with the movement of the piece. She felt as if the piano were leading her through the music rather than the other way around, and she was so lost in playing that she forgot that she was sitting in her underwear.

Miss Ashdown let Jessica play all the way through the sonata, and finally Jessica stopped with her fingers resting gently on the keys, her eyes closed, savouring the moment.

“You see what you can do?” she heard Miss Ashdown whisper. Jessica nodded and smiled.

“Now,” Miss Ashdown continued, “We know you can play with more freedom, but you need to play with more passion. I know it’s in you; it must be at your age. Come. I’ll show you something.”

Miss Ashdown took Jessica’s hand and she allowed herself to be led across the room.

“Look at this,” Miss Ashdown said, pointing at a framed black and white photo on the wall. It showed a young woman in a loose but low-cut evening dress with a plunging neckline and a long slit up one side. She was sitting at a piano and playing in front of what must have been hundreds of people inside a concert hall.

“That was me,” Miss Ashdown told her, “when I was only a few years older than you are now.”

Jessica looked at Miss Ashdown. She was used to thinking of her teacher as, well, a teacher. She might have said that she was attractive, if she was asked, but she had never even thought of it before. She looked back at the photo; she could see the passion on the young woman’s face, in the way her body was arched over the piano keys and by the graceful line of her calf as her foot just touched a pedal. It was an incredibly beautiful image, but also somehow an intensely sexual one.

“I was making love to the keys that night,” Miss Ashdown said, momentarily lost in memory, “And there wasn’t a man in the house that didn’t wish he was the one to escort me home to see where my energy would find an outlet next. And maybe a few women there did too.” Jessica looked up at Miss Ashdown who gave her a mischievous wink.

Read the rest of The Pianist, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

The funny thing was, the more I flirted, and the more I gave her what I thought she wanted, the more shy and embarrassed she became. And the more shy and embarrassed she got, the cuter she got and the easier it was to flirt. It was a vicious, delicious cycle.

I moved my hand away from the back of the sofa and gently stroked her gorgeous red hair. It made her even more uncomfortable, and I smiled half in amusement and half in pleasure. I’d never tried seducing a woman before and it was a whole lot of fun, but boy did it take a lot longer than seducing a guy.

I found myself, as if by accident, leaning much closer to her, and then the mixture of fear and expectation in her eyes drew me into the next logical step and I kept leaning, closing my eyes at the last moment as my lips touched hers.

She didn’t really do much in terms of returning the kiss, but her lips were lovely and soft against mine. That was two women in one day I’d kissed now. It truly was a voyage of discovery.

I pulled my head away a couple of inches and she leant back a little and giggled.

“Oh my god,” she said, “I thought you were straight?”

I shrugged: I am, I thought, or I thought I was.

Her face began to glow. “I’m all embarrassed now,” she said.

“How come?”

“Everyone’s watching us, I’m sure,” she said, “They’ve never seen me with anyone before… and you’re naked. It’s pretty hot.”

Read the rest of Take Pride, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF

“Now, to cut to the chase,” I continued, feeling that momentum was on my side, “You’re here because you… you enjoy the sensation of being naked. In front of people.”

She tilted her head as if she was thinking about the answer. I wasn’t sure why: it was the only reason she was here in the first place. But I knew that hearing your most personal secret put into words for the first time was not an easy thing to process.

“Well, I…” Melissa started. I nodded to urge her to continue. “Well, I guess, yes.”

She took a deep breath, as if somehow the admission was a major step forward. Personally, I felt no judgement towards her, neither good nor bad; I’d been studying this and similar subjects for long enough that they had become quite commonplace to me.

“As I said,” I began reassuringly, “There are no judgements being made here. We’re studying people with particular… preferences, that may not be what society views as normal, but you’d be surprised at just how many people share the same…” I was momentarily lost for words. “How many people have desires that are not what others would categories as the everyday.”

Melissa smiled and sat back in her seat. It was as if she’d heard someone way “don’t worry, you’re not alone” for the first time. I thought it worth pressing the point.

“Anyway, whatever people think is normal… it applies to almost nobody.” I managed to deliver the line as an aside and Melissa relaxed again. I was glad I’d said it, and that it was the truth was even better.

“But you’ve never let your preferences take hold of you, to such an extent that you’ve gotten into trouble?”

Melissa shook her head.

“No run-ins with the police? Not even embarrassing situations with friends?”

She shook her head again, but blushed at the same time. I wondered if she were perhaps hiding something, but maybe something that wasn’t all that important: a minor incident in the past that she’d rather not relive, perhaps.

Read the rest of A Study in Exhibitionism, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF