Her shoulders shrugged beneath the thick coat. “Why not,” she said, “This café has a good selection.”

She looked around the room with her strange manner again. She was like a bird, watchful for predators perhaps, and her eyes seemed to rest on each other customer for a fraction of a second before dismissing them as a threat.

I turned around in my stool to look for a waiter and put my hand in the air to attract his attention. I had lost some of my English reserve during my time as a journalist, but, as was to become apparent, not as much as I thought.

I must have been looking away from Mia for no more than two or three seconds but by the time I turned back the fur coat was gone and I was suddenly in the presence of Mia the performance artist. Or, more precisely, Mia the naked performance artist.

I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, so I said nothing. I was incapable of saying anything as she sat there, seemingly oblivious to her nudity, not even paying attention to how I reacted.

I had seen plenty of photos and videos during my research for this interview but, in the flesh, it was obvious what a truly beautiful woman Mia was. Her skin was a delightful soft cream colour and appeared flawless, although I was trying hard not to stare. There was barely an inch of fat on her and, as she sat with her legs crossed, I wondered if I was just imagining the whole thing.

I looked around the café. It was obvious from some other reactions that I wasn’t dreaming, but although there were glances in her direction, and comments between groups at tables, it wasn’t quite the seismic reaction that I would have expected.

The waiter arrived and I watched his eyes lock onto Mia’s breasts for a second before he gained enough self-control to address her face.

Read the rest of Interview With An Artist, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Then she stood, hooked her fingers into her waistband, and quickly pulled her underwear down her thighs, over her stockings, stepped out of the small piece of fabric and dropped it to one side. She sat firmly in her chair with her legs crossed but her hands on the armrest. She stared at me defiantly, but I knew it was largely a defensive response.

“And were you right?” I asked her, “About this being a nine?”

Melissa nodded but said nothing.

“And on the scale of one to ten… is ten an orgasm?” She nodded again. “And have you ever had an orgasm without being touched before.” She nodded again. I paused. “Is this common for you.” She thought for a second, and then nodded again. I noted it down and her breathing became more rapid.

“Now do you mind,” I asked her, “If I take your pulse?”

She shook her head: of all the things I’ve asked of her so far, this was quite a small request. I stood up and walked over to her and put my fingers on her delicate wrist and started to count on my watch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her breasts rising and falling with each breath. After thirty seconds I had a good enough estimate and wrote it down.

“Ninety six,” I told Melissa.

“Is that high?”

I shrugged. “You’d usually be maybe sixty-something, or seventy if you’re not relaxed.” I smiled. “But there are extenuating circumstances, and ninety six is nothing to be worried about.”

She smiled weakly again, but I could see her mind is elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few more questions,” I told her, “And I’d like you to respond on a scale of one to five this time, okay?” Melissa nodded. “Okay. Again, this is about how much extra arousal you might feel.”

Her chest kept rising and falling and her pupils didn’t appear to be focussing on me.

“So, first. If someone came into the room.”

“Five,” she said instantly.

“If I unlocked the door.”

“Still five.”

“If I told you there was a camera filming us now?”

“Five,” and her eyes darted around the room.

“Don’t worry, there isn’t one,” I reassured her. Her eyes closed in relief for a second.

“And if I photographed you now?” I continued.

“Four,” she said. At least the scale has some variation: not everything was a “five”.

“If I threw your clothes out of the window?”

“Five.” Another instant response, which she then corrected. “No, six.” I smiled to myself: I might have to adjust the scale of her responses later.

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