Risking It For My Music


“Shall I let you in on a secret?” Miss Ashdown whispered conspiratorially, and then continued without waiting for an answer. “Underneath that evening dress, I had nothing else on.” Jessica’s eyes went wide at the revelation. “Every time I leant over the piano I wondered how much the audience could see down that dress. It was such a turn-on. I channelled all of that energy into my playing.”

Jessica looked back at the photo with fresh eyes, at the low neckline, and the long exposed leg, ending with a delicate foot that she had only just noticed was also bare whilst a pair of small stilettos stood next to the piano. She had never thought of Miss Ashdown as anything but her slightly stuffy teacher. Suddenly she had to readjust to the idea of her as a young woman revelling in taking risks on a public stage.

“I think if I could have played naked I would have done,” Miss Ashdown continued wistfully, not noticing Jessica’s blushes. “I used to practice playing naked, whenever I could. It was just so… free, and raw.” Jessica could feel the intense heat in her cheeks. “You know, so many people love the guitar, because of the way you hold it and close your arms around it, or the cello, because of its sexuality and the power it delivers from right between your legs. But really, there’s sexuality in every instrument, or almost every instrument, and the less that sexuality is given to you by the physical shape of the object, the more it has to come from the musician.”

Read the rest of Piano Lessons, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

My Mind Paints A Picture


She put her hand on my forearm. I felt the hairs stand on end. “Exactly!” she said, “And most of the critics are men who can only think of sex, sex, sex when they see a naked woman.” She paused. “And they can think that if they like. I don’t mind. Most of them can’t help it, but if they at least try to understand what they are seeing and how they are reacting to it, then I can forgive them.”

I felt it was too early to ask her about her relationships. From what I had managed to find out, there had been very few of them, and they’d been short-lived and from a time before her nude performances began.

“But to those who see you…,” I said, “If you don’t mind me saying, you have an amazing body, and you wear sexy red shoes, bright red lipstick and dark eye make-up and, for most men, the only time they see a naked – sorry, nude – woman who looks like you do is only in pornography.”

Mia waved a finger at me as if she were about to contradict me. “Yes! Exactly! But you are wearing lipstick, are you not? And eye make-up? And dainty high heels too?”

“Well, yes, but I’m… I’m not naked.”

Mia smiled the smile that I was beginning to learn meant that the discussion was going exactly the way she planned it. “And what do you think clothes are for, eh? To keep warm, yes. Maybe in Finland. And in the UK too, no? But in Spain? Spain is so often too hot. No, clothes are not for warmth. We wear clothes to make ourselves look more attractive. I look at you in your trousers and your blouse and I can imagine the curve of your hips and your narrow waist and your soft yet pert breasts with their small pink nipples. Or maybe brown. I have no idea whether you have those things or not, but what my mind does not do is fill in these missing details with sagging and folds of fat. No, it paints a very pretty picture, imagining what you might look like naked.”

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

How Come You’re Naked


“How come,” I continued, “How come you’re naked?” I didn’t want to offend her by making it sound like it was a bad thing. “I mean, the tattoos are really great, and you look great…” She smiled kindly, but was still going to let me keep digging myself into this hole. “You lost a bet or something?… Or you turned into the Hulk and your clothes didn’t fit and then you turned back?…” I tailed off and Natasha laughed.

“Oh, no,” she said, “I live here. With Georgia.” She tipped her head in the direction of our party host who I’d been introduced to, and then summarily bored witless earlier.

“Oh,” I said, and was about to add “I see…” but then realised that it didn’t explain anything at all.

“No,” Natasha said, “I just… prefer it this way. I used to hang about in the house naked when I was by myself, and then Georgia would come home and find me like it and at first she thought it was weird, and then she got used to it, and then I’d completely forget about it and answer the door to some friends without putting anything on first, and then they’d get used to it too, and now I’m pretty much naked all the time, unless there are a lot of strangers around.”

Read the rest of Dressed in Tattoos, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Dreaming Of Normality


As Sarah sat and ate dinner with the other nuns she felt a growing sense of confidence inside of her. Firstly, she now had a place in the convent, a purpose, even if it was the simplest of tasks. But secondly, she had a secret that none of them knew: that beneath her habit was a sexy, young woman in black lingerie and stockings; a woman who would be the object of desire of any man alive. The article had told her so. She smiled to herself.

That evening, back in the privacy of her own room, she locked the door, pulled her habit over her head, and admired her figure in the mirror again. She wondered: was this what normal young women did? From the articles in the magazine, it seemed that everyone was dressing to impress the opposite sex, even if they couldn’t see it.

Sarah’s sleep that night was disturbed. She dreamt of herself in the convent. Only, instead of her habit, she was wearing her sexy black underwear and stockings and she had found some high heels like the girl in the magazine photo. And then, for a reason that made no sense, suddenly she was without her underwear, and she had to stand at the front of prayer in nothing but stockings and high heels.

Read the rest of the story in The Rules of the Convent