No Need To Imagine Me Nude

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“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.”

She waved her finger at me again before continuing.

“No. Clothes are not for concealing what we are because it’s shameful, but to force the imagination to fill in the gaps, to imagine perfection beneath them. I could put my coat back on, but then it’s just as easy to imagine me naked underneath, isn’t it? And is that not more titillating?”

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

I Used To Play Naked Too

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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.”

Miss Ashdown re-focussed her gaze on the reflection of Jessica. “So, yes, I know exactly what’s going on inside that body of yours, and how mixed up it all is, but also just how powerful it all is.” She judged that now was the time for the direct approach. “Tell me, do you masturbate?”

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

Undressing From The Inside Out

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She opened the door, turned and exchanged a last smile with Marian, before stepping out onto the pavement and into the mass of normal, fully clothed people.

It was mid-afternoon now, and a relatively warm spring day. Most people would take their coats off on a day like this, she thought, but why not undress from the inside out like she had instead? It made perfect sense, or at least it seemed to at the moment.

A gentle wind blew. It was not enough to disturb the careful arrangement of Susan’s coat, but she could feel it move between her legs, and if she stood just so the cool air would find its way into her coat and drift across her breasts. It felt marvellous.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms