“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.”

“Oh,” I said, as if I understood, but obviously I didn’t really understand at all. Natasha smiled again.

“Most of the people here I know, and Georgia usually tells other people what to expect. And it’s my place so I can do what I like, eh? People don’t have to stay.”

I couldn’t disagree with that, although I still couldn’t really see why that meant being naked. Natasha was so comfortable as she was that I knew she wasn’t just doing it as a one-off. I can be pretty self-centred sometimes, but even I couldn’t believe it was all a trick to freak out the English girl.

“But, but,” I stuttered, “But don’t you feel odd, with everyone staring at you?”

Natasha smiled. She’d been asked that question dozens of times before, of course.

“Look around,” she said, and I complied, “Do you see many people staring?” I did see a couple of people staring, actually, and a couple of young guys looked away as my eyes met theirs, but it wasn’t as if we were the focus of attention in the room by any means. “See? And those guys were looking at you anyway, the Asian bombshell in the tight dress and high heels. They grew tired of looking at me ages ago, but you’re an unknown, and their imaginations are running riot trying to imagine how it would feel to put their hands around that tiny waist of yours, and wondering how those big breasts of yours will look without a bra and dress to support them.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “What’s there to imagine about these tiny things?” Natasha continued, and rubbed her nipples and her small breasts wobbled in response. “No, they’ve been looking at you the whole time we’ve been talking.”

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

le-voleur-de-beaute:

Model: Maria Lipina

Photographer: Dmitry Lobanov

“You’re awake!” she said with a smile. She pushed the door open and skipped over to sit on the side of the bed. She was, of course, still naked. I instinctively held the duvet tight over my chest to cover myself, and then realised just how silly a gesture that was. Natasha saw it and smiled.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Like a log,” I replied.

“Good. Well, if you want to sleep a bit more you’re welcome to.” I shook my head; it felt a bit thick-headed, but not sleepy. “But there’s a shower through there,” Natasha indicated a door that must lead to an en-suite, “And I’ve put a toothbrush and washgear in there for you. And a razor, if you need it. Take your time. And there’s a bathrobe on the back of the door too.” That was a nice gesture; I didn’t want to have to get into my tight dress right after a shower.

“I’ll be around somewhere when you’re ready,” Natasha continued. “No rush,” she emphasised and then turned to leave. I watched her lean, naked, colourfully painted buttocks as she retreated out of the room.

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

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