Who Would Guess?

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Oh dear, Susan thought to herself, bad Susan. No Susan. And then she started chuckling. Because if no-one could see them… why wear them at all?

“Are you having fun in there? Dare I ask?…” Marian’s voice came from outside.

“Just buttoning up!” Susan lied, standing still naked. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she picked up her old knickers and bra and shoved them into the flip-top bin in the corner of the changing room. She looked herself in the eye in the mirror. “You’re really doing this,” she whispered, and picked up the coat, put her arms in the sleeves, and carefully buttoned up all but the top two and the bottom two buttons. With the belt tied it was secure, and she looked down at her old shoes. Not long for you now, she thought as she slipped them on, wishing she could take Marian’s stilettos instead.

Susan examined herself briefly in the mirror. Nothing appeared different from the way she had looked when she came in. She could just as well be wearing underwear, a low-cut top and a short skirt… She could be, but she wasn’t.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms

A Morning Welcome

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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

Risking It For My Music

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“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

Just The Shoes To Go

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Oh dear, Susan thought to herself, bad Susan. No Susan. And then she started chuckling. Because if no-one could see them… why wear them at all?

“Are you having fun in there? Dare I ask?…” Marian’s voice came from outside.

“Just buttoning up!” Susan lied, standing still naked. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she picked up her old knickers and bra and shoved them into the flip-top bin in the corner of the changing room. She looked herself in the eye in the mirror. “You’re really doing this,” she whispered, and picked up the coat, put her arms in the sleeves, and carefully buttoned up all but the top two and the bottom two buttons. With the belt tied it was secure, and she looked down at her old shoes. Not long for you now, she thought as she slipped them on, wishing she could take Marian’s stilettos instead.

Susan examined herself briefly in the mirror. Nothing appeared different from the way she had looked when she came in. She could just as well be wearing underwear, a low-cut top and a short skirt… She could be, but she wasn’t.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms

My Mind Paints A Picture

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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

I Dare You

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Photo: Kate by ElenaShai

Of course they didn’t know. A flash of leg or a hint of cleavage might get a passing admiring look, but she wasn’t showing any more skin than many of the other women, and certainly not as much as she had shown an hour ago in the lingerie shop, despite her nakedness beneath the coat.

She looked in the mirror again. Of course they weren’t looking at her, because she was still beige. Her coat was beige, and next to it her skin looked beige. The bright red lipstick, the ruby red shoes and the dark eyeliner had too much to fight against, and they were defeated by the dull coat. If you looked closely you might be able to see a young, sexy woman inside, but you had to decide to look closely in the first place.

That was the solution: the coat had to go. But she didn’t want to buy a new coat, not on a warm day in May. Her mind span again and the world started to feel like a dream. Am I thinking what I think I’m thinking? she asked herself. She was.

Susan was a hundred of miles from home and no-one in the town even knew her name. The old Susan had come out of the hotel this morning, but it was going to be the new Susan that went back this evening. The new Susan, with all traces of the old discarded.

She put down her bag containing her new skirt, her new top, her new bra and black lace shorts. She stood looking at the mirror, took her car keys out of her purse and put them both down on the seat next to her. She stared again at the mirror.

“I dare you,” the reflection mouthed.

“I accept,” she mouthed back at it.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms

How Much Did He See?

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©alyosha aloisov

Soon, though, the bikini wasn’t far enough and, once I was on the open road I’d find a quiet spot, pull over and throw the top and bottom on the passenger seat and continue the journey nude. It was reassuring to have the bikini there, just in case, and I’d drive around the quietest roads, taking in the scenery and letting the sun soak into me and the air wash over me. On the way back I’d stop and get dressed again before finishing the last part of my drive home.

There was the time when I went to overtake a truck, and then realised that from the driver would be looking right down on me as I went past. I put my foot to the floor and I think I was reaching a hundred miles an hour as I passed him, so I’m not sure how much detail he could have made out. I told myself I was an idiot, and then realised that I had loved the feeling of danger.

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