I like to sleep in the nude. Stark naked. No underwear, no socks, just my skin and the covers. I have basically since I became an adult. My girlfriend is the exact opposite -- she loves her pyjamas. Sometimes it seems like half her wardrobe is sleepwear, from the full-length striped flannel to the little satin shorts and tops to the brief, thin nighties. And if it's not the dedicated sleepwear, she slides under the covers with at least her panties on, but usually a long shirt or a tank top as well. Sometimes I'm blessed by her lingerie, all straps and lace cutouts, accentuating her considerable assets, but never giving it all away. There is a fundamental inequality in exposure when we go to bed, but it doesn't bother me at all.
Firstly, she likes to look at me, and I make sure she gets to. She's usually in bed reading by the time I come in. I always notice the way she peeks over the top of her book when I strip, how she spies at my body, my dick, my ass as I move my used clothes to the basket and stretch a final time before lying down.
I like to be looked at. Men's bodies just aren't sexualised in the same way women's are -- where every inch of skin revealed is considered erotically charged. It's kind of all or nothing for us. As a result, it feels to me like most women just don't look at men in the same obvious, hungry, objectifying way men look at women, which I think can be a shame. I love to be objectified a little. Basically, I wish girls looked at me the same way I looked at them. Sometimes you just want to be someone hot's bit of meat for a little while, you know? It's a show of vulnerability as well, to strut and stretch about in the nude around someone fully clothed and hidden from you. I have no way to hide myself, and no secrets from her. Including how much it all turns me on. Guys don't get the luxury of concealing that kind of reaction, and I rarely get to the end of my stretches without being at least at half mast, often all the way hard. She turns all pink and bites her lip as she watches it grow and the reaction never gets old.
And she can't keep her hands off me. I slide under the covers and she starts touching and tickling and pulling, telling me she feels like she's got full access when I'm like this. We play, and I have to dig through the layers and unwrap her body like the gift that it is while she has her way with mine. When she rolls over in the night -- having always pulled her gear back on after the initial romp -- she brushes up against me and realises again that I'm naked and exposed and lets her hands wander, and we start all over again.
And it's not like I never get a show. I like to look as much as I like to be looked at. I love waking up in the morning to see how a tank top has been displaced, with tits spilling out between the straps, or that a top hadn't been fully rebuttoned after we played. Sometimes, if it's been hot enough to kick the sheets off the bottom, I'll glimpse how the looseness of the little satin shorts flashes her pussy through the leg holes, or just find that a shirt or nighty has rode up to a pleasing height. She doesn't mind that I look, or that I'll sometimes wake her by touching or rubbing myself over the exposed parts, and I feel like a successful voyeur, catching these glimpses of things that usually stay covered.
The other parts of our mornings are pretty great as well. I don't get dressed until I've had my morning shower, and neither does she. Usually, I go straight to the bathroom after I get up while she mills around in her PJs and has a coffee. But some mornings, she'll ask me to put cat food out, or just call me over to show off a meme or something else on her phone before I make it to the shower. Those days, I wander out of the bedroom starkers and shameless with my morning wood leading the way.
She grins over the top of her coffee mug as she watches. She says she loves it when I walk around with a boner, the way it waves and wags along with my movements. I play up the way my hips shake to give her the show she wants.
Some mornings, the show turns her on enough that she asks me to take her right there, wherever I've found her, in the living room or kitchen. One of my favourite things about her pyjamas is how easy they are to take off, and how little there is underneath them. It only takes a flick of the wrist to send a pair of those silky little shorts to the floor and leave her bottomless with her newly exposed pussy begging for attention. Nothing gives me greater joy than grabbing the bottom of a semi-transparent nightie and hiking it up above tit level, letting all the parts she'd tried to hide flop out in front of me. I've broken more buttons than I care to count, but she always gets mad at me when I do that. I see the way anticipation smoulders on her face as the advantage she has over my nakedness is stripped away. We fuck like rabbits, and she stays pleasingly half-naked after, wandering around with her dripping cunt on show as she goes back to her coffee to finish it off before joining me in the shower.
"Wow, is this how I've been making you feel this whole time?" I always ask as she finally, blissfully strips all the way to her birthday suit to wash off (and get pounded under the spray). I ogle and drool and make the most of the opportunity to see her skin -- all of it -- unobstructed, and I let my revived hardon make my feelings obvious. She pushes in next to me under the hot water and we're skin on skin from top to bottom, hands everywhere, my rigid cock grinding into her softness. We savour the chance to be equals in nudity, with no difference in power.
And then, that evening, she slips into bed before me, all covered up, and watches while I dress down to nothing, and the games begin again...
*
Our sleeping arrangement started a few weeks into the relationship, on what the kids would call a "Netflix and chill" evening at her place. We'd hooked up a few times after our dates, but for one reason or another had always struggled to spend a full night together until now. The movie had been ignored (in magnificent fashion) and we were calling it a night. It was late and I wasn't holding my breath for anything more after the fun we'd already had.
In her bedroom, she turned her back to me as she changed into her full-length, pink-striped flannel pyjamas. I took a moment to appreciate the room -- her old plush toys on the chairs in the corner, the organised chaos of her work desk and makeup area, the fairy lights around the posts of the bed, then did as I do at home. I shucked off my jacket, pulled my shirt over my head, and pushed my jeans and briefs down to the floor and stepped out of them. I stretched by the side of the bed I'd intuited was mine from the location of her phone charger. A squeak of surprise caught my attention before I could get under the covers.
