A Reluctant Nudist

I had indulged in a lot of soul searching over the events of the last few months. The confusing issues that now confronted me concerning our recent uncharacteristic sexually liberated behaviour had left my mind in a sort of quandary. Growing up as a lad in London, being one of five kids with three sisters, my attitude towards the opposite sex had always been such that I imagined that girls were generally repulsed by the thought of nudity and sex. Going to an all boys grammar school also didn't prepare me in any way for the outside world, especially concerning the fairer sex.

The first time I ever really had a real chance to find out anything regarding these maters was when I started going out with my first girlfriend while I was still at school. I was eighteen at the time. Stephanie was the same age as me and we met at a mutual friend's party. She was also still at school and lived with her father and older sister, her mother having died some years before.

Because her dad was involved with purchasing military equipment for the Royal Air Force, he was often away overseas. This gave us the opportunity to spend a fair bit of time alone at her home. Things never got much beyond what was then known as heavy petting but this did give me some good grounding on what I could or couldn't be expected to get away with. When things did look like progressing beyond just kissing and touching she often used to fain sickness, kidney pains being one of her most common excuses. Because of this, my impression of the opposite sex was that if they did ever go any further it would only be as a mater of duty or possibly by being forced to, not out of any free will. Although we occasionally touched each other intimately, I only ever got the occasional glimpse of naked flesh. Even though we went together for over six months, I never did get the chance to see her as nature intended. In fact I often got to see more of her older sister's body as she lounged around the place with just a skimpy see through cotton hippy dress on, always with her knickers on but never with a bra underneath. However, these stolen glimpses of her slightly hairy nipples were not my ultimate achievement so far in my observations of the opposite gender.

Once when on holiday at our parents week end bungalow home on the south coast of England, in Kent, I did see my older sister nude. It was late in the evening and we had all been to the beach that day. By the time we had had some fish and chips for tea and returned home, the evening was drawing in. I was putting my bike away into the back shed when as I turned to go in the back door of the house I noticed that the light was on in the back bedroom where all my sisters slept. The curtains were still open and I could see Sarah standing by one of the bunk beds. As I had been making a fair bit of noise while putting the bike into the shed I figured that either she couldn't see me outside or that she knew I was there and was ignoring my presence. I counted on the first option and ducked back along the side of the shed and watched as she was brushing some sand off of herself. She had on a one piece, black swimming costume and she had pulled the front down. Her back was towards me and I couldn't really see anything except for her bare back and shoulders. I can still remember how I could feel my heart begin to pound as I watched her. My mind was confused and I was panicking inside as to whether to stay and watch or just quietly creep round to the front door so that she would not have known I had been there. All the strength in my legs seemed to have disappeared and they were feeling very wobbly. My hands were also shaking now but I decided to stay put and remain quiet. I wasn't sure if my present condition was caused from a fear of getting caught or of the excitement of what I might be about to see next.

Still with her back to me, she pulled down her costume and stepped out of it, now giving me a full view of her naked back as she continued to brush sand off of herself. Still I had the urge to leave but now my curiosity had taken over and I was transfixed by my first sight of a real live naked girl, even though it was only my sister. Then miracles of miracles, it happened. She turned around to face me and started to wipe the sand off her front. My mouth was now completely dry and there was absolutely no way that I could raise one ounce of spit to swallow, which was a reflex that I seemed to need to do urgently. Although this was my sister and my whole body was going through a sort of nervous spasm, it still did not stop me from appreciating how stunning she looked. She had small conical shaped breasts that kind of ski sloped down to these long dark brown nipples that stood out further than I would ever have imagined, certainly more than any of the models I had seen in the girlie mags that were passed around at school. Her pubes were a light brown colour, with almost a reddish tint and the hair curly and very course looking, not like the hair on her head at all which was very fair, almost blond, straight and thin in texture. As I watched she looked up and I thought that she had caught me spying on her. I jumped back further along the shed and waited for any reaction. There seemed to be none. Instead she stood back from the window and started turning around slowly and making poses, turning all angles with her hands on her hips. It was as if she could read my mind and was giving me every best possible view of herself, all the time looking straight towards me through the window. I moved back closer to get a better look. Was she really doing this just for me? More likely, I thought, she was probably just posing for herself, seeing her own reflection in the glass of the window. Secretly inside I sort of hoped that she knew that I was there as this would have been the made the whole thing far more significant and brought a whole new dimension into this erotic situation. The magical ingredient that my later theory would come to call, "The connection".

My whole body was trembling now and I don't think I could have moved even if I had wanted to, so it came almost as a relief when she came up to the window, standing there momentarily with her arms stretched upwards to the pelmet, her nipples actually touching the surface of the glass, looking out and then closing the curtains, still not giving any indication that she was aware of my presence. I could still feel the pounding of my heart and could even hear the blood rushing through my veins around my ears as this one act play came to an end.

In the whole scheme of things this probably wouldn't go down in history as a world shattering event, a boy seeing his sister naked for the first time, but to a young lad whose imagination was constantly filled with fantasies such as this, it was something that would always mark an important moment in his life. A memory only to be revealed to others for the first time on this page.

Whilst in my last year of school, I used to go out to many of the local pubs with my mates. Many of them now had topless and even nude go-go dancers performing. Like everyone else I used to check them out but after a while the initial fascination would wear off and they would become a secondary source of entertainment. You could look but you couldn't touch and the lack of connection with these dancers made them seem so very unobtainable and remote. Unless there was something more than the visual stimulation, a possible chance that it could be taken further then the eroticism of just seeing someone's body alone would never be enough to completely stimulate me. Even with a magazine eventually it would be your own hand and one's imagination that became the major contributor to the actual excitement of the moment.

This is about the time that the importance of the connection thing really made itself much clearer to me. This was not the first time however that this thought had come to me.

As previously mentioned, until that day at the beach with Greg and his mate, I had never seen Helen touch herself so intimately before and it continued to intrigue me that the first time it happened, I had to share this special moment with two complete strangers. Even though Helen had explained her reasons for going so far to me at the time and I had done almost the same thing in front of her and Liz on the beach a few weeks before, I couldn't help but probe a little deeper as her exhibitionist behaviour still seemed so out of character to me. It took me a couple of minor inquisitions before she finally confessed.

One evening at home, after she had brought herself off with me watching, she confided that the time at the beach wasn't really the first occasion that someone had seen her play with herself. Although she had inferred that it was at the time, I always suspected that maybe she had done it in front of one of her previous boyfriends (of which she had a few before we met) but this was not to be the case.

She went on to recount the following anecdote which I will repeat as accurately as I can remember it being told to me, in her own words. She started.

"When I was Eighteen and in my last year at an all girl's Catholic College in St Albans, I used to get home about four thirty in the afternoon. I used to do about an hours homework downstairs in the kitchen as this was the only place in our house where we had a table that I could use as a desk. When finished, I usually then went upstairs to my bedroom and changed out of my school uniform.

It was around November at the time when I first became aware of a puzzling coincidence. Being mid winter, it got dark before five o'clock in the evening and the first thing I did when going into my room was to turn the light on and then close the curtains as best I could. They hadn't been made for that particular room and were a bit too narrow so there was always a gap of about six inches left between them when closed. There was a row of houses across the way from us whose gardens backed on to our's. This row was identical to the one we lived in, being two levels and terraced, except that they were built as a mirror image of ours which meant that one of the back bedrooms opposite looked directly down into mine, theirs being a bit higher up the hill than our's.

What began to intrigue me was that whenever I turned on my light and went over to draw the curtains, the light in the bedroom across the way always seemed to go off just as I was drawing them. Initially I thought that it must have been just a mere coincidence but it happened far too often for it to be that. Then I speculated that maybe they could see me when my light came on and whoever was there thought that I might be looking up into their bedroom. If this were true however, more likely they would just have shut their curtains and kept their light on, which wasn't the case either.

One evening I remained standing at the window and watched to see if anything happened and as usual the light opposite went out, as I had come to expect. Keeping absolutely still, I could just make out a shadowy outline of someone positioned between the partially opened curtains. I left my light on and went into our toilet which was the next room along from mine. Without turning on the light, I stood on the toilet seat lid and looked through the small window which was ajar above. I could just make out a vague image of someone standing behind the now completely opened curtains opposite. The light was still good enough for me to distinguish the shape of a man holding something up to his head and I had a menacing sensation go right through me when I realised that it looked like it could have been a pair of binoculars.

For the first time in my life, an awareness that someone, most likely of the opposite sex was interested enough to go to this effort, just to see my body. Even the fact that whoever it was had been invading my privacy didn't seem as important as the idea that anyone would actually want to go to all this bother just look at my body this way.

The thought that I had been spied on, probably for some time, excited my senses more than I would have expected it to. At the same time it also spooked me out as well. For the next week or so I made sure that I got changed in the bathroom and never took my clothes or house coat off in the bedroom until I had turned the light off. Whenever I did turn it off at night, I used to wait and watch the window opposite through the gap in my curtains. Almost without fail, the light would come back on again across the way after mine had gone out, convincing me that this was a nightly event not just the odd occurrence. Because the curtains opposite were always slightly open like mine, when his light was on and mine was off, I soon worked out that my admirer was indeed a middle aged man and I thought that I recognised him as Mr O'Keefe. I knew that he lived in that street but I was sure that he resided further down at the end of the row. I didn't mention the fact that I thought I was being spied on but I did ask my mother about him, using the pretence that I thought I had seen him in the garden of the wrong house. She said that I was right, it was him and the council had moved him in temporarily whilst they were trying to repair some damage caused by a leaky roof. It seems that he lived on his own, his wife having been killed in a car accident some years earlier. He had two sons, but both had left home after their mother's death, one going to university and the other going back to Ireland where they had come from originally. She described him as a lonely old sole who generally kept himself to himself. Even so, he didn't look all that old to me. I had serious thoughts about reporting him but changed my mind as what mum had told me actually made me feel quite sorry for him.

Knowing that he was probably quite harmless made me feel a lot less uncomfortable about his activities and I resumed getting changed in my room. The thought that someone could actually be bothered to go to the trouble of watching me gave me a new strange sort of thrill and funny enough, it somehow made me feel more important or dare I say, needed. Sometimes I would even accidentally on purpose leave the curtains completely open and watch his window in the reflection of my dresser mirror. I started to genuinely look forward to seeing his light go off, as it always did within about ten seconds of me turning mine on, knowing that he was watching me. I would strip off, always with my back to the window, making sure not to turn around, then deliberately take my time unclipping my bra and stepping out of my knickers, all the time wondering what he was thinking or doing. Then I would slowly put on my very unsexy flannelette pyjamas and house coat without ever turning to face him before turning off my light and creeping over to the window. Every night I would intend to turn around and let him see me full frontal naked but I could never quite summon up enough courage to do it. I used to chicken out at the last minute but without fail I would always catch a glimpse of him still standing there as if waiting for more. I even borrowed my friend Linda's polaroid camera and took some photos of myself nude, standing up, sitting on a stool and laying on the bed, just to see what I looked like. I remember even cutting my head off of some of the photos in case someone ever found them. (Lucky for me Helen had kept these photos and let me have a peek of them). Looking back now I suppose that as I could see his window in my mirror, it's possible that he might have been able to see my front in it's reflection as well but this never occured to me at the time. It dawned on to me that I was probably getting a bigger kick out of teasing him than he was by watching me. Either way I kept our activities to myself, only ever telling my best friend Linda about it. I often used to wonder if he realised that I knew he was watching.

Sometimes when I was walking in town, I would see him coming towards me down the street and my heart would go into a sort of flutter. I would always be polite and go out of my way to say hello but he generally just nodded without saying anything and shuffle past me as if only just noticing me. This distinct indifference towards me, made me angry as I knew that by now he recognised me and I deserved better than to be ignored like this. I was determined to do something so that he would have to acknowledge my presence in future. I was definitely going to show him that I wasn't someone to be ignored. What I would do, I wasn't too sure about but I knew I would do something dramatic all the same.

I considered not performing for him again but after a couple of nights changing in the bathroom I realised that it was me who was missing out on the only bit of excitement in my otherwise boring life, so I again began changing in my own room again, now never bothering to shut the curtains at all but also still too scared to face him as I would have liked to have done.

One Friday night after getting back from a dance at Hatfield College, I was a bit pissed, having had more than a couple of ciders bought for me at the bar. I silently used my key to unlock the back door, having taken my platform shoes off prior to this and carrying them so as not to wake up mum and dad who sometimes waited up for me. They would have killed me if they knew I had been out this late and drinking as well. Luckily they had both gone to bed as it was just after eleven o'clock. I crept up the stairs and tip toed into my room, not even bothering to go into the bathroom and clean my teeth which I always did religiously. I turned on the light and started to undress and as now was my habit, never bothered about closing the curtains. Desperately concentrating on not getting sprung by my parents, it never even occurred to me as to whether Mr O'Keefe opposite would still be up or not. This was much later than I normally would have got undressed and it wasn't until I started to pull my pants down after having taken everything else off that it struck me that I was facing the window. Although I was still in a half bent over position, I hesitated about stepping out of my knickers, them now being between my knees and ankles.

Instead I raised my head and looked straight ahead. The light across the way was off but I hadn't looked to see if it was on before anyway. It was a clear night with a full moon and I was sure that I could just make out the outline of someone behind the partially closed curtains opposite. I was certain that he was watching me, because the lens of his binoculars could be seen clearly, reflecting two perfect images of the full moon. They looked like two big white eyes starring back at me. For a moment I felt extremely vulnerable and just froze. The notion of rushing over to the window and shutting the curtains nearly overwhelmed me. Instead I forced myself to resist that course of action, and calmly just stepped out of my knickers and stood up, looking straight towards him. Being quite pissed my mind wasn't working too clearly and as I stood there the only thought that had entered my head, kept repeating itself.

"Wow, I've finally dug up the courage to do it at last". (although really I was quite aware that it was Dutch courage).

I couldn't see through the window so well as my light was on and my own reflection was blocking out my view across the way but seeing myself naked like this excited me in a way I had never felt before. The reflection that greeted me was not at all unpleasant, in fact the more I starred at myself, the more turned on I was getting. Then the curious question of how close and just how much of me he could see through his binoculars began to fill my mind. My bed, which was immediately behind me and central to the window, was a divan type with a headboard but no board or rail at the foot end, so I stepped backwards and sat on the end of the bed. From this position I could still see all of his window so I knew that he should still be able to see all of me. I slowly pulled myself back along the bed until my head was touching the top of the headboard. I could still see all of his window but now the reflection of his binoculars seemed lower than they were before so I knew he had moved down a bit to get a better vantage point from which to watch me.