I'm a woman in her late 30s. My round little ass is just a tad bigger than I'd like it to be, but in all, I think I keep myself in good shape and, in a well-fitting outfit, I still think I can turn my fair share of men's heads.
Some women's heads, too, I might add, but that's a different story entirely.
The thing is, I am what you might have to call a shy exhibitionist. I adore being naked, and I thrill at the idea of my fit little bare body being seen by other people -- my bare breasts and my pubic hair, which I keep very close-trimmed but not shaved, by the way.
And I've had that thrill of exposure as far back as I can remember. But it's a strange thing, because at the same time that I need it, I'm so terribly afraid of being found out. If my mother, or, oh my dear God, my father, or anyone I knew, really, ever saw me exposing myself outdoors or in a public place, I would be mortified.
Until recently, there hasn't been very much I could do to indulge my fantasy of being watched in the nude by strangers. Sometimes, late at night when it's warm out, I'll turn off all of the lights in the house and step out the back door, onto the deck, with no clothes on. Sometimes, but not always, I touch myself while I'm out there, but it's probably not like you think. I like running my hands from the crests at the top of my legs, around to the swell of my hips, or feeling how my hard little nipples stand out from my breasts.
Oh my God, I can not describe the feeling it gives me to go outside like that. It is at once thrilling, and yet also, somehow, deeply relaxing.
I've tried to understand why standing naked in the night can give me such a deeply peaceful feeling. The closest I can come to explaining it to you is that, when I stand out there in the dark, with nothing on between me and the universe, I am focused entirely on, simply, being. My body and mind are just smooth palettes of sensation, and things like my work, and stress, and conflict have no place to hide.
While the feeling is that crazy mixture of thrilling and soothing, it isn't exactly sexual -- or maybe I should say, it isn't only, sexual.
Yes, I'll admit, there was a time, early on, when a naked foray into the woods or onto my deck would end with me furiously horny, and hurrying off somewhere to have a quick session with my vibrator or, if need be, with just my hand.
And I remember, on one vacation quite a few years ago, I let my boyfriend at the time take a picture of me in our hotel room when I was naked. I was sitting down on the sofa, with my knees pressed together and drawn up to my breasts so that, while you could tell just by looking at the picture that I didn't have clothes on, you couldn't actually see anything private.
Even though I was modestly covered, just knowing that I was actually being photographed in that state was instantaneously, incredibly arousing. I pulled his pants down then and there and, as I recall, rode him rather, shall we say, vigorously.
But as time goes by I find more and more that I can spend an entire weekend at home without clothes on, and I can turn down the lights and slip quietly outside in the dark, and I don't have that need to reach orgasm, really, at all.
Speaking of photographs, I've been aware for some time that there are places like San Francisco, and some place in New England, where they actually don't have laws against public nudity, as long as you're not doing anything sexual. I've fantasized about going to places like that, and walking down a sidewalk showing everything, but they say it's mostly old men who hang around naked there, because good-looking women who do it are sure to show up all over the Internet in a matter of minutes. In fact, I've seen plenty of examples of such photos.
Just the thought of someone who knows me, tsk-tskingly showing my parents pictures of me parading down some city street while dozens of strange men ogle my treasures, sends icicles right into me.
But the thought of doing it, well, that's a different thing.
So my exhibitionism has been limited to those furtive little trips outside in the darkness, which I tell myself I really shouldn't do, and to my general rule that I don't wear clothing at home, even when my lover is here.
Ah, yes, Christian, my lover. Chris certainly doesn't seem to mind when I parade around the house bare-ass naked. The fact is, he can't keep his hands off of me when I do. But I do love him dearly, and feeling the unabashed desire in his touch, well, let's just say that I don't object to it. Much of the time, when he's over, he'll join me in peeling down to his skin, and we spend many of our weekends together just the way God made us.
But I have to tell you that there's something extra special for me when he doesn't undress right away, and it's just me, the only one naked. I know from the websites I've found that there's a term for this: CMNF -- clothed male, nude female. And while it's apparently something of a fetish for guys, let me assure you that doing it gets my motor running quite well. I just love being naked for him, and I love it best when the only naked one is little old me.
It still surprises me somewhat that he shows little sign of being an exhibitionist. When I finally screwed up the courage to make one of my little bare trips out onto the deck late one night when he was here with me, I invited him, too, but he wouldn't join me outside.
And that's OK, really. In fact, it makes me feel even more special, knowing that there was a place of magical power that he knew about, but still feared to go. I thought all guys liked showing their junk to everyone possible, but as with so many things, my lover is one who breaks that mold.
So, all that I've told you about me so far is by way of saying I'm one frustrated little shy exhibitionist. I thrill at the thought of men seeing my nude body, and yet, at the same time, I'm so afraid it will be someone I know, that I've never gone too far.
That brings us to this year, when everything changed.
In the spring, as the warm weather crept into the city, I started poking around the Internet just to see if there were any nude beaches within a day's drive of my town. To my happy surprise, it turns out there were several.
I ran over and over in my mind how I was going to broach this subject with Chris. I was not at all sure I could get him to go along with the idea. As it turned out, God bless him, he was immediately OK with the idea.
"No, I won't mind you undressing in a place like that, sweetheart," he said. "Goodness knows, everyone else will be naked. If that's what you want, then, let's do it this summer!"
He was still dressed from work when he said this, and I, in my birthday suit, leaned over his grey business suit and kissed him. "I love you," I said. "So, will you, you know, get naked there, too?"
He gave me a thoughtful, yet questioning look, and said, "maybe. I don't know if I'm up to it."
I tried to wheedle and cajole him into promising me he'd go naked with me, but the best I could get from him was "I hope I can do it, but we'll just have to see."
We picked a nude beach on the coast just about a day's drive from here, and we made reservations at a bed and breakfast that sat right on the edge of it. I had tried, but was unable to find any clothing-optional lodging, so it turns out I would have to walk down to the beach and only then could I get undressed there. My idea of a totally clothes-free vacation was shot down, at least for this year.
We arrived at the B&B after dark, stiff and tired from the drive, and I didn't want to spoil my first nude-beach experience, so we just stayed inside that first night, with me being one tight bottle of anticipation.
Chris gave me a naked backrub, paying special attention to my bottom, where he knew I especially loved feeling his hands. As I relaxed, he gently nudged my legs wider apart on the bed, and as my body inevitably responded to his touch, he gently inserted a finger inside of me.
Christian, my lover, my partner, my companion, had this incredible ability to know just where to touch me inside. I've never been one to have trouble reaching orgasm. In fact, my problem with Chris was the opposite. When he showed no signs of stopping after my third delicious climax, from just his fingers alone, I laughed out loud and begged him to stop.
