I suppose any man would want to have my job, although it isn't all fun and games. I travel about two-hundred days a year, am required to get my reports in on time, and, more often than not, have to endure mental and physical stresses worse than most white-collar jobs. Not that I wear a white collar. In fact, when I'm working, I wear nothing at all.
I'm an inspector for The CFNM Rating Agency, known as CRA, for short. CFNM, in case you don't know, stands for "clothed female, nude male". It provides a double-fantasy, but for real. It's for females who want naked males around, whom they can not only look at, but touch, too, without limits. Well, there is one limit: No injury, and no pain beyond what the nude male consents to. It's also for males who want to be naked around clothed females. You might call it "extreme nakedness". Their penises are not only exposed, but usually erect.
Other than the no-unwelcome-pain rule, another rule is that males must make themselves available, all parts, at all times. Any women is free to grab a cock whenever she wants and do with it whatever she wants. She might hold it, or stroke it, or pull it, or squeeze it, or masturbate it. Or all of the above, and more. That goes for testicles and anuses, too. As well as any other parts of the male body that a woman might be interested in: chest, buttocks, legs, whatever. She can use her hands, her feet, her mouth, and any other part of her body she wants, but she has to remain clothed. That rules out using her vagina. Breasts can be exposed only to arouse or touch the man; otherwise, they have to be covered.
Most of the women are teases, which, for many of them, is the main reason why they do CFNM in the first place. They like to keep a man hard, but they don't let him come. Fortunately, even the worst teases play nice in the end: When a man has been so hard so long that he can't take it any more, they give him his release. Other women are just the opposite: They get off on ejaculations. Sometimes the women playfully work together in teams: One keeps the man hard but just on the edge, and then another woman takes his penis away and finishes him off.
There's a third rule: Men can't touch a woman with his hands, feet, or mouth. Cocks are OK, but only if the woman initiates it. Touching or penetrating a vagina with it is out, by another rule, but massage-by-penis is very popular.
In recent years CFNM resorts and clubs have sprung up, which is where I come in. The best clubs are certified, to assure everybody involved that they're clean and safe. My employer, CRA, is the leading certification and rating agency, and I'm one of the men who travel around to do the inspections. I always work undercover, which is to say that I'm not covered: To do my job, I have to be one of the naked men. My penis is the main tool of my trade.
The no-unwelcome-pain rule makes certified CFNM different from other sexual pursuits, such as cock-and-ball torture or BDSM. CFNM women like men, and want their cocks and balls to stay healthy. If we find one of our clients violating this rule, we yank their certification.
I'm on my way back to LA from an inspection trip now. I take about twenty-five trips a year and generally visit four or five resorts or clubs on each trip. While I'm in LA, I'll file my reports and rest up for my next trip.
One of the perks of my job is flying first-class, and that's where I'm sitting now, in my customary window seat, watching the other passengers file in. I'm pleased to see a slender, long-legged woman stop by my row. I see her struggling to get her carryon into the overhead, so I get out of my seat and offer to help.
"May I help you with that?" I ask.
"Yes, thank you," she responds, with a sexy smile.
As I put her bag up, I ask, "Care for a blanket? I see one here."
"No thanks." We settle into our seats.
She puts her laptop bag under her seat and takes out her iPhone. I discreetly watch her well-manicured, graceful fingers slide around on the screen. She turns to me and says, "You know, I changed my mind. Can you get that blanket?"
I stand up, carefully stepping over her gorgeous legs, find the blanket for her, and reseat myself. She puts her phone away and starts reading Vogue. I start in on the latest issue of Travel + Leisure.
The plane takes off only a few minutes late. I order a Scotch from the drink cart. My seat-mate takes white wine. Again, I find myself admiring the way her fingers caress the wine glass, but I go back to the magazine before she can catch me at it. It's a long flight to LA. I figure I'll have time later to introduce myself.
Dinner is served. I order another Scotch. Normally, that's a time for conversation, but, unfortunately, not today. Vogue must be exceptionally interesting this month.
Then the lights dim and the movie comes on. I never watch on planes—I'm too spoiled by the HiDef TV in my den. Besides, the sexy parts are edited out, and the language is changed, and I like to see films the way they were made to be seen.
All of the sudden my seat-mate hands me the blanket and says, matter-of-factly, "You're going to need this." She shows me her iPhone screen. It's identified me as a member of Roving CFNM. That's a club for CFNM enthusiasts who travel a lot and can't join a typical club. As a CRA employee, I'm automatically a member. Her iPhone has found me out by the low-power transmitter in my pocket, which I'm required to carry.
Roving CFNM keeps all the standard rules, but with two obvious limitations: The first is that, since there can be no public nudity, the participants have to wait for a suitable opportunity or somehow improvise. The second is that, as one or both of them are traveling, the time may be limited.
