I've always been shy. When I got to college, I had to share a room with a roommate. That was torture. I wore sleeping clothes that went from neck to ankles. I dressed for bed this way even when it was hot. I went to a northern school where air conditioning was deemed unnecessary, so we had only the relief of a fan my parents gave me when it was boiling hot for two weeks in September.
When I went out with boys, we usually went out in groups of girls, with groups of boys. I tried never to be alone with a single boy. That way, there was little danger of a boy trying to undress me. Unfortunately, though, I am pretty. Apparently, I am sexy, too. As if that's not enough, I have an easy and pretty smile, and I am an incorrigible flirt. It's not surprising then that boys were interested.
I did love kissing and making out. I also loved it when boys would feel me up through my clothes. I was ready for sex. But it was not to be: nobody could see me nude. I was unable even to let anyone see my unclothed breasts. The rest of me was also off limits: My tummy, behind, thighs, and of course my privates. I have a phobia, and it is all-powerful. I guess it's obvious that meant a lot of sexual frustration not only for the boys, but also for me.
There were several reactions to my behavior. One was simply that men considered me to be a prude. Another was that I was a ball busting tease. Another was that I was some kind of moral person, or a bit extreme due to religious beliefs. You get the idea.
None of it was true. My true personality, I later discovered, was that of a flaming slut, I'm ashamed to admit. But I could not know this, since my nudity phobia kept me untouched, unviewed, and unloved. I did not even suspect my true nature was that of a slut.
I had amazing fantasies. Over time, my sexual fantasies gradually became more and more outrageous. They ranged from exhibitionism, to group sex, to gangbangs, to bondage. But they were just fantasies. The reality was that of a sad, lonely, untouched, unspoiled virgin.
After college graduation, I moved to New York. I got settled, got a job as a legal secretary, and - of course - met men. With my looks, my smile, and my flirtatious ways, I am a magnet for men.
When I was in the dating scene, my nudity phobia was again a bit of a handicap. Here I was, a secretary in New York, trying to land a successful lawyer or banker, and I had plenty of dates with them. When it came time in the dating process to explore our bodies, just as in college I let them kiss me and fondle me through my clothes, but I balked at the next steps. I lost a lot of potentially wonderful men that way.
It was frustrating: It was clear the men always wanted to have sex with me; each time it was the natural evolution of a relationship I was having with them. I desperately wanted also to have sex with them! But I could not let them undress me.
Something still forbade me to let men (or anyone) see my naked body. Touching it might have been okay; I can't be sure, because nobody ever got that far. Nobody could see it; I even had to force myself to look at my own body when I was in the shower, or shaving my legs.
I know in some customs the woman getting naked is not necessarily part of the sexual relationship. The woman remains covered except of course for her vagina, which is quite necessary for traditional copulation. But both the men I was dating, and also myself, conform to the traditional American seduction: kissing, fondling through clothes, loss of clothes, oral play, and naked or near naked humping. Most importantly, that too is what I want.
I tried everything to get over this disability: this nudity phobia. I tried alcohol, and even got falling down drunk on one of my dates with a man I liked. But even drunk I could not do it.
I went to my internist and she prescribed tranquilizers, but they were useless, and instead only made me spacy. Anti-anxiety meds made me psychotic. I went a few times to a psychiatrist, but my health insurance was not friendly and the out of pocket expense was so high I could not afford to continue.
I even tried hypnosis, but apparently, I am one of those people who is hard if not impossible to hypnotize. Nothing worked. I was miserable.
I knew I was not frigid. I even had been able to isolate the type of man that turned me on. It helped if the man had a hard body, but that was by far not the most important thing. A certain kind of man, irrespective of his appearance, made me wet, and made we weak in the knees.
The men that turned me on were dominant men. These men tried and I am sure minus my phobia would have succeeded, to exercise some sort of control over me. I am sure I would have happily submitted to their every sexual wish for me were it not for my phobias. If it were a struggle between their wills and mine, it would have been no contest, I'm sure.
I would have been putty in their hands, and doubtless would have become their newest sex toy, possibly even their sex slave. Even the thought of being a sex slave (within "reasonable" limits) made me wet. But that was too extreme for me. I did not want that to happen. I was raised to be a moral person, in everyday life, and also sexually. More than a few times, my nudity phobia had saved me from these dominant men.
I was a mess of contradictions, but it did not matter: My nudity phobia controlled everything.
I got respect from these domineering, controlling men. I was one of the rare women who they could tell was a submissive, but nevertheless could resist them. But the respect I garnered was false. It was my phobia that was stronger than my will or theirs. It was the ultimate decision maker, and it said no nudity. It said no to nudity every time, no exceptions.
My phobia kept me pure. It kept me moral. It also kept me virginal, and for that I hated it. I wanted to have a man, and I wanted sex. I was tired of getting wet and having to finger myself to relief. I was tired of being alone.
I learned how to avoid domineering men. That did not help me to get a man, or to have sex, but at least it made me feel safe. Nobody knew or understood why I was such an icicle when it came to sex. I could flirt with the best of them, but then I became known as a tease. Nobody likes a tease who never comes forth to deliver "the goods."
My girlfriend Gloria was the only person to whom I confided all this. She was my confidant. I needed to tell someone, and she was a good listener, always sympathetic. Sometimes I would wonder, though. She seemed jealous of me, of my good looks, and the way men would cluster around me at parties, for example.
I had this easy smile, you see. I smiled all the time, at the very least provocation. It was almost a nervous habit, like giggling, and I would do that, too. I'm told my smile alone would light up a room, making people more relaxed, and happier. That, plus my pretty face, and - modesty aside - excellent figure with largish boobs, attracted men like - as a jealous girlfriend once nastily said - flies to shit.
But the smile was more than a smile. It was an inadvertent come-on, an opening for men, signaling my availability. I had this habit of running my tongue along my upper lip. It was unintentional, but I would do it mostly when I was nervous, due to the presence of men. For me it was a nervous, unconscious gesture. For the men, it was a turn-on. For sure it's a sexy gesture, to say the least. I was a non-conscient tease.
