The Joy of Nudity

"Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed." (William Blake,

The Laocoön

)

Rob and I have not kept our CMNF lifestyle a secret from our friends and family. (This is mainly to pre-empt an awkward situation if ever I get caught out.) Indeed, when I explained the experience to my mother, she wished that she and Dad were a few years younger. I told her that age is not a barrier, that she is still very attractive. But she ruefully, wistfully shook her head.

Now I should mention that I have a brother. He's two and a half years younger and I still call him my Baby Bro, even though he's nearly twice my size. We have always maintained an intense, albeit good-natured, sibling rivalry. I've had to fight a never-ending war to shore up my superiority, and he has waged a relentless campaign to undermine it. So when he learned of my affinity for

au naturel

he was intrigued that I would show what he saw as vulnerability. His curiosity was piqued, though not from a desire to behold his sister naked (because

ew!

). Instead I could see in my baleful Baby Bro's face that he was concocting a plan to introduce his girlfriend to the concept. I have not inquired about the outcome.

My friends regard it as a rather quaint crinkle in my personality; but they're not judgmental. As for beyond my social circle, I've never aspired to join a nudist or naturist club. I've been topless on a beach but had never gone all the way. I know about CMNF and CFNM "communities", but so far as I'm concerned one-sided nudity is a private thing between Rob and me. However, there was a one time when things were different.

Olivia was at the time an associate professor at the university. Her husband James was a "struggling artist" (I am being generous) and she was essentially the breadwinner. They've never had children, but I don't know their story. (Not everyone

wants

a child!) Olivia and I are similar in that we're both intelligent, articulate, assertive, strong-minded, high-achieving women. Physically, however, we could hardly be more unlike. She is tall, taut-muscled but curvaceous, gorgeous, glamorous and all-round impressive. Yet once or twice a week the formidable Olivia transforms herself. For her there is something very satisfying about arriving home tired after a hard day's work and putting on skimpy lingerie to cook the dinner and do her other chores, to wait upon her man and then be expected to serve him in the bedroom, or in the living room, or in the bathroom. It's about relieving herself of stress and inhibition, to become less self-absorbed and more attentive to James's needs. In this way she portrays her submission to him as liberating. On such occasions she allows fantasy to take over and her husband to take control.

Olivia confided in me about this over coffee one afternoon in a campus cafeteria. Though very different in many ways, we got on well. She has a wry, rather quirky sense of humour; and I think she enjoyed my pugnacious perkiness, so unlike her even-tempered equanimity. We had been introduced by a mutual friend with whom I had discussed one-sided nudity. We found common ground and became friends. So eventually Olivia invited Rob and me to spend "a weekend of enlightenment" (she talked like that) at the beach house she and James owned. We both readily agreed, although I was skeptical about the obeisance and obedience aspect of her relationship with her husband. In my teenage years I was intrigued by erotic literature in the vein of the

Story of O

and later

Fifty Shades of Grey

, and I occasionally fantasized about being O or Anastasia; but Rob and I agreed that I was too volatile to ever try being even the basic "love, honor and obey" wife, let alone his slave. Anyway, Olivia reassured me that the theme of our weekend activities would be CMNF and not BDSM.

She also suggested that we spend Saturday hiking, and that I should bring my backpack. I knew there were no certified "naturist" beaches in that area; so naïvely I presumed that even she would not bare all in a public space. Of course, if that had been the case this chapter would not have been written.

Olivia drove us to the house on Friday afternoon. She had waited for us outside our home, standing kerbside next to her car, a sleek, glacier-blue Audi four-door Sportback. She looked stunning in a short, pink-champagne, halter-neck, backless dress with a plunging neckline and a generous display of side-boob. She wore opulent Valentino Garavani Rockstud sandals. Encircling her slender throat was an orchid-pink leather choker closed at the front with a gold, heart-shaped ring. She oozed sexuality and basked in her own radiance. The breeze wafted her hemline in sinuous waves up to the tops of her long, lustrous thighs, giving a tantalizing glimpse of a flesh-colored g-string panty. She would be breathtaking in a potato sack but wore her tiny ensemble with such effortless grace and ingenuous poise that she came across as almost demure. Her auburn hair cascaded in gentle waves across her bare shoulders, accentuating her ethereal femininity. None of the neighborhood passers-by could resist a furtive glance or a full-blown stare.

With her exquisite looks and such self-assured sexuality, Olivia might come across as intimidating, yet she's soft-spoken, though in a way that expresses serenity and confidence, not shyness or indifference. Her manner is a tad aloof (perhaps a product of her sharp intelligence) but impeccably polite. She has a refined accent that isn't haughty or snobbish, luminous jade-green eyes and arched eyebrows that convey a sense of inquisitiveness about the world around her, a strong jawline and finely sculpted cheekbones that give her a slightly exotic appearance. Rob was momentarily entranced, and I could hardly blame him. As you can tell from my effusive description, I was myself enraptured.

I insisted that Rob take the front passenger seat so I could nap in the back. I'd had an exhausting day. And as she settled behind the wheel, I noticed that Olivia adjusted her dress. She plucked up the hem to expose the full length of her thighs, and lifted the back so her buttocks, with just a sliver of fabric nestled in the crevice between them, came into full contact with the upholstery. I don't think she did this to beguile poor Rob sitting beside her (though he couldn't help but gaze down at them). Rather, she was stirring in herself a feeling I knew, having driven bottomless with Rob beside me. But whereas I had done it mainly to relieve the tedium, Olivia's gesture seemed to me like a reflex or a ritual, something she did every time she sat in the car. Even so, she pursed her lips at the first touch of slick leather on raw flesh. It was the same sensation that I'd felt... obviously not something you ever totally get used to.

We arrived just before sunset. The house was in an isolated location amidst a lush evergreen forest at the end of a long, meandering lane, but close to the beach. As we pulled into the driveway, James came out to welcome us. He defied my preconceptions. He's handsome and square-jawed though slim and half a head shorter than his wife, which along with ruffled blonde hair makes him look much younger. Also contrary to my expectations he was quick-witted and down-to-earth. He was looking dapper in crisp tan slacks and an indigo chambray shirt.

I should add, for full disclosure, that I was wearing a little candy-striped sundress. One of my favourites, it looks and feels very sexy because the shoestring straps are always slipping off my shoulders. And while it might have seemed that that my accidental-on-purpose décolletage was my pitiful way of competing with the incomparable Olivia, the simple fact is that I love the sensuality. Rob, by the way, was in boot-cut jeans and a long-sleeved check flannel shirt.

James ushered us inside. The place was modestly furnished except in the living room, which had highly polished beechwood floors littered with expensive but tasteful rugs, and two large, plush, leather armchairs. Between that and the kitchen, an ornate semi-circular staircase led up to the bed- and bathrooms.

Once I'd scanned my surroundings, I realized Olivia wasn't with us. I turned about and saw that she was still standing on the porch. Her g-string was scrunched in one fist. Her dress had been drawn down to her waist, and now she pushed it along her thighs until it passed her knees and fell into a little heap around her ankles. She stepped out of it and daintily stooped to pick it up. While crouched, she removed her sandals. She stood up, now completely and splendidly naked, apart from her collar. Her athletic figure carried not an ounce of excess fat but was well-toned so her contours were soft, not angular. Her breasts were perfectly formed, her belly was smoothly concave. Her pubes were rose-pink, and through silken wisps was faintly visible a glint of gold.

Olivia approached the doorway but paused at the threshold, so the three of us inside could view her magnificence, framed in partial silhouette against the red glow of the western sky. Then she casually tossed her dress, panties and sandals onto the console table in the short hallway. She went to her husband, they embraced and kissed. And I could not help but smile at the charming sight of statuesque and stately Olivia, completely nude, arm in arm with her short, slightly-built, youthful-looking and fully clothed husband. He beamed with pride. It was obvious that he, like Rob, had seen his wife naked many, many times; but he relished showing her off to others.

I don't know if Olivia caught my reaction. In any case, in my little sunfrock I suddenly felt lavishly overdressed. As three pairs of eyes turned on me, I tried to show no emotion as I reached up to grasp the shoulder straps and peel my dress down my body, as Olivia had done. Unlike her, I kept my knickers on until I had folded the dress and placed it beside hers on the table, and removed my shoes. Then I drew down the sides of my panties and bent forward to push them down my legs. When I stood erect once more, I allowed the men to savour my nudity as we had Olivia's. I'm not particularly shy and I'm proud of my body (though I was almost an ugly duckling next to the splendour that was Olivia), and it was not the first time I'd stripped for anyone other than Rob. Nevertheless, I felt self-conscious being naked in front of a man I had only just met. My skin tingled and I tickled inside to be on display like this.

Rob shuffled his feet nervously. I couldn't tell if he felt embarrassed for me or jealous that another man was enjoying the intimate parts of me that had been his private preserve.

Olivia perspicaciously broke the tension in the most homely way possible.

"Well, I'm sure we're all hungry. Let's get you settled in."

She showed Rob and me to our bedroom at the top the stairs. When she left us we started to unpack. We didn't have much baggage, but even so Rob chuckled when he saw me putting my stuff into the dresser drawer.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"Do you really think you'll need all that?"

I harrumphed my indignation. But he was right, of course. Nevertheless, it was usually up to me to make this sort of comment on my nudity.

When we went back downstairs we saw that the French doors were open, connecting the living room to a wide patio. Olivia was outside setting four table places, and James came from the kitchen bearing tasty, healthy dishes of seared snapper with snow pea salad, and sweet potato and zucchini fritters. Olivia uncorked a bottle of Riversdale Estate sauvignon blanc and beckoned for us to sit. The temperature had begun to fall, the ocean breeze chilled my body, and the slate tiles were frigid under my bare feet.

I gasped as my backside touched the seat. It was constructed of wrought iron latticework. The cushions had been removed from all four chairs and were stacked at one corner of the veranda. As my skin came into contact with the ice-cold metal, its sharp bite forced a puff of breath from my lungs. Rob tried to conceal a smile. Olivia caught my eye and winked; but I saw that her lips puckered when her own rear end touched the seat, just as in the car. I thought it was nice than she hadn't become jaded.

I found myself crimping my toes to keep the soles of my feet off the freezing floor. But the balmy breeze felt delightful on my skin, and my body heat quickly warmed the ironwork of the chair. However, the imprint of the criss-cross pattern on my back and bottom produced a mild discomfort which kept me in a constant state of physical stimulation. The intended result was that even if I wished to, I couldn't become blasé about my nudity. Once the meal was over and we rose from the table, there was a funny tingly sensation as the flesh of my backside slowly rebounded from the grid pattern etched on it by the seat. The indentations lasted for quite some time.

I might have resented the men's smug acceptance of being spared this slight but steady torment borne by their ladies; but of course it just accentuated the one-sided nudity. So I will leave it to the author and poet Anatole France, who is supposed to have coined that glorious declaration "Vive la différence!", to conclude: "It is human nature to think wisely and act absurdly."

During dinner Olivia laid out a suggested schedule for our weekend. As she did so, James sat back passively. And it became even more apparent to me that it was she who made the important decisions in the household. In this respect their dynamic was much like Rob's and mine -- a laid-back husband and an assertive wife. Even at her most submissive, it's Olivia who takes the initiative, even the lead. You don't have to look hard to see who wears the pants in their relationship... at least figuratively.

Following the after-dinner chores of clearing and washing up, we retired to the living room for conversation, music, liqueurs, peach-macadamia and coconut-mango "bliss balls", and later coffee and a cheese platter. James and Rob occupied the leather armchairs in front of the fireplace while Olivia, somewhat to my surprise, went into full dutiful-wife mode, fetching the drinks and snacks; and when not serving she knelt on the carpet at her husband's feet. She kept her eyes downcast, but apart from that she did not act meek or servile. In fact she and I dominated the discourse, and though she kept her head bowed she occasionally glanced up towards Rob and me, usually with a furtive grin when James said something she deemed vacuous or fatuous. Intriguingly, the two never talked directly to each other, and referred to each other only by mildly disparaging pet names, like infatuated teenagers.

I was sitting on a small ottoman couch, and savoured the delicious thrill of my bare skin against the coarse jute and wool fabric. But halfway through the evening I shifted to Rob's lap, and he couldn't resist fondling me. But we continued our conversation even though my contribution was every so often interrupted by a gasp or a sigh evoked by Rob's busy hands. However, when Olivia brought out the coffee, with the prospect of hot liquid dribbling down my unprotected front, my husband released his embrace and I returned to the ottoman.

When we went to bed, well before midnight, Rob was particularly vigorous in his love-making. But so was I.

I was awake, as usual, at sunrise. I normally shower both before bedtime and in the morning, but had this time eschewed my nightly routine. Taking care to avoid disturbing Rob, I tiptoed out into the corridor and down to the bathroom. Not putting on any clothes after I had dried myself was not unusual at home, but in someone else's house it felt a little awkward, until I found Olivia in the kitchen, naked of course. She and James had been up and about for quite a while, preparing breakfast, and I felt rather guilty about that. It amused me, for some reason, that over his tailored shorts and knitted polo shirt James wore an apron while his wife was completely exposed to the perils of meal prep. Actually, I think his covering was an affectation, because they were not cooking anything that produced oil splatters or similar hazards. They were making simple fare fit for a day of hiking -- croissants, bagels and biscotti, oatmeal with honey and nuts, protein-packed multi-fruit smoothies, espresso and latte macchiatos. Olivia insisted that I should have more than my usual breakfast diet of dry toast and a banana.

"Yes, mother," I replied.

She smiled but remained firm.

I went to rouse Rob. He wanted to drag me onto the bed but I ordered him to get up. By the time he came downstairs showered and dressed, Olivia, James and I were on the patio starting our breakfast.

"We saved you something," James reassured him. The table was overladen with food and beverages.

Rob was already attired for our trek. James now went off and came back looking stylish, if a little effete, in expensive "outdoor apparel" -- tailored Chinos and pure cotton pique polo shirt. My guy was wearing somewhat démodé canvas pants and a faded floral camp shirt. And for a while I assumed that Olivia would not be putting on any clothes. But when she announced that she was going upstairs to "get dressed" I felt a sense of relief. The stretch of beach we'd be traversing house was remote, but we couldn't expect it to be completely deserted. But as it turned out, besides the

de rigueur

accessories of boots and cap, sunscreen and insect repellent, she wore nothing but a tiny two-piece, a purple and gold ensemble. She frowned when she saw me more covered up, but shrugged and shook her head.

I had put on my bikini under an outfit of khaki cargo shorts and a mint-green tank top. And after just fourteen hours of being naked, it actually felt a little strange to be wearing clothes.

Indeed I think that each of us was dressed in exactly what suited her and his personality -- mine layered, Olivia's forthright, James's meretricious, Rob's insouciant. But I may be overthinking this.

We set out on our expedition via a gate in the yard's back fence, following a narrow, sandy track through the trees towards the beach. The sun was still low in the sky but it was already quite warm. A light breeze wafted off the ocean and over the dunes.