"Remember, if a person is speaking to you, look them in the eye whenever possible. And, unless you're holding a plate or glass, keep your hands at your sides." Mr. Nimoy directed as you sat nude on the bed in his beach house. He was standing in front of the mirror buttoning his shirt.
One wall of the bedroom was floor to ceiling glass. At one time, quite recently and yet seeming like it was in a different life, you would have been freaked out about being naked in that room. You would have wondered who was out there in the darkness looking into the well-lit room. The high lighting fixtures, in conjunction with the dark paneled walls, actually made for a pale amber lighting, but it was bright enough that one would be able to see inside from the outdoors. But all that could be seen out in the darkness beyond the balcony was the shimmering of an almost full moon reflected on the wave caps and breakers. So, unless the voyeur was on a boat and had binoculars, there probably wasn't much risk of being seen. It was not this rational thought process that led to your indifference, however. It was because you had been nude almost all the time for the past several days, and you were rapidly becoming accustomed to it.
In fact, you almost never had to be corrected for eye contact or covering violations around Leonard or his blond-haired assistant, Marlon, anymore. However, Leonard had good reason to think you would revert tonight, and you knew he was probably right. He was, after all, having a room full of friends and close acquaintances over for an exhibition. The photographs on display, which he had been secretive about, would not be the only thing being exhibited. While the guests were all well known to Leonard, they would all be complete strangers to you. Not that it mattered that they were strangers as far as the level of mortification you were experiencing was concerned. If they were known to you, it would probably have been worse.
Marlon ducked his head into the room. "Hey, cutie." He said in greeting to you, and then to Leonard: "Mr. Nimoy, the guests have all arrived and are assembled in the gallery."
"Thank you, Marlon. We'll be right down."
Your stomach churned as you took the hand Leonard had offered palm up in a gentlemanly manner. This was the truest test yet of your devotion to being Leonard's girl. Relinquishing your virginity was a distant second. You were ripe and ready for that, and there was no man you would have rather had deflower you than he. This, however, was the nightmare of all but a few rare exhibitionists. Naked in a room full of clothed people, that had to rank with inexorably falling or with taking a high school test for which one is totally unprepared as one of the most common bad dreams experienced in modern society. And there could be no doubt that among girls of generous proportions, such as yourself, the dream of public nudity had to be number one by a long-shot. And here you were about to live the nightmare in the real world.
Leonard kissed you as he kneaded the back of your neck to help you relax. "Take a deep breath. You'll do fine. Are you ready?" Leonard asked.
How did one answer that question? You weren't ready. You couldn't be ready, but you were willing to do it for him. And so you said, simply: "Yes." Then you took the deep slow breath he had recommended.
You willed every step to last an eternity so that you could delay this experience. But it was a short walk down the stairs, down a hallway, and into the gallery. Being arm-in-arm with Leonard was the only thing that allowed you to summon the requisite courage. With every step you took, the sounds of clinked crystal and the jumbled din of concurrent conversations seemed to get noticeably louder.
All too quickly, you were being walked through the door by Leonard. The first thing you noticed, which served to ease your nerves just a little, was that you were not the only nude in the room. Out of about twenty people assembled -not including the catering staff and Marlon- four were nude and standing obediently and quietly next to fully-clothed presumed masters. Three of the nudes were female and the other one was male. Two of them, one of the females and the male, were on leashes attached to dog collars, and the other two women were, like you, untethered. One of the other females was plump, like you, but a few years older, blond, and darkly tanned all over. Another of the females, the one in the collar, had milky smooth skin like yours and was buxom and just a little broad in the hips. The final girl was dark, exotic, had a petite, almost boyish, figure. She looked deceptively young from a distance because of her slight frame and delicate features, but was, in reality, middle-aged. The girls were all with different men. The boy was about your age, and looked like a clean-cut frat boy being hazed. He had a plump erection with some kind of band around the base of his penis presumably to maintain that state. He was chained to a woman who was probably fifty, had hair that was a mix of blond and gray in tight school marm-esque bun, and wore a red dress with a plunging neckline that revealed her substantial cleavage. You noticed that the two collared submissives and the petite exotic girl all kept their eyes averted in strict contradiction of the command you had been given. The plump blond did look at those who were speaking.
The next thing you noticed was that even if you had been allowed to wear clothes you would still have been on display. Centered along each wall was one of the photos Leonard had taken of you the day you first met, and the fifth was on an easel in the middle of the room. They were poster-sized prints. Most of the assembled guests had congealed into one of the three cocktail party klatchs that were circled around the three most popular photos. A few other two party dialogues were going on throughout the room, including a couple in front of the photos that had not drawn crowds.
