Skin-Deep - Shorn and Shown Pt. 01

Part I -- I prepare myself for a performance and recall a total exposure

I pamper myself for the event at home

The day of the event, before I leave, is full of that delicious mixture of dread and yearning. Hope you know what I mean. I have a list of things to do to get ready - a great way to harness the anticipation.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind.

Early on today, that day of suspense and promise, when the moon is still pale and visible but about to disappear in the lightening sky, I see my husband off to work. I sit at breakfast with him, he dressed in fine business wear, I still in my bathrobe. Not unusual: he leaves early to catch a flight.

I can't resist -- I go back to bed, lie on my back, legs open, and masturbate. Perhaps I should save myself and nurse my arousal, to maximise the effect tonight? No need. Regardless of what I do now, I will experience peak arousal tonight. I simply need a release now -- 'need' is the word, not 'want' -- because if I don't get it, I will not be able to prepare myself with attention, deliberately and with purpose. My climax is high and dirty, not slow, subtle and manifold -- can't muster that kind of patience.

I allow myself a glass of wine. Mid-morning, while I draw my bath! Not by habit, mind you, but today is special. The wine is cold, the bath is hot! Delicious. I masturbate again in this exquisitely comfortable tub. I am so self-centred at the moment. I want another glass of wine, but don't allow myself a second. Enough is enough. I shouldn't lose concentration or even fall asleep. Wish someone would discipline me! I need to feel something hard and physical! Would whip marks arouse my viewers tonight?

My friend has requested that I shave all of my body, save the head of course. Of course? I did shave my head once too, a good few years back! Would do it again, you know I would, but can't really, and won't. My current shaving habits? I have been shaving my pubes for years, off and on, off and on. I have been in an 'off' period until today. Simply got tired of it again, anti-all-the-rage, and have just been trimming since. Wax my loins for the summer of course. My armpits are free of hair, since I had them lasered. Have to shave my legs only rarely, lucky me. Have rarely shaved my arms, but will do today, along with the rest of my body. Save the head as I said. Will relish the ever so slight burning sensation, especially across the areas I don't normally shave, my torso, my arms...

My pubes require the serious attention. They will have to be perfectly smooth in all crevices and folds. Throughout, I have to slow myself down. Take deep breaths. As I am agitated. I first shave with my electric clipper, crudely, down to a stubble. Next, I prepare the skin with a soothing cream. Then it is time to soap up and do the meticulous job with the safety razor, making sure I stretch the folds, nooks and crannies. The perineum is hard to do, hard to do carefully, but you can do it! Patience, girl! Take your breaths! You have all the time in the world. I love the actions; I love the sensations. The final hairs -- I conclude by feeling and stroking, finding and removing a stray hair here and there. I then terminate the process and oil and perfume the complete abdomen and vulva. The naughty areas done! (Naughty, why naughty?)

The rest of the body hardly needs shaving but I diligently put in the work, even lift my breasts by the nipple to shave underneath! My feet, my legs, belly, butt, what I can reach of my back, chest, neck... Not my chin and cheeks. Afraid to promote any hair growth there. Is that a myth?

Then rub in fragrant oils over the bulk of my naked body, slowly, deliberately. I have all the time in the world. Take your deep breaths, go easy! Take the time. Enjoy the sensations.

I am done by the early afternoon. There remain over three hours to kill before I have to be dressed and leave for the other town, my friend and my performance.

I throw on a warm dress, nothing else, ok... shoes, and take a good, vigorous walk in the nearby woodland park. Enjoy the bounce of my unsupported breasts and the free unclad feeling in my loins, touched by mysterious little flows of air.

When I return home there is still more than half an hour to go. I take a lengthy, nice and easy shower and oil myself again. I know, I am overdoing it! Beyond doubt, I am soft and smooth and smell good. Read for the things to come.

Meeting Martha, my accomplice

Then, thank god, the time has finally come. I should be getting ready to go. I pack an overnight bag with some clothes and toiletries to last me tonight and tomorrow. Out of the ordinary are the oil for slicking my hair back and the heavy eye make-up I am to wear at the event. Plus, the ornate Venetian half-mask I will wear over my eyes. I put on underwear, fine but simple items, no frills or lace. I might be undressing in public; I am not sure now. Martha has not said, but will know I crave the embarrassment. I choose a simple, but expensive bra and panty ensemble, sea green. A simple dress, made to measure, in blue. Thigh-high stockings, as taking off a pantyhose elegantly in public is a great challenge, too great, and unnecessary. The stockings are blue too.

Overall, I want to appear as a restrained, tasteful woman. Mature - as I am mature. I don't want to appear girly or whorish -- that does not become me. I study my well-dressed self in the mirror. My hair is nicely washed and reaches down to my shoulders. Well, that'll last the trip and meeting my friend... The audience during the event will not see my hair like this. They will see my hair slicked back and framing my partially masked face; to boot, my eyes will be framed by heavy make-up. The rest of my body will be as bare as can be.

A taxi picks me up and brings me to the station, where I catch a train to the other town. First class. The trip takes an hour. The carriage is quite full. I behave like a lady, coy and composed. I aim to appear neither aloof nor inviting. Restrained, but not hostile. But I am conscious of the other travellers looking at me, my body, as if they can read off my forehead what I am about to do. I suddenly realise that one of them might just see me tonight during my performance. Will she or he recognise me? I feel a tingle in my groin. Can't take care of that, here and now, alas.

My friend Martha receives me at the station at the other end. Holding me at arm's length, she says, 'You look great. Can't believe you are your age! I have noticed that before, but still I am surprised each time.'

Yes, I think I do look as good as she does, arrogant me, and she is over five years my junior!

'I know you are flattering me. But thanks. I need the support. Now that I meet you, the person who will lead me to the event I love and dread, I also meet the butterflies in my stomach.'

'You are fine. I am not flattering you without cause. You are a most presentable, attractive woman.'

'Don't make me blush! Gift of nature, I guess, but true, I try to take care of myself.'

'You do and have succeeded. Now, let's go and have a nice, light dinner. I imagine you won't care for a boozed-up all-you-can-eat ordeal. There is a place near the art gallery, our crime scene for tonight. During dinner, we'll discuss the necessary details.'

Martha looks wonderful too, in her own way. She is wearing a black evening suit, a bit like a man's, but cut more elegantly, with a waist and bosom and shoulders, clearly a woman's suit. Pink silk shirt, buttoned up to her throat. Clearly befits the artsy type she is.

The restaurant is quiet, but there are a few people within earshot. Martha tries to keep her voice down, but she is a buoyant type and tends to be loud. So, I cannot be sure we are not overheard by neighbouring tables. I imagine the looks of the other diners to be knowing and suspicious! Again, there may be audience members amongst them that will see me exposed in a few hours. Actually, quite likely, since this place is so close to the gallery. She may have leaked the information to friends and relations. The tingle in my groin again...

Memory of an earlier exhibition through Martha

I am sure you are interested to know that Martha and I go back some way. As friends, of course, but also as playmates. Here's the story of an earlier dalliance of ours.

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Yes, I have 'worked' with Martha before, in another gallery in another town. But that was five years ago, or thereabouts. Then, it was relatively unpremeditated. At least it was on my part. Hers, I don't know, come to think of it!

She had invited me to an opening of a show of large oils depicting nude young men. Some 15, 20 other people were there, male and female. Martha knew the artist, Lisa, a woman in her thirties, and introduced me. She had the cheek to out me as an exhibitionist, saying that I would be well at ease among all of these painted young men.

Then later, I am talking to both of them, nice and easy, with a glass of Cava in my hand, when Martha suddenly says, 'Vita, Lisa here is fascinated by your tendency to show yourself naked in public. Can you explain?'

'Martha! Just because I once told you that I like to be naked and have been naked at a few parties when I was younger, you do not have the right to call me an exhibitionist to a total stranger. Excuse her, Lisa! And me! But Martha has never even witnessed any of those occasions. It could have been fantasy for all she knows.'

'Vita, true, I have not seen you, but I think I know you well enough to know it is true - that you do like to show off, and have done it in public.'

'Well, you are right, I like to show myself in the buff and I have done it, in what you might call "public", but that still does not give you the right to shout it from the rooftops.'

'I don't know... We are in friendly company. Lisa is as liberal as they come and so is this bohemian lot around us. Perhaps, she would even let you show yourself here.'

'Martha, are you crazy? No, I would not show myself here! Nor would Lisa appreciate that I intrude like that. It is her show and people need to focus on the paintings, without distractions.'

'Vita, you would, though! And, Lisa, you would let her? A bit of scandal never hurts...?'

'Well,' says Lisa, 'let me think... I am all for a bit of scandal... It is not like many of the guests care for my paintings anymore... Openings are social occasions at the end of the day. Reviewers, curators, not sure if we can expect any anymore. The one or two important people, "busy" as they are, have already left.

'So, yeah, Vita, be my guest and just strip off and hand me your clothes.' And, without asking for my response, she addresses the crowd, speaking up and looking around, 'People, come up and watch this attractive woman show herself to us! She is not a young man, in fact, neither man nor young, but she is great and will do fine.'

I freeze and turn beet-red. Yes, you cannot count the number of times I had been naked in public on two or three hands. But most of these times have been at private events, where I had control. A few have been at public locations, but again, they had been planned and agreed with me. And I had had matching underwear on, and washed just beforehand. Lord knew what I was wearing right now!

'Vita, you know you want to!' says Martha. And in a whisper to me, right in my ear, 'The embarrassment is part of the high, and you know it!'

And so it comes to happen that my beet-red head and I lift the dress I am wearing over my head, pass it to Lisa, exposing my chemise, my pantyhose, with a tear, then the non-matching underwear, no holes in the panties though, passing all to Lisa... So, I end up bare and exposed, breasts, bum and my unshaven triangle... to polite applause and an odd wolf-whistle from the crowd.

I am embarrassed, yes. People do look at me with diverse intentions -- bemused, incredulous, leering, condemning, and dare I say: aroused? - as diverse as the audience is and with diverse intensities. But then, how long can people keep staring at you? After a while all of the audience goes back to chatting, glancing at the exhibition pieces, drinking... And my embarrassment drops and I go back to normal too, chatting, looking at the pictures and drinking-- although naked. I alternate between feeling pretty elated and pretty embarrassed, but at other times I feel 'natural' and forget my condition.

People come up to me from time to time. A highlight, or whatever, is when another woman suddenly cups both of my breasts from behind without warning and then apologises, after the fact, saying they were so available. She has never touched another woman's breasts before and she just had to do this, sorry! Another, when a man equally suddenly drops to his knees and smells my sex up close. Then leaps to his feet again, muttering his apologies, and leaves the building! I am shocked, as are Martha and Lisa the artist, judging from their faces, as are the people I was talking to. Yet after I catch my breath this may be the moment when my arousal is the highest. Wonder what I smelled like!

Lisa laughs and says, 'Well, that was unexpected fun! If you want to, Vita, you may get dressed again now. It is almost closing time.'

A few of us, Lisa, Martha and two or three others, go to a nightclub, start drinking, evaluate the audience's response to the show, evaluate my contribution, laugh about what I had done, get pretty drunk and that is that.

------

When Martha came up with the idea for the coming performance, I thought back at this past one and established I had fond memories of it, but mixed with a bit of cold sweat too. Martha, the cheek! What a shock and what a delight it was, especially in retrospect. I repeat: there is a difference between the two events. The first one caught me off guard and presented a higher shock value. The event that is about to start is different in many ways, higher profile, but premeditated. The premeditation has two sides: yes, I have a say in what we will do and how we do it, but also, I can anticipate and savour the dread and yearning weeks in advance. That is an advantage. Arguably! Anyway, it is what it is and it's about to happen.

The dinner with Martha before the present performance

Now, we are seated at a table in the restaurant. The first thing she asks is how my preparation was.

'OK. You have shaven, like I requested? Like I ordered, if you like...'

'Yes. My body from the neck down is hairless. At least, as far as I can ascertain. I have tried to not let a single little area escape my razor. I soaped up all over and scraped clear with regularly refreshed disposable razors. Took a lot of checking in the mirror and contortionist moves to reach everywhere, but I think I was successful.'

'Can I see? As an outsider - don't laugh - I can see better than you could...'

'Well, you'll see my body soon enough? I am sure I did better than leaving left tufts of hair anywhere even if I could not see all of me. You are not asking me to show you here and now, are you, Martha?'

'Hmmm... That is a thought! But no, we'd get kicked out. I'll spare you. But, let's nip in the ladies and I'll check your condition there.'

'Martha! Spare me!'

'Vita, just think of it this way. I can't closely inspect you later on, as I'll be managing things there. Just let me have my fun here. And your game is embarrassment, discomfort, isn't it?'

And she smiles a naughty, sweet smile... A winner.

'OK. You're a terrible tease, but I will show you. But you have to show me yours as well!'

'Well, maybe... Let's go!'

So, we take off to the ladies' room. It is smallish, two stalls and a double washbasin, and separated from the corridor by a swinging door. Someone could very quickly burst in upon us...

She does not have to instruct me. I immediately lift my dress with one hand and pull down my panties with the other. She bends over to have a good look. 'Well done, Vita, you have prepared well. Thank you! I know I did not have to push you to do a quality job, but I am impressed all the same. And in awe of your sex.'

And she touches me, delicately - my mound, my labia, my slit - and looks up closely... Oh, she could bring me off! It is as if she reads my thoughts. 'Vita, there is nothing in the world I would rather do, but let's save ourselves. We have work to do.' She lets me adjust my clothing, with a smile.

It takes a bit more work on her part to show her box. Opens the buttons of her trousers, half lowers them, lifts her shirt, drops her panties and there we go. I am excited. Somehow, it has been a while I saw another woman's sex at close range...

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Memories of my sabbatical: the head shave

Before we get into my gallery performance with Martha, let us go back in time once again. This time, I want to take you back to the origins of my need for nudity and, above all, my shaving fetish. This second flashback section will culminate in the episode where I took my shaving to extremes.

I have been drawn to nudity and exposing myself from the days I started to mature. Strongly drawn to nudity and exposure, I cannot overstate this. Opportunities for exposure in public have been limited, without going overboard and derailing normality. Still, I took opportunities several times since adulthood.

As for my other fetish, shaving, I would say my taste is extreme.

I first shaved down there somewhere mid-puberty. From chatting to girlfriends, I learnt about the possibility of doing that, shaving one's pubic hair. Armpits and legs are visible for all to see, and from an early age I knew that my mother and later my sister shaved these body parts. Never even thought about this. This is what women do. But my pubes? Why? I was proud of my pubic hair when it first came. Think I was on the early side. It showed me I was transitioning from child to woman. So, now that I was becoming a woman, why should I shave the hair there? My girlfriends could not help me beyond: 'the Hollywood stars, the older sisters did it.' One said: it is sexy! The internet was not what it is today, and we did not dare asking our mums or sisters, so it took several months for one of us to prove the point when she shared a magazine she had snatched from an older brother. And, indeed, most of the porn stars had totally or partially shaven fannies. It was a revelation too to see a grown-up vagina, as opposed to the closed oysters we all had. The pictures showed something so complex and individual. And, yeah, in a sex magazine, the women were sexy. So, the shaved abdomen came to be connected to sex.

I did not miss a beat. After dinner that day I excused myself and took a bath. I already had the razor gear for my armpits and denuded my pubes for the first time since I was a baby. I used a mirror to closely inspect the result and was happy with what I saw. Was I a narcissist the way I was suddenly hooked by my own sex? Probably. I have not read up on what defines a narcissist.

A more serious life event a couple of years later was this. I stumbled upon a copy of Life magazine, from 1970. There was a feature article on some fashion designer's unisex fashion (Rudi Gernreich, if you need to know.) A male and female model were modelling a variety of pretty futuristic, SF-like garb. A few images showed both of them in black-and-white panties and with hairless bodies. Now, with hairless I mean: hairless! No hair on the chest, no hair on the head, no eyebrows. (The lashes? I don't know. Low resolution pic's! I remember a heavy dose of eyeliner. Later research gave me photographs that were not in Life and showed both models fully nude. These proved the complete hairlessness of the models.) The words are: ugly and repelling. But also, attraction, I want to be like this! Now, I cannot begin to understand my attraction. Let me think aloud. Bald is smooth. It is bare skin, like on the larger part of the body. It is ugly, alien, unusual, extreme, daring like devil-may-care. A woman or girl is supposed to be beautiful, and the hair on her head is a big part of that. (Hair on the rest of the body, not! Funny, in a way.) Did I simply want to rebel against that? I only remember a mixture of horror and fascination buzzing around my adolescent head.