The Effable Joy of Nudity Pt. 03

This chapter is a fusion of stories I have published previously. The events, people and places are from my actual, true-life experiences, with allowance for fallible memory, dramatic license and storytelling economy.

Effable (adjective): (1) capable of being uttered or expressed; from the Latin effari. (2) sexually attractive; from the Old Norse fukka.

"Woman's nakedness is wiser than the philosopher's teachings." (Max Ernst)

Stephanie never stopped trying to get me to join her adventure club. She invited me to more capers; but it was only following the mid-year break, two months after the Pirates and Booty Mayday, that I gave in and agreed. However, she had been unusually circumspect about revealing any details until she'd wrested a reply from me; and she was mildly surprised when I reaffirmed my acceptance. It was to be one of those activities which convinced me that the club's principal motivation was the pursuit of the thrill. So I tell myself that I went along that night to confirm my suspicion. But I must admit that I was intrigued by the nature of this gathering. I was curious about how I would cope with the challenge.

Stephanie said I should bring a male partner. I naturally chose Devraj, seeing him as a "safe" option, and braced myself for a rejection. But though he seemed skeptical, he shrugged and said "Okay, why not?" -- which was not so much different from my response to Stephanie. In turn, she didn't act at all surprised that I hadn't chosen Jack. I don't think he even knew about it beforehand; and afterwards I thought it best that he not be enlightened. Steph never let on either.

It was just getting dark when we met Stephanie, who brought along Perry, a guy I had seen her with before. I wore an apricot-yellow blouse and a maroon skirt. Steph was adorable in a red and white polka-dot minidress, with knee-socks and big-buckle Mary-Janes. Perry and Dev looked uncomfortable in suits.

Many of the women arrived dressed to the nines, making an ironic statement about how they would soon be arrayed.

The venue was a house just off-campus, a fairly short walk from Lakeside Hall and owned by a woman named Charlotte. She was a former Lakeside resident doing research at the university. Statuesque and voluptuous, she had an aura of sensuality that she projected onto everyone around her. And she had powerful charisma. On the other hand, her husband James, though very handsome, gave off a silkily suave "toy boy" vibe. He clung to and was constantly petting and fondling his wife, which she appeared to tolerate rather than enjoy. Apart from that, she appeared to be the one in control. So their relationship had an odd dynamic. It was as if they were role-playing (but as with much role-play, it was hard to tell what was role and what was real).

The house was large and luxurious. A long hallway led from the front door to a big room that was richly, indeed extravagantly decorated. It was carpeted in green and purple silk and wool, into which elaborate geometrical patterns were hand-woven with gold thread. The walls were covered with fine tapestries depicting natural landscapes and pastoral scenes, except where oak floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed with leather-bound volumes, including antique texts and rare editions. The furnishings were equally ornate and luxurious -- swank settees and sofas, sumptuous armchairs and ottoman couches, large tasselled floor cushions. There were marble-topped coffee tables, mahogany side and drink tables, a snooker table and a grand piano. At one end of the room was a baroque fireplace and at the other a well-stocked bar.

There were already a couple of dozen people present when we arrived. I had seen many of the guests at the bugs'n'slugs banquet. I knew a few others from Lakeside Hall and a couple from my classes. Everyone came in male-female pairs. They were drinking martinis, wine and whisky, nibbling hors d'oeuvres while engaged in urbane discourse. I had never been to a party this swank before. The men wore tuxedos, and whether dapper, dazzling or dishevelled, many looked, like Dev and Perry, awkward in formal attire.

All the women were naked, at least from neck to thigh. Some had on silk stockings and lace garters (there were no suspender belts) with stiletto or kitten heels; others were barefoot. All wore choker necklaces of velvet or satin ribbon, embossed or braided leather, gold or silver, some gem-garnished, often with an amulet, pendant or miniature cameo. Jewellery was elegant and expensive. Make-up was applied not only to the face; many areolae and labia had been rouged. Some of the women adopted poses that might be called seductive, though not provocative. None appeared self-conscious, let alone coy, shy or embarrassed. Instead they displayed a blithe self-possession, even a serene pride, in their nudity.

Most of the guests were conversing in small groups. There were more exotic tableaux. Two men lounged in voluptuous club chairs sipping cognac out of enormous brandy snifters. They were using as footstools two females who appeared oblivious to their role. The women were on their hands and knees facing each other, their lips united in a steady kiss. Standing at the bar were another two men, with their ladies kneeling at their feet, locked in an intimate embrace. Near the bookshelves a couple was talking and the girl, absorbed in their dialogue, was gesticulating in dramatic fashion that caused her opulent breasts to swing and sway. The man, in a bright blue barathea dinner jacket, did not appear to notice that as he listened he was nodding to the rhythm of her bobbing boobs. A young woman was playing the piano. She was an exceptional virtuoso, whose recital was unhindered by the fact that she was sitting in the lap of a guy who was assiduously massaging her bare chest in harmony with her tune.

Moving about were half a dozen waitresses and two waiters. An all-female string quartet played chamber music (when the pianiste finished performing). The waiters had a uniform of black trousers, white shirt and purple satin waistcoat. The waitresses and musicians were unadorned apart from fishnet stay-up stockings and high-heels.

A crimson velvet rope barred our entrance. Perry's eyes wandered eagerly about the room; Dev looked at me and smiled. Behind us, Stephanie had begun to undress. She handed each article of clothing to Perry, who now turned his full attention to her. He packed each item neatly into one of the baskets arranged on a shelf near the doorway. When she was fully revealed, she turned away from him. He tenderly swept aside her hair, kissed her on the neck, tickled her breasts, then fastened a choker about her throat and matching bracelets around her wrists. She sighed and fondled the silver filigree. They turned to me.

"Ready, sweetie?" Steph asked.

Before I could answer, Charlotte appeared on the other side of the rope. She bent over it and beckoned me closer, to give me a welcoming hug. She had a resonant, crystalline voice and radiated a sophisticated, self-confident sexuality. She wore black lace gloves and a rose-gold choker with a tiny lock on the front. On each of her nipples was a tiny ring with a pearl drop. These were not piercings but snug-fitting loops. They had a stimulating effect which kept her nipples erect to hold them in place. They were linked by a slim chain, also of rose-gold, which draped past her navel, drawing one's line of sight down her belly.

"This is Devraj?" she asked.

I was impressed that she had gone to the trouble of finding out but also that she didn't just presume. They shook hands, and like everything about her this was done with an effortless flair. She clasped his hand with both of hers, creating a sense of intimacy, while drawing her shoulders slightly backwards, as if trying to establish distance but having the effect of accenting her already imposing façade.

Charlotte then greeted Stephanie and Perry (whom she already knew), each with a kiss. To my surprise, though their lips only grazed each other's cheeks, Perry cupped her left breast firmly in his right hand. She did not react. But it was during this moment that I took the opportunity to remove my skirt and blouse. While I was still feeling some trepidation, my determination to see this through to wherever it might lead was stronger than the misgivings. Dev found an empty basket and I placed my clothing in it with care, like storing delicate porcelain. And at first I couldn't really believe that I would be stripping down past underwear. But my bra and panties quickly followed, along with my shoes, as Charlotte and Steph now watched with approval, and the men with admiration. I am no supermodel, but I think I'm pleasing enough to look at. Unlike many of the others I hadn't depilated my pubes; but I'm naturally sparse down there, so just a little trimming had left me virtually hairless. Dev secured my choker about my throat. It was of exquisite lavender lace with a cabochon ruby charm. (I never understood the significance of these chokers that all the women wore, except that they were very pretty.)

So this was CMNF -- clothed male naked female. I had known about the concept. And I'd assured Stephanie that it would be no big deal to be nude in front of friends, acquaintances and strangers. Heck, I didn't wear much more on the beach; and if it's the slivers of fabric over your nipples and between your legs which make all the difference, well that's probably not very logical. But, of course, the most evocative and provocative element was the one-sided nudity.

Yet gender disparity in clothing is hardly confined to a setting like CMNF, nor even a Mayday event. The imbalance, if one must call it that, might be considered demeaning or even, if taken far enough, humiliating for the undressed woman; but equally, in fact more likely, it is empowering. To display your body, not as a submissive or an exhibitionist but as a self-confident woman proud of what you are and what you have... that's empowerment. If it makes you feel vulnerable, or even ashamed, then overcoming angst enhances your strength and enriches your experience. Anyway, that's how I rationalized my presence at the party; and it was actually reassuring that the males remained fully clothed. This wouldn't be an orgy (at any rate not for me).

Nevertheless, it came as something of a revelation that I had no hesitation in going all the way. Indeed, having overcome a modicum of initial shyness, I enjoyed it. With the two men watching I could feel each item being peeled off my body; it was like a chill breeze on my skin, even if the male gaze was more like clammy hands groping and probing. I tingled on the outside and tickled inside. I felt my face becoming flushed and my nipples hardening. That, I confess, was disconcerting, like what a guy must feel with an untimely erection, but in my case without clothing to hide my response. Yet I didn't feel embarrassed, at least not as much as I expected. And it occurred to me from the generally blasé attitudes that this was not the group's first CMNF activity. I recalled Steph's hike in the wilderness.

Charlotte unhitched the velvet rope. We passed across the threshold and our hostess left it to Stephanie to guide me around the room for introductions. Perry did the same with Dev. The conversations were fascinating -- philosophy, science, history, art, etcetera. I felt comfortable in this convivial, intellectual milieu, very much in my element. The fact that half the bodies, including mine, were naked could almost be overlooked. I was relaxed; I'd prepared myself mentally (and, I confess, physically); and I was in good company. The women seemed entirely at ease. Their physiques varied from svelte to full-figured, with a rich assortment of skin tones. Ages ranged from early twenties to perhaps mid-thirties. Everyone was good-looking, and I savoured the flattery of being invited to join them.

The males looked me over (and I would probably have been offended if they didn't), but in most instances their eyes didn't linger. There were no furtive glances and positively no ogling or leering. So despite the somewhat surreal quality, I felt less exposed than I'd been at the Mayday party or on the beach in my tiniest bikini. I found myself enjoying the attention. For now that I'd taken the plunge, I felt surprisingly upbeat, elated by my audacity.

Once we had done the rounds, Steph and I attached ourselves to a group talking about things scientific; and having found an anchorage for me, Steph peeled off to circulate on her own. The discussion turned to my field of meteorology, and the others showed a genuine interest and informed curiosity. I gauged their level of erudition when no one said "Oh, you're a weather girl." Like everyone else in the room they were smart, educated and inquisitive. It was hard to believe (or maybe not) that not so long ago we were feasting on bugs.

After a few minutes, one of the gentlemen approached and apologized as he detached one of the women from the group, which then dispersed just as Dev brought me a glass of champagne. (I pretended to sip and no one seemed to nice that throughout the night my glass never emptied. In any case, the heady mood was intoxicating.) We moved to the far end of the room, where a young woman was at the snooker table, playing against one guy while two more waited impatiently to take her on. Even with all the other unclad females in the room, the three men's eyes were fixed unwavering on her superbly bare derrière as she bent over the table to pot the last of her balls. Perhaps her opponent was distracted; at any rate she won easily.

Sandy-haired Justine was athletic and gorgeous. Her lustrous, sun-bronzed body showed no tan-lines but bore several lengthy scars, one of which ran down her front and another along the inside of her right thigh, both ending perilously close to her cleft. There was a mark on one of her buttocks, either a cute dimple or another scar. She had the poise and savvy of a young woman accustomed to being the object of fantasy but without hauteur and with nothing to prove. So I was startled when at one point she was joined by a fellow who, although good-looking, gave off a distinctly creepy vibe. He slithered his arms around her hips and pulled her in close to him, and I saw that he was groping her backside. She winced a few times but didn't object. I had a hard time picturing them as girl-and boyfriend so perhaps he was, like Dev, her escort, but one who assumed ownership. Unquestionably the redoubtable Justine could have decked him on the spot if his hand went too far or too deep. However, he soon moved away and she resumed her game, beating her second challenger with straight-faced ease.

For a couple of hours that creepy interaction was one of the few displays of outright physical dalliance which I saw, at least from the males. There was the inevitable flirting, but no one spoke directly about the one-sided nudity, except in brief banalities. They weren't avoiding the subject, but acted like it was nearly normal. Yet I was thankful that many of the women showed the same obvious signs of titillation as I -- erect and stiffening nipples. And, irrationally, I resented Dev, who had trousers to conceal his own stimulation. Of course, it was its asymmetric nature, with all the men keeping their clothes on, which gave our nudity an extra piquancy.

The men tried to maintain eye contact, but I couldn't blame them when their field of view drifted southward. When a guy looked at me, I could almost feel his gaze crawling casually over my curves and into my crevices. And I found myself responding instinctively, drawing back my shoulders and puffing out my chest. I didn't certainly didn't see anyone do the opposite, try to cover herself. Indeed, doing so would have made her more conspicuous, in no way diverting attention away from her nudity but revealing shame and humiliation rather than confidence and pride.

Indeed, there was no sense that we females were being debased or objectified. I have called it empowering, and it was a liberating experience, to divest myself of my inhibitions along with my clothes. The erotic context was undeniable; yet most of the time I felt less sexualized than on the Naughty Nightie Night. For while it's been said that the essence of dressing sexy is to show your best and hide the rest, revealing everything allows you to convey assertive eroticism without being wanton. So the mood of the evening was a sort of free-spirited innocence.

That being said, I did become aware that every so often two or three or four of the guests would go missing. I had my suspicions, and when I saw Justine cross the room followed by her three devotees I decided to follow, at a discreet distance. There was an open doorway at the back of the room, with a heavy purple velvet curtain drawn across it. I hung back until I saw that Charlotte was watching. She smiled and nodded. I took a peek into what would be a rumpus room in a normal-sized house. It was decorated and furnished in a less lavish style than the main room. There was a bed (with, tellingly, a stack of clean sheets on a bedside table), a couch, two ottoman footstools and numerous cushions scattered about. Justine was on her knees, bent over one of the stools. Her mouth was stuffed with a large red ball-gag that bulged past her lips. Saliva dribbled out around its edges and dripped onto the polished wooden floor. She was softly grunting and puffing through her gag as one of the guys, kneeling behind her, was thrusting into her. His trousers were down though not off; he was still wearing his tuxedo jacket. Her hands were clasped behind her head, held there by his right hand clutching a tuft of her hair. Her ankles were clamped around his thighs. Her body was jerking to the rhythm of his penetration and her breasts and belly squeaked against the leather of the stool. The other two young men were standing close by, awaiting their turn as at the snooker table, but now to be inside her.

Justine raised her head; and her eyes, blinking away the perspiration rolling down her face, met mine. She grinned or grimaced. It was hard to tell with her gag; but I sensed embarrassment, so I let the curtain fall back into place. Was this her punishment for beating the three guys at the snooker table? Or her reward?

Oddly enough, I didn't see Justine with her creepy companion again. Meanwhile, other guests used the side room, though by no means all. I saw Stephanie leading Perry behind the curtain. I never went.

But not everything of interest happened in there. For example, we had a dance pageant -- not a competition, because the audience was careful to give all participants an equal length and volume of applause. Most of the women volunteered, including myself. Some were very good. Stephanie surprised me with a skill I didn't know she had. Justine executed an impeccable routine even though she had not long before come waddling unsteadily out of the side room. Charlotte's performance was, naturally, elegant and sensual. So when my turn came I felt some regret and more than a little intimidated. I'd taken dance classes in my youth; but I had no foreknowledge of what music would be playing, so had to improvise. Everyone gathered in a large circle around me, and their response was undoubtedly more generous than my presentation warranted.

Some girls danced in pairs but I performed solo. The string ensemble played a tune I didn't recognize, something with a tantric flavour. I was pleased with my effort; and the nudity actually made it easier. Being naked meant I didn't need to stretch to project sexuality. I moved my body intuitively to the rhythm. The effect was (for me) awesome, arousing, orgasmic. Encircled by people watching silently and intently, I closed my eyes, shut out my surroundings and immersed myself completely in the movements -- slow, sultry, slinky, sensual. I pranced and pirouetted, I swirled and swayed, I swooshed my hair, I swung my hips, I rippled my tummy, I heaved my breasts. I licked moisture from my lips and felt wetness between my thighs. The erotic intensity was near to almost overpowering. I loved it.