License to Strip

I'm a woman in her late 30s. My round little ass is just a tad bigger than I'd like it to be, but in all, I think I keep myself in good shape and, in a well-fitting outfit, I still think I can turn my fair share of men's heads.

Some women's heads, too, I might add, but that's a different story entirely.

The thing is, I am what you might have to call a shy exhibitionist. I adore being naked, and I thrill at the idea of my fit little bare body being seen by other people -- my bare breasts and my pubic hair, which I keep very close-trimmed but not shaved, by the way.

And I've had that thrill of exposure as far back as I can remember. But it's a strange thing, because at the same time that I need it, I'm so terribly afraid of being found out. If my mother, or, oh my dear God, my father, or anyone I knew, really, ever saw me exposing myself outdoors or in a public place, I would be mortified.

Until recently, there hasn't been very much I could do to indulge my fantasy of being watched in the nude by strangers. Sometimes, late at night when it's warm out, I'll turn off all of the lights in the house and step out the back door, onto the deck, with no clothes on. Sometimes, but not always, I touch myself while I'm out there, but it's probably not like you think. I like running my hands from the crests at the top of my legs, around to the swell of my hips, or feeling how my hard little nipples stand out from my breasts.

Oh my God, I can not describe the feeling it gives me to go outside like that. It is at once thrilling, and yet also, somehow, deeply relaxing.

I've tried to understand why standing naked in the night can give me such a deeply peaceful feeling. The closest I can come to explaining it to you is that, when I stand out there in the dark, with nothing on between me and the universe, I am focused entirely on, simply, being. My body and mind are just smooth palettes of sensation, and things like my work, and stress, and conflict have no place to hide.

While the feeling is that crazy mixture of thrilling and soothing, it isn't exactly sexual -- or maybe I should say, it isn't only, sexual.

Yes, I'll admit, there was a time, early on, when a naked foray into the woods or onto my deck would end with me furiously horny, and hurrying off somewhere to have a quick session with my vibrator or, if need be, with just my hand.

And I remember, on one vacation quite a few years ago, I let my boyfriend at the time take a picture of me in our hotel room when I was naked. I was sitting down on the sofa, with my knees pressed together and drawn up to my breasts so that, while you could tell just by looking at the picture that I didn't have clothes on, you couldn't actually see anything private.

Even though I was modestly covered, just knowing that I was actually being photographed in that state was instantaneously, incredibly arousing. I pulled his pants down then and there and, as I recall, rode him rather, shall we say, vigorously.

But as time goes by I find more and more that I can spend an entire weekend at home without clothes on, and I can turn down the lights and slip quietly outside in the dark, and I don't have that need to reach orgasm, really, at all.

Speaking of photographs, I've been aware for some time that there are places like San Francisco, and some place in New England, where they actually don't have laws against public nudity, as long as you're not doing anything sexual. I've fantasized about going to places like that, and walking down a sidewalk showing everything, but they say it's mostly old men who hang around naked there, because good-looking women who do it are sure to show up all over the Internet in a matter of minutes. In fact, I've seen plenty of examples of such photos.

Just the thought of someone who knows me, tsk-tskingly showing my parents pictures of me parading down some city street while dozens of strange men ogle my treasures, sends icicles right into me.

But the thought of doing it, well, that's a different thing.

So my exhibitionism has been limited to those furtive little trips outside in the darkness, which I tell myself I really shouldn't do, and to my general rule that I don't wear clothing at home, even when my lover is here.

Ah, yes, Christian, my lover. Chris certainly doesn't seem to mind when I parade around the house bare-ass naked. The fact is, he can't keep his hands off of me when I do. But I do love him dearly, and feeling the unabashed desire in his touch, well, let's just say that I don't object to it. Much of the time, when he's over, he'll join me in peeling down to his skin, and we spend many of our weekends together just the way God made us.

But I have to tell you that there's something extra special for me when he doesn't undress right away, and it's just me, the only one naked. I know from the websites I've found that there's a term for this: CMNF -- clothed male, nude female. And while it's apparently something of a fetish for guys, let me assure you that doing it gets my motor running quite well. I just love being naked for him, and I love it best when the only naked one is little old me.

It still surprises me somewhat that he shows little sign of being an exhibitionist. When I finally screwed up the courage to make one of my little bare trips out onto the deck late one night when he was here with me, I invited him, too, but he wouldn't join me outside.

And that's OK, really. In fact, it makes me feel even more special, knowing that there was a place of magical power that he knew about, but still feared to go. I thought all guys liked showing their junk to everyone possible, but as with so many things, my lover is one who breaks that mold.

So, all that I've told you about me so far is by way of saying I'm one frustrated little shy exhibitionist. I thrill at the thought of men seeing my nude body, and yet, at the same time, I'm so afraid it will be someone I know, that I've never gone too far.

That brings us to this year, when everything changed.

In the spring, as the warm weather crept into the city, I started poking around the Internet just to see if there were any nude beaches within a day's drive of my town. To my happy surprise, it turns out there were several.

I ran over and over in my mind how I was going to broach this subject with Chris. I was not at all sure I could get him to go along with the idea. As it turned out, God bless him, he was immediately OK with the idea.

"No, I won't mind you undressing in a place like that, sweetheart," he said. "Goodness knows, everyone else will be naked. If that's what you want, then, let's do it this summer!"

He was still dressed from work when he said this, and I, in my birthday suit, leaned over his grey business suit and kissed him. "I love you," I said. "So, will you, you know, get naked there, too?"

He gave me a thoughtful, yet questioning look, and said, "maybe. I don't know if I'm up to it."

I tried to wheedle and cajole him into promising me he'd go naked with me, but the best I could get from him was "I hope I can do it, but we'll just have to see."

We picked a nude beach on the coast just about a day's drive from here, and we made reservations at a bed and breakfast that sat right on the edge of it. I had tried, but was unable to find any clothing-optional lodging, so it turns out I would have to walk down to the beach and only then could I get undressed there. My idea of a totally clothes-free vacation was shot down, at least for this year.

We arrived at the B&B after dark, stiff and tired from the drive, and I didn't want to spoil my first nude-beach experience, so we just stayed inside that first night, with me being one tight bottle of anticipation.

Chris gave me a naked backrub, paying special attention to my bottom, where he knew I especially loved feeling his hands. As I relaxed, he gently nudged my legs wider apart on the bed, and as my body inevitably responded to his touch, he gently inserted a finger inside of me.

Christian, my lover, my partner, my companion, had this incredible ability to know just where to touch me inside. I've never been one to have trouble reaching orgasm. In fact, my problem with Chris was the opposite. When he showed no signs of stopping after my third delicious climax, from just his fingers alone, I laughed out loud and begged him to stop.

I whimpered, "Oh my God, Chris, I don't think I can move my legs anymore. Now, I want you to come."

It was then that our little argument started. It was understood between us that I didn't like to swallow his semen. Don't get me wrong, I love giving him blowjobs. I love taking him into my mouth and bringing him to the peak of sensation and desire in that way. I love knowing that it's me making him writhe and moan like that underneath me.

But I just don't like having sperm in my mouth.

But that night, as he had done only one time before, he pleaded with me to let him come in my mouth.

And I hope this will tell you something about me, and about our relationship.

My answer to his heartfelt plea was "oh yes, I want you to come in my mouth." And I let him.

And he did.

And I swallowed every drop of his orgasm that didn't force its way out through my lips, to dribble down onto my chin. In other words, yes, I can swallow. I know -- or I think I know, anyway -- just how crazy it makes a man feel to let go like that inside a girl's soft, loving mouth. It's just that it's actually pretty gross. It tastes bad, it feels awful as it goes down, and I'm pretty sure the first spurt of it has his leftover pee in it.

So, yeah, twice in seven years, I submitted to it, but this time, I wanted to be sure that we talked about it, later.

"Honey, I love making it special for you. But swallowing is... well, it's something more than that, it seems to me."

He was clearly surprised. I went on.

"I love giving you blowjobs; I love having you in my mouth. But this 'swallowing' thing. I just don't think it's fair."

To his credit, he did apologize. "I'm sorry, honey, I thought if I made you come with my mouth..."

"But it's not even remotely the same," I came back. "Look," I said, "tell me this: would you swallow?"

And this was where he started heading for trouble.

"If I were a woman, I would."

Uh-oh. Wrong answer.

"See? That's exactly what I mean. You say you would swallow if you were a woman. But that's not my question. What I asked you was if you would swallow."

What really got me about his answer was the assumption that only women should swallow; that it was something a man couldn't be asked to do. I couldn't get him to continue the conversation just then, but I started to work on a plan to teach him a lesson.

We had breakfast late the next morning, and then headed down to the beach. It was already hot, although the breeze off the water was nice. I had on just a little black bikini and one of my man's white dress shirts.

This was it, I thought to myself: I was going to take off everything now. The beach wasn't crowded yet, and I didn't see anyone there yet who was nude.

As soon as we got to the packed sand near the water, I shook myself out of his shirt and handed it to my man. Rather than having to carry it, he slipped it on over his t-shirt, letting it hang open just like I had done.

I untied my top and, looking around to see if I was attracting attention, I let it fall from my breasts. No one seemed to give me any particular attention. I immediately felt the intensity of the sun on the pale places that rarely saw daylight, and I smiled, remembering how I had put on a little show in our room after breakfast as I spread sunblock all over myself.

With my breasts standing out in the daylight, I asked Chris one more time, "ok, the girls are out, are you sure you're OK with this?"

"Keep on going," he smiled at me, "I think you're just fine. Are you ready to go all the way?"

In response, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my bikini, and tugged it down over my hips, and I slid it down quickly and bent down to free it from my ankles.

I was just letting the first sensations of bareness wash over me when a couple of guys in swimming trunks walked by us. They looked right at me, and not just in my eyes, if you know what I mean. I waved at them, making my boobs sway a little, and I smiled and said, "Hi!"

I handed the two little pieces of my bathing suit to my partner, and said, "do you think you can put these in your pockets?"

We started to walk down the beach, and this whole new idea of walking without any clothes on, of finding whole new people and places to see me, was infinitely better than simply being bare in one place.

As time went by, we encountered more and more nudes of every gender, size and description as the sun climbed and the beach grew more crowded.

From what I've read about "real" nudists, they say you get used to it after a while. And I did become quickly less intensely self-conscious, but I don't think there was ever a moment that I wasn't aware of the touch of the breeze or the kiss of the sun on every part of my skin.

It was wonderful.

At one point, walking with the waves just washing up against my bare ankles, that fantastic feeling was running so deeply in me that I turned and leaned against Christian, feeling my nipples and my belly brushing against the cloth he still wore. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. "Do you think you're ready to do it, yet?"

He patted my bum and left his hand there on my bare skin for a moment and replied, "No, not yet. Maybe in a little while."

I wiggled myself away from his hand and teased, "you won't; I know it. It'll just be me out here naked. But you really don't know what you're missing!"

We came to a little lunch stand and I said I was hungry so we stood and waited in line, getting corndogs and cold lemonade. There were a few picnic tables scattered around the lunch stand, and I noticed that the other nude people around were all sitting on towels.

We, of course, hadn't thought to bring any towels with us, so I took back the shirt I had worn as a wrap and I spread it on the bench when we sat down to eat.

Another couple, perhaps in their 20s and thus quite a bit younger than the two of us, eventually came along and asked if they could join us. They were both nude, and I have to say, both quite good looking, although I suppose that naked, vibrant youth is always attractive. "Of course," I said, "sit down and join us."

The man sat down next to me, while the girl went across and spread her towel next to my lover. It was so cute the way he struggled to keep from looking at her. He finally gave up when she started talking directly to him. I was glad he was starting to lighten up. It had never occurred to me that this might be harder for him than it was for me, seeing how I was the one with no clothes on.

It turned out the two young sunbathers were cousins, and they lived in different parts of the country. Their names were Ingrid and Jack. Their families had rented a big house on the beach and were having a mini family reunion. They told us they were having a cookout that night, and we accepted their invitation to join them. They pointed the house out to us, and I made mental note of a few landmarks that would help us recognize the correct walkway over the dunes to their house.

Just before leaving the two cousins there at the picnic table and turning back towards our bed and breakfast, it occurred to me to ask about the "dress code" for dinner.

The young woman laughed and said "oh, definitely clothing optional. Come as you are."

"Well, I will, then," I said with a wiggle, but I added, "unless, you know, will there be any kids there?"

She said "no, the youngest one is," and she looked at her cousin. "I think Brad is 19, right?"

"That's right," her cousin replied. "In fact, I think he turns 20 next week."

That settled it, then. We would go to their cookout, and I would go naked.

We decided that it was a good idea to get out of the sun for a while, so the two of us walked slowly back towards the bed and breakfast. On the way back, Chris asked me, "'clothing optional'" means everyone could be fully dressed, doesn't it? I mean, at least in theory?"

"Yes, that's right," I replied.

"Well," he said, with a pause, "are you sure you want to show up like this?" And he gestured toward my bare body.

"If you don't want me to do it, I won't," I said, wondering if I was hearing a twinge of jealousy. "But to be perfectly open with you, Chris," and I leaned my bare skin against him, "the idea of being the only one naked at a party," and I shivered, goosebumps rising all over my skin, "I can't think of anything I'd rather do."

He reached over and squeezed my hand, and we walked back toward our B&B in silence. I noticed there were a few men who actually stopped and stared as I went by them, and I made sure to acknowledge each one of them with a smile.

Only at the last minute as we approached our lodging did I ask for my skimpy little things back, and putting them on there in the sand, they felt strange and uncomfortable and restricting. At last, slipping on Chris' shirt over the bikini, and leaving it hanging unbuttoned, we crossed the over dunes to our lodging.

On our way in, we ran into the owners, working on dinner in the kitchen. We chatted with them for a minute, and it turns out they were nudists, and in fact that was why they'd picked this place for their retirement. But the health department wouldn't let them run the place as a clothing optional B&B, and that was why we had to be dressed on the property.

For the rest of the afternoon, we drove into town, looking at shops, and picking up a bottle of wine to bring to the cookout. Then we went back and got in a quick nap.

That evening, we went back down to the beach, this time with me wearing just his shirt. When we got to the sand, I slipped out of his shirt and handed it back to him. That wonderful, unequaled feeling came flooding right back over me, and hand-in-hand, we walked down the beach. I just loved stopping and talking to people along the way -- both men and women -- because each time, it made me feel anew just how totally bare I was there right in front of them.

This place was truly a license to strip, and I was going to take every last advantage of it just as long as I could.

We found the house Ingrid and Jack had pointed out, and could see that there were a dozen or so people hanging out around the back patio, which had a little pool and hot tub.

"It looks like everyone there is dressed, honey. Are you sure you don't want to put my shirt back on?"

I scanned the small crowd and saw that he was right, but I said "Yes, I'm sure. They definitely said 'clothing optional.' Maybe my being naked will loosen them up."

Ingrid had seen us crossing the dunes and she came over to greet us as we opened the gate to the patio. She leaned in to hug me and, gesturing toward her bikini, I whispered to her "am I OK like this? You did say clothing was optional."

"Of course you are, dear," she replied, as she looked out over the group. "But I see what you mean. Well, let's get this party started." Putting a hand on my companion for support, she peeled off her own bikini bottoms. As she untied the strings to her top, she looked at him and asked "How about you?"

He just smiled and mumbled, "yeah, maybe later." Then he added, stiffly, "here, we brought a bottle of wine." But seeing that she had her bikini in her two hands, he said "uh, show me where you'd like me to put this."

We drew a fair amount of attention, us two naked girls, as we walked right through the middle of the group and in to the kitchen. We left the wine there, and the three of us each took a cold wine cooler.

When the three of us were alone inside the house, I turned to Ingrid as she dropped the pieces of her bikini onto a chair.