Part Two: The Unbound Pleasure of Being Bare
Females are often referred to as the weaker sex, and while this might be true in terms of physical strength, there's more to life than just that. I personally believe that I'm weaker than most guys, and I'm fine with that. However, strength isn't the same as resilience and determination. Participating in the CMNF (Clothed Male, Naked Female) lifestyle calls for mental toughness and physical endurance.
I wouldn't consider myself an exhibitionist. I'd never been fully naked in front of an audience before I started enjoying the CMNF experience. To this day, that's not a part of my life. The appeal for me is the one-sided nudity I share with my partner, Rob. It arouses him, makes him feel more masculine, and me more feminine. I see it as giving him the gift of my naked body. The gift is unconditional - not a business transaction. When love and respect meet, keeping track of who owes what isn't necessary. I just want to see his pleasure. This doesn't make me any less of a woman, on the contrary, it's a celebration of my femininity and our connection.
I find one-sided nudity to be a rich and empowering aspect of my relationship with Rob. There's something special about being nude while my partner is fully clothed. It's a delightful contradiction: I enjoy the overwhelming feeling of being unclad in his presence, vulnerable yet accessible. The sensations are amplified by the contrast between his clothing and my bare skin.
The beauty of the CMNF lifestyle lies in imbalances like these. When we return home from a long day of work, I'm usually the first one to strip. It's my way of acknowledging that he's the head of our house. It's not about total control though; I'm still assertive. Taking off my clothes maintains the balance in our lives.
On to other matters...
For years, I disliked housework. I wasn't lazy or unappreciative of the value of domestic chores. It just wasn't for me. The mundane tasks left me feeling apathetic and drained. No matter how well I did them, the same thing had to be done over and over again, with little or no variety. Apart from that, I simply lacked the know-how, devotion, and patience required to do them well.
The only thing worse than housework was having people over as guests. I'd avoid hosting family gatherings because of the cleaning ordeal.
The shift in my attitude surprised even me.
Unlike many women, I've been fortunate enough to have a supportive partner who's always been willing to help with housework. It wasn't something that appealed to him initially, but he's come to enjoy it. We now look forward to our weekly cleaning sessions, and keeping our house clean has become a year-round affair. So, you might want to know what a typical housekeeping session with us looks like.
I get out of bed shortly after sunrise. I've been doing this since I moved in with Rob, which took some time to adjust to. I used to stay up late and sleep in, but now my morning routine begins right after waking up. I go to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. Still bleary-eyed, I prepare a cup of coffee and toast. As sunlight filters in through the windows, I'm aware of the cold air on my skin and the discomfort of the cold tiles under my feet. I'm used to it, however, and don't let it bother me. I've started most days this way, and it's become my norm. Rob appears in the doorway to catch the scent of fresh coffee. He embraces me from behind, warming me with his own body heat while he massages my neck and caresses my breasts.
"Feels better?" he asks.
"Almost," I reply. "A little more..."
As the hugging finishes, Rob starts frying his eggs, tomatoes, and bacon. I shudder at the thought of starting the day with a heavy stomach. And I avoid the glowing heat and the hissing pan dripping oil. An apron is ready for me on a hook nearby, but it won't be necessary.
We sit on the patio to eat. The rising sunlight smoothes my goosebumps. After we clear and wash up, we immediately start our chores. There's no specific schedule. Today we begin in the living room, with me vacuuming and dusting, Rob cleaning the blinds. It's liberating, in a way, to work naked because we are so used to wearing clothes that it's easy to forget that being unclothed is our natural state. Therefore, removing your body's restrictions brings a fresh sense of freedom. Once our chores are done, it feels unnatural to dress. Unless we're going out, I don't.
Rob, of course, is fully clothed. He's not wearing a tuxedo, just shorts and a T-shirt. Every once in a while, he stops to admire me, appreciative and (I believe) admiring. He's seen me naked often enough that it's no longer a novelty; however, the sight of me laboring naked still turns him on. And it has the same effect on me when he looks at me that way.
Who knows why I find it attractive that he looks at me that way. Maybe I'm biased; but just think about penises. I have no desire for one, but they have their uses. (That phrase might provoke laughter.) I openly acknowledge that I'm not titillated by Rob naked as much as he is when he looks at me. I'm not saying I won't look at naked men, just that the female form is more visually appealing. As a well-known (but maybe not accurate) fact, women are more drawn to tactile and emotional stimulation, while men are more aroused by visual stimulation. Though not a fan of the "Men are from Mars, women are from Venus" slogan, there are differences between men and women. For instance, women are more socially conscious, oriented toward relationships, and sensitive to how others see them. When men dress to impress, they enjoy the good feelings that their self-chosen image creates. Women receive satisfaction and fulfillment from evoking good feelings in others. It's not pandering. It's being true to ourselves, expressing our own sexual, feminine identity.
If our roles were reversed, if Rob was my boss in the department, he wouldn't be stripping down every night when he gets home. He's cautious about exposing his own body. But it's not a sexist double standard, because he knows I enjoy pleasing him. So while the nudity is limited to one person, the pleasure is reciprocal. We're both happy.
Now, there's a slight chance, but it's unlikely, that a visitor will pass by the path, peer through the window, and see me in my non-clothed state. Normally, we keep our blinds closed during our CMNF (Clothed Male, Naked Female) sessions, but while Rob is cleaning them, they're open to anyone. It's one of the risks I'm willing to take, which adds to the difference that makes my nakedness more than just a lack of clothes.
By lunchtime, we're almost done. I'm on all fours, scrubbing the kitchen floor. Rob returns from sweeping the patio. He crouches behind me and starts massaging my butt, kneading the flesh and separating my cheeks. Should I tell him no or prepare for penetration? It's one of the consequences of being unclothed. You're appealing and you're accessible. But he's simply being silly. And when he jumps back up, I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not.
In the afternoon, I decide to stay bare for the rest of the day. We'll both be spending the afternoon in the study. I'm preparing a tutorial session on singularity theorems and geodesically incomplete spacetimes (more exciting than it sounds), and Rob is helping me. So there's no reason for me to be naked except... why not? The leather chair, our house's plushest piece of furniture, feels great against my bare skin. Rob sits beside me, and at times my breast will touch his shirt, my thigh his pants. Even after so much time, it still arouses me. However, by late afternoon, the temperature has dropped, and we don't have heating appliances (they give me a headache).
"Aren't you getting cold?" Rob inquires.
"No," I reply.
At the core of my existence is my passion for laborious tasks, believe it or not, specifically, the sweeping, scrubbing, and yardwork taking place on this secluded property. Now, one might wonder how such a predilection for sweat and dirt has unfolded. Well, I shall inform you. The dwelling we reside in is older than most, dating back many moons ago, which means a great deal of restoration is required.
Our home's seclusive location is a delight, concealed from the prying eyes of the outside world by a considerable assortment of greenery. It sits on a quiet lane, shielded from onlookers by rows of trees and vibrant vegetation. However, in return for this peaceful escape, we must tend to our garden every month, allocating a weekend for the myriad tasks that lay before us, from replacing friable wood to dyeing over it, and then some. Each assignment demands its own level of investment, ranging from laborious to monotonous and occasionally messy.
A peculiarity of this arrangement is that my man, Rob, is outfitted head to toe in clothing, protected from the befitting elements, whilst I toil alongside him, concurrently working and serving as visual décor. Yes, I forego comfort and, in some instances, modesty in the process, though my appearance might be considered more adorable than erotic with my work boots, gloves, safety goggles, and an oversized straw hat. Rob now feigns obliviousness to my presence, yet he occasionally lets loose a chuckle. When I inquire about the source of his amusement, he informs me how adorable I appear.
"My little, grubby girl," he flavors his endearment.
When evening transitions into nightfall, Rob unselfishly presents his assistance in cleansing the grime away from my outer shell.
Could it be that my imposed deprivation grants me an additional boost to his arousal? There's a possibility, although I'm uninterested in confirming it. When I'm the one baring the brunt of the inconvenience, it's my decisions that matter most. Besides, I enjoy embracing the pleasure that emanates from exploring my limits.
Put simply, I find strength in my unclad plight - not in provoking others, but in my internal resiliency and self-esteem. What I yearn for in CMNF (clothed male, nude female) is unconventional: asserting personal decisions, defining one's own fate, and embracing a lifestyle that aligns with these unconventional choices. It entails mustering courage and enduring adversity. Alas, this doesn't necessitate a society-revolution, though it does require determination and courage.
In conclusion, I've gleefully embraced my nudity, even within the confines of our home. I retain those initial qualms, but the accompanying desire and satisfaction transform my awkwardness into something enticing. My femininity dominates my everyday life, as I waltz around, carrying out domestic chores or simply unwinding with a book or the television. My unadorned body, in close proximity to his properly attired form, is a declaration of my love and devotion, a method of celebration and admiration.
Additionally, I am aware of the symbolism embodied in my self-consciousness and vulnerability. My nakedness safeguards my identity, the display of my body for Rob eliciting both erotica and endearment. As depicted by Shania Twain, I stand unclothed and proud: "Man, I feel like a women!" My nudity offers an expression of my affection in addition to my sexuality.
"Man, I feel like an empowered woman!"
It's currently nine o'clock at night, and I'm in my comfortable, spacious leather chair. I'm, of course, completely undressed. Outside, it's chilly, and my skin feels a mix of coolness from the air, the smooth leather of the chair on my bare back, buttocks, and thighs. My husband just entered with a warm cup of hot cocoa. I take a sip from the mug, and when I place it down, he approaches me. Running his fingers through my hair, he kisses and strokes my neck, massaging my shoulders, and strategically caressing my breasts. His fingers are like frozen cold ice.
"I just felt a shiver," he says without realizing the reason. "Put on some clothes or come to bed."
"I'm almost done," I reply as I continue to type.
While Rob has read all of my erotic stories, he has never protested when they're personal. So, I assume he's just trying to sound aloof.
"So this isn’t unusual then," he remarks.
However, I'm now finished with my writing. Let me save the file.
The next morning's addendum: The session was temporarily moved to the bedroom, but my night was far from complete. But that's another tale.
Read also:
- In Vietnam, $20 Can Purchase... Part 1
- I'll Help You Reveal All Ch. 05
- Nudist Treasure Hunt: Chapter 5 by Furga
- Stories from Chastity Island
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