Annemarie's story You Could go Naked
Melanie stood in her dining room, in her bra and knickers while her friend Eva whisked the tape measure up and down and around and around. Today was the cutting out of the latest outfit her friend was making for Melanie. - green silk with a draped neckline to compliment her deep auburn hair which framed a creamy complexion and limped dark eyes. " I'll do it in centimetres then we won't know your size," said her friend, pencil, clenched between her lips. " And what is the event this time?" she asked. "We'll he's just landed a new job and we've been invited to dinner by his future boss to meet the rest of the group. I just hope I do him proud after all those months he's been without a job. So humiliating...my poor old Tony." "You worry too much about how you'll look, what to wear etc. but with your gorgeous face and figure you could just go naked! Forget about 'poor old Tony', he's lucky to have you. And you don't have to wear this green silk dress, you may feel more comfortable in your burnt orange one that like so much. Just whatever makes you feel really good." Measurements noted they both sat down to Melanie's toffee and apple cake, which was always tastier than other apple cakes. She prided herself on being a stay-at-home mum; her three boys off to school wrapped in crisp , freshly ironed shirts and their mother's hugs, lunchboxes filled with home cooked leek flan, banana loaf and fruit. Eva was not too keen on Tony, well she really didn't like him at all; she thought him extremely selfish. When he was made redundant recently, for months he stubbornly took the commuter train...and a fair part of their budget...into London each day (so nobody would know he was out of work) while Melanie took on extra aromatherapy work to keep the money coming in. A couple of weeks later Melanie and Eva met for a final fitting and handover of the dress. Melanie arrived late, her face red and blotchy, tear-dampened strands of auburn hair clinging to her cheeks. "What on earth's the matter?" "It's Tony," Melanie sobbed. "All the time he was going into London 'to see about a job' he was meeting up with some woman. And the dinner with his new boss is just a week away.. I don't know how I will cope... I don't know what to do," she whimpered. "Well, if you ask me," said Eva " he has always been utterly selfish. You let him walk all over you and you're worth so much more. You'll look stunning in your new dress and maybe he'll realise what he's risking - a fabulous wife and three gorgeous boys. Take your time and don't act rashly; think about what YOU really deserve. You'll get through it. Let's have lunch together afterwards and you can tell me how things are between you. Now let's try on the killer dress." As predicted Melanie looked a dream, even with her blotchy face and rather bedraggled hair. Eva couldn't believe she had had three children. " Just be brave and beautiful - you'll be fine," said her friend putting a comforting arm around Melanie. Two days after the dinner they met up for lunch in a cosy Italian bistro, Eva was anxious to know how her friend was feeling, how she was coping. Melanie arrived looking buoyant, taller somehow and yes, with a look of defiance. "We'll, how did it go? How are you feeling? How are things with Tony?... and the dinner.. were you okay? Which dress did d you wear?..." "Too many questions, Eva," Melanie interrupted. "First I'm fine. Dinner was a blast and I didn't wear either dress." "Well what did you wear?" asked Eva. "Nothing! Well not exactly nothing - I wore a wig." "But Melanie your hair is your crowning glory..." "Not on my head, down below, a merkin - you should have seen their faces when I took my coat off... and Tony ..well he was furious, grabbed my coat, threw it round me and apologising profusely that I was ill, he tried to push me through the front door. I refused and asked the host to call me a taxi so that Tony could continue with the dinner. I have never felt so empowered or laughed so much, seeing those shocked faces. Hmm, I wonder if Tony will work with them after all. So, yes, I took your advice, Eva."
Paula's stories (2)
The famous
fashion designer stood with his favorite model of the moment at the top of the
main staircase of Le Grand Palais in Paris. “You are going to end the show,” he
told her. “You are going to bring about the grand finale. And here’s how you
will do that.”
Pierre Marc turned her so that she was facing the vast room from the top of the stairs. “After all the models have completed their final walks on the runway,” and he gestured to the elevated stage and walkway far below them, “you will return backstage with the others, but you, and only you, will get into the white silk robe that all of you wear while being made ready for your entrances.”
She waited, as he took a deep breath. His excitement was almost palpable, and she was intrigued by what he might say next. He moved to stand behind her as he said, “You will walk out here, just here, just at this very spot, and I will be here. I will be behind you, just as I am now. I will take the silk of your robe into my hands and elegantly cast it off your body in one fell swoop.”
She nodded, wondering what was coming. “So, I will be standing here, at the top of the grand staircase, with nothing on?” she asked.
“Oui, just so!” Pierre enthused, as he returned to her side. “You will be wearing nothing but a pair of sky-high heels. Then if you just go naked, slowly, ever so slowly, down the steps to the landing, you will be met there by my top dresser, who will quickly and deftly clothe you in my piece de resistance: the gown that is sure to be on the next cover of French Vogue! Then, you will continue down the stairs to the stage, where I will be there to greet you. And we will walk together down the runway, to the cheers and whistles of everyone assembled to see this, my masterpiece!”
Again, she nodded, once, twice. “I think I understand,” she said. “You are illustrating in real time how a design goes from nothing, from the nude model, to everything, the dress that will define the very season.”
“You do understand!” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “That is the very concept I am trying to convey: how a designer takes the empty dress form and transforms it, with time and textiles and talent, into a gown that every woman desires. I knew I had made the right choice in you.”
She shrugged her bony shoulders, and said, “I trust you. I’ll do it.”
The designer’s No. 1 dresser, watching nearby, whispered to herself, “Of course you will. He is going to make you a star, an overnight sensation.” Clad in her normal dowdy working attire of a pin-marked apron and flats, Edith muttered, “It’s not fair. We toil for months on his vision, we work around the clock, we give everything we’ve got to this work, and who gets the spotlight? The models. The models get to take the final bow with the great designer. And we get nothing. And the day after the collection is shown to global acclaim, we immediately begin work on the next year’s designs. And these models, they all go off to relax on some exotic beach. It’s not fair.” She shook her head bitterly and turned away.
Two days later, all was ready. Le Grand Palais sparkled from top to bottom. Chairs were arrayed fifteen deep from the U-shaped runway to the edges of the huge room. As hundreds of fashionistas, journalists, and hangers-on poured into the room, engraved invitations in hand, white-coated and white-gloved servers passed among them with coupes of Champagne. As the lights dimmed, everyone took their seats, and the show began.
All went smoothy. The front row was packed with the fashion icons of the moment: Chloe Sevigny, Kate Moss, Anna Wintour, Zoe Saldana, Charlotte Gainsborough, all looking magazine-perfect in their trend-setting garb. They crossed their long, elegant legs in their impossibly high heels and squinted through their fashionable sunglasses at the incredible outfits parading past them, some making notes in their programs, others taking photos for their Instagram accounts, but only Wintour calmly and thoroughly assessing each look as it passed her.
And then, it was time for the grand finale. The house lights went down again, and a spotlight picked out a single model at the top of the grand staircase. Very tall and very slender, she wore a simple white silk robe. The crowd murmured as Pierre, almost hidden in the darkness behind her, snatched the garment from her shoulders. For an instant, she stood nude, in the blinding light, then she began a slow descent. Camera flashes constantly split the darkness as she walked sedately down the 20 steps to the landing.
There, Edith stood in the shadows with the masterpiece in her hands. As the model faced the spellbound audience, she held her chin high, waiting for the expert dresser to quickly fasten the gown around her. Instead, Edith, hidden from view, stretched a steady hand out toward the naked woman, and shoved hard. The model’s skinny body convulsed, and flew down the stairs, bouncing and tumbling until she reached the bottom of the steps in a motionless heap.
A collective gasp went up, and the flashes continued to strobe. Pierre, waiting backstage, rushed to the model’s side, and cried out, “But it is not possible! She is dead!”
During the ensuing pandemonium, the dresser, disguised in designer duds, stiletto heels, and dark glasses, slipped into the shocked crowd. She melted right into the fashionable audience; no one noticed that her designer outfit was a knock-off, her heels were cheap, and her sunglasses were from a sidewalk stand. In a flash, she was out onto the street, where she walked calmly toward the Seine and a waiting taxi, her ticket to Ibiza nestled next to her passport in her fake Prada bag, right next to the large pile of cash she had lifted from her boss’s studio safe.
******************************
How to please a woman:
Compliment her.
Bring her flowers.
Spend time with her.
Rub her back.
Rub her feet.
Make dinner for her.
Tell her how much you adore her.
Write her a poem.
Give her your undivided attention.
Watch old movies with her.
Run her a bubble bath, then leave her alone with a book, a candle, and a glass of wine.
Take long walks with her.
Surprise her.
Take her to her favorite restaurant.
Plan trips with her.
Do the laundry.
Buy her jewelry.
Protect her.
Support her.
Go shopping with her.
Make a big deal of her birthday.
Anticipate her needs.
Be proud of her.
Love her unconditionally.
How to please a man:
If you just go naked …
_____________________________________________
Sarah's story
If you just go naked 1
(03.12.2025, rev. 04.01.2026 – for January 2026)
"But what can I possibly wear?" whined Sheila. This was just as usual. Clio summoned up her reserves of patience and said evenly, "The turquoise full-length is lovely. And just right for the occasion."
"No, it's not! I've already worn it several times. It'll look as if I can't afford anything new."
"Well, then, buy something new."
"But I can't afford it!"
"Well, then how about the black one with the lace? It's very elegant, and so discreet no-one will be able to remember if they've ever seen it before."
"That's just the problem. It has no dash. This is no ordinary occasion, as you know. The chairman is counting on me to woo the funds we need. I want to 'wow' them. Knock them for a loop!"
"Well," said Clio, who was losing patience, "if you just go naked you'll knock 'em dead."
Sheila didn't laugh, but put on one of her sour, older-sister looks of commiseration.
"Time I was going," said Clio, and she was gone. But she had an idea.
On the evening of the fund-raiser, Clio, who had been invited solely as an impecunious family relative who could not be ignored but who was not expected to donate much and who knew absolutely no-one else in the vast reception room, looked around her with satisfaction. Boring lot, the whole of them. So much the better. Then she caught sight of her sister, looking at her from across the room, and that look had in it not only a questioning disapproval but a commanding invitation to cross the room and offer up an explanation.
"Wherever did you get that?" she hissed when Clio was in hearing range.
"It was Grandma's. Mink. Don't you remember?" A coat, nearly ankle-length that had probably cost thousands but which even their mother and their aunts had never dared to wear.
"You simpleton. Especially not in this season, it's already April."
"Yes, the air did seem balmy as I was coming along the Portland Road."
"You didn't walk here! That sort of thing is just inviting the animal lovers to attack you in the street."
"They're none of them out there any more. They don't expect to find people nowadays wearing furs."
"And it looks terrible. Don't you realize coats like that are no longer in fashion? I'm not going to let on that I know you. Remain discreet!"
And Sheila gave a little flick of her hand as if to shoo away her sister, who only laughed and gave a little wave in return, and made her way back to where she had been standing before. But she would amaze Sheila before the evening was over, she thought, and turned her gaze to the gathering throng. Such an unattractive lot as a whole, she thought. The women's heavy jewelry only accentuated the lines in their leathery faces, and as for the men, well, she pitied their wives.
People had felt sorry for her, and sympathized deeply with her when she had lost her husband three years before in a climbing accident, a handsome and intelligent man, and of course she had grieved deeply, but there had been no children for her to raise on her own, and she had her job to make her financially secure. And she had her memories. Then friends had begun to organize chance and not-so-chance meetings with men who could in no way rival with those memories, and it seemed to her now she had been right. They would all have turned out to be like these, wouldn't they?
As she took a glass of champagne from a passing tray, a voice said, 'Oh! I was just going to offer you one of those myself."
She turned and a man of late middle age was bowing so obsequiously that she almost laughed. "Thank you anyway," she said, instead. "It's as if you had."
He was looking curiously at the fur coat.
"You must be very warm," he said. "Allow me?"
But she jumped back skittishly. "Oh, no, I couldn't! You see, I've got nothing underneath."
As his eyes widened, she added conspiratorily, "Not a stitch."
She could see the greedy curiosity leaking out of the corner of his eyes, so she followed this up with "Would you like a peek?" and before his shocked reaction could put itself into words she added meaningfully, "For the cause. £50." And she winked.
This was too much for him and he followed her meekly behind the potted palms. She held out her hand and he put the banknote in it which she stowed in the pocket of the coat, and then slowly, archly, she pulled away the lapels to reveal, as she well knew, the tops of a snowy breast with a deep cleavage and the slightest glimpse of rosy tits. Then she snapped them shut again, and laughed prettily. "That's it. All for the cause!" and led the way determinedly back to the crowd.
As she expected, not a minute passed before she was approached by another one of the unprepossessing males who had probably been hauled here by their wives and were trying to fight the boredom as well as they could.
"Are you ... Is it ...?"
"Yes," she said and led him towards the potted palms. There were two or three more like that, and she patted her pocket with satisfaction. Then there was one who looked quite flustered. He almost pushed her towards the palms. Once they were reasonably out of sight of the mob, she turned, to see him gazing at her fifth button down. She put out her hand, for he surely must know that this was a fund-raising action.
"Er, ah," he said, fumbling again, "could one see, er, the bottom?"
"Now that would be a hundred," she said and took it, then, pretending not to understand, she turned round and pulled up the coat to reveal, as she knew, some very white, very well-rounded buttocks, but only for a moment.
"Ah, but I meant ..." It was almost painful to see a person so at a loss for words. But she made as if to understand at last. "But that would be another hundred," she said.
And having pocketed that she slowly pulled apart and up the lower pans of the coat to reveal, as she well knew, an exceptionally fine pair of legs and a magnificent black brush. And then the curtain came down again.
His disappointed look, along with the gesture towards his wallet once again made her interrupt quickly. "No, no," she said. "Remember, this is a charity event. Let's not get carried away!" and she led him out again, gave him a bright smile and turned the other way.
In less than an hour, she must have taken in a huge amount, she thought, and as there was a lull in the visitors she retired behind the palms to count it. She had got to well over a thousand and there was more to count when it occurred to her that there was a downside to this fund-raising activity. Despite the unattractiveness of the various bidders for a glance at her charms, all that Peeping Tom business was in fact making her feel horny, and she could tell that she was already moist between the legs.
Just then a face poked itself around the palms. An arresting face, younger than most of the others, not strictly handsome but attractive, perhaps because of the sly humour glinting from the dark eyes. She recognized him as someone she had seen before and had thought she rather fancied. He came fully round and she stashed the banknotes in the coat pockets which were, fortunately, wide and deep.
"How much?"
"That depends," she began, but he was already undoing his belt. "No, no," she said in alarm.
"Shhh," he said, "don't make a scandal. Let's have some fun. It's all for charity, isn't it then?" His hands were already under the coat, softly playing with her firm but pliable breasts. As they brushed her nipples she felt her legs weakening.
"Besides," he said, "we'll both like it," as he slid easily into her.
And she did like it. It had been so long ... But how could she give way here? As if he had read her thoughts, he was pushing them back gently into a small room, or closet rather, pushing the door shut behind them. "Let yourself go," he whispered. And the temptation was too much to resist.
But suddenly the door pushed open again behind them.
"Oops," somebody said, "Oh, Peter," and the door shut again.
"He didn't see you," Peter said. "Nobody will know." But the moment was broken, and she felt a decided shock of disappointment. He must be a rake, this Peter. But so attractive! As she came gradually to herself again in what seemed to be a small kitchinette, he was already pushing out a sheaf of notes into her hand.
"But you can't go back like that," he said, guiding her towards another door, and she realized she must be noticeably flushed. The door, she saw, was marked "Ladies". "Pull yourself together," he said, winked, and shut the door.
She sat there for a few minutes until she had calmed down, and looked at what he had given her. £300! That helped bring her to her senses, and she shook herself awake. Mustn't stay out too long or it would look odd.
Re-entering the main room, she spied her sister, alone for once and not far from the door.
"Where have you been?" Sheila asked accusingly, as Clio came up to her.
"The ladies," she said. "And I'm very tired. I'm going home."
"I can't take you home now! There's still the speech to make and I was counting on you to go round and smile and coax them to give."
"I can go by myself," Clio said, slipping the fat wad of notes into her hands. "And I haven't wasted my time. See here: I've talked to lots of people, and convinced them of the worthiness of the cause."
Sheila stood before her, open-mouthed. "How ... ?" she began, as Clio turned to go.
"Wait a minute," said a voice beside her. It was Peter. "You can't go home alone. Not in that coat. Let me drive you."
And as he steered her out of the room, he added conspiratorily. "Unfinished business!"
_________________________________________
Jackie's story
I just go naked
The old lady sat on the edge of the narrow bed, the palms of her hands spread out on her knees, head down, staring at the folds of her stomach which obstructed the view of her pubic hair and the top of her thighs. She felt a slight tingling feeling in her toes - cold – a draught drifted over her body - she shivered - She was totally naked and oblivious to the video camera whirring above her.
What was she doing sitting on this narrow couch – her bottom sticking to the leather type fabric – she gently lifted one buttock and then the other hoping that no moisture would soil the fabric.
Her reflection stared back at her, the entire room mirrored from floor to ceiling; that plunged herself into a desperate longing to avoid looking up at her own reflection. There was no escape from her naked self
Could she get up and leave when she wanted? She looked around for some clothes – there were none neither blanket, towel or curtains to hide behind. Could she leave this room totally naked.
Who was she really in this skin of hers?
She had never been totally naked before in front of anybody even husband and boyfriends. Being of a prudish nature she started to worry about whom could come into this room ….
Someone entered with a white paper and pen in hand.
“What am I doing here?”
You don’t remember signing up for an internet questionnaire? – we were looking for people to participate in the naked session – to see how they would react to be without any clothes. Apparently you belong to a writing group - we found you there under the theme “I just go naked”–…how do you feel now - naked?
“Well, I feel ashamed of how I have neglected my body over the years , I feel raw, stripped and uncomfortable, cold and unprotected.
Most people find the real “me” when they are naked – is this the case with you?
“I don’t feel like me,” My body is pink with wrinkly skin, flabby underarms and dark sunspots and loads of ugly freckles.
I’m me when I wear clothes and can turn myself into whom I want with a sweater or jacket, dress, or jewelry and shoes - So you are only yourself when you are hiding behind clothes?
Its called expressing your personality. Clothes give you dignity – clothes make the woman.
Well you are free to go but there is one last test ; next door there are 20 people having a cocktail party. Walk into the room and pretend that you have clothes on – If you manage a conversation with at least 3 people then you will have won -…..
“What do I win? You win a ticket to wellness and freedom and to feeling peaceful and beautiful from now on.
( It came to her afterwards that she couldn’t remember whether the person who had come into the room was clothed or naked. ! )
