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Here is my entry for the Annual Nude Day Story Contest 2015. I hope you find it enjoyable because I had fun writing it. As this is a competition entry, please take a moment to rate the story. Of course, feedback as well is always very gratefully received; it is always lovely to hear from readers.

Thanks, as always, to Winterreisser for his editing, encouragement and support.

Happy reading,

Sue

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Looking at myself in the full length mirror I’m actually quite happy with what I see. It’s just a shame that Vincent never seems to react to me anymore; I doubt he’ll even notice the all-over tan I’m developing. Not that we’d ever had a particularly physically passionate relationship but he was, or had been, a caring, loving and considerate man. There had been sex, of course, but of a regular and rather dutiful sort; two or three times a month usually in the early years. However, it had been enough for me to fall pregnant twice and produce our two lovely daughters.

It is, I suppose, all just a little dull and disappointing. As a teenager I had thought myself sensual and sexually alive, even if was too shy to do much about it save when alone. Being overweight didn’t help much either and was probably quite a large part of the reason for my shyness. Still, those teenage years of daily (even several times a daily!) self-gratification had given me a range of masturbatory techniques that had helped to keep me satisfied since. Okay, maybe not entirely satisfied but certainly not desperate either.

I twist, trying to get a view of my bum which, with the gym and running regularly, is arguably my best bit; it’s the only part of my body that I’ve actually been admired for. I do look much better since my decision a little over two years ago, as I was turning forty. I had stood in front of this very mirror and saw the same, overlarge and saggy body that I’d always seen. I decided then that I wasn’t going to remain a forty-year-old frumpy, overweight woman with a nice personality but that was virtually ignored by her husband, subtly condescended to by her attractive friends and mocked by strangers. “Susan Jenkins, you are going to get slim if you have to starve yourself to do so; even,” I told myself, “if it kills you!”

Something inside me just clicked and, for the first time in my life, I dieted properly. By the end of the year I had lost just over five stones, which was also an even more impressive-sounding seventy-one pounds, and dropped eight dress sizes; go me! The memory of that year — the diet club, exercising and always feeling at least a little hungry — was still with me and helped me keep the weight off. I pick up the bottle of suntan lotion and begin applying it all over, starting with my face and neck, then my shoulders and arms and working down over my boobs and stomach. I try to ignore the stretch marks; they’ve faded a bit over the years and they were worth it, I tell myself, to have the girls.

Both girls are now at university; Helena, our eldest just finished her final year at York and is now in the States as a councillor at Camp America, while Katie, having completed her first year at Exeter University and not to be outdone by Helena, is travelling in Europe with her friend Maxine. It looks like the summer will mostly be a continuation of the past nine months with just Vince and me in the house now.

Since it’s late morning on a weekday, I am alone in the house, so applying sun lotion to my back presents something of a challenge. In fact, it takes a great deal of contortion: right arm over left shoulder, left arm over right shoulder, right arm up behind my back with lotion on the back of my hand and the same with my left hand…

Actually, given Vince’s habit of staying late at the office and going out with colleagues or meeting clients in the evenings, I am alone virtually constantly, which is one reason why I have two weeks of annual leave to use up. Why take time off to bum around an empty house? However, HR insisted that I should take my allocated leave, so here I am…

Now I spread the lotion over my bum and around my hips and then over my pussy, around and below the ever-shrinking trimmed triangle of my pubes.

With two weeks at home ahead of me, I had decided to do some decorating; the guest bedroom and the dining room were both looking very shabby, not that we ever had guests to entertain or to stay, but still. However, when Monday morning dawned bright, sunny and hot I decided the last place I wanted to go was to the DIY superstore and that I had no desire to spend my fortnight in paint-covered clothes. I had any number of books I wanted to read, a sun lounger in the garden shed and a daffodil-yellow bikini that I’d never got round to wearing. Yes, laying out in the sun for a week or two, or at least for as long as this good weather held, sounded much nicer.

Just my legs left to do; this whole body suntan lotion application certainly takes time.

So, on that bright Monday morning yalova escort two days ago, after setting up the sun longer and the garden parasol to provide some shade, I headed out in my bikini with my book and sunglasses, suntan lotion and a bottle of water to, for once, do something just for me.

I had been laying there a little while when it occurred to me how secluded the garden is. Due to the bend in the road this house, and the one next door, are at an angle to the others and are also set a little further back from the road. The result is that their gardens aren’t much overlooked, save by each other. Sadly, the neighbour next door, Mrs Janet Featherstone, died a month or so ago; sad, as I said, because she was a lovely woman and had always been interesting to talk to, so full of life and opinions and with a ready wit, but she had been well over eighty. I knew, therefore, that next door was for the time being, empty.

A mischievous, naughty idea crossed my mind and I stood up and walked around the garden, checking whether I could be seen from any other houses. The line of tall trees at the back meant that I was screened from that direction so that just left the houses either side. What I found was that so long as I stayed nearer to the house than the apple tree halfway down the garden I would only be visible from Mrs Featherstone’s now empty house. Was I being too cautious for what I was planning? Perhaps I was. Perhaps this caution is part of why I’m still with Vince; he represents security and safety, at least materially.

I returned to the lounger and sat down. My heart was beating quickly in anticipation because I had never done anything like this before as I reached behind my back and tugged the strings of my bikini top. Moments later my boobs were exposed for the world to see — if of course there was any person who could see me, which of course there wasn’t. Nevertheless, being so exposed and the sensation of the warm sun playing across my uncovered chest for the first time felt wonderful. I quickly applied sun lotion, fearing that the anaemically pale flesh of my boobs might start instantly to burn, before lying back and savouring my almost-nudity.

I was acutely aware of the air on my boobs and nipples and that they lay on my chest exposed and unconstrained. I wondered idly if I’d ever have the courage to go topless at a beach. My boobs weren’t particularly eye-catching; when I’d lost weight they’d shrunk, annoyingly, rather more rapidly than my tummy and hips. Still, at 36C they were still a reasonable size but I wasn’t sure I could do this in public. My bum, on the other hand… Some part of my mind suggested something even more mischievous and much scarier. Could I? Here? The idea was scary but bloody exciting too!

Nervously I reached down hooked my thumbs into the top of my bikini bottoms. I couldn’t help looking around just to check there was no one about, no neighbours at the end of their gardens, no workman unexpectedly on a rooftop, even that there was no hot air balloon passing overhead! With a sudden jerk I pushed the bottoms down and my pussy was exposed! Quickly I removed them completely and I lay there as naked as the day I was born. I felt light headed with the thrill of doing this, though I was still jumpy and nervous.

Slowly I began to relax and enjoy the feel of being outside and unconstrained by clothing for the first time. I closed my eyes to help me fully appreciate the sensations but suddenly remembered to apply lotion to my never-before exposed parts: getting sunburned on my mound or bum was not an appealing thought!

I dozed, first on my back then for longer on my front and, as my nervousness ebbed, I felt I could really get into this nudism; no, it was called ‘Naturism’ now, I recalled. When an hour or so later I walked back into the house, I was sold on the idea of spending as much time as possible without clothes on.

It’s worked too: the tan is really coming on and not a tan line in sight!

Vince arrived home late again last night, waking me as he came to bed at around half eleven. He went straight to sleep but I was restless. I got up to use the toilet and as I sat there it occurred to me that, at midnight, it would be the start of the summer solstice. Of course, I was going to go out and sunbathe nude again but what if I went nude for the whole day? The longest day of the year spent completely naked, how cool would that be? Why not go the whole hog; why not twenty-four hours naked? That would mean being naked when Vince woke up and, even better, when he walked in from work. Let’s see him not notice me then!

I wiped and flushed then stood to strip my nightie from my body and stuff it in the wash-basket. Naked, I walked back into the bedroom and slipped into bed. It felt good to have nothing except the bedclothes covering me; perhaps I should always sleep naked. It was also arousing and I was so tempted to get myself off but somehow it seemed wrong with Vince next to me. It wasn’t embarrassing or immoral or anything it was zonguldak escort just… well, he should be the one making me cum, if we’re together in bed. I think I actually hated him at that moment for being so indifferent to me and, for the first time ever, the idea of having an affair crossed my mind as an attractive possibility.

I woke late, having struggled to get back to sleep, and Vince was gone. I looked at the clock and I guessed it was his closing of the front door that had woken me. Well fuck him, I thought, still annoyed at him; I was naked and determined to stay so.

And so here I am, at last: all suntan lotioned-up and ready to go on nude day number three, or rather to continue nude day number three. I head downstairs and out to the garden. The weather has been good so far this week but it’s becoming increasingly muggy and humid and the weather forecast last night said there will be storms by the end of the week. As I step outside and slide the door shut behind me I see that the sky is a clear, pale blue that promises a very hot day ahead so I’m glad I decided to come out early.

I take a short walk around, staying well inside my safety line marked by the apple tree simply savouring the freedom I’ve come to enjoy so much. After my decision last night I am beginning to wonder if I ought to try naturism. I’d been terrified of someone seeing me that first morning but now… okay, I’m still nervous but it would be more than a bit erotic too. Of course, I’ll be naked when Vince walks in tonight but that’s not the same as a stranger seeing me. Would seeing me turn them on? God, after years of Vince’s indifference it would be wonderful to turn someone on!

I lie down on the lounger and try to read but sexy thoughts keep intruding. I have to admit that the last couple of days have made me more randy than usual and I’ve been masturbating often. Yesterday, after I came in during the late afternoon, I spent the next three quarters of an hour pleasuring myself on the bed and it was only by the third orgasm that I felt satisfied. Despite those orgasms, when I was lying next to Vince last night I’d felt randy again. Perhaps I should have masturbated then because this morning I feel so… wanton, so full of sexual desire that I cannot help caressing my bare skin.

It starts with my hand rubbing my thigh and hip but moves to my tummy, circling my belly button with my index finger. I cannot deny the urge to caress my boobs. I have to admit, I can feel that tingle of arousal that I am almost powerless to resist. I need to go inside but the thought of masturbating naked in my garden is doing weird things to my mind but that’s nothing to the effect it’s having on my pussy. I squirm my legs together and can feel the wetness oozing from me: that sensation was my undoing.

I lay back and open my legs a little to allow my hand access. My fingers reach down to trace my swollen labia; engorged, wet and gaping slightly they just beg to have my exploring digits slide between them. I try to be slow and steady and take my time but the knowledge of what I’m doing or, more accurately, where I’m doing it, is a huge stimulant. This is not fear of discovery — well, perhaps a little — but much more it is the thrill of pleasuring myself openly under the sky. My fingers curl deep inside me, seeking out my special spot at each thrust, while my other hand starts to strum my clitoris. Given how turned on I’m feeling I know I’ll not last long but I’m still a little surprised (and disappointed) when moments later my orgasm detonates within me, racking me with delightful spasms and making me gasp noisily.

The climax is intense but short lived, perhaps because all too quickly I become conscious again of where I am and find I need to look round to be sure I’m not being watched. Satisfied that no one is spying on me I relax, basking in the post-orgasmic afterglow. My fingers find my way into my mouth: I love the smell and taste of my pussy on them, my little bonus treat after I’ve cum as I suck them clean and, later, the subtle scent of sex on them as a reminder of the pleasure. I wonder if this is the same for everyone; do other women like the taste of themselves? What about men? I have sucked Vince off once or twice in the past but can’t say I cared for the taste much; far too salty.

Much as I love the taste of me, I am thirsty: the heat, not to mention the sweating as I pleasured myself, makes me want a long drink and I realize as I reach down that I forgot to bring any water. I stand up and stretch languidly as I look over the fence into Mrs Featherstone’s garden. The grass is long and overgrown now there is no one to tend it but there is a trail through it from the patio to the fishpond. I suspect one of the local cats is laying claim to the garden as part of its territory.

I turn and head to my house. Taking the door handle I press the little black latch to release the door so I can slide it open. It doesn’t move but it is a bit temperamental sometimes so I press harder; there’s a sharp click! zonguldak escort and the latch drops to the ground. I stare at it in uncomprehending shock for a moment before hesitantly bending down to pick it up. I turn it over in my hand to see the dull silver glint at one end where the metal has snapped. Looking behind the handle of the sliding door I can see, even touch, the matching silver-ended rod where the arm of the latch continues to whatever mysterious mechanism is in there that actually unlatches the door.

“Oh… fucking hell!” I exclaim loudly as I fight to contain the rising panic within me. While I can touch the broken end of the latch in the door, it is only just and certainly not enough to be able to move it and open the door. I glance around but I’ve no tools, even if I had the first idea of what tool would help. I’m locked out… stuck outdoors… and naked… “Fuckety, fuckety, FUCK!” I cannot help my voice rising in fear.

“Um, excuse me… what’s the matter? Can I help?” The female voice behind me scares me rigid, quite literally for a moment, before I spin round, wide eyed and stumbling. Looking over the fence is a young woman and my horrified gaze takes in her slightly rounded, heart-shaped face and blonde hair that is close cropped at the sides, tousled and spikey on top and dyed violet at the ends. There is a look of nervous concern on her face but this doesn’t stop me from taking a terrified step backwards. “Please, don’t be scared,” she adds and I resort to trying to cover myself with my hands and arms. I look at her, unable to speak. “Um, I’m your neighbour’s granddaughter, my name’s Nix,” she tells me. “I’m staying here, for a while anyway, um… Look, you really sounded like you were in trouble, can I help at all?”

“I’m locked out!” I lament. I’m still ineffectually trying to cover myself until it occurs to me firstly, that this girl, Nix, has probably already seen pretty well all of me, either before she spoke or when I turned round and, secondly, I must look a complete prat, trying to hide my bits like some bashful schoolgirl. I’d need much more confidence if I was ever to try naturism. With an effort of will I straighten up and let my arms drop to my sides. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” I say, trying for at least a modicum of dignity, “I was, well, sunbathing but now the door lock is broken and I’m shut out!” I cannot keep the panic from my voice.

“You don’t need to apologise for looking like that,” she says with a slight smile, “you have a very nice body.” The comment is both flattering and a little disconcerting at the same time. “As to the broken lock… hmm… do you have a front door key hidden under a stone somewhere perhaps?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” I tell her dejectedly when suddenly I remember something. “Oh, hang on a moment; Mrs Featherstone, I mean your Gran, we gave her a key when we went on holiday a couple of years back and I’m sure we never took it back.”

“Great! Only… I don’t know where it would be.” Nix thinks for a moment. “I know; why don’t you come in and help me find it?” Her voice is full of cheerful excitement as if this is all just some happy adventure. I don’t feel that’s all this is, not remotely, but her optimism is calming me a little.

“That sounds like a good idea, except I don’t think I can climb over the fence,” I point out but she just grins.

“Hopefully you won’t have to…” she says and heads down the garden. I cross the patio and follow her along the fence as she keeps bending down to look for something. “Ah ha! Here we are!” she suddenly exclaims. To my surprise three of the vertical boards in the fence swing to one side creating a triangular opening; it’s not huge but I’m just able to squeeze through. The fence board scrapes across my shoulder but a moment later I stand up and I’m able to see more than Nix’s head for the first time.

As just over five foot seven I think I’m slightly above average height but Nix is a good four inches shorter. She is wearing an oversize man’s soft cotton shirt, white with grey pinstripes and dotted with paint splashes and smears of many colours, the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned… and nothing else! She has a tattoo across her lower tummy: a sort of vine with small leaves and red and pink flowers. There is a similar tattoo on her right wrist but this one has flowers of dark and pale blues. She is nearly as naked as I am, her cleavage and inner half of each boob are visible, her tummy and, below, her hairless mound and pussy that seem to draw my eyes. She is not fat but her body has a softness and roundedness. Cute and attractive are definitely the adjectives for her.

I become aware that I’ve been staring when she says, “I can strip completely if you’d like a better look!” I drag my eyes up to her face, feeling totally embarrassed but she is grinning. “Come on into the house,” she invites, sparing me further awkwardness, and turns to almost skip up to back door of her Gran’s house. I follow but something is tugging at my memory: it must have been twelve or more years ago, a shy little blonde-haired girl who, for several weeks during each of three or four consecutive summer holidays, kept finding her way into my garden to play with Katie… “Nicola?” I ask. She turns in surprise and now she’s bashful.

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