So there we were, the two of us, naked and alone on my sofa. I can’t remember ever being alone like that with man who was not my partner or a sexually-motivated suitor. But there was no flirting. He was the perfect gentleman, and I behaved myself, while we sipped wine and talked about his great passion: naturism/nudism.
He did ask if my partner — who wouldn’t be coming over till the next day — might be uncomfortable with the fact that he and I would be nude together. I explained that my partner trusts me and was perfectly aware that he and I would be together.
And the evening unfolded like it would have had we been fully clothed: two friends chatting.
Such is the way of nudism: it’s not about sex, even when you put a sexy woman (modest me) and a handsome hunk (him) in a situation that at first glance appears to have all the ingredients of a steamy sexual encounter.
It’s not to say that my guest and I were oblivious to each other’s bodies. In different circumstances, who knows if we would have been sexually motivated as well. But the parameters of our friendship had been set in advance. As it is for most naturists in public situations.
Sweet . . .