I have been naked full time for 2 days and counting.

How come, you will ask?

The bare fact is that two days ago I went to my bedroom, disrobed and neatly stored away, respectively threw in the wash all that I was wearing. I was not to visit my wardrobe again for a fortnight.

But why would I want to be naked?

You know that I am no stranger to being nude, in private and, as I practised during my twenties, in public. But never for this long. I am used to spending mornings and an occasional quiet afternoon naked depending on commitments etc. My maid comes in Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 11 am for the remainder of the day before dinner. I dress for her on those days. It has been a lifetime ambition to be bare for many days on end, so that I would hardly remember what being dressed would feel like.

Yes, but be more specific, please.

The main objective is having me renew my relation with my body, by being conscious of myself, or indeed by being truly natural while naked. Secondly, I relish the theoretical possibility of being seen and shocking, provoking and charming people that way. Also, it is simply good to be relatively 'weightless' and feel the flows of air around one's body. Then, I am a masturbation slut and I wish to see whether I can control myself while being so conscious of myself. Would being 'natural' prevent the urge? Finally, I will be able to test my resilience during any spell of distinctly coldish weather. Sure, it is late spring now, but a cold spell may occur. (It is for cold that man started dressing, so I am told. It could be shame instead though, as some 'natural people' do maintain.)

Why now?

The opportunity arose when my husband suddenly went on an extended business trip. A fortnight. Unhappy as I was to see him disappear, the idea to make the most of it was ready in my head. I cancelled my maid for the period. After he had left the house and I had sipped a melancholic, self-pitying cup of coffee, I pulled myself up and disrobed, pledging to get dressed only by his return. I also shaven again, all but my scalp and eyebrows. You know that not long ago I had shaven my pubes for the first time in a year or two. So quickly I could repeat the pleasure, and add the full body element too, for the first time in a decade! All this took me an hour or two, at the end of which my mind was firmly off self-pity, onto the challenge ahead.

So here I am. Naked. As Nature intended...

I have resolved to not using my hands or any other means for covering up my vital parts for modesty, should I been seen by anyone. And I know there will be those spells where I will at least imagine people seeing me.

Similarly, I will not cross my legs and will always sit with knees apart. As my idol 'O' clearly states, true submission requires one to act as if the Master could appear on the scene at any moment, when one least expects it, and demand access. I have no Master, but wish to pretend I do. Dabbling with BDSM...

I will not sleep under any bedclothes. I just pray that the temperature will allow this.

I also searched for opportunities to see my body in the most unfavourable, degrading light. Secretions... When going to the toilet, I will squat on the toilet seat and watch my openings with a mirror and observe the products emerge. To close out this item immediately, I feel awkward doing this, but not especially 'low'. The sight of urine emerging from my sex leaves me totally neutral, as do the droppings, as it were. The sight of my vagina herself simply pleases me. The slight feeling of arousal (oh, I, the narcissist!) disappears when the products come and that is that.

Today I have set myself the task to make two lists.

One is a log of everything I do, indicating the action, the time and the place. I try to be detailed, but have to exclude actions such as the very movements I make now, writing this down. Still the level of detail is ridiculous, in practical terms. What the point is? The banality of one's existence under a magnifying glass. I want to be super conscious of what I do, therefore what I am. Everything I eat and drink is noted, and what I appliances I use. (I note that the purpose of eating is the sustenance of the body, which is what I am all about at the moment.) I note the involuntary acts, such as breaking wind (I confess: my pretty ass broke wind twice, albeit with little to no sound! I ate baked beans for breakfast, quite on purpose.) On the other hand, I did not belch. The exhibitionist I am, I take absolutely no pleasure in such unladylike acts. (No irony intended.) This list is ridiculous indeed, because I spend quite some time making it and this draws me back to the writing table very frequently. It thereby strongly influences what I do. Still, I simply continue. Never mind the scientific implications.

So I note the frequency of my visits to the toilet, for example, differentiated by the disposition of fluids or solids, and observe the relation with what I eat and drink, and when. I also note how I masturbated twice in the afternoon, once 'by accident' during the reading of 'O' (where René has given her the task to throw out the unsuitable clothes, which O deposits on the bed, naked all the while, a task which is preceded by O seeing her naked form in the mirror and thus realising her pride and her status as a slave for the first time), and once after reading the entry on the log page and stimulated by the very memory of the original orgasm. Mmmm...

I have numbered the entries and count over 150 when I go to bed. The script for an ordinary day in the life of just another woman, never to performed again.

The other list I make is on the use and abuse of my (woman's) bodily openings, vagina, anus, mouth, nose and, arguably, eyes and ears. Possible use and disuse, that is, not what I myself have been subjected to. I start with the conventional uses, entry for food and drink, for sound, smell and sight, for smoking, exit for urine and faeces. Entry for the penis - no, entries, multiple entries! In this way, my dirty mind soon concentrates on sex. If the penis may enter not only the vagina and the mouth, but also the anus, is there also a way for 'it' to engage with nose, eyes and ears? I have had sperm in my nose, eyes and ears... And I think of all the other things that may enter the openings, from dildos, vibrators to coke bottles and candles, to broomsticks and cucumbers, to fists. I think of plugs, duo balls and of ways to prevent entry, such as chastity belts, piercings to help the locking up, of infibulation (sowing up of the vagina), female circumcision. I think of enemas, of electrical shock devices for either vagina or anus. Of ball gags, earplugs and blindfolds. I think of the ranges of tortures surrounding the openings, of whipping and lashing, the placing of clothespins and needles. My mind drifts to the famous film by Bunuel and Dali, Un Chien Andalou, in which an eye is dissected, and to Van Gogh and Paul Getty III or IV, who had their ears cut off. Drifting and drifting... the list is endless and dominated by man-made use and abuse. One thing is clear: the list is endless, precisely because one is really going for the mind, that centre of a person, which is illusive and not to be located!

These lists... What is the meaning of life? Do you know, dear diary? (We laugh about it, my diary and I.)

A day of leisure. The day is perfect. Not a cloud about, the sun high and a slight, refreshing breeze. All I do is sunbathe on a stretcher outside, apply sunlotion frequently and read a book. When I do eventually tend to become grilled, I mobilise a parasol and continue to stretch out and read. In the afternoon, white wine, sandwiches with salmon. The biggest excitement is when I doze off, only to wake up after what must have been an hour or so, the book in my lap. Now I may not only have been observed unbeknown to myself, but even touched. No evidence of either posibility. If I have been seen, will I ever know? (Dear Judge, I did not deliberately use the book for modesty!)

A big day today. I will meet someone.

Before this opportunity came up, I had made appointments with two of my friends from our local art scene, which I have not yet cancelled. One is a guy, the one who maintains my site, so he does know about my existence as 'Vanna Vechian, erotic writer'. You know, he is the only person in my vanilla reality that does! I am not interested in making out with him, but I am wondering whether I will dare to stay naked with him just like in my 'Statuesque Beauty' days. I am certain that he will not assault me.

The other is my one of my best female vanilla friends, who does not have a clue of my Vanna Vechian existence. Generally, I am not the type that makes a habit of shopping for clothes with a friend and in the process show or see a lot of the respective flesh. I do occasionally see the flesh of friends in the dressing rooms of swimming pools or gyms. Flashing flesh, as we hardly appear to make a show of it or have a soft woman-to-woman intimacy scene. Not that I have any objection again the former or latter. It is just not my chosen life.

My friend then. She is very nice of course, but 'square', so I do not know how she will feel. But then, who knows she is like me, because I cultivate a fairly square image too in the vanilla reality. I trust she will not freak out and alarm the neighbourhood, our circle or my husband. But there is only one way to ever find out.

She is due first and I do not cancel her.

Well, I did think I'd prepare her. We are a two-woman book club. General contemporary fiction, which we each read and then discuss during a nice get together once or twice a month. Occasionally, we get together and read. We complement each other, in that we each present different points of view which we are then able to convey quite well during spirited discussions. On the first day of my nude fortnight I mailed her my own 'A Statuesque Beauty' to read, without saying I was the author and heroine, which I still have not. I presented it with the confession that I was interested in erotic literature, of quality of course, and would she mind? She replied that she did not, that she was new to this genre, but that she would read it with interest and be ready to discuss it.

She arrives and I open the door naked. And a little nervous. Does it show? I manage a broad smile and step aside. She has not missed my bareness, blushes and hesitates, but does come in anyway. She forgets to kiss me and asks, 'My dear, how inconvenient. Am I too early? I beg your pardon!' I put my hand on her arm, look her in the eye and say, 'Not at all, pardon me for my immodesty!' I explain that I was inspired by the story (Mine! And true too!) to be naked while my husband was out and that this is my fifth day. I said that for me a pertinent question is, 'Will I be able to become natural as time passes or will I remain selfconscious?' She acknowledges this as a valid aim and looks at me, admiringly, I think - she is my friend not for nothing! - but does not really dare surveying me from head to toe. I add, 'I have been alright so far, but am just a bit uptight now, like you. Come and let's try to relax.' I take her to the living room and sit her down, while I go and get us some refreshments.

When I have sat down, she takes a breath and says that she would reciprocate, if not for her period (True? Or is she being shy? We do refer to our periods on occasion, but I hardly record hers. Think it is true though, the way I know her.)

She offers to bare her torso, looks down and then up at me again, smiling. I accept, of course, and so she proceeds. I see her poor breasts appear from the bonds of her bra and observe the marks the straps make (and I count the many minutes it takes for them to disappear.) So there we sit, opposite each other. I have to say that I believe that she, as I, has grown comfortable within a short period. There we have it, a nice and natural get together. To go further, I believe our (partial) nudity actually helps and breaks any thin ice that would still exist between us, the good friends we are. The atmosphere is most open and confidential.

We sit immediately opposite each other in easy chairs. The only threat to my natural behaviour is my resolution not too use my hands for modesty and not to cross my legs. I am used to doing the former and generally put my hands in my lap in repose, to keep it warm and cosy. I do manage not to violate my resolve, but have to suppress the automatic urges. I do not press my immodesty, but behave as naturally as I can. And so does she, once she settles. Intitially I could not help noticing her inevitable glances to my crotch.

We discuss the story - again, without reference to the fact that I am the author and heroine. Funny. But the good side effect is that she is not inhibited to discuss it freely and openly. We laugh at the situation at the start of the story: "So it came to happen that I opened the door to one of my friends in this state. When I saw her face, we laughed." Our situation just now was different, as only she was embarrassed, she remarks. I remind her that I was uptight as well, even if I knowingly appeared naked in my (present) case. She is not sure whether the heroine's acceptance of the 'savage general's' antics was entirely credible. As a mental model for relationships it did serve well, she adds. The head shave she finds too horrible to consider and the help by the general's sister incredible. The image of the female character as the 'avenging angel' she likes very much. Strength in adversity. (You are ever sweet, my friend!) All in all, even if incredible, she appreciates it as a 'fairy tale' with a worthwhile moral and thinks it well written. (I mentally thank her for the compliment.) I, as the one who underwent the entire story minus the head shave, of course argue that I do not doubt the credibility and confess that I have a secret longing to have my head shaven, if only once in my life, merely to see what I would look like without that 'essential element of woman's mystery, clean of individuality, like a newborn...' (I wrote that, but the 'newborn' does not interest me in my current context, ha!) Anyway, she considers me crazy and will physically keep me from doing it, if she can.

She then hesitates, blushes and then asks, 'I have noticed you have shaven your pubic hair. I know that is done, but I have not seen it. I have not seen a naked vagina since my daughters were small and never on a grown woman. Do you... oh, it is difficult... do you mind if I have a close look?' 'I don't,' I reply and get up. I go and stand before her, legs slightly parted, feet turned outward, arms on my back (a little like the Gorean 'Display' position - or 'High Lesha', the web is not entirely consistent. See Elle and Bettina for these positions) I have never done this, but I feel good. She sighs, 'Oh, you are so... naked! I can't find another word. Thank you, Vanna. I am moved by the sight and also by your openness.' She rises and kisses me lightly on the cheek. That is it. I simply walk back to my seat and sit down. I smile at her, she reciprocates and after a silent interval we close our discussion on the story and decide upon the next book. We finish with some everyday ultra-normal chit-chat, until it is time for her to go.

She kisses me fondly when she leaves. No, there are no lesbian hints in these kiss (would I mind?). They are those of the good girlfriend she is and was.

Whether this session marks the start of a new tangent in our relationship? Who knows? At least nothing is lost by my actions.

How it continues

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