The second instalment from Gaius Tacitus (reproduced with permission).
It was a gloriously sunny day as Alison Q arrived for work at the Serapeum
Intercontinental in Britain’s seaside town of Brighton. At 29 she was the
youngest hotel manager in the Serapeum Group, but she loved her job and was
already recognised as one of the most promising. Nor did her ambition stop
there. One day, she hoped, she might become chief executive of the hotel chain
itself.
Today, though, there were unaccustomed butterflies in Alison’s stomach as she
parked her Mercedes in the staff car park and made her way to her plush office
behind the reception area. For this was the day that delegates would be arriving
for the First International Conference on Clothed-Male-Naked-Female Studies,
which was due to be held at the hotel over the next two days.
It had been six months previously that the hotel group’s managing director had
called Alison to a meeting in London, where she was persuaded to take on and run
the CMNF conference. The executives at Serapeum headquarters had first impressed
on her the business case—-not only was the conference a valuable contract in
itself, but a successful event would likely bring future CMNF conferences to the
Serapeum Group. Alison was given to understand that this could be very good for
her career.
Once this point had been established, the executives broke it to Alison that the
attendees would not just be talking about CMNF, but would want to practise it as
well—-all the female delegates would be completely naked. Alison laughed but was
also rather shocked and dubious. However, after the executives had reassured her
that female nudity was all that was involved, and it was not some kind of mass
orgy, she came round to the idea.
Finally, they broached the most difficult subject of all. The conference sponsors
were asking that Alison’s staff should also obey the CMNF rule while working
in the venue.
“Oh no,” Alison had said, thinking they were joking at first. Then she realised
from the looks on her bosses’ faces that they were quite serious.
“You do not have to get involved yourself,” they told her. “You can hand the
arrangements over to Stuart [Stuart was her deputy manager], and we have
insisted that the fee for the conference is enough to let you hire models,
strippers, lap dancers, any women who do not mind taking their clothes off, to
take the place of your normal staff.” Alison thought about this, and decided she
did not like it. She did not want Stuart to run the show and get all the glory.
Nor did she trust a bunch of lap dancers (as she uncharitably put it to herself)
to maintain the standards of service she expected at her hotel. There was
nothing else for it. Reluctantly, but amid promises that she would receive a
substantial bonus if everything went well, Alison decided to accept the CMNF
rule for the hotel staff.
Having got over the hurdle of agreeing to go nude during the CMNF conference,
Alison found herself less daunted by the prospect than she might have expected.
Later, when the executives took her out to The Ivy for a celebratory dinner, and
Alison had a few glasses of champagne inside her, she almost wondered if she
wasn’t looking forward to the idea.
That was six months ago, when it all seemed rather hypothetical. Now the moment
of truth had arrived, and Alison faced the real prospect of disrobing not only
in front of the conference delegates, who were strangers, but, much worse, in
front of her colleagues and staff, whom she saw every day. The fact that the
female employees, some of whom she classed as personal friends, would be sharing
in her nudity gave a sense of safety in numbers. But Alison was acutely aware
that the hotel’s male employees would be able to enjoy their female boss’s naked
and very comely form while remaining clothed in their normal work attire and not
experiencing any of the shame, exposure and simple jitters that she and the
other women had to endure.
What rescued Alison from her sense of trepidation was the well worked out plan
that she and Stuart had put together for the event. As soon as he saw her
settling into her office, he knocked on the open door. If Stuart was thinking
about the fact that she would soon be doffing her expensive charcoal-grey,
pencil-skirted business suit, to appear completely naked in front of him, he did
not show it.
“Coffee, Alison?” he asked.
Alison smiled and said yes please, trying to reciprocate Stuart’s air of
normality, hiding her internal turmoil. Stuart was a dear. He was in his
forties, competent, trustworthy, and in many ways Alison’s rock, whose
experience had been a sure guide during her early days as his boss. He had tried
for the manager’s job himself, but the senior executives apparently failed to
detect in him the spark they were looking for. Yet Stuart had never shown any
resentment—-perhaps a sign of the lack of ambition and leadership that made the
executives appoint Alison instead. On occasion, Stuart had invited Alison to his
home for a meal cooked by his wife and shared with his children, of whom Alison
was very fond.
When Stuart returned with the coffee, Alison let him put it down in front of
her. She did not want to take it from him, in case the liquid surface betrayed
her trembling hand. She was sitting behind the desk, and Stuart perched himself
on one of the chairs in front of it. He was clutching a sheaf of papers – timetables,
staff rotas, delegate lists, room assignments and so on.
They went over everything one last time, finalising some last-minute details.
Two whole floors of bedrooms were assigned to the CMNF delegates, and the
hotel’s ballroom, auditorium and meeting rooms were to be off-limits to other
hotel-users for the conference’s duration. The rear set of lifts had also been
cordoned off for their exclusive use, allowing female delegates and staff to
remain naked while travelling between the private and public areas without
causing alarm to the ordinary guests.
The clock on Alison’s wall was approaching ten o’clock, the appointed time for a
briefing of all the staff involved in the conference, ranging from assistant
managers, via receptionists, waiters and waitresses, down to chambermaids. It
had been agreed that the CMNF dress code would begin then and there.
“Come on,” said Alison rising from her desk, “it is time to go down to the
ballroom to brief the staff.”
Stuart fetched his jacket then went ahead, while Alison turned to the hotel’s
female locker-room. The locker-room was already full of women. Some had made a
half-hearted start at undressing, but no one was yet anywhere near naked. Their
faces brightened as Alison came in.
Over the last six months, Alison had spoken one by one with the female staff she
wanted to help with the conference, broaching the subject that they would be
required to work in the nude. She had made it clear that it was their choice,
and it would not affect their job were they to refuse. She did allow herself to
say, however, that she would value their support and co-operation, and did not
want to have to hire temporary staff if she could at all avoid it. She also made
it clear that she would be naked herself. To Alison’s surprise and
gratification, all the women without exception, be they of all different sizes,
shapes and ages, eventually agreed to work naked during the CMNF
event—-something that Alison took as a sign of their loyalty to her, their young
and sympathetic boss. A few agreed immediately, almost enthusiastic about the
idea. Most had to think about it and talked it over with their husbands or
boyfriends. One or two lingered for weeks but finally came round, emboldened by
the knowledge that their friends and colleagues were on board. The most
surprising thing involved some of the chambermaids whom Alison had rostered to
work on other floors asking if they could be assigned to the CMNF rooms. They
saw cleaning the hotel naked with their girlfriends as a great lark and a welcome
break from the routine. Alison readily agreed. It meant there would be a cast of
thousands on the CMNF floors each morning, but the girls could get dressed
afterwards to do the rest of the hotel.
Alison had also talked things over with the male staff she needed for the
conference. Although only the women faced the daunting prospect of going naked
in front of their colleagues, the men’s behaviour was equally important. Alison
made it clear that they would have to conduct themselves professionally and that
she also expected them to show understanding for the difficulties most of their
women co-workers would have in exposing their bodies. Off-colour remarks and
inappropriate touching, she said in no uncertain terms, were unacceptable
whether the female staff were naked or clothed. Given her preconceptions about
the male sex drive, Alison was surprised to find that the men’s reactions were
not dissimilar to those of the women. To be sure, a higher fraction agreed
straight away, some hardly concealing their relish, but many wanted to get the
agreement of wives or partners, and a few took a while to overcome their initial
reluctance.
It no doubt helped in these decisions that bonuses were on offer to the staff
who worked on the CMNF conference. Alison’s bosses had initially made available
sufficient funds for the female staff only. They assumed that, for the men,
seeing their women colleagues naked would be sufficient reward in itself. Alison
had quickly realised this assumption was wrong, both practically and ethically.
She did not want to provoke resentment among her male staff, many of whom had
families and would value a little extra pay more than the thrill of seeing their
female colleagues go naked. It might be thought discriminatory that the men did
not have the same opportunity to earn a bonus, especially since their
contribution was also important to the event’s success. Indeed, if any men
became bitter about it, there was a chance they might sabotage it by boorish
behaviour. For all these reasons, Alison insisted that her male staff receive
the same bonus as the females. Of course, the women were not initially happy
with this arrangement, complaining it was unfair given they were the ones who
had to suffer the embarrassment of taking their clothes off, while the men were
allowed to keep theirs on. But Alison persuaded the women to value the bonus for
its own sake, and not compare it enviously with what the men were getting. If
the conference were cancelled over the issue, she said, everyone would lose out.
Apart from a little lingering muttering in the female ranks, the matter was
effectively closed.
With Alison now in the women’s locker room, after a few hilarious remarks, and
amidst much nervous giggling, disrobing began in earnest. Alison was aware that
she had to provide a lead for the other women, and so undressed in a
deliberately quick and business-like manner. Kicking aside her heels, she
slipped off her jacket and put it on a hanger. She unhooked her skirt, pulled it
down and put it on the same hanger, which she then hung in her locker. Next she
stepped out of her slip and folded it twice. She was now standing there in
frilly blouse, pantyhose and underwear. She undid most of the blouse buttons and
took it off over her head, folding it and putting it on the pile with the slip.
She rolled down the pantyhose and stepped out of first one leg then the other.
That went on the pile. Now she forced herself to maintain her momentum. Reaching
behind her back, she unclipped her bra, helped it fall way in front of her, then
folded it once to go on the pile. Lastly, she tucked her two thumbs in the sides
of her knickers and slid them down her recently waxed legs. The discarded
knickers joined the pile as its crowning glory, and the whole thing went in the
locker, with the shoes turned upside down on top.
Alison’s efficient striptease had the desired effect, encouraging the others to
keep pace, and soon Alison was surveying a sea of naked female flesh. She smiled
broadly, partly from embarrassment but also partly from an irresistible feeling
of excitement and daring. Some of the women were nudging each other. Others were
shading their eyes with their hands and grinning nervously. Still others were
chatting quietly as if they had not a care in the world.
“Everyone ready?” Alison asked, followed by “Come on then, girls.”
Alison led the way to the ballroom where she was due to give the briefing.
Nearly two dozen pairs of bare female feet padded over the carpet behind her. A
hum of voices from the ballroom announced the presence of the ten or so clothed
men who were waiting for them. Among the naked women, the atmosphere was tense
and no one said anything much. They just caught each other’s eyes and exchanged
quick smiles, walking down this corridor that they had walked hundreds of times
before but now exposed, vulnerable, deliciously but excruciatingly nude, and
feeling terribly out of place.
As the naked Alison and her equally unclad female staff entered the ballroom via
the open double doors, the men, in their business suits and hotel uniforms,
stood aside. Some of them kept their gaze straight ahead and at eye-level,
remembering the injunction to show some consideration for the plight of their
naked female colleagues, who would inevitably be feeling very self-conscious.
Others though could not help themselves and looked eagerly at their women
co-workers whose bare bodies were suddenly on display in front of them. Here
they scanned the flattish chest of Nicola the twenty-something receptionist,
delicately tipped with colourless nipples. Over there they weighed up the mature
embonpoint of Jean, the catering manager. And between them their eyes came to
rest on the perfectly shaped bodies of Brooke and Kaylee, the two bubbly
chambermaids who went everywhere together. Smiling, Brooke and Kaylee held their
index fingers to their upper lips, as if to suppress a laugh, and coyly returned
the gazes of those men they liked the most. Other of the women stoically allowed
themselves to be inspected, pretending their attention was elsewhere. A few were
blushing noticeably, and poor Rebecca, the 35-year-old head of housekeeping,
seemed to be going red over her entire body.
Most interesting of all, to the fully clothed men, was the lithe figure of
Alison, their naked female boss, who, despite being in the altogether, was the
most senior person in the room. As she took up a position in front of them, they
judged approvingly her teardrop-shaped breasts with their deep pink areolas and
impressively stiff nipples, and looked with fascination at her artistically
trimmed pubic hair and the bald lips of her exposed sex. To her side, Stuart was
immaculately dressed in his sharpest navy blue suit, with a maroon-striped shirt
and fat silvery grey tie held in place by a diamond tie-pin. The luxurious wool
fabric of his clothing and the deep black shine of Stuart’s shoes contrasted
nicely with the unclothed Alison’s milky skin and bare feet.
Alison gave her team, naked females and clothed men, a pep talk. She
acknowledged the unusual nature of the situation but said she was proud of the
way they had all conducted themselves so far, and had every confidence they
would bring the upcoming conference to a successful conclusion. After that she
continued to stand where she was, giving everyone a full frontal view of her
bare body, while Stuart, one hand casually placed in his jacket pocket, ran
through a series of administrative details.
* * *
Some two hours after the staff briefing, the first CMNF delegates arrived at the
Serapeum Intercontinental. Among them was University of Queensland Professor
Penny S, the world’s leading light for CMNF studies. She was accompanied by a
first-year CMNF student, the diminutive (but bigheaded) Jonty H, and two
doctoral researchers, Anna J and Jim A.
The postgraduates’ attendances at the conference were funded by bursaries from
the university, which encouraged graduate students to gain experience of this
aspect of academic life. Meanwhile, the nineteen year old Jonty’s attendance was
the prize of an undergraduate essay competition set by the CMNF Department.
“I cannot believe that obnoxious little runt won the essay competition,” said
Ben to his former high-school classmate, Angela, when the result was announced.
“Everyone knows you are the top student on the course.”
“Don’t be like that about Jonty,” replied Angela. As the former head girl at
their school, Angela still felt a lingering authority over Ben, even though they
were now nominally equals as CMNF freshmen. The two of them were sitting in
Angela’s room in the student hostel. She had been about to change for netball
practice when Ben arrived with the news of the competition result. Having become
thoroughly used to being naked in front of Ben and other male students day after
day in the CMNF Department, Angela casually undressed and wandered around the
room with nothing on, while Ben sat in her armchair wearing a sweatshirt, jeans
and his favourite black leather cowboy boots, one leg draped over the arm. He
admired the rear view of Angela’s sex as she bent over to retrieve her sports
gear from the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.
“Sorry Angela,” Ben said. “But you have to admit, Jonty is full enough of
himself as it is. This will make him even more unbearable.”
“You’re just jealous,” Angela replied. “Jonty is fine. You simply have to know
how to handle him.”
Ben laughed. Yet, though he would not admit it, his friend’s words hit home. He
had noticed how Angela and many of the other females almost mothered their
pint-sized fellow student. Only yesterday, Ben had felt more than a twinge of
envy as he saw Angela with Jonty in the departmental library, where they were
both consulting some anthropological tome on female nudity around the world.
Jonty, in his tweedy jacket and dark trousers, was sitting at the table. Angela,
naked and barefoot, stood behind him, her bare midriff against the back of
Jonty’s chair, supporting herself with one arm on the table. What really got to
Ben was the way Angela let her bare right breast rest all the time against the
back of Jonty’s head, her nipple burrowing into his blond locks.
At any rate, Jonty’s library studies paid off, and his competition essay secured
him a ticket to England in the company of Anna, Jim and Professor Penny. Anna
and Jim were a developing item, judging by the way they bent their heads
together while chatting on the plane over from Australia. Jonty sat next to his
professor, an experience that many students would have found daunting, but not
Jonty whose arrogance would have shamed a heavyweight boxing champion. What
Jonty did find disconcerting about the experience was that it was the longest he
had ever seen his professor with her clothes on. Apart from at a few general
campus functions outside the walls of the CMNF Department, Jonty was thoroughly
accustomed to seeing his female professor naked, strolling fully exposed around
the stage of the lecture theatre, or sitting cross-legged in the seminar room,
her breasts jiggling when she jabbed her pen in the air to make some point, or
on some happy occasions standing right in front of Jonty while they chatted in
the departmental common room, her nipples at his eye-level.
While she had to be clothed for the journey, Professor Penny avoided overly
shocking Jonty by ensuring that much of her flesh remained on display. She
covered up a bit during transfers, but on the aeroplane itself she wore a white
elasticated halter top that obviated the need for a bra, and a flouncy,
mid-thigh mini-skirt in electric blue. She and her male student, ten years her
junior and dressed in his usual rather stuffy fashion, made an odd couple.
Penny, in particular, attracted curious glances—-surreptitious and approving
from the male passengers, more open and disapproving from the female ones. The
cabin crew maintained a cool professionalism, pretending not to notice anything
unusual. Her skimpy ensemble meant that Penny got a little cold from the chilled
on-board air, and that had the inevitable effect on her nipples. Men passengers
passing up and down the aisle glanced appreciatively at the well-defined bumps
beneath Penny’s top, as well as her finely toned bare midriff. Jonty paid no
attention. For him, his teacher was, if anything, overdressed. He was aware
(after Penny told him), but the other passengers were not, that she also had no
knickers on under her skirt. She had pulled the skirt up at the back so her bare
bottom rested on the rough fabric of the aeroplane seat. This was a constant
reminder of her CMNF commitments, and helped focus her mind on the themes of her
conference paper, which was to deal with the risky thrills of female self-exposure,
as she worked on it throughout the flight.
So it was that Penny and her students arrived at Gatwick airport. After passing
through the usual formalities, they emerged onto the main concourse, to be met
by greeters holding up signs saying “CMNF Conference”. They were then directed
to a coach, with other arriving delegates, and sped on their way down to
Brighton. It was the height of the British summer, and the weather on the south
coast was glorious. England’s green and pleasant land basked beneath a blue sky
dotted with occasional tiny clouds.
At the hotel, the delegates checked in in the normal fashion, and were given the
keys to their rooms. An information pack explained that a welcome meeting would
take place at 6 pm, in the conference area, and that a CMNF dress code was in
operation both in that area and on the two floors where they had their rooms.
Penny and co acknowledged their instructions then went up to their rooms. The
women’s luggage was noticeably lighter than that of the men. Stepping from the
lift, Penny’s party scattered to their separate rooms. The plan was to freshen
up, relax for a few hours, attend the welcome meeting, then grab an early night,
to catch up on some sleep and be ready for the first proper day of conference
business the next morning.
Once she was in her room, Penny stripped off and took a shower, washing away the
grime of her journey. Afterwards, she admired herself in the full-length mirror,
applying talc and making sure she looked as presentable as possible for her
naked appearances over the next few days.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Penny peered through the spy-hole to see
who was there. It was her young student, Jonty. Penny opened the door and
welcomed him in. She had told him earlier that she was thinking of taking a walk
along the beach and, if he felt like coming, to call in at her room.
“Come in,” the naked Penny told the youngster. “I am nearly ready.”
Penny made no attempt to cover herself up. CMNF rules were now in operation,
after all.
Jonty entered and looked round his professor’s room as she gave some final
pampering to her nude body. Jonty had also showered, judging by his still wet
hair and spruced up look. He had changed into a cream coloured linen jacket,
dark slacks and blue, pin-striped shirt.
Professor Penny’s room was naturally larger and better appointed than Jonty’s
was, and, while his faced an internal courtyard, hers had a glorious view over
the seafront.
“What is this?” Jonty asked, pointing to a contraption against the wall.
“Oh, that is a trouser press, I think,” said Penny, smoothing down her
sculptured tuft of pubic hair.
“Huh, I could do with one of those,” Jonty replied, “but I don’t have one in my
room. This is discrimination against students.”
Penny smiled and ruffled Jonty’s hair. Notwithstanding his unfortunate manner,
Penny had a soft spot for her young male student and saw him as a potential
future faculty member.
“Let us swap rooms then,” said Penny, and she meant it. It was true, the trouser
press would be far more useful to the clothed male, Jonty, than to herself, the
naked female.
“Really?” asked Jonty.
“Sure,” said Penny. She was not expecting to spend much time in the room anyway.
And so that is what happened. Penny gave up to Jonty her room, which was far
more useful for a clothed man. She took over Jonty’s more basic room. As a naked
female, all she needed was a bed and somewhere to wash her body.
After this, Penny and Jonty went for a promenade by the sea. As they waited for
the lift to the lobby, Penny slipped a front-buttoning sundress over her head
and put on a pair of flip-flops. It was the quickest way to get decent. The
dress hung shapelessly from her breasts, hiding the otherwise naked curves of
her body. Out on the promenade, the professor and the first year undergraduate
allowed the late afternoon sun to soothe away the tensions of long-distance
travel. Passers-by might have taken them for brother and sister, and would
scarcely have guessed that the older woman was a highly respected academic, nor
that, only minutes earlier, she had been stark-naked in front of the clothed
adolescent and, after they returned to the hotel, would be exposing her charms
to him again.
Back at the Serapeum, the time for the welcome meeting came around. Penny
gathered up her students and they went together down to the hotel’s conference
area. Jim and Jonty were wearing the smartest outfits they had brought with
them, including neckties. Penny and Anna were completely naked and barefoot.
Both women smelt fragrant, though, and Anna seemed to have put a little rouge on
her nipples.
At the welcome session, the conference organisers covered various administrative
trivia—-timings, where meals would be served, the rooms for different sessions
and for the poster presentations, fire exits, all that sort of thing. Slightly
more than half the audience—-the female half—-was naked. The remainder—-the
men—-were clothed in a variety of styles, from lounge suits to jeans and
tee-shirts. All of them were sitting on hard plastic chairs, a fact the women,
via their bare bottoms, were far more conscious of than the men. The inspiration
behind the conference was Professor Rachel K, a woman in her forties, with a
pronounced curvature to her nude body. Her bottom stuck out in one direction,
and her breasts in the other, like a stone-age Venus. She had a neat triangle of
pubic hair disappearing between her legs. She said a few introductory words of
welcome, but the bulk of the talking was done by her deputy, Dr David S, a bald
man in a shiny grey suit and black-rimmed spectacles, who had done the donkey
work of organising the event. At the end, he called for questions and several
people put their hands up.
“Will we receive copies of the slides on CD?” was one question, which Dr S
answered in the affirmative.
“What are the plans for future CMNF Conferences?” was another.
Dr S looked towards his female boss for help on this one. She strode forward
from the side of the room, where she had been standing.
“Well,” the naked female professor began, bending one knee and putting her hand
on her hip, “that depends very much on you. If there is sufficient interest as a
result of this one, the aspiration is to make it an annual event. Hopefully, now
the precedent is there, it can be done more smoothly. I won’t deny it has been a
huge job getting financial and other backing for this conference, with the issue
of female nudity and all.”
Dr S rolled his eyes heavenwards, in mock exasperation at the difficulties the
conference organisers had encountered.
“David had a full head of hair when I first asked him to set up a CMNF
Conference,” joked the female professor.
Dr S gave a sheepish grin at the reference to his smooth pate and touched it
briefly with his fingertips. Everyone laughed, including Professor K. Smiling
she put her hand on her deputy’s shoulder to make up for teasing him. Her
sumptuous breasts swayed close to the sleeve of his jacket, and her bare,
Hottentot behind seemed to quiver with amusement.
The meeting was followed by a drinks reception. Jim and Anna found a corner
somewhere to continue their budding relationship. Jonty, the youngest person in
the room, followed Professor Penny around as she renewed acquaintance with CMNF
researchers from other institutions. She proudly showed off Jonty as a representative
of the first bachelor’s-level course in CMNF Studies anywhere in the world. In
conversation after conversation, she stood there naked with her fully-clothed,
short-statured male student at her side, and listened with pleasure to the self-confident
way he spoke about the course and CMNF issues in general.
Meanwhile, half a dozen hotel staff—-two men in maroon waistcoats and grey
trousers, and four completely naked women—-wove their way among the delegates,
offering canapés and glasses of wine or orange juice. They were overseen by the
hotel manager, Alison, who was now almost at ease with her nakedness. Alison
mingled here and there, welcoming the academics to the hotel and checking that
no one had experienced any problems with their rooms or other arrangements.
At one point, Alison came to be talking with Jonty and Professor Penny. The
squat young man found himself flanked by two naked female bodies in their
twenty-something prime. Four nipples variously moved in and out of his line of
sight as the conversation ebbed and flowed. With Jonty’s usual enthusiasm for
the subject, the conversation dwelt on CMNF issues. Alison spoke of her own
experiences in managing the conference for the hotel. She said how surprised she
was to find that not a single one of her female staff ultimately refused to be
naked for the CMNF event, and added further that, while the bonus was obviously
important, she almost got the impression that many of the women would have been
prepared to do it anyway, for the hell of it. At this, Jonty gave a pompous laugh.
“Oh, that. That is practically the first law of CMNF studies,” he said dismissively.
“Female nudity is a kind of contagion. Once a sufficient number of women have
taken their clothes off, you can all but guarantee that every other woman present
will want to follow suit. It’s well known, isn’t it professor?”
Jonty looked up at the naked Professor Penny, who put her arm around his
shoulders, her breast brushing against his ear. She said nothing, but smiled
broadly and exchanged a meaningful, conspiratorial glance with the equally naked
Alison, followed by the barest hint of a wink.
