“Of particular interest to our viewers,” the television presenter announced, “is that the guiding hand for much of the new policy is a committed naturist who, amongst other things believes there should be a more positive attitude towards nudists on sex television.”
The program then featured Emma (yes, Emma, my love, my lovely) who was wearing no clothes as always and looking not at all embarrassed as the rather flabby middle‑aged woman presenter asked her questions.
“For too long on sex television,” Emma said in her most polemic style, “nakedness has been thought of as nothing but a prelude to full sexual intercourse. But that is, of course, absolute nonsense.”
Emma explained in the few minutes allotted to her, that she would influence programming to ensure that Harlot TV would have its fourth X renewed. There would be a new soap opera which would not present its cast as just simpering sex toys. There would be discussion and chat programs where the presenter would not be obliged to have sex with the guests. And yes, there would be a more positive attitude towards naturism. And there would be an attempt to move away from nudity as titillation, towards nudity as a rational person’s life‑style choice.
After the interview with Emma, the presenter addressed some sceptical comments to the camera, but Charlotte heard none of this as her mind focused entirely on Emma. On her beauty. And her formidable modest but assured presence. And on how much she loved her.
“This coffee’s taking rather a long time to arrive!” commented Charlotte.
Without taking his eyes off the feature on naturist cheese factories, Clarissa’s boyfriend commented expressionlessly: “I expect that means I’ll have to sleep in the spare bedroom.” The connection seemed fairly odd to her, so Charlotte, whose mind was still reviewing Emma’s television interview, chose to ignore it.
However, he was right, as Charlotte discovered when Clarissa came in with two cups of coffee, which Charlotte was displeased to find had two sugars and not none as she’d asked.
“Sorry, we took so long,” Clarissa said smiling in a very peculiar way, her skin shining with an equally peculiar glisten. “Edwin and I just got carried away in the kitchen.” She looked at her boyfriend. “He’s so good, Cyril, you wouldn’t believe! That prick of his just feels so right!” She paused while Cyril continued watching the television as it reviewed naturism and recent amendments to Motoring regulations. “You don’t mind sleeping in the spare bedroom tonight, do you, Cyril?”
His eyes continued to focus on the film of a motorcyclist wearing what was considered the legal minimum quantity of clothes, covering head, chest and limbs, but left the crotch displayed. “No, of course not Clarrie. I even prepared it earlier.”
“Oh you’re such a darling, Cyril!” remarked Clarissa, as she kissed him full on the mouth. “Edwin’s so good!” She turned to Charlotte and took the hand that wasn’t politely holding the cup of coffee she was soon going to let go cold. “And he wants you to join us, Charlotte. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Charlotte hadn’t expected this and so wasn’t sure how to respond. She gave a little frown, but her thoughts were more on Emma, and the idea of sex with Edwin and Clarissa just didn’t appeal. When would it appeal to her? Charlotte wondered. Perhaps if she’d had more to drink. “I feel a bit tired, I’m afraid.”
“Oh come on, Charlotte,” said Clarissa imploringly. “It’s not every day you get a chance at this kind of fun.”
That was true, reflected Charlotte, but it was every day she got to witness it. But, as she also thought, Clarissa wasn’t gay and Charlotte was, after all, a lesbian. She shook her head shyly.
“OK,” said Clarissa, clearly disappointed. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I go off now and enjoy myself with Edwin.”
Then she raised herself up, and left Edwin and Charlotte to watch a commercial break featuring products designed for the naturist market, such as sun tan lotion, creams for sore crotches, and privacy devices.
Charlotte continued watching television with Cyril, who made no comment, for what she judged as a polite length of time. After the commercial break, there was a naturist situation comedy set on a naturist newspaper. The humour was, if anything, even less funny than that in most situation comedies and the bizarre aspect of newspaper people wandering about in the nude soon palled on her.
“I must get going now,” she announced.
“Oh yes,” said Cyril, looking up at her as she picked up her virtually untouched cup of coffee. “Well, it’s been very nice having you visit. Please come again.” He smiled in a reassuring way that somehow compensated for much of his previous silence and then his eyes returned to a situation where one of the characters had spilt drink down her breasts and made the comment that at least she didn’t have to worry about a dry‑cleaning bill.
Charlotte found the kitchen, and poured the coffee down the sink. Then as she wandered back past the living room to the front door she saw that Clarissa’s bedroom was wide open and could see Edwin fucking away inside her in a room otherwise remarkable only for its pink and cream decor. Edwin’s back was to her, but Clarissa was mounted in such a position he could easily see Charlotte going by.
“Are you coming to join us after all?” asked Clarissa in a slightly breathless way as Edwin thrust in and out of her, her breasts flopping backwards and forwards to the same rhythm. Charlotte sadly shook her head. “No?” said Clarissa, regretfully. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Charlotte left early enough to be able to catch an underground train home, and was soon through the front door and into the flat. Off came her clothes again. She now viewed them more or less as encumbrances to be worn between rather than at places. The flat was very quiet and, as Charlotte discreetly verified, Harriett and Emma were sleeping together in Harriett’s bed with no guests. She went to the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet, feeling the warm rush of urine splash up from the porcelain onto her thighs, she reflected that perhaps tonight had been one night when she’d have felt more comfortable staying at home.
However, this view was shattered when, with the smell of toothpaste still lingering in her mouth, Charlotte pushed open the door of her bedroom and found it was not empty. She turned on the light and woke up the small white figure of Susan, lying naked in a huddled figure under the sheets.
“Oh Charlotte!” Susan cried in a tone of affection. “At last you’re back!”
Charlotte certainly hadn’t expected Susan to be there. She’d become an occasional visitor to the flat and Charlotte had become rather accustomed to watching Susan make love to Emma and Harriett, and on one occasion to Molly, who had been visiting at the same time. She’d taken up the habit of arriving unannounced and assuming that there’d always be sex available, which rather annoyed Harriett who liked her life better organised.
“What are you doing in my bed?” wondered Charlotte.
“Because I’ve been waiting for you,” smiled Susan seductively. She put her arms out and held Charlotte’s hands in hers’. “And,” she added with an unusually coy grin, “because I love you.”
This rather shocked Charlotte, who had never made love to Susan, though she was very aware that although she got virtually no sexual attention when Susan visited she got almost all her non‑sexual attention.
“Do you want to make love to me?” asked Charlotte wearily, not sure if this was the opportunity for the love affair she needed after being so decidedly rejected by Emma, or if this was just a nuisance she could do well without.
“Heavens, no!” exclaimed Susan. “No, I love you too much for that. I just want to be with you. I want to sleep in the same bed as you. I want to feel your tender body near mine. Feel your breath on mine. Have you watching me make love to my boyfriend, to Emma, to Harriett, whoever.”
“But not actually make love with me?” wondered Charlotte.
Susan smiled. “I feel so fulfilled when I feel you watching me. When I made love to Emma this evening with only Harriett watching, I felt so empty. I know Emma
enjoyed it. She really loves my body.” Charlotte winced, but she knew it was true. Perhaps Harriett’s annoyance with Susan was also because she seemed to give Emma more pleasure than anyone else. “Emma was so passionate. And aggressive. Look at the bruises.” She emerged from the sheets and pointed at blue and slightly red patches of skin around her lower body. “And the bite marks,” she added, indicating her little breasts and just above her crotch. “And look at the blood!” she added, pulling herself out of the bed, turning round to face her bottom to Charlotte and opening her buttocks to show her anus. And indeed, Charlotte could just about make out patches of dried blood attached to the hairs around her anus. “Emma just goes wild. She just doesn’t care what she does to my body,” Susan smiled. “But it’s you I love.”
“And it’s Emma I love!” exclaimed Charlotte who suddenly burst into tears and threw herself on the bed.
Whatever it was that Susan expected to do that evening it probably wasn’t what she in fact did do: which was to comfort Charlotte as she cried through the night, talking about her love for Emma, her jealousy of Harriett, the way she felt neglected when so many women could make love to Emma but not her, the way she felt like just an appendage to the goings on in the flat. “It just fills me with pain to think of you and Emma making love together. With Emma loving you and not me. It was so much better before Emma discovered sex!”
“I thought you enjoyed watching people make love,” commented Susan sadly ‑ herself disappointed. “That’s why I was convinced we’d make the perfect couple. I thought I would fuck and you would watch and maybe masturbate. And then we would be just friends and love each other ‑ as I love you. And I would be fulfilled. And I thought you would be fulfilled too.”
“No,” sniffed Charlotte, holding Susan’s slim shoulders to her chest. “No, that’s not what I want. Not at all.”
Chapter VIII
When Charlotte returned from work and saw two girls writhing about entwined together on the carpet in front of a sex video on the television, she at first assumed that it was Emma and Harriett. After all, when only two women were making love in the flat it was usually those two. When that happened, she usually hid herself in the kitchen to prepare dinner, only venturing out when she judged the two had exhausted themselves.
However, as Charlotte reflected, it couldn’t be Harriett having sex with Emma, as it was only last night that she and Emma and a few of Harriett’s other friends had seen her off at the airport. Harriett had started working on a new television series which involved her being filmed making love in exotic parts of the world. Her first destination was Cambodia, at one of its premier luxury holiday resorts. From all accounts this was a fairly demanding job involving group sex and the opportunity to practice her newly acquired lesbian skills.
No, as Charlotte soon became aware, the woman who was giving Emma such obvious pleasure was Penelope, a friend of Harriett’s who’d visited several times before. Penelope was a very skinny girl whose breasts were almost all nipple and whose groin was slightly hollowed out. Charlotte could almost see the bone of her buttocks through the flesh as it pumped in tune to Emma’s cunnilingus.
Penelope’s flushed face emerged from between Emma’s legs, her lips raw and red from exertion. She saw Charlotte and smiled welcomingly before returning to Emma’s crotch.
Emma had good reason to celebrate. She had finished her research for Harlot TV and made her recommendations of what programs to buy and which to emulate just in time for the station to receive its fourth X. This had been very fortuitous timing, because she had become the default spokesperson for the now more responsible station, which was in the throes of renaming itself in a way that better reflected its new status.
Emma had been interviewed on the countless manifestations of the media. Her appearance as a serious woman with an uncompromising policy of naturism had acted as a very strong advertisement for the station. She had been interviewed on mainline television, national newspapers, several magazines and innumerable organs of more specialist interest in sex entertainment. She had now been seen by more people than had ever watched the station, though in some cases she’d only been filmed or photographed from the waist up. In one or two instances, including a television station which claimed the moral high ground, she could only be seen from the shoulders up. In all her interviews, she freely expressed her views about the role of sex television and of naturism as a philosophy of life. Indeed, she got the distinct impression from her employers that the more polemical her views the more they were appreciated.
Charlotte smiled weakly at Penelope and then shyly made her way into the kitchen to busy herself over the cooker boiling vegetables and unfreezing a pre‑prepared meal. She sat on the kitchen stool waiting for the food to be ready, thinking about her own rôle in the changes that had taken place. While she was there, Penelope came in, still naked and reeking of the shared sweat of her own body and Emma’s. She sat down on another stool and chatted to Charlotte about her job which was not in the sex media, although she aspired to it, but as a clerk for a large supermarket chain.
“Why is it you never make love with Emma and Harriett?” she asked. “I’ve asked Emma and I know it’s not because you don’t find women attractive.”
This question unbalanced Charlotte. Why indeed had she never been involved? It just hadn’t happened. That was all. She didn’t know why really, and she certainly envied everyone else who’d made love to Emma.
Charlotte shook her head sadly.
Penelope stood up from her stool and put her arms around Charlotte’s naked body. Charlotte felt the heat from her skin before it touched her, and almost burnt her. “Oh! You poor dear!” simpered Penelope, kissing Charlotte tenderly on the face. Then, (Charlotte wasn’t too sure how), she and Penelope fell to kissing full on the mouth, their tongues entwined. Charlotte’s tongue trailed round Penelope’s teeth and her throat felt the thick mass of Penelope’s tongue deep inside. Then, Penelope’s hands gripped into her buttocks and Charlotte’s arms cautiously encompassed her slender bony waist.
This didn’t last for long. Penelope announced she had to return to Emma and, in any case, Charlotte’s food was ready. Penelope left Charlotte alone with her vegetables and thoughts. She felt excited by the attention she’d just received, but she also felt peculiarly guilty of a kind of disloyalty to Emma.
For the rest of the evening, Charlotte sat in her bedroom reading a novel she’d recently bought, frightened as always of going into the living room where she might perhaps be invited to film the two girls making love or, as with Susan, just to observe in a rage of envy. The hours passed, with Charlotte feeling somewhat disorientated from the affection Penelope had expressed, until it seemed late enough for her to go to bed. She wandered to the bathroom to clean her teeth, knowing she wouldn’t meet either of the girls there, as she could hear the familiar rocking of Emma’s bed.
Charlotte returned to bed and pulled the sheet over her naked body. As so often, she gently stroked her body as she settled down, asking it if it was interested in masturbation. Although clearly excited, her body wasn’t going to be satisfied by anything like that, so Charlotte rolled over on her side and faced the wall.
Several minutes later, Charlotte heard her bedroom door open, and then a body tiptoe silently across the room towards her bed. Perhaps she’d been secretly expecting it, but she wasn’t too surprised when she was joined by Penelope’s skinny and smelly body, still moist from sex. And it wasn’t at all long until she found herself rolling around and writhing with her incredibly hot and bony body. As she pulled at Penelope’s long thin nipple in her teeth, Charlotte smelt Emma’s odours emanating amongst Penelope’s. Well, she thought, if you can’t experience Emma’s body first‑hand, it was probably better to experience it second‑hand.
While Penelope’s expert fingers lubricated Charlotte’s cunt, she was considering that, yes!, this was the first time with a woman. She’d always considered herself a lesbian, but one who’d always loved women from
a distance. And now, as Penelope’s tongue descended down her body to join her exploring fingers at the vagina, she was now to know what it was really like. In some ways, it was like making love with a man, but the smells were different, the body was different and the expectations were different.
“So that’s where you are!” Charlotte suddenly heard. She started and withdrew her face from the buttock she’d been licking while supporting herself on Penelope’s legs. “This is being really very deceitful!”
“Sorry, dearest?” wondered Penelope, who jerked her head out of Charlotte’s pubic hair to look directly at Emma who was standing by the open door and, although only her silhouette could be seen, was almost certainly frowning.
“I thought I was always honest and open with you,” Emma continued crossly, “but then you steal my lovers from my bed. Why couldn’t you have just asked and joined us in the normal way, instead of sneaking off behind my back.”
“Don’t worry, Emma my love,” Penelope apologised, “I’ll come straight back to bed with you.”
She disentangled herself from Charlotte’s red hot body, which was burning as much with humiliation as with lust. She let herself out of Charlotte’s room, pausing only to peck Emma on the cheek as she went out.
“So, this is how my best friend treats me!” exclaimed Emma bitterly. “How could you do it? How could you be so … so … underhand and deceitful?”
She turned round abruptly and left Charlotte’s room leaving only the memory of her departing bum for Charlotte to masturbate furiously to.
Chapter IX
Every so often, Charlotte was required to be on duty to meet the public: usually just to answer their rather technical questions on tax status. There was a policy that interviewees should state whether they would be embarrassed by being interviewed by someone unclothed, but it was generally only a small minority of rather elderly clients who preferred not to. Ironically, it was those who were least enthusiastic about being interviewed by a naked woman that Charlotte felt least reserved about being naked with. She had adopted the policy of wearing the white coat provided when interviewing men and it was only for women and fairly asexual men that she would remove it.
Emma Page 6