Eolake Stobblehouse
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Letter of the week, from DT

I often read and enjoy your letters, and I thought your readers may like to share my experience:)

I first met Christina when we were thirteen years old, and we were 'first loves', she is one of those girls naturally gifted with a graceful, and "flirty" air, she moves quickly, almost dancing wherever she goes. She is a size 10, roughly 5'9, and has beautiful long blonde hair and blue laughing eyes.

As a teenager she would often tease me, knowing that I was attracted to her. She always hated underwear and was quite open about the fact only wearing it when absolutely necessary. It was during the late 1980s that I first saw her naked, in fact the first time I had seen any female nude (she was 17, and I was 18).

It was late in the summer, and extraordinarily hot, we had spent the day walking and she was complaining because she had chose to wear a pair of loose pink shorts that were much too hot. As we approached a bridge that led to an abandoned water mill I half joked that she would be better without her shorts as her T shirt would cover her, she smiled broadly and stopped dead in her tracks. I turned to look at her, and she looked straight into my eyes. Without moving her gaze from mine she bent down and removed one sandal, followed by the other and then, still looking into my eyes, she gently eased her shorts down her long legs, stepping out gently - she is very well balanced. I could see what she was doing but kept my eyes fixed on hers. Although I doubted it - I wondered if she was wearing underwear, but I couldn't tell, and I dare not look. She carefully folded her shorts and handed them to me. "I'm not carrying them" she laughed-" it was your idea" she picked her sandals up and twirled around, dancing and skipping across the bridge that led to the mill. Half way across she stopped, dropped her shoes and took hold of the hand rail. Lifting one of her legs on to the hand rail she extended her toes and slowly rubbed her hands down the length of her leg to the tips of her toes, bending far forward to reach. Her pink T-shirt had ridden up, clearly showing me the lower part of her bare buttocks and very clean shaven view between her shapely inner thighs. I sat on the gate at the end of the bridge, happy to watch her loosen her muscles. "Do you like watching me?" she said, with her back to me and still stretching up and down her leg. My heart was pounding and I could hardly speak. "Yes" I said. "You are beautiful" She turned her head and smiled at me "good," and with one quick movement of her hands, she had lifted her T-shirt over her head and tossed it to me. "You can look after that too."

She swung her leg from the rail and skipped, completely nude, across the bridge and swung around a post the other side. She bent down, and starting at her feet, caressed her flawless skin, working up her legs, in between her inner thighs, around her belly and up to her breasts, finally working up through her hair, as though she was ridding herself of all anxiety. I watched her play for a while, at 17 she was perfect. Her breasts were quite full, her slender legs carried her effortlessly from one position to another. She is very fit, and a keen dancer, and she twirled and jumped as if she were performing a ballet! After a while she came over to me. "Its time to go," she said, and took my hand. I went to give her back the T-shirt and shorts. "You keep them for a while" she said, and we continued along the path by the water, she walked as always; on a cushion of air, swinging her sandals with her other hand, almost as if she had forgotten she was naked. There was no-one about, but I honestly don't think it would have bothered her if someone did walk by! We finally came to the path that led back to the car park and she took her T-shirt from me and handed me her shoes before slipping it over her head. I had a final look at her lovely skin and watched as her beautifully feminie form disappeared under the top.

She kissed me on my cheek and skipped across to my car, leaving me with her shoes and shorts. She hopped up onto the bonnet (hood) and sat there legs crossed waiting for me. As far as I recall she didn't put on her sandals or her shorts for the rest of the day, and even when we called in to a takeway that evening she wore only her pink T-shirt that only just covered her modesty.... a little reach up, or bend over was all that was needed to give me - and probably others a glimpse of what lay ahead.....

We are married now-11 years, she still has the same spring in her step. And still refuses to wear underwear. Often she will surprise me and slip out of her clothes whilst we are walking in the countryside, and she loves to swim naked in the sea or our nearby lake, although she insists she is not a naturist. I love to watch her play, and still have the same emotions and feelings as that first time I saw her on that bridge.

DT, from the UK