100 Women Volume One

"Do I get undressed now?" she asked as soon as she handed me her survey sheet.

"Anytime you're ready," I responded, Truth be told, I was anxious to see this girl get out of her clothes. Her body had the kind of shape that can make a man's hands start to twitch. Ample bosom. Shapely hips. Not chunky around the middle, either. I wanted to feel those curves.

Belinda needed no further encouragement. When I looked up, she had undone every button on her blouse and whipped it off her torso. She flicked it onto the back of one of the dining room chairs.

"Are you doing this?" she undid her bra and ripped it off her breasts in a single, quick motion. "Or will it be someone else?"

"I'll be doing it."

"Anyone else coming?" she further inquired.

"No. Just you and me."

"Okay." Belinda took it all in stride. Without the slightest hesitation, she hooked her thumbs inside the waistband of her panties and, with a definitive tug, pulled them down to her ankles. Then, straightening upright, she stepped one foot out of the panties and, with the other foot, kicked the flimsy undergarment up into the air. When they fell to the floor, she pounced on them, lifted them with both hands, and, stretching the elastic like a slingshot, fired them in the direction of the chair that held all of the rest of her clothing. The panties landed atop her skirt, which was folded over the back of the chair, and they clung there like a rock climber on a sheer cliff. Belinda had jettisoned every stitch in what I would later come to appreciate as record time.

She now turned to face me directly in all her nude splendor. Her nipples stood at attention. Her p**sy was hairless around the lips with a neat triangle of curly hair above the slit. The way she was standing, I could almost swear she was angling her hips so as to give me a better view of her crotch. My focus was drawn to the delicate lips that peeked out from below her fair pubes.

She must have noticed my gaze. She cupped a hand over her crotch, making no attempt to conceal anything else.

"You're staring at my p**sy. Aren't you?" she whispered.

I diverted my gaze upward. Belinda moved her other hand up so that her palm cupped the front of one breast while her forearm loosely covered the other.

"Now you're looking at my t*ts," she said, turning her head away as though she were overcome with a sudden bout of modesty.

"You have a beautiful body," was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"You're one of those men who likes to look at naked girls."

Is there any other type of man?—assuming the man is heterosexual, that is.

She stood there, motionless, with only her strategically placed hands to cover up the extra special goodies, her head cocked to the side as though she couldn't bear to look me in the eye under such circumstances. The scene was a mixture of embarrassment and exhibitionism. She was the perfect picture of both modesty and immodesty all at once.

"Would you rather I didn't look?" I asked, uncertainly.

"I can't cover up everything," she purred. "Women have too much to cover. And my bare @ss is hanging out for you to see. All you'd have to do is walk around me, and I couldn't stop you from seeing."

Unless I had hallucinated, the entire stripping sequence, a mere minute ago, I had already seen everything she had to show. But I sensed she wanted me to play along. So I took the few steps it required for me to get a direct view of her bare backside.