Next Three Weeks With Carla

I had to spend extra time yesterday and today getting writing assignments done. I just finished up moments ago and now I'm free until the first week of January.

I guess for me the holidays are about vacation time!

So I'm spending the next few weeks with Carla at her apartment. It's going to be the longest stretch of days I've spent with her without returning home. I'm leaving as soon as I get this posted.

Over the past year we've talked about me moving in with her. There are bigger units in the apartment building where she lives, and we'd move into one of them. I'd have to have space for my work, and of course Internet access. But I don't know. I would really miss living here in the country. Carla prefers to live in the city, and so her moving out here is out of the question.

But I do want to live with her.

If I were to do so Carla would not allow me to have any clothing of my own. She would have me nude at all times, I know that. But she would still have me wear designs that she creates when we go out.

Living like that is of course completely different than the way I've been living for most of my life. I love the country, I love walking nude outdoors around my property, and taking nude hikes on some of the trails around here. Contrast that to living in the city in a small apartment.

So these three weeks will shed some light on how that goes.

I've been writing "Full Time Lara" this past week also. If you're following that I have several episodes scheduled to publish while I'm away.

This will be my last post until a week after New Year's Day.

Buying a Christmas Tree in the Nude

The past week I've contemplated Carla's suggestion that I eliminate all clothing in my possession and use my creativity to live a life as completely nude but staying within reason.

So yesterday I bought a Christmas tree in the nude.

I wanted to buy one for Carla, but her tiny apartment doesn't have room for a normal sized tree, so I got her one of those tiny table-top trees.

There's a christmas tree lot about five miles down the highway heading towards San Diego. I left home about 5:00pm after finishing my day's work. It was dusk when I arrived at the christmas tree lot.

I entered the lot nude, carrying only my wallet. A girl minding the cash register was smiling and giggling as she saw me enter.

"I'm looking for a table-top christmas tree, do you have any?" I asked.

She pointed her finger to several such trees adorned with a few red beads and planted in pots wrapped in red foil. I picked one up and set it on the checkout counter. The guy who works the chain saw and hammer stopped to observe me. I saw a few other customers about but didn't pay any attention to them.

I handed her some cash and she gave me back my change.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked.

"Yes, it's quite cold" I answered.

She only smiled thereafter, and I picked up the tree and got back into my car.

I showed up at Carla's with the little tree. She seemed to like it a lot.

But I realize she's right in that maybe I ought to make a bold new direction in my life, and just eliminate all the clothes in my possession and force myself to find a way to get by.

Carla Loves My New Blog!

Since relaunching this blog a little over a week ago, Carla says she's very pleased.

Last Saturday we sat at the coffee shop and I showed it to her on my laptop. She likes the new design, the new focus. She likes what subjects I've written about.

She read all the articles and said she could tell that I'm very focused on being her slave, and that just by writing them it makes me think about our relationship, why it works, and what we get out of it.

As someone who writes for a living, I put effort into reading my writings over and over again to make sure I've fixed every misspelling and every grammatical error. I rewrite paragraphs and phrases that sound problematic, repetitive, or lacking in elegance.

But I find that I've taken this to a greater degree now that I'm writing this blog at Carla's suggestion. I want it to look perfect and impressive for her. If one of her friends should happen to visit this blog, I want them to be impressed because I know that will reflect back on Carla.

On Being a Full Time Nudist

Ever since I became a nudist at 12, I've wanted to live the rest of my life never putting on a piece of clothing again. And many times I've tried.

But it's not practical.

First of all, you spend a lot of time alone in your house. You can't go to many places without being confronted by someone or the police. And even if you were to live in a nudist colony, you're still mostly confined to the nudist colony.

I convinced myself that it's not possible to live as a full time nudist. Either you find yourself lonely, confined, or you get into confrontation.

There really isn't much freedom in being fully nude. And isn't nudism supposed to be about freedom?

My other blog, "Full Time Lara" explores a concept in which I leave home after graduating high school and travelling across the USA fully nude, with no money, no car, no possessions, no identification, nothing at all. It's actually a work of fiction, but it's based on me, my life growing up as a nudist. I try to write it as if it were the real world, based on what I know.

I like to believe in theory that "Full Time Lara" exposes a way to make it work.

I've mentioned to Carla on numerous occasions that I wish I could live without ever wearing a single item of clothing again. But that's a conflict with her. She loves to design clothes for me, albeit very revealing, provocative, clothing. And I do find it fun and exciting to model them for her in public.

Over the past few months she has suggested that I'm already a full time nudist, that I'm always nude every time I can possibly to do. I only wear clothes when I absolutely have to.

I countered that while she's correct, you cannot really be a full time nudist if you live in an area where you're required to wear clothes some of the time.

So she suggested that I throw away all of my clothes. That is, the clothes that I bought for myself and keep at my house. The only time I would put something on is when she wanted to dress me in something. Otherwise, I would have to find a way to accomplish everything I need to accomplish in the nude.

She hasn't demanded me to do this, only left it to me to think about.

I had put up excuses on why it wouldn't be possible, such as that I would have to drive to her apartment and drive back home nude. To which she answered, "but you've done that many times already, what's your point?"

I've also questioned how I would go grocery shopping, to which she answered that I could go grocery shopping in the nude at this health food store near her apartment, which I've done a few times before (I'll write about this later). She also pointed out that I grow vegetables in a garden at my house.

And what about if I have to go to a doctor or to the hospital for something? To which she said that I could show up at the emergency room fully naked, which they are not going to kick me out since I'm coming in with an emergency need, and will give me something to wear. And as for visiting the doctor, I can still put something on if I absolutely have to.

Living your life fully nude doesn't have to require that I never wear clothes ever again. It's really just a philosophy.

I can go ahead and throw all my clothes away, and try to find as many ways as I can to live a fully nude life, even pushing the limits as far as I can get away with. But if at some point I absolutely must find something to put on, it's not the end of the world. It's not like I stopped being a nudist.

As of this writing, I still have not thrown away clothes. But am left wondering, "Why haven't I?"

A Good Slave Practices Good Posture

I never learned how to sit, stand, or walk with proper form and posture. When I was young, my mother was too busy with her work to pay any attention to my mannerisms.

During the 1970s, we still had charm school in Charleston, and I had heard of some girls at my school talk about attending them. But I did not. Even if my mother had wanted me to attend, I would have fought against it. I wanted to be nude. I didn't care about my social standing.

Suffice it to say, I grew up as a skinny, foul mouthed slouch.

Carla reminds me to sit up straight, stand straight, keep my shoulders back, and keep my head up. I should keep my hands folded together in front of me while I stand, and I should walk and heel with the same graceful obedience as a well-trained greyhound.

She reminds me to keep my words to a minimum and smile when I speak, and always say "thank you" and "you're welcome". Even when we walk together, I never lead. I'm always at her side or slightly behind.

I am her slave, her pet, her prized possession.

She expresses that with a leash tied to a choker around my neck. She has several chokers of various colors, materials, and designs to go with whatever clothes she has me wear. It's obvious to anyone that I am hers, and that she is putting me on display. I give her a sense of pride.

I can understand that someone else will see us as something bizarre. But then again, I've never cared about my social standing. I understand it's a role. But I feel happy and fulfilled in this way. When I see Carla beaming with pride, I know that I'm her source of pride. That makes me feel happy.

It wasn't until high school that I took a greater interest in writing. It helped me process the depression I went into after Teresa and I broke up. I would spend school lunch hour inside the library, and there I took an interest in reading Emily Dickinson, Edna St Vincent Millay, Sylvia Plath, among others. I admired how much power they could wield from their words, and it inspired me to follow suit.

If anything, studying English and creative writing allowed me to analyze my surroundings in a more refined way, and gave me a better sense of discipline than the more forceful approach that Teresa had utilized.

If I had possessed that same refined sense while I was with Teresa, perhaps I would have perceived our relationship from a different perspective. But then again, I was so young and naive.

How I Met Carla, Part 4

(Continued from Part 3)

It had been about four months until Carla finally cleared the air.

After having sex that evening, and just about to walk out of the door to head back home, Carla clutched me from behind and held me tight. She kissed my neck. Her nude body felt so warm and soft against my skin, and her taller body and longer arms enveloped me in a protective embrace.

"You belong to me now." she whispered ever so quietly in my ear.

Then she let me go, gave me a pat on the ass, and bid me a safe drive home.

As I drove home the reality sunk in that I was living for her. Everyday I thought of her. I shaved myself smooth for her. I remained nude for her. I kept my body slim and tight for her. Anytime she asked me to do something, I did it, and she rewarded me with her smile, her touch, or her embrace. And if I didn't get an immediate reward I knew she was saving it up for a completely gratifying night of sex. Whatever the case, as long as I did what she asked, I always left her apartment fulfilled.

She was designing clothes for me to wear that would present me in public in whatever sexy and provocative ways her mood suggested. At first, I feared that some of the clothes she had me wear would stir up confrontation from others, or have them call the authorities. But I'm always by her side and trouble has yet to come along. It seems like she knows what the limits are.

I find that I'm happy whenever she's happy. If she's pleased with me, then I know she wants me. And because I want her to want me, I make it my goal to please her.

"I think we should get a bottle of pinot noir." she might say to me when we dine out. And I always answer, "Oh yes! I would love some pinot noir!". "Hmmm, a filet mignon sounds good, what do you think?" she asks. "Oooh, that does sound good!" I answer with a smile.

Ultimately, trust is what makes this relationship work. She knows how far she can push things, hence whatever she wants me to do I know it will be safe. And she can trust that I'll always be ready for her, and that I will never disappoint her.

Carla enjoys dressing me in her designs, walking me outside, and putting me on display. She feels a great sense of pride knowing that she has me under her command, that I'm obedient and loyal, well-mannered with good posture, looking sexy and tight, displaying her creations, and ready to serve her in any way.

To other observers this might look bizarre. They probably think I'm being humiliated. But Carla doesn't humiliate me at all. She treats very well, loves me, caresses me, and cherishes me. She's giving me what I want, a friend, a lover, and someone who knows exactly the kind of fulfillment I need.

How I Met Carla, Part 3

(Continued from Part 2)

I originally saw it as a cute little game.

The first time Carla and I had sex, she wanted to keep my clothes, that is the clothes I wore when I drove from my house to her apartment. That meant I would have to drive back home nude.

And that really wasn't too much to ask from someone who's a nudist and exhibitionist, and it's not like I hadn't driven nude before.

But then she said that if I wanted to get my clothes back, I would have to come back to her apartment in the nude. That is, I'd have to be fully naked when I knocked on her door, and not carrying any clothes with me.

So that's what I did.

I did, however, wear clothes when I drove from my house to the apartment. But I removed them in the car, along with my sandals. I waited until I could see no one around. Then I walked quickly into the apartment and up the stairs and knocked on her door.

But by this time, we were having sex every time we got together, and every time we had sex Carla wanted to keep my clothes. Which meant, I was never able to get my original clothes back from her! I was constantly arriving at her apartment nude, and leaving her apartment nude.

There were several times when I passed by other people in the apartment. The first time, I got quite a reaction. An older woman thought someone kicked me out of their room. But the people here don't seem to mind too much, and there are children living here. By this time they've seen me nude many times, and refer to me as the "naked lady".

Well, after several times of doing this, Carla made it a rule that she wants me fully nude from head to toe every time I enter or leave her apartment, except if she specifically instructs me otherwise. If I forget, she gets to keep whatever I have on.

One time as we were walking back from the coffee shop, and we walked into her apartment together, I walked in with my sarong, string t-shirt, and a pair of slippers. "These are mine now!" she said. And made me take them off, to which she stashed in her closet.

Effectively, I am always fully naked at Carla's apartment. The only clothes I put on are whatever she gives me to wear, whenever she wants me to.

Later on she made another demand. Every time I came to see her, my pussy had to be shaved completely smooth. Anytime I walk in the door, the first thing she does is feel my pussy to see how smooth it is. She said it is absolutely imperative to be smooth in order to model her clothes.

Well, I've gotten to where I now keep a razor and a pair of tweezers in the glove compartment of my car, and check myself every time I visit.

It didn't take long for me to realize that she had me going through a routine and a protocol for visiting her.

(Continue to Part 4)

How I Met Carla, Part 2

(Continued from Part 1)

Carla's studio was small. It was in an old apartment building that looked like it was built in the 1930s, located in downtown San Diego.

You had to walk inside the building and go up several flights of stairs to the third floor. There was no elevator.

The studio itself was just one main room with the front door and kitchenette at one end, and her bed and sewing table at the other end. In the middle was a sofa and table. If I had to guess, I'd say the studio was 600 square feet. It only had one window which looked out across downtown.

It also had a bathroom with a toilet and shower, but no bathtub. And she had a closet.

Her studio was filled with rolls of cloths and fabrics. There were cases full of thread, buttons, pins, and scissors. She had stacks of patterns and papers on which she sketched out clothing ideas. She didn't do any of this for money, just for her own creative outlet. Many of the clothes she wears are of her own creation.

In the weeks since I met Carla we would sit together at the coffee shop while I gave her pointers on how to expose herself in using my techniques. She would experiment with different clothes, and then push the limits beyond what I would typically do.

She said I had the perfect body for the kind of clothes she liked to design. I'm thin. I stand 5'5" tall and weigh between 110-115 pounds on most days. I wear an A cup bra size. I have sandy blonde hair, shoulder length.

Carla loves clothes that accentuates a flat tummy, and even at 44 years of age, I still have a flat, tight tummy. She particularly loves the way my pubic mound rises up from my abdomen and enjoys emphasizing it.

So now she has someone to model for her. Her creative mind churned out lots of ideas and she couldn't sew fast enough to keep up. She would design something for me to wear and then wanted to see me wear it in public.

And that was something entirely new for me.

I've never put on clothes specifically to look sexy. Yes, I would wear my sarong, but that was so that I could exhibit myself, not so much to enhance my appearance.

Carla wanted to design clothes that would exhibit myself but accentuate certain features of my body, and to enhance my appearance, and do it in her own forward-thinking creativity.

Carla takes me out walking with the clothes she makes and observes me.

At first I figured she liked making new clothes and wanted to see how I looked in them. But I started to realize that she simply liked exhibiting me. It wasn't just that she likes to make clothes, she likes to show me off in her designs and gauge peoples' reactions.

And I have fun with it. I like trying on her clothes, and I love the attention I get from her.

But now I find myself watching my figure ever more closely. I count my calories, I exercise, I take vitamins, and do whatever I can to keep my tummy perfect for her.

(Continue to Part 3)

How I Met Carla, Part 1

I met Carla in the Summer of 2009.

In those months exhibitionism had grown to become my biggest pasttime. I was creative in exposing myself in ways that appeared accidental, or appeared as if I was unaware. I guess it was how I expressed myself hoping to impress someone or find someone who appreciated seeing me.

I've been a nudist since I was a little girl. When I moved out of the house, I sought to be nude as often as possible, which meant staying at home a lot. And even if I spent time outdoors in remote places, I was still alone.

Exhibitionism is my way to enjoy nudity in public places. Except I don't walk around fully nude. I wear certain clothes that allow people to see through, or clothes that will "accidentally" expose myself when I move in certain ways, or when the breeze blows. I think there was a little voice in me that said if I did this I would eventually find a friend who liked what I did.

One of my favorite ways to expose myself is at this coffee shop in downtown San Diego. It has an outdoor patio with several small tables. Right next to the patio is a sidewalk where people pass by, and a wrought iron fence the separates the sidewalk from the patio.

I wear a sarong, exactly what is pictured here. It's black sheer material. I tie it similar to this, maybe just another inch towards the front, just to make it look more tantalizing.

Except I don't wear any panties.

I usually wear a short spaghetti top that still exposes my navel.

When I walk outside a breeze will catch the sarong and reveal glimpses of my smoothly shaved pussy. And even if it doesn't, the sheer material still exposes me. I gets LOTS of looks!

But when I'm seated at this coffee table, I like to lift my right leg up (where the sarong is longest) and rest my foot on the seat of the chair, such that my leg is pulled up to my chest. Then I lean back into the chair and hold up a book while I'm enjoying a coffee.

This exposes my pussy to anyone who's looking in that direction.

Behind my sunglasses I watch people walking down the sidewalk or walking across the patio to see if they notice. People DO notice. But no one has confronted me on it.

But that changed on this one day.

Carla had walked up to me and sat down in the other chair with at my table. She was originally seated at another table and was watching me. I had seen her, but wasn't really paying attention to her.

She complimented me on the way I could exhibit myself and look completely unaware that I was doing so. She even pointed out the few occasions I had reached down with my other hand to stimulate myself, which even I was unaware I had done! She was only amazed at how I could carry myself about in this manner, yet present myself as oblivious to the world.

I was scared of her at first. She had flat out called me on my little game. Yet, she wasn't angry or disgusted. She was praising me!

To her, it looked like fun and she wanted some pointers from me.

I was suspicious of her. I mean, whoever heard of someone walking up to a complete stranger and asking for pointers on how to expose your pussy in public?

But she was still reading my every move and response. I was looking for a way to get out of here, and she simply wouldn't give me the chance. She would cut in and ask about the book I was reading, ask me where I got my sarong, and then tell me about how she likes to show off a little bit too.

The fact is that I was tense, but I didn't want to look vulnerable. I tried to answer her questions and pretend I was comfortable. But Carla knew better and helped me along. Eventually, I settled down and she and I were able to have a friendly conversation.

The more we talked the more I became intrigued with her. Even though we were almost mirror opposites, we still had one thing in common, we loved to live on humble means. She rented a small studio apartment in downtown. She has a scooter to get around with, but most of the time she walks everywhere. She doesn't even have a cell phone or a television. She does part time jobs and earns just enough to pay her rent, her utilities, and some food, and that's it.

I actually own a house on an acre of land well out of town in the country, and I drive a car. But everything is paid for, and right now I live on a small income and it's enough to pay my bills, buy some food, and take a drive into the city for a cup of coffee.

She told me that she used to work as a clothes designer for some fashion companies in New York. But every place she worked for held back her talents. She had a lot of forward thinking ideas, but no one would listen. She grew tired of working on the same dresses and suits and decided to come back home to San Diego to start her own fashion design company. But as things turned out, she found life more fulfilling to just "be" and live a simpler life.

That resonated with me. I love living simply.

I kept on chatting with Carla.

(Continue to Part 2)