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“Well, if we went down the systematic desensitisation route then we’d each have to remove one piece of clothing at a time and wait until we were comfortable before moving on. Besides feeling like a really weird game of strip poker, which is a game I hate by the way, it would take hours and I want to get on with some work.”
“So you want to go down the flooding route, I assume.”
“Exactly. I propose that what we do is stand back-to-back, take everything off and then, when we’re ready, we turn around and face each other. Once we’re comfortable seeing each other naked, we get dressed and it’s done. What do you think?”
“Are you sure this is the only way?”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“No.”
“Well then. Come on, let’s get it over with.”
Suddenly, Toby bursts out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask him, bemused.
“Are you always this romantic?” he asks.
“Oh, shut up and get your kit off!”
We dutifully turn away from each other as if we’re preparing to fight a duel. I feel incredibly self-conscious as I remove my fleece, salopettes and vest. I can hear Toby rustling behind me, and I hope furiously that he’s doing the same, and I’m not going to turn around and find him still fully clothed. I don’t think I could bear the embarrassment. It takes all my will to remove my bra and step out of my knickers. I make sure I place them very close to me on the floor so I can put them on quickly when this ridiculous exercise is over. Finally, I remove my socks.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Give me a couple of seconds.” I hear some more rustling of cloth before he says, “OK. I’m ready too.”
“On the count of three then. One…. two…..” my heart is in my mouth as I start to turn, and I can feel myself blushing furiously, “three.”
My first feeling is relief. Toby is as naked as I am, and also has high colour in his face. We stand there for what seems like an age, but our embarrassment only seems to be getting worse. Although I’m trying to focus on his chest, which is surprisingly masculine and has just the right dusting of hair, I’m acutely aware of his penis. There’s nothing unusual about it, it’s a perfectly average penis, it’s just that I never expected to find myself standing in a room being confronted by it. I wonder what parts of me he’s focussing on. My B cup boobs are perhaps on the small side, but I don’t mind that. At least they won’t give me backache or drag along the floor when I’m older. I’m also not a fan of extreme pubic topiary – no Brazilian or Hollywood waxes for me, thanks – but I do keep things neat and tidy down there. I don’t think any of that will be of any interest to Toby though.
“Maybe we should each do a pirouette,” I suggest, after what feels like forever, but is probably no more than a minute or so, “and then we could start getting dressed again?”
“Good idea,” he replies. “After you.”
Slowly I turn my body round until I’m facing him again. When I’m done, he starts to turn, and I study him as he does. He is compact, but he obviously keeps in shape because he’s pretty muscly. His back is broad at the shoulders, narrowing down to his waist, and he has a very pert, nicely shaped bottom. Once we’re facing again, we start to get dressed, in a kind of strange reverse striptease. It’s almost choreographed; he pulls on his Calvin Klein briefs as I step into my knickers, and soon we’re fully clothed.
“OK!” I say, rather too brightly. “That’s that. No more mystery, and we should be fine in here now. There’s just one thing.”
“What?”
“The loo. I think we should agree a ‘no solids’ rule. I think there’s a loo downstairs near the restaurant, so if either of us needs to poo we should go down there.”
“Good idea. By the way, I liked your knickers,” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“WHAT??”
“Nice colour. They bring out your eyes,” he adds, and starts laughing. Instantly, the last threads of tension are broken.
“Sod off!” I tell him, through my own laughter.
