Clothed Female Naked Male

Photo by Molly Algernon
Photo by Molly Algernon

Note: This is a guest blog I wrote on the Clothed Female Naked Male fetish (or CFNM) for kinkandpoly.com.

A few years ago I was at a munch and I was complaining that since my first Dom had moved out of state, I was having no luck recreating my ideal situation: providing service to a dominant woman while nude. It seemed like a no-brainer: someone else does your dishes, your laundry, your vacuuming or cleans your bathroom floor, and as a bonus, if you’re so inclined, you get to ogle him while he’s naked. Sounds like a win-win, to me. So why was it so difficult to manifest? “I just want a woman to strip me naked and tell me what to do. Is that too much to ask?”

The Dom I was complaining to looked at me like I was not too swift and said, “Dude, just go online and look for a Dom that’s into CFNM.”

“SEE-EFFIN-What?” I asked.

“C.F.N.M.…” she searched my eyes for any recognition. She found none. “Clothed Female Naked Male.”

Well I’ll be damned, I thought. My whole adult life I knew that I was into being naked in the presence of clothed women, but I had no idea there was a name for it, let alone an acronym. It was just this thing I liked to do. Who knew it was “a thing?”

When I first got involved with BDSM, it was the mid-90s. The internet existed, but not like we know it today. There was no such term as “social media.” There was no Fetlife, no CollarMe, no Adult Friend Finder. I found my first lifestyle dominatrix by answering a classified ad in a newspaper. A lifestyle Dom was looking for a service submissive and, after a brief interview, she accepted me.

It was great at first. I got the same nervous rush the first few times I entered the home of a relative stranger to be bossed around and pressed into servitude. It usually involved me performing some simple household chores, then getting on my knees and giving her a foot massage.   But after the first few times, the novelty wore off and it just felt like helping out a friend around the house. Something was missing. It just didn’t feel submissive enough.

I was somewhat shy back then, so it took some effort on my part to work up the nerve to request what I really wanted, but I asked if I could serve her in the nude. To which she responded, words to the effect of, “Hell yeah!” The enthusiastic yes was important. Of course, if she had just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Sure… I guess… if you want to…” I still would have done it, but the fact that she seemed excited about receiving my naked service made it all the more exciting for me.

From that point on, whenever I arrived at her home, the first thing she did was order me to take my clothes off, then she gave me my chores for the day. The simple act of disrobing became a meaningful ritual. Every moment that I was naked in her presence was charged with erotic energy. I felt like I was truly submitting to her. Some people get this from being beaten, some from being collared, some from being tied up, and yes, all those things work for me too, but the moment I took my clothes off for her was like instantly going into subspace.

I can’t say for sure what my Dom got out of the arrangement. Perhaps she just enjoyed the sight of my naked body. Perhaps she got turned on by the visual representation of her power over me. (After all, it would be years before I ever saw my Dom out of her clothes. Sometimes, in those early days, she would wear short skirts with no panties, sit with her legs open and order me not to look.) Or maybe she just enjoyed having access to any part of my body whenever she wanted. I’d like to think it was all of the above. Being naked at all times meant that in between formal scenes, if she just wanted to dig her fingernails in to my back and claw me from shoulder to waist while I was dusting, she could. If she wanted to slap my bare ass while I was vacuuming her rug, she could. If she wanted to sneak up behind me while I was doing the dishes and flog my balls – while also ordering me to keep scrubbing the plate that I had clutched in both hands for fear of dropping and breaking it – she could. And she did.

Then there was the humiliation and objectification aspect of it. Once I had become comfortable being naked when my Dom and I were alone, she started inviting other people over while I was serving her. She would entertain guests and have me serve them tea in the nude.  There were times when my Dom and I were alone and she would send me to another part of the house to perform a chore, and by the time I finished and came back for another assignment, unbeknownst to me, friends of hers would have  arrived and I would walk in the room naked and meet a total stranger. When my Dom began mentoring other young doms, she enjoyed showing me off to them. They’d see me in passing as I worked and say things like, “Hey, nice ass!” the kinds of cat-calls that women dealt on a regular basis, but men almost never did until they found themselves in a situation like mine. Once, my Dom ordered me to masturbate in her living room and wouldn’t let me clean myself off until her young trainee had been called in to admire me, naked on the floor with cum sprayed across my belly.

As a nudist, the most interesting thing to me about the CFNM dynamic is that it feels absolutely nothing like being naked around clothed people in a non-dominance/submission environment. Taking off my clothes as an act of submission completely changes the experience for me, psychologically. I’ve been very fortunate to find dominant women for whom being served by a naked man tripped their triggers the same way that offering naked service trips mine. 

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The Big Book of Domination Blog Tour: New York, New York!

So, back in November I flew to New York for the release of “The Big Book of Domination” the erotic anthology that my work is included in, from Cleis Press, edited by the awesome D.L. King.

I had the pleasure of staying in the home of author Laura Antoniou and her lovely wife Karen. I knew I was in the right place when I saw the Revenge of the Jedi poster in their guest bedroom (side note, as card-carrying member of the Star Wars fan club, I got a Revenge of the Jedi patch in the mail the year before the movie was released. I’m pretty sure I had already lost it by the time it was announced that the title of the movie would be changed).

My first night in New York I went to a BDSM party at a club called the Parthenon. They were playing really good music from Pandora, but it was the free version, so in the middle of the really intense scene, there would be car insurance commercials, which kinda broke the mood.

After the party we went walking around Manhattan looking for a place to get coffee at 1 a.m. and ended up in a 24 hour McDonalds. The girl behind the counter took one look at my date (six-foot tall in her boots and dressed from head to toe in black leather with matching gloves) and asked, “Do you ride motorcycles or hunt vampires?” Then she looked at me and said, “You must be her sidekick.”

The next day was the reading at Purple Passion. Karen had to drive us from Queens to Brooklyn, to pick up D.L., then from Brooklyn to Manhattan for the reading. The traffic was so bad that we were almost late for our own event. Karen told me the old joke that “no one drives in New York because there’s so much traffic.” In Brooklyn we cut through an orthodox Jewish neighborhood, and since it was Saturday, there was almost no one on the roads. A great time saver if you ever find yourself in the same situation.

We arrived at Purple Passion just in time. On the bill were with me were D.L., Laura, and Rachel Kramer Bussel. Funny story…

So, back when I was a frustrated, unpublished writer of erotica, I submitted a few stories to anthologies edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, and she always rejected my work. So, taking inspiration from 50 Cent’s “How to Rob” (the mix-tape track where the unsigned 50 Cent used each verse to describe how he would rob successful rap and R&B artists), I decided to write a story describing how I would fuck successful erotica writers and editors, sort of positioning myself as the “50 Cent of Erotica.”  In said story, I articulated my desire to fuck Rachel Kramer Bussel from behind while shoving her face first into a plate of gourmet cupcakes. It was independently published in a little anthology sold locally in St. Louis, what were the odds that a New York editor like Rachel Kramer Bussel would ever read it?

…Well, the odds were pretty good as it turns out, because she read the book. And now we were performing at the same reading.

I asked Karen if she thought I should apologize to Rachel now that I would be seeing her in person. Karen’s advice was not to bring it up and all, and I thought that was a brilliant idea.

At the reading, Rachel stepped out of the room for a minute and while she was gone, Laura brought up the story (she’d heard me me perform it at a reading we’d done at Fetish Fair Fleamarket earlier that year). I quickly wrapped up the conversation so that we wouldn’t be talking about it by the time Rachel returned.

The reading went off without a hitch, Laura read her introduction to the book, which was hilarious, D.L. read her story and then introduced Rachel. When Rachel went up, she put in a plug for her her new collection of essays, “Sex and Cupcakes.” She held up a postcard of the cover art which features her… topless, bent over a table full of cupcakes.

I could feel the eyes burrowing in the back of my head as she held up the card, but I just kept my mouth shut and thankfully so did everyone else.

I just want to say for the record that Rachel Kramer Bussel is a fine writer and, from what I’ve been told, a very forgiving person. Not the type to hold a grudge. You should run right out and buy “Sex & Cupcakes” right after you buy “The Big Book of Domination.”