How I Found Myself on the Unexpected Side of the Naked Study

 I have a full-blown novelette for you today and this one I think is sort of a nicer sweeter story about shy awkward nudity in contrast to the last one which was a little bit more brutal about revenge humiliation nudity. This one's a pure CFNM story about a guy who stands up for a nudity study thinking he is going to see some naked women only to find himself to be the naked one but this one I thought was just kind of nice because the characters are genuinely very likable and their experience brings them closer together, albeit with much embarrassment and awkwardness! So enjoy this new story about CFNM. I guess I'm still in the mood for that after writing that full novel last month on the topic!

How I Found Myself on the Unexpected Side of the Naked Study
"You ever just *stare* at your hands?" Stephen muttered, rubbing his palms together like he was trying to start a fire. Andrew snorted into his beer. "Dude, what?"
    Stephen didn’t look up. "Like… these hands have never touched a woman. Not like *that*, anyway. Not for real. Just pixels. A lot of fucking pixels." He flexed his fingers, frowning. "I think I’d short-circuit if I ever saw one naked in front of me."
    Andrew leaned back, chair creaking. "Jesus, man. You’re 26. You gotta get out of your own head." He flicked a peanut shell at him. "It’s not rocket science. People do it every day. Dogs do it. Bugs do it."
    Stephen’s ears went pink. "Yeah, well, dogs don’t overthink it. I’d probably apologize to her tits or something." He dragged a hand down his face. "God, that’s pathetic."
    Andrew grinned. "Worse—it’s *adorable*."
    Stephen blinked, the beer bottle pausing halfway to his lips. "What the hell does *adorable* mean in this context?" His voice cracked slightly, which only made Andrew's grin widen.
    Andrew spun his own bottle lazily on the chipped wooden table. "Means you're like a golden retriever that brings a girl her shoes instead of humping her leg. Women dig manners—until they don’t." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You ever hold a door open so hard you pull a muscle? Yeah. That’s you."
    Stephen scowled. "So I’m supposed to—what, slam it in her face instead?"
    "Christ, no. Just stop treating every interaction like you’re defusing a bomb." Andrew flicked another peanut shell—this time aiming for Stephen’s forehead. "You panic if a girl’s knee brushes yours under a table. Real talk: no one’s gonna bite your dick off for existing near them."
    Silence stretched, broken only by the distant clatter of dishes from the bar’s kitchen. Stephen exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tapping against his bottle. "Easy for you to say. You’ve had, what, three girlfriends this year?"
    Andrew shrugged. "Four, but who’s counting? Point is, they weren’t into me ‘cause I recited Shakespeare. They were into me ‘cause I didn’t act like I needed permission to breathe the same air." He paused, then added, softer, "Look, man. You’re not broken. You’re just… waiting for a engraved invitation to live your life."
    Stephen’s throat worked. For a second, it looked like he might argue—then his shoulders slumped. "Fuck," he muttered. "I *did* apologize to Jessica Chen’s cleavage in tenth grade."
    Andrew burst out laughing. "No shit?"
    "It *jiggled* when she laughed! I panicked!"
    Andrew wiped his eyes, wheezing. "Oh my god. We’re fixing this. Tonight."
    Stephen went pale. "Wait—what does *tonight* mean—?"
    But Andrew was already texting, thumbs flying. "Means you’re gonna learn how to say ‘hello’ to a woman without drafting a legal disclaimer first."
    Stephen's phone buzzed against the sticky bar table—a screenshot from Andrew. The words *"University Behavioral Study - Participant Waiver Required"* glared up at him under the dim neon lights.
    "I don’t know about this," Stephen muttered, squinting at the small print. But then his thumb froze mid-scroll. "Wait. Hold on." He tilted the screen toward Andrew, finger jabbing at a bullet point. "*Participants will engage in controlled exposure to non-sexualized nudity as part of social desensitization protocols.* What the hell does that even—"
    Andrew snatched the phone back with a grin. "Means you’re gonna see tits without having to apologize for it. *Legally.*" He tapped the address at the bottom. "Community center, ten blocks away. Starts in an hour."
    Stephen’s throat clicked. "That’s—that’s a *study*? Like, with clipboards and shit?"
    "Better," Andrew said, leaning in. "It’s got a *disclaimer*. You sign your guilt away upfront. No ‘sorry your nipples offended me’ bullshit." He smirked. "Unless you’re scared of science."
    Stephen’s knee bounced under the table. He imagined sterile white rooms, maybe a divider screen, someone in a lab coat saying *Please observe the specimen.* His face heated. "What if I—what if I *react*?"
    Andrew snorted. "Then you’ll prove their hypothesis. Win-win." He stood, chair screeching. "Come on, Darwin. Time to evolve."
    Outside, the streetlights flickered like bad omens. Stephen kept pace beside Andrew, hands jammed in his pockets. "This feels like a prank," he muttered.
    Andrew didn’t slow down. "Nope. Just academia being weird as fuck." He side-eyed Stephen. "Unless you’d rather go back to apologizing to JPEGs."
    Stephen hunched his shoulders. The community center loomed ahead, its glass doors reflecting their approach—two distorted figures, one already laughing.
    The community center’s fluorescent lights buzzed like a warning as Stephen stepped inside—and promptly tripped over his own feet. Because there she was, eight years older but unmistakable: Jessica Chen, leaning against a folding chair with the same careless grace that once haunted his high school nightmares. Her eyebrow arched. "What are *you* two doing here?"
    Andrew clapped a hand on Stephen’s shoulder before he could bolt, fingers digging in like a lifeguard gripping a drowning man. "Science," Andrew announced, shaking the waiver printout like a flag. "We’re here for the…" He squinted at the paper. "*Human Interaction Desensitization Project*."
    Jessica snorted. "Jesus, Andrew. Just call it *the naked people study* like a normal person." The other women laughed—a sound that made Stephen’s pulse thud in his ears—but Jessica’s gaze slid to Stephen. Her smirk softened, just slightly. "Still apologizing to inanimate objects, Stephens?"
    Stephen’s mouth opened. Closed. His brain helpfully replayed *Jessica Chen’s cleavage, tenth grade, accidental eye contact during her presentation on photosynthesis*. "I—uh—"
    Andrew pinched the back of Stephen’s arm hard enough to startle him into coherence. "Nope! Reformed. Totally chill now. Right, Steve?"
    Before Stephen could strangle him, a woman in a lab coat cleared her throat. "Participants? We’re starting." She gestured to a partitioned area where two other guys—one sweating visibly, the other scrolling TikTok—stood awkwardly.
    Stephen’s knees locked. The room suddenly smelled like antiseptic and impending doom. He leaned toward Andrew, hissing, "This is a *bad idea*—"
    Andrew grabbed his wrist. "Too late," he muttered, dragging him forward. "You run now, you’ll have to apologize to *science itself*."
    Jessica watched them with amused detachment, arms crossed. Stephen couldn’t tell if her tank top was mocking him or if that was just his imagination.
    The researcher handed them clipboards. "Initial here acknowledging you may experience physiological reactions." Stephen’s pen hovered like a guillotine. Andrew sighed and scribbled *Stephen’s Mom* in the signature box before shoving him toward the seating area.
    The partitions rustled. Someone coughed. Stephen stared at his shoes like they held the secrets of the universe—until Jessica’s voice cut through the tension: "Relax, Stephens. They’re just boobs. Not landmines."
    Andrew wheezed. Stephen contemplated spontaneous combustion.
    Then the divider folded back.
    The divider folded back—revealing nothing but a whiteboard with *"PLEASE MINGLE FOR 10 MINUTES"* scrawled in aggressive marker. Stephen blinked. "That’s it?" Andrew nudged him hard in the ribs. "Mingling *is* the experiment, dumbass. They’re watching how we interact first."
    Jessica strolled over, arms crossed. "Relax, Stephens. It’s probably just some awkward icebreaker shit before the weird part." She tilted her head, studying him. "You know, it’s actually kind of sweet that you apologized for staring at my breasts back in high school. Most guys just… don’t." A smirk tugged at her lips. "Course, I never apologized for checking out guys in the locker room, so maybe I’m the real perv here."
    Stephen’s throat went dry. "I—uh—that’s—"
    Andrew clapped him on the back, hard enough to rattle his teeth. "See? Jessica’s basically admitting she’s a *predator*. You’re basically a saint."
    Jessica rolled her eyes. "Or maybe I just own my shit." She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Relax, Stephen. Whatever this is, it’s probably not as bad as we’re expecting." Her elbow bumped his—deliberately, he thought—and his brain short-circuited.
    Across the room, the researcher scribbled notes, eyes flicking between them. Stephen wondered if *"participant exhibits symptoms of acute panic"* was a checkbox on her clipboard.
    Stephen’s fingers twitched around his clipboard. "So, uh—you still into photosynthesis?" He immediately wanted to kick himself. *Photosynthesis? Really?*
    Jessica snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "God, you remember that?" She leaned against the folding chair, arms crossed, but there was no mockery in her expression—just amusement. "For the record, I only picked that topic because Mr. Hendricks gave extra credit for puns. *Leaf* it to me, *stem*-ulating discussion—"
    Stephen groaned, but it was halfway to a laugh. "You *planted* those jokes the whole presentation."
    Jessica’s grin widened. "See? You got it." She nudged his shoe with hers. "Also, nice recovery. Tenth-grade you would’ve combusted on the spot."
    And weirdly, he didn’t. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation—standing in a community center under fluorescent lights, waiting to *mingle* before God-knew-what—but the tightness in his chest eased. Jessica had always been like this: sharp, unapologetic, but never cruel. He’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to her when he wasn’t busy mentally drafting apology letters to her décolletage.
    "You still draw?" Jessica asked suddenly, nodding at his hands. "Those shitty little dragons in the margins of your chem notes?"
    Stephen blinked. "You *remember* those?"
    Jessica rolled her eyes. "Duh. You drew one on my permission slip once. Mrs. Alvarez thought it was a *demonic symbol* and made me redo it."
    Andrew, who’d been eavesdropping while pretending to read the waiver, choked on his own spit. "Wait—Stephen *drew* on your—?"
    Jessica shot him a look. "Don’t make it weird, Andrew."
    Stephen’s face burned, but it wasn’t from panic. It was the warmth of remembering something he’d buried under years of awkwardness: Jessica laughing at his dumb sketches, Jessica stealing his granola bar and leaving a *thank you* sticky note shaped like a middle finger, Jessica—
    The researcher cleared her throat. "Participants, we’re moving to the next phase."
    Jessica sighed, pushing off the chair. "Brace yourself, Stephens. Here comes the weird part."
    Stephen exhaled. For the first time all night, his hands weren’t shaking.
    The researcher—Dr. Meredith, according to her clipboard—adjusted her glasses with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Alright, participants. This study examines comfort levels with non-sexualized nudity in mixed-gender settings." She gestured to the waivers scattered across the table. "You’ve all consented. Now, before we proceed, I need you to write down your current emotional state after the mingling phase."
    Stephen’s pen hovered over the paper. *Nervous. Definitely nervous.* But then his gaze flicked to Jessica, who was scribbling something with the intensity of a student finishing an exam. *But also... weirdly okay?* Jessica had always been the kind of person who made things feel normal, even when they weren’t. Like the time she’d casually explained the menstrual cycle to their mortified biology teacher after he’d stammered through the lesson. No drama, just facts.
    Andrew elbowed him. "Dude, you’re smiling. That’s creepy."
    Stephen scowled and scribbled *mild apprehension* before crossing it out and writing *neutral*. Dr. Meredith collected the papers without looking at them, stacking them neatly. "Phase two will begin shortly. You’ll be paired randomly with one another."
    Dr. Meredith tapped her clipboard, her smile clinical. "Random selection begins now. Half of you will disrobe. The other half will remain dressed." A nervous ripple passed through the group. Stephen's fingers twitched against his thighs.
    "Wait," Stephen blurted. "You mean we're not *all* getting naked?"
    "Correct," Dr. Meredith said, adjusting her glasses. "Only half will disrobe—and you won't know which half until phase three." Her tone suggested this was obvious, like explaining that water is wet.
    Andrew leaned over, stage-whispering, "Pray for me, dude. If my partner's not the naked one, I'm demanding a refund." Stephen didn't answer. His throat had closed up the moment Dr. Meredith announced the pairings: *Stephen & Jessica*. Jessica, who was currently examining her nails with studied nonchalance, though the corner of her mouth twitched when their names were called.
    The researcher handed out sealed envelopes. "Inside, you'll find your role assignment. Do *not* open them until instructed." Stephen's envelope felt unnaturally heavy. Across the circle, Andrew waggled his eyebrows suggestively at a bored-looking woman in a turtleneck.
    Jessica bumped her shoulder against Stephen's. "Relax," she murmured. "Worst case scenario, you finally get to apologize to my *entire* body." Her grin was sharp enough to cut glass.
    Stephen's face burned. He'd forgotten this about her—the way she weaponized his awkwardness, turning it into something almost playful. His fingers clenched around the envelope. The room's air conditioning hummed like a held breath.
    Andrew fake-coughed. "*Someone's* hoping for a specific outcome."
    Jessica didn't look away from Stephen. "Oh, I don't know," she said lightly. "Might be more fun if *he's* the naked one. See if he apologizes to his own dick."
    Stephen made a noise like a deflating balloon. Dr. Meredith cleared her throat. "Participants, please prepare to open your envelopes on my mark."
    Stephen's pulse thudded in his ears. The envelope's edge bit into his palm. Jessica's knee brushed his, deliberate and warm.
    "Three," Dr. Meredith counted.
    Andrew mouthed *pray for me*.
    "Two."
    Jessica's smirk deepened.
    "One."
    The envelopes tore open in unison.
    Andrew's fist punched the air as he tore open his envelope, his grin widening as he scanned the contents. "Fuck yeah," he crowed, waving the paper triumphantly. "Clothes stay *on*!" Three women groaned in unison, one crossing her arms tightly. "This is bullshit," muttered a redhead in a crop top. "Random my ass." Dr. Meredith adjusted her glasses with a sigh. "I assure you, the selection algorithm is unbiased. This is behavioral science, not a frat party."
    Stephen's fingers trembled as he peeled open his envelope—then froze. Jessica leaned over, her breath warm against his ear as she peered at his assignment. "Well," she murmured, lips quirking, "looks like you won’t have to apologize to my tits after all." Andrew snatched the paper from Stephen's limp grip, eyebrows shooting up. "No *way*." He shook Stephen by the shoulders. "Dude. You’re the *only* guy who got the naked card. This is—"
    "Not happening in front of everyone," Dr. Meredith cut in smoothly. She tapped her clipboard. "We’ll reconvene in ten minutes for private disrobing. Use this time to… acclimate." Her gaze lingered on Stephen’s white-knuckled grip on his chair. "Breathe, participant."
    Jessica stretched her arms overhead, the hem of her tank top riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Stephen’s gaze darted away like a startled bird. "Relax," she said, rolling her eyes. "It’s just skin. You’ve seen pixels, right?" Andrew snorted. "Pixels don’t *jiggle*, Jess."
    Stephen’s throat clicked. "I—I should probably—"
    "Run screaming?" Jessica finished, smirking. She plucked the envelope from his hand and tucked it into her back pocket. "Too late, Stephens. You signed the waiver." She leaned in, close enough that he could smell her shampoo—something citrusy, sharp. "Unless," she added, voice dropping, "you’re scared of a little *science*."
    Across the room, Dr. Meredith’s pen scratched against her clipboard. Stephen wondered if *"participant exhibits symptoms of impending cardiac arrest"* was a checkbox.
    Andrew clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "Look on the bright side, man. At least you won’t have to apologize to *your own* dick."
    Jessica’s laughter echoed off the sterile walls. Stephen contemplated the existential horror of existence.
    The clock ticked.
    Ten minutes never felt so long.
    Andrew twirled his untouched envelope like a victory flag, grinning at the three women who’d been assigned nudity. "Face it, ladies—the universe *loves* me." The redhead in the crop top rolled her eyes so hard Stephen heard them click. "Yeah, or the universe’s a *dick*." Jessica flicked her envelope at Andrew’s forehead. "If it’s a conspiracy, at least it spared one of us." Her smirk softened when she caught Stephen’s white-knuckled grip on his chair.
    She crouched in front of him, hands covering his trembling ones—warm and steady. "Hey. Look at me." Stephen’s gaze jerked up, pupils blown wide. Jessica squeezed his fingers. "It’s not gonna be that bad, okay? Just skin. You’ve seen *water*, right?" Andrew snorted into his fist. "Water doesn’t have nipples, Jess." Jessica flipped him off without breaking eye contact with Stephen. "Relax," she murmured, thumbs brushing his knuckles. "Worst case scenario, you pass out and I get to draw dicks on your forehead with a Sharpie. Win-win."
    Dr. Meredith cleared her throat, clipboard clutched like a shield. "Participants, proceed to your assigned rooms. You’ll find disposable robes and further instructions inside." Stephen’s knees creaked as he stood, his pulse hammering loud enough he was sure Jessica could hear it. She kept one hand on his elbow as they shuffled toward the designated door—Andrew’s exaggerated wink burning a hole in Stephen’s back.
    The private room was smaller than Stephen expected, just a folding chair and a robe draped over it like a threat. Jessica kicked the door shut behind them, leaning against it with crossed arms. "So," she said, nodding at the robe. "You gonna put that on, or do I get a free show?" Stephen choked on air. "I—*what*?" Jessica’s lips twitched. "Kidding. Mostly." She pushed off the door, snagging the robe and tossing it at him. "Here. Science awaits."
    The intercom crackled to life with Dr. Meredith's crisp voice. "Correction—robes are for post-study. Selected participants will disrobe *now*. Partners may assist if needed." The speaker hissed into silence. Stephen's stomach dropped like a stone. Jessica's fingers drummed against the folding chair's metal frame, her smirk widening as she caught his expression. "Well," she said, stretching the word like taffy, "if it's all right with you..." She stepped closer, fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt. "I wouldn't mind doing the honors." Her laughter curled around him, warm and unapologetic. 
    Stephen's breath hitched as her palms flattened against his chest—not pushing, just present. "Relax," she murmured, thumbs brushing the hollow between his collarbones. "I'll make this painless." Her fingers traced downward, catching the fabric of his t-shirt. The cotton lifted inch by torturous inch, revealing skin gone prickly with goosebumps. Jessica's gaze flicked up, catching his. "Still breathing?" Stephen realized he wasn't. He exhaled in a rush, the sound embarrassingly shaky. 
    Jessica worked with clinical efficiency, no teasing pauses or exaggerated gestures—just steady hands peeling away layers like she was unwrapping something fragile. His shirt hit the floor with a soft *whump*. Her fingers found his belt buckle next, the *click* of the mechanism deafening in the quiet room. Stephen's throat worked. "You're—weirdly good at this." Jessica snorted, looping the belt free. "Three younger brothers. You learn how to strip a guy before he bolts." The waistband of his jeans gaped open under her fingers. 
    A bead of sweat trickled down Stephen's spine. Jessica's knuckles brushed his hipbone as she tugged the zipper down, her other hand splayed against his stomach like an anchor. "Almost done," she said, more to his clavicle than his face. The denim pooled at his ankles. Stephen stared fixedly at the ceiling's water stain, certain his face could power a lighthouse. Jessica stepped back, surveying her handiwork with the detached interest of someone examining a half-assembled IKEA shelf. "See? Still alive." Her smirk softened at the edges. "Though you might wanna apologize to your boxers. They're looking a little... distressed."
    Jessica hooked her thumbs into the waistband of Stephen's boxers, her smirk widening at the way his breath hitched. "Deep breath, Stephens," she murmured, fingers brushing the dip of his hips. "I'll make this quick—like ripping off a Band-Aid." With one swift tug, the fabric slid down his thighs and pooled around his ankles. Stephen stepped out gingerly, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them now that they weren't clutching his dignity.
    Jessica rocked back on her heels, eyes deliberately locked on his face—which was impressive, given how her V-neck shirt seemed to be staging a coup against gravity. "My eyes are up here," she deadpanned, pointing two fingers at her own face before bursting into laughter. The sound bounced off the sterile walls, sharp and bright. Stephen's nervous chuckle tangled with hers, the absurdity of the moment short-circuiting his panic. Here he stood, naked as the day he was born, while Jessica—still fully clothed in that damn shirt—grinned at him like this was just another Tuesday.
    Dr. Meredith's voice crackled through the intercom, startling them both. "Phase three commencing. Partners, please observe your assigned participant's physiological reactions and note any—" The speaker cut off with a static hiccup. Jessica rolled her eyes and snatched her clipboard off the chair. "Christ, could she sound more like a robot reading a vibrator manual?" She scribbled something down, then paused, pen tapping against her lip. "So. How's the air down there?"
    Stephen crossed his arms—then uncrossed them when he realized it made him look like a petulant statue—and glared. "You're enjoying this way too much."
    Jessica's grin was all teeth. "Yep." She circled him slowly, clipboard held aloft like a museum curator appraising a questionable artifact. "But hey, look at you. Not a single apology yet. Progress." Her elbow brushed his bare back as she leaned in to scribble another note, her breath warm against his shoulder. "Though your ears are doing this adorable red thing. Like a—"
    The door swung open without warning. Andrew's voice rang out, "Yo, is this the—" A beat of silence. Then, louder: "HOLY SHIT, STEPHEN'S NAKER THAN A—"
    Jessica's foot hooked around the door and slammed it shut on Andrew's remaining syllables. She didn't even look up from her clipboard. "Ten more minutes, Andrew."
    Stephen buried his face in his hands. The study was supposed to desensitize him. Instead, he was pretty sure he'd just unlocked a new tier of humiliation.
    Jessica tapped her pen against the clipboard, grinning as Stephen stood there, arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to shield himself from embarrassment itself. "Funny," she mused, "Andrew signs you up for this thinking you'd finally see a naked woman, and instead *you're* the one standing here like a startled deer." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Sorry, but it *is* kind of hilarious when you think about it."
    Stephen groaned, his blush deepening. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He shifted awkwardly, trying—and failing—to look nonchalant. "For the record, I *have* seen a naked woman before—just... not in person."
    Jessica's eyebrow arched. "Porn doesn't count, Stephens." She scribbled something down, her smirk widening. "Wait, are you telling me you've *never*—?"
    Stephen's face burned hotter. "I'm *shy*, okay?"
    Jessica snorted. "Yeah, I can tell." She gestured at him with the pen. "You're blushing so hard right now, I could fry an egg on your face." With exaggerated flourish, she wrote *"Participant exhibits acute tomato-itis"* on her clipboard, then circled it twice for emphasis.
    Stephen groaned again, but Jessica just grinned, tossing the clipboard onto the chair. "Relax," she said, stepping closer. "It's kind of cute, honestly. Most guys would *kill* to be this flustered—gives them an excuse to play the 'oh no, I'm so shy' card." She reached out, poking his bare shoulder. "But you? You're *genuinely* like this. It's refreshing."
    Stephen swallowed hard, her touch sending a jolt through him. "Yeah, well, glad my humiliation is *refreshing* for you."
    Jessica laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, come on. You're acting like I'm torturing you." She tilted her head, studying him. "Though, if you *really* want to make it even..." Her fingers hooked into the hem of her tank top, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of stomach. "I could always—"
    The intercom crackled to life again, Dr. Meredith's voice slicing through the tension.
    Dr. Meredith’s voice crackled through the intercom again, sharp as a scalpel. "Clarification: Participants assigned to remain clothed *will* remain clothed. No adjustments permitted." A pause, then the tinny sound of a page turning. "And for the record—yes, we *are* monitoring all interactions. This *is* a behavioral study."
    Stephen’s stomach dropped. Jessica froze mid-tease, her fingers still hooked in the hem of her tank top. They both turned slowly toward the ceiling-mounted speaker like it might sprout claws.
    "Well," Jessica said after a beat, dropping her shirt with deliberate slowness. "Guess this is gonna be a memorable hour for both of us, huh?" Her grin was all teeth, but her knuckles had gone white where they gripped the folding chair.
    Stephen exhaled through his nose. His arms were still crossed over his chest like a flimsy shield. "Relax," Jessica murmured, stepping closer. Her elbow bumped his bare side—warm, grounding. "Still not as bad as you thought, right?"
    He wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that *no*, being naked in a room with a fully clothed Jessica Chen while a stranger critiqued his physiological reactions via loudspeaker was *absolutely* as bad as he’d imagined. But then Jessica’s fingers brushed his wrist—just once, fleeting—and the words died in his throat.
    Andrew’s muffled voice erupted from the hallway. "Yo, doc—can I at least get a *peek*? For science?"
    Dr. Meredith’s sigh vibrated through the intercom. "Participant Andrew, return to your assigned station *immediately*."
    Jessica rolled her eyes and mouthed *idiot* at the door. Stephen choked on a laugh. The absurdity of it all—Andrew’s whining, the clinical detachment of the intercom, Jessica’s smirk in the face of his full-frontal panic—unspooled something tight in his chest.
    Jessica leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "For the record," she whispered, "you’re handling this way better than freshman-year you would’ve."
    Stephen glanced down at himself—pale limbs, goosebumped skin, the way his hands kept fluttering like startled birds—and snorted. "That’s a *real* low bar, Jess."
    She laughed, bright and unselfconscious, and for the first time all night, Stephen didn’t feel like bolting. He felt… seen. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
    The intercom hissed. "Phase three commencing in five minutes. Prepare for observational analysis."
    Jessica’s grin turned wicked. "Brace yourself, Stephens. Here comes the *real* science."
    Dr. Meredith’s voice crackled through the overhead speakers like a disapproving librarian. "Participants will now verbally describe their partner’s physical attributes in detail—for science." Stephen grabbed his clipboard with the desperation of a drowning man clutching a life preserver. Finally, something to *do* besides stand there like a naked scarecrow.
    Jessica’s smirk was a blade. "You should write down that you’re staring at my cleavage again," she said, tapping her pen against her clipboard. "For *accuracy*." Stephen’s pen froze mid-word. His ears burned. "I’m *not*—"
    "Oh please," Jessica snorted, scribbling something with exaggerated flourish. "Your eyes keep darting down like they’re magnetized." She leaned in, her tank top gaping just enough to make his throat dry. "This is *gold*. High school you would’ve spontaneously combusted by now." 
    Stephen gripped his clipboard tighter. "Subject exhibits…" He swallowed, forcing his gaze upward. "Um. Brown eyes. With, uh…" His voice faltered. "Flecks. Gold flecks. When the light hits them." The words tumbled out awkwardly, like stones. Jessica’s pen paused. Her smirk softened, just for a second.
    Across the room, Andrew’s voice carried through the thin walls: "Doc, can I describe my *own* dick instead? For *comparison*?" A chorus of groans followed. Jessica rolled her eyes and wrote *"Participant Andrew exhibits terminal dumbassery"* with a violent underline.
    Stephen exhaled through his nose. "You’re…" His pen hovered. "Smirking. A lot." Jessica’s grin widened. "Noted." She scribbled something, then flipped her clipboard around to reveal *"Subject’s blush extends to upper pectorals—scientific curiosity?"* Stephen groaned. "You’re *enjoying* this."
    Jessica’s knee bumped his—warm, grounding. "Duh." Her voice dropped, just for him. "But you’re doing good, Stephens. Really." The words landed softly, unexpectedly. Stephen’s next breath came easier.
Jessica smirked, tapping her pen against her clipboard. Stephen frowned. "What?"
    "You're adorable when you're flustered," she said, grinning wider when his blush deepened. "No, seriously—I'm enjoying this way more than I expected." She shrugged, flipping a page on her clipboard. "Turns out, I signed up for this study for the same reason you did. Minus the whole Andrew-forced-me-into-it thing."
    Stephen blinked. "You... wanted to see nudity?"
    Jessica rolled her eyes. "Duh. And unlike those other three women who got stuck being naked?" She gestured at herself, still fully clothed. "I'm the only one actually getting what I wanted." Her grin turned wicked. "Lucky me, right?"
    Stephen swallowed. "Lucky you," he echoed weakly.
    Jessica leaned in, her elbow brushing his bare arm. "Though," she mused, "lucky *you*, too. Would you rather be stuck in here with one of them?" She jerked her chin toward the door, where Andrew's voice could still be heard making perverted comments at the woman that he got paired up with.
    Stephen hesitated. "I... don't know. Would familiarity make it easier or harder?"
    Jessica's eyes dropped pointedly. "Speaking of harder—"
    Stephen followed her gaze—and froze. His hands flew downward, covering himself as heat flooded his face. "Oh god. I—I'm so sorry—"
    Jessica burst out laughing. "Relax, Stephens. It's a *physiological reaction*." She tapped the clipboard. "Literally on the waiver you signed." But Stephen was already backing toward the robe draped over the chair, muttering apologies like they were a holy mantra.
    Jessica intercepted him with a sidestep, blocking his retreat. "Stop. Breathe." Her hand—warm, steady—landed on his bare shoulder. "It's fine. Expected, even." Her thumb brushed his collarbone, and Stephen swore his knees liquefied. "Though," she added, smirk returning, "if you *really* want to apologize, you could always—"
    Stephen’s hands fluttered uselessly at his sides, his mouth moving soundlessly before words finally tumbled out. "I—uh, I didn’t mean—it’s not—" He gestured vaguely at himself, as if his entire body had betrayed him. Jessica leaned against the folding chair, arms crossed, her smirk deepening with every stammer.
    "You know," she mused, tilting her head, "I actually find it *flattering*. You’re the one standing here naked, and *you’re* the one getting all worked up about it." She tapped her pen against her clipboard, eyes flicking downward pointedly. "Adorable."
    Stephen’s face burned hotter. "That’s not—it’s not like that," he protested weakly, though the way his arms kept twitching toward his waist betrayed him.
    Jessica rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You’re naked around a woman you find attractive. That’s *got* to be at least a little exciting." She stepped closer, her grin sharpening. "*Admit it*."
    Stephen’s throat clicked. His pulse hammered loud enough to drown out the hum of the overhead lights. Jessica’s smirk softened, just a fraction. "Thought so," she murmured, scribbling something on her clipboard. "I’ll take that blush as a yes."
    The intercom crackled to life again, Dr. Meredith’s voice slicing through the tension. "Participants, please note any observable physiological reactions—*without commentary*."
    Jessica saluted the ceiling speaker with two fingers. "Roger that, doc." She turned back to Stephen, her voice dropping to a whisper. "For the record? You’re handling this way better than Andrew would."
    Stephen groaned. "That’s not a high bar, and he got to keep his clothing on, so he got exactly what he wanted from this study as well!"
    Jessica's smirk softened into something unexpectedly genuine as she tapped her clipboard against her thigh. "You know the difference between you and Andrew, though?" She poked Stephen's bare shoulder—warm fingers against goosebumped skin. "You're *actually* a gentleman. Always were." Her voice dropped, carrying the weight of old hallways and chemistry lab stations. "I could always tell you liked me back in high school. Like when we were partners in chem—you'd panic-flush every time our hands brushed during titrations." She snorted. "If only Mr. Hendricks could see us now. Talk about *chemical reactions*."
    Stephen's laugh came out half-strangled. He gestured helplessly at his own nudity. "This isn't—I didn't—"
    "Relax," Jessica murmured, stepping closer. Her sneaker nudged his bare foot. "For the record? I knew about the crush."
    Stephen's hands froze mid-gesture. "You—*what*?"
    Jessica rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Duh. You drew those shitty dragons on *all* my permission slips. And that time you 'accidentally' took my sweater home?" Her grin turned wicked. "It still smelled like your laundry detergent when I got it back."
    Stephen's mouth worked soundlessly. The overhead lights hummed.
    Jessica's elbow brushed his arm—warm, steady. "So?" she prompted.
    "So *what*?" Stephen croaked.
    "So admit it." Jessica's smile was all challenge. "Say it. 'I, Stephen Jacobs, had a devastating crush on Jessica Chen in tenth grade.'"
    The silence stretched. A droplet of sweat slid down Stephen's spine.
    "...Fine," he muttered at last. "I *might* have—"
    Jessica crowed triumphantly. "Ha! *Knew* it." She gestured expansively at his naked form. "And now here you are. Proves the universe has a *wicked* sense of humor."
    Stephen groaned, covering his face with both hands. Jessica's laughter bounced off the clinical walls—bright, unselfconscious.
    Jessica's smirk faltered—just for a second—before her cheeks flushed pink. Stephen blinked. "Wait. Why are *you* blushing now?" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Jessica exhaled sharply through her nose and looked at the ceiling like it might save her. "God, you're *impossible*." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "I *wish* you were less uptight right now, because—" Her throat worked. "Okay, full disclosure? Teenage-me had a *devastating* crush on you."
    Stephen's mouth fell open. Jessica barreled on, gesturing wildly at his bare body. "And yes, fine, I *absolutely* wondered what you looked like naked—" Her laugh was too loud, too sharp. "*Irony*, huh? Now here you are, and you're—" Her gaze dropped involuntarily, then snapped back up. "—*exactly* as awkward as I imagined."
    The silence was nuclear. Stephen's brain short-circuited. Jessica Chen—*Jessica Chen*—had *thought about him naked*. His knees nearly buckled.
    Jessica groaned and covered her face. "*Ugh*, your *expression*—I *knew* you'd do that." She peeked through her fingers. "Say something. Preferably not an apology."
    Stephen's hands hovered uselessly in the air. "You—*me*? But—" His voice cracked again. "*Why*?"
    Jessica dropped her hands, exasperated. "Because you were the only guy who *didn't* leer at my boobs in chem lab? Because you *apologized* to a *water fountain* after bumping into it?" She threw her arms up. "Hell if I know! Teenage hormones are *weird*."
    Stephen's pulse thundered in his ears. The air between them crackled. Jessica exhaled shakily and stepped closer—close enough that her sneakers brushed his bare toes. "Look," she murmured, "you don't have to—"
    The intercom screeched to life. "Phase three complete. Participants may now—"
    Jessica ripped the clipboard off the wall and hurled it at the speaker. It hit with a *clang*. "*Fuck your phases!*"
    Silence.
    Stephen stared. Jessica's chest rose and fell rapidly. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out and traced the curve of his collarbone with one fingertip. "Tell me to stop," she whispered.
    Stephen didn't.
    Jessica’s fingertips trailed down Stephen’s chest, slow and deliberate, her smirk curling at the edges. "You realize," she murmured, "this is *exactly* how I imagined it in high school. Me, fully dressed. You, gloriously naked." Her thumb brushed his nipple, and Stephen inhaled sharply. "Well," she amended, grinning, "maybe not *this* flustered. But close enough."
    Stephen’s pulse jumped under her touch. "You—you *dreamed* about this?" His voice cracked on the last word.
    Jessica laughed—low, wicked. "Oh, *constantly*. Chemistry lab was torture." Her hand slid lower, tracing the dip of his hipbone. "And now? Here you are. All mine to stare at." She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Funny how life works, huh?"
    Stephen swallowed hard. Jessica’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers—still pooled around his ankles—and tugged gently. "Relax," she murmured. "I’m just enjoying the view." Her gaze raked over him, lingering in places that made his face burn hotter. "God, you’re *adorable* when you’re embarrassed."
    The intercom hissed static. Neither of them moved.
    Jessica’s smile softened unexpectedly. "For the record?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "This is the most fun I’ve had in *years*." Her thumb brushed the inside of his wrist—a fleeting touch, almost tender. "Worth the wait."
    Stephen’s breath hitched. Somewhere, a door slammed. Andrew’s muffled voice echoed down the hall. Jessica rolled her eyes and stepped closer, her body blocking Stephen’s nakedness from the world. "Ignore him," she muttered. Her fingers laced through his, squeezing once. "Eyes on me, Stephens."
    The overhead lights hummed. Stephen’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. Jessica’s lips parted—
    The intercom crackled back to life with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like Dr. Meredith pinching the bridge of her nose. "Participants will... refrain from sexual activity," she announced, the pause before 'refrain' heavy with unspoken exasperation. "However, casual socialization is encouraged for the next thirty minutes. Please attempt... normal conversation." The speaker clicked off just as Andrew's distant "BOOOO!" echoed through the walls.
    Jessica snorted, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "Wow. Way to kill the mood, doc." She flopped onto the folding chair backward, arms draped over the backrest, chin propped on her wrists. Her grin was all teeth. "So. What do you wanna talk about, Stephens?" Her foot nudged his bare ankle. "Maybe the fact that you're *way* more worked up about me seeing you naked than you are about actually *being* naked?"
    Stephen's hands fluttered toward his waist before he forcibly planted them on his hips. "That's—that's not—"
    "Oh *please*." Jessica's laugh was a live wire. "You've been blushing so hard I'm surprised you haven't passed out from blood loss." She leaned forward, elbows digging into the chair back. "Admit it. This is better than porn. Because *I'm* here." She wiggled her fingers in a ta-da motion. "Jessica Chen. Your high school fantasy. Seeing you *au naturel*."
    The folding chair creaked as Stephen sank onto it—backward, facing her, legs awkwardly splayed to avoid knee collisions. "This is *not* how I imagined our reunion going," he muttered.
    Jessica's smirk softened at the edges. "Yeah? How *did* you imagine it?" She kicked his foot gently. "Be honest."
    Stephen stared at the water stain on the ceiling. "I dunno. Coffee? Awkward small talk? You not remembering my name?"
    Jessica snorted. "Please. I stole your hoodie *three times*." Her knee bumped his—warm, solid. "Though honestly? This beats some bachelorette party with random strippers." Her grin turned feral. "Way more fun when it's someone you *actually* wanted to see naked."
    Stephen groaned, pressing his palms to his flaming cheeks. "I *hate* you."
    Jessica's fingers brushed his wrist, feather-light. "Liar."
    The overhead lights hummed. Somewhere down the hall, Andrew shouted something obscene. Jessica didn't look away. Stephen's pulse thundered in his ears.
    Thirty minutes never felt so short.
    Jessica exhaled sharply through her nose and leaned back in her chair, letting the tension dissipate like steam. "Look," she said, nudging Stephen's knee with her sneaker, "most women are way more sexual than guys think. We have fantasies. We *look*. Some of us"—she gestured at herself with the clipboard—"enjoy it more than men do." Her smirk softened into something unexpectedly earnest. "And for the record? You've got a *really* nice body. Stop acting like it's a crime to exist in it."
    Stephen's hands hovered halfway between covering himself and gesturing helplessly. "That's—I mean—" His throat clicked. "Society kinda drills it into us that staring is predatory."
    Jessica rolled her eyes so hard her chair squeaked. "Bullshit. There's a *huge* difference between leering at a stranger and appreciating someone you actually like." She tossed the clipboard onto the floor with a clatter. "I've never felt guilty about finding people attractive. Why should you?"
    The overhead lights buzzed. Stephen studied his bare feet—pale against the industrial tile—before risking a glance at Jessica's face. Her expression was oddly open, the usual razor-sharp smirk replaced by something quieter. "You're staring," she murmured, but there was no bite to it.
    "Yeah," Stephen admitted, surprised by his own voice. "I... like your face." The simplicity of it startled a laugh out of them both.
    Jessica's fingers brushed his wrist—brief, electric. "See? Was that so hard?" Her grin returned, but slower now, like dawn spreading. "Now put some clothes on before Andrew busts in here and makes this *way* weirder."
    Stephen reached for the discarded robe just as the door flew open. Andrew's head popped in, eyebrows waggling. "So, did you guys—"
    Jessica hurled a sneaker at his face. The door slammed shut. Stephen's laughter—real, unguarded—filled the tiny room, and Jessica's answering grin was brighter than the fluorescents.
    Stephen glanced at the clock—still twenty-five minutes of mandated nudity left—and groaned. Jessica kicked her feet up on the folding chair, grinning. "Don't rush on my account," she drawled, twirling a pen between her fingers.
    "You're enjoying this," he accused, crossing his arms—then uncrossing them when he realized it made his biceps flex. Jessica's smirk confirmed his suspicion.
    "Remember sophomore year?" she said abruptly, tapping the pen against her knee. "When you 'accidentally' took my copy of *To Kill a Mockingbird* and returned it with all the romantic passages underlined?"
    Stephen's face burned. "I—that was—"
    "*And* you wrote 'good symbolism' in the margins next to the porch swing scene." Jessica's laugh was bright, unguarded. "God, I spent *weeks* waiting for you to say something after that." She twirled the pen between her fingers, watching it flip end over end like all the missed opportunities between them.
    Stephen rubbed the back of his neck, acutely aware of the robe pooled at his feet but somehow less frantic about it now. "I thought you were just being nice about the book thing. You *laughed* when you got it back."
    Jessica's grin turned wicked. "Because you underlined Scout's *attaboy* speech instead of the actual romantic parts, you dork." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Still the most charming thing anyone's ever done with a library book." The folding chair creaked as she shifted, her sneaker brushing his bare foot. "You know what really killed me? That time you walked me home in the rain and *apologized* for getting your sleeve wet when I hugged you."
    Stephen groaned, pressing his palms to his flushed cheeks. "I *panicked*. You smelled like vanilla and your hair was dripping down my neck and—" He froze, realizing what he'd just admitted.
    Jessica's smirk softened. "See? This is what I mean." She gestured at his naked form with the clipboard. "Forced nudity's weirdly good for honesty."
    The overhead lights buzzed. Stephen studied the scuff marks on Jessica's sneakers—familiar from a hundred shared bus rides—before risking a glance up. "You *wanted* me to say something back then?"
    Jessica rolled her eyes so hard her chair squeaked. "Stephen. I *wore your hoodie* for *three weeks*." She flicked a pen cap at him. "Even Andrew noticed."
    Something loosened in Stephen's chest. The institutional clock ticked off seventeen remaining minutes, but the tension had bled out of the room somewhere between the porch swing confession and the way Jessica was now doodling what looked suspiciously like a stick-figure dragon in the margins of her clipboard.
    "Hey." Jessica's voice dropped, just shy of teasing. "Still breathing?"
    Stephen exhaled—slow, deliberate—and realized with dawning shock that he was. That he'd been breathing easy for the last eight minutes straight. That the girl who'd starred in every awkward teenage fantasy was now sketching a terrible sword-wielding knight next to the dragon, and he wasn't even thinking about covering himself anymore.
    Jessica caught his gaze and winked. "Told you it gets easier."
    The intercom crackled—Dr. Meredith's voice thick with resignation. "Participants may now reclothe."
    Jessica's pen stilled. They both stared at the discarded robe like it had betrayed them.
    Stephen swallowed hard. "So. That's—"
    "Yeah." Jessica stood abruptly, snatching up the robe and shaking it out with more force than necessary. "Funny how time flies when you're *not* obsessing over it, huh?"
    Her fingers brushed his shoulders as she draped the fabric over him—lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Stephen caught her wrist on reflex, the clipboard clattering to the floor between them.
    Jessica didn't pull away.
    Somewhere down the hall, Andrew whooped. The clock ticked off the final sixty seconds. Neither of them moved.
    The robe slid off Stephen's shoulders and pooled at their feet for the second time that hour. Jessica's grin was all challenge. "Change your mind about covering up, Stephens?"
    Stephen's pulse hammered—but for the first time all afternoon, it wasn't from panic. "Yeah," he said, stepping closer. "I think I did."
    They collapsed into laughter at the same time—Stephen clutching his bare knees, Jessica gripping the folding chair for support until tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "Holy shit," she gasped, swiping at her cheeks. "That was the most honest conversation we've *ever* had." Her gaze dropped pointedly to his exposed lap. "And you were *completely* naked."
    Stephen groaned but didn't reach for the robe. "I'm... weirdly glad I signed up for this trainwreck." He rubbed his neck, the admission loosening something in his chest. "You got the results you wanted. Hell, *I* got results I didn't know I needed."
    Jessica's smirk softened. "Yeah?" She nudged his foot with her sneaker. "Admit it. If *I* were naked, you'd still be apologizing right now."
    The truth of it hit like a thrown textbook. Stephen exhaled sharply. "You're *insufferable*."
    "And you're *adorable*." Jessica's knee bumped his, warm and grounding. "But seriously—" She gestured at his bare torso. "This? Way hotter than porn." Her grin turned feral when he choked. "What? Honesty hour's still on."
    The overhead lights buzzed. Stephen studied her face—the faint freckles he'd stared at during junior year trig, the way her nose scrunched when she laughed—and realized with dawning clarity that he wasn't imagining her naked anymore. He was just... seeing *her*.
    Jessica's expression shifted. She opened her mouth—
    The door burst open. Andrew's silhouette filled the doorway, phone raised. "Say cheese, lovebirds—"
    Jessica moved faster than Stephen's naked dignity could process. She snatched the robe off the floor and whipped it around his waist in one fluid motion, her other hand yanking the folding chair between them and Andrew's camera like a shield. "OUT."
    Andrew's cackling retreated down the hall. The robe's belt dangled between them. Jessica's fingers lingered on the knot. 
    Stephen swallowed hard. "So. Coffee sometime? With... clothes?"
    Jessica's laugh curled around him, warm and sure. "Only if you promise *not* to apologize when I stare."
    The intercom died with a static sigh. Somewhere, a clock ticked. Neither of them moved.
    Stephen took his time with the robe, letting the fabric slide up his arms with deliberate slowness—partly to savor the way Jessica’s gaze lingered on his shoulders, partly to delay facing the inevitable awkwardness waiting beyond the door. She didn’t rush him, just leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, grinning like she’d won a bet. "You know," she mused, tapping her sneaker against the tile, "for a guy who panicked at the idea of nudity, you’re *really* bad at covering up when it counts."
    The main room buzzed with murmured conversations and stifled laughter as they stepped out. Andrew, predictably, wolf-whistled before Jessica shot him a look that could melt steel. The other participants—now uniformly clothed—clustered in small groups, some clutching clipboards, others rubbing their arms like they’d just shed second skins. Dr. Meredith stood at the front, her expression clinically neutral, though the way her pen tapped impatiently against her tablet suggested she’d heard more than enough.
    Jessica nudged Stephen’s shoulder, her voice low. "So. Thoughts on being the lab rat of the hour?" He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a laugh. "Wait, let me guess: ‘It was… scientifically enlightening.’" She pitched her voice into a terrible impression of his nervous stammer. Stephen elbowed her, but he was fighting a smile.
    Dr. Meredith cleared her throat, and the room fell into a hush that felt like the pause before a verdict. "Participants," she began, adjusting her glasses, "your *honest* feedback is crucial. Especially given the… unanticipated interpersonal dynamics." Her gaze flicked pointedly toward Stephen and Jessica, then Andrew, who smirked like a kid caught drawing on a desk.
    Jessica’s hand brushed Stephen’s wrist—quick, covert—as she raised her other hand. "Doc? One question." Her grin was all teeth. "When do we get the *real* results?"
    The room erupted into laughter, tension dissolving like sugar in hot water. Stephen exhaled, shoulders loosening. However bizarre the study had been, the aftermath felt… normal. Or as normal as anything could be with Jessica Chen grinning at him like she’d just rewritten the rules.
    Dr. Meredith sighed, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Debriefing forms are on the table. *Please* try to focus on the science."
    Jessica snatched two clipboards, handing one to Stephen with a wink. "Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll be *thorough*."
    Stephen groaned, but he took the pen.
    Stephen’s pen hovered over the clipboard, but his focus was shot—Jessica’s knee kept bumping his under the table, her grin widening every time he glanced up. She’d filled half her debriefing form with doodles of stick-figure dragons battling knights in suspiciously familiar robes, while Stephen had somehow managed to describe his "physiological reactions" in excruciatingly clinical detail without once acknowledging the way his pulse had spiked when Jessica’s fingers brushed his hipbone.
    Across the room, Andrew’s partner—a woman with a tight bun and an even tighter frown—stabbed her pen through the paper with enough force to dent the table. Jessica leaned in, her whisper warm against Stephen’s ear. "Think she got stuck with Andrew’s ‘scientific observations’ being just ‘nice tits’ in twelve different fonts?" Stephen choked on a laugh, hastily scribbling *"Participant exhibited elevated heart rate during interpersonal interaction"* to cover it up. Jessica smirked and added *"Elevated heart rate *not* due to clinical anxiety (see: Participant Chen’s superior flirting skills)"* with a flourish.
    Dr. Meredith’s sigh cut through the murmur of shuffling papers. "If you’ve *finished* documenting your *professional* findings—" Her glare landed on Jessica’s dragon-riddled notes. "—you’re dismissed."
    Jessica shot to her feet, tugging Stephen up by his sleeve before he could overthink the movement. Andrew intercepted them at the door, his grin sleazy. "So, Stephen—how’s it feel to be the only guy who—"
    Jessica stepped between them, her shoulder blocking Andrew’s view like a human shield. "Andrew, I’d say it’s been fun, but we both know that’d be a lie." She hooked her arm through Stephen’s and steered him toward the exit, tossing over her shoulder, "Try not to harass the next study group *too* much."
    The late afternoon sun hit the pavement outside, warm and golden. Stephen blinked at the sudden brightness—and at Jessica’s fingers still looped loosely around his wrist. She tilted her head toward a coffee shop across the street, her smirk softer now. "So. About that *clothed* conversation…"
    Behind them, Andrew’s partner stormed out, muttering about "unprofessional conduct" and "wasted time." Jessica’s grin widened. Stephen’s didn’t falter. Some experiments yielded better results than others.
    Stephen leaned against the coffee shop’s brick exterior, the late sun warming his sleeves—actual sleeves, thank god—while Jessica twisted a straw wrapper between her fingers. "So," she said, flicking the paper at him, "bummer you didn’t get to see me naked after all that." Her grin was all mischief. "The look on your face when they said ‘clothed participants remain clothed’? Priceless."
    He sipped his iced coffee, the condensation slick against his palm. "You know what? I think maybe I *am* going to see a naked woman in the near future." At Jessica’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Just a hunch."
    Andrew’s voice cut in from behind them, loud enough to startle a pigeon off the sidewalk. "Are you *crazy*? You could’ve seen your high school crush fully grown *and* fully naked!" He flung his arms wide, nearly smacking a passing jogger. "It doesn’t bug you that you missed out on that?"
    Stephen watched Jessica’s smirk deepen as she stirred her drink with deliberate slowness. "Sometimes," he said, turning back to Andrew, "it’s more fun when you’re the one who doesn’t get to keep your clothing on."
    Andrew blinked. Then snorted. "Jesus. That study *really* did a number on you." He clapped Stephen on the shoulder hard enough to slosh his coffee. "Speaking of—how’d yours go, Jess? You two *debrief* properly?" He waggled his eyebrows.
    Jessica’s straw stabbed through her lid with unnecessary force. "Oh, we debriefed." Her tone was sweet enough to induce cavities. "Stephen’s *very* thorough with his... notes." She held Andrew’s gaze while taking an obscenely slow sip.
    Andrew’s grin faltered. "Uh-huh." He scratched his neck. "Well, *I* didn’t get slapped. Pretty close, though."
    Stephen choked on his laugh. Jessica’s foot nudged his under the table—warm, familiar. "Sounds like *someone* forgot it was a behavioral study, not a peep show," she said, grinning when Andrew flushed. The late afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her eyes, and for once, Stephen didn’t look away.
    Andrew groaned. "You two are *disgusting*." He jabbed a finger at Stephen’s coffee cup. "And you’re *welcome*, by the way. This?" He gestured between them. "All thanks to my genius."
    Jessica rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that, Andrew." But her fingers brushed Stephen’s wrist as she stood, lingering just long enough to feel his pulse jump. "Walk me home?" she asked, and it wasn’t really a question.
    Stephen left his half-finished drink on the table. Andrew’s indignant squawk faded behind them as they turned the corner, step in sync, shoulders bumping—close, but not close enough. Not yet.
    Jessica’s keys jingled as she unlocked her apartment door. She paused on the threshold, tilting her head. "So. About that near future..."
    Stephen’s laugh was low, sure. "Yeah." He reached for her keys. "Let’s *debrief* properly this time."
    Two weeks later.
    Dr. Meredith adjusted her glasses, the projector screen behind her flickering with graphs labeled *"Comfort Levels in Asymmetric Nudity Conditions."* A grainy photo of Stephen mid-panic—arms crossed over his chest like a Victorian maiden—elicited muffled laughter from the lecture hall. 
    "Notably," she continued, tapping her laser pointer against the podium, "Participant Chen exhibited higher baseline comfort levels than Participant Stephens *throughout* the study—despite *not* being the nude party." The next slide displayed Jessica's clipboard doodles: a stick-figure dragon torching a robed knight with suspiciously familiar ears. "Our sole male nudity case proved... unexpectedly insightful. Familiarity," she added dryly as the screen switched to security footage of Jessica yanking the robe around Stephen's waist, "appears to mitigate discomfort more effectively than forced desensitization."
    Andrew's hand shot up. "Doc, question—when do *I* get my trophy for matchmaking?" 
    Dr. Meredith ignored him. "Final analysis suggests asymmetric nudity *can* foster intimacy when pre-existing rapport exists." The screen changed to a chart where Stephen and Jessica's post-study comfort scores dwarfed other pairs'. "As evidenced by Participants Chen and Stephens'... *unconventional* post-study interactions." The final image—Jessica pressed against Stephen in the coffee shop doorway, his hands tangled in her hair—drew whistles from the back row. 
    Jessica kicked Stephen's ankle under their shared desk. "Told you we were good data." 
    Stephen's ears burned. Onstage, Dr. Meredith sighed. "For further reading, see *The Impact of Prior Emotional Connections on Nudity-Based Social Experiments*—and no, Participant Andrew, your 'research contributions' will *not* be cited." 
    The lights came up. Jessica laced her fingers through Stephen's, smirking at their clasped hands like she'd won a bet. Which, Stephen realized as she tugged him toward the exit—past Andrew's dramatic gagging—she kinda had.

This is a pure CFNM story which I think was sort of a nice and sweeter story after the more brutal last one that I wrote about the French Revolution. In this one you can see that the characters are genuinely kind towards one another and genuinely like one another and only when they get naked together do they finally realize their feelings for one another that they otherwise wouldn't have and it gives them an opportunity to be really honest with each other and fulfill a fantasy that they had back in high school.

    The inspiration for this though is I was looking up stuff online about experiments involving nudity where I had read about how when people are put naked together in a non-sexualized environment it often results in them being more body positive and comfortable around being naked or seeing other people naked after spending a while together as long as it's a supportive environment. But that was in a situation where people were mutually naked I thought this one would be again my favorite topic of non-mutual nudity that's embarrassing for at least one of the people if not both of them. I wondered how this experiment with comfort around nudity would play out if the nudity was asymmetrical where you basically only had one sex naked and the other person not which would probably lead to more awkwardness and embarrassment, but in this story it has sort of a nice ending where being naked allows him to be vulnerable around her and then they eventually get comfortable enough that they are chatting like old friends again and are able to realize their feelings for each other, so I imagine that when you are with somebody that you have a previous relationship with or that you know in general it would probably make the nudity both more awkward and maybe a little bit easier to take simply because you can laugh about it as friends.

    And this was a little bit similar to my novel length treatment of this idea The Big Naked Social Experiment wherein that one you basically had three of the men naked and one of the women naked and three of the women dressed and one of the men naked so this sort of did the opposite I guess. I was thinking about having it be sort of a duel story where Andrew was basically getting to enjoy the naked women and how embarrassed they were, but I thought it was kind of better if he was just sort of a horny jerk and it mostly focused on how Stephen and Jessica came together through awkwardness, and irony because again he was joining the experiment hoping to see a woman naked finally and then she ends up getting to see him and that ultimately turns out to be a better situation for both of them. But yeah I thought that this one was one of the nicer stories about nudity sort of awkward social tension and embarrassment rather than pure humiliation or vengeance like the last story. It is more about sweet awkward nudity then humiliating nudity.