"Nude" and "naked" are too casually interchanged in common usage.
'NUDE' seems to mean artistically undraped: 'NAKED' more nearly implies sexually undraped. Quite an important, and not-too-subtle difference! (Yes, I know there is overlap!) I most certainly like being naked, especially with an equally-naked man (a very particular man!) lying delightfully atop me. Or vice-versa. Naked in the sexual sense. (Yes, of course I know there can be artistry in sex!).
And despite my "tender age", there was for we two nothing out of the ordinary in the situation - it was an integral part of our being together. In the back of his old station wagon, parked in a special hidden site, in heavy brush near the river.
Back then, which was not too long ago, I had a problem with this relationship - actually, multiple problems. If not problems, then at least "concerns". We can begin with relative ages. The man - Philip - was well over twenty, my next-door neighbor, still living at home while going to the local university. A gorgeous, bright man. I was barely eighteen.
The other problem was sex: the whether to, and if so then exactly what, and how much of it, and on what schedule events would unfold. The eternal "With whom to begin?" was no longer an issue, for I was absolutely drowning in a mixture of late-onset puberty, first-ever love, and incandescent lust. Aimed at Philip. And I had precious little guidance.
There are, in fact, more problems than one might first imagine - but problems can be solved. Humans are very, very good indeed at solving problems! Part of the solution came, in the most unexpected and oblique way, from my parents, who are extremely strong, hyper-conservative Mexican Catholics, about as near fundamentalist-Christian religiosity as you can get without being totally pagan.
All they wanted was first to have the largest possible family, and second, to see the same thing happen with their kids. Fortunately, they'd not been particularly fertile - they managed to produce just my older sister Juanita, and me. Shortly after me, Mom had a hysterectomy (not MY fault, either!) - end of production run!
Then at age 16 Juanita had announced she was a lesbian - with zero interest in men, marriage or babies. The folks were devastated, fought it for a while (mucho wailing and breast-beating and sending-to-priests), but ultimately they gave up, and pinned all their hopes on me - now the designated (eventual) baby-maker for the next generation.
All potential problems aside, Philip and I got a long well - he loved teaching, helped me study and tutored me in biology. In my totally gob-smacked crush, I'd sit there across a table from him, totally distracted by the drizzling slipperiness of my throbbing pussy while trying to pay attention.
Philip was (dammit!) a complete gentleman - gave not a hint of any reflected interest in ME. I was devastated. Regardless, my half-developed boobs would get hard as tennis balls and simply ache.
In short, it was agony being in his presence - and much worse NOT being there!
One afternoon, not having ready a good answer for some question of mine, he invited me to come with him to the university library - to get the answer and then study alongside him until the 9 PM closing. I was stoked by the invite: my pits suddenly went remarkably swampy at the thought of being "alone" with him for hours and hours! And if technically not 'alone', then together in semi-public where nobody who mattered would bump into us. Not to mention him paying so much attention to me all of a sudden. It could almost be a date, couldn't't it?
My folks gave the idea their 'okay' - which may seem odd, helping set up a 'situation' as they called it, but they really liked Philip. Frankly, I'm sure they considered him absolutely top-notch son-in-law material, even if he was without a trace of Mexican, Spanish or any sort of "Latino" blood. He spoke passable Spanish, and was totally at ease in my parents' cultural world, having lived for a couple of years in Mexico.
He was also helpful to my parents and had proven trustworthy (he always took care of the house and cats for us when we went somewhere). And he was headed for a PhD in biology.
Now, you must remember, as far as the folks were concerned, their duty was to their religion and not particularly to me - they meant to get me married ASAP so I could start popping our babies for the greater glory of god or some such nonsense. Had it worked, I suppose it might have helped make up for their own failure to over-reproduce. Not that they wanted me married at fourteen (sixteen, however, might have been considered!), but I should certainly NOT overlook (nor be allowed to overlook!!) such a promising prospect, no matter my own age.
Plus (and this is important), my folks were not really concerned about me misbehaving. After all, via the Church, they had spent my entire lifetime to date instilling in me certain Holy Terrors. Pounding them deep into my psyche. For my own good, to protect me from the evils of the world, all of which seemed to have to do with sex, not things like semi-trailers in traffic, or financial con-artists.
There was the one, central, Grand Holy Terror, plus an entire host of Lesser Holy Terrors. The Grand HT was the utter certainty of going straight to hell if you prematurely lost your virginity (or even worse -God forbid!- surrendered it enthusiastically and voluntarily!). In short, I was to reach the altar both ASAP and as virgo intacta.
The Lesser HTs included things like never letting a man even begin to undress you. Much less being actually naked with a man (at least, not before marriage - during marriage, I suspect, was marginally acceptable but nonetheless problematic). Also, not letting any male see you or touch you when you're naked. And suchlike