This sequence of events took place nearly twenty years ago, when we were living in Sydney's eastern suburbs. As revealed in my previous contributions, I often strolled about the neighbourhood, before dawn, naked but for shoes, holding shorts in my hand, for use in emergencies. I enjoyed the risk of discovery, as well as the freedom from convention. However, I always took care, not to be confrontational, and hence the shorts as a backstop.

Let me introduce Dagmar, our nearest neighbour at the time. We lived in a six-apartment block, two units per level, with the top level at street level, and the other two levels descending down the hill. We all had glorious views of Sydney Harbour, the bridge, and the Opera House. Dagmar lived next door, on the same level as us, down some steps from the street, and our off-street parking.

She was fiftyish, very stylish, elegant, friendly, but not outgoing in any discernable way. She had been living in her apartment years before our arrival. She had a distinct German accent, although I understood that she had been born in Hungary, and preferred to be labelled "Austro-Hungarian", possibly due to some royal lineage.

Her apartment was lavishly decorated, with many beautiful artworks exhibited, to augment the obviously very expensive articles of furniture. She always dressed elegantly, in very stylish and expensive clothes, although she rarely left her apartment, or entertained visitors. Her only visitor seemed to be her German ex-husband, with whom she maintained a friendly and supportive relationship, and who visited her several times a year.

She loved classical music, and was an avid reader. I had been told that she had been hit by a bus, outside in the street, a few years before we arrived. She had sustained life-threatening injuries, which she managed to survive, although not without lingering discomfort and concern.

She seemed totally happy in her own little world, friendly, but never intrusive. A perfect neighbour!

Early one morning, while still dark, I arrived back from one of my naked strolls, descended the stairs, and stood in my automatically flood-lit doorway, as I fumbled in my hand-held shorts for the key to open our front door. I thought I heard faint footsteps behind me, and so turned, somewhat apprehensively, to see Dagmar, only two or three paces from me, smiling broadly. She too, was bathed in the light from my doorway.

I immediately sought a credible way to explain away my nakedness. But she beat me to the point, by explaining her own presence. She had woken early, as was her custom, and had realised she had probably left her phone in her car. She had dressed, gone to her car, retrieved the phone, and was thinking of going for a short stroll, it being such a pleasant morning. Before getting back out of the car, she had seen a naked man approaching, under the street lights, and had decided to stay out of view, until the man passed.

As he passed, she realised the man was me, and so felt comfortable enough to follow me down, and let me know that I had been seen. All the time that she was explaining her presence, I had remained with my back facing her, head turned also in her direction, in some display of modesty. Her easy attitude emboldened me to turn towards her, and put my manhood in clear view.

I had been an exhibitionist for many years, but her reaction left me dumbfounded. More so was the fact that her reaction seemed so out of character. She reached over to my penis, and allowed it to lie limply across the fingers of her upturned hand. It stayed there for only a couple of seconds, while she informed me that she was glad it was circumcised, as she thought all men should be rid of that ugly foreskin. It was as though she had picked up a piece of fruit, and was evaluating its worth. The manoeuvre seemed totally lacking in any sexual context.

She then withdrew her hand, but then allowed my testicles to rest in the same position on her upturned hand. For only a few seconds more, she used a finger of her other hand, to explore and feel the texture beside my manhood, and across my balls. As she did so, she commented that my lack of hair made my nakedness much more acceptable, and reminded her of certain statues she had seen in Europe. She then removed her hand.

Dagmar then explained that Europe in general, and Germany in particular, had a much healthier attitude towards nudity than was the case in Australia. She explained that Germans were used to mixed naked bathing, and that it was not unusual to see people naked, or semi-naked, in parks during the summer months. She told me about several holidays she had taken with her husband on the French coast, and once outside Dubrovnik, where nudity was the norm. She herself, would love to practice nudity again, but the scarring from her injuries would likely turn people off, unfortunately. 

She talked this way for several minutes, leaving me without reason to explain myself, and only required to agree with her various observations, from time to time. There was no further mention of my own naked predicament, nor any further physical contact.

"I should be going. Nice to see you. If you want to go for a stroll one morning, and you see my front light on, why don't you knock on the window, and I might join you." 

This was an invitation that I would find difficult to turn down.