Nightmares are fascinating: they play with fears, with feelings of helplessness and loss of control.
In the ENF genre (Embarrassed Nude Female), nightmares seem to be an obvious stylistic device. After all, shame, nudity, and the feeling of being watched or exposed are among the most common motifs in dreams. But translating nightmares into literature is harder than it seems at first glance.
Why a nightmare needs more than just confusing images
Many nightmare stories fail because they seem arbitrary. When anything is possible, nothing feels threatening anymore. Your story needs its own logic within the dream. The events must mesh like gears. They must not lie next to each other like loose puzzle pieces. Only then can a feeling of compulsion and inescapability arise.
Imagine: your protagonist can neither flee nor cover herself. Every movement only brings her deeper into the trap. The audience in the dream does not get smaller, but larger. The room does not become safer, but more open. The nakedness does not become less visible, but more obvious.
The setting must be clearly defined
Describe the dream setting as vividly as any real environment. Let the readers feel the temperature. Show the ground, the smell of the air, the looks of the bystanders.
Example:
Marlene is standing on the gravel of a schoolyard stage. Her bare feet feel every stone. She is wearing nothing. Her pubic area is exposed, her breasts are exposed to view. Her nipples have become erect in the cool morning air. Marlene hears the murmur of the crowd, the crackling of the loudspeaker. Sweat runs down her back, dripping from the crack between her buttocks. The school principal steps up to the microphone and says, “Now everyone can see what you really are.”
A scene like this needs a fixed location. No floating nothingness. No fog. You want the reader to feel that something is at stake here.
The character needs an inner conflict
The nightmare becomes a story when the protagonist fights a battle. Not against the audience, not against the place. But against herself. She wants to cover herself, but she can’t. She wants to run away, but her legs are heavy as lead. She wants to speak, but no sound comes out of her throat.
Example:
Marlene tries to cover her pubic area with her hands. But her arms are as if bound. She feels the stares of the boys in her class. Their eyes linger on the dark hair above her pubic area, wandering to her hard nipples. Her heart is beating in her temples. Her knees are shaking. She thinks: Why can’t I move? Why do I have to endure this?
Thus, the nightmare becomes a mirror of her fear, not an empty spectacle.
Eroticism arises from sensuality, not arbitrariness
Nightmares are about being at the mercy of others. In the ENF genre, the feeling of being seen is central. Describe nudity with care. Not as a flaw. Not as a value judgment. But as a state of being.
Example
Marlene feels the wind between her legs. She feels the air cooling her labia, her naked skin exposed to view. Her breasts rise and fall with her rapid breathing. The cold gravel hurts the soles of her feet. The sweat running down her stomach tickles her groin.
Eroticism in a nightmare does not arise because the character is naked. It arises because the body becomes palpable in all its sensitivity.
The dream logic must be consistent
Let the nightmare follow an inner line. Perhaps the protagonist tries to hide—and with every step, the stage gets bigger. Perhaps she wants to get dressed—and every piece of clothing melts between her fingers.
Example:
Marlene discovers a dress at the edge of the stage. She runs towards it, but the floor expands. Every step takes her further away instead of closer. She sees the dress rise in the wind and disappear like smoke. The audience applauds. Marlene is left behind: naked, sweating, trembling.
In the end, the dream needs to have an impact
Even if the story takes place in a dream, it cannot end there without leaving a trace. The protagonist may wake up drenched in sweat. Or the dream may linger, changing her behavior, her perception, her desires.
Example
Marlene wakes up and feels the damp sheet against her naked back. She touches her breasts as if to check whether people are still looking at her. She avoids eye contact with others all day long.
Tips for your prose
1. The nightmare must be more than just an interlude
Don’t use the nightmare merely as filler or to set the mood. It should:
- reveal something about the character
- set up or intensify a conflict
- have a real effect on the waking world
Example:
Jana is standing on the podium of a huge lecture hall. The room is packed. Dozens of pairs of eyes are fixed on her. Only now does she realize that she is wearing nothing—no top, no jeans, not even underwear. The bare skin of her breasts is taut, her nipples erect, even though her body is bathed in sweat. Her hands want to cover her modesty, but she has no control over them—they hang limply at her sides.
The members of the examination board lean forward. “Please begin,” says the professor. Jana’s throat is constricted. She tries to speak, but no sound comes out. She feels her heart beating in her throat. Laughter ripples from the back rows to the front. Jana feels the cold air brushing against her bare skin, her face burning with shame.
She wakes up gasping for breath, the bedsheet sticking to her sweaty body. The laughter still echoes in her head.
The dream reveals Jana’s fear of failure and embarrassment. It motivates her behavior the next day—she decides to write a prepared speech so she doesn’t get stuck again.
2. Make the nightmare physically tangible
Avoid simply describing the dream like a movie. Show what the protagonist feels:
- the cold breeze on her bare skin
- the hot burning sensation on her cheeks
- the trembling of her knees as everyone stares at her
The more vividly you describe the body, the more real the nightmare becomes for the reader – and the more effective the shame.
Example
3. Create clear dream logic
Dreams also need their own comprehensible logic within the story. The reader doesn’t have to understand every scene, but they need to sense a pattern:
- Is there a pursuer?
- An audience that keeps growing?
- A task that becomes increasingly unattainable?
This keeps the dream oppressive rather than arbitrary.
Example
Leonie runs down a hallway. The doors on the left and right are all locked. Her bare feet hit the floor hard. She feels the cool stone beneath her soles. Her blouse is gone. She doesn’t know when she lost it. Her bare breasts bounce with every step, her nipples hardening in the cool air.
When she reaches the next corner, her skirt is gone too. Only her panties remain, which seem far too thin to protect her. Voices sound behind her, footsteps echo. She turns around and sees her teachers, her classmates, her parents. They are all looking at her, waiting.
Leonie feels her knees go weak. She wants to turn back, but the hallway is endless. Her panties disappear, as if erased. Her shame is exposed for all to see. She tries to cover herself, but her arms no longer obey her.
She wakes up, her heart racing. Her hands are clammy, her body trembling. The dream has exposed a deep fear: the fear of no longer being able to escape.
This nightmare could symbolize Leonie’s fear of an upcoming presentation or of coming out with an embarrassing secret.
4. Let the nightmare influence the plot
A nightmare that fizzles out without a trace wastes its potential. Use it to:
- hint at trauma
- prepare for an impending humiliation
- reveal an inner conflict
Perhaps your protagonist wakes up with sweat on her bare skin, feels her heart racing, makes a decision—or, precisely because of this, dares to do something she wouldn’t normally dare to do.
Example:
Sophie is walking through a park. It’s summer. People are sitting on benches, children are playing. Only after a few steps does Sophie realize that she is completely naked. The sun is burning on her skin, she feels the wind between her legs, the slight pressure of her own labia with every step.
She stops, wants to cover herself, but her arms seem heavy as lead. Every glance feels like a stab. A group of teenagers whistle after her. She wants to run, but her legs are like rubber.
The dream goes on and on. No bushes, no shade, no escape. She feels her skin burning, sweat running in small rivulets down her back and stomach.
The awakening comes abruptly. Sophie lies in bed, her heart beating in her throat. She asks herself: Why am I so ashamed of my body?
The dream provides an opportunity to explore Sophie’s shame conflict in reality – for example, in a later scene in the novel in which she is actually undressed by strangers (voluntarily or involuntarily).
Tips for implementation in erotic literature
- Stay specific. Describe skin, body parts, movements. Avoid judgments (“beautiful,” “ugly”)—the body in a dream is simply there and is experienced.
- Work with tempo. Dreams often feel oppressive when they accelerate: the audience grows larger, the escape routes narrower.
- Play with awakening. Don’t let the reader know right away if it was a dream. This allows you to create suspense.
Writing Prompt
Write a complete ENF story set in a nightmare. Your protagonist is led onto a stage. She tries to hide her nakedness, but the room becomes brighter and brighter, the stares more and more insistent. Describe the nightmare in such a way that the reader does not immediately know whether it is a dream or reality. Show how the character cannot shake off the nightmare after waking up – and what she now sees or feels differently.