The Polar Bare Club

FORWARD (potential SPOILERS as well): This is my fourth submission to Literotica. About 17,000 words. It features group public nudity, a few sex scenes that run together, and romance. Fans of group sex, don't get your hopes up. Sorry, this one is what it is. I hope you give it a chance and enjoy it. As I've said, votes and comments are appreciated, but please try to offer comments and criticism as if we were sitting down together, face to face in a public place. Thanks.

*****

Five of us sat around on the couch after coming in from the cold. It was a great day of skiing, made all the better because my broke ass didn't have to pay for any of it. Well, I did have to pay the fees to get on the slopes themselves, but my generous friends were letting me slide on the cost of getting up there and the cabin rental. I was going to be a little in the hole when the next paycheck came, but god, I needed a break. It had not been my year. As Ricky was trying to get a fire lit, I was listening to Ecks' new best friend Kismet telling us all about how she had just broken up with a drummer because he had no rhythm in bed.

Okay, Kismet tells great stories. I wasn't trying to be a bitch. Not even when I asked if that was her real name and then demanded she show me her license to prove it. I could tell Ecks, his brother, and Andi all realized I was being a bitch, but Kismet didn't seem to notice, more to her credit—she even asked to see my license, as if anyone would claim to be named Penelope who wasn't. She thought we were having a moment. I couldn't wait to be out of that car.

I had a great time skiing at least. Actually, I should have had a great time skiing... if I wasn't watching my former boyfriend flirt with the new love of his life. My perception of this long weekend before it arrived was far different. Tell me if I'm crazy: An ex-boyfriend asks you to come along on a ski weekend, just him and a few friends, and by the way, don't worry about paying your way—was I crazy to think he might be aiming to reconcile? Instead I'm Frankenstein-walking my skis back to the lift while keeping my envious eye on him standing in line with her. At their most nauseous, Ecks was standing right behind her in her perfect little skintight pink pants and shifting her hips back and forth as she cackled girlishly. Sure, I earned a wave or two, even a thumbs up when I reached the bottom of the hill right after him on my third run, should have earned a medal for not taking a tumble and still going at a respectable speed, but I couldn't deceive myself that Ecks had any thoughts of me. My being there was clearly charity.

"She's not lying," Renee told Ecks and Ricky as they were blaring laughter and I was playing catch-up back on the couch.

"Girls Gone Wild? Jesus. No way."

Ricky continued to shake his head and deny her, but Ecks appeared to suddenly change sides and take her at her word. Why not? I hear for the end of her act she walks on water, I thought.

"Now... all I'm saying is... all those girls, all those videos they do—or used to do, who knows if they're still... but they must be getting those girls from somewhere."

"What were you doing? Were you at Mardi Gras or spring break in Cancun or...?" He may not have been hitting on her, but Ricky's sudden interest had his girlfriend watching him extra close; Renee might be Kismet's friend, but I knew she wasn't going to risk letting him get caught up in the sexy magnetism.

"No, no, it was just... I was at a bar in Central Park West with friends and, you know... they just showed up. For real, are you going to make me talk about this? You really are?" Her sing-song voice could fake innocence in the most convincing way. I could almost believe her surprise that men would want to hear about her being naked in public.

"So what did you do?" asked Ricky, covering his mouth as another laugh came out. "I mean, I know the basic idea... but sometimes they have all sorts of crazy things going on. Girl-on-girl stuff, chicks masturbating in their trailer..."

"He's heard."

"I've heard," Ricky laughed, giving Ecks a lazy fistbump for helping him cover. Renee still bent his pinky back until he cried uncle. "How crazy did you get?"

"Oh, you know me. I was pretty boring. It wasn't any—I didn't go to anyone's trailer. I'll tell you that much. Me and Tiffany just, you know. We flashed the camera. It was really quick."

"They still slowed it down in the video," said Renee. I got the idea she was extracting a small sliver of revenge for Kismet capturing her boyfriend's imagination. She looked to me and I had to ask if she actually saw the video. Her smirk grew a mile wide, perfectly closed-mouth, and Renee told everyone, "Miss Shy has the video on her laptop."

"No, no! Why did you tell them that? It's not..." All of our eyes were on her, just as I was sure she wanted, and she laughed like a blender on puree. "I didn't pay for it at least. I downloaded it."

"Well, you're the star. You're only robbing yourself," Ecks told her. I didn't like how close he was sitting to her, even if he was leaning his head on his fingers, arm crooked up on the couch like some old daytime talk show host. "Do you just have it so you can show it to people? Like a resume?"

"It was for a job interview," she said. We all called bullshit, but she insisted she had gone out for some job that involved dancing. Topless? She blushed, actually blushed as if she had any shame, and told us that it was to help her save for a trip to Europe. Amsterdam, no surprise. "I figured I've got nothing left to hide, right? Girls Gone Wild saw my tits."

"And your ass," said Renee, still smiling in a way that was barely a smile. "Did you forget you lifted your skirt up for them?"

"I wasn't sure they used that part at the time. I kinda forgot. But it's all the same, you know? My tits, my ass. I'm not embarrassed by it. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to have my... you know. Nothing they wouldn't show on basic cable. Right? I mean... that stuff I save for my close friends."

They all laughed. Worse yet, I had to laugh along. All my life girls like Kismet have been driving me crazy. They look perfect—in her case, a full chest, overfull even, pink bow lips like a storybook character, sky blue eyes, cute little chubby cheeks, actual hips like Marilyn Monroe had, with short golden hair to match, a booty to die for, and thighs that tested the strength of her ski pants. They say outrageous things. They do outrageous things. What they get away with—sentences come out of their mouths that I could never speak, not without getting laughed out of town.

I've never been a dreamgirl, and definitely not the kind to get beads or a T-shirt or whatever they get in those videos for flashing their goodies. I don't have much in the way of goodies. I'm under-developed compared to other girls, "flat" in the language of high school, which I heard a hell of a lot. Maybe I could do justice to a B-cup bra without stuffing, but no more. The rest of my body follows the "board" design, little bony bumps where I would rather have hips, and my ribs stick out when I take a deep breath; I'm "skinny," but not skinny enough to look athletic, just like a soft little girl. My brown eyes are kind of nice, but they're definitely not blue, and I've been trying to wish my freckles away since I was 4 years old, even if they're not too bad with a little makeup and, yes, some guys like them. I'm not entirely unhappy with my appearance, but when I'm pitted against a blonde with great teeth and big tits, my ego does shrink pretty bad. Oh, I also have big feet. I'd never make it in Japan.

Both of the guys kept asking about Kismet's dancing job or her naked video—nobody seemed to care about her trip to Europe, and I had a feeling she would have ignored me if I had asked about it. Eventually, Renee just sighed and told Kismet, "Why don't you just skip ahead a half-hour and go get the laptop?"

"What? Noooo," said Kismet, playing up her part. "You can't be serious, Renee. You guys, I would be so embarrassed... No! Please don't. No... Renee, don't make me..."

To no one's surprise, Renee won the argument and Kismet did her tick-tock walk away from the couch and up the stairs, saying she couldn't guarantee she would ever come down from the second floor again. I was surprised the guys had enough blood left to smile with all the erections undoubtedly happening below the belt lines. The four of us just stared at each other and smiled strangely as we waited for her to come back.

I missed Andi and Burt. They would have been on my side, they were friends of mine and not Kismet's, and Andi knew well the feelings I harbored for Ecks. Hell, I even missed Ecks' brother, David. Michael was the older Ecker, my age, 27, but little David was an innocent 21 years old, just old enough to drink, and he still saw through my every attempt to get back with his brother. We had a minute in the convenience store where the two of us were fetching beer out of the freezers and he whispered to me that I shouldn't get my hopes up. Andi had said the same thing the night before we left, tried to deflate my ambitions, but I wouldn't hear of it. I had put all of my hopes on this stupid ski trip, even knowing that some girl named Kismet was coming along with us, and Ecks had an eye for her.

Andi shot straight with me when she said, "He's not a complete idiot. Ecks. If he was, you wouldn't want him so bad, right? ...So he must know you've been waiting for him to start things up with you again. If he hasn't taken the bait by now, he's got his mind elsewhere. Are you really going to wait him out?"

Yes. My self-respect had taken that big a hit in the past year. I had already suffered more indignities than anyone should before her thirtieth birthday. The magazine I had given three years of my life had downsized most of the staff last December, the entire graphic design department was let go—and since they're obviously not going to make a magazine without graphics, it meant they were hiring some young punks right out of college at reduced pay. Which is probably how they had hired us in the first place. Rent was impossible, it had been hard as hell before to stay in the city, but without a job and no savings to fall back on, I was doomed. My boyfriend J.B. started beating the drum about us moving in together, it all sounded perfect to him, being the king of the left-brains, we should be getting closer and I suddenly needed a place. Except I had realized just before I lost my job that I didn't love J.B. at all. My damn right-brain had a problem with his half. That meant I lost a sometimes-fun boyfriend in close proximity to losing my job, then I lost my apartment. I lost New York Fucking City. I had to move back to Trenton. I'd been riding the train an hour in every couple of days just to do interviews, and when I did get a job, it was washing dishes like someone who had dropped out of a state school.

My hours of misery had more than tripled. I was getting dropped off at the train station by my dad, like he was taking me to band practice or summer camp. I spent way more time online than in my real life, clicking "Like" and sharing stupid JPEGs by the dozens. I watched junk TV during my off-hours—I became the people I talk nasty about. In all of that time I reflected on my past, and of my many mistakes, parting ways with Ecks was the one that bothered me. True, I had brought up the idea of a separation when it happened, two years ago, after eight months of being friends who fuck, maybe there's a future or maybe not—but Ecks said he felt the same way. He had felt the same way for a few weeks. We remained close friends after we broke up. It was my teenage dream come true, enjoy the boy, don't throw him away when it's over; someone was having a last laugh at my expense.

I missed Ecks. I missed the smell of that weird soap he used. I missed the precious way he folded his hand and pressed it against his cheek, never worrying about how effeminate it made him look. I missed how he would jingle his car keys coming up or going down the stairwell to my apartment. I really missed living one subway stop away from his place, and our mutual "drop in anytime" policy. The truth of it, too, was that I missed fucking him; as friends, I still got the conversation and the political email forwards and even the occasional ride for free—what I didn't get was the best fuck of my life. I missed it.

It sounds insane to girls like Kismet, I'm sure, but Ecks was the first guy to make me cum. Okay, full disclosure: He was the only guy to make me cum. At least while we were fucking. My second boyfriend Randy could finger me into heaven, but I always lied about having one after actual sex. I thought for years it was my fault, like I just couldn't. Ecks made me realize it was all about the man I was with. And extra-full disclosure? It was probably the fact a man had finally made me cum that got my gears spinning, thinking I was missing out on all the other talented cocks out there. It made us break up. Yes, I was looking back with regret.

I spent most of the day keeping an eye on him, a blue stick figure against all that white. Ecks could swish down those slopes and curve aside rough terrain like he was following a track like a train. The first time I took a spill he hurried over to help me up. It might have encouraged me to give it less effort staying on my skis. A more honest girl might even confess to letting the second fall happen, even forcing it during those last few feet. A hand reached out to help me up that second time, but I was disappointed to find it was David instead of his brother. David wore his glasses on top of his ski hat and he gave me his boyish sympathetic smile. It made me feel stupid and obvious and only a little bit loved—the little bit owed all to the help he offered.

"Let him have his way with her," David told me. I pretended to not know what he was talking about, laughed away his ridiculous advice. "She's got one thing he wants. He'll probably get it. Then he'll be looking for someone who knows all the Velvet Underground lyrics."

"Oh, really?"

"That ain't her. I'll say that much."

I didn't want to admit how much I appreciated his making me feel better. "All of you Eckers boys will stick it in anything that moves."

"Make sure you sit still until I'm gone," said David, then he moved on as I laughed.

I wasn't too far off. David met some other ski bunny in the lift line and went home with her, saying he might be back for dinner—but not promising anything. As bad as Andi might feel for me, it was her weekend, not mine, the whole trip had started as her get-out-of-town anniversary with Burt, Ecks and the rest of us had just horned in on it. She and Burt abandoned me to go to their anniversary dinner in town, which I of course understood—but it did leave me watching Miss Personality's titty-flashing club video with the man I wanted to spend the night with.

Even after the day I had suffered, I had a feeling it wasn't all completely lost. The cabin had two great big suites upstairs, the Eckers sharing one room, Kismet taking the other, since she had secured the reservation. She had offered it to Renee and Ricky, how sweet of her, but they insisted on taking the fold-out sofa bed in the living room. There was also a couch in each suite, I heard they were comfortable, and though Kismet said I could take the spare bed in her room if I wanted it, I had made the agreement to sleep on Ecks' couch in his room and I planned on sticking to it. If David remained gone all night, that meant it would be just Ecks and me in his suite. I couldn't have planned it better on purpose. The trick, I knew, was making sure that Ecks went back to his own room that night and not hers. That was my part to figure out.

After seeing way more titties than I had ever seen in one night, we all reached the part of the video where Kismet appeared. Beside us, she covered her face with the couch pillow like she was assuring everyone it was coming up. She couldn't believe she was letting us watch this, she loudly exclaimed.

On the 15" laptop screen, she was grinding herself against a pair of guys while a brunette friend of hers was performing a drunken twerk for the camera. After a minute, the cameraman lost interest in her overeager friend—who I felt simpatico with—and just focused on Kismet's shaking breasts and flying blonde hair. Soon she wasn't dancing with the two college boys. She was dancing with the camera.

"Show us your tits!" said a voice, had to belong to the cameraman. I snorted and looked at Ecks and Ricky, but they were taking it all very serious. Kismet also laughed, I noticed. The request came again, then a few of the surrounding guys repeated it. I had an image of Romans screaming for the lions to be released.

TV Kismet shook her head while grinning from ear to ear, checked with her friend about the wisdom of giving them what they wanted, and she laughed with her mouth wide open while turning red all over. Her hips batted back and forth in her black skirt as her fingers went down to the hem of her white blouse with its spaghetti straps. She wound it up over her belly, taking her time on its ascent, and then her breasts came into view. Ricky and Ecks both moaned like a talk show audience. As an impartial judge, I would have to give them a positive review. They were as full as I expected, not that her blouse left much to the imagination, with nickel-sized red nipples, dark like single freckles on each tan hill. Everything she did made them tremble or quiver or even flop around. I always envied that much jiggle, I was never going to manage it without surgery. I don't think I could have torn Ecks' eyes off the screen if I had set him on fire.

"Suddenly it's too hot in here," said Ricky, and we all laughed.

Three more times she showed her tits to the camera, it seemed like the rest of the video would just be Kismet flashing the viewer. Then they cut to another shot, not too different, and she turned around and eased her skirt down to under her ass. Something else to make me jealous, a fantastic bubble with a perfectly symmetrical split, and oh were they just as tan as every other part of her body. I had been thinking the whole time how impressive it was that she wasn't nervous as she undressed for everyone—but then I thought she wasn't being talked into anything right there at all. She had seen the cameras before they ever found her, more than likely. There might have been a great big "Girls Gone Wild" bus parked out front to warn her. Kismet had made her decision to show her tits before she ever got in the club. Maybe it didn't make her any less brave, but she lost her credit for spontaneity.

All of her flashing replayed in slow-motion, quick cuts, and then they moved on with a montage to some other pair of girls walking outside a club. Ricky sighed and said he was going out for a cigarette. Renee got up and followed him, maybe because Kismet said she was going to keep him company. The door closed and I felt my heart jump with the potential of a perfect evening. Had she really just shifted her designs to her friend's boyfriend? Shit, if Kismet was chasing Ricky, it was unbelievable luck for me. Let her get her wish. Let the three of them have a wild orgy in her room. It meant Ecks would be all mine for the night.

"Want another beer?" I asked him. I rubbed a hand through my short hair, one of the best of my inferior flirting moves. Ecks still had his eyes on the video as two strange girls stripped all their clothes off. He smiled self-consciously and looked my way.

"I'm glad no one out there wants to see guys' dicks," he said, then laughed roughly as I held my tongue. "You know I've got weak sales resistance. I'd probably give it up for a T-shirt."