tagGroup SexA Nice Pair of Jeans. Sans Jeans.

A Nice Pair of Jeans. Sans Jeans.


"Ok, we're all registered!" I said with a chuckle, pointing at my phone's screen. I assumed she'd know I was joking, since I had been trying, and failing, to play a good practical joke on her for almost as long as we had been friends.

"Seriously? Oh my gosh, that's fantastic!" Jean exclaimed enthusiastically. I nodded, not quite expecting her reaction. She continued, "We're going to have to come up with a believable cover story though, in case people either ask questions afterwards or anybody wants to come."

Jean's reaction was unexpected. I had planned for all possible contingencies with my attempt at a good practical joke, and her being wildly enthusiastic about it was not one of the reactions I expected. Rolled eyes, yes. Saying something to the effect that I was disgusting, yes. Shaking her head and walking away, yes. Eagerly and enthusiastically being on board, no.

Wait a minute. Knowing her, she was turning my practical around on me, and as usual, coming out on top. That had to be it. But I don't know that for certain yet. I decided to keep playing along. Then I'd pretend I knew all along that I knew that she knew that I knew. Or something like that.

"Yup. I think we can tell people we're doing the Healthy Hearts 5K instead, it's the same day and time. Nobody will know." Both races were taking place on July 14th.

"Good plan. Where's that Healthy Hearts run at? We need to be sure to that the fake race we pick is far enough away and early enough in the morning that nobody will decide they want to join us."

"I think it's a good decoy. It's an hour from here and it starts at seven O'clock, I don't think anybody would go for that. We can even pretend we just assumed nobody would want to, and say that's why we didn't invite anyone," I said.

"Healthy Hearts Run it is!" she declared.

"Healthy Hearts Run?" said our boss Jeanne, who had walked up, and who also happened to pronounce her name as 'Jean'. This was awkward. Exactly when did she walk up? Did she hear just that last part, or had she heard more? In earlier years, we had all been peers, but her career trajectory had surpassed us, along with everyone else, and now she was a Senior Vice President. In the old days, we had all been part of a new hire orientation training class. Jeanne our boss, and Jean my coworker had been inseparable, and we had affectionately called them the pair of Jeans, or if we were away from the office, tight Jeans. They also had individual nicknames. Jean my coworker would occasionally be lean Jean due to her physique or green eyed Jean due to her eyes, while our boss at first was nicknamed "clean Jeanne" because she was notoriously tidy, but as her career took off, people stopped using nicknames to her face, but at times, she might have been called "Queen Jeanne" and sometimes "Mean Jeanne". In the case of Lean Jean and I, we had been quite close with Jeanne in earlier years, but although there were no hard feelings, the difference in responsibility and lifestyle caused her to drift off into a new and different existence to us 'little people'.

"Yep, we're running Saturday!" Jean said cheerfully. "Want to join us? It's way up in the Hills", she continued, knowing that our boss was so busy, she'd never actually make it.

"Out of town. Again." she shrugged, pausing before the 'again' for emphasis. "I wish I could!" she said wistfully, using the old tone of voice we hadn't heard in years from her, dating back to when we were all good friends and peers. It was a nice and all too fleeting moment, but almost as soon as it appeared, it vanished again and it was time for her to dash off to some other important meeting.

We watched her walk off. I will admit to some impure thoughts about her long legs and spectacular physique, and as I glanced at Jean, she seemed to be looking too. Once she turned the corner out of our line of sight, Jean turned back to me, and we continued with the topic at hand. "O.K., how much was it?" she said, as she opened her purse and got out her wallet. I was still a bit flustered, still not sure if she was re-tricking me, or if she was really as interested in this as she seemed. If she was outdoing me (as usual) in my attempts at a practical joke, she was doing a great job of it. I had no idea whatsoever whether she was serious, or about to start pointing at me and laughing and saying, "Got yaaa."

"It was $40. Kind of a rip off, considering you don't actually get a T-Shirt." I joked.

She took two $20 bills out of her wallet and handed them to me. "Well, they can't really be condoning the wearing of clothes, can they?" she laughed.

"No, I suppose they can't!" I laughed, still not really sure what was happening.

"I've never done anything like this. You?" she asked, even though she clearly knew full well that I hadn't. "How do you even attach a race bib? And I suppose no chip-timing of the runner's speeds either?"

"They provide body paint, you write the race numbers on your stomach." I said. "And no, it's not chip timed. And, I never have either." I only knew the answer to her questions because the pictures on the website for the "Bare Naked and Sun Baked 5K" race had some carefully shielded photos of runners who had painted their race numbers on their stomachs or backs.

"I can't believe we're doing this!" she grinned.

"Me either!" I replied, pretending that I actually knew for sure whether we were in fact going to do this. I had no idea. I should know not to try to pull pranks on her.

"OK, email me the registration information. Meet there, or drive separately?" she said with a straight face, yet again making it impossible for me to tell whether she was playing along or not.


How did it get to this? It started several years ago. A group of us from the office had ran in a fundraising 5K race as part of a work sponsored team, and since then, a small group of us started running together on Saturday mornings. Most of the time, the run would just be a training run, but a few times a year, we'd run an organized 5k race.

Running groups are fickle things though. The odds of finding people with the same level of dedication as you, who run at about the same speed as you and who want to run about the same distance as you, who like to run on the same days as you, are pretty slim. So even with new members coming and going, the running group had dwindled into Jean and I.

As far as why we were in such a platonic type of friendship, that has its history too. When we first started working together, we had both been in other relationships, then in and out of a couple others over the time we knew one another. Almost all along, it was either both of us, one, or the other in a relationship, including an entire year where my significant other at the time was one of Jean's close friends. A blabbermouth significant other, I might add. I shuddered to think of all the secrets Jean might know about me. Did she know I loved sexy toes on a woman? That I had a bit of an obsession with licking a sexy little asshole now and then? I knew Jean had to know everything, but she never let on.

So that put us in the situation we were in. Having spent so much time never thinking of the other as a prospective mate, we almost didn't even think of one another that way. Almost. I had long ago admitted to myself that she was the girl of my dreams, but circumstances had never made it possible to act on it. She was everything I wanted, funny, smart, and kind, and of course, beautiful and sexy.

Then just yesterday, we were at work looking at one of the websites listing upcoming races, because it was about time for us to run a race. We both had a laugh when we saw a race happening at the big nudist resort in our city called the Bare Naked Sun Baked Nude Day 5K, in honor of something called Nude Day. We laughed for a moment, because we had never heard of something called Nude Day. Then, we got back on task and decided to just do a training run instead.

That was yesterday. This morning, I decided to try again to get her with a practical joke, so I had come up with the brilliant idea to tell her instead that I had registered for the all-nude race, thinking we'd get a laugh out of it. Except she went and acted as if she wanted to do the race, leaving me with no idea if she was pulling my leg or not. Just like her, to take my practical joke and turn it around on me.

Now, I also had to make a decision. It had been a practical joke, but if she seriously wanted to do the race, I would have to really register. But if she was pulling my leg, then she'd get the last laugh. It's all so complicated.


"I'll pick you up." I said. I knew she was about to look over my shoulder at my phone's screen, and that if she did, she'd notice that I didn't really register for the race. Thankfully, this was taking place at work, and it was about time for us to get back to work.

"O.K." she said, heading out of my cubicle and off to hers. As she walked off and I glanced at her fit figure, I couldn't help but be excited at what it would be like to see her completely naked. Then I wondered to myself, what it would be like to be naked around her, not to mention hundreds, possibly thousands of other people. Oh my gosh, what have I gotten myself into? What if I get an uncontrollable erection in front of her? Or worse, what if it's a cold morning, and I suffer from shrinkage in the cold weather? People will think I'm tiny, when in fact, I'm perfectly normal. Oh my gosh, now I'm being insecure. Whose idea was this anyway?


The rest of the day was a flurry of activity, combined with my state of distraction. It was work, so I didn't want to use my work computer to really visit the nudist colony's website.

Her cubicle was just over and across from mine, and not particularly far away. It is just a fact of everyday life that you overhear the conversations of people who sit near you in an office environment like this. I heard her on the phone. "Hi, umm... I'm curious, if I got an, umm, procedure, how long would it take to heal up?" She continued, "I see. And how much?" and after a pause, "Oh." What the hell was she talking about, and who was she talking to? She never hesitates or pauses when she speaks. "Saturday." she said to whoever she was talking to. "Hmm. So if I came in today, it would be fine by Saturday?" she said. "Even if, you know... umm... everywhere?" A pause as she listened. "Oh, thank you so much for squeezing me in. I'll be there as fast as I can!" she said as she hung up.

She got up, picked up her purse and very quickly popped her head around my cubicle wall and said to me, "Hey, I have to leave early today. Send me the information, ok?" and she breezed out the door. I barely had time to respond, but I did wheel my chair to the aisle and watch her walk briskly away, yet again imagining seeing that bottom naked. I was still puzzled though, what was that odd conversation about.

I got up to walk to the window, and watch her walk to her car. As I walked past her cubicle, I saw that she had forgotten to lock her computer, which is considered a major rules violation at our company, even grounds for termination. I decided to be a good Samaritan, and go hit "windows-key L" to quickly lock her screen. I really wasn't trying to spy, but as I did that, I saw on her screen, she was looking at some beauty spa, and was on the hair removal page. She had been calling about hair removal. For Saturday. And in her own words, for everywhere. My penis twitched at the thought.

I took this as a sign. I rushed back to my phone, and really registered the two of us for the nude 5K race, and forwarded her the confirmation code and the lengthy email, full of instructions, and race etiquette for a 5K race at a nudist resort. It was all very complicated, but they had done a nice job of making non-members feel welcome and secure. And I didn't know this before, but there are a lot of etiquette rules at a nudist resort. Always have a towel. Don't leer. No public displays of affection. No hitting on the employees. I sneakily typed over the "received at" time on the email, so it would look like I had actually registered earlier that morning, to be thorough. I imagined what she must be going through, getting herself waxed. Everywhere. Us men, we are such weaklings, I chuckled to myself, imagining the agony a full waxing would be, while women do it on a steady basis.


"I can't believe we're doing this!" was her brief email reply about ten minutes later, possibly from the chair where her pubic hairs were being violently ripped out of her body, all in the name of beauty. I didn't hear much more from her that day. The next morning, she popped her head in. "Hey, did you lock my screen for me yesterday? I didn't even think of it until I was driving into work, I was so panicked."

"Yeah, I saw that it wasn't locked, I did my super fast keyboard shortcut." I said, reenacting the keystroke sequence on my computer as we talked to show her how quickly I could lock a computer screen. I intentionally did it without even looking at the screen or the keyboard.

"Thanks." she said. She almost seemed as if she was trying to discern if I had looked at the screen. I almost thought she was going to play it calm again, until she said, "Yeah, I didn't want anyone seeing that I was looking at hair removal sites on my computer. God, it hurt." she said matter of factly.

"I can only imagine!" I said, with a shudder. Except now we were talking about her pubic hair, or lack thereof. This was the greatest conversation ever.

"It better be all healed by Saturday, is all I can say. Right now, it looks terrifying!" she said.

Nobody else was nearby yet. I debated saying "Let's see." but decided against it. She seemed to sense the brief pause, and reached down, pulled up her skirt revealing no underwear, and showed me her still beautiful and amazing mound, covered with a thickish layer of cream, but still visibly red and raw where the cream wasn't as thick. "Look what they did to me!" she said, jokingly.

"Ouch!" I said sympathetically.

"I'd show you my ass too, except I'd scream if I had to pull my cheeks apart. This better heal by Saturday!" she said. Then, as quickly as she flashed me, she dropped her skirt and went back to her cubicle.

I wanted to offer to kiss it better if she did, but I decided against it.


Saturday morning finally came. I didn't expect to sleep well, but thankfully I did, but also popped right out of bed out of anticipation for the big day. I had spent a fair amount of the preceding Friday evening grooming myself to the best of my ability. I'm not the type to go completely shaven, although I knew many nudists do. I looked good, I thought. Neat, somewhat symmetrical, with what I surmised to be just the right amount of pubic hair for a male to have. I showered and got ready, and as I was about to head out the door, I sent a text message letting her know I was on my way. The phone beeped back at me even before I started driving, she said, "See you soon. Deciding what to wear!" with a smiley face.

I try to be a safe driver, and not do text messaging while driving. The phone beeped at me twice, and at a traffic light, I couldn't resist looking. The first text message said, "I'm torn between this outfit...", followed almost immediately by a text of her in her normal running outfit in her full length mirror. As I was admiring the picture, another text came through. I scrolled down to the next message, which said, "Or this." She was in the same pose in front of the same mirror, except completely naked, her firm breasts, her now silky smooth mound, even a bit of her labia in plain view. My jaw dropped. Sadly, the traffic light turned green at that very moment, jolting me from my sudden daze.

I had to pull over and stop. There was no way I could fail to reply promptly. "Second one for sure." I said, adding a smiley. Feeling brazen, I added a second text right after the first. "Glad you healed up so nicely! I'm about ten minutes away." I didn't want to stop the texting, but I also needed to get there quickly, we didn't have too much time to spare.

"Yup!" was the reply. "Drive safe." was the next text from her, almost immediately. Then "Don't look at your text messages while driving" was the third, again very quickly. "Better not be looking!", except this was a picture of her closer to the mirror, her phone in her right hand, and her breast cupped in her left. "Don't text and drive!" was the next, this one of her back to the mirror, her body turned slightly so she could aim the camera. "Turn it off!" was the next text, teasing me not to look at my phone while driving, while sending me pictures of herself naked.

The messages all came in such rapid fire, I hadn't really started driving yet. "Stop, I'll never get there! Wait. Don't stop, but I need to drive. I want 25 pictures, I'm going to count the beeps!" I really had to drive, or we'd be late to the race.

"Fine." she replied. As I pulled back to the street, I heard my phone beep. Then beep again. I counted ten beeps by the time I was at the next light. I couldn't resist a glance. Ten pictures, each a bit progressively more daring than the last. She was enjoying herself, and I was thrilled. I couldn't stop or divert too much attention, but the text messages kept coming in. I was now on the highway, no more traffic lights for a while. I swore though, more than 25 text messages came through, but I resisted the temptation to look.

As I got off the highway, I thought to myself, that I'd be able to glance at the phone, but for once in my life, the one time I wanted a red light, it was green. In fact, Karma seemed to be playing a cruel joke on me, since I had a completely traffic free drive all the way to her place.

I pulled into her driveway, and pulled out my phone. I had to scroll up, seemingly forever. I tried not to pay too much attention, but I was scrolling up past countless pictures of her naked. I'm not sure why, I just felt as if I should start at the top. Eventually, I got back to the "Turn it off!" text, and her delightful bottom. Next one, still of her bottom, but she was bending forward, "This is my butt." Next, "This is my butt on drugs!", a reference to a well known old TV commercial, a much closer up view of her bottom. Just then, the phone rang, it was her. "Hello?"

"Are you going to just sit out there looking at your phone? C'mon, let's get going!" I looked up, and realized she was standing next to the car, making a "Hurry up!" gesture to me. Except she was stark naked except for her running shoes, standing on her driveway, holding a bag in her hands. She walked around the front of the car, then got in the passenger side. "We're running late, right? Go, go, go!" She was being her good natured self, but also, she really did want to get going. I went. Almost begrudgingly, since I actually hadn't finished looking at all the pictures she had sent. I went, with a naked girl in the passenger seat next to me. I was beginning to feel outdone, since I actually had on my running clothes.

The nude resort was about another thirty minutes of driving, mostly on the highway then on a two lane country road. Even with a beautiful naked woman, and a phone full of pictures of her, I was stuck keeping my eyes on the road. She was in rare form though, very wound up at the morning. She wanted me to drive faster, she was shouting at slow cars to get out of our way. At times, she caught herself getting too mad, and made a joke out of it.

"Geez, go back to taking pictures!" I joked. Although I wasn't exactly joking. I'd get to keep these pictures forever, the more I had, the better. "Twenty five more, let's document this drive."

"Fine," she said, reaching for her camera. The first one, she leaned toward me and took a selfie of the two of us.

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