Gung Ho at Gunnison

Huh?

I was startled awake by the wet nose of an orange cat, sniffing my own. The cat jumped back, and then over to the person sleeping next to me.

I wish that I'd stayed asleep, 'cause my head was absolutely throbbing. "OK, Fred, I'll let you out," I heard the person next to me say. It was a woman's voice, a bit lower than I'd expect, but still dulcet. Who had I slept with.

My eyes weren't focusing right, 'cause she was still blurry to me, as I saw her get out of what passed for a bed; it was just a mattress on the floor. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, but I could tell, despite my blurry vision, as she struggled out of the too-low bed that she wasn't wearing anything under it; her bottom was on full display.

Who the Hell was she? She sure wasn't any skinny-minnie, the kind of girls I usually date. I heard a "Don't stay out all day, Fred," as she let the cat out, the glass rattle in an old back door as she closed that behind her critter, and then another door close. Figuring that she went into the head, I checked myself, and yup, I was naked under the covers. Crap, who was this girl?

A minute later, the door opened, and she walked over to the edge of the bed, still in nothing but that t-shirt. If I'd been standing up, or even sitting on a couch, her shirt would have been long enough to cover her, but laying on a mattress on the floor, I had a clear view as she stood practically over the top of me. "Bathroom's that way," she said, "in case you don't remember."

Well, no, I didn't remember, and really couldn't remember much of anything; my brain was a haze, a throbbing haze. Getting out of this bed wasn't going to be any fun, but my bladder told me that I had to do it, and soon. The world kind of tilted on its side as I was getting up, and if this girl hadn't been there to grab my hand, I'd have fallen down.

I've been naked in front of other women before, so the fact I didn't have any clothes didn't bother me too much, but I'd still rather be naked in front of women I actually knew. I staggered to the bathroom, and was about to put the seat up to take a piss, when I realized, no, I'd better sit down, and my bowels just emptied themselves a fraction of a second after I got my ass down on the seat. My poop hit so hard that some toilet water splashed high enough to splatter me. Yuck!

I was still sitting there, a minute later, when the door was opened a bit, and the woman's arm extended in, holding a new toothbrush still in the case and a towel. "Here, you'll need this. The water's backwards in the shower; the hot's on the right." Then the door closed again.

Well, yeah, she was right, I did need those things. The bathroom looked clean enough, but there was still a slight whiff of vomit, too-much-beer vomit. That explained my hangover and why my mouth tasted like the inside of a garbage truck.

Whoever this chick was, she used the same Colgate toothpaste I used, so at least that was familiar. I turned on the shower, waited longer than I'd expected for the hot water to get there, and then climbed in. There were women's things in the shower, some sort of creamy pink shampoo, and a separate bottle of conditioner, a Venus razor and an only-used-once bar of Dove soap. Men didn't use this bathroom. I was racking my hangover-clouded brain, trying to remember who this woman was.

It was a war, between me wanting to stay under the hot water forever, and the throbbing of my skull telling me that I didn't want to keep standing up. At least I was starting to feel clean again, so I got out, and dried myself with the too-small, too-worn towel. The damned thing wouldn't even go all the way around my waist, and my clothes were nowhere in sight. After I dried off, as best I could, I opened the door and called out, "Hey, where are my jeans?"

"Drying on the line out back," was the answer I got, from a voice that sounded like it wasn't pointed at the bathroom door. "Don't worry about it; you don't have anything I haven't already seen."

Well, that was one Hell of an answer, but there was nothing to do about it other than emerge in all of my glory.

And there she was, on her knees, her bare ass shining into the breeze as she was putting a clean fitted sheet on the mattress on the floor. No wonder she didn't think I needed to cover up; she sure wasn't shy about anything! She stood up after I staggered out of the bathroom; she had to know that she'd exposed herself to me.

"You still look a bit green around the gills. You want breakfast, or just some coffee?" She threw the old sheet into a laundry hamper.

"Just coffee," I managed to mumble, as she walked into this crap kitchen. She motioned to these bare wooden chairs around an old Formica-topped kitchen table, red and grey, in a style straight out of the 1950s. Her butt came into view again as she reached up for the coffee can, on the middle shelf in the upper cabinet. I guess that she figured I'd need a lot of coffee, because she put enough water into the carafe for a full ten cups, before pouring it into an old Mr Coffee drip coffee maker. A couple of scoops of Folgers, and she pushed the button to start the machine.

"I'll be out in a few minutes; I need a shower myself after last night." Then she turned around, grabbed another towel off a shelf, and headed into the bathroom.

I just sat there, looking around, when I looked out the glass in the back door. There were my clothes, hung on a makeshift clothesline, out on the back porch. Good thing it was on the porch, because it was raining outside. I heard a scratching at the back door, realized that it was her cat, and struggled to my feet to let it in. Just then, she walked back into the kitchen, towel-drying her hair, and she was as naked as the day she was born.

Well, I guess that was fair enough, 'cause so was I! She threw the wet towel, and that t-shirt she'd been wearing, into the same hamper as the old sheets, and then poured us each a cup of coffee, offering it with a "Here you go."

"Ummm, listen," I began, when she busted out laughing.

"You don't remember one God damned thing, do you?" she laughed at me.

"Uhhh, not much," I mumbled, still trying to piece things together, wholly unsuccessfully. "Did we . . .?" I left that question unfinished, because I knew she'd know what I meant.

She was laughing even harder now. "No, sweetie, we didn't. You couldn't have even if you'd tried, you were so drunk. You were about three-quarters passed out, when you puked all over yourself. Everybody else left then, and Amy helped me get your nasty clothes off and roll you into bed, before she left, too. I washed your stuff out in the sink, and then hung them on the line out back before I went to bed. You'd puked on the couch a bit, too, so I couldn't sleep there. I tried to clean that off, and got it pretty good, but that still left it wet."

"Damn. I guess it's going to take a while before my clothes dry off, what with the rainy day and all."

She laughed again. "Do you mind? Heck, I'm usually naked at home anyway; the only reason I was wearing that shirt overnight was because you were there. Anyway, the rain is supposed to move out any time now, and then it'll get sunny and hot. Ought to be a perfect beach day, if you get over your hangover."

"Oh, man, I'd need about the darkest pair of sunglasses they make to hit the beach today! And I'd have to get home to grab some shorts, too."

"No, you wouldn't: Gunnison's a nude beach."

Huh? Just who as this girl, and was she nuts? Walking around her house naked, and then suggesting a nude beach? And she made it so that I was stuck naked, too?

I looked around the apartment, if you want to call it that. It had an old couch, with a darker damp spot on one end, I guess where she had to clean up after me. There was an old recliner in there as well, one which had seen better days, and was covered with a big towel tucked in all the way around, probably to hide stained upholstery. The mattress was in a corner; clearly this was just a one-room place. Fortunately, there was a wooden 'Anne' hung on the wall, and that was just enough of a clue to jog what little was left of my memory; Steve and I had somehow gotten into a party at a friend of Amy's, and the friend was named Anne. There had been beer there, and tequila as well, and we'd chased shots of tequila with beer.

I guess that I'd gotten quiet, because the next thing I heard was, "You want another cup of coffee, or you need to sleep it off some more? If you want to sleep, use the recliner, because you'll be better off with your head elevated rather than just in bed."

"You don't mind?"

"Nahhh, this is kind of funny, actually. And you do look good naked." She grinned with that last part.

"Guess I'll try the recliner," I managed to get out.

It was getting warm quickly, warm and humid due to the last lingering shower, but Anne asked me if I wanted some covers. "Then you wouldn't be seeing me naked," I somehow joked.

"Well, that would be a disappointment," she replied, arching her eyebrows, "but I still want you to be comfortable." Then I realized: she was being more than just polite, but she was genuinely taking care of me. Then she got up, walked over and took my hand, to lead me to the recliner. She pulled it about half way reclined for me, and then went to her closet, and brought out a thin white bath blanket, the kind they use in hospitals, the kind which can keep your really warm without being at all heavy. She draped the blanket over me, to keep me comfortable, and then I teased her: since she liked seeing me naked, I rearranged the bath blanket so it covered my chest and shoulders, but left my cock out in plain sight. Anne smiled at that one, then went back into what passed for the kitchen area, and started doing some dishes; the place was kind of a wreck after last night's party.

I closed my eyes, sort of, trying to fall asleep, but also stealing glances at Anne. She was a big girl, every bit as big as I am. I'm 5'10, and she looked to be, if maybe not quite that, pretty close to it. She was broad shouldered, and built kind of square, with little tapering down to her waist from her shoulders, and little flaring out at her hips; her butt was kind of flat, and her boobs, well, she had them, and maybe they'd have looked bigger on a smaller woman, but on her, they seemed a bit undersized. She did have cute nipples, and the left one was pierced, with a medium sized ring through it. Her right arm had a professional-looking tattoo, covering her whole shoulder, around a bit onto her back and chest, which extended down her arm to just above her elbow. Her hair was a dark brunette, and the carpet matched the drapes, dark, full and not trimmed in the slightest.

I'd seen my share of naked women before, and maybe part of someone else's share, too, but none of them looked like Anne. I favored the thin coed type, with hip bones that stuck out, short, petite girls, and I always loved it when they shaved their pussies bare; even the 'landing strip' left over was a bit of a disappointment to me. Anne was nothing like any girl I had ever dated, even any girl I had fantasized about. If I met her someplace ordinary, I'd never have asked her out, or even harmlessly flirted. I liked cute little feminine chicks, all done up with makeup, while Anne looked like, well, she looked kind of like a linebacker, big and strong and tough, with not a lot of fat, but also not a lot of femininity.

And, despite my throbbing headache, and the toxins trying to flush themselves out of my abused body, I felt something else, that familiar stirring, as my cock started to rise on its own. Anne wasn't facing me, looking instead at the kitchen she was cleaning up, so she couldn't see me getting excited. I thought about covering it up, but she'd notice that, too.

Somehow, some way, there was just something about Anne that was piquing my interest. There was just no way I was attracted to her, yet my dick was telling me otherwise. Seeing her there, just casually doing her housework, completely nude - and if she was to be believed, that was normal for her, not just her showing off for me - really did something for me.

I could see the sun starting to come out, just as the weather forecast had said it would, and the effect of the sunny day through the windows changed Anne from a naked woman in my view to more of a silhouette, but I was still intrigued, especially as the sunlight caught that gold nipple ring of hers. Finished with the dishes, she turned my way, and spotted my erection.

"Well," she laughed, "I guess that you're feeling a little bit better, anyway. Did I cause that?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"Nice thought, but I'm pretty sure that we don't know each other well enough to take advantage of that."

I was way more disappointed than I should have been at that. So, I lost a chance at screwing a girl who just wasn't my type; why should I be disappointed at that? Then I went for the big reach: "You still want to hit that nude beach you talked about?"

That caught her by surprise, but she answered quickly. "You sure? I'd love to go, but it is always a lot more fun when you've got a friend with you. You recovering quickly enough?"

"My head is still killing me, but I figure the more active I am, the faster I'll get over this."

"OK, cool. Let me check how dry your clothes are." With that, she stepped out onto her back porch, still naked, and I could see her feeling my jeans. "Still pretty damp," she said as she came back in, "but I've got something that might fit you." She went over to a closet, and pulled out a pair of bib overalls. "If you don't mind these, they're pretty loose, and they'll probably fit you."

Anne didn't know it, but she'd just stumbled on one of my pet likes. "I'd rather see you wearing the bibs, with no shirt underneath."

That brought a big smile to her face. "You would, huh? I'd like that, but I'm not exactly a girly-girl type; you sure that you're interested?" I just nodded my head, yes.

"Tell you what," she continued, "I've got some old water bottles I can fill, and we can make up some sandwiches to take. It'll take about an hour to get there, at least if the Garden State Parkway isn't clogged up again. But it's Saturday, and if we don't get there fairly early on the weekends, we might not get in."

Somehow, I managed to get out of the recliner without falling, though the too-sudden move didn't help my headache in the slightest. I toughed that out, and walked into the kitchen, to help Anne get ready. My erection flagged a bit, but didn't drop all the way, and when I took a chance and gave Anne a quick kiss, she put her hand out and gave it a squeeze. "Who knows, Rusty, maybe be will get to know each other well enough to put this into use later on."

Getting ready didn't take too long. Anne put together four ham and cheese sandwiches, and I filled up eight water bottles, and everything got tucked into a cooler. Fortunately, there was plenty of ice in her freezer, along with a little bit left from the beer cooler from last night. She then went and rummaged through her chest of drawers, and found a serviceable pair of grey sweatpants I could wear, along with a Gunnison Beach t-shirt. Fortunately, my tennis shoes hadn't gotten funked up with puke last night, so I had those.

As for Anne, she dressed just like she said she would, in the bibs, with no shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. I got my wallet from the top of her chest of drawers - she had emptied my pants pockets before she washed them - and we headed out. "We'll have to stop someplace to pick up some sunscreen, and I guess that you'll need a pair of sunglasses." I wondered just where we'd be able to stop with her dressed like that.

It turned out that the Parkway wasn't too badly jammed. New Jersey had put a bunch of money into the roadway, and there is this one eight-lane bridge - eight lanes in each direction - just before the toll booths. Fortunately, Anne had an EZPass in her beat-up-looking Toyota, and we whizzed right through. Luckily, there was an old Phillies ballcap in the back seat, because without sunglasses, I really needed it.

It turned out that Anne was really fun to talk to. There was nothing too serious on the menu, and we wound up talking about the Phillies - they sucked again this year - and Donald Trump and terrorism and nudism and, of all things, King Richard III and the Battle of Bosworth Field, where he'd been killed. Of course, I liked the way the front of her bib overalls pulled away from her chest when she was sitting down in the car. Still, when I fantasized about women dressed like that, it wasn't about women as solidly built as Anne.

We pulled off the Parkway at Exit 117, and headed east on Route 36, which was a decent four-lane road, though it wasn't limited access, and had plenty of traffic lights. The traffic wasn't moving too fast, but it wasn't so slow that Anne was worried that we couldn't get in. Since the rain had stopped not that long ago, maybe it kept some of the potential beachgoers home.

About five or six miles down, Anne pulled off into a CVS Pharmacy, so I could get some sunglasses and sunscreen. I was pretty surprised when she got out of the car dressed like she was, but she just pulled the waist of the bibs down a bit, and that kept her tits covered; I got the impression that this wasn't the first time she'd worn those overalls in public like that. We picked up the stuff, I paid for it, and we headed on out.

Another five or six miles, over a big new bridge, and we turned right into the entrance for Gateway National Seashore, called Sandy Hook, where the nude beach was located. We had a ten-dollar parking toll to pay, which I sprung for again, and then we were in. There were several beaches at Sandy Hook, but only one, Area G, was nude.

Man, the parking lot was huge for Area G, and it was already more than half full. Anne grabbed some cash out of her wallet, then locked her wallet in the car; I figured it would be smarter if I did the same. Then she hid a spare car key on a hook behind the right front bumper, and locked her keys in the car as well; she was taking no chances of losing her stuff. Even though she was every bit as big as I am, I picked up the cooler to carry it, while Anne took the towels and sunscreen. We'd picked up an SPF 50, and it looked like we'd need every bit of that.

And it was a long walk from the parking lot to the beach itself. First the lot itself was big, then there was a boardwalk path through the scrubby trees that grew on the peninsula, then cross the road, then pass the bathrooms and a concession stand, then down a hard path, and then a few hundred yards across the sand. I was amused by a sign reading, "Beyond this point you may encounter nude sunbathers." Even more amusing was the opposite side, which read "Entering clothed area."

Well, I'm not sure what purpose that sign had, because the clothed area - which was fairly small - was right next to the nude area, and both were fully visible from the other. The place was packed, and even though we walked most of the length of the nude area, there were no available spots right on the water area; we had to find a place a couple of 'rows' back.

Holy fucking wow, this place was packed, and with a ton of gorgeous girls as well as guys. The furthest southern area looked like it was primarily gay guys, but, other than that, it was easily half women. I'll admit it: I was getting my eyes full, but I tried to be at least surreptitious about it. I was there with Anne, and I was liking her, and it sure made no sense to maybe hurt her feelings by checking out other women too blatantly.

Of course, she might have been checking out other men, too. There were plenty of them showing off, including not a few wearing cock rings, to keep themselves permanently erect, and a few guys with real monster cocks. There were guys a lot bigger than me, and a whole lot more buff than I was. Still, Anne wasn't my girlfriend or anything, so I couldn't get jealous if she looked.