In the Buff


"She didn't come to Florida with you?"

"Our relationship ended when she left for Hollywood years before I moved here. She was my only serious companion and she has a lot to do with the way I am today. You're seeing me naked because of her. You seem comfortable sitting next to the first man other than your husband you've seen naked, as you described me, but does your husband care that you are acting so friendly with a naked man?"

A blank stare and a silent moment preceded her answer. "My husband is beyond caring. He died more than two years ago of a heart attack."

"I'm sorry if my question was insensitive, Anna. I can understand how you might be struggling to deal with losing your husband at a young age." Another pregnant pause ensued without a response by her causing me to repeat, "I'm sorry."

"No, you're good, Brett. You couldn't know unless I mentioned it. Besides, I'm not struggling with his passing anymore. Anyway, where did you get the idea he died young? He was fifty-eight, an overweight diabetic with lots of health problems. We were married more than thirty years."

I sat upright in surprise, turning to stare at her face and then her body. She was double the age I estimated. "You're in your fifties? I can't believe it! I thought you were no older than thirty." While I spoke, I re-evaluated her body but still could not jibe this woman's age with her body. "I still think you look like you are twenty-something."

"I'm actually fifty-six. You are being very flattering, thank you, but is your opinion just wishful thinking to put me near your age or based on realistic observations you can define?"

"Based on observations. You skin is the biggest tell, particularly on your face and neck. You have no wrinkles around your eyes, no skin tags or droopy skin on your neck, and no age spots anywhere. Your overall muscle tone is that of a teenager and shows no sign of sagging anywhere such as the underside of your upper arms."

My eyes had focused on each area as I described it but I drew silent as my gazed scanned her chest, flat stomach, and pubic mound. She remained silent until I looked up to her face; she had been watching me.

"You seem to have a critical eye for judging my body, Brett, but why didn't you say something about everything you looked at? Maybe you're too much of a gentleman, afraid you'll upset me, but I'm not a prude despite my limited experience. I'm interested in the rest of your thoughts. Tell me what you really think."

I took her request as a signal that she wanted an intimate assessment and I gave her just that. Swinging my legs to the side of my chair, I sat facing her. When I looked down at her breasts first, she seemed to push them outward. "Your breasts are the perfect size and shape. They don't droop or flop around when you walk but I can't tell how much of that is due to bra support. I wish I could see what kind of nipples you have and when they stand out. I wonder if they are now."

Moving my gaze to her stomach, I added, "Your stomach is absolutely flat without a hint of flab. You don't have love handles or a muffin bulge that usually comes with age. I can even see your abs. It takes effort to maintain that kind of muscle tone. I bet you can do fifty sit-ups. Do you exercise?"

"I do daily yoga and lots of stretching and bending before practicing my ballet dancing."

"Someday I'd like to watch you dance," I suggested offhandedly. Shifting my gaze to her sex, I hesitated before speaking. Her pubic mound rising prominently over her wide thigh gap was so enticing that I felt a twinge of excitement stir my cock. "A woman's vulva doesn't change much with age but your slender legs and flat tummy lets me see lots of detail." To get final approval, I asked, "Should I continue?"

In a husky voice, her answer was absolute. "Yes, tell me what you see." She tilted her pelvis and turned her knees outward, giving me a clear view from two feet above her sex. I could feel my cock getting hard, but not yet rising above my thighs where she could see it.

"Your pubic mound bulges upward, tilting your sex in an inviting way. I can see the hem outline of your panties and even through your panties and leggings, I can see evidence of a thick mat of pubic hair. Judging from your eyebrows, your pubic hair is blonde. Your snug panty hems also highlight the bulge of your labia but there's enough slack in them and your leggings to show your cleft of Venus."

Honestly, she was so fine, I wanted to fuck her right then. I was now fully erect but with her eyes watching mine look at her sex, she hadn't spotted my glans rising like a periscope above my thigh.

"Well!" she declared forcefully. "You were sexually explicit but complimentary. I've never had a man talk about me like that."

My cock was straining against gravity, rising high enough to feel breezes. I wanted her to see it rather than hide it. "Especially a naked man."

"Especially a..." Her gaze had drifted down to my legs and noticed my hard cock. It was her turn to sit upright suddenly. "Oh my God! You have a freaking hard-on."

Swinging my legs back onto my lawn chair, I stretched out, giving her an unobstructed view of my cock in all its glory. Turning the tables on her, I suggested, "Tell me what you see."

Her face turned toward me, her mouth still open in an expression of surprise. Some thought process seemed to give her the determination to seize upon the opportunity. Her mouth spread into an impish grin and excitement twinkled in her eyes. She took up a sitting position with her feet on the ground to look me over closely in the same manner I did to her.

She leaned forward and studied my member for several seconds, her head so close, I imagined her ready to take me in her mouth. I clenched my glutes to raise my hips and contracted my kegels to bounce my cock. She smiled and when she spoke, she described my sexual excitement instead of my general physique.

"I don't have the breadth of experience that you have but your cock is the biggest I've ever seen. It is circumcised, perfectly straight, uniformly thick, and topped by a large head shaped like ... Darth Vader's helmet. Your erection seems to have pulled your balls closer to your cock. You don't have any pubic hair; I didn't even know people remove hair there."

She continued her close inspection in silence and then she noticed a gossamer thread of pre-cum hanging from the tip. "Your cock is leaking something. What is that?" She seemed to entertain the idea of reaching out to touch it but pulled her hand back.

"Don't tell me you don't know what pre-cum is." She shrugged and shook her head, no. Despite her age, she really was uninformed about many things sexual so I explained it to her. "It's a lubricant and chemical neutralizer of sorts that precedes ejaculation. It's similar to seminal fluid but generally doesn't contain sperm. Go ahead, you can touch it."

"No, I don't think I should be touching you sexually. What has made you so excited? Does the pre-cum mean you're close to orgasm?"

"I wasn't suggesting a handjob, but rather a tactile learning opportunity." I gathered some pre-cum on my finger and rubbed it against my thumb to demonstrate. "You'd see that the fluid has the consistency of semen. What made me excited was inspecting your body so intimately. I must admit, your body is so perfect that I developed an urgent desire to have sex with you. It would take more than looking at you to make me come, though. I would need some physical stimulation."

Worried that pushing too hard too early might turn her interest into disgust, I didn't suggest self-stimulation or any assistance on her part to relieve my immediate raging desire. I believed my best chance to bed her was in a patient approach and bedding her, not just getting her clothes off, was my ultimate goal after appraising her body.

Although our conversation continued along sexual lines, the details changed from intimate appraisals to past influences. As a result, my erection soon softened so that my cock settled onto my belly instead of levitating over it. She reclined again as well, repeating perhaps unconsciously, the clothing arrangement habit I witnessed from my kitchen window.

At her urging, to fully explain the origin of my exhibitionistic habits, I recounted how my girlfriend Mara began shaving my pubic hair and showing me off. She was interested in how I felt being exposed and whether shyness was ever an issue for me. She also asked many questions about removing my pubic hair, about both my motives and the waxing process. Although I mentioned some of the hijinks that ensued, I didn't elaborate on their effect on my relationships with Mara and other sex partners.

In fair turnabout, she detailed her life and marriage, giving me a full understanding of why a fifty-six year-old lived such a sheltered life. She wasn't just inexperienced outside of married sex attributable to fidelity attitudes; she had little secondhand knowledge of sexual practices beyond missionary sex in dark bedrooms.

Her husband was a preacher's kid, introverted sexually by strict religious ideas. Being socially shy in her youth and even through college, she married him soon after graduation and felt comfortable hiding her ignorance about human biology behind the idea that good people don't talk about sex. The same moral rigors made her suppress any mental curiosities as sinful. That blockade around her knowledge persisted during her entire adult life until her husband's death.

Incredibly, their marriage was almost devoid of sex. Their marital sex was infrequent early and mostly non-existent in the final years of their marriage due to his deteriorating health. They never experimented with positions, never discussed foreplay or arousal, and episodes were seldom satisfying for her. As another result of their attitudes, Anna had never experienced oral sex because they considered such acts as deviant behavior.

Her husband's passing freed her from the constant reinforcement of his repressive attitudes but she didn't charge forward with new attitudes. If not for a life-long friend inquiring if she was dealing with menopause, she might still be hiding from her own desires. Anna knew what menopause was, but admitted she had never bothered to understand symptoms or remedies.

The revelation shocked her friend but the woman worked her way deeper into Anna's confidence and inside the conservative shell she never knew existed. Instead of only offering alternative beliefs about sex and divulging intimate details of her own experiences with multiple partners, the savvy friend provided informative reading material about human sexuality. She opened a new door to reality but didn't push Anna through it.

Anna became receptive to looking at sex without repulsive reactions but found it hard to escape the reminders of her past that surrounded her life in Atlanta. Most imperative to finding her way out of repression, she concluded she needed to move far away from her husband's family.

One of the benefits of her marriage was a financially secure future. Never attracted to lavish expenditures and possessions, their modest home in what became a high-end location was mortgage free. In addition to a substantial life insurance death benefit, they had created large investment and retirement nest eggs. Since moving to the Miami area, she was renting a smaller home, adequate for her modest needs, while she searched for a permanent residence.

We had talked for hours. Nearing sunset, I offered to make dinner for her. She declined and said it was time for her to leave. I invited her to return anytime for more friendly talk and then suggested she could swim in my pool since her rented house did not have one. When she declared she would not swim naked, I said she could bring swimwear and mentioned that I have a changing room in the little pool house.

I escorted her to my fence gate where I gently hugged her goodbye. Other than her arms around my shoulders, she stiffly limited the hug by bending at her waist to lean only her shoulders into me. I didn't know if she would ever come back. While the hours I spent naked with her were a significant step toward possibilities I could embrace, I would let her make choices without undue influence from me.

My hours-long exposure to a pretty woman meant I was horny as hell when I went to bed. When I closed my eyes, I saw her face leaning over my hard cock. My hand felt like her hand stroking me to quick relief.

* * * * *

Two days later, I was thrilled to see her appear on the berm and wave at me. Instead of returning a wave of hello, my wave gestured for her to come in for a visit. The moment I rose from my chair, she started down the berm toward the gate to meet me.

When I opened the gate, her eyes went right to my hanging cock. "It's nice to see you again, Brett," she quipped without looking up to my face.

As her dog trotted past me, she approached me directly. I was pleasantly surprised when she stopped in front of me, inches away, and started to put her arms around me. I instantly reciprocated and we shared a mutually initiated hug that lasted several seconds. She clearly hugged me differently this time.

Although my arms holding her were relaxed, she was pulling me close. Her breasts pressed firmly against my chest and her hips trapped my cock against her leggings. I enjoyed the body contact as long as she let it continue, certain she felt it too; the duration suggested everything was deliberate on her part.

When she pulled back from the hug, I heard her tell herself under her breadth, "That's wasn't so hard, now, was it." To me she added, "I'm sorry, Brett. The old me reacted rather coldly to your hug when I left the other day. I'm trying to be more friendly with men I meet."

"I must say, you were very friendly this time. I really like the new you."

She smiled as we turned to enter my yard. She had on clothing similar to her first visit but I could not discern her panty lines as she walked in front of me. Could she be commando? I still saw her bra outline.

When I inquired what was in the bag slung over her shoulder, she replied, "My swimsuit and a few things." She stopped to pull a dog's water dish from the bag and asked, "I came prepared. Would you get some water for Greta while I change? You said there's a changing room in there?" she asked as she pointed at the pool house door.

I nodded and went off to fill the water dish; she entered the pool house. Greta was a very docile dog, content to lie around for hours as long as she was within sight of Anna. Give her a bowl of water and one would hardly know she was there.

I decided to bring refreshments for us but I didn't want to take ten minutes making iced tea for her so I opted to bring out two beers. I admit I was anxious to get back outside to see her in a bathing suit.

There wasn't much to see because she came out wearing a solid-black granny suit. Heavy fabric covered her entire torso, a small neck opening completely covering her cleavage, and a skirt veiled everything below her waist. Other than showing her upper legs with nicely toned thigh muscles, her suit was less alluring than the blouse and leggings she changed out of.

As she dropped her bag on the ground and stood between our chairs, I offered her the beer I brought for her. She seemed to hesitate. "Don't tell me you've never drank beer."

A wry smile and a 'heh' laugh preceded her reply. "Not since my college days. I can understand why you might assume we didn't drink at all, but I have had an occasional mild cocktail." After I twisted off the cap for her, she took a little sip and sampled it in her mouth as if tasting wine. "I remember it as being more bitter than this." She took two hefty swallows before setting the bottle down next to her chair. "That's really cold, quite refreshing. I'll have to be careful I don't drink too much."

"Have you ever drank too much?"

"Once in our dorm with a few other girls. It was a terrible experience. I was sick for days afterward. It was the last time I drank beer as I remember."

With her past, I thought using alcohol to relax her inhibitions would be difficult and any misstep might make it a closed door. I planned to proceed carefully but she quickly acquired a taste for cold beer. In retrospect, I believe she found that it helped her overcome doubts and she used it to unleash her inner desires more readily.

She was showing signs of coming out of her puritan shell even before drinking the beer. There was the way she hugged me, allowing my nakedness to touch her. The full body contact she caused would have been remarkable for her even if I had been clothed. Knowing I would be naked made her premeditated move daring.

Then I noticed the way she put her clothes in her bag. Most women I know demurely hide their underwear inside or at least under their outer garments when leaving previously worn clothing visible in any way. I would have expected Anna to close the bag's zipper and put her bag in an inconspicuous place.

Instead, her panties were on top, the open bag between our chairs. All articles were folded, even the panties, so she hadn't carelessly thrown them in as a bundle. No, she was purposely showing me the sexy, hem-less panties she had worn that day. It was a sign of her budding exhibitionism. Despite longing to see her wearing the panties, I passed on a chance to mention them ... at first.

We only talked a short while, about gardening of all things, before I invited her to swim. She was remarkable in the water. She had mentioned competitive swimming in college. After witnessing this mid-fifties woman swim a few laps, I suspected she was near-Olympian talent in her competitive days.

I'm a good swimmer but I was no match for her. She seemed to glide effortlessly. I endured a demanding workout trying to keep up with her; she never seemed to tire. She eventually admitted weekly visits to the pool at the gym she joined. At least the senior woman who outclassed me wasn't also three decades out of practice.

I asked her to show me her best. She was even faster, a bit splashier too, and she used underwater turns. That's where I got the Olympian idea. How much did the heavy suit material drag on her speed? I imagined her in a competition speedo. The beast in me wondered how fast she could swim naked.

Since it was past noon, I offered her a sandwich. The kind of sandwich was important to her because she avoided processed lunchmeat. She wanted it clear that she wasn't a vegan but leery of the preservatives in most processed foods. I told her I would take care of it.

I served what I planned for my own lunch and it was a big hit with Anna. I made stuffed pita pockets with cucumbers, tomatoes, red onion, and feta. On the side, we had bowls of chilled grapes and second beers to wash lunch down.

We settled back to rest after eating. Anna pulled out an aerosol can of sunscreen and began to spray herself. I warned her, "Sprays can be wasteful in stiff winds, especially on the beaches. You should use a lotion next time. I'll get you some of the stuff I use." She appreciated my gesture.

Actually, I used the aerosols too, but I had suddenly realized lotions require hand application. Hands can't reach everywhere on a person's own body. I saw a real opportunity for both of us to assist each other. Yes, I can be that devious. I work other angles, too.

She asked me what I thought of her swimsuit; she wasn't begging for a compliment. Her voice inflections suggested she didn't like it herself and wanted encouragement to wear something more revealing. I told her it was too matronly. With her body and physical condition, why not show it off in a two-piece. We discussed a few other aspects of swimming suits. I emphasized that if important body parts are covered, it was socially acceptable to accentuate sexuality at the wearer's comfort level.

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bySandraMustard© 51 comments/ 155159 views/ 122 favorites

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