Nereids Ch. 06

He was a little nervous, but decided to play it cool, trusting his instincts. He took turns kissing the girls, their bare breasts pressed against his equally bare chest. They tumbled on the bed and Jack put Dilara's hand on his erection. She didn't shy away. Instead, she brazenly pulled back and concentrated on opening his fly.

He pulled Nesrin down and kissed her fiercely. Dilara cooed when she freed his erection. Then she said something in Turkish, and Nesrin broke the kiss.

"We thought you might be like other Christians," Dilara said, eyeing his manhood.

Jack furrowed his brow.

"They are un... uncir..." She searched for the word, but then shrugged. "They have their..."

She said something that sounded like "force kings." Jack shook his head, distracted by her hand on his dick.

"You know," she continued. "The skin around their cocks?"

"Oh, foreskin," Jack said.

"But you are like Turkish men," Dilara said, "like Muslims."

Nesrin said something in Turkish, and Dilara smiled.

"Nesrin says she likes your cock. This is the right word? Cock?"

Jack waggled his eyebrows and grinned. "It's the right word all right." He pushed his shorts down and kicked them aside, his erection waving as he rolled upright.

He gently pushed Dilara to her back and reached for her bikini bottoms. She didn't resist, and even grinned as he tugged them over her hips. Then he got the shock of his life.

In the present, the older Jack chuckled at his remembered confusion and astonishment. Then he began stroking himself again. He closed his eyes and returned to his memories.

"You don't have any hair," he said to Dilara, her bikini bottoms halfway down her thighs.

She grinned. "Like a harem girl."

"A harem girl...?"

"You do not like?" she said, frowning.

Jack quickly shook his head. "No, I mean—" He abruptly nodded. "Yes, I—" He started to shake his head again, but stopped. "I like it a lot," he finally blurted.

Dilara's expression went from hurt to delighted. "You do?"

Jack didn't answer with words. Instead, he threw her legs in the air and yanked her bikini bottoms the rest of the way off. He flung them aside and gazed down at her hairless sex, her lips already dark and plump with arousal.

Nesrin giggled and pretended to fight him off as he did the same to her, revealing her own hairless pussy. Dilara reached for his cock and he kissed her. Then he switched to Nesrin, his hands searching between her legs until he found the smooth skin of her mound.

Back in the present, Jack opened his eyes, the twinges of an orgasm tingling in his balls. He grinned at the memory of long-ago events on the Mistral. He had fucked the two girls non-stop for nearly two hours. Then they'd taken a break and gone for a swim to cool off.

When they returned to the warm deck of the boat, the Mediterranean sun dried them as they had sex again. Afterward, they cleaned up and lounged in the cockpit, drinking Fanta.

Later that afternoon, they'd gone below and started fooling around again. Jack had fucked each of them before pulling out and coming on Dilara's heaving belly. He could still remember the sight of his red glans spurting white semen onto her olive skin.

Present-day Jack held that image in his mind, as vivid as the day it happened. His back and legs tensed as he continued stroking himself. With a groan, he felt the semen surge up his shaft, a hot spurt splattering over his belly. The second spurt gushed over his hand. His cock continued to throb as he stroked himself gently.

Finally, he relaxed and sagged to the mattress. He was breathing hard, and he saw spots before his eyes. His body tingled and he continued panting, his thoughts on the Turkish girls so many years in the past.

After their afternoon in the cove, he'd sailed back to the resort town, motoring up to the quay as the dying rays of the sun filled the western sky with a red-orange glow. His friend and the prettiest girl had been waiting for them. They'd both looked freshly scrubbed and worn out.

The five of them had eaten dinner near the harbor, and spent the night aboard the boat. The sounds from the other cabin were enough to keep Jack horny all night. Dilara and Nesrin didn't seem to mind. Everyone had looked exhausted but happy at breakfast the next morning.

The girls eventually said goodbye, laughing and waving as they walked up the quay. Jack and his friend merely smirked at one another as they took on water and diesel. He never saw the girls again. He and his friend had other adventures that summer, but none compared to the Turkish girls.

His mind returned to the present, and he smiled up at the darkened overhead. He'd been fascinated by Dilara and Nesrin's hairless pussies, especially the sight as he slid his light-skinned dick into them.

At the time—the ultra-conservative Fifties—he couldn't imagine an American woman shaving her pubic hair. But now it was 1966, not 1954. Twelve years made a world of difference, and American women had begun to change.

He snorted softly. Susan hadn't changed, but she made even the Sixties seem prosaic by comparison. And it had taken him several years to get used to the idea that his wife was anything but normal. He thought about the Turkish girls' shaved pussies—exotic and taboo—and wondered if Susan would be willing to change for him.

He looked at his watch. It was well after two in the morning. He had to fly a mission in less than eight hours, but he was wide awake. He cleaned himself up, slipped into his skivvies, and turned on his desk light. The metal of his chair was cold against his bare back as he took out paper and pen.

**

"You won't believe what Jack wants me to do," Susan blurted in surprise, holding up a letter.

She and Beth usually read them together while they sunbathed, sharing tidbits and reading passages aloud. Between David's letters and Jack's photographs, Beth had a fair idea of life aboard the carrier.

"What?" she asked.

"He wants me to shave."

Beth felt her brow furrow. "Don't you shave already?"

"Of course. But he's not talking about my legs or underarms."

"What then?"

"My pubic hair," Susan said, amusement and disbelief in her voice.

"He wants you to what?"

"He wants me to shave my bush."

Beth was dumbfounded.

"That's what I thought," Susan said, nodding at Beth's expression.

"He wants you to shave... down there?"

Susan nodded, but then shook her head in wonder.

"Why? Won't it make you look like a young girl?"

"Hardly," Susan said, sitting up.

Beth suppressed a stir of emotion at the sight of Susan's body. She'd grown more accustomed to it over the weeks, but she still felt a rush of arousal every time they sunbathed together.

She'd quit trying to deny that she was attracted to the other woman. She'd even quit trying to convince herself that it was wrong. She wasn't... one of them—she still wouldn't even think the word—but she didn't have a name for how she felt.

She fantasized about David all the time, although she sometimes added Susan to the mix. Lately, she'd been thinking more and more about Susan alone. With a shake to clear her head, she returned her attention to the flesh-and-blood Susan.

"With my breasts?" Susan asked rhetorically. "I may not be Jayne Mansfield, but I'm no flat-chested girl. And my hips...? Babies have a way of spreading things out."

"Tell me about it," Beth said. She sat up herself, leaning on one arm and tucking her legs beneath her.

Susan spread her legs as if she were going to cross them. Instead, she looked down and put her hand on her stomach. "He wants me to shave," she mused quietly, running her fingers through her chestnut pubic hair.

Beth felt a rush of heat through her cheeks. The afternoon was warm, but not that warm.

"I used to be so proud of my bush," Susan said, lost in remembrance. "I thought, 'Now I look like a woman.'" She shrugged. "I always knew I'd get breasts—my mother had a healthy bosom—but my pubic hair always seemed to be a badge of honor. My first period was anticlimactic by contrast."

Beth looked a question at her.

"No one saw my first period. Sure, I wore bikini bottoms for a couple of days, to hide the pads—" Suddenly, she laughed. "Do you remember when we still called them feminine napkins? And when they thought young ladies shouldn't use tampons?" She sighed. "Oh, those were the days. So naive..."

"No kidding."

"But where was I?" Susan said. "Oh, yes. I was always so proud of my pubic hair, because it made me look like the other women. It's different growing up at a nudist camp—I saw people's bodies all the time. And instead of being ashamed, I was curious. I wanted to look like them, to be normal."

"That's not so unusual," Beth said. "I remember seeing Ginny and wanting to look like her. But she's not that much older, so I knew I wouldn't have to wait long."

"Well, I didn't have an older sister. I had a full-grown mother, and other women who looked like women, with all the usual curves and hair."

Beth nodded.

Susan laughed ironically. "I never realized how much I wanted to fit in, to seem normal. I always thought I was a rebel. You know, like a female Jack Kerouac or something."

"Susan MacLean, On the Road?" Beth joked.

"Something like that."

Beth nodded, recalling Susan's maiden name too late.

"But yes," Susan continued, "I always thought I was a rebel. I knew more about business and finance than most men. I read the newspaper instead of homemaking magazines. I talked to my parents about politics, and morals, and ethics. I lived at a nudist camp, and I wasn't ashamed of my body. I wasn't like other girls my age."

"No, you weren't," Beth said softly. You still aren't.

"So I guess it surprises me when I realize how much I wanted to fit in, to be normal. But I'm not normal. I'm not like other women." She looked up quickly, guiltily. "Present company excepted, of course."

Beth smiled with amusement. "Of course."

"But I'm serious. I'm not like other women. I'm not like Mary Scarlatti or Phyllis Waulk. I'm not some busybody homemaker or social climber. I'm not even like most of my friends!"

"Present company excepted, of course," Beth teased.

Susan rolled her eyes. "You? Hardly! You're not my friend."

Beth started to frown in puzzlement, but Susan grinned.

"You're more like my sister... or the other half of me. You're like Jack, only closer. In many ways, at least."

Beth swallowed hard and fought not to look away.

"But you know what I mean."

"Thank you," Beth said softly.

"We're not like other women, Beth," Susan said, her voice low and intense.

The silence drew out, and Beth tried not to fidget. "So what are you going to do?" she said at last.

"About what?"

"About what Jack wants."

Susan laughed. "I'm not going to be like other women, that's for sure."

"So you're going to do it?"

"Sure! Why not? If that's what Jack wants, then that's what I'll give him. If he wants a bald beaver—"

"Susan!"

She grinned impishly. "If he wants a bald beaver, then that's what he'll get." Her eyes sparkled with determination. "I just hope I don't cut myself," she added, chuckling.

"Ouch!"

"No kidding. Those are tender parts, and I kinda like playing with them... without bloodshed."

Beth blushed again, the tips of her ears heating.

"Oh, don't be such a prude," Susan chided playfully.

"I'm not a prude," Beth said, drawing herself up. "I just have a sense of... decorum."

"Well, I do too... but not when we're talking about my soon-to-be-bald beaver."

"Susan! Do you have to keep calling it that?"

"What? 'Beaver'?"

Beth rolled her eyes.

"Beaver, beaver, beaver. You have one too."

"But I don't talk about it all the time."

"Maybe you should," Susan said. "It's a very nice beaver, after all."

Beth's face felt hotter than ever, and she looked away. She was afraid to meet Susan's eyes. She didn't want her to see the flames of desire that lurked beneath the embarrassment.

**

Beth looked up as the front door opened.

Susan swept into the house. "I did it," she said, obviously excited.

Paul was playing with his blocks, and he grinned at the sight of Susan.

"Did what?" Beth asked as she finished putting Erin's hat on.

"It," Susan said enigmatically.

Beth half-scowled at her.

"B-A-L-D B-E-A-V-E-R."

Beth fought not to laugh. Paul repeated everything he heard, and she had a sudden image of him saying "Bald beaver" to Mary Scarlatti.

"I did it last night in the bath," Susan said. "It took me thirty minutes, too! I went through two razor blades. But it's smooth as a baby's bottom. Do you want to see?" She began to undo the button of her shorts.

"Later," Beth blurted.

"Oh! Sorry. I guess I'm just a little excited, and you're the only person I can tell. Well, not the only person. I wrote a scorcher of a letter to Jack last night. I was up till midnight. I had to take care of things three times."

"Three times?"

Susan nodded, unabashed. "Once when I was done shaving, and twice while I was writing to Jack."

"While you were writing...?"

"Sure," Susan said dryly. "Don't you"—she wiggled her fingers—"take care of yourself when you write one of your fantasy letters?"

"After," Beth admitted. "But usually not during."

"Well, I was a little worked up. And I had to take the old beaver for a spin."

Beth rolled her eyes and lifted Erin into her arms. "Are you ready to go?"

"Changing the subject?" Susan teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yes."

"You know I'm just going to bring it up after lunch. Or rather, I'm going to bring it out."

"You have no shame, do you?" Beth didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she began strapping Erin into the stroller.

Susan picked up Paul. "Tell your mommy that Aunt Susan has no shame."

"Aunt Susan has no shame," he parroted gleefully.

"You're a wicked woman, Susan."

"I know," she said, lighthearted and whimsical. "That's why you love me."

That and more, Beth thought. That and more.

**

Copyright © 2006 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.