Past, Present and Future Ch. 05

A short tale of sugar relationships,

"In my arms you'll find your harbor, In my arms you'll find your home." - Mary Fahl

+

As usual, Pi woke me up by doing the feline walking-on-the-spot routine on my tummy. I swept my hand over her head, along her back, up her tail. I whispered a good morning to her and eased out of bed to make myself a tea.

Tony had slept in, was still asleep when Marcy had arrived. I'd been in the pool and was drying myself off when I heard the muffler of her old car. Rather than go around the outside of the house to meet her in the farmyard, I walked back through the building. I giggled a little at the trail of wet footprints behind me on the flagstone floor.

Getting out of the car, she wordlessly held her arms out for a hug. It felt strange. Yes, we'd hugged before, many times, but always clothed. OK, full disclosure - and once, just once, with both of us totally bare. We'd started an instinctive, comforting hug after a tough moment the day before, but had jumped apart with major blushes as soon as it hit us that neither of us was wearing anything more than a suntan. But now it seemed Marcy was open to it even if I was starkers.

I was of course always nude here. It was part of the deal.

To me, the main thing was her happiness at seeing me. I felt good about that; we'd been friends a long time and I didn't want to risk jeopardizing our friendship.

"Would you like a tea? Tony's still in bed."

"Wore him out, did you?"

"Marcy!"

She just grinned, irrepressible as ever. "I'd love a tea, thanks."

We sat on the deck for a few minutes before I cleared my throat. Marcy was looking over at the farmlands stretching into infinity beyond the deck. I reached out, caught the corner of her blouse collar, tugged slightly. She turned, gave me a small smile.

"You said he's still in bed."

"That's not the point, Marce."

She shrugged, made a little moue. Putting her modesty aside, she simply peeled in front of me, folding and piling the clothes on another chair as she went. Marcy was a small girl, but even so, it wasn't a large pile.

I smiled at her. Time to make her happy in return.

"What do you charge for your paintings, Marcy?"

"Um, I haven't actually sold any yet. Why?"

"Tony's kind of interested. He likes what you've done so far, the one of the fields over there. It's his favourite view. Think about it for when he asks."

"Oh. OK."

The sun had become warmer. I looked at her, noticed she was still pale in some places, tan-lines and such. I myself had enough of a tan that I thought I could wait until Tony woke up, but I figured I should ask.

"Do you want some sunblock?"

Her eyebrows rose a touch as she considered that. Instead of answering directly, she looked down at her naked breasts, belly and sex, replied, "I feel really weird like this, like really vulnerable."

"I know."

"And he likes that?"

"Don't overthink it, Marcy. He's just a guy who likes to look at naked girls. But I get it; it felt weird at first for me, too. It got easier once I realized that I could trust him. He's as honest as they come, Marcy."

"You love him, don't you?"

I didn't have to think this time.

"Yes."

+

Tony and I had, entirely by chance, been assigned as biology lab partners. It was an elective for me, nothing whatever to do with my Music degree; Tony was a mature student, learning for the fun of it. He'd been a godsend for me - intelligent, analytical and patient, he'd helped me with my lab reports, week after week without complaint. He'd been quite reserved and I'd known next to nothing about his personal life. Despite his standoffishness however, he was always well-mannered and his sense of style was impressive, his white beard and hair always perfectly groomed, his clothes stylish and always ironed, shoes shone, nothing ever out of place.

One Friday, intrigued by his panache, I'd overdone my juvenile flirting, gone well over the line and found to my embarrassment that an irritated Tony didn't play well with others, not in that context. Instead of just refusing the invitation I'd been angling for, he'd thrown my antics back in my face and countered with a wildly different invitation, to spend the weekend at his place in the country - and don't bother bringing any clothes. The unstated but obvious alternative was for me to be written off as a self-centred brat, too immature for him to waste his time with in future.

In her day, my mother would have slapped his face. Instead, I'd tried to dodge but Tony could stare down a Siamese cat. Twenty minutes later, I was in his convertible on the road to his farm near Watford. I'd been impressed with the way he'd beautifully renovated the farmhouse and with the amazing view from his back deck. I'd still hoped to keep a little of my dignity intact, but Tony was playing hard-ball. Pride being stronger than prudence, I'd bowed to his reminder that I'd agreed to either do whatever pleased him at the moment or -- and it was totally up to me -- be sent home in a taxi with only my tattered self-image for company.

He'd wanted two things right then. The first was for me to leave my clothes in a closet. Well, even before I'd got into his car, I'd pretty well accepted that I'd wind up knickerless sooner or later, but his second instruction floored me. Having peeled, I was supposed to sit on a stool in front of him and serenade him with my flute while he prepared our dinner.

Scarlet, I'd complied. He'd been utterly polite, had made no move to touch me. Indeed, he'd barely acknowledged me as a very pretty, very naked young woman and that left me confused, hurt and upset. I'd been livid when he'd bluntly told me his expectations if I came here, but, now in my birthday suit in front of him, I became even more irritated at his ignoring my openly-displayed nudity in favour of a frying pan full of capers and chicken.

It was an introduction to another side of Tony, one of endless patience, coupled with a Zen master's calm serenity.

Of course, when he eventually stopped ignoring me and made his move, Tony proved to be an exceptional lover. Strong, gentle, perceptive and generous, he'd had given me the most mind-blowing orgasms I'd ever had.

Many of them.

Once I got past my initial embarrassment at being naked, the only strain that weekend was his attempting to give me a very expensive silver necklace. I'd been awestruck by its beauty, by the way it enhanced my own, but I'd refused it on principle, saying that I wasn't for sale. After much discussion, I'd agreed to wear it whenever I was at the farm.

So. It'd had been a pretty good weekend, a bit odd in many ways, but in terms of sex, far, far better than my previous fumbling experiences with college boys my own age. Later, Tony had thrown me for a loop by offering to be my sugar-daddy, to support me through school until I graduated. All I had to do in return was to spend my spare time at his place, naked for his visual pleasure. And, if you don't mind, join him in some more sizzling-hot sex.

I'd always scorned young women who let themselves be used like that and it had taken me a long time to decide. As I got to know Tony better, however, I realized that this was hardly a seedy financial transaction. Tony was a gentleman in the true sense of the word. He cared for me, treated me graciously and, while I'd been initially uncomfortable with being constantly nude in front of him, he'd never once demanded anything which would have humiliated me, make me despise myself later. There was a difference.

In many ways, the time I spent at the farm with Tony was pretty normal, even for dating couples my own age. We went for walks in the country, had picnics, did schoolwork together. The only odd thing was my doing all those things unclothed.

And, despite being initially almost paralyzed by timidity, I had come to like the feeling of warm breezes on my skin, even on long walks around the farm, sometimes half a mile away from my clothes. I'd idly wondered how comfortable I would be at a naturist resort or nude beach, surrounded by other bare people. No matter.

At the same time, I found myself becoming fond of Tony and a bit more. I'd also found myself growing more confident, surer of myself, more daring at times, more desirous of showing my happiness by finding new ways to please him.

I'd hit a minor speedbump when Marcy, my roommate back at the university, suffering some serious residence blues and, desperate to get off-campus, begged to be allowed to join me for a day at the farm. I'd been concerned about Tony's attention being diverted by her, but it had worked out. Marcy, who knew our arrangement, came to the farm, undressed and, despite her nervousness, spent a happy afternoon doing watercolours of the surrounding countryside for her painting class. As the day ended, she'd asked to come back to finish them.

I'd been very happy that Tony had asked me before agreeing.

+

Marcy had her paints out and I had begun reading a dreadfully dull assignment when Tony finally appeared, dressed as he usually did on arising, bare-footed in simple white cotton pyjama bottoms.

Shirtless, he looked less than his age, more like a fashion model. He spent enough time in the gym to keep a decent six-pack and good definition. Even just out of bed, his blonde-turned-prematurely-white hair and beard were brushed, impeccable. The pyjamas hid the web of scars on his legs, souvenirs of the helicopter crash that had cost him his career as a firefighter.

Despite his age, I found him gorgeous, desirable and arguably the most thoroughly masculine man I'd ever met - in the best sense of the word. I felt my own heart do a slow barrel roll and giggled inwardly when I saw the impression he was making on Marcy. She tried to be nonchalant in her bareness, pretty much failed. Her eyes flicked briefly to me. I could see the curiosity in her eyes about last night. That Tony and I were lovers was a given, but every girl wants the details.

His smile was as charming as could be.

"Good morning. Nice to see you again, Marcy. How did you sleep?"

The question was clearly aimed at me. He crouched down beside my chair, wrapped long fingers through my hair, pulled my face upwards towards his, paused for my answer.

"Good," I whispered. With that, fingers tangled in my hair, he pulled me into a long, gentle, sweet, sweet good-morning kiss. When he broke away, I was breathless, and, yes, more than a little aroused. Looking over his shoulder, I saw Marcy staring open-mouthed. She saw me, blushed furiously and began rooting through her paints again. I didn't think Tony had noticed.

"Would you like some breakfast, Stephanie?"

Tony's breakfasts usually centred on expresso, sweet biscuits and fresh fruit. The mention of it made me realize that all I'd had was a tea. I was suddenly very hungry.

"Oh, yes please! May I help?"

"No need, thanks." He looked at Marcy, his eyes openly roaming over her delectable form, but in much the same way as he often examined the pastoral scene from his deck, in simple appreciation of its prettiness. "Will you join us?"

Marcy, flustered, tried to smile at him. Failing, she blushed, shook her head.

"Thank you, but I ate at the Zoo before I came. Maybe a coffee? Please?"

He continued to examine her for a few seconds and her blush deepened.

"Of course."

Tony turned and went back into the house. Marcy's eyes flipped over to mine; I could see a sudden edginess in them.

"You OK, hon?"

She closed her eyes, nodded, then opened them, her blush starting to fade.

"He really isn't like the boys on campus, is he?" She was trying a slight smile, not quite succeeding.

I heard the espresso machine inside; Tony would not be long in returning. We had another minute or two. I walked over to where she had begun to set up her easel. She eyed my nudity, but not like Tony. I got the impression she was looking for backup, for some solid evidence her world was still making sense.

I crouched beside her, swept my hand over her hair reassuringly. "You sure?"

She shrugged. Even though nothing had happened yesterday, I could see she was still nervous.

"You know you can leave, right? He won't mind."

"I know, but it'd make me feel... kind of... I don't know, Steph, like a quitter? Like a little girl who can't fit into a grownup discussion?"

"I'll tell you one thing, Marcy. He wants you to enjoy yourself while you're here."

Her eyebrows rose.

"He wants me to enjoy myself? Like this?" She waved a hand over her bareness. "And I don't even thinks he sees me as a woman, Steph! It's like I'm a framed painting in a gallery or something. It's almost creepy."

I kissed her cheek. "I know exactly what that feels like. My first night, getting undressed was hard; sitting there naked in front of him, that was harder. I was seriously pissed because he wasn't  perving out over me. Does that make any sense?"

Those dark eyes turned to mine. "That's it! Exactly!"

I heard Tony putting dishes on a tray. We only had a few seconds.

"Like I told you, Marce, he's going to look. That's part of the deal for us being here. But it's cool. Just say the word..."

Tony took that moment to emerge, tray in hand.

+

Marcy and I cleaned up after breakfast. Afterwards, she returned to her painting; Tony and I had agreed to spend the morning on homework.

I had come to accept the incongruity of a constantly-naked knockout blonde co-ed sitting next to a fully-clad man three times her age, in this case under a gazebo and doing a report on smooth muscle peristalsis.

Yet the morning wasn't entirely spent on things academic. His eyes spent a lot of time admiring me beside him and Marcy seated a few paces away.

From time to time, when Marcy's attention was elsewhere, his hand would almost absent-mindedly stretch out, fingers sliding gently through my hair or down my back or sweeping up over my waist to cup a full breast, softly swirling his thumb around its nipple until it stiffened in response. It made it harder for me to concentrate, but on the other hand I was happy to be able to provide such uncomplicated pleasure for the man I now knew I loved.

If being male and female isn't supposed to be fun, then we should do away with sex altogether and switch to binary fission or something. Tony's caresses cost me nothing and pleased him; that to my mind made it entirely worthwhile. I'd never felt such feminine strength as when I was with Tony. Who cared what the dour, anxious covens back on campus would think?

Finished with our report, he moved on to another subject and I plodded through the sere, lethally boring reading assignment before digging out my flute. I had practising to do.

Today, I sat in the gazebo instead of standing by Marcy while I played. I was mainly working on some Telemann variations and he seemed to enjoy the music.

Periodically, he'd get up and examine what the diminutive painter had accomplished, mainly meticulous, surprisingly detailed landscapes. He also spent time quite candidly admiring the artist. Marcy, if not entirely comfortable with that, at least seemed to have her blushes under control.

"May I?" he asked, picking up a piece of paper from a number of those littering a table beside her.

"Um, OK, but they're just sketches, nothing serious."

"I think it's rather good. Thank you."

Instead of coming directly back to his seat this time, he walked slowly around her, his eyes fixed on her breasts and bum before resuming his place. Seated, he smiled at me, laid his hand on my thigh in a soft gesture. To my surprise, I found that any initial concerns over Marcy's beauty had passed. I was happy about that.

He showed me the paper in his hand, a quick pencil sketch of me. Having just paused my playing, I'd lowered my flute and my happy expression had been clearly captured; I was pleased to see that she'd focused on my smile instead of my nudity. It was impressive, especially for just a quick scribble. Marcy was, I had to admit, pretty good.

"I like it!"

"So do I." He put it carefully on the table.

I pushed my schoolwork to one side.

"I don't know about you, Tony, but I'm hungry. Do you trust me to make lunch?"

"I have some things ready. How about I help you?"

That got a knowing smile from Marcy. She knew my cooking abilities -- or lack of them.

OK, I really did make lunch, but I haven't been so carefully 'helped' since Mom set me to making sloppy joes at eight years old.

In the end, I fear that Tony was rather shocked at how badly I could mess up even something as simple as croque monsieur  sandwiches. Even Marcy rolled her eyes a little. I could see that Tony would continue doing the cooking in future.

We relaxed after lunch. I did some diving practice off the board into the pool and was pleased to feel the long-dormant skills from years of Saturday morning lessons slowly coming back. Tony definitely enjoyed watching me; it was, he had said, just one more way for him to appreciate my beauty. He joined me in the pool after a while, but his swimming and diving skills were about on par with my cooking abilities. We had fun and that's what mattered.

Eventually, we climbed out of the pool and sat in the sun. I looked at myself and smiled at what I felt was a fairly decent all-over tan, another benefit of being at the farm. The afternoon passed quickly. I even dozed for a while.

I could feel Tony's eyes on me as he sat next to me, clad in swim trunks and sunglasses. I saw his approving smile, felt my tummy tighten as his gaze lingered on my breasts and legs.

Marcy, paintbrush in hand, sat to one side of us, barer than me by one necklace and one ring. Even knowing Tony would be watching her, assessing her, enjoying her nudity, she seemed less uneasy now. I looked at him; he certainly was enjoying the view.

I took his hand in mine, squeezed tenderly for a moment.

"I'll be right back," I said. I returned a minute later with a flat, gift-wrapped package. I sat down again, handed it to him

"Happy birthday, Tony," I said softly.

His head turned to mine. "Birthday?"

"Birthday," I said. "50 years. Today."

I squeezed his hand again.

"I don't think I ever mentioned that," he said quietly.

"No, but you let me text Marcy a photo of your driver's licence that first time, in case, I don't know, you were a serial killer or something."

"Damn."

Men.

"In any case, Tony, many happy returns. I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"Oh, I am," he said. "Very much so. Your being here already was a very nice birthday present, Stephanie." He lifted the package. "You didn't have to do this."

"Just a token, dear sir."

His smile was pretty special, I thought. His fingers -- how I loved those fingers  -- found a seam, gently pulled the paper away.

He turned the frame, looked at the photo. His jaw dropped, just slightly.

The image had taken 'boudoir photography' to a new level, I thought. I'd been resting on Tony's deck, dressed in sterling silver and a sleepy smile. When he'd raised my phone as if to take a photo, I'd cooperatively put my hands behind my head, arched my back a bit to emphasize my boobs. My phone had a good camera - the image showed the sheen of perspiration on my body; my face had that unmistakable, wildly-contented, just-laid look he'd put there minutes before.

At the time, Tony hadn't even looked at the image, merely put the phone down and taken me back to the bedroom for Round Two.

Or had it been Round Three? Time sometimes got a bit hazy around Tony.