Unintentional Nudist

Unintentional Nudist

Author's notes: Warning there is a bit of nonconsensual groping. I hope you enjoy the story.

>>>>>

In the crowd my wife and I associated with, there were what we called three generations. The first was ours, those that were or nearing retirement. We were the fewest with only two couples, and Sally, my wife, and I were the oldest. In some ways, our group was tolerated, almost on a charity level.

The next group was those at the peak of their, lacking a better term, productivity. They were in their forties and fifties. Some were middle managers at the apex of their careers. This was the most numerous of the groups having around five couples.

The final group was what Sally and I called the youngsters. They were the twenty and thirty-somethings. All just starting with kids and all of that. A far more mobile group than any of the others, their numbers varied as they moved around in their career infancy. They usually ranged from two to four couples.

Life or fate or whatever you want to call it can be a hateful, crafty bitch. Like a routine doctor visit that discovers a small, insignificant lump in a breast. This leads to two years of surgeries, chemo, and radiation treatments. You watch the trauma of the surgeries tear her body apart. Then the chemo treatments and try to cheer her as you shop for wigs. You watch the love of your life, the most active dynamic woman you have ever known and loved, wither away before your eyes.

Finally, you hold her hand in hospice as the inevitable comes to a close. It doesn't matter how hard you both worked or the careful plans you made for retirement. Children, grandchildren, fairness, and money none counted in the equation as the grim reaper stalked. As with everyone, none of that applied to Sally and me.

Or you can find yourself preparing to go out on a date with your husband on your birthday. Married just a couple of years, dressed to the nines, but he's a little late. Not to worry, he often needs to work late. But the nagging tick says, "But he always calls." Then as the doorbell rings, you race to the door expecting to scold him playfully for making you run to the door. But two cops tell you of a bad accident and where the ambulance has taken him.

There you find him in a coma, tubes everywhere. Even the maddeningly steady clicking of a ventilator goes unnoticed as the doctors show you pictures. They are ugly black-and-white pictures of your husband's badly damaged brain. The damage is so extensive he can't live without all the tubes and clicking ventilators. So, fate kicks you hard in the stomach, because it forces you to decide to take him off the ventilator. This was Jane's fate. One of the young couples.

The group tried to rally around us, and even though we were now the odd man out, they tried hard to include us, the widower and the widow. Oh, both of us would have given almost anything to be rid of those titles.

As weeks rolled into months and then to years, the group subjected Jane and me constantly to their attempts to keep us happy and included. They invited us to all of the group's activities, but they were all couples activities, and the idea of Jane and I being a couple was patently ridiculous.

I was retired with white hair and had the usual paunch, although, with Sally gone, I had dropped a lot of weight. My gym membership is what I credited with my success. In actuality, it was probably, because I didn't always eat right.

Jane, on the other hand, was beautiful. She had long red hair, a very ample bosom, a flat belly, long legs, and the cutest button nose. Indeed if I had been forty years younger, I might have taken a shot at her. Now that was beyond ridiculous. Yet, at all the events, the couples would dutifully push their spouses to dance with us. Occasionally, as silly as it looked, I would wander over to ask Jane to dance, and at other times she would meander to me. I would shyly hold her at a distance, and she never made eye contact, but it made the others happy.

After a couple of years, I came out of my grand funk. I decided it was time to stop being the receiver of all the attention, and I threw a big backyard BBQ. I invited all the couples and personally hand-delivered Jane's invitation, although she wasn't home at the time.

On that Saturday, the sun shone, with no sign of rain. Unluckily it was the middle of the summer, and the day was to be one of the hottest ever recorded. My backyard has some shade in the afternoon but not enough to cover it all, and my guests sweltered. So to survive, they took turns streaming into the house to cool off and coming out to be social.

I was busy cooking and entertaining my guests but noticed Jane had come. So, I broke off and went over to welcome her and shake her hand. Everyone was sweating, and I felt the slick sweat of her very petite hand. She wore a short hip hugger skirt, slung low, very tight on the hips that ended about mid-thigh. Her white tank top appeared large and too loose for her small frame. It almost looked like a man's. Her arm holes were quite large, and I got a peak of her braless side boob. The fabric was thin, and the tips of her erect nipples were quite noticeable. Sweat glistened on her chest, arms and face and was beginning to wet through the material, moving it from opaque towards translucency. It was tantalizing. I blushed and scolded myself mentally for enjoying it too much.

Well, you can imagine that my first attempt to be the host was a dramatic failure. The men tried gallantly to help their wives by sweltering outside so their wives could enjoy the air conditioning in the house because my house was too small for the entire crowd at once. It was so bad a couple of the guys had to sit in the shade and drink water. The women, bathed in sweat, attempted to escape the heat and froze in the air conditioning in the house.

Once I put out the food, it was so hot most people had lost their appetite. So, they nibbled fast, thanked me for the "great time," and ran like hell. I couldn't blame them. Well, all ran except Jane.

"Looks like you could use a hand cleaning up," she said in her wonderfully sensual voice.

"Thanks," I said because it halved the trips I needed to make to the house.

Like most women, she was very efficient. Within a few minutes, everything was in the house. The perishables that needed to be refrigerated were, and all those things that could wait, neatly placed on the kitchen island.

Once completed, I thanked her profusely and asked her, "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure, a nice cold beer sounds good," she replied cheerfully, more cheerfully than I remember her being in many months. I handed her the beer, and she asked, "Can we sit out back?"

Scowling, I said, "It's hot as blazes out there. Are you sure you want to sit out there?"

"I'm so sweaty that in the air conditioning, I'm cold. I am used to it and enjoy the heat. If it's too much for you, we can stay in if you like," Jane said.

Maybe it was machismo, male pride, toxic masculinity, or whatever you want to call it, but I wasn't going to let this little slip of a girl get away with that. So, I agreed, and we went out into the sweltering bake oven of my backyard. To my surprise, she pulled up two chairs and placed them facing each other in the sun.

"What the fuck," I thought, "does she want us to get heat stroke?"

I then grabbed two side tables, setting one beside each chair, and uselessly said, "For our drinks."

Well, of course, they were for our drinks.

So, we sat in this oven and talked. Jane was a marvelous conversationalist. After we wore out a subject, she would pivot or ask questions and keep the conversation going. Sweat ran down both of us in little rivulets. I asked if she minded if I took off my T-shirt, World's Greatest Grandpa. She smiled and indicated she didn't.

As we talked, she often shifted, and her skirt rode up a little more each time. She either didn't notice or didn't want to pull it down. Frankly, it was getting so high I had trouble keeping my eyes off it. At the same time, her tank top was getting damp from sweat and was now translucent, moving in degrees towards transparency. The large pink circles of her areolas and her very erect nipples were no longer just hinted at under the thin material of her tank top. Those ever so much more exposed tits also made it hard for me to know where to set my eyes because they kept wandering back to this amazing sight.

To stave off the heat, I got us a second beer. Then I grabbed a third. That was unusual, at least for me, and in hindsight, a stupid thing to do, not knowing how much Jane had drunk today. She rolled each bottle across her breasts over and over again. I presumed to cool herself and didn't say anything because she had let me take my shirt off, which was a bit unfair, I guess, in the heat. It is one of those unfair things between men and women. The heavily sweating glass, however, soaked her tank top, which moved it into the realm of transparency.

With the third bottle, I noticed she was getting well-oiled by her prominent and increasing tendency to slur her words. She pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged in the seat, and provided an incredible up-skirt view. This view, in turn, caused an awakening in my pants and about a ton and a half of guilt.

"Could I have another beer?" she slurred heavily.

"Jane, perhaps you should have water instead," I said in my grandfatherly tone.

The sudden look on her face terrified me. It was obvious that the female waterworks were about to start, but why? Did she want one that bad?

Jane then wailed, "That's what Jim would say when I was getting tipsy."

With that, all hell broke loose. As she wept, she leaned so far forward that I had to dive on my knees to catch her as she started to pitch forward off the chair. She threw her arms around my neck and held me like a person holding a floatation device in the middle of the ocean. Her perfume and the funk of her sweat filled my nose, to my shame, erotically. Her sweat-slick skin was exciting, and her top opened enough that one boob popped out. Its hard nipple and pink areola were beautiful and inviting. After what was, in my opinion, an obscenely long time, before I averted my eyes, I hugged her and tried to comfort her. I had never felt more like a fucking pervert, but the afternoon was still young. Here was a girl who could be my granddaughter, and I was perving after her. It almost made me cry.

It took some time to console her. I figured, at the time, it was a combination of the heat and beer that made it go on so long. She held onto my neck, still sitting cross-legged in the chair. This forced me into an odd position and began to wear on my back. As I tried to shift, she slipped off the chair, luckily landing, straddling my lap and not on the hard ground. Her naked boob was joined in the open by the other one, pressed tightly to my sweat-slick chest. As she sobbed and her entire body shuddered, I felt her rock-hard nipples draw erotic patterns on my chest. At the same time, her mini skirt popped over her hips, becoming a belt exposing the fact she had no panties. Her final position was straddling me with her naked pussy pressed tightly against the front of my Bermuda shorts.

The fall scared her. Rather than help subdue her crying jag, it increased it, and her clutching of me now included her thighs and grinding her pubic area on mine. My cock stirred as it hadn't in many years, and thankfully was positioned, pointing up my abdomen towards my navel and not trapped in the corner of my sweat-soaked briefs. Thankfully also, my entire yard had a privacy fence.

As I attempted to comfort her, the motions of her crying jag changed. Rather than the spastic, uncoordinated, full-body dry heave, they became more rhythmic, more intentional. I realized she was rubbing that naked pussy on the ever-increasing bulge in my Bermuda shorts. Worse yet, in my beer-sotted, somewhat inebriated condition, I couldn't help myself, and I pushed back. She moaned, pulled back eyes closed, slid that beautiful sweat-slick cheek across mine, and found my mouth. Her delicious-tasting, beautiful full lips were pressed chastely against mine for a brief moment and released. Our mouths then collided open-mouthed, and my tongue sought out every nook and cranny of her mouth as she surrendered to my invasion.

My tongue explored the rocky mountain peaks of her pearl-white teeth and tasted the remnants of the beer and even her morning's minty toothpaste. I couldn't help myself. My hand found those beautiful breasts, groped the sweaty, slippery breasts, and reveled in the soft feel of those magnificent natural tits. She surrendered to my scandalous assault on her and increased the rate and intensity of her thrusting, rubbing her beautiful, and luscious, wet, and naked pussy on the bulge made by my hard cock. The feeling was incredible, one I had not felt in years.

Very shortly, with her needy sounds increasing, she stiffened, and I held her tightly, thrusting evilly, not allowing her relief to these nearly unendurable sensations I knew she was feeling. As her orgasm hit, she squealed, and I continued to hold her tightly. Jane writhed and squirmed wildly, and I had the devil's own time even holding on to her. It had been a long time since I had held a woman while they orgasmed and even longer since holding a young one. I held on as her near-convulsive spasms wracked her body and reveled in the rush of it. Soon she settled down, her muscles relaxed, and she rested her head on my naked chest.

I don't know if the small wet spot on my Bermuda shorts was seminal fluid or squirt. I had not cum, but what did happen sure felt nice. Jane became very quiet, slumped, and became limp as a dishrag. As I held her, Jane's head lolled back, and I figured she had passed out. I struggled to get up with her in my arms. Once I managed to get her up, with one arm under her back at her armpits, I swept her legs up with an arm under her knees.

It looked like I was holding out a platter of delicious BBQ. I held a succulent platter of exquisite woman glistening in the late afternoon sun. Two stunning natural tits smiled up at me, topped with delightfully erect nipples and surrounded by large gorgeous puffy pink areolas. Her lovely pussy hidden from me now by the angle of her thighs reminded me of my bride so many years ago.

Thankfully she was a little thing, just north of a hundred pounds, I estimated. I'm old, and I have to admit I struggled. I staggered a bit along the way, probably more due to the beer than the weight. Again, thankfully there was only one step up onto the deck and another through the sliding door. Luckily we had forgotten to close the sliding door, and the blast of what seemed to be an arctic wind struck me like a hammer.

I laid her on the oversized couch and stood there a moment, a shamefully long moment, gazing lustfully on and drinking in this stunning gem. Her tits were perfect, and as she shifted slightly, her leg slipped off the couch, exposing the full glory of her charming pussy. Wet and glistening, its openness was seemingly an invitation.

Then I came to myself, ashamed and angry, I determined to punish myself by depriving myself of this oh-so-magnificent view. I gently lifted Jane's leg onto the couch, praying she wouldn't wake up screaming pervert or worse. Grasping the hem of her skirt, I worked it down under her ass. When I finally got the hem started under her butt, angry at myself for taking so long, I yanked it down. Unfortunately, I miscalculated and managed to yank it down to her knees, putting her pussy back on display. I closed my eyes, calmed my breathing, tugged her skirt much more gently, and managed to get it in place. That completed, I adjusted her still sopping wet and still transparent tank top to hide most of her magnificent tits. Shivering in the air conditioning because of my sweat-slick skin, I grabbed a small throw blanket to cover her.

I then went to the bathroom to relieve my now aching bladder and splashed copious amounts of cold water on my face and chest. After toweling off, I donned a new T-shirt, I Love You, Grandpa, brewed a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table out of sight of the girl. Jane slept there a couple of hours and finally poked her head over the couch with a confused look.

"Hi, you feeling better? Can I get you anything, water, coffee,... aspirin?" I asked, giggling.

Her look turned to complete terror, and she wailed, "No, I need a bathroom."

With that, she leaped up and sprinted to it. She knew where it was because she had been in my home many times, and with the beer she had drunk, I knew why. Thankfully she wasn't puking, but the tinkling sounds from the bathroom reminded me of the Cheech and Chong Longest Piss routine and made me chuckle. She soon returned, her top and skirt appropriately arraigned. The top had dried quite a bit and returned to one of the opaque levels.

"I guess I could use a cup of coffee and maybe...a couple of aspirins," she said sheepishly.

I poured her a cup and gave her two extra strength aspirins. She took them, thanked me, and sat at the table to drink her coffee but refused the cookies I offered.

After chatting for a while, she casually asked, "How did I get on the couch?"

Obviously, she had no recollection of the events in my backyard, I hoped anyway. I chose not to tell her, lying to her that she had said she wasn't feeling well and asked to lay down for a moment and then fell asleep.

This explanation seemed to satisfy her. As we talked, she suggested an exercise along the lines of "Truth or Dare."

"Name something that is naughty, or others think is naughty, that you enjoy," she said.

I thought it was a cute idea, but given we were male and female alone and our age differences, it was also stunningly inappropriate.

However, I only lamented aloud, "I'm old, so naughty isn't easy for me to do anymore.

She laughed at my equally inappropriate ribald innuendo and offered to go first.

"I know you don't know this, but Jake," she stopped, and I knew the memory of her late husband had just slashed across her mind. "Jake and I," she picked up again, "are nudists."

I was startled, replying, "Really?"

"Yes, that's why I can handle the heat so well," she said. "We would spend a week out in weather just like this. Jim's family and my family all are nudists. I haven't been in a while." She paused and ended sadly, "You know."

"You are not going to believe this," I said, laughing. "I have wanted to try social nudism for a long time. I've always loved to be naked. It's such a feeling of freedom."

Now it was her turn to be incredulous and replied, "Really? So you haven't. Why not?"

"In my day, there was no internet. How would you find like-minded people? The only way was those sleazy personals or adult bookstores. Then I went into the army, married a woman with no interest in that, then family, kids, and work, and it never worked out. It remains on my bucket list," I finished.

"Well, you could do it now," she encouraged.

"If somebody were to see me naked, they would need therapy," I said, laughing aloud.

Jane didn't laugh and got very serious.

"There are lots of senior citizens practicing naturism. If it would make you feel better, you could come to a resort with us, my grandma and me. We're both widows, and I'm guessing grandma is about your age. We're planning to go up this weekend. What do you say?" she finished.

"Your grandmother?" I sputtered.

"Yeah, grandma and grandpa were both naturists. I guess it was kind of out there back then but especially grandma. She is a real enthusiast," she explained.

"Well, I don't know," I replied shyly, and there was a long silence.