Work Meeting at a Naturist Pool

"Honey, I'm sorry but what are you doing?"

"Oh! It's not what it looks like... ha, ha, ha... no, you see, he had orchiectomy surgery and they removed a testicle, and he was showing me the scar..."

"I'm sorry to have alarmed you, Mr. Ferrari..." Jürgen said hesitantly.

My wife gestured with her hand mimicking a wave of the sea as if to tell him to let it go. "Shut up, please Jürgen, my husband knows all about scars, after what we went through in the hospital... you don't have to apologize. It's a medical thing, these things happen to human beings. «We have these bodies and we have to live as best we can», I always say."

I tried to intervene: "Had you asked for my help, dear?"

"Ah! Right. I was telling Jürgen that in my opinion, you can't see anything: it's a completely invisible scar. But Jürgen claims that he sees it, so I would like you to help us understand the truth."

Without approaching (was my wife asking me to approach an erect cock?) I remembered the answer that had given me courage during our months in hospital: «The scar is in the eye of the beholder».

Trying to adopt a professional tone, I looked Jürgen straight in the eye and told him: 'Don't listen to my wife: the scar is there, I know it and you know it. The scar will always be there because it is part of you now. Even if a surgeon tells you it can no longer be seen, you will see it. But look what we have chosen..."

Once again an extrasensory experience. My brain was thinking "now I'm going to smash the crystal of the chalice, and slaughter half of humanity", but my mouth was saying "... stand up, dear, show Jürgen the scar without covering it with your arm... yes I know it's a normal gesture, but take it away for a moment, do it for Science... there, you see, Jürgen, a tattoo artist followed the line of the scar to draw this detail of the lotus flower... No, she never wears the prosthesis... Yes, we bought it but she must have worn it two or three times at most... am I wrong? There, you see..."

Jürgen interrupted me. "I wanted to apologize for my... actual... erection... it's just a conditioned reflex not involving any sentimental emotion... Marina was so nice that she wanted to convince me that the scar is invisible, and she touched me and unintentionally I... I mean he..."

Marina shushed him. "Enough on this subject, now stop. When did you arrive?"

They started talking about air travel and colleagues I didn't know. I sat and stood and watched my wife, naked, standing in front of a blond, naked, erect stranger with an erect dick, chatting quietly about the relocation of a certain Inge to Singapore (married to a certain Chang), or about the new building the company was going to erect in Seoul, Korea (erect? Erect).

Two women in bathrobes passed by me, dripping water from their hair.

Perhaps that sight inspired the same doubt in me as it did in Jürgen.

The blond stared at me with her blue eyes and said: 'But you... you are not wet. You say you've just arrived... how come you're wearing a bathrobe?"

Marina interposed to protect me. "He looks dry because he has short hair, but just showered... and now we have to go to the sauna, so, bye, Jürgen, see you at dinner, I think, bye!" and taking me by the wrist, she dragged me away, in the direction of the saunas.

"May I know what you are plotting?"

"Luigi, my love... do you trust me?"

"Yes I trust you but I would trust you more if you were honest now."

"The Dress Code of every corporate party consists of full nudity. Always.

The founders were early naturists: Hamburg was at the forefront of this kind of philosophical and cultural innovation.

The company firmly believes that physical nakedness corresponds with moral transparency. We have never been involved in scandals of rigged contracts, flawed products, or tax deception.

In the early 1900s, this idea seemed pretty scandalous... husbands and wives naked at the dinner table while the president gives his annual speech, can you imagine? Then came the era of the Roaring Twenties, Josephine Baker, Mata Hari, and the Folies Bergères... skimpy clothes and nudity seemed to be widely cleared through customs.

Then as the world became more bigoted, our company stayed true to the Naturism of its origins."

"But what about you? Or do you pretend to join just to get ahead?"

Marina looked at me as if I were an alien. Then she smiled sweetly as if remembering something forgotten.

She kissed me and said, "You can wear your bathrobe for the whole weekend. I don't force you to undress. I don't blackmail or force you.

But consider that all my colleagues around here all think that the only reason a grown man might wear a bathrobe is only for the few minutes it takes to dry off the water in the pool or showers."

Chapter 5 Taste the Shrimp

We had walked a wide lap of the central pool.

My wife waved to some people she recognized, fat men with beer bellies, old women with saggy tits.

But because she was talking to me, and because she didn't want anyone asking awkward questions about how wet my hair still was to warrant a full bathrobe, she just nodded as if to say 'Hi! We'll talk later, there's a whole weekend!" and went straight ahead.

We had been to other Saunas before: I always wore a swimming costume, and only took it off in the sauna, where there is usually hardly anyone, and no one stays more than ten or twenty minutes anyway.

The thing that had always amazed me in previous years was the amount of older people, or at any rate people who were no longer very young.

It was as if the young people (and especially the girls) were more attracted to swimming pools, slides, and water games, precisely in the years when their bodies would have been perfect for the nudity of the sauna.

Perhaps in some countries in the far north, the sauna is also popular with girls (I imagine in Finland, but we never visited), but on our small trips to Austria and southern Germany, I had seen mostly overweight men fresh from the Oktoberfest. I am also overweight, and there is nothing wrong with that: but for statistical purposes, let's say I saw more bellies than boobs.

On this company weekend, however, we continued to meet very pretty, naked young women. I did not stop to follow the exciting pace of my wife's footsteps, but my eyes were tired from so much beauty. I thought they might be the wives and accompanying women of some old and powerful Executive, who might be arriving tomorrow: many chairs and deckchairs were still empty, and a few small groups of chattering voices were composed only of women.

My wife, after checking that Jürgen was not around, stopped in front of the stools of Heidi, the kind barmaid. "Heidi dear, what is the most delicious food you can offer an angry wife and her hard-headed husband?"

Heidi unleashed her most cheerful smile. She smiled with her eyes and dimples, before her lips.

It was a sincere and naked smile. "You are not angry, Mary, I know you. I have seen you scold some of your staff more than once, at this very desk, and your eyes take on a different shape from today. But who needs the advice of a barmaid? Ha, ha!" She laughed like a little girl.

"Psychologist should be your job, Heidi..." said Marina, laughing as if she had told a very hilarious joke.

"Actually, psychologist IS my JOB... five days a week. And you know that. But on Friday at noon, I quit. And I come here. You chemists are much more interesting..."

"I agree."

"But first things first... «man is what he eats», said a German philosopher, a Bavarian like myself... the best food on my counter is cabbage and shrimp salad in sesame sauce."

"Perfect. For two. And to drink..."

"To drink, Gewüstraminer, two glasses, cold, no ice, shaken not stirred. «My name is Ferrari, Marina... Ferrari, from Verona with love, and a License to Kill». I know you too well..."

Heidi jokingly mimicked 007's gun gesture with two fingers of her hand, blinking at us.

She turned and bent down to pick up the bottle of white wine from the lowest shelf. Whether out of malice or not, she did not bend her knees, exposing to my eyes her rosebud and the labia of her pussy, both light pink like a doll's.

Had she shaved especially for this weekend, rosebud too?

I had never seen anything like it.

I should have been aroused, but the naturalness of Heidi's gestures had the effect of a tranquilizer: I almost fell asleep on the stool.

But my wife started talking again, and following her voice, I slowly turned to my right.

I knew that one has to look a woman in the eye when she speaks: my mother was very obsessive with her teachings on good manners, and when I was a teenager I lived in terror that a girl would say «Hey, My Eyes Are Up Here!».

But I was sitting on the stool and didn't realize she was standing: turning around, I found the lotus flower tattoo in front of my eyes, on the scar above my heart.

Much more than a year had passed: almost two. I feared she would die, then the surgeons summoned us and explained the removal.

I have removed from my memory the words they said and the encouragement they gave us: they say that's what happens in trauma.

The only memory I have of those days is an image: of my wife bursting into tears. The image appeared in my mind like a photograph: Marina sitting huddled in an oversized armchair, holding her boob with one hand, as she cranes her neck upwards and cries in the direction of the sky, her loose hair falling behind her shoulders.

From then on I was always kind and gentle with her. My mother had tried so hard to provide us with good manners, and although a side-effect was this sort of phobia of being seen naked, due to an exaggerated taboo because of my mother, I was nevertheless considered a very gentle person by everyone.

"Too kind. Heidi, you are an angel."

"You are welcome, Mary, my apple pie. Anytime!"

As my mind rambled on, Mary and Heidi had been talking about shrimp and sesame, I think, or maybe about me, I don't know. I wasn't listening. With plates in hand and a glass of wine, we sat on two wicker chairs in front of a square table. I was the only person with a dressing gown within a mile.

"Luigi, please. They are all colleagues, some fat, some old, no one will look at you, no one will judge you if you strip naked. Do you trust me?"

A part of my brain wanted to say "I love you to death, I would give you the moon if you asked me with your sweet eyes, I would do anything" but in the meantime, my mouth had already said, "How can I trust a woman who is caught with a blond man's balls in her hand?"

"What are you talking about? We were among people, it wasn't an orgy, and I wasn't holding balls, I was pinching the skin of a testicle to check the size of a scar. I have a scar and I proudly show it to everyone, and he has a scar and I wanted to help him."

"OK. But you admit that the scene resembled something naughty."

"Oh, sure, since you spend your hours reading erotic tales and watching porn footage, then for you a normal exchange between two old friends who have both survived the scalpels of surgeons, would have to be categorized under the label «Cuckold» and «Hotwife»."

"What do you say!"

"Look I know you masturbate every night you don't come to bed. It's not a secret. And I don't suffer from it: I'm often tired and I don't have the same amount of desire as you do... at least, not on the same number of evenings."

"But... I..."

Marina teased me, alternating between coquettish and baritone voices.

"[GIRL, coquettish:] oh, wow, mister Jürgen Naughty, what a Biiiiiig Cock, it seems a Juggernaut, pun intended...

[MAN:] Yeeeeah, baby [and in an even deeper voice] You wanna taste my big shrimp? Muahahaha!

[GIRL (clapping her little hands like a baby):] OMG, Mr. Naughty, it looks like the giant trunk of an African elephant...

[MAN (Marina was playing the academic tone, as in a National Geographic documentary):] Currently, amongst the less educated people, unfortunately there exists yet an ongoing great misunderstanding of the concept of the so-called «AfriCock», since every group are very different and also penile sizes from Morocco to Tanzania... On the other hand, «Asian» is also a very generic concept, ranging from Turkey to Japan...

[GIRL in a high-pitched voice and feigning unbridled arousal:] Oh, Mr. Naughty, say no more, your Knowledge is sooo BIG! ... can I beg to wank off your huuuuge cock, so I can display a new Pearl Necklace on the cleavage? (giggle!) My husband should be back in a few minutes... [now with a concerned voice:] Oh, heavens! My husband is coming!

[MAN (in an even deeper voice):] Um, you call this micro-endowed man a «husband» -- and «coming»? Little cub, you need a true Alpha Male! Six sculpted abs, six feet and six inches tall, six pairs of inches in length of his beastly and wild cock! Put on this leash collar and follow me on your knees, you will be my wolf pack's SLAVE for the whole weekend... guess how many wolves belong? Six! Everyone calls us «the Six-Sex Pack»."

The jokes were dull, but her hazel eyes were full of joy.

We laughed together.

Like we used to.

As I laughed this thought struck me like a thunderbolt.

We hadn't laughed like that in months.

I couldn't lose her. Not now. Not because of a stupid bathrobe, and certainly not because of my mother's stupid educational rules. I left my fork on the plate of shrimp. I stood up, and spreading the elastic, slipped my boxers under my ankles. I opened my bathrobe, without even looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to me (or perhaps because I was afraid of seeing disgust in some stranger's eyes).

I threw the bathrobe over my shoulder. I was naked, in a wellness pool where everyone was naked.

My wife smiled happily at me. I sat down, took her hand, and whispered, "Do you really think Jürgen has a juggernaut?"

"No, honey, I've known you for many years and I know that you are the typical Grower... now you have just a shrimp, but that's normal, and I know well that when the time is right it will become like the Eiffel Tower... and no since you ask, I have to answer you. No, I was able to closely observe poor Jürgen's involuntary erection as it bounced in front of my eyes, and I guarantee it is no bigger than yours."

"So, would you like to taste my shrimp?"

"Later. Finish your dinner. «You don't leave food on your plate», your mother used to say, and that's probably the only rule of hers that I subscribe to."

Chapter 6: Tattoos and constellations

I finished eating very quickly. Heidi the barmaid came to ask if everything was OK: to clear the table, she leaned forward again giving me a full view. My wife smiled delightedly, noticing that my shrimp remained quiet despite my nakedness and the nakedness of the landscape.

"Nothing for me, Heidi, but for my husband would you bring a piece of cake? Strudel mit Walnüssen? You would be an angel."

Then turning to me she said "I have to go to the toilet for a moment, but I'll be right back. Can I leave you naked alone, with your cake, or will you not survive?"

"no-no, go, I'm quiet... here's the cake..."

Marina disappeared.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. ... Marina's Husband?" asked Heidi in a chirpy voice.

"Um... yes, I don't understand... you two have known each other for a long time? There seems to be a lot of intimacy..."

"Yes, that's right. This Wellness Centre is owned by a chemical company. During the year it is open to the public, but the company uses it both for parties, like today and for training and refresher courses.

My job is in an occupational psychology office, and I had participated in a course with my other colleagues. It was a course on trust. Marina had come back from breast surgery and needed to talk... and I was there.

You know, the usual stuff: falling backward, stripping naked, telling the most embarrassing thing that happened in life... it's all about honesty.

In short, Marina saw my tattoos and was very interested. She already had the idea of getting one, but maybe she was too shy to ask in a shop, or show the scar."

"Then the lotus is thanks to you! Heidi, you saved our lives!"

"No, the lotus idea is hers, I just advised on how to treat the skin after the tattoo. I have a scar too... no one recognizes it because it looks like this white mark above the dragon's wing..."

Heidi leaned forward to show with her finger the spot on her shoulder where she felt the scar on her skin. But my attention was distracted by the fact that, in that completely innocent position, her mouth was less than an inch from my cock, and I could feel the warm air of her breath on my skin.

"See, it's harder here... because the scar is slightly raised... my boyfriend lost control of the motorbike over an oil slick, and died: and I'm left with this scar on my shoulder."

Each word she said was a warm breeze on the skin of my cock. I was innocent, and even saddened by her tale: but my cock felt distinctly discordant emotions. I kept my eyes closed so as not to look at Heidi's beautiful back, the deep dimples near her kidneys, and her pink ass.

While Heidi was in that position, and I had my eyes closed, I heard my wife's voice.

Marina said to me, mockingly: "A-ha! Caught with a smoking gun! In the sense of big artillery, am I right?"

She chuckled.

"No, honey, I swear, I'm innocent..."

Heidi laughed. "You were right, Marina, Luigi is pure as a saint, and he loves only you!" Both giggled. "I even breathed on his cock, but it didn't even get hard! Great..."

"You... both! You have challenged me!" My voice was very offended.

"It was just a joke... Heidi, please move on to phase two, which always makes me laugh..."

Heidi sat down on the cane wicker chair, spread her thighs, grabbed her right calf, and supported it with her arm as she said, "See? From this position, the anus, clitoris, and two moles on the thigh are aligned like the stars of the constellation Ursa Major... der Große Bär, the Bavarian name... what do you say, if you follow the constellation with your finger, you could note with a pen where you draw the three missing stars on the skin of my thigh... or - as we told Karl-Heinz, remember how funny, Marina? Or you could follow the constellation with your tongue..."

They both could not help laughing.

"But you two... you both are vixen teasers!"

Heidi showed her pouty face. "So you offend me, Luigi. You and I are two cheerful, full-of-life women who have survived death and only want to enjoy each day to the fullest. Carpe Diem. This is just a joke. I wouldn't force you to lick me or kiss me."

"Heidi is an angel, dear. An angel with two or maybe three tattoos. But she would never do anything to hurt you."

"I must say she is a very beautiful angel." (At these words of mine Heidi smiled, demurely)

"Yes, I agree with you."

"But you are more gorgeous, honey."

"Nice try, flatterer. I know it's not true, but I will concede the attempt. Now let's go: Heidi must return barmaid, and we must look for a massage or a sauna before going to bed."

Heidi greeted us, smiling "Auf Wiedersen.... And remember, Luigi, don't be proud of soccer, be proud of Marina! See you soon... there will be plenty of opportunities for us to meet over the weekend!"

Next to Heidi's bar, there was a quartet playing. A very dark-skinned man, tall and with very long fingers, was playing the double bass standing up. Naked.

A thin, pale man played the violin: very long hair on his forehead, and very long pubic hair. On his sharp nose, he wore glasses.

At her side, a girl with strawberry blond hair gathered in a thick braid held a long flute between her fingers: at that moment she was standing on her heels, not playing, and stroking the shaft of the instrument as a lover would stroke her boyfriend's cock.