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Jenny, Jenny

By: Nuttnon



My family and I live in a nice little three bedroom house, built during our town's post-WWII housing boom. Long before Karen and I bought it the basement was finished off as a separate apartment, so we rent it out.

If you've ever owned a rental property you already know that it's bad enough to have a deadbeat tenant at all, much less one living right under your own ass -- but in our case it's worse. He's my wife's nephew. All baggy jeans and no respect, thumping crap rap up through our floor at all hours while months behind on his rent. We would have evicted him long ago, but about then he moved his girlfriend Jenny in to help with the rent. We liked her well enough, to the extent that we knew her at all, so Karen and I decided to give it another try. This was maybe a year and a half ago. The rent situation improved somewhat after that, but never to our total satisfaction -- it was still behind by a few months, but they stayed steadily so and Jenny gave sincere promises to catch up.

Jenny probably does not turn the head of every male she passes, but I'm sure it's a high percentage. She's twenty now, with chestnut hair to the middle of her back, a very cute upturned nose and smoldering brown eyes that could melt butter from ten feet away. She's been with the deadbeat since they were fourteen, and she's blossomed quite nicely... in fact, Jenny is one reason that tight jeans coming back into style has been a very good thing. In other words, she's plenty hot -- much more so than your average twenty-year-old woman. But Natalie Portman, for example, wouldn't lose any sleep over her.

Until Jenny moved in downstairs we only saw her when the deadbeat brought her to family gatherings, usually on a holiday. We don't see much more of her now, because they tend to keep to themselves. That is, we weren't seeing much more of her, but... well, I won't get ahead of the story.

Being a writer carries with it a variety of curses, one of which is the tendency to keep late hours. Especially during the summer, when it's often too hot to sleep. I was working on my fourth novel one Saturday night this past summer when, yet again, I hit the dreaded wall of frustration commonly referred to as "writer's block". 

At this point you should know that we are a family of nudists, which explains why I was sitting on a towel and working in my skin. My wife and I tried some time ago to gradually introduce Jenny and the deadbeat to our casual nudity about the house, but we met with something less than success. They chose instead to give us the sort of arm's-length politeness one would usually extend to a cadre of likable, non-dangerous weirdoes within one's extended family... and we resolved to having our nude sunbathing restricted to our club in the mountains.

On that particular night Karen and the kids were asleep, and I was resisting the temptation to fuck off on the internet rather than writing my current novel. I decided instead to have a short outing in the moonlit back yard. I donned my favorite football jersey, one which drapes low enough to cover the vitals, allowing me to wear it and nothing else. So long as I remain upright, that is; if I have to bend over for any reason my cover, if you will, is blown.

After grabbing twelve ounces of Mexico's finest export -- a frosty bottle of Corona -- I killed the back yard floodlights and exited the patio doors into the night. First off, I checked to see which cars were out back in the little parking area off the alley and behind the garage. Jenny's car was there but the deadbeat's was not. My first thought was, damn -- I'll have to be on the lookout for his coming home and entering through the back gate. Then I remembered that he was supposed to be off camping with his buddies, something which I knew Jenny detested. So she was home, and the deadbeat was elsewhere. Nothing remarkable about that, and since I knew that she was highly unlikely to go anywhere at that time of night, I could -- as I often did when I could get away with it -- safely peel off the jersey and enjoy the warm breeze on my skin.

I was relaxing comfortably on a chaise lounge and entertaining a pleasant memory of the previous fall, when Karen and I came home from an evening of brewpub ale and oysters on the half-shell. We had managed to return unnoticed by the babysitter, and we were both screamingly horny. (For the record, oysters are not an "aphrodisiac" per se -- but they are definitely a performance enhancing substance!) So with the patio doors open, and only the screen and dining area between us and the babysitter on the couch giggling at "Saturday Night Live", Karen and I took a chance and fucked each other cross-eyed right there on the back lawn. One of our better sessions, and we got away with it clean. I glanced down and only then noticed that I was absently stroking my half-erect cock at the thought. A very pleasant memory, indeed...

A few moments later I sat up to take a swig of my beer, when I heard a strange noise come from the direction of the driveway. Since the driveway was visible from our street, I put the jersey back on before going to investigate. Because it's a rather old place the garage is detached and behind it, served from the street by a rather long driveway running straight down the side of the house. Looking out onto it are the windows of our bath and two of the bedrooms. Looking up from the basement, however, are the windows of their bedroom, kitchen and living room -- the last being directly below our bedroom.

As I made my way silently down the drive, the noise I'd heard was coming into closer focus and seemed to emanate from their open kitchen window. As I crouched down, I was able to make out the unmistakable sounds of cheesy music and staged sex. Good God, I thought, she's watching a porn movie! Small as the apartment is, I wasn't surprised that the sound from the TV made its way from the living room, around the corner into the kitchen and out the window -- but Jenny would have been very surprised at who was hearing it!

The next window down, closest to the street, was the living room -- and the temptation to look was overwhelming. From where I stood I could see, to my relief, that the window itself was closed; to my disappointment, so were the mini-blinds. But a hunch made me go have a closer look. Sure enough, no one had ever taught this girl which way to flip horizontal window blinds! I'm sure they looked private enough on the inside, closed most of the way and pointed toward the floor. But from my perspective, three feet above the window and looking downward at a forty-five degree angle, I had a nearly unobstructed view of the living room below. Two couches, one on the far wall and one to the left; TV and stereo on the right. On the screen, a blonde nurse was giving salacious head to a patient on a gurney who obviously was not there for male enhancement surgery; Jenny was nowhere to be seen.

After a bit I was about to return to the backyard, thinking that Jenny was probably ignoring the movie from elsewhere in the apartment and silently cursing my luck. But a split second before I would have looked away she appeared in the living room wearing a black t-shirt and white cotton bikini panties.

She had carried her own bottle of Corona into the room with her, and raised it to her lips. After taking a swallow she began to lick the mouth and neck of the bottle, emulating what she was seeing on the screen. I felt myself stiffening at the sight, and my heart imitated a jackhammer inside my chest. I remember thinking, what the hell am I doing? I'm not a goddam peeping Tom! That thought stayed with me as I took one last look (yeah, right) at the taut white cotton material covering her mound. It lasted with me long into the next ten minutes of self-imposed exile that followed my tearing my gaze from the window and forcefully stumbling my uncooperative legs back to the chaise in the back yard.

I sat down on the chaise, breathing heavily, and it took every one of those ten minutes to slow my respiration down. Never mind my pulse; had an EKG been done on me at that moment, the paramedics would have called for back-up. And even as I was telling myself that I was not a pervert... I knew with a terrible certainty that I would be going back for another look. How could I not? 

It seemed that Jenny hadn't moved at all while I was in back, except that now she was rubbing her pussy through her panties with the beer bottle. A glance to the right told me that the porn scene had shifted to the nurse banging a different patient while another nurse watched, getting herself off with her fingers. Jenny seemed to enjoy this; she was watching intently and grinding against the beer bottle. I thought to myself, it won't be long now. As if on cue she took a swig from the bottle and set it on the table, pulled the hem of the t-shirt up to expose her midriff and began tracing her fingers in lazy, teasing circles on the skin of her taut belly, barely touching the waistband of her panties.

On the screen, the second nurse was now between the patient's legs, licking his balls as the first rode him with wild abandon. This was apparently to Jenny's liking, because just then she stood and wriggled out of her panties, exposing her closely trimmed pussy to my hungry view. Then she lifted the t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Gloriously nude before my eyes, she was truly a vision of young beauty and desire. Her pert, apple-sized breasts were capped by two pretty pink confections that my tongue longed to taste. As she reclined on the couch once again, I noticed -- and then promptly forgot about -- my aching, leaking erection. Time for that down the road, I decided... for the moment, I concentrated on burning into my memory every detail of what I was seeing, for later playback. Repeated playback, in fact.

Evidently Jenny had already given herself enough foreplay, because she immediately flung her right leg up onto the couch and began to work her pearl with abandon. This gave me a visual angle directly between her long legs; had her fingers not been in the way, she could have winked at me with her wetness. I would have had to be her gynecologist to get a better view.

Once again, my pulse reached dangerous levels for a man of thirty-nine. Mostly because my major erotic weakness is watching a lady pleasure herself. I have often been blessed in knowing ladies who are in touch with their exhibitionistic side, and many of them enjoyed indulging my voyeuristic tendencies. This is a diplomatic way of saying that I’ve seen quite a few women get themselves off, in a variety of ways. But never had I seen what Jenny was doing -- she played her clit in a counter-clockwise motion. Right-handed. Most unusual.

In no time at all, I could see that she was getting close to coming. Her fingers were a blur of auto-erotic urgency. Suddenly she stopped and bolted from the couch toward the bedroom. Startled, I wondered whether she had seen me through the window (which should have been impossible), or had just decided to relocate to her bed (which would have been hugely disappointing). But in a little less than a minute, she returned with her favorite toy. 

Looking through those damned slats, I couldn't tell much about it other than that it was blue and of average size -- no Thermos-sized monstrosities for this girl, I noticed approvingly. In nothing flat she resumed her position on the sofa, her crotch seemingly aimed at my eyes, and slid most of it into her glistening pussy. I let out an extremely quiet moan. It continued this way, her fucking herself and me watching intently, for several minutes. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore, and I began to stroke myself under the football jersey while praying that no one would come walking or driving down my street. I really hate having to go dry, but the show that Jenny was putting on had my cock absolutely dripping with more than enough pre-come to do the job.

It was a good thing that I had waited as long as I did; I was about to go off like a Roman candle! Luck was with me; just then Jenny really began to buck her pelvis up and down, and for the first time I could hear her moans over the forgotten cheesy porn soundtrack. That really fueled my fire -- as I stroked myself furiously, she was getting louder and higher in pitch. As we approached our weirdly-shared orgasms, the last guilty thought to skip like a rock across the puddle that was now my brain registered: I'm going to have to tell Karen about this.

No stopping us now; as I watched and heard Jenny go over the top, bucking and thrashing on the couch from her self-administered fucking I came as well, in huge spasms of ecstasy, my cock shooting copious amounts of my seed in long arcs out onto the cement of the driveway. More than I had probably produced since I was teenager. My knees were wobbly and my head felt as though it was full of ginger ale. It was far and away the best orgasm I ever gave myself... although I certainly had Jenny's help to thank for it.

When I opened my eyes again Jenny was nowhere to be seen. I straightened up, dropped the football jersey back into place and quickly made my way back into the house, forgetting the Corona on the patio table. After cleaning up a bit, I did two quick shots of bourbon and then looked in on my beautiful, sleeping wife. And thought to myself... oh, boy...what will Karen make of this? 

To be continued...

Jenny, Jenny Ch. 02



Over the next week, Karen was happily surprised at my horniness. In the eight years we’ve been married, she’s always wanted sex a bit more often than I do (from my point of view, it’s a nice problem to have). So I really didn’t expect her to question my suddenly accelerated ardor, or to be suspicious of its origins. That’s why I was completely blindsided when, after I had fucked her hard and well yet again, she casually inquired, “Matt? If you don’t mind me asking… what the hell has gotten into you this week?” 

Right then, you couldn’t have pulled a pin out of my ass with a tractor. But after a bit I relaxed, sighed, and said, “Honey, I don’t know if I’m actually glad that you asked, but I am a little relieved.” For the next ten minutes I described, in detail, the show Jenny had unknowingly put on for me. And yes, I was extremely apprehensive when I got to the part where I had to confess that not only had I watched intently, but I had jerked off in our driveway while doing so.

After I finished, the silence occupied the room like an invisible butler waiting to be told what to do next. I wished like hell it would just go away but it stood there patiently between us, a tangible reminder that moments like these can define a marriage. They can also break one.

Women tend to think that a man’s penis is completely detached from his brain. Not true; mine is actually a pretty good barometer of my emotions. Just minutes before, I had been aggressively pumping all 7 ½ inches of my proud and eager cock into my wife, to her loud and enthusiastic pleasure. But at that moment it was nearly inverted, looking like a spare shirt button that desperately wished it was elsewhere. Sensing possible danger, my balls were nowhere to be seen -- perhaps they went indoors to have a beer with my kidneys.

Finally, Karen spoke. “Some day, I really should thank her.” Then she lowered her head and took my shrunken mushroom into her sinfully sexy mouth. Once she had sucked it back to its former glory, she climbed aboard and proceeded to ride me like I was Secretariat. My boys came back out to play and Karen fucked us both into extremely loud and wild simultaneous orgasms – my second, and her fifth. Had we been any wetter, we would have needed life-jackets.

Thank God. 

Thank Jenny.

*****

It was more than three weeks later that I first encountered Jenny -- post-show, that is. I was mowing the back lawn when she pulled up in her car. As she closed the gate behind her I didn’t think I could manage it, but to my surprise I was able to keep a straight face and not let on that anything was different. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was coming home from work, and the Wal-Mart smock she wore changed her appearance dramatically from when I had seen her last, naked and disheveled and smiling. Okay, so she was smiling… just not quite like last time.

Simple politeness dictated that I shut off the mower to say hello, but my idea of politeness goes a bit further than that, so I found myself offering Jenny a glass of the fresh lemonade I had just made. She politely declined, and disappeared into her apartment. Ten minutes later she re-appeared as I was dumping the grass catcher. She had traded her uniform for shorts and a bikini top. Yum.

I said, “Did you change your mind about the lemonade?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s hotter than hell down there. Is the offer still open?”

“Certainement, Mademoiselle. Une minute, s’il vou plait.”

“Huh?”

“Um, just showing off about half of all the French I know. Gimme a sec, okay?”

She dimpled. “Sure.” 

I went inside thinking to myself, aside from the “beware, we’re nudists” talk, that may be more than we’ve ever said to one another, Christmas included. I went into the living room, loaded Coldplay’s “Live 2003” CD into the player, routed the sound to both the kitchen and patio speakers and then strolled back out with the pitcher and two glasses. She accepted hers gratefully, and drank a third of it in two gulps. I hooked a thumb at one of the speakers and asked her, “Any objection to Coldplay?”

“No, none at all. I love them. I didn’t even know they had a live CD. When did this come out?”

I grinned and said, “Not for about ten weeks. I still get advance copies now and then.”

“Oh, that’s right, I remember – you used to be a radio deejay.”

“Yup. I still have a few connections. Writing the occasional piece for Rolling Stone also helps.” 

“So what made you give up radio to be a writer? Better money?”

“Christ, no -- I wish. But radio quit being fun when the accountants took it over. And writing is something you do only if you absolutely can’t not do it. Which doesn’t make sense, I know. Put it this way: only the truly afflicted try to make a living at it, because writing is much more like a disease than it is a profession.”

She laughed at that and said, “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a creative bone in my body.” From there the conversation meandered around for a while, touching on innocuous topics like my writing, the weather and what I’d like to do to the yard – especially my big project of building a deck and putting in a spa and sauna.

After I refilled our glasses, Jenny said, “Matt, I’ve been wondering… are you and Karen still members at that nudist colony in the mountains?”

Gulp. “Uh, yes, we are. But please, they aren’t called ‘colonies’. Forgive me, Jenny -- it’s not really important, but it’s kind of like the way ‘Frisco’ will irritate someone from San Francisco.”

She looked sheepish. “Sorry. I should have known that, because it says ‘family nudist resort’ on the website.”

“So you’ve been to the website, huh? Cool. What got you interested?”

“Well, do you remember right after I moved in with Mike? You and Karen warned me that I might catch you guys or the kids naked sometime if I walked up to the patio doors or something?”

“Sure. We were kind of hoping that a clothing-optional policy would appeal to you, so we could be a lot more relaxed about it. But I recall that you weren’t exactly receptive to it, so we’ve been keeping our clothes on when we’re in the yard and we only sunbathe at the club now, or sometimes Karen goes to the fake-and-bake salon.”

Jenny said, “Yeah, I do that too. But it’s expensive and kinda plastic, you know? Anyway, after that I got to thinking about it, and I realized that I’d like to be able to sunbathe on the patio, too.” Her cheeks reddened slightly. “But I was embarrassed at the way I went ‘yeah, whatever’ to you guys, and I’ve felt bad ever since because I basically did you guys out of your freedom to get naked on your own patio. That wasn’t right, and this is pretty much the first chance I’ve had to apologize and make it right.”

I gave her a pleasantly surprised smile. “Well, apology accepted. Karen will be glad to hear it, too. But it’s not just you. Karen’s a little concerned about the d – I mean Mike. She’s his aunt, and she knows him well enough to worry that he wouldn’t have the right attitude.”

Jenny rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, I can guarantee that he doesn’t – we had a big argument over it. After I read a bunch of the website and got it through my head that nudism isn’t perverted or creepy, I told him that I wanted him to get us invited to go with you guys some weekend to check it out. Man, did the shit ever hit the fan. I tried to get him to look at what I’d read, but he wouldn’t even consider it. He just said some bullshit about you guys that I won’t repeat, and slammed out of the house. I never brought it up again.”

I sighed. “Yeah, that’s about what I would have expected from him. He’s one of those – forgive me – ignorant people who can’t separate nudity and sex. He’s probably suffering from the most common form of psychosis there is: jealousy. He imagines you nude in the company of other people, particularly men, and he loses it. On some fucked-up level, he figures you might as well be cheating on him, even if you’re doing something as innocent as swimming and everyone else is naked too. That sort of stupidity is totally beyond me – I’ve never been able to figure it out.” I was disappointed and sad, and I’m sure my face showed both… Jenny’s certainly did. It was time to try a turn toward the positive. “By the way, I’m sorry to describe your boyfriend in such harsh terms, even if they are accurate.”

“Believe me, I’ve used far worse. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know all this, and tell you that you and Karen shouldn’t worry about offending me if you want to sunbathe naked.” She looked relieved. I was, too. She added, “But it’d be a good idea not to let Mike catch either of you.”

“Agreed. Well, thank you, Jenny -- thank you very much. That means a lot to us; you’ve given back a big chunk of our freedom. And gained some of your own, too – I mean, I think I can speak for Karen when I say that we want you to feel free to sunbathe anytime he isn’t around.”

She stood and smiled, saying, “Oh, good, I was hoping you’d say that,” and she removed her shorts to reveal a bikini bottom which matched her top. Then she removed the top, and lay back down on the chaise.

Whew.

Obviously, I have been in the social company of yummy young women in various states of nudity before, with nary a hint of horniness in the air. But because of previous events, this was different. It took more effort than usual to keep my demeanor casual… that is, it usually took no effort at all. I was grateful for my sunglasses.

“Hey, I’m gonna go into the house, grab some towels and join you… if you’re comfortable with it, that is. Okay?”

Jenny rose up on one elbow, shielding her eyes from the sun and said, “Absolutely – I think I’ll be more comfortable if I’m not the only one naked. Does that mean I have the right attitude?”

“It certainly is a symptom of it. I’ll be right back.”

Once inside, I grabbed the phone and dialed Karen at work. “Honey, guess what? Right now, as we speak, Jenny is sunbathing topless on the patio.”

“No way!” She sounded both dubious and delighted.

“Way,” I joked back. “She came home from work while I was mowing, went inside to change, and then came out to the patio. Twenty minutes and two glasses of lemonade later, she’s apologized to us for blowing us off on the nudism thing when she moved in, warned me that we were right about Mike and his attitude, told me that we’re free to skin down outside as far as she’s concerned, and then took me up on my offer of the same right on the spot.”

“Wow. You mean Mike’s attitude about…?”

“Yeah, apparently he’s quite the Neanderthal on the subject.”

“Just as well; I don’t think I could ever be comfortable with him. Not when I can still remember the way he started looking at me after he began puberty. It still creeps me out.”

“Yeah, I remember that too.”

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“At work, I suppose. It’s only two in the afternoon.”

“What about you?”

“I’m in the house getting towels, and then I’m joining her.”

“I see. And what’s your attitude right now, in light of what you saw her doing?”

“Nothing but simple, innocent sunbathing going on here -- at least from her point of view. Since she has no idea of what I saw, I’m just trying to put it out of my mind and pretend it was somebody else.”

“Good answer,” she said agreeably. “Still, I feel like I should warn you not to let anything get out of hand -- or in hand, for that matter.”

“No worries, love. Just the standard Johnson family nudism initiation, like we’ve done for years.”

Karen lowered her voice to a whisper. ”Maybe so, Matt, but you’ve never jerked off watching any of our previous guests doing the same.”

I said, “Aw, honey, play nice now. If there is even the slightest charging of the batteries – which I totally do not expect – you’ll get the benefit of the energy, just like you have been. Fair enough?”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. People around here keep asking me while I’m smiling so much more than usual. But behave yourself.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, I gotta go. I’ll try to get out of here early so I can get in on the fun too. Love you.”

“I love you too. See you when you get home.”

“Damn right,” she said, and hung up.

*****

I went into the bedroom and stripped out of my shorts and t-shirt, and looked at myself in the mirror. Silly of me, because nudism isn’t about how good you look, but I did so anyway. I noticed with a mixture of disappointment and approval that my unit was completely flaccid. It was a good thing, in that I was not visibly excited by the prospect of sunbathing with Jenny, and therefore I had “the right attitude”. But it was a little disappointing because, as the ladies say, I am a “grower” rather than a “show-er”. I’m a good 7 ½ inches when I’m rarin’ to go – but a rather sad-looking half of that or less when I’m soft. Let’s not even talk about when I’m cold. Aw, what the hell, I thought, it doesn’t matter. This is friendly social nudity, nothing more. I went to the linen closet and grabbed two towels, wrapped one around my waist and headed outside.

Jenny looked up and said, “What took you so long?”

“I had to make a phone call. Here’s a towel for you.”

“Thanks, Matt.” She got up and bent over to spread the towel on her lounge. I casually dropped mine and did the same. When we each stood up her eyes went directly to my crotch and stayed there for a long and awkward moment. 

Finally I said, “Something wrong?”

Her eyes quickly darted up to meet mine and she blushed furiously. “Omigod, I’m so sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen a guy who trims it all so neatly, much less one who shaves his balls. I’m so sorry,” she blurted again.

“Don’t be,” I said. “Look all you like. If you’d ever been to the club, you would have seen that it’s a pretty common thing. I do it mostly because Karen likes it, but I also like the feeling of being that much more naked -- if that makes any sense. Besides,” I hesitated. “Well, it also makes them… uh, more sensitive.”

“Oh, I know – here, now you get to look.” She hooked her thumbs into her bikini bottom, pulled it straight down to her ankles, stepped out of it gracefully and stood up to reveal her completely shaven pussy. “I used to just trim it short, but on a whim I started to shave it all off a couple of weeks ago. The idea was to surprise Mike with it, but that needle-dicked slob hasn’t paid attention to anything but beer and his PS 2 in forever,” she said bitterly. Almost shyly, she added, “I had to find out on my own how much better things feel.”

Suddenly my head was filled with the memory of watching her masturbating wildly, the rapturous look on her face when she came, and I could feel the beginnings of increased blood flow to my little friend. All I could think of to say was, “That’s a good look for you. Want some more lemonade?”

“Please.”

It was a good excuse for me to turn my back to her and think of something else – icebergs, the phone bill, Rosie O’Donnell – anything that would keep my unit’s desire to salute in check. To my relief, it worked… for the moment, anyway. As I turned back with refreshed glasses in both hands, a quick downward glance told me that the swelling was not that telling.

Just then, I heard Karen’s car pull up in the driveway. Whew – saved by the bell.

To be continued…