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Meeting Carmen Ch. 01

By: gossog



Carmen - Library

When I lived up north, when I was 30, I used to go to the library a few times a week. I was just starting out with pen and ink illustration, with a lot of story ideas but not the drawing talent to flesh them out. The library had a good selection of books on technique, as well as many graphic novels for inspiration.

The same staff member usually worked that area, putting books back on shelves. She was about college age, cute face, with long black hair. For a long time, I didn't know her name. I also didn't know what she really looked like from the neck down. She always dressed in baggy workout gear, sweatshirts, and so on. Nothing ratty or stinky, she was always clean, but just... shapeless.

In college, I remembered certain girls wearing more and more loose clothes as the year progressed and they put on weight. Based on the library girl's choice of clothes, I assumed her body was nothing noteworthy; literally just another pretty face.

She was friendly, though usually too busy to say much beyond Hello or Pardon Me or Can I Help You Find Anything. Even so, it was evident that she was good-hearted and genuinely liked being around people. So running into her was a little pleasure, making the day a tiny bit more enjoyable.

One day, as she knelt to arrange books on the bottom shelf, I noticed something else: her sweat pants tended to ride down a little in the back, like they were getting loose. Maybe she was losing weight; it was hard to tell. I found myself intrigued by the inch or so of skin the lowriding sweats exposed. 

Over time, they drooped down enough to show that she was wearing, of all things, a thong. There was the telltale "whale tail" effect as it peeked out from under the waistline of her sweats. I was pleasantly surprised; she hadn't seemed like the type. Her personality hadn't changed; after giving me a cordial greeting, and satisfying herself that I needed no help, she would turn her attention to her work.

As the days passed, she showed a rainbow of different thongs. She gave no sign of concern that they were showing, and I had no inclination to let her know. As for that few inches of skin I'd see exposed: she didn't seem chubby at all. For the first time, I started wondering what she would look like in a swimsuit. Baggy clothes can conceal a good figure as well as a bad one.

One day there was no whale tail, even though her sweats rode down as low as ever. The expanse of bare skin leading downward from the small of her back looked huge. So she was either wearing extreme lowrider briefs -- or nothing at all. For someone whose body I paid no attention to not long ago, this ambiguity obsessed me. That night, I jerked off to her for the first time.

I came back the very next day, a Tuesday. Was it too soon? Would it look like I was stalking? Not long ago, I paid no attention to how often I came in; it didn't matter. I didn't want towait. I was looking forward to no whale tail, and imagining her bare bottom under those loose sweats.

We exchanged hellos and she went to work, starting with the low shelf. She was wearing a dark green thong. Back to normal. I pretended to scan a photo collection while I watched her work. Maybe this was it, as far as anything would ever go. Last night I had constructed a fantasy where the library had closed for the night, everyone had gone, except for she and I; and it continued with my stripping down her pants, under which she wore no thong, and unzipping her sweatshirt, under which she wore no bra. In mid-day, under bright fluorescent lighting, the girl going about her usual tasks, my fantasy seemed silly, and even shameful.

Still, she was compelling to watch. Her long black hair, corralled in a ponytail; her pretty face, graceful brows and dark eyes, her expression intent as she worked; and that thong, the reminder that there could be a wild side to this girl I would never know.

She stepped up on a stool and lifted a stack of books toward the top shelf. She must have brushed against a protruding edge or bolt; it snagged her waistband as she stretched up. Very quickly her sweats were pulled down over the curve of her bottom. Tension gone, the waistband relaxed, and the sweats collapsed at her feet. She froze, realizing what had happened, and I stared at her bared legs.

Her legs were very nice. Voluptuous. I couldn't believe what I had been missing. And the thong made no effort at all to cover a nicely curved ass. She gasped, but with a stack of books to handle, she couldn't reach down and fix anything. There was no one else in the aisle, but that could change at any minute. I would be in a situation very tough to explain. Either I had to leave, now, or help her out, now.

I chose the second option and pulled her pants back up to her waist.

As soon as she got down, she glared at me. "What do you think you were doing?"

"I was worried someone would see you," I said. "Just trying to help." Famous last words, sometimes, those four.

She wasn't satisfied with this, and continued glaring, saying nothing. Even though I really hadn't done anything wrong, I could see that this was the end of the road for me. If she reported me, I would probably be banned from the library. Or worse. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'd better leave." I put my book down and walked away.

"Wait," she said. I turned around. She motioned me back. "I know it wasn't your fault," she said, in a hushed voice. "And you did the right thing. It was just a really embarrassing situation and my first reaction was to shoo you away."

"I can understand that," I said. "Luckily, I don't think anyone else saw you."

"I'm lucky it didn't happen yesterday." Now what did she mean by that? There was just a hint of a smirk. She must have noticed I was staring at her. Not good.

I decided to play dumb. "Why yesterday?"

She moved closer, now speaking in a whisper. "Because I didn't have anything on underneath. As you well know. Don't even try to deny it."

This sort of trouble I didn't need at all. Hell, what if she was only 17? My days of getting involved with girls that age was long gone. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I was just minding my own business. I'll leave now. Sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble," she said. "I'm not. You don't have to go."

"Thanks." I was still weighing whether or not to make a tactful escape.

"But I can tell by what you read that you appreciate the feminine body. Like these books." She pulled a couple of comic collections from the shelf to illustrate her point.

Wally Wood's "Sally Forth", about a blonde army girl who frequently ended up naked while saving her troops. I loved that one. Just the sheer exuberance of a beautiful body, a gung-ho spirit and some great situations where she loses her clothes. When I got better at it, my stories and illustrations would have that sort of cheery naughtiness.

There were also Milo Manara's sun-drenched fantasies with many naked women; and other books with notional plots but admittedly softcore erotic styles. Those were the sorts of women I wanted to draw.

I didn't say anything. It still looked like she disapproved, however mildly. There should be nothing wrong with an adult reading those books; but interests like that were something most of us found good reasons to keep to ourselves.

"We have some more in a storage room," she said. "More European and Asian artists. Really too steamy to have out here in the stacks. You should take a look."

As bizarre as that offer sounded, I needed no convincing. She had me marked as a fan (and wannabe practitioner) of erotic art. I felt I had nothing to hide now, and it didn't seem like she had anything bad planned for me. I also didn't want to miss whatever treasures were locked away in that room.

She led me by the hand into a side hallway, and into a room she had to unlock with a key. I liked holding her hand. I wondered if any other patron noticed this little scene.

"I'm Ken," I said as we walked in. "I don't even know your name."

"Carmen," she said, shaking my hand. She turned on the lights. Books filled the room; stacked boxes subdividing it with new walls, loose stacks of them overflowing counters and tables, all marked with different-colored tags. "Sorry it's such a mess," Carmen said. "It's over here in the back corner."

She showed me a hardcover collection by Serpieri, the Italian artist who did "Druuna." His work was hard to find unless you special ordered. Druuna was a raven-haired, large-breasted, big-bootied woman in a scifi-horror arena, often having to tiptoe through creepy places partially or totally naked. She endured lots of sex as well, at the hands of lovers, enemies, and grotesque monsters.

"I love the Druuna stories," she said, opening to one in the middle. "In our basement at home, I sometimes act these out with my brother and his friends."

Oh really. This was taking a quite interesting turn. Again I wondered just how old Carmen was. I peeked at the door, made sure it was still closed.

"That's pretty racy stuff," I said, involuntarily looking her over. I could not hide my curiosity. "When you act these out, do you wear costumes or just street clothes?"

She laughed. "I wear what she's wearing, of course." The implications of that were so erotic that at first I didn't even follow through on the meaning. "It's pretty easy. Take a look at this panel."

She showed a picture of Druuna hiding in a dark corner, trying to see if she had been followed. She was frightened and vulnerable, for good reason: she wore only a white dress shirt, completely unbuttoned, revealing part of one D-cup breast and all of the other. Below the waist, she wore nothing at all, her meaty thighs and pubic thatch painstakingly detailed.

"For this scene," Carmen said, "I just use a man's shirt and leave it open. But a lot of the time, like over here, I'm not wearing anything."

Now it seemed like an elaborate prank. This was too over the top. "You're making this up," I scoffed, looking her in the eye. "You mean to tell me you get naked in front of your brother and friends."

"I am not making this up!" she said, staring straight back. "It's fun. It's really hot. You're the only one I've told about it. I thought you would understand." She turned to another page, where Druuna was naked, on her back on a table, with a standing man screwing her. "So here I would be, and his friend is the guy, and he's having sex with me."

"No way," I said. I was fighting two impulses: one, leave now, because being alone in this room with this young woman, talking about this, was just not right; and two, put my arm around her and see if she protested.

"I know it sounds really weird?" she said, with the upward intonation common to younger people. "But there are some ground rules. Some things my brother's friend can do but he can't because he's my brother."

"But he still sees you naked," I said. As fantastical as her story was, I had become convinced she wasn't lying. She was focused and intense, like someone obsessed with a favorite hobby. Dressing up (and undressing) as Druuna seemed for Carmen to be exactly that.

"A little more than that," she said. "He's touched my breasts when I'm naked, and even sucked them. Kind of strange, how my own brother can make me come that way. And he's also touched me down below lots of times, and I come that way too. But full intercourse is way off limits. So is kissing."

As she said this, I wondered if she noticed in my face the flush I felt while picturing her doing this. Just freeze-frame vignettes of Carmen laying back on a secondhand couch, legs spread, eyes closed, her brother with a finger in her pussy and his lips around a nipple, her toes curling as she's about to climax.

"It's a little strange," she said. "I mean, you definitely don't tell all your friends about it. Or your parents. But it's mostly my brother's friend instead of my brother. He even has a steady girlfriend and he hasn't told her about me."

I was still silent. Carmen was one weird chick. To think what I had not known this about her just 20 minutes ago. But she was fascinating. I knew I would stay here and keep listening to her until she kicked me out.

She regarded me clinically, hands on hips. "You still don't believe me."

"Actually, it's strange enough to be true," I said, and regretted it. It seemed weaselly, like I was trying to cover both sides of the argument.

"Here," she said, skimming through the pages, stopping at one she liked. "You can be this guy, and I'll be Druuna." Druuna was dressed in a red thong, sidled up against a wall, trying to hide and listen for pursuers. "I don't have the right thong, but I'll do what I can."

"Right now?" I could hardly believe this.

"Of course." Carmen took off her sweat pants, revealing those lovely legs again. Her skimpy green thong was slightly sheer, showing off her trimmed bush. But I forgot about that for awhile when she pulled off her sweatshirt.

It was criminal what that baggy sweatshirt had been hiding from the world. She wasn't wearing a bra; perhaps she never had been. Her breasts were amazing, C to D cups, large without being ridiculous like Dolly Parton or something. Standing there in nothing but her green thong, she made a great live-action Druuna. This would be the winning costume in a Halloween contest (well, OK, just for the skin it showed.)

"You're beautiful," I said. "Just like the real thing."

"I am the real thing," she laughed. "Druuna's just a cartoon."

I was tongue-tied for a second, still staring at her breasts.

"Even though, I don't have her hair, and I don't quite have her boobs either," she said. "But it seems to be close enough for the guys."

She had a point, though I disagreed that she lacked anything substantial compared to Serpieri's heroine. Sure, her hair was straighter than Druuna's impossibly wavy mane. Her breasts weren't quite as big or buoyant, and her hips weren't as wide. But she was right: she was the real thing, better than any cartoon.

"Nothing wrong with you at all," I insisted.

"You're so sweet," she said. "Now, back in character. You come over and find me." She walked into the back corner of the room and posed, looking vigilant and frightened.

I hesitantly walked closer. Looking at her in costume was fine, actually it was great, but what would my involvement be?

"No, Ken, you're my lover," Carmen/Druuna said. "You thought I was dead. There's a lot of passion here. Now get over here and kiss me."

"I'm sorry, I gotta ask. How old are you?"

"Twenty. Don't worry."

"That's a relief. Anyway, I just turned 30."

"At this point, I could be 13 and too many guys wouldn't even care."

Here goes nothing, I thought. I quickly strode up, put my arms around her and gave her a quick kiss. "Don't worry," she said, and clung to me, locking her lips on mine. She had a lot more experience with this sort of playacting and was much better about getting into character. If she was in Druuna's head now, in the girl's body, I still felt a little awkward, not knowing what exactly my part was. For a moment.

Having her nearly naked body squeezed against mine changed my mind. Forget the play. She might be making out with Druuna's lover. I was making out with Carmen, and enjoying every second.

"You're hungry for my body," she said. "Take it." I fondled her breasts hesitantly at first, still wondering if metaphorical midnight would strike, she would push me away, and I'd have to find another library. But she was absolutely into this.

"The next panel," she said, "you take off my thong. Go ahead."

I peeled it all the way down. Her pussy glistened.

I tasted each breast, nibbling, caressing the nipple with my tongue, as one hand caressed her curvaceous ass and another explored the moist slit between her legs. My feeling of awe, of almost disbelief at the situation, was fading away. She had her hand between my legs, cradling my dick straining against the inside of my jeans.

"Ready for the next panel?" she said. I didn't know what was coming up, but I had a pretty good guess.

She unbuttoned my jeans and pulled everything down to my knees; then leaned back against the wall, legs slightly spread, arms up. She didn't close her eyes, or lick her lips, or have this slack open-mouthed expression that was supposed to signify passion. She looked directly at me, with a huge smile. Come and get me.

I didn't need a comic book to show me what to do next. I shuffled forward, pants around my ankles, crouched down a bit to get the angle right, and held her shoulders as I plunged in.

She was wet, but still really tight, so we had to go slowly the first few strokes. But after that it was deliciously smooth, in and out. She nibbled on my lips and licked my chin, and I freed a hand to caress her left breast, because I just adored the pair she had. Seeing her topless for the first time was almost more enticing than when I stripped her thong, leaving her naked.

"We should be quiet," she whispered. "The room's not soundproof."

"I'll cover your mouth with mine," I said.

I was nearly ready to come, and it seemed like she was also close, when she suddenly stopped moving, and put a hand to my chest to stop me. We froze literally mid-thrust, with my dick halfway inside.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

She put a finger to her lips. And then I heard it: someone had unlocked the door and was opening it.

Luckily we were in the back of the room, behind a stack of boxes, and probably couldn't be seen from the doorway. She'd be in more trouble than I would if we were caught.

"Carmen?" a male voice asked. "You in here?"

They were looking for her! "Shit," she whispered, almost silent, making me lip-read. "Don't. Move."

"Lights are on," a female voice said. So there were at least two people.

"Are these her clothes?" the man said.

That was one mistake we made: Carmen had tossed her sweats, top and pants, onto a table.

"Looks like it," the woman said. "Was she changing in here?"

"Who knows."

My legs were getting cramped from my half-crouch position; I couldn't stay motionless forever. I straightened up a bit, which forced my dick the rest of the way in. Her eyes went really wide, as if aghast at how presumptuous I was being. Like she was minding her own business, and then this guy ripped off all her clothes, and now look what he was doing.

"Should we take them to lost and found?" the woman said. "Maybe she just forgot them."

"Where would she be, then? We've looked everywhere."

Carmen's vaginal muscles contracted really tightly when I pushed in, and it just felt awesome. So much that it was really the wrong thing to do, but I slowly moved out and in again. She shook her head, frantic.

I knew it wasn't really fair to her at all, taking advantage like this. It sounded like they were going to take her clothes; even if they didn't discover her here, how would she sneak out wearing only a thong? And if she did get caught here, completely naked, having sex...

Another person, judging from the voices, poked her head in the room. "What's going on?"

"Looking for Carmen, her mother's on the phone," said the first woman.

I thrust out and in again, noiselessly. Carmen's eyes were a plea to stop.

"Is she on break?"

"No."

I continued thrusting slowly. Carmen closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, breathing heavily but trying to conceal the sound. All we could do is hope they wouldn't make a search of the room and would leave soon. But I didn't want to stop. My dick was so hard it felt like it was going to snap off.

The three of them were discussing Carmen's clothes when I resumed caressing her breasts and finger-painting smaller and smaller circles around her nipples. She started shuddering, and kept her teeth clenched, as if trying not to scream. One final thrust, and a tweak of both engorged nipples, and she came. That was more than enough for me and I shot too.


Meeting Carmen Ch. 01



"Let's go," one of the women said. I guess they didn't hear us. The door shut.

After counting to ten, I pulled out of Carmen, yanked my pants back up and peeked around the stack of boxes. "They're gone. And your clothes are still here."

"Thank God." She was slumped against the wall, head leaning forward, hair cascading over.

I fetched her sweats and she quickly put everything back on.

"You're OK?"

She smiled. "More than I bargained for. You could have got me fired!"

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I joked.

"I'm serious. You took a big chance."

"You didn't have fun?"

"You know I did," she accused.

"Well, I'd like to see you again, but a better idea would be outside the library."

"How about this weekend, we could go do something."

"How about Saturday, during the day," I suggested. This was Memorial Day weekend. "It's supposed to be about 75 all weekend. We could do something outside."

"There's a big crafts fair in Capital City."

"Sounds good. When and where should I pick you up?"

She shook her head. "I still live at home. No offense, but my parents would freak if some 30-year-old guy was picking me up. So I'll meet you at your place."

"Okay. What'll you tell them?"

"Oh, out with friends shopping or something. So how about... 10 am?"

"Perfect." I grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote down my address.

It was only a matter of time before the people looking for Carmen might check our room again. She poked her head out, saw everything was clear, and turned left toward the stacks, while I turned right toward the bathrooms. I didn't see her again until Saturday.

(Story will continue)



Meeting Carmen Ch. 02



(The story so far: Three days ago, I rescued Carmen, a cute 20-year-old library staffer, from a potentially embarrassing situation between the stacks when her sweatpants slipped down. We had only been nodding acquaintances before, but this really broke the ice. She led me into an unused side room where we talked more. I found out that this outwardly shy girl had some kinky tendencies in the comfort of her own home. In the locked room, we eventually made out and had sex. (Almost got caught in the act, too.) We made plans to meet this weekend.)

*

At 7 in the morning on the Saturday before Memorial Day, it was already obvious this would be a beautiful day. I hadn't felt this sort of warmth in the air since last August. In about three hours Carmen would show up, and then we'd head over to Capital City to browse around the crafts fair. Then hopefully back to my place, and a longer session of sex without the danger of being walked in on. Owning my own townhouse had its advantages.

She arrived at 9:55, about five minutes early, so I was still upstairs when the doorbell rang. My townhouse had a strange up-and-down layout, so that more units could be packed into our complex; so at a landing halfway down the stairs, I could actually look down through a small window to see who was at the front door. Side view, from above, a little bit from behind.

What I saw as I turned the corner stopped me in my tracks.

Carmen was wearing sweatpants again, just like at the library; today's set was light gray and loose, hanging really low at her hips. Whatever undies she wore (usually a colorful thong) couldn't be more than an inch from poking out.

Instead of a matching sweatshirt or jacket, she had a white cotton top, like a thin T-shirt, with a scoop neck. I craned my own neck to get a better look. She's pretty well endowed, and the top showed a good amount of cleavage. Even better, it was obvious she wore no bra.

I bounded down the stairs and opened the door. She looked even better from the front. If she had dressed like this at the library, top clinging to her curves, nipples prominent under the light fabric, she'd be out of a job now.

"You look stunning," I said.

She smirked. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Yes, yes," I said, ushering her inside and shutting the door. "I don't think I've seen the gray sweats before."

She glanced down at them. "I can't really wear these ones to the library. They're so loose... all the bending and stretching I do at work, you'd have to follow me around all day, pulling them back up."

"I don't think I'd mind that," I said.

"Whatever we do today, besides the craft show, I'm not dressed for something formal," she said. "This is totally about comfort."

"Funny how you look just absolutely hot in your 'comfort' wear," I said.

On the drive to Capital City, about 30 miles, I wished I owned a convertible. The air was now balmy, almost tropical. The entire day was open, and I had a gorgeous girl, in a skimpy top no less, in the passenger seat.

We had to park a few blocks away from the craft fair. Several downtown streets were closed off so that dozens of artists, food sellers and entertainers could set up their booths. We heard a reggae band in the distance and could smell barbecued meat -- vendors getting ready for lunch.

It was obvious the warm weather had brought every hot girl in the state out of hiding, dressed in her most flattering, revealing summer wear. Most of them left their bras, long pants, and full-length anythings at home. Several times Carmen elbowed me in the ribs and whispered mock outrage at the "slutty things youngsters were wearing these days." (She was more modest than the others in one respect: she practically the only girl in long pants.)

Some examples of the women I saw in the first ten minutes:

A blonde coed in pink hotpants and matching clingy top, with no bra. She had the cheerleader look, and her tall, handsome boyfriend (star quarterback, maybe) completed the picture. She was just breathtaking. She wore a permanent "you're not in my league" simper, and I think she enjoyed men staring at her perfect breasts, nipples poking the pink top, as that made her all the more unattainable.

A woman of about 30 years, with long brown hair, pushing her infant in a stroller. Passing women cooed at the cute baby while their guys were more interested in the mother, dressed in a miniskirt and tube top.

Another woman wore a yellow bikini top sheer enough even when dry to show her areolae and nipples, and cutoff denims skimpier than any miniskirt. A good proportion of her firm buns were visible below the frayed, faded denim; and to further stir up men's imaginations, she left the top button of her cutoffs open. Certainly she wore nothing underneath, tolerating the rough denim against her bare skin. If I had been lucky enough to see her bend over far enough, I might have glimpsed bare pussy lips. But I never got the chance.

Another girl, even younger than Carmen, wore only a pink bikini, very tight, showing nipples and the "camel toe" of probably a shaved pussy. The material was so thin it might have been underwear rather than swimwear. Almost nothing was left to the imagination, and she looked very vulnerable. She was probably lucky to have her three girlfriends in the pack for protection.

Okay, one last example. A blonde girl, in a skirt with side slits all the way up, revealing a lot of the curve of her butt as she walked; and a tank top with very loose arm holes, providing a clear view of her braless breasts if she bent forward. Carmen gave me a dirty look for staring at this girl too long.

Among all this pulchritude Carmen, beautiful as she was, as revealing as her top was, didn't stand out that much. That was probably just as well. I could sense a little wariness in her posture at times; to go braless in public probably took a lot of nerve. Same for the loose sweatpants. Even though she had shown off to me and a few people her age, it had always been in private, in the basement or in a storage room. From what I could tell by her library attire, she preferred to be well-covered in public.

She still got her share of admiration from the guys, especially when bending forward for a closer look at the crafts for sale. This provided rewarding views from several angles. She asked me if I noticed any guys checking her out. I told her that this was happening all the time.

She was tempting fate with those loose sweatpants and they eventually did fall. The first time, I happened to be walking behind her; and her butt was coincidentally where my gaze was focused anyway. I caught the sweats quickly and pulled them up, so she ended up flashing for only a fraction of a second. Long enough to see that she wore no panties or thong at all.

"Good catch, Ken," she said.

"You're even braver than I thought," I said, lowering my voice. "Wearing nothing at all underneath?"

"That's why I wanted to go someplace we wouldn't see anyone I know."

"Still a lot of people."

"I know," she said, her eyes bright, like they were Tuesday when she was describing her erotic playacting of "Druuna" scenes. "I'm always thinking about it. Half afraid I'll expose myself and half hoping it'll happen."

"I'm 100% for the second option," I said, patting her butt.

"Careful!" she said.

I walked in back for a while, enjoying the view, and making sure her waistband didn't sink any lower. One time I thought it was too low and gently pulled it up, but she admonished me. I was not to touch her sweats unless they actually fell down.

OK, then. I looked forward to another flash of her bare butt.

When we reached the end of one block, she took me in her arms and gave me a big wet kiss. "This whole thing is such a turn-on," she said, still hugging me tight. "It's so dangerous. I'm really tempted to just run back to the car and make out in the back seat."

"I'm not the guy to dissuade you there." Just having her in my arms, her body against mine, her beautiful face so close to mine, was making my cock stir. She looked in my eyes and suddenly I didn't care about anything else at all, and we started making out right there at the street corner, people filing around us.

"I think we're making a scene," she said, swaying against me. "I-"

She let out a small shriek. "They're down, they fell!" She gripped me tight, as if I was saving her from drowning. It was the same panic response she'd shown in the library storage room, when we were almost caught. We stood there for a moment, her anxious and me unable to do much with her clinging to me.

I reached down, felt her bare bottom, and looked over her shoulder. It was true. Her movement must have wriggled her sweats loose. She was naked from the waist down.

"I'll let you go, just pick them up," I said.

"Are you kidding? I can't bend over like this! And I don't want people seeing in front either!"

"Okay, let go and I'll drop down." I guess she had a point: but the more we debated this the longer she would stay exposed. Already guys were pointing her way, nudging their friends and grinning.

I squatted down and took just the quickest moment to marvel at her lovely legs. Her pubic area I took a little longer to gaze at; her black bush and her slit that I swear looked already moist. I briefly thought that if I started licking her, she'd change her mind about getting her pants back on, never mind the crowds.

"Come on!" she cried, and I yanked her sweats up. It was like a curtain closing on an act I wanted to continue. I glanced around; we had a bit of an audience, even if they tried to avoid eye contact with me.

"We'd better scoot," I said, and took her hand. I didn't want the onlookers following us around all day. "You okay?" We walked briskly across to another aisle of booths, trying to lose ourselves in the crowd.

"I'll be okay. I just have never felt that petrified before," she said, her voice shaky. "I don't know why I didn't expect it to be like that. What I was thinking. Pretty stupid." She was folding her arms over her breasts, something she hadn't done all day. Not to keep warm, but to conceal what her shirt showed off.

"Should I take you home, and you can change clothes?"

"Yeah, we should probably head back," she said. "I wish I didn't have to worry about these sweatpants anymore."

"Can't you do the drawstring tighter?"

"I took it out," she said sheepishly. "Looser and more comfy that way."

"I'll keep a close watch," I said, placing my hand at her hip. Tempting as it was to slip my hand under her waistband and feel nothing but bare skin underneath.

We didn't head directly to the car. Enough interesting booths were around that we settled back into browsing. Framed watercolors, wooden toys, homemade salsas, all kinds of stuff. My attention was mainly on Carmen. After a while she was more at ease, no longer shivering, and had dropped her arms to her sides.

"It's so weird," she whispered to me as we admired a bronze statuary. "I was totally scared out of my wits back there, but it was also really hot. Especially when you waited to pull my sweats up and I knew you were looking at me. Every second that went by, where I knew everyone could see me, it was like more... I don't know. Part of me wanted you to take even more time."

"I think you're definitely a thrill-seeker."

"I've gotta be the most chicken thrill-seeker there is! Everytime I ride a roller-coaster, all the time I'm in line or even when we're going up the incline, I'm fighting off a panic attack. I think, no way will I ever do this again. But after the ride is done, I'm like, 'who's ready to ride it again?'"

"Would you let your pants drop again?"

"Not for a while. But yes, I'm already thinking about when will it happen again."

I could hardly believe my good luck. A gorgeous, enthusiastic girl like Carmen, and on top of that a budding exhibitionist. Right now my dick was in heaven and writing postcards.

I took a look around, scoping the crowd. It didn't seem like anyone who had seen her bottomless episode had followed us closely. She was getting the usual attention, but no more. Her accidental exposure wouldn't have any long-lasting consequences.

At the end of our aisle was a collection of bohemian clothing that caught Carmen's eye, and she tugged my arm. Running the booth was a younger guy, probably Carmen's age; he was obviously as attracted to her as she was to the clothes. To him, the two or three other women shopping might as well have blinked out of existence.

"Hi, can I help you find something?" the seller said. He was reasonably handsome, with the callow enthusiasm and brashness of a freshman rushing a frat.

"I don't know," Carmen said, scanning the selection. Racks lined the edges of the booth and a central divider right behind the seller. Skirts and tops were splashed with earth tones and some tie dyes. "What do you think I would look good in?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, you'd look good in anything. I don't know if our clothing would make much of a difference."

Carmen looked at me, almost laughing, and I said to him, "Aren't you one smooth-talking dude."

He faced me and put his palms up, conciliatory. "Didn't mean to be a jerk about it. You just have good taste in women."

So he was a little smarter than he looked. "That's cool," I said. "Thanks."

He turned to her. "As for what would look best... one of the darker skirts, I think. Goes well with your skin tone and hair color."

We introduced ourselves. His name was Stu. (I'm Ken.)

Carmen explored a bit and found a couple skirts that looked interesting. "You wanna get those?" I asked. She had left her purse at my house.

She thought this over for a minute, and I waited for an answer. Instead, she asked Stu, "Is there any place I can try these on?" in as guileless a manner as she could muster.

Of course there wasn't; these were 12-foot open-air booths, collapsible canopies on stilts. No fitting rooms. Stu furrowed his brow, obviously wanting to accommodate her. "The best place is probably on the other side of this rack," he said, pointing behind him. "In the back corner you're pretty much hidden in three directions by hanging clothes. If Ken stands guard, you might have enough privacy there."

We went around back. Stu was right -- hanging clothes mostly obstructed the view from anywhere outside the booth -- but not all the way to the ground. Instead, there was a gap of about two or three feet, like a dressing room with curtains that didn't hang down far enough. Anyone happening to look our direction would get a decent view of Carmen's legs, to at least mid-thigh. Certainly something that would pique a man's interest. If he was really perverted and dropped to the ground, peering up, that view would be really indecent.

She looked at the gap and seemed hesitant at first, but convinced herself it would be OK. I stood in front, quite close to her, forming the fourth wall.

"Let's do the long skirt first." She pushed her sweats down, stepped out of them and bent over quickly from the waist to grab them. Stooping down would have meant flashing her bare bottom to those outside. Even so, I was surprised at how erotic the situation was. She was bottomless, nearly naked, not far from a whole lot of people.

She shimmied into the skirt, back to some degree of decency. She checked herself out and frowned.

"You don't like it?" I said. I wasn't a fan either; the skirt was a dowdy, homely brown. But Stu was right: Carmen looked beautiful in anything.

"It's not that... I just would never wear it with this top. So I can't tell."

"I could get you another top," I said, but she waved me off. Instead, she pulled off her own top and handed it to me. This ensemble was more than fine with me. Large, shapely bare breasts go with just about anything.

"Cute", I said, giving one breast a light squeeze.

"Stop that!" she said, slapping my hand. "If you get me excited, we'll be in real trouble."

She turned around, checking herself out from several angles. "I wish there was a mirror here." I enjoyed the view as she dithered a bit more, and eventually decided against the skirt.

She didn't ask for her top back; instead, she took off the skirt and now stood there naked. The close quarters provided enough privacy that she felt well at ease, as far as I could tell. Still, the situation was very hot, and she was nearly irresistible. I folded my hands behind my back, which seemed to help.

I guess I stared at her too long; she put her hands on her hips and said, "Were you planning to give me the other skirt?" I guess I have a weakness for naked women showing some attitude, because she looked hotter than ever.

"Sorry," I said, and handed her the mini.

It slipped out of her fingers, and I wonder if that was deliberate. It landed at her feet. To pick it up, she didn't bend from the waist this time, but instead squatted down. She peeked outside, now well underneath the hanging clothes that served for walls, and froze there. For a second, maybe two, she stayed bent over, on her tiptoes, leaning forward, her breasts nearly touching her thighs, down toward the knees; and then she shot up straight, like a jack-in-the-box, holding the skirt.

"Whoops," she said, looking nervous, breathing heavily. "I think about 50 people saw me naked."

"Fifty-one," I joked. "And this one wants to take you home."

"I've never been so exposed," she said. "I'm hot already."

It showed. There seemed to be a slight flush in her face, and her nipples were hard. "Here, feel me," she whispered, and took my hand between her legs. "Feel how wet I am?"

"It feels awesome," I said, reaching out to caress her breast.

At this she froze, probably realizing she was close to getting into trouble. "We have to stop," she said, giggling. "You can wait. Be patient."

She put on the skirt, unfortunately hiding her lovely bush once again. But this skirt was nothing like the matronly knee-length brown one she had rejected. It was a black micro-mini, just long enough to cover her butt. About as long as my outstretched hand, little finger to thumb. I know because I checked.

"I think this violates some city ordinance," she joked. It wasn't the kind of skirt in which she could sit down. Or bend over. Or any number of reasonable-sounding activities. She turned around slowly, showing me a 360-degree view. It occurred to me that going topless with the skirt was a great idea. Showing off up top, while the skirt always threatened to reveal what was below. Some sort of balance.

"Find anything you like?" said Stu, from behind the rack of clothes. At least he didn't push them aside and poke his head through.

"Maybe," Carmen said.

"Why not show him?" I whispered.

Her eyes sparkled. She thought about this for a long time, and nodded. With one arm, she covered both breasts as well as she could and slowly backed around the corner toward Stu. I hopped around her to the front, to get a good view of both Carmen and his reaction.

She kept her back turned to him, peeking over her shoulder. "How do you think it looks?"

He looked stunned, but still brazenly looked her up and down, seeing her bare legs for the first time, and bare back, separated by a small band of material. As a bonus, he probably got a partial side view of her right breast, depending on the angle, as it was only covered in front by her fingertips.

"It looks fabulous," Stu said. "Do you plan to wear it just like that?"

Wise guy, huh.

"A lot of the parties I go to, I might not walk in like this, but it's usually not that long before I leave my top somewhere," she said, and I had an idea this was made up, but both Stu and I were eating it up.

"There is one problem," she said, frowning. "The material really itches." She pretended to scratch her bottom, in the process lifting the skirt to reveal the lower halves of her cheeks. "I don't know how long I could stand to keep it on." It was obvious to both Stu and I that she wore nothing underneath.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 02



"I guess it depends on the party," Stu said. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

"Yeah," she said. "Some places it's cool to just have everything off. Others it doesn't matter, because guys are always reaching underneath anyway. But some parties, if you're completely naked, you're just prey. It's kind of scary."

She scratched again, raising the skirt to flash most of her bottom, and we were speechless.

She let it drop, and shook her head. "Sorry, Stu; I didn't see anything I liked today. Will you have anything new tomorrow?"

"Sure will," Stu said. "I'll be here Monday also."

"Let's go get changed," she said, and returned to the back corner.

She stripped off the skirt, and this time I couldn't resist her, taking her in my arms and kissing her. She was fine with this and we made out for as long as we dared.

"Nice party story," I whispered. "Do those sorts of things really happen?"

"No," she laughed. "All for his benefit."

"You've probably given him jerk-off material for a month."

"Not to mention everyone who's peeked under, seen my bare legs, and is wondering what's going on."

"Ready to head home?"

"If we can't finish up right here, I suppose we must," she said. She got back into her sweatpants and top. We walked out and thanked Stu, who almost begged us to come back tomorrow. However, we later agreed that we didn't want to do the craft fair two days in a row.

At home we fooled around, had sex, watched a DVD, didn't finish it, sent out for dinner, etc. All great fun, but not as interesting to the reader as what happened earlier in the day.

At 10 pm she had to head home. As for the Sunday, her day was clear, and I begged out of a casual friends' BBQ picnic. There would be about 40 people there. I wouldn't be that sorely missed.

I walked her to her car. "See you in 12 hours," I said as she stepped in. "I wish you could stay."

"I do, too," she said. "But I'll be back before you know it."

Another kiss, and she drove off.

(Story will continue; at least 3 more chapters) 



Meeting Carmen Ch. 03



We had an excellent time yesterday, a sunny Saturday with many, many cute women wearing revealing clothing, Carmen most of all. To my delight, she looked forward to doing the same sort of thing today. Not a complete rerun of yesterday, not the craft fair all over again; but still meet in the morning, spend the day outdoors, and head back to my house for some fooling around.

At 9:45, I set up camp on the landing of my stairway, that perfect spot where I can gaze through the small window to see who's at the door before she even knocks. I'll agree that's a little voyeuristic, but then Carmen proved to be an eager supplier for that sort of demand. Anyway, I wanted a glimpse of her as soon as she arrived.

At about five minutes to 10, she walked up to the door, but didn't ring right away. She wore a cute pink outfit, her trademark sweatpants riding low on the hip, and a skimpy top, showing her midriff. She wore no bra. Very similar getup to yesterday's, but I didn't mind at all.

I was thinking how lucky I was to be with a girl who considered this to be casual wear, and anticipating seeing her loose sweats give in to gravity again, when she raised the stakes. She glanced behind her, hooked her thumbs in the waistband, and pushed her sweats down. She wore nothing underneath. Only afterward did she ring the doorbell.

That took bravery on her part. She was the kind of girl who would attract attention fully clothed. Now she stood bare-assed on my front step, which faced a public street.

I must have been staring at her awhile. She rang again, rousing me out of my reverie, and I came downstairs. I opened the door and feigned surprise at her half-naked state. "Uh, what's going on?"

"About time!" she said. "I was standing out here in the open like this!"

"But how..." I said, looking down.

"Oh. They slipped off after I rang," she explained. "I thought you'd be here in a few seconds anyway."

I didn't mind that she was fibbing to justify her dare; I thought it was even charming. I was also keeping a secret, and to point out hers would have meant revealing mine.

"Aren't you going to offer any sort of help?" She was acting distressed about the situation, but her smile was a giveaway. 

"Sure, I'll help," I said, and reached toward her chest.

She grabbed my forearms, laughing. "That is not helping!"

"Sorry." I pulled up her sweats without any further mischief. I scanned the street to see if anyone was watching; I didn't see anyone. That didn't guarantee no one saw her.

I took her inside. Her hair was a little damp, with the scent of shampoo; her skin, dry, warm and clean. When you have a gorgeous woman in your arms, you know what a turn-on these ordinary sensations can become.

"I changed my mind about going out today," I said. "Let's get these clothes off you and just stay in."

"You never want to wait," she scolded. "It'll be much more fun if you wait. I promise."

We drove back to Capital City, this time planning to visit Hillside Park. There was a river walk, flower garden, and scenic overlooks; great for a sunny afternoon. We had lunch at a bistro across the river from the park.

Afterward, I ran into Gary, a friend from a few years back. I hadn't seen him since New Year's. He was hand in hand with a woman I didn't know; their body language cried out "brand new couple."

Gary had done quite well for himself. His new woman, Lynn, was small, about five-three, Chinese, with very light skin, and an incredibly cute face. She wore petite red satin shorts, and a matching collarless short-sleeve shirt. She had a shapely yet modest pair of breasts, but to my dismay she wore a bra. (I knew Carmen's wardrobe was spoiling me, but I still felt cheated.) She also wore a red OU baseball cap, with her long ponytail pouring out the back. I love that cute tomboy look.

Her voice was lower than I expected. Not a James Earl Jones bass, of course, but the smooth, reserved, precise tones of a documentary narrator.

Lynn seemed a little aloof at first, particularly when she raised an eyebrow at Carmen's attire. I tried to figure out why. Disdainful of Gary's choice of friends? Culturally conservative? Or maybe jealous of another woman who might attract Gary's wandering eye?

Gary and Lynn had no big plans for the day, so they joined us. Within a few minutes I saw my fears about Lynn were unfounded. She warmed up to us quickly, and had an appealing, offbeat sense of humor.

We sat around a small table at an organic juice bar, sipping our drinks. Gary and I got caught up on his new job, and then I popped the big question: "So how did you two meet?"

Gary chuckled. "I'll let Lynn take this one."

Lynn took a moment to compose herself, as if preparing for a piano recital.

"I was at Borders when I noticed this guy at the magazine rack. He was kind of cute, in a goofy sort of way. I was curious to see what he was reading, so I came over to take a look. I was kind of shocked at what I saw."

"Better Homes and Gardens?" I joked.

"No," she said, grinning. "Any other guesses?"

Carmen shrugged.

Lyn said: "Playboy's Exotic Asians."

Carmen laughed and I groaned. "Aw, bad timing, Gary."

Gary shrugged, sheepish. It looked like he had sat through this story a few times.

Lynn said, "He picks it up, puts it underneath his stack of other books, and sneaks off to another section. And I'm so dismayed by this that I follow him. I go up to him and say point blank, 'What's that magazine you have?'"

"Busted," I said, chuckling.

"I was expecting," Lynn said, "that he'd be all defensive, or pretend he got it by accident, that sort of thing. I wanted to give him a hard time and watch him slink away with his tail between his legs. Instead, he's got this guilty look, but otherwise he's just totally honest about it."

"Well, he could have bought it for the articles," I ventured.

"There are no articles," she said. "Just pictures. Naked chicks, cover to cover. So much for that excuse."

"What did you say after that?"

"I was still pissed off. I mean, page after page of naked 'exotic' Asian women, how am I supposed to feel? The other stereotypes are bad enough. But having people who look like me, all submissive, with their clothes off, just pisses me off."

"I see your point," I said. "But how, after all that, did you end up together? Did he just start hitting on you?"

She smirked. "Worse. I guess I was charmed by his honesty or something, because instead of making him crawl away I said, 'Why don't you put that thing back on the shelf and meet me in the cafe.' And he did."

That was just like Gary. Always getting up shit creek but at the last second finding a paddle.

"So he buys me a coffee and we sit down, and I grill him some more. Do you have a girlfriend? Do you have an Asian fetish? And so on."

"And I'm looking a little wistfully back at the magazine rack," Gary joked.

Lynn shot him a cross look. It lasted only a second, and she smiled afterward, but I hoped she'd never send her evil eye my way.

"So what were your answers?" I said.

Gary said, "No, no girlfriend; broke up two months back. And no, no yellow fever. I like all hot women. I don't discriminate."

"More of this disarming candor and I stop the interrogation," Lynn said. "So we're just talking about all sorts of things, and all of a sudden it's six o'clock. I say I'd better get going, nice to meet you, blah blah blah. And then he asks me out. And I'm surprised to hear myself answering yes."

"That's so romantic!" said Carmen.

"Really?" said Gary.

"Of course. All the classic movies start out with the man and woman not liking each other. Philadelphia Story, Pride and Prejudice..."

"That's a good point," said Lynn. "I never thought of it that way."

"How was the first date?" I said.

"Gary was pretty smart about it. He called his friend Rick, who was on the second date with his own girlfriend Stacey, and set up a double date at the comedy club. We have a few drinks, we're laughing, and we don't have to sit across from each other and make small talk. By the time we do have dinner everybody's warmed up and we have a good time. That ends at about 10, and Gary invites us all back to his hot tub."

"Just like 'Blind Date'," Carmen laughed.

"If it was just Gary, on the first date, I would have never gone," Lynn said. "But with another couple, it seemed OK. Gary took me back to my place to pick up a swimsuit. By that time I'm feeling brave enough to take something a little daring. Back at his house, when everyone else is already in the tub, I change inside and walk out in this skimpy little black bikini. Both guys' jaws basically dislocate and just hang there."

"You'd have to see it to believe it," Gary said.

"I'm not like those big boobs centerfolds in those magazine Gary is so fond of," she said, passing him a stern look, "but I look pretty good in the right suit. And that black one just does everything right.

"So we hang out for another hour or so, drinking wine and relaxing. We're all feeling good, but no naughty stuff. You can kind of tell that Rick and Stacey are going to spend the night together. At about midnight, we all dry off, and they say goodbye. Three nights later, I go out with Gary again, and... now, we're an item."

"Good for you," I said. "I'm glad you guys hit it off."

Gary said, "Lynn, aren't you going to tell Part Two?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. No."

"What's Part Two?" said Carmen.

"It's kind of personal." Now Lynn was looking a little embarrassed.

"Come on, we're all adults," Gary said. "They're good friends. Afterward, they can tell us their story."

Lynn relented. "Okay. Um, 'Part Two' starts when Rick and Stacey are saying goodbye. I don't feel like leaving yet, so I ask Gary if we can stay a little longer in the tub. We've all had some wine, and I'm feeling pretty good."

She paused and looked at each of us, but she easily had our rapt attention. Part Two was looking pretty promising.

"He climbs back in the tub, and I'm about to. I'm standing there on the rim, he's looking up at me, and I can tell he really likes what he sees. Then I convince myself, and gather up the nerve, to take off my top. For a while, I'm just standing there, with him staring at me. Staring at my, you know, boobs. I'm feeling a little lightheaded, nervous, but still excited."

I confess I've had a very vivid image of this scene in my mind, well after the telling. If only I had been there...

"I finally," she continued, "gather up the courage to climb in with him. Then one thing leads to another, two plus two is four, etc. etc."

"That takes guts," I said. "Especially for a guy you just met. Especially that guy."

She laughed. "Well, in one way it was a sure thing. I'm Asian, I was topless; I knew that was his thing."

"You may want to end the story there," Gary said.

"Yes, long story short -- there is no Part Three -- we spent the night."

"A cute story!" Carmen said. "I like it."

"Thanks," Lynn said. "So how did you two meet?"

I let Carmen handle that one. She recounted everything that happened in the stacks, up to and including my pulling her sweatpants back up. She left out the Druuna playacting, both with me and with her brother. For good reason. But she did include almost getting caught in the library storage room: we had sex on our first date, too. She might not have said so if Lynn had not already admitted the same thing.

"Our stories have a lot in common," Lynn said.

"You're right, come to think of it," said Carmen. "Both guys with an interest in the, uh, naked female form; both of us sort of catch them at it; and then both of us following a hunch and doing something really daring."

"You took a bigger chance than I did. I can't imagine how frightened I'd be. Naked, having sex with your guy, hiding in the corner while people are trying to decide if they should take your clothes away? That's extreme."

"Yeah, there was more risk of being seen. But taking off your top and climbing into a spa with a guy you met that day -- that takes guts too."

"Glad things didn't get out of hand!"

There was a lull in the conversation for a bit, Lynn looking pensive, until she faced Carmen as if conducting a TV interview. "Are you doing a dare right now?"

"Oh, what I'm wearing?" Carmen said. "Yeah. Two, I guess. One is go without a bra; and the other is these loose sweatpants."

"See how low you can let them go?"

"Sometimes they fall all the way off. And I don't have anything on underneath."

"No way!" Gary exclaimed.

"Easy there, honey," Lynn said, palm toward Gary. To Carmen: "You're not kidding? No undergarments of any kind?"

"No, I'm not." Carmen hopped off her stool, stood in front of Lynn. "Here's proof." She pulled out her waistband just enough to show Lynn.

Lynn's eyebrows perked up. "You are braver than I am."

Gary said, "I need to verify this too. With my own eyes."

Lynn picked up her glass, which had some melting cubes and very diluted juice. "Gary, I think you need cooling down."

She was half joking, though. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

We finished our drinks and walked toward the park. Gary was sneaking peeks at Carmen's chest, irritating Lynn, but who could blame him. The top clung to her breasts, outlining every curve, its V-neck showing a few inches of cleavage. Slight shadows suggested her dark areolae through the pink material, and the telltale bumps of her nipples implied that Carmen was a little excited about showing off like this.

I think Lynn was determined to hold her tongue, and not get riled up by his gawking. She certainly seemed to enjoy Carmen's company, and soon they were chatting about mutual interests, leaving the guys to themselves.

Hillside Park overlooks the city, and perched on one hill is a botanical garden, free to the public and supported by donations. It was one of those places none of us had visited, even after living here for years.

We let the girls walk ahead as we ascended the wide path, one perk being the view we had.

From the back, Lynn was firm and compact, her butt just curvy enough to be feminine. I found myself comparing the shape and flow of her slender legs to the proportions and lines I study when drawing a figure: the subtle curve of the calves, the way the muscles in the thigh blend and define its shape. If only I could see her in something more revealing, such as the maroon underwear/bikini the young woman was wearing the day before. More and more, I was finding myself quite taken with Lynn.

Not that I was any less appreciative of Carmen; I have plenty of lust to go around. All our walking had caused the waistline of her sweats to inch down even farther than I thought was possible while still staying on. She had a little bit of "plumber's butt" showing, though she'd be the sexiest plumber anyone had ever seen. Gary was also following this development like the final reel of a whodunit film.

Our patience was rewarded when friction gave way to gravity, and her sweats fell down. "Uh oh!" she cried, kneeling down to grab them, and the pulled them back up as she straightened.

Possibly Gary regretted walking behind Carmen at that point. He saw a flash of her bare bottom, very nice in itself, but Lynn got a glimpse of her dark bush. So did a young couple approaching us. The guy looked our way for while, as if waiting for instant replay, while his woman took his arm and glared straight ahead.

Lynn laughed. "I can't believe I just saw that."

"That's part of the dare," Carmen said. "It happened a couple times yesterday, too."

"You didn't say anything about yesterday," Lynn said. "So you did the same dare?"

"Yeah, a few people got a good look."

"I think you should increase the dare today."

Carmen arched an eyebrow. "I don't think I will. I'm new at this, but I think that changing it midway might get me into trouble. I'll work up my own dares, thanks."

"Well, this isn't really a new one. You could do the same dare, but... a little more daring."

"How would you do that?"

"Next time, let me pull them up instead of you. I'll do it whenever you say so. But you should try to postpone saying so as long as possible."

"No, sorry," Carmen said. "That's too much control in someone else's hands."

"That's the fun part. I mean, I'm not going to get you in trouble. I'm on your side. But in your mind, there'll be that lingering sense of doubt; that feeling of 'do you really trust her?'"

"Why would I do that?"

"It's like a roller coaster," Lynn said, by coincidence using the analogy Carmen did yesterday. "You know you'll get through the ride without even a scratch. But when you first get to the very top and look down, there's still that instinctive feeling you have about five seconds to live. That's the thrill."

Carmen thought this over. "Okay. But you have to do a dare too."

"That depends. What do you propose?"

"This one's simple. You are wearing panties, right?" said Carmen.

"At least someone is," Lynn joked, to which Carmen stuck out her tongue.

"Your dare," Carmen said, "is to take off your shorts and put them in my bag. You get them at the end of the day."

Lynn looked down, picturing herself in her panties. "I don't know."

"Come on, I've already shown a lot more than you will! It's just like wearing a bikini bottom. Lots of girls are doing that today!"

Meanwhile, the image came to my mind of the blonde, stacked girl we saw yesterday in the denim cutoffs and the sheer yellow bikini top. What was she doing today? Maybe wearing the matching bikini bottom as well, her bush and butt easily visible, tinted yellow? So many girls you see only once in passing, and would love to find again.

Lynn accepted the deal. "Okay. But I get to change in the bathroom."

"Okay," Carmen conceded. It was a deal.

We found a set of restrooms. The girls went inside while the guys waited. It gave us a chance to compare some notes.

"Carmen is a fox!" Gary said. "I can't believe you found somebody like that at the freaking library!"

"Don't sell yourself short," I said. "Lynn is really cute, too. You scored big time."

"They get along well. I guess we should take up tennis or something."

"I don't think either of us would mind mixed doubles," I said.

"Too bad they don't hate each other," he said. "Wouldn't mind seeing a knock-down, drag-out-"

We had to stop there because the girls came back out. This was apparently a magic bathroom. Lynn had transformed from attractive, refined girl to innocent-looking sex object. She looked hesitant about appearing in public like this, but reluctant to back down on her word.

Her panties were red (like everything in her wardrobe?) and small, just like bikini bottoms with spaghetti straps. An inch or two of skin was exposed between the waistband and the hem of her now-loose shirt. There was the slightest curve in her slim belly. Her legs looked long now, even at her height.

She had taken off her baseball cap and untied her ponytail. Glossy straight hair hung down to her shoulder blades.

Carmen explained that she had stepped up Lynn's dare, and taken her bra as well. Lynn's nipples made gumdrop-size bumps under her shirt.

"You feel okay, Lynn?" I asked.

"Really overexposed," she said. "Carmen says not to cross my arms or try to hide myself, but it's hard not to do that."

"I have some more dares for you two," Gary joked.

"No, Gary," they said in unison; and then joked about the effectiveness of stereo "No, Gary's" versus mono.

The garden wasn't crowded, but there were usually enough people around so that we knew the next "Carmen event" would have probably have an audience. However nervous she might have been, she didn't once touch her waistband, to hang onto it or lift it up.

Lynn at first did not at all appreciate the attention she was getting. I could see her stiffen up whenever someone passed, trying to act natural but wishing the person would just scoot by without looking. After a while she seemed to realize that it wasn't that dangerous, going braless and in bikini bottoms in public, but with three friends and in a progressive, tolerant area of the country. Nobody was going to throw holy water on her.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 03.5



(Author's note: At the midpoint of Chapter 3, after Lynn and Carmen's mutual dare spins out of control, Ken and Carmen sneak away while Lynn, still nude, directs her fury at Gary. Later, Carmen realizes she accidentally kept most of Lynn's clothes.

The original story leaves Lynn at that point. Somehow she makes it home and gets dressed again, but that was a story I hadn't planned to tell. Our first-person narrator, Ken, doesn't witness her journey, and can't report it. The narrative thread goes where he does.

However, many, many readers wanted to find out how Lynn got home. Whether it was prurient interest, or concern for her character, most didn't say. (With what I put my female characters through, who am I to judge, anyway?) I mulled this over, thinking about what perils might befall our attractive heroine. And this story was born.

We pick up the story after Carmen and Ken have left Lynn and Gary.)

* * *

I'm not going to cry, Lynn vowed, fists still clenched as her suddenly ex-boyfriend Gary slunk away. She stood her ground, watching him leave, making sure he wouldn't turn back. It had to be clear there was no chance to ingratiate himself with her and patch things up. What he had done was indefensible. Unfixable. Permanent.

She knew that keeping her composure was a lost cause: she had already created a public scene, standing here naked, screaming and swearing at Gary, beating him with her fists. The commotion had attracted about a dozen gawkers, appalled, aroused and captivated by the spectacle. Lynn had never even ventured out topless in public before. Now complete strangers were seeing everything, which was embarrassing enough. To be seen weeping in the middle of this would be intolerable.

Her first impression of Gary, back at the bookstore, had been right on target: he was a cad, a pervert. Worse than that, he had a fetish for women like her. He had been pawing through Playboy's Exotic Asians, after all. Page after page of those women, submissive or shy or sex-starved, wearing only half a swimsuit, or bits of underwear, or a see-through T-shirt... or, like Lynn now, nothing at all. How much more evidence did she need? How had she ever considered him charming? Why had she given him a second chance?

He wasn't getting a third. Good riddance. She wished him a lonely life, never dating again. She wished that every woman would see in advance what Lynn found out too late; pick up a disturbing scent, and subconsciously avoid him, without ever knowing why.

Gary took one last peek at her before rounding a corner. She gave him a basilisk's glare. It was wet with tears she was holding back, but it did the job. He turned and was gone.

Now to make as graceful an exit as possible, Lynn thought. She faced those staring at her, a few women, mostly men. "What are you staring at?" was her first thought, but she censored that before it could reach her lips. Too many facetious answers to that one. Something more direct came to mind.

"Shame on you all," she said, looking each person in the eye in turn. "This is none of your business. It's rude. Pathetic. Take a look at yourself." She had hoped the crowd would disperse, but human nature disappointed again. Some averted their gaze when she faced them, but a few men stared right back, challenging. One younger man convinced his friend to leave with him, but that was it.

She stood with hands on hips, to deny them the satisfaction of seeing a nude woman trying in vain to cover all her private bits. They had seen everything anyway, short of having her lay down and spread her legs. Already over and done. It was time to find her clothes.

Uneasiness started to set in as she looked around and found nothing. The onlookers offered no assistance. She spotted her sandals -- no help in covering her up, but at least she had found something -- and stepped into them. But where were her clothes? Taken as souvenirs? She willed herself to stay calm, to breathe regularly. She covered her pubic area with a hand, deciding everyone had seen enough of that, thank you very much. She scanned the faces of the crowd, looking for a sign of guilt, or a clue. Her resolve to not give in to fear or embarrassment was waning.

Finally she spotted her red bikini panties, which some dimwitted frat guy in a UW sweatshirt was almost stepping on. "Move," she said, and he did, a moment before she would have shoved him. She picked them up.

She kicked off her sandals and stepped into her panties, stooping down to pull them up. She paused, and looked around her: judging from her watchers, this position, leaning forward, legs bent, butt sticking out, was even more appealing. She shook her head and stood up. "You people suck," she muttered.

Where were the rest of her clothes? Her shirt, the red shorts, the bra...

Then she remembered. Carmen had convinced her to take them off, one by one, and kept them in her handbag.

"Oh, that stupid bitch," Lynn said aloud. She looked around, but knew that Carmen was long gone. Who knew when that ditzy girl would think to look in her handbag, and realize what she had done.

There was nothing more to do here. Lynn folded her arms over her chest and walked briskly away. If they followed, she resolved, she would start kicking crotches. After several yards she looked back; their attention had turned her way, as if watching a golf ball driven from the tee, but none had started walking toward her. The crowd's inertia, and individual unwillingness to be seen as stalkers, kept them standing where they were.

The terrace gradually curved, and soon the others were out of sight. In a way she was no longer indecently exposed: covered by her panties and her arms. She started to sort out her situation. Being no longer butt naked was a small blessing. Gary was her original ride home, so she'd need to find a taxi downtown; but first, as unobtrusively as possible, she would buy a T-shirt and some shorts, and be presentable again. Nothing fancy, just something inexpensive, who knows how much the taxi ride would cost anyway...

She stopped walking. She had forgotten her purse. It must be still on the ground near where they had been standing.

She sprinted back to the site, not bothering to cover up her breasts; it would be a quick pickup and she'd be on her way. If it was still there. When she arrived, the crowd of gawkers was gone, but the purse was gone as well.

"Oh, fuck me," she muttered. She prided herself on a good vocabulary and rare use of profanity; but when she was really angry she could swear like a rugby player.

A retired man in trousers and knit shirt was standing about ten yards distant, facing away from her. She folded her arms again and hailed him. "Sir?"

He turned and gaped for a moment before snapping his lips shut. "Yes, Miss?"

"Have you seen a black handbag here? Or anyone walking away with one?"

He furrowed his brow. "No, I'm sorry." He was staring at her legs now. He seemed disappointed at not being able to help. "You lost it?"

Of course I lost it, she thought. Keep up, will you? "Thanks anyway," she said dismissively.

Now what? she thought. What else can go wrong? What do I do now?

She didn't relish the idea of walking downtown in her condition and asking people if they'd seen her purse. The chances of recovering it that way seemed near zero, and she would just set herself up for more embarrassment. Even if she did recover it, she'd have to cancel all her credit cards anyway to be sure, and change the locks in her house.

Maybe going downtown wasn't necessary. Home was maybe 12 miles away as the crow flies, across mostly farmland. The biggest obstacles were the Konowoc River, an easy swim for her, and Route 29, which she would have to streak across. If her primary goal was to get home to safety, secondary goal to recover her purse, and third goal to be seen as little as possible, she could do this by walking home in a few hours and calling the police. Since due south was up the hill, that was where she would start.

The lawn led to the top terrace, the last row of flowers, and the back of the park. A dirt trail continued past some locked cabins and an empty, dusty animal pen. These belonged to the Forest Service, which was apparently off for the day. She was happy to have the path to herself; the fewer people she encountered between here and home, the better.

Her thoughts turned to Gary, and men in general. In third grade, in Austin, Texas, her nemesis was Billy Grout, a bully to the boys, and to some girls for good measure. Lynn was the only Asian student in class; Billy would mock her by stretching his eyelids in all directions, saying fatuous things like "Mommy's Chinese, Daddy's Japanese, baby all mixed up!" Sitting two rows ahead was Christopher, on whom she had a crush and believed was above such nonsense; yet one day Chris apparently made a socially tactical decision to join in with Bill and start mocking her as well.

I didn't cry then, either, Lynn recalled. I stood my ground. "I had no idea you're as stupid as he is," she had said, and turned away.

In fifth grade Mihae moved in, her family from Korea, and became best friends with Lynn. They were both lanky, long-haired girls, skilled at soccer, painfully bad at the violin. Though their families came from cities thousands of miles away, many kids in Austin considered them sisters, professed not to be able to tell them apart, and ascribed to them every stereotype they had ever heard: super brains, dog eaters, and on and on.

As they grew into puberty, rumors grew worse: they'd never have big boobs; they'd never put out; they'd always put out, if you got them drunk; their you-know-whats were sideways; and others Lynn would be relieved to forget.

In high school, freshman year, Chris changed his mind about Lynn and started hitting on her hard. She no longer felt anything for him, but was amused to see this boy, who yesterday was gleefully tormenting her, all of a sudden deciding she was desirable. He wasn't the only one. She and Mihae, both much prettier than even a year ago, started enjoying, and wielding, their new-found power.

By the time she came up to UW, ethnic humor was more rare, though she wondered whether people were truly more enlightened or the jokes were simply falling out of fashion. At least it was considered rude now. Older boys cultivated a different set of prejudices, anyway. Asian women were exotic (as in Playboy), submissive, unattainable, gold-diggers... any combination of the above. There were many like Gary, who enjoyed a preference, if not a fetish, for the Asian female form. Perhaps Gary's fetish clouded his judgement, and that led to what happened this afternoon. Perhaps Gary was just a more charming Billy Grout.

The park pathway curved left as Lynn walked, and a new swath of lawn, shaded by oaks and elms, opened up. It looked like the path would curve back toward the park, so she stepped onto the lawn, continuing south. The shaded grass still held some dew; the droplets cooled her toes and darkened her leather sandals. She smiled. Dumping Gary would free up more time for pleasant walks like this.

Distant voices from behind, male, caught her attention. She turned around, and wished she hadn't.

It was the guy who had taken their picture, and his two friends; the classy gentlemen who had suggested she and Carmen take off their shirts, and had generally been pests until Ken and Gary sent them away. Now her shirt was gone, along with the protection her friends provided. The three men walked toward her. How long had they been following?

"Wait up, sweet cheeks," one said. "We got plans for you." They were maybe thirty yards behind her.

The facetious nickname aside, he didn't sound like he was teasing. This was more ominous. They were serious.

She turned and continued walking, guessing it was best not to show fear, but unsure of herself. There was no one else around. Just the three guys stalking her, not saying much now, keeping focused.

Her sandals flapped against her heels as she walked. They were old friends; she remembered exactly when and where she'd bought them, and how much she paid. She had owned them for over five years. They were broken in and fit perfectly.

If this chase sped up, if she needed to break into a run, they would only slow her down.

As nonchalantly as she could, she slipped each one off, now feeling the cool grass on her bare feet. One of the guys noticed anyway, and said "She's gonna run." Her element of surprise gone, she took off into a sprint.

"Get her!" she heard one yell, and knew they were running too. She was in good shape, from years of playing halfback, running up and down the soccer field, building speed and endurance. However, at five feet five, she didn't have a long stride; her pursuers could be picking up a few inches at each pace. She worried most about that.

She chanced a look backward and saw that two of the men had almost halved the distance to her. Shit. She was already running at full speed. She tried to summon up just a little bit more.

A feeder root snaked out from an ancient tree to the right; she leaped over it. The sound of the men jumping over was just seconds behind. She could hear their breathing: they were working hard at it too. If only she could outlast them; she was doing fine, her breathing rhythmic, her pace good. To see them receding in the distance, bent over, hands on knees, dry-heaving would be the sweetest sight.

This image dissolved as the lead man tackled her at the waist. Her feet tangled; she pitched forward, arms out to protect herself, and fell skidding in the grass. He landed on top of her, momentarily squeezing the wind out of her. She tried to get up, but he shoved her down and leaned on the small of her back, pinning her. Her panties were yanked down to her knees. A hand forced its way between her thighs, working its way up. Her face was in the grass, she couldn't even see what was happening. Oh my god, the nightmare is here, her mind screamed, ready to careen into full-fledged panic.

"Flip her over," someone said. She felt hands at her shoulder and side. She obliged; there was little she could do on her stomach anyway, with her butt in the air. No leverage to punch, or kick, defend or attack. On her back, she could at least see her assailants now, three guys in a frame of lofty tree branches and a cloudless sky. Guy 2 was at her head, and held her arms down. He shoved them under his knees, so his hands could be free, and started groping her breasts. Guy 3 was at the side, watching for the moment. Guy 1 was trying to catch her flailing legs and finish stripping her.

He had no grip on her legs yet; they were her only weapon left. She locked her feet together and kicked out. The first blow glanced off his thigh and had little effect. The second was a direct hit, but to the meatiest part of his thigh. He grunted, swaying back a bit to absorb the blow, and kept scrabbling for her ankles and her panties. "Fucking calm down, will you?"

She needed to hurt with these kicks, and had been aiming for his crotch, but without success. Taking a cue from her soccer experience, and remembering the body parts players bought pads for, she aimed the next kick at the middle of his left shin.

"Ow! Fuck!" he shouted, hopping on one leg. "A little help here, get this bitch's LEGS!" He crouched again and grabbed at her panties, getting a good grip this time, bunched up in his fist, tangled at her knees. He dodged more kicks, and her attempts to dislodge them from his grip. Her calves were now fettered by the bunched-up material; she couldn't get the power and aim she wanted. "Come on..." he said, now pulling with both hands. She tried to clamp her feet together, to prevent him from removing the only clothing she had, but quickly her panties were off. Her legs, though, were free. He glanced at his little red prize, then took in the view of Lynn, now fully nude. She took that moment in time to aim a double-footed kick solidly at his groin.

"MotherFUCK!" Guy 1 shrieked, and toppled over. Her panties, released by fingers that now cupped his tender ballsack, drifted to the ground.

Guy 3 was still standing by; Guy 2 still kneeling on her arms. "Get her legs, Carl," he said, leaning forward a bit to enjoy the view. "No names, asshole," said Carl.

This next sort of kick would be difficult, Lynn knew; when she kicked out to full extension, she would naturally have almost no power at that point; there was no further the foot could go. Aiming was tougher, too; no solid base, and a long range of motion. Worst of all, the kick would take so long to reach its target that someone expecting it could easily dodge it. Time, however, was not on her side. This would be her best opportunity. She locked her feet together, braced her quads and abs, and swung her legs up and back, over her torso and head, toward Guy 2's face.

The right foot missed completely, swinging out into air and leaving her a little off balance. The left foot, however, caught his chin, which sounded a gruesome, yet satisfying click. The man yowled and fell back and she was free. She rolled to her left, away from Guy 3, and sprung to her feet.

"My tud! Bits cut by TUD!" Guy 2 yelled, hands over his mouth. Guy 1 was still on his back, moaning. Guy 3 stood there, stunned. It wasn't every day you saw a skinny naked woman take down two of your friends.

There wasn't much time. But she didn't want to go without any clothing at all. She gambled on the second needed to reach over and snatch her panties, and ran away.

"Kill that bitch!" Guy 1 shouted as he tried to get up. "Don't just stand there!"

She glanced back, and Guy 3 was on the chase. The other two were getting up, and would probably join in soon.

On Proxmire Avenue, a hundred yards over a hill from Lynn and the others, Rupert Loeffler rumbled his Gold Wing to a stop. The intersection was clear; he could have rolled through. He had left his wallet and license at home, though, and didn't want to risk being pulled over. Going shirtless and helmetless was bad enough. He had rolled out of bed, taken a look outside, and pronounced it an excellent day to go ride.

He was about to accelerate away when he noticed someone cresting the grassy slope to his right. He blinked, making sure he wasn't hallucinating. But as the person got closer, it was unmistakable: a naked woman. Brunette. Slim, and cute. And running for her life.

Chasing her were two guys, maybe twenty yards back; it looked like they were playing for keeps. The girl was fast, but where could she go? The roads here just led into the countryside. Unless--

"Hop on!" he yelled, patting the seat behind him. The girl vectored toward him. She had something red in her hand, maybe a bra. Her small boobs bounced as she ran. He positioned himself, ready to put the bike in gear. She was thirty yards away, then twenty, her pursuers very close. Ten, five, and she hopped on, swinging her leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.

"Hang on!" Rupert shouted, but her arms were already locked across his chest. "Go go GO!" she yelled as he accelerated away. The bad guys were still chasing, but once the bike was up to speed they were out of reach. Rupert glanced back, and they had given up, standing at the side of the road, flipping him off. He whooped. Man, nobody was going to believe this, he thought. He could hear his skeptical buddies already: so Rupe, some naked chick's in trouble, you swoop in, and take her away on your bike? Sure you did.

He'd worry about that when he got to it. Right now, the girl was hugging him tight, her sweet nude body pressed right against his. She had what looked like some panties, still clutched in her hand. Her small tits were squished against his back, her legs spread and wrapped around him. He was getting wood the more he thought about it. And wasn't this why a dude buys a bike in the first place: the chance to haul ass down the highway, with a hot naked woman hanging on for dear life?




Meeting Carmen Ch. 03.5



They drove about a mile before Lynn felt safe enough to shout "Pull over!" He lumbered the bike into a dirt parking area under some pine trees. Only after he cut the engine did she notice how loud the thing was; he must have modded the muffler.

"Thank you." She hopped off the bike less gracefully than she had mounted it.

"You all right?" he said. He watched her quickly straighten her panties and step into them. She glared at him for a moment and turned away. "Sorry," he said. She was still breathing heavily and willed herself to get calm.

"I can't tell you how glad I am you were there," she said. To speak over her shoulder at him felt rude; she covered her breasts and turned to face him. "You can probably figure out what those jerks intended."

"Jeez, man," he said, wincing. "Well, we're not all like that, I can tell you."

She was unimpressed. "Let's get moving."

"Should we, uh, go to the cops?" He preferred not to, as he was breaking a few motorcycle laws at the moment.

She shook her head. "I just really want to get home. That thing back there was just the exclamation point on a really shitty day. Do you think you could give me a ride?"

"Sure!" he said. And then, as if his answer would have ever depended on it: "Where do you live?"

"Konowoc. Outskirts, near Corral Street."

"Oh, that's easy. No problem. Ummm... my house is on the way. Okay if I stop there first, get my license and helmet? I can get you a shirt too."

She preferred not to take any detours, but the guy was doing her a favor. And a shirt would be nice. "Anyone else going to be there? I'd like to avoid being seen."

"Naw, everyone's out. I'll just be a second there anyway."

She regarded him in silence for a few moments, trying to convince herself one way or another. He seemed honest, or at least not dangerous. They turned south on an empty county road, then onto the dirt road leading to Rupert's house.

A plain white farmhouse stood with barn and chicken coops near a sloping green lawn. They parked under a tree and he led her toward the house. Mud was everywhere. "It's low lying," he explained. "Weather's never exactly perfect. We take what we can get."

Through a waist-high gate led the path to the house: two long planks laid end-to-end, floating on saturated muck. "It's easy," he said. "Just keep your balance."

She tiptoed forward; the plank underfoot wobbled as if she were standing in a canoe. She spread her arms for balance.

"Here, I'll take your hand," he said.

Even though she had hugged him from behind for the entire ride, the thought of Rupert holding her hand, as if they were intimate, suddenly repelled her. "I'm all right," she said, and drew her hand back. This set her off balance, just enough for her to plant her right foot in mud that covered her toes. For a moment it held, and she was trying to shift her weight back to the plank; then, her foot slid forward as if on a ski. She fell butt-first off the plank with a splat, coating most of her backside in the dark, sticky muck.

She bit off a swear word and sat up, making sure she wasn't hurt. She scowled. Wasn't that an Aesop's fable right there. She had spurned his help, and went smack into the mud. Was this just the kind of day where even the smallest transgressions would be punished in immediate and humiliating fashion? She lifted an arm and let Rupert help her back onto the plank.

"God, I'm a mess," she said.

"I'm gonna have to clean you off before you go into the house."

"Excuse me?"

"My folks'll kill me if that mud gets tracked in. And I won't be able to explain why."

"How am I going to get this off?" She wiped some from her elbow and tried to flick it away. It was sticky as hell.

"By sprayin' it." He had walked to the far end of the porch. He picked up the nozzle end of a coiled garden hose, and dragged it over.

"You're shitting me," she said. She could tell from her own language that the situation was turning sour again.

"Just a quick rinse," he said. "Over here, at the corner. Then when you're inside, you can take a real shower."

She stared at him, but he wasn't budging. Between her half-naked state here and a trip home, with real clothes, stood Rupert with the spray nozzle. She sighed and took the hose.

The water was freezing, and at a pressure that should have scoured a pan; but the muck was sticky enough that it took some effort to clean off. She couldn't reach all parts of her backside, and gave him the hose for those areas. She let him keep spraying as she wiped away the mud.

Finally her back, arms and legs were clean; but her panties were soaked in the stuff, and some mud had gotten inside. She reluctantly pulled them back at the waist to let him spray inside; the water was especially icy on her bare bottom. Still the panties weren't getting clean.

"Take 'em down," he said.

"No way!" she said, but it dawned on her that she'd have to. Spraying inside wasn't getting at the mud. She shrugged, and pulled them down to her knees, and then took them all the way off. She'd have to hand wash them in the sink.

Rupert wiped away some mud on her bottom. Being naked and wet in front of this man was making her jumpy, and his hand on her body was more than she could bear. She yelped and stepped aside, blocking him with her arms. "No touching! Please."

"Sorry." He sprayed his hand to clean the mud off. "I think you're about done. One last check. Turn around."

Lynn stared at him warily as she turned in a quick circle. "We're done. Can I go inside now?"

He unlocked the front door and held it open, ushering her in. Lynn found the whole thing absurd: willingly walking into a stranger's house naked, dripping wet because he sprayed her with a garden hose? Could this really be happening? But this was the way home. He escorted her to the shower, then stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. For the first time, she enjoyed some real privacy.

She soaped up and shampooed, and let the hot water rinse everything away. She let out a sigh of relief. It was finally over. She was clean, she was safe, and she was almost home. When this was all over, maybe she would send Rupert flowers. She smiled. Maybe Beer of the Month would be better appreciated.

The bathroom door opened. "Rupert? Is that you?" It had better be, she thought.

"Yeah, just me."

"Is there a towel? I'm almost done."

"In a minute."

He was quiet for a few moments, and she couldn't see what he was doing. Then he drew open the shower curtain, just enough to peek in. To step in. He had stripped. Compared to his tan chest and arms, his lap, waist, and penis were pale. And he was hard.

Lynn screamed and covered herself. "What is wrong with you? Get out! Out out OUT!"

"Thought I would join you," he said, as if it were a matter of explaining.

"Get out! I'm serious! Get out!"

"I, uh-" He finally figured out that this wasn't unfolding as he planned, and for a few tense moments Lynn feared he would decide to simply force the issue. Instead, he stepped out and closed the curtain.

Lynn shut off the water, shaking her head. She had misjudged another guy. "Just go. Get out. Did you really think that... Shit! You're just like all the others."

"Sorry, I thought that-"

"Did you bring me a towel?"

"Huh?"

"Did you get me a set of clothes, like you promised?"

"Uh, no, not yet."

"All those things you said you'd do, and you didn't even think about, because you had just one thing on your mind."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She inhaled, and drew in some inner strength. She no longer felt vulnerable; instead, there was a clarity, a certainty that Rupert would no longer be a problem. Moments ago frightened, she now felt dismayed, let down.

"You know, you could have been a hero, Rupert. Think about it. You probably saved my life back there. Thirty years from now and I'd still be thanking you. But then you had to go tarnish it like this. Good going. Nice job."

"I said I'm sorry. You want me to get some clothes?"

"No, Rupert, I'm through taking help from you." She sighed. "You have nothing to offer. It's too late. Just go down the hall, to another room, and wait. I don't want you in my sight. I'll let myself out."

"You panties are in the wash..."

"Throw them away. Whatever you do, don't keep them. Promise me that."

"Sure. I promise."

"Okay, then. Go."

"I'm sorry, Lynn."

"Apology not accepted. GO."

Rupert left the room. Lynn gave him enough time to get out of sight, and stepped out of the shower.

She left a trail of wet footsteps leading to the foyer and outside. At least Rupert had stayed in his room, fulfilling his last promise.

After she gingerly crossed the plank bridge, she stopped to get her bearings. If the dirt road was heading west, then south would be away from it, across Rupert's farm. She hoped he was telling the truth about no one else being home. Then again, maybe that meant they were working the fields. If so, she would figure out what to do then. She walked around the house, to the back. She shivered, though it was quite warm. Two close calls in a row. She'd have to be more careful.

Being naked again outside was not ideal, but it bothered her less now than before. Was she just getting accustomed to it? Probably not; this had not been a customary day. But she was pleased to walk away from Rupert's house with a clean slate. No strings attached, no favors left to repay. No burdens, no obligations. Since that incident in the shower she had needed nothing from him. Instead of his towel, the sun would dry her skin. Instead of borrowed clothes, she'd go au naturel for a while. She could find clothes someplace else.

She felt her nipples stiffen in the open air. At times she had coveted larger breasts, though never fervently enough to consider augmentation. But she liked her nipples the way they were, the way they easily got hard when she was aroused. If she wore a T-shirt with no bra, or her black bikini with no liner, she looked pretty damn sexy. Quality, not quantity. She touched her breasts, felt herself respond. As long as she was out of danger, and away from leering eyes, being naked outside had some good points. She grinned. Two of them, to be exact.

If she didn't have someplace she needed to go, it might be nice to lay back in the grass, and...

Some other time. The way her luck had run today, she would probably get caught by a TV news crew, mid-orgasm, with her finger up her you-know-what.

She followed a dirt path leading along a barb wire fence that angled into the field. She crested a gradual hill and Rupert's house passed out of sight. She heard a motorcycle engine start up and fade into the distance; and never heard from Rupert again.

* * *

In Capital City, Jeremy Holden walked into the police station. He was nineteen and quite well-behaved, and had never been face-to-face with a cop. "Hi, somebody lost a purse," he said, lifting it to eye level. The desk officer referred him to Officer Vicki Lott, a stocky woman with frosted blond hair, who led him into a maze of desks, computers, ringing phones, and stacks of paper.

Vicki rolled out a metal chair for Jeremy. He sat down and placed the purse on her desk.

"Your name?" she started.

He gave his information: name, home address, and more. I'm just turning it in, he thought. Why does she need my life's history?

Finally she was ready for the matter at hand. "Do you know whose this is?"

"No, I haven't looked inside."

Vicki opened it up and carefully examined its contents. She found the driver's license, credit cards, and some currency; nothing seemed to be missing. "Bear with me while I type this in, it's a new system." She started entering Lynn's information into an online form.

Jeremy waited, hands folded in his lap. The room was full of talking and ringing phones. At the neighboring desk a young cop in a crew cut unwrapped a Big Mac and took a bite. Jeremy wondered if he should have dropped the purse off anonymously instead.

"Did you see this woman in person?" she said, showing him the license photo.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Some people were bothering her, and she went away."

"You saw the purse and picked it up."

He tensed up; this was feeling too much like an interrogation. "She didn't look like she was coming back. I didn't want it to get stolen. So I came straight here." Of course he left out details; she was a nice girl and didn't deserve to get in trouble for what happened to her.

"That's good, you did the right thing," Vicki said, evidently satisfied with his story.

She finished filling out the form, pressed Submit, and returned her gaze to him. "Thank you, Mr. Holden; we'll try to contact Ms. Sway and let her know her belongings are safe."

"Am I done?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Holden. I'll walk you out."

As she stood up, she noticed yet another gray dialog box in the middle of her screen. She found the Enter key by touch and gave it a light tap to clear the message. That silly computer was always nagging her about something or another: either second-guessing her every decision ("are you sure...?") or crowing about trivial accomplishments ("document is printing!"; no kidding, she could see that). She had learned to tune it out.

The message she just dismissed, had she taken the time to read it, would have caught her attention. The default was "Yes", but the right thing to say would have been "No." In its few seconds onscreen, it read: "Are you sure you want to report [Lynn Sway] as a domestic terrorist?"

* * *

A cow in the pasture peered up as Lynn walked past. She was barefoot; she reminded herself to watch where she stepped.

"Hi, cow," she said.

The cow decided Lynn was not interesting and returned to its meal.

She threaded a copse of trees marking the farm boundary and entered another field, whose earth unrolled in gentle swells and sloped gradually down toward a river. That had to be the Konowoc River. She was making progress.

A bull glared at her from underneath a gnarled tree, nearly devoid of leaves even this late in the spring. Lynn tensed, ready to run if she was charged; how fast could a bull run? It seemed content to keep an eye on her from afar, and didn't budge. She relaxed. "Good thing I'm not wearing red," she said, and pictured her panties spinning in suds in Rupert's washing machine.

She stopped at the bank of the river. There was no bridge as far as she could see in either direction. She didn't know how far off course she was east or west from her house, but was reluctant go far out of her way looking for a crossing. It looked like she would have to go skinny dipping: her first time for that, too.

She took a deep breath and waded in. It was freezing cold, of course, and she wanted to turn back, but she forced herself in deeper. By the time her feet no longer touched the river bottom, she was accustomed to the chill. She swam across easily and stepped out, shivering.

Her wet hair was a bit of a mess; she gathered it and straightened it out in back as well as she could. She froze in that position, hands behind her head, back arched, when she heard the approaching helicopters. She couldn't see them yet, but they were coming up fast.

Fortunately, she wasn't trapped in the middle of a cleared field. The river bank was fringed with trees, giving her a place to hide. She ran to the nearest one and huddled against the trunk, covering her ears.

She would have sought cover even if she had some clothes. She considered helicopters sinister; unless clearly doing something innocuous like checking rush hour traffic, they seemed like they were up to no good. She knew this suspicion had probably been cultivated by a childhood diet of James Bond movies, but it had become instinct and difficult not to follow.

The copters finally came into view, four of them, flying north at just a few hundred feet. The sound was deafening now. They passed by about a hundred yards distant. They were painted a dark army green, but with no insignias. Up to no good. Grateful for a hiding place, Lynn stayed underneath the tree until they had passed from sight and earshot. She hoped there wouldn't be more.

The south side of the river was also farm country. She found another tractor path and followed it to a dirt road. She noticed a plume of dust in the distance, and crouched in a ditch to let a dusty pickup truck pass by. She hoped she hadn't been seen. She crossed the road, the gravel stabbing at her bare feet, and entered another field.

She had planned to keep hopscotching quiet farms for as far as she could, but one of the white houses she was ready to sneak past tempted her enough to reconsider. This one offered a clothes line in back, with laundry drying in the sun.

Walking around naked was fine out here among the farms, if no one was around, but in Konowoc there would be more traffic, more people. If she could liberate a simple outfit from this family's backyard, it would help immensely. Afterward, she could find this house, admit what she had done, and pay them back. That would be a little embarrassing, but less so than being seen naked by a cop, or by someone she knew.

She stood back, scouting the area for signs of life. It looked quiet. Perhaps the family was spending the holiday at the beach, or in the city.

She walked forward until a small utility shed stood in the line of sight to the house. It gave her a better chance of not being seen. She stepped past rows of strawberries, snap peas, and rhubarb. She sidled up to the shed, feeling like a secret agent, then peeked into the backyard. The clothes line sagged under a full load. As far as she could tell, she was alone. She stepped out of cover.

Let's make this a quick shopping trip, she thought. The first row was evidently a man's: denim overalls the size of tablecloths; wide-bodied jockeys; plaid shirts. Aren't you married? Lynn wondered. Where's the ladies' stuff?

On the other side, she found it. Panties, bras. No, you don't need this, Lynn told herself. Put it back. Outerwear. Top and bottom. Focus.

"Hey!" It was a man's voice, gruff. She whirled around. A huge man, in overalls, white shirt and feed cap, was pointing a rifle at her.

"Oh, sir, there's a mistake, you don't need to do that..." she started to say, hands forward in supplication, although she was holding an item of clothing in each.

Then the man shot her.

"Ow!" she cried. It took a few moments for her to figure out she was not dead, and not even seriously injured. The rifle had made a sort of PFFFT sound. Compressed air. And what struck her, on the inside of her left thigh, was some sort of pellet, that didn't seem to have broken the skin. But it stung like hell.

He strolled toward her and fired twice more, one pellet just below the navel, and another at the top border of her pubic hair. She spun around to protect herself, shocked at where it was obvious he was aiming, and he continued shooting. Five quick ones, two low on the waist, and three directly on her buttocks. She realized there would be no reasoning with him; he was going to cover her bare body with welts. And he was shooting at her most sensitive areas. As she ran away, he scored one more hit, on her inner thigh, an inch below where her legs parted. She stumbled for a heart-stopping moment, then regained her footing and ran out of range.

When she dared look back, she was pretty far from the house, and the man had not followed. She caught her breath and shuddered. So much for innocent rural farm country. This felt too much like Deliverance.

She kept walking and noticed that she was clutching two things she had taken from the clothesline. She glanced around, made sure she was alone, and inventoried her loot.

Item 1 was a pair of skimpy white panties held with spaghetti straps. She put them on: a size or so too small, but usable. Her pubic hair was a faint shadow through the shimmery material.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 03.5



Item 2 was a cropped T-shirt top. Also white. Also small. The front read "hottie" in a typewriter font: a look for which Lynn was already too old. She wondered if the farmer had considered shooting his own daughter in the ass for wearing something so provocative. She put the top on; it was better than going topless, but not by much. It didn't even cover her modest breasts completely; the fabric ended an inch or so too high, just below her nipples. She raised her arms experimentally, and the top rose too. Lynn marveled at how useless it was: tiny and flimsy as lingerie, but meant to be worn by itself. By reaching up, or leaning forward, or doing much at all besides keeping her upper body straight, she would be exposing herself.

Still, it was better than nothing; she was pleased to be clothed again, top and bottom. It was plenty suggestive, but would probably get her home. She imagined how someone like Carmen would look, with the top not even starting to cover her fuller breasts, and her nipples out at all times. Lynn smirked. Carmen would probably love it. She might even own a top like that, and wear it to parties. Dancing bare-assed in the living room, letting guys fondle her swaying breasts and lick her nipples and probe her moist, hot pussy. Standing behind Carmen, fondling her bare skin, slick with sweat, helping her take the top off...

Lynn shook her head; her imagination had run a little too far with that scene. Her contempt had quickly melted away, leaving... what?

It occurred to her that Carmen wasn't the real villain today. Technically, yes, it was Carmen's fault Lynn was naked now. She had taken the clothes. But it could have been an honest mistake. And Lynn had actually proposed the dare that got them topless. All Carmen had done was go along; yes, she did take it further, leaving the women nude. But Gary had done the worst, and made things unrecoverable. Without his stunt, she'd still be with him; he could have offered his shirt and driven her home. Easy.

Another image of Carmen appeared in her mind, unbidden: Gary pawing her breasts, and then pulling down those trademark sweatpants. It no longer triggered much jealous outrage in Lynn; she had already written Gary off. And Carmen: she was younger, not as mature, was just having some naughty fun, and didn't realize when she had gone too far.

The sun ascended to its zenith and the air grew sweltering; Lynn was ready for some shade. Ahead stood a dense row of tall firs, planted in orderly intervals, their branches close. Since she had acquired clothing (of a sort), her next pressing need was her thirst. Possibly the trees shaded a park, or a school; something with an outdoor water fountain. Her feet crunched the soft bed of fallen pine needles as she made her way through.

She stepped onto a lawn, bedsheet-flat and flawless green, larger than a soccer field. At the far end was a stately brick manor with no indication of its function. A boarding school? Senior center? An asylum? Lynn stopped, reconsidering her route.

A frisbee dropped at her feet. A young man and woman, both college age, ran toward her. She tried to assess how dangerous they might be. At least they didn't look insane.

The man wore gym shorts and a Packers tee. He registered surprise at Lynn's appearance, but only for a moment. "This is private property."

"Are you lost?" his companion said. She was better dressed, with tan shorts and a pastel yellow shirt. She was fashionably thin, lightly tanned, with whitened teeth. She radiated a genteel disapproval of Lynn's outfit.

"Sorry," Lynn said, now wanting to cover up. This was the most clothing she'd had since the Gary incident, though she knew it was still suggestive, bordering on indecent. The guy was repeatedly checking her out; did his girlfriend notice? "My stuff was stolen and I'm trying to get home."

More people joined them, three men and two women. Probably all students, enjoying a free afternoon. Lynn had interrupted their frisbee game. Feeling extremely outnumbered, she fought the impulse to just turn around and flee. That would be a foolish choice if these people could help her.

"Who's this?" said a pretty blonde girl. Tight denim cutoffs, worn low on the hips, showed off tanned legs and a flat belly. A pink string bikini top cradled an enviable pair of breasts. Lynn realized she had spent a moment too long with this assessment to be polite, and looked the girl in the eye.

"My name's Lynn. I'm sorry to trespass, but-"

"Lynn?" said another man. He stared at her, but wasn't addressing her. For some reason, the name had caused him considerable alarm. He fished in his pocket for a cell phone and flipped it open.

"Bob, what are you doing?" said the pink bikini-top woman in a casual tone.

"It's her!" Bob cried, punching in numbers.

"What are you talking about?"

"We're supposed to call in and report if we see her!"

"What?? Bob, put that away."

Bob stood motionless for a second.

"Bob," she said.

Bob put the phone back in his pocket. The blonde girl had some influence over him. Dating, Lynn guessed.

"You know her?" the first girl in the yellow shirt said.

"Haven't you seen the news?" Bob said. "We really should call."

"Call about what?" Lynn said, incredulous.

"Bob, what are you talking about?" said the blonde girl.

Bob put his hands in his pockets. "If you won't believe me, come see the news. They're showing it 24/7. Why don't we all take a look."

"Let's do that," Lynn said, her guard up.

They walked toward the brick building. To Lynn's feet, the lawn felt like a chilly, plush carpet.

"I'm Heather," said the blonde bikini girl. She introduced the others: Todd and Cissy, who had encountered Lynn first; Tyler, Kaitlyn and Chad; and Bob. They all had the similar, compatible good looks of clothing catalog models, maybe Land's End, but younger. The type of attractive people who tended to gravitate to each other.

Lynn didn't understand why Bob had tried to report her. To whom? And why? Did someone get footage of her naked in the park? Even then, why would it get much run in the news? Why were people looking for her? Sure, it was titillating, but not the sort of story the cable news networks could chew to death for hours on end. Was indecent exposure a felony? She didn't know.

They entered the manor, walking into a central room where the skylit cathedral ceiling vaulted above three oversized couches, arranged in a U shape, surrounding a glass coffee table and facing a flat-panel TV. Bob switched it on.

"Fox News Alert: Terror in the Heartland!" a headline exclaimed. Graphic bands of saturated red and blue waved underneath a translucent outline map of the Midwestern states. An uptight-looking pundit in black suit and red power tie was speaking with his Asian female partner:

"... matter of time before we saw a new strain of terrorists in our midst, this time taking orders from Beijing. But Michelle has a strong suggestion for Washington's next step."

"That's right, Sean," Michelle said. "We need right away to identify and track Chinese living in our country, and temporarily relocate them until the threat subsides."

"You're suggesting camps, then, for these Chinese."

"What are they talking about?" Lynn said, fear seeping into her.

"That's right, Sean," said Michelle. "Some people don't like the word 'internment', but our War on Terror forces us to take strong measures."

"But many of these people will be innocent, don't you agree?"

"It's not as if the liberals don't have enough to whine about." At this they both chuckled, then Michelle was once again serious. "Our country is at war. We cannot afford to let Sino-terrorism gain a foothold in our homeland."

"Oh, for god's sake," Heather said, wresting the remote away from Bob.

"Do they think-" Lynn started to say, and then saw what was on CNN.

"... to all appearances, a quiet, suburban American home," a blonde reporter intoned, standing in front of a white bungalow. "Today we find it may be the central point of a frightening new breed of terror."

"That's my house!" Lynn blurted out, and immediately wondered if she should have kept silent. The others turned to her with newfound suspicion.

CNN returned to an older anchorman in studio, standing in front of a magnified photo from Lynn's driver's license. It was two years old, and her hair was shorter, and the bad light had washed out her fine skin tones, but it was obviously hers. Beneath the photo blared the bold legend "Lynn Sway / US Terror Suspect".

"It can't be!" Lynn cried.

The anchorman stared down the camera. "Again, if you encounter this woman, do not try to approach or detain her. Immediately get to a safe place and call 911."

"What did I say?" Bob said, reaching for his phone.

"Wait. Stop it." Heather said. "This doesn't smell right."

"There has to be a mistake!" Lynn protested.

"Something seems off," Heather said. She changed channels again, this time to PSN. Gwen Fallon, a glamorous reporter with glossy russet hair, stood in front of the FBI field office in Milwaukee.

"She's hot!" marveled Todd. Cissy rolled her eyes at him. So they're probably together, Lynn thought.

"... at this time," said Fallon. She reappeared in a small inset box as the anchor, Marie Endicott, spoke with her.

"No information at all from local and state agencies, then," Endicott said, looking to summarize.

"No, Marie, none at all," said Fallon. "As you noted, DHS is tight-lipped, and as you could see from our interview with officials here, the Lynn Sway issue appears to be news to them, too."

"Is it possible DHS has made a mistake?"

"Yes, it's possible!" Lynn said.

"The local agency has said nothing of the sort," said Fallon. "But the timing and substance of the warning has taken everyone here by considerable surprise."

"Thank you, Gwen," said Marie Endicott, and Fallon's inset disappeared.

"Marie's cute, too," said Chad. "Gotta look them both up."

"Stop it," Heather said, curtly, without looking away from the screen.

"For those of you joining us," Endicott said, "The Department of Homeland Security has issued a terror warning regarding Lynn Y. Sway, 26, a U.S. citizen living in Konowoc, Wisconsin. DHS is providing no information regarding what Sway is suspected of, and there is no evidence to date suggesting her involvement with any terrorist groups.

"We will update you as more information is uncovered, but frankly, right now there isn't any. If you spot Ms. Sway in person, or have information on her location, DHS asks you to call 911."

Heather switched the TV off. "That's all we're going to find out. It'll be the same stuff over and over. At least PSN seems to have their heads on straight."

Lynn had an idea of what might have touched everything off. "Listen. My purse was stolen. Back at the park. Maybe someone saw it left unattended, reported it as a bomb threat. Then my ID's in there and that's how they link it to me. I don't see how else this could have happened!"

"We'd better think about this," Bob said.

"We are," said Heather. "It's obvious somebody screwed up. Lynn's an innocent victim here."

"How do you know that?"

"Maybe I should go to the police," Lynn said.

"No way," Heather said. "You'll disappear."

"But I'm innocent! If I can show that it's all a big mistake..."

"Almost no one in Guantanamo or any of the other places has even been charged yet. They'll just throw you in there."

"So I have to hide out? Forever?"

"Hopefully your name will be cleared soon. So you'll never go in."

"We're jumping to conclusions here!" said Bob. "We don't even know her!"

"How can she be a threat?" Heather said. "Look at her. Where's she going to conceal a bomb?"

"I'll check!" said Chad, grinning.

"Chad!" he was scolded, in 5.1 surround sound.

Lynn glared at him. Did he take anything seriously? Still, it appeared he was on her side, unconvinced she was a threat.

"OK, you've got a point," Bob said, gesturing at Lynn. "It doesn't exactly say 'terrorist' here." Lynn thought this was another Bobian non sequitur until she remembered the word printed on her cropped top.

"'Hottie' is right," Chad said. Lynn scowled, and turned away. He was cute, and she normally favored funny men, but she was really put off by his clumsy flirtation. The situation was wrong. His timing was awful. He had no sense of tact.

"Lynn's not a terrorist," Heather said, "and even if she was, she's not in a position to hurt us. It shouldn't be long until everyone figures out they've screwed up. Until then, I think she'd be safest right here with us." She turned to Lynn. "That's if you'd like to stay."

"I'd like to," Lynn said, but glanced at the bay window, warily. A helicopter (one of those she saw earlier; she realized they really were searching for her) would be able to peek in from a mile away.

"No, we're not going to put you in a closet. You can hide in plain sight, with the group."

"How do we know it's safe?"

Heather beamed. "Well, Tyler -- this guy over here -- His last name happens to be Takris."

"As in Governor Takris?" Lynn said.

Tyler nodded noncommittally. He didn't seem comfortable waving his family's name around.

"His son," Heather said. "The gov owns this place. I don't think we're going to have G-men busting in here."

That was that: Lynn agreed to stay, and the others agreed to let her; a consensus that Heather had pushed through. Lynn was relieved the group's apparent leader was solidly on her side.

"So; Lynn," Heather said, "we know the news guys have it all wrong... what really did happen?"

Lynn took a deep breath, as if it would have to last throughout her story. She considered glossing over all the embarrassing parts, but decided she would present a stronger case if she included everything. Lying or omitting things, and trying to keep the story consistent, required energy she didn't think she'd have. She braced for editorial comments or scolding, but no one went after her. After the part about the foiled rape, she had their sympathies. At the part about getting shot, Heather looked ready to cry: "Oh god, you poor thing!" Chad was no longer cracking jokes. Bob had put his cell phone away.

"Nobody," said Heather, "is going to do you any more harm today. You're staying with us, for as long as you need."

"Thank you," said Lynn. She slumped back in the seat as fatigue caught up to her, and remembered her thirst. "I'm sorry to ask, but ... could I get a drink of water?"

"Better than that," Heather said, and took Lynn's hand. "Let's eat."

An expensive-looking outdoor dining set stood atop warm sunlit patio stone. Tyler manned a grill the size of an air traffic control console, cooking garlic bread and steaks, and Kaitlyn tossed a salad. The aroma made Lynn aware she was starving as well as thirsty. Heather gave her a bottle of water, which she chugged down at once; Heather laughed and fetched her another. Lynn took a seat at a redwood table. "I guess I'm better off hanging out here than actually going home."

"You are," said Heather. "Gotta wait for this to blow over, for the news people to start chasing the next big story."

Lynn noticed bottles of green and blue in the ice bucket: wine coolers, in berry flavors and unnatural colors. She opened one, and took an experimental sip. It was pretty good.

"I like those," said Heather. "Never got a taste for beer. Just watch yourself. They're alcoholic. They sneak up on you." Heather passed a few bottles out, and took one for herself.

Kaitlyn squealed; Tyler had pinched her bottom. She smacked him with the salad tongs before he could dodge the blow. "You gotta wash those now," Bob said.

Chad offered Lynn a plate loaded with salad and a slice of garlic bread. "First course?"

"Thanks." She took a bite of bread. "Oh, this is awesome. I basically haven't had anything since breakfast."

"Well, that was very nice of you, Chad," said Heather. Chad raised his eyebrows, playing innocent, and opened a beer.

Lynn felt a flush of gratitude for these former strangers who had invited her in, just when she thought she had lost her faith in people in general. She even felt a bit of affection for Chad, and his goofy, harmless crush, even though his frequent glances reminded her how scantily dressed she was.

After filling up on steak and sides, they returned to the TV room. The story had progressed: PSN was showing footage of a young man, flanked by officers, being led into a police van. "Witness in Sway case turns self in" said a banner. Lynn gasped when she saw who it was.

"Gary William York reported to police earlier today, saying he knows Lynn Sway and can clear her name," said a reporter. "He is being interviewed at a DHS field office in Milwaukee."

"Do you know him?" Heather said.

Lynn nodded, still taken aback. "He's my ex. He's the reason I'm here instead of home."

"I hope they don't send him to Gitmo," said Bob.

"Bob..." Heather warned.

"I mean, he's going out on a limb. Trying to make things right. Could be a hero, actually."

"No, he's not a hero," Lynn said. "He's doing the minimum possible. They would have tracked him down and brought him in anyway." On further thought, this was a bit of good news: at least her ordeal might sort itself out a few hours sooner.

CNN had Gary footage as well, but nothing about a statement or other updates. The terror alert was still in force. On Fox, an uptight-looking man in wire-frame glasses was reminding viewers that Chinese people are Communists. Heather shrugged: "That's probably all we're going to get for a while."

Chad tossed a neon yellow Nerf football in the air. "Touch football?" A few mumbled their preferences to stay seated a while longer. Bob patted his stomach: "I'm still stuffed." Lynn found herself checking, and noticing that Bob wasn't in bad shape at all.

"That's why you gotta work it off," Chad said. "We'll start off slow. C'mon, get up!"

The others got up and filed outside, except for Lynn. "We'll catch up with you later," Heather said, and turned back, to sit down next to her. "You'd rather not?"

"Sorry. I'll stay in and keep up with the news."

Heather lay a hand on her shoulder. "I'm worried you'll drive yourself nuts if you watch continuously. Come out for a while, and we can check later." Feeling she had overlooked a potential concern, she added: "The game's just for fun. These guys will razz each other, but we're not hardcore about it. You've seen; everybody likes you."

Lynn glanced down at her outfit. "It took long enough for me to get comfortable just walking around like this. I don't want to be running around, and..."

"I swear, you don't need to worry. I'm not wearing a lot either, and ... okay, I know what," Heather said, and reached behind her back. Lynn had a moment to think "no, she couldn't possibly be doing that" before Heather took off her bikini top. Her bare breasts quivered as they were freed. Lynn's mind swirled, as sudden memories of Carmen standing nude in the park dissipated to reveal Heather, with almost the same outfit. Later, Lynn would worry just how impolite she had been, as she belatedly brought her gaze up to Heather's face. Heather leaned forward and her shapely breasts took more form, not as large as Carmen's but very curvy, with pink nipples that puffed out slightly.

"Heather..." Lynn said, not yet able to precisely say how unnecessary this was, or inappropriate, or what the hell was she thinking?

Heather looked Lynn up and down, as if making a point about Lynn doing the same. "I'm not saying you're not cute," she said, with complete self-assurance, "but at least everyone will have someplace else to look."

Lynn shook her head, gathering her objections. "That's really... thoughtful, I mean that; but after all I've been through, I just want to hide. I don't want to be part of another spectacle." She caught herself gazing at Heather's body again, clad in nothing but faded denim shorts, narrower than her hand at the hip, and forced herself to look up.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 03



As for me, I was getting a little obsessed with her, imagining her slim body and small breasts underneath her shirt. She was halfway to being naked. Just two items of clothing left to go.

In a garden aisle, we were examining a blossom of deep red that could have matched Lynn's outfit when Carmen's sweats dropped.

"Wait," Lynn cautioned. "Nobody around but us right now." Carmen quickly did a full 360-degree survey; Lynn was right. Gary got a good look at her butt and her bush, and probably wanted to pinch himself, see if he was really awake.

"Let's go back up," Carmen said. "Someone's going to come any minute."

"Not yet," Lynn said. "Just keep an eye out." For his sake, Gary couldn't stop staring.

Good thing it wasn't chilly out; Carmen had almost nothing to keep her warm. The aisle we were in was still clear. Lynn kept a lookout, back and forth along the grass pathway. Carmen did the same. I mused that if she really wanted to put her trust in Lynn, she'd close her eyes, and let Lynn dress her when she decided to.

"Do you want to take off your top?" Lynn whispered.

"No!"

A family of five turned the corner, in loud summer attire, two kids on foot and another in a stroller. Coming this way.

"Up, now!" Carmen said.

Lynn tugged upward, but Carmen was standing on her sweats. She must have stepped out while she was looking around. "Get your feet inside!" Lynn said.

"Help me!" Carmen said, trying to find the leg holes.

"No time. Step back a little."

"What?" she said, incredulous.

"There's no time. Step back, pick them up, and hold them in front."

Carmen did so, and yanked up the sweats, holding them in front as if in the aisle of a clothing store, checking them for length. The family seemed to take an eternity to walk past, the mother scowling and herding the kids to her opposite side, the father sneaking glances. Carmen pivoted with them like a compass needle, her sweats hanging like drapes, obscuring from sight but not concealing the fact that her legs and bottom were bare. Meanwhile her breasts and nipples were as conspicuous as, well, high beams.

I imagined how she would look if Lynn had convinced her to take her top off as well, and realized my jeans had been partially hiding a boner for some time now. I gently laid a hand on Carmen's bare bottom, startling her, and I had to apologize.

"Coast is clear," Lynn said.

Carmen practically jumped into her sweats. She surveyed the walkway like a hawk hunting fieldmice.

"I'm sorry how that turned out," Lynn said. "I didn't mean to expose you like that."

"No, it was my fault," Carmen said. "I shouldn't have moved. Anyway, I think I'll pull up my own pants from now on."

"That sounds wise."

"I can give you your clothes back if you want."

Lynn shook her head. "I'd have to walk all the way down to put them on. Besides, I've gotten used to it now."

In a higher terrace, there was a railing overlooking Capital City, the river, and more aisles of flowers. "We should get a picture," Lynn said, pulling a small camera out of her purse.

"Let's get one of all of us. Find someone to take it," Carmen said.

A trio of 20-something men, holding bottles of beer, had already noticed the women and were scoping them out, no doubt resenting Gary and I for being there at all.

"Maybe those guys?" Lynn asked, reluctantly. But there was no one else around at the moment.

"Can you go ask them?" Carmen said. "I don't want to flash them while I'm walking over there."

"You know, I could have a little fun with this," Lynn smiled. "You guys will watch out for me, right?" We would. Nothing would get out of hand.

She flipped her hair back and sauntered over to the men.

"Wow," said Carmen. "She was nervous at first, but now she's eating it up."

"You're a good influence on her," said Gary.

What she said to the guys was too far for us to hear, but they enthusiastically followed her back to us. "The four of us against the railing," she instructed, handing the camera to a blond guy.

He took a couple shots of us standing at the rail, guys in back, Lynn and Carmen in front.

"Good?" Lynn asked.

"Looks great," the guy said.

"Thank you so much," she said, walking forward.

"You'll send us copies?"

"We're flattered, but no."

"How about one more with your shirts off?" his friend said.

Lynn's polite smile vanished. "Okay. Thanks a bunch. Bye now."

"You're sure?" the guy said, not getting the point.

I stood up and joined Lynn, matching her sternness. "Bye bye. Thanks. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Geez," one said. "Chill out." They slunk off. "Dressed like that," I heard one mutter.

"Some guys can't take a hint," Lynn said.

The bad vibe didn't last long. "This is beautiful," Carmen said, gazing out over the railing. We could see terraces beneath us and trails leading back to the river crossing. On the other side were shops and restaurants, the outskirts of the city center. Between our overlook and the river was also a wide slope of lawn, where several people had spread out towels and were sunbathing.

We stood there quietly for a while, letting gentle sounds swirl around us. The occasional light breeze; people playing and talking in the distance; even the hum of traffic in the city. We might have stayed fifteen minutes there, almost in a meditative state.

"Carmen?" said Lynn, as if to gently rouse her from sleep.

"Yeah?"

"You ready for another dare?"

Carmen looked at her suspiciously. "If we both do it, sure. What's your part?"

"We're both doing the same thing. It'll be fun!"

"Which is..."

"We both stand here and take off our shirts."

Carmen looked ready to protest, but Lynn cut her off. "It's not as bad as you think. We stand with our hands on the railing, looking out over everything. People from far off can see us, but there's not much we can do about that. But we do keep an eye on people close by."

Carmen's eyes widened, and I already knew she was hooked.

"Even better," Lynn continued, "Ken stands in back of you and Gary in back of me. When you or I say 'cover,' he has to cover our breasts with his hands. Then you say 'uncover' when the coast is clear, and he takes his hands away."

"So it's to see how long you can go..."

"Right. Are you game?"

She was. Certainly there was no objection from the guys. We waited until no one was nearby, and then the girls removed their tops. Lynn's chest looked about one-third the size of Carmen's, but of course I still savored the quick peek. Her A-cup breasts almost disappeared as her arms stretched skyward to take the shirt off, but her nipples were as breathtaking as ever. It's funny how a guy can have a girl with a heavenly body like Carmen's, really out of his league, he's lucky to be with her -- but see another cute woman's boobs, and he's instantly imagining one in his mouth.

The girls stood in position, looking resolutely into the distance. Carmen was appealingly half-dressed, but now Lynn was wearing hardly anything at all, just the bikini panties. Now I was imagining her naked in my bed.

"If somebody comes, you'd better let us know," Lynn warned.

"Of course," I said. I stood in back of Carmen, waiting for her signal.

Gary tapped me on the shoulder, put a finger to his lips, and motioned for us to switch places. Had he read my mind? Or was he just scheming for a way to fondle my girl? In any case, I considered it a win-win, and I nodded my head. Silently I stood behind Lynn. As long as neither girl turned around, and neither of us said anything, they might not be the wiser.

"You OK, Lynn?" Carmen said.

"I'm good... how about you guys? Anyone watching us?"

Gary quickly leaned over so his voice would come from behind Lynn. "Still clear."

I gazed at Lynn's bare shoulders. Unfortunately the nape of her neck, a part of a woman I consider beautiful, was concealed behind a curtain of perfect, glossy black hair. The red triangle of her panties covered the most sensitive areas in back, but still suggested the supple shape of her bottom.

Carmen happened to glance sideways, and noticed that I, not Gary, stood behind Lynn. She looked just long enough to be sure, then returned her gaze forward, without saying anything. So she was OK with Gary touching her, and with me touching Lynn. Was she the perfect woman or what?

Then the moment came. A man rounded the corner of a lower terrace, walking our direction, but 15 feet down. "Hold on..." Lynn said, waiting. He ambled closer, taking his time, looking at flowers. He was pretty close now. As soon as he gazed up, Lynn said "cover!", followed by Carmen a moment later. I pressed my hands against Lynn's breasts, my fingers resting on her erect nipples. It was all I could do to resist fondling her.

The guy looked straight up at us, but by then there was little to see. He shook his head, unable to make sense of the scene, and wandered off.

Lynn noticed the different hands right away. "My god, you switched!" She spun around to face Gary and I let go.

Carmen laughed. "That was unexpected." Gary continued to cup her ample breasts.

"Did you notice? Or weren't you going to say anything?"

"Fine with me," Carmen said. "Kind of kinky. Makes the dare have higher stakes."

"People are watching, Lynn," Gary said. "Let Ken cover you up. It's just for fun anyway."

"Whose idea was this?"

"Mine," I lied, not wanting Gary to be in more trouble. Carmen bit her lip, trying not to smile too broadly.

As I had guessed, the idea that I had masterminded this to cop a feel was apparently not as bad as having her own boyfriend suggest it. "OK, fine," Lynn said. "I just got really freaked out. You didn't tell us."

"Wanna switch back?" Carmen said.

Lynn mulled this over. "No. The cat's out of the bag. And it is kind of more daring this way." She faced forward again. Gary still had Carmen's breasts in his hands. I noticed her sweats had inched down a little.

"Cover," Lynn said, and I put my hands back. She squirmed a little bit, but got used to my touch. I let one nipple, then the other, poke between my slightly spread fingers. "Watch it," she warned. "You're enjoying this way too much."

Gary, on the other hand, was getting no such defensiveness from Carmen. He was very slowly and deliberately caressing her breasts as he covered them, and there were subtle signs in her posture that she was enjoying the attention. She glanced back at me with a half-grin, to show she was cool with it, but was I okay?

I nodded back. I suppose I should have been jealous if another man was feeling up my girl right in front of me. But with Carmen it was different. I had no sense of her taking from me by sharing with him. Too bad Lynn wasn't in the same mood. It seemed she was avoiding looking over at Carmen, so she wouldn't have to watch what her boyfriend was doing.

Gary grew bolder, and he started openly fondling Carmen, leaving the nipples exposed instead of covering them, tweaking them even more erect. She only invited his touch as she swayed and moved with his hands. I was starting to feel left out.

When Carmen sighed, Lynn looked over, noticed what was going on, and barked, "Uncover!" She sighed and shook her head in resignation. "Just... be a gentleman, Gary. Don't do what she doesn't want."

"He's fine," Carmen reassured. "Is this going too far?"

"Well, I don't want Ken doing the same thing. Nothing personal."

"No problem," I said, though privately I thought this was highly unfair. "If anyone's not having fun, I think we should stop."

"Just a little while longer," Lynn said, daring herself.

"When we're not covering," Carmen said, "where should the boys put their hands?" Perhaps she thought Gary needed a little reining in.

"The butt," Gary said.

"No way," Lynn said. "My butt's off limits. How about hands at your sides?"

"Okay," I said.

"My butt's okay," Carmen offered. Gary grabbed a sweatpant-clad cheek in each palm and squeezed, getting a squeal from her. "Touch, not squeeze!"

I enjoyed what I could of the rear view of Lynn, topless as she was, look but don't touch. My hands were itching. Wasn't it time to cover her up again? Where were all the other people?

Gary let his hands roam back to Carmen's breasts, until she admonished, "I didn't say cover!" He returned to her hips and her bottom, letting his fingers play over the waistline of her pink sweatpants. It seemed he was going to keep testing his limits. I didn't blame him.

Come on, Lynn, I thought. Look how much fun she's having! You can get in on that, too. A man's hands on your nearly nude body, no danger involved, just a friend, even though this friend wants you naked, wants to fuck you silly? What's not to like about that?

Gary slipped a hand under Carmen's waistband, fondling her bottom, eliciting an "Oh!" and a giggle. Oh man. I envied him, not for his doing this with "my girl", but for not being able to do the same with Lynn. "Watch those hands," Carmen warned, though clearly signaling all systems go.

Gary slipped his other hand in, cupping both cheeks now. Carmen protested, but was clearly delighted. Lynn tensed up, not favoring this turn of events. Carmen's sweats were pushed halfway down her butt, and the stretching from his hands was probably the only thing keeping them up. She kept her hands on the railing, but now was swaying her hips a few inches side to side, back and forth.

"Cover," Lynn said, and I cupped her breasts again. If people were looking at us, I wasn't paying attention. Against my better judgment I started gently caressing her, letting her nipples play between my fingers. She sighed. "You boys are just going to do whatever you want, huh?" If that were true, I thought, you'd no longer be clothed.

Gary had the same idea. He pushed down Carmen's sweats to mid-thigh, and for a while aimlessly fondled bare skin everywhere he could. She was doing a sinuous slow dance, her body swaying while her feet and hands were still.

Lynn was moving too, but it seemed mainly a result of my fondling her breasts too enthusiastically. As if fighting an impulse to recoil from my touch. But she might be starting to respond as well. I had to keep in mind not to step in too close; if my growing erection poked her in the back, she'd probably go off like a fire alarm and leap over the fence.

Gary pulled Carmen's sweats all the way down. If she had any reservations about being stripped completely, she didn't voice them. Instead, she kicked out of her shoes, and then out of her sweats, now naked head to toe. Her delicious butt jiggled just a bit as she did this; her lovely breasts quivered a bit more. He stood there, shaking his head in near disbelief, until she peered over her shoulder to see what he was up to.

If anyone was looking her way now, he'd see a full-frontal view, and I don't think that bothered her now. She and Gary were no longer playing the cover-up game anyway. 

He stepped in close behind her, thrusting, dry humping, his crotch against her bare bottom. It probably wouldn't be long before he dropped his own pants. They were in a zone, and the outside world had receded. He kneaded her breasts, pushed them together, lifted them, squeezed them, tweaking her already-hard nipples. She sighed and writhed and shook her head, no longer caring who was watching. She shivered when he removed his hands from her breasts, and slid them down to her waist. There was an expectant moment as she knew where he was going next.

I couldn't see in front of Carmen; my view was to the left and behind. Her gasp was confirmation enough of what was hidden from view: Gary had slipped a finger inside her wet pussy. "Hey, can we trade?" I wanted to ask, but I didn't want to ruin the moment.

Moments later, Lynn did. Looking back, the cause might have been my own right hand, on a mission of its own, baring her right breast and heading down toward her bikini panties. Or it might have simply been seeing her boyfriend sticking his finger in a naked woman's pussy. I have to admit either one justified what she did next.

Lynn spun out of my grip and glared at Gary, livid. "That's enough, that's enough, that's enough, stop stopstop!" He dropped his hands. Both he and Carmen turned our way.

"You filthy pig," Lynn said. "Each time I thought you would have the decency to stop, to pull back, to show a little respect, you kept going. You just couldn't help yourself."

Gary evidently thought he could talk his way out of this. "Hey, Lynn, she was having some fun. This whole thing was basically your idea anyway."

"Well, I'm sorry, then, Carmen, for bringing you into this." Carmen shook her head, starting to say it wasn't Lynn's fault, but Lynn continued. "I'm sorry about the whole thing. It's just way more than I can take."

I had moved to Carmen's side by this time, so it looked like a three-on-one confrontation. This was my first good look at Lynn topless from the front, but now was not the time to be visibly appreciating how beautiful she was, dressed in only those skimpy bikini panties. I kept my gaze eye-to-eye or to the side.

"If you feel that way..." Gary said.

"Of course I feel that way!" Lynn snapped. "Carmen, can I have my clothes?"

Carmen reached for her handbag to retrieve her shorts, shirt and bra. Meanwhile, Gary strolled behind Lynn, glanced at her butt, and suddenly yanked her panties down to the ankles.

Yes! I wanted to cheer, surprised at how exuberant I was feeling. Finally I had the grand prize: a peek at Lynn completely naked. How selfish was that? But I realized that ever since we were introduced, even though she was at the time fully clothed, I had been hoping for and looking forward to this moment.

She was more furious than I had ever seen any woman, ever, and I suppose the sheer wrath emanating from her face could have marred her beauty somewhat. I was still infatuated. Her breasts were just the right size for her slender frame. Her nipples, encircled by very small areolae, seemed to invite the tongue. Her waist flared gently into elegant hips, and her pubic hair was trimmed to the same neat triangle that Carmen's was. 

She turned to Gary, raging, and I enjoyed the view of her gorgeous ass. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she yelled. "I told you I was done!"

Gary raised his hands in supplication, apologizing profusely, but she wouldn't be cooled down that easily. She started toward him and stumbled, because the panties were still around her ankles. Instead of getting dressed, she growled, kicked everything away, panties and sandals, and started smacking Gary in the arms and chest. He slowly backed away, leading her from us and her clothes.

Call me a cad, but seeing Lynn barefoot and naked, screaming and hitting a guy, was great entertainment. My dick, which has no conscience at all, was straining against my zipper. The make-up sex after an argument like that would have to be spectacular.

Carmen was transfixed for a while too, and then suggested that we get away while the getting was good. She was still naked, too, and I stood there dumbly while she fetched her things and got dressed.

They were still fighting when we walked away. I planned to call up Gary later and see how they were doing.

We walked downhill, toward the river and the city. "Sure you didn't mind Gary feeling me up?" Carmen said.

"Not at all. In fact, it was kind of hot."

"Plus you got to frisk Lynn."

"Not as much. Hardly fair at all."

"Well, you can frisk me later." She hugged me. "Not right here, though."

"What do you want to do now?" I said. "Walk along the river?"

"It's so warm today... What I'd really like to do is lay out, down on the grass. But we didn't bring anything," she said, disappointed. We had neither the towel nor the bikini needed for her to best soak up the rays.

"There are probably some shops in town," I offered. I wouldn't mind seeing Carmen in one of those skimpy microbikinis, with about the total surface area of a postcard. In fact, there were all sorts of sexy outfits I'd like to dress her up in.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 03



"Yeah..." she said, not sold on the idea. Maybe she didn't want to spend the money. "I could treat you," I said, but that didn't seem to be what she had in mind. She gazed wistfully down at the people, mainly girls her age, sunbathing downhill from us.

A few minutes passed by and she said, "I don't need to buy anything. I'll just go like this."

"Sounds good," I said. Damn, no bikini. Just the crop top and bulky sweats.

We were closer to some of the sunbathers now. Carmen pointed to a blonde coed lying prone next to a friend reading a paperback. Her top was untied, opening a graceful expanse of bare back, and she wore a black thong. Not much of her skin was hidden at all.

"You know, I could lay on my stomach with my top off, just like her," she said in a low voice.

I loved it when she had ideas like this. "It's the same thing, really," I agreed.

"But she has the thong, while I only have these sweatpants."

"A lot more sun she's getting. That thong is barely there."

A light bulb went off over her head. "Yeah! I could simply not wear the thong. It's basically the same as her!"

"You'll sunbathe nude?" I asked. Dumb question, but I just had to be sure. It was that important.

"Yes. You'll be right there. If you help me strip down, nobody will get a chance to see anything except my bare butt. And they'll probably walk by, assuming I have a thong, and then do a double-take when they see I don't."

"There is nothing I don't like about this plan."

"I didn't think so. Let's go pick a spot."

We sat down on the far end of the lawn from the trail. It wasn't crowded at all; our neighbors were probably 30 feet away, and paid no attention to us. Still, we were in view of a lot of people, potentially a very big audience for what Carmen was about to do.

"Uh oh," she said, peeking in her handbag. "I still have Lynn's clothes."

"I'll bring them to Gary's later. Just in case they haven't broken up yet. I don't want to go back up there right now." Probably having us return might make things worse.

Carmen took off her sneakers by herself; the rest of her clothing she needed my help with, to expose as little as possible before lying down. She wanted to tease watchers with her nude backside, rather than showing them full frontal.

She kneeled, leaning forward, facing uphill and away from the sun. I lifted off her top over her upstretched arms, causing an unavoidable flash of her breasts. I wasn't sure if anyone noticed. She lay down on her tummy, head turned to face me.

"It feels a little funny, just laying here in the grass," she said.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Well, there are parts of me that have never touched grass. It's kind of refreshing, though. I'm just thinking I'll get some grass stains that are hard to explain."

"You can shower back at my place. I'll personally check every square inch."

"Oh no!" she laughed. "Okay, ready for the pants?"

She lifted her butt a little, and I pulled down her sweats as she wriggled out of them. And that was that: everything was off. Just like the topless thong girl on her stomach, but without the thong.

I was glad she didn't have a bikini with her. It was much better to have her naked, even prone like this, her best parts hidden. Her backside had beautiful, gentle curves, from her shoulders to her waist, up again over her bottom, then along those gorgeous legs to end at her feet. I traced some of these curves with a finger until she swatted me away.

A nerdy looking guy walked about 20 feet in front of us, checking out the girls laid out, and then caught sight of Carmen. Like she predicted, he took a second look and his eyes widened. Then he caught my gaze and moved on.

"Well, you had your first spectator," I said.

"What did he do?"

"Pretty much - oh, here's some more." Three girls in bikinis strolled by. One pointed out Carmen to the others and they all giggled, looking shocked. The first girl glared at me for a moment, as if I had put her up to this, and then they walked off.

"Maybe there's more traffic here than I thought," I said.

"I can't move now anyway."

"I guess to get you dressed, we should just do everything in reverse."

"You aren't going to take my clothes away, are you?"

"Maybe. No, of course not."

She twisted a little to face me, her left shoulder rising, giving me a great view of her left breast which now hung free. "You don't mind if I take a nap?" She was sounding a little sleepy.

"No, I'll keep watch."

"Okay." She lay back down. "Good night."

Probably 20 people walked by while she slept before I quit counting. I could tell some were offended, many more were titillated, and many probably wondered what the story was behind all this: how I had this naked woman at my side, like some dude in a rap video, in the middle of Capital Park.

But no one harassed us, no one stuck around to stare for a long time, and no one called the cops. That's one of the things I liked about this area. People weren't busybodies. A naked woman on her stomach on a summer afternoon was really no harm to anyone. Except kids, and I saw some parents steer theirs away. I wanted to apologize each time that happened. But there wasn't a big family crowd here, because the attractions for children were elsewhere.

She shifted a bit in her sleep, spreading her legs a little. I tiptoed up to check out what the view would be. It was great. Just a little hint of her pussy lips were visible, enough to make it obvious she wore no sort of thong. The sides of her breasts were visible, squished a little. Her head and spill of black hair rested on her folded arms.

After an hour I noticed her breathing a bit more heavily, and shifting around a bit; not turning over by any means, but it made me concerned she was having a nightmare. Who knows how the strange feeling of sleeping naked in the grass might manifest itself in dreams.

I laid a hand on her shoulder and gently woke her up. "Carmen? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, a little groggy. "I was having this big dream. Very erotic. You shouldn't have woken me up."

"You can go back to sleep."

"Will you stay? Or did you go walk around?" Still sleepy, she was pairing separate questions.

"I stayed the whole time. Never left your side. But if you'd like, I could ditch you after you go back to sleep," I teased.

"No way. You'd take my clothes and everything?" She understood I wasn't really going to carry out that threat.

"You'd be all by yourself."

"And everybody staring at me, and I'd have no place to go... How would I get home?"

"Don't know. Somebody would have to help you."

"Even being here like this, naked, alone, asleep..." This was getting her turned on.

"You could get in big trouble."

"You would really do this to me?" She turned again slightly to face me, partially showing her breasts. I wanted to reach over and start fondling them.

"First I would make you turn over. Hands at your side, everything showing."

"Oh my god..."

"And your legs spread, just enough to show everyone your wet pussy. You would have to sleep, or pretend you were asleep. And whatever anyone did to you, you would not be allowed to open your eyes."

"That's it," she said, and got up on all fours. She straddled me, her breasts just inches from my face.

"Aren't you worried people will-"

"Just a side view," she said. "We're just going to make out."

So I was on my back, and Carmen (nude, for those of you not keeping track) was on top, her body pressing against mine, her lips against mine, her hair dangling over my face. She had thrown caution to the wind; from the side, her hanging breasts were visible, and from above, her shimmying butt, spread thighs and the treasure between them.

This was heaven. My hands roamed over her shoulders, back and butt. I could have stayed like this forever except for one pressing problem. "Whoa, Carmen, we gotta stop," I said.

"Too much woman for you?" she teased.

"Actually, yes," I said. "I don't want to go off in my pants."

"We can fix that," she said, with a wicked smile. She crouched up, and undid my button fly.

"Oh, no, no, no," I protested.

"Yes, yes, yes," she said, and yanked my pants down to my knees. My member sprang up like the flagpole at Iwo Jima.

"You can't be serious," I said. She wasn't listening.

She lowered herself back down onto me, leaning forward a bit but mainly sitting up. So much for concealing the goods. Her breasts jiggled deliciously as we thrusted. Her pussy was sopping wet and it felt like her body temperature was about 140 degrees.

I guess it was good in a way that I didn't last long at all. Part of me was terrified about getting caught. Sunbathing nude is one thing. Sex in public might have gotten us arrested. Luckily, that didn't happen.

After we were done, Carmen had the same idea. "We'd better get dressed and skedaddle!" That silly choice of words set me laughing out loud as I pulled up my jeans. I was disappointed as always to see her putting clothes back on, but I knew it was for our own good.

I don't know who saw us out there. Certainly some people had to. We slunk out of there pretty fast, avoiding eye contact.

We stayed in town until dinner, then went back to my place for some conventional yet enjoyable between-the-sheets sex. All too soon, it was time to take her home.

"You up for another day of this?" she asked.

"Absolutely. Hell, I wouldn't mind an exact rerun of today."

"No, no reruns," she said. "Let's do something at least a little bit different."

"How are we going to top this?" I asked.

"That's our challenge," she said. "Same time tomorrow?"

Heck yeah. I had a feeling I'd blow off my own wedding for another day outdoors with her. We decided to defer till tomorrow what the day's activities would be.

After Carmen left for the night, I called Gary. He wasn't in. Hopefully they had made up, or he was otherwise having fun. For my part, I hoped they'd stay together so I could see Lynn again. I know: selfish.

I left a message, asking him to call back, with no further details. I didn't want to jinx any possible detente with a badly worded phone message played on speaker.

Carmen was due to return in less than twelve hours. How could we top what happened today, I wondered. Would today, only our second date, be our best ever?

(story will continue!)



Meeting Carmen Ch. 04



On Monday morning, Memorial Day, I woke up with an erection of patriotic proportions. Not the coda to an erotic dream, but anticipation of the day to come. "Easy there, boy," I said as I hopped out of bed.

Yesterday had been intense. Two gorgeous women -- Carmen, and Gary's girlfriend Lynn -- dared each other to show off more skin in an outdoor garden. This accelerated delightfully out of control, leading to both girls naked, Gary getting to second base with Carmen, and Lynn screaming and punching him. To cap off the afternoon, Carmen sunbathed nude in the park, and then climbed on top and fucked me silly. (See previous chapter.)

Before she left for home last night, she wondered how we could possibly top that for today. I had no idea. It hardly seemed possible.

As I showered and dressed, a fiendish idea bloomed. I called Carmen's cell phone. Voice mail picked up, and I left the following message: I would be upstairs working with some music files, and might not hear the doorbell; so just call my cell (which I'll have in my pocket) when you arrive. Thanks, see you in a bit.

The truth was, she wouldn't need to call at all. My townhouse has a stairway leading up to the bedrooms. At a landing halfway up, a small window provides a view of the front step and anyone standing there. I would spot her as soon as she arrived. About ten minutes early, I settled on the landing and waited.

She didn't know about this vantage point, which I had also used the two previous days she visited. Yesterday, she had pushed down her own sweatpants while she waited at the front step, wearing nothing underneath, a daring herself to stand bottomless in public. Onlookers would have only seen her bare bottom, but that was a glorious sight indeed.

Today, I wanted to see as soon as possible what she was wearing. I watched the sidewalk like a sniper. The minutes crawled by.

When she arrived, my heart nearly stopped. She walked briskly, eyes straight ahead, willing herself to be brave. Her sweatpants were already off. The only thing she wore was the skimpiest top I had ever seen: robin's egg blue, scoop neck, and hand-cropped nearly to the point of disappearing. It extended a mere inch or two below her nipples. The lower swells of her breasts hung invitingly below. My fingertips twitched in anticipation.

She carried a small shopping bag; inside was a folded pair of light-blue sweats. Had she stripped them off in the car, or on the way to my door? Had she driven from home wearing only that top? I admired her creativity. She was absolutely finding ways to outdo what she had done yesterday.

I watched her reach in the bag and fish out her cell. I answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Carmen. I'll be right down."

"Hurry, It's a little chilly out." Just by chance, she turned my way, though she couldn't see me through the small window. The frontal view was spectacular: beautiful thighs, dark trimmed pubic hair, slightest roundness in her tummy, and bountiful breasts barely concealed by that crop top. Her nipples, poking defiantly against the blue fabric, so close to being in open air, made my mouth water. Clearly she was also excited by the situation.

"Why, what are you wearing?" I said innocently, trying to keep my voice steady.

She laughed. "Not much! My sweats were just falling down so often, I took them off. So all I have on is this dainty little top that hardly covers anything."

I smiled. She made it sound accidental, but it was clearly deliberate. "I can't wait to see it. You're actually bottomless?"

"Yep."

"Is anyone looking?"

She turned toward the street and shaded her eyes. The act of raising her arm to do this lifted her top just enough to expose the nipple on that side. A dizzying expanse of bare skin fell away from there to her sandals.

"Not that I can see." When she lowered her arm, the top wrinkled a bit and stayed in place instead of sliding back down. She noticed this, smirked, gently pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and tugged the top into place. 

I briefly thought about a notional fourth date, where she could wear this top, but with another two inches cropped, so no matter what she did, she would be exposed.

But there was plenty of fun to be had today. "While I'm coming down," I said causally, "how about you take off your top?"

"No way!" she exclaimed. "It's the only thing I have on! It's scary enough just like this!"

"It would be a bigger thrill. Completely naked, standing there, where anyone could see you."

"No. I need at least something."

"It's just for a few moments, until I let you in." I had to stop myself from pleading with her. At that moment, I was just obsessed with getting her to stand there nude.

"Well, if I stand with my back to the street..." Good, she was being sold on the dare.

"I'll be down really quick."

"Um... um... okay. I'll take it off now." She pulled the mini-top over her head, stooped down, and folded it on top of the sweatpants in her bag. "Okay, it's off."

"I'll be down in a sec." I switched off and stayed on the landing for as long as I dared, gazing at the nude girl through the window. She occasionally peeked over her shoulder to see if she had an audience. This was obviously heating her up; her erect nipples were probably visible from low-flying aircraft. She had to be getting moist as well. I should be getting down soon.

She shivered: cold outside, in the shaded doorway; or fear (or hope) of getting caught? She checked for peeping toms again, then faced the doorway, expectantly. She folded her arms over her breasts, but left her lower body uncovered.

I waited, counting to ten. Maybe I could get her to play with herself, stick one finger in that gorgeous pussy while she waited? Or would that be pushing my luck? I didn't want to goad her into things she wasn't into. 

She checked her phone again; not irritated yet, but I figured it was past time to come down and welcome her in. I opened the door and hugged her in the doorway, my hands roaming her bare back as we kissed.

"What took you so long?" she said between smooches. "What if somebody saw me?"

"That's a risk you take. Wasn't it fun, though?"

"Yes... But do I have to keep standing here? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Of course. I've got big plans for you."

I took her inside, shut the door with my foot as I held her in one arm and started fondling a breast with the other hand.

"Hey, patience, Rocket Man," she said, giggling as she pushed my hand away. "Youuu have to wait."

"You're killing me here," I protested. "Just one little romp. I promise it won't take more than ten minutes."

She reached for her clothes. "Patience," she said, wriggling into her top. "When we get back. Anticipation is much more fun." She smirked. "I can't believe after only three days I'm showing up on your doorstep naked."

"So what do you want to do while I spend the day undressing you with my eyes?" Damn, she was putting on pants now.

"Let's go back to the craft show. I think I want to try on more things at Stu's booth." His was the clothing booth we had visited Saturday, where she modeled the miniskirt for Stu and I. A repeat of that show? Or something more?

As we walked to my car, I let her go ahead, in order to get a better view of those pastel blue sweats, hanging precariously off her hips. How could they be loose enough to slip off in a slight breeze, yet still show off the shape of her curvaceous caboose? Shut up, brain, I thought. Don't question such things.

Her top was driving me crazy. The light fabric showed her nipples and areolae easily, and even then it didn't completely cover what it was supposed to. I wished there were a way she could walk around topless. But that was probably too deliberate and would get her in trouble. For an "accidental" showing, she had to be wearing some kind of top and bottom.

These pleasant thoughts occupied me as I drove down the freeway, resting my right hand on her thigh.

At the fair, the weather was just as warm as Saturday, and the women were just as scantily dressed. If only it could be summer all year round: a wish that the state of Wisconsin was probably not inclined to fulfill. But who knows: maybe all those months of cold weather helped create this display of pent-up, provocative sun worship when summer finally arrived. Year-round summer might just lead to year-round plain shorts and T-shirts. Today, it was like a fireworks show: one amazing sight after another.

Today, in her skimpier top, Carmen was more conspicuous than on Saturday. No one overlooked her. There seemed to be a few more people that changed their itinerary to match ours, hanging on the periphery, almost stalking.

"How're you doing?" I asked, in a whisper.

She sighed. "Wound up. It's... hard to describe. Like I'm drunk, and had too much coffee, and finished a marathon, and about to bungee jump... naked, in front of my parents, everyone I've known in school, the church..."

I chuckled. "That's fairly eloquent, for being hard to describe."

She gritted her teeth. "I am trying to convince myself not to chicken out. All the time." She took a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and leaned forward to inspect a ceramic reindeer. Her top gaped forward, lifting off her breasts. I could have kneeled underneath, faced upward and kissed her nipples without touching any fabric. She picked up another animal, taking her time, and then looked at another on a lower shelf. Her sweats, which had been riding low, passed the point of no return and slid down. For a moment she stayed there, basically wearing nothing at all, before exclaiming "Ooh!", standing up, and putting her clothes back together.

I glanced around us for reactions. Some guys looked as astonished as if they had seen Elvis step out of a UFO.

She bit her lip, then smiled at me. "That was pretty good."

"You kidding? That was sublime," I said. "Can we go home now?"

She scowled. "No!" She took my arm. "You guys are all alike; you never want to go shopping."

I put a hand above her hip. Her warm, smooth skin felt awesome. She threw an arm around me and we walked like that for a while.

Scarlett's Scrunchies caught her eye. To a guy, the booth seemed overly specialized, offering only hairbows: little elasticized fabric rings to corral an impromptu ponytail. About every color and style you could think of was arranged on three rotating racks with small mirrors at eye level. Carmen ducked inside, pulling me along. Scarlett noticed her outfit and eyed her suspiciously from her perch in the corner. We stood in the back; the racks partially blocked the view from the outside.

Carmen tried on several bows, one at a time, checking over her shoulder in the mirror, and asking me what I liked. I found it impossible to give a meaningful answer. To put each bow on, she needed to reach over her shoulders, gather her hair, stretch the bow with her fingers, and pull the hair through. During this whole process, her top was pulled up well over her nipples, basically exposing her entire breasts, made even more prominent with her arched back. She knew all this, of course.

After trying on the first bow, her top wasn't able to drop down all the way, caught, as you can imagine, on her hard, dark nipples. She feigned annoyance at this, and pulled the top back down.

After the second bow, she didn't bother, so her nipples stayed out. Unconcerned, she scanned the rack, looking for another bow to try. I knew by now if I touched her she would brush me off, wanting to prolong the tease. So I hung back.

I actually would have had no problem with her continuing like this until sunset. But Carmen was building up to something. While trying on bow five or six, she was facing away from me, arms upraised, what was left of her top basically covering only the shoulders. I remember this moment, hoping she would turn back around, when she gave her hips the slightest wiggle. Her sweatpants, to which I hadn't been paying much attention, slid down over her delectable ass and drifted to the ground. From the narrow light-blue fabric of her micro-top down to her ankles, there was nothing but bare skin. Turn around, turn around, I thought.

She finally did, arms still up, adjusting her scrunchie. "Having problems with this one," she said, with an impish grin. That ridiculous top exposing most of her breasts made the scene even more erotic than if she had simply been nude. "How do I look?"

I said nothing, walking toward her. My predatory intent must have been clear, as well as her vulnerable state. Her eyes widened and she put both palms forward, to fend me off. "No! No, Ken, you have to wait!"

I busted up laughing. It was like she was a circus trainer, and I was a tiger cub, still feral but mainly harmless. I guess I looked a little downcast afterward, and she gave me a quick hug, contrite about the mood being broken. Then she got dressed. As well as she could. 

We returned to Stu's booth. Fortunately, he was there; if his mom or someone else was running things, we wouldn't have bothered stopping in.

He was quite happy to see Carmen, practically wagging his tail. "Hi guys! Glad to see you back! We've got some new items in today."

"Cool!" Carmen said. "And I promise I'll buy something today."

"I have just the thing for you," he said, pulling something out of a small wicker box. It didn't look like anything at first: a thin brass ring, about four inches in diameter, atop a small pile of gauzy dark material.

"What is it?" Carmen said.

"It's a skirt," Stu said. "Material is silk. Put the ring at your hip, wrap the material around, and tuck each end through, underneath. It needs to be tight enough on the ring to stay up."

I understood now. It was diabolical. Only friction would keep the skirt where it was supposed to; if the smooth silk started to slip at all against the brass ring, everything would quickly come apart. In a way, it was similar to the sweatpants Carmen was wearing.

"Can I try it on?" she said.

"I was hoping you would," Stu said.

We went back to the back corner where she had tried on skirts two days earlier.

"It's less private here today," she said, looking around. She was right. There were fewer clothes hanging along the sides to block the view from outside. I tried to rearrange them to make an uninterrupted wall, but couldn't avoid leaving a few peepholes. Perhaps Stu, anticipating a return visit, had hung the clothes higher. From most angles outsiders would able to see Carmen from the waist down. Imagine a shower curtain that only hung down to a girl's navel. Not much privacy there.

Carmen was not deterred. She took off her top, evidently planning to model for Stu topless again, covering her breasts with her hands. With the miniskirt on Saturday, this was quite a show for him; I had a feeling the wraparound skirt he devised for her, even if it didn't fall apart, would reveal even more. There wasn't a lot of material there.

She stripped out of her sweats, well aware that even though she couldn't see anyone outside, they could see a lot of her. She stepped out of her shoes, and now wore nothing at all.

I couldn't wait any longer; I at least had to have her in my arms. She didn't protest this time, and we kissed for a little while, not long enough. My hands roamed along her back, from her shoulders down to her butt. She moved in closer, pressing against me.

"How about right here?" I said.

"Mmm-mmm," she said, shaking her head. "I have a skirt to try on."

By this time my balls were navy blue. There's only so much a man can endure! I reluctantly let her go.

It took a few tries to get the wraparound skirt set so it would stay up. Even then, its hold was tenuous. She set the ring low on her right hip, and wrapped the thin fabric around. There wasn't much coverage: barely enough for her pubic area, top to bottom, and a valiant but failed effort to completely cover her butt. Almost the lower third of her cheeks were exposed under the swath of fabric gently climbing from left to right. It was completely impractical, and not suited for wearing in public.

"Ready to show Stu?" I said.

She nodded and covered a breast with the fingertips of each hand. We walked around to the front.

Stu's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "That looks fantastic! How do you like it?"

Carmen slowly turned around, showing him front and back. Stu looked her up and down, pleased with what the skirt revealed, and probably irked that she was once again covering her bare breasts. "It's very daring," she said, peeking down, making sure the skirt was still there. "But I love it. How much is it?"

Stu shrugged. "There's a tag somewhere on it. Probably on one of the ends, tucked inside."

We knew that was bullshit; if Carmen hadn't returned today, Stu's improvised skirt would probably have never left its box. There was no price tag. There was no price.

"I'll go in back and change out, then," Carmen said.

"Actually, if you stand right here, I can just reach under and find it."

Carmen eyed him warily. "I'm not so sure about that. Can I trust you?"

"Sure," he said, his expression blatantly contradicting this. "Just step closer." He sat on the edge of his chair while Carmen stood in front of him. She leaned back a bit and shook her head, to move her hair off her shoulders. She couldn't use her hands to do this. She wouldn't be able to use her hands to prevent anything Stu might do.

"Let's try here," he said, holding her right leg above the knee with both hands, as if to steady her. I saw Carmen tense up as he slid his hands upward, milking this opportunity for all it was worth. She deliberately made herself vulnerable to his advances. As his fingers reached under the skirt, they also pushed it up, exposing her pussy and some of her bush. Her feet were shoulder width apart; she was already sexually excited. No doubt it was a spectacular view. He paused for a second, staring, his brain locked up.

He remembered he was supposed to pretend to be searching for a tag, and continued that charade. "Not here," he said. His fingers probed near the ring, then slowly navigated forward along her hip and pelvis, like climbers inching along sheer cliffs. They stayed beneath the curtain of dark silk, intimate in their touch. "Can you turn a little to your right?" He reached around to place a hand on her bare bottom, guiding her.

She slowly turned, cupping her breasts in her hands, covering not much more than the nipples, letting Stu explore below more and more freely. He meticulously searched for the tag which we all knew was not there. When she faced me, and he was openly caressing her hips and ass, she looked at me with a tight grin, wide eyes and arched brows: Can you believe this?

I smiled. It was all cool.

Stu fondled her buttocks with both hands. He seemed to be looking for the right time to be really impudent and finger her pussy, no more pretending. His hand did move forward, inching toward her pubic area, when the silk material lost its hold on the brass ring holding it together. It happened pretty fast. The ring bounced on the ground and rolled to Stu's feet. The skirt lost all shape and drifted inkily after it.

Carmen gasped and shot one hand down to cover herself, momentarily baring a breast before repositioning her top arm to cover both. In back, there was nothing she could do, and that was the side that faced Stu.

"Ken, can you cover me down below?" she said. I placed my left hand on her bottom, covering the cleft between her cheeks, and my other palm covered her pubic area. She resumed covering her chest with both hands. I loved the scratchy-soft feel of her pubic hair. With my middle fingertip, I touched between her legs, just testing; yes, she was excited. She could have reached a hand, if she could spare one, to confirm that I was enjoying this too.




Meeting Carmen Ch. 04



As for Stu, it was a good thing he was already sitting down. He retrieved the skirt and ring, with a guilty grin. "I guess there wasn't a tag. I forgot." He named a price that sounded quite reasonable, and one that Carmen agreed to pay.

She and I did a little dance together as she turned to face him while I still kept her naughty bits covered. After that, I spread the fingers on the hand covering her bush so she basically wasn't covered at all, giving Stu a good view of her labia. If she noticed this, she didn't say anything.

I paid for the skirt; Carmen had left her purse at my house. With my left hand, that was covering her butt, I reached for my wallet and flipped it open, thumbing out a credit card. At the same time, I replaced my middle finger on her pussy lips and started gently probing and stroking.

Stu looked mesmerized for a second or two, and then swiped the card. "It's taking some time to go through," he said. "Kind of slow."

My left hand went to her hip, helping steady her. I saw no good reason to cover up that gorgeous ass of hers. My right middle fingertip was now inside, knuckle deep, and soaked; Carmen was starting to shiver. Stu would watch this for about 10 seconds, and then pretend to check the credit card machine, lather, rinse, repeat.

"Still going through," Stu said, even though I could see on the readout that authorization was complete. We kept our charade going.

"Are you okay?" I whispered in her ear.

"Nhhhgh," she said. After realizing no one would understand this, she nodded her head. That was good. I would have stopped, but was really hoping she wouldn't want to.

Stu had some considerable self-control, just sitting there watching a beautiful nude woman get fingered, inches away. I would have been tempted to bat the hand away and finish the job with my tongue. Or my dick.

I decided she needed to bare her breasts; covering up was a futile, unnecessary gesture by now. "Stu," I said, "can we give Carmen the skirt while we're waiting?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." He held up the ring. "This is yours..."

Carmen repositioned one arm to cover both breasts and reached down to pick up the ring. She left the hand at her side.

"And here's the rest." Stu held up the dark silk well to her right, on the side of the arm she was covering with. Everything stopped as she mulled over what both he and I absolutely wanted her to do. Almost everything, that is; I maneuvered another finger into her warm, moist pussy. It was a tight fit, and the sensation changed her heart rate immediately.

Breathing hard, she slowly dropped her right arm to take the skirt, unveiling her breasts. Her hands were now at her sides. Goosebumps dotted her smooth skin. Her nipples were engorged and inviting. Only my right hand blocked her full-frontal nudity, and even so hid very little.

I thought more about her full breasts, and those charged nipples. She was hyperventilating, and undoubtedly close to coming. With my free hand, I cupped one, and gingerly pressed a nipple between finger and thumb. That was all it took.

She climaxed as silently as she could, hissing, clenching her teeth, holding back an animal growl from deep inside. She spasmed a few times, and I held her torso to keep her up. Only when she had her balance and respiration back did I remove my finger from inside her.

"Authorization came through," Stu said, belatedly, and I had to stifle a laugh.

Carmen turned to me, grinned and rolled her eyes. "Ken, I'd like to get dressed now."

"Sure, sure," I said, solicitous. I helped her back to the makeshift dressing area.

"I have to sign the receipt," I said. "I promise I'll be back."

"You'd better!" She crossed her arms over her breasts, but didn't bother covering up below.

I returned to the front, where Stu was mopping his brow.

"Hey, thanks, man," he said in a soft voice. "She's amazing."

"She thinks you're all right," I said. "Wouldn't have come back otherwise."

In back, Carmen had already changed into her sweats and top. Appealing as that outfit was, I had other ideas.

"We're about three blocks from our car. How about... you wear only the skirt all the way there?"

She gave me the weary look of a skier whose rubbery legs were about to give out, but was game for one more run.

"I don't get to wear my top?"

"No. But you do get to cover up with your hands. Like with Stu."

She mulled this over, and briefly pushed up her top to cover her breasts with her hands, testing how well that worked, as if she had not been doing this just ten minutes ago. "You have to promise you won't move my hands, or make me move them."

Good; if she was bargaining, that meant she accepted the idea of doing another dare. "It's a deal."

She stepped out of her sweats and we put the skirt back together. Too bad her top was still on while we were doing this. But maybe I was getting spoiled. "Make sure it's snug," she said, and I pulled it in tighter.

Once she was satisfied, she took off her top. I folded her clothes and put them in the bag, which I would carry; she needed her hands free. She walked out. "Bye, Stu," she said, knowing he was scanning her up and down.

"My pleasure, Carmen," he said. "Don't forget the Dairy Show in August. We'll have a booth there as well."

Stu neglected to say goodbye to me, but that was understandable.

Wherever we walked, Carmen's appearance caused a ripple in traffic, a disturbance in everyone's concentration. I had cinched her skirt tighter than before -- I didn't think it was going to come loose on its own -- but the tradeoff was even skimpier coverage, as the band of silk concealed a narrower swash around her hips and butt. Its widest point was probably as wide as a compact disk, maybe an extra inch. The narrowest spot, on either side of the ring, was about two inches. The free ends dangled like little drapes. The asymmetric skirt exposed about one-third her left butt cheek and almost half the right. Below, lovely bare legs. Above, a generous expanse of bare shoulders, waist and back. In front, she was decent in a PG-13 sort of way, staying non-nude by a technicality: her skirt just long enough, and her fingertips kept together just so.

At a potpourri booth Carmen whispered "Is the skirt riding up in back? It seems like more of my butt is showing!"

She was right: in back, the silk was both creeping up and narrowing, bit by bit, as she walked. She was narrower at the waist than the hips, and the tension in the skirt was edging it upwards to relieve it. I checked in front: it still covered what it needed to, barely. However, most of her bottom was now showing.

"Boy, that looks inviting," I said, caressing her there.

"Stop it!" she whispered. "You're making trouble."

I conceded that point and withdrew my hand. As we continued walking, I kept monitoring the progress of her levitating skirt. It was fascinating enough that I had to force myself to periodically check where I was going.

Carmen was doing interesting things above the waist as well. She couldn't decide how she wanted to keep her breasts covered, and would switch her hands from time to time, between covering both with one arm, and covering each with a hand. During these switches, for a fraction of a second, a sharp-eyed viewer could see them quiver in the open air as they were temporarily released. Her way of pushing the dare a little further.

Soon her skirt hung at a steep slant from back to front. A swooping drape of silk covered her pussy and all but a few dozen curls of pubic hair. Behind, the skirt had folded and rolled to the width of my thumb, anchored well above her buttocks which were completely revealed.

She turned to me, backing against a canvas canopy wall at the end of an aisle. "I need another hand, to cover up in back!"

"Are you doing OK, for real?"

She opened her arms and hugged me, again momentarily revealing her breasts. There was probably still a great side view as we embraced. "This is the hottest thing ever. I can't believe I'm really doing this. Not just in somebody's booth, but out here in the crowd!"

"Are you ready for more?"

"No, I am NOT going to take off the skirt. No way. There's way too many people."

"I wasn't thinking about the skirt," I said, and left the rest implied, to let it sink in.

Her eyes widened. "No way!"

"We're a block from the car. It's really close."

"You have to protect me. Anything goes wrong, I put everything back on."

"I'll be right by your side."

She took a deep breath. "OK..."

She turned away from me, dressed only in the silk skirt that covered her in front but not in back, and left her hands at her sides. "Let's do this," she said, and took my hand. We started walking.

She was extremely tense for the first few steps, and gripped my hand firmly. After a while, she got used to having her breasts completely exposed. I imagined a celebrity must feel like this: everyone's eyes on you, people crowding around, even as you simply wanted to take a walk down the block.

"I really hope this skirt doesn't go," she whispered.

I didn't think it would. It seemed to be holding up well, and no longer creeping up.

There was a handsome guy her age selling pendants, made of wood carved into Polynesian symbols. We stepped in, and once he figured out it was OK to openly stare at her breasts, we didn't make eye contact again.

Carmen tried on a few pendants, and was brave enough to let him take them on and off. He draped the string over her head and took great care to position each carving where it lay on her chest. Seashells, lizards, and abstract symbols rested atop various points along her cleavage, and the seller took every opportunity to let his fingertips graze her breasts as he worked.

He got brave enough to tweak her nipples between ring and middle fingers when she decided she had had enough. "I've... really got to get going. Thank you so much!"

"Any time," said the seller, who gazed at her until we had walked out of sight.

A few booths later, an arresting display of colored prints caught our eye, and we stepped in. A woman named Silvia greeted us, and introduced her assistant Ally.

Silvia was about mid-40s, about twice Ally's age. Coarse brown hair with a few streaks of white was pulled back in a braid. Her face was dominated by glasses in small circular wire frames, brown eyes, and a prominent nose. She was tall and slender, dressed in a frilly bohemian top that bunched just beneath the chest, faded black jeans, and worn sandals. I guessed she painted full time and probably grew her own vegetables.

She was not fazed at all by Carmen's near-nudity; as if she saw such things all the time. Maybe she was part of a naturist group, where a throng of liberated but (sadly) average-looking people walked around in the buff. I had seen enough HBO documentaries. Swingers and the like were people just like you and me. Unfortunately.

Ally looked jaded, perched on her stool, and even a nearly nude woman walking in wasn't going to pique her interest. Pale, tightly crossed legs sprouted from a barely-there white miniskirt, while a clingy aqua shirt clung to a tiny waist and small breasts. A rebellious daughter, maybe. I imagined that, unlike Silvia, she would look pretty good with her clothes off.

"Do you see anything interesting?" Silvia said.

"Everything," Carmen said.

Each print was a study of a young woman, painted in hundreds of shades of a single color: blues, greens, browns, oranges. The one I liked most was a girl in a cheongsam dress, framed in cherry blossom trees, the scene overlooking a lake. The hues ranged from fire-engine red to black. Silvia's work was somehow both impressionistic and photographic, rewarding the discerning eye with the subtlest of details among a wash of color.

"She looks sort of like Lynn," Carmen said.

I agreed. "Remind me to call Gary later, find out how they're doing." Chances seemed small that Lynn would ever go near him again, but he had overcome long odds before.

The girl in the painting was about Lynn's age, with a slightly fuller figure. Her dress seemed tailored to fit her perfectly without being skintight. Her eyes were dead-on, showing just the minute changes that differentiate one ethnic group's features from another's. Another look revealed that the girl was not wearing a bra; her nipples formed almost imperceptible bumps in a fabric that, despite being painted in only shades of red, had a glossy sheen. As I leaned forward for a closer look (and Silvia seemed to know exactly where I was looking), the bumps disappeared in the close scale of detail and tone. Only when I backed up could I see them again.

"These are almost like photos," I said. "True to life... how do you capture that in your work?"

Silvia smiled. "Do you draw? The female figure?"

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"Just a hunch." She put a hand on my shoulder and another at Carmen's waist. "Why don't I take you in back, show you some other work. And we can talk about what I do."

Carmen and I looked at each other. Gut check time: was Silvia the type to chop our heads off with an axe? Probably not. Almost certainly not.

"Ally, I'll be in back," Silvia announced. She pushed aside an improvised curtain leading to another canopy in back of the main one, closed on all four sides, lit by two spotlights clamped to the upper frame.

This was evidently the adult alcove. The prints were in the same style as those in front, the girls rendered in slightly more crisp detail; but the poses and settings were not for kids.

In a sunlit meadow, under an apple tree, a nude woman, perhaps 25, slept alone on a checkered blanket spread out on the grass. Beside her was a half-open picnic basket. She lay on her back, legs sprawled, unconcerned about who might happen along while she slept. Her shapely breasts (flattened and spread a bit given her posture), pubic hair and pussy lips were painted in loving detail. Her long hair spilled over the edge of the blanket. Her closed eyes were delicate arcs of fine lashes.

Another girl was rinsing something in a knee-deep stream, perhaps the light summer clothes she might have been wearing. She wore nothing now. Silvia had given her sex a glistening moistness that did not result from being splashed by the placid water. The situation of being outside like this was evidently exciting her. I looked at her face -- she seemed lost in thought -- and then realized why she looked familiar.

"That's Ally!" I said. "Your helper in front!"

"That's right," Silvia said. "She is one of my models."

I felt a little like a peeping tom at that point; as if I had seen Ally naked without her consent.

I shook my head. "These are so incredible... I don't want to ask for trade secrets or anything, but how did you get this good?"

"Thank you," she said. "That's a very nice thing to say.

"First is practice; I've painted full time for almost twenty years. You have to have talent, you have to have a creative spark, and you have to practice."

"But you capture the look so well... do you paint from poses?"

"They are not posed. I paint from a scene I build in my head. The main thing I do, which differs from many other artists, is to really get to know my model. When I paint, I'm communicating to you in one sense: sight. To internalize my model, I experience her in all five senses. That's how my better work seems to have more than meets the eye."

"All five senses?" Carmen said. "Do you sniff her or something?"

Fortunately, Silvia didn't take this the wrong way. "Actually, yes. She'll spend at least three days at my house, and sleep in my bed. We spend a lot of time together. So there is the scent of soap on her skin after she has just stepped out of the shower; or her more natural scent after a day in the garden. There's the sound of her voice as she whispers in my ear."

Carmen's eyebrows raised.

Silvia continued: "The feel of her warm body against mine under the sheets, when the rest of the room is winter cold. The sound of her heartbeat as she falls asleep. The taste of her lips against mine; her nipple between my lips; of her sex when I make her come."

Wow. I was already impressed by Silvia as an artist, having a superb eye for beauty in the female body. But I was finding out she had a really sexy mind. And many say the brain is the most important sexual organ...

Carmen seemed not sure of what to make of Silvia's revelation, though she was intrigued as well. Perhaps she already guessed what Silvia would say next:

"Carmen, I would like very much to paint you, and have you stay with me."

"Right now?"

She smiled. "No, not today. I'll give you my card; you can call me. Actually, I'll give it to Ken, since you don't have any pockets."

"I'd... have to tell my parents I'm going camping or something."

"Maybe we need to wait, then. I'd rather not, but I don't want to make you tell lies. Or, you could visit during the afternoon." She walked around inspecting Carmen, who stood rigidly, hands at her sides.

"May I?" said Silvia as she held the brass ring of Carmen's skirt. Carmen looked down, and for a moment I thought she was going to freak out. Instead, she nodded. A quick pull, and she was nude.

"Oh my," Silvia said, as if she had just appeared in a cloud of smoke. "You are absolutely beautiful."

"I don't get it. I was almost naked anyway..."

"It's different. Seeing all of you at once... it's always different." She continued looking Carmen up and down. Carmen seemed to be at once bemused, insecure, and excited.

"May I touch you?" Silvia said. "I won't do anything without your consent."

"Uh-huh..."

I watched with a growing hard-on as she lovingly caressed and explored every bit of Carmen's skin. "I always hope my next work will be my best," she said. "You might be the one."

Carmen stood still, noticing her breathing getting out of control, and took deep, controlled breaths. Still, when Silvia touched her in sensitive areas, she shivered and sighed.

Silvia figured she had Carmen's standing consent and stopped asking for permission. She peeled off her fluffy top and unhooked a plain white bra, revealing a really nice pair of breasts for her age. Come to think of it, I really don't even need to include that qualification. You could tell she wasn't 18 any more, but they were shapely and real. She had obviously lived a healthy life.

I wondered about all the other people, places, and ideas I had overlooked by making rush judgements, quick conclusions. How much more beauty was flying under a typical guy's radar?

Silvia slipped off her jeans, revealing slim though weathered legs, and a matronly pair of white panties. Seconds later, those were off too, and I took back any reservation, any qualifier I had about her. She was hot. More alluring than the bored young girl in front. A sort of sexy beauty that (ironically) you wouldn't pick up from a mere photograph, or even a painting.

She crouched down, kissing Carmen below the navel, hands at her waist; and instead of moving down, her lips and tongue inched slowly, agonizingly upward. By the time she reached her breasts and her engorged, hypersensitive nipples, Carmen could no longer keep still and started returning her attention.

They stood clinched together, lips locked, as their hands roamed each other's bodies. When Carmen bent to taste her nipples, Silvia gazed over her shoulder at me. "Don't just stand there, Ken," she said with a wicked smile.

I lost no time tearing off my clothes and joined them. They mainly had eyes for each other, so I ended up licking and stroking whatever body parts were currently (and temporarily) unattended. I mainly didn't mind being on the fringes; I always like being able to do things with my hands. But my dick was aching for relief after a while.

When Carmen moved behind Silvia, I dropped to my knees in front and started licking the older woman's pussy. This immediately kicked her into a higher gear. WIth my tongue between her legs, Carmen's lips at the nape of her neck, and her hands at her breasts, Silvia was pretty defenseless. When she came, I figured people outside (Ally at the least) had to wonder what exactly was going on inside that tent. (Ally probably had a good idea.)




Meeting Carmen Ch. 04



Carmen stepped back. Silvia regained her composure and imperiously took my chin in one hand. "Up."

I obeyed.

She took my dick in her hand. I stooped a bit to get the angle right and she guided me in. I had swollen so much that I thrusted gently at first, until she stretched out enough for a deliciously perfect fit.

If I hadn't met Carmen earlier, I probably would have fallen in love with Silvia, hard. Instead, it was a hopefully manageable infatuation. I was just enthralled with everything about her, all her qualities that seemed even more attractive because I had only noticed them on second impression. She still wore her glasses, the John Lennon wireframes but without the iridescent shades. Her eyes were bright and intelligent, with just a hint of crows' feet. She loved what she did, and she was excellent at it: the same sort of appeal that made female athletes more attractive than they might be otherwise.

"You come stay too," she said, her voice wavering as I pushed in and out. "You can draw me. I'll teach you."

"Abso" I said, and climaxed before I could finish the word. We kissed as I grew softer and eventually slipped out.

"Maybe that's enough fun for one day," she said.

"I think so," Carmen said.

Silvia and I got dressed. Carmen would need help with her skirt and had to wait. Instead of putting it on, I folded it into the size of a handkerchief, laid it on top of her other clothes in the paper bag, and laid the brass ring like a paperweight on top of it all.

She knew what I meant. "You can't be serious."

I smiled. "The ultimate dare. Just here to the car." It was a block and a half.

She stood there, absentmindedly rubbing her own nipples with her thumbs. I was her anti-conscience, an X-rated Jiminy Cricket, goading her into things she might not have the brazenness to start on her own.

"You can't let anybody touch me," she said.

"I'll stay right with you," I said, technically not the promise she was seeking.

"Let's go," she said, taking my arm.

Silvia opened the flap and sunlight streamed in as we walked outside.

For a while, everything seemed a blur as we walked. Carmen's nudity attracted a huge crowd, pressing around us, dozens of men trying to see everything while remaining invisible. They were touching her, a swarm of hands alighting on her breasts, belly, butt and more.

"I-" she said, unable to finish, but I thought I understood the main point: this was way out of control. I would need to clear some area or find a private place where she could get dressed.

Rock music was loud now; we had approached, without being much aware of it, a grandstand with live band, where people were dancing in groups. A few girls in bikinis gyrated sensually; one brunette woman even had her top off. "I can go there," she said. "Keep an eye on me." She let go of my hand and zigzagged her way to the middle of the dancers.

All the creepy stuff as we walked in the crowd seemed to melt away as she writhed and shook to the beat. She had every man's attention at once, but they had the presence of mind to keep dancing, instead of jumping on her like a pack of hyenas. This bolstered her confidence, and she was able to inject much more overt sexuality into her moves. Her breasts swayed, her legs flexed, her ass and pussy moved in hypnotic oval patterns. She chose one man and danced close to him without touching, her thrusting body suggesting one thing.

I had a stiff one in my pants, as did many of the men. Our car was just half a block away, and my bedroom thirty miles beyond. Soon it would be time to take her home.

She arched her back, wiggling her breasts at the guy, and he took this as an invitation. She didn't object when his hands pawed at her chest, or even when they started roaming downward.

"That's your girlfriend?" said a voice beside me. I whirled around, surprised. It was the blonde woman I remembered vividly from Saturday, dressed in the same sheer bikini top and Daisy Duke cutoffs.

"It's you!" I blurted.

"Of course it's me." So she had a little attitude. I usually didn't mind that, if the woman was pretty enough. Yes, I know that's unfair.

"You were here two days ago!"

"You never forget a face, do you?" she said. "Or a nice pair of tits."

"No, I don't. I'm just wondering, where's the bottom to that bikini?"

"Oh, there's no way I could wear that here. It's as sheer as the top. I'd be showing everything."

I wish she had gone ahead and done that. Still, her Daisy Dukes were skimpy enough, not even completely covering her butt, to make her reasoning a little specious. I peeked at Carmen: two guys were feeling her up. There seemed to be no force involved. Certainly she'd push them off if she didn't want this.

"Those cutoffs show a lot, too," I said.

She twisted around to peek down at her butt. "Yeah, they're short..."

"At the right angle, they reveal more than the bikini would."

"How?"

"Try bending over, like picking up your car keys." She did, keeping her legs almost straight, bending at the waist. Her denim shorts were cut so short that the only material between her thighs was a single seam of material one-half inch wide, faded and frayed. Her pussy lips were easily visible. The seam was too narrow to hide behind. "Okay, come on up."

She readjusted her shorts, which had ridden up a bit. "How much is showing?"

"Everything that counts."

"So I've been showing off more than I thought, to all these people?"

"You bet."

"Not as much as your girl. And they're touching her, too."

"Has anyone tried to cop a feel from you?"

"Two. One guy patted my butt and I gave him the evil eye. Another one grabbed my boob from behind, middle of a crowd, trying to be sneaky. I didn't even say anything to him. Just turned around and slapped him."

"Would you slap me?"

"Maybe," she said, a smile marring the inscrutable look she was aiming for. "I'll watch your girlfriend while you try to get slapped."

I stood behind her, detecting a faint scent of shampoo from her wavy blonde hair. I untied the lower knot holding up her top, letting the cups loosely drape over her breasts. "You know, I'd love to see you in the full yellow bikini."

"Wouldn't you now. You're such a perv."

I moved my hands up her ribcage to cup her breasts, pushing the cups aside.

"Weren't you with a guy last time?" I said.

"He's not here," she said, pressing her bottom against my crotch. "I thought it would be a little more of a thrill coming here single."

I took off the blonde girl's top as we watched Carmen gyrate more and more frenetically, the guys at her front and back trying to keep pace. Damn, their hands were all over her. Her sinuous rhythm grew more syncopated, more jerky. "I'd better go over there," I said, and the blonde girl followed.

By the time we reached Carmen, she had lost so much tension in her body that she looked like a marionette with the strings cut. Her bent knees wobbled, and at arm's length she supported herself on the shoulders of one of the men who had been fondling her. She took deep breaths, as if recovering from a ten-mile run. There were scattered cheers, and the other men were keeping a respectable distance as she rested.

"Hey, you," she said. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Sure," I said, pulling out her top. "You OK?"

"Very OK. I've just had enough for one afternoon, I think." She stood up unsteadily,put on the blue top, and seemed stunned at how little it covered. I guess it had been quite a while since she had worn it.

"Who's your friend?" she said as I handed over her sweats.

"Uh..." I realized it must look pretty bad if I didn't even bother to learn the girl's name.

"Terri," she said, rescuing me. "I've been watching from the sidelines. I'm kind of amazed. And impressed."

Carmen stepped into her sweats. Compared to the silk skirt, she now looked ready for church. I fished Terri's yellow top out of the bag and returned it to her. When she put it on, Carmen noticed how sheer it was and smiled.

"I kind of..." Terri said. "Anyway. Hey, you guys should come hang out at my house sometime. Nice little pool, high fence, some privacy. Maybe I'll invite my guy. Maybe not."

"Sure," said Carmen. I took down Terri's number in my cell and we said goodbye.

When we got to the car, it wasn't even one o'clock yet: everything that happened today had taken less than two hours. Carmen fell asleep on the ride home, and once inside, just wanted to curl up under the sheets and nap. I suggested some other bedroom activities, but she was adamant about getting some rest. So I climbed in next to her and shut off the light.

Just sleeping next to a naked woman has its unique pleasures. After she woke up, we spent a few hours in bed; our lovemaking was tender, unhurried and private. We never got around to having lunch; it's funny how when you're horizontal you never realize how hungry you might be. At seven p.m. we were famished.

I called up Gary and found out that he and Lynn had gotten back together -- already. Even more astounding was the story of how she found her way home, wearing only a pair of bikini briefs (which were lost during the journey!) But that's a tale for another chapter.

They wanted us to come by next weekend for dinner. I penciled us in.

I shook my head after we hung up. Any other guy, doing what he had done, would have never seen Lynn again. Gary had to have at least 81 lives.

When Carmen went home it was a sad goodbye; back to the workweek. That sucked. And who knew if there would ever be a weekend like this again? Still, the summer looked full of promise. Terri's phone number beckoned. Silvia's card was in my wallet. Lynn was back; and I had a wonderful woman to share all this with.

In the kitchen, steps away from the front door, I noticed a stack of books that were due back at the library. I could have saved a trip by asking Carmen to take them back in, but I was glad I did not. Just another reason to drop by in person.