"Please. You'll notice that my wife and daughter have left the room. We
understand that exposure is a matter of some difficulty the first time,
especially when other people are fully dressed around you. So we spare
you the sometimes embarrassing necessity of having to disrobe in front
of fully clothed strangers of the opposite sex. But I must ask you to
remove your clothes now."
"All right. But why?"
"For--ah--esthetic reasons, Mr. Fieldston. We try to avoid
unpleasantness in our colony. If your body should be seriously scarred
or deformed in a way that would make you repugnant to our more
sensitive members, I'm afraid I would have to reject you."
Shrugging, I peeled out of my clothes. The livingroom door was ajar,
and I glanced uneasily at it, half expecting Sandra or her mother
to come strolling back in after I had peeled all the way down. They
didn't--but I was almost certain I saw Sandra peek around the edge of
the door momentarily.
In a few seconds my clothes were neatly deposited on the couch, and I
was turning in a slow circle in front of Dr. Richards, feeling mildly
silly. But I knew I had nothing to worry about. I don't have any scars
or deformities or anything like that, and I've kept myself in pretty
fair trim over the years. So after I had completed one full turn,
Dr. Richards told me I was accepted for membership, and could put my
clothes back on.
When I left there that night, I was a full-fledged member of
the Sunland Health Colony for that summer. Jack and I were
sharing the same cabin. On the way out, Sandra gave me another
how-about-a-roll-in-the-hay? look, and I felt myself starting to fog up.
As I buckled myself into Jack's car I said, "Fill me in on that Sandra
item. You know how old she is?"
"Sixteen last month," he said impassively.
"Did she give you eyes like that when you had your interview, Jack?"
"Yep."
"She's really built, too. Did you see that picture of her in the raw,
up in that alcove? She's got a pair of knobs that really catch your
eye."
"Yep."
The monosyllable kick he was on was beginning to bug me. I said, "Hell,
man, it's too bad she's jailbait. If she means those glances she throws
around--"
"She does."
"You think she's been around?"
"I _know_ she has, man," Jack said flatly.
"You _know_?"
"Not me personally. But I hear things from others. The guy who told
me about this place warned me about her. Watch out for the director's
nympho daughter, he said. It seems she's been laying for the membership
since she turned fourteen."
"What do her parents say?"
"They don't say a damn thing. Either they don't know or else they think
it's terribly modern for her to be rolling in the underbrush."
I nibbled my lip, thinking of that eight-by-ten nude print,
unretouched, hanging on the wall. Then I thought of the eighteen-year
gap in our ages, and I felt ashamed of myself.
Jack dropped me off at my place, and I started right in making lists.
For the next ten days, I was busy doing all the things you have to get
done before you can go away for a couple of months. You know--pay the
gas and electric bills, arrange to have newspaper delivery stopped,
tell the post office where to forward first-class mail, give the
one-day-a-week housekeeper her vacation money and tell her not to
bother coming in for a while, and so on. At the same time I was busy at
the office, getting things wrapped up on time.
By the first of June I was ready. I had severed all my ties with the
outside world. The phone was shut off, the windows were shuttered, my
suitcase was packed. I didn't take very much. Some socks, a sweater,
a couple of changes of underwear, a shirt or two, and three reams of
typing paper. You didn't need swimsuits or neckties if you were going
to a nudist colony for the summer.
At half past five that evening Jack stopped by with the Mercedes. We
crammed my one suitcase and my portable typewriter aboard and took off.
We put away a couple of steaks at a restaurant ten miles up the road,
and then headed out toward the Sunland Health Colony.
We got just a little bit lost. Just a little. The colony was on a dirt
road that branched off a country road that stemmed from a big highway,
and we missed a couple of turns and found ourselves practically in
Wisconsin before Jack decided we weren't heading the right way. We dug
out the roadmaps and retraced our path, Jack goosing the car up to 80
to make up for lost time.
It kept getting darker and darker, until by half past eight it was
pitch-black, and I had panicky visions of us wandering around back
roads all night. But just before nine Jack muttered, "This looks
familiar"--the first words he had spoken in half an hour--and he swung
the car off the road and straight at what seemed to me to be the trunk
of a tree.
It wasn't, though. There was a little bit of a path leading into the
woods, and a chain strung across the path. A hand lettered sign nailed
against one of the trees informed us, PRIVATE ROAD. DO NOT ENTER. HONK
HORN FOR ATTENDANT.
Jack honked, good and loud, and the yap of that horn must have been
audible all the way up to the St. Lawrence Seaway. We waited two or
three minutes.
"Maybe they didn't hear me," Jack said.
"It's a nudist colony, not a retreat for deaf mutes," I told him. "Just
be patient."
A couple of moments later, we saw a lantern making its way toward
us out of the woods. A slabjawed man of about forty became visible,
approaching us. He was wearing a yellow rain-slicker, but he had
buttoned it hastily and I could see he wasn't wearing much underneath
it.
"Yes?" he said.
"We're new guests," Jack said. "Jack Meehan and Al Fieldston. Dr.
Richards knows about us."
He nodded and pulled a fraying index card out of a pocket of the
slicker. Consulting it by lantern-light, he decided we were okay.
"Meehan ... Fieldston. Yeah. Just a minute, now."
He unwrapped the chain that blocked the entrance to the little path.
Then, walking in front of us and guiding us with the lantern, he led us
inside.
The Mercedes inched ahead, over what must have been three quarters of
a mile of winding, weed-infested dirt road. Jack travelled at about
eight miles an hour, and the Mercedes seemed practically insulted to be
going so slowly. At length we came to another chain stretched across
the road. This time the sign accompanying it said, SUNLAND HEALTH
COLONY--WELCOME!
Our taciturn guide removed the chain, and we passed between what looked
like the one break in a high, gloomy wall, into the camp itself.
Over to our right we saw a building of sorts, well lit, and we could
make out people moving within. They seemed to be dancing. We heard
music. Our guide said, "You fellows are in Cabin Nine, down near the
lake. Drive your car over to the Social Hall and I'll get you Miss
Baker. She'll take you down to the cabin."
Obediently, we drove across the broad lawn and pulled up outside the
Social Hall. Our man went inside. We walked up on the porch and I saw
the most fantastic sight I had ever beheld.
There were about a dozen people in the building, and they were
square-dancing. Men and women, and their ages seemed to range from ten
to seventy, with a heavy concentration in the thirties. Two or three
more--including the caller--were as naked as the day they came into the
world. The rest were partially clad, and I mean _partially_. A couple
of the women were wearing sweaters only, and another had on a pair
of trousers. One of the men had a shirt, another a hat and a pair of
socks. Quite a sight.
Quite.
They took as much notice of us as though we were two spiders crawling
on the wall. We stood there, waiting for the dance to end, watching
them bounce gaily around with various parts of their anatomies flapping
up and down. For the first time I began to have real misgivings about
my choice of a summer retreat.
"There's the blonde I saw," Jack whispered, nudging me.
I saw and gulped. She was one of the women wearing only a sweater. As
I mentioned before, it covered her down to about the navel, leaving
all the rest bare. I stared at the exposed beauty of her, at the firm
flanks and the trim buttocks and all the rest, and somehow none of this
seemed real to me. But there she was, what looked like two eye-popping
breasts going up and down with each swing of her hips, under her
sweater.
The dance ended, finally, and our friend with the lantern went over and
whispered something to her. She nodded and came across the dance floor
toward us, smiling amiably.
Perhaps you've never had the experience of having a glorious looking
blonde about five feet ten come striding toward you, naked from the
navel down. Let me tell you, it's a stunner, especially when she's a
total stranger. She came up to us and thrust out her hand.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Joanie Baker. Glad to meet you fellows. Which one
of you is which?"
"I'm Jack Meehan," Jack said. "I was here as a visitor a month or so
back--"
"That's right. I remember. And so you must be Al Fieldston. Glad to
know you, Al."
"A pleasure," I mumbled, trying desperately to keep my eyes above the
hem of her sweater. I didn't want to be thrown out right at the start
for lascivious ogling, or something like that.
But she turned around and stepped back into the hall, while we remained
sheepishly on the threshold. My eyes came to rest on her shapely rear.
The night air was chilly, but I felt sweat dribblets running down my
body.
She clapped her hands and said, "Attention, everybody. I want you to
meet our two new members. Jack Meehan and Al Fieldston." She pointed
to each of us in turn. "No use introducing you to everyone tonight,
fellows. Suppose I take you down to your cabin and you can get settled
right away?"
"Fine," we said in chorus.
So she walked in front of the car, leading us to our cabin, while
Jack's headlights nicely illuminated her buttocks. It's a pleasure
to watch the muscles in an athletic woman's rear as she walks, and I
didn't ever remember having had such a thorough opportunity. She led us
down a narrow road for perhaps two hundred yards, and then we turned
left into a little clearing where some other cars were parked.
"Leave your car here, fellows. The cabin isn't very far."
My eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness, and I saw a string of
fairly widely-spaced cabins running down the side of a gently sloping
hill. At the bottom of the hill were trees fencing the area in.
As we walked, she pointed out some of the geography. "The lake's right
down there behind those trees," she said. "The tennis courts are over
there ... the baseball diamond ... the handball court...." In the dark,
we couldn't see a thing, but we nodded anyway.
We stopped in front of the ninth cabin in the row. Joanie went in and
turned on the lights, and we carried our luggage in. It consisted of
two fair-sized bedrooms with narrow beds, and an adjoining head shared
by both us. Simple and rustic, but agreeable.
She said, "The dance will be going on for about another half hour or
so, till ten o'clock. That's when our organized activities usually end.
Breakfast's at half past seven, and if you're not in the mess hall by
eight you won't get served."
"Suppose we can't find our way up front again by ourselves?"
She grinned. "I'll stop by in the morning and get you," she said. "Any
problems now?"
"Not yet," I said.
_CHAPTER THREE_
It was just after ten by the time Jack and I were finished installing
ourselves in Cabin Nine of the Sunland Health Colony. A few people
were straggling back from the dance now. We saw them going into other
cabins, turning on the lights.
"We might as well sack out," Jack suggested.
"Might as well," I agreed. "Time to meet everybody in the morning."
We exchanged uneasy glances. I figured he was probably thinking the
same thing I was--that he wanted a good night's sleep before he would
feel much like walking nude into a square dance.
Washing up, we headed for our individual bedrooms. I lay awake for a
while, thinking of Joanie Baker's buttocks, thinking of the nude photo
of Sandra Richards I had seen. Then I told myself annoyedly that I had
come up here to write a novel, not to spend my time chasing quail.
Besides, Dr. Richards had warned me that any actions which violated the
rules of decency or caused embarrassment to other members were likely
to result in expulsion. I didn't know exactly how closely the decency
of the colony was safeguarded, but I was willing to bet that a couple
caught necking anywhere but behind the closed doors of a cabin would
get the heave-ho instanter.
After a while I fell asleep, even though it was at least three hours
before my normal bedtime. The night passed quickly. The next thing I
knew, the sunlight was streaming in, awakening me, and I was going to
the window and looking out at the busty beauty of Joanie Baker, this
time unencumbered by the sweater.
You'll remember my describing how with some difficulty we got Meehan
awake, and how the three of us started up front for breakfast. It was
weird, walking along with this radiant blonde between us, and all
three of us bare as the day we came into the world. Joanie walked
pretty close to us, and once or twice we collided a little bit and the
round fullness of her breast grazed my side. Touching her flesh, in my
present super-sensitive state, was like touching a hot iron. I pulled
away instinctively every time she brushed me.
It was a glorious morning. Birds were chirping, the sun was warm
already, and the air was as fresh and as tangy as new wine. And I had
to admit there was something refreshing about getting your clothes off,
_all_ your clothes, and letting the air get to your skin.
We emerged from the path and I got my first good look at the area we
had seen only vaguely the night before. Joanie once again pointed
everything out. The social hall was off to the right. Over to the
left was the kitchen and mess hall, and further to left was an oddly
humpbacked building that housed the colony library, music room, and
crafts shop. Straight ahead was what I had taken to be a wall in the
dark, but it was merely a solid row of hedges about ten feet high,
broken in the middle for an entrance. I could see the dirt road winding
off into the woods that lay beyond.
"Hungry?" Joanie asked.
"Starved," I said.
"Me too," Jack chimed in.
We entered the mess hall. I felt a giddy moment of vertigo as,
mother-naked, I stepped inside. A single long table ran the length of
the room, and about fifteen people were eating. Those parts of their
bodies that were visible above the table were absolutely bare. Two
waitresses were making the rounds with trays. They were pretty little
things, a brunette about eighteen and a redhead perhaps a year or two
older, and they, too, were peeled. The redhead came paddling by, on
her way back to the kitchen with an empty tray, and she gave me a shy
little smile. I jerked my head around and watched her adorable pink
backside vanishing kitchenwards.
We sat down. I took the first empty seat in the row, Meehan sat down at
my left, and Joanie went around to sit facing us on the other side of
the table, with her breasts trained on us like cannon. I felt dazed, so
dazed that I looked straight ahead, at Joanie, and not at any of the
other people at the table.
There was a frosty moment of silence.
Then I became aware of a pair of breasts jutting over my left shoulder,
practically poking into my ear. I looked around and saw that the
agreeably constructed pear-shaped mammaries belonged to the brunette
waitress, who was waiting to take my order for breakfast.
I had a sudden dizzying impulse to reach around and pat the brunette's
buttocks affectionately. It would have been a catastrophe. I restrained
myself with an effort. But the girl was _so_ goddam cute--say,
37-25-35, slim but busty, and downright pinchable.
She said, "Good morning. My name's Lorraine, and I'm your waitress this
morning. I hope you had a good night's rest."
"Yeah--yeah, sure," Meehan said.
"That's fine," Lorraine beamed. "You're Mr. Jack Meehan, is that it?"
She turned to me again. "And you're Mr. Al Fieldston. What would you
like to have this morning? We have choice of orange juice or half
grapefruit, flapjacks, bacon and eggs, sausages--"
She reeled off a few more items, and then we halted her and ordered.
After she had taken Joanie's order too she bounced off into the
kitchen. Her rear end had a delectable wiggle when she walked.