"I worked there last year in the secretarial pool. You made a pass at
me during a coffee break."
I felt myself turning red all over. I closed my eyes, trying to
remember. In my imagination I clothed Mary, covering her ample breasts
and heavy thighs, and in a moment I had my picture--of a dark-haired,
stacked-looking girl who had caught my fancy momentarily the winter
before.
"Now I remember," I said. "But--but you look so different with--"
"--with clothes on?" she asked. She stood up, patting her tummy in an
earthy gesture. "Maybe it was the girdle. I always wore a tight girdle
in the office. Maybe you just didn't think I had such a big butt."
We laughed over that. Score another one for this weird nudist world.
Boss could meet secretary, banker meet borrower, and the shock of
nudity would blank out recognition. Sometimes even a familiar face
might look strange because the unencumbered body was not what you
expected. The Mary I remembered had been bosomy but well laced. This
spreading full-bodied girl looked entirely different.
The afternoon passed pleasantly. I swam, played some volleyball, even
got a couple of turns at bat on the ball field. I popped a couple up,
then lined a sizzler down to third, but the husky kid playing there
scooped it up without batting an eye. On my next swing I hit a fly to
center, and watched the lithe blonde girl make the catch. I felt full
of pep, better than I had felt in ages. By dinnertime I was ravenously
hungry. The day had turned cool again, and I went up to the mess hall
fully dressed.
There were hamburgers for dinner. I guess I ate about a dozen of them.
I asked for and got some beer to wash them down.
Beer was the strongest stuff you could consume in the camp, and the
supply was strictly doled out--one can at a time, and you had to prove
you were holding it before you got another. The colony directors didn't
want anybody drunk and disorderly on the premises.
One beer was all I wanted, though. For someone whose daily routine
had included ten or twelve ounces of gin as a matter of course, I had
surprisingly little interest in alcohol. I felt so healthy at the
moment that the mere thought of drinking a martini was distasteful.
Bonnie cornered me after dinner.
She was dressed, more or less, wearing a thin T-shirt through which her
breasts and nipples were clearly visible, and a pair of bermuda shorts.
She came up to me before I could escape and said, "Al, can I talk to
you?"
"Sure." What else was I supposed to say?
"Al, come to my cabin tonight. Cabin Thirteen, on the left-hand side. I
want you."
Just as simple as that.
I hesitated for a moment before I said, "Please, Bonnie, don't start
up."
"I kept away from you all day!! Just--just come to my cabin."