This is my entry into the 2010 Nude Day Contest. It has been inspired by my fellow authors and faithful fans from Literotica. It has given me great pleasure to characterize and expand upon their different personalities. No harm has been intended, only fun. Fear not—no names have been mentioned, but if you do recognize yourself in the story and recognize that you are a part of my life, please feel free to leave a public comment or send me a personal message. I hope everyone enjoys it, and please don't forget to vote...
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I just woke up from a very disturbed evening of sleep. There was tossing and turning, pillow punching and fluffing, pulling the covers up and kicking the covers off, touching my nipples and playing with my pussy, making myself cum and screaming out his name. It was a busy night to say the least. There have been a lot of things on my mind and the troubles of the day seem to spill over into the sleepless nights. I had spent most of last night dreaming.
I dreamed that I was in heaven for just one day, or one night, or maybe it was just a brief second or two. Sometime during the night, I had stopped breathing and died. Maybe it was a free trial day to see if I liked it. I did and I think everyone else is going to like it, too, when their time comes. Everything is perfect there—the weather, the music, the people, and oh, yes, the people are nude. All of them! What a glorious sight. All of them! I finally found my Nude Day and it was a night made in heaven.
The people in heaven were perfect in every way. There were no two people alike. The tall ones were perfectly tall and the short ones were perfectly short. There were no fat ones, but if there were, I'm sure they would have been perfectly fat, too, and named Peter. Saint Peter to be precise!
Nobody had a scar, a scratch, or a birthmark. Their skin was as soft as a baby's butt. I know this because I touched one of them. Actually, I pinched one of them.
"Hey there, cutie, what's your name?" I gave him a big toothy grin.
"Ouch, lady, that hurt!" He slapped my hand and pushed me away from his keyboard.
"Whatcha writing about?" I leaned my larger-than-large big breasts directly over his keyboard to take a peek at his screen. He tried to cop a feel of my erect nipple, but I'm quick and escaped his finger advances.
"Get out of my way. I'm just trying to write. That's all I want to do. I can't tell you my name. I have a million of them. I mean, I have a million dollars. I mean, I count dollars. I mean, I add numbers up. I'm always adding things; numbers, dollars, words, it doesn't matter. I love to count, but I love to write even more. Now, go away and leave me alone and take all of these other so-called angels with you. I'm allergic to feathers." He made a motion for me to leave, but his cock was fully exposed and fully erect. I tried to give him a blowjob, but he wanted nothing to do with it, sort of, maybe halfway through, he'd change his mind. I could tell that he liked the interaction of another human being, but I wasn't feeling so human; not quite floating and not quite on the ground, either. I left him after that with his fingers flying across the keyboard, his cute male dog companion sitting by his side. It reminded me of a Norman Rockwell painting even though it was an x-rated one.
The blankets got kicked off after that. My feet were hot, but I looked down at my toenails to see that they were painted blue. I knew they would be cool in a few minutes; each one of the digits neatly lined up from large to small, from left to right and back, again, from right to left, and I knew if I could make this seem even cooler, or prettier, all I would have to do is add a painted flower to the big toe, but I knew it had to come to an end. Period, the end. Like someone was chopping away at my thoughts. Cutting me short. Making everything disjointed. Foggy, almost like a cloud. I knew I'd be in trouble, so I drifted.
Being naked in heaven was a very different concept for me. I always thought people wore long flowing gowns, both the men and the women. I say I was drifting, but I wasn't actually walking, nor was I floating, or flying. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I had wings on my back. Probably not, I think I just swore. But, I knew I had boobs and big ones to boot. I kept staring down at them, first the left one and then the right one. When I picked up my head, there was a man gawking at me.
"Do you like what you see?" I took a good long look at him and wondered how long he had been working at that desk. He must have died of starvation for there was nothing left of him except bones, naked bones with a decent sized boner to match his decent sized metacarpals. I liked what I saw, or what was left of him. I raised one eyebrow and gave him a flirty smile.
"Are they real? I like the real ones," he reached for his hat as he began to stand; his bones creaking as he kissed me first on one cheek and then the other. That was followed by a very generous hug with my breasts squished firmly against his ribs.
"Are you hungry? You look like you could use something to eat. I can see right through you. Would you like to go somewhere for a bite to eat," I turned to the open air that surrounded me, but there was nothing there. There was a vast area of nothingness and I caught a chill and reached for the blanket, again. I snuggled with it up around my neck as if I were getting a hug from someone. Maybe it was this man, maybe it was someone else. He had a face, and then it just turned into a skull that began to speak, again.
"Oh, you are a sweet little thing. All I want to do is eat you, and lick you. I want to taste how good you are. Please, take a road trip to the north corner of heaven with me and I'll tell you a story of heavenly bodies, of Gods and Goddesses, of the stars and the moon." His hat was in his hand now waving for me to go with him and I followed where he lead me.
We came upon a bar for our first stop on the road trip. There was a cowboy standing there pouring something into his water. It looked like oil, but he seemed to be having a lot of trouble with it. Everyone in the bar was nude and I could tell this cowboy was used to being nude because he had no tan lines on him. He must be from a place where everything is big judging by his oversized dick that had room for a lone star tattoo on it.
"Good morning, Ma'am. The coffee is ready over there in my trailer." He tipped his Stetson to me and went right back to fiddling with that oil can, again. I could see that he had that erection for quite some time. It was tan from top to bottom and as I walked away, I swear he had oil dripping from that, too, as if it were his whole life and it ran through his veins.
My eyes were next fixed on the young barmaid. She was a blonde, a natural blonde, as I glanced down at her neatly trimmed pussy. But the pour young girl had only one perfect bodacious breast centered in the middle of her chest. She carried a tray full of margaritas in one hand while she swilled down one with her other hand. When she arrived at the table of gentlemen, they all seemed to take a turn to drink from her one perfect nipple as if they were seated at the table of milk and honey. She circled the table, stopping at each one to allow them to suckle as they fed her tidbits of educational propaganda on how to write the perfect paper, for the perfect professor, and for the perfect degree.
It's a large round table with a glass top, perfect for viewing these naked men. My eyes took in their broad hairy chests and lowered toward what was exposed beneath the tabletop and ready for their wench who would deliver their libations of choice. The big hairy one directly across from me growled out his order first.
"Honey, bring me a glass of California Zin, then come sit beside me over here where it's warm and cozy." He handed her an orchid and patted his chest like he was a cuddly teddy bear and the wench accepted the flower and gave him a polite little curtsey. I remember rolling over and punching the pillow a few times to get it just right—all fluffy and soft.
The sweet little guy sitting next to him ordered next. He seemed to be prim and proper and very neat and orderly about his manner. He straightened his napkin and fidgeted with his utensils almost like he had written the directions for the Emily Post manual on proper table etiquette. I could here him mumble to himself.
