My boat slipped almost silently between the broken off remains and the still standing trunks of trees that were submerged when the reservoir was flooded half a century ago. The morning was already getting hot and it was only nine thirty. I deftly maneuvered the aluminum hull between the solid chunks of oak sticking up like fingers from the soft mucky bottom, trying not to bump them and startle the fish hanging suspended along the fat trunks. My fishing partner and I dropped heavy lead head jigs down along the trunks, trying to entice the bigger walleye to feast on the freeze dried minnow hanging on the single hook.
When the water turned just over seventy degrees, the fish changed patterns, no longer as easily located along the channel edges. Many of the bigger fish moved either to the bottom of the channels or to these stump fields, something only a local like me would know. The "professional" tournament fishermen were all out in the main portion of the lake beating the water to a froth for tomorrows tournament, while my partner and I slowly worked our way up the nearly three mile long finger of flooded timber. Most fishermen would avoid this field if they didn't know that it was still fed by a tributary, creating just enough flow to allow eddies to form around the tree trunks, a perfect place for fish, both small and large to hang effortlessly.
Vanessa and I were after the largest of these, knowing that while we wouldn't keep one today, a couple twenty plus inch fish would put us in good stead for tomorrow, if we could locate them. Vanessa and I worked well as a team and had been doing so for a bit over two years, since she moved into the house behind ours.
Vanessa was a bit of an unusual person. Half tom-boy, half super-model. Yeah, you heard that right. She looked every bit like a super model, right down to the figure, hair and makeup, but loved to fish, hunt and generally be outdoors. Her mother taught her how to be a lady, and her father taught her to love the outdoors. Unfortunately for her, the man who wooed her into marriage was looking only for the first, not the second. He's a work-a-holic who needed a good looking wife on his arm and to handle social events and parties, but has little interest in spending time doing things with her that she likes to do.
Unlike her, I'm only an average looking guy, and while my wife and I get along well, she absolutely hates fishing. So with her blessing I started inviting Vanessa to go fishing, which turned into pretty regular trips during the warm months. During the cold winter months we have her over frequently to play games and hang out.
Today though was fishing. Not just any fishing. An all important pre-fish day for the one walleye tournament held on our favorite lake. I'd been fishing this lake all my life and knew it better than a lot of men knew their own wives. Today we were scouting for the tournament tomorrow, intent on finding out just exactly where those lunkers were hiding, what color bait they were attracted to today and hopefully, tomorrow. It was going to be unseasonably hot though. It was only mid morning and it was already into the eighties and the sun was beating down on us with almost no wind to cool us. Vanessa had on a tank top, a pair of micro shorts and little canvas tennis shoes, while I was sweating in a t-shirt and pair of cargo shorts.
Even before I set my rod down and started to pull off my t-shirt, I knew the comment that Vanessa was going to make. It was the same one that she made every time I pulled off my shirt.
"There it is. Wondered how long it'd take," she said as she dropped her jig down over the side of the boat near a close tree trunk.
"I've said it before," I answered her. "I'm not the one that's stopping you."
"I know, I know," she answered with the shake of her head. We'd had this discussion almost every time I peeled off my shirt, how it was unfair that men could bare their chests and women had to suffer wearing tops of some kind over their breasts. I had always countered that I was equal opportunity, and that if she wanted to strip down, I wasn't going to stop her. As the day got hotter and she did strip down. She generally had on much less than I did, typically some kind of bikini, while I was stuck in my cargo shorts. Then it was her turn to say that I was always welcome to wear something as skimpy as she had. It was an expected but no less enjoyable exchange for both of us.
I got out of my pedestal seat on the bow platform of my boat and stepped down into the passenger well, digging in a compartment for the bottle of sunscreen. I turned to Vanessa, as I usually did, and asked if she'd mind spraying my back. As she usually did, she agreed. She set her rod down and stepped down from the rear platform seat to stand next to me. She took the bottle and I turned my back, feeling her spray the cold liquid across my back and then rub it around to ensure she'd covered everything thing, including my shoulders and neck.
She handed me the bottle when she was done. "Might as well do mine while we're stopped fishing," she said, turning her back to me. It wasn't unusual for me to return the favor, but usually she had already stripped down to her bikini top and covered her arms and front side first. This time she turned her back and pulled the tank top up and off, holding the green tank top over her chest while exposing her bare back to me.
I quickly sprayed her back and then rubbed the clear liquid around her back, getting all the way down to the small of her back and the waistband of the tiny shorts and working up to her neck and shoulders. I was about to declare it done when she tossed the shirt to the deck in front of her and held both arms out, a clear invitation to go ahead and do her arms. I was about done spraying her arms and getting ready to rub the liquid in when it dawned on me. No strings, no straps. Her bikini top usually had strings or straps across her back and around her neck, but today, there weren't any. My left hand held the bottle of spray and my right was running up and down her right arm when I realized I could see the whole side of her breast, and it was as bare as her back. I stared at the tanned flesh for long seconds before moving to rub the lotion into her left arm, my dick suddenly hardening in my shorts.
We'd been joking with each other about "stripping down" in the interest of "fairness" but I'd never really thought that anything would come of it. For that matter, nothing had, except that she didn't have anything on above her waist, even if her back was turned. "Done," I finally said, expecting her to lean down and pick her shirt back up, maybe giving me another little glimpse of her breast.
"Might as well do the front too," she said as she turned to face me. I stared at her completely bare chest, her full round C cup breasts, their weight making them hang down slightly and turn the hard nipples slightly upward. Her dark pink areola were slightly oblong shaped, and centered in the middle of small creamy white triangles where the smallest of her bikini tops usually covered. "Well? It's not like you haven't seen tits before, right?"
"Uh. Yeah," I answered, raising the spray bottle and spraying back and forth across her chest and stomach. "Just not yours," I added, dropping the bottle back onto the storage bin and taking a step back.
"You're not going to rub it around?" she asked.
"Uhhhh. I guess," I answered, reaching for her body with both hands. I started at her stomach and rubbed the clear liquid around as I worked my hands up to her tits, rubbing the liquid around each soft orb. Since I married my wife, I'd not touched another set of tits, and my hands shook slightly as I rubbed over and around her hard nipples. My hands, almost with a mind of their own, gave each soft orb a gentle squeeze before rubbing my thumbs across her nipples a few times.
"I said spread it around, not play with my tits," she said with a scowl. "Did you get into my waistband?"
"Into your waistband?"
"Yeah, of my shorts. I don't want to get burned because the waistband of my shorts puckered out. You gotta rub right down under the waistband."
"Oh. Okay," I answered, feeling like a teenage boy feeling a girl's body for the first time. My heart was pounding as I lay my hand flat on her stomach and pressed my fingers into the waistband of her shorts, my fingers sliding across her smooth skin.
