When I got to the old ranch house on our old family place, there was no one around. We own the land, and have some cattle on it, but we don't live there any more, and none of us live in miles. So we use it as a kind of escape, a summer cabin by the river. And the river has a lot of trout in it. That was my goal.
Divorced for over two years, I had no children and no other strings, and since I can work remotely anywhere I want, I thought I might make a long weekend of it. Stowing my bag in the bedroom I always used, I uncased my fly rod, assembled it, and, since it was August, thought I'd try a grasshopper fly.
I'm a bit of a rebel, and a bit of a nudist, and I'd closed the ranch gate behind me. So without thinking too much about it I shucked off all my clothes and walked to the river, just down the small pasture. I was wearing my favorite fishing hat and my felt-bottomed wading boots, and carried my net and my vest in my other hand while I watched the tip of my fly rod to keep from snagging it.
Our ranch property runs for about a mile along the river, on both sides. So I knew it was unlikely I'd encounter anyone. Here was a good chance to work on my tan while I relaxed after a hard push to finish the manuscript I had to get done.
The river comes down from the mountains and makes a wide loop right in the middle of our property, and where I was fishing was a long run of gravel with just a few larger rocks to create structure. I have never been that good at fishing this kind of water, so I wanted to practice.
Soon I was engrossed in the sunlight on the water, the almost-automatic motion of fly-casting, and trying to figure out if I was doing the right stuff. I was standing in the current of the river, up to my shins and my knees most of the time. It felt great to be out there, and I laughed at the picture I made of a naked man in a hat, looping his line back and forth over the water.
After only a few casts, I actually caught a little rainbow trout. It was too small to keep, though, and came unhooked easily, so I wished it well and let it go.
I thought I heard someone speaking, so I looked up, and there was my sister-in-law, Pam, standing there with a disapproving pout on her face, right on the shore. For just an instant I was startled enough to think about covering myself, but almost immediately I decided I didn't care if she saw me naked or not. I'd never really cared for her much, and when my brother divorced her, or vice-versa, I was just as glad. So she wasn't really my sister-in-law anyway, and I didn't owe her anything beyond common courtesy.
"Oh, hi," I greeted her. I thought maybe she was blushing a bit, but I wasn't sure. She's a short, slender woman of about my age, dark-haired and with a light olive complexion. The disapproving pout on her face was one I'd seen before, too. No, I still didn't care for her much.
She was silent for a long moment, one hand on her hip, before she finally asked, "Catching anything?"
I pulled out a bit more line and got ready to cast before I answered. "Just that one little one." I didn't want to ask her if she'd planned to stay for the weekend. She had that right, as part of the divorce settlement with my brother, who'd moved to Saudi Arabia with an oil company and had no use for the rest of us anyway. I turned back to my fishing, maybe hoping she'd go away.
I moved slowly upstream so I could cast just below the ripples of a little gravel bar, casting as I went. I had three or four strikes from little ones who spit out the grasshopper before I could set my own strike. I think she stood there for a bit, watching me. But after awhile I forgot about her.
When I gave up on that spot and turned around, Pam was just getting ready to cast her own line downstream, and I was astonished to see that she was as naked as I was. Her brimmed fishing hat shaded her dark hair and her jawline as she faced partially away from me, and her canvas creel hung over her right shoulder. When she began her casting routine, I could tell she knew what she was doing.
Neither one of us, as far as I knew, had ever seen each other naked before, and I was mildly intrigued by this opportunity. Still, in my experience she'd been short-tempered and cold, and even if she was as beautiful as she was, I was a bit irritated to have my weekend interrupted. So I more-or-less ignored her and kept on fishing. I did notice the gentle curve of her breast from this angle, and the firm musculature of her arms and legs. She had a nice butt, too, and I noticed that she was catching fish.
"Do you mind if I copy what you're doing, if I stay on the other side over here?" I asked. The river was wide enough for two people to fish without bothering each other at this spot.
"No, go ahead. It's pretty good here." She looked at me and saw that I had a grasshopper on my tippet. "I'm using a black ant fly, and they're loving it." Since I hadn't been having any particular luck with my hopper, I tucked my fly rod under my arm, snipped the hopper off the line, and selected my own black ant from the collection sticking to my cap. Sure enough, my first cast brought a good strike, and I was able to net and release another small one. From then on, I was in hungry fish.
Finally, I caught one that I thought I'd cook and eat. Netting it with the net I'd hung over my shoulder, I turned and waded in an arc upstream and behind Pam so I wouldn't disturb her.
On shore, she'd placed her vest pretty close to mine, so while I was kneeling to kill and clean my rainbow trout on a flat rock, she came up to me with a nice rainbow in her net. I looked up and found I was at eye-level with a well-groomed pubic mound--a dark inch-wide vertical mustache right above the slit between her legs. Not reacting, I raised my eyes further and saw that she'd noticed my glance. "While you're cleaning that one," she asked, "would you do mine for me, too?"
"Sure, Pam." I noticed that she was getting chilly, as her dark brown nipples were standing out proudly. I took her fish from her and set about my business while she watched. I was hunkered down on my haunches most of the time, and I was now conscious of my personal tackle hanging low enough to brush against the gravel once in a while. I was pretty sure she had no trouble seeing.
"Here, I'll lend a hand," she announced, and dropped to her haunches herself, resting comfortably with her butt on her ankles and not being coy with her legs, either. Politely, I only glanced her way briefly, and saw her labia and maybe the nub of her clitoris quite plainly.
Soon we were done, and I stood up while she was wiping her own fillet knife in the sand. it was her turn to find herself at eye-level with my genitalia, and her gaze lingered long enough to leave no doubt that she was looking. Sighing then, she stood up.
"Can we get along long enough to fry these both up?" She asked.
"Okay by me," I answered. "You're a good fly-fisher," I complimented. We grabbed our stuff and our fish, and walked back to the old ranch house as the sun was just beginning to flirt with the ridge to the west.
"I've been fly-fishing since I was a teenager, in Colorado," Pam said. She even smiled. "And I've been fishing naked before, too, here at the ranch. This is the first time anyone else was here, of course." Her frown returned for a moment. "But if we don't go inside, I'll freeze my tits off!"
I laughed, conscious of how the cooling temperature had shrunk my junk, too. Maybe we would actually get along.
"If you don't mind, I've got a favorite seasoning blend for trout, and I'll cook these up," I offered. "You can get dressed or clean up or whatever you want."
"I brought some slices of yams, potatoes, broccoli and onions I thought I'd roast," she answered. "That suit you?"
That settled, we leaned our fly rods against the porch railing, left our nets and boots to dry, and entered through the kitchen door, still naked as jay birds. I admit there was a kind of tension in the air, but we seemed like we might be able to survive the evening. I found myself admiring her body more and more, which gave me something to think about. I wondered how this might turn out.
Pam turned on the oven, washed her hands, and found a pan to roast the veggies on. I grabbed a skillet and my can of home-made fish-rub, and then I also washed my hands. It was pretty weird, both of us choosing to stay nude but not sure yet if we liked one another.
Remembering her choice at a family gathering last year, I poured two balloons of Cabernet Sauvignon while she arranged the veggies on the pan and poured on some olive oil before sprinkling them with coarse pepper and salt. The oven beeped, so she slid the tray in on the rack, and brushed her hands off. With a concerned look on her face, she said, "I remember the old outhouse--ugh! But I've gotta pee. I'll just step off the porch."
As I slid the trout into the hot skillet, I saw her through the window over the stove, squatting off the end of the porch. She came back in and washed her hands carefully.
Well, the dinner was just right. I'd managed to pull the trout off just as they were finishing, and the roasted veggies had some kind of magic flavor on them, too. I asked Pam if we ought to dress for dinner, but she must not have thought I was serious and just sat down at her place still in the altogether.
Our conversation was pleasant enough. At one point she told me that my brother, Phil, had tried to make her into an obedient suburban housewife he could show off to the oil company executives, but that he'd never really been interested in her as a person. Sex, she said, was infrequent and usually happened when he was frustrated about work, so it wasn't very satisfactory for her. She allowed as how she hadn't been very nice to Phil's family members once she'd figured him out, but she hoped she was making a new start.
I mentioned my own divorce, which had happened two years ago. I didn't say anything bad about my ex, just that we'd not been very compatible.
We fell into a brief period of silence, then she said, "I'll do the dishes if you'll go build a nice little campfire out at the circle." The family occasionally gathered at the ranch for special holidays, and the fire pit was an important part of the mix.
It didn't take me long to get a fire going, as we kept wood and tinder nearby. Pam came out with two new glasses of wine, and I moved the lawn furniture closer to the fire to ward off the evening chill. She sat down, and I stepped in to take my wine glass from her. That's when she casually reached up and cupped her hand over my balls and penis. She actually blushed, or maybe it was the warmth from the fire. "I'm sorry--I couldn't resist. It's been so long..."
