The Five Stages

This is a tale about a bereaved man, and his recovery from his grief. Though there's an element of interracial sex about this, I've chosen to put it in Novels & Novellas due to it's scope and length.

It's fairly straight, with nothing to scare the natives I don't think. Enjoy!

The Five Stages.

The tyres of my car crunched to a halt on the gravel car park. I sat watching happy couples leaving their vehicles and making their way to the reception of the upmarket naturist park. The large sign beside the gateway read 'Adults Week - sorry, no under 18s.'

I wondered, not for the first time, what I was doing here. The letter had arrived last Tuesday, written in my lovely departed wife's neat handwriting. It was simply headed 'Acceptance'.

The letters had come every month since her death from cancer in February.

The first, in March, talked about my denial of the fact that Sally was gone, the constantly expecting her to walk through the door. Anger had been next, as I railed against the concept of a God that would allow this to happen to us. Bargaining, in May, had been a long one. Sally must have known that I'd have some form of survivor's guilt, begging fate to take me instead of her. Her letter had simply pointed out that if I'd died, and she's lived, we'd still be apart.

Her chatty tone in June's letter finally brought me out of my depression, along with a healthy dose of drugs from the doctor.

Last week's letter had spoken about acceptance, though I was sure I was not ready to accept anything about my loss. Enclosed was an invitation to the event I was currently avoiding entering, an adults only week at Sandy Bottom naturist camp. A holiday destination we'd both enjoyed in Cornwall.

I'd spent a lot of time trying to discover which of her friends was sending these monthly communications, but had failed to find the culprit. Initially I'd wanted to say stop. After a few months, I'd wanted to say thank you. Now, I just wanted to ask, why? I was sure I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready to replace the love of my life, though she'd extracted a promise from me in her dying hours, that I would try to love again. It occurred to me that, if she'd gone to the trouble of writing all the letters, and making this booking before she died, had she already set me up with someone here? No, Sally wouldn't go that far.

I sighed and got out of the car. I grabbed my small rucksack from the back seat, and made my way to the reception desk. The crowd had cleared, and a handsome woman a few years older than me - maybe even fifty - stood smiling. She was clothed, as the reception staff always were, and she seemed to recognise me.

"Mr Jakeman, welcome to Sandy Bottom! It's good to see you again. I was so sorry to hear your news. I, and the management, would like to convey our condolences."

I smiled and handed her my invitation, surprised at how much effort Sally had put into my 'recovery'.

She tucked it into a bulging envelope without looking at it, and handed me a key. "You're in one of our luxury cabins on the grounds, Mr Jakeman. Donna will show you to your accommodation in a moment. There is a meet and greet tonight, in the bar. As we have a lot of first-timers this week, it's a clothed affair. While you're free to use the grounds naked in the meantime," she winked, "it might be nice for the 'newbies' if they got used to the idea first."

A voice behind me said, "If you'd like to follow me, Mr Jakeman, I'll show you to your cabin."

I turned to find a slim, blonde girl who must have just scraped into the 'over 18' class required for the weekend. If that even applied to staff.

"Thank you, Donna," I said, following her out or the reception area and into the afternoon sunshine.

She was bubbly and cute, asking how many times I'd stayed at the park as she led me across the grass to a neat chalet. I told her that my wife and I had stayed more than half a dozen times, over the years.

"Are there many single people here for this week, Donna?" I said, as I set my bag in the floor inside the door.

"Oh, yes, lots, Mr Jakeman. Probably the majority. There are always some couples looking for a 'plus one' too, if that sort of thing interests you."

"My wife set this up, before she..."

Donna took my hand, squeezing gently. "Milly, at the desk, told me how much trouble Mrs Jakeman had gone to, to give you this gift, before her - passing. I must admit I cried. You must love each other very much."

I nodded, amazed at the perceptiveness of one so young, to say 'must love', not 'must

have

loved'. I would always love Sally. Nothing, and no-one, would ever change that.

Donna squeezed my fingers again and I blushed as I realised that I was still holding on to her hand.

"Thank you, Donna. She will always be the love of my life. Please tell me she didn't set me up with someone this week. I'm really not ready."

"No, sir, she just booked this luxury package for you. Oh, by the way, your bar is fully stocked and I was told to ensure there was a ten-year-old Glenlivet whisky available. Your bar is, of course, included in the package Mrs Jakeman gifted you."

I smiled and reached into my pocket for my wallet. I drew out two ten pound notes.

"Oh, no, Mr Jakeman. Tips are strictly to be offered in reception at the end of the week, and are split between all the staff. It's only fair that those you don't see, or meet, get a share too."

"Well, thank you, Donna. I hope to see you again during the week."

She walked towards the door. "I'm usually a life-guard at the pool, so I'm sure to see you. Enjoy your stay, Mr Jakeman."

I explored the cabin, finding a double bedroom, a twin room, a bathroom, and the open plan living area. There was space to make a hot drink or a snack, but all meals were included, served in one of the parks two restaurants. I picked up the leaflet on the coffee table giving information on tonight's meet and greet. Seven-thirty. I glanced at the clock. I had a couple of hours to kill. I went to the bar and uncorked the Glenlivet, pouring a little into a crystal tumbler. The tiny fridge yielded an ice cube, and I went outside to sit on the verandah.

I sipped my drink, then pulled Sally's latest, and last, letter from my pocket.

My dearest Jake.

As we get further from my passing, I'm finding it harder to guess your feelings. The denial and anger were easy, and I assumed that I was, at least, close with my thoughts on your bargaining stage.

(I smiled. "You were, my love, you were.)

I'm hoping that you got over your sadness and have emerged ready for this next challenge. I have enclosed an invitation to our favourite little naturist park. They're having an adults only week, and I want you to go.

Yes, I can hear your voice as I write this. "No, Sal, I'm not ready. I know I promised you, but it's too soon." Well, Jake, this is acceptance time. No, you'll never forget me. No, you'll never stop loving me, but you have to LIVE, Jake.

Maybe it's not this week, maybe the person that might help to ease your pain isn't ready yet, either. But if you don't start looking, you'll never know. So, go to Cornwall, meet people, make new friends, but most of all, be open to the possibilities.

This is my last letter to you, my love. I've done my best to nurse you through the bad days, and now you have to go out there and make me proud.

One day our spirits will meet again. I truly believe that. On that day, you can tell me all about the life you lived after I was gone. I hope you have so many, many years of happiness to come.

Your loving wife

Sally

Fat tears dripped onto the handwritten page, smudging the ink. I downed the last of my whisky and watched the people passing. A young couple, so obviously in love. Two young men, eyeing up the single women. A man in his fifties, dressed in a smart shirt and pressed beige shorts. Tomorrow, his advantage of fine clothes would disappear, and he'd be no better than anyone else. That's what Sally and I had loved about naturism, the equality. I watched an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, obviously ignoring the suggestion to wear clothes today. He thighs were chubby and her stretch-marked belly had a slight paunch. Her large breasts swung as she walked, confidently, towards the poolside cafe. There was a beauty in every body. A story it told. Hers told of a life lived, children birthed, and a will to go on, still. I had to go on as well. It's what Sal wanted. I would do it for her and keep my mind open to the possibilities.

* * *

The park bar was overflowing onto the covered terrace, and beyond onto the manicured grass. I'd pinned my badge to my shirt, writing in my preferred name. Jake. I'd been christened Robert, but Jake Jakeman had been my school nickname, and it had stuck.

I passed a few crowded tables on my way to the bar, then waited to catch the attention of one of the overworked bar staff.

"Whisky and ice, please," I shouted, above the chatter.

He made the drink and I paid, thanking him. I turned to make my way out of the melee, looking for somewhere quieter. A crowd of young men were gathered around a small booth, not far from the bar, and I had to squeeze my way past. I was just clear of them when a girl - woman, I suppose - sprang out of the huddle of bodies. She latched onto my arm, pulling me to a stop. I saw her glance at my name tag.

"Jake! There you are. We've been waiting for you." She pulled me into a tight hug, Her breath warm on my neck as she said, "Please, save us from these vultures. You look like a kind man. Just pretend for a minute."

I pulled away, looking at her own badge. It took me a moment. I'd seen the name before and thought I remembered how to pronounce it. I was sure Aoife was pronounce Ee-fa.

"Aoife! How lovely to see you again. Shall we sit down?"

"Oy, mate. We were talking to the ladies. Maybe you should just bugger off," said a pudgy, balding chap of maybe thirty years.

"Now, gentlemen. I haven't seen Aoife in ages and we want to catch up. Why don't you give us some room, huh?"

The loud guy was just about to make another crass comment, when Donna appeared in her Sandy Bottom staff tee-shirt. "Move along, gentlemen. We can't have you hassling people on your first night, or you won't get a second one."

"Get out of the bloody way, luv. This is none of your business." He made to shove Donna, and I was about to come to her rescue, when big-mouth found himself face down on the floor with his arm twisted up his back. I gasped, and Donna smiled up at me. "Self defence training," she said. "Call Andy at the bar, will you?"

I shouted over to the barman, "Andy! Donna needs a hand here." He came running, followed by a second man who'd been standing by the door. Loud-mouth was frog-marched out of the door by the two men, and Donna smoothed her hair and smiled at us. "I'm sorry you were inconvenienced, ladies, Mr Jakeman. I assure you you'll have no further trouble."

"Thank you, Donna. That was impressive."

She smiled, and left. Aoife turned to me open mouthed. "Are you famous or something? She seemed to know your name."

"No," I laughed, "Donna showed me to my cabin, earlier, though I have visited Sandy Bottom many times over the years."

"Sorry, where are my manners - um - Jake. I'm Aoife Jones, and this is my sister, Preet."

I turned, for the first time, to the other occupant of the booth, Aoife's sister. If I had to guess, I'd say she was of south Asian extraction, maybe India. She was tiny with a slim figure and large puppy-dog eyes. She had a gold ring in her nose, and another in her eyebrow. A dozen or more pieces of jewellery circled both her ears. I held out my hand. "Pleased to meet you, Preet. I'm Jake. Jake Jakeman."

She smiled, an explosion of joy on her face. "It's lovely to meet you, Jake. Thank you for saving us from that bunch of louts."

Her brown skin spoke of warmer climes, but her accent was pure south London, like Aoife's.

"So, Jake Jakeman? Did your parents hate you that much?" Aoife said, giggling.

"It's a nickname. It's Robert, but all my friends call me Jake."

"Are we your friends?" Aoife said, pulling me onto the booth seat beside her.

"I'd like to hope so. To have two beautiful ladies speak to me when I thought I'd probably spend an hour here alone, then go to bed. Well, I'm honoured."

"Oh, you must stay, Jake," Preet said. "We owe you a drink, at least. What are you drinking?"

"Oh, whisky on ice."

"Coming right up," she said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar.

"So, Aoife Jones, and Preet Jones. I see a conflict of cultures here," I said, smiling as I sipped my drink.

"Mum is Irish," she said. "Dad is Welsh. I got Aoife from my mum, my brother got Emrys from my dad."

"And Preet?"

"Mum and dad adopted her in Kerala when she was two. She was an orphan. She's as English as you and me."

I studied Aoife for a moment. Short, curly black hair framed a pale face with a button nose and green eyes. Both cheeks dimpled when she smiled. She was tall, almost my height when she hugged me earlier. Preet returned with our drinks. Something with Coke for her and her sister, Whisky for me. She had strappy heels on, but I was sure she was still only just over five feet tall. She slid into her seat and, as she leant over to place my drink in front of me, and a Rose tattoo peeked from the barely-there cleavage of her small breasts. Preet noticed my gaze and giggled as she pulled the tube top down a little displaying the intricate design in full.

"It's my first tattoo," she said, "But I'm going to get more. I love them. Piercings too."

Aoife chuckled. "I only have my ears pierced," she said, "and one tattoo. You'll see it tomorrow, I guess."

"Do you have any tattoos?" Preet asked.

"Just one," I said pulling up my short sleeve to show my upper arm. The red heart contained the words, Jake and Sally.

"A girlfriend?" Aoife asked.

"My wife."

"You're married?" Preet said. "You don't wear a ring."

"Never did," I said. "I work with my hands. I'm a cabinet maker. Rings get in the way. Sally understood."

"Past tense?" Preet whispered.

"Sal passed six months ago. Cancer. This was her last gift to me. This holiday." Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I wiped them away with my finger.

Aoife hugged me and kissed my cheek. "I'm sorry if we brought up bad memories, Jake."

"No. It's fine. The memories never go away. I don't want them to, really." I sniffed. "Hey, would you ladies like to dance?"

Aoife smiled and nodded. Preet leapt to her feet, dragging me to the makeshift dance floor. I was no superstar, but I'd learned to dance when I was young, convinced that it would attract the ladies. It attracted just one. Sally.

We moved to the music, the three of us in a triangle, until a slower song came on. Aoife stroked my arm. "Dance with Preet," she said. "I need a break."

I smiled at the little brown woman and took her in my arms. I was prepared to give her a little space. We'd only just met. But she snuggled close, her head tucked beneath my chin as we coasted around the floor.

"You dance well," Preet said.

"Thank you. You're very light on your feet, too."

"Mum taught us all. She used to dance professionally when she was my age. I love dancing."

Her little brown body pressed tight to me, her belly rubbing on me, arousing feelings I hadn't had in many months. She pulled back a little, grinning up at me. "Did I do that?"

"Um, yes. Sorry. I'll try to..."

She pressed herself back against my erection, rubbing her taut belly against me with glee. "Don't apologise, please. I didn't know I could make a man feel like that. You're hard... because of me?"

"You're a beautiful girl, Preet. How could I not react?"

"Let's go and get another drink, Jake," she said. Pulling me off the dance floor, towards a waiting Aoife.

She slid into the seat beside her sister, whispering into her ear. Aoife smiled as I sat opposite, whispering back.

Preet grinned, then climbed out of the booth and moved to my side. She slipped in beside me, pulling my arm around her and looking up at me proudly.

I glanced nervously at Aoife, but she smiled, winking at me.

We danced some more as the evening wore on. A snack buffet was served, and we all sat eating together. It was close to eleven when Aoife stood and yawned. "I'm off to bed. You coming, Preet?"

Preet gazed at me for a moment, then nodded. She planted a kiss on my lips, then bounced out of her seat, taking her sister's hand. "See you tomorrow, at the pool?" she asked, as they left.

"Definitely," I said.

* * *

I lay in my bed, the curtains closed against the park's street lighting. Sleep wouldn't come. I'd felt attraction to both Aoife and Preet, but they were little more than girls. Aoife was, maybe mid-twenties. Preet must be eighteen, by the tattoo, but not much older. Even if they were interested in me, which I doubted, I was too old. I was also feeling guilt at betraying Sally's love for me. I felt I was cheating by just dancing close to that beautiful girl. She'd aroused feeling in me that I'd thought dead. I'd been hard for her, and she'd seemed so proud that she was able to do that to me.

"For fuck's sake, you're forty-two, Jake," I muttered to myself. "This isn't being open to possibilities. It's fucking cradle snatching!"

At some point, I must have drifted to sleep. My rest was punctuated by dreams of Sally. She'd dance with me, holding me close, then she'd stop and pass me off to Preet, smiling as we danced off together. I saw her sitting in the park bar, chatting and laughing with Aoife while I danced with Preet. She'd wave and smile, then go back to her conversation. I woke almost as tired as I was the night before.

I brewed coffee and sat on the verandah, watching Sandy Bottom camp come alive. I noticed that people were now naked, and slipped off my own shorts before returning to my people watching.

The matronly woman from the previous afternoon walked by, arm in arm with a grey-haired man. They smiled and chatted. Familiar. Close.

The previously smartly dressed man passed, heading for breakfast at the Cabana restaurant, his towel clutched in front of his groin.

Aoife and Preet appeared, both wearing gauzy cover-ups. Aoife's around her waist, revealing mid-sized porcelain breasts that jiggled as she walked. Preet's cover-up was tied above her small bust, but sharp nipples were fighting to break through the thin fabric.

"Good morning, ladies," I called. "May I join you at breakfast?"

They squealed and ran over, each hugging me tight. Aoife's breasts were sun-warmed and soft. Preet's stiff nipples dug into my chest. As Preet stepped back, she glanced down at my cock, handing, half-hard against my thigh. She smiled.

"Another hug like that and you'd have the same effect as last night," I said. Both women giggled.

"Perhaps that's her plan," Aoife said, taking my hand. I draped my towel around my neck as Preet took the other side.

Breakfast seemed a little tense, many of the guests still clinging to a last item of clothing. We helped ourselves from the buffet and found a table. Aoife, lacking a towel to sit on, removed her wrap. I took in her body in a swift glance. Her belly was soft, but not fat. Her hips were wide, tapering into perfect, pale legs. A trimmed triangle of black fur covered her mons. There was a script tattoo above the little thatch, but she was seated before I could read it.

Preet stared, wide-eyed for a moment, then nodded and removed her own cover-up. She was still wearing skimpy white bikini bottoms, but her top was bare. Her delicate brown tits were perfect little cones, each topped with a dark chocolate areola. The almost black nipples were long and thick, each pierced with a heavy gold bar.