For a long time I found myself getting up early, sometimes when it was still dark outside, still cold, I rarely bothered to dress, I woke and pulled the covers off my bed and walked naked first up to the bathroom, to sit and piss, to splash some water on my face, then to my little office. I opened the curtains and looked at the day. I loved it when it was still dark, when I could see the sun slowly begin to dilute the night to reveal a clear bright wintery day. The wood felt cool and rough under my bare feet, the chair was hard and colder under my bare skin, when I powered up the computer the screen lit up my nude body.
After a while I'd make coffee, and work for a few hours, enjoying, in all senses, the free time, when I was in but not quite of the world, separated by the walls and windows, and my absent clothing. I savoured the quick walk to the kitchen, for water, for some fruit, the air fresh and still, tightening my exposed skin, pulling the tissue of my nipples together, gently, so gently flowing across the exposed contours of my sex. I remained nude, in a familiar state of near erotic feeling until mid-morning, until after I'd begun to see people walking outside, cars starting and pulling away, children being taken to school, the day catching me up. I stood, aware I was near the window, aware of the building opposite offering multiple opportunities to look into mine, I stood and stretched, and felt the wish to be seen, but not, for the sight of me naked in my little room to be caught by someone opposite, without the idea that I engineered this.
And then I had my bath. Which was far from a regular thing. I normally showered, quickly, and dressed, finally, usually, and joined the world. That day I bathed. I walked up to the top floor, turned on the taps, let the tub fill up. I could see myself in the mirror, my still nude body, the pale lines of my shoulders, legs, waist, belly, legs, the thick dark flash of my pubic hair, the swell of my breasts and demanding peaks of my nipples. I turn, and turn, and look at my soft smooth ass, and take the visual hint from my vulval mound. I look up out of the two skylights squared into the roof of my bathroom, clear glass letting me watch the blue sky and passing clouds above. Natural light is enough, the room is open, clean, white tile floor, a large if slightly old fashioned bath, free standing, towards the far side away from the door, the angle allows for another clear glass window to run lengthways alongside the bath, with nothing and nobody opposite to be able to look in. I let it run, and pad down two flights back to my office, to one of the desk drawers, to matches and a three-quarter full packet of cigarettes. Just one, that will be nice, I hadn't for a couple of days.
I walk up to the bathroom, to see a lazy tapering column of evaporating moisture rising from the bath, issuing from the surface of the water and being drawn into a thinner wafting ribbon of steam. It is full enough to turn off the taps, and step in. It is too hot, as usual, but not unbearably so. I sit and immerse myself, stretch out my legs, push them apart, let the water grip and heat my tender sex. My hands are dry enough to reach and shake a cigarette loose of the pack, pick it out with my lips, strike a match and light up. I pull a deep and satisfying cloud of tobacco smoke inside myself. I am blowing it slowly back out, towards the ceiling, when I hear my front door being opened.
I'm not expecting Philip, he hadn't told me he was coming over, but it's not an unpleasant surprise. I am reasonably safe in assuming it is him, no-one else has a key. I stay in the bath, the door half open, my breasts above the water line, my hand outside, letting a darker, bluer, twisting plait of smoke add to the wet and steamy air. I hear him, someone walking up the stairs, the office door, the bedroom door opening, up again. He'll look, he will think to try up here. He does. I look as the bathroom door is pushed open. Phil stands within the white painted frame and looks over to me. He smiles. Nearly smiles. I smile back. It's good to see him, it's only been a few nights, but it's good to see him.
"Nice bath?"
"Mmm, very."
"And that? Enjoying that?"
He disapproves, I know he does.
"Indeed." I take in another satisfying lungful. "Mmm." And blow out, my lips pursed to create a long funnel of smoke. "Mmm."
"First of the day?"
"First of the week."
"Hmm."
I look at him again. I like to bathe alone, really, it's not usually a place I want conversation, or anything else, the thought occurs though, might his company be nice this morning? He knows this, I can sense he is about to leave me to it, to make us some breakfast, or wait until I am dry, and wrapped in a dressing gown, before taking it off, looking at me naked, pushing me onto the bed.
"Why don't you join me?"
"Um, really?"
"Mmm. Come in."
And we look more directly at each other. It's okay, I'm not just being polite, come on, come in.
I sit up a little, smoking, the nicotine fuzzing my head slightly, and watch Philip start to undress. He closes the seat of the toilet and sits on it to unlace his shoes, and pull off his socks. Then stands, I am glad he stands. He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it out from his trousers, I look as he shrugs his broad strong looking shoulders free of the white cotton, then stands topless, I look at his slim waist, his flat hairy belly, his tight chest. I realise there is moisture coming from within me. The erotic tingling I have been feeling all morning is rising to a simmer. Philip starts to unbuckle his belt, unbutton, unzip, he pushes his trouser along his legs, and steps out of them. I look at the suddenly exposed sight of him standing in his underwear. I register but don't process the shape of his penis, still held and hidden by the also white material of his boxer shorts, I can make out the length of him, the long solid stem pushing, straining out. I throb, my arousal takes several rapid leaps to a new plateau of excitement. He is aroused. Philip is already swelling with anticipation.
He faces me, letting me look, savouring this moment, he gazes at my nude rippling body, I look. Philip bends and pulls his underwear off his legs, away from his crotch, I see his penis being bent low, gripped by the elastic waistband, I watch him having to pull his shorts away from his body to allow his engorged cock to spring free. My arousal nearly jumps to the level of orgasm as I watch Philip strip, already aroused himself, his penis already stiff, I watch him push down his boxer shorts and stand nude in front of me, his cock bouncing out, away from his body, sticking out at the tell-tale angle away from his legs, straight, solid, I watch it pulse upwards, away from his tight round scrotum, the dark hairy taut pouch straining against his full oval testicles, I look at him suddenly nude, standing still or me to look at him, at his penis as it continues to rise up, horizontal, up, vertical, thick, oh god, long and thick and ravishingly hard. My sex trembles and seeps at the blatancy of Philip's own state of arousal, at the thought of his erect penis entering me, pushing inside my damp vagina.
He walks to the bath. He walks, I watch him, his rigid cock swaying stiffly in front of him, taking achingly thrilling circular trips around the perpendicular root of itself.
I watch, but the sight of Philip releasing his swollen cock has sent me falling back into a swirling chasm of images and moments and memories. I feel myself lost in the feelings of life past, the feeling of life having past. The sweet ache of remembering and nostalgia, for youth, for innocence, for the free and forming erotic pieces of my past battles with the desire for Philip in the immediate and physical present. He steps into the bath, and sits, lays back, our legs cross and touch, I open mine and place my feet against his hips, watching him stare down at the dark swirling weeds of my pubic hair, I stare at his hard pink rail of his erection. I reach for it, I move my feet and feel the wet warmth of Philip's hard penis with my toes, I am gentle, but I stroke, and pull, I ease back his soft foreskin and show myself the lovely last part of him, the smooth dark shiny wet tip of his beautiful long prick. I want him inside me, I want to taste him, to take his thick bulb inside my mouth, to grip him tightly inside my slick slippery cunt. But remember, but I remember.
How old was I? Too old? Not old enough? One of the last holidays I had taken with my parents, my brother, had he gone with us? Or stopped already? For the first time I had met a boy, part of a family that had been going there for a few of the same years we had, who stayed nearby. We went out to dinner together once or twice, as families, and then we invited them to our villa one evening. Do I remember him? That he was my age, to the year if not the month, taller by a few inches, blonde, brown blonde hair, slim, pretty looking, too young to be handsome, I was sure he'd grow into his face, and not have it stop suiting him, not find it was a beauty that spoiled with the creases and folds of ageing. I wasn't thinking about that though, not then, for the first time I was thinking how attractive he was, and whether he thought I was pretty, whether he was attracted to me. We sat next to each other, and spoke a little, both of us awkward, unsure, but carrying on regardless. Driven by forces stronger than social embarrassment.
We isolated ourselves from the rest once supper was finished. I think I suggested going for a walk to the beach. Which was near enough for our parents to be okay with it. Did they know? Would they have guessed something was happening between us? Was it? We walked in silence until our feet touched sand, close enough though to hear each other breathing, and to be able to breathe in each of our scents. I could smell the faint spray of sea on him, beach, a swirl of some deodorant, soap, shampoo. And the tang of something else, something more natural, sweat I supposed, something male anyway. We had both taken off our shoes, trainers in both our cases, and were walking across the beach in bare feet. The sand was colder than in the day, softer somehow.
And he moves closer to me, still we haven't kissed, haven't touched, but I feel him against me, and then his arm is around my shoulders, not pulling me at all, just holding. And I return the gesture, willingly, without any feeling that I should, I want to, I want to touch him, to feel his body. I extend my arm and close it around his waist, feeling his back, pressing my fingers into the softer flesh around his side. He feels warm, his fingers grip my arm, I feel him stroke slightly, my bare skin, and my soft cool bare skin sends signals into my brain, down to my crotch. We are touching, his hand is on me, mine is on him. My vagina becomes damp. I walk, we speak softly, about nothing, the night, the sea, the holiday. We walk and walk, past the spot we would normally have stopped and unpacked for a day. I feel my arousal pulse and quiver within me, but I say with innocence, with more childlike desires. "Shall we go for a swim?"
Knowing, I knew, I would normally swim naked, with my family, we would be on this beach nude, so now I would expect to do the same. Only it is with him, someone strange, someone who is not family. As soon as I make the suggestion I know it is different. But I don't retreat, no, I want to swim, with him, I want to see him nude, I want him to see me the same way.
"A swim? Uh, well, I'm not wearing... do you mean skinny dipping?"
"It's a nude beach isn't it, in the day I mean, would it be any different?"
"No, I guess not."
His arm is still around me, we still walk.
"We don't have to."
