Tah-ta-ta-tah-tah—tah-tah.
Tah-ta-ta-tah-tah—tah-tah.
"Oh, shit! That's probably Jillian."
Roused from a deep sleep by the familiar door knock rhythm, we jolted from bed. While the room was still well lit, the sun was descending. We'd slept much of the day away, something far too easily committed in the desert, we discovered.
We quickly threw on what clothes we could find. "Just a minute!" Bee called.
"OK," came a sweet muffled reply from the other side of the door.
We hurriedly straightened up the living room. I lit a scented candle provided by the hotel, hoping the open patio door and the candle's labeled fragrance of Palm Frond would quickly dissipate the scent of pussy and cum and fucking that I was panickedly convinced still hung in the air. The reason Bee and I were there was certainly no secret, but there's no need parade it, I thought.
Bee trotted from the master suite, hastily tying a black scarf around her hair, hoping to reign it in. She opened the door.
"Bee!" Jillian said, beaming, her shoulders curved in and her arms extended in a V.
"Hey baby! I am so glad to see you!" The two embraced tightly. Jillian emitted a comforted, "Mmm," revealing something therapeutic in her friend's hug, something more than just it's-been-awhile.
"How was the drive?"
"Oh...fine," Jillian replied, her voice stained with exhaustion and melancholy, revealing something, but nothing more than she wanted to.
Jillian's a tall, cool woman who always looks fabulous. Of Japanese heritage, her body structure displays a few generations of Western diet. She must be five-foot-seven when not in heels (a rare occurrence for her) and skeletally large; she doesn't have that delicate build that most Asian women have. But her Japanese lineage is manifest in her long torso, her narrow hips, flat butt, petite breasts, and rich, raven black hair that is always perfect.
"Hey, Gazzie," she said, giving me a politely warm hug.
"Hey there, Jillian. Welcome."
"It's so nice of you guys to let me stop by," she said appreciatively.
"Yeah, no problem. Our pleasure. Please, please, come in," I said, offering the villa to her. She stepped into the room.
Jillian has long fascinated me. There's a sophisticated urbanity and elegance about her, with a Southern charm mixed in with it. Case in point, she's been driving for heaven-knows how long, overnighting in some garden spot hotel along the I-10, yet there's carefree fluidity in her step and in the swish of her hips. She's been sitting in her car for seemingly endless hours, driving the desert freeway in summer, yet the sundress she chose to wear for the trip, an outfit nicer than what I would have chosen were I making this journey, hung perfectly on her. She embodies the best, most gracious, and genuine elements of having grown up in a Southern city.
"This place is fabulous, guys!" She walked to the patio door and surveyed the pool. "You have your own pool?" She asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, yeah we do. Cool, huh?" I replied. "Hey, can I get you something? Something to drink? Eat?"
With poise, she turned from the full-length window. "A water would be great. Thanks." She and Beatrix sat on the couch, each at an end, quickly assuming the girl-chat pose: legs curled up beneath them, sitting askew of their feet, one arm elongated atop the back of the couch, the other adding animation and color to their conversation, infrequently coming to rest in their laps.
I delivered a couple of waters and I took a seat in one of the overstuffed ivory chairs, listening to tales of family, friends, work, art, movies, theater, driving, books, fashion, celebrities. I contributed sporadically, but most I drank in the engrossing dynamic of these two friends bantering back and fro, and served as host, refilling drinks, bringing over the platter of fruit from breakfast that, thankfully, hadn't withered.
As the sun waned closer to the mountains, Jillian gazed to the patio and, stretching with her arms extended above her head, her fingers entwined, elongating her body, said, "I think I want to jump in the pool."
"Yeah, yeah, please. Go for it," I said, accommodatingly.
As she stood, she gently summoned Bee over and conferenced in hushed tones. At its conclusion, Jillian let out a quiet but exuberant, "Yay!" and jumped up and clapped, a surprisingly girlie reaction for her. She bounded into the powder room on the balls of her feet. Bee rounded the corner into the master suite and, with her left hand on the doorjamb, looked at me slyly before vanishing.
Bee emerged first, fully nude. She strode to me. I could see the dried artifacts of our morning's dalliances. Standing by my chair, she drew her right hand up my right cheek, before bending to kiss me fully, profoundly on the lips. My cock began to swell. I placed my hand on her belly, covering her navel. Her skin was cool and powdery smooth. I stroked my thumb across her, feeling the downy fine hair that mantles her abdomen. We heard the powder room door click. Bee broke from me, righted herself and, without turning, peered over her right shoulder. Jillian exited in equal undress, her sundress perfectly folded. She walked insouciantly to the entryway and carefully placed her dress on top of her bag, displaying more concern for her garment than her nakedness.
I, however, was staggered. Striving for nonchalance, I guzzled what I could of her before tipping into lecherous, discomfiting gawking. Her skin was a sumptuously lovely shade of condensed milk, marked by the deep umeboshi of her nipples and the long, stiff, rich glossy black blades of her pubic hair, which, in the way they stood out, coupled with the noticeable lack of reddened channels along her upper thighs and hips, made me wonder if she had worn any undergarments beneath her frock at all, which further elicited the thought, is that how she usually dresses, or was this special? And if special, is it something she did of her own accord, or was it a plan hatched earlier today on the phone, and perhaps more importantly, why? Her belly was smooth, contoured by gentle curves of her waist and abdominal muscles.
She walked briskly toward Bee, who smiled warmly. Jillian caught Bee's left arm with her right, and together marched to the pool. I sat, baffled, attempting to recatch my breath and restart my heart. I breathed deeply through my nose and exhaled steadily through my mouth, meditating on the nudist's code: act no differently in the nude than you would clothed; no physical display of arousal. I breathed deeply again, and with a resolved slap on both armrests, I rose. I poured a trio of wines and, cradling the stemware in my left hand, strode out to the patio. Stepping over the threshold, what a site to behold. Both ladies were waist deep in the water in the shallow end, leaning back on their elbows on the pool's edge. The body contrast was captivating, Bee's heavy mocha breasts poured vixenly off her chest, while Jillian's dainty breasts sat high and pert.
"Ladies...," I said as I approached, setting the wine glasses by them. Both turned and looked up.
"Thank you," said Jillian demurely.
"Aw, thanks, baby," Bee said. "Why don't you join us?"
"Nah, I'm good. I'll let you ladies chat."
"Oh, come on," Bee retorted.
"You sure?" I asked hesitantly, and as if on cue, both widened their eyes and nodded affirmatively, conveying that it's OK and that I'm being foolish.
"OK. I'll be back." I returned to the master and stripped. I looked down and, relieved, I was not erect. But I also discovered that just enough blood had poured into my cock to lengthen and thicken it appreciatively, which gave me a faint charge. While I doubt this will lead to anything, I thought, I'd like for her to be impressed.
I returned, walking straight for the pool steps. Both ladies tracked my return. In my periphery, I caught Jillian lingering on my genitals as I immersed myself. Submerged to my ribs, I turned, pushed off the bottom step and swam on my back to the opposite end. Touching the wall, I spun and dove, swimming the length of the pool underwater. I opened my eyes so as not to scrape the bottom or slam my head into the wall. As a bonus, however, I was privileged to a wondrous, albeit blurred, view of both women's lower halves: Bee's cinnamon brown curls framed by her zaftig hips, and Jillian's lissome hips with a calligrapher's brushstroke of pubic hair at the focus. I surfaced and, wiping the water from my face, paddled to the perpendicular wall near them. Watching them talk, their chests rising and falling with their breath, Jillian's breasts joggling when she's animated and laughs, the bottom of Bee's breasts kissed by the water as it laps up against her, caused my cock to grow. I could feel my cock swelling below the water's surface. The fear that they might ask me to get out of the pool to get them something only made my cock harder, defying and mocking me as I struggled to maintain decorum. Soon, I was involved in their conversation, and as the spirited discussions sufficiently filled my mind, my cock slackened.
Our talk paused. Jillian took a couple of steps and dove into the water. Fleetingly, the glorious curves of her ass surfaced and just as quickly disappeared. She returned to the surface and swam a relaxed crawl to the far end. As she swam, I drifted over to Bee.
