Marianne lounged comfortably on the couch, a half-full glass of wine in her hand. A more conventional man might have called her luxuriant frame "zaftig," but even in her early 40's she was a beauty and perfectly at ease in her body, moving with a languid grace. It was difficult for me to stop staring at her perfectly rounded, plump thighs, which her short, pale white dress seemed ideally suited to display. A man with less self-control than I might have been tempted, but she was my wife Rose's dear friend for many years, and tried to respect that. Still, my thoughts leaned toward the carnal as we sat in the living room in silence as Rose toiled in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the evening meal.
As if she noticed my gaze, Marianne gave me a wicked smirk over the lip of the wine glass. I smiled back, somewhat ill at ease.
"So where is this friend of yours, professor?" she asked dryly, taking a sip.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost 8:30, but this was Doug we were talking about. I had known him for many years, and never known him to be especially on time, regardless of the circumstances.
I had opened my mouth and was about to reply when Rose burst into the room, drying her hands on her apron. My darling wife was still lovely in a classical, retro kind of way, hearkening back to an era when women with hourglass figures were considered the apex of beauty. She even had the same sort of hair you'd see on Marilyn Monroe in her glory days. Rose shot her friend a whimsical look.
"Doug Priaps comes when he feels like it," Rose said with a grin. "And never before."
The two women shared a laugh as Rose joined Marianne on the couch, and I couldn't help but wonder if I shouldn't invite Marianne to the naturist club we belonged to. Although it was only February, I found myself yearing to be down the Shore every morning, free of all clothes and worries. Marianne was one of Rose's few friends who didn't partake in the naturist lifestyle, and I wasn't even sure if she was aware how big a part of our life it was.
There was a loud knock at the door. Doug stood silent on the porch in the cold, his expression, as usual, hidden behind a ridiculously loud pair of wrap-around sun glasses. With his slicked-back black hair and saturnine features, he might have been some obvious movie villain, but the tasteful black suit he wore redeemed him somewhat. I hastily ushered him inside. He remained silent, his hands thrust into his pockets, and stood on the edge of the living room, looking down at the seated women.
"So you must be Doug," Marianne said, putting down her wine glass and swinging her legs to the ground. Though concealed by the glasses, I could almost feel Doug staring her up and down, feasting on the glorious sight of her lily-white thighs.
Marianne shook Doug's hand. Rose greeted him with a wink and gave him a peck on the cheek, and formal introductions were made. After some small talk about the chill in the air, we all sat around the table and Rose served the food, a delightful meal of roast duck and asparagus.
Doug was mostly quiet, though over the course of the meal he began to open up and give more than one-word responses to Rose and Marianne's questions. I had known Doug now for many years from the naturist club, and knew he was not a man given to conversation. Still, he seemed in a more somber mood than usual that evening. I chalked it up to the fact that he had recently broken up with a truly insatiable woman who he'd been with for some years, Angela, a former Penthouse model who he'd found cheating on him with a cabana boy from the club. It's not that Doug was the life of the party, but his sullen moods had increased in the times I'd seen him since that awful discovery. Truth be told, we had invited him and Marianne over to dinner that night in hopes of getting the two to hit it off--always a prickly proposition to begin with. Marianne was voluble as ever, and Doug had gradually began to come out of his shell, until finally they were carrying on a proper conversation, just the two of them. Rose looked over at me, pleased, then got up to clear the table for dessert.
Marianne poured herself another glass of wine. "Doug, you seem a little young to be associating with these geezers," she said, "No offense, Rose." Rose leaned back in the chair and smiled. "How did you all get to know each other?"
Rose and I looked at each other. After a moment, I gave a shrug and said, "We all belong to the same naturist club. Down the Shore."
"Naturist club?" Rose swirled the wine in her glass. "Oh, a guy I used to know used to be into that--it was some kind of bird-spotting group in Upstate New York."
"No," Rose said with a giggle. "Not a naturalist club. A naturist club--where one goes about au naturel."
"No!" Marianne said, putting her glass on the table. "You don't mean..."
Rose nodded and stood, raising her arms. Her breasts jiggled under her blouse. "What, you have a problem with me putting this bod on display?" Despite her years, Rose was still a knockout.
"Rose, there's no question you'd be gorgeous in the buff," Marianne said, "And it's obvious that Doug is hiding a strapping build under that black suit of his. But, pardon me for saying so, Harry, but I just can't picture you without your Panama hat."
Rose groaned and rolled her eyes. I reached up and lifted my singular affectation from my head. "Oh, the hat stays on, even though Rose hates it," I said, "But that's about the only thing."
Marianne laughed. "Well well...all these years, you think you know a couple. I didn't know you guys were so adventurous. How long did you plan on keeping me in the dark about your lifestyle?"
"Some people just don't get it," Rose said, "so we figured we'd break you in gently."
Marianne ran one hand through her luxuriant auburn hair. "Hmm," she said, "When I used to live in New Brunswick, I do recall making a few trips to the Gunnison beach, the nude beach they have down on Sandy Hook..."
"That's a wonderful place," I said, "and we go there every now and again. But our club is a kind of private resort, with limited membership. It's a little south of Belmar but before Point Pleasant. It's got a clubhouse, tennis courts, private beach access, hiking trails...and beautiful houses you can rent for the entire summer. We're probably going to rent one again this year."
"You should come," said Doug. "You'd enjoy it."
Marianne looked at him with a sly glance. "I just might. Sounds like paradise."
"It is," Rose said. "You'd love it. Doug is a big celebrity down there. And I do mean BIG."
Rose laughed and sipped her wine, and I gave her a caustic glance. She was intimately familiar with Doug's prodigious proportions from our time at the club, and it occasionally gave me twinges of jealousy.
"Despite my youthful looks, I'm not some blushing virgin, Rose," Marianne said, tossing back the remains of her glass. "I'm sure Doug's manhood is as impressive as the rest of him."
"Even more so," Rose said, getting to her feet and heading to the kitchen. She returned with dessert: An oversized canoli cake. She placed it in the middle of the table.
"What is that?" Marianne said. "It's enormous!"
"It's a canoli cake," Rose said, "Or a canoli the size of the cake. And it is big, though I can think of a few cream-filled tubes that would dwarf it...right, Doug?"
Doug said nothing, looking at the two women. A subdued smirk danced around the edges of his mouth, but otherwise his expression was unflinching.
"Oh dear," said Marianne. "What's with all the sex talk tonight?"
"Must be the wine," I offered.
