The Bare Essentials

The fourth part of my memoirs.

* * * * *

Once Trish and I were married, we moved into an unfurnished flat. Actually, it was the downstairs half of a big old converted Victorian terrace - the sort where you share the outside front door with the upstairs flat, but each household has its own door off the front hallway. It was a bit tatty but very cheap. In fact, tatty wasn't the word - it really needed decorating, and so we got on with things with a will. Even though it was rented accommodation, we couldn't stand living in it as it was, and we got the landlord's permission to "do it up" a bit, as long as we didn't do anything too extreme.

So one summer's day we were painting our internal hallway, and getting very hot while doing so - there was no ventilation in there, with the door to the common hallway shut. Because it was so hot, we soon had our shirts off, then as odd drops of paint started flying around we decided it would be simpler to strip off completely. Skin's cheaper to clean than clothes, after all, and emulsion paint comes off easily enough with a bit of soap and water.

The best-laid plans...

Trish was proving (very effectively) that she can never paint anything above shoulder height without getting paint all the way up the brush handle and all over her arms and hands. I swear I've never known anyone quite as good at getting in a mess while painting. Anyway, this time she swore luridly as she got yet another load of Dulux County Cream up her arm, and as I turned to see what was the matter, I accidentally sloshed paint on her right tit with the wet paintbrush that I was holding.

Since she was feeling hot and irritable, she decided that I'd done it deliberately, and lost her rag. "I'll teach you!" she shrieked - and promptly whopped a brushful of paint onto my chest. Of course, this soon deteriorated into a paint fight. We did get the hallway painted eventually, but we also ended up pretty well covered in off-white emulsion ourselves! So once we'd finished the painting, we made for the bathroom to run a hot bath to wash the paint off.

But now Murphy's Law struck. As I wrestled with the stiff bath tap, I must have strained the pipe join; the plumbing chose that moment to spring a rather significant leak. Water was pouring out onto the bathroom floor from somewhere behind the bath. I had to find and turn off the stopcock for the flat. Quickly. Very quickly. Very quickly indeed!

Fortunately (considering my state of dress) the stopcock was inside our flat, in a kitchen cupboard.

So there we were, both of us starkers and completely plastered in damp white paint! We couldn't even run hot water from the kitchen sink, because we didn't have a hot tank - all the hot water came from one of those instant gas Ascot devices that heats it straight off the mains, and I'd had to turn off the mains.

Well, luckily we were already on very good informal terms with our upstairs neighbours, Gordon and Linda. I dragged on some old underpants and knocked on the door at the bottom of their stairs. Once Gordon had recovered from his fits of laughter at seeing the state I was in, I explained what had happened and asked if we could borrow their bath to clean up in. The two flats had separate stopcocks, so their water supply was still OK.

They were more than willing to let us use their bath, but Trish decided she didn't have any old undies that would stand being put on over wet paint and mucked up. She called to Gordon, "I'm all covered in paint too, and I really don't want to mess up any more clothes - d'you mind awfully if I come up there in the nuddy?"

Well, what gentleman would turn down such a polite request? "Of course not," he said. "Liberty Hall - don't worry about us!"

So Trish promptly marched round the corner into the shared hallway where Gordon could see her (he had started to turn away politely, but Trish didn't wait). Then she spotted that I was still standing there in my underpants. She wasn't having that if she was starkers, so she whipped them down and off me, and chucked them back into our hallway, saying "I'm not going to be the only one in my birthday suit!"

So we went on upstairs, wearing nothing but white paint, while our hosts tried to avoid wetting themselves laughing at the sight of us. We went on into their bathroom... and made full use of the facilities to clean ourselves up.

The paint came off easily enough in a hot bath (in fact, it was quite fun examining each other's nooks and crannies to make sure it was all off), and we were soon clean and presentable again. And only then did we realise that in our panic, we hadn't brought any towels or clean clothes up with us!

Trish called out and asked Linda if we could borrow a towel. "Of course you can," Linda said, "use the one that's hanging on the rail already. It's big enough for two."

It was, and we did so, and so we were soon dry; but then we had to try to work out how to make both of us decent with just one large towel (and a damp one, at that) between the two of us. Of course, one of us could have wrapped the towel round themselves and gone downstairs to fetch some clothes - but for some reason that idea simply didn't occur to us. And don't ask me why we should care anyway, when Gordon and Linda had already seen both of us walk past them in bare skin and paint - but for some reason, it did seem to matter.

So, while we were scratching our heads over this puzzle, Linda called through the bathroom door, "Would you two like a cup of tea?"

"Oh, yes, please, not half!"

"Well, come and get it, then, if you're dried off now!"

"Er... we're not decent! There's only the one towel between the two of us"

Linda evidently had more sense than us - she just popped her head round the door and said, "For Gawd's sake, what does that matter - you've already walked through our flat in your birthday suits; why go all shy now? Go on, come as you are, the tea's poured and it'll get cold. We certainly won't mind, and you can go down and get dressed when you've had your tea."

We looked at each other and shrugged. "Well," I said, "if they don't mind, why should we?" So we opened the bathroom door and (slightly nervously) came on out. Linda invited us into their sitting-room, and soon we were all four sitting down having a very welcome cuppa. Mind you, it felt really weird with us in the altogether while Gordon & Linda were still fully dressed.

I guess they thought the same. As we sat there in our skins, Linda said, "That looks comfy in this weather - mind if we join you?" She started unfastening her blouse. Mmm - as I'd thought, she was fashionably bra-less. Moments later, both she and Gordon had stripped completely off too!

By gum, I'd never realised quite what a cracking figure Linda had - she was a real stunner! As conversation went on, we discovered that they were nudists (or rather naturists, they said, was the proper word), and that they'd been waiting for some time for an excuse to introduce the subject and see how we felt about it. And now, of course, we'd provided the perfect opportunity.

From then on, we got to be as casual with Linda and Gordon in matters of dress as we already were when we were with George and Claire, though admittedly with slightly different motives. It was another hot summer that year, and the whole house stayed a lot cooler if we kept the doors to both flats open and let the air circulate between them. Gordon and Linda seemed to be happier naked than dressed at just about all times, as long as the weather was OK; and now that they didn't have to worry about our feelings they rarely wore anything around the house. And it certainly didn't bother us to do likewise, dirty sods that we were (and are).

Neither we nor they would bother to put anything on just to pop in to each other's place for a coffee or whatever. There were some coat-hooks by our shared front door, and all four of us kept dressing-gowns or suchlike there, so that anyone could answer the door in a more-or-less decent state if necessary.

In fact, the next time George and Claire came over for an evening, we had invited Gordon and Linda in as well, and we decided to test our old friends' cool. All four of us (Trish and me, Gordon and Linda) were already sitting around stark naked when George and Claire arrived. We'd assured Gordon and Linda that whatever George and Claire's reaction might be, they certainly wouldn't be offended.

And we'd decided not to warn George and Claire, just for the hell of it and to watch their faces when they came in. And those faces were a picture, as you might guess! But they took it in their stride. As soon as she saw that all four of us were naked, Claire just slipped her dress off her shoulders and stepped out of it and her knickers (she wasn't wearing anything else anyway) without comment, and George had little choice but to follow suit. And the six of us had a pleasant, friendly and (believe it or not) totally platonic evening together, despite not wearing a stitch between us.

A week or two later, Gordon and Linda took the four of us - George, Claire, Trish and me, - to their sun club as day visitors, and we soon joined. The main thing that convinced me this was a good idea was the first time I got out of the swimming pool without trunks on, and realised how very much better it felt not to have a nasty, soggy wet bit of material clinging to my bits!

Now, this leads to an interesting point. Trish and I are still keen naturists, and in that context sex is considered almost unmentionable. Most naturist clubs and beaches are almost sexless in a way - when everybody's bare, nudity just isn't any particular turn-on most of the time. And, of course, most sun clubs and free beaches have a lot of families and kids around, whom you wouldn't want to upset. And yet Trish and I are also both (still) sex-mad - we just don't really feel there's either a connection or a contradiction in this. We keep our "swinging" entirely away from the sun club, because it really isn't the done thing at all there.

And to answer the question that non-naturist men always ask about sun clubs - yes, it is considered impolite to persistently have a hard-on in public; but you'd be surprised how rarely it happens, even to a sex-maniac like me. If something does cause you to exhibit "the gallant reflex", then either you roll over and tan your back for a while, or you go for a brisk jog or something till it goes away. Indeed, the simple fact that a persistent erection would be mightily embarrassing usually stops one from popping up in the first place - there's nothing like embarrassment to make you wilt!

On the other hand, I'm sure that a great many of the men who go to sun clubs, and no doubt quite a few of the women, share Trish's and my secondary motive. Which is, of course, that we just happen to like looking at members of the opposite sex with nothing on - and (if they're honest) who doesn't? So I suppose there is an element of sexuality about it; but it's a family atmosphere in any club that we've been to, and public "naughtiness" is most definitely not on.

Even with all the outrageous things that Trish and I have got up to before and during our marriage, we've never done anything at all "naughty" at the club, except of course in the privacy of our own tent or caravan - somehow, it just wouldn't seem right. The closest we ever get is allowing our hands to stray a bit further than they really ought, or to linger a bit longer, while rubbing sun-cream on each other. And we certainly aren't the only ones to do that, although like anyone else we're careful never to let it go too far if someone's around who might get upset.

- o -

Anyway, over the next year or two, although we three couples hung around together quite a bit, Trish and I never tried anything on with Gordon and Linda. The nearest we ever got was at one small party where everyone got very drunk, and all us three men had rather a good grope of each other's birds during a slow dance. But that led to nothing more, and we were really quite pleased to have some friends who were "just good friends" - it sort of seemed to prove that the two of us weren't simply a pair of raving sex maniacs who screwed everyone in sight.

Still, while Gordon and Linda certainly didn't "swing" like us, they could still give us a surprise or two from time to time...

There was one party during that period where the two of them caused a real sensation. It was a fancy dress affair, and Trish had decided that she and I should go as a tart and a vicar.

I borrowed an old separate collar from my dad and put it on backwards over a black polo-neck shirt, and Trish took the excuse to go for what had to be the most blatant bit of exhibitionism she'd tried yet at a party. If she was going as a tart, she meant to look the part!

She bought herself a real "C-level" micro-mini skirt, that showed the bottom edge of her bum if she leant over any more than about five degrees from vertical; and a pair of fishnet tights to go with it. With these, she wore tall stilt shoes, a very see-through blouse (no bra, of course) and loads of heavy, seriously overdone make-up. Then she decided this still didn't look quite tarty enough, so she applied more lipstick on and around her nipples, to make sure they'd show up through the blouse better!

Well, when we arrived and took our coats off, Trish caused quite a bit of interest amongst the men, of course - but when Gordon and Linda turned up, for once Trish was totally upstaged. They came, quite simply, as Adam and Eve. Each of them was wearing one largish green paper fig leaf Sellotaped over their naughty bits - and not a single stitch else on either of them, once they'd left their coats in the hall! Linda was carrying a basket of apples, and she kept offering them to people, saying "Would you like a nibble of my forbidden fruit?"

Amazingly enough, perhaps because her husband was there too and similarly dressed, she didn't get seriously groped at all as far as I saw, for the whole party. Even when her Sellotape came unstuck while she was dancing, so that her fig leaf fell off and got trampled, nobody "took advantage". And she was just merry enough to be unbothered that she was completely nude for the last hour or so of the party. Well, I suppose she was used to it from the sun club, anyway. Actually, Gordon had trouble keeping his fig leaf on, too - but he must have been slightly shyer than his wife. He borrowed some fresh tape from our hosts and re-applied it before the old lot finally gave way.

Well, Trish may have been upstaged, but she wasn't going to let that stop her from doing something suitably outrageous. The lights were a bit low, and after we'd been dancing for a bit she nudged me towards a settee.

We sat down and she started to get into some serious snogging. But as soon as I started to grope her in return, she pushed my hand away and said, "Hey, I'm a professional lady! You keep your hands off the goods, unless you're paying!"

Well, I couldn't see any reason to disappoint her if she wanted to make a game of it, so I pulled a fiver out of my wallet and tucked it down between her tits. She grabbed it and looked at it disparagingly.

"What? Just a fiver? What sort of girl d'you think I am?"

"Fairly cheap, from the look of you! If you want more than that, you prove you're worth it!"

"Hmm. Well, I s'pose that's a fair comment, the way I'm dressed!" she chuckled. "Hang on a mo'" - she stood up in front of me, facing away, adjusted the back of her skirt upwards very slightly, then sat on my lap - or more exactly, on my knees, leaving my lap clear. "Now", she whispered, "I'm hiding you from the rest of the room for a moment - get your willy out!"

Blimey! Was she serious? Well, yes, I could tell she was from her tone of voice, and I'd already found out that it didn't pay to try to cross Trish once she had an idea in her head. I looked around hastily - she was right, nobody could see me - so I nervously unzipped my trousers, and gave Percy some fresh air. Trish quickly wriggled back on my lap, arranging her skirt so that no-one could see I had my cock out - then she wriggled a bit more and whispered, "Isn't it a pity these tights are so old - there's a hole in the crutch, you know!"

Hmmm. Those fishnets had been brand new that morning when we bought them, so I suppose she must have deliberately unstitched a bit of the crutch sometime earlier - but I certainly wasn't going to argue about the price of a pair of tights in this situation. Trish put her hand under her skirt again for a second and guided my cock straight into her warm, wet pussy.

And until that moment, I hadn't realised that she'd topped off her whorish get-up by leaving her knickers off under her tights! She wriggled a bit to get set and comfortable, then turned halfway round so that she was sitting sideways on my lap rather than facing away from me, and gave me a hug and a big kiss. Whoo!

Well, there's a first time for everything, and this was definitely the first time I'd had my cock up a bird while people danced by us unawares in the same room, practically falling over my feet at times! What a turn-on! I think I grew another inch on the spot!

"Hey, big boy, you like this, don't you?" she purred. "If Percy grows much longer, I think he'll be poking out of my mouth!"

She wasn't far off the mark - the situation was giving me what felt like my biggest hard-on ever, and judging from her appreciative grunts as she wriggled a bit on my lap, she was enjoying the effect herself. She pulled me into a deep-tongue kiss, turned a bit more towards me and unfastened a couple of buttons on her blouse, then looked meaningfully at my hand. I took the invitation at face value, and slipped said hand inside her blouse where I could cup her tit.

She was as turned on as I was - I'd never felt her nipples so hard. The brown bit around them was crinkled up tight like a walnut, and even the rest of her boob felt firmer than usual. I tweaked the nipple a little and she moaned with pleasure, then started doing some interesting things with her pussy muscles that nearly had me coming on the spot!

Just about then, George and Claire came dancing by. They must have been to another place first, as we hadn't seen them until this moment. They saw us, though, and came and sat on the sofa, one each side of us, for a chat. Claire leant over to give me a hello kiss as George kissed Trish similarly and, under cover of so doing, slipped a hand into her blouse to give her other tit a quick friendly squeeze.

"Hey, have you cut yourself?" George looked at his red-stained palm in surprise as he removed it again. "No, of course not, you twit! It's lipstick so my nipples show better!" grinned Trish. "If I'm playing a tart, I'm going the whole hog!"

Then Claire suddenly sniffed the air, raised her eyebrows, and looked a bit harder at how we were sat. "What on Earth do I smell? Are you two randy perverts doing what I think you're doing? Here, in public?" Trish grinned smugly and nodded.

"You cheeky buggers!" said George. "Bloody Hell, you have got a nerve, you two! And damn! We can't join you - Claire's dress is far too long to get away with it!"

And indeed it was - I can't remember who she was supposed to be, but it was some mediaeval queen or something of the sort, and she was wearing a brownish velvet dress that went right down to the floor in loads of heavy layers. Still, it had a very low-cut neckline - her nipples weren't quite showing, but there was definitely a sliver of the darker skin around them just peeking above the edge of her dress. I found myself staring with interest, despite what was happening on my lap.

Claire noticed the direction of my gaze and grinned at me. "Yes, they are a bit obvious, aren't they? Still, nobody seems to be complaining!"