The Crew

OK. Part 3. Which presumes that you've read parts 1 and 2. Preferably naked. You don't need to do either. It's still an ostensibly free country. But I think it would be like wearing tweed pants with no underwear. Doable, but who on earth would want to?

All characters are fictional and none are based on real people. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Everyone is at least 18 years old. And nude at least part of the time...just because.

***************

The sun was high overhead when I woke with a start. "Probably approaching half past noon," I thought as I checked the sky and surveyed our little group. All still nude, of course. We'd left our clothes back at the barn. Scooter was up and grinning, going through some morning stretches. Pete was at least standing upright, shaking his head in mock disbelief and scuffing his fingers through his unruly mop of brown curls as he stumbled toward the quarry for a wake-up dip. Bobbi, Karla and Sal were all sitting up and looking around, still groggy and more than a bit confused. All three jumped at the sound of another blast from the air horn.

"What the fuck?" Sal muttered, scrambling to his feet.

Pete, Scooter and I just laughed, only adding to their confusion. I stood and pointed north to where the two-track rounded a bend and emerged from the woods. Just as a third louder blast sounded, the station wagon came into view. Our "work car". A cherry red and woodgrain trimmed '69 Buick Special Custom Sport Wagon with sky windows, beefed up suspension, oversized tires, a big block 400, and...yes...actual air horns that my dad and I had commandeered off a dead International semi tractor. The only other non-stock item was a genuine Mack bulldog hood ornament mounted on the dashboard. The Studebaker was my dad's baby. The Buick was my mom's.

At this point, Sal was grinning from ear to ear. He knew my mother. Loved everything about her. She had solemnly pronounced him "family" the first day he met her, skinny-dipping with us at the quarry. Two weeks later, he even bought her a necklace for her birthday. It made her tear up when she opened it. It was a gold chain with gold disc. On the disc was a stamping in beautiful stylized script. Sal told her it was Lebanese Arabic. The word 'aa'ila...family.

She pulled the car up next to the pickup and jumped out smiling, giving the horn one last blast just because she loved it and she could. Then, true to form, she was in constant motion. "I've got fresh hot coffee," she called out as she opened the back of the cruiser. From the insulated bags she was opening, it was quickly apparent that coffee wasn't the only thing she'd brought. There were steaming scrambled eggs, bacon, freshly baked bread and butter and cinnamon rolls, cheese, and what looked like a full peck of various fruits from the orchard.

Neither Karla nor Bobbi had moved. Neither had been to the farm before and neither had met my mother. They simply watched. Fascinated. And maybe just a little shocked.

"It's my mom," I informed them with a shrug and a smile.

"Your mother is gorgeous," Bobbi said, glancing over at me.

"Your mother is naked..." Karla said, still wide eyed.

"So are we," I responded with a laugh. "Naked, that is. But then, our family thinks everybody looks best naked. Work and weather permitting, clothing is just a nuisance we seldom encourage. Most of my relatives feel the same way. It's how I grew up. Clothes are for protection or decoration. Or when you know you're going to need pockets. Nothing more."

"But she's...your mother..." Karla started.

"Yea," Bobbi interrupted. "Amazing isn't it. Not an ounce of fat. Tight waist. And I'd kill for those tits and that ass!"

"Me too," agreed Scooter.

'That ass' was on full display with my mom bent forward struggling to reach the blue enameled tin plates and cups that we used for picnicware. They must have gotten loose on the ride and had scattered about the back of the station wagon. She may be a force of nature, but she's still only a little over five feet tall. Reaching for serious height or distance can be challenging.

"Let me help," Sal told her stepping forward. He was already comfortable enough with his place as 'family' that he thought nothing of picking her up by the waist and moving her out of the way before easily reaching into the car.

"Brute!" she giggled, swatting at him with a dish towel. He ignored her, gathering the errant dishes and holding them out to her. She took them."OK thank you," she said, finishing her arrangement of our breakfast tailgate party. She then stretched up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and a big hug, caring not a whit that it squished her beautiful D cup breasts into his ribs and tickled his thigh with her natural bush. Sal didn't seem to mind. She glanced down at his thickening manhood as she pulled away. "Down boy," she said, shaking her head and smirking in amusement before giving him a friendly pat on his ass. After one last inspection of the breakfast layout, she turned and waved us over. "Come and get it while it's still hot. Leftovers go to the pigs."

"Not on my watch," Sal declared, already filling his plate.

My mom smiled contentedly. "She really is beautiful," I thought as I watched her sip her coffee...naked, relaxed and leaning against the side of the car.

"I think I'm in love with your family," Bobbi sighed.

"What's not to love?" chirped Scooter, joining us.

"Absolutely nothing," Pete chimed in, refilling his cup. "Great food. Great coffee. Great people in their all over skin! And...did I mention the coffee?" He turned to Bobbi and Karla. "We take our coffee very seriously in this family," he told them.

"You take it seriously. I take mine naked," said Scoot, laughing at her own joke.

"Here, here," my Mom agreed. She raised her own cup in toast. "To naked coffee."

"To naked coffee," we cheered, clinking our metal cups together.

********************

It was already late afternoon by the time we finished with swimming and grazing and gathering dishes. Scooter rode back to the house with my mom. The rest of us took the pickup, but not before spreading our blankets out on the seats and the steel truck bed. Neither were places you wanted to sit naked on a hot July afternoon.

Back at The Barn, Bobbi and Karla helped Pete, Sal and I finally unload our equipment from the gig we'd played the previous night. We planned to practice later, working on some new material, so we set up the guitars, amps and keyboards. We took our time. A couple huge willows kept my part of the building shaded during the sunniest parts of the day and the thick stonework walls of the old forge and smithing shop I'd converted acted like a thermal mass. That meant that it was naturally ten to fifteen degrees cooler inside than out. None of us bothered to dress.

The girls then tagged along as we checked in on my dad and my Uncle Robb. They were in another part of the same barn, known to us as The Garage, where we did our mechanical work rebuilding and maintaining and tinkering with various and sundry tractors, farm implements, and a continually morphing array of other marginally street legal vehicles. At the time, they were working on restoring a badly rusted but hopeful '57 T-Bird Uncle Rob had spotted in a pasture behind the grain elevator on the edge of Erlin. I don't know the details of the exchange, but I'm sure both parties walked away happy with the dicker and convinced they got the better deal along with street cred and bragging rights.

Coming around the corner, I saw my mom, Aunt Sharon, and Scooter standing in the wide doorway. (Sharon, my mom's sister, is Scoot and Pete's mom. Married to Robb, their dad.) From behind, Scoot and Sharon are almost identical. Almost same height. Same dark hair and dark skin tone. Same wide hips and small waist. My mom is a shorter, slightly thicker but still adorable version. Amazingly, at eighteen, thirty-seven and thirty-eight, all three definitely have the same ass.

They were shielding their eyes against what could only have been welding. The strobing flashes and sharp sizzle from inside was a dead giveaway. As we approached, we could hear the three of them giggling together.

"I love watching them weld," Sharon laughed. "They have to wear those leather chaps and gear. With their naked rear ends sticking out. Makes me wish I had another dollar."

Uncle Robb was indeed wearing only chaps below. Typical protection for arc welding, they're normally worn over pants of some kind and had no seat, only covering his crotch and the front three forths of his legs. The uppers consisted of a one piece leather apron with attached sleeves and gloves. Again, open in back. A part time tradesman and fisherman, he was in excellent shape at forty-two. And only a little smaller than Sal, in most every way.

"Keep your distance, woman, and stop distracting," Uncle Robb barked. "You'll lead me to ruin and injury." Scooter, still giggling, pointed...drawing our attention to several dollar bills held in place above his ass by the belt of his chaps in back.

"My mom or yours?" I asked.

"Oh, both!" she laughed. "Wait for it."

Uncle Robb stepped back and took off his visor and chest leathers. My dad, who had been keeping his distance from the sparks, came around the car wearing only boots and his leather tool belt. The kind with pouches across the front. He waved at us, then turned and leaned over to inspect the fresh weld. There in his belt, above his ass, hung several more dollar bills. I'm built like my dad. He's where I got my long lankey form and "frog muscles". And, he's primarily responsible for the fact that I have no ass to speak of. Nevertheless, Scooter,Mom and Sharon all erupted in laughter, applause, and whistles.

"OH YEAH!!!" shouted Pete and Sal at the same time.

"I didn't hear you guys come up!" Sharon spun around smiling and immediately caught me into tight hug hello, then gave the same to Pete and Sal. The fact that each hug was full on frontal and accompanied by a happy kiss was par for the course, but caused Karla's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. She stayed surprised when she and Bobbi were both treated to the same greeting. As Scooter's friends, they had both met Sharon and Robb in passing. But neither had been around them in a typical, family, all over skin type environment.

"Your mom's naked too," Karla said quietly to Scooter. "I didn't know...I've never...and your dad...and Jamie's dad..."

"Yup," Scooter said, adding nothing more.

"Now I know I'm in love with your family," Bobbi giggled.

"Anything we can do to help?" I asked to anyone in general.

"Not in here," Uncle Robb called out. "I've seen your welding. It looks like globs of bird dung."

This made my dad laugh, "You know, it really does. I've failed as a father."

My mom put her arm around me. "Don't worry Jamie. You've got your talents. Like your writing and your music."

"Humph..." my dad snorted. "...That Damn Band." He'd been calling it that for so long it became a running joke. And the actual name of the band.

"Your aunt and uncle brought a bunch of steaks to grill for supper," Mom offered. "Why don't you kids pull some sweet corn? And can you dig out some potatoes from the second row? We'll grill it all together." If you grew up in family like mine, you already know that those weren't really questions.

"I'll grab some baskets," Scooter shouted as she ran off. I headed toward the sweetcorn patch on the other side of the house. The others followed. It would have been faster working alone, or with just Pete and Scooter. But it was kinda fun wandering naked through the corn with three town kids who really knew nothing about farming. I showed them how to use just touch to find the ears that were filled out and ready. Townies want to peel back the husk to look. The problem with that is that it ruins the ear if it's still immature.

Sal got a kick out of digging potatoes. He had no idea they grew underground. He even tried to argue the fact until Pete turned over the first forkful. The highlight for me, though, was watching Karla and Bobbi on their hands and knees in the dirt trying to see how Scooter could pick a couple of perfect musk melons by smell. She handed them each a melon, then stood, quickly brushing and scruffing dirt from her nipples and boobs. "Those vines are itchy on bare tits," she complained. "But at least I didn't get my shirt dirty."

We carried everything up to the kitchen just as the big applewood fire was getting started. I knew from experience that it would take a while for a nice bed of cooking coals to develop. We left the fire and the actual grilling to our folks, electing instead to take our turns washing off.

Now there is no shortage of showers at our place. In the house proper, there are two bathrooms, one with a shower and one with an old classic clawfoot tub. But dirty people fresh from the field, barns or gardens are not allowed in the house. Sort of a Catch 22? Not really. There's also a shower just inside the side door, in the combination laundry room/freezer room/canned goods pantry. Step inside, drop your clothes...if any...in the washer, shower off, and voila! Entry granted.

For warm weather, there's also another shower just outside that door, originally rigged up when we were kids. Our parents were firm believers in the "feed 'em outside then hose 'em off and chuck 'em in the bed" approach to child rearing, although looking back it was probably a lot more like trying to herd wet cats.

Using the same logic, I have a bath with a huge shower in my converted barn space, and another outside. Yes, I'm a guy. But I'm not a pig. I don't like dragging dirt...or a dirty me...into my own clean "house" if I can possibly avoid it. I think of it as a labor saving tactic. Less cleaning.

We split up. Pete and Sal called dibs on my outside shower. Actually, Sal took it over before anybody else, and Pete just said he'd go second. I headed to my inside shower. (It has multiple shower heads that massage you from three sides and overhead at the same time.) Scooter and Karla headed up to the house. I thought Bobbi followed them. I was wrong. Just as I was stepping into the sprays, she pulled the door open and stepped inside with me.

"NICE!" she exclaimed, immediately reveling in the multi-directional experience. "You don't mind sharing, do you? You can wash my back and I'll wash yours." Again with questions that aren't really questions. And, seriously, was I going to say no. She was already washing my back. My whole back. Very thoroughly. She lathered and massaged my shoulders, my arms, my back, my sides. She knelt down and began at my feet and ankles and worked her way up my calves and thighs, lightly grazing my balls. Then, more slowly, she moved on to my hips and ass, going into the crease between my cheeks. "I'm loving this, you know," she cooed. "Before last night, I'd never been with a grown up naked guy. Never even seen one in real life much less been given the freedom to touch and explore."

She reached under and washed my balls gently. Massaging. Dragged her nails across my perineum. Slid fingers back up my crack and over my asshole. My cock jumped. "Ooooo. He likes that, eh?" I felt a soapy finger press and slip inside. Wiggle around. At the same time, she tried to take my cock into her mouth but I was too erect, standing almost straight up against my stomach and achingly hard. She withdrew her finger and turned me around. "Looks like I'll need to wash your front too," she said as she slid her hands down my chest and abs to my cock."

"I'd love that," I told her, "but I don't want you to feel left out." I pulled her to her feet and into a kiss. An embrace. I washed her front first and then pulled her to me again, slippery to slippery, and worked on her back and ass in a reach around.

"Jamie," she said, rubbing her pubic bone hard on the underside of my trapped erection. "I know we're both virgins, and I hope this is alright. I mean, this is probably a stupid time to be saying this, but I'm not ready for full on sex yet. I love you in so many ways, but I can't say I'm in love. I really like you. And when I am ready, I think I'd like you to be my first."

I stopped us moving and held her tight. "Thank you," I told her. "For being honest and for being real. I think I'm in the same kind of place."

"Good," she said softly, hugging me tighter. We stood there like that for a long while just letting the water beat against our bodies. Presently, she kissed me. Gently. No tongue. No urgency. But with a depth that touched my heart in an unexpected way. I know she felt it when my cock stirred, trapped as it was between us.

"You know," she whispered, "we may not be ready for...sex sex...but...umm..." Her hand moved between us and she stepped back just a bit. I was still the hardest I'd ever been in my life. She pushed down on my member and moved closer again, trapping me between her thighs. I wasn't in her, but the folds of her pussy wrapped my shaft in exquisite soft warmth. "I'm the first woman you've explored...and you're the first man I've explored..." A slight rocking of her hips slid her moistness forward and back along the top of my shaft and it's bulbous head. "...and since we are friends...good friends?"

"Mmm Hmm," I agreed. "Good friends."

"Well," she continued, "don't you think good friends should look for a way to help each other out when they need something? Like...when they're...you know...really curious? Or really horny?"

"Seems reasonable," I concurred, thrusting slowly between her thighs. "Like this?" Because she was shorter than me, my cock was sawing across her clit, my head passing over and skimming the outer rim of her opening. I kept one arm behind her, my hand firmly gripping her ass. The other hand played with a breast, teasing and gently squeezing its nipple.

She drew in a ragged breath. "Yessss," she said, meeting my thrusts with her own. "Exactly like this."

A mere seconds later she went rigid. I could feel the trembling of her abs. Her thighs. Her folds as they gripped me. "Oh God!" she cried.

I pulled away just as my own climax started. I shot up between us, coating the bottom of her tits and then holding her almost limp body against me again. We were silent as we eased into cleaning each other, then toweling off. A minute or so later, as we stepped, still naked, out into the sunlight, we spied Pete and Karla and Scooter and Sal coming in our direction.

"The steaks'll be ready in five," Sal called out. "Your mom said to get a move on."

"As if that's not what they've been doing," Pete interjected. Scooter laughed. But she still punched him in the side.

Karla just looked at us quizzically. "That was a long shower," she quipped. "You two must have been really dirty."

"I don't know," Bobbi told her, glancing up at me. "I don't think we got that dirty." She paused a beat, then added, "Well...maybe a little." Scooter and Karla were eying us closely. She and Bobbi were both stifling laughs. I could almost hear gears turning in Karla's head.

"So..." she said in her most annoyingly Kara-esque tone, "are you two becoming...'a thing' now?"

"No," Bobbi answered. "Just friends." She then slid her arm around my waist and began walking us toward the parents and food. Her hand slid down my hip and onto my ass, giving a squeeze that they all could see. She looked up at me and added...so only I could hear..."Good friends..."

********************

It's impossible for anyone to go hungry at our place. This day was no exception. My dad and Uncle Robb are masters of woodfire grilling and my mom and Aunt Sharon have what can only be described as some strange mystical food guru powers. Everything, as usual, was beyond amazing.

Post clean-up, the five departing members of "the crew" said their round of goodbyes and thank you's to "the adults", complete with full on naked hugs. Then the six of us gathered back at the barn. Sal wanted to stay and jam, but needed to meet an early delivery at his parents' restaurant so they were all heading home. I just welcomed the excuse to escape the house before the Euchre started. The women in my family play for blood.