The Crew Pt 08

Authors Note: It's 2 AM and I'm still sitting here writing. Naked. It really does help. I've been riding this story for thirteen days, off and on, and it finally just finished itself. It's longer than previous chapters, but so it goes. There were no logical places to stop before this. Jamie and family and family family are coming into some new understandings. New naked friends are coming onto the scene as others drop into the background for now. And, some time away for Jamie takes a surprising turn.

It's probably a good idea to read the previous seven installments. They just might help you make sense of some details in this one. Numbered chapters are funny that way. And, if you've made it this far in the series, you know that no sexual contact or even innuendo occurs involving anyone under the age of eighteen and that this is a fictional world full of mostly naked fictional people. There may resemblances to your world. Coincidental similarities. But that's all they are. Fictional parallel worlds are like that sometimes.

Finally, because it's 2 AM and I'm still sitting here writing naked...as always...it occurs to me to suggest that you find someplace where you won't get fired or arrested and read the story naked as well. It really does help. Enjoy.

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I never did figure out which one of the girls had brought me breakfast. Or if one or both had really joined me during my fitful waking and sleeping. I was still fuzzy about how much of the night had been real and how much had been part of a dream or dreams. The toast and tea and oranges were real enough. Even if cryptic. I have no idea if the oranges were from China or not and don't really care. I gratefully ate them and sipped my Earl Grey and let my mind soak up the river sounds.

Oddly, I didn't wake up with a raging boner. I took my tea out to the deck and inconspicuously watered the plants off the side. Then I savored the cool crisp smell of the after storm morning. The sun was just breaking above the eastern tree tops, turning a handful of lingering stratus clouds ablaze in purples and golds. I thought, "Naked Earl Grey in the early is almost as nice as naked coffee. Not quite, but almost."

Scooter, Marcie and Pete were all in the kitchen when I went in. Thankfully, coffee was ready. As we talked a bit about the coming week, I couldn't help checking out Marcie and Scoot standing side by side. Making a mental comparison. Marcie a little taller and leaner. Breasts just a little bit bigger. Scoot's darker complexion. Larger areolae and nipples standing out. Marcie's cootchie was shy that morning, little more than a slit between rounded half-mounds. Scooter's was showing her inner petals and pearl peeking out. They both noticed me looking and smiled, shifting their stance. I also noticed that Scooter's normally wavy hair was curling much more than usual. Must have been a residual effect from the previous day's oppressive pre-storm humidity.

Marcie leaned over and whispered something to Scoot. They giggled. Then both made a point of checking out Pete and I, their eyes in an obvious holding pattern fixed on our cocks. We were both hanging loosely but full. Maybe five to five and a half.

"Jamie looks longer right now," Marcie said, "but I think that might be because Petey's balls are hanging looser this morning."

"I told you," Pete said to me. "They're obsessed."

"I think you're right," Scoot replied to Marcie. "But it's a tough call. I'd still like to see them both hard side by side. Academic curiosity, mind you."

Marcie nodded agreement. "Of course, we might need to measure. I've got one of those soft fabric measuring tapes they use at the clothing stores."

"I'm out," Pete chortled, draining his coffee. "You're on your own, dude. Dibs on the bathroom and shower." He quickly made his way there, firmly closing the door behind him. We all heard the click of the lock and laughed.

I checked the bulletin board in the kitchen and took down one of the business cards I'd pinned there. Took it into the other room and made the call, making sure my parents and I had a solid reservation for Tuesday night at the Travel Haven in Rochester. I'm a detail guy when it comes to stuff like that. They confirmed, and even had us booked into the room we usually got. 122. First floor. Quiet end. Farthest away from the street. That was good to hear. Being away from the traffic made it easier on whoever was sleeping during the day. I jotted the room number down on the the card and pinned it back to the board next to the one for R.P. Maxwell Memorial Institute for Life Science and Cancer Research. That way the family had both phone numbers in case they needed to reach us.

I re-filled my coffee and went back out to the deck. Scoot and Marcie followed. We sat on the edge and watched the early boat traffic start to pick up on the river. Maurice blew his horn and waved as he pulled off from his dock and away to pick up a charter at the downtown pier in Rock Harbor.

"I read your story again last night," Scooter finally said.

"So did I," added Marcie. "I couldn't sleep. Then Pete and I read it again this morning."

They each wrapped their arms around me, sandwiching me in the middle of a skin to skin hug. My cock took notice and started to grow.

"We talked before you got up," Scoot continued. "We love what you wrote. We both cried, but we wouldn't want you to change a thing."

"And both of us are fine with being your cuddlesome friends," said Marcie, "or in Laurel's case, cuddlesome cousins. I just love that you're my friend and I hope we can still play together, but I don't want you to feel any pressure for anything else...or anything at all. And for what it's worth, I think Bobbi is probably in the same kinda place. You know? Friends who love each other and play, but no strings..."

I pondered in silence for a few moments. "Thanks," I said, becoming acutely aware of their breasts still pressed against me in the hug. Enjoying it quite a lot. "And just so you know, I don't see myself entering a monastery anytime soon."

"Good to know," Marcie said, sliding a hand down my chest and into my lap, cupping my balls and rubbing her thumb on the underside of my now erect shaft. "Someone seems to be waking up," she said. Scooter smiled and traced a fingertip around one of my nipples.

"Speaking of waking up," I said, "thanks for the breakfast. I liked the tea and oranges..." Neither one of them responded. "They were nice," I continued, fishing. Again, nothing. "Unusual," I added, "but then I had an unusual night, with the storm and all. Lots of strange dreams and waking up several times." They coyly ignored me. I coyly abandoned further inquiry.

Marcie stood and pulled me to my feet, drawing me into a standing hug, front to front. My erection was trapped against her tummy. She kissed me softly as Scooter joined us, pressing her front to my back and planting little kisses across my shoulders. After briefly holding me like that, they broke off the hug, almost as one, each taking me by a hand and pulling me toward the side of the deck.

"We know you need to get going back to the farm," Scooter said, "and you really need a shower."

"And since we're not going to see you for almost a week, we thought we'd help you," Marcie added, "because that's what friends do. And sometimes family."

They drew me along to the outdoor shower, Marcie dropping my hand and leading me by my dick instead. They had planned this ahead of time, I discovered. There were already three fresh towels draped across the back of an Adirondack chair. As they drew me under the water, Scooter kissed me quickly on the lips and asked, "Is this OK? I mean, with what we've talked about and all?" I nodded a yes. Marcie proceeded to wash my front while she washed my back. Both were quite slow. And thorough.

Once every square inch of me was undoubtedly squeaky clean and rinsed, Marcie dropped to her knees and looked up to my eyes. Questioningly. Scoots arms were around me from behind. "I'm okay, if you're okay," she whispered. What was I going to say at that point. I nodded again. "Then let her," she said. "She really wants to do this. I'll just watch. Mostly. If you don't mind." I didn't.

Marcie pulled down on my cock and slid me into her mouth, her fingers toying with my balls and up into the crack of my ass. She swirled her tongue slowly around my engorged helmet, pressing the tip into its tiny hole. Teasing. I felt the nerve endings firing up and down my abs and into the twitching muscles of my groin. She licked my shaft from the tip to the base and then back again. Over and over. Pausing each time on the down stroke to capture a ball in her mouth or nibble the skin of my scrotum, right along the seam where it felt most sensitive. I have no idea how she knew to do that...maybe pure instinct...but it felt amazing! Then on the upstroke, she would capture the pulsing head of my cock and just hold it in her mouth. Suckling and teasing the underside with flicks of the tip of her tongue. One of her fingers was toying with my asshole while Scooter held me from behind, rubbing her breasts against my back and playing with one of my nipples.

"Still okay?" Scoot asked me. "Mine are really sensitive, so I thought yours might be too."

"They are now," I told her, "and yes..."

"Good," she said. Then she slid around and kissed her way down my chest, taking the tip of one nipple between her lips. Sucking. Then gently biting. Then flicking and licking with her tongue while her thumb and forefinger closed on the other. Softly pulling and pinching.

At that point, Marcie's fingertip was slipping into and out of my anus and she was taking all of my cock deeply into her mouth and throat. Slowly sliding her chin to my balls and then pulling away...almost completely off. Again and again. Again, I couldn't believe how amazing felt. Each time she pressed forward there seemed to be some resistance after she'd taken the first five inches or so, then the swollen spongy head would pop past and into her throat. Still, she never once gagged or pulled off coughing.

It wasn't long before I felt the surge building. Seconds away. "I'm going to cum," I warned her. "Mmm hmm," she acknowledged, pulling back until just the head was in her mouth. At the same time, she drove her index finger as far as she could up into me, curling and touching something there that sent me plummeting over the edge. It felt like my cock and balls were contracting up into my body then pumping out shotgun blasts of seed. I could feel her finger inside me massaging somewhere that was somehow directly connected to the tip of my cock and the nipple in Scooter's mouth. And yet, as intense as it was, I could also feel the subtle changes in suction around my glans as she swallowed, then let her mouth be filled again. Twice. Three times. When there was no more to give and I began to soften, she pulled off and stood. Gave me a deep slow kiss. Salty and tangy. Then turned me to Scooter who kissed me just as deeply. There was no way that Scoot couldn't have tasted it. She said not a word, but smiled a quick half-smile into my eyes before looking away, a little shyly.

We wordlessly dried each other off and wandered into the house to get me dressed. I threw on some shorts and reclaimed my Mud Hens shirt from Pete's room. He was out front, tinkering in the engine compartment of his van as I threw my go bag into the trunk of the Bonneville. The girls followed me out as well. I got another hug and kiss from each. As we embraced, Scooter told me, "That was because we love you so much. Don't overthink it. You go do you and do what you need to. We've got things covered this week."

"What she said," Marcie chimed.

"Ditto, dude," Pete added, wiping the grease from his hands on a shop rag and catching me into a back popping bro hug.

Driving away, I thought about stopping in at the diner but didn't. I remembered that Bobbi's shift didn't start until noon. I figured I'd call her that night if she didn't call first. I drove back to the farm while running through checklists for the day and the week and thinking about the attentions of Scooter and Marcie that morning. Got home in record time...for me. An hour and fifteen. Petey could do it in less, but he's crazy.

I sat in the car for a while, letting the feeling of home wash over me. My clothes hit the floor as soon as I walked through the door of my "house" in the barn. I checked in with my folks. They were both outside doing naked gardening. Then I walked around the barns and checked out the work that Herbie had done. Things were fine. The animals were fine. He's a reliable kid for fifteen. His dad's had him doing chores since he could walk. And, like most country kids, he's been driving the county roads and two tracks around us ever since he could reach the pedals in his dad's old Ford pickup. About age eleven. I started at ten.

I spent the rest of the afternoon changing the oil and topping the gas tank up on my mom's Buick station wagon. Then I vac'd it out, washed it and waxed it. It's clearly the nicest ride we have for the road trip. Even if it does have a Mack truck bulldog attached to the hood. My mom always takes way more clothes than she needs. But then, more often than not, she sleeps in the hospital room, in a recliner beside my dad. A few changes of clothing are important. We can do laundry when we get home again. And, our room at the Travel Haven has a fridge and a small kitchenette so we usually bring food. That way we aren't stuck eating restaurant or hospital fare for three meals a day over four to five days. In short, the station wagon makes sense.

It only took me about twenty minutes to pack for myself. A couple of things to read...a Heinlein book for me and a Barsoom novel to read to my dad...and some blank notebooks and pens for writing. As always, I also took my acoustic guitar, a battle worn '69 Hofner Dreadnought. Clothes wise, I simply emptied my go bag and tossed in a pair of clean jeans and an extra pair of cargo shorts along with my two favorite knock around t-shirts. "Buddy Guy" and "Hooker 'n' Heat". I'd be wearing shorts and my Mud Hens shirt for the ride. Adequate to insure that nothing would need to be re-worn enough to get truly disgusting. The go bag had plenty of room to fit everything but the guitar.

I was sitting under the willow tree restringing the Hofner when Herbie and Janet, his sister, stopped by to do the late afternoon chores. As soon as they saw me, they smiled and waved and peeled off their clothes as well. We chatted briefly. When they were finished, they clamored still naked into their pickup and took the two track back toward the quarry.

Herbie's a typical gawky fifteen year old, still growing into his arms and legs and ears. The size of his feet give a hint that he's probably going to get as tall as his dad, who's at least 6'2" and every bit of 210 pounds. Herbie, currently still at 5'6", might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet with his pockets full of rocks.

His sister Janet just turned eighteen and is half a head taller than Herbie, though probably not much heavier. She has an adorable face, framed by long wavy honey brown hair, but she's still stuck in her own gangley stage. She's lanky, with cute little breasts that have only recently started to bud and swell in earnest. From what I've heard, the kids at school have been brutal to both of them. Neither one has actually hung out around us, but they have encountered my parents and I in our all over skin on countless occasions, as has their dad. I know he doesn't have a problem with it. I haven't discussed it directly with the kids, but I like to think it's maybe helped them feel better about accepting their own bodies just as they are. At least they're comfortable enough to go out to the quarry for a quick naked swim after chores.

My parents and I ate a late supper, around 8:00, then I loaded all of our stuff in the Buick. I tried to call Bobbi a number of times, but no one picked up. I finally gave up around midnite. Figured I'd try one more time in the morning before we took off, then leave it up to Scoot for the rest of the week.

Tuesday morning, no answer again at Bobbi's. So be it. My mother had coffee and breakfast waiting at nine. We ate, cleaned up, ran through our checklist, and were finally on the road before ten. Even with breaks every couple of hours, we were in Rochester by six, checked in and unpacked by six-thirty, and sitting in our corner booth at the Clam Shak across the street by quarter to seven. "Three orders of our usual, please." Clamburger Deluxe, deep fried mushrooms, a small house salad, and hot-fudge ice cream cake for dessert. There's a reason some families develop traditions!

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Wednesday was hard. The first treatment battery left my dad sick and exhausted. My mom and I stayed at the hospital solid from 7 AM until mid afternoon. Around three, I ducked across the street to our room at the Travel Haven and snarfed down a sandwich. I took one back for her and convinced her to go back to the room and sleep for a while.

Dad was in no shape or mood to talk and the TV was news or useless blather. Together, we spent the next four hours immersed in John Carter's adventures. The Warlord of Mars, to be exact. The only interruptions were this or that doctor or nurse or technician coming in to draw blood or ask questions or check on an IV drip.

There were times that he dozed, but only briefly. And even those times were often anything but restful. He talked in his sleep. The best I could tell, he was back in Viet Nam. On patrol. Behind whatever lines there were. Calling in their position and telling whoever that choppers were overhead, spraying the jungle. Other times they were pinned down, taking fire and calling in for extraction. I'd heard some of his stories, but mostly, he never talked about this stuff with me. I'm not sure that he talked about it with anyone. Maybe my mom. Maybe Robb.

OK. I'll admit it. It's hard when I see him like this. He looks so frail and distant and I don't know how to reach in and somehow make it even a little bit better. He says that just being there with him helps, more than I'll ever know. But it makes me horribly conscious of how powerless we all are sometimes. And it makes me acutely aware of how very important it is whenever we can connect with the people we love. In whatever way possible. Making them aware that they're not alone. Family. And family family.

My mom came back around seven that evening. She brought me some leftover pot roast and soda for Dad. (We always supplied our own. For some reason, folks in the state of New York had never heard of Vernors.) The research team came in on their rounds about eight. The doctors said he appeared to be taking the treatment well enough for the next stage to start on schedule at ten that night. If that went well, the final round would start at ten on the following morning. That was encouraging news, and sounded...over all...like this would be one of the less severe visits for him. My mom was smiling when they left. Then she threw me out. Said I looked like I'd chased a fart through a keg of nails. I never really understood that idiom, but I and my pot roast made our way back to the Travel Haven.

I stripped off and sparked up a bowl. Got out my guitar. Picked at a song I'd been working on for a couple of months or more. The lyric and the story were good as far as they went, but I'd hit a wall I couldn't seem to get past. It was driving me nuts. After an hour, I gave up again. Made myself a pot roast and mac 'n' cheese sandwich...with Miracle Whip. Washed it down with Vernors. And set the travel alarm to go off at 12:30. Dad was awake when I got there at one. Fairly alert, and not feeling too badly, all things considered. We finished the Barsoom novel and actually found a TV station running an overnight Sam Spade marathon.