Daisy and I had been on again, off again, friends with benefits since college. It was never anything serious, we lacked the chemistry to make a real relationship work, but I considered her one of my best and oldest friends. We'd always been there for each other, especially when the both of us were between relationships, and we'd always be there for each other.
Daisy was a serious wild child in college, and that's one of the things I loved about her then. Smart, confident, incredibly adventurous, and always insistent on her needs being met. She had one of the keenest senses for bullshit and risk I'd ever seen, and for everything she did -- threesomes, gang bangs, adult theaters and glory holes, orgies, BDSM; if you can name it, she's probably done it -- I don't think I can remember a single pregnancy or STD scare, or evening gone wrong. It was almost supernatural.
She calmed down in her late twenties, when she somehow found herself in a serious, long term, monogamous relationship which resulted in a ten-year marriage with no kids. Of all ironies, the split-up was because he had been cheating on her. Apparently, her ex-husband felt self-conscious about her past and constrained in their sex life, and instead of talking through it started an affair. In Daisy's words, "he could have just brought her home for a threesome, and everyone would have been happy"...that was just Daisy's sense of humor for you.
We didn't talk much while she was married: occasional texting, a monthly coffee or dinner, a day out once or twice a year. Her career and marriage came first. But since the split-up, we'd been hanging out more and spent the night together regularly. I hated the circumstances, but it was great having my old friend back, even though she was still in the process of grieving and healing, and it seemed like the old wildness which I loved was long gone.
At least, until I got the text at work Thursday.
"Signed the divorce papers today," it read, "whatever you're doing this weekend, cancel it."
I replied. "It's good to hear it's final, but I'm still sorry you had to go through it. I didn't have any plans anyways. What did you have in mind?"
"I need to blow off steam and we're getting out of town. All expenses paid care of Shithead. Check it out." Shithead was what she'd taken to calling her ex-, and I couldn't say I blamed her.
The next thing she texted, was a link to a resort I'd never heard of: Suadela Cove. It was on a lake surrounded by forest about six hours' drive south, and based on the pictures it was very picturesque, with a private beach, impressive amenity suite, rustic-styled decoration, and lakeside cabin accommodations.
And it was a clothing-optional swingers' retreat. My jaw dropped reading the schedule of daytime activities and nighttime events, even college-age wild child Daisy would have openly balked at this. I didn't even know a place like Suadela Cove was even legal.
My gut reaction was "hell yeah!", but consideration for Daisy and her emotional state won the conflict between upper and lower head. "Are you sure?" I asked. "This seems like an awful lot so soon."
A few minutes passed before her next text. "Trust me, I'm not just lashing out or overreacting. I've wanted to do a trip like this for a long time, even before the split up. I miss the old me and with the divorce over it's time to reconnect. I'm going with or without you, but I'd prefer you there."
"As long as you're sure," I responded. "Sounds like fun. What should I bring?"
Her reply came quickly. "Clothes for the trip there and back, toiletries. Benefits of a nudist resort :)" I couldn't argue with her there. A quick follow-up text said, "I'm bringing my toy bag."
From there, we made the travel arrangements. There was a newcomer and introduction party Daisy wanted to go to Friday night, so we agreed to work half days on Friday and meet up at one. She insisted on driving, not flying, so she'd already rented an electric car; it meant we'd have to stop and charge halfway, which worked perfectly since we could eat and refresh ourselves. She'd drive the first half of the way, I'd drive the second half, and we'd be there in time to check in and clean up before this party.
Preparing for the spontaneous (to me) trip was easy enough, I went to bed and work the next day, and she was a little late to pick me up at my apartment. I noticed she was in rare form as soon as I opened the passenger door of her rental and tossed my overnight bag in the backseat.
Daisy was a little taller than average -- about 5'6" if I had to guess -- and always had a slight frame. She did yoga for as long as I remember, and recently got into the "women who lift" trend combined with a better diet, to fill out and define her shape in a way she never had in college. When we met she was lucky to fill a B-cup bra, but between age, better-balanced diet, and her lifting, she now had lovely, perky, C-cup breasts. She always had a cute, round butt and nicely-toned thighs, which looked fantastic in yoga pants with the tiniest bit of thigh gap.
She was naturally dirty blonde but favored highlights, and always kept her hair shoulder-length and done in convenient, modest styles. She was never a fan of heavy makeup, and usually kept herself done in earthier, more natural, tones that accentuated her brown eyes and modestly-plump lips. She had a slightly long face, strong cheekbones and chin, almond eyes, and slightly aquiline nose that gave her a vaguely Mediterranean appearance to match her light olive skin.
You never would have guessed Daisy was in her late thirties by looking at her. The structure of her face and body made it clear she was mature, but the care she took of herself gave her the appearance of someone no older than their early thirties.
But, her clothing...or rather, lack of it...told me everything I needed to know about her mood. She wore an ivory-colored, crochet, beach cover that was a dress in name only, and barely covered her groin as she sat. The only thing under her dress was a matching crochet microkini bottom, the presence of which I could only tell by the string tied around her hip. Sandals to match, and her usual array of bracelets, necklaces, rings, and anklets.