Lucy in the Sy

Copyright © 1996

As I write this, it is the beginning of a harsh winter here in New England. Already, snow covers the ground and vicious winds cut into my face as I go to the mail box to get the old-fashioned snail-mail. On the top of the pile is a letter with a return address that instantly ignites inner flames. I am transported back to summer, to a time that was warm, for more than one reason. I run back to the house, sit in front of my wood stove, and contemplate the envelope. Before even opening it, I want to enjoy the clear and palpable recollections of that day in August.

Lucy is a friend who I don't get to see very often. She's a tiny woman, maybe just five feet tall and 95 pounds, bright red hair, very pretty with unusually large breasts for her small frame. We were roommates and great buddies in college, but now she lives in New York City, and my business rarely takes me to her vicinity; in fact, I do my best to avoid going into the Big City. When we do get together, it is usually for only an hour or two over lunch. So it was, with both anticipation and trepidation, that I accepted when she invited me to spend a long weekend at her parents' camp in the Poconos. A lot of family would be there, and I wasn't sure if I would fit in. I wasn't even sure if Lucy and I would really hit it off like we did so many years ago. Having a lunch date is not the same as being together for several days!

I drove my cute little Miata down to pick her up, and then we headed west on I-80. It's amazing how quickly the urban, domesticated sprawl turns into the untamed forests and hills of northwestern New Jersey. As we tooted along with the top down and the wind mussing our hair, I asked Lucy what had led her to invite me on this trip, when we hadn't done anything like this before. She kind of danced around the question, talking about how we really should have done this years ago. But I could tell she was being evasive. So I pinned her down with a direct question: "Lucy, something is going on, isn't it? Are you trying to match me up with someone? Because if you are, I think you should let me in on the game plan. I don't like surprises."

OK, I admit that this isn't always true. In fact, I usually do like a surprise. It gives me a tingle. But I guess I was trying to keep some amount of blustery equanimity as we headed into her family's pressure-cooker (or so I pictured it). I didn't want the awkwardness of a blind date to be piled on top of everything else. I guess I was a bit fragile, so I wanted to forbid her from playing the matchmaker.

It's kind of in my nature to think that I have things like this figured out, so I was most surprised by Lucy's response to my somewhat confrontational remarks. "Oh Sue, that's not it at all. I can see how you might have thought that, and you're are right that there is something going on. But it is not about matching you up, it's about matching me up. There is going to be someone else there, and the idea of seeing him has me going crazy. I invited you to be with me so that you can help me through this thing. I was being selfish about it, and I should have told you what was happening."

It took me while to get Lucy to tell me all about this guy, but I think I can summarize it by telling you that Lucy has three siblings. The oldest is a brother, and he has a best friend named Chet. To hear Lucy tell it, he must be a clone of Robert Redford. She has had a gigantic secret crush on Chet since childhood, but instead, he had flings with both of Lucy's older sisters. Those relationships simmered down many years ago, and Chet has remained a close family friend, almost a second brother to all the girls. Because of the pseudo-familial role that he has, Lucy has never told anyone how much she desires Chet-it seemed almost incestuous to her. Plus, he has been married for many of the intervening years. Since the whole thing makes her nervous, she has tried to avoid being around him as much as possible. His family has their camp next to Lucy's family's place, and when she knew he would be in residence, Lucy would find an excuse to stay away.

He had been divorced for several years, and Lucy decided that she couldn't let this infatuation fester anymore. This was the weekend that she wanted to act on her long-suppressed passion. At the very least, she needed to tell him what had been going on for her. Who knew what would happen after that. My role was to be there for her to confide in, to support her and to egg her on if her determination flagged.

"Why me?" I asked, and she answered, "When we were in college, I could talk to you about these kinds of things, about crushes and desires and..... even sex. Since then, I really haven't had someone that I could open up to like that. I'm sure that you remember some of that. You know, it was the Sexual Revolution, and we were kind of wild and crazy."

"Oh yeah," I responded "gaawwdd, I'll bet anything that you remember that night when your date and mine switched beds in the middle of the night. They thought we never even knew the difference,... that they were surreptitiously getting to put another notch on their pistols by fucking an extra girl that night. They assumed we were just a couple of dumb bimbos. But we knew all along, and it was probably more fun for us than them. They were scared silly that they would get caught."

"Yea, my guy was so jittery he couldn't get it up Until I gave him a 20 minute blow job."

Well, the rest of our drive was full of reminiscences that were even more bawdy than that one. We hadn't been prim and proper ladies back then, and I had done my best to keep up that tradition in the 20 years since. It turns out that Lucy hadn't done the same. Her infatuation with Chet started to get in the way of her other relationships with men, and many of those courtships had ended quickly and badly. In a way, she had been saving herself for Chet, even though he had been "verboten" because of his marriage and his role in Lucy's family. There was a lot of importance riding on what was to happen this weekend. I could see why she was excited and terrified. It was no accident that our conversation had drifted inexorably into the theme of the wild sexual experiences of our youth. This lady was charged up with unrequited passion. Whatever happened this weekend, I knew it would lead to the unleashing of these pent-up emotions, and then Lucy could finally go on with her life. I was grateful that she had included me in her plans, such as they were. For in fact, she really didn't know what exactly she was going to do, just that she was going to do SOMETHING.

If you've read any of my other stories, you know that I can be easily aroused by the thought of uninhibited sex. And so our conversation in the car about the "Real-Life Sexual Adventures of Lucy and Sue-Coeds on a Mission," had me kind of fired up, and I could feel the sticky secretions moistening the crotch of my panties. But now I knew that there was to be no hunky blind date for me on this trip (I know, I know, before I was ragging on Lucy for being a matchmaker, and now I'm complaining that she hadn't gotten someone for me to play with.... there is no satisfying me, is there?).

My lustful mood was interrupted when we drove into the area surrounding the so-called "camp." Jeez, talk about an understatement. I had somehow pictured a little cabin on a lake, with bare-bones facilities, maybe even an outhouse, Coleman Stove and Aladdin Lamps. Since I figured we were roughing it, I had even packed my sleeping bag (which took up almost half the trunk of my Miata). Well, was I wrong. The road going into the place had big signs saying "members only," and then we had to go through a guarded gate, where Lucy showed a membership card. Eventually, a mile of narrow (but well-paved) road took us through a verdant golf course, and then up to the "lodge," as Lucy called it. It was really a magnificent white clapboard building which reminded me of a smaller version of the Grand Resort hotels that have all-but-disappeared in New England. In front of the hotel was a large square of perfect grass, where Lucy said they held bowling games. This was not the picture that leapt to mind when I thought of bowling, but Lucy insisted. As we drove past the Lodge, a series of clay-surfaced tennis courts were on our right, and the lake was on the left...., then a series of beautiful old homes that bordered the lake. None of these could have been less than 15 rooms, and they were impeccably maintained. I would have called them small mansions, but Lucy insisted that they were known to all as "camps." This was a protected enclave for the old-money rich, and while it all was tasteful and restrained, I could not help but visualize that even the branches of the trees were dripping with the uncountable wealth. When Lucy told me the names of some of the home-owners, I found that many of them were easily recognizable-governors, socialites, robber barons of the past and present. The kind of names that are etched in marble slabs on the sides of university buildings. Now I was intimidated about this weekend for another reason; the idea of meeting famous people scares the dickens out of me.....

Finally, we pulled into the driveway of Lucy's camp. Perhaps it wasn't the largest camp in the resort, but it was impressive and tastefully appointed, inside and out. I had my own room on the second floor, looking out over the lake. The view was incredible, with a range of rugged-looking peaks rising above the expanse of unbroken forest. A few hours from New York City, and it seemed as if we were ensconced in the outbacks of Montana or Alaska.

Shortly after we arrived, dinner was served..., and I mean that literally, as the family had brought along their cook and maid, who brought us our impeccably prepared meals at the broad dining room table. Within the formal atmosphere created by this setting, I became acquainted with all the family members-Lucy's parents, and her siblings, all of whom had brought along their "significant others" (none of them were currently married). After dinner, we all adjourned to the screened-in porch, where we feasted on the glorious sunset and made plans for the next day.

Apparently, it was customary to spend the morning partaking of the various athletic opportunities, and so, before I had a chance to think about it, I was assigned to compete in a little tennis tournament, playing doubles with Lucy. I'm not very good, but everyone said not to worry, and there was extra tennis clothes and a racquet that I could use. So much for free will. I was now a cog in the family vacation machine.

As we rocked in the comfortable chairs watching the last tendrils of orange and purple disappear from the clear sky, a newcomer was welcomed onto the porch. Even before I was introduced, I could tell that he was very much at home with the entire group, so it was no surprise to discover that this was the famous Chet. And although Lucy may have glamorized him a bit, he was much as advertised-tall, blond, handsome, articulate, and charming. Lucy started to get giggly, but I kicked her lightly and gave her a stern look, and she made an effort to be more of a grown-up. When Chet and Jock (that's Lucy's brother..., what a yuppy name..., in fact her sisters are named Amber and Ashley!) announced that they were planning to hike up to Pinnacle Rocks the next afternoon, I instantly sensed an opportunity, and chirped in that I'd love to go for a walk too, that's what I came to the wilderness to do. I gave a meaningful look toward Lucy, and she agreed to join the group. The boys muttered something about it not being a "walk," that it was a difficult climb, but I wasn't going to be put off. Eventually it was decided that Jock's girlfriend, Dawn, would come too. When the gathering broke up to head to bed, Lucy pulled me aside and let me now that she was not certain she was in good enough shape for the hike, but I took her meaning to be that she was nervous about being with Chet, so I wouldn't let her off the hook.

The next morning, we started in early with the tennis tournament. It was very warm, and within minutes, I was perspiring heavily. Since I really was not playing up to the standards of the rest of the competitors, I spent a lot of time chasing balls. After a while, I noticed that our match had attracted a large and growing audience..., certainly more than it deserved. During a changeover between games, I whispered to Lucy "How come there are so many people watching us play? Hardly any of the other matches have any spectators at all."

"You're amazing," she answered, "you really have no idea that you are the reason for our crowd! Did you notice that almost all of the people watching are men? Now look down at your chest."

When I did, I realized that my sweat had made the borrowed white tennis blouse almost transparent. And since I wasn't wearing a bra (I almost never do, and I hadn't even brought on with me on the trip), my breasts and the blunt pink shape of my nipples were publicly displayed. I'm sure that when I tried valiantly to chase down a point, I was getting a lot of bobbing and weaving. Lucy pointed out that displays like this were not typical of the straight-laced modus operandi of the resort. But for today, I was an exception to the rule that was being appreciated by the fans of my pathetic tennis game. A fleeting moment of embarrassment crossed my mind, but then I took a "what the hell" attitude about the whole thing, and spent the rest of the match flaunting my body. Occasionally I rubbed the strings of my racquet over one of my nipples, or leaned over to pick up a ball, waving my ass in the direction of an admirer. Interestingly enough, my tennis game improved markedly, perhaps because I saw the sport as having more than one level of challenge. I started to feel a familiar tingle of sexual excitement that came from the naughty thrill of exhibiting to these strangers. Lucy gave me a wink and said "you're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh yes," I responded, "I'm thinking about all the hard-ons that I've provoked, and the fantasies that are being spun by all these repressed male psyches." She slapped her racquet hard (and playfully) on my rear, getting a good laugh from our audience.

After the tennis, we showered, and I could only wish that there was enough time for me to fully relieve the heightened sexual tension that had grown inside me. As it was, I could only tease myself with a few rushed caresses through my slick labia, with my finger and then with the hard, rounded bar of soap. My clitoris was hard as a bone, and my lips were puffy, but I would have to wait until later to take the time I needed to satisfy my persistent hunger, for I could hear Lucy calling for me to hurry. So I put on some hiking attire, and the three girls packed a lunch, while the boys studied the maps, packed up blankets, cameras, and binoculars, and tried to rush us along. Traditional gender role stereotypes prevailed here. Eventually the five of us set off on a trail behind the lodge building.

Now it was midday, and even hotter than before. The trail was very rugged, showing little signs of regular use. Jock said that this was beyond the capacity of most of the guests at the resort, so we would certainly see no one else along the way. Lazing along the beach front was the customary activity for the afternoons. For us, it was grunting, panting, and sweating, with little breath left for talking. Eventually, I got my second wind, and achieved a sort of trance-like rhythm. Most of the time, I followed behind Jock, and the view of his butt cheeks and thighs clenching and jiggling were adding to my heightened sense of my libido.

Then, suddenly, Jock's foot slipped on a patch of greasy moss, and his ankle turned over. He fell to the side and then backwards, and I blocked his slide. His ankle was badly sprained. Chet suggested that he drag himself a few more yards up the trail, to a spot where a large stream crossed the path. There was a pool of beautiful water nestled amongst the boulders and trees, and Jock sat with his injured foot dangling in the cool water while Dawn rubbed his shoulders and fussed over what could be done. Chet and Jock concluded that an hour or two of cooling the ankle in the stream would help, so we left Jock and Dawn there with their share of the rations, while Lucy, Chet and I continued onwards and upwards. For the purposes that I had in mind for the afternoon, five was a crowd, but three was... well something else.

Lucy was now following Chet, and every once in while she would look back at me with a kind of glazed look. I guessed that her close-up observation of Chet's cute butt was having an effect on her libido. Now I noticed Lucy had copied my fashion statement from this morning; she had dressed without putting on her bra. Since her breasts are much larger than mine, they swung around freely as we scrabbled up the terrain, which was becoming more rocky. Eventually, we broke though the tree line and emerged onto the bald peak. It was fairly flat up there, and the stony surfaces were worn smooth by the centuries of harsh weather. The sun beat down through the windless air, and we were surrounded by the 360 degree panorama. The lake seemed so many miles away; I couldn't believe we had come so far. The surroundings seemed so isolated, so timeless, so secret... as if we could see the world, but the world had lost track of us. The feeling of freedom and enchantment filled my soul, and I without willing it, I found myself bounding around on the low outcroppings of rock, acting out some improvised pseudo-tribal dance. I began yelping and hollering, hearing the amplified echoes that reminded me of my enchanted night at Lake Powell (see Sue's 20th: "Kachina"). My hair flailed around my head, slapping against my neck in sweaty ropes.

I suddenly remembered that I had company up here, and when I glanced over at Chet and Lucy, they were looking at me strangely, like I was a Martian. I stopped my dancing and walked back over to them. We talked about it, and it turns out that when Chet went mountain climbing, he had a kind of personal tradition of sitting quietly looking out into space, kind of a transcendental meditation. I asked him if my dancing and celebrating interfered with his doing his own thing, and he admitted that he found my way of celebrating to be "interesting." I guess that this was a high compliment from a dyed-in-the-wool yuppy. Then Lucy said that it looked like more fun than sitting still, so I grabbed her hand, and pulled her into my dance, where we stretched our arms, and chased imaginary fairies, and generally lost all our inhibitions to the goddess of the sun. Chet finally joined us, tentatively at first, but eventually with more enthusiasm. An entrancing effect took over, and Chet and Lucy seemed to gravitate toward each other, driven by some primal force of nature. They started to circle each other, eyes locked on each other as their movements became more sensuous. Their attention was not on me, so I took advantage of the opportunity to strip off my wet clothes, flinging the garments and boots onto the rocks to dry. Normally, they might be shocked by my nudity, but they seemed not to notice! I continued my liquid dance for a while, then I stepped up behind Lucy and raised her hands straight up into the air. Leaving her arms like that, I reached down to the hem of her tee shirt and quickly pulled it up over her heaving breasts, and then all the way off. Chet was mesmerized, and Lucy offered neither encouragement nor resistance.

So I circled around behind Chet and stripped off his shirt, just as I had done for Lucy. Then I reached down to his pants and unbuckled his belt, then slid his loose shorts and boxers down to his ankles. He lifted his feet so that I could get them off completely. Looking at Lucy, I could see her eyes filled with primal fires, as she eagerly took in the view of Chet's naked body. Her hands came up to her breasts and started to knead the meaty flesh. So I again returned to her rear and pulled down her pants. Now they were both nude, except for their hiking boots. Although I had removed mine, it seemed like too much of an interruption to try to take off their footwear, for they were both transported deeply into erotic trances. I was enjoying being the facilitator, the servant of their long-repressed desires.