I've lived on a lake almost my entire life. My earliest memories were when my family lived on Lake Texoma, in Texas of course, and I would swim almost every day of the year. To broaden my horizons for non-warm weather venues I got my first wet suit when I was eight and my first dry suit when I was twelve, so I swam almost all year round wherever my family was.
My family moved several times when I was growing up, but always ended up on a lake, in California, Georgia, and Arkansas. My summers when I was fifteen to nineteen were at Lake George in upstate New York, one of the cleanest lakes in the world, where I swam at least half a mile (and normally two miles) every single day, and kayaked, water skied, and/or sailed almost every day -- at least when I wasn't getting certifications of one type or another. Early in life I got a Red Cross Life Saving Certification and when I was 19-20 got an EMT-Basic Certification (110 hours of class and hands-on study) even though I never had any intention of working as an EMT
As a result of genetics from my mother's side of the family (her body has been a 10 virtually her entire life) and because I was always in shape due to swimming, modern dance, and weight training, I had a lofty place in Lake George lore -- At eighteen years old I was considered by most of the male population that knew me as having the best bikini body on the lake.
While I didn't consider myself that hot, and in fact thought that two or three other women that I had seen on the lake had better bikini bodies, I also saw no reason to have false humility. While I never promoted myself, I didn't refuse recognition either when the owner of the most popular restaurant (he also owned the largest boat rental establishment) on the lake gave me a "Best Bikini Body" ["BBB"] T-shirt, with the shape of Lake George, on it, and my name -- Amy Bryant -- in small letters on the back at the neck. I never wore the T-shirt in public, but I often did wear it to bed.
Even though I didn't flaunt it, an article about it did appear in the local newspaper. After that I was not popular with the women at Lake George; I was with the men.
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I met my future husband Brett at Lake George the summer that I was nineteen. It was obvious that he had found out who I was from some of his friends, and that he agreed that my nickname of "BBB" was accurate. Brett is five inches (13 cm) taller than my five foot nine inch (1.75 meters) height, handsome with a shock of wavy brown hair and a warm and friendly smile, and an athletic body. I played hard to get, but he was persistent. I always was really picky about sex partners, but he convinced me that he was after a relationship, and we fucked a couple of times before the summer was out.
One thing that Brett really had going for him was that he liked to eat pussy, a quality that I really admire in a man. After eating me to two orgasms he could have been a bad fuck and I still would have enjoyed it -- but his cock had an optimum aspect ratio, and was nice and girthy, and although he wasn't real experienced he had a great deal of passion and desire to please; so his cock work was almost as rewarding and enjoyable for me as his tongue and finger work had been.
Despite his representation that he was after a relationship, I thought that my summer months with Brett might only be a fling but he apparently was really into me. I don't know how he did it, because it isn't easy to do, but by the second quarter of my sophomore year at Northwestern University (obviously on a lake -- Lake Michigan) where I was studying journalism he had transferred to Northwestern's medical school. While I thought that he was smart I found out later that he was not just smart but also extraordinarily intellectual and academic, hence his ability to transfer.
While I didn't date Brett exclusively my sophomore and junior years -- much to his dismay -- I did agree to be exclusive my senior year. By that time I had sampled enough other guys to know that there was something special about him; in fact, I probably was in love with him. I graduated journalism school at the same time that he graduated medical school. That summer we got married -- on a lake, of course with a reception that featured swimming (including skinny dipping by some guests; how scandalous, ha, ha) -- and started our life together.
We couldn't afford to live on a lake when we first got married, but we lived within five miles of Lake Michigan in the Chicago area and I got in swims several times a week. As first an intern, and then a resident, at a local hospital, Brett had to work hard. I never begrudged his need to spend long hours because I knew that he really loved medicine and it was for our future financial stability. Also, I had plenty to keep me busy, including leisurely getting my Masters' degree in journalism from Northwestern while I pursued various jobs and activities.
While I didn't go to work as an employee for a magazine, newspaper, television station, or other conventional workplace for a journalist, I did work in the field. I became a freelance journalist, selling concepts to the highest or most interested bidder, and then following through with articles or treatises covering the concepts. I especially liked doing exposés under pseudonyms or sometimes even anonymously.
Brett was not as enamored with me doing exposés as I was, so I found out that it was best not to tell him the details of what I was doing; in fact to ensure his sanity I sometimes blatantly lied to him about the subjects of the stories that I was writing or the research that the stories required. This was especially so when I did an exposé on strippers, several on gender bias or sexual harassment in various workplaces, and a stint of working with undercover cops especially in the apprehension of human traffickers. I probably was technically violating the law in some of those since I used a fake ID and Social Security Number, but I was never challenged. For my one year exposé of professional cheerleaders I had to use my real name and couldn't hide that from Brett, but it wasn't as daunting as some of the other work.
Early in my career I took a safety course on handguns and became fairly proficient at the firing range with a Sig Sauer P-238-.380, which I obtained a concealed carry permit for. I also have two essentially identical .410 Shotshell Snake Slayer derringers from Bond Arms, one registered, and one "off the books."
I was able to do the majority of my most "daring" (I prefer that word as opposed to "dangerous") work while Brett was working himself. He often had eighteen-forty hour shifts, which really allowed me to do my thing without involving him and while still being able to devote full time to him when he was off work.
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Researching my articles on strippers was my first foray into daring journalistic endeavors. I prepared for it by taking a Strip Aerobics course taught by "Jinx" (she continued to use her stage name in her business dealings), a 50 year old real ex-stripper whose body was still in great shape, and who was my first interview for my articles. Jinx also provided me with much worthwhile inside information and contacts. In view of my history in modern dance, and my great shape from swimming (and eating right), I took to the physical part of stripping naturally.
Of course I had to get a job as a real stripper to properly research my article, and since my body hadn't degenerated in any way since my "Best Bikini Body" days and in view of Jinx's tutelage, I had no trouble getting a job. What I did initially have trouble with is actually getting naked in front of an audience. I psyched myself up for that, however, and by my fifth or sixth performance I had fully suppressed my anxiety.
Of course it helped that the perverts in the audience were very appreciative of my looks and talent -- a nice, even if illusory, ego boost. They seemed to especially like my East-West C-cup boobs (they point outwardly when I'm topless) with distended nipples.
The major drawback to being a stripper was having to remain "in character" as "Cinnamon Fire" while I was researching my articles. I wore blue contact lenses to disguise my green eyes, a very authentic-looking red wig to cover my short-cropped (solely for this job, I normally wore my hair long) brunette hair, fake red eyebrows, a washable large tattoo on my left arm and another one on my left thigh, and special effects makeup that changed the shape of my nose. It took me twenty minutes every day to get my disguise right so that on the off chance that someone I knew appeared at one of the strip clubs I worked at (I worked at three different ones while researching the article) that I wouldn't be recognized.
It will not be a surprise that I found the populace/customers/managers to be very handsy. I was able to deflect 99% of the unwanted attention with my hands, elbows, and words, and the other 1% with a kick to the groin or the flash of my Snake Slayer. However, one guy required that his leg almost be blown off with my Snake Slayer when he was attempting actual rape; but that occurred on what was already going to be my last week as an exotic dancer anyway since I had virtually all of the information that I needed for my exposé by then. Either the cops were never informed, or it was impossible for them to find me, because I never had any repercussions from the discharge of my firearm.
The exposé that I wrote was very favorable to the strippers (several sent in appreciative letters to the editor), but scathing toward the management and clientele, including exposing the names and perverse activities of a number of regular patrons who were politicians, judges, or prominent attorneys; in fact one local judge was forced to resign. The exposé appeared as a four part series in The Daily Herald (Suburban Chicago's largest newspaper) and won a Peter Lisagor award. Since I wrote the articles under a pseudonym (the editor was the only person who knew who I was) I couldn't accept the award but the editor gladly did. The award assured me the future opportunity to write for The Daily Herald -- and after the editor moved on to the Chicago Sun Times for it -- almost any time that I wanted to.
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By the time that Brett finished his residency and got almost normal and predictable work hours as a general surgeon I was ready to stop the daunting exposés, write a novel or two and some fluff articles, and start a family. We ended up as an All-American family with a boy, girl, dog, and cat.
My relationship with my kids has always been excellent. My marriage to Brett was very good, including good sex. As Brett matured he became less passionate and we rarely had monkey sex like we did before marriage and during the early years when he was off work, but that was to be expected. It was important to both of us, however, to stay in shape, which was facilitated in my case by purchasing a house on a mid-sized lake once we could afford it; I swam two miles almost every day that there wasn't ice.
Since I maintained my body enough, in my humble opinion, to almost live up to my BBB nickname I got hit on constantly. If it wasn't so sad it would be funny. It could be a sporting event for one of my kids, the health club, the beach, the newspaper or magazine office when submitting or polishing articles, parties, or even the mall or grocery store. I became an expert at fending off advances; I only twice had to expose my Sex Sauer (which I carried only on certain adventures either in a concealed carry purse -- I had three -- or a quick draw fanny pack -- when jogging, at the beach, or in informal clothes where carrying a purse wouldn't be desirable) only three times to dissuade particularly aggressive advances.
During the time that the kids were between one and twenty I wrote about fifty articles that I sold to various publications, and actually made decent money on three novels, two based in part on my life experiences before kids when I was doing daring investigations.
That is my marriage was very good until it wasn't.
