Episode 4. Thank you for comments on episodes 1, 2, 3.
That night I went to bed after he called to let me know he was back at home. Nude I slept soundly and woke very early as the sun was rising. Lying in bed, I savored the scent of my husband on his pillow. Curling in the soft sheets I thought back over how we had played during the weekend. Although it was early, I couldn't sleep and rose from bed. Wandering through the house I was struck by the silence of the early dawn. I went upstairs and looked out the bedroom window on the front of the house. The sea looked calm. The sun was rising over the horizon. From what I could see the beach looked empty.
Returning to my bedroom I got a short robe and sandals. Leaving the house, I walked down the drive, crossed the empty shore road and followed the path through the dunes. The light was softly bathing the beach in a pink/orange glow. I seldom woke this early and was pleased to enjoy the solitude of the deserted shore. All but those needing to get to work early seemed to be still asleep.
The sea was calm and the swells pushed lazily up onto the shore then retreated. I walked along wetting my feet in the swirls of water edging the beach. The rolling pebbles made a soft sound. I let the cotton robe fall open and walked along with my hands in the pockets. Stopping at the edge, I looked out to sea at the rising sun. The swirls of water eroded the sand beneath my feet that moved deeper in the wet sand. With my hands in the robe pockets, I held open the robe spreading it like wings. The sunlight streamed over me and I felt it warm my nude body. My nipples hardened. I wish I had brought the camera to take a photo or two to send to my husband. A thought of him admiring my photo, recalling our past weekend, stiffening with desire, flashed in my head. Was I being a slut for him? I warmed to the idea.
The water felt warm as the early morning air was cool. It promised to be a hot and sunny day. I would run errands and cycle with the bike club that evening. Looking down the beach I could see a person with a dog in the distance. The person was way off and I could not tell if it was a man or a woman. The other direction of the beach was deserted. I removed the robe and placed it with the sandals higher on the beach out of reach of the ebbing water.
Nude, I walked back to the water and entered to about my knees. The swells pushed the water higher. It felt good. Cool but not unpleasantly so I slowly moved deeper. The water splashed higher and wet my belly. I stayed at that depth and surveyed the shore. No one was visible except for the distant figure with the dog. I splashed water on my shoulders and wet my breasts. I dove in. The chill was brief and I swam out from the shore. Soon the water felt great. Swimming nude was a special pleasure. The feel of nothing hindering my movement beckoned me to swim faster and further from shore. I stopped to tread water and scan the beauty of the scene. At the boundary of land and sea I floated and understood that I was drawn powerfully to this place. Looking back, it was a turning point towards a decision about life back in the city.
I floated and let the current carry me along. I rolled to my back and back-stoked in the rolling swells. After some time I swam with a breaking wave back to shore. Coming out of the water into the air brought on a chill. I walked down the beach and retrieved my robe. I used it to dry my face. Putting it back on I shivered slightly and watched the sun glow along the horizon. My nipples were tingling and hard. If only I had brought a camera I thought as I gently tweaked one. My king would enjoy a picture of his wet concubine. The sun was higher now and I walked back through the dunes to the shore road and crossed it to my driveway.
At the house I passed through the gate to the garden and washed the sand off in the outdoor shower. Back in the house, I made coffee and listed the errands I'd need to run. To my surprise it was just after 6am.
I tidied up the house getting the laundry done and the kitchen cleaned. Doing this in the nude felt satisfying somehow and the job was soon done. I watered the garden. I was industrious and wondered if the afterglow of the weekend's sexuality was energizing me this way. I decided it was. It felt good to be nude in my house and the freedom lifted my spirits.
I dressed for a hot day and ran errands. First stop was the hardware store to get paint chips to select colors for the last bedroom. The guy in the store was helpful as usual and we chatted about my aunt and uncle. I informed him they were enjoying their travels and staying in touch. He asked if I was okay in the house. It was a kind inquiry without a hint of ulterior motive. I assured him my summer was going well. Living in a small community has it charms. The friendliness of neighbors, I observed, was something I'd not experienced much back in the city.
I swung by the bike shop to pick up cycling shorts and a jersey. A young girl was at the register and a tech was tuning a bike in the work area. She showed me a rack of women's clothes and offered to help if I needed anything. The shorts were lycra and included a chamois pad in the crotch area. They did not look especially comfortable. I selected a black pair my size then searched for a jersey. I found two that I liked. One was a simple white sleeveless top; the other was green and short-sleeved. Both had three large pockets sewn in the back. I brought them to the counter and paid. We chatted and I explained this was all new to me and that the women in the cycling club recommended I buy the clothes. The girl in the shop advised that I would found them much more comfortable than regular shorts. I laughed and confided that I had learned, the painful way, that shorts were a bad choice. I asked if the owner was in and explained that he had fit me to my new bike. It turns out she was his niece and attended the local college. She told me he often cycled before work and was likely coming in later. She advised he would join the riding group that evening. She thought he was a fanatical cyclist and commented that he cycled several hundred miles per week. That seemed excessive to me and I looked perplexed. She saw my reaction and seemed amused. "You should ask him about his training. He's obsessive about it. So are some of the guys he rides with." I nodded knowingly. "Yea, those men look good to me" I confided. Her eyes caught mine and we share a flash of appreciation. I regained my decorum and collected my purchases.
Later that afternoon I wore the new apparel and rode to the meeting place. Once again two groups formed and cycled off. I road with the leisurely group and kept up. We chatted some as we road but mostly pedaled. After maybe 10 miles we stopped atop a small crest at the shore. We rested and watched as the elite group approached along the shore road. They passed before us and we all marveled at their speed and cadence. "These guys are good" somebody exclaimed as they sped by. I recalled my comment to the girl in the shop about their fitness. "These men look good to me" I silently thought, "just might take one home to see." I suspect similar thoughts flashed through the heads of the admiring women.
We assembled and rode a bit more swiftly back to town. At the pub we gathered for our usual end-of-ride celebration. The talk was friendly and I met more of the group. It felt good to be among a happy and accepting crowd.
As we were breaking up to go home, a group of the elite cyclists made plans for a party on the beach after Wednesday's ride. The forecast was for hot days and warm nights for the next week. Apparently a custom of the group was to pack into SUV's and drive out onto the dunes past the state beach. The enthusiasm for the event was contagious and I indicated that I might go. It really depended who was planning to go and if I would be comfortable with the crowd.
After Wednesday's ride about 15 people gathered to go out to the dunes. The remaining went to the pub as usual. I decided to go and rode with Eric and Tim, two of the racer-types. Tim was accompanied by his girlfriend, Heather, who worked for a local restaurant. Eric, I learned, had a girlfriend who was away on an internship for school. I cycled back to my house and changed into shorts and a top. They soon stopped by to pick me up. We four were in Tim's Toyota 4Runner and drove to the state park. At the park, we stopped to release air from the tires so we could drive onto the sand. We passed through a gate where a ranger confirmed that we had a pass to drive on the beach. It was an adventure and we talked excitedly about finding a place to gather as a caravan on the beach. We drove along a rutted path but the truck never bogged down. After maybe a few miles or so we swung through a pass in the dunes and drove onto the beach proper. The wet sand near the waterline made for easier travel and we sped more quickly. Soon we arrived at an encampment formed by the others. We parked our SUV with the others and formed a semi-circle to create an alcove for the party. The group was gathering coolers and some built a fire-pit with driftwood for when night fell.
The party was festive. Reggae music played loudly from an SUV. A group was tossing a Frisbee and Eric joined in. I followed. It was warm and most guys were wearing shorts and tee-shirts, or just shorts. Most women were in shorts and tops although some wore just bikinis. I wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless green plaid top. As usual, there was nothing beneath. We played and the game got more challenging. Players tossed the Frisbee to make catching it a feat. Some dove into the waves to attempt to grab a toss skimming over the water. I stayed on dry sand and was glad no one tried to tempt me into the water. After a bit we stopped for beers and watched the sky turn orange/pink/purple with the glow of the setting sun.
As the light faded, the game resumed. It was more vigorous now as tosses tested catchers' skills. More were drawn into the water. I heard a low whistle and looked in the direction that captured the gaze of a few guys near me. Two women were laughing and splashing in the waves. Both were topless. Their bikini tops were wet and crumpled in their hands as they exited the sea. They tossed them on the sand and ran again into the foaming sea as someone tossed the Frisbee beyond their reach. Each dove trying, without luck, to catch the disc. One retrieved it and tossed it to a guy on the shore. I, and everyone else, noticed her dark, hard nipples like bing cherries atop her firm breasts. Her tan lines revealed that she wore a quite skimpy string bikini. I secretly compared my total tan to her lined torso.
Our game continued and I unbuttoned my top to the button just below my breasts. The temptation to remove it entirely tugged at me. I resisted and remained clothed as we played the game. I knew with my tosses that my breasts swung freely. A watchful eye could surely detect an absence of tan lines as my top stretched open with my throws. The game became more energetic as the light faded. Most men had stripped to just shorts now and only a minority of women, including me, was no longer topless.
