That day, we both went to work as usual. I was upbeat on my way to work, relieved that the tension in the air had been cleared.
On the way to work I reflected on how we'd got to where we were. Inviting my little sister, Joan, to the nude beach all those months ago had set off the chain of events that had led to her stroking my cock on the couch.
She had been intent on taking the blame for the night before, but, in my mind, my ongoing encouragement of her behaviour made me equally culpable.
I came home that evening physically and mentally drained from work. I was having a nightmare week and running on fumes under a tight deadline.
It was hot. Headlines about a heatwave appeared on the front page of most of the national newspapers. No less interesting to me were headlines about the nation's surging interest in naturism. Surveys revealed large swathes of the population were increasingly going naked.
Joan was already on the couch when I got in. She was wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt. I went to change out of my work clothes to join her. Stripping off my work clothes, I considered returning to the lounge room naked, but decided to follow my sister's lead and put on some underpants before joining her on the couch.
"How was your day?" she said quietly.
"Brutal," I said. "Shitkicking work this week. Miles of spreadsheets. Feel like I'm going blind."
"Don't you have minions to do that kind of work?"
I was a finance manager at a consulting firm. Typically it's exciting work, handling strategic risk for big businesses with lots of money to throw around. Sometimes, however, it's just glorified accounting.
"They already did," I replied. "The numbers don't add up. So I've got to do it over. Lots of moving parts."
I was physically aching from the day's work. I'd been using the mouse more than usual, which was creating stiffness in my neck and upper back.
"Sore shoulders?" she asked.
"Desk jockey syndrome," I replied. "Nothing a good massage can't fix."
"I am actually very good at massage," she said.
My eyes went wide. "Really? How's that then?"
"I got really into it during the pandemic, when everyone was stuck at home. I learned about all the muscles in the body. Would you like me to take a look?"
"That would be amazing."
We went to her bedroom, where she bade me lie face-down on the bed. She opened a drawer in her bedside table and pulled out what looked like a bar of soap. "This is a massage bar. It melts on contact with skin. Just relax."
Closing my eyes, I heard the soft squishing sound of the bar melting in her hands, then felt her hands gliding gently along my upper back to my shoulders.
She began to work a point near my shoulder blade with her fingers. "This is a common one. It's usually new parents lifting small children."
She began to work her way along a muscle connecting my shoulder blade to my neck. "The
erector spinae
. This muscle group actually runs all the way down your back, from the base of the skull to the base of the spine."
She started working her way down my back and toward my buttocks. "Do you mind if I pull these boxers down a bit?"
"Take them off if it's easier," I said.
"I still feel guilty about last night," she said, pulling the waistband down to the bottom of my buttocks. She steadily worked the muscles in my buttocks, pressing hard.
"Don't," I said. "I was the one who imposed my nudity on you in the first place."
"It's not sexual for you, though, is it?" she said.
The official naturist answer to this question is: it is not sexual. The reality is a bit more complicated, however. Humans are sexual creatures.
"When you first saw my penis," I said, "when you first properly looked at it, in the carpark that first time, you remember, you got embarrassed for staring?"
"I remember."
"Were you horny?"
She switched back to my shoulder, this time climbing on top of me. "I hope you don't mind if I straddle you like this. It gives me a better angle."
I could feel her weight on my lower back. She wasn't wearing underpants under that shirt. I imagined those tender pussy lips of hers brushing against my spine.
"I'm not sure what I felt," she replied. "Curious. Not horny."
"I reckon curiosity and horniness are easily confused," I said. "They're both kinds of desire - to see, to touch, to experience - and you can have both at the same time."
She worked her way down to my buttocks again, giving them a bit of a gentler touch this time. She clearly knew what she was doing. My shoulder felt better already.
"Do you trust me?" I asked her.
"Yes."
"Then you should trust yourself."
"All done!" she said, pulling my boxers back up.
"Thank you so much!" I said, rolling over.
I must have had a very noticeable bulge in my boxers. She couldn't help but glance at it. The eyes are naturally drawn.
I said nothing, but lifted my butt off the bed.
She reached into the waistband of my boxers and pulled them down my legs. I lifted my feet off the bed so she could remove them. She flung them onto the floor of her bedroom.
Then, as she gazed at my exposed penis, I saw that smile again, the one she'd had seeing it hard for the first time. The look of curiosity being satisfied.
"Want to take that top off?" I said.
She removed the t-shirt in one graceful movement and flung it on the floor.
"Can I squeeze you?" she said.
"Yes," I said. "Can I squeeze you?"
"Yes."
She wrapped her warm little hand around my erect penis. I took her breasts in my hands, her hardening nipples pressed into my palms.
These body parts are very sensitive. We were both careful to try not to stimulate each other too much. Nevertheless, after a bit of gentle touching, I think we were both pretty aroused.
"Oh, Will. Feel how wet I am," she said, lifting herself from the bed.
I slid one hand between her legs, feeling the open and engorged slit with my fingers. Sure enough, my fingers came away wet, a thin string of sticky pussy juice connecting me to her.
"Alone time?" she said, hopping off me.
"Agreed," I replied, and got up to make my way to my room. "See you on the couch in thirty seconds."
She laughed.
Sure enough, we were soon both back in the lounge room, both fully naked. Joan was on the couch when I walked in. The TV was off.
"The remote's under the couch," she said. "My arms aren't long enough to reach."
I came over to where she was sitting and looked under the couch. I could see the remote, way back against the wall. Reaching under, I pulled it out, and went to rise to my knees.
When my eyes were level with the couch seat, I paused. Joan had scooched forward on the couch. Her pussy was right in front of my face, those parted lips between her spread legs, still wet from earlier, her scent filling my nose.
If I stuck my tongue out, I realised, I could just about reach her clit.
Over the following weeks, I noticed that, if, for example, I was lying on the couch, Joan would come over and kneel on the edge, right next to my head. If I was lying on my bed, she would kneel on the bed next to me, her pussy right next to my face.
If I turned my head to admire her little pussy, she would, perhaps unconsciously, thrust her hips forward, as though she wanted me to lick it.
I never took the bait, but I would, on occasion, for example, go into her bedroom, where she was sat at her desk, and get close enough to reach for the thing on the desk I wanted to borrow. If she was on the couch, I might hang a painting on the wall behind her, or adjust the painting already there, putting the head of my cock right next to her face, moving my hips to follow her mouth with it.
She only smiled at my cock, or at me. The way she licked her lips suggested she wanted to lick the head of my cock. Of course, that would be against the rules.
This ongoing and unacknowledged game of chicken amounted to all the naughtiness in the household for a couple of weeks, apart from a few small squeezes here and there. Neither of us was brave enough to lick the other.
Soon the September nude swim came around.
"This might be the last one while the weather's warm," I told Joan.
"I'm not sure I can be bothered," she replied.
Nevertheless, when the evening came, we both went down together. We got undressed in the car park, took the backpack down to the beach and set up on the sand.
I noticed Dave nearby and thought it might be good to check in. I hadn't seen him in two months.
"Will!" Dave greeted me as we approached. "How have you been, mate?"
"Never seen you, Dave!"
We caught up briefly, lamenting the inevitable thinning of the crowds on the beach with the shortening days. Dave asked Joan how she'd been enjoying it.
"I've been enjoying it a lot!" she replied. "Thanks for being so welcoming the first time."
"My pleasure," he said. "You still living in the area?"
"Yes. With Will in fact. It was meant to be temporary," she explained, "but I'm just saving so much money."
"You two aren't at each other's throats yet, then?" Dave said.
"I would have thought so too," I said, "but honestly it's been nice to have someone else cook sometimes."
Just then, a young woman approached us from the carpark. At first I didn't recognise her.
"Hi there!" she greeted us.
"You're Dave's friend from out of town," I said.
"Yes!" she replied. "I'm back."
"Janine," Dave said to her, "This is Will and Joan."
"Nice to meet you," she said. "It's nice to see another woman on the beach," she said to Joan.
While they were chatting, I was distracted trying to place her accent. Possibly German? As you might imagine, I was taking a few discreet glances as well.
Janine was very attractive. Her breasts weren't as perky as Joan's, but they were larger. She wasn't shaved like Joan was, but her neatly trimmed blonde pubic hair looked soft and light in the sun.
"Well," she said, turning to me. "Shall we go for a swim?"
