Induct Son and Bro to Nudism

Preamble:

A husband regularly sunbathes nude with his wife in a secluded dunes and cove area in the English South Coast. He has to go away on an extended overseas work assignment at the height of a glorious summer. He has reservations about the safety of his wife sunbathing alone. He arranges for their son or her brother to accompany her.

There is nudity, exhibitionism, voyeurism and incest tension in this story. If you are looking for shrieking, caterwauling and torrenting sex, this is not for you.

Chapter 1: A Problem

Chapter 2: I Decide

Chapter 3: Dad-Son Chat

Chapter 4: My Husband and My Brother Chat

Chapter 5: I Tease My Husband

Chapter 6: Mother and Son

Chapter 7: Aftermath

Chapter 8: Sister and Brother

Chapter 9: Ballet On the Dunes

Chapter 10: Internet Chat With Husband

Chapter 11: Another Chat

Chapter 12: Summer's End - Mum and Son

Chapter 13: Summer's End - Sister and Brother

***

Chapter 1: A Problem

My husband and I are in our fifties. We have an 18 year old son. Our only child. I have a younger widowed brother, also in his fifties.

My husband and my brother are blood mates. Thick as thieves. No, thicker. It is my brother who introduced me to my husband. My son and my husband are more mates than father and son.

You can discern a happy triangle forming here. One of their more durable bonding interests is photography. Photography as an end in itself. Camera gizmos, photoeditor applications. And photography as an access vehicle to explore other realms such as art.

We live in the English South Coast, in an area particularly blessed with miles of desolate sand dunes and secluded coves. Nary a soul. A sunbathing paradise. The closest to heaven without the inconvenience of dying.

My husband and I have this secluded dune and cove which we literally stumbled, arse over head, down to, one day. It is in this little cocoon nook of sand and water that my husband and I enjoy our skinny dipping. A place to call our very own. We relish the primal feeling of sun, sea and wind caressing skin. But, we are not nudists in the organised movement, or liberated lifestyle sense. In fact, the only adult manhood I have seen in the flesh is my husband's.

My husband is scheduled to be away for an extended period because of an overseas work assignment. This is at the high noon of one of the best English South Coast summers in a long time. My husband wants me to enjoy the glorious weather on offer, but has some reservations about my being nude alone in a secluded place. I tell my husband that any aspiring weirdo will melt away quicktime on first distant sighting of my venerable body of flabs and sags.

He suggests that if I am comfortable with it, he will arrange to rope in our son, or my brother, to my sunny enterprise. He is cool with the nudity if I am comfortable with the arrangement. It will be family. Awkward at first maybe, but safe. No different from nudist families. He reasons that with my option of roping in one or the other, it will afford me more quality sun time opportunities and scheduling flexibility, as our son and my brother each have their own busy schedules too.

I tell my husband that I will have to mull over it. This is new terroir that I am traipsing into, a path somewhat on the wild side never travelled, my being in a state of nature with our son and my brother. If we are a nudist family, nobody will blink. But, we are not, and never have been. And will they be nude too? Will it be awkward if I am nude, and they are not? I tell my husband that I will let him know in a couple of days.

***

Chapter 2

I Decide

My husband is somewhat of a worry wort. Always has been. I don't want him to worry about my safety the whole time he is away. He knows my independent nature all too well. That whatever the case, I will end up sunbathing alone anyway when the sun is high, and its lure irresistible.

So, I tell my husband OK. Against my better judgement.

That decided, then, how shall we ask our son and my brother? Are we imposing on them, asking them to be naked as well? Is it at all right to ask them to be naked? Will it work if I am naked, and they are not? And if they are naked too, what if they are in flourish? Is there an element of the taboo in this? Who shall do the asking? Do we need to inform our son that his uncle is involved in this? Conversely, do we need to inform my brother that his nephew is in this too? So many unwieldy inconvenient questions. I am beginning to regret agreeing to this whole matter. I am getting squeamish about the whole proposition. No other male has seen my adult body other than my husband. And now, in a single stroke, my son and brother will see me. A teen and a mature man. That about covers the rainbow spectrum. Not just fleeting glimpses, but hours on the dunes.

***

A description of me is appropriate at this time.

People close to me tell me that I am the quintessential English rose. I think I am pretty in a plain sort of way. I was an active dancing enthusiast. Ballet. Although I have stopped active dancing a long time ago, I still maintain the upright demeanor of a ballerina, so I am told.

I have light brown hair, cascading off my shoulders with some grey in places. I have green eyes. My husband tells me that they sparkle when I am happy or aroused. I take his word in good faith. As with all things nice about me.

My skin, virginally white. Astoundingly, this is despite my many hours of sun time. Maybe this summer, I will make the breakthrough yet.

My breasts are small to medium sized. In the modest range. They are heavier than they look. Sagging a little from their weight. My left breast is slightly smaller than my right breast, asymmetrical, but not glaringly so. My husband tells me that my sags add to my mature allure, without taking anything away from my form. Being all natural, my nipples point down just enough to make them alluring. My areolas are small relative to my nipples. They rise markedly above my breasts with their own distinct personalities, like miniscule pedestals, from which my nipples stand out. Three tiers. Breast. An areola stage. And then, the star of the show, my nipples. A dusting of freckles on my upper chest. My husband tells me the freckles accentuate my modest cleavage. Optics enhances reality.

Par for a woman in her inconvenient fifties, I have my obligatory share of flabs and sags, and body signature lines of my age. A wrinkle or two, here and there. Just slight ones. But my body otherwise is toned, healthy. Smooth shoulders. Unblemished back. And my high point of pride, no cellulite. None.

My arse. My husband describes me like so. A distinctive curve. Each orb is separately defined and sculpted in its own right, with its own expressed identity. Not a young girl's butt for sure. But, not a blubber mass either. A woman's tail, longish and curving. And the hint of light shadow, the recess between is, he says, bewitching. This, I believe, by his deeds. He dry humps that recess at every opportunity, when we are naked, but not quite enough time for indulgent intercourse. I love the grazing intense feeling welling at the triangulation of my upper thighs, lower mound vee, and my arse orbs.

I have a soft rise of tummy. An artful delicate caesarean section cut filament line just above my mound.

My waist is about right for my age.

I think my legs are my best assets, if I may be allowed to say so myself. They are the only body parts that have not gone wayward by inevitable force of nature, and willful gravity. My legs flare into ample hips.

My husband calls me lite Rubenesque. Not quite the classic ideal abundance manifested in oil paintings. But, no less enthralling. So he says. He is an inveterate liar. And I love him for that.

A faint shadow is at the base of my abdomen. My pubic hair is matchingly the same brown as the hair on my head, only curlier. I keep my bush neatly trimmed. Natural primal luxuriance. And yet neat. Tamed wilderness. None of the plasticky, clinically mowned, waxed renditions with contrived perfectly linear landing strips. My husband tells me that my bush complements and ornamentalizes my lady parts well.

My labia is apparent. But not demonstratively assertive and proud. A shy peek-a-boo tease. My outer labia hangs down a little. My slit is prone to open when I am aroused, as my husband will testify. Otherwise, my inners are jealousy concealed.

I keep my five foot four inch mature form in shape through exercise.

I have mixed feelings about my body. Self-evidently, I like my lush bits. But, I am acutely conscious of my modest top. I am at peace with the reality that is me. Delusions soothe, but, do not consume me.

I am shy. But, I am no prude.

***

Pondering it over, it will be so much simpler if I just sunbathe in my skimpy thong bikini like other ladies. After all, given my nominal Wicked Weasel thong textile, it is as good as being in the buff.

But, my husband will hear nothing of this. He knows that in the compelling glorious sunshine, I will succumb to the pull of the au naturel. Being nude is more than just a deficit of textile. It is mental. It is psychological.

My husband says that he will spare me the discomfiture, since this is his brainchild in the first place. He will talk to our son, after a few chilled pints at the pub. And do the same, separately, with my brother, that is his brother-in-law.

My husband adds that it will be even more awkward if I am nude, and the boys are not. So, just go for it. The full monty. Think of it as me inducting our son, and my brother, one-on-one, into the glorious institution of nudism. An evangelism of sorts. Assume a missionary position.

***

Chapter 3

Dad-Son Chat

And so my husband talks to our son. This is what my husband recounts to me afterwards in near verbatim. I have an open and trusting relationship with my husband. So, we are candid with one another.

Husband: You know, I'll be away on an extended overseas assignment this summer.

Son: Aww, that's a shame, dad. The way the weather is shaping up, it looks like we are going to have one of the best summers ever. A scorcher!

Husband: Yes! That leads me to the question that I want to ask you. It's a bit awkward though.

Son: Dad, just shoot.

Husband: You see, your mum and I stumbled upon a secluded dune and cove sometime ago. We have been sunbathing nude there ever since. We are not nudists in the club or lifestyle sense. We just enjoy the sun.

Son: This is a surprise! Well, this is so cool! My parents are skinny dippers! And mum... hmmm... never would have thought...

Husband: Here's the thing. I want mum to enjoy the summer in her usual way. But, I don't feel at ease with her being naked alone in a secluded place. There is a carpark leading to the trail to the secluded dunes and cove. A parked car will indicate that there is a sunbather in the vicinity, remote as the area may be. The seclusion is a double-edged sword. Great that no one is around. But, if there is a random wandering weirdo who chances upon mum, it can spell trouble.

Son: So how can I help?

Husband: By accompanying your mum when you can.

Son: Just to be sure I understand you right. Me accompanying mum who will be nude?

Husband: Yes

Son: Errr... you and mum don't mind me seeing her nude? Know that I've never seen mum in anything less than a sensible one-piece swimsuit.

Husband: Mum and I have discussed this. Initially, under the circumstances, mum had offered to sunbathe alone in her bikini. But, I know from her independent streak that under the glorious sun, she is likely to throw caution to the wind, and go nude anyway. That will be worrisome for me. So, we, or at least I, decided to go with the nudity.

Son: I see. Yes, now that you mention this, mum has that devil-may-care flippant demeanor which surfaces when one least expects it.

Husband: There will be an inevitable initial moment of nudity awkwardness. It will pass.

Son: Errr.. am I expected to be in the buff too?

Husband: It's really your choice. The purpose of this is ensuring mum's safety. So, your being nude or not doesn't really matter. But, if you're nude, it would kind of equalise the situation. A symmetry to it all. Mum won't feel awkward. I'm afraid mum may decide not to go nude if she feels awkward, in which case this whole rationalization falls apart.

Son: I see your point...

Husband: Safety first.

Son (jocularly): Have you considered the remote possibility that under the circumstances, I, your son, may be the, in military jargon, the clear and present danger to mum?

Husband (guffawing): You're manifestly wicked! Yes, your mum is sexy. For a mature woman in her fifties, she has her rightful allocation of flabs and sags. But, she has defied the march of nature, and gravity well. Buxom. Curvy. Breasts with just the right sag. Well defined arse orbs.

Son: Dad, stop, stop! No more spoilers.

Husband: Your mum is a piece of work. I get carried away. I forget we are talking about my wife, and your mum.

Son: Seriously, growing up, I have never seen much of mum. No childhood accidental bathroom ooops nudity flashes. No bathroom to bedroom streak sprints. No teenhood inadvertent fleeting lingerie exposés. No spectacular wardrobe malfunctions. I cannot remember ever having any access to mum's wardrobe and laundry basket lingerie velvety stash.

Husband (jocularly): Oh, you poor child! I didn't know. We didn't know. What an underprivileged, deprived, dreary childhood! What an austere upbringing!

Son (quipping): Yes, starved of my rightful oedipal rations. Consequently, I am an epileptic, stuttering Freudian mess today.

Husband (jocularly): It's never too late. Mum will make it up to you. I am so glad we have this conversation.

Son: Dad, seriously, what if I sport a stiffy. I am a son and an emerging man. Mum is a mother and a woman. At some level, the man and the woman will show up.

Husband: I can't speak for your mum. But, knowing her, she will display outward sheepishness, and will feel validated by your pointed approval. She will be mutedly elated that she has elicited a reaction from a strapping young lad.

Son: You seem very open about this...

Husband: Besides being a father, I am a son and a man too. I've been there. The Freudian trip.

Son: Hmmm...

Husband: Oh! There is something else you should know too.

Son: There is more?

Husband: I'll be having this same conversation with your uncle. Mum's brother.

Son: What? Is it really necessary that he has to know about this?

Husband: There is a bit more to what you are thinking of.

Son: Oh? What may that be?

Husband: You have your own plans and schedules. There will be times when mum wants to sunbathe, and you're busy, and can't accompany her. It's not fair that mum dominates all your free time. Knowing your headstrong mum, she will just go ahead alone with her sunbathing if you are unavailable. So, we rope in your uncle as an alternate. This will give mum some scheduling flexibility, and also not take up so much of your time. Mum will also feel better, not being a drag on any one person. Your uncle is widowed, and not with anyone now. He runs his internet business from home, so he will have time.

Son: Hmmm... interesting...

Husband: There is also a secondary incidental objective to this.

Son: There is? Let me guess. You are recruiting Grandad too? We are going big on family bonding?

Husband (jocularly): Hey, that's an idea! Seriously, we think that this is a good opportunity to induct you and your uncle into nudism. Not in the organized nudism movement sense. Just enjoying the sun, sea and wind au naturel whenever. Chill, casual, easy. Where we are living, desolate miles upon miles of dunes and coves, it's criminal not to enjoy the sun as it should be enjoyed. And maybe if you and your uncle are hooked, you can join mum and me in future.

Son: Dad, I am cool with this arrangement, odd as it may sound. I do feel somewhat awkward about the nudity thing. I hope mum is comfortable with this all.

Husband: Just enjoy the experience. And the mum-son bonding. Just go with the flow.

Son (jocularly): I hope it won't come to flow! Lots of laughs!

***

When I have my quiet tea time, I ponder the candid conversation that my husband had with my son. Hmmm... all that Freudian oedipal nuanced banter. Is there something more simmering beneath my son's comments? Am I reading too much into this dad-son boys pub tête-à-tête? Did my son find me attractive in his teenhood? How have those feelings morphed now that I am in my mellowed fifties, and he, a strapping young man? These thoughts pique me. Well, I will have ample opportunity to find out in the dunes. I get a tingle from the thought. I shouldn't really. But, I do. Hmmm... what's happening here?

***

Chapter 4

My Husband And My Brother Chat

Later, my husband talks to my brother. His brother-in-law. He kind of had the conversation script rehearsed in his mind, from the earlier exchange with our son, with improvisions of course, as he is talking to a mature man. This is what my husband recounts to me afterwards, again, in near verbatim.

Husband: You know, I'll be away on an extended overseas assignment this summer.

Brother: That's a shame. We are going to have scorcher summer.

Husband: Yes. That leads me to the favour that I want to ask you. It's a bit awkward though...

Brother: We have always been candid with one another. Shoot!

Husband: You see, your sister and I stumbled upon a secluded dune and cove sometime ago. We have been sunbathing nude there ever since. We are not nudists in the club or lifestyle sense. We just enjoy the sun.

Brother: Really?

Husband: Why the surprise?

Brother: Hmmm... I just didn't expect my prim and proper sis to be a nudist, even if in a secluded place. Quite a revelation.

Husband: Here's the thing. I want your sis to enjoy the summer in her usual way. But, I don't feel at ease with her being naked alone in a secluded place. The seclusion is a double-edged sword. Great that not a soul is around. But, if there is a random wandering lurking creep who chances upon her, it can spell trouble.

Brother: So how can I help?

Husband: By accompanying your sis when your schedule permits.

Brother: Just to be sure I get you right. Me accompanying my sis, your wife, who will be in her native glory?

Husband: Yes

Brother: Errr... you and her don't mind me seeing her nude? Know that I've never seen my sis in anything less than a sensible one-piece swimsuit. And that was like when she was in her twenties. Eons ago.

Husband: Your sis and I have discussed this. Initially, under the circumstances, she offered to sunbathe alone in her bikini. But, I know from her independent streak that under the glorious sun, she is likely to throw caution to the sea wind, and go nude anyway. That will be worrisome for me. So, we, or at least I, decided to go with the nudity.

Brother: Yes, sis has that derring-do demeanor since she was young. She has that more so than me.

Husband: There will be an inevitable initial moment of nudity awkwardness. It will pass.

Brother: Am I expected to be starkers too?

Husband: It's really your choice. The purpose of this is ensuring her safety. So, your being nude or not doesn't really matter. But, if you're nude, it would kind of equalise the situation. A symmetry to it all. She won't feel awkward. I'm afraid she may decide not to go nude if she feels awkward, in which case our whole discussion here is moot.

Brother: I see your point...

Husband: Safety first.

Brother (jocularly): You know I have been widowed for coming to two years now. Have you considered the possibility, wildly remote as it may be, that under the circumstances, I may be the danger that you worry about, to your wife? Lots of laughs!