Bastille Day Ch. 01

"I've got to go," she murmured. Of course, I didn't reply or turn back to watch her, just hearing her close the bathroom door, but feeling that I then had to, too. She must have read my thoughts, or had more experience with men than I had - with women, of course. When she opened the door, she said:

"You probably want to, too; the feeling is infectious."

"You're right," I replied, nodding as I turned and saw that she had taken off her slacks, shaking them by the cuffs. She smiled, shrugging slightly and replied:

"I'm going to take a shower, no reason to put them back on."

"Me too," I replied, adding: "... after yours," then recalling a story in Literotica in which the good stuff started with the couple's unexpectedly showering together.

She - Marge, got to practice using her name - snorted slightly with a nod, letting me wonder if she had also read that story, or others by the same author in which showering together was the first intimate contact. She - Marge - turned and went to the small closet to hang up her slacks, letting me see her nicely tanned thighs - nicely shaped thighs - and her nice ass in a pair of conservative cotton panties. Stop think about that, I admonished myself, then remembering that I should go to the bathroom before her shower. The urge had been forgotten. I went quickly, before she returned, since she would then have to move to let me get to the bathroom door.

I closed it and went, wondering if she was going to take off anything else before I returned. She hadn't, but she had unbuttoned her blouse, un-embarrassedly letting my see her plain white bra, what I could see between the edges of her blouse, which still covered most of her breasts, and also see her nice tan above and below the center of her bra. She had already stepped aside to let me pass. Did she smile or something as I did? I hadn't looked up to see. I returned to my bed and bag, busying myself with removing things from my bag and putting them on the bed.

Of course, she was going to take off her blouse before she went in the bathroom again, also her bra and panties? I smoothed out the couple of shirts that I had packed. Had she snorted? Then the bathroom door closed. I glanced back. Yes, her blouse was lying neatly on her bed, and her bra and panties were lying next to it, not so neatly.

Kiddo - old man - is she just assuming that since this is a nudist vacation, it is only appropriate for us to just take our clothes off - less modestly than your wife used to do? Or something else? Will you look foolish if you keep your underpants on when you go to take your shower? And it won't be like spending the day with your sister. You were right: different, being in a room alone together with young woman.

I put my clothes in the closet. She had brought a bikini. I snorted and put my swim trunks next to it on the shelf, and then took off my shirt and hung it up. On the way back to my bed, I sucked in my gut again and looked at myself in the mirror. I put my bag in the bottom of the closet and returned to sit on my bed next to a pair of clean underpants and my toilet kit. As I was taking off my shoes and socks, it suddenly occurred to me that she was going to have to come back with only a towel around her. The hotel wasn't so fancy that it provided terry towel bathrobes, and I could hear that she had turned off the shower. I couldn't be sitting there in my trousers waiting for her to open the door. Would she be expecting me to be - with or without trousers? With her towel around her? I had checked that they were big enough to let her be modest, modest enough that I couldn't hope to see anything below the hem of her towel.

But you were thinking about it! Trousers off! Not be here when she opens the door. I hurried to the closet - out of direct view of the bathroom door - and took them off, hanging them up, as I heard the door open, and heard her snort and say:

"I've got my towel on."

I stuck my head around the corner of the wall to the bathroom and replied:

"I wasn't sure, and sure didn't want to be sitting there to see if you did."

"Thanks. You're right, I was wondering."

We smirked at each other slightly, and I remarked:

"I've still got my underpants on."

"Hmm! I was wondering about that, too. Maybe a good idea."

I stepped into her view, and we both smiled, looking at each other. She snorted, and I snorted, asking:

"And if I hadn't?"

"Hm-hmm! I really didn't think you wouldn't, but it would have been a little embarrassing."

"For me."

"For me, too. Glad you weren't. Thanks again."

"I was more worried about myself."

"Nice, I like that. ... Oh, I guess we would have survived, but maybe on the beach first."

"Yes. But it will then still be a little different in here."

"Hmm! I thought so too. Hm-hmm! Especially if you were fat."

"Or you."

"We're not. Go have your shower. I'll have something on, and not look until you do."

We smiled, and I got my clean underpants and toilet kit, and smiled again as she stepped aside to let me go to the bathroom. I showered and shaved, and in my fresh underpants returned to the room. Marge was wearing Bermuda shorts and a polo shirt and sitting at the desk, perusing the hotel folder. She looked around at me and said:

"This is going to better than I hoped. Hope the other couples are as compatible."

"Me too. That was just the word I was thinking in Paris, wondering who you were."

"Nice. If you put on some more clothes, we can have a drink before we meet the others again."

"Good idea. Here or at the bar?"

"Better at the bar."

As I put on a pair of shorts and chose a polo shirt, liking that we both would be wearing one, I wondered about her 'better at the bar'. Did she think that with a drink in our room, and an hour, something might happen in our room, before our agreement to wait till the beach to see each other nude? I obviously was, and liked that she had suggested a drink before we all had one.

When she stood up to join me, it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra, and obvious that I had looked. She just smiled and said:

"Of course not, not here. Feels good."

"Looks good, too. You have a nice tan."

"Better than yours."

"Not as good as I wanted it to be, but better than nothing."

We waited for the elevator, smiling at each other. I was tempted to tell her that it would have also felt good for me not to be wearing jockey shorts, but didn't, realizing that with such thoughts it was good that I was. On the way down, I asked:

"How did you get such a good tan?"

"Tell you at the bar, ... if we're alone."

We weren't. All except the two older women were already there, and seemed to be happy with their choice of roommates. We order a glass of wine, and when I saw that the others' were almost empty, I ordered a round. We two drank, smiling. As the others were served, I wondered if they had gotten to the bar before us because we had taken longer to become more compatible than they had - had already become more compatible than they were. When they raised their glasses, thanking me, Marge smiled as though she could have been sharing my thought.

The conversation was all about how much each of us had enjoyed the forum and that Buffy's idea had really happened. He thanked Sans-culotte for his great assistance. Couples shared smiles, but no one said anything about his or her partner. With another glass of wine, ordered by someone else, with thanks, we toasted Sans-culotte for his organizational help. As we were about to go for dinner, the oldest couple, holding hands, said how much they appreciated that they could be part of the group, saying that they weren't sure if they would actually go nude, but that they both would enjoy seeing us.

We all smiled. When another couple's hands touch, Marge's touched mine. We just locked a couple of fingers for a few seconds, not glancing at each other, but that was enough to make me thankful that I was wearing jockey shorts.

After two more glasses of wine at dinner, two other men treating, we were all in good spirits, telling about our nudist experiences, or lack thereof. They all snorted when I admitted that my rental at Paradise Lakes was only a joke, but they liked that I could tell that I had really been there, also that it had been with my sister, especially when I mentioned that our other sister had also been there.

"Almost the start of a Literotica story." someone suggested, eliciting smirks and snickers.

"Not with my sisters, too old."

"Never too old," the eldest man replied.

We all chuckled, including his roommate, who patted his hand. It could have been interpreted as a

an indication that she wanted him to stop talking - like a wife might have - or that she agreed. After a few more comments, we signed the chits for our drinks - breakfast and dinner were inclusive - and left the table. Although it was still not yet ten o'clock, only the two young men and the Europeans wanted to go out. The rest of us, after a short night flying against the sun and what seemed a long day, agreed to call it a night, and agreed that we meet again at eleven in the morning, rather than at breakfast.

Marge and I had been sitting next to each other at dinner, but hardly spoken to each other. In the elevator with three other couples, our hands brushed again and stayed in contact, but without hooking fingers as they had before we went to dinner. I unlocked the door to our room and opened it, letting her enter first. She turned on the light as I closed it, and we faced each other, smiling a little wryly, obviously both a little self-conscious. After a moment's silence, I said:

"You were going to tell me about your tan."

She looked a little relieved that I had said something other than a remark about our going to bed, and I was pleased that I had remembered what we had been talking about before we were at the bar, also a little relieved. She smiled with a nod, then snorted and replied:

"At my brother's place on weekends, since Easter, when the weather was good."

"Nice. He has a pool?"

"Thay have one. Want to have an 'Absacker'?"

"Absacker?"

"German, ... a nightcap."

"Oh. Why did you think of the German word? Yes, good idea. Whatever is in the minibar."

We looked: wine, beer, mini-bottles of whisky and cognac, and bottled water.

"Maybe just water," she said, and I agreed and opened a bottle.

She took the two glasses from the tray on the desk and held them for me to fill, then handing me one. We glanced around. She was standing near the single armchair. I nodded that she sit down. As she did, near the foot of my bed, I was about to sit on it, but drew out the chair at the desk and sat on it. We smiled and raised our glasses and drank.

"Your tan," I reminded her.

"Um-hmm, at my brother's pool."

Had her nipples popped out?

"They - he and his wife - had to chuckle about my deciding to take this trip. More than chuckle; he is older and made a parent-like comment, but they understood, so on weekends I sunbathed, and when the kids - eight and ten - weren't around, in the all-together."

She smirked slightly and drank.

"And they watched, or didn't?"

"I said they could watch, but of course, they didn't just stand around and watch. I guess they did through a window. The first time, after about ten minutes, she came out and asked if they could join me."

Marge smiled, and I smiled, and then felt that I had to go. When I said so, she nodded, and then her thighs twitched slightly, and she smirked and told me to hurry. I did. She was already standing, waiting, when I opened the door. She moved her legs, maybe intentionally, since she smirked again, and hurried past me, closing the door behind herself. I returned to my chair facing the window, then noticing that the rest of the room was reflected in it, including the bathroom door.

I didn't want to look, but when she opened it again, I saw that she had her shorts in her hand. She looked at the back of my head and then also noticed that I probably could see her reflection in the window. I heard her snort and saw her smirk again. I murmured:

"I wasn't going to look."

"Have to go sit on the shelf in the closet, if we really don't in this room."

I nodded with a chuckle. She moved her hand with the shorts and asked:

"Want me to put them back on?"

"Hm-hmm! Don't ask questions like that. Whatever you want."

She chuckled, and I saw her glance at where she had been sitting. After a moment, she stooped and stepped into her shorts, buttoning them as she returned to the armchair. She turned and sat down again with another snort and a wry smile. We both had a drink of water. She murmured:

"After the beach. Where were we?"

"Talking about your sunbathing, that they joined you."

"Yeah, also nude, of course. They obviously hadn't been before. Of course, it was a little funny, more for my brother and me. Of course, we both looked, but then looked at each other's face with wry smiles."

"Like when you sat down, now."

"Maybe wryer."

"And after that, all the time?"

"When the kids weren't there, most of the time. When they went to visit her parents after school let out, I spent the weekends. Yeah, I guess we all liked it."

"Nice."

"Um-hmm, good practice for here, at least, I hope so."

I glanced across the room and asked:

"In the house, too?"

Marge's eyes also glanced around as she snorted, nodding, and then replied:

"Eventually. At first, we got dressed to go inside, even to get something to drink, but then that seemed stupid, one of us getting up and putting on our shorts or a shirt. But we put on something, when we all went in the house, and then we stopped doing that."

"Good practice."

"I guess at your sisters' you all went nude all the time?"

"Yes, they're more strict about it. Wrong word; they didn't insist that I do. More consequential about it than some there. We went to a brunch, and most of the others had on shorts or the women, a cloth around their hips."

"And you, as a pale guest, also 'consequential'?"

"Um-hmm. People don't look, not like the videos on the web."

"Hm-hmm! I hope not."

"And they don't show all the older and fatter people."

"We'll see."

"Um-hmm."

I refilled our glasses, and we drank again, then exchanging smiles, and then both glancing around the room and at our beds. She snorted and murmured:

"Not like on the beach, ... or at their pool."

I must have raised my eyebrows questioningly. She smirked slightly and continued:

"In the house, all of us standing in the kitchen, I guess my brother felt more naked than nude."

"Hmm! Like I probably will, unless we keep our pants on?"

She nodded with smile and said:

"Probably, I mean, probably like you understood. His wife kidded him about enjoying the sight of his sister too much, and we all snickered. It only happened once."

We both chuckled with smiles, and I replied:

"Very subtly explained. I can imagine that he did."

I didn't mean to imply anything, but her nipples popped out, so that I noticed without looking, and couldn't help but wondering how they looked without her shirt.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," I murmured.

"But it was a nice compliment, all the more, because you didn't mean it to be one."

I felt my cheeks flush and replied:

"Now I do," and knew that she could see that I was blushing, not looking at her.

When I did again, hers were also slightly flushed, and her nipples still - or again - erect. She brushed her forearm over them, snorting softly with a nice smile, replying softly:

"Thank you. Sweet, that you're blushing, me too."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, returning her smile, and then stifling a yawn.

She also yawned, holding her hand to her mouth. Of course, we were tired, I thought, but felt that mine was more a nervous yawn. Somehow we had to go to bed. She seemed to have the same thought, remarking softly:

"How are we going to bed?"

"Hmm? What I was wondering. Just go brush your teeth - and whatever else you do - and pop into bed like Mommy always told you."

She laughed, and I laughed, pure nervous release. We grinned at each other, and she remarked:

"That was just right. I'm going to enjoy your company."

"And me, yours too. Now scamper off, before I remember that you're not a little girl."

She grinned as she stood up and brushed her hand over my shoulder as she past me. I turned my head and saw that she got whatever she slept in from under her pillow, one of them. Then she dropped it and gave me a smile as she took off her shorts, leaving them on the bed. She picked up her nightwear again and went in the bathroom, closing the door.

I sat for a few moments, and then realized that it would be best for me to get undressed while she was in the bathroom. Pajama bottom or the old boxer shorts? I never slept in anything at home, but had anticipated that I needed something to share a room with her. The boxer shorts; my old pajama bottom seem too much my age. What would she be wearing? I was just pulling the shorts on, when I heard the door open.

She grinned and said:

"Like my new nightie?"

She was standing, holding out the sides of her shortie nightgown, holding it up enough that I could see the matching bottom. I nodded with a smile, agreeing:

"Nice, sweet. Now pop into bed before I forget."

She chuckled and opened her bed, remarking:

"I don't think I need a good night story."

We smiled, and I disappeared into the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, I opened the door. She had turned out the lights, leaving my bed lamp on, and was in bed, facing my bed. As I opened it, she remarked:

"Funny. It means the same thing: 'before I remember or before I forget that you're not a little girl'. You said it both ways."

"Hmm? ... Yes, I guess it does. Funny. Which do you prefer?"

I had gotten into bed facing her and turned out the light. In the dark, I heard her snort. It was a couple of seconds before she replied softly:

"Funny. It's the 'before'; you can remember or forget that I'm not."

"Hard not to. Good night."

"Good night, sleep tight."

"You too."

We did. My last thought was hoping that I wouldn't snore. When I woke up to turn over during the night, I remembered where I was, only vaguely recalling that I wasn't alone, and fell asleep again.

In the morning, however, wide awake, I immediately remembered her. I had to go to the bathroom, and there was going to be no other way to make my erection disappear. It was light, but still quite early. Maybe she was still asleep. I turned my head back; it looked like it, and she had also turned over, facing the bathroom door. At least, she would only see my backside.

I slipped out of bed and made sure it was in my boxer shorts, holding to the side away from her, as I rounded the corner of her bed and slipped into the bathroom, trying to close the door silently. It was going to be difficult to aim down at the toilet, and then I would have to flush. I used the washbasin and rinsed it, hoping that by the time I had dried my hands there wouldn't be any bulge in my shorts, and if there was, and if she saw it, that she knew enough about men not to be surprised.

I opened the door and saw that her eyes were open, then looking up at me with a mild smile.

"Good morning. I have to go, too."

"Good morning."

I stepped back in the bathroom and flushed, remarking that I hadn't wanted to wake her. She smiled again, sitting up with a still sleepy expression. I went back to bed, and she went to the bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later, looking more wide awake. We lay facing each other again. Before, she had been lying on the far side of her bed, but now she moved over to the side nearer my bed. We smiled at each other, and she said: