Emma's Summer Babysitting Job

"Oh my gawd ... I'd forgotten," Emma said as she stopped to take in the vista before her. "Eden must have been like this," she finally said as she let me retake her small soft hand and lead her down the overgrown path that led to the water and the small sunning platform I'd built two years earlier.

"You better not eat any of the forbidden pie then," I suggested.

"It was an apple mister smarty pants," she teased back. "When did you build this anyway? It's great," she asked when we broke through the waist high moat of flowers and she saw the new construction.

"You didn't ever get over here at all last year? Or the year before?" I asked as we stepped up onto the twelve by twelve platform that jutted out into the pond. Two Adirondack chairs sat regally looking out over the water. A three foot diameter matching table sat between them. "We build it two summers ago," I said as I walked over to the waterproof storage locker that was camouflaged by the thick grass at the end of the platform.

"Clark had that assignment in Europe two years ago ... then you guys weren't here last year," Emma answered. Mom and I had taken a trip across America the summer before and our two quick early trips to the island hadn't intersected with Emma's. And when we'd gotten back for the last two weeks of August she'd already gone; only her sister and her parents had still been here.

"You could have used it," I said as I pulled out the cushions for the chairs as well as the two foam mattresses that served as tanning beds.

"I'm always afraid to bring other people up here. It's yours and your moms place."

"And yours too."

"Not anymore," Emma answered, a touch of sadness in her voice.

"Always," I said as I threw the two mattresses, covered in a soft, bright, floral patterned cloth, down onto the platform.

"We should eat first," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith announced as she set her picnic hamper down on the table.

"I stink, I'm going for a quick swim first," I answered as I dropped my jeans and dove into the cool water. I was down to a pair of white briefs, briefs I almost lost as my body knifed into the water.

"Are you coming?" I yelled when I finally surfaced twenty-five feet out from the platform.

"You're just wearing your underwear," Emma complained as she pushed her tight shorts down her thighs. Her bathing suit panties matched her white top. Both in color and skimpiness.

"It's a bathing suit," I corrected.

"Is not," Emma yelled back as she ran across the platform and hurtled herself through the air. Ems had been a champion diver in high school. She sliced into the water with perfect form.

*** "It is underwear," she insisted five minutes later when we found ourselves back on the dock.

"It's a combination underwear/bathing suit, it's a new style ... from Poland," I answered as I wrapped a towel around my shoulders. I knew she could see the outline of my penis through the wet cloth.

"Poland? Yeah right," she scoffed. "It's very immodest. And you certainly shouldn't be parading around in your skivvies in front of a married woman," she said as she laid out the sandwiches and pie on the table.

"You shouldn't look then. And besides look who's talking." I let my eyes drift down over her dripping body. Slowly.

"What?" she asked but couldn't completely stop the blush that had started to leak into her face. "For your information young mister Hopkins, this is a perfectly respectable bathing suit from this summer's collection of--"

"Of swingers international?" I supplied, then stuck out my tongue.

"Ha, ha. No my fashion challenged little friend. It comes from Jean Paul Gaultier. Who just happens to be a leading French designer. Stylishly chic women all over Europe are sporting this look this summer." Emma, who had always been one of the most casual, less pretentious girls on the island, was clearly getting a little embarrassed with my inspection.

"Well at least it must have been pretty inexpensive."

"Why?" She almost stamped her foot. Her nipples, surprisingly big ones, and clearly excited, were now poking out through their thin, wet covering.

"There's not much material you had to pay for." I suddenly knew she'd spent time before coming over trying on her various bathing suits. That the selection she'd finally made reflected a desire to wow me. An unconscious or conscious desire I wondered. "Besides," I added, "didn't I read somewhere that all French women go topless?"

"Shut up you." Emma was through taking any guff from me. And she couldn't help adding, "And this is coming from some guy who prances around in Polish bikini underwear in public. Gay Polish underwear," she said derisively. I turned around and faced away from her and before she could add another word, I pushed my underwear down my legs.

Her, "Maaaaaaa....aaaaatt!" was echoing around the lake as I wrapped my towel around my waist.

"I'll let them dry while we eat," I said as I hung then on the arm of the chair. "Do you want me to hang yours up too?" I asked.

"Perv!"

We ate and talked, talked and ate. We'd hardly said two words to each other over the preceding three years but we had a lifetime of memories to talk about. We were both really, really happy for that hour or so. In fact I realized that I'd not been as happy since the day she'd married Clark four years earlier.

We talked about my mom, about Emma's job, about the many days the three of us had spent at the cottage, on the beach, by the pond, and at the grotto.

"In every picture from back then I'm naked," I complained as we compared memories. "You and mom are sitting around and two or four year old Matty is running around starkers."

"That's not true," Emma said laughing.

"And you and mom are naked in most of them too."

"We were not!" But the truth of the matter is that my mother was, and still is, a nudist at heart. And any time she and I, or even the three of us, had been at the pond or the grotto, she'd always gone naked. As her young son did. Even Emma, up til she was about ten or eleven, was usually without clothes when we were swimming. After that, with a teenager's modesty, she clothed up.

As I looked at Emma as we talked that day I wondered if she still sun bathed 'au natural' when no one was looking.

"Mom said you took Katie out a couple of times last summer." Katie was Emma's younger sister, but still almost two years older than me. I'd wondered if Emma had heard about us. I could see my old babysitter wanted to change the subject.

"Not really ... we didn't date, we just hung out a bit. At a couple of barbeques, campfires. All the kids were there."

"Dad said he was hoping you two would get together."

"She's too old for me."

"No she isn't. You would have been perfect for her."

"She'd just broken up with that idiot McLeod guy. That's the only reason she even looked at me," I said deprecatingly. "He wasn't very nice to her."

"I never liked him," Emma agreed. "Katie would have been lucky to have you."

"I talked it over with mom."

"You talked what over with your mom?"

"I don't know. Everything. Whether I should go out with Katie. If it was okay given everything else. And if I should...." I let my words hang.

"Should what?"

"After one campfire, after the kids and most of the adults had left ... it was right near the end of August. We'd had a few beers..."

"Yes?" she encouraged when I hadn't gone on for a while.

"We made out a bit."

"A bit what? What'd you do?" I didn't answer. I wanted Emma to have to work to draw every word out of me. And knowing Emma, and how curious she was, I knew she'd try.

"Did you neck or something?" Could Emma be jealous I wondered. Then realized I hoped so.

"A bit." A shy response.

"More than that?"

"No, not much. It's private, it's between just me and her."

"But she's my sister."

"We really didn't do anything, I'm serious," I said after another long silence.

"You must have done something."

"I wanted to."

"But you didn't?"

"I thought if we did it that it wouldn't be fair. That I'd be taking advantage of her."

"It? Do you mean--"

"Mom agreed with me."

"You told your mom?"

"I tell her everything. I always have."

"About girls? Sex?" Emma couldn't hide her disbelief. I knew I'd got her hooked. And I immediately decided to set it.

"I have ever since I did it the first time."

"Ever since the first time you did what?" I let Mrs. Pemberton-Smith stew. "Your first time with a woman?" she eventually asked.

"Yeah. It was sorta weird. She was an older woman. Married. It was a surprise. I didn't plan it or anything ... then I felt bad about it ... guilty. But it felt so good." Emma almost choked in her rush to get her questions out.

"How old was she? "Who was she? "She was married? "Do I know her? "Was this last summer? "Was it on the island?"

"Mom was mad at first," I said softly. "She was a year older than mom."

"You slept with someone older than your mom? She was in her thirties?" Incredulity leaked from Emma's voice. I nodded. "What did your mom do?"

"Yeah, her early thirties," I conceded.

I watched as Emma did the math in her head. "How old were you?"

"Mom and I had a long talk about it. We finally agreed that it was okay as long as I told her everything that happened. She said sex wasn't something to be ashamed about."

"Who was she? When was it?" the spittle was flying from poor Emma's mouth as she started to spit out the same questions.

"I'll tell you next time," I answered as I jumped to my feet. "Swim?" I asked as I went over to the railing and felt the underpants I'd jettisoned earlier.

"No, I don't want to swim, I want to--"

"Yuck, still wet," I said, then walked to the edge of the platform and let the towel fall. I gave my sweet and happily married neighbor a good three seconds to contemplate my naked butt before I dove in. I swam to the other side of the pond before I stopped, then purposefully waited a few minutes there before I started back. I'd figured that it would take about five minutes for her curiosity to win out over her anger.

"Turn around, don't look," I ordered as I started to pull myself out of the water.

Emma complied but not without muttering angrily. I took my time drying myself. Slowly ran the towel over my legs while standing naked less than six feet from her barely clad body.

"Who was it?" Her patience was coming to an end.

"I'll tell you next time."

"There won't be a next time Matthew Hopkins, not if you act like this," she answered as she started to turn back towards me. I'd just stepped into my jean shorts and had them just up over my knee when I heard her grunt of surprise. "Unnnnhhhh." My cock was semi erect.

"I told you not to look," I chastised as I wiggled my hips trying to get the jeans all the way up. Emma, silent, simply watched as I put my hand down and stuffed my still growing cock inside the jeans. Then she turned and started to march away.

I only caught up to her when we were about halfway back to the cottage. Before I could say a word she blurted, "I'm glad my sister got away from you before you did something bad to her--"

"Emma, next time we get together there's something else I want to ask you about."

"There's not going to be another time." Firm. Decisive.

"It's about Nancy... I asked mom about it but I'd like another girl's opinion. Someone closer to her age."

"Nancy? That's the girl at the cafe?" Good I thought, Emma's been checking up on me.

"We've been sorta going out."

"How many girls have you been going out with anyway?" Hook, line and sinker.

Two minutes later Emma had her bike in hand and was preparing to ride away. It was time for one last shot. "You know Emma, its because of you that I didn't sleep with your sister."

"Because of me?"

"I also slept with the married woman because of you."

"How could that be my fault?"

"It was the week after you got married."

"Whaaaaaaaaaat!"

"We can talk about it next time." Emma Pemberton-Smith, a university graduate, a teacher of impressionable young children, and a happily married young woman, then proceeded to let out a string of profanities that would have given credit to a ghetto gang banger. I smiled throughout.

Wednesday July 29th Emma's House

I didn't get a chance to talk to Emma for the next four days. Of course I saw her at the beach and in the town from a distance a couple of times. And at a beach barbeque the Young family held on Saturday night. But it was the weekend and her husband Clark was back. He, like so many of the commuters, arrived on the seven p.m. ferry every Friday night and then stayed until leaving on the six a.m. ferry on Monday morning. Mom, working in the city for the summer, was following the same schedule.

I''d slept with Nancy Thursday night. And because mom was still in town we were able to do it in my own bed. Which I gotta tell you, is lot better than doing it on the sandy beach. I know, I know, the whole 'making love on a deserted beach' thing sounds romantic and sexy, but I can tell you from experience, it doesn't take too many grains of sand getting into the wrong place to make the experience less than perfect.

Then I'd barbecued chicken for mom when she arrived on Friday night. And then we'd whispered our secrets to each other til well after midnight. I told her all about Emma. About my hopes.

My mother liked Emma almost as much as I did. She was the younger sister she'd never had. The daughter she'd never had. And like me, and probably for the same reasons, she'd never liked Clark.

"She should have waited for you," mom agreed after I'd recounted to her Emma's and my afternoon at the pond. I nodded.

"If only I'd been older--"

"Why haven't they had a child yet anyway?"

"I don't know." I'd never thought to ask Emma.

"Then maybe it's not too late for you," mom answered.

"You wouldn't mind?" I asked. Mom just smiled.

***

I worked around the cottage all day Monday and Tuesday and most of Wednesday morning.

But at 11:15 a.m. I was knocking on my nearest neighbor's door. I had a brightly wrapped package in my hand and a broad smile on my face when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith opened the door.

"Oh it's you," she welcomed in a somewhat inhospitable voice. She was wearing a pale yellow summer dress. She was beautiful. I continued to smile. Emma, after a minute watching me, simply turned and started walking back into the cottage. Really better described as a house, the three story home featured an open plan ground floor that invariably led one's eyes to the wall of windows that looked out onto the gardens beyond. Emma had been given the place by her grandparents on her wedding day. Their cottage, and Emma's parents one, lay another two hundred yards farther down the road.

When Emma reached the wall of windows she stopped and turned. I was still standing in the doorway, the silly grin still on my face. "Well are you coming in or not? I'm very busy today," she added as I started across the room toward her. Backlit by the sun streaming in the windows her dress had become almost transparent.

"What's that anyway?" she asked, unable to control her curiosity, as she pointed at the package in my hand.

"A present from the Hopkins, mother and son," I answered as I offered Emma the gift.

"It's not my birthday," she said even as she accepted the present.

"Yeah but we both love you."

Emma was delighted with the gift, so much so that she insisted I stay for lunch.

"Shall we eat down on the beach?" I asked.

"Or we could sunbathe upstairs," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith suggested. While I had been in the cottage before, I'd never received a tour of the upstairs.

"We have a sun deck," Emma, laden with a full tray, said as she led me upstairs five minutes later. "It's built off the master bedroom. Did you bring your suit?"

"Do I need one?"

"You're not wearing your stupid Polish underwear in my house," she warned. "You can borrow one of Clarks. They're in his closet," she said as she pointed to the large walk-in closet at the end of the room. "I'll change and put the food out," she added as she walked towards the doors at the other end of the room.

Clark had five or six bathing suits hanging on a couple of pegs -- some surfer suits, Billabongs, and a couple of Tommy Bahama ones. And one other. I started to laugh the second I saw it. Then dropped my shorts and underwear and pulled it on.

"What's so funny?" I heard called from the other side of the door. Instead of answering I just opened the door and stepped out into the room. Emma, sporting a black bikini this time, one just as sexy as the one she'd worn the other day, was attaching the top when I emerged.

As soon as she saw me she started to blush. Completely surprised, and clearly embarrassed, she let the bra slip through her fingers. "That not Clarks... not really," she stammered as her hands rushed to cover her bared breasts. Great breasts.

"It's not?" I asked as I went into a Mr. Universe pose. The thong, and that's what it was, and a very immodest one at that, was nothing more than a pink mesh sac held in place by a thin string that circled my waist. "And you called my briefs gay?" I accused as I pumped my hips towards her.

"It was a joke ... he's never worn them..."

"Is Clark gay? Is that it?" I asked as I walked towards the sun deck.

"He is not! Please Matt, take them off," she implored. So I did. Simply let them fall to her bedroom floor and then walked out onto the deck. I was lying on my stomach, my head up and looking sideways, when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith emerged into the sunlight seconds later. She'd attached her top.

"You'll have to put something on," she ordered.

I ignored her request. Instead I asked, "Are you and Clark up to some of these weird sexual hijinks too?"

In her rush to explain that she'd given Clark the gift as a joke, that he'd absolutely never worn it, cross her heart, Emma didn't immediately grasp the implication of the 'too' in my question.

"Anyway, I think we should talk about Nancy now."

"We have to eat first. And I need someone to spread the lotion on my back."

"I'm not touching your bum," Emma promised as she took the tube of lotion in hand.

"It'll burn if you don't," I complained. Ultimately, she did give my ass a quick application of lotion. Once finished I offered to reciprocate. Without really agreeing she did lie down on her stomach. And she didn't complain when I undid the strap of her top. "You don't want a line there, it'll look terrible when you're wearing your summer dresses," I said as I applied the lotion. Mind you there wasn't even a hint of a line on her tanned back which clearly demonstrated that tanning topless was her norm.

It was only when my palms started to caress the lotion into her upper thighs that I felt a tremor course through her body. "You don't want a white bum either," I said as I tentatively started to pull her panties down. I expected resistance but after just a second I felt Emma lift her hips fractionally off the mat. An unvoiced but clear permission.

"So, you have been sunbathing naked," I accused when it became clear that Emma's rear end was as tanned as the rest of her.

"Only in private," she answered. I took my time. Emma had a great rear end!

"Okay, can we finally talk about Nancy now?" she asked when I had finished.

"Ems, can we talk about something else first? Another problem I have." We were both lying on our stomachs, side by side on the futon she and Clark used as a sun bed. We were naked. Our faces, turned toward each other were only inches apart. We were both sexually aroused. She hadn't been able to hide her body's reactions from my fingers.

"Not another girl problem?"

"Have you ever tied up Clark?" I asked instead of answering her question.

"Tied up Clark? Do you think because of the thong that we're some sort of--" The question had completely baffled her.