Chapter 35: The Great Reveal

Barbara watched Peter leave for his shower; then a wicked thought sprang into her mind.

“Quick!” she exclaimed to Tamara. “Go! Get in the shower with him. That’s been his fantasy since forever. When we were younger, he wanted me to wash him in the shower at our resort but I was very reluctant. I love him so much, I’m afraid that I’d get carried away and do something that I’d regret. Go, do it! Hurry!”

Tamara liked the idea. A lot. So she ran into the bathroom while stripping off her clothes. Peter was washing his hair, eyes closed, as she slowly slid the shower door open and slipped in. He felt the cool breeze.

“Wha ... Did the door open ... Shit! Tamara? Ohgod, ohgod, how’d you know ... Barbara must have told you.”

Tamara saw his cock jerk into rigidity, now pointing almost straight up, but she restrained herself from immediately attacking it and treated herself to the joy of soaping his body using her bare hands. She ran them over his shoulders and back, around his front where she caressed his pecs, then to his buttocks where she pushed, prodded and squeezed the muscles. Then reaching between his legs, she soaped up his cock and balls and ran a finger around his anus, tickling it.

Peter was groaning in ecstacy, his long-time fantasy was now finally being fulfilled. He let Tamara turn him around so she could soap up his chest and abs. She stroked and kneaded his pecs and squeezed his little nipples; his cock lurched when she did that. Then she moved her hands to his abs and let them roam over his smooth curves, out to his hips, and around to his buttocks, as she pulled herself close to him and rubbed her firm breasts with their taut nipples against his chest.

She couldn’t wait any longer. Dropping to her knees in front of Peter, Tamara took his rigid cock and pulled it away from his abdomen and without a pause, sunk her mouth down fully onto it. She must have had the right angle, with the rushing water providing great lubrication, because the tip of Peter’s cock passed into her throat without making her gag. Her lips now rested in the light fuzz of Peter’s pubes.

Fuck! I did it! she rejoiced. Now, let’s see if he likes this.

Breathing through her nose, she lashed her tongue around his cock and applied suction as she slowly pulled her head back, releasing his cock with a pop. Peter gasped and his knees shook. She plunged her head down again on his rigid organ and let her tongue play with the frenulum, the part on his penis that she had found last night to be so sensitive. Then she noticed the bottle of body wash on the floor where it had fallen. She let go of his cock but kept sucking it, grabbed the bottle, and squeezed a dollop of soap onto a finger. She brought the finger up to Peter’s anus and thrust it into his rectum up to the second knuckle; then she wiggled it.

Peter howled and she wiggled it again. Peter howled again, louder, and Barbara burst into the bathroom.

“What ... Oh shit. Tamara!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were killing him!”

Just then, Peter let go with a roar as Tamara released his cock from her mouth with another loud “pop” and three ropes of cum splashed powerfully into her face as Peter gasped and grunted. There was a pause of a second, and then two more volleys were released. Another pause, and three more followed. Then a river of cum began oozing out of his cock. Tamara nodded with satisfaction and pulled her finger out of his ass.

Barbara was transfixed and stared in awe as Tamara looked at her with a self-satisfied smirk.

“You think I satisfied his fantasy?” she asked as Peter slid bonelessly down to the floor of the shower.

Barbara nodded wordlessly, staring at the scene as Peter tried to catch his breath.

“Oh fuck... pant, pant ... you near... pant ... killed me ... Never ever cum... pant ... so hard... pant gasp ... felt like... gasp ... my guts were... pant ... pouring out... gasp ... of my dick...”

“Poor baby,” Tamara comforted him, “was that too much for you?”

“Oh no!” he objected. “You can do that... pant ... any time you want... pant ... every day, too!”

Barbara smirked, “I think you created a monster there. Shit, girl, where’d you learn that? I saw all kinds of crazy stuff in the Program, but that just blew my mind! Not one of those girls in school ever got that kind of cum from a guy, ever! Do you give lessons?”

Peter laughed. “Tamara, the sex goddess, ahhh ... giving lessons. Uuuhh ... I can see it in lights.”

“Hey, you kids, stop playing now and get all that cum washed off,” Barbara joked. “I’ll be in the living room.”

The two lovers didn’t do any more sexy things; Peter washed Tamara off and they helped each other get dry. A little extra rubbing and patting were engaged in, though. No one complained.

In the living room, Barbara asked Tamara, “Say, girlfriend, for someone who hates nudity—like that Florida Stripped program and Naked in School, and who’s uncertain about visiting a nudist club, you don’t seem to have much personal modesty. Like when I walked in on you two in bed. Or just then, in the shower. So?”

Tamara shrugged. “I guess it’s who I’m with. You’re a friend; you’re safe. I feel really good emotions coming from you and I feel the love you and Peter share. So, in a way, you and Peter are part of the same ... um, emotional construct? You know psych much better than I do.”

“Hmm, I see. There’s this newish theory about ‘constructed emotion’ that argues that emotions are not reactions which are hard-wired in the brain but actually are concepts that get constructed by the brain. Interpretations of experiences that, when combined with memories, produce the particular emotion.”

Tamara nodded. “Makes sense; I think that theory is probably close to the reality. But what I meant is that to me, the emotional entity that is Peter also includes you in a lot of important ways.”

“Ohmygod, you’re gonna make me cry,” Barbara said and stood up to hug Tamara.

They sat again as Peter came in.

“Peter? You okay?” Barbara grinned at him.

“Damn, so crazy; still recovering from the most awesome cum I ever had.”

“Yeah, Barbara, you mentioned seeing crazy stuff. But that was only the second time I ever did that to a guy. Don’t tell me that those other girls weren’t better,” Tamara told her.

“From what I saw, they couldn’t hold your candle, dear. Some of the girls had reps as ‘BJ specialists’ in the school and the boys prayed that those girls would blow them if they could arrange it, like for ‘relief’ in class.

“But there was other crazy stuff too, like the times I saw ‘reasonable requests’ in the lunchroom that turned into couples fucking on the tables. Girl-on-girl action too. Sex in the P.E. showers. I saw one BJ in the girls’ locker room showers where there were three girls taking on a boy; they teased him and worked him up until he was panting. But when he shot off, it was just two squirts and done, plus a little moaning. The girls seemed to be disappointed, ‘cause I heard one say that she had told that kid not to take relief that day; she had a special BJ prepared for him and she wanted him to cum a lot. Crazy stuff like that.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah; I saw a lot of that too. The positive emotions, the anticipation, lust, desire, pleasure, all of that ... and you know, feeling those emotions wasn’t so bad, but they would still get me wiped out. And also they didn’t affect me as badly as the fear, despair, anguish, dread, embarrassment, humiliation, and even physical pain that happened every single fuckin’ week as the new set of victims were sacrificed on the Program altar as they had to endure the crazed student gauntlet looking for fresh meat.”

“His words paint a painful picture, Barbara,” Tamara told her. “What he just said made me think of Hieronymus Bosch’s paintings.” At her puzzled look, Tamara said, “Look him up. Dutch painter, late fifteenth century, early sixteenth. Many of the paintings he made show human moral failings; those mostly show nightmarish scenes in hell.”

“Damn, Tamara. You’re an art critic too. So. On that positive note, Peter, let’s see what questions about the resort and next month’s visit we can answer for Tamara,” Barbara suggested.

Maybe I can do this, Tamara thought. After all, lots of people seem to be nudists, and if Terence will ... hell, I wonder what his bod is like ... Um, sorry, Peter ... I mustn’t be greedy, now.

The three of them began discussing the resort’s activities and facilities and the people who went there. Tamara learned that nudists included people from every possible occupation, and they occupied a wide swath of the social and economic strata. She told the siblings about her brief friendship with a nudist boy at the end of her high school days and his tales about his visiting the Miami nudist beach.

“But did you ever go there?” Barbara asked.

“Not to the nude part,” Tamara responded. “We did go to the regular swimsuit part though. It was just a beach—a nice one, and people were wearing suits.”

Barbara smiled and said, “Nudists call non-nudists ‘textiles,’ so we call clothed beaches ‘textile beaches.’ Textile is in the sense of cloth, you know, for clothing.”

“But I’m just so nervous about being naked outside with other people,” Tamara sighed. “I think I want to do it, but I’m hesitant.”

“Hey, that’s a totally natural feeling.” Barbara told her. “In one of my psych classes, we used the example of the Naked in School debacle to explore the role of clothes in society and how being forced to remove them caused a tremendous sense of vulnerability. Clothing allows one’s mind to create a barrier between people by hiding their natural selves. That’s because clothing has become a social marker; wearing clothes—and the clothes we wear—affect the way we see ourselves. So society has instilled in people that the absence of clothes can be perceived as surrendering our sense of morality and becoming vulnerable.

“Social nudism is the direct response in challenging those ideas. Being nude with others reveals our true selves—when one removes her clothes, she also removes all artificial barriers between herself and others. And instead of causing a feeling of vulnerability, nudism gives you a sense of empowerment. A naked person has nothing to hide, it’s all there in the open. You can’t be judged by anything external, like the quality of your clothes; it’s just you.

“What this all boils down to is that your accepting nudism is up to you and you alone. It’s overcoming your fear of other people’s judgment. Your fear of vulnerability. Your fear of body image. It’s all in your mind. Because you’ll find none of those issues at a nudist resort. Okay, enough, I think. I hope my lecture helps you in deciding what you’ll do.”

“Thanks, Barbara. That was kinda reassuring, I guess,” Tamara told her. “I’ll need to think about what you said.”

Tamara had just a few more trivial questions, and after they had been answered, she gathered her things to leave. With a hug to Barbara and a huge kiss to Peter, she left for her apartment. She had lots to do and lots to think about.

When she arrived there, she took out her research notes. This coming week would be her first chance to work on the design of the new MRI detector she had envisioned. But she was distracted; her thoughts kept turning back to Peter.

How much should—or can—I tell him about my abilities? she mused.

Tamara decided that she needed to meditate to clear her mind. She wished that she were back at home so that she could attend a service to ask the lwa for guidance. As she began to let her mind drift away from conscious thoughts and started concentrating on relaxing all her muscles, thoughts not her own seemed to seep unbidden into her awareness.

The ounfò is not the peristil. The peristil is wherever holiness resides. You are the pwen, the focus of holiness. The peristil is you.

She lost herself in thought, while trying to maintain focus on the source of those thoughts, but the source was slippery, elusive, and when she felt that she had the source trapped, suddenly it was gone and another of those thoughts appeared, teasing her. She felt the faint whisper of a chuckle. A familiar chuckle. It suddenly came to her: Papa Legba! She realized that she had missed the feeling of rapport that she used to have in her mom’s services—and now Papa Legba was showing her a way to perhaps do it herself? Gradually allowing herself to surface from her meditative state, she whispered a plea of forgiveness to the lwa for what she planned to do.

“The peristil is you,” the thought had declared.

How do I do that? she wondered.

She looked around her small apartment. She would need to improvise. Recalling her mother’s ritual preparations, Tamara could provide just the bare essentials. Grabbing a bed sheet from her closet, she spread it on the floor. Then she took a package of baking flour from her pantry and a feather duster, and set those on the sheet. Finally, she took a pitcher and filled it with a little water. As an afterthought, she pulled out a plastic trash bag from its box, opened it flat, and spread it out on one corner of the sheet.

Then she grabbed her phone. She had made a recording of the drumming of the ountògi at one of her mom’s rituals; that would help her get into the proper mind set. Soon she was ready.

Tamara began by sprinkling the flour on the sheet in a very fine dusting and then, using a few feathers plucked from the duster, traced the outline of Papa Legba’s vevé in the flour while reciting a remembered prayer. Asking Legba’s pardon for lacking a sacrifice and rum and for her improvisations, she pulled the plastic bag over her tracing and sprinkled some water over it. Then she started the recording.

Tamara danced to the sounds of the drumming for what seemed to be hours. She felt first, the presence of Papa Legba, who praised her resourcefulness. As his presence faded, she was joined by Ayizan Velekete, her guardian, and Tamara felt enveloped by a sense of pride flowing from the lwa.

Pride? In me? Tamara wondered.

She felt a strongly affirming sense.

Then Tamara began to frame the thoughts of the guidance she sought.

Can—should—I tell Peter? How much? I think I love him. Is it right for us to love? Then an afterthought. Is it right to go to a nudist place?

At that last thought, Tamara sensed-heard-felt a chorus of laughs—just how many lwa were listening to her, anyway? she wondered. That’s when the warmth of Erzulie Mansur enveloped her and Tamara sensed that, indeed, a large number of lwa had become aware of something unexpected, a person, not a manbo or oungan, who had somehow come to the crossroads as a supplicant for advice.

Erzulie’s emotional warmth assured Tamara that Peter indeed felt love for her and that the two of them were well suited for each other.

Then Tamara felt the presence of Ayizan again as Erzulie faded away. Ayizan assured Tamara that she could share her secrets with Peter; that Peter himself had abilities which Tamara could unlock. As her presence began to depart from Tamara, Ayizan hinted that she was one of the few untrained and uninitiated people who had ever journeyed to the crossroads. She would have made an extraordinary manbo, but her role in life was far more important as a scientist.

The drumming stopped then—or had it stopped some time ago? Tamara checked the time. It had stopped about twenty minutes earlier, but for her, it had continued on in her mind as her body was moving to her own internal rhythms.