It’s said that opportunity only knocks once, and am I ever lucky I answered that knock. Looking back, though, my childhood wasn’t all that lucky. Dad and mom both worked to provide enough income to feed my brother and me. We always had food on the table, but money was tight. While other families went to Disney World on vacation, our vacations were inexpensive alternatives—camping out or visiting relatives.
Mom was our moral compass. She was strict and upright—a proper mom who taught us to always do the right thing, even if we had to go out of our way to do it. She also demanded we be polite and respect women.
Dad always told my brother and me that we should learn as much as possible so we could get a job that made us indispensable. He said we could make more money by using our head than by using our hands. With that thought in the back of my head, I took all the math and science courses I could.
Although my high school was small, I had a great science teacher who introduced me to electronics. He was the physics teacher, and after school was the advisor for the robotics club. He taught us about electronic chips—microcontrollers and op amps, as well as the usual resistors, capacitors, and transistors. He also taught us how to make our own printed circuit boards, how to solder, and how to write software to program the microcontrollers. I think I learned more from him outside class than in it. I read and absorbed every electronics book or magazine I could get my hands on. Anyway, my grades were good, and he steered me toward a career in electronics engineering.
I applied to a Midwestern university, well-known for its engineering curriculum, and was riding high when I was accepted. My parents weren’t wealthy by any means, so if I was going to college, I’d have to supplement my college tuition by getting a part-time job.
I’d say my lucky streak began when I arrived at college in 2004, my first time away from home. Like most of the other freshmen, I experienced some homesickness, a sense of freedom from parental control, and a sense that I was now living in an adult world. Within a few days after arriving on campus, I had a job at a local pizza carry-out on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, and sometimes on weekends when they were short of help.
The one problem I had was chemistry for engineers. It was a mandatory course, and from what I’d heard, it had a reputation for eliminating many would-be engineers. Essentially, it was a ‘washout’ course to trap the unwary who weren’t dedicated to hard work. If I didn’t get past chemistry, that would be the end of my hopes for an electronics education. I pulled a high ‘C’ in high school chemistry, but it wasn’t one of my favorite subjects. I liked math and physics much better.
Checking the schedule for chemistry lab, I saw students were paired off alphabetically by last name. Searching down the list, I found my name, M. Thomas, paired up with another student, E. Thompson. I was hoping he could help me through the quagmire of this mandatory course.
The first chemistry lab was devoted to mostly checking out and inventorying our lab equipment. It turned out my lab partner, E. Thompson, was named Emily. I introduced myself as Michael.
After our introduction, I found out she was a business major. ‘Oh great,’ I thought, ‘This is my toughest course, and I’m going to be saddled carrying this woman through chemistry the entire year.’
Emily was only one of three women in the lab, but she was, by far, the best looking. She was slim with auburn hair cut in a bob hairstyle that nicely framed her face. She had a pixie nose and pouty lips. Her eyes, though, were her best feature. Those azure, expressive bluish-green eyes held my attention from the first look.
We hit it off from the beginning. She had a quick smile and a wonderful sense of humor.
I asked her a question, “What is the first rule in chemistry lab?”
She replied, “Safety first?”
“Nice try, but hot glass looks exactly like cold glass,” I said.
She laughed and came back with, “Did you hear oxygen and magnesium got together... ? Omg!”
We went back and forth like that most of the lab. I loved the way she teased and the way her eyes twinkled.
As we were inventorying and putting our chemistry equipment in our locker, she surprised me by correctly identifying every item on the list, even though some of the equipment was unfamiliar to me.
When we finished, I was hoping the lab was longer, because I really enjoyed being with Emily. I think she felt the same way, because when the graduate student who monitored the lab said we were free to leave after we’d turned in our inventory form, Emily hung around for several minutes just to chat.
I looked forward to the next chemistry lab. Another week, and a couple more labs later, we became more friendly. Emily seemed to know a lot more about chemistry than me. I asked her, “Why are you taking chemistry for engineers when you’re a business major?”
She replied, “My dad wants me to know a lot about chemistry, because that’s our family business. I registered late, so this was the only chemistry class I could get into.”
Chemistry for engineers was reputed to be one of the toughest courses on campus. The fact that Emily, a business major, was in the course didn’t make a lot of sense. I wondered how she knew so much about chemistry. By the fourth lab, I got the idea she was sandbagging chemistry class.
“Emily, did you understand everything the professor said about stochastic processes and entropy in yesterday’s lecture?”
“Well, I’m struggling with chemistry, and I won’t be able to stay in the electronics engineering program if I don’t pass it,” I said.
“Would you like me to help you?” she asked.
It didn’t take me long to answer ‘yes’ to her offer. It allowed me to spend more time with this angelic co-ed whom I drooled over. So Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Emily and I spent a couple hours in a study-date going over what we’d covered in chemistry the past week.
The next couple of weeks, Emily and I got to know one another a lot better. Like the chemical bonds between hydrogen and oxygen, there was a special chemistry between us. We attended the home football games together. I took her to a movie one weekend and another weekend we attended a local fall festival. We agreed to become boyfriend and girlfriend.
Emily and I held hands and kissed passionately a number of times, but we hadn’t gone beyond hugging and kissing. During those study-dates, Emily’s roommate, Sharon, was usually there, so heavy make-out sessions were out of the question.
When Sharon wasn’t there, I got the impression the way Emily came on to me that she was interested in sex. I would have considered it, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her my dark secret.
At one of our chemistry labs, Emily said, “Daddy wants to meet you.”
“Why would he want to meet me?” I asked.
“I told him all about you. He and mom are passing through town on a business trip tomorrow, and I’d like to introduce you to them, if you don’t mind.”
The next evening, I met Emily’s father and mother, John and Lisa. They were a nice-looking, almost middle-aged couple, reminding me of my own parents. Lisa and Emily had the same hairstyle. I could also see that Emily shared the facial features of both her mother and father. What caught my attention was that all three of them had the same auburn hair color and intense bluish-green eyes.
When Emily introduced me to her father, he said, “I’m finally getting to meet the young man who can walk on water.”
I wasn’t sure I understood what he was talking about. Then Lisa added, “Emily thinks the world of you, Michael. Every time we talk to her, she tells us how wonderful you are. We wanted to meet the young man she’s so head-over-heels in love with.”
Lisa brought Emily some home-made chocolate chip cookies. Emily thanked her, then offered to share some with me.
John said, “Emily tells us you build robots and know a lot about electronics. She thinks that’s terrific.”
“I like to build all kinds of electronics, and robots are a lot of fun,” I responded.
We visited for about an hour, then John suggested we get something to eat. “I know college kids love pizza, how about we take you and Emily out to a local pizzeria?” he asked.
Emily and I looked at each other and laughed. “Dad, he works at a pizza place three or four nights a week,” she said. “I doubt he wants to eat another one.”
“Well then, is there an Italian restaurant around here?” John asked.
“Yes,” Emily replied. “It’s not real Italian, but there’s an Olive Garden just off campus.”
We went to the local Olive Garden and had a decent meal—at least a lot better than university cafeteria food. While we were dining, John and Lisa seemed interested in what I was studying and my relationship with Emily.
I told them my goal was to graduate with an electronic engineering degree, and that although Emily and I had a few dates, they were mostly study-dates. I told them I really enjoyed spending time with her.
Before John and Lisa departed, John pulled me aside and said, “Thank you for cheering up my daughter. Our visit was to insure she’s okay. She had a bout of depression before she left for college, but I don’t see that she’s depressed now. Take good care of her.”
“Yes sir, I will,” I responded.
In mid-November, Emily asked if I was going home for Thanksgiving. I answered that given my lack of funds, I thought I’d stay on campus for the holiday. Since it was only a four-day holiday, I didn’t want to waste money on an airline ticket, then face the hordes of travelers during the busiest travel weekend of the year.
“Dad and mom said I could bring a friend home for Thanksgiving. Would you like to come with me?” she asked.
“I thought you’d ask Sharon.”
“I did, but she’s going to visit her family, so I’m asking you—you’re my boyfriend.”
“I’m not sure I want to go through the long lines and the security hassle at the airport,” I replied.
“Well, you won’t have to do that. Daddy’s sending the company jet out to pick me up. You’re invited to come along.”
‘Wow, Emily’s father owns a business jet?’ I thought to myself. It hadn’t been apparent when he and Lisa visited a couple weeks earlier. Emily told me her family was in the chemical business, but she hadn’t mentioned a jet plane.
It didn’t take me long to consider the alternatives—hanging around a dead campus or spending time with a girl I’d fallen in love with. “Sure, I’d like to spend Thanksgiving with you and your family.”
A couple days before Thanksgiving, Emily told me I needn’t pack many clothes for the weekend. “I come from a family of nudists,” she revealed.
She caught me by surprise. I’d never considered being naked around a girlfriend’s family. Being with Emily nearly always caused me to have an erection. What would she think about that? What would John and Lisa think? While all those thoughts were flying around my head, I felt flushed. At that point, I considered backing out of Emily’s invitation.
“You’re blushing,” Emily laughed.
“Well, you blindsided me with that revelation. I had no idea.”
“We don’t advertise it, but most of our friends know. Now you do too.”
I put my apprehension aside and agreed to accompany Emily on a Thanksgiving holiday. The day before Thanksgiving, Emily and I arrived at the local airport and waited on her father’s business jet.
While we were waiting in the small airport lounge, Emily filled me in about her family. She told me that when her grandparents were in college during the 1960’s, they became hippies. The hippie movement was in full swing back then, she said. She told me her grandparents all lived together and enjoyed being nudists. Her parents were both raised in the same nudist life style.
I wondered if Emily was following in her parent’s footsteps. “Hold on,” I said. “You say all your grandparents lived together?”
“Yes, that’s what I understand—both my grandfathers were studying chemistry at Berkeley. They shared an apartment and my grandmothers moved in with them.”
“There must be an interesting story in there somewhere,” I said.
“Maybe they’ll tell us tomorrow. You’ll meet them at Thanksgiving dinner.”
While we were chatting, Emily spotted the company plane landing on the runway. We watched it taxi into a parking spot near the small terminal and shut down. A fuel truck arrived, and the pilot talked with the fuel truck driver, then the pilot and co-pilot entered the terminal.
Emily introduced me to the pilot and co-pilot. She asked how long it would be before they planned to take off. The pilot said they wanted to get something to eat in the snack bar and they needed to file a flight plan back to California.
The jet had six passenger seats, so there was plenty of space to stretch out. The pilots asked if I’d like to visit the cockpit to look around after we took off. I took advantage of their offer and had an opportunity to learn how some of the plane’s electronics worked.
Returning from my cockpit tour, Emily and I spent the remainder of the flight discussing our personal lives.
Emily told me she was home schooled. She mentioned her mother had an education degree and her father had a Ph.D in chemistry. Since she was home schooled, she didn’t have a chance to meet many boys, she said. The only boys she spent any time around were at nudist resorts.
I spent some time telling Emily about my family, our home life, my high school, and my electronics hobby.
After sharing our backgrounds, we both agreed that our families were much different.
Four hours after we left, we were in California.
John picked us up at the airport in his Lexus SUV. Leaving the airport, instead of heading toward town, John headed the other direction toward the mountains. John said it was about half-an-hour drive.
The closer we got to their home, the more apprehensive I became. Nudism seemed a faraway concept when we left college, but now that I was close to exposing my body to Emily and her family, my stomach began tying itself in a knot.
The last couple miles, we climbed up a narrow winding road to their home on a ridge about halfway up a mountainside. The view from there across the valley below was spectacular.
My first view of Emily’s parents’ home inspired awe. Surrounded by fir trees, it appeared as if it ought to be on the cover of a Better Homes & Gardens magazine. Their home was built on the mountain in two levels. The roof was nearly completely covered by solar panels, and a satellite receiver was barely visible on the far end of the roof.
Just as we arrived at the Thompson’s home, John received a call that there was a problem at his chemical plant, so he dropped Emily and me off, and returned to town.
Lisa met us at the front door, nude. When I’d met her before, back at the university, I had no idea she or John were nudists. Now I had an opportunity to view all her female charms.
The first thing which caught my attention—besides her large grapefruit-sized breasts, was a three-inch, Monarch butterfly tattoo on the left one. The second thing was the fat, pink nipple on the same breast.
“Hi, Emily and Michael,” Lisa said, as she hugged Emily hello. When she let go of Emily and turned toward me, a thought flashed through my mind—’What is the proper etiquette for greeting a female nudist when you’re a fully-clothed male—a hug or handshake?’
I decided the best choice was to shake hands. As I looked down to reach for her hand, my eyes caught a glimpse of the charms between her legs. Of course, that view caused an immediate inflation of my nether parts.
Lisa said, “I’m so happy you could come home with Emily for Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Thank you for allowing Emily to invite me,” I responded.
“Emily dear, would you show Michael to the guest bedroom?” Lisa requested.
Emily led me to the guest bedroom. As I followed her through her home, I marveled at the interior design. Everywhere I looked was another feast for my eyes.
Once in the guest bedroom, Emily said, “Here’s a towel. You can get undressed, then I’ll take you on a tour of the house. Leave your shoes and socks on, because we might go outside, and you don’t want to get a sticker in your foot.”
“What’s the towel for?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry—I should have explained. It’s part of nudist etiquette—for sitting on. I’m sure you can figure it out,” Emily said.
Emily departed and it was then I noticed there wasn’t a door on the bedroom. I figured that since they were nudists, they didn’t find bedroom doors necessary in their home.
My nervousness increased as I removed my clothing and looked down—my erection left over from seeing Emily’s naked mother wouldn’t go down. I blew out a breath. Damn! It always gave away my emotions, and I didn’t want Emily, or her mother, to see me with a boner.
A couple minutes later, a nude Emily stuck her head in the entry, “Are you ready, Mike?”
I was sitting on the towel on the bed with my hands in my lap, willing my cock to deflate. “Almost,” I said.
Emily crossed the room toward the bed. I’m sorry to admit it, but my eyes were drawn to her nubile, feminine charms. But I’m a guy, after all. Her breasts were small—I’d say plum-sized—or perhaps the size of small apples. Her tummy was flat, and between her legs was a triangular, auburn, well-trimmed bush.
As she turned to sit next to me, I noticed a beautiful, three-inch, Monarch butterfly tattoo near the top of her left butt cheek—similar to the butterfly Lisa had on her left breast. It probably wouldn’t have been visible under her panties—if she’d worn any. Seeing her naked just made my cock stiffer. How embarrassing!
She looked down between my legs, “I know what your problem is,” she giggled. “It happens to all guys, and I’ve seen plenty of them, so don’t worry about it.”
Emily leaned into me and kissed me on the cheek. Seeing and feeling her soft, warm boob brush against my arm as she kissed me only made it worse.
“You’re blushing all over,” Emily laughed. She was right. It felt like I’d been sitting in the hot sun on a summer day.
“Emily, I’d be mortified if your mother saw me like this.”
“She’s knows all about hard cocks. How do you think I came to be born?”
Emily stepped away from the bed and went into the bathroom. She came back with a warm washcloth.
“Lie down, and I’ll take care of it for you,” she ordered.
Emily put pressure on my shoulder, easing me backward to a supine position. I was on my back with my cock pointing straight up at the ceiling. She sat next to my hip and wrapped one end of the warm washcloth around my cock with the other end on my scrotum.
“Just relax. I’ll have it fixed I no time,” she said, as she smiled down at me.
She commented, “You have a nice one. Be proud of what Mother Nature gave you, because a lot of guys would be happy to have yours.”
I almost lost it when Emily’s soft warm hand first touched my cock. She enclosed it with her hand and began slowly stroking. “Relax and let it out. You have too much sperm in there.”
She hadn’t made half a dozen strokes when I felt the familiar tingling in my groin and balls. “Emily, I’m about to...” and then I erupted into the washcloth.
“There, didn’t I make it feel better?” she asked.
“Oh wow, did you ever! You made it feel like it was turning wrong-side out.”
She chuckled, and used the bottom half of the washcloth to clean me off.
“What does the butterfly tattoo represent?” I asked.
“My mom and my Grandma Donna have the same Monarch butterfly tattoo on their left breast. I wanted one too, but my breasts are too small for one that large.” She held up her fingers, made air quotes, and giggled, “Since it’s a ‘butt’-er-fly, I had it put on my butt cheek.”
She made me laugh. Her sense of humor continually kept me off guard.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Sure, I love it.”
I was thinking, ‘What guy wouldn’t like a perfect butterfly tattoo on a perfect girl’s butt cheek?’
Emily continued, “To me, the butterfly represents beauty, love, and freedom. An ugly caterpillar turns into a beautiful butterfly. I think of it as me changing from a girl into a woman to do what I want.
“Now are you ready for a tour of the house?”
“Okay,” I said. “Lead the way.”
There were three bedrooms at one end of the house. The guest bedroom was next to the home theater. The other two spacious bedrooms were opposite the home theater. Emily’s bedroom was mostly pink, adorned with several of her favorite teddy bears and dolls she’d saved from childhood. The master bedroom was huge, with a couple of French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the valley. Each bedroom had its own full bathroom with a large shower and an electronic bidet.
Emily showed me the home theater. I counted ten reclining theater chairs and a large-screen TV at the front of it. On the other side of the home theater was the kitchen and dining room. The living room and front entry were off to the side, facing the valley.
The living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, made it feel airy. They provided a breathtaking view over the valley below. A large stone fireplace, in the corner between the large windows, gave the living room a cozy setting. The living room floor was marble.
Emily pointed out that there were heated water pipes under the floors in the home. She said the warm floors were more comfortable on bare feet than cold marble, and the thermostat in their home was set to 78 degrees because they were nearly always nude.
Except for the bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows permitted spectacular vistas in nearly every direction. There were no neighboring homes to spoil the scenery.
The lower level held a recreation room, utility room, and garage. Behind their home was a swimming pool, and a Jacuzzi hot tub. The garage held a Lincoln Town Car, a Miata convertible, a car that was in parts, and an empty spot for the Lexus. Emily said the disassembled car was a DeLorean, the auto which was in the ‘Back to the Future’ movie. Her dad was restoring it, she said. Along one wall of the garage, I noticed two large racks of marine batteries, an inverter, and electronics which I recognized as part of their solar electrical system.
I asked Emily, “Is your house off the grid?”
“Yes,” she responded. “We’re too far from town, so all our electricity is from solar, our phone service is from cellular towers, and our TV and Internet come from satellite.”
After Emily finished showing off her parents’ house, she invited me into the kitchen for a soft drink. Lisa was just starting dinner.
“You have a lovely home,” I said to Lisa. “The view from your living room is amazing.”
I tried keeping my eyes on hers, because women always complain about guys ogling their breasts, but I found it difficult to keep my view above her shoulders. She was a perfect MILF. I did glance down a couple times just to view her butterfly tattoo, but somehow her magnificent nipple got in the way. I wondered if Emily’s boobs would someday grow to the size of her mother’s.
Lisa responded, “Thank you, we love the view too. That’s one of the reasons we had the house built here.
“Since we’re nudists, we didn’t want close neighbors. John found this property on the mountainside, and we thought it was perfect. The only problem was that we’re so far out of town, the school bus didn’t come out this way, so we home schooled Emily.”
“She told me she missed out on socializing with kids at school,” I said.
Lisa had a flustered look, “Oh dear, I’m making a casserole for dinner this evening, but the dish I need is on the top shelf in the cabinet.” She pulled a kitchen chair to the counter in front of the cabinet and asked, “Mike, would you be so kind as to steady the chair while I find the casserole dish?”
“Sure,” I answered.
While I held the back of the chair, Lisa put her hand on my shoulder and stepped up on the chair seat. She stood up, opened the cabinet, and began moving dishes around in the cabinet to find the one she wanted.
With Lisa standing on the chair, it placed her pussy just above my eye level. I was torn—which way to look? She had prominent labia, covered with short, well-trimmed auburn pubic hair. In between them, her clitoral hood just peeked out a little. I got a waft of her womanly fragrance mixed with Dove soap. That one glimpse and odor caused my cock to begin inflating. I needed to look somewhere else, so I looked up. Wrong decision—now I was staring at those lovely grapefruit-sized boobs Lisa carried on her chest.
Lisa looked down at me and said, “Mike, I can’t seem to reach the one I want. Could we trade places so you can get it?”
‘Oh shit,’ I thought. ‘If I get on that chair, my boner will be on display for the whole world to see.’
“Are you sure you can’t reach it?” I asked.
“It’s all the way at the back. Since you’re taller, I’m sure you can get it,” she answered.
Lisa stepped off the chair and brushed against me as we traded places. I took a deep breath, willed my cock to deflate, and stepped up on the chair seat.
Emily giggled, “Mom, be careful. You don’t want Mike to eye poke your eye out.”
I swear I could feel Lisa’s hot breath on it when she laughed. “I think it’s larger than your father’s,” she said, as she cackled at Emily’s remark.
“Which dish do you want?” I asked.
“It’s the large orange one in the back,” she replied.
It took me awhile to move some other dishes around until I could retrieve it. The entire time, I had a sense they both had their eyes on my cock.
I handed the casserole dish to Lisa and stepped off the chair.
“Thank you, you’re a real dear,” Lisa said. Then she glanced down at my cock, back into my eyes, and added, “Nice one, Mike.”
Emily gave me my soft drink and we sat down at the kitchen table while Lisa prepared dinner. A few minutes later, Lisa asked, “Emily dear, would you please make the salad for dinner?”
Emily got some salad makings out of the refrigerator and stood next to her mother, preparing the salad. The two of them, standing together, their backs to me, were so much alike—absolutely lovely. They were the same height, same body build, same naked butt cheeks, same hair color and style. The only way to distinguish my Emily from her mother was the Monarch butterfly tattoo on her left butt cheek.
Lisa finished making the casserole, turned, and bent over to place it in the oven. I was in an almost perfect position to see the womanly treasure tucked between her thighs. Gravity pulled her pendulous breasts toward the floor. Seeing her fleshy labia from behind kept my cock hard once again. Being a nudist wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
John returned home from the ‘emergency’ at the plant and came into the kitchen, naked.
His first words were, “I’m hungry as a bear. What’s for dinner?”
Lisa replied, “I made your favorite pork chop-rice casserole.”
“Thanks,” he said, and walked across the kitchen to her.
He wrapped his arms around Lisa and gave her a full body hug and a kiss on the lips. I noticed his large uncircumcised cock remained limp. If I’d hugged her like that (or any beautiful nude adult female for that matter), I’d have had a boner she’d have been able to do chin-ups on. I figured it was a matter of self-control, which I didn’t have.
The Thompson’s were gracious hosts. At dinner, I got to know Emily’s family a lot better. I learned they’d lived in their home since Emily was six years old.
John told me his father founded the chemical plant, and he took over when his father retired. When I asked what kind of chemicals his company produced, he said specialty lubricants and solvents.
I wasn’t familiar with specialty lubricants, so he explained that his company filled a niche market for lubricants which could withstand extremely high or low temperatures. He mentioned applications for rockets, satellites, tiny gears, and machinery for arctic climates.
He asked if I’d like to take a tour of the chemical plant the day after Thanksgiving. I agreed. He said Emily had seen it all before, so she wasn’t going with us.
After dinner, we watched a movie in the Thompson’s home theater. When the movie ended, Emily went to the recreation room. “Pool or darts?” Emily asked.
“Pool,” I said.
Emily beat me handily at three games of pool, so I suggested we play darts. She beat me at darts, too. By the time 11 PM rolled around, we were both sleepy. We returned upstairs to find John and Lisa in the kitchen. John was helping her with pre-Thanksgiving dinner preparations.
Lisa asked, “Who won?”
Emily laughed, “I beat his butt.”
Both John and Lisa turned and gave her a look. Emily thought about what she’d said, then said, “I won ... And I didn’t touch his butt.”
“Well you’d better go to bed,” Lisa said. “We’re going to be busy tomorrow with Thanksgiving dinner.”
Emily gave me a chaste kiss goodnight in front of her parents, and I gave her one back. We said goodnight and I headed to the guest bedroom and Emily headed to her bedroom.
I awoke on Thanksgiving morning to the smell of coffee. The sun was just coming up, shining through the large window onto the wall. I heard footsteps coming down the hall—it was Lisa. She asked if I liked ham and eggs. I said I did, and she said breakfast would be served in about twenty minutes. It gave me enough time to shower and shave.
I didn’t have to think about what to wear, because I was already dressed—or undressed for the day, depending on how I wanted to look at it. I smiled. That was one benefit of being a nudist I hadn’t considered before.
John’s parents arrived around noon. They came into the house already nude. Emily introduced me as her boyfriend, to her Grandpa Fred and Grandma Betty Thompson.
When you’re introduced to a naked person, where are you supposed to look? I know it’s bad manners to stare, but Emily’s Grandpa Fred was well-endowed. It appeared he was carrying half a Polish sausage between his legs. Emily’s grandmother Betty was a few pounds short of chubby, but she was a hot-looking woman.
They appeared to be about sixty. Fred was balding, with white hair mixed with auburn around his head, on his chest, and pubic area. I noticed he had the same bright bluish-green eyes as Emily, Lisa, and John. Betty had brown hair on her head, but I happened to notice she had a full bush of pubic hair with a few white ones mixed in with the brown ones.
While we were chatting, I noticed Grandma Betty’s eyes on my nearly-erect cock.
Emily saw what her grandmother was watching and announced for everyone to hear, “Mike is a first-time nudist, so he’s having a little problem.”
Grandma Betty responded, “It doesn’t look like a little problem to me, and it’s so nice to see a virile young man’s sporting equipment again. I think I wore Fred’s out, because it rarely stands up like that anymore.”
Then Grandma Betty patted me on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it, son. I’m sure Emily will take care of it for you.”
Emily’s other grandpa and grandma showed up a little later. They arrived fully clothed, but took off their clothing as soon as they entered the foyer. Emily introduced me to Lisa’s parents, Grandpa Bill and Grandma Donna Anderson. Bill was quite tall and thin, with a full head of graying brown hair. Donna was also slim. She had the same Monarch butterfly tattoo as Lisa’s on her left breast. Comparing breasts, I’d say Donna’s were large, about the same size as Lisa’s.
Both of Emily’s grandmothers must have been quite good-looking women when they were young. Their breasts sagged a little—not as much as I expected, but then I hadn’t ever seen sixty-year-old women’s breasts before. Perhaps some plastic surgery had prevented that.
We chatted, getting to know one another. The men separated, gathering in the recreation room. Emily and the other three women went to work in the kitchen preparing Thanksgiving dinner. The smells of cooking turkey, pumpkin pie spice, and other holiday food filled the air.
John opened a bottle of wine for the women to share, then another for all four of the men. He reminded Emily and me that we were limited to a single glass. We watched the end of a Thanksgiving parade and the beginning of a holiday football game. Lisa brought a tray of crackers and cheese to snack on while we watched TV.
For Thanksgiving dinner, we sat down to the typical holiday fare. It was the first time I’d ever been at a Thanksgiving table where everyone was naked. Eight lovely boobs added to the décor at the dinner table. No matter which way I looked, there were boobs. My thoughts jumped back to my family’s Thanksgiving table. There was nothing there which compared to this! Before we began eating, Lisa brought out her camera and we all smiled, naked as jaybirds, for our photos.
While John carved the turkey, the mashed potatoes and vegetables were passed around. When John finished, he served everyone. He asked me, “Breast or dark meat?”
Grandpa Bill interrupted, “Give him breast. Being a young man, he’d rather put that in his mouth than anything else.”
Everyone laughed, and I blushed. Now I understood where Emily’s teasing nature came from.
The food was superb—turkey with all the trimmings, green beans, yams, cranberry sauce, hot rolls from the oven—it was all good. The view of four naked women at the table made it even better. My manhood and I fought a continuing battle as it desired to inflate and I commanded it to deflate.
The dessert was the climax of the meal. Emily’s Grandma Donna brought me a piece of pumpkin pie. When she bent over to give it to me, I was looking at her left boob, with its butterfly tattoo, just a few inches from my nose.
“Whipped cream?” she asked.
I was so busy staring at her tattoo that she had to repeat herself. Grandpa Bill saw what was happening and laughed so hard I thought he was going to choke.
“Donna,” he said, “don’t stick your nipple in his mouth. This is his first day being a nudist, and you’re giving him a hard-on,” he laughed. Everyone chuckled, and I was the butt of the joke again, so to speak.
After dinner, when everyone was full of turkey and pie, the leftovers were put away, and the dishes had been loaded in the dishwasher, we retired to the living room. Emily suggested we sit in a two-person beanbag chair on the floor in front of the fireplace. We both sank down in the beanbag chair, with our backs to the warmth of the gas fireplace, while her grandparents sat on a long sofa facing us, and Lisa sat on John’s lap on a chair, off to the side.
Emily started the conversation with, “Grandpa Fred, remember when I was about twelve years old and asked about what you did as hippies? You said when I grew up you’d tell me. Well, I’m grown up now, and Mike would like to hear about those times too, wouldn’t you, Mike?”
I nodded my head, “Sure.”
Once she got them started, they captivated us with their recollection of what it was like back then.
Grandpa Fred started off telling us about how he’d chosen Berkeley because their chemistry department was one of the best in the 1960’s. He said around that time, many college-age students began rebelling about a lot of things. It was a time of civil unrest and political upheaval. The Vietnam War was escalating, and the government had started drafting all eligible males between 18 and 26. He said he didn’t want any part of serving in the military in what he considered a waste of men and resources.
He told us about some draft card burning protests. The term, “Make love, not war,” became a popular message on their protest posters. “If it feels good, do it,” was the content of another favorite for their signs. Drugs and free love were available on nearly every university campus, he said.
He mentioned he didn’t know much about hippie culture and wanted to learn more about their philosophy. There were some things he agreed with and some he didn’t. The hippie culture preached nonviolence, but at many of the anti-war protests, the police and hippies had bloody confrontations. Even at music festivals, fights broke out. He also said he didn’t agree with the hard or hallucinogenic drugs many hippies used. The thing he most agreed with was the sexual freedom.
Fred said when he attended one particular protest, he said he ran into a cute co-ed he knew, named Betty, as he pointed toward her.
Betty smiled when he reached around her shoulder and pulled her toward him.
Fred continued, “We thought alike, and since we’d known each other for a few months, I asked her for a date, and the next thing we knew, we were in bed together.
“Betty and I attended a couple more hippie protests, but we discovered we weren’t cut out to be hippies—we were just pseudo-hippies. I let my hair grow, we wore tie-dyed clothing, beads, sandals, and flowers in our hair. What we enjoyed most was the free love.”
Betty joined in, “Yes, the reason we didn’t become real hippies is that a lot of them totally lacked basic hygiene—ugh. They smelled like livestock—they hadn’t bathed in weeks, and I didn’t want to be around them. Many of them lived on communes without any running water. Can you imagine going for a month without a bath? I get a little—how should I say it—a little skanky ‘down there’ after a few days. And when that time of month came around, I needed to wash it.”
Donna spoke up, “Not only us girls—guys don’t smell very good down there, either, if they don’t bathe. I don’t put that thing in my mouth if it hasn’t been washed first, especially if it has a foreskin covering it.”