Meeting every other Sunday, my reading/writing group chose to meet at my home by unanimous vote. Weather permitting, we meet at my outdoor table pool side. Once chosen, we needed a better name than we had, one with some flare. I rejected “Grande Piscine,” Great Pool, due to confusion with billiards. Chuck said, “Sue, your pool, you name the club.” I chose and we agreed on “Piscine de Talent Book Club,” (Talent Pool Book Club), since it included a bit of flattery. That was not to be our final name after this past meeting.

One of our seven core members brings two bottles of wine; I supply the glasses and we all drink until we slur our readings. Our dress code changed after our first meeting in informal clothes. When the wind blew our dresses up frequently and the three men got too much pleasure from staring at our panties through the clear glass tables, we casually agreed to wear shorts; though we four women got a flattering thrill out of the tents the men had pitched.

After two hours of sharing our writing or reading favorite passages from a stimulating book, those who brought swim suits changed and relaxed in the pool and caught some rays. I think I started the trend of wearing ever more daring suits. Being an exhibitionist, I gently pushed for more exposure. One warm day, I suggested we be daring and change back to back, women to men — no peeking allowed. At least we tried not to get caught peeking.

My husband, Sam, knew what I was up to and stood behind a smoked window to watch us all change. While the other three laughed and minimized their time naked and facing that window, I “struggled” with my tangled bikini to give the men a better chance to “catch” me naked. Watching our reflections in our sliding doors let me see who peeked the most.

Sam watched as I let the men stare at my bared ass and some side boobs. One of them turned and faced us as he changed. His cock grew as he stared at all our naked asses. If he knew I stared at his bare cock, he didn’t let on. I left my top and bottom loose enough to fall off if I dived into the pool, or I should say when I did. Yet I always covered up before any of them saw me after a loud squeal.

Sam enjoyed watching me play with them and I always came up, tits exposed, facing Sam only. He admitted he choked his chicken until he came while watching me tease the others. Our three male members filled their Speedos so much I knew their religions.

Our female members often stared at the tented male suits and responded with poking nipples and obvious swelling camel toes. The barely restrained cocks pulsed. Not too subtly, I adjusted my bottoms by pulling them away with my thumbs to relieve the pressure on my labia. I waited until at least one of the men stared at my pussy, then flashed one fattened bare lip at him. When his cock reacted, I couldn’t contain my grin. Was I teasing too much?

After two meetings teasing the members, I asked about their past exposures. Wine loosened their lips, facial. Ann and Beth confessed they streaked and mooned people in college, but that was “years” ago since they were both in late thirties, as was I. Cate was mid sixties and surprised us all when she admitted that she spent some teen years in a commune — nearly constantly naked and frequently fucking. She said those days were past as no one wanted to see a near seventy year old pussy or sagging tits.

Abe said he would not be insulted by that and was curious what an aging yet fit body looked like naked. Cate still exercised and power walked to keep fit. “You must be OK with nudity, so why not show us before our swim?” Cate thanked him, yet waved her hand in dismissal. “OK, Cate. Whenever you’re ready, surprise us one day.” Beth and Cate laughed it off. No one really expected that to happen. That’s why our next meet was so surprising.

Now we get to behavior and agenda changes thanks to our latest meet yesterday. It was hotter than normal, hitting 105 by noon. Even in our swimsuits and half of us under the table’s umbrella, we were more than uncomfortable despite the steady breeze. The pool tempted us to cut our meeting short or maybe read from the warming water. The wind picked up and the temperature plummeted — a sure sign of a coming thunderstorm. Our last reader, Cate, was just a few minutes from completing her latest work, so we kept going. She had to shout to be heard over the wind that stole her words.

Getting concerned despite the clear local sky, I scooped up the books and printed works into a plastic bag and ran it inside. When I came out, I noted the deep grey clouds a few miles away and the lightening under them. Booming thunder was slow to follow, so I hoped the clouds and rain were trapped. My gossamer cover-up blew up around my neck; the umbrella rattled until it flew up twenty feet before it came down hard in the pool saving us from chasing it. The women were getting blown — around — but the weighted tables and benches were secure.