Chapter 30

Early Evening – Thursday

Bob, Hannah, and Monica

During the walk to Monica’s RV, they alternated between holding hands and Hannah putting her arm through his, settling on the latter. His hard-on faded as they walked and talked. The fact was that his little-big guy had seen a fair amount of use since they arrived on Saturday afternoon. As they walked he playfully tried to bend Hannah over, but she slipped away, telling him to be patient for just a little while longer.

“You doing okay? I haven’t had a chance to talk with you about Iraq since you got back,” Hannah said, shifting back to holding his hand.

In the distance, through the tall pine trees, they could see Monica sitting on top of the picnic table. Bob hadn’t thought much about the war or what he’d experienced there at all this week. His injured right calf felt fine most of the time; Nurse Colleen and his therapist Rachel had been extremely helpful.

“I’m doing okay, just need some space at times,” he said honestly. Being busy with work and distractions like this past week kept his mind from drifting. He’d gotten back into taking long trail runs or jumping on his Harley-Davidson Softail cruiser for a ride.

“Good,” Hannah said, waving at their sister, who waved back, beer in hand.

Walking nude across the camp with his pretty sister felt freeing. No clothes, just sandals on their feet and Boonie hats on their heads; the warm air felt good against his bare skin. Everyone was friendly and ready to say hello.

Monica

Monica, wearing only a faded blue US Coast Guard ball cap and Teva sandals, sat nude on top of the picnic table holding a can of Busch Light beer. “About time. Dinner is ready,” she said.

They hugged, and he gave her ass a playful squeeze.

Dinner was cheeseburgers cooked over a gas grill behind the RV and a crisp green salad. They drank Busch Lite and sat outside eating and catching up on life. All three of them led busy lives, and they openly missed their brother, Chris. Sitting together in the shade, the three of them shared secrets. By now, Hannah had guessed the truth and had a strong need to know about Monica’s classified job at the CIA. Hannah remained circumspect about what she’d learned these past few months regarding the alien situation. Bob had already met the people she worked with, knowing firsthand they were world-class scientists and high-ranking military types. They ultimately agreed to keep sharing everything they could with one another.

Monica got their attention by tossing her beer can in the metal trash can. “Listen, I have to leave tomorrow. Work, the new conflict between Israel and Hezbollah, and some other problems mean I need to hit the road a day earlier than planned.”

Bob nodded. She had to drive back to northern Virginia. “You’ll miss the picnic Mom and Dad have planned for us,” he said.

“Can’t be helped,” Monica said, taking their paper plates to the trash can.

Bob understood. “So, let’s make good use of the rest of the evening.” He smiled and rubbed Hannah’s sweaty back.

Inside the RV, they sat at the small table, Bob taking one of the padded bench seats.

“Close your eyes,” Monica called out from the back of the small motorhome.

He did as he was told, folding his hands on the table.

“Open,” she said. He smiled upon seeing a fancy frosted chocolate cupcake with a burning birthday candle sitting on the table in front of him.

“We both missed your birthday earlier this month, so we’re making up for it,” Hannah said, setting a couple of wrapped presents in front of him.

The two sisters sang happy birthday—terribly out of tune—and he laughed before blowing out the candle. He kissed Hannah’s beautiful right breast, then pulled Monica close for a deep kiss. Two more cupcakes were placed on the table, and they ate. Hannah sat across from him, while Monica stood with her hands leaning on the table. Damn, he had good-looking sisters. Lucky him.

Hannah pushed a flat present toward him, the size of a magazine or calendar. “I did some research. Mom mentioned being in one of those old nudist magazines,” she said.

Bob was intrigued. He pulled the tissue paper off and found himself staring at an old Sunscope nudist magazine. On the cover, an attractive young woman held a camera, and she looked like their mom, Donna, though decades younger. She was blonde, young and nude, small-breasted, her slender body captured in classical naturist style.

“There is a pictorial inside where Mom talks about being a camp photographer,” Hannah said. “I knew you would like it.”

“I do. What year is this?” he asked, guessing the late ‘60s. Hannah was right—he did like it. He loved these old nudist magazines.

“That issue was published in June 1970, though Mom said the photos were taken a few months earlier,” Hannah answered.

Donna Sunscope

Monica then pushed the other present toward him. The box was surprisingly heavy.

“I had a couple of friends modify it,” Monica said as he tore off the plain brown paper. In front of him was a gray plastic SIG Sauer pistol case. Opening it, he found himself looking at a stainless-steel-framed SIG GSR 1911 pistol. It looked like a classic Colt 1911, but updated by SIG.

“It’s a forty-five, seven-plus-one,” she said. Meaning the pistol held eight rounds. “Your preferred caliber. And one of our armorers dropped in a Wilson Combat three-hole skeletonized trigger to clean up the take-up and give it a crisp break.”

“Thank you, both of you,” he said, admiring the weight of the firearm and the clean texture of the checkered cocobolo wood grips against the satin stainless steel. His mouth practically watered; he couldn’t wait to shoot it. He placed the pistol back in the case. His sidearm in Iraq had been a SIG P226, and his everyday carry at home was a lighter compact Colt pistol—which made this new, solid-steel full-size forty-five feel like a real anchor.

“Hey, eyes up here,” Monica said, gesturing toward her full, soft breasts.

Bob snapped the case shut, looked up at her tits and her grin, and laughed. His sisters certainly knew the way to his heart.

With a smirk, Hannah placed another small box in front of him. “From both of us.”

“We know you have been playing around with the butt stuff,” Monica said.

From the plain white box, he pulled out a long string of silver beads connected by a durable cord, alongside a tube of KY lubricant. Anal beads. Monica cracked open a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, pouring a splash into a water glass of Coke.

Bob grinned. Yes, with both of his sisters. “So, we’re going to use these now?” he asked, his voice full of hope. He took a long sip of Jack and Coke.

“Yes, we are,” Monica said. She turned and slapped her tight ass. He followed his sisters to the bed at the back of the RV.

Kristy

The dining hall offered cold drinks and snacks. Kristy was both thirsty and hungry. Looking across the room, she spotted Pastor Scott huddled close with a young mother who sat completely nude, a baby nursing at her engorged breast. Sitting beside them was an older naked woman who, if Kristy had to guess, was the young mother’s own mom. From what she could see, the conversation appeared intense; the three of them sat so close their naked knees nearly touched.

She poured herself a big glass of cold lemonade and grabbed a small bag of Doritos from a basket. The staff was preparing for dinner, so she stayed clear of the kitchen doors. Sitting down close enough to eavesdrop if she concentrated, she tried to open the plastic chip bag without making a sound.

The baby, wrapped in a towel, was suckling from the redhead’s swollen right breast. Scott’s scalp showed a stark, pale tan line from his military haircut, the result of several weeks spent at Chaplain’s school for the Navy Reserve this summer. Scott was talking.

“Tami, I am so glad you came to me. Your husband will be fine. Three-Eight is a tight unit. They are a good bunch of Marines,” Scott said, laying a hand on her knee.

That the three of them were nude, tucked into a corner for privacy, would look odd to any outsider. But this was the dining hall of a nudist camp, and here the lack of clothes only seemed to strip away any barrier to their shared grief.

“How can I pray for you?” he asked, his voice calm and reassuring. His fingers gave her knee a gentle, supportive squeeze.

The older, auburn-haired woman spoke up, her plump bare breasts shifting as she gestured. “Kenny’s in Ramadi, infantry. He got hit by an IED last month—shrapnel and some burns—but they sent him right back to his unit. So, protection for him and his friends.” The young mom nodded silently, checking on the baby.

“Kristy, come here,” Scott said, having spotted her. “Would you join us? She is a member of my church back home,” he added, speaking to the women.

After what she had just done at the pool, Kristy felt far from clean, let alone worthy of having God’s ear. Still, she pushed back her chair, walked over, and took an empty seat next to Scott.

Scott took a slow breath, reached out to gently place his hands on their shoulders, and prayed. “Lord, we lift up Kenny to You tonight. Watch over him in the streets of Ramadi. Shield him and his fellow Marines from harm, give them courage in the dark, and bring him safely back across the ocean to this beautiful baby and the family who loves him. Amen.”

Reaching across to lay a hand on Tami’s thigh, Kristy cried silent tears—for the young mom, for the baby, and for her own sinful self. The woman’s husband was fighting in the same hellhole her dad had just returned from. It was bad. The news said so every night.

As they all stood, wiping away tears, Tami passed her baby to her mom, Glenda, who turned slightly to rock and coo to the sleeping child.

Scott wrapped his arms tightly around Tami. She was petite, allowing his head to rest gently on top of hers. As they held each other, Kristy noticed a blue ribbon tied around Tami’s left wrist, dangling a small silver cow-horn charm.

“Come here, Kristy,” Scott said, motioning with his free hand.

Stepping forward, she joined the impromptu group hug from behind, pressing into their shared sweaty warmth. As they broke the embrace, Kristy stood back, feeling the darkness she’d been carrying begin to fade.

Scott gently touched Tami’s chin until she looked him directly in the eyes. Then, with slow, deliberate reverence, he cupped her engorged breasts, weighing and squeezing them as his fingers tested her dark pink nipples. Prominent blue veins tracked faintly across her fair, petite chest while the right breast leaked slightly.

“Beautiful,” he said, smiling. “Soft like fawns still.”

The intimate touch was not unwelcome, Kristy noted, watching Tami accept the gesture without hesitation, her eyes tracking his movements. A thin silver chain hung between her engorged breasts, a small globe and anchor charm resting against her skin.

“Thank you, Pastor. Come by our cabin later for a drink?” Tami asked softly, lifting her left wrist to show him the charm. “Mother’s milk is sacred.” Behind her, her mom nodded in agreement.

Glenda leaned in. “She’s a novice now,” she said, a proud look on her face.