Day One, Monday, June 10, 2013
Anastasia

Notes: Takes place during Chapter 10.

It was six AM when I slipped out of the house for my morning jog, alone. My husband was still asleep, snoring like a lumberjack sawing wood. I wish Stan would join me, I would bug him to go jogging, to stay in shape, and he would, for a few days. And then his excuse would crop up. "I didn't get a good night sleep," Stan would say. Or, "Sorry, Ana, my knee's hurting." And for a few weeks I would drop the subject, and then start nagging him all over again and we'd start the cycle all over. It wasn't fair. Stan expect me to keep in good shape, the least he could do was return the favor.

Age was starting to catch up to Stan. He just turned thirty-one, and his metabolism was losing the war against the junk food I know he eats at work. He didn't get any junk food at home, only all natural, organic food was allowed in the house, but I knew he was cheating on my wholesome cooking with junk food behind my back. He lied, but Stan was such a bad liar I could see right through him. Particularly, when his lips tasted of Cheetos.

Well, it was better that he cheated on me with food than with one of those hussies at his work.

Which is why I was out jogging in my pink, Lycra tanktop and my black leggings. My Babushka always told me, "My little kotyonok, men are dogs, always sniffing at asses. So make sure your ass is better than any woman around your husband. Then, he will never stray." My mom would always frown at my Babushka, but me and my cousins would just giggle at her earthy wisdom. And my ass looked very nice in my tight leggings I was proud to say.

My earbuds in, and my iPod loaded with Taylor Swift and Sharon Crow, Beyonce and Rihanna, I jogged down Mountain View Court, the street our house was on, out onto Shaw Road, and turned left. From here I would jog up to 39th Avenue, cross Shaw Road and jog down to Pierce College. I would circle the campus and head for home.

The sun was rising beautifully over Mount Rainier as I made my return, jogging on 39th Avenue as I approached Shaw Road. I reached the intersection, hitting the crosswalk button and waited for the light to change. I could hear cars honking as they drove by over the soulful dulcet of Rihanna's Unfaithful. The light turned green and got halfway across the road when I saw what they were honking at.

I froze in the middle of Shaw Road. I couldn't be seeing that?

There, jogging down Shaw Road was a naked man.

He was about my age, late twenties, a little overweight, his fat jiggling as he jogged, and there, flopping between his legs, was a half-hard cock and a pair of balls. Bouncing up and down, side to side, like the trunk of an elephant. There was a naked man jogging down the road, I thought in disbelief. What is going on? I caught a hungry look in his blue eyes as he grew closer and closer. He was staring at me, his eyes running up and down my body. Fear shivered through me, ice water filled my veins.

What do I do? Panic gripped my mind. What do you do when a man is jogging naked at you? I reached for my phone, patting the non-existent pockets of my legging. Panic shivered across my skin, my hairs standing up. I didn't have my phone. My jogging outfit was too tight for a phone. And it was such a nice neighborhood, I never felt in danger jogging. Until now. Idiot!

He was closer, reaching the light. A car honked. The light had turned red while I stood frozen in the crosswalk, holding up traffic. He was getting closer and closer, reaching the crosswalk, his blue eyes fixed on me. Oh God, what do I do? He started crossing the road, maybe ten feet away. My feet started moving on their own as I saw his mouth open, yelling something. I couldn't hear what he said over the pulsing beat of Rihanna.

I had to get away. My black hair whipping behind me as I ran.

I glanced back and he was chasing after me, crossing Shaw Road, his cock bouncing about. Oh God, it was harder, poking straight at me, straight at my sex. He was getting excited. I could see his mouth opening, he was yelling something at me, but I still couldn't hear him over my iPod, over Rihanna. My heart pounded, adrenaline was coursing through my body as I stretched out my legs and really started to run.

The song ended.

"Stop!" A single word, barely heard, in the brief silence between songs.

And I stopped, nearly falling over from my sudden halt, the rubber soles of my shoes squeaking as they slid on the sidewalk. What the hell? Don't stop, stupid legs! Move! Get Moving! I glanced behind me and he was closer, breathing hard, his fleshy body flushed with exertion. His cock was hard, the head red and angry, rising out out of a forest of brown hair. More hair covered his flabby chest and stomach. Lust shined in his blue eyes. Run! Oh, please legs! Run! My heart was hammering in my chest. He was going to hurt me, rape me! God, he was going to rape me!

I screamed as loud as I could, "Help! Rape!"

The naked man was so close now, walking the last few feet with a confident swagger. He reached out and pulled out my earbuds. "Damn iPods," he muttered, breathing heavily. "What's your ... name?" Then grabbed his knees, struggling to catch his breath. Sweat gleamed on his naked body, and I could smell his exertion.

"Anastasia Milburn," I answered. God, his voice was so intense. It seemed to reach into me, touching my soul. How could I resist such a voice. You couldn't. The voice just had to be obeyed.

"Well, Anastasia, I'm Mark and I'm the founder of the Naked Jogging Club." His blue eyes roamed my body, a leer on his face. He stretched his back, arms on his side and drew in a deep breath, his cock thrusting obscenely out at me, hard and angry. Oh, please don't rape me! "And you are the perfect candidate to be the first recruit. So, from now on, you're part of my club, okay."

"Sure," I said. How could I say no to the man. Relief flooded through me. He didn't want to rape me, he just wanted me to join his club. Then I realized what I agreed to and flushed. "Does that mean I have to..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.

His grin broadened, became almost like a boys. "Yep. So start stripping."

Before I even realized it, I was peeling my Lycra top off, exposing my white sports bra. Mark grabbed my top, freeing me to reach behind my back and find the clasps to my sports bra. I fumbled with the clasp, feeling nervous about exposing myself. Cars were driving by us, honking their horns, yelling obscene things. My breasts were free and to my horror, my nipples were hard as rocks. I moved to cover my small breasts, 32Bs, but Mark grabbed my arm.

"Hmm, those are some nice tits," he murmured, reaching out to touch me. I flinched away. "You want me to touch you," his words vibrated in my soul. "You want me to fuck you. You're getting wet just thinking about it. So, just let me do what I want to you. You want to be my jogging slut, right Anastasia?"

I could feel my panties getting damp with desire. I glanced down at his hard cock. Imaging how it would feel pushing into my cunt, filling me up. What's wrong with you, Ana. You're married. You shouldn't be thinking that, hoping for it. But God, it would feel amazing. He looked a little bigger than Stan. I knelt down, telling myself it was just to untie my shoes so I could get my leggings off. It was just a coincidence that I was getting a good eyeful of his cock and balls.

Up close, his cock was big and powerful, twitching with his heartbeat. I don't know why I had been so scared of you, I thought. His cock will feel amazing as he thrust it inside me. There was a drop of clear liquid beading at the tiny slit at the crown of his dick. I licked my lips, part of me wanting to stick out my tongue and taste Mark's pre-cum, to suck his dick into my mouth and bob my head. Get a grip, Ana, you're on a busy street. I finished untying my shoes and stood up.

I peeled off my tight leggings and my powder blue panties in one motion, exposing my naked body to the entire world. I bent down, making sure Mark could see my ass and pussy and my bush getting matted with my excitement. I wanted Mark's cock, God help me. I wanted it so bad. I wouldn't object if he took me right here.

"Your pussy hair's blonde," Mark blinked. "You dye your hair black?"

I nodded. "I don't like being blonde," I said. "Everyone thinks you're a bimbo."

Mark laughed. "So many women would kill to be blonde and you go and dye your hair."

I smiled, pulling on my shoes.

"All right," Mark said, staring lustfully at me as I retied my jogging shoes. "Head home, and I'll follow. I want to stare at the ass. It's so nice and tight."

I could feel his hungry eyes the entire jog back to my house. I put a roll to my ass, as sexy a sway as I could manage while jogging. My small breasts bounced uncomfortably and I missed wearing the sports bra clutched in my right hand. But Mark wanted me naked, and there was a certain freedom in showing my assets, especially my tight ass, off to the world.

My Babushka was right, men loved sniffing at another woman's ass. "Men will come sniffing at your ass, my little kotyonok, and that can be much fun." There had been such a wicked smile on her wrinkled, old face when she told my cousin's and I that and we all tittered at her naughty intimation. Well, Stan, you didn't want to come jogging, and now another man's come sniffing at my ass. And I was going to have some fun, I thought with a wicked smile.

Soon, I reveled in every car honking, every lewd shout. All these people were just jealous that they didn't have the courage to be as free as us. My elation faded, however, when the flashing lights of a cop car pulled up and a stern looking man got out of the car. Oh no, what would Stan think when he found out his wife was jogging naked. With a strange man. I couldn't go to jail.

"Hi, I'm Mark Glassner," Mark shouted at the cop, "whatever I do is legal! If anyone says, 'I'm Mary Sullivan.' or 'I serve Mark Glassner' do what they say."

"Yes, sir," the cop saluted and got back in his car and drove off.

Mark had a grin on his face and he smacked my ass. "Keep jogging, slut," he barked at me, "I want to fuck that cunt." His words shivered through my body, I was his slut. I was Stan's wife, but I was Mark's slut.

"I can't wait to feel your cock inside me," I heard myself husk back. I was such a slut.

The thrill, the excitement, pushed me to jog faster. Mark was struggling to keep up, as excited as I was. I was his motivation, I realized. He needed my ass, the promise of my cunt, to keep him going. He looked fairly new to jogging, he was definitely out of shape. I was honored to be his motivation and I flashed him inviting smiles as I ran, shaking my pretty ass, urging him to keep up, to claim his reward.

We reached my house. "I live just across the street," Mark said, pointing.

"Oh, isn't that the Fitzsimmons house?"

"I took Brandon's house from him, but kept his wife," he said. "She's a great fuck."

"Is Desiree one of your sluts?" I asked. Like me, I wanted to add but just didn't have the courage.

"Yeah," he grinned. "One of my many sluts." He groped my ass. "No, let's get inside your house so I can get inside your cunt."

I opened the door and he grabbed me, pulling my body against his and kissing me on the lips. His mouth forcefully captured mine, sticking his tongue past my lips. His hard cock pressed into my stomach, my hard nipples pressed against his hairy chest, being tickled by his curly hair. His hands squeezed my ass, kneading my cheeks. My husband was upstairs, asleep, and I was making out with another man, naked. A naughty shiver ran up my spine.

Mark broke the kiss and I squirmed out of his grasp, backing out of the doorway, dropping my clothes on the floor. He stalked after me and it was so thrilling. He was chasing me all over again, just like when he chased me down the road. I fled into the kitchen, but I wasn't fast enough and he caught me, pushing me against the island counter in the center of the kitchen, bending me over it, his hand stroking my ass.

Upstairs, I could hear my husband walking about. Fear spiked in me. There was a gurgling sound as he started the shower and water moved through the pipes. "No, my husband's awake early," I gasped. "You'll have to go."

"Fuck that," Mark growled and then he was inside me and I was moaning as the pleasure filled my body. His cock felt amazing, better than I could imagine.

Fear and lust battled within me. Oh god, it was so amazing. Stan was upstairs, showering, probably whistling some stupid show tune, while I was down here, his loving wife, getting fucked hard by the man who made me his slut. Mark was fucking me powerfully, not caring that my husband might finish his shower and walk downstairs any minute and catch him. Not caring that Stan might hear the slap of flesh, our sighs and moans, and come downstairs to investigate.

"Fuck," I gasped, "oh fuck this is so wrong!"

"That's what makes it feel so good, slut," Mark growled and fucked me harder and harder.

His balls were slapping against my clit, building my pleasure more and more as his cock felt so amazing inside my cunt. "Yes, yes, fuck me!" I hissed. "Oh, fuck you're a naughty, little slut!"

The island creaked from the force of Mark's thrusts, the cabinet doors rattled as my knees were knocking into them. God, I felt so good, so naughty! I loved my Stan, but Mark was making me feel so fucking alive! I knew this wouldn't be the last time I let Mark fuck me. My orgasm was building and building, every thrust of his cock, every slap of his balls on my clit, brought me closer and closer.

The shower upstairs shut off. "Oh no," I gasped as fear surged through me. Stan couldn't see this, it would break his heart. "You have to hurry!"

I could hear Stan moving around upstairs. He would be getting dressed, then coming downstairs for his coffee. I had started the pot before I left for my jog. I glanced at the coffee pot, imagining my husband walking in, making it halfway to the coffee pot in his half-awake daze and then realizing that his wife was getting her cheating cunt pounded on by a strange man. This was so fucking wrong! I slammed my hips back against Mark and let out a stifled moan as my orgasm exploded throughout my body.

"Yes, yes!" I gasped. "Oh, fuck, please hurry, Mark!"

The bedroom door closed. Oh, no he was coming! Mark slammed into me once, twice. The footsteps were nearing the stairs. Then Mark was cumming inside me, his hot cum flooding my slutty cunt. The stairs creaked and I moaned as Mark yanked his cock out of me and. There was a huge grin on Mark's face, and then he turned and raced for the front door.

"Tomorrow, my house, be naked!" he shouted as he reached the door.

"Yes," I happily answered.

Mark opened the door and slammed it. "Honey, you back," my husband called, hearing the door close.

I was right behind Mark, pulling on my leggings over my shoes then grabbing my top, pulling it over my breasts and turned around as my husband walked up, looking half-awake in his sweat pants, his hair damp from his shower. I could feel Mark's cum leaking into the fabric of my leggings, soaking the spandex material as my husband bent down and kissed me on the lips.

"Have a nice jog, Ana?" he asked as he walked by. I sighed in relief, he didn't notice my underwear on the floor or smell the semen leaking out of my cunt. Stan wasn't alive in the morning before his second cup of coffee, thank God.

"Yeah, it was quite thrilling!" I said with a smile. "I'm going to take a shower, I'm all sweaty."

"Okay, Ana," he said. I could hear him pouring a cup of coffee. I grabbed my underwear and raced upstairs to wash the evidence of my adultery off my body.

Day Two, Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Madeleine

Notes: Takes place during Chapter 13.

I wondered how Louise was doing as I jogged out of my driveway.

On Sunday, I had found the poor girl sitting in her car watching my next-door neighbor's house. Louise had said her husband, some cad named Mark, was shacking up with Desiree Fitzsimmons, my neighbor. Desiree was Brandon's second wife. The hussy clearly didn't marry Brandon for his looks. And now she had another guy shacked up with her.

So I invited Louise to stay in my house, I felt so bad for the poor dear, and when I got home from work yesterday, she was gone. There was some commotion at the Fitzsimmons house last night. The police and ambulances showed up and when I woke up this morning, the news reported that Louise had tried to kill Mark last night. The poor, sweet dear. It would be just like a man to get a woman so riled up she'd try and kill him.

I knew what that was like when I caught my Albert in bed with his secretary, and was itchin' to kill the both of 'em. But, I was a good Christian woman, so I kicked him and his hussy's ass out of my house and slapped him with divorce papers. Last I heard, he had knocked the stupid bimbo up and they were making each other miserable.

I reached the end of my street and turned onto Shaw and stopped in surprise. There was a naked man and woman not ten feet in front of me. "St. Peter's ghost," I gasped. It was Mark, that disgusting hound dog that drove poor Louise to her wits-end, and ... Anastasia from across the street. Poor Stan. He was such a nice guy, shame his wife was some sort streakin' hussy.

"Stop," Mark said and I froze. His words seemed to reach right inside me and froze my legs in place. "Hi, aren't you a pretty one."

"Hi Madeleine," Anastasia said. "She lives next door to you, Mark."

"Do you think she should join our club?" Mark asked her.

"Oh, definitely," Anastasia said and hugged me, rubbing her naked body against me. "It's great, Madeleine. You get to jog naked. And afterwards, Mark fucks you with his cock."

"What kind of back alley tramp do you take me for, sugar?" I demanded angrily. My eyes flickered down to his hard cock pointing at me. "I am a God-fearing, good Christian woman. Not some sort of ... of jogging floozy."

"The kind that wants to join my club," Mark said, a boyish grin on his face. "You want to, don't you. You can't wait to strip off your clothes and enjoy the freedom of running naked. Your pussy's getting wetter and wetter just thinking about my cock filling your cunt, fucking you until you have a mind-numbing orgasm."

I could feel my cooter moistening. It was like a levy broke and flooded the gusset of my panties. Oh God, I was suddenly as randy as a goat. "I would like to join your club," I muttered. Why did I say that. It was his voice, so deep and powerful that it resonated within me. My eyes again were drawn to his hard cock. What would it feel like inside me, filling me up.

"What's the magic word?" Mark asked with a smirk.

He wanted me to beg. I wicked thrill went though my body and I felt as wanton as a cheerleader after homecoming. "Please, sugar," I husked, "let me join your club. Pretty please."

"Since you asked so nicely with that delightful Southern drawl of yours," Mark said. "Welcome to club."

Well, I guess I better start stripping. I felt as slatternly as an Old Miss sorority girl at a frat party as I pulled of my tanktop. My face burning, as I released the clasp on my sports bra, exposing my tits. They were still a great pair, I thought, maybe not as perky as they were when I was eighteen, but still were quite fetching. A car honked as it drove by and I saw pink flushing Anastasia's face. I guess she wasn't as nonchalant about about being naked as she pretended.

Mark smacked my ass, giving my plump cheeks a squeeze. The older I got, the harder it was to keep my ass as tight as a teenagers. My breasts bounced about as I jogged, up and down, uncomfortably so. Anastasia jogged next to me, and I kept glancing at her small, perkier breasts as they bounced. There was something almost hypnotic about a woman's breasts bouncing up and down.

"Are you a budding dyke?" Mark asked me. He was behind us, staring at our asses to motivate him to

keep jogging. "I'm no rug muncher, sugar," I answered, flushing at getting caught staring at another woman's tits.

"Your mouth is just salivating to munch of Anastasia's rug, slut," Mark said and I found myself licking my lips, my eyes wandering down to Anastasia's rug and I realized she was a natural blonde. Why would she dye her hair black, her pubic hair looked as soft and yellow as cornsilk. I wondered what she tasted like. I remember tasting my own honey when I was a teenager and first discovered ticklin' my cooter.

My honey was leaking down my legs by the time we reached my house, my curly pubes must be positively matted with my desire. I jogged up to my door, my cheeks red. Anyone of my neighbors could see just how wanton I had suddenly become if they looked out their windows. My keys were in my shorts pocket and I was fumbling through the bundle of clothes I clutched in my hand when Mark pressed up behind me, his cock hard on my ass.

"Hmm, I can't wait any longer to feel your cunt on my cock," Mark growled in my ear.

"Out here, Mark?" Anastasia nervously asked, glancing across the street to her house. "What if my husband sees me."

"You said he doesn't usually wake up until eight," Mark told her, I could feel his cock between my legs, brushing against the lips of my wet cootch. "Plenty of time," he moaned as his dick pushed up inside me. I moaned, he felt so wonderful inside me as he took me right there on his porch, like a bull mounting his heifer.

"He woke up early yesterday," Anastasia pleaded. "We almost got caught."

Mark was slowly fucking me and he pulled Anastasia mouth to his and kissed her. "You want to be a good wife and spare your husband pain, right?"

Anastasia nodded. She gasped as Mark's hand cupped her crotch and began ticklin' her cooter. "Yes, I love him. I don't want him to know about ... us."

"Well, you're my slut," Mark said forcefully, fucking me a little harder. "And my sluts get fucked whenever and wherever I want them to."

"Okay," Anastasia nodded. Then her face transformed into such wantonness, and she moaned, "Umm, your finger feels good inside me."

"Maybe your husband is watching right now," Mark whispered. "Watching you from a window. How do you think he'd feel, knowing his wife is being such a slut for me."

"Don't say that," Anastasia pleaded. "He'd hate me."

Mark was fucking me faster, my breasts were rubbing against the painted wood of my door. Every thrust of his dick felt better than the last, rubbing wickedly against my sensitive walls. I heard my self yowling like a cat in heat getting mounted by a tomcat. I started pushing back with my hips as the pleasure grew stronger and stronger inside me.

"Maybe he'll pull his little dick out and jerk it, wishing he could make you into his slut," Mark moaned as he pounded my cooter. "Wishing he had the stones to make you his bitch! All while he's envying me for making you so such a wanton slut!"

"Yes, yes!" Anastasia moaned, her tits heaving as an orgasm trembled through her body. "Oh, my Stan! Make me your slut!"

Mark pulled his fingers out of her cunt and licked her juices off his finger. "When we finish here, why don't you go to your husband and see if he's man enough to make a slut out of you."

A smile broadened Anastasia face. "I will, Mark."

Mark was really pounding my cooter, every plunge of his cock made my nipples rub roughly against the door, adding spice to the orgasm cooking in my womb. Anastasia's panting face was so close to mine, her lips red and enticing. I felt so wicked, so wanton. I leaned over and captured her lips in a kiss. It was my first time kissing a woman, and her lips were so soft, so gentle as she kissed me back.

"You cunt feels great," Mark groaned into my ear. "Do you want me to cum in your cunt? I bet you do. I bet you want nothing more than my cum flooding your juicy cunt!"

Oh god, I wasn't on the pill. I didn't have my diaphragm in. But God did I want his seed inside me, even if he might get pregnant. I was so hot for it. I broke the kiss, and wantonly husked "Yes, please, fill my cooter up, fill up my cunt! It's as eager as a beaver gnawing on a log for your seed, Mark!" My admission triggered my orgasm and I moaned my pleasure for all the neighborhood to hear.

I could feel Mark's cum flooding my cooter, flooding my fertile womb. His sperm could be swimming up to my womb, to where a fertile little egg waited to be penetrated. "Take my cum, slut!" Mark groaned, slamming his cock into me again, and again, and one last, hard thrust before he pressed up against my back, breathing hard.

As we stumbled into my house, Anastasia grabbed me and lead me to my couch. She pushed me down, knelt and spread my thighs and began eating the creamy mess Mark left inside me. Her tongue felt amazing on my labia. My husband would never dream of going down on me, and none of my past boyfriends would either. Getting your rug munched felt so amazing. Anastasia's tongue explored all over my cooter, sucking on my lips, nibbling on hard little pearl, and spreading me wide open and digging her tongue deep inside me.

Mark was kneeing behind Anastasia, lining up his cock at her eager cooter. Anastasia moaned into my cootch as Mark slid inside her. Soon there would be a creamy mess in Anastasia's rug for me to clean up, and I couldn't wait to return the favor.

Day Three, Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Belinda

Notes: Takes place during Chapter 15.

"Come on, mom," Cassie cajoled, jogging backwards. The girl had too much energy and fifteen years on me.

Cassie was almost a spitting image of me at fifteen. We had the same, beautiful shade of honey-brown hair; Cassie was still long and tied back in a ponytail with a pink scrunchy, while mine was shorter, in an easier to manage haircut. Cassie had my dainty nose, my pouty lips, and my delicate cheekbones. She had her father's hazel eyes, and her build was slim and lithe, just like my mother-in-laws. She didn't get her mother's curves, that's for sure. I often caught her envious stares at me D Cups and she would whine about how small her breasts were.

"C'mon slowpoke," Cassie said with a mischievous smile.

"Slowpoke," I said in mock outrage. "Is that anyway to address your mother! I ought to tan your backside!"

"You'd have to catch me first, mom," Cassie said and turned back around and sprinted away.

Even after sixth months of jogging with Cassie, I didn't have anywhere close to her endurance. When I decided I needed to get in better shape, Cassie volunteered to keep my company while I jogged. Truthfully, I would have quit ages ago if Cassie didn't seem to look so forward to our morning jogs. I had finally found a way to hang out with my babygirl again, and it was worth all the sweat and pain of jogging. Besides, my efforts had started to pay off. I've lost thirty pounds, most of it off my ass and stomach, and I was feeling sexy again. And Oscar, my husband, was enjoying the results almost nightly, now.

"Belinda, your ass is looking as great as it did when you were twenty," Oscar told me just last night, when he came up and rubbed my ass through my nightie. "As beautiful as the night we made Cassie."

We were pretty sure I got knocked up on our honeymoon, or maybe right before the wedding. Cassie was earlier than we planned, apparently the pill isn't one hundred percent. Our first few years of marriage were a little rocky, and money was very tight until Oscar got a few promotions under his belt. And now, I wouldn't have had it happened any other way. Cassie was growing up to be such a fine young lady.

We reached the light at 39th Avenue and Shaw Road and waited for the light to turn green.

"Mom?" Cassie said, tugging at my shirt sleeve. There was a panic, urgent tone to her voice.

Cassie was looking across Shaw Road where three people were jogging naked. I blinked in surprise. There were two women, one was a black-haired woman in her late twenties and the other was a brunette in her early thirties, who was maybe a year or two younger then myself. Behind them was a naked man, his cock obscenely hard, bouncing about in front of him as he jogged. They were just reaching the crosswalk across Shaw Road from us.

"Mom, their naked!" Cassie gasped in a strangled tone, then looked down at the ground, her face flushing.

Cassie flushed like a girl who'd never seen a cock before. She always claimed she was a virgin, and I never questioned her claim. When I was her age, I already had lost my cherry and had a pregnancy scare. The condom had broken and for two weeks I was in a panic that I was pregnant. Then my period came, two days late, to my great relief. My life would have been so different if Billy Caldwell had knocked me up at fourteen and I hoped my daughter would make some better life choices.

Why were they naked? Maybe there was some naked jogging event going on, today. You always heard about those up in Seattle and maybe they've spread south. Or maybe that was a naked bike ride they had up in Seattle? I couldn't remember. I looked up Shaw Road, expecting to see more naked jogger that I failed to notice the light changed and when I glanced back at the naked trio, they were halfway across Shaw Road, the black-haired woman waving friendly at us.