Cypress Cove Nudist Resort (Short Story)

[EddieDavidson]

This is a largely true story, set in the 1980s, intended to be short.

Codes: There is some domestic discipline, reluctant nudity, but also some girls without modesty.


This is one of the images I'd probably use for the title.

[EddieDavidson]

(A complete rewrite of chapter one)

No shit, there I was in Cypress Cove Nudist Resort. I stood around naked in the general store that sold beer, chips, and general sundries. I didn’t need anything. There were two hot girls sucking on red popsicles by the cash register, and they blew my mind.

I’d never been to a nudist resort before, and I’d only seen old white women with fat tits and butts since I arrived.

The girls might as well have been twins. It was the 1980s, and they wore their sandy blonde hair like a couple of video vixens from MTV. Their hair was teased out with hairspray. They had mischievous eyes and giggled a lot to one another. They had small boobs but really cute asses, and their bodies were kissed by the sun and tanned to a light golden brown all over—no tan lines.

The cashier was naked behind the counter. He had square-rimmed glasses and a long handlebar mustache with a beard. He looked a little creepy and perverted to me. He clearly ogled the girls, and they knew it.

I wasn’t sure what they were saying to him or each other, but it didn’t really matter to me. I was a little older than them, and my trip to Cypress Cove was a quest to see tits and ass out in the open; I succeeded admirably in that goal. I blended in with the other customers in the store. They were naked as well.

Most people wore towels over their shoulders to sit on, but these girls wore nothing at all—not even sandals. They were obviously comfortable with their own nudity. One of the girls was slightly shorter than the other, but they looked almost identical in the face. She picked her butt with her fingernail as she stood there with a dumb founded expression on her face.

There was something sexy to me about dumb girls, that I couldn’t explain.

I suppose there was something sexy to me about smart girls too, but for entirely different reasons.

The thing is, they clearly weren’t stupid. They were streetwise and I just didn’t know that yet.

I knew she probably didn't even think about what she was doing when she reached around and played with her ass, but it was strangely arousing how free she was with her body. I’d grown up around girls who would NEVER walk around naked, and being at a nudist resort was an education of sorts for me—but it was also hot as fuck.

She even sniffed her finger absent mindedly when she finished. Her sister glared at her, but I don’t think the smaller girl noticed, or if she did, she didn’t care.

Then, she looked around as if checking to see who was watching and the slightly smaller of the two girls bent at the waist to look at something on the bottom shelf and held her popsicle in her mouth. I could swear I could see her little butthole between her ass crack and the nub of her pussy lips.

I had to get closer to be sure. I felt the girls were playing with me to see how I’d react. I felt like their sexy, golden asses were bait, and they intentionally tried to lure me closer or fuck with my head and shock me.

[[[ image 01_ass.png goes here centered ]]]

I started to make my way closer to get a better look and eavesdrop on their conversation. I was not proud of it, but I was alone, horny, and curious.

“Rebel, I am bored,” the girl who picked her ass complained to her older sister.

“Good, that makes two of us. There isn’t shit to do here, and we’ve got all day to do it again,” Rebel answered her.

“Maybe we should hit the pool and see if those boys are back there?” her little sister offered.

“Nah, Mom is there, and she’ll punish us if she catches us around those guys again. We need to wait for them, Stormy.”

The girls took turns and playfully sucked on their popsicles. I could tell they were trying to fuck with the cashier’s head because they clearly made it seem like they were taking turns sucking a dick. The girls were playfully competitive, and the slightly taller one was determined to ‘win’ by pushing the entire popsicle down her throat without gagging.

The other girl choked and sputtered when she tried to do the same thing. That made her older sister laugh at her. She blushed as she recovered and didn’t try it again, but honestly, that was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen a girl do at that point in my life. She was so vulnerable in that moment that I just wanted to watch her choke on my cock the same way.

“That guy is cute,” I heard the smaller of the two say, and my ears perked up.

“Which guy?” Rebel asked without moving her head.

“The one who has been staring at us with the grape soda in his hand,” Stormy said.

SHIT, I was the guy with the grape soda. I casually introduced myself to avoid looking like a stalker. “I wasn’t staring,” I lied. The girls clearly didn’t believe me.

“It’s okay, looking is free, we’re used to it,” Rebel said and turned to face me. “I am Rebel and this is Stormy, what’s your name?”

“Eddie,” I replied and shook her hand. I wished I hadn’t. It was sticky from the popsicle and who knows what else. Just the touch of her hand was enough to make my cock twitch. She noticed and gave me a knowing smirk, as if she were flattered.

“I’ve never been here before. I drove for four hours from Naples, if you’ve ever heard of it?” I asked. Naples was a dumpy little town south of Fort Myers, but back in the 1980s, it had more millionaires per capita than Boca Raton. Needless to say, I wasn’t one of them and came from the poor side of town.

The girls had no idea where it was, and that was obvious from their expressions. “Naples sounds like nipples,” Stormy giggled and briefly brought her finger up to her left nipple to circle it slowly.

“Cool, cool. You came up here by yourself?” Rebel seemed more intent on vetting me for some nefarious purpose that I’d soon discover.

“Um, yeah,” I admitted. “They said they don’t normally admit single guys, but since I was young and knew people in the Sanibel Naturists, they made an exception.”

The girls could care less about that. I barely knew anything about a group of nudists that used to run around naked on Sanibel Island, other than they had a “Nude Year's Eve party” that was for wife swapping—which was scandalous to me back then.

“Eddie, do you think you could do us a favor?” they asked and ushered me away from the cashier. The look on his face suggested he wasn't surprised that they needed a favor.

“Depends,” I tried to sound cavalier, but I was completely down. “My sister and I are totally of age to drink, but as you can see, we don’t have any wallets or a place to store money,” they said as they patted their tits and Stormy even patted her butt cheeks as if that might be an option.

“Would you mind buying us some wine coolers, and we can go drink them together?”

I was a little older than them, and back then the drinking age was much lower than it is now, so I really didn't doubt they were of age because they seemed physically mature. I wasn’t used to being hit on this aggressively, and I became a little nervous.

“Well, I don’t have any money, either,” I indicated my nudity.

“Do you want to get some wine coolers and we could go party?” Rebel’s voice was sulky and inviting.

“Gosh, everybody at the Cove is so friendly,” I observed. “Yeah, we could get to know you a little better,” Stormy said and sucked on her popsicle in a suggestive way that implied getting to know me meant sucking my dick.

I was flattered but nervous, and too naive to know that I was their prey or that they would have made this offer to anyone who they thought would buy them booze. I genuinely thought for a moment I must be pretty cool, or there just weren’t enough younger guys at Cypress Cove and I had been in the right place at the right time.

This was a time when commercials were made about hot women driving up to ask you if you were wearing Cavaricci jeans. If you answered yes, they let you hop in their sports car and drove away with you. I definitely believed that fairy tale might come true.

“Maybe we could party in your car? You could run the A/C and get us cold while we get hot,” Rebel’s suggestive flirtation was hard to refuse. It seemed like she was no stranger to getting it on with a guy while her sister was there, and that blew my mind.

I didn’t think they might do something with me together. I assumed I’d have to pick one, but I was still nervous enough to be reluctant. “C’mon, you could charge it to your room if you are staying in the motel. It’s so boring here and we’d really appreciate it,” Stormy said. She made it sound like she’d suck my cock or more in exchange for a wine cooler.

She didn’t say those words, but the way she used her eyes to guilt me was very effective. “No, I am not staying in the motel. I have a pup tent that I don’t even know how to put up. I am sleeping in the overflow area,” I explained.

The Cove had recently built the first motel on the property that featured little apartments for rent. The Cove had mostly RV campers and mobile homes packed onto tight little one-lane streets that surrounded a single hub that featured the store, a restaurant or two, the lake, and the swimming pool.

The motel was just across the street, but it was way too expensive for my means back then. I didn't even consider staying in it.

They had an overflow area that was super cheap. I had driven my Chrysler LeBaron four hours non-stop from Naples after work to get there on Saturday morning. I had no idea where I was going to sleep or how to set up a tent.

The girls instantly became dejected and decided to rescind the offer without saying as much. Their shoulders fell, and they clearly lost patience with me. My mind was reeling because I had no good excuse other than this was way too good to be true, and I was far too inexperienced to know what to do with these hot girls.

“Okay, well,” Stormy seemed disappointed. “Do you have anything to smoke?” She raised her eyebrows hopefully.

“Weed, preferably,” Rebel added. “We left our smokes at home and don’t have any up our butts we can pull out,” she joked. Rebel lifted her leg and turned her hips to make it seem like she was showing me she had nothing.

“I don’t smoke at all,” I admitted.

“What? You have that pretty long blonde hair and look like you are a roller,” Rebel said as she touched my hair without asking. That freaked me out a little.

I had a thick mustache and wore my hair long back then. “No, I work in radio, and I need to protect my voice,” I said and backed away slightly.

I felt like the girls were peer-pressuring me or turning the tables and shaking me down a bit. “Radio? What station?” they asked excitedly. “Dubya Diz 100?” Stormy nearly jumped for excitement, and her little tits bounced as she did.

“No, WAVV FM-101,” I explained it was a station in Naples. “I was always told I had a face for radio,” I told an old radio DJ joke that implied I was too ugly for television, but it went over the girls' heads and they didn’t even register what I said.

“Does it play real rock or that Debbie Gibson shit?” Rebel scrunched her nose in disgust at the idea of the top 40 music of the time.

“Neither,” I explained apologetically. “The format is adult contemporary,” I said. When I realized that they had no clue what that was, I listed off some musical artists.

“It’s Jimmy Buffett, Billy Joel, Barbra Streisand, light jazz, stuff like that,” I said. I noticed they didn’t register any of those.

“We like AC/DC, Motley Crue, Ratt, Poison, Cinderella,” Rebel told me as she finished her popsicle and pushed the last bit of the stick down her throat without gagging. Even though I had never had a proper blowjob, it was impossibly sexy to me, and I was incredibly turned on by it.

“You like Cinderella, but I like White Lion,” Stormy told her sister. She put the rest of the popsicle between her lips and twisted it as if she enjoyed having anything in her mouth. I didn’t think she fully realized that I was visualizing my cock between her lips.

A part of me realized the girls were far more mature and worldly than they let on, and I was being played, but a part of me didn’t give a fuck. I was just happy they were talking to me. I kept glancing down at the scrubby, sandy blonde hair covering their pussies and their cute little puffy nipples, but I was afraid to stare.

“Fuck White Lion, they are pussies. Wait…Way-Ait, I never had a chance to be a fucking pussy,” Rebel sneered as she sang the lyrics to White Lion’s hit. I can’t hear that song today without thinking about that hot and sweaty naked Saturday morning.

“Mom says pussies are indestructible and tough as hell,” Rebel said and slapped her pussy lips hard enough to make a sound. “Try kicking a guy in the nuts and see how delicate they are,” she said and brought her knee up close to my dick. I flinched away.

“Fuck, don’t be scared. I wasn’t going to really kick you in the balls.” “You should; this motherfucker wants to look at our tits and he doesn’t want to party,” Rebel decided curtly.

“Come on, let’s go cruise the pool and see what kind of trouble we can get into,” she insisted. “But Mom and Dad are there,” Stormy warned. She was already strutting away with her sister.

They wiggled their asses in sync as they walked away, and that was a kind of nice parting gift as far as I was concerned. “Fuck Mom and Dad, stop being such a pussy, Stormy,” Rebel warned. She immediately remembered what her sister said and corrected, “Not a pussy like this, a pussy like White Lion,” and slapped her own pussy.

They weren’t sweet or innocent. They were salty and reminded me of country girls. The kind that lived down dirt roads who will fuck you out of boredom or as a favor. They had an ease about their nudity that made me envy how comfortable they were with it. I assumed they lived there and had adjusted really well to being ogled.

The cashier told me after they left that those girls ARE trouble, and that last week he caught them shoplifting. “Where would a nudist hide something she stole?” I asked and pulled my wallet out from under my towel.

I had brought it with me, but I didn’t want to tell them that. He answered by raising his eyebrows up and down, and I got the impression he was implying they stuck them up their asses or in their pussies.

“Their parents spanked their asses red, white, and blue right here in the store,” he smiled as if he had really enjoyed that show. I didn’t know anything about erotic spanking back then and didn’t fully understand why he seemed so happy about it. I assumed he just wanted the girls to get what was coming to them.

I didn’t get a chance to clarify, and I wasn’t sure he would have told me anyway. As I was paying for my grape soda, the girls came back in arm in arm with two older guys.

They were older than me, and one had a mustache. The guys walked with the confident swagger of two young redneck assholes, shoulders back, dongs swayed as they headed straight to the cooler to pick up some wine coolers.

“Orange or green, babe?” one of them asked. In the 1980s, there weren’t many flavors of wine coolers. They were ostensibly marketed to a younger audience that grew up on orange soda and Mountain Dew and even came in two-liter plastic bottles.

“I don’t give a shit, you pick,” Rebel said and picked her butt absent-mindedly. She glanced over her shoulder and knotted her brow at me as if to say, “You had your chance, now scram.” Stormy gave me the same look as I left the store and made my way to the pool area.

There were more golf carts than cars parked in front. The locals treated them like status symbols. The fenced-in area featured a library of nudist literature of the American Association for Nude Recreation.

I definitely wasn’t going in there. It looked stuffy, and the big woman behind the desk rested her heavy tits on the desk while she waited for company. The Cove had a game room with pool tables and air hockey. They had a playground area.

They had a gym and a bar called “Cheeks” that sold beer and hamburgers all day and into the evening. There was music playing. I recognized it immediately; it was the bouncing instrumental “Breezin’” by George Benson. It was the kind of music we played on my radio station. The music wafted over the pool.

The sun was shining up in the sky, and it was a bright clear Florida day. It wasn’t quite noon yet, but I could smell the hot dogs, and burgers on the grill over at Cheeks. The music was light and airy, and I could just make out the sound of seagulls overhead as they whipped around playing in the wind.

It was a fantastic day, and it had only just begun. I couldn’t describe the vibe to you. It wasn’t sexual, or decadent. It was strangely relaxing and it felt like I had no worries of any kind. I could see the appeal of being there.

I didn’t understand why I didn’t feel the same way at a community pool when everyone wore bathing suits, but I have to admit it felt very natural to be naked. People seemed friendly and accepting, but no one talked to me or acknowledged me directly.

Most people at the Cove came there to relax and just fart around in the sun. They weren’t interested in talking to some newbie like me. There didn’t seem to be anything sexual or salacious going on. It was just quite literally fun in the sun. That didn’t stop me from continuing my quest to see all the tits and ass that I could see that day.

I planned to get my money worth of what I had spent to drive up there. This was shaping up to be a fantastic time, but not in the way I had expected.

There were other little stores around the swimming pool. The Cove even featured some massage tables out in the open. No one was working there. I’d heard massage parlors give ‘happy endings,’ and I wondered if people had theirs out in the open. The thing was, there wasn't a boner in sight. It was a super taboo thing to walk around hard.

It wasn’t easy for a guy my age to manage, but I was doing a passing job of being semi-hard. I kind of liked it that way—it made it look like I had a bigger dick than most guys.

I didn’t have much interest in checking out any of those places. I made a bee-line for the pool. That was where most people were, and that’s where I wanted to be.

I reached the main attraction and looked for a sun lounger to place my towel. The pool was packed, and there wasn't anywhere I could put my stuff.

There were couples standing around in the water, having a good time. Most were talking amongst themselves. Some were drinking cocktails or beer. There were only white people, and most were over fifty.

There were also a few younger families at the pool enjoying the sun. I took a lap to size up my options, and none of what I saw really appealed to me all that much.

The typical demographic at Cypress Cove was over 55: gray hair, droopy boobs, droopy butts, droopy and wrinkled everything. I used to think 55 was pretty old until I became 55 myself.

A few of the older women had breast jobs, and it was such a jarring dichotomy of symmetrical, perfect tits jutting straight out. They frequently wore nipple piercings and had tattoos, and then the rest of their once-perfect bodies were natural and sagged in all the places that gravity and age make them sag.

The Cove’s demographic was mostly couples or families. You almost never saw a singleton like me. I wasn’t really welcome or encouraged to come, but they didn’t turn me away when I arrived.

I finally spotted a decent-looking blonde with big fat tits. I didn’t know the word “MILF” back then, but this woman definitely was one. She didn’t have any visible tattoos like the other women, and she seemed completely content to sit at the edge of the pool, legs slightly apart, and space out.

Her husband was nearby. He seemed kind of average, and I didn’t pay much attention to him as he cracked a beer and wandered near his wife. The two of them kept to themselves.

“You can put your stuff with ours if you want too,” the guy offered in a welcoming tone. His wife turned her head to look me up and down and didn’t disagree.

“People at the Cove are so friendly,” I smiled and introduced myself. “I am David, and this is my wife Carol,” he replied. I shook his hand and placed my towel, wallet, and sandals near the sun lounger they had claimed.

They had a big white cooler, and I didn’t see any shoes or sandals. “No sandals?” I asked as I joined them in the water.

“We aren’t wearing clothes, Eddie. Why would we wear shoes?” Carol asked me rhetorically. I didn’t know what rhetorical meant back then.

“The asphalt is fucking hot!” I warned. “Yep, the pool deck is hot too! It’s something you have to get used to. It’s your first time at a naturist resort?”

She looked at me and asked while she held her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. “Yeah, I am from Naples. I drove up here in four hours. They told me at the gate they don’t normally let single guys in, but they made an exception for me,” I explained.

“It sounded like you said you were from Nipples for a moment,” Carol laughed. I rotated around in the cold water and adjusted to the temperature while angling myself to get a better view of her body.

“They just don’t want creepy guys coming here to hit on all the women.” “Don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you, Eddie. We love to meet first-time naturists. How do you like it so far? Is it kind of overwhelming at first?”

“I didn’t know what to expect,” I admitted truthfully. “It’s not overwhelming. I am just trying not to offend anyone and have a good time.”

“You can try, but you can’t offend us,” David assured me. “If you need or want anything, all you have to do is ask.”

“My advice is sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen,” Carol offered politely. Her big fat tits jiggled as she spoke, and I tuned out what she was saying and watched her bouncing nipples with fascination.

“The other advice I can offer you is to just do your own thing and don’t worry too much about offending people. No matter what you do, someone is going to be offended,” she chuckled.

“That’s good advice,” I admitted, and then the quiet and silence settled in. There was a long period where it seemed like time stopped, and the sun hit my shoulders really hard.

I was starting to regret planting myself next to this couple because for a while it was pretty dull. Every now and then, some flat-chested girls from a family of British people dove into the water, kicked their legs up like ducks, and wiggled their butts as they swam to the bottom of the floor, but there really was nothing that salacious about it at all.

I was starting to think that despite getting to see all this nudity, this trip had been a waste of effort.

Then, after what felt like an hour, Carol opened her legs enough that I could see her hairy pussy, and under the hair, I could see her clit and slit. I knew she hadn’t done it intentionally. She just got nice and relaxed and seemed to forget all about modesty.

I stared right into this woman's lightly hairy vagina and studied the shape and size of it. I never had a woman just sit there and let me look right up into her like that before.

Her feet dangled in the pool. She had a pretty face and fat tits, but I barely noticed them. My eyes were glued level with her pussy lips, and that is where they remained.

[EddieDavidson]

(NEW REWRITE)

I peered directly into Carol’s pussy and studied the outline of her pussy lips. I could have sworn she winked it at me, but Carol never looked up or directly at me.

I admired how the tips of her labia were pink and tried to imagine the female mysteries contained within her pussy.

She sat with her legs open and seemed unaware that I was studying her anatomy like I had a gynecology test on Monday. Every now and then, the two of them would ask me something about myself and I’d politely respond.

I was probably too wet behind the ears to know that I talked at her vagina.

She was too polite to call me out, or maybe she really didn't care. I’d occasionally glance around the pool area, and I noticed other women who were attractive, but none of them had their legs parted enough that I could see the cracks of their pussy.

I noticed one woman was lying on her stomach; her butt cheeks fell open and I could see her butthole.

I learned about pussy from my Uncle’s Playboys, and all the women had thick hairy bushes.

You couldn’t see any pussy beyond that wall of hair.

You’d never see a butthole, a blemish, or a freckle, and now I was seeing real women adult women, mature women, even old women with gray pubic hair and it was tremendously eye-opening. I saw one woman with a butt so big that it stuck out so much it could be a shelf.

She reminded me of a centaur or a zebra. I saw another woman with tiny tits and a huge ass.

I saw droopy tits, perfect fake tits, cute asses, and little asses.

I saw every shape and size of pussy, but all of the adult women had hairy pussies. Big, little, tight, small, swollen, turned up, saggy, or droopy; tits came in all different delicious sizes and I was there for it.

However, my eyes remained on Carol. “Would you like me to put some suntan lotion on your back, Eddie? You are going to burn,” Carol asked innocently.

I was delighted and surprised that David didn’t seem jealous or possessive about it.

He even handed her the cheap tube of coconut-scented white lotion so she could slather it on my shoulders. Carol spun her fingers so that I would turn around and then guided me between her legs while I faced away from her.

At first, I thought this was her way of passively telling me to stop looking at her pussy.

When her firm hands touched my shoulders, I quivered. I was thankful I was waist-deep in the pool because my dick instantly got hard under the water and thankfully nobody noticed.

“You have some serious knots in your shoulders, Eddie. You are far too young to worry about things,” she assured me.

I blushed and shrugged. “That feels good,” I said.

“If it felt bad, I wouldn’t be a massage therapist,” she said.

She pointed to one of the tables. “That’s how I earn my living. I give massages,” she explained.

“I don’t have much money,” I admitted.

“This is on the house. I am just gonna do your neck, back, shoulders, and face so you don’t become a lobster. I can do the rest of you later, if you want.” Do me?

I loved how suggestive that sounded. “Sure,” I stammered.

“Do you mind if I get comfortable?” she asked. She did not wait for permission but placed her feet on my shoulders and let them dangle on my chest.

I think she knew that I wouldn’t mind. I was thrilled to be touched.

It would have been better if I was facing her pussy, but I was able to watch the rest of the pool from this angle and I began to scan the area. Rebel and Stormy had ditched those two guys and were roaming around together.

They were completely naked and barefoot, and they didn’t even have a towel between them.

I felt like being naked was very liberating, but I had to have my towel and sandals.

I felt vulnerable without either of them nearby. Everyone in chairs or sun loungers rested their asses on towels.

I was told that was considered mandatory at the pool. I wondered how the girls sat without towels.

I hoped they wouldn’t come over and talk to me now that I was getting my shoulders massaged.

“Rebel? Stormy? Get your sweaty behinds over here,” Carol yelled at her daughters.

I realized immediately that they bore an uncanny resemblance to their father in the face.

The girls hustled over. Their tits and long sandy blonde hair bounced as they joined their parents.

Rebel bent over at the waist to get some water out of their cooler.

She instructed them to put on some fresh lotion. “We just put some on,” Stormy whined.

“Unless you got lotion from someone else, you haven’t applied any for several hours. If you want your asses to burn, I can get the paddle and do the trick a lot faster than the sun. Lotion. Now,” Carol was firm but a little playful.

She didn’t come across like a hard-ass, even though she’d just threatened to spank the girls. Stormy and Rebel bickered about who would do who first for a moment before their mother intervened.

“Stormy, do Rebel’s back, then she’ll do yours. You can do your own fronts.”

“Aww, I want hand-ups,” Stormy pouted.

“You can’t do hand-ups at the pool, you know that,” her mother said.

I had no idea what the fuck a hand-up was.

“The only hand-ups you will get is my hand up your ass when it’s your turn,” Rebel said as she turned around and smacked her butt playfully.

I was too reluctant to ask what a hand-up actually was. I was suddenly very excited about what would happen next.

The girls made it seem like no big deal at all.

Stormy squirted a wad of white coconut-scented lotion on her hands, and the tube made a farting noise that made her giggle.

She slathered it on her sister’s back like it was perfectly routine.

“You let us do hand-ups before at the pool,” Rebel complained.

“You used to do it a little more discreetly, and if you want to play at the pool, you can’t just finger bang each other,” her mother insisted.

“We don’t finger bang each other, Mom,” Rebel countered defensively and glared over her shoulder.

“Oh yeah? What were you doing this morning while we were taking our showers at the pool?”

Rebel blushed and got quiet.

“That was to ourselves, not each other, and there wasn’t anyone here because it was early!”

“I said no hand-ups, and you’ll have a pink pucker if I catch you jiggling and playing instead of spreading lotion,” Carol insisted.

I got the impression they were talking about masturbation, but I assumed that was my naughty imagination.

“Turn around, Eddie, so I can get your front,” their mother said just as Stormy started lotioning her sister’s back.

The fact that they were almost twins and sisters made it seem even sexier to me, and I didn’t know why.

As strange as it sounds, I was now eye-level with this woman’s fat nipples, only a few inches from my face.

She methodically rubbed lotion on my face and nose, but I was desperate to watch the girls rubbing each other down.

“I am almost done, Eddie. What’s your hurry? Just enjoy the view, if boobs are your thing,” she said as she leaned into me and made sure my neck was fully coated with lotion.

“You don’t mind if people look at your tits?”

“People are gonna look. The female form is beautiful, and I am not exactly Christie Brinkley or Vanna White. Tits are just skin. If that’s your thing, I’ve got them in abundance. You can give them a squeeze if you want.”

“Mom!!” the girls chided her. I assumed she was kidding.

“What? Nipples on a woman are meant for two things: giving milk and getting her attention. They are like nature’s doorbells. You ring those and you’ll have our attention,” she flashed a sexy smile at me and suddenly I didn’t care about turning around again. I assumed she was kidding about touching her nipples, and I didn’t have the audacity or courage to find out.

“I’ve been admiring your cock, Eddie,” she whispered as she leaned into me. “You’ve been hard for nearly an hour under the water. You know it’s frowned upon to have an erection at the pool?”

“I didn’t think anyone could see it,” I whispered apologetically.

She slid into the water and stood beside me, uncomfortably close. Her husband was only a few feet away, but he seemed distracted. I could smell her breath and the coconut lotion.

“Do you want me to take care of that for you?” she asked in a sultry whisper. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I genuinely thought that this was a test or I was misunderstanding.

“Don’t worry, most people can’t tell if they aren’t close, but the look on your face when I said you were hard told me you were hard,” she implied she hadn’t really seen my boner after all. “I can’t do a hand-up now that I told my daughters they aren’t allowed to do one, but I do them really well, and you seem like you need a little release.” She tapped my penis head with her finger to give me another very obvious sign of what she was talking about.

“You don’t mind?” I whispered. I was gushing because I was so flattered. “Your husband is right there.”

“I can do it nice and slow. Nobody will know,” she began to stroke me at a very slow pace. Carol had one arm under the water, and she used the other to dab lotion on my nose.

“Hey, are you whispering sweet nothings to my wife?” David asked playfully as he swam waist-deep in the water near us. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“No,” I replied nervously.

“Eddie has an erection, and I was telling him that it’s a no-no to walk around with a boner at the pool,” Carol admitted softly. “I am helping him release a little tension.”

“Can you do me too?” he asked sweetly.

“I was hoping to do a lot more to you at lunchtime, and you don’t seem to be suffering from an incurable boner. The girls will have a field day calling me a hypocrite if they figure out I am double-dealing a hand-up to both of you,” she politely declined her husband's offer.

Now I knew for certain that hand-up meant masturbate. I floated closer, got a little lower in the water, and allowed Carol to resume pulling me off.

“That’s it; it’s a nice dick, Eddie. It will be a shame to waste your sugar, but I am not going to be able to do anything about that. Don’t cry out or make any weird faces when you cum if you can manage it. Are you close?”

I could masturbate for hours back then and not shoot my load. I wasn’t sure how long it would take. “No, I am not close,” I said.

“Nice,” Carol smiled. I wasn’t sure why she was impressed until she whispered, “I like guys who can hold their sugar until I get mine. If I could wrap my legs around you without anyone noticing, I’d let you squirt in me. Would you like that?”

“Your husband wouldn’t mind?” I asked in a hushed whisper. My cock throbbed in her hand and I felt really naughty. I was getting a handjob in a pool, and not only was he nearby, but her daughters were standing on the pool deck only a few feet away.

“Why? Did you promise to squirt in him first?” she teased playfully. “My husband and I have an open marriage. We believe that intimacy and sex are natural expressions of joy and affection. We were meant to mate for life. It doesn’t mean I love my husband any less if I have sex with someone else, any more than it would mean that I hate my husband if I argue with someone else.”

That made sense, but I’d never heard any woman say something like that.

“So you are swingers?” I asked as she pumped my dick and squeezed it at a perfect pace. Carol maintained a very neutral expression, and to anyone passing by on the pool deck, it didn’t appear we were doing anything.

“In a sense, that’s a somewhat outdated term. You’ll see a lot of upside-down pineapples here. That’s a sign that someone is into swapping wives. It’s against the rules here, but it’s an open secret and the people that enforce the rules are the biggest swingers at Cypress Cove. If you are discreet and know the code words, and play the game the way they play it, you get invited to all the wife-swap parties.”

“Wait, so sometimes people swap wives? For how long? Your girls have a different mom for a while?” I asked. I imagined the swapped wife coming to live with the husband and living as his wife.

She answered with a hearty belly laugh. “You are so wet behind the ears that I just want to eat you up and swallow you whole. Just stare at my tits, Eddie, and cum for me, okay?”

I was shocked she wanted me to cum for her. I was so sexually inexperienced that I’d never heard a girl use that expression and ask me to cum for her before. “You can play with the tips if you can be gentle and not move your arms around too much.” She dunked her tits below the water just enough that her nipples were submerged. I reached up and began to lightly run my fingers along the tips. I was just testing her reaction. I still thought this must be some test or prank because it was far too good to be true. I hadn’t done anything to be given this offer. The last girl I was with made me take her out on six dates and take her to movies before we did anything together.

“I need to go to the store and get some markers,” David said to his wife with a smile as he blew into the water playfully and floated near us. “What kind do you want me to buy you? Felt tips?”

“Yes, felt tips,” she snickered. I immediately understood the double entendre.

“What about you, Eddie?” David asked. “Is your fountain pen dripping ink?”

“He won’t make a mark if you don’t stop distracting him,” Carol warned her husband with a frustrated whisper.

“How do we know Eddie doesn’t swing both ways? Finger in the butt, Eddie?” David whispered.

“Um, no, please,” I whispered as politely as I could.

David lifted his hands up and told us to both have fun and floated away.

“When I offered to give you a hand-up, I assumed you were a one-pump chump, Eddie,” she whispered in my ear. “If you don’t finish, I am going to have to leave you hanging because my girls are watching.”

“We know what you are doing,” Stormy called out to her mother, and Carol froze with one hand on my cock.

“Well, tell everyone at the pool, why don’t cha?” Carol scolded them as she moved her hands away.

“You said no hand-ups at the pool,” Rebel said and pointed at the cement. “Pink Pucker!”

“You have a fair point; I did say that. I should have said if you can be discreet in the pool then you can hand-up to your heart's content, just not with those older boys.”

“You're doing it with Eddie, and he’s older,” Rebel said.

“Keep your voice down,” Carol offered to them. “Eddie is different. He’s stiffer than a corpse and I was just trying to help him not be embarrassed on his first day at the pool. I was being neighborly.” Carol lifted both hands up out of the water as if she were surrendering and moved away from me—leaving me literally stiff and throbbing.

“You said a little embarrassment never hurt anyone,” Stormy pouted.

“That was for girls like you, who are uppity and think their poops smell like honey butter. You can stand to be knocked down a peg. It’s Eddie’s first day and he’s here by himself. He isn’t used to this much nudity and he got overstimulated. I was just helping him out because he couldn’t help himself,” Carol insisted that it was perfectly innocent—even if it was the first handjob any woman had ever given me.

“You just like giving hand-ups,” Stormy countered with an accusing smile.

“So do you, and why not? It’s fun when a guy’s eyes pop open and his toes curl, his mouth hangs open and he looks like a kid on Christmas morning when he unwraps his new toy. It gives me a thrill to be able to hold their pleasure in my hand and it makes them smile. I am not against hand-ups. I just don’t want us to get kicked out of the pool area,” Carol admitted. “If I thought you could do hand-ups freely, I’d let you walk around and pass them out like it was candy on Halloween.”

“Shit, I wouldn’t want to do hand-ups to these old wrinkly fucks,” Rebel said.

“A cock is a cock, and they all need a little TLC. Just because it’s attached to an old pervert doesn’t mean he wasn’t once a young pervert. I don’t want you or your sister to be so discriminating about hand-ups.”

“Why not? I don’t want to give hand-ups to guys that are assholes,” Stormy asked.

“You’ve given enough hand-ups that it’s not that big of a deal. It’s like tapping a shoulder or tying someone’s shoe for them. It’s not as personal as fucking them. If someone needs a hand-up, the only time I want you to say no is if we forbid you from seeing them.”

“That’s gay,” Rebel pouted angrily as she rubbed lotion on her sister’s sexy, lithe body.

“There is nothing wrong with being gay, eating pussy, or sucking cock; it’s all the same, Rebel,” her mother pointed out and implied that she was touching her sister’s naked body.

“That’s different, and I didn’t mean gay was bad in the gay way; I meant like gay as in stupid,” Rebel got tongue-tied and frustrated as she put her foot in her mouth while she tried to explain the distinction she was trying to make. “I just meant it’s a double standard. You want us to be nice and friendly and do hand-ups like they are friendly favors, but when we ask guys to do a friendly favor for us in exchange, you want to fry our asses and make us do pink pucker for an entire hour!”

Pink Pucker was a new term that I picked up. I hoped it was as cool as hand-up.

“You are all about quid pro quo,” David chimed in. The dumbfounded expression on his daughters’ faces told him they didn’t get that reference, so he explained, “You wash my back, I’ll wash yours?”

“Yeah, I rub lotion on you, you rub lotion on me,” Rebel shrugged and indicated that was what they were doing.

“Your father means you deny and withhold if a guy doesn’t do what you want. You tease, and we would rather you please. You’ll get more with honey than you do vinegar, Rebel. There are a few places we forbid you to do hand-ups. You can't do them on the pool deck, and you can’t do them at the dinner table. Now, there are a few people you can’t do them with.”

“Lame,” Rebel decided, and Stormy agreed.

“Well, that’s just how it is. If we catch you with those older boys, it’s going to be our ass, and if we find out you are trading hand-ups or doing more in exchange for money, that’s prostitution,” Carol explained.

“We aren’t whores,” Stormy and Rebel proclaimed a little too loudly.

People nearby definitely overheard that. Carol waved politely at a woman she called Tammy and then frowned at the girls.

“Then act like it,” Carol said firmly.

“Girls, it’s simple: giving it away is fine, selling or trading it is being a whore,” David explained to his daughters in a way so pragmatic that it actually made sense. I just never thought in a million years I would hear a father tell his daughters to give it away.

“So being a slut is okay, being a whore is not?” Rebel asked sarcastically in a much lower voice.

“Yes,” Carol said. “If you want to call being open to sexual experiences, pleasure, and the liberating sensuality of the body being a slut, then the three of us are sluts. We aren’t whores. I’ve never once sold my pussy, and I won’t stand for either of you to do the same.”

“What about renting with the option to buy?” David kissed his wife sweetly. Then he turned to the girls and asked them if they had made themselves clear.

“So, anytime a guy wants a hand-up, we have to give it to him unless he is cute?” Rebel seemed to delight in intentionally twisting her parents’ instructions.

“That’s not what we said. If it’s guys we told you to stay away from, it’s because they won't stop at hand-ups and you know it. They will leave your little peaches broken and dripping and then move on to the next dumb bimbo,” Carol explained.

“Guys aren’t going to just walk up to you and ask you for a hand-up, Rebel. Your mom just means if they are in need, you can offer as long as you don’t try to get something in return. Why are you being such a little brat today? We’ve had this conversation many times,” David seemed a little frustrated with his daughter.

“We do that,” Rebel assured us.

“Eddie has wood, and you noticed when you got here. I saw your faces. Did you offer to take care of it for him?”

I nearly choked and began to blush profusely.

“MOM!” Rebel and Stormy feigned outrage at the mere suggestion they would do something like that. “Don’t embarrass us! We’re not going to walk up to a total stranger who's playing with you in the water and just offer him a handjob.”

“We say hand-up; it’s not a hand-out, it’s not a handjob. Jobs aren’t fun and they are an obligation,” Carol smiled as she explained the origin of the word. “It seemed like you knew him when you arrived,” she correctly surmised.

“Wasting away in Margaritaville” wafted across the pool on the sound system, and a chorus of people over fifty years old lifted up their drinks and sang along to it. It was a nice break of levity.

“A hand-up is an obligation, Mom,” Stormy pouted as she finished rubbing lotion on her thighs. “You said we HAVE to do it if we see a guy pop wood, or he asks us to do it,” she said.

“I don’t understand why you are so stingy; it’s just skin. Your palms aren’t some sacred, untouchable place, and they can’t get pregnant. You pound dough, you wipe your dirty butts, you rub lotion on each other. You are just stroking a dick and balls. It’s just skin, girls,” Carol explained with a confused look. “It’s not like I am asking you to bend over and take it in the ass or pussy for the amusement of strangers. Most men are one-pump chumps, so it’s a few jiggles and they shoot their wad. They smile, you smile, you clean it up. It’s over and done.”

“Gross, I am not doing it in the butt,” Rebel declared, and her sister Stormy agreed.

“Don’t knock it until you try it, and hand-ups aren’t going to cut it with a guy for a long-term thing. Do you know the best thing about butts?”

The girls frowned and Stormy ventured a silly guess, “Farts?”

David and Carol found that amusing, but Carol clarified, “Farts can be funny, but no. Butts don’t get pregnant. Your little sugar shakers only need some creamy sugar shot in there ONE time to make me a grandmother, and I am way too young for that. I do not have one gray hair on my head.”

“I don’t mind a thumb in my butt,” Stormy admitted with a very earnest expression before she added, “I poop from there. A guy shouldn’t want his dick to have a brown ring around it!”

“First, wipe your ass before sex,” Carol instructed in a very frank manner. “Second, you won’t be pooping out of it when he’s fucking it.”

David added, “The guy shouldn’t start too rough. He needs to take his time and work up to it. A thumb is a good start, but trust me, you can learn to love anal.”

“If I’d love a pain in the butt, why do you paddle us on the butt?” Stormy countered.

“Would you rather I paddle you on the pussy?” Carol asked them.

I nearly shot my jizz into the pool. I think Carol noticed how shocked I was because she stopped and looked at me.

“Eddie, I have frank and honest discussions about sex with my daughters. I would rather talk to them about it than I would make them think they couldn’t ask questions. I hope that doesn’t offend or bother you?”

“No, not at all. I just haven’t ever heard anyone talk like this before,” I admitted.

“That’s true,” David chimed in. “When I was growing up, my parents had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. You were on your own to figure it out and I got Carol pregnant almost immediately after we started dating with Rebel. We named her Rebel because we were rebels. I didn’t know the first thing about sex. We are raising our kids to believe sex isn’t dirty or unspeakable. It’s something you do with other consenting people for pleasure or to make babies or both. My daughters are less likely to be curious about what a guy has because they know what he has and they’ve touched it.”

“We’ve done more than touch it,” Rebel admitted with a churlish grin as she began to rub her tits with lotion. Her sister nodded as she touched hers.

“Yes, and as long as you don’t get pregnant, then we aren’t too concerned what you do, Rebel.”

“Then why are you such a hard-ass about us hanging out with older guys?” Rebel asked impatiently. She rubbed and tugged her labia as she spoke to her father, which made it particularly surreal to me.

“I have news for you, Rebel,” Carol said bluntly. “You aren’t that interesting to hang out with. You don’t read novels. You don’t keep up with the latest news. Those boys aren’t hanging out with you for your scintillating conversation and wit. They want your pussies. They aren’t buying you booze to get a hand-up or a sweet kiss. They want you drunk so you are even dumber and won’t say no to the things they really want to do to you. I was your age once, too!”

“Then why can’t we make the same mistakes you did and get jumped by some cute guys?” Rebel sounded particularly horny and aggressive.

“If you want to sit on a dick, we’ve got two with almost no waiting that need polishing, and Eddie here would probably love a shot, but he needs to wear a condom or pull out. Those boys aren’t going to do either of those things.”

“Condoms are lame,” Rebel said.

“It feels like I am being fucked by a Stretch Armstrong hand,” Stormy described a popular action figure from a few years earlier that was very rubbery and stretchy.

“How would you know how it feels to be fucked by a Stretch Armstrong hand?” Rebel asked with a snicker.

Stormy laughed and even her parents giggled a little.

“Look, it’s good to be horny. It’s good to be curious and we aren’t trying to turn you into nuns. You aren’t virgins. You like to play, and we get that. We just want you safe, and drinking and getting high with older guys is a recipe for babies. I can assure you those two older guys that keep buzzing around you and your sister want to knock you up and run off. They aren’t good guys, and they keep buying you booze and weed and I am not going to tolerate you coming home drunk or high anymore.”

That was a revelation for me. This whole thing was blowing my mind.

“We aren’t getting high, Daddy,” Rebel lied. She definitely tried earlier that morning. I wanted to say something, but I felt it wasn’t my place.

“One day, I’ll get a six-pack and you and your sister can sit down and get fucked up back at the camper. You won’t go anywhere; you’ll just stay there. The problem I have with it isn’t you drinking. You can do that. It’s that the choices you make while drunk could have consequences for the rest of your life. You can ride dicks, drink, and cut loose in a safe place.”

“Why aren’t you a hard-ass with Damian?” Rebel asked in a sincere, polite tone. I wasn’t sure who they were talking about, but I assumed he might be their brother.

“Girls and guys are different,” her father explained. “Your brother has different rules than you because he has different body parts.”

“That’s bullshit; anything a girl can do, a guy can do better,” Stormy said before she realized she had said that backward and corrected herself. “I mean anything a girl can do... wait, anything a GUY can do, a girl can do better!”

“Fish can swim better than birds, and they can’t fly at all. The fish aren’t angry at the birds because they were born without wings. It’s just how nature made them, Stormy. Your brother can’t get pregnant. You getting drunk with your sister and doing something you shouldn’t is a bigger deal, so we are more strict with you.”

“Where is Damian, anyway?” Rebel asked.

“He’s probably down at the lake. Now stop playing with your tits and finish up. If you want to show off at the pool, I can think of some ways you won’t like,” Carol warned.

“I am not showing off,” Rebel preened. She was a puzzling girl. She glared angrily at me at times when I glanced at her naked body, but then at other times she was like an attention sponge.

“Let me get something to drink,” she said as she finished applying lotion and bent over at the waist by the cooler. Her ass was facing me. I observed her very dry, fat pussy lips and her entire asshole as she faced away from me and bent at the waist. She glanced over her shoulder and shot me a sour look.

“Rebel, is that a soda?”

“Yes, why can’t I have one?” Rebel groaned as she popped it open. It was obvious she thought that would make it hers automatically.

“You and your sister don’t need sugar. It makes you bounce off the walls and goes straight to your thighs!”

Rebel took a long sip of it and said, “Fine, I’ll throw it away!”

“Eddie? Do you want a soda?” Carol asked me if I wanted the Pepsi that her daughter was drinking.

“If she’s gonna throw it away, sure,” I said.

“Waste not, want not,” Carol pointed to me.

“That’s super shitty,” Rebel frowned and walked over to me. Then she said, “Ooops!” and pretended to drop it on me before she handed it to me.

“You are cruising for a bruising, Rebel. If you think I won’t punish you just because the pool is full, then you have another thing coming,” Carol warned.

“I am just fucking with him, Mom,” Rebel said and told her that we met earlier. I was shocked she’d cuss around her parents. I cussed all the time but never around my parents.

“Oh?” Carol seemed alarmed and I felt like she would be pissed that I was talking to her daughter. She was already back to rubbing lotion down my back. “Why were you talking to Eddie?”

“Why are YOU talking to Eddie?” Rebel asked like a proper smart-ass.

“I told you not to talk to older guys at the pool, and I told you what would happen if I caught you flirting like that. Maybe I should ask Eddie what you were talking about?”

“Go ahead,” Rebel's face didn't register any panic. She seemed confident I wasn't going to tattle on her.

“Uh, nothing; they just greeted me at the general store, and I told them I was from Naples. They made the same joke you did about it sounding like nipples,” I covered for the girls.

Stormy giggled and touched her nipple without thinking about it.

“Oh yes, my girls are just a regular welcome wagon. They didn’t ask you for cigarettes? Weed? Wine coolers? Beers?”

“Yeah, Mom, we asked him for LSD, Quaaludes, and cocaine,” Rebel fired back sarcastically before I could answer.

“Eddie, I am a get-along kind of gal, and I don’t try to dictate how other people live, but there is one thing that I won’t tolerate around me,” Carol said as she finished lotioning my upper body, neck, and face. “Dishonesty. Look me in the eyes,” she asked seriously. I looked up and she said, “Did the girls ask you for weed, smokes, or booze?”

“You are going to believe him over us?” Rebel made a "shkaw" sound with her lips and was already throwing her hands up angrily.

“Yeah, they did, but I didn’t buy them any,” I said.

“He would have, but he didn’t have any money,” Stormy practically confirmed my story. She made me sound like the bad guy, though.

“Is that your wallet lying over there on the towel, Eddie?” her dad asked.

Stormy imitated her older sister and threw her hands up in the air.

“I was trying to be polite,” I said.

“You narc,” Stormy gritted her teeth angrily and I am sure I had just wound up on some enemies list she kept in her head; the pretty girl was already plotting a vendetta against me.

“Thank you, Eddie. I am sorry to include you in our family drama. You are probably regretting taking us up on our hospitality now,” Carol apologized. She didn’t wait for my answer. “Girls, pink pucker time! Now.”

“Aww, man! The ground is way too fucking hot,” Rebel stomped her foot in frustration. She knotted her brow at me and I felt terrible.

“If the cement was cool, it wouldn’t be effective. I don’t put hot dogs on a cold grill and expect them to cook. Get over here where I can keep an eye on you two. Your pink is going to sizzle, not burn! It’s the only way you learn,” Carol made it clear she wasn’t joking and it seemed like she had used those same rhyming phrases in the past when she had to punish the girls because they accepted her instructions with a pout.

[EddieDavidson]

Reserved for chapter three

[student]

[EddieDavidson]

If anyone wants to help me write this, I just edited the first two chapters, I can use some constructive feedback perhaps in private message?

Constructive feedback would be things like "The story behind the tattoo might be..." or "Carol doesn't seem that uptight, maybe she..."

not "You suck, go touch grass"

Much of this is a *TRUE* Story mash-up.

I met a couple that changed my view of naturism for the better when I was about half of my age now (a third?)

They explained that their girls were less likely to cause trouble/be curious what is in a boy's pants since they saw them. Their daughters - I think one of them had a "Rebel" t-shirt on with a confederate flag, so I changed the names accordingly. I've always believed if a mom names her daughter "Stormy" - she knows exactly how she's going to be when she grows up because she's going to raise her to be outspoken.

I am adding an amalgam of another couple I met that were swingers, that led a power-exchange lite relationship - nothing like crawling on hands and knees like a dog or whips and chains but he was domiannt, she was sub, and she was really into butt plugs. not to give the story away, but she could also date with his permission/who he wanted. He wasn't a cuckold. She liked that he treasured her/showed her off, and was confident he lvoed her and vise verse. He liked that other men liked what he wanted.

She played it coy with me to go on a "date" which turned into a blowjob. Observations from those days and my memory of Cypress Cove are included, but I also sort of merged the modern verison with the 1980s version at times.

[notme222]

The names read as very "hippy", which would fit fine for that era. I think your characters are very interesting and unexpected, in a way that lends credibility to the "based on a true story".

I was feeling somewhat like not all the points are serving the story. Which makes sense if you're not entirely sure where you want it to go. I tend to go too far the opposite way, which I fear leaves stories thin and unsurprising. But there's something called "The Law of Conservation of Detail" which states that every detail should serve a greater goal. And when you were describing Damian's appeal to the women, or the conversation about euphemisms, I started wondering "Is this going to matter, or is it just a lot of color?"

Sorry if that's not the kind of constructive feedback you want. It's just something I was thinking about.

I was wondering if you might enjoy doing a flashback to Carol's youth, and then the tattoo plays right into that. As you've written her, Carol certainly seems the type to share her own embarrassing story and it would provide perspective on how she's raising her daughters. One fun idea to play against expectations might be that she actually got the tattoo in defiance of her father. Like he was very conservative and viewed her free spirit as wanting to break away. And she was protesting, saying "Nope, now when I'm showing off everyone will know I'm still Daddy's Girl."

[EddieDavidson]

"The Law of Conservation of Detail"

I am a law breaker. I luxuriate in the details. The sun shining over head, the sound seagulls make as they whip around over head, the smell of burgers, the sound of Breezin playing across the pool.

I do not give a fuck about conserving detail. I'll use as many colors as there are to paint a picture.

There is some people who write to tell you what happened only. They write like a fucking police blotter.

"This happened, then this happened, then he put his dick in, then that happened."

Whoopdee shit.

I don't do that. I will spend a chapter on something that I want to live through the eyes of the characters on because I want to immerse you in what I see. I want you to smell the burgers and hot dogs on the grill. I want you to taste the salt in the air and feel the sun on your shoulders with me.

I am not for everyone, but I don't enjoy stories where the author is stingy with details. I had a friend who stole my story not once but twice. He ripped it off and then had the audacity to slap his name and a copyright on it after stripping out the details that made it enjoyable to me.

He's in a rush to appease the short attention spans. I had a character wearing a Hufflepuff sweater that she grabbed out of the laundry. He felt like you do that economy of detail is best and removed it. It doesn't matter to the overall story.

But, if you have a passing understanding of Harry Potter and the kind of girls that would buy a Hufflepuff sweater, you'd have a better idea of her cheery disposition and rosy outlook. She's not a Slytherin baddie, she's not a Ravenclaw smartie, she's not a Gryffindor goodie. She's a Hufflepuff type and that's the sweater he would have picked.

Will the plot hinge on it? no.
Will the sweater come up again? probably not.

I do not give two fucks and/or one shit. I enjoy details. In the illustrious words of the stone-cold motherfucker Reacher "Details matter."

I don't want to bore my reader, but I enjoy painting pictures and I can't do that if I am constrained by some law.

George R.R. Martin isn't my favorite author by a long shot, but one thing i admire about him is he doesn't do what readers expect. He may spend an entire chapter luxuriating on a feast he really wanted to let you experience before lowering the boom on the characters. I subscribe to the "Fuck it" Law that says I will definitely not please everyone, especially if I do not please myself.

So, i definitely appreciate your feedback and keep it coming, but I am gonna write about how the ladies were checking out Damian's package, because it is relevant. It helps you see how lusty things are thing, and how he stood out. It helps you frame that the main character is a bit envious too.

I am starting over anyway, so I've started on a new chapter one. It flows a lot the same way but I decided to begin with Rebel and Stormy and kill some of the early exposition. I also began with one of my favorite ways to tell a story.