A Little Something in Common


I guess that the best place to start is to say that I live in a big barn far out in the country. Or at least I live in a barn four days a week and the rest of the time I live in a house in town with my wife and two Brittany Spaniels, Orville and Wilbur. The barn is a weekend home and is a little less rustic than the label might imply. It’s a huge wooden affair built over one hundred years ago of great wooden beams. On one end is a RV sized parking space and workshop with a good floor. A nice apartment fills the other and a very big a porch across the side that faces into the woods. It is fitted with all the necessities you would expect, indoor plumbing, electricity, lots of leather furniture and a fifty inch plasma television. I recently added giant outdoor oven with grill and a huge outdoor shower that I demanded and my wife has learned to adore.

Three days a week my work takes me to client’s offices or I would spend all of my time at the barn, or at least all of the time I could stand to be away from my wife. But on the weekends my wife drives out so in truth I have only two or three days a week to alone in the glorious privacy of my primitive country escape.

One Thursday I was in the shop working on an ATV when I thought that I heard a car in the drive. At first the thought surprised me and then the thought of having locked the gate came to mind. I listened again and the sound was gone so I gave imagination credit and continued on with my work. The memory of certain details that day have been forgotten for other, more unusual ones, but I recall rising to get some tool from the tool box and was walking across the big open area of the shop when it happened.

“Hey! Hi what are you doing?”

It was the voice of my wife’s pal, Sharon, a gregarious redhead with big blue eyes and my wife’s best friend since childhood. We were all close, my wife and Sharon as lifelong friends and before Sharon’s divorce our families were always doing something together. Like me Sharon was self-employed, but unlike me, she had that sales person personality that was equally friendly, disarming and penetrating all at the same time. For a moment we faced each other in uneasy silence. At least I was uneasy; she seemed genuinely pleased.

“Taking a shower.” I blurted. “I’ll get a towel.”

Sharon laughed at me as I strode over to the door of the building that opened onto the outdoor shower. I tried to be cool, or as cool as I could be, as I grabbed the first big bath towel I could find and wrapped it around my waist.

“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting you.” I said turning back to Sharon.

“I wasn’t expecting you either.” She laughed again. “Well maybe.”

The “well maybe” phrase didn’t go unnoticed since she and my wife had few secrets, but instead of pursuing that line of thinking I asked her how she managed to get in.

“I have a key to the barn and the combination to the gate, remember? You guys said come on by any time I’m in town and I’m here for a couple of days working with a client so I thought I’d come by. Surprised?” She grinned and nodded at me.

“I am. Let me get some clothes on.” I started to walk toward the door to the apartment.

“Sure.” Sharon said starting to follow me. She stopped before she took more than a couple of steps and while her actions said that she knew decorum dictated privacy, her smile, her look said that my privacy was the last thing on her mind.

I came back out in a tank top and a pair of cut off shorts to find her standing next to the half assembled ATV in the center of the shop. Oh, how obvious she was as she looked at my slightly greasy hands and the corners of her lips curled up in that way that said she understood that the last thing I had been doing was showering.

“So been working on the ATV?” She asked.

“Yea, almost have it back together.” I said, glad to get the conversation moving in a way I could control it.

“So, are you going riding tomorrow?”

“Most likely.”

“Yea, I’ve got a client, Mrs. Pennywhite. I’m helping her invest. She sold the farm. I’m staying through the weekend. Thought I would use that key you gave me.” Sharon’s wide blue eyes focused on me, probing.

“Great, anytime, we can have dinner.” I said considering what might happen later in the weekend after my wife arrived.

“Oh yea!” Her eyes lit up. “There is this great recipe I have for grilled shrimp. I’ll go by the store and pick up the ingredients. We can grill it on the new grill tonight.”

“Well, um, okay.” I said, unsure if this was a good idea, but clearly responsible for a duty dinner. Anyway, I liked Sharon and always had. Her personality was a little brash for my tastes at times, but she was smart and pretty and very close to my wife, so I resolved myself to having her come by that evening.

For another few minutes our conversation was gracious, but conventional, as we asked questions about each other’s families and jobs. Finally we said our good byes and I followed her out to the kuşadası escort gate, closing it as she drove down the dusty country road in her new Lexus.

By now the astute reader has concluded that I don’t bother with clothes most of the time and that is a correct observation. It’s a lifestyle that predated my marriage and one that my wife tolerates, though she generally doesn’t participate. More specifically, our Caribbean honeymoon photos have a lot of me skinny dipping and her in a small, yet somehow modest bikini. Despite some claims otherwise, there is a little show off in every nudist. Somewhere deep in every nudist is a little ‘look at me’ that is satisfied every time we find ourselves nude with others around.

This was the landscape as Sharon drove down my drive again in that new pearl white Lexus. She got out smiling and waving and quickly brought a six pack of beer along with several small plastic bags all labeled with the name of the local grocery chain. Quickly passing me by she made some quip about my attire, the same tank top and cut offs that I had put on before. She took over the kitchen like she owned the place and urged me to get the fire started. I did and returned to the kitchen to watch her work.

Sharon was a country girl at heart and given to casually wearing jeans and the sleeveless blouses that have been the staple fashion for farm wives for as long as I can remember. Today she was wearing something a little different though. While she wore a pink sleeveless blouse, she was wearing a short denim skirt, one that had the look of a pair of cutoffs remade. I noticed the frayed hem of the skirt with its long and running strands of white fabric reaching down her brown legs. One of the straps of her peach colored bra floated across her bare shoulder as she worked with the knife. I wondered where she had changed since I knew Mrs. Pennywhite would have never let her in the front door in that skirt.

“So I’m not keeping you from anything.” She said chopping some bell pepper with her back toward me.

“Me, um no. Just hanging out as usual,” I replied.

She stopped chopping and took a pull from

her Shiner Bock. “Yea, Barb has told me how you hang out. Ha!” Quickly she turned to look over her shoulder at me. It was a devilish look that disarmed me in a way that few had before.

“Really?” was all I could think to say.

“We do talk you know. Yea, I’ve seen the honeymoon photos and I know that you weren’t showering when I came by this morning. It’s all okay.”

“Well, then. At least I’m glad that you’re not offended by what you saw.”

“No, not at all,” she grinned as she impaled ingredients on a long wooden stick. “Is the fire ready? The shrimp kabobs are.”

As we ate our conversation became more jovial and bawdy. She seemed to be fishing for something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She asked a lot of questions about me, about what I did before I had married her friend. She also told me bit and pieces about her college days. State college was a party school if there ever was one and from her hints, she took all the classes in that subject and earned a lot of extra credit.

After the food was spent and we sat there on the porch leaning back and watching the last of the ochre and red of the sun disappear through the leaves of the pines and oaks. The conversation had slowed and now we exchanged comfortable glances. Under everything, all the short, but failed attempts to restart the conversation, there seemed something boiling within her. I couldn’t put my finger on it. After a long pause, she sighed almost imperceptibly.

“I hear that you like that shower.” She said.

“Me, oh yea, nothing like bathing in rain water,” I replied.

“Where did you get the idea?”

“Mexico. We stayed at a small hotel. Each room had an outdoor shower.” I laughed to myself at the memory. “I remember taking a shower and when I turned off the water hearing voices. The concierge was standing a few feet from me, on the other side of the wall, explaining the honor bar to two new guests. It was a real surprise.”

“Sounds like a fun surprise, learn anything.”

My involuntary guffaw passed my lips as a puff. “Yea, I did. Not that I would admit it.”

She looked at me in the dusk. “Rain water is good for your hair,”

“Yea, I know. You really feel clean after

coming out of that shower.”

“Mind if I try it?” The question came across like she was asking for a taste of my dessert.

I thought about it for a moment, stupidly and innocently. “Sure, go ahead. I’ll get you a towel.”

“I know where they are. I feel so sticky after today. I’ll be back in a little while, toodles.” She got up to leave, looking over her shoulder and wiggling her fingers at me as if to say bye.

Toodles? I was certainly seeing a side to Sharon that was unusual. Looking over my shoulder as she disappeared through the door it appeared that there was something more to her step, something prissy that I had never seen before.

The way out shower is setup, there is a door going into a patio in the back. The shower is open to this door, but closed on the other three sides to the yard beyond. Privacy is a simple matter of closing that door. I guess that I was not paying attention to the sound of falling water or really considering what was up when I heard Sharon call.

“Hey, where’s the soap?”

I wondered about this because I had set out a new bar of soap when I had showered earlier in the afternoon. Moreover I should have been thinking when I walked into the barn to the realization that Sharon had not closed the door and was standing in plain view as nude as I had been earlier in the day.

“Bring me that soap will you?” She asked pointing to the sink where the bar of soap had migrated on its own.

Dutifully, and as cool as I had been earlier in the day, I took the soap over to the shower and handed it to her.

Sharon was turned to face me with posture unmistakable and a grin that death itself could not have removed from her face. She was showing off, making herself available for my eyes with her hands in her hair and her elbows spread, and what a sight she was.

For years at holiday dinners and family get-togethers I had admired her as men are want to do with women they are close to but will never know. There was nothing unusual or even uncommon about these observations, only the notice of a well formed body, long legs and the hint of breasts revealed by a sometimes too open collar of a blouse or a tank top and sometimes a swimsuit. Now the promise of those imaginings was fully uncovered before me and a promise fulfilled it was. I smiled at her, the most satisfied smile.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

I turned to go.

“Hey, how did you like the shrimp?” She asked.

I turned back. “I loved them.”

She leaned her head back, water streaming across her brow and down her chest, chasing a line of soapy foam running down her body to the drain. I watched as she opened her eyes from the water to look at me. “This is really nice.” She took the soap and began rubbing soap in her torso, pressing her breasts with her hands in a clearly nonsexual way. She seemed genuinely unconcerned by my presence as she quickly spread the soap.

“Sure,” I replied not thinking. “Want another beer?”

She stopped for a moment and put her hands on her hips. “I’d like that, thanks.”

“Do you want me to bring it in here or leave it on the table?”

“I’m almost done. Leave it on the table. I’ll be out in a sec.” She said resuming her bathing.

I smiled and went into the apartment and opened the refrigerator wondering what to do. Decorum would say for me to bring her a beer and have it waiting on the table in a coozie to keep it cold. Desire told me to leave my shorts and tank top on the bed and get me a beer too. For some reason I turned off my better judgment and bowed to desire.

Sitting at the table again, I wondered what would happen when Sharon returned, what she would think when she saw me nude again. Was the tease over or was she a serious though closeted flasher all these years. I remembered the photo, the old photo taken by my wife so many years ago of Sharon in the bathtub along with her baby. In that photo, bubbles had hidden what I had just witnessed, but the photo itself now seemed to tell a more fundamental story.

So I knew my wife had seen her nude as well and that thought brought me to another conclusion. There was something odd, or maybe not, in that while Sharon was certainly an attractive woman, I was not overwhelmingly attracted to her sexually, at least not in any common sense. My wife fulfilled me in that respect and I was searching for no other. I realized that the excitement came from something different, breaking the clothing taboo for one, the other would tell itself later.

I sat back at the table on the porch and considering what had just happened. I lifted my drink to my lips just as Sharon finished her shower. The sound of the running water faded leaving me to wonder what was going on in the other room. I imagined Sharon grooming herself running the towel down her long legs. Had she taken clothes with her or not, I had not noticed. I wondered if this game had already gone too far. I started to cross my legs, but my cock was in the way so I reached down to move it.

“Well aren’t you the showoff,” she said walking onto the porch with nothing but the towel around her torso.

“Me?” I laughed at the accusation. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

“I’ll meet your cliché, and raise you one ‘when in Rome.'”

“Touché,” was the best I could manage, but it was still her turn.

Sharon simply slid the towel away from her body and began to pat her wet hair with it. She made no pretense to modesty, but instead stood there before me. I could see beads of water on her chest where the towel had not been wrapped around her breasts. She leaned forward running the towel down one leg and then the other. She watched me as she placed the towel between her legs and then dried under her breasts. Finally she patted away the beads of water and shook her hair.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“You know it does.”

For a moment we connected like two homesick travelers in a foreign land hearing a stranger speak their own language in a crowded market.

“I just may go jump in your pond before it is all over. You don’t have a hair drier for later do you?” She asked.

“I do. Here’s your beer?”

“Thanks.” The word was almost childlike, easy and somehow amazed for such a mundane question.

I stood up she stepped toward me and took my arm by the wrist. I watched her as she lifted my arm between us and pressed my open hand to her chest between her breasts. I felt myself becoming erect. I saw her look down.

“Feel it.” She said quietly. “My heart is beading so fast.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “mine too.”

For a moment we regarded each other.

“I have to admit something. Barb and I agreed, no swinging.” I said flatly. It risked ruining the night, but I had to do it.

A look of relief came over her face and the happy smile grew wider. She still held my hand to her chest. “That makes it easier, don’t you think?”

I pressed my hand wider against her skin, spoiling myself. If I couldn’t have her, I would still touch her.

“It’s almost dark.” She said lightly. She drew me to her, her arm around my neck, and whispered in my ear. “I’ve got an idea. Have you ever ridden in a Lexus nude?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” I said as I squeezed her tight, whispering my own thoughts into her small shell of an ear.

As we pulled apart she looked down and I followed her eyes. She smiled and batted at my erect pecker with her hand. “You boys with your toys!”

I had always loved watching that spray of dirt thrown up into the glare of the headlights when riding at night especially with nothing between me and the wind. Now, with Sharon’s body pressed up against my back I was completely exhilarated by the sensation. She held on tight squealing with delight like a little kid on an amusement park ride. We rode down in the pasture across the clear cut trails and up past the pond, then to the top of a hill. There we stopped there to gather ourselves.

Sharon got off the back and stood by ATV. In the bright moonlight, we could easily see the pond and field below. Across the road we could see cattle on the far hill and in the distance the light of the only nearby farmstead shown as a halo around the hilltop that stood in between.

I was so hard that I ached.

“Want to drive?” I asked.

“Sure.” Her grin was just as clear and bright in the moonlight as it was earlier in the day.

I slid back to give her room.

“I’m not sitting on that.” She said pointing at me.

I grabbed my cock and pulled it toward my stomach. “There you go.”

Her step over to get onto the seat was anything but ladylike. She reached for the controls as I slid up behind her, pressing my body against hers as she had done to me. As the ATV’s motor revved to life she put her hands under my thighs and pulled me closer.

“You’re going to need to hold tight!” She

yelled over the motor.

“Okay, I said wrapping my arms under her breasts. Go ahead.”

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Her lips parted as if she had something to say so I turned my head and placed my ear as near to them as I could.

“I know you can’t tell the way I can, but I’m having as much fun as you are!”

I started to reply, but was caught off guard as the ATV lurched forward, throwing gravel everywhere and sped down the hill. It was all I could do to hang on and while I may not have been able to see her enjoyment in the same way see could see mine, I knew my very efforts to stay on board were a groping that would have brought her to a halt if she had not wanted it. She handled the machine with surprising ease. It was all I could do to not to get thrown from the back as we bounced along the roads and paths of my farm.

At the bottom of one hill a county road bisects the property. Across the road is open pasture and a double line of tire marks crossed the ground led up to the tree line on this side and carried over to the gate in the fence on the other. A creek converged with the road and there were lots of grown up weeds on both sides. This was once the main entrance, but my wife and I had moved it to the top of the hill to be closer to the barn, now it is nothing but an overgrown cattle guard under a weathered crossbar held up by two tall cedar posts. Here she skidded to a stop forcing me forward into her. She turned off the motor and quickly the sounds of the country at night came alive around us.

“Wow, what a bump,” she joked over her shoulder. I felt her hand on my knee as she turned around to look at me. “So what is on the other side of this gap?”

“The rest of the farm. I lease it to old man Cotton for grazing.” I replied.

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