Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [113]
She didn’t reply. He heard her grunting again as she pulled hard at something.
“What punishment are we suffering by our being stuck here?” he continued.
“Punishment?” she asked. Her tone became tense and less pleasant. “What do you mean, ‘stuck’ here?”
“Stuck here. Abandoned in this sin-filled place of nudists and…”
She stood up, and Pastor Winterly gasped.
The woman’s collar and ‘tunic’ only covered her neck and shoulders. Everything else about her was as God had made it.
“I don’t feel abandoned. I feel privileged,” the female pastor said indignantly—absently brushing dirt away from her bare breasts. “I happen to love this place.”
The cobblestones were smooth and well worn, and made for a surprisingly pleasant ride down to the sea. All along the shore dozens of naked people spanning every age were enjoying the evening sun, still full, warm, and comforting. With the mild temperature, gentle breeze, and sounds of the ocean, the whole experience was deeply relaxing right up until Morgan rode into a tree.
He fell to the ground, his face so covered in tree bark that he looked like a raisin with teeth, and I leaped off my bike to help him.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. Just feel like an idiot is all. But did you see those tits?”
“No. I must have missed them.”
“Jesus, are you blind? I wanted to do laps on them!”
As I tried to help him up, I noticed laughter coming from very near us over toward the shore. A group of college-age kids and teenagers were playing football and had stopped to watch Morgan’s humiliating display. They were all laughing hysterically. It made me a bit angry; then one of the girls—a pretty little thing with auburn hair who wasn’t laughing—shushed them with a scowl and ran over to us.
“That‘s the one,” Morgan whispered excitedly. “Look at ‘em. Her tits are perfect. And did you see her ass? Like the Bowen statue of Marvel’s Black Widow, only flesh-colored.”
As we watched the pretty girl hurry toward us, let me just say this: men were never intended to see women—especially pretty ones—run naked anywhere, except maybe on television with all the lights dimmed and the shades drawn, in the privacy of their own bedrooms. The overall effect of watching a very attractive woman bounce and bobble her way toward you is like having someone autoinflate your penis with a leaf-blower. Both Morgan and I had to shift about rapidly so as to avoid painful pinching and embarrassing exposure for even more, hilarious, teenage amusement.
“Are you okay?” the girl asked, finally reaching us.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said, sounding far more pathetic than when I was the one offering support. “I think I may have broken my nose.”
She knelt beside him and leaned his head back giving him gentle, soothing attention. He soaked up the sympathy like a disposable diaper soaking up—what disposable diapers usually soak up—when she asked him to show her where it hurt. I noticed he made a point of moving both hands to show her the exact location, and ‘accidentally’ brushed her breasts in doing so. She didn’t seem to notice, and he did it again on the way down.
“Did that make your hands feel better?” she asked.
Oops. Apparently she had noticed.
He looked only mildly embarrassed. “Made everything feel better.”
“I have been told my breasts have miraculous, healing powers.”
“I bet they’d work great on blind men.”
“Only if they asked permission first.”
She dropped his head on a rock, and stood up rather abruptly as he squealed in pain. She turned and spoke to her no-longer laughing friends.
“He groped me!” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “I come over here to help him, and he gropes me!”
Her friends all scowled and sneered, then a wave of angry, naked flesh rapidly descended on us. I knew I had to think of something fast, or both Morgan and I would be pummeled senseless by this angry mob of bare-assed attackers. The muddled mind kicked into violent overdrive as I sussed out our situation and a solution presented itself almost immediately.
I jumped on my bike and rode off.
Not looking back, I heard the sounds