Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [193]
Wisper, in turn learned to stop running, went back to college and got a degree in history, specializing in nudism and its historical trends. She now teaches at Nikkid Bottoms Community College and frequently gets hit on by her young students. I visit her often at lunch.
Wendy and River continue to be an item, and I’m continually amazed at how compatible they are. It’s fun to see her boundless, sexual energy so focused on someone other than me, and River certainly enjoys being the target of her unbridled lust.
Morgan had to do some Nikkid Bottoms community service, and a little jail time for his ‘wandering hands’ bit on the auburn-haired stunner from the beach—for which I acted as witness for the prosecution—as well as take an online course in sensitivity training. But I think we all know how that turned out. He and Sophie also broke up, as expected, but she still occasionally has sex with him, so he doesn’t actually mind.
Once the road in both dimensions was repaired and Reverend Winterly worked out the supposed attempted child-molestation thing, he began to make regular trips to our naked shores, got himself into fighting shape, gradually grew less stern, and although I’ve yet to see him naked, I’m fairly sure Reverend Summersby has.
Woodruff never left. He took the cue from Homer and got comfortable almost immediately. In short order he found a nice, older lady, who was neither revolted by, nor terrified of, the thing that lived between his legs surviving on a regular diet of birds and small rodents. Not surprisingly, she was a direct descendant of Homer himself.
Washburne, apparently, came back into town immediately after the car-blowing-up incident and spent a lot of money in a very short time on some frivolous things. Then he got word that we—and his father—had made it back in spite of him, and he quickly disappeared. No one’s seen hide or hair of him since.
Good riddance I say, especially if he stays gone and doesn’t come back with guns.
Oh, and no one knows what happened to Mindie. She’s eluded the police and anyone else who’s gone looking for her for over a year now. I can only assume she’s still living in the woods somewhere, and in the stories parents tell their children at night to scare them into behaving.
If you had happened by the Nikkid Bottoms First Methodist Church on Saturday morning, June the sixth, you would have seen a sign out front that read, in white letters on black:
The Wedding of
Corcharan Wopplesdown
and
Wisper Nuckeby
And just beyond that sign, you would have spotted several men, about half wearing tuxedos, while the other half wore ties.
Just ties.
You also might have seen my Aunt Hyapatia, and her husband Bernard, as they walked up to River Nuckeby and witnessed her nearly pass out with a combination of giddiness and renewed, postmenopausal lust as he took her arm and asked her the question every man asked each of the newly arrived.
“Friends of the bride, or of the groom?”
She waved her arms to indicate her rather puritan dress, shoes, and old-lady ankle-stockings. “You have to ask?” she purred.
As he guided her in, she ogled his substantial member, rippling muscles, and bare behind rather shamelessly, and smiled the smile of a woman expecting, imminently, to drink from the fountain of youth.
Uncle Bernard seemed not to notice, or more accurately, to care, as he followed them in through the church doors.
Within the hour, once inside, you would have seen a church divided into two equal halves. On the left, a set of pews for the uncomfortably clothed, and on the right, a set of pews for the comfortably nude—each side taking occasional glances at the other in either amazement, horror, or delight—and often various combinations thereof.
At the front of the church, once everyone had been seated, you could have watched my brothers and Morgan as groomsmen in their freshly pressed tuxedos paying no attention whatsoever to anything other than the naked bridesmaids standing