Thirteen

The day had burnt like a furnace that had scorched the earth. The midsummer sun had passed across the sky like a flame that burnt red in the western sky before setting in a calm sea washed of all colour. But the night that brought no relief from the stifling heat. Brian woke with a start in a bed soaked in sweat. He emerged trembling from a fitful dream, a nightmare where he had walked naked through his local supermarket to the astonishment and disgust of his friends and neighbours who pointed mockingly at his exposed genitals and jeered with cruel laughter at the size of his hairy behind. He did not need a Jung to analyse this dream, he knew its source well, his headstrong daughter Isla. Tomorrow she would begin her bare all campaign against air conditioning, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, no reasoning would sway her from the path she had held unswervingly for the past four months. His distress was instantly doubled when he turned to his wife looking for comfort, only to find Marion gone. With no thought to his own nudity he dashed down the stairs, his swaying genitals slapping gently against his bare legs.

All his fears were realised when, racing into the kitchen he found the door to the garden wide open. He tip toed to the threshold and peeped out. To his relief Marion was sitting in a chair on the sun terrace. She was completely naked of course, but at least she wasn’t off down the lane like a character from a warped nursery rhyme.

“What are you doing Marion?” he hissed, so as not to wake the neighbours.

“Trying to cool down” she replied quietly.

“What if somebody sees you?”

”Don’t be stupid Brian” responded Marion with some distain, “we ate supper out here starkers while it was still light, who’s going to see us now”

Brian had to admit she had a point. Isla had deliberately grown her bush since Christmas, and so had Marion, except her bush acted as a privacy screen to save her from the neighbours prying eyes. Or was it vice versa? Brian was never quite sure. Such had been the fierce heat of the day that Brian, who usually remained clothed at all times had joined his wife for a bare all session when he had come home sweating and irritable from a sweltering day at the office, which, to his daughter’s great satisfaction used a novel form of air conditioning called windows. For once Brian appreciated his wife’s lifestyle, marvelling in the refreshing feelings of a total lack of clothing.

Confident in the efficiency of his wife’s shrubbery screen Brian slipped on his sandals and joined her in the fragrant night air. Unseen, the door swung silently closed behind him and it wasn’t until it gave out a portentous click that Brain realised his error. To his horror he had locked them both out of the house. “Oh my God” he hissed in complete panic, “we’re locked out.” Marion, who had been on her way for a midnight stroll, was prepared for such an eventuality.

“Don’t panic, Brian” she told him holding up a key that he could just make out in the light from the Milky Way high above them. Assuaged her husband sat back in the garden chair and relaxed. Silence hung between them like a thread as they drunk in the starlit sky and the faint breeze that brought a heady scent from the end of the garden.

“Smell that” Marion asked.

“Mmm” he replied with contentment.

“I wonder what it is?” And with that she was gone.

“Marion, come back” pleaded Brain. He had to stop her, and so with great care he ventured out into the garden. There was nothing to fear for Marion’s careful gardening had ensured seclusion, and safe in the knowledge that nobody could catch a glimpse of his birthday suit Brian tripped along the garden path after the fading pale blob that was his wife’s bare behind. Like a moth to a night flower he homed onto her bottom that protruded upwards from a flowerbed.

“Beautiful” she said, meaning the flower

“Yes indeed” agreed Brian, meaning his wife’s buttocks.

“Why Brian” said Marion, turning to look at him, “I do believe there is something growing in your shrubbery.” He quickly turned sideways but this merely served to emphasise the object of his wife’s attention. She reached out and stroked him gently.

“Have you ever thought of making love in the wild” she whispered in his ear.

“No” he said abruptly, but his heart was beating strong and his mind was no longer in control as Marion continued to stroke his mutinous penis.

“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,” she whispered into his ear, her breath hot in that midsummer night, “Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”

“Are you talking about the wood?”

Brian had spent many hours in the nearby wood with is infant daughter. He could not think of anywhere that matched Shakespeare’s description of a fairy queen’s bed.

“Come on Brian” murmured his wife, “let’s live a little”

“This is madness, Marion” he protested, “what if someone sees us”

But all his protests were in vein as his erection grew in his wife’s hand. With a quick tug they were on their way out of the back gate and down the lane; hand in penis following their own Midsummer night’s dream.

A few score miles away, for exactly the same reasons as her father, Isla was also having trouble sleeping, and she decided on a similar remedy. She turned to Henri who lay flat on his back, fast asleep, but that was not an insurmountable problem and so, at exactly the same time as her mother reached out and grabbed her father’s penis, her daughter began to stroke life into Henri’s. Like her mother Isla was pleased with the success of her labours as Henri first stood to attention and then marched quickly out of the land of his midsummer night’s dreams. Fully aroused he rolled over right on top of Isla, fully prepared to thrust his swollen ardour into her, before a firm hand on the chest brought him up short.

“What” he exclaimed

“No you can’t” Isla told him firmly.

“Why not?”

“At ten o’clock tomorrow morning I am going to parade around the shopping mall stark naked”

They, well Susie, had decided on this time so the pictures would make the midday news bulletins.

“I know. Why is that a problem? They won’t be able to see you had sex the night before”

“They might”

“What”

“What goes up must come down” replied Isla in the manner of a school teacher talking to a backward child.

“Oh, I didn’t realise”

“No, you never end up with the sticky pants, do you?”

That wasn’t exactly true, but Henri knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“So why did you bother to wake me”

“I couldn’t sleep”

“Oh great” he replied in frustration.

Isla smiled seductively. “But……..Since you are awake you can make yourself useful”

“If you think I’m going to make a cup of tea!”

“That’s not what I had in mind at all” she replied pushing his head down under the thin sheet covering her body, “you don’t have to make a deposit to get my interest”

Henri sighed and bent his back as a slave to the night; for after all she might reciprocate later.

As Henri began to alternately kiss Isla’s small breasts, her equally naked mother was pulling her father down onto her in a shady hollow beneath a rustling oak that Marion had earmarked, more in hope than expectation, a few weeks ago. Brian was no longer hesitant and completely lost in the moment entered his wife without waiting for an invitation. Caught by surprise Marion gave out a startled gasp which her husband interpreted as an exclamation of ecstasy to which he responded with deep rhythmic thrusts.

In the privacy of her bedroom Isla was also in rapture as Henri’s experienced tongue explored her erogenous zones. She let a small moan of elation as he probed her engorged clitoris. Far to north Marion also let out a moan. This was not turning out as she had expected at all, the bracken beneath her irritated her skin and she was certain some blood sucking insect was crawling all over her back about to bite. And so, at exactly the same moment as her daughter arched her back in the pleasure of orgasm Marion arched hers in an attempt to dislodge the thrusting Brian. All this did was to trigger a massive orgasm in her husband who, when he had deposited every last drop of, what to Marion seemed, an enormous amount of semen, flopped forward and lay motionless on top of her, lost in his afterglow.

Henri was similarly disappointed, as, just like her father Isla had immediately fallen asleep post coitus. He lay there idly playing with himself and thinking about Susie’s ravishing naked body a mere nine inches away. Unfortunately that space was filled with a solid layer of breeze blocks, so Henri had to make do with the memory from the meeting and the anticipation of the day to come.

The wood which had seemed so quiet when they had entered it full of anticipation was now as noisy as a rush hour rail station. Marion was aware of every rustle of animals as they stole through the bushes, the hoot of the owl in the trees where the leaves rattled and wheezed in the breeze like an old man with a fever. Her back was itching worse than chickenpox and she was desperate to go home, but she was unable to move, pinned underneath the prone body of her husband. There was nothing for it, it had to be done. She leaned her head forward and whispered three little words that were guaranteed to get his attention.

“Darling, it’s getting light”

These cut through his post orgasmic slumber like a red hot poker through a snow bank; and without further ado, he was pulling Marion up to her feet and dragging her back towards the lane. She just managed to stop him before they reached the open ground that led to the style.

“Wait” she hissed, “we have to check no one is looking out” This stopped him soon enough. There were no lights to be seen at any of the windows, but the curtains and all the windows of the houses of Belvoir Avenue were wide open, desperately searching for a cooling breeze.

“We’ll just have to chance it” said Brian and without further ado he sprinted for the style, where he without warning he stopped dead causing Marion to career into the back of him, The slap of naked flesh on naked flesh resounded through the still night like a rifle shot. As soldiers caught in an ambush the bare couple threw themselves to the ground. Brian uttered a grunt as the solid earth forced the air from his lungs, Marion, however, landed in something rather more soft and squigy something that had an unpleasant and sadly familiar smell. “Ur” she exclaimed getting to her feet, not caring if anyone was there to see or not. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse” she muttered and grabbing two handfuls of grass she miserably wiped off the cow dung that clung to her breasts as best she could. “What’s that smell” said Brain at her side, “is that you?”

“Let’s just get home” Marion pleaded. Brian tip toed to the style and peeked over. The lane was bible black, nothing stirred in the blind shadows. “Let’s go” Brian hissed urgently and without waiting for his wife’s reply he hopped over the style, his low swinging testicles avoiding a painful brush with the crumbling wood by the width of a pubic hair. He didn’t need to turn to check Marion was following as he could plainly smell the remnants the manure covering her modesty.

Silently, they stole along the crow black lane towards the street with no name, where the light from Belvoir Avenue shone as bright for them as any midday sun. Here they stopped, ears pricked, as alert as a mouse in an open field. As she stood silently behind her husband Marion grimly became aware of a warm sticky stream dribbling down the inside of her bare thigh. This night was going from bad to worse she thought, as she wiped Brian’s semen from her leg. She sniffed it experimentally just to confirm her suspicions, but she knew exactly what it was, for as her daughter had told Henri less than an hour before, what goes up must come down. She wiped her hand on Brain’s bare back glowing pale orange in front of her.

“Ugh, what’s that?” he complained as he felt the slimy fluid.

“Yours” replied Marion, who was long past caring if anyone was in the road. Without so much as glance she strode brazenly across the road and into the lane that led to their garden gate. Brian scurried after her cursing silently to himself.

Safely inside the house Marion inspected the damage in the hall mirror. The whole of her front was streaked with cow dung, her hair looked like the bracken she had been lying on, and Brain’s semen had reached the knee of her left leg and the ankle of her right. All Brain could worry about was whether they had been seen.

“I don’t think so” she told him in a voice that clearly indicated that at that moment she wouldn’t have cared if the Mayor and the whole of the town council had been taking photographs. Muttering in disgust she headed straight to shower, leaving Brain to do as he willed.

Half an hour later Marion was much refreshed and headed off to find her husband who, she felt most definitely, owed her an orgasm. She tracked him to the bedroom where, like their daughter he lay fast asleep. With a sigh Marion went to the front window to check the street. It was as empty as the main square of a French town at lunchtime and all the windows of the houses were as blind as moles.

“Ah well,” she muttered to herself, “at least there was nobody else around”

But she was wrong; for many nights now a lonely figure had waited in the shadows that lay deep upon the street with no name, in the increasingly forlorn hope of catching sight of the naked angel. Perhaps there was no such thing, perhaps the story had been, after all the ramblings of a seriously ill man. And then suddenly when all hope was nearly lost there she was, strolling across road in all her naked glory. Desperate to remain unseen the watcher drew back into the coal black shadows hardly daring to breathe. The seconds ticked silently by; when enough time had lapsed for the stranger to be sure the angel would not return, the silent figure left the dark corner and crept to the entrance of the back lane. The alley was empty, but the stranger pressed on, shying away from the patches of starlight, confident that the quarry had not gone far. A light suddenly snapped on in one of the houses and the hunter knew where she had gone to ground. Carefully the shadowy figure counted the houses back to the street with no name, before returning to Belvoir Avenue to find the house she lived in. There it was, as pretty as a picture, with flowers and a high hedge blocking the view of the windows. A winding path led to a green front door with a solid brass letterbox. It wasn’t heaven but it was the abode of an angel. Noting the address the watcher set off up the avenue and was long gone by the time Marion came out of the shower.