Not-So Cliche Summer Part II

Part II:

You would think that the amount of satisfaction and grandeur that can be attained in one day to be limited, and if not by the Universe, but by some divine apparition; yet, even after being exposed to such awe-inspiring events that, to an almost supernatural  extent, turned out perfect in all respects, there was more. After Sam’s accident, we decided to head back to the stream; this way, she could clean up and prevent any unwanted stains or scents. Upon arriving at the water, I took particular note of her outfit: White shirt and white shorts. You can imagine the thoughts going through my head, but before I had a chance to do or think much at all, she jumped into the pristine, flowing mass of water.

	After submerging herself, she quickly resurfaced; her clothing soaked, and just as I had suspected, almost entirely see-thru. She did not hide it, nor did she act ashamed. Thinking back, I’m glad she didn’t comment on my obvious and persistent staring. I’m not sure how I would have reacted; although, I can guarantee it wouldn’t have been smooth or coordinated by any means! After a brief time, she did, however, ask me to join her. I was more than happy to oblige given my out of control male tenancies; not to mention, the water did look quite refreshing. So, with little apprehension, I jumped into the river.

	We did as the youth are expected to do in the water: we splashed it at each other, competed with each other in a variety of activities, and we worked our imagination into the mix the best we could. Despite the fun we were having, we knew that staying for very long was not an option. We needed to let our clothes dry before heading home. We could always come back in clothes better suited for swimming later anyhow. So after having our share of fun, we emerged from the water and sat under a large tree that grew several feet from the river’s bank.

	It was hard for me not to stare and impossible for me not to look. Her shirt in its sodden state was, as previously mentioned, quite transparent, and of result, I could make out parts of her that were quite desirable, given me being like any other typical adolescent – quite lecherous at heart! Though, it was not just the shirt that fascinated me, but the shorts did as well, and while it was true that I could make out little more than the shirt that was tucked in to them, the very premise was erotic and taunting, and if you haven’t been able to deduce this sooner, I rather enjoy a tease.

I do assure you that seeing her in her such an exposed form was not that all that happened that fateful day. Things really began to pick up when we both realized that sitting the shade would not dry off our clothes nearly quick enough, and neither of us really held the idea of sitting the searing sunlight to much a level. I remember she was the first to suggest the removal of our clothing. She brought it up nonchalantly, but even she, the person whom had just wet herself, as well as drenched her white clothing, was embarrassed at the prospect. I feel it goes without saying that I personally was simply flabbergasted! We both knew what it meant: sex. That is what sex was, right? Seeing each other naked? Of course not, and not even we, being young and green were inexperienced enough to believe such a preposterous notion, but despite all of that, our blood still ran cold with nervousness. I knew mine, and I could see hers. It was truly a great step in our relationship; it was a critical time. We were slowly crossing the threshold from friends to something more, to something more intimate; of course, we weren’t thinking of that at the time. We were more concerned with ‘nipples’ and ‘penises’.

Being human, she could recognize that my shyness could easy lead to great trepidation, so it did not take much smooth-talking at all for me to convince her to go first. I remember my heart beating, my hands shaking, and my body struck with a rather bad case of rigor mortis – in more ways than one. She stood and walked slightly to my right, leaving our nice spot underneath the tree. I followed her body as she walked. It was a body that I did not compare to others, for I did care to do so; since to me, it would always be perfect and ideal in all ways. She walked behind the trunk of another rather large tree. I could only make out her sides, much like the day I had heard her urinate; if great minds think alike, then I do not deem it too far a stretch that great events share alike. I remember her voice was nervous when she told me she was going to do it; I found the nervousness cute. Not only was it out of nature for her, but it showed humanity. She was just as vulnerable a person as me! Well, maybe not just as vulnerable, but I digress.

I watched, at least what I could see, as she dropped her shorts. I waited for several moments. It was apparent she was afraid, and who could blame her? It was her first time exposing herself in front anybody in such a way – a way decorated by the primordial desires of exploration. She, in an inspiring approach, fought her fear and came from behind the tree. With her shorts gone, the white shirt covered her panties, thus making it so nothing more was exposed, yet the situation itself had gone from personal to something more. There seemed to be an unspoken change in the feeling regarding our actions, but it was not a negative one. I loved the sight of her like that, and I can say that to this day I still do enjoy a woman dressed as such. The look of a long shirt, just barely concealing a world of pleasure and evolution… or maybe I am merely perverse.

Upon looking at the masterful portrait that was her body, I came to realize something dire and soul-shaking – it was my turn. I stood up, and I would say fear flowed through my blood, yet it felt more as though my blood did not flow at all. I walked behind the tree we had been sitting under and stood there. It was easy to remove my shorts, but it was what came after which was hard. I instantly understood and related to what she had felt; the nervousness of coming out, showing your body to your other. I walked in her image, following her wise example, and I came out; although, I was showing much more then she was. I did not have a long shirt to cover my underwear, which much like hers, was white. I knew she could see my male counter-parts, and I knew my erection was, at this point, quite clear.

I do not remember our exact responses to each other, but I know they were nothing impressive - nothing more than words to display our sheer mystification and amazement with the situation. There was much unspoken though, words that could only be understood in the radiating light of the time. Anyway, she knew what was next, and without me having to press her to do so, she brought her dripping shirt up and over her head, exposing her underwear. I could not see anything new, much as it was before, but once again, there was another change in the atmosphere. Seeing her in her panties, it was so psychology extravagant! The moment itself, and while I admit I am potentially guilty of remembering it in a false glory, was truly spectacular. Her body gleamed and glistened, even in the relative shade. Behind all the feelings of ambitious desire and the high only experienced from the thrill of pioneering new grounds, I felt somewhat helpless. I wanted something, yet I couldn’t figure out what it was. My lower body throbbed with desire and my mind begged for more.

When I left my stupefied state, I soon knew that it was once again my turn, so with little fear, I removed my shirt. It didn’t mean much since she had, on many occasions, seen me shirtless; honestly, I did feel a little guilty that I counted that as a turn, but then again, I was simply a boy. One who happened to be under significant stress, even if it wasn’t bad stress, and of result, I watched as she, her cheeks glowing the most sincere shade of red, placed her hands on the edges of her panties. She stopped for a moment and prepared herself. She then, remembering the strong persons she was, slid them downward, and let them fall to the ground. I gazed upon her canvas in admiration. Such beauty, such a blessing! How could I be so lucky? I did not see much, since she was standing straight up, but with her legs spread, I could make out the vague details, and I knew there would time to inspect with more consideration to detail later.

I then knew it was time, and I had no wants to prolong the event. I grabbed the waistband of my underwear and stopped, just as she had, to prepare myself. The only issue was that I was not reminded of how strong a person that I was, rather, I was shown how strong a person I could become. So, like I had done previously, I followed in her example, and dropped my underwear. My genitals, while previously visible, were left in far great detail, and my erection, which had been held down by my underwear before, stood out before the world.

Honoring the basing of our journey, we took our sodden clothing and placed it out in the sun to dry. We then took our places from before, sitting in the shade. The only difference was that we were completely naked – completely visible and exposed. Much like before, I found it hard not to stare, not to grasp at her body with my hungering eyes. I assume that she felt the same; since often enough, she would steal a glance at my body, curiosity getting the better of her.

We soon began, doing our best to overcome the sheer anxiety in the air, to converse. We asked each other questions, yet these were not the standard questions. They were of a much more personal nature - questions that couldn’t be asked in normal discussion without an eyebrow being raised in confusion and surprise. I don’t remember each question that was asked, but I do remember one. I, at that time, recognized the situation as being a perfect time to finally ask a question that had been plaguing me for quite the time: why did she not wear bras. The ideal framework of the event could be found in the fact that she would assume the question was not based on any other occasions, but rather, only on that occasion, where it was quite apparent she had not been wearing a bra. She had told me that they were uncomfortable, and that she only wore them when she was forced. I felt a bit stupid for not assuming that, especially given the rather ample amount of time dedicated to its discovery. I then asked if it was the opposite about panties: were they as uncomfortable as bras, and if so, why wear them? She was not quite as willing to answer that question, and at the time, I did not know why; of course, now I can look back and say it was most likely for anatomical reasons, and she simply fell into a habit after being forced by necessity. She did, despite her trepidation, give me separate answer, and it is one that I, still to this day, love. She told me that if she ever leaked, her underwear would absorb it. It was an idea I had messed with before, but never really given it serious thought, but to hear her say it! It seemed even more gratifying then seeing her naked – for some unknown reason – and admittedly, it was much like a drug. I craved more. As much as I valued the response, I was merely human, and as such a typical creature, I sought, with much greed, more information and more pleasure.

That answer had sparked an opportunity. It had allowed for me to steer the conversation in a different, far more fascinating direction: bathroom habits. I, being a young man, took no heed, and with no beating around the bush, but with greatly calculated tact and subtly, I asked her an absolutely stimulating question. Had she ever wet herself, with, of course, the exceptions of earlier that day. I could tell the question embarrassed her, but given her soft smile and her delicate answer, I could tell I had not crossed any sort of inappropriate line. She had told me that she had, but did not supply any detail, and still, practicing that keen sense of tact and subtly, I asked for specifics, as in, when. She had told me that it was something that had befallen her on many an occasion. I could not believe my ears, and unable to contain my hormonal lusts, I brashly asked for the most recent occasion. She shyly responded to me, and told the most recent occasion had been that very morning. I did my best not suck in all the air around me in sheer amazement, as well as realization. I say the latter for I suddenly remembered her PJ’s, and the wetness I had found inside of them. I asked her to explain, to tell me what had happened; after all, I was merely curious! I wasn’t a pervert looking for her to divulge the details of her failure to reach the bathroom in an appropriate manner for sexual gratification or anything, right?

She told me that, often enough, when she awoke from her slumber, she would have an urge to urinate – one that was normally quite bad. There were certain mornings, ones where bad didn’t quite describe it. She would simply have to jump out of bed and head straight to the toilet, or she, as she worded it, wouldn’t make it in time. She then stopped and asked me if I was enjoying her story. I noticed her eyes were on my once-again rising genitalia. I had, earlier in the discussion, explained to her what I knew of erections, so she now knew that I was finding great interest in her story. I didn’t know how to respond. How could I? Luckily, she dismissed the question with a giggle, a response that was very comforting to me on more than one level, and she continued. She told me that she had, that morning, found herself in just the very predicament she had described; the only difference was that this time around, she didn’t quite make it. I asked her to explain, although I already had a pretty good idea of what had happened. I wanted to hear her say it, to admit to it, to confirm my thoughts. She told me that she got out of bed, ran for the bathroom, and she lost control before she was able to get her pants down. She explained that she hadn’t exactly wet herself, per se, but most of her accidents were like that. It would be an occasion where she would leak or hold it a little too long, and she would make it to the bathroom just in the nick of time, or maybe just a little late.

I wanted to inquire more, to pick her brain on the matter, but it was her turn to ask a question, and I did not fight it. While I do not know exactly why it came as a surprise, it caught me off guard when she asked if I had ever wet myself. The question itself made me contemplate just how much interest she found in the topic, as well as how normal the topic was in the common world. I told her that it had only happened once. It was back in my third year of school, or rather, the second grade. I had found myself in with a peculiar need for the toilet, but my teacher had no plans of letting me go. I spent a good time sitting my seat, squirming and whining, until the inevitable. I peed on myself. Fortunately, my fellow students took little pleasure in my suffering, and the incident did not stay with me; although, it was still rather embarrassing to recall.