The Stripping of Honeypot

The Stripping of Honeypot 1

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

THE STRIPPING OF HONEYPOT

By Willie B Florida
comments welcome to williebflorida@gmail.com

* * *

PART ONE

Readers have been asking about my own early experiences with nudity, particularly as a child. This memory doesn't go back that far. I was already a young adult and married when this story begins, but the long trajectory of this narrative involves several children, the youngest of whom is Hani, who became known by the nickname "Honeypot". Hence the title of this story.

My wife and I were both in our early twenties when we got married. Neither of us were into drugs or drinking, but we had our own wild side: we loved being naked—and having sex—in places where it wasn't really allowed. We stripped down and made out in public parks, on nature trails, in art museums. We climbed over someone's eight-foot tall back fence one evening and went skinny dipping in their backyard. Finding a foothold on the other side and scrambling back over the high fence turned out to be much more difficult. I don’t know what we would have done if they’d found us there in the morning! We had sex so many times at a nature preserve in the very conservative town of Cape May, New Jersey, that we got rather careless. It seemed like we were the only people to go to the far edge of the reserve. I must have been 24 years old at the time, totally naked, lying on the grass. My sweetheart was alternately sucking my dick and kneeling back on her haunches and jacking me off for all it was worth. I was in bliss. I opened my eyes and there was a young woman in hiking gear and backpack. It took me a moment to register that she was there, and before I could react at all she just lit up in a big grin. She turned and walked off, but it was a really cool moment. My wife had never stopped pumping my dick, I didn't go into sudden panic mode, and our visitor was obvious in her appreciation.

* * *

When we moved back to Florida we were fortunate to be within a few hours driving distance of a legally-tolerated clothing optional beach. This was long before the DECENT laws and Stripped For Florida went into effect. Everything is different now. These days I don't think we'd dare be nude on any public lands in New Jersey--reactionary state that it has become. In Florida adults had carved out a few places to go naked on Federal lands, and kids were basically left out of the pleasures of public nudity. Now, of course, kids are stripped and naked all over Florida, but adults have to enjoy themselves in private nudist camps and such. In any case, back then we used to drive to Apollo Beach at the north end of Canaveral National Seashore. We usually went for two days, staying overnight in New Smyrna Beach, and then driving back home. In the park, the gig was to drive all the way to the last parking area. The clothing optional--heck, let's just say nude--part of the beach was so popular that the whole park could be empty until the last parking area, and that would be full! After waiting for a spot to park the car, we'd walk down to the beach. To the left was the clothed part of the beach. To the right was the naked part. Nobody did much to hide the fact that they were naked on the beach. You could see the long line of umbrellas and beach goers stretched off to the right--you just couldn't be entirely sure that they were naked until you walked a little closer.

The scene was very mellow. There were the regulars, mostly middle aged to older men, who came out every day, rain or shine, and sat under their sun enclosures. There were couples: male/male, male/female, even a few female/female, again mostly in their 40s and up, who dragged coolers and chairs and canopies down to the beach. There were some younger men and couples as well--mostly in their 30s I would say. What there weren't was kids. No kids, no 'tweens, no teens. Not at all. The only exception we’d ever witnessed was the time that a young couple set themselves down right before the first naked guy on the beach and let their very young toddlers play on the sand in the altogether. It was as if they couldn't quite bring themselves to be part of the nude scene, but got as close to it as possible before stripping down their little ones.

So, imagine my surprise when my wife nudges me to look down the beach. We’ve come for one of our two-day naked-on-the-beach getaways and have been settled down for about an hour. The sun is beating down, the breeze is blowing in on the surf, the sky is blue, the dunes wild, the clouds scattered. It is a beautiful day. My gaze follows my wife's nudge and I see a family trudging down the beach toward us. Mother and father in shorts and t-shirts, lugging an umbrella, towels, a cooler and a large canvas bag. Following behind is a girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old and a boy who looks one or two years younger. I’ve never seen 'tweens or teens (or any kids other than the two little toddlers) on this beach in years of visiting, but here they are, two naked, tanned adolescents. Yes, the kids are both naked, even before they’ve reached the informally agreed upon nudist line of demarcation. As they get closer I can see that the kids have traces of pale marks from wearing shorts and shirts, but they have each definitely seen some all over sun!

Like I say, the beach atmosphere was pretty mellow. It was the custom to place yourself no closer than 10 or 15 yards away from your nearest neighbor. People were friendly--but not pushy about it--and certainly not all on top of one another. So the second surprise is when our newly arrived family plop themselves down 6 feet away from our umbrella. The father starts putting up their umbrella, spreading out a beach blanket and arranging their cooler and other items. The mother wastes no time in pulling out a tube of sun block and slathering the boy with the liquid. He stands there while she works the lotion into his skin, front and back, top to bottom, not missing anywhere. The last spot is his dick and she rubs the lotion into that as thoroughly as any other part of his skin. Having finished working the lotion into his skin she holds the boy's penis in the palm of her hand as it slowly fills with blood. I see him give the barest of nods to his mother. She tweaks the end of his dick and turns her attention to her daughter. Again the process of working the sun block into every inch of skin is carried out with total efficiency, ending with two deliberate tweaks that leave the girl's nipples standing out nice and erect.

The kids scamper down to the water to play.

"Can't let them get burned," the mother says out loud, aiming the remark our way. "If I didn't do it myself they'd just run into the waves and come back burned to a crisp."

"Yeah, our kids are the same," I respond rather lamely. Actually, our kids are rather fanatic about not getting burned, but it is true that they learned the hard way. They used to simply run out onto the beach and get burned. Pain was their teacher, not my insistence.

"You can see they're getting tanned anyway, so I guess some rays get through the sun block," their mother continues.

"It's nice your kids will come to this beach," my wife joins the conversation. "Our kids came once; that was it—they refused to do it ever again.”

"We used to come by ourselves," the woman replies, gesturing at herself and her husband, "but this year we decided, we're going to get our kids used to being naked."

"Our kids don't mind being naked," my wife clarifies, "they just won't go to a nude beach."

“We rented a condo for the entire month, and we've been bringing the kids every day."

"Wow," I exclaim. "A whole month. Nice."

"It is nice. We're on week three and you can see that they're pretty happy now. How many kids do you have?"

"The oldest is 17, then 12. Our youngest might be your son's age, he's 11."

"Actually they're both 12. Karin just shot up this last year, so I don't blame you for thinking she's older. Karl hasn't hit his growth spurt yet. But, yes, they're twins," she answered the unspoken question in my eyes. "I'm Angie," she introduced herself, "and that's Tom, my hubby."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Willie . . . "

"And I'm Deb."

"Wonderful to meet you. Nice that you have kids, too, even if they aren't here!"

As the day progresses Deb and I make sure to do our usual beach activities. We swim in the water, take a long walk down the beach as far as the sign warning those without back country permits to go no further, count sea turtle nests, and enjoy the sky and sun and clouds. Back at our umbrellas the twins appear, declaring they are starving and demanding food. We end up blending our picnic and sharing food all around. Water droplets glisten on the twins and dry to a coating of salt on their tanned smooth skin. All four of us adults enjoy our own nudity and conversation is easy. As the afternoon wears on a bank of dark clouds gathers over the dunes and beach goers start to pack up and drag their chairs, umbrellas, coolers and tents up the beach.

"Looks like we should head out," Tom advises, "But listen. I'm firing up the grill at the condo and we'd love it if you'd come for dinner."

The twins beam at us. "Yeah, you should come," they chorus.

"It's a sort of special evening," Angie says. "We've hired a masseur and anyone who wants gets a massage."

Karl rolls his eyes in pleasure. "It's so yummy."

"This is the third time," Angie explains. "A massage a week during our one month stay."

"Wow!" I exclaim.

"Sounds wonderful," my wife puts in. "Can we bring anything?"

"We've got everything," Tom replies. "If you want you can bring some ice cream. But don't worry if it is too much bother."

We decide to go back to our own lodgings, freshen up, get some ice cream and meet them at their condo in a couple of hours. Arrangements made, we pack up and head back en masse to the parking lot. When we got closer to the invisible line where the clothing optional portion of the beach ends I slip on my wisp of a bikini style bathing suit and my wife pulls a dress over her head. Angie and Tom cover up as well, but the twins keep trudging along toward the ramp.

"It's the end of the naked beach," I say as casually as possible.

"I don't think anyone's worried about two naked kids," Tom answers.

Karin didn't seem that kid-like in appearance to me, and even Karl was getting beyond the "little" kid stage, but I don't say any more.

"We're trying to get them used to being naked as much as possible," Angie puts in.

The only people on the beach who haven't just been nude themselves are a family down by the water's edge. All four are fully dressed, even though the boys are skim boarding and clearly drenched. The one boy points at us just as we are at the top of the ramp. I can just imagine the conversation.

"Dad, that girl is naked."

"Son, she's probably wearing a bikini. They're really small these days."

"Maybe . . . " the boy would have answered doubtfully.

"See you at the condo!" I wave as we get into our car.

"I can't wait for my massage," Karl exclaims. "Can I go first, please?"

"You were first last time!" his sister protests.

* * *

NEXT INSTALLMENT: Part Two Begins . . .

Deb and I go back to the condo to freshen up, but end up having sex. Unspoken between us is how hot it has been seeing the twin ‘tweens on the nude beach. After showering a second time we pick up a bottle of wine and some ice cream and head to the condo of our new acquaintances. Angie opens the door.

(End of File)