Day 1—The Drive—Sunday
We were two hours into our ten-hour drive from Kentucky to Crotch Lake, Ontario. (Yes, it is a real place. Check Google Earth: 44°52'10.30" N, 76°48'0.37" W.) I had just started my first two-hour turn at the wheel of Ken and Karen’s Escalade, with their twenty-foot runabout in tow. Cindy and I had provided most of the camping gear that filled the boat and most of the Escalade’s cargo space. Ken was riding shotgun. My wife Cindy was sitting behind him, and his wife Karen was behind me, complaining.
“Eight more hours? This is boring. We need to do something. Anything to liven things up. Any ideas, anyone?”
Cindy said, “When I was a kid, we played a bunch of travel games. You know, license plate bingo; I spy; I’m going on vacation, and I’m bringing...”
Karen said, “Those are crap! I’d rather count telephone poles.”
I couldn’t resist. “You know who was the first telephone Pole—Alexander Graham Bellinski.” I was answered with three groans.
Karen’s knee jammed into the back of my seat as she said, “Dave, I sure hope we’re not going to have to listen to your crappy puns all week.”
Ken jumped in, “Hey Karen, why don’t you read that new Dan Brown book to us?”
Cindy and I both agreed that sounded like a good idea.
“I’m not sure I want to,” Karen said.
“Three to one,” Ken said.
“Okay, I’ll read. But I get to pick the book. I’m already four chapters into the Brown and don’t want to start over.”
“Deal,” three of us said at once.
Karen dug around in her tote bag, rejecting book after book until she triumphantly pulled one out. “Ah. This one will be perfect.”
She began reading.
My husband had been on a business trip to Boston and was due back Friday night. So, you can imagine my surprise when he walked into our bedroom Thursday afternoon. Imagine his surprise when he saw our neighbor, Arthur, balls deep in my snatch. What was I to do? Arthur and I were both about to cum. George was standing there in the doorway, his body shaking, and his face turning red. What else could I do? What should I say? What could I say but? “Oh Arthur, fuck me hard. Fuck me hard. Deeper! Harder! Oh, yes. Just like that. Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!”
Oh my God, did he ever fuck me. Arthur pounded my pussy so hard I thought he was going to break the bed. My pussy throbbed and squeezed his cock. If it hadn’t been gushing so much pussy juice, it would have clamped Arthur’s cock so it couldn’t move. Luckily, it was at its juiciest, and he pounded and pounded. It started. The clamping turned to twitching. The twitching turned to spasms. The spasms got stronger and stronger and spread over my whole body. My toes tingled, and my orgasm exploded. I almost blacked out. Just then, Arthur screamed, “Oh my God. I’m cum-mm-ming, too!” I felt his cock fill my pussy with a fire hose load of cum.
Once I could see straight again, I saw George standing beside the bed—naked. He looked me in the eye and said, “Is this a private party, or can I join in?”
Karen didn’t pause until she finished the first chapter. A quick glance around the car proved that the drive was no longer boring. Ken and I both had bulges in our pants. I couldn’t see Karen since she was directly behind me, but from the sound of her voice, she was either a great actress or very turned on. I glanced over my right shoulder and saw Cindy squirming around on the seat with her hand in her lap. I’m pretty sure that she had been rubbing her crotch until I turned to look at her. That first book continued graphically from that scene to all the couples living on that cul-de-sac becoming a neighborhood swingers club and everyone fucking almost everyone else.
For the rest of the drive, except for stops, we took turns reading from Karen’s porn collection. I lost count of how many of those fuck books we finished in the final eight hours of the drive. My dick almost hurt from being erect so long. If I had been taking little blue pills, we would have needed to stop so I could see a doctor. But then, I’ve always maintained that the marketing department demanded the four-hour warning rather than the product safety people.
# # #
Around five that afternoon, we arrived at the lodge on the south end of the lake. The distinct aroma of aroused pussy permeated the car. We negotiated a fee with the innkeeper for parking the Escalade and using their boat ramp and dock. For the next hour or so, we ferried our gear to a two-acre island about a mile from the lodge. We finished setting up the tent, the kitchen area, and the latrine just in time to start dinner at dusk. It wasn’t anything special, just hot dogs cooked over the campfire and a few Molson Goldens.
After dinner, Ken and I were sitting by the fire debating the Red’s chances to get the pennant. Across from us, Cindy and Karen were whispering and giggling.
“Look at you, two twenty-seven-year-olds giggling like schoolgirls. What are you giggling about over there?” I asked.
Cindy answered, “You know how you kept going on this morning about my needing a suitcase of my own in addition to space in our shared bag?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well, Karen and Ken had almost the same conversation.”
“Okay, so what? I still don’t see why you needed extra space. All we’re likely to need is two changes of clothes, a swimsuit, and rain gear. All that for two people should fit in one duffle with room left over.”
Karen interrupted. “Dave, you just don’t understand women. We also need our beauty potions, and this trip we needed space for some special things. Cindy and I planned to keep you guys interested.”
“I think we’re plenty interested,” said Ken.
“Oh, yeah? Dave, light that big lantern of yours, and we girls will show you some of the things in those extra bags as you guys called them.” Karen grabbed Cindy’s hand and dragged her toward the tent
“Okay.” I got up, lit the big Coleman, and hung it a few yards from the fire to keep the bugs away from us. The girls disappeared into the tent amidst more giggling.
Whispering and giggling continued for a few more minutes, then Karen announced, “Welcome to the inaugural Crotch Lake Fashion Show. First this evening, the lovely Cindy wearing a selection from the redneck collection.”
The tent zipper separated, and Cindy stepped out in a blue bandana-print halter-top and a pair of Daisy Dukes. She walked over to the campfire, pausing under the lantern for a slow turn so we could see the outfit all around. The halter-top was tied around her neck and behind her lower back. It covered her chest but hinted at her erect nipples. The Dukes stopped a couple inches above the bottom of her ass, showing off the bottom of her butt cheeks. At the campfire, she did another slow turn to give us a close-up look. We applauded as she retreated to the tent.
When Cindy reached the tent, she turned and said, “Gentlemen, we continue with another outfit from the redneck collection. Please welcome Karen.”
Ken and I responded with more applause while Karen took the same path that Cindy had. Karen was wearing a white tube top, a pink mini-skirt, and pink cowgirl boots. The tube top clung delightfully to her tits showing the size and shape of her erect nipples. The mini might even have been a micro-mini. I’m not sure that I know the dividing line, but I do know that the hem of that skirt couldn’t have been more than an inch below her crotch. I kept hoping that she would bend over so I could see what was under it. She did bend over once to give Ken a quick kiss. But damn it, her backside was pointed the wrong way for me to check it out.
When she got back to the tent, she paused at the door. “That concludes the redneck portion of our show. Cindy will open our bikini show wearing a cover-up and a yellow bikini from the designers at Target.” She pronounced it Tar-jay to make it sound French.
The tent zipper separated, and Cindy stepped out in a modest yellow bikini showing clearly through an almost transparent white cover-up that came to just under her ass. She walked over to the campfire and did a slow turn under the lantern so we could see the outfit all around.
We applauded and cheered. Cindy returned to the tent, poked her head out, and said, “Next, with another Tar-jay bikini, our very own Karen.”
Cindy disappeared, then Karen wiggled out of the tent in a tiny white bikini so thin that the color and shape of her nipples were visible as she slowly twirled under the Coleman. As she got closer, I was mesmerized by the way the bottoms clung to her ass and by the camel toe in the front. She walked over to Ken and said, “Care to touch the fabric to examine the quality, sir?”
“Yes, I would, ma’am. Please step closer.” Ken reached out and cupped her breasts with both hands. “Very nice, very nice indeed. Of course, I’ll need to be sure that both pieces are the same quality.” He put one hand on her ass and the other on her pussy, rubbing her through the thin cloth.
“Please, Sir, I think if you do that any more, we might stain the merchandise. I must return so the show can continue.” She wiggled her butt back to the tent. Just before she stepped in, she turned back toward us. “Welcome the return of Cindy in our third bikini, a very special number from a famous Hollywood designer.”
Karen entered the tent, and Cindy stepped out. She took the usual path toward the lantern light and slowly turned; it became apparent that the famous designer must have been named Fredrick. Her bright red bikini consisted of two triangles about the size of Tostito chips and a very tiny bottom that in the front was a ‘V’ surrounded by wisps of brown pubic hair; the back was a slightly larger triangle that covered about half of her ass. The sight woke my dick and caused it to take notice. Needless to say, I had never seen Cindy in a swimsuit like that, especially not in front of other people. She came over to my chair and did another slow pirouette.