Just Working Nude, As One Does

Chapter 12: Just Working Nude, As One Does

The next day we spent at the house, working on the marketing collateral indoors on Carlo’s laptop, its screen unable to compete with the desert sun. By ten, it was warm enough inside that I found the bathrobe I’d put on against the morning chill unnecessary; by noon, clothing was wholly inadvisable, so I lost the slippers as well, joining the other two in their fully bare state.

Kaitlyn and I helped Carlo as much as we could, mainly answering questions, but we spent most of our time just watching Carlo work a sort of magic unavailable to us. I knew good design when I saw it, but to achieve it de novo? Way outside my scope, that much was sure.

Lest Carlo get stuck and be unable to work, we were finally forced to settle on a business name that morning, having tossed ideas around for months: we were now Magic Hands Massage, its acronym sensuously pronounced mmm-hmm!

I had to break my nude streak later that afternoon, telling the other two, “I need to go shopping for a few things. Carlo’s bike for tomorrow, camping supplies, that sort of stuff. How about I leave you two full-time nudists here to continue the work?”

Carlo said, “Hang on, lemme get my credit card.”

“What for?”

“My stuff,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Nonsense. Neither of us can claim the massages as legitimate payment for your services, Carlo, since we aren’t licensed yet, so let us get the bike rental and whatever else you’ll need for tomorrow’s trip, all right? It’s light payment.”

He looked like he might object, but then he asked, “Don’t I need to be there, so they can fit the bike to me?”

Kaitlyn informed him, “Ideally, yes, but unless you think you can get away with going bare to the bike shop, your choice is to break your nude streak or rely on Davie for the final fitting. Trust him, Carlo; boy knows bikes.”

He gave that a bit of thought, then said, “All right, thanks, you two. And thanks for thinking of my desire to break new ground here.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely be doing more of that,” said Kaitlyn with a small secret smile.

“Be good, you two,” I bade them on my way out the door.

I wasn’t worried about leaving Carlo alone with Kaitlyn. I could tell: he’s a good soul.

’Sides, my babe could kick his scrawny ass into next week if he got out of line.

I returned with a new 4-bike rack attached to the Subaru’s trailer hitch, Carlo’s rental strapped to it. Our old 2-bike rack now belonged exclusively to mi burro.

When we revealed that he’d be biking naked tomorrow, he objected, “That sounds fun in the abstract, but I’m not gonna bruise the boys.”

I had my head down by his hip at this point, tweaking the height of the seat post, balancing it against the length of his leg to ensure his pedal stroke would be maximally efficient. I pointed out, “I had the shop swap out the normal hard trail-riding seat for a squishy commuter jobbie. Lemme finish this, and we’ll give it a test run. Kaitlyn, would you go get our bikes, please?”

I had Carlo’s seat angle dialed in by the time she came back with the second of our bikes.

Kaitlyn led off through the trees, over the raw desert between our house and the road, taking a slow meandering path around the sagebrush, pedaling fast only to get through a few narrow washes. She showed by example how to raise up off the seat when things got rough, waving her nethers back at him, keeping his eyes forward, avidly studying her example.

Yes, that was the only reason he paid attention. Yes.

Carlo rode with socks and shoes only, the bike shop having provided some rather aggressive studded pedals, but Kaitlyn’d swapped out her pedals for a rounded commuter set so she could go barefoot, utterly natural.

When we got back to the house from our brief tour, Carlo agreed that he was uninjured, but kindly Kaitlyn nevertheless gave him a scrotal massage with a tingly menthol-based oil we kept on hand for special occasions.

Then the tease stood up and told our tumescent houseguest, “Dinner’s almost ready. C’mon, Carlo, let’s get the table set while Davie finishes up with the bikes.”

I turned away under cover of finishing with the bikes to keep Carlo from seeing the broad smile on my face, brought on by hearing the slap-slapping of his erection against his thighs as he waddled inside after her as best he could.

We kept a second set of panniers for camping, always packed and ready, needing only replacements for perishables before each trip. I saw to that and hoist our now-loaded bikes up onto the new bike rack behind Carlo’s; we’d be ready to leave shortly after waking.

That night, we watched another movie with Carlo, the three of us casually nude in the living room, curtains pulled back and the front door open to the cooling evening air, flowing through the house, front screen door to back. That’s true freedom, friends: freedom from fear.

Tonight’s movie was Kaitlyn’s choice, The Gods Must Be Crazy, a small-budget comedy from South Africa, a film that obliquely cut across many of our daily topics. Kaitlyn and I weren’t on a path to join the film’s bush people, but it gave us plenty of food for conversation.

Aside from the movie’s commentary on clothing and technology, I also loved the movie’s fifth main character, the Land Rover that steals many scenes from the bipeds, a spiritual cousin to mi burro.

“I knew you’d love that part,” my wife told me afterward.

Once our post-movie chat ran down, we retired to our separate beds.

As I was setting my reading aside on the nightstand, about to turn off my light, Kaitlyn told me, “No sex tonight.” I guessed that she’d gotten some hint that we’d disturbed Carlo last night despite trying to keep our noise down, so I was already prepared to agree before she explained, “I’m going to drain you dry tomorrow, see if I don’t!”

I was staring up at the dark ceiling, sleepless from anticipation when I felt her evening-cooled finger stroke up across my brow and push a sliver of power into me, sending me into dreamland.