MF Rom

Copyright 2003 Kim Couples

There is something suspicious about him. He’s young, unshaven, intense, and on foot at a filling station. And those eyes. Darting. Picking out detail, yet impassive, like a cat in the edge of the long grass.

Frank is tempted to abandon the refueling and secure the doors. He looks anxiously at the pump gauge, 28 gallons, but he can’t remember how much the Nissan’s huge tank takes. He turns back. Jean is still reading the map and suddenly Frank wants her out of there. He raps on the window and she looks back, mystified. The young man turns to take an interest in the Ford pickup and looks ready to wander away. Frank puts up his free hand to indicate it doesn’t matter now. He doesn’t want her stressed unnecessarily. She’s been through enough, surely.

But the interest in the Ford is a ruse. Suddenly, he’s there, opening the Nissan’s rear door, reaching in. Jean is out in a second and yelling. ‘Get out! Get out!’ She’s grabbing him by his hair. He looks up startled, throws a punch that’s well short, pulls away and he’s gone. Empty handed.

They’re a few hundred yards down the road and Frank is realizing that Jean’s reaction is not what he had expected. She’s not stressed, but excited, almost triumphant.

‘If the door hadn’t been in the way, I might have held on to him.’ She is beaming.

‘Then what?’

‘My knight in shining armor would have arrived to help.’ She reaches across and squeezes his arm the way she used to years ago. Even pecks his shoulder.

He wants to put his arm around her shoulders but that would be too much like a teenager. Instead, he touches her leg and runs his hand over the warmth of her jeans. She hasn’t noticed that the top button of her blouse is undone and he can glimpse her breasts as they smile. Twenty five years of familiarity has done nothing to dull his delight with them. She does up her button. They are silent for a couple of minutes before he mentions it. ‘Why do you do that?’

‘What?’

‘Button yourself up like that? It’s only me.’

‘Just making myself decent. Anyway, I might forget.’

She never plays the flirtatious game; never shows any pride in her sexuality the way young people do. And she’s every reason to be proud of her body, especially now, but he would have been astounded if she had undone another button. It wouldn’t have been Jean somehow. It’s his only real disappointment – the holding back. It’s not prudishness, nothing like that, but hardly exuberance.

The Nissan is the best they’ve hired so far. It’s given them more comfort and more room for the camping gear than anything they’ve ever owned in England. It’s also quiet enough on the flat patches for them to drift between their comfortable silences and easy conversation.

‘Bet you didn’t imagine you’d ever be in hand-to-hand combat with robbers a year ago.’

She lays her head on his shoulder. ‘Is this one of those stories that will improve with age?’

They are more than 100 miles into Minnesota and still heading south. Jean is silently musing on how different everything is now and what they’ve survived together. Frank has been through hell too. They’d almost always been close, but the shock of the CAT scan, then her operation and nearly 18 months of treatment have been severe tests. She feels especially close to him now. Even so, she senses tension ahead. Why does he want to change everything? She goes along with the value-each-day, smell-more-roses notion but she doesn’t want or need big changes in her life. She wants to treasure what she has, what she almost lost. She suspects that his need for change has as much to do with the sameness of his accountancy practice as her recovery. The trip was his idea of course – not that she’s against it, but the holidays around England and Scotland over the years had left her contented enough with traveling.

Frank pulls into another little town and it’s close to seven thirty. ‘Shall we dine out tonight Madam?’

‘Certainly Sir. Shall we say the second real restaurant on the right? Not including McDonalds.’

‘Very good Madam.’

She sees the suggestion as her contribution to the adventure; then realizes that seeing off a very unsavory young man in defense of their possessions should have been enough. Anyway, he’s pleased and stops within two minutes. The second restaurant on the right looks surprisingly up-market for the size of the town.

‘Can we afford it?’

‘On the day you drove off a band of armed robbers single-handed, who cares?’

The waiter is old enough to assume that they’re on a romantic night out. Wonderful waiter. They are grinning with pleasure as he lights the candle and absorb themselves in helping each other find a meal to suit the preferences they know so well.

He takes her hands. ‘How are you feeling?’ Her soft smile lines and the glow of her eyes answer his question in a glance.

‘Quite good. Just a little achy. Even on the longer days, I’m managing just fine.’ She’s beautiful, even the waiter knows it, but she’ll dismiss it with something modest if he says so again. ‘I was just thinking this afternoon that I’ve reached a turning point,’ she says. ‘I don’t feel like a patient or even someone recovering from anything anymore. It’s a liberation.’

He’s pleased to hear her use the word. It’s what he wants for her most of all now. Up till the beginning of spring his preoccupation was simply not to lose her. Now he wants liberation for them both – to make much more of these years together that were almost snatched from them. She’d said as much herself once. The trip would offer a bridge between the old life of convention, the terrifying two years, and the new. She is laughing as she tells a story about the twins and moist-eyed as she remembers their words. He wants to find their motel and be joined to her. He suppresses the thought and they stay for dessert and coffee.

In the morning, he reaches for Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath ‘Want another chapter?’

‘That would be nice.’

He’s been reading to her for the last year. She could read for herself now, but they have come to enjoy it so much that there seems no reason for it not to be a part of their new life. He puts his arm around her and she nestles in to his neck and feels the vibrations of his chest as he begins. After a few minutes, she gives him an affectionate side-on hug. He returns it, feeling her ample breast against him. She reaches down to him. He stiffens quickly without comment or interruption. She’s stroking him, savoring him. He turns to slip his hand on to her breast, cupping it gently, pausing to look into her eyes. Then, something she’s never done before during their readings: she turns on her back, pulls him over to guide him into her.

‘Keep reading.’ She’s whispering.

‘The family’s just lost the farm to the bank. It’s hard to concentrate on their tragedy while I’m doing this.’

‘Try it.’

He’s reading the words; a string of words. Is she listening? What was that paragraph about? He turns the page and stops to stroke her deep inside. ‘You really want more?’

‘Yes. Both thanks. You’re very hard. It’s lovely.’

It’s the end of their sixth day. They’re in still Minnesota and they’ve been traveling more and camping less than they intended. Even at Leech Lake, where they’d intended to camp every night, they spent half the time in a bed and breakfast. Still, the hosts knew where the fish were and Frank’s pike would be a more important memory than a few more nights amongst the birches.

They’re looking for somewhere for a couple of days. Anywhere flat, reasonably quiet with drinkable water will do, but nothing seems right and the one place that did was clearly marked no camping. They could drive on to find a roof but the budget is already strained and they’d counted on camping out. They continue almost in silence to the last hope; an established camping ground more than 30 miles off course. It’s easy to find and they relax a little as they head down the long driveway through rows of young poplars. At the end they can see numerous cabins interspersed with tents, many of them still going up, then, the sign on the office: ‘Closed for private event’.

‘Why didn’t they put that out on the road?’

A balding man about mid thirties appears instantly. ‘Hi there, I’m Gerry, the duty manager. Just take your registration form to the Meg in the office, we’ll have you settled in a few minutes.’ Frank decides he’s too pleasant to receive the roasting he deserves.

‘We don’t have a registration. We’d appreciate just a bit of space for a tent. We’ve just seen your sign but somewhere tucked away would do. They wouldn’t notice us. We just need to crash.’

‘Just a moment.’ He catches the eye of one of the many people coming out of the office and walks over for a confidential meeting. Other vehicles are arriving. Some disappear off down rows of cabins into the gathering darkness.’

He comes back. ‘We don’t have a single tent site left. We may be able to do better than that, but the situation’s a bit unusual. Could you come into the office? We need to check whether it would suit you.’

They are introduced to a middle-aged couple and forget their names instantly. The woman sits to brief them. ‘As you know, we’ve taken over the grounds for our members to enjoy a few days together, but we had a couple of last-minute cancellations for the cabins. There is a spare one for tonight and the next three days if you want it, but you need to be sure you’d be comfortable with what may be happening around you.’

Frank reads Jean’s expression as anxiety. The man looks concerned and the duty manager has disappeared.

‘It’s a wonderful place and most of us come every summer for this special weekend. It’s totally private and people don’t wear very much. You would be seeing people walking around and swimming, wearing nothing at all.’

Then, as Frank is about to say they’d be gone by the early morning anyway, Jean looks her in the eye and says quietly, ‘That’s okay, we’re not easily shocked are we Frank?’

The woman nods slightly. ‘We could provide you with a cabin at the end of the row so that you could have access to the facilities but you wouldn’t be surrounded by other people – though there would be one tent close by. Obviously we’d just charge you for the accommodation.’ They leave open the duration of their stay and talk about practicalities.

Frank wakes first and brings coffee.

‘You’re not treating me like a patient are you?’

‘No. I’d do this for any woman I’d loved for 25 years.’

‘That’s okay then.’ She’s grinning again and it warms him to see it. She sips the coffee. ‘Any naked people about?’

‘Not that I could see from the window. Maybe it’s a bit early.’ He comes back with a slice of cake and she props herself up with his pillows. He thinks her comment about not being easily shocked had more to do with their need to sleep than reality, but it might be heavy-handed to raise it directly.

‘How long do you want to stay?’

‘Let’s see how it goes. The bed’s comfortable. The people seem friendly enough. It looks very restful. Let’s see what we think at lunch.’

Frank leaves her to shower and wanders out, already avoiding the direct sun. Two naked women walk past in conversation and wish him a good morning. He’s surprised, and relieved, by his low-key reaction, but it doesn’t last. A couple his own age are setting up their awning. She’s in shorts and her breasts hang down inconveniently as she reaches to tie a guy rope to its peg.

Patches of river show through the trees and he can hear splashing and excited talk. It draws him like the exit to a tunnel. The man and two women there have only their heads above water. They are laughing and one of the women turns to him to wave him in. He smiles nervously and looks down. Two couples about his own age arrive and strip off in front of him. ‘Coming in?’ He declines again and hears their splashes behind him as he turns.

He retreats towards the cabin and naked or semi-naked people are all around him –walking, visiting other cabins, setting up a volleyball court on a patch of specially distributed sand. A woman is cooking at a barbecue wearing only a flimsy orange scarf. He sees her fully tanned husband surprise her from behind with a kiss on her shoulder and she laughs as he draws her to him and slides his hand over her belly and breasts. ‘Is that allowed?’ Frank’s heart is pounding now, his vision slightly blurred. They’re the physical symptoms of shock and he’s upset that his body should be so out of touch with his new thinking. Aren’t they showing their liberation? It’s not quite what he had in mind, but these people are raising two fingers to the world and doing what’s right for them. Jean will want to leave before lunch.

He’s surprised and delighted to find her on the path near the cabin, looking almost relaxed. She touches his arm briefly as they pass. ‘Just thought I’d get my bearings.’ A volleyball rolls behind her and a totally naked woman in her early thirties comes to retrieve it. She looks the picture of youth and health. She smiles warmly and her comment on their covered bodies is in the words, ‘It’ll get up to 80 within a couple of hours.’

She’s an exception. Most people simply nod pleasantly and they are not completely naked, nor young, nor especially energetic. Some have scars in places that suggest necessary surgery. Others look fit and taut but even those with sagging waistlines wear them with the confidence of clothes. Frank toys with the idea of slipping everything off, even joining the volleyball - but fully dressed, he feels like a voyeur and heads to the cabin to distract himself in a motoring magazine.

Jean leans back against a rock beside the river. There are naked men and women all around her. They are in the water, splashing, shouting, greeting each other with surprise and laughter and hugs. Her emotions are a mystery to her. Something drew her there but it is as if she has been transported to some separate world. Perhaps she is dazed and just needs some time to adjust. Even under the shade of the larch tree the air is blood heat.

The magazine does nothing for Frank. He feels churned up, ready to proclaim his support for the freedom he can hear around him, but he knows that Jean will simply hear him out and go on with life as she has always lived it.

In fact, Jean is now standing, then slipping off her sandals, then her blouse, looking around. No one, absolutely no one, is taking the slightest notice. She’s standing there in her lacy, pure white bra, in the open air and people are still undressing and sunning themselves and cavorting in the water all around her. She eases her shorts off and looks around. She’s outside in her panties and no one cares! A woman her own age gets out and drips water all over the smooth, warm rocks. She turns to the sun, then to Jean and smiles. ‘It’s absolutely gorgeous. You’ll love it.’

Practiced hands reach behind for the clasp. Then for the first time in her adult life, Jean Williams, 48, mother of three, grandmother of twins and survivor, is outside and topless – taking nervous satisfaction in exposing her slightly droopy, and reputedly very sexy breasts, to the air and the people of America. She has her panties off in a second. In the water a naked woman gives her a token hug.

Frank is preparing more coffee and looks up as she enters. Her wet hair says it all.

‘You went in?’

‘Yes. Can you pass me a towel? I’m dripping everywhere.’

‘You went in? Like them?’

‘Mmm. Surprised?’

She stands while he pats her hair, then he throws the towel on to the chair and pulls her to him. Even she can feel the thumping in his chest. He is aching for her They’re kissing and it’s intense, like the old days. Their tongues touch and play together. He wants to say something, anything, to acknowledge his delight in this change in her but nothing comes. She has tears on her cheek and he doesn’t know why. They are moving into the bedroom. The short curtains close with two sweeps of his hand. She has his shirt undone already. Then her bra is on the little table. His shorts follow and he’s naked and magnificently hard. They are on the bed and in each other’s arms again within moments. Then he’s holding her still-damp hair back, kissing her ear, her soft cheek.

‘Come into me.’

And he slides over her, touches her there, as lustful and loving as he’s ever been. She holds his hips as he slides in, supporting himself so that he can see her.

‘What was it like?’

‘A bit scary at first but the water was wonderful.’ Then she giggles and wraps her legs around his. ‘I’m a skinny dipper.’

‘I thought you’d be shocked and want to go.’

‘I was curious. About what it would be like. All that nakedness I mean. And swimming nude. Stay in me. Still like that. Just fill me up.’

‘Don’t worry, I know if I move it’ll all be over. So you don’t mind?’

‘Not in this place. And I want to stay if you do.’

‘Sure. If you’re sure.’

‘I want to wander around naked – with you. Though I’m not playing volleyball.’ She laughs and hugs him. ‘Well not without a bra.’

He begins to stroke her inside. Thrusting. It’s more passionate than ever. Soon, he’s on her breasts kissing her neck and they are sweating in the heat and pleasure of their bodies. She whispers, ‘I love you.’ It’s just audible and he raises his head, brushes her hair back from her face and from that moment between the idea of love and the words, he’s pumping, gushing inside her.

‘Sorry.’

‘We’ve got the night ahead yet lover.’

They’re just out of the shower, when the woman from the office appears at the door. She’s wearing shorts and her bikini top only just covers her nipples.

‘Sorry to bother you and don’t feel under any pressure, but I need to know your plans for today. Are you wanting to stay on for a bit?’

They give her orange juice and sit around the tiny table.

‘Do you have someone else who would like to take it,’ he says, meaning the cabin.

‘No. It’s just that we feel a special responsibility for you.’

‘Well, we’d like to stay at least another night if that’s okay.’

‘Certainly. I just hope that you’re comfortable – that you’re not upset by anything. I guess you’ve had a chance to look around now.’

‘Jean went for a swim. We’ve both seen a bit of the place. It’s a real haven.’

‘Good. Good.’

‘We’ve never been to a place like this before – they have nudist camps in England but it’s never occurred to us to go.’

The visitor shows just a moment of tension. ‘Well, there is plenty of nudity but it’s not really for nudists.’ There is a sudden silence. ‘It’s not for families you see – adults only and it’s a lifestyle thing. You’ll find that people have a relaxed attitude to conventions - in the sense that they see their sexuality as a very positive thing.’

Polite conversation fills the gap until her parting comment. ‘We’d like to see the cabin occupied. You are very welcome, but just let me know if you change your mind. I’m at number 24 - on the right.’

They return to the table and Frank breaks the silence before it becomes unbearable. ‘Does this change anything for you?’

‘A little. No not really. It’s their business what they do in their beds and who they do it with. I’m enjoying the freedom.’

He gets up and hugs her from behind. ‘Ready for the walk before the sun goes down? We’ll be like Adam and Eve.’

‘There’s plenty of time in the Garden of Eden – anyway I thought they were the only ones there.’

When they are about to go, he kisses her, runs his hand down the warm flesh of her back and buttocks, they open the front door and step off the little sun deck as if leaping from a high dive.

The neighbors, a naked couple in their mid-sixties, are pre-occupied with the community water tank near their tent but look up and engage them in small talk. It’s obvious that this is the only time their neighbors have bathed in sunlight this summer, but the relaxation and their confidence in their sagging bodies suggests they have been here before. It occurs to Frank that between the four of them they are wearing just two hats.

The volley-ball court is abandoned. They see couples and groups walking, laughing together. A couple are in an energetic domestic conversation which sounds harmonious enough at a distance. Two men and a woman in a bikini bottom are pouring beer into glasses and discussing how things were in some previous visit. A middle-aged couple read novels in deck chairs outside their tent, oblivious to the bodies around them.

Jean enjoys the luxurious softness of the lawns on her bare feet. She is conscious of her hips, shoulders, thighs and nipples exposed to the warm, wafting air as she walks. The dappled light beneath the firs and birches falls on her body and she wants to twirl in it like a youngster. They pass a cluster of cabins with their windows open to catch what little breeze there is. Tents are left open. Nothing is locked down, there are no fences or borders. Nothing is private. It’s a fantasy world; a little disturbing, yet seductive.

As they stop to take in the view of the rolling hills and the river, a pyramid tent nearby suddenly comes alive with the unmistakable rhythmic slap of bodies, panting and cries of delight. Instinctively, they turn. The flaps are tied back. The woman looks up at them, kneeling, eyes half closed in pleasure and concentration. The man’s face is hidden from their glances but her small, perfect breasts wobble as he thrusts into her. Frank recognizes her from the volleyball court. She smiles up at him in recognition as a man about her age arrives with two cardboard cups of water and lays them down at the entrance to the tent. Jean steers Frank out of his trance, and as they pass, they can hear the panting has stopped for refreshments.

There’s a temporary stage with blue tarpaulins set up through the trees ahead of them and they can catch glimpses of people moving around and the sound of a male voice, then a crowd laughing, then laughter from the stage. It’s some kind of game.

‘Let’s swim together while they’re over there,’ says Jean and the nod to the river makes it clear that she definitely does not want to join the crowd.

The water is a relief. The few people around ask them where they are from, welcome them briefly, but leave them alone.

It’s not quite deep enough for serious swimming and anyway they become preoccupied with each other, enjoying their nakedness together, touching, hugging. Then Frank holds her shoulders from behind as they sit half-submerged against the bank with the now-welcome sun on their bodies. ‘Why didn’t we do this before?’ Jean takes it as a criticism – that she has held them back, but says nothing. They sit in silence while Frank dwells on the memory of the woman in the tent, in ecstasy, not caring who could see, simply enjoying the physical pleasure. Who was the man in the tent? Who was the man who brought the water so casually?

‘Nakedness suits you,’ he whispers.

‘You too.’

He kisses her neck and she reaches up to touch his hand. Her nipples are hard in the cool water.

At about eight, Frank goes out to pick up a newsletter someone has dropped at the door. It’s intended for the official attendees and lists social events coming up in the next two days. He’s about to go inside when he notices that the neighbors have partly-clad visitors who announce their presence with, ‘Knock, knock. Any evil in tent?’ In the tiny wait for a reply they look to him as if seeking his approval for their wit. He glances at the hugs all around.

They leave most of the cabin windows open for the slightly cooler night air and head for bed to resume their lovemaking. Frank is determined to be the giving lover this time, to give her time, all the time she needs to regain her pleasures. If only because he owes her that. He strips the bed and they lay together on the sheet, cuddled. ‘I was surprised by the way.’

‘At me going in for a swim?’

‘Everything. I love you even more for it you know.’ He rises on to his knees and kisses her slowly down her body, and even the soles of her feet. The window in the bedroom is open and suddenly they are conscious of noises in the tent next door – laughter, not the kind that might follow a joke, more muffled and sporadic than that.

‘They’ve got visitors. Shall I close it?’

‘No.’ And she shakes her head with a slight smile.

He’s kissing her breasts. She’s enjoying the softness of his hands, the stroke of his tongue around her nipples and his tiny affirmations of her body. Outside, they can hear rhythmic pants, the odd male gasp of intense pleasure, inaudible snatches of conversation. He slides his finger down through her curls, down to her core as she whispers. ‘Do you think they’d mind us hearing them?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. They’re all pretty upfront – if you know what I mean.’ His finger explores her outer lips teasingly, she’s wet there, pleased with his touch and moves her hips slightly to tell him so. The couples next door are even more vocal now. A muffled woman’s voice suggests an approaching peak. Jean notices it too, smiles and grinds into him. ‘They’re having a lovely time…and so am I.’ More gasps from the tent. Women’s gasps. He slips his finger into her, strokes her inside the way she likes, brings it back to caress her again and again.

‘Gives you hope for your old age doesn’t it.’

‘How old were the visitors?’

‘Just a bit younger than them.’

She lies silent but rocking her hips with more enthusiasm than he’s seen in many years. He’s sliding his finger over her special place, then inside her and back again. They can hear more laughter and conversation; then bodies panting together, more cries of delight, thrusting, louder gasps. Jean adds her own, closes her eyes, arches her back and he can feel her squeezing him - inside. Her climax is silent – confidential between them, but she grins when it’s over. He holds her gently till she recovers, then sits on the edge of the bed and caresses her cheeks and forehead with his hand.

‘I’ll be happy to grow old with you.’ He’s whispering.

‘What, and be like them?’

‘Yes, that too. But just the two of us.’

‘Close the window and come and fill me up again.’

They pull out of the camping ground after lunch on the Sunday. The windows are down and as Frank stops to check the road is clear, they can still hear the excitement of 200 people at play – even deep splashes in the river. They hear the crunch of the roadside gravel beneath the tires and head south; then west on Monday morning. They speak very little about their experience at the camping ground but on the Tuesday afternoon they are on Highway 10 heading for Moorhead.

‘And what lodgings would suit Madam today?’

‘Well Sir. Madam wishes to camp. Definitely to camp in a tent.’

‘And any further requirements Madam?’

‘Most certainly. By a stream, secluded of course, with a suitable pool where one might bathe with one’s lover – nude of course. Preferably with a sunlit clearing where one might also make love in the warm, soft grass.

‘Very good Madam.’

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