The first couple times that Emily and I had sex were a little awkward. She wanted Richter to be there, which I totally understood, so it was a bit like a threesome, but it was more like the two of them having sex and me providing the cock. Richter did all the foreplay, fingering and licking her to get her ready, and then kissing her and playing with her tits while I did my business. I didn't mind, of course; pussy's fun, no matter the circumstance, and it was nice to be able to help them out. And Emily proved to be quite a little nymphomaniac. I suppose that sixteen years of sexual repression at the hands of fundamentalist Christians, followed by ten years of being denied what you want, will do that to you. So once she got cock again, she couldn't get enough of it, and the three of us fucked every night for the next week. She also refused my offer to wear a condom--"It's been ages since I felt a man cum inside me!" Richter just smiled at this, so I went in bare, every time. I ain't complaining, obviously, but I did wonder what exactly would happen if my little soldiers hit their mark, which certainly they would eventually, if we kept up this little ménage à trois at anywhere near the frequency of that first week.

Another interesting thing about the sex was that despite Emily's enthusiasm, she and Richter were not very inventive in the sack. It was pretty much the same routine every time, him fingering and licking her, then her on her back for the sex while John rolled to his side and played with her tits. Which was fine with me, I was happy to do my part. But I couldn't help feeling that there was more I could contribute to her sexual enjoyment, and from a selfish perspective, I also felt like I was missing out. I wanted to play with those pretty breasts myself.

But there didn't seem to be much I could do about that, so I did my best, and obviously enjoyed the free pussy that I was getting from the little sex pot. All things considered, a pretty good deal.

Now, there's one member of the Richter family that I've neglected to mention much in this story so far. Rachel Richter was ten years old when she landed with her parents at the Hotel Hillcroft Manor. It's kind of hard to imagine what it would be like to be a girl that age and have your parents drag you to a clothing-optional hippy commune in the Catskills. Me and a couple buddies cleared out a spare storage room for her (the maid quarters, actually, in the olden days when the joint was a country estate). So she had her own space, and quite understandably, her response to all of this was to hide away in that room pretty much all day and all night.

Rachel had long straight blond hair, as was the popular style in those days, and she was a tall, skinny girl--took after her dad in that regard, I guess. A case study in a particularly charming version of the preadolescent female growth curve, wherein the child spends the later part of her single digit years converting every calorie she consumes, and every ounce of babyfat left on her, into growing straight up into the air like a little sapling. If she'd had anything like a normal life, she'd have been playing basketball already and probably destined to be a star once she got on the middle school team.

But Rachel's life was anything but normal.

I was pretty much the only person at the Manor who noticed that she was actually a very sweet girl. Heck, I was the only person other than her parents who even gave her much thought at all. But I felt sorry for her and tried to do what I could to make her feel comfortable. It didn't hurt matters much that she had this big bright pair of inquisitive blue eyes, accompanied by an alluring smile, and I took quite a liking to her, in a "smitten uncle" sort of way. So when I figured out how much she liked music, I procured her a turntable and loaned her some of my albums; for this I was rewarded with a melt-your-heart smile and a hug so tight that it bordered on inappropriate. Her favorite was Dylan. She sat in that old maid's room with the record player turned up, listening to Dylan all day long. I never did get my Dylan albums back from her.

While Rachel was almost never out in the common rooms, the one exception was when the house band played. She loved listening to her dad on the keyboards. I always made a point of playing Dylan songs when she was around, and she would sing along, and dance, just like all the hippies.

They'd been with us a few weeks, when her dad says to me, "Brian, you wouldn't happen to have a spare guitar, would you? Rachel told me that she wants to learn how to play."

The thought of darling Rachel playing one of my guitars was almost more than a smitten uncle could bear, so of course I loaned her my second best acoustic, and offered to give her some lessons as well. This lead to the first extended period of time that Rachel and I spent together, sitting on her little bed in the maid's room while I taught her the C chord progression, and how to strum, and then the two of us together sang and played "Blowin' in the Wind." The kid had a beautiful alto voice.

She practiced "Blowin' in the Wind" for hours that day. Richter was tickled, and offered me all kinds of thanks for the loan and the lesson. He confided that he was worried that she was unhappy at the Manor, and was hopeful that this would be just the catalyst to help her find something in their new life that she truly enjoyed. I of course told him that I was glad to be of help, which was a serious understatement--listening to her sweet alto singing "Blowin' in the Wind" was pretty much my favorite thing ever, and what was at first a happy contentment, turned into something like elation when she asked me if I would play and sing it with her again, the very next day.

She'd gotten a hell of a lot better at the song in just 24 hours, and we sang it at least a half-dozen times until she finally relented and let me teach her some new chords.

So this became a daily thing for us‐‐playing Dylan songs, teaching her chords, and teaching her the twelve bar blues, and how to noodle. It was a hell of a lot of fun.

Now, right about when we started up the guitar lessons, the Catskills were experiencing a week-long heat wave, and Rachel and I sat up in that maid's room sweating away while we played guitar. Luckily, there was a creek that ran through the Manor's property, and long ago someone had built a little dam that formed a nice swimming hole. On the hottest of these days during the heat wave, we could hear the hippies playing in the pond while we worked on the key of F. It was very distracting. Plus, there were these two newcomers, hippy girls fresh out of high school that I'd picked up on the road the day before. I gotta confess that I was imagining Starfire and Hitchhiker, as they were known, skinny dipping down at the swimming hole with the other freaky people, and that was something I didn't want to miss.

"Look, Rachel," I eventually said, "it's so hot right now... Should we put this on hold?"

She set her guitar down. "Okay."

"Maybe we should go swimming?" I ventured. "It sounds like everyone's having a lot of fun."

Now, the girl may be a bit uncomfortable in a crowd, but you gotta understand--this was before the days of air conditioning, at least in the Catskills, and the old manor was drafty in the winter but stagnant in the summer, so this was an offer too tempting for even a reclusive girl like her to turn down.

"Okay," she agreed. The answer was accompanied by her sweet little smile.

There were at least fifteen naked hippies down at the pond, and I was delighted to see that the two new girls were among them. So I quickly disrobed and ran into the water. The girls were surrounded by men; every guy there was paying them as much attention as he could. But I was the oldest man there, and that seemed to appeal to the girls, as did the fact that I owned the place. So I immediately moved to the front of the pecking order. It was fun standing there chatting with them, the water only coming up to their midriffs, two pairs of youthful beauties out for my admiration.

The one called Hitchhiker, whose name I knew was actually Alice, was a little pixie of a girl. Damn, she had a tight little body, and if I'd seen her walking down the street, I would probably have assumed that she was thirteen. Seeing her naked didn't change that impression much--she barely had anything on her chest, just a sweet little set of breasts topped with light pink puffballs. And she was a charmer, that's for sure, looking you right in the eye when she talked, and giving you a slightly sardonic smile when you replied.

The other girl, Starfire, was the bigger of the two, taller and heavier, and her breasts swayed and shimmied and kept everyone's rapt attention, mine included.

Despite being focused on the new girls and their charming assets, I did see, out of the corner of my eye, Rachel stepping gingerly into the water. She'd stripped down to her bra and panties and was looking at me with what I interpreted to be a disappointed, maybe even judgmental, eye, although it's entirely likely that it was neither of these and I was just feeling guilty for having so quickly and easily abandoned her in favor of the newcomers. She was, after all, pretty awkward in crowd of naked hippies, and I was at this point her only real friend at the Manor other than her parents. So I reluctantly brought an end to my conversation with the girls and walked over to welcome Rachel into the water.

Now, it hadn't really occurred to me that I was buck naked as I walked over to her, nor that the two girls' nudity had caused me to swell to half-staff. But I quickly became very conscious of both facts, when Rachel's pretty eyes locked right onto my nether region. It certainly wasn't the first cock she'd seen around here, but it probably was the first time she'd seen mine. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible, like it was perfectly normal (which it kinda was, at the Hillcroft Hippy Commune), and reached out and took her hand.

"Com'on!" I said. "Let's get in the water!"

Her face lit with her pretty smile and she let me pull her with me into a deeper part of the pond.

After swimming together for a while, we both climbed out and lay down in the grass, me completely naked, her in thin cotton panties and a little training bra, both of which were wet enough that it wasn't a whole lot different than her being naked herself. The shape of her little water-hardened nipples, and the cleft between her legs, were easily visible to my far-too-curious eyes. I felt sheepish enough about the fact that my cock had hardened at the sight of her little body that I had to roll over onto my stomach for a bit, until the evidence of how aroused I had become subsided. Eventually, we dried off in the sun and got dressed and returned in mostly embarrassed silence to the house.

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For the next chapter in this story, see Chapter Three: Alice in the Sky with Diamonds.

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