Rollerblading in the Nude

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The sun had risen across the river about 100 minutes ago. Just out of the shower, I strolled nude into the kitchen to take a seat at the table. My girlfriend Kelly is wearing bikini panties and Crema camisole. The sound of footsteps made her turn away from the counter to look at me. She withheld comment.

She started making a typical Sunday breakfast: over-easy eggs, hash brown potatoes, toast, bacon. I poured a coffee before sitting. A few minutes would pass before the meal is ready.

The i-pad lying on the dining table is playing a lesbian romance by Radclyffee titled “Unrivaled”. It beats early morning television and we’re both avid fans of the author.

The short pear-shaped strawberry-blond with green eyes had been introduced to me by friends a year ago at a favorite lesbian haunt. Her upturned nose, thin Peach lips, and high cheekbones had captivated me.

At 5′ 5″ I am 4 inches taller than Kelly, not that it matters. Also my breasts are a full size bigger. She likes that.

We enjoyed an unhurried meal quietly as the narrative continued. We could listen all day, though that probably won’t happen.

I want to get painted. I want to see how many people notice that the clothes on me are just an illusion. Would Kelly go along with the idea? Would she be jealous if a girl realizes I’m naked and comes on to me? At 30 years old it felt like time to do something interesting.

Those 8 years since I last played college softball at Virginia Tech seem like a thousand years. I haven’t even picked up a bat since I graduated. I’ve roller skated since then, but only with Kelly. Maybe we’ll go rollarblading in the nude.

Ten minutes elapsed since we had finished breakfast. The counter had been cleared of breakfast dishes. Kelly had just squashed her first cigarette in the ashtray, its smoke hanging in the air.

She karaman escort finally made a remark. “You’re going outside like that.”

“I just haven’t decided what to wear.”

“Underwear for a start,” she quipped.

I donned one of four recently purchased Beige 32C The Base bras and a white 3/4 sleeve boatneck tee. I pulled up Coral capris jeans over panties that match the bra.

While I was getting dressed Kelly pulled up highrise ankle jeans and put her feet into wedge sandals.

“Let’s rollerblade,” I suggested.

Kelly nodded.

We skated at a leisurely pace through the park keeping the Potomac River in sight on our left then, after perhaps 50 yards, turned to put it on our right. The occasional dog barks at us from his leash. People are paddling canoes and Kayaks. Some are fishing,

I came along side my girl and took her hand. Who cares what anyone thinks? I’m in love. So what if some people don’t like seeing PDA.

I had a notion and the time came to voice it.

The appointment came up a month after I made the suggestion. Kelly and me arrived at what appeared to be nondescript private home in Reistertown, Maryland.

“Maybe we should call,” I said.

Kelly acknowledged with a nod. I dialed.

The phone rang once. A female voice said, “Body painting by Jen.”

“This is Stevie Crowe. I had an appointment for two.”

“Come in,” said Jen.

Jen Seidel turns out to b a busty girl with long straight dark hair and full lips.

She led us down to a basement room that serves as her paint studio.

I spoke for both of us. “We both want to be painted.”

“Sure,” said Jen.

“Did you have an outfit in mind?”

I showed her the photo printed from Amazon. The model is wearing a purple mesh crop-top, long sleeve, see-though kars escort shirt sheer blouse with pale blue ripped cutoffs.

“That would look very pretty.”

“Same for me, but with blue top,” Kelly said.

“I gagged when I saw what this would cost in the store. It sells for almost $500.”

Jen flashed a toothy grin. “I don’t charge nearly that much. Will it be cash or charge?”

“Charge,” I said.

We each hand her plastic.

“Which one of you wants to go first?”

“Me,” I said

Kelly took a seat. Jen turned to her. “This will take a couple of hours. Feel free to get naked if you want.”

I stripped naked and stepped onto the platform. Jen outlined the round collar making it standout from the shirt-front see-through material. She drew another outline around the cuff making it standout from the see-through long sleeve. A wave of pleasure swept over me making me want to slow down time as she dragged the brush across my boobs putting layer after layer of paint. When she finished one could easily distinguish opaque bra cups from the rest of the shirt front.

I lost track of time and was barely aware that she finished the top. I watched her reload her brush, this time with a much lighter color to paint cutoffs on me starting at my ass. She took the same meticulous approach. Frayed hem, rip in the leg showing white threads, pocket, flap over the zipper, belt hooks, buckle were all there when she finished.

“You’re all done.”

“Oh my god it’s awesome.”

For nearly two hours I watched Kelly being painted.

Minutes before 5 Kelly and I each left a bag containing our clothes on the back seat of her Toyota and made the short ride home to Alexandria, Va.

At long last I’m living the dream of rollerblading naked through the city. Joggers, walkers, cyclists kıbrıs escort and skaters are numerous on this muggy afternoon under a cloudless sky. The illusion works. No one reacts to Kelly and me.

Jen you’re talented. Your work is worth every dollar I paid.

By 7 we were starving but we also needed a shower. The warm water and Dial soap combined to wash away sweat, odor, and of course, the paint. Blue and purple puddles formed at our feet.

Firehouse Subs, an eatery well known for its Italian sub, is our favorite sandwich shop. Clean and rested we took seats at an outdoor table shortly before 8 and enjoyed a leisurely evening meal.

Outside the door Kelly lit a cigarette.

I asked, “can you spare one.”

It’s funny how attitudes change. For thirty years I had regarded smoking as a terrible habit. Now suddenly a desire for one struck me. Maybe it was just because my favorite person enjoys them and has no desire to quit them.

My girlfriend held out the pack allowing me to draw one out. She lit it for me. That first drag tasted so good.

Subconsciously I knew the appeal of the cigarette. I knew that I would want or perhaps crave another one before retiring for the night.

A few minutes and several inhalations later I squashed the stub in the car ashtray.

“Stop in a store some place.”

She asked, “do you need to buy cigarettes.”

I said, “yah.”

“A pack of New Ports please,” I said to a sixty-something woman behind the counter.

In the privacy home I had another question. From the sofa I looked at Kelly who was sitting in the chair at the end of it.

“Would you consider getting another paint job?”

“I never really gave it much thought.”

“I may get one again some day. Maybe once a year I’ll get myself painted.”

“Go for it Stevie.”

By 8 a.m. I am headed to Arlington where I work as a financial consultant at Bank of America, consumer investments. It’s a short drive of 8 miles. The window is open letting the smoke out. I’m smoking my first cigarette of the day. The pack and Bic are inside my pocketbook on the seat next to me.