Four

The door opened and John was back. Behind him stood Greta and Bob, who were also stark naked. Perhaps Kathy was right. The clothed Greta and Bob had looked far too perfect in my office. Unclothed Bob looked the part, bulging pecs, a nice firm six pack: but standing next to fat John he was clearly at a disadvantage in one respect. Greta was the perfect advertisement for a push up bra, if only the before pictures were as acceptable on advertising hoardings as the after shots.

We stood to greet them and for the first time in my life I shook hands with a naked woman. I had a horrible feeling that it wouldn’t be the last.

“You made it then” said Greta

Name, Greta Hunter; mastermind subject, the bleeding obvious.

“No problems, we had to ask for directions in the village, but smooth and easy.”

“And what were your fist impressions?” asked Bob

“Well it’s a bit of a shock at first” said Kathy “but I’m getting used to it”

Now it was my turn to shoot her a look. What exactly did that mean?

“Come, let us show you the facilities. We’ll start with the changing rooms”

“Excellent” said Kathy with far too much enthusiasm for my liking.

The changing rooms reminded me of a public swimming pool, functional benches, tiled floors, showers and steel lockers for your clothes, all of your clothes. One difference. There were no separate changing rooms for male and female. If you’re going to spend your day together in the altogether, I suppose there was no need.

“So you keep your clothes in one of these lockers?” asked Kathy

“The keys have rubber bands on them so you can wear them around your wrist” said Greta helpfully. Because she was stupid she pointed to her ankle. I had been keeping eye contact desperately for the past five minutes but following her invitation my eyes dropped down her body, taking her tiny breasts, a pink gash hiding behind curly jet black hair, long thin legs and a bright pink elastic strap to which was attached a key.

“Shall we look at the kitchens” I said quickly, before Kathy did anything rash.

“Ok” said John “this way”

We followed him out of the changing rooms past an outdoor swimming pool and into the small bar. Far too small for a wedding. The kitchen was for basic pub grub. A deep pan fryer, (I should have guessed seeing the size of John’s belly), a couple of microwaves and a grill. We’d have to bring in a mobile kitchen if we were to hold the wedding here.

“Would you like to see the function room?” asked John, who seemed under no illusions of the inadequacy of the venue. To be fair to him the place wasn’t built for weddings, I was sure it was perfectly equipped as a nudist camp, but for what Bob and Greta had in mind only a country estate would do.

The ‘function room’ was a large conservatory, it reminded me of a tea room in a garden centre; it was filled with easy chairs and low tables with potted tropical plants to give it that tropical feel. All it needed was a coach load of pensioners on a trip from Dewsbury. At the far end was an open door through which a small part of an indoor pool glowed as blue as a tropical lagoon. The sound of splashing water echoed from the walls and squeezed itself through the door. This was clearly where most of the nudists were. The tea room was deserted except for one table where two women sat deep in conversation.

To my horror, Greta made a bee line straight to them.

“Kathy and Pete,” she announced “I would like you to meet my mother”

A tall slim grey haired woman stood to greet us. Despite the lack of any exquisite, expensive clothing she oozed money; I was looking at the naked owner of the Mercedes in the car park.

“I’m Sally, Greta’s mother” she said pumping my hand. She turned to Kathy “you must be the wedding organisers”

“Pleased to meet you, Sally” replied Kathy

First name terms with the mother of the bride, not a common occurrence when you first meet, we usually start formally and then, later, when we have gained mutual trust move onto a more familiar relationship. Even so I have never, ever got familiar enough to see any of my clients naked.

“This is Yvonne who is our club president”

A large mountain of flesh stood and shook hands with us as Bob and Greta sat on two comfortable wicker chairs which they had previously bagged using the familiar Teutonic ruse of placing a beach towel on them. This puzzled me as the room was as empty as a run down seaside resort on a wet Wednesday afternoon in December.

We sat and Yvonne, whose fat was still rippling from the effort of lowering herself into a straining wicker chair, addressed us.

“How do you like our club?”

“Well” began Kathy, “it’s very well equipped and not what I was expecting at all.”

“Yes the days of Carry on Camping are well gone” she replied.

“How many members do you have?” asked Kathy, who was showing far too much interest for my liking

“We have about fifty residents and around two hundred day members. On a warm day we can be quite crowded.”

It was crowded enough for me already!

“We’re always on the lookout for more members though” Yvonne added, looking pointedly at us.

“Really” said Kathy thoughtfully.

I decided to change the subject.

“We could certainly use the facilities you have, but they are not really big enough for the type event that Greta and Bob have in mind.” I said diplomatically.

“Oh I appreciate that fully” said Yvonne

“Perhaps a marquee?” suggested Greta hopefully.

“We’d need a fairly large open expanse: and not the car park” continued Kathy who was finally remembering why we were here.

“Well there is the field” suggested Bob.

“Perhaps we could see” I suggested.

Bob and Greta stood.

“I’ll come with you” said Greta’s mother.

Kathy and I stood, and thanked Yvonne for taking the time to talk to us.

“Perhaps we might see you again some time? Why not come and see what we have to offer?”

I’d already seen it thanks; all of it; and it wasn’t pretty.

“You know, I might just do that” replied Kathy. I hoped she was just being polite

“You too, Pete” said Yvonne

“What, me, er my wife she’d never….”

“Have a talk to her, you never know, she may surprise you”

“If you knew my wife you wouldn’t have said that” I replied with more confidence.

Emma’s parting comments to me this morning were still echoing in my mind.

“You keep your dirty little eyes off those naked women, romping around all suggestively, all their bits bouncing around for everyone to see, and if I hear if that bitch Kathy has been flaunting herself you will be joining the John Wayne Bobbit club” she told me before giving me a kiss and telling me to have a nice day.

Greta, Bob, and Sally were standing by the door.

“We’ll wait here while you get your coats” I said.

It was early April. Outside the countryside was just coming to life. Spring flowers bloomed in the grounds and there was just a faint hint of pale green on the hawthorn. On an idyllic day a beaming sun would be bathing the grounds in silver light. This wasn’t such a day. This was a grey day with featureless clouds and a chilly breeze that whipped the heads of the golden daffodils in the concrete pots beyond the double glazing.

“We’re nudists” said Sally, “we don’t wear clothes if we don’t have to.”

“Cold is a state of mind” stated Bob, “this is mild weather for us”

The only bares suited to this weather were polar bears, but if they wanted to go out in the buff that was fine by me.

Outside the wind whistled around me and I tightened up my coat. Sally and Greta tightened up their nipples, which had a state of mind of their own when it came to cold. Poor old Bob who was already more than a little challenged on size just wilted in the chilly breeze.

“This way” said Greta and she led us along a smooth paved path through the trees. Bob and Kathy followed.

Sally turned to me “It’s not far” she turned to the path, her stiff nipples pointing the way like a mad compass.

“I suppose this must be the most unusual request you have had?” she asked as we walked along the path. I was watching Kathy ahead of me; her covered posterior book-ended by Bob’s well defined hairy bottom and the fairly flat rear end of his fiancée. I wondered how Kathy’s bare behind would compare.

“Well, I think it might be, although we do specialise in let’s say unusual weddings. We’ve done Pirates of the Caribbean, a hockey club wedding where everyone wore the club kit and there was a guard of honour with their sticks, and one where we all dressed up in circus outfits”

“You dress the part as well?”

“Usually, but not all the time” I replied swiftly. Not this time oh no, no, no.

“I have to admit” continued Sally, confident that the three ahead of us were out of earshot, “this is not what I had wanted for Greta”

Now we were getting to the nub of the matter.

“I had hoped for a normal white wedding, just like her sister’s, but Greta and Bob are such committed naturists. Don’t get me wrong I’m not ashamed of being a nudist as you can see” She turned to me and smiled. Yes I could see very well, from the top of her grey head, via a small pair of breasts, passing swiftly over a grey beaver to her painted toenails.

“I’m so proud that Greta has remained a naturist. You see most children give up when they reach their teens, but Greta hung on in there; unlike her sister. I don’t even mind the idea of a nude wedding, I just don’t wasn’t to have it in a big tent here.”

“I have to be honest with you, Sally,” I said “what we’ve seen so far is not up to catering for the type of event you have in mind. We have done several weddings in a marquee and they can quite tasteful”

We had now just about caught up with the others who had stopped on the edge of a large expanse of open grassland.

“We thought we could have a large marquee here” said Greta

I looked at Kathy and she looked at me. We were both thinking the same thing. It was perfect, except for one tiny detail. The field was on a slope, and everyone knows you can’t put your tent up on a hill.

“If we could see the rest of the site” suggested Kathy diplomatically “and then we can discuss the possibilities in the warm”

And so we toured the nudist colony. Passing the tidy wooden chalets, with their small gardens bursting with spring colours, a tiny personal Eden each tended by their own Adam. I looked for an apple tree, but there were none and my thoughts wandered as Greta chatted on. Were Kathy and I serpents in the grass? Two middle aged naked men played a lonely game of tennis on the newly laid outdoor courts. Bob shouted a hearty greeting between points. I watched carefully, still a slight suspicion in my mind that this all a hoax. They seemed to know each other well; would anyone go to such lengths to separate me from my clothes?

We took it all in, the long thin stretch of the caravan park where a few hardy souls were already taking the air. One couple waved at Sally, who told them she’d come and visit later. The empty outdoor pool where wind whipped tiny ripples raced across the dull surface stood a stone’s throw away from the tea room where our tour had started.

At last we were back in the warm. I watched as Greta’s nipples as they fell and idly wondered if they could be used as a thermometer.

“I’ll get some tea, will you help me please Greta” said Sally in a tone of voice that indicated she wished to speak to her daughter alone.

“So what did you think?” asked Bob, as leant back in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the view he was presenting to us. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, he was probably still a little cold. Before I could speak Kathy jumped in.

“It’s quite an eye opener” she said. I tried not to grin.
“It would be good to see the club on a better day” she continued, I shot her a glance, this wasn’t funny, “maybe try a few activities”

“Well we could arrange that; no problem” continued Bob.

“This seems like a nice place to relax, away from all the stress” said Kathy a little too enthusiastically for my liking. I hoped this was just small talk, but just in case she was serious I kept very quiet.

While I contemplated Kathy’s interest in nudism, I watched Greta and her mother at the counter collecting the teas. They clearly were mother and daughter; they shared the same thin nose with narrow eyes. When they smiled was the same thin lips curled upwards and their cheekbones pushed out accentuating their shield shaped faces. There were other similarities which, never having met a nudist family before…… I stopped myself, I may well have met hundreds of naturists, they just hadn’t owned up to it. Sally had been blessed with larger breasts than her daughter, or maybe they grew bigger with age. With no experience of naked older women I could only speculate, both Greta and her mother had the same well defined nipples, not too big, not too small, surrounded by a nice circle of pink that was a shade darker than their skin. Would any television company trying to hoax us out of our clothes go to such lengths as finding a real mother and daughter? Perhaps it was a family run firm? My doubts were still there.

“Tea all round” announced Greta whose pubic region was about six inches from my face. I glimpsed the entrance to her vagina nestling inside her dark pubic hair. I wondered that was an inherited trait too. I daren’t look.

“Thanks” I said, and then said one of the most stupid things anyone could say in a nudist camp “It’s hot in here, does anyone mind if I take my jacket off” I could have banged my head on the table, I had just redefined the term moron.

“You can take as much off as you like” said Greta with a smile. “In fact you’d be less noticeable if you wore nothing”

I grinned weakly, removed my jacket and loosened my tie. Kathy removed her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse. ‘No’, my mind screamed ‘don’t!’ This was the first time that I have ever, ever objected to a woman taking her clothes off. Kathy smiled at me and stopped at two buttons. I was relieved.

“Right” said Sally to business, “you appraisal please”

“Ok,” I began “the site is unsuitable for a marquee, the only open space large enough has a slope. This facility is suitable for a small intimate event, bride, groom immediate family only”

Greta and Bob were crestfallen, while Sally took the good news serenely.

“So what are the options” asked Sally.

Kathy took over “Here, as Pete said we are limited by size, beyond the bounds of the club, we are restricted by your desire for a naked wedding. Large hotels with function rooms cannot provide the privacy that you require. I have contacted some venues we have used but they are, shall we say reluctant, to hold a naturist wedding”

“Then we’ll have the small event here” replied Greta

Sally clearly disapproved, but was clearly also not prepared to have a row in public.

“There is just one place perhaps” said Kathy. If there was it was one I hadn’t heard of.

“The owner has been away. He returns tomorrow. Do you want me to check it out and I’ll get back to you”

“Yes please” said Greta clutching at straws