Esme Goes Narrowboating

Esme Goes Narrowboating

Author's Note: In this world, all characters are 18 or older. There are no unplanned pregnancies. STDs don't exist. Any mention of a specific product doesn't constitute an advertisement or endorsement, and I have no financial connection with the manufacturer or any retailers. I acknowledge beforehand that naturalists don't make the same connection between nudity and sex that "textiles" often do, but this is a Literotica fantasy after all.

Several London eateries are mentioned in this story. They are real and delicious.

You never know where writing will take you; this is one of those times. I like Esme and thought that after her ramble she needed new adventures. As I organize my thoughts, the only thing I know for sure is that Esme will end up naked in public on a narrowboat while cruising the canals of England. There will be shenanigans before we get on the water, but I swear we'll get there. And, except for naked cruises offered by some narrowboat hire companies, nude rambling along towpaths might well be too public to avoid complaints and not worth the hassle. I invoke the imagination of a fiction writer.

For the most part, this is an independent, stand-alone story. It might help with some background to catch up on her first naked adventure in Esme's Rambles.

There is a reference to a Japanese character for loyalty, fidelity, and faithfulness. All are concepts associated with the crane in Japanese mythology. I inserted the kanji into the original document with a footnote to explain it. I have no idea if this will work in Literotica.

The astute reader will also notice a reference to a central character from an episode of Midsomer Murders.

Any comments and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.

*****

Esme held to the oath she made to herself: no more rambling by herself to masturbate naked in the woods. Her adventure in pursuit of that fantasy had turned out okay and was very enjoyable. She realized, however, that by herself and being so far from any refuge, she just wasn't comfortable trying that again. She felt the risks were too great. Anyway, those reservations didn't stop her from rambling naked. She became a regular with Eddie's group and really enjoyed the occasional extracurricular post-ramble get-togethers with Beth and Ray. She joined the club's WhatsApp group and kept up with rambles and events. One chilly January day, her phone dinged and she tapped to open a new message from Eddie that started "What does everyone think about..."

"What does everyone think about the No Trousers Tube Ride? Want to participate?" No trousers events were just that, no trousers but otherwise clothed. In other words, no one would be naked, although it was probably okay that someone could be. Maybe nudity itself wouldn't be illegal. It was just people riding the Tube after all. The Tube is way more public than a ramble path, and who knows what would transpire if someone were to make a complaint to the Transit Police. Too risky, but the most likely impediment to full nudity would be the chill and possibly drizzly, unpredictable London winter weather. Being naked in public in the city in January wouldn't be much fun. Esme did an internet search for naked events in London and discovered announcements for an upcoming naked bike ride in June. The Tube ride and biking events were both for charitable causes. It being winter, Esme, not having been naked in public for a while, either rambling or on a Mediterranean beach, quickly messaged back, "Let's do it!"

Esme considered pushing boundaries and being a tad naughty during the Tube ride. She pondered crotchless lingerie, a little string bikini, or a barely there G-string thong to expose her arse and raise other titillating questions. But she read the guidelines and reconsidered; she didn't want to get either herself or anyone else in trouble by tainting what was a quirky just-for-fun event. At the planned time of the day for the event, most travelers on the Tube would be on their way into or around the city for work. Esme headed over to John Lewis where she found a brightly colored jungle print low-rise boyshort-style bikini bottom. It covered much of her bum, but importantly the cut of the hem revealed a nice cheeky bit when viewed from behind. For some reason, she found "gluteal tuck" humorous and suspected the seams of many exposed panties would be, well, tucked there, but not hers. She would be above those shenanigans. She completed her outfit with a new wrap skirt, a white satin dress shirt with tails that were cut high on her hips to reveal her panties but cover her front and rear. She picked out a black lace half-cup bra and a men's red silk tie. Yes, she was fully aware the skirt wasn't trousers. Based on her rambling experiences, she had determined that such a skirt was the most convenient choice to take off and put back on for the ride.

The day of the ride was, well, cold and dreary, even by London standards. Esme was happy she was wearing her full-size puffy coat and trainers, and she wouldn't have to remove either to ride the Tube, sans "trousers," in relative comfort. At the rally point outside the South Kensington Tube station, Esme saw several of her fellow ramblers and joined the group. Beth greeted her saying, "You look ready." Esme's coat was unbuttoned revealing her white blouse, tucked into her skirt. Daringly, Esme had left several buttons at the collar unbuttoned. The bright red tie was low and loosely knotted, hanging down to obfuscate but garner attention to her open collar and what of her cleavage might otherwise be revealed by the gap above that lowest open button. The contrast of color between Esme's skin and her bra showed through her blouse. The bra cups barely covered her areolas. They might even have been peeking above the black lace cradling her breasts should someone look long enough and think hard enough about it. "And, daring," whispered Beth conspiratorially.

Esme was surprised to see Harold in attendance wearing his full on tweed hunter's kit and even a deerstalker cap. Harold was about Esme's age, close enough she couldn't tell if he was older or slightly younger. When he first introduced himself during a summertime naked ramble, he described himself as a reformed twitcher. Well, "birder," he sometimes insisted, because he didn't twitch. In light of his wife's health, he had to moderate his bird-watching obsession. She, unfortunately, was confined to a wheelchair having been injured in an accident that resulted in an irreparably broken back. To take an active role in her care, he had given up the obsessive last-minute overnight expeditions to various corners of the British Isles just to see a Blue-Crested Hoopoe rumored to have been spotted along the edges of some farmer's remote fields. In exchange for giving up twitching, his wife still made Harold get out of the house, anyway. "You're driving me crazy. I can take care of myself for several hours." He started rambling naked, which his wife thought was very funny. He didn't attend many rambles but when he did, he and Esme struck up a companionship. He was a fount of knowledge about not only birds but also could identify most of the plant life they encountered. Except for the fact that his eccentricity was now that he enjoyed being naked outdoors, he was very genteel and had a droll sense of humor. He much preferred puns and double entendre. He kept a little Leuchtturm notebook and a pocket-sized waterproof digital camera in the satchel he always carried on the rambles. He often stopped to take photos and make notes. He explained these were for sharing with his wife so she could participate vicariously. Esme found Harold attractive, but didn't know whether he'd be receptive of any relationship more complicated than wandering naked in a group together. Sometimes she fantasized herself in kind of a mixed-up version of Lady Chatterley's Lover. Harold's wife being the invalid Clifford. Harold taking the role of Constance, the wife with unfulfilled needs. And, she, of course, was Oliver, the lusty gamekeeper.

The group touched in at the station and an announcement was made for everyone participating in the No Trousers Tube Ride to gather around. The plan was to take the Piccadilly line 8 stops to the King's Cross St. Pancras station. There the official event would come to an end.

It was time to disrobe. Esme untied her wrap, folded it, and stuffed it into a little day pack she wore over her shoulder. She invited Harold to steady himself with one hand on her shoulder as he slipped out of his loafers (a consolation that didn't match the theme of his suit) and doffed his trousers. Standing there, legs bare and her shirt tails flapping, she became aware of the cold breeze from outside the station that was being pushed back by the warm air from the depths of the station as the trains arrived and departed below. It was exciting, but like everyone else sans trousers, she tried her best to look like a regular commuter going to work on a normal day.

Seated on the train, her coat open to show off her trouserless status, Esme looked around. Trouserless commuters were nodding to the tunes from their earbuds, reading papers or books, holding their shopping bags, those standing held or leaned onto the poles, talking to their companions, looking at the scrolling signs for information on the next station, mostly ignoring the announcements, all the things that happen on a regular day on the rattling, squealing, whooshing, jostling Tube. Except there were a lot of exposed legs below what otherwise might be considered business casual or shopping day out wear. As she looked around, she saw Harold doing the same. He flashed her a quick thumbs-up.

Esme demurely crossed her legs, one knee over the other. Women have a built-in skill to do this without compromising that delicate locale between their legs. Esme so wanted to do that, show herself to the young male passenger seated across from her. That was another something she fantasized about. Not today, however. She settled for his exploratory and appreciative quick look at the curve of her exposed flank that disappeared into the shadows and fabric of her coat. He was also sans trousers, and she could see his muscular thighs and well-defined calves, maybe a footballer? Esme gave him a quick "hello" smile and he shifted his gaze up to the Tube map and scrolling sign above her. He subtly shifted in his seat, one cheek and then the other. Caught. Esme smiled as she took the free newspaper from the empty seat beside her and looked intently at the front page, happy with her adventure and doing her best to control her more prurient and personal impulses.

Everyone seated stood up and made their way toward the doors as the train slowed as it arrived at the King's Cross St. Pancras station. There was a mixed rush as people shuffled off while dodging those waiting to get on. Esme saw Beth and Ray turn and follow the way out signs. She lost sight of Harold. The three of them walked briskly through the winding tunnels and up escalators to the main station entrance. There the bustle thinned out enough to stop in a small group without impeding anyone. Esme rewrapped and tied her skirt while Beth and Ray steadied each other as they stepped out of their clogs and pulled on their slacks. Beth commented, "That skirt is a really good idea. I'll have to remember that for next year. It looks so much easier than pants." She looked at Ray. "Sorry, honey, no wrap for you, unless you want to try a kilt. But you know what they say about what men don't wear under their kilts."

They found a Pret A Manger and stopped for coffee and a croissant to discuss what to do next. Even though it was cold, it had become a rare sunny winter day in London. Esme suggested they browse the shops in Coal Drops Yard for a while and asked if they liked Indian food. "We should have lunch at Dishoom near there."

"We have been to Dishoom at Battersea Power Station and really like it," said Ray,

"Wonderful. I like the industrial looking repurposed warehouse space at the King's Cross location. That's a plan for the rest of the day."

*****

Esme was divorced and mostly retired. She took pleasure in managing her investment portfolio and with her rambling she had expanded her social network. While Eddie Blackburn was the main instigator and organizer of the naked rambling group, Eddie was married and his wife was an avid rambler, too. Esme had gravitated to Harold as a wandering partner even though he was married. Esme enjoyed that Harold liked to talk about things he'd seen on his travels: the birds, the plants, the places. Their conversations as they rambled seemed to distract and comfort him and they fascinated Esme who had grown up a city girl. They struck up a platonic friendship (considering persons who casually see each other naked and one of the pair was married to someone else). Harold lived in London and when they traveled back after a ramble, they would sometimes have dinner, always going Dutch. Harold didn't make it obvious, he didn't get erect in Esme's presence on the rambles, but she came to the idea that Harold enjoyed her company maybe for more than just a rambling or dining partner.

After the No Trousers Tube Ride adventure, Esme's Tube fantasies occupied her mind more and more. She tried to figure out how scenarios of opening her legs, exposing, and touching herself might work. One day she experimented on the Tube. Under her wrap skirt, she wore a string only bikini bottom and an insertable toy. Anyone she flashed would see her swollen labia highlighted by the brightly colored strings on each side of her outer lips and the pink antenna of her Lush vibrator protruding from her vagina. Seated near the middle of the carriage, there were several passengers across from her. Anyone thinking about it would conclude she was just scrolling through Facebook or some other social media app on her mobile. In reality, she was manipulating the vibe's control app and passengers beside her who cared to look would see her finger moving on the touch screen and a scrolling graph. She would ramp up the vibrations to edge herself toward orgasm then back off. In the chaos of exchanging passengers at the stop before hers, her arm got bumped and she vibrated herself over the edge. She shuddered and moaned her release but covered it with a fake sneeze. She hoped.

In June, there was that naked bicycle ride through the city. Esme had wanted one, so she used the naked ride as an excuse to get herself an e-Bike. On the day of the ride, she stood in line naked to get a full-body paint job from one of the local volunteer artists. She got sunflowers on her breasts and a tulip blooming from her crotch. Stars graced the dimples on her backside. She had fun being nude in the warm, breezy weather, but there were lots of textiles watching and taking photos of the plethora of naked people. Being in full body paint wasn't the same as rambling nude across the countryside or secretly masturbating on the Tube.

Esme saw an article in The Times about a fellow who had been arrested for pinching women's bottoms on the Tube. Seems he had been doing it a lot and the TFL police had finally caught up with him. There were several quotes from a woman (of course name withheld) who was willing to file a sexual assault complaint. That all sparked an idea for Esme to make something like her fantasy happen for real. She needed a partner in crime, and she hoped it would be Harold.

After a day of naked rambling, they were back in the city sitting at an isolated corner table outside of Brindisa Tapas London Bridge next to Borough Market. "Harold, I know we haven't been intimate," Esme said, touching him on his forearm. Harold froze, a stuffed Gorda olive halfway to his mouth.

"No?!" He reddened in embarrassment and whispered as his eyes darted side to side to see if anyone had heard.

"I'm also fully aware you are married. I'll not mince words; I have a sexually explicit favor I want to ask of you. Feel free to say no if you think it's too much." Esme had lowered her voice to be barely audible over the crowd noise and both her face and chest were as red in embarrassment as Harold's face was with incredulity.

"What?! No. I... I mean, I don't know."

Esme said it plainly. "I want you to masturbate me to orgasm on the Tube."

"What?!"

"I've offended you. Forget it. I don't want to lose you as a friend. I don't want to mess things up with your wife."

"No. No. That's not it. We're okay, and I appreciate it that you are trusting me, but why would I do that?"

"Speaking with openness and candor, I have a fantasy about public sex. I have masturbated during a solo naked adventure in a wooded glade. The No Pants Tube Ride and naked bike ride both got me thinking about how exciting it would be to orgasm in front of a lot of people, but they wouldn't know for sure that's what was happening. I have an idea, but I need a partner to pull it off. I thought about Beth or Ray or maybe even Eddie, but they'd all have to make a special trip into London. I didn't want to ask them to do that, so you are my choice. If you say no, it just won't happen for me and will remain an unfulfilled fantasy. I'm rambling," she nervously giggled then continued, "I'll shut up."

Harold looked at her and realized that all this time he was still holding that olive. He ate it. Chewed contemplatively. Then, he chased it with half of his glass of Albariño. He took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. He was clearly stalling while he gathered his thoughts. After his wife's injury, Harold had had a few female companions over the years, a fact he didn't conceal from his wife. He was confident he had adequate knowledge of the female geography. He wasn't sure about whether he could figure out how to please Esme, especially in a first intimate date situation. He didn't think his previous, albeit casual, encounters had gone poorly, but he also wasn't in the habit of asking if it was okay for you in order to solicit critiques of his machinations. Those encounters seemed to go well. Esme and he had seen each other naked on many occasions and had had dinners, of course clothed, several times.

Esme said something so quietly that Harold couldn't hear. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head toward her and down to bring his better ear into play. She softly whispered, "I want you to finger me. Up my skirt. While we're on the Tube." That really caught him off guard. He was thinking that maybe she wanted to take the Tube and have sex in a sheltered copse, outdoors in one of the many London parks. He looked at her silently with a surprised are-you-serious questioning face.

"In case you are wondering about performance issues, I've thought about that, too. I have a little, thumb-sized toy that is nearly silent and very effective. It's very dependable, not that you're not or won't be. I don't think you would have to do much more than hold it against me. I'm sorry. Again, I'm talking way too much. Forget it. It's a silly idea."

Harold was cautious but spoke clearly, "No. No. I'm intrigued. Maybe you can pull this off. I need to know more about your plan. I need rock solid assurance that should we get caught, you won't be pressing any charges for sexual assault or rape or anything like that. I can't have a judgement or PND for disorderly conduct or lewd behavior. That has to all be on you. And, of course, I have to discuss this with my wife."

Esme was thrilled that he hadn't given her an outright no, her feelings of excitement moderated because his wife might say no. He wanted to know more about how she was going to pull this off. They arranged a date to meet at her flat for further discussion and possibly a "practice" session.

Harold was open and honest with his wife. She knew both that he had needs she couldn't satisfy and that he loved her deeply. So now, Harold was sitting in a chair in Esme's flat. She stood in front of him, facing away, situated as if in the carriage where she could see the other passengers but with her bum in Harold's face. It was a simple plan, the same juxtaposition of passengers occurred many times daily in crowded Tube carriages. The people involved just had to look like they were courteously ignoring each other even though they were obviously crowded together within each other's personal space. He turned on her little Lelo Gigi 2 vibrator and reached up underneath her skirt. At the sensitive juncture of her legs, he applied the toy to her soft puffy lips.

During practice, the toy had gotten slick and so slippery with her arousal that Harold dropped it. That couldn't be allowed to happen so they figured out how to attach a wrist strap so that should it escape his grip, a vibrating toy wouldn't clatter and roll about the aisle. If that happened, the game would definitely be up. The logistics of route, meeting place, and date were set. Esme went shopping for the right kind of dress. It had to be the right length and type of fabric not to bunch up too much when Harold reached underneath. It also had to be loose enough that her spread legs would enable his caresses, and any penetration wouldn't be obvious. So many challenges and Esme kept getting more and more excited.

They boarded the Tube at separate stations, his one stop before hers. That way, if a corner seat at the front of the carriage, next to a support pole was available, he could claim it. To facilitate her finding him, they agreed that he would board the fourth carriage from the front of the train. When Esme boarded, there he was, as planned. There were lots of stoic looking passengers minding their own business. The carriage was full but not overly crowded, all seats occupied. She took a stance next to the pole in front of Harold. She placed her shopping bag on the floor between her feet, standing astride the bag to guard it. She spread her legs slightly wide on each side of the bag ostensibly to maintain her balance as the train sped up upon leaving the station. As the tousling and whooshing rapidly increased, she gasped shallowly as a hand lightly touched the inside of her leg, above the knee. She almost looked back at Harold, but rather quickly diverted her gaze to her fellow passengers. A man was seated diagonally across from her. His own goods were in a bag, his feet astride it. He looked her up and down in obvious appreciation of a nicely appointed woman who didn't appear to mind displaying her assets to their best and tasteful advantage. Her body was situated so as to obscure the view from his seat toward Harold except that he could possibly note that there was someone there.

Harold's fingertips reached the sensitive spot between her vagina and tight rosebud. He began pressing and rubbing the bare flesh there. Esme languidly shut her eyes and took a deep breath. This was happening. A finger slipped inside her, dragging her labia inward as it penetrated her and stretching her lips lightly around the hood of her clit. A second finger followed, opening her sex, and spreading her slick wet juices as they became more and more prolific. The fingers retreated. Even though she knew what was happening, Esme huffed in disappointment. She knew the hiatus was for Harold to adjust his grip and activate the vibrating toy. Esme, gripping the pole at shoulder height, allowed herself to sway to match the rhythms of the clattering train with the stimulations she felt between her legs. The vibrations were sending electric jolts throughout her body. Harold twisted the toy a bit and pressed it toward the front of her vagina, right behind her clit. Esme closed her eyes as she began breathing rapidly and shallowly.

Harold had apparently been practicing with the toy's controls. He changed the vibration to a deep throbbing pulse. Her eyes flew open and immediately saw that the man seated across was looking at her very intently. His eyes opened wide with realization and in evident surprise he locked his gaze on hers. He raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw slightly as he mouthed a breathless, "Oh my."

He knew what she was doing. That one person was enough of a live audience to send her over the edge of uncertainty to the inevitability of her release. Without knowing about her onlooker, Harold took that instant to mount a surprise initiative; he slipped his thumb into her ass simultaneously pressing the vibrating toy deeper into her. Esme, her clit pulsing with the unrelenting rhythms of the persistent toy and her sphincter spasming around Harold's invading thumb, shuddered with her release. Weak-kneed, she stumbled slightly as the train lurched around a sharper bend, but with her death grip on the pole, she didn't fall. Esme felt her spend dribbling down her leg.

As they slowed toward the next station, Harold again withdrew. Esme next felt a soft cloth slip up her leg, drying any drips. Harold gently patted and rubbed her slit. Then the hand and cloth retracted. As the train came to a halt, Esme picked up her shopping bag. Harold stood and they exited, disappearing into the press of commuters in the station. Esme looked back and saw her knowing voyeur peering out the window scanning the crowd to see where she had gone.

It was then Esme looked and saw a small dark stain on the outside of Harold's pants leg, a little above his knee. "It's nothing. You dripped from my hand before I could catch it. No one will notice." No one did.

It was a 5 minute walk and short wait to catch a bus, a 20 minute ride to Esme's stop, and another 15 minute walk to her flat. Harold never said a word during the commute. At her door, when she said, "You need to come in."

He spoke and asserted an emphatic, "Yes."

Front door closed and shoes off, Esme turned to him and pressed her lips firmly to his. She grabbed his cock through his pants and fumbled with his belt and zipper. As he was unbuttoning his shirt, she pushed his pants and boxers down. He stepped out of those as Esme pulled her sundress over her head and stood naked before him. Not for the first time, of course, but this time they both knew the charged situation was different. Each felt a lust and passion that was intentionally avoided and absent on their rambles.

They made it as far as her living room couch. Esme pushed him down and without prelude impaled herself on his erection. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed. She pressed her hands over his and implored, "Harder!" As she flexed on him driving his cock into her, he rolled her turgid nipples and pulled her down to take one in his mouth. He fervently licked and sucked at the stiff nub centered in the soft flesh that billowed around his face.

He pushed her up, then off and onto her back. He grabbed her knees and lifted them to her shoulders. She spread herself as wide and salaciously as she could. Harold looked at her cunt, flecked with her white creamy essence their thrusting had worked into a foam. He bent down and licked it all from her from ass to clit. Taking her clit into his mouth, he suckled it momentarily, then stood and bent over her. He lined up his member with her opening and in one stroke, he plunged deeply into her. Their bodies took over with primitive rhythms powered by need and instinct alone. He felt her fingertips brushing the top of his cock as she mashed her swollen clit. Reveling in the sensation of her stroking herself, her fingers brushing along the top of his plunging cock, he continued to pump himself into her. Without conscious intent or consideration for his rutting partner, Harold pressed as far into her as he could and groaned as he released his hot seed into her depths. At the same time, Esme pushed her wet cunt onto his crotch, pulled him into an embrace, and let the spasmodic contortions of pleasure wash over her body with her own release. Their combined fluids oozed from her. She grabbed Harold, her palms covering his ears on each side of his head and kissed him as he softened inside her then gently slipped from her hot soaked passage.

She pushed his head up and said, "Let's shower and order something in."

"Yes."

As she sometimes did with Beth and Ray, Esme enjoyed the occasional carnal romp with Harold. No pressure. No expectations. They could meet each other for dinner and, if the feeling was mutual, they'd go to her flat and partake in the salacious pleasures of adults unencumbered by clothing. Once, while at dinner, Harold lifted his wine glass, offered a toast, and observed, "I feel like you are the game keeper and I'm dancing in the rain. However, in this story, the Clifford character knows and approves. To you and her." Their glasses merrily tinged together. She smiled at him as she imbibed. Harold had happened upon the same metaphor for their connection as she had.

*****

As fall approached, Eddie proposed that the group take a ramble on the towpath along one of the many English canals. Esme fondly remembered a week during one summer of her youth. A relative had invited her parents to take a canal cruise. It was a distant cousin whose family connection Esme had been too young to recall. That week on a narrowboat seemed like something magical to her youthful self. She said "Yes" hoping the rest of the group would go along. While not actually "rambling" on a boat, there were many quaint villages with pubs along the canals connected by towpaths that could serve as convenient start and end locations. Additionally, there was usually public transportation between those villages, so it would be easy for the ramblers either to return to their start point and their parked cars or make connections on public transit to get home. Everyone seconded the notion. As usual, the club met in a village pub. This one had a well-appointed back garden overlooking the selected canal and several moored narrowboats. Beth and Ray seemed very interested and, before starting the ramble, went down to take a gander at the boats. They struck up a conversation with an owner of one boat. Eddie had to call them back to get the ramble underway. The towpath was more public than the usual countryside footpath; a group of naked wanderers was a novelty and surprise to some boaters. Some pointed and gawked, but most just minded their business of guiding themselves down the canal.

As the boats chugged along at their slow and stately pace, it afforded plenty of time for the ramblers to assess many of the outward features of each craft as it passed. One might have solar panels. Another a little sundeck. Bicycles and folding chairs were secured to the roofs. There were barbecues. There were planters with flowers and garden gnomes or tomatoes and sometimes even trees in pots. All manner of sundry items were perched and lashed to the roof decks. At their sterns, each had a long pole with a vertical pin securing it to the tiller in the firm grip of the captain.

Eddie hadn't realized how much boat and foot traffic occurred along the canals, but apparently the boaters, walkers, and bikers, were generally fine with naked ramblers sharing the scenic outdoors and sunny weather. The group was not confronted by the local constabulary or told to desist and get dressed. The naked group did get a few harumphs, mostly from a pair of matrons walking their Corgies.

Beth and Ray were captivated. Esme shared her fond recollections of her long ago week on a narrowboat with them. That next spring, the two convinced Eddie to book a naked canal boat cruise. A catered lunch and abundant free beer and wine were included in the booking. But as for being naked outdoors, there was no breeze on their bodies, no sun warming their backs. They actually remained in a cabin outfitted as a restaurant and didn't get out in nature. Plenty of curved windows provided panoramic views of the sky and serene countryside. The boat locked through to an upstream section of the canal, passed through an historic tunnel, and negotiated a swing bridge. All was managed smoothly by the small crew that also served as waitstaff. The passengers got a feel for aspects of a relaxed day of narrowboating. Through it all, Beth and Ray watched the proceedings and peppered their captain and any crew member they could interrupt with questions.

In early summer, Esme got a call from Beth and Ray. "We've rented a narrowboat for a week. Would you like to cruise the countryside with us?"

"Sounds like fun. Let's do it."

Their first day was a checkout cruise with an experienced boater and pilot who directed them through the nuances of steering, managing the throttle, negotiating locks, what the windings were and how to use them to turn the boat around. He covered all the basics. He assured them that they were never far from help on this stretch of the canal and if they ran into any trouble, just to moor up and call. Although bollards were usually available at overnight sites, he showed them how to set and pull the mooring pins they might need in some of the more rural spots along their route. It was, for the most part, a delightful and pleasantly naked outing.

Upon her return to London, Esme's curiosity was aroused when she saw a large envelope that displayed a long list of Solicitors in a practice with which she was unfamiliar from a hamlet she'd never heard of. Inside, couched in legal formalities was a letter, hoping they found her in good health and would she be so kind as to appear at their offices on such-and-such a date to settle the matter of the reading of the will of the late Lady Caroline Boxworthy. This piqued Esme's interest. Her parents being deceased, Esme rang up an elderly uncle who revealed that the Boxworthys were cousins somewhat removed, but still family, nonetheless. It was at that point in the legal mystery that she remembered her long-ago joyous week on a narrowboat; it was the Boxworthy's boat. She rang the firm and confirmed her attendance.

When she arrived, the office was identical to all such gatherings oft seen on the telly, chairs crowded into a dark paneled office with a solicitor seated at his massive mahogany desk, papers before him, and an expectant audience tastefully dressed in mourning black. Apparently, Lady Boxworthy was well-heeled and had passed away without direct heirs who might have inherited the whole kit, lock, stock, and barrel. Her country estate went to one family, while her cottage in the Cotswolds and a London flat went to others. Esme sat through the distribution of several sums of money with many zeros and the dispositions of trusts.

Then it happened, she heard "And to Esmeralda Smythington..."

"Shit," Esme whispered to herself as she slunk in her chair trying to disappear, embarrassed to once again endure the folly of her long gone parents.

"... the narrowboat christened Crane's Roost and a sum of £30,000 to be used for any fees, inspections, repairs, maintenance, renovations, or enhancements that might be necessary at her sole discretion for her pleasure and enjoyment."

When the reading finished, one of the partners intercepted Esme and handed her some papers. "Here are the transfer of ownership papers and keys. Everything is already in your name. The funds have been deposited in an account under your name. We will need your signature to complete the transfer and registration with the Canal and River Trust. All that remains can be taken care of with a visit to the bank this afternoon."

In a few days, Esme was in the boat storage yard of a marina looking at a long narrow hulk covered with frayed green tarps. She was on her mobile. "Beth, is Ray there?

"Yes, we're on speaker."

"You have no idea where I am or what I'm looking at, but it's about 2.5 meters wide and 17 meters long. It has a propeller..."

"What?"

"I own a narrowboat. I'm arranging for an inspection and will be here for a couple of days. Want to come see?"

An excited squeal erupted from Esme's phone, "What? How? Of course. Oh, where? When?"

"I'll explain when you get here."

When Beth and Ray arrived at the marina, they met Esme at the office and walked with a couple of the staff to a back corner. As they walked, she explained her unexpected inheritance. "We're going to uncover it today and begin the inspection. I have no idea what it will take to get it back on the water. They plugged it into a generator so they can check the batteries and electrics."

The tarps were removed revealing the artwork with the boat's name. In the Ukiyo-e style of woodblock prints during the Edo period of Japanese art, spindly grasses rose above a stylized blue marshy background. In the foreground, a colorful crane, one leg slightly bent, waded in the marsh, its head cocked to the side as if hunting for something below the surface. A single Japanese character, 忠[1], was placed forward of the artwork. "Crane's Roost" arched over the scene in a flowery cursive script.

The surveyor from the marina explained, "It's been here for several years. As long as the yard fees are being paid by the owner's agent, it can just stay here. First, I see the hull needs to be scraped and blacked, and the sacrificial plates need replacing. Give me the keys and let me take a quick walk through to see if it's safe for you to board."

It was okay. Starting with well deck at the bow, steps led down through the forward hatch in the main cabin. The forward saloon was furnished with chairs, a fold-down table, and padded bench seating, with storage beneath, across from a table. Aft of that, there was a galley with a sink, hob, a combined microwave and convection oven, a small under-counter refrigerator, and a multi-fuel stove in one corner. Next came a double berth with storage underneath a foam mattress that lifted up on a frame like a clamshell. Wardrobes separated the bedroom space from a shower and cassette toilet. Behind that was a guest bedroom with two twin beds (more storage underneath) and a vanity sink. A casual party seating area had a hatch that opened onto the stern deck with another hatch in the floor to provide access to the engine compartment. That small rear deck included space for a stool for the captain's comfort while steering and piloting the craft. Everything seemed sound but was dusty and somewhat dated. Inspection of the bilges showed they were dry with little rust.

Esme looked at Beth and Ray. "I have a proposition for you. I want you to become co-owners of the Crane's Roost. I know you've been looking at boats for a while, so during the refit and upgrade, I want you to help with any suggestions. I've inherited some funds to cover those costs. Once we get it updated and cruising, I'm proposing you pay half of any marina and Canal and River Trust fees and, of course, contribute to any food, fuel, water, or other incidental fees that accumulate from our shared or your use of the craft. What do you think?"

Beth and Ray glanced at each other and clasped hands. "Wow! Yes. Of course. We've been looking at finances and a narrowboat has been our dream."

That's how Esme ended up naked managing the center line which was wrapped around a bollard as she steadied the Crane's Roost in the single-width lock while its chamber slowly filled. Well, not completely naked. She wore non-slip deck shoes, soft leather gloves, her wide-brimmed hat, and sun glasses. Oscar, the CRT volunteer lock keeper, had a hard time dividing his attention between Esme, standing across from him, and Beth who was relaxing supine on the sun deck. She was basking in the sun, her hat low, shading her face. The soft tissue of her breasts flattened, spilling to her sides in soft curves. Oscar couldn't see anything but her furry mons from his angle, but her slightly parted legs gave Ray at the tiller an unobstructed view of the neatly trimmed hair surrounding her pussy lips. Ray, too, was naked, his member nestled on top of his sack, but the CRT chap wasn't watching him.

Usually, CRT volunteers only assisted boaters during the weekend, but Oscar and his wife lived in an old lock master's cottage on the upstream side of the lock. The evening before, he heard a boat approach the lock, and when the engine noise died, he knew they had moored up. He put on his yellow safety vest with bright reflective stripes and CRT logo He decided to walk in that direction for his evening stroll and take some time to greet the visitors. In the muted, shadowy light of dusk, he was surprised to see three naked people in a yellowish cone of light emanating from the side hatch of their narrowboat. The two women were sitting in folding chairs. The bloke, wearing only shoes, an apron, and a hat, was standing beside a grill near the towpath, spatula in hand. Fragrant smoke was drifting lazily over their evening meal. All looked to be enjoying their beers.

"Evening all. Looks like a nice night," Oscar managed to get out even though he was a bit flummoxed and mostly at a loss for words.

"Hello," said Ray. "I'm Ray, this is Beth, my wife, and that's Esme, who owns the boat with us. I bet you're wondering. As you can see, we like being outdoors, naked. If you have any reservations or objections, we'll get dressed."

"No, no, not on my account. I'm Oscar, a local CRT volunteer. Just out for an evening stroll. I'll be glad to help when you lock through tomorrow." He added with a note of happy longing in his voice.

Esme, Beth, and Ray looked at each other and smiled to themselves. They knew the volunteers usually only worked on weekends and this was mid-week. Oscar obviously wanted to enjoy the ladies and that was okay with Beth and Esme.

"Thanks. We appreciate any help you can give us. You fancy a pint?" said Ray.

"No. Thank you."

Oscar walked down the path for another quarter of an hour, turned back, and waved to the seated group as he passed by on his return. They waved back. Ray tipped his beer to Oscar, "Good night. See you tomorrow."

The next morning, when Oscar heard the engine turn over and start, he put on his CRT vest and headed to his post next to one of the balance beams that operate the lock gates. As the boat eased gently into the lock chamber, he saw the younger of the two women, Esme?, he tried to remember. She was walking up the path to the balance beam on the other side of the lock from his post. She was carrying a windlass and a towel. Oscar watched enjoying the bouncing sway of her naked breasts and noticed she was shaved, with quick peeks of her slit flashing him as she walked along and ascended the stairs. Oscar was very happy and already knew this tale was going to be a hit in the pub the next time he and his mates gathered in the snug, much better than the stories of the naked cruises that sometimes traveled along this route.

With the Crane's Roost in the chamber, Esme threw her towel over the end of the balance beam on her side of the lock. She turned around and, without hesitation, started swinging the bottom gate closed with her curvy bum pressed to the beam. With long-practiced skill, Oscar closed the gate on his side. She watched him, and when both bottom gates were closed, she picked up her windlass. She fit it onto the shaft of the winding cog and flipped the pawl on the paddle mechanism, so it ratcheted correctly. She wound the paddles down to close them. That done, she took her tool to the top gate to open the paddles there and let water into the chamber. Oscar really appreciated the view he had of her as she bent over and cranked the windlass. Her firm ass rippled, and her pendant breasts swayed enthusiastically with her efforts. Her puffy pussy lips made for a grand and attractive scene he would definitely add to his pub tale, sure to earn several pints. Her body began to develop a nice sheen as she worked up a sweat.

Once the paddles were set and with the chamber filling, Esme walked back and took the center line tossed to her by Beth, who had dropped fenders over the sides to keep the Crane's Roost from bashing into the sides of the lock. She wrapped the rope once around a bollard and held on to maintain the boat centered in the lock so that it didn't drift too much with the incoming water flow. Oscar bemoaned that she seemed to know what she was doing. He would have liked to cross over to her side and give her some hands-on help doing something, anything, but that intrusion was not to be.

Chamber full and top gates opened, Ray eased the Crane's Roost out of the lock and paused for Esme to hop back on. Esme and Beth pulled up the fenders, then turned and waved to Oscar. He had no idea they had cut cards for who would manage the gates and paddles. Esme won. Even though she hadn't done anything to entice Oscar, she was wet with more than sweat from indulging her exhibitionist proclivities. Ray had just relaxed at the stern and enjoyed the ladies. Not too much, but he had a towel handy to cover himself should his need have arisen.

As usual, the trio remained naked for the day. After the exertions of the lock, Beth took over the tiller, and the boat made its way along the canal at a stately three miles per hour toward their next mooring. Esme relaxed in the saloon. Ray came to stand behind her. He massaged her neck and shoulders. She was used to operating the locks, but Ray's hands felt good anyway. Ray bent down, and as he did so, he slid his hands to cup her breasts. She leaned her head back into him. She turned to look at Beth, who was concentrating on navigating the canal. Beth gave Esme a "go ahead" smile when she noticed Ray cupping Esme's breasts and rolling her nipples. Esme opened her legs and raised one hand to trap Ray's on her breast as he fondled her stiffening nipple. Her other hand found its way to the moistening junction of her legs.

Esme turned her head. She reached over and began tickling Ray's sack. She sucked his semi-soft penis into her mouth. She liked to be watched and knew Beth liked watching. Ray gradually stiffened to the degree that Esme could grasp his length and stroke him as he languidly fucked her mouth. She popped him out, kissed the head, and licked across the underside of his member. She lifted his erection to lay along his stomach and gently mouthed one testicle. In time with her fingers pressing gentle circles on her sex, she licked and twirled her tongue around the tender flesh of first one ball and then the other. She gave Ray's tumid length one last stroke and withdrew her hand from her sensual manipulations. She smiled at Ray, teasing him and herself by association, saying quietly, "Later."

The day progressed with an ever more intimate waltz among three nude partners. As the companions moved through the boat, touches on arms, shoulders, or back that had first meant, "I'm here," or "Behind you," or "I'm coming through" progressed to lingering carnal caresses. A pat on the bum became an intimate caress or gentle squeeze. A quick affectionate buss was accompanied by an exploratory finger brushing lightly across more personal lips, maybe a lift and stroke of a breast, a pinch of a nipple, fondling a dangling member, a gentle massage of a dangling sack. That flaccid member, sometimes inflated to prominence, brushing across soft bums elicited promissory smiles and winks. Warm lips pressed with playful affection to ear lobes might include a suck and lick. It was a dance of consenting adults, issuing invitations intended to be understood and kept, edging and teasing each other toward a finale they mutually desired.

That night, they moored across from a farm. Everyone ducked in for a quick shower to freshen up. They had become experts in quick, one-skillet recipes like Black Pepper Chicken on a bed of rice, so dinner was efficiently prepared and consumed. Ray cooked. Esme volunteered to do the dishes. With only a bovine audience, Beth and Ray retired to the saloon and relaxed around the table, looking at the canal maps and planning where they wanted to go next. One bottle of wine had already been emptied, and the second was on its way to exhaustion.

A short, quiet interval after the bustle and clatter of washing and stowing the clean silver and dishes almost went unnoticed until Esme interrupted the quiet interlude she had manufactured. She cleared her throat to gain their attention. Beth and Ray looked up to see her in languid repose, propped upon a pile of pillows, displayed on the double bed much like Manet's Olympia. As in that masterwork, she looked at Beth and Ray with an intense gaze of intimate challenge and proposition. One arm was stretched along her torso and flank, her hand draped lazily to cover her sex. With Beth and Ray as the audience, all that was missing was a maid and a black cat. With a more blatant invitation than depicted in the masterwork, however, Esme's other hand was teasing the nipple of her pendant breast. Having attracted their attention, she moved that obscuring hand in her lap onto her hip, exposing the top of her shaved slit. She gazed at Beth and Ray with an intense who's first invitation. Beth glanced at Ray. He smiled, indicating a silent "I'll watch."

Beth walked to the bed, and Esme reached up to pull her into an embrace. Lips parted, and tongues began an intimate interplay. Beth displaced Esme's hand to cup her breast. Beth's fingers traced the shapely curve of the underside of the soft mound. For her part, as Beth began manipulating her nipple, Esme dipped her head and lifted Beth's breast to her mouth. Beth sat on the edge of the bed, guided Esme to a supine posture, and reached down to caress and penetrate the wet carnal treat Esme had openly on offer. Beth languidly fingered that slick treasure as their tongues curled and hands groped in a slow, sensuous duel.

Esme rolled the entwined pair over and claimed the superior position above Beth. She moved over Beth until her soaked and open sex was aligned with Beth's face. She lowered herself to mount the open mouth, eagerly inviting her to settle, tongue extended. Esme began fucking Beth's face. Her cheeks clinched tightly as each forward thrust dragged her nether lips across the upturned face of the woman below her and drove that willing partner's tongue to maximum penetration of her passage. Upon relaxing each thrust, Ray, the ever-avid observer of the two women, caught a flash of that same tongue parting Esme's pink lips in search of her swollen nubbin, lapping at it heartily. Beth's one hand on Esme's bottom guided and pressed the body writhing above her as she pushed her flickering tongue into the sex sliding across her mouth. Beth's other hand was between her own legs, thrusting her fingers into herself, her breasts sloshing back and forth, all in concert with the pair's lubricious rhythm.

Ray watched the women pursuing each other's pleasure. Esme, back arched and head thrown back, pressing her sex to Beth's face. Her hands squeezing the tender flesh of her breasts. Beth frantically fingered herself toward ecstasy. The musky scent of their arousal filled the cabin. Ray watched as he stroked himself, repeatedly taking his pleasure to the edge and then slowing to prolong it. One of the women would receive his essence as he filled and used one of their holes. Right now, however, he wasn't going to interrupt their lascivious enjoyment of each other.

Esme stretched out her hand and began beckoning with her fingers in an open air imitation of stroking a cock. It was an unambiguous signal for Ray to join the fray. Esme latched onto his member, stroking along its length and drawing it to her mouth. She hungrily swallowed his cock. She took it until her nose was buried in his neatly groomed hair. He began pumping in and out of her mouth. After a day of sensual play and an evening of watching the two women pleasure each other while he manipulated his manhood, Ray didn't last long. He began his eruption in Esme's mouth. She pulled back until her lips encircled just his head and enthusiastically swallowed his emissions as he spasmed against her tongue. Some of his spend oozed out and dripped across her chin to plop onto her breasts.

As Esme relished the salty savory flavor of Ray's spend, she splashed her release onto Beth's upturned face. Beth sucked and lapped up Esme's essence. Beth's soft tongue became too much for Esme's extra-sensitive clit, and she dismounted and collapsed, panting, next to Beth.

Ray knew that Beth was eager for him to take her. She looked at him lustily, wanting to be filled. He spread her legs and, without hesitation, replaced her plunging fingers with his. He knew her best pleasure spots and with tongue and fingertips, he advanced her to her release. He shifted to kneel between her legs and replaced the fingers in her cunt with his engorged member. As he pressed and withdrew from her sheath that fit him like a glove, he reached down to press her clit with his thumb in time with his penetrations. Her release bathed them both in her sweet and fragrant essence.

Anyone walking past the Crane's Roost that night would have seen it gently rocking, propagating little ripples across the waters of the canal. If they were nosy, a look through the windows would have revealed an explicit entanglement of naked bodies. The friends ended the day in a sprawled mass, too exhausted to care at all about sweat, damp sheets, or any other of the inconveniences of the aftermath of exuberantly satisfying sex. All of those were minor details that would be dealt with in the morning.

Beth and Ray ended up moving onto the Crane's Roost in the warmer months, renting out their country cottage as an Airbnb for a little extra income. They eventually bought Esme's interest in the narrowboat but assured her she was welcome any time for as long as she wanted. Esme, Beth, and Ray continued to ramble and cruise naked. Harold became Esme's frequent companion on their rambles. They arrived at mutual understandings of each other's needs and expectations. After that one naked charter Harold had attended, Esme was unsuccessful in getting him onto the Crane's Roost for a cruise. He always said he preferred a day's wandering ramble routes to pushing lock gates and swing bridges. She knew he was devoted to his wife's care, and the occasional rendezvous was all they desired as a couple.

[1] Loyalty/Fidelity/Faithfulness