The Reader is a Nudist

"Let's start with one of these."

Aspen read the names of the five books. She recognized the name of only one of them — Fifty Shades of Gray. It had been made into a movie, with bondage and blindfolds. Was the choice of this book a mistake?

The other books were Lady Chatterley's Lover, Lolita, Dangerous Liaisons, and Written on the Body. None of them were illustrated. She had a vague memory of a young girl in a bikini associated with Lolita, but nothing else came to mind. After she paged through them all, she decided to start with Fifty Shades of Gray. It appeared to have the easiest words.

The music stopped at around three in the morning, and Aspen fell asleep soon thereafter. The mattress was firm, but the sheets were very soft and slid over her naked legs easily. After a few minutes, she removed her shirt so that the sheets could slide over her entire body. She was asleep almost immediately.

She heard raps on her door that pulled her from sleep. The sun was up and flooding her room, but it had not disturbed her slumber. She scratched her head, scattering her short dark hair about her face. The rapping continued.

"Yes?" she called.

"It's Brandon."

Aspen slid out of bed, stretched until her neck and back popped a little, shook out both legs, and let go a deep breath. It felt good to be naked in the sun-warmed room. As she listened, she heard a muted motorized sound from beyond the windows. Someone was cutting the grass or blowing leaves or trimming something.

"I'm coming."

She pulled open the door. Brandon was waiting for her, alone, wearing his shorts, a shirt, and trainers. His eyes were shaded and he carried his white cane in his left hand. When she saw him, she decided to test his eyesight by wiggling her body suggestively for him, but there was no reaction. She knew she should stop this kind of immature play.

"Did I oversleep?"

"It usually doesn't matter, but the cleaning crew is here, and will need to fix up your room. I have a friend downstairs who agreed to do some shopping for you. You know, that clothes thing? She says she can go get the clothes, or you can accompany her and pick them out yourself. Your choice."

"I want to go with her. That's really too generous, Brandon. I shouldn't let you spend your money on a stranger."

He laughed in his engaging way. "I don't really have anyone else with whom to be generous, so let me treat you. Who knows? You may prove to be a lousy reader anyway, and I'll have to fire you."

"Yeah, probably."

Brandon turned in place, and started to walk down the hallway. "How long should I tell her?"

"I'll shower real quick and find my old clothes. Give me ten minutes."

"I'll let her know. Her name is Layla. She'll help you and then bring you back."

Aspen had already started for the shower, grabbing her clothes from yesterday on the way.

"And, Aspen? You may want to keep your shades drawn unless you enjoy giving the landscaping crew a show. They seem to be focused today solely on the part of my property that faces your windows."

Aspen shouted above the hissing of the shower jets.

"I'll be more careful!"

True to her word, Aspen was downstairs in just under ten minutes. Her dark brown hair was still a bit wet and she wore no makeup, but she was ready to greet Layla.

Layla was a blond in her mid-thirties with an ample bosom and wide hips. She must have had an hour-glass figure when she was young, but now her waist had thickened a bit. She wore full make-up, which was something that Aspen saw most women in Arkansas do, even in the morning. Thin gold bracelets dangled from her wrists, matching gold hoops on her ears. Her green eyes watched carefully, trying to understand the relationship of Aspen to Brandon. On the other hand, her ruby-lipped smile seemed genuine.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" she said in a sing-song voice. "Come on, honey. There ain't much to you, but I think we can find an old rag or two to wrap that emaciated frame."

Layla walking was various body parts in motion — a swing of hips here, a bounce up top, a jiggle behind, and swaying arms. Only her head crowned by stiff blond hair remained still, and her smile kept most of its arc.

"Thank you," said Aspen.

Aspen went to Brandon, stood on her tip-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He reached for her hand, found it, and curled it in his own. There was something possessive about that action, but it didn't frighten Aspen. Nothing about him was frightening that she could see.

"I'll see you later, Brandon. We can have supper and begin reading tonight, alright?"

"We'll see, Aspen. We'll see."

Layla's car was a pink Cadillac convertible. She took a scarf from the glove box and tied it over her hair. She offered another one to Aspen, who shook her head. She looked forward to letting the wind rip through her hair. Layla pressed hard on the gas once the engine had started, and sprayed gravel behind the car as they left. Unlike Aspen, Layla was comfortable with the winding mountain road with its steep fall-offs on the side. Aspen caught her breath several times at the vistas, and felt she was losing her stomach diving down-hill. She resolved that if Layla was trying to frighten her, she would not give her the satisfaction. Instead, she began to whoop with each new sudden change in altitude or direction.

It was dark by the time they drove back to Brandon's place. There were some lights still on, but it was not lit up like it was for music night. Layla helped Aspen with her packages. There were so many that Aspen was sure Brandon would hit the roof. Layla had encouraged her, saying that Brandon would never object to beautiful clothes on a pretty lady.

When they entered the house, Layla hit the foyer lights. The rest of the house was dim, although Aspen heard conversation from the setting area where he had interviewed her just yesterday. As they passed, Brandon and another woman were sitting and talking. The woman was a little older than Aspen, and wore nothing but a sheer, flowing, rose-colored negligee. She was leaning forward toward Brandon, who was leaning toward her as well.

"Hi, Ashley. Starting without me?"

"Hey there, Lay. Brandon and I were just talkin'. I like to hear Brandon talkin'." She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

Brandon let her kiss him, then coughed as he straightened and stood up.

"Thanks for taking Aspen shopping, Layla. I hope she found what she was looking for."

"Oh, we found plenty of things, Brandon. Your little Aspen will be the belle of the ball."

Aspen blushed.

"I'm sorry," Aspen said. "I might have overdone it. If you think I spent too much I'll take it all back tomorrow."

Layla answered. "Tut-tut. Let's get these up stairs to your room. I don't want to be left behind by my friend Ashley here."

Aspen saw the young woman in the negligee smile like a cat who has her choice of several mice. "We had only begun to play, Lay. Brandon seems rather eager tonight. You might want to hurry yourself down here, darlin'." She snapped her teeth at Brandon, and even Aspen hear the click.

Aspen started for the stairs, but Layla lagged a little behind, examining the situation. She dropped the packages she was carrying and knelt next to Brandon. Her hands stroked his muscular thighs.

"Am I wrong, or are you looking to include a new member in our playtime, Brandon?" She looked directly at Aspen, standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Oooh," said Ashley, "you do know how to stimulate a girl's imagination. She looks a little scrawny, but I bet she's a yeller."

"Leave her alone," said Brandon in a low growl. "She's my house guest. My reader. She's not a whore."

"She looks a little whorish," said the girl in the negligee. "And I don't see her runnin' away, now, do I? I bet she'd love a little slap 'n' tickle. Wouldn't you, darlin'?"

Aspen ran up the stairs, leaving the two women laughing together in the setting area with Brandon. She ran to the bedroom and slammed shut the door. The packages she left strewn about her as she paced the length of her bedroom, her breathing fast and ragged. She was confused by her feelings.

Yes, she liked a little slap and tickle; it reminded her she was human. She loved when a person held her, touched her, kissed her, everywhere. She enjoyed giving pleasure, too, although it helped if there were drugs involved to lower inhibitions and raise sensitivities. Just the thought of making love with several lovers made her nipples tight, and moistened the patch between her legs. She wasn't sure if pacing could satisfy her urges.

Yet, what would Brandon think of her? She was supposed to be a reader, and was a recovering drug addict. He recognized she needed to be free from temptation. But it wasn't just the temptation of narcotics or alcohol. There were other kinds of obsessive behavior that could drag a person down. The problem was that obsessions were too often swirled together in a weekend or week that would be entirely blacked out from her memory. Only the scars and the aches would remain. After she had trouble waking up from one week-long party, she knew she was in trouble and ended up in rehab.

She walked some more, trying to erase from her imagination the erotic combinations that were satisfying her new boss, Brandon, downstairs. Occasionally, she heard a screechy laugh from the young woman who had been wearing the negligee. Aspen guessed that by now, the negligee had been tossed aside, and she was encouraging Brandon to lose his clothing, too.

Brandon's strong, mature body came to mind. She was used to young, stringy, wispy-bearded men, too strung out to get hard without a vigorous blow job. Even then they couldn't stay hard long. Or maybe she was too demanding. Brandon's physique riled her feminine desires. He could surely go the distance. His dependence on senses other than sight intrigued her. He would depend upon his sense of touch, his talented fingers. She already appreciated his gentle hands upon her own. He would depend on his sense of hearing, of course. And his sense of smell. She could stimulate that sense with bath soaps and exotic perfumes to intrigue him.

But most potent of all, he would depend upon his sense of taste. He would use his tongue to pick up her unique flavors, all the while using that same strong tongue muscle to stimulate the sensitive parts of her body he was appreciating.

Her own fingers spread and clenched nervously as she walked. She needed to get out of the bedroom, even at the risk of meeting Brandon and his whores mid-orgy.

Aspen tried to sleep, but after a few hours had to get out of bed. She pulled on her white t-shirt to wander the hallways. Because it was still deep night, she took her phone with it's light, rather than flip on the light switches.

Brandon's cabin was entirely silent. There were no creaking wooden floors, no settling rafters, no shuddering panes in the night mountain breezes. Aspen trod carefully, heel to toe, without making a sound herself.

Down the hallway from her room in the front of the cabin, she passed four other rooms or suites. The first three were empty, but the fourth contained a surprise. In the king-sized bed, she saw Layla and Ashley intertwined among the sheets, with Brandon in between both of them. Layla splayed one strong leg over Brandon's middle, while Ashley's red hair streamed across his chest. They looked as peaceful as puppies napping, and wearing just as little clothing. But what did she expect? Brandon was a man, with the urges that drive a man. At least by hiring hookers, he has no commitment issues to deal with.

Still, Aspen felt a combination of jealousy and eroticism. She realized that if she were to be a guest at this cabin for any length of time, she would need some way to satisfy her own sexual cravings. Or else she would have to take a weekend off to find some excitement.

Since Brandon was in the first guest bedroom, she was drawn to the rear of the home, where Brandon's private space was located. As she passed she saw that there was a door to a large suite, complete with sitting area, large bedroom, kitchenette, a bathroom that looked like a spa, a walk-in closet, and two other doors leading to the side of the suite. Onc room she was familiar with — it was the gym where she had seen him exercising Friday. But she had no idea where the second door led, or what was behind that door.

Along the hallway, she matched the hallway door to the gym. Further along was a second door, the last one. She estimated the room behind the door to be nearly as large as the master bedroom suite itself, which would mean there were windows on two sides, together with another balcony. Was this a room Brandon had constructed for his wife originally? It made her sad to think that he would have planned a suite for his spouse other than in the room with their marriage bed. Then again, she could not imagine the pain he had endured, first in the fire itself, and later in the physical therapy to restore his ability to get around. It may have been easier for his wife to have her own space, where she could withdraw from Brandon's recovery journey. From her own experience in recovery, she knew that her partners were not spared the anguish that she had suffered in getting straight.

As she passed the last doorway, which had a large brass doorknob and a place for a separate lock, she thought she might try to open it, for a lark. She touched the brass, which was colder than she expected, and used a gentle force to turn it. She didn't want it to click or make any other sound which would be echoed through the empty hallway. The knob turned all the way, and she was able to put some pressure on the door to help ease it open.

A full moon was visible through the windows. She had not even noticed the large golden disk hanging over the mountain tops before this moment. It helped illuminate the room, which was filled with strange tables, long thin wooden sticks joined at the top, the smell of oils and clay. Stacks of canvasses, most at least three feet tall, leaned against a wall away from the windows.

Aspen turned on her phone's light to see the room. She saw something she imagined was a potter's wheel, with a seat next to it. Cloths were stacked neatly nearby. There was sink with running water for cleaning. The long poles joined at the top she now recognized as easels, and there must have been four of them. On two, were half-finished portraits, half-finished nude renderings, but they were of such poor quality that she could not determine who the subject might be, or what the artist intended. Still, the art was much better than a man with no eyesight could have constructed. She was left wondering who the poor painter might be.

She also saw small statues made of clay. Some had been fired, and sure enough, when she looked around, she saw a kiln for firing. Some of the work had not been fired, and resembled just lumps of material waiting for shaping. However, at the end of the table she saw a form that resembled a human hand. It was small and delicate, a woman's hand. She risked picking it up, and noticed how closely it fit her own. When she put it down and placed her own hand next to it, it seemed a remarkable copy of her own thin hand.

She thought immediately of Brandon's handshakes, and the care with which he had traced her hand with his thumb. If this work was his, he was a talented artist. There still remained the question of who the painter might be, and when those portraits had been sketched.

The mystery that she had uncovered now buzzed in her head, causing her to be more tired. She found her way past his gym area, past his bedroom suite, past the bedroom where he and the his two paid guests were snoring lightly. She found her way back to her bedroom suite, and found all the boxes and hangers with her purchased clothing still all over her suite. She still thought she should return them all, but until then, she began to hang up her purchases in the walk-in closet in her suite. She emptied the shoe boxes onto the shelves. She had never owned so many items of clothing in her life.

When she finished, she was falling asleep on her feet. She slipped under the soft, silky sheets, and tossed aside her t-shirt. The silk sheets caressed her body, and she was asleep within seconds.

She heard rapping at her suite door although the sun was still low in the morning sky.

"Go away!"

Brandon chuckled. "I'm going to church this morning. I'll be back early this afternoon. I didn't want you to be worried."

Aspen groaned.

"Help yourself to breakfast downstairs. I'll be back later."

"No, no," she said. "I'll go with. I could use some spiritual guidance."

"Layla's not going to wait long, so you better hurry."

Aspen groaned again, but threw off her covers. She splashed briefly under the shower before throwing on her new Sunday best. She chose the yellow-polka-dotted sun dress and a set of frilly underthings, and dipped her feet into a pair of white strapped sandals. A few strokes of a brush through her hair and she was ready. She grabbed lipstick and mascara and blush, tossed them into her new clutch, and hustled down the stairs.

The front door in the foyer was open, and she saw Layla's pink Cadillac idling at the end of the path. Brandon was in the passenger seat, and red-haired Ashley was in the back. Layla tapped the horn a few times to encourage Aspen to hurry. Aspen stumbled down the front steps and ran down the path, jumping into the back seat without opening the door. Layla pulled out before Aspen had settled. Remembering the twisting roads, Aspen clicked shut her seat belt.

Any effort to apply her makeup was frustrated by the winding roads and brisk wind blowing around the windshield. They arrived at the chapel, a small white church surrounded by pickups and sedans, just as a bell chimed 10:00. Layla was dressed in a rose colored dress cinched at the waist by a white belt. Ashley wore a slim spring dress that wrapped tightly around her less robust figure. Brandon wore a brown sport coat, tan slacks, white shirt, and carried his white cane. He had his sunglasses perched high on his nose, with his head tipped back a little.

He let the other two women enter first, then extended his arm for Aspen. She grasp his forearm, and noticed how strong it felt even beneath his sport coat. Brandon stepped onto the steps leading up to the church without tapping his cane.

"Why do you carry that thing if you never use it," Aspen whispered.

"I use it. First, it reminds everyone that a blind person is around, so be a little more careful. Second, it has a sensor that vibrates when it gets close to an object. That tells me when I'm close to an obstacle, without the annoying tap-tap-tap. There. Satisfied?"

Aspen squeezed his arm in response. He continued to surprise her.

As she entered, she felt that every eye, especially the male eye, took special notice of her and her sunny yellow dress. She felt a little undressed, especially since she wore no makeup. Every other woman was seriously wearing her war paint, something she noticed about Arkansas ladies. They loved their cosmetics. She checked herself to be sure that she hadn't missed a button or torn her dress, but it all looked complete.

"Everyone is looking at me," she whispered to Brandon.

"I expect they would. Your exhibition in front of the windows for the landscaping crew may have been caught by a cellphone camera or two, and some of the men may have embellished what they saw. Just act naturally."

Aspen tried to act naturally, holding her head high, but the image of what those country boys thought came into her mind, and she blushed. She heard a few men snigger, and saw a couple of elbows punching each other to call even more attention to her. She settled in the pew with Brandon. On his other side sat Layla and Ashley.