One Fat Summer Day

AUTHOR'S NOTE : This WAS to have been my entry for the

2012 Nude Day contest

, but things in real life took a sour turn and I wasn't able to complete it in time for voting/judging. This time, I promised myself that I would get it done to have it ready for this year's contest. I will also point out I have a lot of stories on the back-burner that I WILL get to this year. So, accept this story as an apology to all my readers/watchers that have been waiting for my other works to be finished.

Please do vote for this story, and I look forwards to all of the comments and crits. With that said, on with the show!

* * * *

"Kymi! I'm heading out now! You mind your brother while I'm gone, okay?"

I spread out in front of me on the grass and, tipping my head back so I could fill my lungs, I called back to my Mom. "'Kay! See ya in a couple o' hours!" My daughterly-duty to respond to the female parental-unit fulfilled, I brought my attention back to the article I was reading.

It's July -- just starting the really hot-days of summer -- and I'm hoping to cram in as much tanning time as I can. Well, heck, I was trying to get as much 'anything-me' time for that matter. What with summer coming to an end in a couple of months and my first-ever college year just hovering on the horizon. I didn't want to lose a single minute of daylight. Because, after all, soon I'll be stressing out over new clothes, new classes and all the usual stuff that went with the return to academics and stuff--.

Oh, who am I? Glad you asked! I'm Kymi. That's short for Kymeria . . . What? You never had a parent that wanted to name their kid beyond the usual Susan's and Bethanys and Jane's of the world? Well, you're looking at one such kid.

Actually, I am a teenager; just all of nineteen years old. Yep, turned it just this past week. Ah, to be a "Fourth of July" baby! It's kinda fun to have your birthday on your nation's day of celebration. For the longest time, I used to think that the local town's annual fireworks were put on just for me. A regular riot, huh?

Anyway, I'd better give you the whole picture here. I'm a tiny gal. No, really, I barely touch five-feet-four, even in my sneakers or flats. I'm not exactly a pixie though. I'm just about right, my Momma told me once. She figures I get some good genes from her side of the family, since in the past four years I got all of my curves and such to settle in all the right places. I'm just about one-thirty, with a good double helping of C to fill out my bra-cups. I've also got more than enough muscle tone from a dozen year's worth of cycling, swimming and hiking to make me fit without looking like a butterball baby.

Personally, I think I must look super. Even Daddy calls me his little pack of dynamite.

As of right now, my little 'dynamite' body is clad in my usual summer-attire. A string bikini top and a pair of bi-colored boy short bottoms. The kind where they're so brief, and the fabric is that special kind, made for tanning. It covers all the important parts to be decent in public, yet it lets all the sun through to give you a nice 'no-tan line' look.

Mind you, this is only temporary . . . oh, why's that? Well, today Dad's on an over-night job and Momma's just left to do her part-time shift (she just cannot stay a Stay-At-Home Mom!) before she tackles her usual chain of errands. So, I'm just waiting for my older brother to leave so I can peel out of my outfit and get a full dose of sunshine all over me.

Believe me! I just love the feeling of sunbathing without clothes.

Being the 'closet nudist' that I am, I wanted to take full advantage today, especially since today is National Nude Day. All I planned to do was grill myself in the sun, going all natural while the rest of the family is out and about. As such it's the only way I can get away with such a risque thing. I mean, while I really prefer to go down all-skin when I do my serious grilling, neither Momma or Daddy like it. So, I've got to keep up appearances by staying mostly-covered while they're around. Gotta keep the parentals happy, after all. Considering they're footing the bill for my future college classes.

But, they shouldn't put a damper on my plans too much today. Daddy just left a half hour ago, and while Momma's left just now that still leaves Derrick. Hopefully he'll be leaving too.

So, while I bide my time, I'm stretched out next to the family pool on a beach towel, with a cool drink in reach, along with my transistor radio and my favorite girl's mag to read. What? The radio? Oh, that was a gift from my Grandpa! He always took good care of his knick-knacks and such. Told me he had that radio from when he was a teenager, and when he saw how much I liked it... Well, yeah, I know. Mp3 players and CD radio boxes are what all the hip kids have. So sue me. I happen to be one of those girls who takes pride in being different.

Anyway, I'm out here, basically grilling away in the mid-afternoon air, without a care in the world. I've got my hair tied off into two low pig-tails... and you know what? I never could understand why they call them that. I mean, a pig's tail is all tiny, curly and hairless. If anything, they should be called little pony-tails, and be done with it. Anyway, my hair's a bright, sun-touched red. It goes with my cocoa-brown eyes and the smattering of freckles on my cheeks.

Well, Daddy and a lot of boys around town think my freckles are cute. Unlike my dip stick of an older brother Derrick, who thinks I'm the runt of the family.

Speaking of the devil-himself, here he comes now. The prick. All dressed in his garage-togs and work-boots, with a tool belt looped over his broad shoulder, while he's thumbing through the contacts on his cell phone. Derrick's got black hair, gray eyes and this whole 'rugged rock' look; set off by his large nose and a jaw so square I could level a bookcase with it. He's got more than enough industrial-grade gel in his hair and his aviator shades on. Looks like a 'greaser version of Tom Cruise. He thinks that if someone isn't into cars and motorcycles, working in the auto-shop club, beer or porn then you aren't fit to spend six seconds in his presence.

He's such a jackass. Yeah, you can tell me and Derrick do not get along. At all.

"Hey, Squirt!" Derrick says to me, not looking up from his phone's touchscreen. "Gotta go hang with the guys. You gonna be okay on your own, 'till Mom gets back, right?"

Oh, can you tell how concerned he is? Poor lil' me, a teenaged red-headed gal, left all alone in her parents home without HIM to protect me? *

gagging-sound

* I just paste a faux-smile on, look up at him and go, "Sure, I'll be fine. I'm almost finished basting here anyway, so go play with your Matchbox cars." I giggled to myself. That remark always gets Derrick's goat.

He looks up and snaps his phone shut, before giving me the hairy eyeball as he sees how I'm dressed. "Okay, I'll be back later." He starts stomping off towards the side-yard gate -- the quickest way to the front of the garage from our backyard -- but stops a few feet away from the fence that divides our yard from the Gustafsons; our next-door neighbors. From where I lay, I could see the rush of red flow up his neck and into his hairline, before he shouts like a drill-sergeant on a day-pass: "Hey! Put your eyes back on

that side

of the fence, you fat pervert!"

I look over, just in time to see a fleeting glimpse of a rusty-blonde haired head duck back down behind the tall wooden planks. Oh dear. Looks like Stef's been trying to peep me again. I giggle inside at that, only to lose all mirth when Derrick starts ranting.

"Yeah, you better go hide in that shed, you puke-face porkster! I catch you spyin' on my little sister again, I'll kick your fat ass down the block an' back!"

I am NOT sitting still for that noise! I pop up on my hands and glare a laser-beam stare at Derrick. "Hey, quit pickin' on Stefan. He's not bothering me!"

"You should be bothered, Squirt," Derrick says, turning back to me with a scowl. "That puke looks at you like he... well, like--." Derrick rubbed the back of his head, sputtering as he realizes what he nearly started to say.

"Like, what, ex-act-ly, Derrick?" I ask, chopping my words sharp-like. I really do know what my dip stick of a brother is insinuating and coming from him, it's a lot more gross than if I was hearing it from Stefan himself. He really doesn't like talking sex-stuff in front of me. Still thinks of me as the 'baby', and that I should remain pure until I'm married -- even though he goes off and screws a new girl nearly every other week and shit. Insert eye-roll here.

"Well, you shouldn't let yourself be caught outside wearing next to nothing, is all I'm sayin'," Derrick finally said with a snort.

With that, I rise up to sit on my knees, planting my hands on my curvy hips as I growled,"Derrick Robert Vanderschmitt! I'll have you know, I am nineteen years-old, and I'll damn well wear just what I want when I'm at home," I said sharply. "Furthermore, the only three people that have any right to tell me what not to wear are Mom, Dad and my Future-Husband-to-Be!" With a smirk, I added with a little more edge to my words, "And right now, you

ain't

any of those three, buster!" Derrick never does like it when I stand up against his 'sibling authority'. He gets all red in the face, blows his mental gasket and usually goes off to stew for a few hours.

But he clearly didn't want to do that this morning, what with his usual pack of hoodlums waiting on him. "Oh, just . . . just go inside or put on something decent. Do it before that pervert starts peeking at you again, or I'll tell Mom you were tempting him when she gets back!" With that, Derrick just storms out of the yard, purposefully banging the fence closed, just to drive home the point of his threat. A minute later, I hear the deep-throated rumble of his stock-car starting up, before he leaves amid a chirp of rubber on asphalt and a roar as he guns his accelerator.

Yeah, he's so mature like that, huh? Really now. Who's the bigger perve, I ask you? I can probably give you an item list of all the 'girlie' magazines and stroke material he's got stashed in his room right now.

Well, now that he's gone, I can get back to the business at hand. Chiefly, by getting back to tanning after stripping down to my birthday suit! Reaching up, I popped the clasp on my top and loosened the ties on my bottoms. Taking a moment to wriggle out of them, I stretched and grinned -- I love the freedom of being totally dipped-skinny! -- before I reached for my sun block and started slathering a fresh layer on my skin. In due time, I was slicker than butter on a doorknob and all set to get back to enjoying my personal time.

Mind you, I was still pissed at Derrick. I mean, honestly! He's got the gorillas gall to pick on poor Stef like that--!

What? Do I mind my next-door neighbor's son is playing peeping-tom at me? Oh, hell no! I don't mind one bit.

Oh, he's no sicko or such. Truth be told, he just . . . You see, Stef -- Stefan Oliver Gustafson, who's twenty-three now -- has got to be about the nicest person you could ever meet. His family has been our next-door neighbors since we moved into the neighborhood years ago.

I was all of six years old the first time we met, and Stef was about ten. He was a bit of a chubby little kid, all right and really supper-shy to beat the band. I mean, all I did when we first got to introduce ourselves to his parents and him, was just skip over in my yellow and white singlet dress and Mary Jane's and beam up at him. Then I asked, "Hi! Will you be my fwend?".

Mercy! He scurried back inside his house like a mouse being chased by a tomcat. You never saw a kid move so fast! Well, his Momma, Rose Gustafson apologized, but no amount of coaxing was gonna draw him back out that day. But, I'm anything but persistent. Besides, I liked him from the get-go, and at that age, I was determined to make him my friend.

Over the years since then, I've tried to draw Stef out of his shyness, I've been fortunate that Momma Rose is a patient as she is nice. She also took a shine to me early on and she's often worked with me to facilitate my intentions to befriend her son. I've been invited over for many occasions -- barbecues, parties, get-togethers, you name it. Each time, I've done my best to win Stef over, but he's always dodged or ducked and remained as shy as ever. Even though he's as polite as a priest before he does his little disappearing act.

Eventually though, after one-too-many times of him scurrying off, his Momma had a sit-down talk with Stef. I wasn't privy to the details, but since then he's managed to stay in the same room with me for more than two minutes when I came to visit. While he still acted like a turtle in a shell, he was more friendly towards me. Over the following months, I got to know him a lot better.

I also found out a great deal when I started my freshman year in High School; the same one Stef was at. Word was that Stef was a pretty sweet guy. I've never heard it said he's ever been rude, obnoxious or terrible to other girls. 'Round High School, I was told he was practically the class 'puppy'; you know? The guy all the good-looking girls could coax into helping out with assignments or doing small things for during the day. He was a senior when I got there -- and he graduated with some pretty good marks, I was told -- but he and I managed to further our friendship during that whole school year. Granted, a few times I found myself sticking up for him when some snobby girls pranked him, and one dork-faced bully got after him once.

It's how I got my nickname of "Lil' Red Dynamite" around the school; if you ever picked on my friends, I literally blew you up! *giggle*

For all that, Stef and I were good friends no matter what other people thought about it. We even found out we liked a lot of similar things: music, movies, and such. So, in the end, we did develop a sort-of-more-than-friends friendship. It made his Momma happy, that's for certain.

This lasted well for over a few years. Then, you can guess, the obvious happened. We both grew into those "puberty" years, and while I was a few years behind him, it didn't take long to realize that my growing body was becoming a growing interest to him. When I was just sixteen, and doing my summer-tanning thing, I caught him peeking around a loose board in the fence at me. Considering that, being a growing boy and all, he's sort of let nature's natural hormones work to overcome some of that residual shyness. Well, I should have been upset or even embarrassed, but I actually thought it was cute that he wanted to look at me. So, I said and did nothing and he went off after I was called in for supper.

He did this a few more times, then Mom caught him while she was looking out through the kitchen window that looks out over the back yard. Well, she had a talk with Momma Rose about it, then had Daddy fix the board.

That really didn't stop Stef though, who soon resorted to covert peeps over the top of the fence, or around the corner, or from the 'safety' of his bedroom window.

This continued well up to today, where he's well into being an young adult man. Again, I really don't mind. Heck, I know how good I look. How can any red-blooded male not want to take a peek at me while I'm grillin' myself to a medium-well done? For him to continue to make such an overt move to sneak glances at me, that's a long way for someone who was such a mouse-boy when we were both little sprouts.

So, back to the present. Settling back down, I'm trying to get back into my magazine, but no thanks to the prick of a brother of mine, my mood is totally wrenched out of the calm and relaxing mode it had been in. Well, part of it was due to Derrick's little bitch-fit. the rest? Let's just say Stef had more to do with it than anything. You see, unknown to him... and I admit it fully as the truth, in the past year or so I've been sneaking peeks over the fence at

him!

I can hear you all asking:

How can you even think of peeking at some fat guy?

Well, let me paint you a picture about Stef. He's no Fabio. Mmm-hmm, but trust me, he ain't no Homer Simpson either! He's got this whole, boyish look, coupled with his rusty-blonde hair, that Daddy always said all Stef needed one more dip to be a full redhead, like me. Also, he's got his Daddy's nose and his Momma's lips, which go right along with these cute, bright-blue eyes. Ooo, man! I've never seen a shade of blue like that, 'cept in pictures of the ocean in those vacation brochures rest.

Now, you heard Derrick call him fat, and well, some people might call Stef a big boy. But most of what he's got is more or less in his tummy, thighs and such. The rest of him actually looks pretty good. He does a lot of yard work, and I hear tell he also does work for one of the warehouses in town. So he's got muscles. Mmm, does he ever! How do I know this? Because, while he usually works around the yard covered up with a T-shirt and jeans -- mostly because the neighborhood kids used to ride by and tease him -- when he works in the backyard, he changes down to some cut-down cargo shorts, sneakers and no shirt . . . and mmm, Momma-Baby-Dad! He's not bulky like a body-builder, but there's some definition in his shoulders and arms. Plus, he's got some natural cover as his forearms and chest have this semi-red and blonde carpet of hair covering him.

Makes me go all mushy in the knees to look at him, shirtless! So, get the picture now, ladies? Yum-o! Yeah, I know. Not your bag. Well, good, 'cause that leaves him all for me!

Maybe I'm just wired a different way. I can't explain it. Call it hormones, call it whatever. All I know is that after watching him work for an hour or two, and my little 'kitty' is in some serious need of attention. That's when I usually make the excuse of needing a shower, but let me tell you, I'm certainly using that shower head for more than cleaning off all the sun block and tanning oil. Gah! I can't count the number of times I nearly got caught by either Momma or Daddy with my fingers in my cookie-jar because I couldn't keep my voice down as I climaxed. Usually over mental pictures of Stefan and me doing things that . . . well, I know Derrick would blow a gasket if he knew.

Seriously! That boy has got his hooks into me, and the sad part? He doesn't even know it! So, you might ask,

what are you going to do about it, Kymi?

Well, I've got one idea.

Heck, it's the only idea, and right now, being that the family is out of the house, it seems like the perfect time to put it to the test. In fact, just laying here and thinking about it, coupled with the fact Stef's already tried to peek at me today, has given me enough of the hornies to woman-up and take a stab at it.

So, I got up from my towel, after closing my magazine and tossed it onto a deck chair on the patio nearby. I had another towel on the back of the chair -- for drying off if I wanted to take a dip -- and scooped it up as I walked over to the partition of the outdoor shower nearby. Daddy had it built when the pool was installed, so we wouldn't have to drip salt-water in the house. Plus, it made for cleaning up after a swim that much easier.

Stepping behind the partition, I hung the towel up on a hook, before I reached up to give myself a slight dousing with the warm spray from the shower head. It felt good to rub down and get all the excess oil off. Plus, I kinda have to admit it does feel a little wicked to be outside in nothing but my birthday-suit. Shutting the shower off, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my body. It covered me from chest to mid-thigh. Oh, but with a nice little tuck-and-twist that had three desired effects: it pushed up my boobs to form a nice cleavage-view, with the ends parting just enough down one side to reveal one killer leg, while hugging my neat lil' bod to the max.