This story is a work of fiction. Some real places and institutions are mentioned or implied, but they are used fictitiously here. Insofar as the author knows, no real person affiliated with any of those places or institutions has done anything akin to what is described in this story. Any similarities between any character in this story and any real person are coincidental and unintended. I encourage comments on this story, both favorable and unfavorable. Thank you for reading.
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Someone decided to schedule a pandemic in the spring of my junior year of college. School shut down for a year, turning my BS into a five-year program. Worse, I was a hotel management major. The pandemic hit the hospitality industry hard. When we got back to campus a year later, there were only a couple of seniors left in the program. Hiring for positions like servers had shot up once things began to loosen, but hiring for management positions was almost non-existent, and a lot of potential employers had closed.
The other person who had decided to stay in the program, or who had no real choice, was Diane Green. Diane was a friend, but never a lover. She had been dating a very squared-away guy who was Air Force ROTC. Since late sophomore year, I had dated a member of the dance team who was majoring in airport management. Diane had a very pale complexion, straight, light brown hair, and a cute face. The way she dressed didn't tell you much about her body other than she wasn't fat.
I'd known Diane since end of freshman year. Being the only two seniors left in the program, we interacted a lot our senior year. I learned that Diane was intelligent, kind, and had a wit which she usually concealed. She seemed a little shy. She was strong in accounting and finance, which was my weakness.
A job after graduation food was at the top of both our agendas. I'd worked in my parents' restaurant in Indianapolis off and on since high school, usually as a busboy or server. I'd hoped a college degree would be my ticket to something better, but that suddenly wasn't looking good. Diane and I exchanged whatever leads we found, few though those were.
A couple of weeks before spring break neither of us had a job lined up. No trip to the beach this spring break. I had gone to Diane's apartment so we could help each other with senior projects. Mr. Air Force was leaving as I arrived. He looked pissed off. Of course, to me, he always looked pissed off. Inside, Diane said, "well, I found someone who's hiring" and handed me some pages she'd printed off on her computer.
I looked at what she gave me. Something called "Citrus Cove," north of Tampa, Florida, was looking for both a food and beverage manager and an accounting manager. Food and beverage was my area, but I doubted they would hire someone straight out of school as the manager. Then, I looked at what they proposed to pay. It was decent, but not the salary you'd expect if they were looking for someone experienced. "What," I asked Diane, "does it mean when it says this place is a 'clothing-optional resort?'"
"It means it is a nudist resort," Diane replied, "but I'm sure the staff wear clothes. I didn't print out the pictures, but it looks nice. Of course, they're going to put nice pictures on their website."
"Are you going to apply?" I asked.
"You have any better ideas?" Diane said with a touch of bitterness. "Chad just called me a pervert for even thinking about it, but what else is there? I didn't spend four, correction five, years in school to flip burgers."
That night, I looked at the Citrus Cove website. Diane was right, the place looked nice. At least on the website, they weren't playing up sex. Florida sounded better than Indiana, especially in winter, and, as Diane had pointed out, I didn't have any other leads. I sent off a resume and cover letter. A few days later, I got a call: Citrus Cove would be happy to talk to me if I happened to be in Florida any time soon.
I ran into Diane on campus later the same day. She had gotten an offer of an interview too. "Chad is really angry," she said, "but I think I have to go down and talk to them. Are you going?" On money I borrowed from my parents, I flew to Tampa for the Citrus Cove interview. So, I did get to Florida for spring break for a day. Diane went also, a couple of days after I did.
At Citrus Cove, I met with the owner, a 70-something widow named Betsy Phlieger. Mrs. Phlieger was very upbeat. "Yes," she said, "the pandemic hit us hard. One of our older regulars died from the virus and people are afraid to leave home. But we'll beat this thing. I want new people with fresh ideas so Citrus Cove is ready when folks start coming back."
Mrs. Phlieger and I talked for a couple of hours, mainly about my background and my ideas. She showed me around. There was a full-service restaurant: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The primary outlet for beverage sales was an outdoor bar beside the two swimming pools. There was a smaller indoor bar that opened each evening. Yes, I did see a few naked people. I declined Mrs. Phlieger's offer of a room at the resort that night. I wasn't ready for that, and I had an evening flight back north.
Diane was offered the accounting manager job and I was offered the F&B manager job. Neither of us felt we had any real choice, so we both accepted. According to Diane, that decision ended her relationship with Chad. She wasn't too sad. Graduation was only a few weeks away and Chad was going on active duty. Annette, my girlfriend, thought it was hilarious that I was going to work at a nudist resort. It didn't bother her. She'd gotten a job at Seattle-Tacoma airport, so we were splitting up anyway.
I started at Citrus Cove the beginning of June. Diane started a week later. Mrs. Phlieger had helped us both find barely affordable apartments in a complex not far from the resort. Yes, I worked clothed. Much of my work was in my office or in the restaurant but the pool bar was a huge chunk of the resort's F& B revenue, so I also spent time there. That meant seeing naked people, which took some getting used to.
The primary bartender at the pool bar was a 27-year-old named Sandy Will ("no jokes about my name please. I've heard them all"). Sandy was a real gift, and not just because she was blonde with a great smile, large chest, flat stomach, and alluring ass. Sandy was also a good person. She didn't mind having a boss four years younger and fresh out of college. She took me under her wing, got my relationship with the chef started well, and saved me from several of my newbie mistakes.
Diane's hours were regular. However, I was so determined to do a good job that I was spending fifteen or more hours a day at the resort every day. Nonetheless, Diane and I were the only people each other knew in Florida so we spent most of our spare time together. I introduced Diane to Sandy and Sandy became the third person in our social circle. Sandy was beautiful and I expected her to have at least one boyfriend, but I saw no indications of any. She seemed happy just to hang out with Diane and me. I started entertaining fantasies of hooking up with Sandy.
By July, I'd grown confident that Citrus Cove's food and beverage staff knew their jobs. I made some suggestions to improve efficiencies and the F&B profit had improved despite sales staying flat. I started to relax a little and spend less time at work. I was always "on call" and lived only about ten minutes from the resort.
According to what she told me; Diane had a task updating archaic accounting procedures. Mrs. Phlieger had previously done the accounting along with generally running the resort. The accounting had suffered. Diane had it on a better footing after six weeks' work.
Florida seemed to work something of a transformation on Diane. She had time to lie out by the pool at our complex and had acquired a slight tan to replace her northern paleness. She had also had her hair styled so it had some waves instead of being absolutely straight. Due, I assume, to the warm weather, Diane wore lighter-weight clothes. For the first time in the four-plus years I'd known her, I realized Diane Green was a beautiful woman. Coupling her newly renovated looks with her great personality, I concluded Air Force Chad should have worked to hang onto her.
Both Diane and I had fully settled into our jobs by August. Apart from being around people with no clothes on, the jobs were about what we'd expected. We both understood we could have done much worse. Then, we both had a shock.
Friday a week before Labor Day, Mrs. Phlieger called an all-staff meeting. Labor Day weekend had historically been big for Citrus Cove. Mrs. Phlieger was determined this one would be the beginning of the resort's post-pandemic recovery. Labor Day itself would feature a huge cookout which I had been working on for a week already. At the meeting, I reported that was on track.
Following my report, Mrs. Phlieger said, "Sunday will be our day to thank our regulars, the one who have stuck with us. We're going to have our first annual guests and staff happy hour from two until four. Drinks will be on the house. (We could afford that, sort of). All staff will be off duty those two hours. I want you around the pool getting to know our regulars. I don't think I can legally insist that you go nude for those two hours, but I very strongly encourage it. We need to show our regulars that we are one of them. And, who knows? Staff who go nude for the happy hour might get a bonus. Staff who don't will be sending a bad message about their commitment to Citrus Cove." Shit! I was expected to go nude around other people! I glanced at Diane. She was blushing.
The next night, Sandy, Diane, and I went to a local Mexican place for dinner. While we were waiting for our food, Sandy asked, "So, you guys are going nude next Sunday, right?"
"I, uh, I don't know," I replied.
"I can't, Diane said.
"Why not?" Sandy asked. "I'll bet you both look great naked."
"Are you?" I asked. Seeing Sandy in the nude would do a lot to improve what I foresaw as an awful experience.
"Yeah," Sandy replied. "It might be fun. I usually work in a bikini. What's the big deal about taking off two scraps of cloth?"
"No, I can't," Diane moaned. "Mrs. Phlieger said it was about showing that we are like our guests. I'm not. I'm not a nudist. I was taught you don't let other people see some parts of your body."
"Diane," Sandy said, "there are some things you need to unlearn. What's the big deal? The only people here who know you are Adrian and me, and we're in the same boat. I know you sit in the office with your numbers all day, but don't you think you should experience Citrus Cove the way our guests experience it? Won't that help us all do our jobs? Besides, there's a bonus in it and not going nude likely gets you on Phlieger's shit list." The pained expression on Diane's face said it was time to drop the subject.
