Nude Noir

I’m not sure this story is cynical enough to qualify as noir. However, I think it is something of a departure from usual Literotica fare, being as much a detective story as erotica. I wanted the title to alert readers to that. The full story requires subsequent chapters. I’m not sure this is what readers want on Literotica and I will likely wait for reader reaction to decide whether to submit any more chapters.

This story is a work of fiction. Some real institutions are mentioned, but they are used fictitiously. Insofar as the author knows, no real person affiliated with any of those institutions has ever behaved as do the characters in this story. Any similarities between any character in this story and any real person are coincidental and unintended. For the reason given above, I very much want comments on this story, both favorable and unfavorable. Thank you for reading this.

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There are ways to make a lot of money in Florida. Being a private investigator is not one of them. I know, I’m a private investigator in Tampa.

When I went to a highly selective college near Chicago, Mom and Dad wanted me to become a doctor. That aspiration died with my grade in organic chemistry. I graduated with a B.A. in economics but did not know what I wanted to do. Grad school was the obvious path, but I winced thinking about more years in school. The Chicago police department was recruiting. I applied and got in. Mom and Dad haven’t spoken to me since.

I spent a couple of years in uniform, patrolling the South Side. That was an education too, but not one you would aspire to. I did a couple of things right and got to move Downtown as a newbie detective in plain clothes. I did that for six years. I think I did a decent job. I made a couple of friends in the FBI’s Chicago office. They encouraged me to apply to the Bureau. I did and, again, was accepted. After training, I was assigned to Tampa. That’s where things went south figuratively as well as literally.

The special-agent-in-charge (“SAC”) and deputy SAC had been there a long time. They knew most of the established organized crime people. Money and favors went one way and information went the other. I saw it early on but refused to believe it. I had reached the pinnacle of American law enforcement. I could not accept that the pinnacle was rotted.

Things reached the point where I couldn’t pretend nothing was going on anymore. I tipped the Bureau’s internal investigators with enough specific information that they had to act. After an 18-month investigation and prosecution, both the SAC and his deputy started receiving their mail through the Bureau of Prisons.

I knew what I did was risky. I failed to appreciate what the risk was. No one in law enforcement likes a cop who rats out another, no matter what the bad cop did. The Bureau dislikes bad P.R. I had done the former and caused the latter. No criminal charges were filed against me, but a board concluded that I should have reported my bosses a couple of years sooner. I was given the FBI’s version of a dishonorable discharge. No other federal, state, or local agency would hire a rat cop, especially one wearing the FBI’s seal of disapproval. I became a private investigator.

One cop who thought I’d done the best I could was Tampa Detective Lieutenant Beth Potter. Beth is a good cop and a better person. Beth couldn’t get me a job, but she connected me with a couple of lawyers who fed me enough investigative work to keep me from sleeping on park benches. After a few years, I had a small reputation and got some insurance fraud work. I wasn’t getting rich, but my credit card was usually accepted again.

At age 43, I no longer thought about what my career should have been. I just worried about paying the rent on my apartment and a small office every month and, maybe, going to a couple of Rays’ games a year. The Bucs were out of my price range.

That was my life when I got a call from a man named Paul Westerfeld. Would I meet him and his wife Lilith at a Starbuck’s up in Pasco County? I’d meet anyone if it meant a chance at making a buck.

I guessed Paul and Lilith were no older than 50. I would learn later that both were in their sixties. They sure as hell did not look it. They were fit, well-dressed, and very tan. They seemed disappointed that all I ordered was a basic iced tea. Paul and Lilith owned a “resort” not far from where we met. I was smart enough not to say anything, but I hadn’t heard of any resorts in Pasco this far from the water.

Paul and Lilith had a problem. It was not unusual for their cleaning staff to occasionally find traces of drug use in guests’ rooms. They turned a blind eye because even drug users spend money at resorts, and they did not want police on premises for reasons I would learn. Over the last few months, the evidence of drugs at their resort had increased in frequency and volume. They were worried that someone was dealing. They didn’t want that because it would scare guests off and invite official attention. “When we opened years ago,” Lilith said, “the local officials welcomed us. We contribute a lot to the local economy and pay a lot in property taxes. However, there is a new group of officials, especially the Sheriff, who pander to the religious right. We think they might use drugs as a pretext to shut us down.”

“What is the name of your place?” I asked.

“Bougainvillea Cove,” Lilith answered. “We call it The Cove for short.”

“Wait,” I said, “isn’t that one of those nu…”

Paul cut me off. “Yes, we are a clothing optional resort.”

“Ok, so what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“We are hoping that you will come to the resort, quietly; find out if we have drug dealing going on, and, if so, find a solution to our problem,” Paul answered.

“What do you mean by ‘solution?'” I asked.

“Ideally,” Lilith replied, “have the dealer arrested somewhere away from The Cove in a way that doesn’t connect him to The Cove.”

“Ok,” I said, “that may be easier said than done. What do you mean by ‘come to the resort quietly?'”

“As a guest,” Paul said.

“You mean uncovered rather than undercover,” I said.

“We are clothing optional,” Paul said. “That means guests are not required to go nude. However, most do most of the time. I’m afraid you would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb if you stayed clothed.”

“You do you have a wife or girlfriend who will come with you?” Lilith asked.

“Why do I need one of those?” I asked in response. The fact was I had never been married. Back in my Bureau days, I’d dated a gorgeous woman who worked with victims of sex crimes in Sarasota. She didn’t want any part of my disgraceful downfall and dumped me when the Bureau fired me. Increased age and a decreased bank account had ruled out meaningful relationships since then and I wasn’t a fan of the hookers I could afford.

“We have a rule against unaccompanied single males,” Lilith explained. “If you were at The Cove by yourself, everyone would know something was wrong.”

I stood up from the table. “Thanks for the tea,” I said. “I’m afraid the only women I could bring with me charge more per hour than I do, and your guests would probably prefer the drug dealers.” I walked out into the heat and got into my ten-year-old Toyota. Shit. When Westerfeld had called, I’d hoped I’d make enough on his job to get the air conditioner fixed.

Paul Westerfeld called back a couple of days later. He seemed enthused. “We found someone who will come to The Cove with you.”

“A stripper?” I asked.

Westerfeld seemed hurt by that. “No, not at all,” he said. “This is a respectable young woman. She goes to USF with our daughter. She’s majoring in criminology.”

“A respectable young woman who’s willing to go buck naked with a strange man who’s probably twice her age?” I asked rhetorically. “Get real.”

Westerfeld got a bit huffy. “Many respectable people go nude with people whom they have not previously met, as our resort proves every day,” he replied. “Pam, our daughter, says that Allison, her friend, has heard of you. Supposedly, your name came up in a class on the ethics of law enforcement. The way Pam describes it, Allison thinks you’re somehow admirable.”

“What are Allison’s psychiatric diagnoses?” I said.

“Mr. Beck,” Westerfeld said sternly (Did I forget to mention my name is Ian Beck?), what is your rate?”

“I charge $ 75 per hour or $ 700 per day if I put in ten hours or more in one calendar day,” I replied.

“Forget the hourly,” Westerfeld said. “We’ll pay you $ 800 per day for any day you spend at least two hours on our case, and your room, food, and drinks at The Cove will be comped or reimbursed.”

“Why are you so eager to have me on this?” I asked.

“Honestly,” Westerfeld said, “we talked to ten investigators before you. They all turned us down flat. You’re the only one willing to consider it.”

I figured I could spend several days on this. That should fix my car’s AC. I’d have to be careful how much I drank, but I could still put a dent in their daily bar profit without losing my effectiveness. If this Allison had nice tits, the job might be ok. “Can I meet your daughter’s friend before I give you my answer?” I asked.

“I’ll call you back,” Westerfeld replied.

The next afternoon, I was in another coffee shop, near the USF campus, looking for a girl described as 21, slender, shoulder-length brown hair, and glasses. That description left a lot out. I suspected I was about to meet either a woman who chain-smoked and belonged at the dog show as a contestant or some ditz whose image of law enforcement came from Disney. Me “admirable?” Shit.

My mood deteriorated further when I saw that about half of the women in the coffee shop matched the description I’d been given. I was walking around, looking even dumber than usual, when a nice voice behind me said, “Mr. Beck?”

I turned and was confronted with a girl about 5’5″ wearing those glasses that have big, round lenses. Her face was cute. Her loose-fitting clothes didn’t show much about her body, but her tits were clearly too small for her to work at any strip club I knew.

The girl smiled and said, “I’m Allison Nance. Pleased to meet you.” Something about the girl troubled me. After a second, I identified my concern. Allison Nance didn’t look like a chain-smoking loser or a ditz. She looked smart and self-confident. Her face had an expression that seemed to say, “I’ve recognized bullshit from better BS artists than you, so don’t waste your time on it.” Allison led me to a booth where she had already put her I-pad and a coffee. We sat on opposite sides of the table.

“Ms. Nance,” I started in my best witness-interview voice.

“Allison,” she corrected. “My friends call me Ali.”

“Ok Allison,” I said. I wasn’t conceding friendship yet. “What do you know about this matter.”

“I know that Pam’s parents think someone may be dealing drugs at Bougainvillea Cove,” Nance said. “They’re afraid Pasco County might use that to shut the resort down. They want you to go there posing as a guest to find out if there is drug dealing and who is doing it. You need a woman to go with you as part of a pretend couple. That’s where I come in.”

She had the basics right. “And you know what Bougainvillea Cove is?” I asked.

“Of course,” Nance laughed. “It’s a nudist resort.”

“You are ok with that?” I asked.

“I’ve done my share of skinny-dipping,” Nance replied. “Not in a while, though. I’m sure I have tan lines.”

“Why do you want to be involved with this?” I asked.

“I knew you’d ask that,” Nance replied. “There are a bunch of reasons. First, I want to help Pam’s parents. Paul and Lilith are nice people. Second, it is a chance to hang out at a resort for a few days with all expenses paid. Third, it is a real investigation. That interests me, and I talked to a prof who might give me credit it for it. I didn’t tell him all the details of course. Finally, I was interested to meet you. Your situation with the FBI came up in an ethics class a year ago. Most people in the class thought you were as dirty as the agents you informed on and just did it to stay out of prison yourself. I wasn’t so sure.”

Nance took a sip of her coffee and looked at me. “I’ve thought about your situation a lot, how I would handle it if I thought my superior officer was corrupt. Would I dig into it and make a credible report, or would I just go on doing my job and hope that, when the shit came down, it missed me. I thought that working with a man who has been there might help me figure that out.”

That was not what I’d expected. I was starting to like Nance. She was smart enough to realize that the world isn’t black and white. The real world is mostly grey. “If there are drug dealers,” I said, “it will certainly be dangerous.”

“Ian,” Nance said, and then ducked her head in embarrassment at using my first name, “I want to be a cop. Do you think that bad guys being dangerous scares me?”

“Can you shoot?” I asked.

“I interned with Hillsborough County last summer and qualified on their range,” she replied.

“Do you have a gun?”

“No,” Nance replied. At least she wasn’t a gun fetishist. I’d worked with one of those in Chicago, a guy always looking for an excuse to fire a few rounds. I thought people like him were dangerous as hell.

Nance looked at me. “When do we start?” she asked.

“I’ll have to call the Westerfelds and let you know,” I replied. We exchanged phone numbers. “They’re paying me $ 800 a day,” I said, hesitantly. More reluctantly, I added, “I’ll split that with you.”

“Don’t do that,” Allison said.

“Why not?” I asked.

Allison picked up her I-pad, slid out of the booth, and stood. Looking down at me, she said, “Because you need the money.” She walked out of the shop. As a line to exit on, that was not bad.

I picked Allison up at her apartment on the Thursday morning before Labor Day weekend. I thought that a holiday crowd at The Cove would bring the dealer out if there was one. Not wanting to subject Allison to no air conditioning, I had rented a subcompact from Enterprise. That was all I could afford.

Allison came down the outside stairs from her second-floor apartment to the parking lot carrying only a large purse and a larger beach bag. I guess my face showed surprise that a woman would go on an overnight, potentially several nights, with so little baggage. Smiling, Allison read my mind. “Well,” she said, “its not like I need clothes or swimsuits.” She had me stop at a CVS on the way. We loaded up on sunscreen.

You reached The Cove by turning west off US 41 when you saw a very discreet sign. About three blocks down a secondary street you saw the tall white wooden fence on the right with the roofs of some two-story buildings behind it. You parked outside the fence and checked in at the office. Paul, Lilith, and I agreed that, since we didn’t know whether resort staff were involved, Allison and I would be treated like any other guests. I handed my credit card to the clothed young lady behind the front desk and hoped that it wasn’t declined.

Checked in, we got back in the car and waited for the front desk to open the gate to let us in. We went through the gate into a parking area. We got our bags and used our keycard to open a gate in a lower fence. On the other side of that fence was a pool surrounded by lounge chairs. Although it was not yet noon, many of the lounge chairs were occupied by naked people.

We had to walk between the pool and an outdoor bar to get to the building containing our room. I was trying to look straight ahead. Allison was looking all around. Enthusiastically, she said, “this is going to be fun!” I wasn’t sure I shared that expectation.

Our room was on the second floor. I let Allison go up first. I kept my head down as I climbed up behind her. Dropping our bags in our room, I was unsure what to do next. Allison was not. She grabbed the hem of the sundress she was wearing and whipped it over her head. I had not realized that Allison was not wearing anything under her dress.

When I had first met Allison Nance a few days earlier, I had decided she looked “ok, not great.” She had looked better in the sundress. Taking the sundress off worked a complete transformation. Allison was exceptionally beautiful in the nude. Her breasts were not huge, “handful size,” but perfectly proportioned to her body with nice upturned nipples. Her hips flared just enough below flat abs and above smooth firm legs. Removing her clothes even worked a transformation in her face. I’d have sworn her face hadn’t been that beautiful a few minutes earlier.

Allison turned to look at herself in a mirror, showing a perfectly shaped, tight ass that was highlighted by its pale skin in contrast to her slight tan where her bikini hadn’t covered her. Allison turned back to face me and give me a second look at the pale skin of her tits and mound. “I think the tan lines work, don’t you?” Allison asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well,” Allison said with a slightly naughty look on her face, “if I take all my clothes off, that means I want people to see my tits, ass, and pussy. The contrast created by my tan lines draws your eyes to those places.” They had certainly drawn mine. This was a new complication. Not only was I working with a nude woman half my age, the woman was beautiful and sexy as hell.

Before I could think through this new problem, Allison was standing right in front of me. “Your turn,” she giggled as she grabbed my polo shirt and pulled it over my head. Before I could react, she undid my belt and the front hook on my jeans, pulled down my zipper, and then pulled my jeans and boxers to my ankles. I was thankful that Allison’s nude body had only gotten me a little hard.

Allison stepped back and ran her eyes down my nude body. “Damn Ian,” she said, “you’re in great shape. Where do you work out? I thought you were broke.”

“I did some work for a guy who owns a gym a few years ago,” I replied. “Instead of paying me, have gave me a free lifetime membership. I’m good until he goes out of business.” The only other thing I could think of to say was “What happened to your glasses?”

Allison grinned and said “contacts.” Allison reached into her beach bag and pulled out two sunscreen bottles. She tossed one at me as she said, “put this on thick, and put it everywhere.” I watched, mesmerized, as Allison followed her own advice. She rubbed sunscreen on herself everywhere from the tops of her ears to between her legs. She turned away again and said, “please do my back.”

I’ve always thought women’s upper backs are sexy, and Allison Nance’s was. Rubbing sunscreen on it was delightful. Her skin was soft and smooth. Beneath her skin, I felt muscle, but not the hard muscle of a bodybuilder, rather the supple muscle of a fit, healthy young woman.

I stopped at Allison’s waist. “Please get my ass,” she said, “you can reach it better than I can.” Allison giggled and added, “don’t miss any spots. People burn between their cheeks too.” That was all the permission I needed. I rubbed Allison’s ass as thoroughly as I could, going between her cheeks and briefly brushing her asshole. “Thaaat feels great!” Allison said. Yes, I did remember to use sunscreen.

When Allison was covered in sunscreen, she turned to look at me again. “You haven’t put any on yourself,” she said. “That’s ok, I’ll do it. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and felt Alison’s fingers, lubricated by the sunscreen, rubbing over my forehead and eyelids, down my cheeks, over my ears, and along my jaw. I opened my eyes as her hands moved onto my shoulders. Allison was looking at my body in detail. It felt good as she pressed her hands into my pecs. She ran a finger lightly along the diagonal scar on my left pec. “That looks like it was nasty once upon a time,” she said.

“A guy knifed me when I was in uniform back in Chicago,” I replied. “I had to buy a new uniform shirt.”

Allison worked her hands down my abdomen. “No washboard, but you sure are solid,” she commented. She stopped above my groin and bent down to cover my calves. She worked about halfway up my thighs before saying, “turn around, I’m saving the best for last.” Allison worked on my upper back like a masseuse. Her hands on the backs of my thighs felt great and felt even better when she worked on my ass.

Allison spent a while on my ass. I didn’t complain. Finally, she said, “turn around.” She looked at my partially erect dick and said, “I’ve been waiting for this. Spread your legs.”

I did as I was told. Allison squatted down, poured sunscreen into her hand, and reached between my legs to the back of my balls. She brought her hand forward, following the contour of my balls until she reached the base of my shaft. She poured more sunscreen into one hand, put the bottle on the floor, and spread the sunscreen between her two hands. Then, she placed one hand on each side of my balls and drew her hands toward her until they met under my dick. Allison put a couple more drops of sunscreen on her right index finger. She gently pinched my dickhead between her left thumb and forefinger, lifted me up, and began running her right forefinger up the underside of my shaft.

Allison could have kept doing that as far as I was concerned, but she stopped, stood up, and put more sunscreen in her right hand. She took my dick in the palm of her left hand. She began spreading the sunscreen in her right hand along the top of my shaft. She left a glob of sunscreen on my circumcision scar for a moment before she started spreading it over my dickhead with her forefinger in a circular motion. I was starting to face the possibility that I’d shoot when she stopped. She reached up, gave me a quick kiss on the lips, and said, “you have a nice dick.”

Allison put the sunscreen on a table, picked up a large towel, and said, “let’s get to work.”

As you’d expect, Allison had given me a very firm erection. As she started to open the door to our room, I said, “I don’t think our clients would appreciate me going outside like this.”

Allison closed the door, turned, and looked at my hard-on. She giggled. “I’d take care of that for you,” she said, “but I hate the taste of sunscreen. I guess we’ll have to wait.”

I relaxed after a few minutes. I picked up a towel and a small waterproof pouch containing our keycards and some cash. On the walkway outside our room, we had quite a view. Immediately below us was the big pool, surrounded by lounge chairs, most of which were in use. Beyond that was a smaller pool bisected by a volleyball net. Further away to our right, there were a couple of inground hot tubs, one large and the other much smaller. Further off to our left was a sand volleyball court. Below us to the right was the outdoor bar, being tended by a topless blonde with big tits. “This place looks great!” Allison said.

She took my hand and we walked side-by-side down the steps. I guessed this was part of Allison’s effort to create the illusion we were a couple. She was doing a damned good job. I was beginning to think of us as a couple. I also thought a guy could do a lot worse, but not much better, than Allison Nance for a partner. I mentally dope-slapped myself. Jesus! I was a year older than twice her age.

We found a couple of lounge chairs next to each other. We sat for about an hour just watching how everyone acted and trying to get a sense of the vibe. It was very relaxed. Of course, there were only couples or a few groups of two men and two women. The apparent ages of the people ranged from twenties to seventies. There were two couples who were in fantastic shape and a couple who were both obese. Everyone else was basically average.

I finally went to the bar to get drinks. As I approached, the very buxom young blonde said cheerfully, “Hi! I’m Kim. What can I get young?” I had a quick moment of standing outside myself seeing me, stark naked, talking to an attractive young woman wearing only a thong. Then, I regained my focus and ordered two local beers. Kim caught me looking at her thong and said, “State of Florida says I have to wear it. It sucks but what can you do?”

“You would rather work nude?” I asked.

“Shit yeah!” Kim replied with a smile. I charged the beers to our room and left her a cash tip.

As Allison and I sipped our beers, we decided Kim was likely to know if there were any drugs available at The Cove. We also decided that it was better if Allison approached Kim about that. Despite my banishment years ago, I still had some “cop smell” on me.

Allison went to the bar. Watching her walk from behind was, well, stimulating. She talked with Kim for a few moments and turned to walk back. Watching Allison walk towards me was every bit as nice as watching her walk away. Behind her, I could see Kim talking on a cell phone.

We finished our beers and Allison said, “Let’s get in the pool. Remember, we’re supposed to be a couple on vacation. It would look weird if we didn’t.” I couldn’t argue with that. I followed Allison to the pool’s edge. She looked to make sure no one was in the water in front of her and then gracefully dove in. Damn, she was stunning naked. I waited for Allison to get out of the way and dove in myself, much less gracefully.

I surfaced on the far side of the pool. The water was about mid-way up my chest. Something bumped me. Allison’s body slid up mine until she was standing right in front of me. We were touching. “What are you doing?” I asked softly.

“Maintaining cover,” Allison whispered back. “We’re both naked. We’re supposed to be a couple. It would look weird if we didn’t touch each other.” She put her arms around me and leaned her head on my chest for a moment. It crossed my mind that maintaining cover might be the best part of this job.

We were toweling off by our lounge chairs when we were approached by a tall Hispanic-looking man. He was obviously a bodybuilder. From his broad shoulders to his massive calves, it seemed that every muscle cell stood out individually underneath his hairless skin. He was nude except for a pouch concealing his dick and balls. After giving us a moment to be impressed by his physique, he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, “You want party supplies?”

“What have you got?” Allison asked.

“Whatever you want,” the gangbanger replied.

“Yeah,” Allison said, “we might want something for tonight.”

“Come over to number 7 in the condos,” the gangbanger said. “We’ll fix you up.”

He started to walk away, but stopped, looked me up and down, and gave me a look I’d seen plenty of times before. The look said, “you think you’re bad, but you haven’t seen bad until you mess with me.” I wasn’t as intimidated as I was supposed to be. I had dealt with his type before and, hand-to-hand, usually came out on top. The danger with guys like him was that they didn’t like scratches on their obsessively tended bodies. They used guns, often, and with damned little provocation. I was also unhappy that the gangbanger had assessed me as competition, albeit inferior. I’d have preferred he thought me a timid insurance agent.

I pretended to snooze while Allison read a book. The gangbanger came back, talking to people on the other side of the pool. With him was another man who could have been his clone and two dark-skinned women with large tits and asses. All four were nude except for pouches on the men and thongs on the women. None of them were exposing their genitals. That struck me as odd. I thought that having your pubes uncovered was the point of The Cove. That thought made me realize that having my pubes and the rest of my body uncovered was quite pleasant.

I pointed out the gangbanger and his friends to Allison. “The women don’t look like they are really with the men, if you know what I mean,” Allison said. She was right. The two women kept some distance from the two men. Nothing suggested any intimacy, or even friendship, between the women and either of the men.

When I pointed out that all four people were covering themselves, Allison giggled. “Well,” she said, “those boys have some big muscles but that doesn’t mean they have dicks like yours. Yours should be out for all to see. Maybe theirs’ should be kept covered. Don’t steroids make your dick and balls shrink up?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” I replied.

“Seriously,” Allison said, “you are right. Those four aren’t even pretending to be on vacation. They’re working.” Just then, a nude couple in their thirties stood and followed one of the women away from the pool. The gangbangers made the rounds and, if someone wanted something, they went with one of the women to make the buy. I felt confident we had identified our dealers. The problem now was getting them out of The Cove without involving Pasco police. I doubted they would leave just because I asked nicely.

Allison and I decided to take a walk by condo number 7. The condos were two rows of six two-level townhouses. The two rows faced each other. Between them was a paved walkway flanked on either side by small front yards. The area started, maybe, 200 yards from the pool.

It was mid-afternoon and hot. Unit 7 was on the end of a row closet to the pool. As we approached, we saw several people going in and out of Unit 7. Allison and I were holding hands. I thought a naked couple holding hands was about as non-threatening as you could get.

As we approached, the gangbanger who spoke to us a couple of hours earlier called out “Ready to buy?”

Allison pleasantly shook her head and called back, “I don’t think so.”

The gangbanger’s look turned angry. “Then keep moving,” he yelled. “Ain’t nothing for you round here.”

We walked to the end of condo row. An older woman was lying in a lounge on the lawn of one of the units on the side opposite Unit 7. “They are so rude,” she said as we passed her. “Thank god they never stay the night.”

The walkway ended at a locked gate. We had to turn and retrace our steps. The gangbanger watched us suspiciously until we were out of sight. I assumed that even the gangbanger appreciated the beauty of Allison’s bare ass.

We were both intrigued by the woman’s statement that the gangbanger and his friends never stayed at The Cover over night. I went to the room, called Paul Westerfeld, and asked him for some information. We agreed to meet off the resort property the next morning.

There did not seem to be more that could be done on the job right away, so Allison and I spent the rest of the afternoon playing resort guests. We had a couple more beers and got into the pool a couple more times. Around the time that another woman relived Kim at the outdoor bar, Allison asked me, “So, how are you adapting to walking around naked?”

“Well,” I replied, “it has been a long time since I was at a resort of any kind, but, I have to confess that being here nude is more pleasant than I remember clothed resorts being.”

Allison’s face lit up. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she said. “I love to go nude.”

I was tempted to ask where all she had gone nude. Instead, I asked “What do you want to do about dinner?”

“Our food is comped here,” Allison replied, “and we can go nude in the resort restaurant. I’ve never eaten a restaurant meal in the nude. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Dinner was fun, although I think that was largely due to Allison’s lovely little bare tits on display across the table from me. As I was writing our room number on the check and adding another cash tip, our waitress asked, “Are you going to the disco tonight?”

I thought discos had died out long ago. Allison said, “No, we don’t want to dress and go off the resort.”

“No,” the waitress replied, “I meant the resort’s disco.”

“There’s a disco here?” Allison asked. Our waitress nodded. “What is the dress code?” Allison asked.

“You’re free to wear as much or as little as you prefer,” the waitress answered. “Most guests wear lingerie or less.”

As the waitress walked away, Allison faced me and said, “Isn’t that great? A disco you can go nude in?”

“Are you old enough to have ever gone to a disco?” I asked.

Allison gave a mock pout and replied, “No, but I’ve been to plenty of bars where there was dancing. What’s the difference?” I conceded there wasn’t any real difference. “Come on Ian,” Allison said. “We have to try it. Imagine being on the dance floor completely nude!”

That is exactly where I found myself a couple hours later. I’m clueless about what you do on a dancefloor. I was saved from highlighting that fact because the dancefloor of the resort’s disco was too crowded to do much beyond twisting slightly or swaying from side to side. The crowd meant that I was frequently rubbing bare asses with whomever was dancing behind me. I tried to block the thought that it might be guys dancing behand me and focus on Allison. The upside was that Allison was the most beautiful woman in the room. It was hot on the dance floor and the sweat on Allison’s skin just made her look sexier.

I had just turned to go get a drink when the DJ started a slow song. Allison grabbed my arm and said, “get back here!” She pressed her bare body against mine and wrapped her arms around me. I put my arms around the small of her back. “Lower Ian,” Allison said. I moved my hands down onto her ass.

I’m as bad at slow dancing as any other dancing. With Allison’s nude body rubbing against mine, I really didn’t care. The feel of my dick rubbing again Allison’s abdomen was making me hard. “I like your dick rubbing against me,” Allison said. She looked up into my eyes. “There’s someplace else I’d rather have it rub against me.” Unless I misunderstood, that shocked me. I hadn’t considered that Allison would want to have sex with me. Taking my silence for reluctance, Allison said, in a pleading tone, “we have to fuck. You know that.”

There was no mistaking Allison’s meaning now. I smiled. I wanted this woman. “When?” I asked.

“Right now,” Allison said. She took my hand and led me off the dancefloor. As we were going out the disco’s door, an older couple were coming in. The woman looked down at my semi-erect dick and said “nice.”

“I hope so,” Allison replied. “I’ll tell you in a couple of hours.”

We walked quickly past the empty pool, up the steps, and into our room. We were kissing as the door closed. Allison started stroking my dick. I put my hand between her legs and started fingering her. When we broke our kiss, Allison said, “I’ve wanted this since I put sunscreen on you this morning.” That seemed like days ago.

Suddenly, I remembered something and stopped. “What’s wrong?” Allison asked.

“I didn’t bring any fucking rubbers,” I answered.

“Ian, I have an IUD in,” Allison said. “I trust you don’t have any STDs. We’re partners.” Allison led me to the bed by my dick. She lay on her back. I got on the bed above her and worked my dick into her. “You’re big,” Allison grunted. She was tight. I began thrusting and sucking one of her nipples. After a few minutes, Allison said “kiss me.” Our mouths and tongues met. I looked down into Allison’s big eyes. Damn, the woman looked beautiful and felt beautiful.

Allison had strong pelvic muscles. She could clamp down tight enough that it took almost all my effort to make a thrust inside her. It was real work, but the sensation was indescribable. It felt so good that I started to worry about coming before Allison did. That worry was relieved, some, as her hips began bucking against me and she started taking fast, sharp breaths. Just before I came, I felt Allison shudder and she yelped once.

We lay side by side while we regained our breath. After a long time just staring into each other’s eyes, Ali said, “Thank you for coming inside of me. I was afraid you’d try to pull out.” She paused before saying, “You know, that’s the first time I’ve been laid in three years.”

“No boyfriends?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Ali said, “I had boyfriends, just none I wanted to fuck. I have to really like a guy before I’ll fuck him.” She kissed me again.

The next morning was the first time in several years that I had woken up with a woman in bed next to me. It was nice. Ali woke up, looked at me, and asked with a grin, “do you respect me in the morning?”

“Even more than I did yesterday morning,” I answered truthfully.

“We need to get dressed and meet Paul,” Ali said.

The condos at The Cove were not individually owned. The Cove owned all of them and they were leased, typically for a year or two, to the occupants. I had asked Paul for information about who leased Unit 7 and if there was any way to track the comings and goings of the people in Unit 7. What we learned from Paul was that Unit 7 had been leased back in the spring for a year by an older woman who gave her name as Rosalie Morales. She had paid the full year’s rent upfront, in cash, and had told Paul and Lilith that her nieces and nephews would be the primary users of Unit 7. Paul had a copy of Ms. Morales’ Florida driver’s license. Ali and I could both tell from a quick look that the license was a bad fake.

The other thing we learned from Paul was that condo occupants had their own parking lot at the rear of the property. There was a locked gate at the end of the row of condos and another locked gate for the parking lot. Each unit had its own code that you punched into keypads to open the gates. Paul brought records of the use of the access code for Unit 7. Throughout the summer, the Unit 7 code had been used almost nightly between 9:45 and 10:15 to leave The Cove and again between 10:00 and 10:30 the following morning to come back in. It looked like the neighbor was right: the occupants of Unit 7 left each night and returned in the morning.

Ali and I hatched a plan. The only access from the condo unit parking was the street road that bordered The Cove on the south. I would sit in my car, largely concealed, in The Cove’s driveway. Ali would find a concealed spot to observe the two gates from the condo units and call me when the occupants of Unit 7 left that night. I would follow them to learn where they went.

Having made our plan, we had the day to kill. I had not worked out for several days, so Ali insisted that we try out The Cove’s “fitness center.” It consisted of a few stationary bikes facing a TV on the wall and a Smith machine with some rusty weight plates. Still, it was better than nothing. The one (and only in my opinion) positive of a Smith machine is that you don’t need a spotter because, even at muscle failure, it is virtually impossible to get caught under a weight. Still, I did not complain when Ali insisted on standing just above my head in a spotter’s position while I bench pressed. Since Ali was nude and stood with her legs apart, the view was pleasing.

After working out, we sat by the pool. I refrained from drinking. I expected a long night and didn’t need to get drowsy. Ali followed my lead. Over our second nude dinner together, Ali asked, “What is the plan once you start following them?”

“That depends on them,” I replied. “Most likely, I’ll stake out wherever they hole up to see what I can learn.”

“I’m going with you,” Ali replied.

“I can’t wait for you to get from the rear of the property to the car,” I said, “we’ll lose them before we even start.”

“Bull,” Ali replied. “I’ve already timed it. I can make it from back there out to the driveway in two minutes. If I start once I see what car they get into, I’ll be in the car with you before they pass.”

Having a second person for a stakeout was a definite plus, even if that person wasn’t Allison Nance. “Ok,” I said, “but, if they pass me before you’re in the car, I’m leaving without you.”

“Fair enough,” Ali replied.

I don’t know where or how well she hid, but Ali called my cell phone at 10:05 that night to say that the four people from Unit 7 had gotten into a relatively new, red, Chrysler four door with Florida plates. I had just reconnected my phone to its charger when Ali silently opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Less than a minute later, a car passed us headed towards US 41. “That’s it,” Ali said.