Sultry Summer Streaking

As a kid, summer inevitably possessed a transcendent quality. The last day of school (preceded by the anticipatory, excruciating days and weeks that dragged along before) meant that an infinite series of pleasures now stretched forth to the horizon—bicycle rides, frog catching, watermelon slurping, ice cream cones in the evening air after dinner, tree climbing, frisbees. Teenage summers brought a different brand of hopes and pleasures. In all cases, endless happiness beckoned.

As an early thirties adult? Not as much. Work, house, chores, money, the occasional marital squabble—all tended to chew at the edges of enjoyment. Yet the background radiation of summer's early life traditions lingered, the pleasures were just smaller but perhaps no less appreciated.

That late August Saturday afternoon at Eric and Dawn's place was as good as it was going to get, and my contentment, ephemeral as it was, constituted suitable summer satisfaction.

Out here in the Sierra foothills town of Grass Valley in California, Hildy, and I were stoked out on lawn furniture, our friends' slightly elevated porch overlooking a larger than usual backyard at the outskirts of town.

The lawn was still slightly green, but not without a good deal of attention and irrigation from our hosts. Both our sets of kids were off to the same summer camp for a couple weeks, so it felt like a real vacation. Even though we all had jobs during the week, the weekends felt gloriously free.

Eric and I had our beers in hand and cold wet condensation coated the sides of our spouses' wine glasses while the late afternoon heat dissipated. It was then that I heard Dawn make an utterance that I never thought could've come from her schoolteacher mouth.

"I cannot imagine what it is like to run naked with an erection."

The sentence didn't arrive out of nowhere. We had been talking about streaking, one of those events that had a fashionable few year's run in the past, specifically when we had all been students together at Nevada Union High School. There had been an "end of year" rebellion in 2010, seniors taking odd moments to run across the North Quad, sans clothes, and while the authorities took a dim view of it all, they didn't tend to come down too hard on those who got caught. Instead, sensible teachers chalked it up to senior exuberance, as everyone was planning on college next, or jobs in town, whatever the next chapter of real adulthood was to bring. In the grand scheme of transgressions, this was small potatoes.

Maybe two dozen seniors had gotten up the nerve to do it, usually at the end of the day, when they'd clear school grounds and head off, escaping capture, although not always identification. More guys than gals. It was a sight, and great amusement, but none of us had been participants, only riveted spectators.

Eric cocked an eyebrow at Dawn's abrupt statement and gave her a look I could not quite decipher. Surprise? Disbelief that his demure wife would utter such a thought in public, albeit among friends?

"You know, the thing would wag something fierce. I don't even like a quick dash braless when necessary, to tell the truth and I'm not even that big. Body parts best left restrained don't do well with that sort of violent movement." Dawn seemed entirely worked up over the idea.

I regarded this confession with some interest. The image she had brought up did a little dance in my brain, the notion of her own breasts thumping up and down in a run (my active imagination going one step further from braless to topless.) Dawn's long narrow boobs bobbing up and down, side to side. I'd never seen her without clothes, but was familiar enough with her swimwear choices at the Yuba River to have a pretty good idea of what the physics would be like, flesh and mass and gravity and all that.

Hildy shot me a suspicious look that suggested she'd developed a pretty good idea of what was going through my head.

"Remember Melody Lightfoot?" said Eric. We were quiet for a moment while we considered how she'd displayed her considerable charms to the on-lookers, each of us witnesses to her wild dash, although from different classroom vantages.

The sight of her streaking topless across North Quad, her long, swaying breasts heaving side-to-side in a most enchanting fashion, had been enough to cause half the senior men's soccer team's expressions to form into a synchronized swoon of lust-induced appreciation.

"Yeah, but she kept her drawers on, we never got to see her lower bits in motion, just those lovely upper appendages," I said.

Hildy's glare, although I knew it was only a temporary annoyance thrown in my direction, got a chuckle out of Eric.

"Those were fun times," Eric said, and we proceeded to resurrect nostalgia for our final year of NUHS.

"But a stiff penis?" Dawn couldn't let the notion die. "Up and down? Wobbling like a hotdog on a skewer over the campfire?"

She shook her head.

Eric snorted. "Not such a good image, love. But if stiff enough, maybe not so much bobbing as when at half strength. Still I'd rather see a nicely endowed naked wench running though. Mammaries up! Mammaries down! Side to side, jiggle all around!"

Dawn gave him a distinctly hostile glare and Eric dodged a hastily thrown elbow at his ribs.

Dawn was handsome enough, once slender and lithe, but having passed her twenties and the nursing of two babies, meant her body had filled out, in a thoroughly good way, more meat on her legs and, naturally, chest. Eric was tall, blond, and broad, hair thinning, still played tennis. They made for a better-than-average looking couple.

Hildy and I? We were the brunt of many a joke around town. Hildy was a broad shouldered, wide hipped Amazon type, three inches taller than my small stature and thirty pounds heavier. But love doesn't give a twit about appearances and we always managed to laugh along with everyone else.

It was then that Hildy made her surprise observation.

"You know what? I can't get this thought out of my head. Make it an Olympic sport!"

"Streaking?" Eric laughed and added, "I'd be up for that. Track and field or one of the glamour events? How you gonna score it? Like in gymnastics with judges? Or by pure speed?"

I laughed too, and sent a sideways glance to Hildy. My wife with her sturdy Northern European heritage frame would never fare well in a sprint. Those wide meaty thighs, while obviously strong, would never make for speed. But that heavy chest of hers would do just fine on aesthetic criteria. My mouth watered despite myself. I'd never seen her run naked, not even very often in other circumstances, maybe just a dash from the car to our front door during a downpour.

We decided any such competition would require both quantitative and qualitative scoring,

So we talked. More unusual than most of our conversations. Eric and Dawn were good friends, but our work-lives after college had been of the steady variety, verging on boring. Dawn couldn't get the erect penis image out of her head, however, to the great amusement of the rest of us. She insisted this element would be an essential aspect of any male streaking she would care to watch.

"Don't know how you guys could possibly do it. Would be unimaginably uncomfortable. Although for anyone in charge of the erection producing team beforehand? Well, they'd would likely enjoy their work." This remark was accompanied by an unusually wanton expression from a normally shy person. How many glasses of wine had she consumed?

I think it was Eric who suggested we do some immediate empirical testing. Males and females. This upended the whole discussion.

He pointed to their backyard. "Thirty yards out, Thirty yards back, do it twice, we'd have a show that would beat any Olympic event for pure unadulterated kicks."

I reminded him that none of us, none, had the faintest resemblance to any Olympic body type, of any sort, in any sport. Hildy and women's shot-put would maybe be the closest fit. Fifteen years ago Eric might have passed as a tennis player, and me as a wrestler in the 140 pound weight class. But now? Forget it.

But the idea had done its seepage business. We were quiet for a moment, each set of eyes going to their neighbor's body, doing the "what would they look like in a naked race?" business.

I couldn't believe that I was the one to second the motion.

"Well, why not? Just for kicks? Right now even, the afternoon is cooling off, we could just chuck the clothes..."

"Get some bets going? A friendly competition?" Eric's gambling instincts kicked in.

Dawn and Hildy exchanged glances.

"And on what basis, exactly, are we going to bet?" Dawn was quick to ask. At least she hadn't rejected the whole idea.

This provoked another overextended discussion, involving dissection of gymnastic and high-diving scoring metrics, judges implicit biases and subjective inconsistencies, although everyone agreed that timed sprints would be simple enough to handle. I am not a betting type, and my head was spun round and round with the scoring criteria proposed, the pros and cons of various voting mechanisms, the mathematics and statistics involved all were beyond my meager capacity to grasp.

I cannot even begin do justice to the debate, which went on for half an hour. My mind glazes over when we got to ranked voting and Bayesian probabilities, but the others all pursued their particular points with exasperating devotion. I just wanted to see some naked bodies galloping away that afternoon, out in the open.

"And like, who, for example, is going to vote against their spouse?" said Dawn, a bit indignant.

Eric and I looked at each other. She was of course right. How on earth could we keep this part of the deal fair? And this proved to be the major sticking point in the whole polemic.

"Okay," said Eric, looking more satisfied with himself than I thought warranted. "Fairness is definitely achievable, but not with just the pair of us. We need another couple."

"And how is that going to help?" Dawn looked distinctly peeved.

"It changes the dynamic. Spreads out the odds. We could do ranked voting, secret ballots, one could still vote for your spouse as number one but the rest would all sort itself out with a bigger pool. We'd end up with a fair winner, and would besides have another pair of bodies to ogle."

My head spun with the next round of discussion, but of course our ship came to rest on the big rock in the river. Just who would be our third couple?

We tossed around some names. Always there was some objection. Danny's wife, although she would be absolutely enchanting as a naked runner, would think the whole thing was unspeakably perverted. Rod and Sherri would be too stuck-up to participate. There was no way Jackie Farner would run without clothes even if we gave her a million dollars. Nobody ended up suitable.

Of course we also had to consider the prize for the winner. A Gold medal? Dinner out? A six pack of good beer for the guy winner or a bottle of expensive wine for the wife?

All this was way too ordinary said Eric. "Bets of that variety happen in my office all the time."

Eric worked in the California State Auditor's office in Sacramento, where you couldn't find a more stats and analysis (if strait-laced) group if you tried.

"I think," he spoke carefully, "we are all likely going to be seriously worked up if we pull off this little endeavor."

Knowing glances were visible.

"'Up' being the operative word," I offered, generating a smirk from Hildy.

"And the best, truest, award ought to be a public orgasm for the winner," finished Eric.

We were silent.

We had all talked sex before, as old friends and stable neighborhood couples, although never thoroughly and mostly just speculatively or generally. Gossip about others came up frequently among us, comments about who in town was attractive, all in good fun. But our own sexual lives? Not very much, and never in specific terms. What Eric was suggesting raised the bar not just a few inches, but an order of magnitude.

"I can only imagine this public orgasm if the event is to be handled by the spouse."

This was Dawn, deliberate with her words, although the wine was talking, maybe enhanced by our summery, relaxed surroundings.

Everyone nodded. We weren't going any further than that. Even this proposal was such a far reach that you could see everyone's gears turning. A public orgasm, on top of an exhibitionist naked streak. It promised to be an exciting occasion, if we could pull it off. And since the kids would only be away for another week, it had to be next Saturday or not at all.

"And of course, this aspect of the challenge is going to complicate, even further, the notion of recruiting another couple," Eric said.

By this time the sun was down and the urgent Sierra foothill mosquitoes were at work and we had to bail out and retreat inside for dinner. Eric announced he would come up with a scoring rubric that would both be suitable and that we could all agree on, and the rest of us promised to brainstorm potential participants, cautiously ask around at work or other social circles, to see if we could generate a quorum.

It took Eric just a couple days to come up with a decent scoring theme, which he shared with us on Tuesday night. It followed the gymnastic pattern, the old one anyway, with a ten point scale, with ten as the top score but with three criteria categories.

How arousing was the running?

How much movement was generated?

Overall gracefulness.

We had a minor back and forth over this, but it ended up being fine with everyone. Thirty points would be the maximum score a "judge" could award. The timed sprint would be thirty points for first, twenty for second, ten for third. So maximum score from any one judge would be sixty, or times five scorecards, a total of three hundred points.

"Alright, said Dawn. But there's going to be some differences and natural advantages. Some of us have more sway flesh than others." She gave Hildy a meaningful look.

So then we had a discussion about body types, and how when it came to attraction or beauty or whatever you wanted to call it, what really mattered were inner dynamics. Confidence and presentation. Sure Kim Kardasian would be able to generate some serious movement, but wouldn't some lithesome creature like Taylor Swift going to come out with a high arousal index?

We each considered the particular examples offered. My mouth watered.

Dawn pointed out that none of us (she meant the females, obviously) were in the same camp as the mentioned celebrities, but Hildy and I made the point stand.

Dawn had done theater in high school, she knew about the value of presentation, projection, subtlety and all that.

We were just stuck on a third pair.

****

All of us had spent a frustrating couple days combing through our work and other social networks, searching for a possible third. But it's a little different to ask someone if they are up for running around naked in a backyard than say, going on a kayak trip some weekend or a picnic at the river.

I thought I had a firm nibble when I talked to Dean at work. I most cautiously outlined the scenario.

"You say what? A nude running event? A competition?"

Once he got over the initial shock, he was game.

"Hmm. Something different," Dean said. "Katie would look super. She's got an ass you would die for," he confided, as if I had never noticed this particular bit of her anatomy before.

But it fell through. Katie wasn't game, and it appeared that Dean had received some heat for even raising the proposal.

Right. If word got around enough, we were going to get labeled the neighborhood perverts.

Finally Eric got lucky. He called up Wednesday night.

"Got a pair for us." He sounded a bit cautious.

"Who?"

"Duane and Vivian. I know him from the Sacramento federal courthouse, works for a high-powered legal team. Vivian is one handsome woman, I have to say."

"Excellent. What are they like?"

A note of hesitation entered Eric's voice.

"Well, they're sorta competitive."

"Okay, that's fine."

"The 'public orgasm' part was what reeled them in," he said. "But, they're like serious competitive. They're going to want to win. And they are in super condition."

That was fine with me. Shapely naked bodies running I had no trouble with, and winning wasn't in my game-head anyway.

"Yeah, but Duane's not always a good sport. Can be kinda an asshole sometimes." Eric's ambiguity was evident, but we hadn't developed any other alternatives.

****

"So, are you going to practice?"

This question both came out of the blue and took me by surprise. Just as Hildy and I were sitting down to dinner Thursday night.

"Practice what?"

"Running with an erection. You might want to find out what it's like before Saturday." I did not like the daring gleam in her eye.

"A practice run with an erection? I don't think so."

Alright I was peeved. Hildy could certainly be annoying sometimes, always worse when her poking was deliberate.

"No," I repeated.

We stared at each other.

"Unless you do too," I finally added. The thought of seeing her in a naked run was enough to overcome my stubborn resistance.

Her grin was lopsided. It appeared that she had the mirror thought.

So we did. After dinner, in slanted early evening light. Our backyard is not as large as Dawn and Eric's but we could manage fifteen or twenty yards from one side to the other. Hopefully none of our neighbors would see.

We had great fun removing each other's clothes and I was able to insist that Hildy go first.

Oh lord, was that a nice sight. Big heavy hips wobbling, breasts swaying delectably from side to side. I was able to suggest some aesthetic alterations to her movements, trying to get her to adopt the gait the high-jumpers do in the Olympics, sort of an up and down prancing on toes before performing their ridiculous leap-flop, and the results were splendid. Hildy wasn't even going to try to work on speed, she'd be last anyway, unless one of the others did a face-plant and fell. So just good visuals was the goal.

She was out of breath after a few tries, but the results were optimal, to my thinking anyway. Spectacular heaving breasts and thundering thighs in the early evening air.

"Okay. Now you."

We both looked down at a dangling dick.

"Not going to get hard on its own," was my bright observation.

"Oh, alright," came Hildy's mocking voice, and she took a few minutes to fondle me into a suitably stiff condition.

I was not prepared for the sheer uncomfortablity of it all, if that is actually a word.

It hurt. Felt like my cock-head weighed ten pounds, and it went up and down most unpleasantly on my first pass. Hildy insisted on a repeat but I was not anxious to do so, and refused. I'd just have to endure my discomfort during Saturday's event.

But her eyes shown, pleasure written all over her face.

"You know, I hadn't been sure at first about this little adventure. But the more I think about it, and seeing some of it in action..." she pointed to my penis, "the more it has some appeal."

This had been an excited enough exchange that we copulated that night after showers, higher enthusiasm on both our parts than usual.

****

Saturday arrived clear and bright, as it did every August day in this part of the world.

Eric was prepared at our noontime rendezvous time, had light snacks laid out. We'd all get to know each other a little before conducting our early afternoon exhibition.

Saying we were all a little nervous is a vast understatement. Hildy worried about everything. Being naked in front of others. Her fat thighs. Her soft chest. How much better everyone else would look. That she hadn't had to sprint for anything since the last PE class in high school.

Duane and Vivian arrived in a shiny red Musk-mobile, a top-of-the-line 'S', and emerged from it smug and sanctimonious, descending on us like the royal family surveying the provinces.

He was tall and lithe, clearly a chap who took his athletic training seriously. I am a bad judge of male looks, half the time when I mention to Hildy a guy looks good she says I'm daft, and vice-versa, but this guy looked like he could be a male model for sportswear. Closely trimmed dark beard, sharp chin, an unmistakable demeanor of confidence.

Vivian looked like a volleyball-player type, slender, with a cropped top that would have made more sense on a college fresher than on one half of a professional couple, and a long summer skirt that accentuated the thinness of her hips. Dawn's smile looked forced as she played hostess to the guests, offering up beer and wine and snacks on the back porch, the grandstand to our projected streaking exhibition.

Duane made it known to us that for the Sacramento law firm Stank and Wooble he represented clients with a total worth of forty-two million dollars. Hildy managed to keep her face neutral but Eric had a vaguely sick looking face, maybe tinged with disgust, at the way this disclosure was delivered. I took an immediate dislike to the tall, lean and distressingly handsome fellow.

The wise-ass part of my brain that usually gets me in trouble was about to say, in an exaggerated tone of being impressed, that I now had great admiration for Duane, since the money numbers suggested he had in excess of five hundred clients in his portfolio and that it must be difficult to differentiate and keep track of so many small-holders, but Hildy, who knows me better than anyone else, sent me a "don's say it!" look and saved me from ignominy.

Tense was the air. Each of us wrapped in our own thoughts about what was about to transpire.

"Well, are we ready?" Eric took the reins and indicated his course layout, carefully chalked lines thirty yards apart on the soft green grass. We'd agreed that we'd all go barefoot—no coverings of any sort.

When we got around to it, all of us were uncharacteristically deliberate in removing our clothing.

Shoes and sandals came off first, then socks, everyone trying hard not to look at everyone else too obviously.

Then hats and shirts.

Shirts.

I'd seen Eric a million times, of course—sturdy chest, sparse body hair, dark flesh around his pointed nipples, strong arms. Nothing unfamiliar. Duane was a serious athletic type, strong pecs and angled shoulders. I am not a good judge of male appearance, but he was obviously used to being considered attractive, and knew it. The stance he adopted was decidedly off-putting.

The women were slower with the shirt removal business. Dawn had a sweet little black bra, and I was surprised that Vivian had come braless. She wasn't large but her boobs were decidedly handsome, round and firm. Barely a crease formed underneath their lower parts. I knew Hildy was self-conscious about her own size. And her underwire bra must have been twice the size as Dawn's.

But then the bras came off. Oh my.

I had seen Hildy's breasts tumble out of their ubiquitous restraints for fifteen years, but the facial expressions the other males made when viewing them were worth the price of admission. I'd run out of adjectives for those glorious female delights myself, although I was always looking for new ones. Meaty. Hefty, Globular. Succulent. Enchanting.

Eyes went to Dawn. She had nice sloping boobs, a bit on the pointed side, but they drifted down more than I had imagined. One of the factors of middle-age flesh, I reckon. In her swimwear or the sports-bra she wore cycling or out in the yard, they of course were coaxed into a different shape, according to what fashion and modesty dictate. But they were plenty handsome, with dark pink areolae that blended in a smooth gradient with the white flesh of the rest of her boob skin. Tan lines very defined on her skin, more than for anyone else. The contrast between pale white boob flesh and sun darkened skin was marked.

And then the lower fabric parts came off.

Shorts, trousers, skirts.

None of the males had the same kind of undies, a bit to my surprise. I felt a little dopey actually, as I wore plain white jockeys, same style since I was a kid. Duane had a flashy abbreviated speedo-like covering that bunched his testicles up, and Eric, as I knew, had longer-legged blue briefs. No boxers among us anyway.

The girls were a sight. Plain white boring for Hildy, she rarely did anything different. Dawn had pale blue bikini-style lowers. Vivian had a red thong, with smooth ass cheeks to go along. Of course.

We all took a moment to examine each other. Eyes darting around like squirrels in a walnut grove.

Then the final removals.

I couldn't remember the last time I had seen so many naked bodies in one place.

Dawn had a carefully shaped light brown groin triangle, looked silky sweet. Hildy has always possessed a wild tangle of dark curly resilient hair, how I loved that she didn't do anything to it, even when dark errant hairs poked out from swimwear hems. Vivian looked like a topiary project, way too carefully maintained, like she was the Kew Gardens of Sacramento. But her ass was something else. Smooth, meaty, succulent. I inhaled.

And of course the guys were now out there too. Can't tell a huge amount when cocks are flaccid. Mine is quite small when relaxed, goes with the rest of my stature. Eric's looked good, he was the only uncircumcised one, a fat roll of skin over his cock-head, making it look larger.

Duane, like Vivian, looked like he spent far too much time with razors and trimming scissors, with just a little fuzz around his crotch. Looked silly to me, but his unit seemed to be of the long and thin variety.

I almost thought to suggest that the guys to wag their units back and forth, the way Olympic sprinters waved to the grandstand when introduced, but luckily decided not to.

Eric had given some thought to the layout. Lines were drawn in chalk dust on the lawn, exactly thirty yards apart. We had decided this was a suitable distance, not too close, long enough to get a good look, not so far as to prove much endurance wise.

But then we had our argument.

Duane and Vivian were upset with balance of the planned scoring. They wanted speed to count for more, like sixty or seventy percent. Of course. They were in better shape than the rest of us, obviously worked out and took fitness serious. It was clear they wanted to "win" and the speed portion of the business would be theirs incontestably.

It took some haggling but we adhered to our original fifty-fifty split, what we had envisioned from the start. Duane and Vivian had the petulant expressions of folks who felt they had been outvoted.

"How do we want to start?" This was from Vivian, a slightly confident tone to her voice.

"Women first, of course," said Eric, I would not have predicted anything else from him. Dawn stifled a snicker.

The rules were simple. A tennis ball was located just beyond the thirty yard marker on the other side of the lawn. The runner had to race to the ball, pick it up, return to the starting line, place it, not just drop it, beyond the starting marker, then do another round and back, no ball this time.

Eric was timekeeper for the girls, Dawn for the guys, and each of the spectators were given printed ballots to record subjective scores.

For scoring, Dawn had even thought to provide a mug with a half dozen of the same type ball point pens so ballots couldn't be identified by an owner's predilection for a certain type of pen, color of ink, etc.

The running results, I have to say, were spectacular. I had never seen three handsome naked women running before, and although I am sure I could find something like it online somewhere, in real life it was spellbinding.

Hildy drew the lot for the first slot and got off to an unexpectedly fast start, her glutes working grandly in a burst of contracting flesh, hips swaying like a galleon in a storm as she dashed across the lawn.

By the thirty yard mark and the first reach for a ball, Hildy's grace, unusual for a large woman, was there on display.

The run back had all the males spellbound. Each large breast swayed from side to side, up and down in marvelous displays of physics—mass, inertia, Newton's laws all at work. Large, dark bullseye areolae gyrated in front of us. Impressive tectonic masses of flesh heaved with each foot thud, rippling sheets of bare summer skin. I almost had to close Eric's mouth and push his tongue back into place.

A quick careful place of the ball, back on the race to the further mark, ass-cheeks clenching like something out of a John Waters movie, a return, those massive breasts going like gangbusters.

If she did not achieve a perfect thirty points from everyone, I would have to commit suicide.

Vivian shot out of the gates in a manner we all likely expected, hamstrings hauling her through the air, ass-cheeks bunching nicely. Vivian's backside was spectacular in an entirely different fashion than Hildy's bum—it was smooth lean flesh that oscillated majestically as she put feet to task. On the return we saw her small chest oscillate, but in a minor key, and her quads bunched something lovely. Ponytail swaying on the same rhythm point as her hips and stride, she was a sweet sight.

Dawn's route straddled the line in between the two. Very nice breast motion on the route towards us, her ass less appealing than either of the others, the tan-lines between moon pale ass flesh and dark brown legs was impressive.

As she crossed the finish line, the three females shared a look, and cute beyond belief, assembled for a group hug. I wagered the males would not be doing this.

Vivian was the clear winner on speed, Hildy slowest as expected and we put our subjective scoring sheets into a box that Eric had supplied for later tabulation.

Water broke out, thirsty throats slaked, and we males all stood there like sheep at a gate, for the next round.

Ah, but this would be a different animal by a long shot.

Erections would need to be in place before any action could take place.

It had been agreed that partners would do the honors, no self-induced masturbatory erections permitted. We really didn't want to see a self-jerkoff circle. I think it was Dawn who insisted on this, but no one objected.

We would go in reverse order from the girls, so Eric was first.

Dawn pulled on his prick with deliberate strokes, and we all watched, entranced, as it went from soft and limp to stiff and hard, until it was pointing nearly skyward. She looked pleased, and all of us agreed that it had met the erection stiffness criteria, pretty darn hard and bob-worthy.

At the start Eric looked determined, and we were treated to the sight of his tensed glutes, his balls visible from behind, hanging purposefully. And then he was off, skinny ass working its speed magic. He was quick, always had nice reflexes and fetched the tennis ball effortlessly.

The return. The return.

Never have I seen anything like it. His frantic burst of speed, cock bobbing up and down with each stride, cock-head hitting just below his navel and then lurching down, so uncomfortable on the downswing my own groin clutched in sympathy. But most spectacular, I have to say, were his testicular oscillations. Unlike my balls, which retract up into a taut mono-sac, Eric's stayed loose and low. They were unusually large compared to his prick, and swung in a delightfully symmetrical arc with his cock. I was mesmerized.

Tennis ball placed properly, another dash off, the sight of a swinging, brutally painfully looking prick doing its jump-rope dance, some ballistic ball-wagging, and he was done.

His time was a good two seconds faster than Vivian's and her face displayed annoyance.

Duane next. Vivian took great pride in getting her man ready. Long, slow strokes along his shaft as the ballast tanks of his prick inflated. She couldn't help herself and gave him a little suck-work at the end until it stood proud and high, damp around the cock-head. I noted that a little thrill rippled through all of us.

His prick was long and narrow and the curve was most unusual. I'd never seen anything like it, but of course didn't have a large sample of in-person viewings of erections in my life. The bottom curved up nicely, but the top third of his penis had a reverse curve, so that the cock head bent forward a bit, almost like the faucet on our bathroom sink.

The tip was narrow, arrow-like, and a menacing reddish color.

We gave the thumbs up to stiffness and watched while he crouched before take off.

Quick he was, narrow ass cheeks churning, long supple legs, those slender hamstrings of strength doing their work up to the thirty yard marker.

He fumbled the pickup ever so slightly, a facial grimace sign of his frantic frustration, and then off towards us, prick wagging supremely, the upside of this shaft colliding with his belly, the long lever of penis gristle bobbing again, most uncomfortably. My own groin hurt just in watching.

Quick delivery, repeat the course, again his long lever of a penis doing a marvelous dance on return.

Open mouth, gulping in air, he did not look as triumphant as I think he expected. Still a half second faster than Eric, however.

The air was hot and still that afternoon. Everyone had shown signs of sweating after their route, however short it took in real time.

I stood hands on hips while Hildy attended to me. Those soft familiar hands, one on my balls, rummaging, squeezing, in the way that only she knew would produce the best effect. Other hand with those long tender fingers working my shaft, then my ever increasingly aroused cock-head. Slowly I inflated, almost to the uncomfortable level. She gave my prick-tip just a flick of a tongue at the end.

It pointed skyward, that noble cock head of mine looking nearly straight up at me. I never minded that view from above.

Hildy smiled and gave my prick a side-ways push. It went right, then back left and stopped, tense against the air.

While I had done the brief practice for this, it felt odd to crouch for the start in front of everyone, my thigh muscles almost cramping with the effort. And then charging forth with the start word "go!"

My legs are short, but their muscles are the quick-twitch type and I snatched up the ball handily enough. My prick had been most unhappy on the way over, if possible even worse on return, I could not shake the thought that everyone was looking at its awkward, barbaric jolts up and down in my gallop. My balls were screaming, unhappy at their own gravity induced movements.

Ball down, quick turn, repeat.

I do not every want to do this again, ever. The pain was most unpleasant and I was glad to pull up after the last race to the line.

My time was between that of Duane and Eric.

The three of us males looked at each other, no idea of how to react. The pricks on the others had made their partial descent already, so we did not have three erect cocks at the end, only mine, which slowly followed the course of the others. I was aware of female eyes on me during deflatement. How bizarre it that?

So Eric pulled out the ballots, fired up his tablet in spreadsheet mode and made the subjective score tabulations.

The scores were not the ones expected. Hildy had the top subjective score, that at least was unsurprising. The pure amount of heavy flesh she put into motion was undeniable and she looked great. But even with Hildy's last place sprint, her total score still ended up with first place overall. Vivian was next by a large margin, followed closely by Dawn.

The two alphas had won on speed, thirty points each, but Duane's subjective scores were tied with Eric, leaving him flabbergasted.

A most disagreeable argument ensued, as could have been predicted. Duane insisted on seeing the ballots and had Eric run through all the metrics and calculations again. You could see Eric was annoyed at having his numerical expertise questioned.

Duane and Vivian objected loudly, feeling their aesthetic scores were "rigged" against them, and unfairly assigned. Vivian got into quite a snit, her cheeks puffing out and saying quite nasty things about all the loose flesh on her competitors had been unfairly enjoyed by certain of the so-called "objective judges" so that there was no way a slender shapely body like hers was going to win on the feminine mass-appreciation index.

The rest of us held our ground, maintained that everyone knew the rules, entered the race in good faith, voted appropriately, etc. Etc.

Didn't matter.

So the two sore losers stalked off in a huff. Took their marbles and went home. I daresay none of us were hugely upset over this, despite the rather elevated level of rancor produced.

So the rest of us are all standing around, still sans clothing, and I have to be the one to speak to my sweet spouse.

"Okay love, what would you like as a first place finisher? How would you enjoy being pleasured?" I wagged my eyebrows in a manner that would have done Groucho Marx proud.

Hildy is not he most demonstrative of partners, but she has no trouble saying what she wants if the mood strikes.

Her eyes met mine. A shy smile. "I'll leave that up to you. However you like."

"I'm not used to this," she turned to the others. "Neither winning contests, of any variety, or, ah, public, you know, showing intimacy and everything."

The tension was exquisite. Dawn looked shyly excited. Eric couldn't keep his own arousal hidden.

My wife. Asking me to make her happy, sexually, in public. With witnesses.

I walked over to her, gave her a nice firm hug, and we kissed. The good kind, the kind we don't do much any more, tongues in each other's mouths, a little rekindling jolt of the fire that had made such an impression on us fifteen years ago when we first got together.

My hands went down to her ample soft bottom. There was more of her than there used to be, but as I always was sure to tell her, "more of her to love."

Dawn had retrieved a large, colorful beach towel, which she spread out on the lawn, in a shaded area. Perfect.

Defying expectations, defying my age, upending the unequal reputation our dissimilar bodies held in town but demonstrating my still extant strength, I swooped up Hildy into my arms, left arm under her leg-pits, right cradling her back, like I was set to carry her across the marital threshold.

This got a yelp out of Hildy and appreciative guffaws from Dawn and Eric.

I carried her over to the towel, trying not to stagger, and placed her carefully on the ground. She laid herself out, a look of anticipation on her face, and spread her hair out around her, in a fan, something she knew I go crazy over. She did indeed look fetching.

I snuggled in next to her, fingers running across every square inch of her pale skin I could reach. Nibbled her ears, stuck a darting tongue in their openings, and made my way up and down her body, licking, caressing, letting her know that all was right with her luscious body and the world.

Nipples erect, soft inner thighs teased and kissed until her hips began to squirm.

I paused at her feet and took the opportunity to kiss her insteps, each foot soft and sweaty, licking each toe the way I knew she liked. I could feel her body tremble.

And then knelt in between her legs, spreading each one to the side, until that split of seduction was open, exposed, already slightly aroused. A lick up the inside of one lip, down the other, and I was gratified by the sudden release of more moisture from the heavenly moss valley.

Nose pressed into her hairy mons, I licked and sucked. One of my favorite things in the world. l was aware of our audience. I glanced up and saw Dawn's hand on Eric's penis, about two thirds stiff. Sweet.

I had a hard time going slow, part of me wanted this to linger, but excitement has its own timetable sometimes, and Hildy was ramping up faster than usual. The allure of a public viwing? The movement of arousal already in place before we even began this phase? I don't know.

I got her close. Hips pressing back into me, those legs tightening in involuntary clenchings, a general rigidity about her frame that I so enjoyed.

She beckoned me up for a lingering kiss to my penis head, as my cock had gotten hard just by the pleasure she was evincing. My own sympathetic arousal.

Back down, penis head at her entrance, and a slow, sigh-producing impalement. Does this initial penetration act, primeval and eternal, ever get old?

I wish I could have held out longer. But not today. I was up her less than five minutes, my hips going furious at the end, ass cheeks squeezing in their timeless dance, until my sperm let loose inside her.

She had not climaxed. Hardly unusual, we almost never did simultaneously, maybe twice since we had been together. I lingered the briefest of times, didn't want to waste her excitement, and slid off to kiss her and finger her to a climax.

At home I would have licked her, but something kept me from doing it here, in front of everyone. No good reason, just expedient, some odd instincts kicking in.

Her body tensed fiercely a the end, and her reward was mine as well, her cunt squeezing repeatedly with the final contractions.

We took a short break, Hildy and I sweated up to a fairly considerable degree.

I looked over at our naked buddies. All of this a bit unnerving, in a good way, and we had crossed boundaries scarcely imaginable previously.

I am not sure what provoked my next proposal, as rhetoric has never been a trusty arrow in my quiver of talents.

But I made a short speech. I talked about friendship, the kinds of qualities that made for it, about marital give and take, and also noted that with the withdrawal of the male winner, that Eric was now the front runner and that really, in the spirit of competition, there ought to be male and female finalists, and that he should be offered the same prize as the female competitor.

Mouths went open, we hadn't even thought of this angle. Everyone looked at each other.

And besides, I opined, Hildy and I had "performed" a victory dance in public, it would only be fair, only be symmetrical, if the same offer was made to our esteemed friends and fellow participants in what surely would be hereafter remembered as the "Grass Valley Streaking Olympics of 2025."

Smiles went all around. Eric and Dawn looked at each other.

I wondered how Eric would choose to proceed.

Eric drained his beer and shot a long hungry look at Dawn. He stole over to her side and whispered in her ear. Her lips made a shy smile.

He sat down on one of the deckchairs on the porch and spread his legs.

"Babe, if you don't mind, I would really like you to lick me. I'll make it up to you later, promise, but I'd love you to do this favor for me."

"And for our friends," he added, directing his eyes in our direction.

Why this? I might have thought he would have liked a good public fuck, but he clearly had different ideas.

So Hildy and I were treated to one of the most amazing shows either of us had ever experienced.

Eric's cock was fairly soft for starters, and Dawn took her time making sure he got erect.

Those balls of his, those luscious balls, got wetly licked and suckled. I had never actually been guilty of penis-envy much in my life, although the sight of an overlarge appendage did occasionally prompt my imagination, but I developed balls-envy for Eric that day.

His eggs were big. They were heavy, they had nice fur around them and moved delectably about while Dawn worked him. Her tongue explored underneath, noodling them around, then into her mouth for extended lickings and lip compressions.

His penis lengthened and stiffened something lovely, until the cock-head was pointing up his belly towards his face. On a good day in Olympus Zeus would not have displayed a smile as serene as that which graced Eric's mug.

And then she licked. A long slow tongue tip from bottom of scrotum up to prick-tip. Repeat. Each time his shaft quivered as she made the slow, teasing ascent. I wondered whether this was a standard feature of their foreplay. Eric confided later that this was true, lucky boy.

Then lips over his cock-head, just far enough to encase his ridge. From her movements I could see that her tongue was doing lovely things to his cock-head inside.

A little further down his shaft, lips a nice tight wet noose over his penis, then release, glistening in the afternoon light, for all of us to see. Eric flashed us a proud expression.

Then down again, cock-head attention, one hand under his balls, rummaging, pulling, pushing, scrotum skin stretched and prodded. This all from a 4th grade school teacher with an impeccable reputation in town.

I could not imagine how he could endure much of this sort of prolonged onslaught.

But he persevered, in no hurry, detaching at times to let dawn kiss his inner thighs, run fingers along his flanks, do the ultimate tease dance so lovely as a prequel.

But after a few rounds of catch and release, with her lips back around his cock-head, lovely noises coming from his throat and hips beginning to tense and squirm, the inevitable approached.

I wasn't sure whether she would finish him in her mouth but he took charge. Disengaging, he stood, penis just above her head. She looked up expectantly and he rubbed his prick-head over her face, cheeks, hair, ears, chin.

She looked up, amused and shook her chest ever so slightly.

Again, this must be part of their agreed routine.

Eric smiled and we watched Dawn do the last bit of work on his prick, slobbery wet hands sliding up and down his shaft, fingers gripping his penis-head, until he showered her chest with four nice spurts of semen. His skinny ass-cheeks clenched with each burst, until the sperm ballast tanks were emptied.

She looked pleased. Her chest glistened with a dripping load of sperm.

He looked pleased. His cock swiftly lost stiffness. She kissed the tip of his penis and I noted that a little droplet of semen dangled from her left nipple, where the flow had stopped.

If my phone was near, it would heave been a struggle to resist taking a picture, although I am not sure I had enough nerve to have done that.

Later at home, Hildy was uncharacteristically ebullient.

"I never thought I would ever be in a position to win a beauty contest," she gushed.

I should have kept my mouth shut or just nodded, but I said the first thing that came into my head, usually never a good idea.

"You didn't win a beauty contest, you won a wobble contest!"

I got a look of surprise and hurt but atoned for it instantly.

"You can wobble for me all day long, babe. And it's undeniable that you looked fabulous, not just to me, but everyone else too."

I gave her a hug. "And it was unanimous. You were the most arousing, beauteous sight to ever have graced Grass Valley's environs, the Summer Olympic's Streaking Bacchanal of 2025."