The Stripping of Honeypot

The Stripping of Honeypot 4

* * * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *

THE STRIPPING OF HONEYPOT

By Willie B Florida
comments welcome to [email protected]

* * *

PART FOUR

Angie and Tom seemed like the kind of people Deb and I should have known gotten to know years ago. But, I probably would have fucked things up. I mean that quite literally. I would have slipped and fucked one or both of them and not told Deb right away. She would have fucked one or both of them and then blamed me because it wasn’t what she wanted. It was the story of our marriage—is it open or closed? Can we each do what we want and talk about it afterwards, or does it all have to be planned out?

My wife and I have different versions of the story. Deb says that I was interested in the swinger lifestyle, while she wanted polyamory. I contend that my inability to connect intimately to strangers--or even people I haven't known for years--pretty much puts swinger out of the question. Whether we were swinging or poly-ing we eventually screwed it up so bad that we were happy to simply have one another. In any case, Angie and Tom are exactly the type of couple we would have gotten it on with, but shortly after our beachside rendezvous, they took their twins and moved to Costa Rica and after a few years of dwindling communication, we lost touch.

Other relationships aside, my wife and I do agree on most things. Among them, we like Florida and we like being naked. It didn’t hurt that Deb didn’t mind the occasional couples appointment with Robin.

“Do you ever get frustrated?” I questioned Robin.

“Why?” he asks innocently.

“I mean, getting people all excited and then you having to pack up and go home?”

“. . . and miss the party?” he asks with his signature eye twinkle and the serious voice.

“Yeah, and miss the party,” I concur.

“Not to worry. I love what I do.”

Our plan was to move into a nudist community, carry on with our consulting business and basically have a relaxed and peaceful life. But life follows its own trajectories. When my wife's sister died suddenly of a rare and invasive lymphoma we adopted our niece. Tina is a wonderful girl, but it hasn't been emotionally smooth sailing. After finishing high school and one year of community college she moved to Hawaii, took up with a temporary boyfriend and mostly stopped communicating with us. We tried not to take it too hard. Deb and I argued and debated and went round in circles over every possible angle, but it still didn't bring Tina back. It got worse when we found out she'd had a baby—a grandchild! How could we be missing out? We could have headed to Hawaii, but we didn't even know where to begin looking.

Last March things suddenly took a 180 degree turn. Tina moved back to Florida, rented an apartment not far from the clothing optional subdivision (technically it is classified as a “club”) where we purchased a condo two years ago, and now she wants our advice on every aspect of raising Hani.

“I just don't know what to do,” Tina confides. “Hani's going into third grade. He—I mean she—says she's a girl now and only wants to wear dresses. He—I mean she—is young for her age, I think. What was I like when I was eight years old? Maybe you don't know, my mom . . . “

“Don't forget, Tina,” my wife interjects, “we've known you your entire life.”

“I just don't remember that age very well. I guess I've blocked it out. Too painful. Anyway it doesn't help me with Hani. I just have no perspective.”

“Every child is different anyway,” Deb soothes. “Your memories of third grade could be crystal clear and it wouldn't necessarily have anything to do with what Hani is experiencing.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tina takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I think Hani may be a slow developer. He—she—God I keep forgetting she wants to be a girl now—anyway, she's a bit on the small side and seems sort of innocent, if you know what I mean?”

My wife and I nod and keep listening.

“So, she wants to be a girl. I'm arguing with the school about the dress code. School starts next week. I'm thinking it would be easier to just strip her—him? I mean, no clothes to argue about, right? Then my friends say, 'Oh, you're going to strip Hani? You know it's the new thing, if you're going to strip your kid you've got to do the whole sexualizing thing, have a big party, invite the whole class.' I'm completely overwhelmed.”

* * *

We counsel Tina that Hani's changing ideas about him or herself are the normal travails of raising a child and certainly not to let herself be pressured by her friends. But yesterday we received a phone call and that's how life tangled back in on itself—this time in a delightful way.

“I've spoken to the most amazing sexualizers,” Tina exudes excitement across the airwaves. I put the phone on speaker so Deb can hear. “They're a couple, a man and a woman, and they just sound so understanding. They come recommended via a friend of a friend.”

“That's wonderful,” I say with just enough enthusiasm to remain non-committal.

“Anyway, I have an appointment to meet them first—without Hani, until I'm completely sure—and I really want you two to come.”

“You know we're here for you whenever you need us,” I respond, “but I'm not sure exactly what we would be doing.”

“You and Deb just know much more about these things—intuitively, I mean. It's a big deal and I want to be sure I'm trusting the right people.”

I nod and then realize she can't see me. “Right,” I say. "I'll even bother to put on clothes!" She tells me the time and place and we agree to be there.

* * *

Thursday we drive across town. I know it’s not fair. Sexualizes are a legitimate part of the new Florida, what with kids getting stripped and hooked up to vibrators and put on erection pills and all. But I’m still expecting them to be shifty-eyed and slimy-acting, half pedophile and half snake oil salespitch.

Deb looks at me and I suspect—no, I know—that she is reading my thoughts.

“You know how Robin . . .” she says.

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. She’s right. How Robin loved kids. Engaged directly with their sexuality without a bit of sliminess or opportunism.

“And how much you . . .” she adds.

I love watching kids thrive—the sexier the better.

“Guilty as charged,” I reply.

“Not guilty,” she counters. “Just you.”

Charles and Faye do not fit my idea of sexualizers. Admittedly, I've never met any of this new breed of Florida professional. Nevertheless it is hard for me to imagine this bookish couple introducing youngsters on the cusp of puberty to the joys of sex. They look like aging librarians! Does this man really get young girls used to the feel of a full grown phallus pounding up her vagina? Teach her the pleasures of cunnilingus? Gently plunge his shaft down her throat as she learns fellatio? Could this be the woman who seduces adolescent boys into the mysteries of female sexuality? Gets them to eat out her pussy? Introduces them to the newfound pleasures of getting sucked off?

I realize I haven't been paying attention to a thing that has transpired since we were ushered into the cozy office in an old 1970s wood and glass building off of 6th Street. Nestled next to one another on a soft couch, Deb, Tina and I sit across from Faye and Charles who discourse easily from the comfort of two matching armchairs. Sexualizers indeed! We could be discussing literary criticism next to a neatly banked hearth in an English bungalow. There it is again, I have yet to hear a word that has been spoken.

Forcing myself to focus I tune in to the conversation.

". . . awakening the person's outward sensitivity," Faye is saying.

"This may seem paradoxical," Charles adds, "clearly Hani is already over-sensitized, if you want to call it that. We work to redirect that awareness so that it is a gift rather than a confusion."

Tina nods earnestly. I don't have a clue what is going on.

"If you like, we can begin work with Hani any time you are ready. We'd meet you and your child together and then arrange for some tactile experiences."

"It sounds great," Tina exclaims. "What do you think?" she asks, turning to me. "Doesn't it sound perfect?"

I nod gamely, hoping my wife has been following the discussion.

"So, you don't deal directly with the gender issue right away," she states.

"We consider gender to be a somewhat fluid construct," Charles replies. "That is not to say that a person doesn't have an innate personality."

"Anyone who's held a newborn baby can sense that amazingly strong sense of identity already present," Faye puts in. "But cultures as created by human societies often have very strong ideas about how that baby's personality should be channelled. If not right away, at least by the time the child can form spoken thoughts."

"Even before that!" Charles exclaims. "Is it a boy or a girl? That's the first question people ask when your baby is born."

"You're right about that," Tina agrees.

"And you are feeling the pressure now," Faye states emphatically. "Decide: boy or girl."

Tina confirms this with a vigorous nod.

"What seems like confusion to adults is a child engaged in the natural process of exploration. Give Hani some space to feel the world and take it in. Don't force a resolution. Things may be a lot simpler than they look, and much more joyous!"

* * *

NEXT INSTALLMENT: Part Five Begins . . .

Hani surprises Tina by being amenable to going to the first appointment. Tina puts out what she considers to be one of Hani's nicer new girly outfits, a green sundress with large yellow sunflowers and a matching pair of green shorts to wear underneath. Hani puts on the dress with no fuss.

(End of File)