From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Naturist Family 2 of 3 g10   
      
      
      
   The alarm clock jarred me awake.  I silenced it before swinging my feet   
   out of bed and reaching for my robe.  Stepping into my slippers, I   
   padded down the hall to wake the children for school.   
      
   My daughter Elena was already up, sitting in bed in her nightie.  I gave   
   her a good-morning kiss and went to wake up my son.  Our apartment is   
   small so Pitr sleeps on a folding couch in the living room.   
      
   He had thrown off his blanket in his sleep and was sprawled on his back.   
   I was about to lean over and give him a kiss when I noticed that he was   
   wearing a pair of his sister's panties.  And he was obviously aroused,   
   his young penis erect beneath the soft white cotton, peeking out from   
   a lacy legband.   
      
   I studied my ten-year-old son's sleeping form, his arms and legs spread   
   out on the worn mattress.  Gently, I traced the line of his erection   
   through the panties.  He mumbled something and rolled on his side.  I   
   pulled the blanket up over his waist before waking him up, allowing him   
   his modesty and privacy.  I woke him up with a gentle kiss, his brown   
   eyes slowly opening to the morning light.  As he grew older and shed   
   his babyfat, his resemblance to my late husband grew stronger.  I kissed   
   him again before heading off to the shower while he and Elena sat down   
   to breakfast.   
      
   After my shower I dressed for work, shedding my towel in my bedroom.  I   
   took a moment to look at myself in the mirror.  Unlike my sisters, I was   
   always considered "petite", a characteristic admired in this country but   
   derided as "too skinny" back in Katerinasburg.  It seemed as if I had   
   stopped growing at age sixteen.  I traced the two faint scars that ran   
   across my belly, reminders of my children's births and how my slim hips   
   complicated things.   
      
   Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly got dressed, throwing on a pair of   
   panties and a soft cotton bralette.  I bought most of my underwear in   
   the same store as my eleven-year-old daughter, more concerned with   
   saving money than fashion.  Besides being cheaper, they fit my small   
   figure much better.  Only the expensive imported lingerie ran that small   
   in adult sizes.   
      
   Considering my petite frame, it still amazed me that my thuggish boss   
   had managed to find a waitress uniform that was so tight on me.  It   
   seemed to have a shorter hem than any of the others.  His open leering   
   had me worried, having heard many stories from the others about his   
   behavior.  I buttoned it up, silently cursing him under my breath.   
      
   In the kitchen, Elena had poured Pitr's cereal and was making a bowl   
   for herself.  She gave me a cheerful good-morning hug and I sat   
   down to the glass of juice she had poured for me.  Elena was always   
   happy to help with the housework and cooking, often taking care of   
   dinner when I was too tired from work.   
      
   "What will you be doing today?" I asked.  It was Sunday but I had to   
   work anyway.  I was concerned about leaving the children alone, but   
   there was no alternative.  I wondered how they amused themselves.   
   Most of the children their age had televisions, video games, and   
   computers.  It was all I could do to buy them books to read and   
   school supplies.   
      
   "Caitlyn is coming over, Mama," Elena replied.  The young blonde   
   girl lived with her father two blocks away.  She was a polite youngster,   
   well-raised, the same age as my daughter.  I tried to picture her   
   father but a vague image of a tall man in a suit was all I had.   
      
   "Don't play with the stove or matches when she's here.  And call me   
   at work or go to Mrs. Garvey if there is a problem."  Mrs. Garvey was   
   the elderly woman next door who would babysit for me when I had to   
   work nights.  A retired nurse, she was a bit hard of hearing but   
   still had a sharp mind.   
      
   "Yes, Mama," the kids replied, in unison.   
      
   After breakfast I threw a coat over my uniform, despite the warm May   
   weather.  I didn't want to attract attention to my skimpy uniform on   
   the bus.  I kissed the kids good-bye and left, five minutes behind   
   schedule and dreading the reaction of my boss were I to punch in late.   
      
                                  *  *  *   
      
   Sitting on the bus during the half-hour ride to work, I thought about   
   my children.  We had come here right after my husband was killed in   
   an automobile accident.  I placed myself at the mercy of my relatives   
   in America, rather than see my children starve.   
      
   Not long after had I enrolled the children in school, almost all of my   
   relatives were deported, having been caught running some stock market   
   scam.  Right before his arrest, my uncle slipped me an envelope stuffed   
   with $100 bills, advising me to leave the city.  I followed his instruc-   
   tions, pulling the children out of school and moving across the country.   
      
   That had been almost five years ago.  Again, I began to wish that my   
   husband were alive, wishing he were here to help me raise Pitr and   
   Elena in this strange country.   
      
   True, I missed his touch as well, his shining eyes and broad smile, the   
   gentle warmth of his hand on the small of my back.  I thought back to   
   our last vacation, a fortnight spent on the Black Sea in a naturist camp.   
   The children were just toddlers then, splashing in the water, their   
   plump little bodies tanning in the sun.  We watched them play from our   
   blanket on the sand, my husband's veiny erection bobbing in the breeze.   
   I closed my eyes and tried to remember how his penis tasted, salty from   
   the sea, how the children giggled when he came, big spurts landing on   
   his tanned stomach.   
      
   I almost missed my stop and had to call out to the driver.  He gave me   
   an annoyed look as he stopped the bus a block past the stop.  I ran   
   most of the way to work, now nearly ten minutes late.   
      
   Waylon, my boss, was waiting in the staff locker room.  I put my bag   
   away and faced him, expecting the usual tirade.  Instead, he lunged   
   forward, pinning me against the row of lockers.  He pawed at me, his   
   lips planted on mine, trying to force his tongue into my mouth.  I   
   tried to scream and push him away, but he was so much bigger than me.   
      
   The locker handles dug into my back as Waylon tried to force my legs   
   apart with his knee.  I tried to dig my nails into his arms but he   
   kept groping me, holding me against the lockers with all of his weight.   
   He managed to get my legs apart, but that gave me the opportunity to   
   push my knee as hard as I could into his crotch.  He staggered back   
   a foot, his face red with pain and I screamed as loud as I could and   
   ran from the restaurant, my clothes disheveled, red marks forming on   
   my skin where he mauled me.   
      
   I hailed a cab and was halfway home before realizing that I had left my   
   bag at the restaurant.  All I had was five dollars change in my apron   
   pocket.  I had to tell the driver to drop me off, even though I was   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)