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When they went inside to eat, Candie found it very difficult to walk naturally. She said that her cunt was so sore that every step was quite painful. She felt that every pair of eyes were on her and she was embarrassed. But in reality, no one noticed.
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"Anyhow," I said not wanting to dismiss the idea that she'd been watching all of us as we went around the lemon tree, "Jimmy says it's good for the tree, adds acid to the soil." "Jimmy," she said turning around, her hands on her hips and the tee shirt hugging her tits, showing that while they might be small they were firm and looked good. "Well, you'd expect Jimmy to say that. He's always got an angle." By now we were both laughing and I relaxed knowing that she was not about to throw drama about where we had pissed. She seemed more playful than usual, perhaps even a little coquettish, something I'd not seen before. "But I think," she added, unable to give away making her point, "you'd better get the hose out." There was a smile more like a smirk when she finished her point with: "You can dilute some of that acid. Too much and you might kill the tree." With nothing left to banter, I nodded. But before I did go outside, I slipped into my bedroom and, on some inexplicable impulse, I took off both my shorts and boxers and only put my shorts back on. That my cock was almost free of restraint was both sensual and erotic. I didn't know why I did it but I just did. It may have been the effects of the beer or the sun or maybe I just wanted to feel the unrestrained freedom. After that I went outside to grab the hose and do what she'd asked. I was liberally hosing around the edge of the lemon tree when she came out of the house and, in another surprise, she grabbed one of the remaining bottles of beer out of the ice box. Twisting off the top she settled into one of the chairs and sipped the beer as she watched me. "You know," she said, resting the cold bottle on her thigh, "when I was a kid we used to play under the hose on hot days. It was the only way to keep cool." "You used to hose me when I was younger," I replied. "I remember that. Also, running under the sprinkler." "Better than a swimming pool," she said, "although we were never able to afford a pool." Holding the hose where the water was coming out in a soft spray I looked at her and smiled. "What?" she asked. "Stand up," I suggested. "Why?" "Because I want to relive a bit of my younger days and yours." She looked at me a little quizzically and then she did stand up and towards where I was standing, the beer in her hand by her side. Without waiting I turned the hose on her, spraying, at first, from her waist down. She squealed, jumped up and down and turned around. The spray raked across the back of her shorts. Her shorts were wet and clinging as she turned around.