Summer of Poison Ivy , Nudity

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Daughter gets poison ivy. Dad treats the spots she can’t.

All Characters are over eighteen. I had a bad case of poison ivy this summer. It was no fun. I wondered, “What if a person had it in areas they couldn’t reach? What if the only person who could stop the itching was a family member of the opposite sex?” I think it might be like this.


“Eighty-six bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-six bottles of beer. Take one down and pass it around, eighty-five bottles of beer on the wall.”

The blond, braless mother-daughter duo sang with gusto as the car they were in sped down the highway. The mom wore a royal blue halter top that matched her deep blue eyes. The daughter had on a plunging pink halter top. Her cleavage couldn’t rival her bigger boobed mother, but she proudly displayed a lot of her firm, twenty-year-old tits.

“You guys are killing me,” Bart said. “Not only have you picked the most annoying traveling song to sing, but it appears that you are placing a premium on volume while neglecting pitch and tone.”

His forty-two-year-old wife, Julie, said, “It’s your fault. We’re bored.”

Amy, his daughter, said, “This cabin you’re taking us to is so far off the grid that we can’t get any decent music on the radio.”

“That’s the point,” Bart quipped. “We’re getting away from cell phones, television, and computers. For two weeks we’ll be somewhere no one can reach us. This cabin is a bucolic place where we can commune with nature. We can hike mountain trails. We can fish and swim in a crystal clear lake.”

He gave them a quick look and added, “This was my grandparents’ cabin. I used to come up here every summer when I was a kid. It’s great. You’ll see.”

His daughter said, “I hope it lives up to the hype. I’ll have no way to connect with my friends.”

Her dad responded. “The forest, the hills, the mountains, and the lake will inspire you. It’s peaceful and quiet. No one around for miles. You’ll have your choice of many wonderful landscapes to paint.”

“I hope so. I need some excellent sketches and paintings to include in my portfolio when I apply to the Gifted Spirits Art School.”

Julie’s cell phone rang. She put it to her ear and said, “Hello.” Her demeanor changed and she shrieked, “What?” She went from being a loving wife and caring mother on a much-needed family vacation to a seriously pissed off corporate lawyer.

She shouted into her phone, “How did the deal get fucked up?”

She listened. “A huh. A huh.” She listened more and said, “Yes. I know how important this deal is.”

She disconnected and said, “Sorry, guys. I have to go back and straighten something out. We’re forty-five minutes from the cabin. I’ll drop you off, deal with this matter, and join you as soon as I can. It might take a few days.”

Her husband and daughter nodded. When you’re a partner in a big, prestigious law firm, business demands interfere with family time. They’d all learned that lesson the hard way.

Bart pulled up to the rustic log cabin. The family stepped out of the car, stretched, and felt a wave of warm air wash over them. It was a sunny, summer afternoon. Eighty-two degrees. They were surrounded by lush greenery, towering trees, and rolling hills that led to tall mountains. The cabin before them wasn’t large or fancy. It was sturdy, functional, and secluded.

They unloaded the car and, after kissing everyone, Julie said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She got into the car and drove away.

Bart and Amy settled in. Each had their own bedroom.

When his daughter entered the main room of the cabin, Bart said, “Let me show you around.”


They went out on the back porch. The view was majestic. There was a large lake and behind it hills rising to mountains. Much of the land was forested with large trees. The sky was blue with hardly a cloud in sight.

“Wow!” Amy said.

“Yes. Breathtaking isn’t it?” Bart said and he put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. They stared at the awesome scenery and drank it in.

Near the house, off the path that led to the lake, was a small shack. Amy saw it and said, “That eyesore spoils the view. Why hasn’t someone knock down that sad shed?”

“That, darling, is an important structure. That is the privy. A two holer.”

“What? Oh, no. I’m not going to the bathroom in that thing.”

“Suit yourself. If you don’t like the outhouse, we have fifty acres of land and forest that you can use as your personal latrine.” Bart laughed and then said, “Why don’t you explore. I’m going to split some firewood. We’ll need a fire to stay warm at night. In June, it’s 80-85 degrees during the day and 55-60 degrees at night. A roaring fire will make the cabin cozy and toasty after the sun goes down.”

“All right, Paul Bunyan. Go chop some wood. I’m going on a walk.”

“Enjoy yourself. Dinner in two hours.”

Bart went inside, grabbed an ax, and went to the wood pile. He split logs. Amy went down the steps off the back porch. She followed the path to escort gaziantep the large body of water. She walked along the edge of the lake and enjoyed the serenity and the beautiful scenery. The only sounds she heard were birds chirping and the water lapping against the shore.

“Wow,” she said, speaking to herself. “What a beautiful day. What a beautiful place. It’s good to stretch my legs after that long drive and good to get out of the city.”

She stopped, took a deep breath, and drew in the fresh, humid air.

“I’ve got to pee and I’m not going to any stinky, old outhouse,” she said. She left the path and climbed up the hill to a secluded spot among the trees. She looked about to confirm that she was alone and undid her shorts. She pulled her jean shorts and underwear down to her knees, squatted, and peed.

“Ahh,” she sighed. She peed long and hard. As she held her position and drip-dried, she heard a rustling noise. Something disturbed the dried leaves on the ground. She looked toward the sound and saw a small animal, a porcupine, come round a tree.

“Aaahh!” she screamed.

The creature paid no mind to her shriek. It continued to waddle toward her.

Amy leaped up and tried to run away forgetting that her clothes were around her knees. That caused her to trip. She fell, ass over teakettle, and rolled through the underbrush. She righted herself and slid down the hill on her butt.

“Fuck!” she cursed as she came to a stop with her bare ass sitting on the dirt path. She stood, quickly pulled up her shorts and underwear, and ran. When she felt she was a safe distance away, she stopped running. Her knee hurt. She looked down and saw blood.

“Oww! I’ve scraped my knee. I better get back.” She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair to remove twigs and leaves and followed the path back to the cabin.

Her father was sitting on the back porch drinking a beer. He saw her and said, “It looks like you had a tumble. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I could use one of those.” She pointed to his beer.

“You’re not twenty-one.”

She made a face and said, “I’m close. Two months.”

He said, “Okay, but don’t tell your mother.”

She joined him on the deck and sat in a chair. Her father stood and said, “You’re bleeding. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He returned a few minutes later. He handed her a beer. She drank deeply. He washed and tended to her wound. “What happened?” he asked.

Her face turned red and she said, “It’s embarrassing. I was going to the bathroom in the woods and I was startled by a porcupine. I fell and scraped my knee.”

He applied ointment and a Band-Aid. He said, “They are small critters, but not to be underestimated. Those quills can do damage.”

“I guess I’m lucky I only got a skinned knee out of the encounter.”

They sat on the porch, drank, talked, and enjoyed the view. Later, Bart cooked dinner on the grill. They had a quiet evening playing board games by candlelight in front of a roaring fire. After a thrilling game of ‘Sorry’, Amy sketched the fire and the stone fireplace.

She said, “I love the flickering flames and the colors.”

“Yes. Very pretty.”

^^^day 2^^^

The next morning, Bart was up early. He cooked bacon and pancakes on the wood stove. Coffee too.

“Wow! Breakfast smells great,” Amy said as she stepped out of her bedroom. She had on her standard sleeping gear: panties that exposed half of her ass and a soft cotton tee shirt that molded itself around her bouncing, braless boobs. Bart looked at her and turned his head away. He said in his head, “Don’t stare at her jiggling breasts, you bastard. Or her hard nips that are putting twin dents in her top. The last thing you want is to have your cock swell and put a bulge in your pajamas.”

Amy sat at the table. Dad brought her coffee and a plate of food.

“Mmmm. You’re the man, Dad.”

Bart fixed himself a big plate. They ate. He said, “Honey, how long were you out in the sun? Your arms and legs are red.”

She looked at her arm and scratched the red patch. She said, “I was only out for an hour or so and most of the time I was under a canopy of trees.”

They finished breakfast. Amy cleared the table and carried the dishes to the sink. Bart’s eyes automatically looked at her tight butt, the way a squirrel’s movement would attract the attention of a good hunting dog. He noted her narrow waist, slim hips, and shapely bottom. It reminded him of her mother twenty years ago.

She put the dishes on the counter and reached back and scratched her thigh. She had red bumps there too. They were just like the ones on her arms only more numerous.

“Babe, that’s a pretty bad rash on the back of your legs. When you fell yesterday could you have landed in poison ivy?”

“I don’t know? Maybe. When I fell, I skidded on my butt through some brush. I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time. My goal was to get away from the wild animal with the sharp quills.” She looked at her arms araban escort and legs and said, “Oh my God! Maybe I did roll in poison ivy. My skin’s red. I see some small blisters and it itches.”

She scratched her arms and legs. Bart came to her, he grabbed her wrists to stop her, and said, “Don’t scratch. We don’t want you to make it worse by getting an infection.”

“Oh, God!” Amy spun about, faced him, and said, “Can you help me?”

“Yes. Daddy will take care of you. Poison ivy isn’t fatal. It’s annoying.”

Amy cried and said, “Now that I’ve seen the rash it itches like crazy. What can we do?”

“My mom put pink Calamine lotion on me when I had it.”

“Do we have any?”

“Yes. I remember seeing some in the first aid kit.” He retrieved the box, opened it, picked up the bottle, and shook it. “Damn it,” he said. “The bottle is empty.”

Bart searched his brain for other treatments. Nothing came to mind. His eyes spied the bookshelf in the great room. He saw a fat book, a copy of “The Old Farmer’s Almanac”.

“Yes! That’ll do.” He went and picked up the book. He flipped to the index and looked up ‘Poison Ivy’.

“Here we go,” he said. “Home remedies for poison ivy.” He turned to the listed page and read,” You can use an ocean of calamine lotion to soothe your poison ivy rash or try one of these natural remedies. Amy, we have options.”

He scanned the list and said, “Orange jewelweed. I have no idea what that is. Aloe. That I recognized, but we don’t have any. Oatmeal baths. We have oatmeal. The book recommends to make a paste out of baking soda and water or dab the affected area with vinegar. We have three remedies.”

Bart read more of the text. Then, he looked up at her, smiled reassuringly, and said, “The rash and itchiness will go away in a week or two. The good news is it isn’t contagious and won’t spread. A person’s skin has to come in contact with the oil the plant produces to get it. We need to wash your clothes and your sheets.”

“Can we get started with one of the treatments? The itchiness is driving me crazy.”

“Sure, let’s try dabbing on some apple cider vinegar.” He went to the cabinet and got the bottle. He found cotton balls in the first aid kit. He unscrewed the lid, held the cotton up to the mouth of the bottle, titled it, and soaked the ball.

He said, “Stick out your arm.”

She did. He put the liquid on the red rash.

She said, “Yes. That’s better. It’s cooling and soothing. Do more.”

He gathered more vinegar on the cotton ball and did both arms. “Where next?” he asked.

“My legs.”

He soaked a fresh cotton ball and did the front of her legs from her ankles up to mid-thigh where the tee shirt ended. He asked, “Is the rash on your upper legs?”

She lifted her tee shirt. Higher and higher. Their eyes followed the trail of the red rash. It ran all the way up to her panties. She blushed and said, “Oh, no. I have it all over my legs. Please apply the vinegar.”

She held the shirt up. Bart dutifully put vinegar everywhere the red rash was.

She said, “That’s helping. Do the back of my legs.” She turned around.

He started on her calves and worked his way up to her panty-clad ass. He re-wet the cotton ball a few times. He said, “Ah. Amy.”


“The rash is fairly extensive on the back of your legs. More so than the front. It is worse on your thighs than it is on your calves.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “I did have my panties down when I fell. I slid on my butt down the hill.” She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at her legs. Then, she pulled the tail of her shirt up with one hand and pulled her underwear away from her body so she could see her bum.

“Oh, crap! It’s bad on my legs, but worse on my butt. Dad, please check the rest of my back.”

Bart stood and lifted her tee shirt. “Amy, it’s on your back. Up to your shoulders. But not too much.” He let go of her shirt and moved around to her front.

She grabbed the bottom front of her sleeping tee, pulled it up, and said. “There’s some on my stomach.” She pulled the top of the shirt away from her body and looked down at her breasts.

“Oh, thank God! I don’t see the red rash on my boobs.”

She grabbed the front of her panties, pulled them out, and peeked inside. “I have some on my tummy, but not too bad. The worst area seems to be my butt.”

She started crying and said, “My back and butt itch something awful!”

Bart stood there speechless as his daughter stepped out of her panties and pulled the tee shirt over her head. She tossed it aside. Her body quivered. Tears ran down her face. She raised her hands and covered her nipples before her dad got a good look at her tits. Since she hid her breasts, his eyes flowed down her body and focused on a small triangle of blond pubic hair.

“Daddy, you have to help me!”

Her words jolted her father out of the fog caused by seeing his adult daughter in the nude. He wet more cotton balls and arap escort applied it to her neck and collarbone. As he did, he said. “Ah… Amy, I know this is terribly embarrassing for you. I wish your mother was here to help you through this.”

“Yeah,” she said as the color of her face went from pink to red, “but that’s not the case.”

She sighed heavily, closed her eyes, and said, “I’m naked and embarrassed and my body itches like a son a of a bitch and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m progressing through the stages of grief. I’m moving past shock and anger to acceptance.”

She dropped her arms to her sides and Bart was given an excellent view of his twenty-year-old daughter’s boobs. He looked them over. Then, he worried she would catch him ogling her tits and he stopped. He glanced up at her face and saw her eyes were still closed.

Her mouth opened and she said, “Go ahead and look at everything. I will be needing additional treatments. You will be seeing me naked. Probably often. Let’s both get comfortable with it. You’re a great dad, but you’re still a man and men like to look at naked women. Get an eyeful now so the process of treating me will get easier for both of us.”

He took her up on her offer and studied her naked form. She was a fit, beautiful, young woman. Blond hair. Medium height. Her breasts were the right size for her frame. They were a nice shape. They were slightly smaller than his wife’s. He guessed a B cup. They were beautiful and perky and had erect pink nipples. He saw that she didn’t have a distinct tan line on her breasts. He assumed that meant she often suntanned topless.

His eyes scrolled down her body. She had a flat stomach, slim hips, and shapely legs. She waxed or shaved her pubic hair. He wasn’t sure which, but she definitely groomed. Where her mother had a large triangle of curls, Amy had a small, neat one.

She opened her eyes and saw her father studying her body. She was okay with that. She was relieved that he didn’t have an obvious boner in his pants. She said, “My heart was racing so, I thought it might burst. I feel better. I’m calmer. How about you? Over the shock?”

“Errr,” he stuttered nervously. He looked into her eyes and said, “Yes. This is awkward. That was a good idea. Amy, you are very beautiful and remind me so much of your mother when I first met her.”

She smiled and accepted the compliment.

He quickly added, “I didn’t mean to suggest that your mother isn’t beautiful now.”

Her smile broadened and she said, “Relax. I wasn’t planning on telling mom about any of this. About what we say or do. I hope the poison ivy is gone or under control by the time she gets back. Can you finish my front?”

“Oh, sure.”

He stepped up to her with a cotton ball in hand. He skipped over her unaffected boobs and moved on to her stomach. He knelt to do the rest of her body. His eyes were level with her vagina. He tried not to stare at her sex, but he was intrigued. Unlike his wife, she was hairless around her labia and had a small tuft of blond hair above her vulva. Her outer labia were small and flush with her body. A twisted tangle of soft, pink and brown flesh, her inner labia, protruded slightly from her sex.

He was perspiring and red in the face as he swiped the soaked cotton ball across her belly. Nervously, he said, “Ah. Ah. Babe, that completes the job on your front. Can you turn around?”

“Sure.” She spun about and presented a cute, bubble butt to her dad.

From the tan lines visible, he deduced that she often wore a thong bikini. He applied vinegar to a fresh cotton ball and went to work. He discovered her bum was fleshy and very firm. He said, “Amy, there is more rash on your backside and it appears to have gotten into your butt crack.”


“I need you to get on your hands and knees so I can access it.”

“Oh, God! This is embarrassing,” Amy said. She assumed the position and gave her father a view he never imagined getting. Ever.

He stared at her pussy. Her inner labia protruded from her slit. It reminded him of a picture of a rebellious child sticking his or her tongue out. A second feature that he found interesting was that the area around her pussy was hairless.

“Sorry to be a pest, but since your knees are together so are your butt cheeks. Please spread your legs.”

She moved her legs, the area opened up, and he saw her pink asshole.

She said, “My face is blushing a deep red.” She giggled and added, “Don’t you dare tell me I’m beautiful and that I remind you of mom.”

He guffawed. The tension between them was broken. He mused, “What can you say about an asshole? They fall into the category of things about which you can honestly say if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

They laughed. Afterward, she looked over her shoulder at him and said, “I needed that. I’m in laugh or cry territory and I’m tired of crying. So how does it look?” She giggled, dropped her head, and added, “You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry to report that the worst of the poison ivy appears to be on the back of your upper thighs and your butt. I see the rash close to your anus and your labia majoria. It doesn’t appear to be in your sex.”

“So I should count my blessings. I don’t have it on my boobs or my pussy. Yeah!” She said sarcastically.

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