Skinny Dipping Season

by Cynthia Tennent

  A distant noise on his radio made me pause. I pulled my head away and searched his eyes. He looked as feverish as I felt. “Aren’t you still on duty?” I asked, breathlessly, before I decided it didn’t matter at all, and pulled his head back down.

  “I just signed out,” he growled a moment later when his lips dipped to my breasts. He searched for the clasp of my bikini top and nuzzled my nipple through the fabric, nipping it with his teeth. I cried out and threw my head backward, barely recognizing myself and the reaction I was having.

  Finally, he found the front clasp of my top. He unhooked it and pulled it down. Then he stopped and held my wrists. With my legs still wrapped around him, I felt helpless and incredibly turned on. I practically exploded right there.

  He ground against me in an exaggerated motion. I liked this new out-of-control version of J. D. But I was afraid he would come to his senses before we were finished.

  “Please . . .” I was dying for more, but I didn’t know how to ask for it. His lips were back on mine and he moaned. He finally released my arms and I dropped the bikini top behind me. Then he reached down to unbutton my shorts. I helped him and my spastic hands found his zipper. It only took a moment, but it felt like years by the time we removed the rest of our clothes. When we finished, he pulled my legs back up until they were around his hips again. My body throbbed where he touched me and I was a little shocked to realize I would have done anything he asked at that moment, as long as I could keep on feeling so good.

  He paused. “Do I need a condom?”

  “I’m on the pill,” I managed.

  He started to say something. I was afraid he was going to stop. So I grabbed his muscled back and pulled him into me with all my strength.

  My body arched at the pleasure of having him inside me. Any hesitation on his part evaporated into the night air. He thrust his hips harder. I gasped and stopped breathing altogether as relief mixed with pleasure pulsed in my veins. And then, something wonderful happened. Praise the fairy godmothers of sex. I finally—finally—had an orgasm.

  My mouth opened in a silent scream. My muscles tensed and my world burst open in psychedelic colors.

  But J. D. didn’t stop. My breath returned and it took a moment before I realized that I was still mercilessly aroused. J. D. continued at a greater pace and my pleasure rose to a new level. Hardly able to believe it was possible, my sensitive center was expanding.

  “Oh God . . . J. D.,” I gasped.

  “Come . . .” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “I—can’t. I—” I couldn’t believe I could still feel so good.

  He buried his head in my neck. “Yes you can . . .”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that it must have taken an act of immense restraint for him to hold out for me to come a second time. That little thought released something inside me. And before we knew it, we were both there.

  For several minutes, all we could do was catch our breath and cling to each other. No words. Just exhaustion. I became aware of the warm metal against my back and the soft breeze against my bare skin.

  J. D. released his hold and eased me to the ground. I clutched his shoulders, not sure if I could stand on my shaking legs. Thankfully, he held me under my arms and rested his head on my neck as our lungs found their rhythm again.

  When he was certain I could stand on my own he stepped away, still holding my hand while I bent down to retrieve my clothes. I slipped them on, feeling his wetness between my legs and not caring at all. Once my shorts were buttoned, he straightened himself too.

  I shivered. I didn’t want him to turn back into the sheriff. I wanted the wild J. D. back. He saw me shudder and he slipped out of the uniform shirt I had managed to unbutton, but not remove, and placed my arms through the armholes. Then, with tenderness, he closed the shirt and buttoned it.

  “Do I get to play sheriff now?” I teased.

  He lowered his mouth and nipped me in the neck. “Only if I get to use the handcuffs when we get back to my place.” His voice was like molasses.

  “Does that mean there’s more?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he whispered gruffly into my ear.

  I smiled and then thought of something.

  “Good lord! Anyone could have come down the road and we would have been clueless.”

  “But they didn’t,” he said softly. “Can I trust you to drive to my house?”

  “Only if you don’t put on the cherry-top lights again. . . .”

  “I thought that might get you excited,” he said.

  I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as he escorted me to my car. He kissed me on the tip of my nose before pulling the seat belt across my chest, purposefully caressing my breast as he did so. When he shut the door I released a long, satisfying breath and lowered my forehead to the steering wheel.

  If I had known pole dancing could be that great, I would have done it years ago.

  A distant, haunting call of a loon woke me. For a moment I was afraid to open my eyes in case I had dreamed it all. But the slow breathing and warmth of J. D.’s arm across my waist confirmed that this was no dream. The clock next to J. D.’s bed read 2:00 AM.

  When we had reached his house we had made love again, barely able to make it to the bed before falling on each other like teenagers. J. D. made the miracle happen again for a third amazing time. Afterward we fell asleep, tangled together like one of my bracelets.

  I had been given a new and very special gift: the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, my disastrous sex life with Colin hadn’t been my fault. I held it close and savored the revelation that I was not so inadequate after all.

  Things couldn’t have been any more different with J. D. I didn’t run lists in my head marking off things I needed to do to make sex better. There had been no desperate effort to please. But J. D. had been pleased, all right. No doubt there.

  I traced a line down his shoulder with my fingertips, careful not to wake him. He was smiling in his sleep. For the first time I saw . . . what? Peace, I think. Yes. Definitely peace. Earlier tonight I had seen something else. Desire. I must have had the same desperate, wild-eyed hunger on my face. When I launched myself against him on the road I hadn’t considered my actions at all. And it had been the most natural thing I had done in a long time.

  But what now?

  What was he going to say when he woke up in the morning and remembered what he’d done? Things had a way of taking on a different perspective in the light of day. My mouth went dry at the thought that he might regret our night together.

  I peeled J. D.’s arm away from my waist and shifted my weight off the mattress, trying not to wake him. My feet touched the hardwood floor and I reached for his shirt at the foot of the bed and pulled it on.

  I made my way toward the kitchen, remembering where it was from the last time I had been inside J. D.’s house. Once there, I ran my hands along the wall, looking for a light switch. I finally located one by the sink and squinted at the brightness. I found the cabinet where J. D. kept his glasses and a moment later I let the cool water soothe my throat. I refilled the glass and leaned to the side.

  I wish I hadn’t woken up. Now, everything began to churn in my head. Was I making a mistake? My last and only sexual relationship had turned out to be a sham. Half the people in Toledo thought I was a drug-addicted mess. My family wanted nothing more than for me to disappear.

  But since I arrived in Truhart, a little bit of hope was settling in. The man lying in the next room and the people of Truhart were becoming important to me. Maybe there was a place for me in this small town.

  But what if I let them down too? Maybe that wasn’t possible.

  J. D. thought I was a little crazy already. And the ladies seemed to like me even when I wasn’t trying. So my wild behavior should be like an insurance policy. They knew the consequences of getting involved with me. Then why did I feel so scared?

  I set the glass down and my hand brushed a pile of papers on the counter. I straight
ened them and that was when I saw it. My hand stilled as I blinked at the familiar image.

  The photographer from the Toledo Dispatch had taken the shot of me with my hands in handcuffs, my hair hanging across half my face, and a single, wide eye staring at the camera.

  I rifled through the stack and found the news article underneath.

  Chapter 11

  J. D. knew!

  Grasping the counter to steady myself, I stifled a moan and tried to keep the nausea down. I don’t know how long I stood there. But when I looked up, I saw the light casting a strange shadow over my own grotesque reflection staring back at me from the window over the sink.

  The heavy makeup I had applied earlier in the evening was smeared grossly over my cheeks and my hair stood up in a tangled mess. I was like an image from a horror movie: The alter ego of myself.

  If J. D. had noticed how I looked in the dark, he had said nothing. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Drug addicts were easy lays. We weren’t supposed to be pretty.

  I picked up a bar of soap next to the sink and methodically began to wash. I needed to remove every last trace of makeup. I cupped my hands under the running water and repeatedly brought them up, rinsing, soaping, scrubbing. I checked my reflection in the window. Whether it was mascara or tears that ran down my cheeks, I couldn’t tell. I just knew that I had to get clean. I couldn’t be better until then. I scoured my face again and splashed more water. But it wasn’t working. From deep inside me, the tears that I had suppressed for months were climbing over themselves to get out. My throat grew so thick I felt like I was choking. I clutched the soap and lathered again.

  Out of nowhere, I felt fingers smooth the knotted muscles in my neck. For a moment I was back in Grandma’s kitchen as she held me. The hands ran down my shoulders and turned me around like a fragile piece of crystal until I was enveloped in strong arms, my head resting against a very safe place. I gradually became aware of the bright light above me. And the owner of the chest I was drenching.

  I pushed away. “No!”

  “Shhh.” He pulled me back. I wouldn’t allow it.

  I pointed to the picture on the counter and stomped my bare feet. “You knew!”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “What was I? An easy fu—”

  “Stop it!” He grabbed my fists before they could hit his chest. “That’s not you. I know it, all right? That’s not you.”

  I stopped, not sure what he meant. “Yes, it is, J. D. That was me. They took that picture of me as I was being read my rights. Everyone thinks I’m a spoiled drug addict.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  A sob escaped me.

  J. D. grabbed a towel off the oven handle and put his arms around my shoulders, gently blotting my face. “It’s going to be all right. Shhh.” His crooning voice slowed my tears until the only thing left inside me was an exhausted hiccup.

  “Wait. Is that the only thing you are upset about? Because I knew about your arrest?” he asked.

  I nodded my head.

  “Thank God. For a minute I thought it was the sex.”

  Maybe he was just afraid of having a hysterical woman fall apart in his kitchen.

  I pushed away his hand. “Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”

  He watched me closely. Did he want me to explain myself? He deserved it.

  I drew a breath to speak, but was stopped by the touch of his lips, followed by a finger on my mouth.

  “Let me show you something,” he said.

  He disappeared around the corner. He returned wearing boxers and holding two beach towels. He turned out the kitchen light. It took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Then he took my hand and led me toward the double doors, making sure that I didn’t trip on the furniture. I followed numbly, trusting him. Outside, the crickets and tree frogs pulsed in a sleepy rhythm that lulled my frayed senses. The air was warm and I could smell the organic stew of the marsh that had so thoroughly bathed me not long ago. I gingerly tiptoed along the path of soft pine needles coating the forest floor. He halted in front of a canoe that rested on the grassy shore.

  J. D. pushed the boat partway into the water and helped me climb in, handing me the towels for a cushion. Then he pushed the boat away from shore, nimbly hopping in and making his way to me. Putting one arm around me, he sat down on the middle seat, shifting me between his spread legs on the floor of the canoe. Once again, I was teased by the blended musky scent of his nearness and the night air. For all I knew, he was taking me out to throw me to the sharks of Loon Lake. But I was too worn-out to ask questions.

  The moon cast a fractured light on the surface of the lake, making it look like stars in the sky. J. D. paddled toward the middle of the lake, using deep and silent strokes that barely broke the surface as he cut into the water. I sat lulled by the motion, absorbing the repetition of the sound and comforted like a baby in a rocker. After a few minutes, we approached a swim dock that was anchored. The boat hit with a soft thud and J. D. leaned past me and tied off the canoe. He helped me climb up onto the dock and followed, letting the canoe drift by the line that was attached to the dock.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, mesmerized by the way the moon bounced off his shoulders as he spread the towels onto the planks. He guided me to sit down. I drew my knees up in front of me and rested my chin on top. He sat down next to me, barely touching me.

  We watched the moonlight play on the water. The lapping of the waves against the dock and the gentle flutter of the wind were the only things interrupting the calm rhythm of the night. It felt like we were the only two people in an endless wilderness. The moon slipped behind the veil of a thin cloud, making the night glow in dim shades of blue and gray. The call of the loon trilled across the lake. It was one of the loneliest sounds I knew. A moment later, a loon from the other lake echoed back.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Hmm.”

  “Whenever it’s all too much for me, I come here. I don’t feel so . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Defeated?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I raised the hair on the back of my neck and fanned my face.

  “Hot?” J. D. asked.

  I nodded. It was one of the warmest nights of the summer, even here on the dock.

  “Maybe you should take this off,” he said, reaching for his shirt that I wore.

  “J. D. Stop. People might see.”

  He ignored me and dragged the shirt down my arms. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?” He said it as if he were issuing a dare.

  “What? Of course not.” I tugged halfheartedly on the shirt, but in the end. I let him remove it all the way.

  In one swift move, he stood up on the dock and removed his boxers. I enjoyed the view. “Last one in has to tell a secret!” he said. Before I could do anything, he turned and dived off the dock.

  “J. D.!” I combed the ripples he left in his wake. It was dark and kind of scary being alone. What if he had a stitch in his side and couldn’t make it up for air. How would I find him?

  But then, before I could worry any longer, his head broke the surface and he laughed. “Come on in.”

  “I don’t think so.” Aside from my accidental dip the other day, I didn’t want to tell him it had been many years since I swam in the lake. Since before my OCD developed.

  “Are you scared?” He sent a playful splash my way.

  “There could be snakes and things in there . . .”

  “Nah.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my breasts and watched J. D. swim to the side of the dock. He held out his hand. “Come on in, Elizabeth. I’ve got you.”

  Something about the way he said it shook something loose inside me. I crawled closer to the edge and felt the dock tilt.

  “You can do it,” he said again. The tone of his voice wasn’t joking this time. It sounded like a promise.

  Suddenly, I felt brave. I stood up and let the warm wind caress my skin. I stopped overth
inking.

  I jumped.

  Before my head reached the surface, I was sputtering. “Oh m-mm-my God . . . This lake is freezing! I don’t remember it being this cold when I was younger—and it certainly wasn’t this cold when I fell in the last time.”

  J. D. swam around me in long strokes. “Sweetheart, you were in the shallow end when you met Mr. Frog. That heats up in the middle of the day and feels like bathwater. This here is a spring-fed lake. It goes down over a hundred feet. Springwater is cold. Didn’t they teach you that in college?”

  I paddled in a circle, shocked that cold was the only thing I felt. While J. D. hovered nearby, I made several victory laps around the dock. Celebrating. The fear of swimming in Loon Lake was gone.

  Finally, I made my way to the aluminum swim ladder. J. D. took pity on my trembling body and reached up to remove a towel from the canoe that floated nearby. “Here, take this. Even in the dark I can see your lips turning blue.”

  I climbed the ladder, acutely aware of the way his eyes gleamed at my behind and felt my nipples pucker in the night air. He followed and wrapped me up in the towel.

  “I guess it’ll be all over town that I’ve returned to my old ways and corrupted some poor young thing. . . .”

  I turned to him. He’d said it half-jokingly. But I had to ask. “You? You’re as straitlaced as a Boy Scout. Why would they say that?”

  He ignored me and we sat down.

  “Although, now that I think about it, J. D., you have a bit of a wicked streak hidden under that milk-and-cookies exterior.”

  “What makes you say that?”