The Watering Hole

“So you just close your eyes, like this.” John Paul Stiers reached out and tapped Praline Markham on the nose. Her crooked smile told him what she thought of his surprises, but she did as she was bid.

“Just get on with it, already,” she said, laughing. “And don’t let me trip on nothin’, all right?”

John Paul assured her she could trust him. With her big hazel eyes closed and not staring straight into his soul, he found he could think better. Plus, he could look at her chest as much as he wanted and she would never know it. Grinning, he grabbed her hand. “All right, let’s do this.”

He led her to the edge of the forest, alive and buzzing with millions of insects, the air so heavy and humid beneath the trees a constant drip, drip, drip accompanied their steps. Praline’s were steady and sure, her hand warm and soft in his. John Paul could hardly keep his own eyes on the trail, too absorbed in the smooth expanse of tan skin peeking out below the ridiculously long shorts her mother made her wear, and the tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip. Her sleeveless shirt clung to her torso, though the neckline was too high to showcase any sort of cleavage. All the other girls went around half-naked in the summer heat, and dear God did he wish Praline could do the same.

“Are you that out of shape?” she asked, laughing. “You’re breathin’ so hard I’m afraid you’re gonna pass out.”

John Paul blushed and stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s a new breathin’ technique Coach taught us. It’s supposed to maximize oxygen efficiency in the blood.”

“No kiddin’?” She smiled. “Well, I’ve never heard of that, but I suppose he’s the expert.”

“Yep.” John Paul nearly stumbled on a root, once again thankful she couldn’t see him. “I might not do it all the time.”

“I would hope not.” She giggled and squeezed his hand. “So you’re not even gonna give me a hint? Can I at least open my eyes on the way there?”

“No way!” he said. “You promised me you wouldn’t. Damned if you’re not the stubbornest girl I ever knew.”

She leaned against him, laughing, and he inhaled the strawberry scent of her shampoo and lip gloss. “I can’t help it,” she said. “Daddy taught me to look after myself.”

John Paul’s smile withered. For all he fantasized about Praline–and God knew it took up a hell of a lot of his time–the last place he wanted to be was on Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Markham’s shit list. If even half of the stories they told about her father were true, the first man to touch Praline had better enjoy it, because he wouldn’t live to see the next day.

Then again… He glanced over at her–at the bright golden hair tumbling to her shoulders, at the hint of moist pink tongue peeking out between the lush, slightly parted lips, at her breasts so clearly delineated beneath her clinging shirt–and thought there might be worse ways to go. He wanted to fling her over his shoulder and carry her home to his room, and then he wanted her to tie him down and have her way with them. He wanted everything she would give him.

“Fine,” she said archly, and he came back to himself with a start. He’d been so wrapped up in fantasies he’d almost forgotten where they were and why. “I suppose I’ll just have to be good then.”

He swallowed audibly, covering it up with a slight cough. “Almost there,” he said, guiding her onto an adjoining path, one that led deeper into Groveton National Forest, where he’d spent countless hours of his childhood roaming with his brothers like a pack of young wolves. Entire summers had passed here beneath the trees, where they often stayed from dawn to dusk, coming home covered in mosquito bites, with dirt- and mud-smeared bodies and clothes still damp from some leech infested watering hole.

His mother had despaired of them, calling them heathens or worse, and in most cases she was right. But John Paul had his own secrets, ones he’d kept even from his brothers. Of all the jewels they’d uncovered in these woods, the biggest and brightest was his alone. And soon, Praline’s.

“Not much further,” he said, some of the nervousness fading in his excitement to show her what he’d found. She had said she wanted something magical for her birthday–not from him, exactly, but she had said it–and this was the closest thing he knew. “Just a few more steps–watch it, the ground slopes down here. OK, a few more…a few more…no, don’t open your eyes yet! Just a few more steps. There, that’s it! Now wait until I tell you.”

He looked around, making sure everything was in its place. Miraculously, it all sat exactly where he’d left it. He’d been afraid some animal would find the basket and ruin everything, but his fears had been unfounded. Some of them, at least…

Pull yourself together, he thought harshly. He would only get one chance to do this right, and this was it. This was the moment. Heart pounding like a drum, he took a deep breath and said, “All right, Praline, get ready to open your eyes in three. You ready? One…two…three.”

John Paul took a step back, desperate to touch her and yet deathly afraid of ruining the moment. Instead he watched her face; the transformation from curiosity to surprise, then to utter shock, and finally to a wild joy that transfixed him. It was the same reaction he’d had when he’d found the cool, crystal-clear pool nestled in a clearing in the midst of all this swamp land. On one side, a steep rocky wall fed the spring with an ever-trickling waterfall from a nearby cave, while above it stretched a massive oak tree, its branches heavily laden with glossy brown acorns. From one of these branches hung a rope, which he’d tied up there at the age of thirteen. And on the bank just opposite them sat a blanket spread out on the grass, with a woven picnic basket sitting smack in the middle.

“What is this place?” Praline breathed. Her face was flushed, but he couldn’t read her expression. Suddenly embarrassed, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Just a place I found,” he said with a shrug. “I used to come here to be alone when I was a kid.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Did you make us a picnic?”

“Yeah.” He kicked at a nonexistent rock on the ground. “Happy birthday.”

She was silent so long he finally had to look up. When he did, her hands were busy working on the buttons of her shirt. Holy shit, he thought, freezing in place. Was this really happening?

“Is it safe to swim?” she said, and that was when he saw the bikini top peeking out from underneath the decidedly unsexy plaid material. The blood returned to his face.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it is. I swim here all the time. There’s no leeches in this pond.”

Her smile lit up her face like the Fourth of July. The shirt fluttered to the ground. Long, tan fingers unfastened her shorts and pushed them over her hips, where they soon joined the shirt. She stepped out of her shorts and sandals and stood before him, half-naked, just as he’d imagined it. What a fine sight she made, too, those long, slender limbs with curves in all the right places. John Paul had no idea what to say.

“What?” Praline looked down at herself, and then up at him, her cheeks reddening. “Is this not–do I look bad or something? Mama doesn’t like people to see me, but I thought–I mean, you wanted to swim, right?”

“Yeah! God, yeah.” He shook the cobwebs from his brain and reached for the hem of his own shirt. Grinning reassuringly, he raised it over his head. He’d been lifting all winter at the direction of his baseball coach, and it showed in the lean lines of his torso, the new bulk in his arms, the V just visible above his shorts. Wordlessly, he threw the shirt on her pile of clothes and held out his hand. Her face redder than he’d ever seen it, Praline reached out and took it.

It wasn’t like before, when he’d been guiding her. This time she held his hand because she wanted to. He saw it in her eyes, eyes that kept sneaking glimpses of him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Triumph roared in his chest as he led her to the water, watching her dip a toe into the water, laughing along with her as she discovered its sparkling coolness.

“This is amazing!” she said, wading in up to her hips. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Of course he was. The water was great to hide–certain things he’d rather her not see. He let go of her hand and dove in, opening his eyes to see little schools of silvery fish darting about the kelp-like plants growing all along the bottom of the pool. They tickled his legs as he treaded water. “So what do you think?” he asked. “Is this a good birthday present?”

“It’s amazing.” She glanced at the basket. “Did you cook for me, too?”

He shrugged. “Just some sandwiches and things. It was no trouble. You said you wanted something magical.”

“That I did.” Praline’s smile faded. She waded in deeper, until the water just about covered her breasts. Dragging his eyes away from them was torture, but the look in her eyes was one John Paul had never seen. It told him they’d reached a critical juncture in their relationship, and if he played his cards right, it just might go the way he wanted. All he had to do was figure out how.

“You hungry?” he asked. “We can eat if you want, and swim more later.” It was just after noon; he’d made sure they had plenty of time. But she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna eat.” She took a step closer to him. And another. “What you did–you’re the sweetest boy I know, John Paul. No one else would have done this for me.”

A million guys would have done it, he thought, but he wasn’t about to correct her. His heart raced as she took another step, sensing how close they were to the edge. He tried not to look at her nipples, standing up stiffly beneath the bikini top, or the smooth expanse of her belly just below, and failed miserably. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was just so damn beautiful…

A hand appeared in his vision, reaching for him. He froze, hardly daring to breathe as her fingers splayed across his own stomach, gliding up over his chest, and around his neck. When he looked up, her face was inches from his, her lush lips parted, her eyes already closed. The invitation was clear, and it was all he needed. He reached out and slid his own hand along her waist, winding the other through her warm golden hair. His mouth found hers, and oh God it was the sweetest thing he’d ever known. It was strawberries and sunlight and crystal-clear water. It was a prayer he’d forgotten, finally answered. It was a treasure he hadn’t known existed.

Much, much later, they left the water and stretched out on the blanket. The cooler had kept their food fresh, and they fell on it like the wolves he and his brothers had often pretended to be. Every few minutes, they would look at one another, or their hands would accidentally brush together, and it was like being in the pool all over again. Darkness had descended by the time they finally emerged from the forest.

“This was the best birthday I ever had,” Praline told him when he dropped her off. She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a hint of gloss on his face with her red, swollen lips. He touched it reverently, thinking he might never wash it off. A tall shadow waited behind the front window, and he feared he’d gotten her in trouble with her strict parents, but God damn, had it been worth it.

If I die tomorrow, he thought as he drove away, I will have died a happy man.

And if not, well…his own birthday was coming up here soon. Maybe it was time to start planning another picnic at their own special watering hole.