CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I got up slowly, keeping my eyes on him, but he was stretched out like a long strand of cold spaghetti. Naomi was gone. For help, I hoped. I staggered over to one of the big oak trees and proceeded to lose my lunch. I was shaking all over, my face felt battered and swollen, my mouth was full of blood. But far worse than any of the bruises or cuts was the psychological effect. I had never been a very good soldier, and in the years since my discharge I had grown rather civilized. To be thrown back fifty thousand years in a twinkling is an upsetting experience. I had fought with a man—a drunken beast of a man—and I had knocked him out, perhaps had fractured his skull, maybe had come within one bang of killing him altogether. And we had been naked while we fought. It was something straight out of Neanderthal days, and now that it was over I was shocked and revolted by the ugliness of the fight, by the mere fact that such a conflict was still possible in our allegedly civilized era.

I clung to that big oak until the wave of nausea passed. After a minute or two it was gone, and I felt mostly just the aches and pains Riccio had inflicted on me.

I began to walk uncertainly down the road toward the cabins.

Riccio stayed where he was. Every five paces I looked back, half expecting to find him charging toward me with a boulder held high, but he was really out.

It was perhaps a hundred or a hundred fifty yards from the place where we had fought to the bottom of the sloping hill on which the cabins were. I moved slowly, each step sending a shaft of pain through my body. I could still feel Riccio's fists landing under my heart, landing in my mouth, in the pit of my stomach. And I could still hear the dull thunking sound of his head hitting the rock.

I had gone about half the distance when people appeared in front of me. At first it seemed like an entire army, but I realized dimly that there were really only five—Joanie, Dr. Richards, Meehan, Naomi, and Ernie Bryan. I stood still, swaying like a tree in the breeze and feeling ready to topple.

"Riccio," I muttered thickly.

"Where is he?" Dr. Richards asked.

"Back there. On the ground. I hit his head against a rock and knocked him out."

My legs felt weak. My knees were turning to water. The world was spinning around me. I looked at them—at Naomi, pale and frightened, at Joanie, eager and anxious, at the men, grim and determined. Don Riemann and Ted Nichols came running up. Riemann said, "Where's Riccio? Where'd he go?"

I pointed back behind myself. Then my legs gave way altogether, and I started to fall forward as my feet slid backward.

Riemann caught me and eased me to the ground. I sat there muttering something and feeling very stupid for the flop. I tried to get to my feet, but it was no go. Strong hands hoisted me up. Riemann and Joanie, they were. They started to carry me, half-dragged between them, up the hill to my cabin, while the rest of the posse took off in the direction of the prostrate Riccio.

I'm a little fuzzy on what happened next. I know they got me to the cabin somehow and stowed me in bed. Then I have confused recollections of people coming and going, and very little idea of how much time had passed before I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Kristin looking down at me.

"Drink this," he said, and gave me a spoonful of something sweet. I got it down—though I had to struggle to keep it down—and lay back. He went to work with some cotton, squeegeeing the blood away from my face and examining my cuts and tidying them up. He gave me a quick once-over to check for broken bones. Evidently he decided there weren't any, because after ten minutes of poking he gave up and left.

I was alone.

Or so I thought. I closed my eyes in the dark cabin, and waited for the various places that hurt to stop throbbing. After a while most of the pain subsided, and I opened my eyes again and was most agreeably surprised to see Joanie sitting in my chair, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.

"Feel better now?" she asked.

"A little." My lips felt like platters. "What time is it?"

"Half past four."

"Morning or night?" I asked.

"Afternoon," she said. "You've been asleep around twenty minutes."

"It seems like hours." I was silent, digesting that fact. It was just a couple of hours since my fight with Riccio. And it was only six hours since my goof in the boat with Joanie. It seemed like all that had happened days and days ago.

But she was smiling tenderly. I wondered vaguely if the incident in the boat had ever really happened.

I said, "What's with Riccio?"

"We called the town police, and they took him away. It was the only thing they could do."

"He didn't make any trouble?"

Joanie laughed. "He didn't wake up until half an hour ago. He's got a concussion."

I winced. Then I told myself not to be sorry for anything. Riccio had been vermin, and if he had been in my place and I in his I would have been lucky to get quit of him with nothing worse than a concussion.

"How's Naomi?" I asked.

"Doc gave her a sedative. She'll come out of it, probably. Right now she's in bad shape—shock, all that sort of stuff."

"Riccio didn't have time to rape her," I said.

"He came close enough to give her a good case of the heebie-jeebies," Joanie said.

"And what about Lorraine?"

"Elinor's with her now. She's been hysterical all afternoon." Joanie scowled. "Oh, damn Riccio!"

"He won't cause any more trouble now. They'll give him twenty years."

"That doesn't undo the damage to Lorraine and Naomi!" Joanie said passionately. Then she shook her head. "But I'm getting you all upset, and you're supposed to be resting. Maybe I ought to leave and let you get some sleep."

"No. Stay here."

I closed my eyes again. I didn't hurt so badly any more, but the aftermath of the fight had left me sort of weak and wobbly, and I didn't want to be alone. I wondered why Joanie had elected to become my bedside guardian. Surely she didn't have any lingering feeling of fondness for me after the crude stunt I had pulled in the sailboat that morning. Maybe it was just her maternal instinct coming to the fore now, I thought bitterly. Maybe she figured that I was too woozy to make any passes now, and so it was safe to come tend me.

Be that all as it may. I lay there quietly in the dark, happy just to know that she was in the room and watching me. Five silent minutes went by. Then I became aware that she had crossed over from the chair and was sitting on the edge of my bed, her lovely naked body only a few inches from my own.

She put her hand gently over mine. I smiled at her, though it hurt my lips.

She said quietly, "Al?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you let me say I'm sorry?"

I frowned. "Sorry about what?"

"This morning."

"I'm the one who ought to apologize for this morning," I said, my heart beginning to race again.

"No," she said. "I ruined everything. It could have been so perfect. Only I saw you coming toward me and I went cold all over. I just couldn't help myself. I had to get nasty."

"Joanie, look, don't blame yourself for—"

"But I am to blame. Al, why am I like this? Why am I so cold? Why do I turn on the freeze any time anyone gets interested in me?"

I didn't answer her—how could I?—and I turned my head away from her so I wouldn't have to stare at the breathtaking profile of those two jutting breasts. Right now I just wanted to rest—or so I thought.

But Joanie went on, "I was cruel this morning, Al."

"Please. Let's not talk about it now."

"I'm sorry. You're not in any shape for this kind of discussion," she said gently. "But it was just that we're alone now—the way we were alone this morning—and I thought perhaps I could make some sort of amends."

I didn't know what she was talking about. I was in a sort of mental fog, I guess.

But the fog lifted abruptly when she put her hand on my thigh. Involuntarily I caught my breath. This was a Joanie I had never known before.

The hand moved—slowly, tremblingly—across my thigh. The moment she touched me, I stiffened with desire, and I felt confused and bewildered, embarrassed before her, not understanding what she was doing. But then she was lying full length next to me on the bed, and I was on my side facing her, and suddenly I had forgotten all about the fight with Riccio, and I was one hundred percent alive again.

My breath came in short gusts. Joanie was smiling strangely. She took my hand and lifted it until it was on her breast. She clasped it against her left breast, and for the first time in reality I felt that marvelous mound of flesh in my hand, and it was warm and firm, the nipple jutting up steeply, and there was the pounding of her heart behind her deep bosom, and she let out a little sigh and wriggled her body in pleasure as my fingers grazed the terribly soft flesh just about the nipple, and tightened once again on the entire wonderful globe of the breast.

She said softly, "I've wanted so much to tell you, Al. But the words would never come. I kept running away instead of telling you. I liked to see you involved with Bonnie and Sandra and Harriet, because that gave me an excuse not to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That I love you, Al."

My other hand moved up her body, up that smooth sweet flank, over the taut muscular sleekness of her satiny buttocks.

"I love you too, Joanie. Right from the start, I loved you. From the very beginning. And all those other girls kept getting between us."

"They won't any more."

"No one will get between us."

"Al—do you still hurt?"

"Not very much."

"I've been thinking about this ever since the boat this morning. I was going to come to your cabin tonight, to give myself to you. But then you had that awful fight—I volunteered to stay here—and suddenly I couldn't bear to watch you any more, I had to get into the bed and have you touch me, and touch you, and oh! oh, darling!" she breathed as my hand swept past her knee, over the satiny flesh of her thighs. Her breath began to come faster and faster, and I had to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from rushing things. I wanted to burst out crying for sheer joy at having this splendid female at last in bed with me. Even if I were too battered to take full advantage of her magnificent body, it was still something I had dreamed about like a small boy dreams of a vanilla ice-cream mountain.

"Be gentle," she whispered. "Be gentle, my darling, be gentle."

Her strong arms cradled me gently, and suddenly I was with her, feeling that powerful yet womanly body throbbing beneath me. Her eyes were open, and there were tears in them, but she was smiling, and my mind went back over all the hundreds of times I had wished for this moment to be taking place. It was taking place now, she beneath me, her firm breasts flattening against my chest, her body against mine, her breath coming in irregular little bursts.

I felt her trembling with fear and love, and I vowed to myself that this would be an experience for her that would wipe out whatever nightmares lurked in her mind. I remained still a long while, holding her tight and loving her motionlessly, waiting, letting her body accept what her mind was doing.

And then I felt her quiver and her muscles contract, and I knew she was ready and I began to move, and she moved too, frightened and nervous at first, then joyous as the warm flood of sensation stirred her. I could tell that this wasn't her first time, but that she was inexperienced, perhaps had made love to the long-gone deceitful one no more than two or three times, but now her body radiated love the way it had once seemed to radiate light.

I felt none of the pain of my fight. Everything was warmth and love and the merging of two human beings. I arched slowly back and forth while Joanie gasped and whimpered.

Then she came to life.

All the superb power of her body was unleashed in a frenzy of excitement that probably astonished her. She tightened constrictingly around my body and she arched her back so high I was lifted high in the air, and she began to move, wildly and inexpertly and with complete natural grace, her body gripping me and every muscle of hers rippling and flowing, and I felt the thunder, the booming explosions, and felt the shudder ripple through her body too, and then the arched back subsided and I slumped down limp above her. I felt drained and completely exhausted. I opened my eyes and saw Joanie smiling at me.

We lay that way for a long while, her body strong and firm beneath me.

"Am I too heavy?" I whispered after a while.

"Don't be silly."

But I felt that I was crushing her, and so I rolled over to one side, and there were her splendid breasts with the nipples still stiff. I touched her breasts as though I were handling the jewels of the madonna. It was with complete reverence, and nothing of lust, that I tenderly kissed her body. What we had just completed might have looked to an outsider like an animal-like act of savage lust, but to us it had been different.

It had been something like a sacrament.

We lay side by side for a long while. I began to ache again from my bruises, but in the afterglow of loving Joanie I hardly cared.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Very."

"Me too," I smiled.

"It's too bad, though—"

"What is?"

"That we wasted so much time," she said. "All these days we could have been together."

"There'll be plenty of time ahead of us."

"I know, darling." After a moment's silence she said, "I was such a sick girl until this afternoon. And now—now you've liberated me, Al. I was afraid. Afraid of people, afraid of sex, afraid of being in love. So I hid behind masks. I played volleyball and went water-skiing and tried to pretend I wasn't a woman."

"Don't talk about yesterday, Joanie. Let's think about tomorrow."

"All right," she said. She nestled up against me again, and I put my head on her breasts, and closed my eyes.

I dozed off for a little while. I woke when I heard the outside door of the cabin slam. I looked around, half surprised to find myself in bed with Joanie, and she smiled at me.

"It's Jack," she said. "He's been with Naomi."

"I better go talk to him," I said.

Joanie looked around alarmed, as though she didn't want Jack to know she had been to bed with me, and then she smiled, thrusting down this outcropping of her old frightened self. I swung my feet off the bed and stood up. I was weak, but generally okay. I walked slowly toward my bedroom door. Interestingly enough, Joanie had taken the precaution of locking it—to prevent any interruptions of what she had made up her mind to do.

I walked into Meehan's room. He seemed very serious, much more so than I had ever seen him before.

"You all right?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm okay. How's Naomi?"

Meehan shrugged. "The kid had a rough experience. Doc Kristin gave her some sedatives. I talked to her a while before she went under. I think she'll be able to forget what happened."

"I hope so."

Meehan's lips trembled. That wasn't in character with Jack at all. He saw Joanie standing behind me, and he frowned a little, and then he said, in a quavery sort of voice, "Al, I want to thank you. If you hadn't fought off Riccio, he might have—he might have—" Meehan paused. "I mean, Naomi means a lot to me. More than I really suspected, until this afternoon. And—and I'm grateful for what you did."

"Skip it," I told him. "It could have been anybody."

I'd never seen Jack Meehan looking maudlin before. I realized what had happened: the flip, cynical gay blade had actually gone and fallen in love!

Well, he wasn't the only good bachelor to bite the dust that day.

I said, "Just to change the subject, Jack, there's something I think you ought to know. Joanie and I—well, we're—well, we're keeping company."

"He means we're engaged," Joanie said. She laughed good-naturedly and added, "And really we're as good as married already."

Meehan looked dumbstruck. But he managed a smile and a shaky laugh. "Gosh," he said. "Gosh, that's—that's wonderful, Al. That's really tremendous."

I slipped my arm around Joanie's shoulder. She stood there, my big glowing golden girl, more radiant than ever now that she had at last become a woman. I told myself that there might be a couple of weeks' delay before I had a free moment to get back to work on that novel.

I said, "You see, all I was doing was evening the score, Jack. I owed you a favor, because if you'd never brought me here I would never have met Joanie, and—and—well, it works out nicely, doesn't it?"

"Very nicely," Jack said. He was smiling broadly. "Christ everlasting, but I just got a swell idea."

"What?" Joanie and I said at once.

"The perfect scene for kicking off my article," he said. "A description of a wedding. No, a double wedding. A double wedding with brides and bride-grooms and guests and everybody in the nude."

I began to laugh. It was a swell idea, I thought. A perfectly swell idea. We could be Best Man for each other, and we could import a nudist minister to read the ceremony, and—we all laughed roaringly and threw our arms around each other, and Jack gave Joanie a big kiss, and even though both of them were stark mother-naked I didn't mind at all.

THE END

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THE ADULTERERS

ORDER FROM YOUR NEWSDEALER

THESE WERE THE NUDISTS!

BONNIE—whose sickness was sex. She didn't care who she slept with, as long as she owned him afterwards. Her fever for lust Al could never quite quench.

HARRIET—who could never be aroused unless her love-partner beat her. So Al used the weapon she gave him, and struck her unmercifully. It was the most terrifying union he'd ever known.

SANDRA—sixteen-year-old daughter of the nudist camp's director. Hot, lusting Sandra, jailbait Sandra who crept into Al's arms and demanded his body, using her own like most women use a knife!

... AND THERE WERE OTHERS!