Bound by Blood and Brimstone by D. L. Dunaway Page B

the
    middle of the morning! Behind me, Lorrie Beth gasped.
    "Shh! She'll hear you!" I whispered.
    "Ember Mae, she's taking her clothes off! Momma would skin us alive if she knew we
    saw something like that!"
    "Lorrie Beth, Momma doesn't have to know everything we do," I said, from somewhere a
    million miles away. I had to admit, the sight of Janine standing there on that rock in her birthday
    suit stunned me.
    At our house, modesty had never been a choice, but a way of life. Baths, taken in a
    washtub in the bedroom or kitchen, were private affairs, and dressing was done hurriedly, either
    alone in your bedroom or with your backs turned to each other.
    I’d taken little notice of my own body, aside from the need to keep it clean, and never had
    I beheld an adult body, male or female, completely unadorned. Even as a witness to childbirth,
    I’d seen nothing but snippets of skin, glistening with blood, hardly an image I cared to revisit.
    Now, before my unbelieving eyes, Janine poised herself for a dive, bare and unashamed of the
    handiwork God had wrought in her young flesh.
    From head to toe, her skin was smooth, unblemished, and tanned a deep honey-gold. I
    chose not to contemplate how she’d managed that. She had a long, lean torso and boyish, narrow
    hips, but her arms, legs, and buttocks were shapely and sculpted with defined muscle.
    Just before she sprang, executing a perfect swan dive, she took a deep breath which thrust
    out her small breasts. They were high and plump, peach-sized, and perfectly proportioned to her
    compact body.
    Every stretch, every flex, exuded a supple grace and confidence that said she was at ease
    in her nude state. It also drove home the fact that my own chunky, undeveloped body didn’t give
    me the same self-assurance. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a small jolt of envy at that. Maybe
    by next year , I thought.
    She cut the water’s surface cleanly, with barely a plop, before shooting up and out for
    another dive. Three times she repeated the sinuous maneuver before flipping on her back to float.
    Lorrie Beth and I were fairly good swimmers from a young age, but I’d never seen anything like
    Janine in the water.
    "Where did you learn to dive like that?" I asked while we floated face up, admiring the
    lacy ceiling overhead.
    "Oh, that," she said with a snort. "I'm captain of the swim team at school, but mostly I
    learned from swimming in the Caribbean with Daddy. He took me to this place that had these
    huge cliffs and made me dive off them. He wouldn't let me stop until he thought I was good
    enough.” When I didn't respond, she must’ve thought it had to do with her lack of swimwear.
    "And I hate wearing wet clothes, even for a minute. Chafes me," she offered by way of
    explanation.
    We floated dead man style. We splashed and swallowed gallons of water. Janine taught
    us the Butterfly stroke and something called the Australian crawl. We climbed up on Big Rock
    and practiced swan dives until I lost count. And, of course, we talked.
    At first it was unsettling for Lorrie Beth and me, swimming with Janine in the nude, but
    after a while even Lorrie Beth could look at her without having her mouth flop open. Janine had
    a way of making us feel comfortable with ourselves and our surroundings, even if said
    surroundings included a naked girl. So, in short order, we adjusted.
    Near the shallow end of the cove, out of view of Big Rock, the water was still and warm,
    and we spent a good bit of time there deep in conversation. The main topic of interest, naturally,
    was Caleb Jacob. I told Janine how Caleb had targeted Lorrie Beth from the first moment he’d
    seen her limping down the aisle of the classroom, and how he’d stuck her with the name of
    "Gimpy," until other kids had followed his lead.
    Lorrie Beth and I explained how other hateful taunts had followed, including “Crip
    Hop," "Limper," and finally, most hurtful of all, "She-Freak.”
    "Then, in second grade, whenever I