The Lake Read online

  Charlie loomed over her, kneeling between her bent legs, holding himself up with stiff arms. Leigh stroked his sides. “In me,” she whispered. “I want you in me.”

  “You sure?”

  “My God.”

  “I mean…you won’t get a baby?”

  “It’s okay.” Probably, she thought. She had already counted. Her period was due in four days.

  Charlie pressed down, his hips forcing her thighs even farther apart. She dug her heels into the sand, lifting herself to meet him.

  His penis rubbed her. It moved slowly, spreading her, barely inside, sliding along her slit. Then it began to ease in. Leigh thrust up. The penis filled her.

  Charlie’s tongue pushed into her mouth. She sucked it. His tongue was in her, his penis was in her. She possessed both, and they possessed her. She writhed. His tongue thrust and retreated, matching the strokes of his penis. She gasped through her nose. She heard wet sounds and Charlie moaning. She dug her heels into his buttocks. He rammed deeper, and suddenly went rigid. Leigh sucked his tongue hard. Her insides quaked with the feel of him all the way in, jerking and throbbing and pumping a flood.

  She cried out into his mouth.

  SIXTEEN

  A gentle rapping woke Leigh up. She raised her head off the pillow and groaned.

  “We’re going out for the big ones,” Jenny called through the door. “Want to come along?”

  “Okay,” Leigh said. “Time for me to shower first?”

  “No problem.”

  Fishing was about the last thing she wanted to do, but she had made up her mind, in the early-morning hours, to go with them today. If she missed two days in a row, they might suspect something was amiss.

  Something was amiss, all right. Every muscle in her body ached when she pushed herself up. Her insides felt battered.

  Moaning, Leigh limped to the chair by the window. Her nightgown was draped over it. She lifted the gown and inspected it. It was dry, but dirty. She wadded it up and made her way to the dresser. She hid it at the bottom of a drawer. She could do her own laundry, later, and take care of it. Nobody would be the wiser.

  In the mirror, her hair was a straggly mess. She combed out the worst of the snags and brushed it. Sand sprinkled her shoulders.

  Back at the bed, she brushed sand and bits of leaves and other debris off the pillow and bottom sheet. She found a small, stiff place on the sheet. She guessed it was dried semen. Checking herself, she found some flaked in her pubic hair, and a patch of it on her inner thigh that felt tight and looked like skin peeling from a sunburn. She left it there and made the bed.

  She took her robe from the closet, put it on, and went to the door.

  Mike, in the kitchen, was pouring coffee into a thermos. “And how are you this fine morning?” he asked.

  “Great,” Leigh said. “A little stiff from canoeing yesterday.” She tried her best not to limp on her way to the bathroom.

  Inside, she hung her robe on the doorknob. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Her breasts were a little red. Otherwise, none of the damage showed. Turning around, she looked over her shoulders. Her back was all right except for a few faint red marks on her buttocks where she had lost the scabs from her scrapes at the demonstration.

  The cop dragging her.

  That seemed like years ago.

  It seemed like it had happened to someone else.

  She made the water as hot as she could stand and stepped under the shower. The spray beat down on her. It felt wonderful. Sighing, she stretched her sore muscles. Then she slicked herself with soap. She scrubbed between her legs to make sure she got all the semen off.

  Probably more inside, she thought.

  There must’ve been a gallon last night.

  Four times.

  Three, not counting the mouth.

  No wonder I ache.

  Even her cheeks felt sore.

  What a night.

  The memories of it rushed through her mind, triggering fresh desire.

  She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  She began to shampoo her hair.

  Before parting, they had agreed to meet at three o’clock where the channel from Wahconda entered Goon Lake. He said he knew of a secret place to take her, a place where no one could see them even in daylight. It sounded terrific. She hoped she wasn’t too sore to enjoy it.

  Her mind was full of Charlie as she finished her shower, dried, and returned to her room. She wondered what time he would be leaving in his boat to take the baskets over to Goon and Willow. Maybe she would see him. The possibility made her heart race. She parted her hair in the middle, brushed bangs down over her forehead, and gave herself a ponytail. She wanted to wear her good white shorts, but decided to save them for the rendezvous. She put on her cutoffs instead, and a faded blue T-shirt.

  Heading down to the pier with Mike and Jenny, she thought she had never felt quite so fine. In spite of her aches. The morning air was sweet with pine. The breeze caressed her. The calm blue lake shimmered with sunlight.

  “You’re looking pretty chipper this morning,” Jenny said.

  It showed? “Guess it’s the fresh air,” she said, and stepped down into the boat.

  When the gear was aboard, Mike steered the boat out around the pier. Then he asked if Leigh would like to take the controls. “Sure,” she told him, and stepped to the helm. “Where to?”

  “Anywhere you want.”

  Opening the throttle, she swung the boat northward. She watched the shore. Soon, she saw the opening of the inlet where Charlie had taken her. When the boat was directly across from it, she glimpsed the beach.

  She felt the sand against her back, Charlie pounding into her.

  A few more hours…

  In the sunlight, they would be able to see each other.

  Near the north shore, she turned the boat to the east. The foreboding she used to feel along this side of the lake was gone. Approaching an old dock with broken planks dangling toward the water, she searched the woods until she spotted a shack hidden among the trees. Was this Charlie’s place? Probably not. She suspected that he lived farther down, maybe even along the eastern shore.

  “Where we going?” Mike asked, appearing at her side.

  “How about between those two islands?” she suggested, pointing at the patches of woods far ahead.

  “Looks good to me,” Mike told her.

  Yesterday morning, Charlie had said that he’d seen her water-skiing. Well, she’d been skiing over much of the lake, but the nearest she got to the eastern shore was when she circled those two islands. Maybe that’s when Charlie spotted her.

  Let’s not be too obvious about this, she thought as she neared the islands. You don’t want to wind up on his doorstep.

  The islands were about a hundred yards apart. As the boat entered the area between them, Leigh cut the engines. “If I were a fish,” she told Mike and Jenny, “this is just the place I’d hang out.”

  Mike dropped anchor.

  Jenny opened the picnic basket—one of Charlie’s baskets. She poured coffee into mugs, then handed out egg salad sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. It was their custom to eat before baiting the hooks.

  Leigh’s cheek muscles ached as she chewed, reminding her again of last night—her lips tight around Charlie, her mouth full, the slick smooth hardness of him, her sucking. She’d been on top, Charlie’s head between her legs, his tongue…Her mouth was too dry for the sandwich. She struggled to swallow, and washed the food down with coffee.

  Stop the daydreaming, she warned herself. Save it for later when you’re not with Mike and Jenny.

  She joined in the conversation. Soon, she was calm enough to finish her sandwich.

  They baited their hooks.

  The current had swept the boat sideways. Leigh dropped her line over the port side so she could face east while she fished. The wooded islands acted as blinders, blocking much of the lake’s shoreline. She could see no pier or dwelling along the visible str
etch of shore. Just thick forest, curtains of green drooping toward the water, roots here and there reaching down from the banks. She wondered if Charlie’s place was nearby, maybe on the other side of one of the islands.

  If so, there was a chance she might see him when he rowed out with his baskets.

  The white top of her bobber rode the small waves, rising and falling. She watched it. She watched the lake.

  Her thoughts returned to last night. She let the images play through her mind, the feelings come back. It was almost like being with him again.

  She would be with him again, this afternoon. They would go to his secret place.

  I’ll take along the suntan oil, she thought.

  Charlie would spread it over her naked body, then she would rub it on him. She pictured their skin gleaming with oil. She felt them squirming together, all slippery.

  In just a few more hours.

  She watched her bobber. She watched the lake.

  There was no sign of Charlie.

  Maybe he’d started early and was already on one of the other lakes. Of course. He would have wanted to finish his selling rounds as fast as possible so he could be ready to meet her.

  At three o’clock.

  She wondered if she could stand to wait that long.

  At two-thirty, Leigh left the cabin after telling Mike and Jenny she planned to “go exploring” in the canoe.

  They said to have fun.

  Her heart thudded hard as she made her way down to the shore. She felt tight and trembly inside. She wore her fresh shorts, just as she had planned, and a red sleeveless blouse. She carried a towel. Rolled inside the towel was the plastic bottle of suntan oil.

  She pushed the canoe into the water, wading out for a few steps before climbing aboard. She took out the suntan oil, then knelt on the towel and paddled away.

  Though Leigh wanted bright sunlight for the rendezvous, there were high clouds shadowing the lake.

  If the sun’s not out, she thought, we won’t glisten.

  There wasn’t even a cool breeze to compensate for the sun’s loss. The air was still and muggy.

  Leigh’s blouse clung to her back. It was tucked into her shorts, and it pulled at her shoulders each time she leaned forward.

  After passing Carson’s Camp, she swung the bow eastward. She blinked sweat out of her eyes.

  Awfully muggy.

  Resting the paddle across the gunnels, she looked around. The nearest other boat was so far off that the people aboard were vague and without features. She tugged her blouse out of her shorts and lifted the front to wipe her face. She wished she could take it off, but she wore nothing beneath it.

  Guys are so lucky, she thought. They can take off their shirt in weather like this.

  She unbuttoned her blouse, lifted it around her lower ribs, and tied the front.

  A lot better.

  She picked up the paddle and dug it into the water. The canoe started forward again. Soon, it was shooting over the calm surface.

  She kept a close watch on the southern shore. At last, she spotted a field of lily pads with a narrow path of open water down the middle. This had to be the channel to Goon Lake. She swung the prow toward it.

  The canoe glided in, a bit to the left of the open water. The lily pads rustled like paper against the hull. Setting down the paddle, she let the canoe drift. She was out of breath, drenched with sweat. She pulled the towel out from under her knees and wiped her face with it. She wiped the back of her neck, and was glad she wore the ponytail; it kept the hair off her neck. Still gasping for breath, she plucked open the knot to let her blouse fall open. She rubbed her dripping sides and belly and chest.

  As soon as the towel was gone, her skin felt damp again.

  It was the heavy, hot, humid, suffocating air.

  Air that smelled faintly of rain.

  She wished it would rain.

  Fat chance.

  Leigh paddled farther into the channel. Ahead, there was no sign of Goon Lake. She looked behind her. Wahconda was out of sight.

  Dragonflies hovered over the carpet of pads. She saw a green frog hop and splash. The motionless air seemed silent, but she realized it was noisy with buzzes, chitters, water plops, bird squawks, and chirrups. No human sounds; that’s what made it seem like silence.

  Leigh took her blouse off. She leaned over the side with it, the canoe tipping slightly, the aluminum gunnel pushing hot against her breast, then she plunged her blouse into the water. She lifted it out. It dripped on her thighs. She sighed deeply as she pressed the wet, cool fabric to her face. She dunked it again, shook it open, and swept it against her torso. It plastered her from shoulder to waist.

  She peeled it down, soaked it one more time, then struggled into it and tied the front again.

  It had felt good while it lasted.

  It hadn’t lasted long.

  She needed to be in the water. Swimming. With Charlie.

  Soon now.

  Slowly, she paddled forward.

  The channel curved one way, then the other. From the air, it must look like stacked S’s. Or a snake, she thought. This is probably a good place for water snakes, though she hadn’t noticed any so far.

  She kept dipping the paddle in, drawing it back slowly, trying not to exert herself as she guided it along the twisting channel.

  Finally, she came out at the other end. She laid the paddle across the gunnels. As she folded the towel and sat on it, her eyes swept Goon Lake. It was much smaller than Wahconda, maybe half the size. Like Wahconda, most of the piers and dwellings were along the western shore. She saw a skier being towed behind a motorboat, and three other boats off in the distance with people fishing. She didn’t see Charlie.

  Maybe he hit a delay.

  Maybe he was doing a brisk business in baskets and didn’t want to cut it short.

  There were several small islands. One of them could be blocking Charlie from her view.

  She waited.

  He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was still over on Willow Lake.

  Leigh considered heading over to Willow, but she had no idea where the channel might be. She supposed she could find it. If she tried, however, there was some chance she might miss Charlie. He could end up waiting here while she was busy searching for him.

  This is where we planned to meet, she told herself. I’d better stay put.

  The canoe kept drifting back into the lily pads. After paddling it free a few times, she decided to simplify matters by landing. She headed to the right and brought the canoe up against the trunk of a fallen tree. Clamping her towel under one arm, she scurried in a crouch to the bow and picked up the mooring rope. She tied its end to one of the dead, leafless branches. Then she climbed onto the trunk, made her way carefully back toward its cluster of roots, and hopped to the ground.

  At a shaded place close to shore, she toweled away her sweat once again, then spread the towel on the ground and sat on it.

  From here, she had a full view of the lake.

  She still did not see Charlie.

  What could be keeping him?

  He’ll be along. He’s only a little bit late.

  Probably half an hour late already, and no sign of him in the distance.

  Does he have a watch? Leigh had never seen him with one.

  I should have brought a book.

  She was sitting cross-legged. The ground felt very hard. After a while, her rump and legs began to go numb and tingly. She leaned back, bracing herself on her elbows and stretching out her legs. She kept her head up to watch the lake. That felt a lot better, at first. But soon the strain of her already stiff neck and shoulder muscles became painful. She wanted to lie down.

  If you do that, you’ll fall asleep.

  She had napped for a couple of hours after lunch, but that hadn’t been enough to make up for last night.

  If she fell asleep now, she might miss Charlie. He could show up, not see her or the canoe, and figure she had either stayed away or given up on waiting
.

  Moaning with aches and weariness, Leigh got to her feet. She climbed onto the tree, walked along its wide trunk past the place where the canoe was tied, and sat down. The water felt smooth and cool around her feet.

  The skier was gone. One of the boats was moving slowly near an island, its motor a faint humm. She spotted a rowboat!

  Her heart quickened.

  It’s about time, she thought.

  She gazed at the rowboat. It drew slowly closer, then turned as if heading for one of the piers. A cloud moved briefly out of the sun’s way. The rowboat caught sunlight and glinted.

  It was aluminum.

  Charlie’s boat was wood, painted green.

  It’s not him.

  Leigh’s disappointment came out in a long sigh.

  “Where the hell is he?” she muttered.

  He’ll be here, she told herself.

  Maybe he chickened out.

  Or he had to change plans. Maybe his mother wanted him to postpone today’s trip for some reason.

  Am I in the right place? How do I know for sure this is Goon Lake? Maybe this is Circle, where Charlie went yesterday, and he’s waiting for me at the channel into Goon and wondering where I am.

  Mike told me yesterday where to find the channel to Goon.

  Maybe Mike was wrong.

  Something went wrong, that’s for sure.

  Trickles slid down her cheeks. She felt like crying, but these weren’t tears. She rubbed her face with the backs of her hands. The backs of her hands were wet, too, and only smeared the sweat on her face.

  Couldn’t there at least be a breeze?

  Where is Charlie?

  I’m not giving up. I’ll wait here till Hell freezes over.

  Fat chance of anything freezing over.

  A tickling drop of sweat slid down her neck and between her breasts. She wiped it away.

  And remembered her sea-thing necklace.

  She didn’t have it on.

  Maybe that’s the problem, she thought. Should’ve worn my good-luck charm.

  I didn’t wear it last night, though, and had plenty of luck without it.

  The necklace has nothing to do with luck.