He shuddered and pulled the covers up over his head. "Christ almighty!
Come back in two hours, man!"
Putting my hands on my hips, I stared down at him, debating what to
do. After a moment I walked to the window and looked out. Joanie was
waiting outside, sitting cross-legged in an Indian squat on the grass.
"Well?" she asked.
"He won't wake up."
"Tell him he'll miss breakfast if he doesn't get a move on," she
called. "This isn't any country club, you know."
I shook my head. "I know him, Joanie. When he says he won't wake up,
he _won't_."
"Maybe I can fix him," she said.
She rose to her feet, coming up out of that squatting position in a
single athletic bound. I gasped at the play of muscles up her flanks
and sides as she got up. I began to get the idea that this girl
would be a veritable wildcat in bed, with her calendar-girl body and
her sinews of steel. That is, if she went to bed with anybody. I had
heard stories that some of these nudists simply didn't believe in sex.
Constant exposure dulls their interest, or something.
Joanie came trotting up onto the porch, her breasts going
jounce-jounce-jounce with each step. She bounded right past me and
headed for Jack's room.
"Don't go in there!" I called. "He isn't--_dressed_," I finished,
turning the last word into an idiotic mumble as I realized how foolish
I was being at the moment.
I followed her in. She was leaning over Jack, and her breasts were
dangling forward until they weren't any more than six inches from the
tip of his nose, except that his eyes were screwed tight shut and he
didn't know what he was missing.
"Mr. Meehan," she said softly.
Jack didn't stir.
"It's time to get up, Jack," she said.
Not a flicker.
With a single quick gesture she grabbed hold of the quilt on Jack's
bed and yanked it off. Meehan was mother-naked, curled up in the bed,
and as the cool morning air hit him all at once he let out a yelp and
opened his eyes.
A moment later, when what he was seeing registered, he let out another
yelp. For here was this statuesque blonde standing over him in a
school-teacherish way, her arms on her hips, her legs slightly spread,
her bare breasts going up and down rapidly with every breath she took.
It was one hell of a way for a man to wake up in the morning, and for
a second I thought Meehan would have a stroke. He turned red all over
and nearly reached for the coverlet. But Joanie saw the motion and she
shook her head.
"You don't need to cover yourself here, Mr. Meehan. Remember? Our
bodies are the work of God. We have no reason to hide them."
He nodded. "Sure. I forgot. Reflex, you know." He couldn't take his
eyes off those big breasts. Neither could I. They weren't cow-like,
mind you. They looked almost like the kind of breasts you see on marble
statues in the museum--big and firm, and pointing straight out and up,
instead of hanging way down and swinging from side to side.