The Rebellion of Yale Marratt by Robert Rimmer Read Free Book Online Page A

clasp, and she jumped up.

"Okay -- you think I'm afraid to go in?" Quickly she stripped off her

brassiere and panties, and ran into the water. "Oh! Oh!" she shouted

gaily. "It's freezing. Come on in, you coward!"

Wallowing in the water beside her, Yale knew he was blushing. He watched

her with a feeling of warm delight. Her hair was soaking wet, and dripped

over her shoulders. Her breasts were thrust high, her nipples firm and

pointed from the cold water.

"Gosh, I feel better," she said, smiling at him, Unconcerned about her

lack of clothes. "You know," she confided, "I never had but one drink

before in my life."

They walked back on the tiny beach. "Why did you drink that stuff, then?"

Yale asked.

"I don't know. I won't again, I can tell you."

They sat together on the sand. Yale sprawled on his stomach and watched

her hugging her knees. She seemed like some lovely creature out of a

fairy tale he had read years ago. Yet he was bothered. She was so wild

and unexpected. Did she go swimming naked with just anyone? The thought

made Yale jealous.

"I suppose, now, you'll tell all your friends that we went swimming

together naked," she said, looking at him speculatively.

Yale shook his head. How could he tell her that this moment was

indescribably precious to him? That this was the first time he had ever

seen a woman naked except maybe his sister and that had been years ago

when Barbara was thirteen. How could he tell Cynthia that her beauty,

the curve of her shoulders, the softness of her breasts, the arch of her

stomach and the triangle of her hair leading into her slender thighs,

was for him an emotion ineffable. An emotion that brought tears to his

eyes and joy to his very being. He wanted to somehow shout, "Look at the

wonder of the existence of us. We are alive . . . and it is good!"

A woman's body, he thought, could give the beholder the concept of God

-- a tangible evidence of mysteries beyond comprehension.

"Look at you!" she giggled. "You're a man, too!" She stared at him

thoughtfully. "You look different from my father and brother though." She

suddenly realized that it was because Yale was not circumcised. Cynthia

blushed. She wondered what he was thinking. She wanted to tell him

that other than her own brothers, he was the only boy she had ever seen

naked. Awkwardly, Yale tried to put his arm around her.

"Don't get any ideas," she said. She slapped him playfully on the stomach.

"I'm a virgin. I intend to stay that way for a while." Yale admitted

that he was a virgin, too. He told her that it was all right with him.

He didn't tell her that just being with her, sharing the warm September

sun, the quiet whisper of the trees and the murmur of the river as it

rushed by toward the ocean, was a kind of completeness in itself. Holding

her hand as he lay beside her, he realized that for the first time in his

life he was not alone; that he had a potential friend. Someone who might

come with him in a wondrous search for all the mystery and beauty that

he knew was in life. Was Cynthia that kind of person? Or was she just

another one of the crazy girls that he had known whose only interest

seemed to be what clothes they wore, what dances they were going to,

what song was on top of the Hit Parade, what dates were the smoothest,

or which boy could dance the best.

He looked at Cynthia and found her watching him. "You seem so far away,"

she said. "Come back and tell me what you were thinking."

"Why did you drink with Larry McQuail? Why did you sing that song?"

Yale demanded bluntly. "I'm not a prude, but you are too nice to get

mixed up with him."

"And why am I lying here naked with you?" she asked angrily.

"I know what you think -- that I'm a tramp."

Yale denied it. "I think you are beautiful. I don't know. I'm the romantic

type, I guess." He was silent trying to think what he meant. How could he

tell her that he felt protective toward her. He was embarrassed to try to

explain