18. I’m Going to Get Naked
I’m Going to Get Naked
LILLIAN
Istand amidst pampas grass and cattails, unsure of what to do with myself now that we’re at this small inlet off the creek. The skiff waits nearby, except this time I’m not collecting samples or measuring the temperature of the water.
I’m supposed to be taking a bath.
“How’s it going?” Matt asks, a few feet from me.
I glance his way. He unbuttons his overshirt farther and farther down as he looks at me as if we didn’t just sleep next to each other.
Clearly, I’m the only one with my mind in the gutter.
“Yeah, I’m just . . .” I hold up the soap on a rope in my hand.
“Still shocked soap on a rope is a real thing.”
“It’s a lifesaver,” he says, shucking his shirt off and folding it masterfully and quickly. “Look, you don’t need to be nervous. This is some of the cleanest water in the world.”
Is that true? I don’t have the wherewithal to check the Rolodex of facts in my brain because Matt chooses that moment to lift his undershirt up over his head, and god almighty.
I’m not a religious person, but a body like that would have me worshipping on my knees.
His chest is as finely sculpted as a Greek statue and covered in a perfect layer of dark hair.
His peachy nipples prick in the air. How I’d love to run my tongue down?—
No. He’s just trying to get clean. And so am I. Guess I should get started on that.
I turn away and finger the zipper on my sweater, immediately fearing what the air will feel like when I take it off, let alone when I’m . . . naked. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
Matt laughs. “This is nothing. You should see me during the Polar Plunge at Thanksgiving.”
“Polar what?” I balk.
“Hey, it’s a tradition in Naknek. I wouldn’t expect you to get it since you’re a Californian.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s down to his boxers. “Michigander.”
“Yeah, still got nothing on us Alaskans.” A moment passes. “Um, I’m going to get naked.”
“I won’t look.”
“I just don’t want to offend you.” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Oh, I’m uncomfortable alright. Not for the reasons he’s implying, though. No, I’m getting hot all over, and I don’t want to think about what’s happening in my panties.
Matt’s treating this as something objective, something we’re just doing. I want to do the same, but I haven’t ever bathed in a lake, much less with a man nearby.
As if reading my thoughts, Matt says, “I’m not looking, I promise.”
There’s a weird sense of relief mixed with disappointment. Part of me just wants to get this over with, but the other part wants him to look, wants him to see me, wants to know if he likes what he sees.
“I’m going in. You’re gonna want to be quick about it,” he says with a wink.
I don’t turn back until I hear movement in the water. I peek over my shoulder and nearly scream out at his naked form moving into the water. The man is completely naked, and while I can only see his backside, it’s an incredible backside.
His back is just as muscular as his front, a rippling topography of strength.
The man has a perfect body, which is usually obscured under his bulky clothes.
If he lived in Los Angeles, he could be a model.
And I’m not innocent. Not by a long shot.
Of course, I’m going to admire his ass too.
Does he do squats? How does a fisherman have a butt like that?
It sits atop tree trunk thighs covered in swirls of that same dark hair.
More impressive than his body, which is hard to overshadow, is that he’s walking into the chilly water without any hesitation whatsoever. It’s like the cold doesn’t impact him. Like he has a layer of blubber over his body. Although, I know that’s not true. I don’t think that man has any body fat.
Suddenly, Matt dives forward, his entire body disappearing under the placid, sparkling water. I wait for him to come up with bated breath. When he emerges, breaking the surface of the water, it’s just his head.
“Woo! That’s fucking cold!” he cries out, shaking the water out of his hair like a wet dog.
I laugh. “You’re not selling it!”
“A good kinda cold!” he calls back to me. “Toss me the soap, would you?”
I lob the soap on a rope toward Matt. He manages to catch it midair with a triumphant, “Ha-ha!”
For a few moments, I watch him lather his arms and chest. This is like porn for me. I’m objectifying the poor man, but I can’t help it, he’s so?—
Matt’s eyes meet mine, catching me red-handed as I stare at him. “So, are you coming in or are you too chicken?”
I gape. “I’m not chicken.”
“That’s why you haven’t even taken off your sweater?”
My mouth stays hung open as I attempt to figure out something to say. There’s no use arguing. I either do it, or I don’t. And . . . I don’t want Matt to think of me any differently. He’s already taken such a chance by supporting me when the rest of Naknek wishes me dead.
Naknek . . . more like Naked.
Wait until Sarah hears about this.
“Fine. But turn around. I don’t want you . . . yeah.”
Matt holds his hands up out of the water. “Of course, wouldn’t dream of watching.” He turns around to face the open expanse of water.
As I undress, I keep my eyes on him, waiting for him to take even a little look over his shoulder at me, which he doesn’t.
Because of course, he’s a perfect fucking gentleman.
Why does he have to be so perfect? He’s hot, he’s nice, he’s smart.
And he’s respectful. That’s a quadrangle you never get in Los Angeles.
I get down to my bra and underwear. I could go in with them on and it’d be okay, though I wouldn’t be able to wear them under my clothes.
But I’m out here in some of the most untamed land in the world.
It wouldn’t be right not to match it with my own nakedness.
First, I swing the bra off. Then, let my underwear slide to the ground.
I pile it up on a rock not nearly as nicely as Matt has his organized.
I’m too nervous to fold my clothes properly.
“You still there? Or did you run away?” Matt calls out.
“I’m here!” I peep, wrapping my arms over my chest. It’s cold out and the sun isn’t quite up. It’s still early morning, but the midnight sun makes it feel like the middle of the day.
“Don’t be tentative about it, okay? You just gotta go in all at once or else you’re going to change your mind.”
I go up to the water’s edge. He’s right. Just my toes feeling the frigid water makes me want to run the other way. “If I freeze to death, it’s your fault.”
“I’ll carry your death on my conscience forever. But I promise I would never let that happen.”
How would he never let that happen? He’d wrap me up in all the blankets and towels he could possibly find, then wrap me in his big arms, press me up to his warm chest and hold me until my lips turned from blue to pink again?
I don’t hate that idea.
At his advice, I rip off the coldness like a band-aid, running into the water and letting myself be consumed by the frigid temperature before my brain catches up. I dive under the water, letting it baptize and welcome me into its chilling embrace.
It’s a shock to my system, so when I emerge, I gasp for air, my eyes wide, and my body fully awake. “Holy shit! I did it!”
“You did!”
My eyes find Matt’s as I catch my breath. It’s impossible not to smile, though my body is still in shock. “It’s fucking cold!”
Matt laughs and nods. “You got that right!”
I can breathe here. Actually breathe here. Whether it’s the freshness of the air and the distance from LA smog or the endlessness of the sky, I can’t be sure. But something about Alaska has captured my heart. It’s a place I won’t easily forget.
With people I won’t easily forget either.
There’s a splash in the water, and I let my feet drop to the silty riverbed as I look up. The soap floats next to me, its rope trailing in the water behind it. I grab it, glancing over at Matt. “Thanks.”
He moves toward the shore, water up to his neck. “Lather up, rinse, and come on out. If you stay out here too long, you’ll get hypothermia.”
As he goes, I wash. I keep myself under the water while I wash, unwilling to expose myself to the cold air. When I’m done, I wriggle back toward the shore. Matt has already toweled off and pulled his sweater and boxers back on. But he pauses to hold out a towel for me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, then cinches his eyes together. “I won’t look.”
I’m too cold to have the wherewithal to worry. I emerge from the water and sprint toward the towel, letting the terry cloth envelop me in a semblance of warmth.
However, it’s Matt’s arms around me that really do the trick. It feels like we’ve done this a million times. I fit into his chest perfectly and his warmth settles into my skin like I’ve known it for years. I resist the urge to burrow into his chest further. That would cross a line.
But he doesn’t let go.
“You surprise me, Lillian,” Matt says.
I look up at him, a flush creeping onto my cheeks as our eyes meet.
He smiles. “Every time I think you’re finally going to say ‘no,’ you say ‘yes.’”
“Is this all some big hazing ritual?” I ask with a cheeky lilt.
“No, not at all,” Matt answers. He rubs the towel over my arms to dry me off, then lets me go, much to my disappointment. We both go about putting on our clothes, me wrapping my hair in the towel, gratefully burrowing into my sweater, eager to get back to the boat.
Matt speaks as we dress. “I’m just surprised.
You know, people around here don’t like when things are different.
I guess I expect, more often than not, people to stick to what they know.
And when they’re met with something strange to them, or out of their comfort zone, they run away from it rather than just .
. . try it on for size.” A moment passes. “I admire you for that.”
“Admire? That’s silly. I’m just . . .” I shake my head, zipping up my sweater with finality. “Just doing my best to be respectful.”
“By agreeing to wash in a river with a man you barely know?” Matt teases.