Summer’s Island by WendyTrilby

Summer’s Island by WendyTrilby,

SUMMER’S ISLAND

Summer folded her clothes neatly and placed them on a rock. She stood completely naked in the light woods in the center of the tiny island. She even took the scrunchie out of her long, straight blond hair, letting it fall gracefully behind her like Lady Godiva. For the first time in her life, outside of her bedroom or the shower, she was completely nude. A cool breeze came off the river, gently caressing her body.

She looked at her breasts. Just past her nineteenth birthday, she wondered if they had stopped growing. Secretly, she had always wished for large breasts, mainly for the attention they received, but nature or God, you decide which, had given her small breasts and topped them off with inverted nipples. This had made her feel awkward, and she wondered what her husband would say on their wedding night when he saw her naked for the first time.

She started to walk, stepped on a rock, winced in pain, and decided she could still be nude if she wore her flip-flops and put them back on.

She had visited several islands on the Saint Lawrence River, looking for a small private space to be alone and embrace nature. In her excitement at being nude, she realized she needed to pee and squat down. But then she stopped, stood tall, opened her stride, and urinated from a standing position. If men could do it, why couldn’t she? It was 1978, and women’s lib gave her the right to pee standing up. Of course, women’s lib was not a topic to be discussed at home with her parents. But on this island, she was liberated and giggled to herself as she peed like a man. She felt native and free.

Genetics had been kind to Summer, and other than her small breasts, her body was tall, lean, and tight. She had been a runner in high school and still hit the roads daily, but living on nearby Crocker Island for the summer put a damper on that. To keep fit, she had taken up swimming.

Walking out of the protection of the woods, she stood on the rocks and looked around.

From this vantage point, she could see most of the nameless island she had found. Only about the size of a football field, the island was heavily wooded with a rocky coast. She wondered why no one had ever built a home here.

In the distance, she could see numerous larger islands, some with several camps, including Crocker Island and the large summer home her parents bought this year. She never understood why the people who owned summer homes in the Thousand Islands section of the Saint Lawrence River called them camps. These ‘camps’ were large were large and had numerous bedrooms. Crocker Island had four camps, each with an excellent section of land and a boat dock. Her uncle and two other families from the Church of Latter Day Saints owned the other three camps. While the island’s official name was Crocker, they all called it Palmyra, the founding location of the Mormon faith.

Summer loved her family and island life, but a house with five siblings and two parents offered little peace and quiet, so escaping to her exclusive island was blissful.

Laying on a flat rock near the island’s edge, the sun felt warm across her body. She was a little worried that the deep tan lines created by her sensible one-piece bathing suit would disappear from sunning herself in the nude, but as long as her mother didn’t notice, she would be fine. Of course, at nineteen, she didn’t need her mother’s permission to suntan nude, but her parent’s strict values and judgy attitude were best avoided.

Being alone on an island brought another freedom she rarely found at the camp or even at their home in Rochester: the freedom to touch herself and bring herself to orgasm. She let her mind wander to an image of Joe Namath she had seen, and her hand gently slid along her flat stomach, then entered the light brown pubic hair that covered her vagina. Her bush was full, and she had taken to shaving a little on the side after she caught her Uncle Caleb staring at her crotch while wearing a bathing suit, trying to get a better look at her errant pubic hairs. The fact was, she found herself getting excited at the attention and had to put on some shorts as her pussy had gotten wet and began to soak the gusset, almost revealing her sinful arousal to the family.

Her fingers found her slit and the tip of her clitoris. Gently rubbing it, she could feel the sensitive bump swell and thicken. Her wetness increased, and soon she could hear her pussy making a slurping sound. She imagined her Uncle on top of her. Since he was not her biological uncle but had married her father’s sister, she felt that fantasizing about him was less of a sin. Still, along, plunging the depths of her vagina and bringing herself to orgasm was already a sin, so why not imagine Uncle Caleb’s cock sliding inside her.

Her orgasm washed over like a wave. She let out a loud guttural groan, something she was always unable to control and had outed her activities when trying this at home. As her breath returned, she sat up and noticed the pool of wetness she had left behind on the grey rock. She brought her fingers to her face and gently smelled them. This was her routine, and she found the smell of her post-masturbation fingers relaxing and intoxicating. Something within her has always wanted to try again right now. But today, with the peace of her exclusive island, she decided to try something else and tentatively placed her soaked fingers in her mouth to taste herself.

She knew that someday her husband would want to taste her pussy, so perhaps it was best she did too. She was surprised at the flavor, which was far different than she had imagined, with a taste of copper and the smell of wet cement.

Leaning to enjoy the sun, she noticed a small outboard motorboat drifting thirty yards off the island. Realizing she was sunning herself like a nude mermaid, she jumped up to hide when she discovered the small outboard boat was hers. She had tied it off to a stump, but it was now drifting free, and in a few minutes, it would catch the river current and float away.

Without hesitation, she jumped into the water and began an aggressive swim toward the craft. Her athleticism helped, but if she could not get to the boat, she needed to be sure she could return to the island. Lifting her head to see the boat, she was swimming all out when she heard a voice.

“I got your boat.”

Summer looked up and cleared the water and hair from her eyes to see a small sailboat near her with her outboard tied up behind. A handsome young man was on the sailboat, reaching his hand down to pull her from the water.

“Give me your hand. I have your boat. Give me your hand.”

Summer was in a panic. There was no way she could let this stranger pull her from the river and reveal her nakedness to him.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t get out of the water. I’m not wearing any clothes.”

The young man laughed.

“Are you a mermaid?”

“Very funny. My clothes are on that island over there.”

The young man looked at the island about 100 yards off his starboard, then back at the mysterious woman in the water.

“Ok, stay in the water, but hold this.”

He threw her a life ring on a rope, then worked the sail and rudder of his small boat to bring them into the island.

In a few minutes, he had navigated his boat to a small cove where he could hop out and adequately tie off the craft. Summer remained in the water,

“Here, put this on.”

He took off his Fleetwood Mac T-shirt and tossed it to her in the water. Putting the wet shirt on, Summer began to walk out of the water but realized she was not fully covered.

“Please look away.”

The young man complied, and Summer emerged from the water, her wet t-shirt clinging to her body. She quickly disappeared into the woods. Her young savior used the time to bring her boat to shore and tie it off.

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked up, surprised to see such a vision.

“I’m glad you’re safe. I’m Bryce. Bryce Miller.”

“Summer Smith. I can explain about the clothes.”

“No explanation needed. No questions asked.”

Summer handed Bryce his soaked T-shirt.

“You like Fleetwood Mac?”

“Huh?”

She pointed to the T-shirt.

“Oh yes. Well, if I had to be honest, I have a crush on Stevie Nicks.”

“So would I if I were a guy,”

Bryce laid his shirt on a rock in the sun to help it dry.

“You want something to drink?”

He went to his boat, opened a cooler, and handed Summer a Coke.

“I’ve never had a Coke before.”

“You’ve never had a Coke? How is that possible?”

“It contains caffeine. We don’t drink caffeine in my family.”

“I don’t have anything but Cokes in there.”

Summer’s eyes were all over Bryce. He had brown curly hair with streaks of blond from time spent in the sun. His body was well toned, not overly muscled, but he looked great without a shirt. His skin was tan and free of hair other than a treasure trail running from his waistband to his belly button.

All her life, she had been told what she could and could not eat or drink, and she desperately wanted to try those forbidden things. She was on her island and, in that instant, decided that she would make her own rules in this space. She could eat what she wanted and drink what she wanted.

“I’ll try one,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t want to get your family angry with me,” Bryce said with a mischievous smile as he handed her a cold can of the beverage.

She cracked open the tab and tentatively took a drink. She had no idea what to expect, but the smile on her face revealed it all. This was the sinful drink?

“Wow, if the Coke A Cola people could see your face, they would turn it into an ad campaign.”

The two sat on the rocks with the ice broken and told about themselves. Bryce was heading into his freshman year at Duke University, and Summer was about to be a sophomore at BYU. She was the eldest daughter of a strict Mormon family. He was the youngest son in a laid-back family who named him after Bryce Canyon in Utah, where he was conceived. His brothers were either in college or married, and this summer, it was just him and his parents staying at their camp on Stillwater Island. He was a river rat, a kid who came to the river every summer and spent his days sailing on the water.