Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [122]
Instead I told her the truth.
“On a purely animalistic level, I think it’s great. But on other, more realistic levels…”
“How will the family react, that kind of thing?”
“Yes.”
“I have similar concerns,” she said.
I goggled at her. “Your family would object?”
“Of course. You think they want a ‘clothist’ living among them? They’d think it’s perverse.”
Perverse? I hadn’t considered myself an aberration worthy of such intense distaste, but I supposed I had to consider where I was.
“Interesting,” I said, mulling it over. “I’d never looked at it like that before.”
“Things here are not so different from your world. We just don’t wear clothes, if we can avoid it, and frown on those that do.”
“So relationships, jealousy, love, commitment…”
“All pretty much the same, yeah.”
“Well, that helps. Okay. You’re still at the plate,” I said. “Next question.”
“All right. Why did you drop my hand?”
I stared at her for a long moment. That was a difficult question to answer and still leave her wanting to touch me.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of you. Of being poor.”
“Why of me?”
“I didn’t believe anyone so spectacular could genuinely find me attractive. Not for legitimate reasons.”
“Oh,” she said, sadly. “Well, I’m not the only one, you know.”
“Really?” I was floored. “Who else?”
“None of your business. Why are you afraid of being poor?”
“I don’t know how to live poor, and my grandfather threatened me with being disowned if I continued, in any way, with you.” “He can do that?”
“He’d give it a damn good try, believe me. He holds my money in trust until I’m thirty. He even got me engaged to Mindie without my knowledge so I wouldn’t be available to you, or anyone else.”
“That’s what happened? My, God! He’d break you just because you wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m interested in you, Corky Wopplesdown, your money means nothing to me, so your grandfather ultimately has no power here, but …so…” she hesitated, and bit a lip, “…well, what does all this mean then? Your family, my family, our differing lifestyles—there are still lots of obstacles here.”
“Apparently,” I said sadly.
We walked for a minute or more in silence, and just listened to the singing of the sea. I’m sure a million things were going through her mind, but mostly I was thinking about her breasts; I am terrifically unevolved.
“Do you want to do this?” she asked hopefully.
“What?” I asked, nervous and a bit excited.
“See me,” she said, as if it should be obvious, and wondering where my mind was.
“Like…a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“More than anything.”
“So what are the rules, and what are the consequences?”
I chewed my own lip. Sucked my teeth. Hummed.
“Well,” I finally said. “The consequences are, our elders hating us, disowning us, and making us outcasts from both societies.”
“Pretty serious.”
“Frighteningly so.”
“What are the benefits?”
“Being together.”
She sighed, clearly moved by my words. “Good answer. Okay. Suppose this works out and the two of us fall deeply, profoundly, and passionately in love…” she paused and glanced at me meaningfully, as if waiting, and when I said nothing, “…or just…um…at least continue wanting to be together—but you get kicked out of Wopplesdown Struts, your home, your money, and have all your credit cards taken away.”
I shivered.
“Could you live here?” she asked.
“Here?” I looked around nervously. “I don’t know.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
“How?”
“Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Take off your pants. If you can’t do that and be comfortable with no one else even around, then you could never live here.”
I hesitated, melted a bit under her electric gaze, then slowly reached for my snap and zipper. As I did, I glanced up, and down the beach again, even more nervously.
“Don’t look around. You have to not be worried about it or it will never work.”
I stared at her and hesitated. Her eyes showed concern, but also support and understanding.