Bildungsromans; Midlands (England) -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
The water was icily cold, and for a moment deprived me of my senses.
When I began to swim, soon the water was buoyant, and I was sensible of
nothing but the vigorous poetry of action. I saw George swimming on his
back laughing at me, and in an instant I had flung myself like an
impulse after him. The laughing face vanished as he swung over and
fled, and I pursued the dark head and the ruddy neck. Trip, the wretch,
came paddling towards me, interrupting me; then all bewildered with
excitement, he scudded to the bank. I chuckled to myself as I saw him
run along, then plunge in and go plodding to George. I was gaining. He
tried to drive off the dog, and I gained rapidly. As I came up to him
and caught him, with my hand on his shoulder, there came a laughter
from the bank. It was Emily.
I trod the water, and threw handfuls of spray at her. She laughed and
blushed. Then Trip waded out to her and she fled swiftly from his
shower-bath. George was floating just beside me, looking up and
laughing.
We stood and looked at each other as we rubbed ourselves dry. He was
well proportioned, and naturally of handsome physique, heavily limbed.
He laughed at me, telling me I was like one of Aubrey Beardsley’s long,
lean ugly fellows. I referred him to many classic examples of
slenderness, declaring myself more exquisite than his grossness, which
amused him.
But I had to give in, and bow to him, and he took on an indulgent,
gentle manner. I laughed and submitted. For he knew how I admired the
noble, white fruitfulness of his form. As I watched him, he stood in
white relief against the mass of green. He polished his arm, holding it
out straight and solid; he rubbed his hair into curls, while I watched
the deep muscles of his shoulders, and the bands stand out in his neck
as he held it firm; I remembered the story of Annable.
He saw I had forgotten to continue my rubbing, and laughing he took
hold of me and began to rub me briskly, as if I were a child, or
rather, a woman he loved and did not fear. I left myself quite limply
in his hands, and, to get a better grip of me, he put his arm round me
and pressed me against him, and the sweetness of the touch of our naked
bodies one against the other was superb. It satisfied in some measure
the vague, indecipherable yearning of my soul; and it was the same with
him. When he had rubbed me all warm, he let me go, and we looked at
each other with eyes of still laughter, and our love was perfect for a
moment, more perfect than any love I have known since, either for man
or woman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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