Anne Meets Ron

Anne was driving toward a nearby campground after her Friday morning classes, looking forward to some alone time. She was sick and tired of the college dating game where even supposedly Christian guys played at romance, copped feels, and tried to get her to sleep with them.

She pulled up to a little deserted beach at the state park. In front of her was a large lake dotted with small islands each with its own camping area. It was the perfect place. It was also a perfect fall day. The sun was warm, although the clouds and breeze promised jacket weather by dark.

She decided to wait to set up camp; the water looked too inviting. After changing into her swimsuit, she blew up her air mattress and lay down on the float in the water. It was colder than she expected, but the early fall sun’s warmth was more than adequate. She was at peace and began to doze.

Suddenly the splash of a cold wave woke her. She sat up. It was much later in the afternoon. Dark clouds obscured the sun and a drizzle was promising to become a full-fledged storm. A cold wind had picked up and had blown her several hundred yards out into the lake. A sense of panic began to set in. She tried paddling with her hands back to her car, but the wind was dead against her.

She looked behind her. One of the little camping islands wasn’t too far away. If she pushed the raft toward it, she might be able to make its beach before the wind blew her further out onto the lake. It would be a hard, cold swim, but she needed to get out of what might quickly become a storm.

Using the raft as a float and kicking her legs as well as paddling, she finally felt her feet touch bottom. Exhausted, she dragged herself onto the island’s beach. The rain had stopped and the wind had eased some, but it was still chill—very chill. She crouched beside her raft, shivering.

“Are you okay?” came a voice from the edge of the woods. Startled, she looked up to see a guy’s silhouette against the evening sky. She couldn’t unclench her teeth to answer. Dressed only in a T-shirt and swim trunks, he stepped closer. She recognized him as one of the graduate students in the state park co-op program. One of her friends had pointed him out at church. She thought his name might be Ron.

He asked again, “Are you okay, miss.” This time she stammered out that she was cold. Concern immediately showed in his face and voice. “You need to get out of that wet suit,” he said. He pulled off his T-shirt and handed it to her, turning his back. She was not keen about changing in the open on the beach, but she was very cold, and the shirt would cover her.

She put the shirt on, then slipped the swimsuit off from under it before putting her arms through the sleeves. The shirt was too large for her, hanging down to the middle of her thighs. It reminded her of her dad’s T-shirts she sometimes wore as a nightgown when she was a little girl. It was soft and thick and still warm with his body heat. She stopped shivering.

“We need to get you out of this wind,” he said. With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her toward the tree line. She took a few steps, but her legs felt like rubber bands and she stumbled. With a deft motion, he swung his free forearm under her knees and picked her up as easily as if she were a child. She realized the bottom of his T-shirt had fallen open and she could feel the breeze against her bare bottom. Even though no one was around to look, she felt terribly exposed.

Ron carried her to a covered camping area just inside the tree line. There was a delicious little fire, and the trees blocked the wind. Setting her down by the fire, he went back to the beach for her raft and suit. Upon his return, he hung her suit on a limb to dry and spread out her float as a mattress, then sat down beside her.

In the light of the fire, he recognized her from the College and Career Class at church. Anne told him about drifting away from her car. He explained that being surprised by the storm while crossing the lake, he had to row his boat to the island without anything except his backpack. Now he was trapped there until dawn. She liked him. Their conversation was easy and relaxed.

Mention of the backpack reminded him of the food he had. They shared a sandwich, some granola bars and a coke. She noticed the chill bumps on his shirtless back, so she scooted over against him to share some body heat. He seemed to appreciate the gesture. It might have been for warmth, but it was really nice being next to him. He was different. There was a caring, protective attitude as he put an arm around her shoulders. He was content to just sit there and talk.

When they both grew tired and started feeling drowsy, Anne lay down on the float. Ron gave a start. Obviously having seen something as she rearranged herself, he suddenly became totally absorbed in the treetops. In spite of the awkwardness of realizing she must have been showing from under his shirt as she bent over, she smiled a little to herself at his discomfiture. How sweet; how terribly sweet of him to not look.

He stayed sitting beside her as she drifted off to sleep; then, he did something unexpected. He reached out and took her hand. His hand transmitted warmth with a surprising hint of affection. She did not really know him, but he was so easy to talk to, so easy to be with. It wasn’t just that he’d rescued her from the cold. She realized she could like him—really like him a lot.

The next morning, Anne awoke to Ron trying to adjust the bottom of the T-shirt. She realized that in the night, the shirt that had slipped up to her waist. She decided the only way to save herself from total embarrassment was to pretend to still be asleep until he was done. Watching him through partially closed eyes, she almost laughed at his clumsy attempts to pull the shirt back in place without looking. In spite of her chagrin at being exposed, she found all his bumbling very attractive.

With the shirt back in place, she pretended to be waking up. She struggled to get up without exposing anything more. Sensing her difficulty, he stood and without effort lifted her to stand in front of him. Then he tentatively reached out and touched her hair. He drew her lips to his in a gentle, almost (but not quite) brotherly kiss.

As their lips touched, she would have liked to have melted against him and make the kiss more romantic. But she was very aware that she was naked beneath his shirt. It would have been too much, too soon. She could feel a blush creeping across her face. She knew she wasn’t doing anything wrong, but thinking about wrapping her arms around him, with nothing between his chest and hers except his T-shirt, made her feel terribly naughty.

The tent that formed in his swim trunks made it obvious that he had also been aware of her nakedness under the tee. He immediately released her and stepped back. Turning his back, he stammered something about going to get her suit. As he walked to where her suit was hanging, he tried unsuccessfully to hide his efforts to adjust his trunks. She smiled at the knowledge that her blush was not nearly as revealing as his male response was in disclosing his thoughts.

He brought back her suit and again became fascinated by the tops of the trees while she changed. It was impossible to change back to her suit without taking off his shirt first. Even though she’d be totally naked while changing, she was interested in the fact that she did not feel nearly as embarrassed as she had been the night before. There was something about this guy that put her at ease, even in a situation that would have left her mortified with someone else.

After he put his shirt back on, he stopped for a moment to just look at her. For the first time since she had come to the island, he seemed to feel himself free to enjoy looking without worrying that he might be taking advantage. He had a caring expression as if he would have liked to kiss her again. But he didn’t. Perhaps he thought that the first kiss might already have exceeded proper boundaries.

They went to his boat, and he rowed her back to her car. When she got out, he asked if he could see her again. She gave him her phone number, which he wrote down on a scrap of paper from his backpack. She watched him row away, wondering if he would call.

She didn’t believe in the “love at first sight” stuff, but maybe this wasn’t just any guy. It might actually be THE guy, she thought.

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5 replies
  1. SouthernHeat says:

    Nice story! It’s a great reminder of the excitement of the first time you met your spouse, the first kiss, holding hands. Just the newness, joy and excitement of the romance. Keep writing!

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