The rest of the lagoon was like a dark mirror. It cast a perfect, upside-down image of the rocky shores, the bushes and towering trees.
We stood for a while on the shore, looking around.
As expected, there was no sign of Wesley or Thelma. It was hard to believe that any human had ever been here before -- even though I knew that Kimberly and Keith had visited the lagoon on our first morning at the island, before the boat blew up. The place seemed so remote and primitive that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a dinosaur wading through its water. Like in The Lost World or King Kog. Or Jurassic Park.
The only wildlife I could see, however, was of the winged variety. Bugs and birds. And not a pterodactyl in sight.
"I'm going in," Connie said. She set down her spear and tomahawk, and started to take off her shoes.
"We'd better not all go in at the same time," Kimberly said. "Someone should stay on the bank with . . ."
Connie dived in.
". . . with the weapons."
"I'll stay," I volunteered.
"We'll take turns," Billie told me. "I'll come out in a few minutes and take over for you."
"Fine," I said.
"Let's give ourselves about half an hour," Kimberly suggested. "Then we'll scout the shores, see if we can find any traces of my sister and Wesley. Maybe we'll be able to pick up their trail."
"If they were even here," Billie said.
"This is where I'd come, if I were Wesley. I'd have a hiding place somewhere near the lagoon, here. A base camp." To me, she said, "So keep a sharp eye out."
"Don't let anyone sneak up on you," Billie said.
"And watch us, too," Kimberly added. "We'll be sort of vulnerable out there."
That was like our cue to look for Connie.
She had made it to the other side, and was standing under the waterfall. As we watched, she took off her T-shirt, wadded it into a ball, and started to rub her face with it.
"I sure wish she'd shape up," Billie muttered.
"She's having a tough time," Kimberly said.
"We all are. That's no excuse."
"Come on, let's go in."
They piled their spears and tomahawks on the shore, along with the rope slings, the Hawaiian shirt, the Swiss Army knife and their shoes. Then they entered the water.
Kimberly dived in. Did a much cleaner job of it than Connie had done -- darting into the water with hardly a splash. I watched her slide along under the surface. She was long and sleek, black hair flowing down her back, the white seat of her bikini pants slipping through the gloom like a bright, winged fish. With the reflection on the water above her, she seemed to be gliding beneath a translucent landscape painting.
Billie, less athletic and more cautious than Kimberly, climbed down to the water and waded in. She made her way slowly, as if worried about what she might step on. When the water reached her thighs, she leaned forward, turning her body, and eased into a side-stroke.
Connie, still at the falls, was rubbing the wadded T-shirt up and down an arm.
At the moment, she was the most vulnerable of the three gals. Nobody appeared to be sneaking up on her, though. I looked around to make sure no one was sneaking up on me. Then I added my tomahawk, shirt, shoes and socks to the pile. I also emptied the pockets of my big old khaki shorts, since I planned to wear the shorts when I went in for my swim.
Then I climbed onto a good-sized boulder that stuck out into the lagoon, sat down on it and lay the ax across my lap.
It was sort of like being the lifeguard at a public swimming pool. All I needed was a whistle and some white goop on my nose.
I could've focused completely on any one of the gals. They were all worth watching, all exciting for one reason or another.
Connie, in spite of her attitude problems, had a slim, fine body and such a skimpy swimsuit that she almost seemed to be naked.
Billie, more appealing than her daughter from the get-go because she's so nice, also had the most fabulous body: wide shoulders, large breasts, a flat belly and full, firm buttocks.
Kimberly, gorgeous enough to be on the cover of a fashion magazine, was dark and slender and hard, an athlete and a warrior. Her body looked as if it had been carved from wood and polished to a high gloss.
Each was sort of a masterpiece, in her own way.
I could've spent all my time watching just one of them. All three were my responsibility, though. I had to force myself to turn my eyes from Kimberly to Billie, then force myself to abandon Billie for Connie. I could've lingered on Connie for an hour, but made myself look away to make sure Kimberly was all right. And on it went.
With me as the observer and guardian, each followed her own whims in the lagoon.
Kimberly swam the crawl. Back and forth, back and forth across the middle of the lagoon. Low and quick in the water, she swam for speed, not pleasure.
Billie luxuriated. She moved slowly, doing a languid sidestroke for a while, then rolling face down and breast-stroking, later flipping over and paddling along on her back. She never stayed long in any one position. She seemed to relish rolling over, sloshing. And I relished watching her. Which is putting it mildly.
Connie hardly did any swimming at all. She stayed in the waist-deep water below the falls, rubbing herself with the wadded ball of her T-shirt. Apparently, this was to relieve the itching of her mosquito bites. That's what I thought at first, anyway. Until, after a while, she took off her bikini. She put her back to me, then took it off and sidestepped away from the falls and tossed it onto a big, flat-topped block of stone. Keeping her back to me the whole time. And never letting the water level drop below her waist.
After ridding herself of the bikini, she returned to her place beneath the falls and resumed rubbing herself with the T-shirt. Always with her back toward me.
What a bitch.
I knew I should be keeping an eye on Billie and Kimberly, but Connie had me hooked. I couldn't look away from her.
She must've thought she would taunt me by keeping her back turned, so she would've been disappointed to find out how much the view of her bare back thrilled me: her delicate shoulders, the moving curves of her shoulder blades, the way she tapered to her slender waist, then flared out at the hips. Not to mention that I could see her buttocks, the crease of her ass, and the backs of her legs -- all of which were perfectly visible below the surface of the water.
She also had me hooked because she kept rubbing her breasts with the wadded shirt. And rubbing her belly. And rubbing between her legs. It was very obvious where she was rubbing herself -- she made sure of that.
What a charmer.
While she was at it, though, my time on guard duty ran out.
I hadn't been keeping track of time, hadn't even given much thought to going into the lagoon. But Billie had apparently noticed Connie's antics.
She rose to her feet in the waist-deep water just in front of me. At the sight of her, I almost immediately forgot about Connie.
Billie's short hair, clinging wet, looked golden. She was dripping and shiny and breathing hard. Her breasts, as brown as bread loaves, moved up and down, barely contained by her black bikini. From my position above her, I could see a strip of light at the bottom of her cleavage.
She said in a quiet voice, "I'll take over. Jump on in and pay her a visit."
"Who?"
"Who do you think? Connie."
"You're kidding."
"She needs a little visit."
"Not from me." A drop of water fell off the tip of Billie's nose. It vanished into the crevice between her breasts.
"Go on," she said.
"I'll go in the water," I said, "but I'm gonna stay away from her."
Billie shrugged. "Well, it's up to you."
"It's up to me?"
"Sure."
"In that case," I said, "why don't I stay here and keep you company? You're not as likely to dump on me. And you're better to look at."
She smiled. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. And you know it."