The Water Nymphs

"Didn't that hurt?" Poppy found herself asking, and Victoria stared at her, confused, as she stepped out of her jeans.

"What?" she asked, then following Poppy's eyeline to between her legs. "Oh!" She cackled with laughter.

"Wow!" cried Charlotte, herself peeling down her jeans, hips wiggling as she danced out of them, tugging her coral-pink briefs back up over her rear as they tried to follow the jeans. Poppy guessed she'd, at least, be keeping her underwear on in the sea. Well, maybe Poppy could think about going if she could do that. But only if she wasn't the only one -- she didn't want the label of prude.

"Yeah," Victoria was saying, standing with her legs a little more open, a finger on her piercing, "I don't know what I was thinking but apparently I sat through it like a trooper!"

"I could never," sighed Charlotte and, with mock-serious, Victoria suddenly put both hands over her girlhood.

"Stop staring at my pussy!" she laughed.

"Stop showing us your pussy!" Charlotte laughed back, as she unclipped her bra. It loosened and she pulled it off -- her tits were, to put it bluntly, perfect, juicy and big and infuriatingly soft looking, her brown nipples sat in big areolas. She didn't seem to know they were perfect because she immediately put an arm over her chest to hold them.

"Babe," said Victoria, regarding Charlotte, who looked back, wide-eyed, "your tits look amazing, did you know?"

"Stop it," said Charlotte, looking away, grinning all the same.

"I should probs run down," Victoria said, "I'm starting to be very aware I'm naked!" She turned, permitting Poppy a full view of her firm, tight rear, paler than the rest of her body as her tan hadn't found it, and half-sprinted to the shoreline, slowly vanishing into the darkness.

"You definitely not interested?" Charlotte asked, and Poppy shook her head, quickly, trying her utmost to maintain eye contact. "That's fair. Don't listen to nobody who tries to make you do stuff."

"I'll do my best," Poppy murmured, as Charlotte glanced over her shoulder towards the water, from which laughter was emanating, the hand not covering herself dawdling at her underwear's waistband, a reluctance in their movements, as Poppy noticed a cartoon strawberry on the fabric and felt strangely glad an older girl would wear such childish underwear and not the lingerie of the others, which reminded Poppy of cake decorations.

"Oh, fuck it, who cares?" Charlotte mumbled, quickly slipping her underwear down. Poppy was relieved to see a tangle of black hair between her thighs -- so she wasn't the only one who didn't see the appeal in putting a fucking razor near her clitoris -- as Charlotte stepped out of her knickers, dropped them onto her jeans, and hurried down the beach, Poppy's quivering eyes on her firm peach of a backside the whole time.

"What the fuck is my life?" she mumbled to herself, staring down at the sand in front of her, picking up a handful and pouring it into an empty bottle near her. When she was done, the laughter and shouts still drifting over, she glanced upwards, towards the Moon, which drifted from behind a cloud. "Hey," she said to it. "I guess it's just you and me, now. And you're naked, too."

T he sound of the sea was getting closer, as the tide nudged its way up the beach, and so too did the indistinct sounds of laughter and banter from the three women splashing about in it. Eventually, gripped by the drink, Poppy stood up, arms crossed, and tried to see through the darkness and spy the others. Still, too, there was no sign of anybody else. Nobody except that little voice in some uncharted corner of her mind which whispered, "go on. Go on... do it. You know you want to." And maybe she did. Or, rather, maybe a part of her did. Or maybe it was the beer which wanted her to. But mostly she just felt irritated that she'd been ditched -- although, to be fair, why wouldn't she be ditched? This was how such scenarios often played out for her. They didn't usually involve the nudity of everybody else but the underlying theme was the same.

But did it have to be?

She wanted to be there. To be one of them. Slowly, one foot at a time, Poppy kicked off her trainers, then bent down and peeled her white socks off her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. Her bare feet felt cool on the sand, which went between her toes, finding its way into every nook and cranny it found. It felt nice. Poppy shivered.

"I'll just..." Her hands trembled. " I'll just stop once I get uncomfortable." She pulled her hoodie over her head and, gently, as if putting down an infant, laid it on the sand. Her t-shirt was little protection from the sea air and, again, she shivered, crossing her arms under her unimpressive breasts. They were right -- it wasn't so bad. It was warm enough that Poppy could imagine even being naked would be bearable. But not for her. She looked around. Still nobody. The others couldn't see her, either. It was just her and the moon. Slowly, Poppy unbuttoned her jeans, struggling with how much her hands trembled, and pulled them down to her knees, then navigating each leg the rest of the way. She folded them up and put them on top of her jumper, before standing straight and taking the hem of her shirt -- not to pull up, but down, to cover herself, aware at once of her exposure as she stood there in shirt and tight, pale blue briefs. The air stroked her upper thighs invitingly.

" What am I doing?" Poppy mumbled to herself, legs crossing as she stood there, looking over her shoulder again and again. " I'm too gross for this." And yet she couldn't help but notice that she was pulling her shirt up, over her pudgy belly which she detested so much, over her pathetic tits hidden behind black bra, over her head, and tossing it onto the growing pile next to the other three piles. Now she stood in her underwear, sure she could still get away with this legally, but anything else would be trickier. And if she were caught, well, the mortification would kill her quickly.

" I'll just stop when I'm uncomfortable," Poppy repeated, again, her mouth dry, her knees shaky, and she bent down to pick up a bottle of pale ale which Charlotte had abandoned. She drank the whole thing -- it was far too nutty, but she swallowed it regardless. "I'll just stop when I'm uncomfortable..."

She reached back and unclipped her bra. It fell away from her, and she almost gasped a s the air grabb ed her nipples. So too did she almost gasp at something else -- that thing which Sophia had told of. Was it liberation? Freedom? Just straight up excitement? It was certainly something, she thought, and, somehow, the easiest part of this whole elaborate display was when she pulled down her underwear.

T rembling something awful, Poppy stepped down the beach, feet squishing into the sand which grew damper with each step, closer to the squawks of her colleagues, until she saw the others, bare sparkling forms, more angel than human, the sea rippling around their bodies, dancing with them. Charlotte and Victoria were nearest the edge, the water just below their breasts, each trying to push the other over, while Sophia bobbed a bit deeper, lying on her back.

"There she is!" cried Charlotte, triumphantly, as Poppy sheepishly stepped onto the tide's edge, thighs pressed tightly together, not knowing what to feel self-conscious of first. Her breasts, the smallest of the group's? Her pubic hair, messy and unkempt and hiding what she was certain was a misshapen vulva? Her belly, fat and ugly and just awful, awful, awful, fucking awful? She felt their eyes on her body -- but what she didn't feel, despite how much she'd expected it, was their eyes scanning her body. They'd registered Poppy's nudity, sure, but they weren't regarding her or examining her or even judging her. Some strange relief washed over Poppy, feeling so like how she imagined the sea would feel.

"Come on in," shouted Sophia, who was deep enough now that all but her head was submerged, her hair wet. A wave crept over Poppy's bare feet and she almost hissed -- it was cold.

"You can do it!" Victoria shouted encouragingly. "You've got it in ya!" Step by step, Poppy went further in. Somehow, with each of these steps, as the water caressed her and clothed her, she forgot that she was naked. She forgot that she was vulnerable -- because, she realised, she wasn't. The water lapped at her thighs, so cold it was nearly painful, but Poppy kept pushing her way in, until it was at her waist and she was alongside the other two and suddenly didn't mind at all that they could see her breasts. That they were the first to ever see them. All that fear felt washed away -- like the sand from her feet.

"I knew you had it in you," said Victoria, winking. "Now, help me shove Charlotte over."

"I don't want wet hair!" Charlotte protested.

"If she doesn't want to be pushed, I can't push her," said Poppy, grinning.

"You guys are no fun," Victoria sighed, pinching her nose and vanishing beneath the black water for a moment, before rising, sodden, gasping. "That's so fucking cold!"

"Well you're an idiot, then!" laughed Poppy, and Victoria laughed, too, before pushing off from the sand below and swimming the lengths necessary to reach Sophia, splashing Poppy as she kicked.

"Hey," said Charlotte, suddenly, and Poppy looked at her as a wet arm burst from the water like a sea monster and wrapped around her, holding Poppy against Charlotte's naked body, so warm in this cold water. "Proud of you. You're beautiful."

"Thanks," Poppy mumbled. Hopefully, she thought, they'd think the tears running down her cheeks were just from the splashing.

...

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