Shalia, Hisa and I make our way out the back door and through the gardens, leaving our mothers giggling behind us, Joanna telling Cherovi stories about my dad. I bring my finger to my lips and lift the top of the barrel.
Bits of yellow fabrics sparkle up at us. We grab them by the handfuls, ensuring there’s enough for all.
Once we get to the cove of trees and can hear the males splashing and laughing, I pause, taking the other two’s hands.
“If Var is naked, I don’t want either one of you looking at his Southpeak sword of sin,” I whisper.
“What in the world is a—” Shally asks
I motion my eyes downward to my groin.
“Oh.”
Hisa snickers. “Goddess, I missed you, crazy female. If Tok is there, no one gets to look at his passionate pleasure-pole.”
I snicker back.
Shally looks worried. “Aye, do you think our own males would be foolish enough to be in there? I don’t want either of you to see Bakog’s turgid tool of tantric love.”
I snort. “If our fathers and brothers are swimming naked? I do think their brains will have gone out the window, yes. So, no peeking at Var’s magnificent manhood.”
“Mayhap we didn’t think this through,” Hisa says. “I don’t want to see my father naked. Not even accidentally.” She pauses. “Not any of yours, either.”
“None of us do,” Shally says. “We’ll just have to try to sneak the clothes and hope they all stay in the water.” She shudders. “Imagine if they come running out, dangling pieces flopping between their legs.”
We take a moment to laugh quietly at the ridiculous image, covering our mouths.
It’s easier than we imagine with the males so distracted to steal their clothes and leave bits of dress fabric in places on the sand, some only as big as my hand.
And later, when we’re in the gathering area of the village, passing the ale back and forth with some of the hunters and the mostly-female population, we hear a bellow as the males return.
Most are clutching yellow fabric to the spot between their legs, and the little brats are giggling uncontrollably as they mimic their fathers, but they seem quite gleeful to be butt-naked.
“Who was responsible for this travesty?” Brachard bellows. “The Blackhearts are our dignified guests!” But his lips twitch, which sends us into a fit of giggles.
Jacovi harrumphs, then throws his shoulders back, dumping the long piece of fabric that mimics a shawl to the ground in a lemon cloud.
He has a ribbon of fabric tied into a yellow bow around his cock. I sort of wonder who tied it for him.
His sister, Cherovi, screams and covers her eyes.
My father tries to come console her, but forgets to hold his envelope of fabric over his own cock, blushes bright green, and then bursts into laughter. Which triggers everyone else.
And when we’ve had enough of dangling cocks, we drag out Joanna’s fabrics bin, which is where we stashed their clothing.
My Uncle Latsil catches my eye as he notices the bin, and I wink. I grab my cloak and drape it over Var to keep nosy eyes from peeking at his magnificence.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” he growls.
“Nay, my love. I wouldn’t.” I can’t help the grin that curls my lips with my obvious lie.
“Not unless you were with those other two,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose as my father tosses Var’s tunic at us.
Var keeps his eyes on me, but raises one muscled arm and catches it. Impressive.
“I can’t believe you joined these fools in skinny dipping,” I chide.
He grins. “I had no choice. I’m a prisoner, remember? They told me in no uncertain terms to strip.”
