by Selena Kitt
“That’s the best part,” Libby explained as they got to the doors. “You can be who you really are.”
“Is that really a good idea?” her mother murmured.
The pews were already mostly full, but Libby led her mother to the front row where there was always a section reserved for the preacher’s family and friends. She felt her mother’s eyes moving over the sea of flesh and, when they were seated, Libby turned to her.
“You get used to it,” Libby whispered, smiling behind her at Mrs. McCallister, who came completely naked like everyone else, but still insisted on wearing her hats. This one was pink with two peacock feathers in the side.
“Libby, this is so crazy,” her mother whispered back, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Naked in church?”
“This is how God made us,” Libby countered. “Daddy always says we can each choose to stay in The Garden of Eden. That’s why he named our community that.”
“I know.” Kim frowned, her eyes moving over her daughter’s face. “I just...I think it’s kind of a delusion to think you can go back to the garden...”
“You’re already here.” Libby smiled, touching her mother’s arm. “This is The Garden of Eden.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Ed stepped up to the podium in front, and Libby saw her mother’s jaw drop when their choir began to file in, standing on the risers in their birthday suits and facing the largest congregation of Christian nudist community members in the country. Kim hid her face behind her hand for most of the service.
—
“Where is she?” Libby asked as she came into the kitchen and saw her father sitting alone at the table with coffee and the paper.
“Out.” He shrugged, watching her pour a bowl of cereal. “Are you ready for tomorrow night?”
Now it was Libby’s turn to shrug. “Do I have to be?”
“Kind of hard for the preacher’s daughter to skip it, babe.” He smiled. “One night a year to get dressed up and go dancing. Doesn’t it sound like fun?”
“Like going to the dentist.” She gave him a grim smile, pouring milk in her cereal.
He laughed. “Come on, Lib. It isn’t that bad.”
She curled up in the chair next to him, milk dribbling down her chin as she chewed. He was watching her and she sighed. “Do you want to hear something incredibly stupid?”
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“I don’t have anything to wear.” She bit her lip, seeing his smile, and shook her head. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
His face worked and he cleared his throat. “I’m not laughing.”
“You were thinking about it.” She took another bite of cereal. “Sara’s had a dress for this stupid dance for a month. I kept meaning to get one...but then she said she was coming...”
Her father sighed, sipping his coffee and watching her. Libby continued to spoon her cereal in, chewing thoughtfully in the silence.
“I have an idea.” Ed put his cup down on the table and stood, holding his hand out to her. “Come on.”
She followed him into his room and sat on the bed while he opened his night table drawer. Curious, she watched him remove a small key and unlock the chest that sat at the foot of the bed. It had never been opened, as far as she knew.
“After your mother left, I put these here,” he said, the lid creaking open. “She never asked for any of it back...and I couldn’t bear to...”
Libby crawled to the end of the bed, peering over the side. “Oh, Daddy.”
She moved to kneel in front of the chest, her fingers running over the various materials, soft, silky, velvety, that lined the cedar. Libby lifted one of the dresses, the softest, pale yellow with a purple paisley pattern.
“It’s so pretty.” She stood and held it against her body.
Ed’s eyes swept over her. “Try it on.”
Libby lifted the dress over her head, slowly pulling it down over her hips. The dress was a silky yet stretchy kind of material that clung to her upper body, the bodice plunging and cinched, crossed with two thin bands of purple outlining her breasts. The spaghetti straps left her freckled shoulders bare and, while the top hugged her, the skirt flowed and swirled around her legs when she walked, the hem falling a little higher than mid-thigh.
She was lost in her own world, looking in the mirror over the dresser, turning to see herself from all angles at once. Finally, she turned to her father and saw that he was pale, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Daddy?” She frowned, turning again. “Don’t you like me?”
He shook his head, as if to clear it and his voice was hoarse. “You’re stunning. You look so much like your mother...”
He came up behind her, looking at her in the mirror, and her tummy clenched when she met his eyes. She had never seen him look at her that way before. His hands moved over the silky skin of her shoulders, fingering the thin straps, straightening, his eyes moving down the front of the dress, how it hugged her breasts, her slender waist.
“When did you grow up?” he murmured, smiling as he met her eyes again. Clearing his throat, he went on. “I think your mother left some...underthings... You might need a...bra?”
Libby went to the chest, sifting through, finding a lacy black bra and a pair of soft, mesh panties. She flushed as she touched them, looking up at her father.
“These?”
He nodded, sitting on the bed. “I think those will work.”
She felt his eyes on her as she slipped the dress off her shoulders. He was watching her like he’d watched her mother slipping her clothes off, and Libby took her time, carefully laying the dress on the bed before bending to step into the panties. They felt foreign to her, the material going on like a whisper over her flesh.
“Do I have to wear a bra?” She held it up and made a face. “I never wear these things.”
“I think so,” he replied, looking at the dress.
She sighed, putting her arms through the straps, bringing the cups around front and working at the clasp. They were small hooks and eyes and her tongue snuck out to the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on fastening them.
“Daddy, can you help?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t get it.”
Her father nodded, crooking his finger and she went to him, standing between his thighs and offering the front of the bra to him so he could clasp it.
“I’m not much better at these,” he confessed, his big fingers working between her breasts.
Libby held her breath, feeling his palms brushing over the black silk and lace, making her nipples stand up involuntarily in response. She worked hard at not showing her embarrassment, feeling a tingle between her legs.
“There,” he said, peering at the two hooks. “I think that’s it.”
“Thank you.” Libby adjusted the thin straps, the lace edge framing the soft fullness of her breasts, now pressed up in the fabric.
Her eyes met her father’s and she swallowed, seeing his gaze moving over the curves and swells of her body covered in black silk and lace. Her nipples were hard, and he looked back and forth between them as they poked out against the material.
His hands spanned her waist, pulling her close and kissing her navel, just like he used to when she was little—except this time, it was different. His hitching breath, the heat of his lips, the way his hands gripped her sides, all made her feel weak and dizzy and aching for something.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Libby asked softly, turning away from him and toward the mirror.
She put her hands on her hips and arched her back, angling her bare midriff as she looked at herself in the mirror. She touched her tummy, her eyes moving over the smooth skin of her legs, turning so she could see the back and how the mesh panties curved over the rounded swell of her behind.
“It is,” her father agreed, clearing his throat. His eyes still followed her hands as she adjusted the straps and, looking over at him, Libby saw something that shocked her—he had an erection.
/>
“Excuse me for a moment.” He didn’t cover himself, but he stood quickly and went out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.
She stared after him, and then looked back at her reflection in the mirror, the way the crotch of the panties cupped her mound, how the bra pressed her breasts up and together.
She pulled the dress over her head and found a pair of black strappy shoes tucked away in the corner of the chest that she put on and practiced walking in. Wobbly and unsure, she paced back and forth in front of the mirror.
“Libby,” her father said from the doorway and she turned, startled. He was flushed, but she noticed his erection was gone.
She smiled, gathering her hair up and putting it on top of her head. “What do you think?”
He took a deep breath and let it out with a shake of his head. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Daddy!” she admonished, blushing and letting her hair fall to look in the mirror. “Am I really?”
“Yes,” he breathed, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them to smile at her. “There’s only one other woman in the world who has ever taken my breath away like you do in that dress.”
Libby felt something small and tight turn over in her lower belly as she walked, a little unsteady, into his arms, pressing herself against him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I love you.”
—
“Well, I suppose my old dress is better than no dress,” Kim remarked, fingering the material and glancing over at Libby. “Does it fit you?”
“She looks just like you did in it at that age, Kim,” Ed replied, coming into the living room with two diet Cokes and handing her one. “I couldn’t believe it.”
“So are you coming?” Libby asked as her mother sat at the other end of the sofa.
“I suppose,” Kim said with a shrug. “As long as I don’t have to go nude.”
“You’re in luck,” Ed said with a smile. “You picked the one day of the year when we do something with clothes on.”
“Do you remember the last time I wore that dress?” Kim asked. Libby saw some sort of communication pass between her parents.
Ed popped the tab on his Coke, sitting next to his daughter. “Of course I do.”
“The night you were conceived,” her mother told Libby, using a long fingernail under the tab on her Coke.
Libby looked up at her father, remembering his reaction to her in the dress. “Oh.”
Kim’s cell phone rang and Libby rolled her eyes, reaching for the remote. It was the fourth time in as many hours.
“Hello?” her mother said after flipping it open, sighing as Libby turned up the TV. “Hang on, David...”
Kim scooted off the sofa and went into the kitchen, but they could still hear her talking.
“No, I told you…Wednesday...” Kim paced, prowling the perimeter of the small kitchen. Libby saw her mother out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, I promise you, I’m keeping my clothes on...”
Libby snorted, nudging her father in the ribs. He shook his head and shrugged, taking another drink of his Coke.
“It’s disturbing, actually.” Her mother lowered her voice. “They’re both naked together all the time, and I told you about the supposed nightmare thing...”
Standing, Libby tossed the remote next to her father. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s only eight o’clock.” He looked up at her, surprised.
She shrugged. “I’m tired...”
Libby heard them talking in the living room, her mother asking about her. She tried to drown them out, looking for a cool spot on the sheets. Most nights they left the windows open, but tonight she felt unusually warm, even though there was enough of a breeze to blow the curtains around.
Squirming under the covers, she kicked them off. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered her father watching her try on her mother’s dress. She could feel his hands, helping her hook her bra, the way his lips brushed over the skin of her belly like a brand.
She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or shame that made her so warm and flushed, but whichever it was, it was a long time before she drifted off, her mind returning to that moment again and again, when she looked over and saw the proof of his arousal swelling between his thighs.
It was late when he slipped into bed beside her and leaned over to kiss her shoulder in the dark. His lips were soft, warm, and she remembered his mouth and breath against her belly, how he looked at her. Every movement made her tingle—the weight of him in the bed beside her, the shift of him rolling onto his side.
She feigned sleep for a while, listening to the sound of his breathing become deep and even as she stared up at the shadow patterns the curtains made as they blew the moonlight around the ceiling. The breeze touched her skin, giving her goose bumps, although she didn’t feel cold. In fact, she felt entirely too warm, her whole body filled with a slow heat.
“Daddy?” Libby whispered in the dark, looking over at his broad back, hearing the sound of his breathing. He didn’t respond and she knew he was asleep.
Closing her eyes, she slipped her hand down over her belly, finding the soft, downy red triangle of hair between her thighs where all of her feeling seemed centered tonight. Everything down there was swollen, wet, and her fingers slipped easily between her lips, through the soft folds of flesh.
She remembered his hands, the way they gripped her, the look in his eyes, like he could devour her, as she nudged her tender, sensitive clit in the dark with her fingers as quietly as she could. Her breath came faster as she recalled how hard he had grown just from looking at her in a pair of panties and a bra, how the sight of her barely concealed flesh had aroused him.
Her fingers circled her clit, pressing it harder, faster, her muscles tightening against the mattress as she imagined her father’s hard cock, the way it swelled and stood up and pointed at her, as if it wanted something. That one brief moment of arousal, knowing he was looking at her, desiring her, the lust showing not just in his eyes, but throbbing undeniably between his legs as well, made her wild with wanting.
What would it feel like? She wondered with a shiver, sneaking a hand up and tweaking her nipple. What would it be like if he kissed her and pressed it up against her? She’d watched his erection rise like an exclamation point, a demand, something that knew exactly what it wanted and knew just how to take it.
Libby tried hard to control her breathing as she rubbed and rubbed her clit, listening for any sounds or indication her father might be waking. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, thinking about this, but she couldn’t help it. His body had responded to the sight of her, and her body now responded to his presence, so close, less than a foot away from her on the mattress. She wanted to reach over and touch him, and she wanted him to touch her.
Her fingers were wet and slick with her juices and she couldn’t control her breath at all anymore. It came faster and faster, she was panting and gasping, her thighs trembling with her effort.
“Oh Daddy,” she whispered, her breath hitching, her voice barely audible even to her own ears.
She was arching as her belly tightened, her fingers edging her clit toward release. “Daddy, yes, yes.”
Her climax shook her and the bed, although she tried hard to be still, not to cry out as the waves of pleasure rolled through her. She took a deep, hitching gasp, still petting her sticky mound in the darkness, her fingers playing idly, unfocused, just teasing little shock waves through her body now and then.
Quietly, self-conscious now, she rolled to her tummy, hugging her pillow. She closed her eyes, her body finally relaxing, sinking into the mattress as she began to drift off.
In the morning, she recalled whispering, “I love you, Daddy,” just before she sailed off into sleep, and thought he might have breathed, “I love you, too”—but maybe, she told herself in the light of day, maybe it was just a dream.
—
/> Libby wasn’t used to being looked at. Strangely, living nearly her whole life among nudists made her quite unselfconscious—but she was used to being around people who didn’t look at her in a sexual way. She’d had boyfriends, of course, but it was a Christian community, and people didn’t act or think that way, for the most part. Being naked stripped everyone of their pretenses, and there was nothing left to hide, so there was nothing really to look at.
Now, on her way back to the dance floor from the bathroom, she felt eyes on her in a way she never had before. Men looked at her breasts, pressed up in her new bra, and her legs, which looked long and shapely in heels. It made her feel shy, something entirely new to her.
“Hey, would you like to dance?”
Libby noticed his tattoo first, a tribal arm band that showed beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. Then she met his eyes, bright blue and smiling, his hair nearly as red as her own, although she thought it might have been dyed. She opened her mouth to reply and found she couldn’t form the words.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “This is a great song.”
Libby waved to her parents on her way by, pointing to the young man holding her hand and then to the dance floor. The community held an open—and clothed—get-together once a year, where people could invite their family members and friends who might have concerns about a nudist environment. Daddy joked it was the “We’re Not Aliens” dance.
The music was too loud for them to talk and so they just danced, song after song, their bodies shifting closer together as the floor got more crowded. Libby was sweating lightly and noticed he was damp, too, when he pressed her to him for a slow dance and they finally got a chance to breathe. She looked for her parents and saw their heads were bent close and her mother was sipping her drink.
“What’s your name?” he asked against her ear. The feel of his breath there sent shivers through her.
“Libby.”
“I’m Will. Nice to meet you, Libby.” He pressed closer still until she was breathless with the heat of them together.
“I’m thirsty,” Libby protested, when a new song started. “Do you want to meet my parents?”
