I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of the characters; both are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of Alex Hirsch. I make no money from these stories but write just for fun and in the hope that other fans enjoy reading them. I will ask, please, do not copy my stories elsewhere on the Internet. I work hard on these, and they mean a lot to me. Thank you.

Skinny Dippin'

(July 3-4, 2016)

Dipper agreed to take Wendy where she wanted to go—but he would do the driving, since she was still under the influence of too much brew in too short a time. A nearly full moon already soared high in the sky, reaching for midnight, and with the Dodge Dart headlights leading the way, he had to concentrate on keeping the car in its lane as it dove in and climbed out of shadow-pools cast by the roadside trees.

Then, before them, they could see Lake Gravity Falls, twinkling in reflected moonlight and empty of people—though Dipper couldn't rule out the odd beaver playing with a chainsaw. "Park there, dude," Wendy told him, indicating the lot closest to the swimming beach, and he crunched the car over gravel to a spot only feet from the sand.

As they got out, he asked, "You sure you want to do this?"

"Best way to sober up quick," she told him. "I had way too many beers, man."

In the soft light of the moon, she gave him a sideways glance. Not bad, she thought. Only an inch or so shorter'n me now, and he's sixteen. He's got some growin' left in him. His running has really given him a solid butt and strong legs. Aloud she said, "You know, you're getting to look like your great-uncles. You've muscled up some, and your shoulders are good and broad. Just promise me you won't get a gut on you like Stanley."

"I'll try not to," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

The July night felt just a tad nippy, but Wendy had been in the lake earlier that day and knew it was already warm. "Let's go, dude," she said, and she ran down the sandy slope, stumbling a little. Dang, my head's still spinnin'.

She kept her footing, though, until she stopped five feet from the water's edge and stooped to pull off her boots and socks. Then she unbuttoned and discarded her flannel shirt, and then tugged her undershirt over her head and her long red hair. She looked back. Dipper was still standing in front of the car. "Hey," she called, "Come over and unhook my bra for me. Then take off your clothes, man! You can't skinny-dip while you got your pants on!"

Dipper gulped audibly, then crunched across the sand. Wendy turned away, and he fumbled at the catch. She chuckled. "Why do guys never know how to undo these things?" she asked. "There it goes!" She tugged the bra off and turned around. "Your turn."

He was looking everywhere except where she knew he wanted to look. "Uhmmm. . . . I just, I never, you know, naked and all—"

"It's okay," she said. "You can even look at me if you want to. I don't mind."

Instead, he pulled his shirt up and over his head, dislodging his pine-tree cap. He dropped cap and shirt on the sand and then said thickly, "You're so beautiful, Wendy."

"I know, dude," she said, smiling. "I can tell you think that every time we hold hands, remember."

He gave a weak little laugh. "We'll talk about it later."

She held out her hand for a fist-bump, then said, "Take off the pants, man!"

He awkwardly kicked off his sneakers, unzipped his jeans and after a moment of hesitation, pushed them down and stepped out of them, nearly losing his balance in the unpacked sand.

Wendy said kindly, "Little advice, Dip? When you undress in front of a lady, always take off your socks right after your shoes and before your clothes. You look dorky in socks and underwear." Then, almost casually, she shucked down her own jeans and shed her panties. "Come when you're ready," she called back as she turned away from him and waded into the lake.

"Be careful—you're still not sober," Dipper warned behind her. She heard him wrestling with socks and underwear, though he hadn't even had one beer, and then he sloshed timidly into the lake.

Already in belly-deep water, enjoying its warmth on her long thighs and round butt, Wendy suddenly sprang forward, arching like a porpoise, splitting the water. She felt the tingle run along her body as she broke into an easy, powerful crawl stroke, striking out for the float some hundred feet offshore.

She heard Dipper's noisy splashing behind her and reflected that he'd learned swimming late in his life, and not well then—she'd been doing it since Manly Dan had tossed her in the water when she was five. She knew how to use the water, how to make it an ally instead of something to fight and fear. She reached the ladder, grasped it, and flicked the hair out of her eyes as she turned to look back.

It looked like Dipper was trying a broad stroke and doing poorly, propelling himself with splashy arm-flailing and frog-kicking inefficiently. He coughed from time to time, and Wendy nearly went after him, but then she remembered that he was stubborn and that he wouldn't give up. So she waited until he came blundering up to the ladder and held on to the other side of it, gasping and wheezing.

"Man, this summer I'm flat gonna have to teach you how to swim," she told him. "First, though, a reward." She leaned forward and kissed him hard on the lips. When they broke apart, he sighed.

Then from above them, from the raft, came a taunting sing-song: "Dipper 'n Wendy hangin' on a raft, k-i-s-s-i-n—shoot, that doesn't rhyme. Could you two go climb a tree so it'll work right?"

"Mabel!" Dipper shouted. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you and Wendy," his twin said smugly. She stood up in the moonlight. "See?"

Dipper found his outraged voice: "You're stark naked!"

She sat down again, vanishing except for her head. "You think? What about you?"

"That's different!"

"Hey, hey, cool it, guys," Wendy said. "Who else is up there, Mabes?"

Dipper whispered fiercely, "T.K. promised me, no fooling around with Mabel! If it's him, I'll kick his—"

Mabel didn't seem to hear him: "Oh, excuse me. My date tonight is Ronnie Nabel. Say hi, Ronnie."

A tremulous male voice said, "Uh, h-h-hi."

"He's a great swimmer," Mabel said. "Brobro, let Wendy teach you how, OK? Ronnie learned just by watchin' her. One time he was in the pool jail in solitary for a whole year."

"Oh my God!" Wendy said. "I remember that kid! I was supposed to let him out after an hour, and he totally slipped my mind!"

"It's okay, ma'am," came the boy's voice. "I did the crime, so I did the time."

"I can't even remember what you were in for!"

"I was chewing gum," he confessed in a shame-filled voice. "But I've mended my ways."

Dipper was so agitated that Wendy could almost sense steam coming off him. "Those two shouldn't be out here!"

"Dipper," Wendy said, "just cool it, dude."

Sounding wistful, Mabel said, "This is such great blackmail material. But if I told on you—well, you've got something on me, too."

"Which is more than you can say!" Dipper huffed.

She ignored him. "C'mon, Ronnie. We gotta get back. 'Bye! You two be good, now!"

Two pale forms arched into the air, splashed into the water, and struck out for shore. Mabel swam far better than Dipper, and so did Ronnie. Halfway there, they nearly faded from sight, and Wendy heard, but couldn't see, them as they sloshed out some distance from where she and Dipper had undressed. "Mabes!" she yelled, "if anybody takes our stuff, I know whose butt to kick!"

"I wouldn't even dream!" Mabel shouted back over the water, her voice softened by distance.

"C'mon, Dip," Wendy said, climbing up onto the raft. Her wet hair hung down just to her shoulder blades. She'd trimmed it the previous winter for the first time in forever, but now she was growing it back out, because Dipper loved her hair long.

They sat side by side on the old wood, feeling the raft's slight bob and drop, two moonsilvered figures in the deep night. "She's just sixteen years old!" Dipper fumed.

She reached out and put an arm around him and carefully—splinters!—eased herself against him, his flesh warm against hers. So are you, she reminded him through their touch-telepathy.

—But she's a girl!

So am I, she reminded him.

Dipper exclaimed aloud, "That's different!"

"Dude, it's the same. We're all growing up. You, Mabel, me. Look, promise me you won't cross-examine her, an' you won't tell T.K. about all this, just to upset him. If she wants you to know what they were up to, she'll tell you. Me, I think she probably asked Teek to go skinny-dipping and he hesitated and refused, and she's trying to make him jealous. It's the kind of thing that would occur to Mabel."

"What if she asks what we were doing?"

Wendy shrugged so he could feel it. What ARE we doing? Sitting here talking in the night. What difference would it make if we were wearing swimsuits, or suits of armor? You already know we're not gonna do anything tonight, Dipper. 'Cept maybe kiss a little. You know I've been hittin' the beer, and you'd never take advantage of that. Besides, I promised someone that before things between us, like, get totally serious I'll give it plenty of thought. And when it happens, I won't have been drinkin' or anything.

"Who did you promise?" Dipper asked.

She broke contact so he wouldn't hear her thought: Uh-oh. If I tell him it was Dad, he'll probably panic and pack up and leave tonight and maybe never come back. Aloud, she said, "Myself. I promised myself."

"Oh."

"OK, about tonight, now: If you think you're really ready—well, I'm willing, Dipper. Want me to show you how to do it? Interested?"

Now he sounded completely flustered: "Uh—no, you—like you said—I mean, you've had some beers, and we'd better not—"

"Yeah, but it's been a while and I'm sober enough, I think. Let's start right now. But I don't want you to hurt yourself," she said seriously. "I'm gonna show you exactly how to move. You watch me closely and do everything the way I do it."

"W-Wendy," Dipper said, sounding a lot like the twelve-year-old she had first met.

"You just watch," she said again, "and I'll teach you exactly how to do it. I'll teach you how to—swim!"

Without warning she leaned forward and shoved off with her heels, striking the water with a flat, satisfying crack! Then she broke into her crawl stroke, very slowly, high in the water so he could see—as long as the moonlight held out against the distance.

When she reached a fairly shallow place, she stood up the water just covering her boobs, pushed her hair out of her face, and shouted back, "Did you get that? Reach way out, cup your hands with every stroke, and kick like your legs were a pair of scissors, not in a frog kick. Don't even try to keep your head out of water. Breathe when you're on your side—exhale with your face in the water, stroke, then when your face is clear of the water, inhale and stroke, keeping it regular. Come on in!"

Dipper didn't dive, but climbed down the ladder, clung to it, and then pushed off. She watched him approach. Always a fast learner, he was getting a little better at it, not splashing and fighting the water as much as he had, but it would take weeks of practice before he got really good. And he wouldn't give up, she knew, until he was. Not ever.

When he was close enough, he tried to stand, but he was a little deeper than she was, and she reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to her. "Good job," she told him. "After a little more practice, you'll do fine."

"Never be as good as you," he panted.

"You know, dude," she whispered, "I guess I kind of love you." She embraced him, pulling tight against him, feeling the warmth of him along her full length, and they kissed, a sweet and lingering moment.

He pulled away and thought to her:

—Oh, Wendy. I—you know I love you too. I wish—but—He swallowed. "I mean, I really wouldn't want to know if Mabel was—you know.

"Don't worry, man," Wendy told him. "The boy she's with is a nice guy, sort of like you. I mean a little bit of a nerd, but he's kind and polite. I don't think they'll get serious—after all, if she married him she'd have to change her name to Mabel Nable."

"Okay," he said with a sigh.

"Time to get back to land," she said. "Race you!"

She plunged in and sped along. She could hear him behind her, trying hard. She was better, though, and he couldn't overtake her.

But up on the beach, as she pulled her clothes back on—he sloshed ashore, grabbed his stuff, and walked a little distance away for as much privacy as the moonshadow of a tree could offer—she thought that before long—maybe this summer, but certainly by next—

I'm gonna let him catch me.

The End