Canoe Interlude

Laura turned in the warm water and saw him looking at her. Her eyes caught his. She smiled and unhooked her bikini top. He took a deep breath, gazing at her nipples as they hardened in the now-cool air.

"We shouldn't," he said. "I guess not," she said. She hesitated, and asked herself if her desire was merely because she had omitted her usual morning orgasm. But no, it was more than that. She would have wanted to play with him even if she had had two or three morning orgasms.

She sighed, and began to gently flick her left nipple. She always did that when she started to masturbate, and she wanted to let him see. He moved closer and covered her nipple with a kiss.

Laura dipped the bar of soap she'd grabbed into the water and began to lather Clint's chest. Gently washing off the sweat, she had to admire the way the suds ran down his skin. When he picked up the soap and did the same, the slipperness and thoroughness of his washing made a wave of pure lust sweep over her. She ducked under the water to rinse the soap off and pulled his mouth back down to her nipple.

Almost dissolving in ecstasy, Laura emitted a small moan of pleasure and let her hands reach out to caress Clint's well-delineated biceps and pecs. As her fingers wandered lower, she speculated what it would be like to eat a smores off his abs. Perhaps the marshmallows would be a little sticky for convenience, but she had packed dental floss.

Swept away, he gently lifted Laura onto a huge adjacent boulder covered with soft, fragrant pine needles. Laura closed her eyes and shivered deliciously when his lips reached her upper thighs. She felt his hands on the sides of her legs, felt his hands lift her hips and cradle them, felt his hot breath on the sides of her bikini bottom.

She gasped as his kisses burned through the thin fabric. Dimly, she realized that his hands were gently removing her suit, and she elevated her hips slightly as a gesture of cooperation.

Clint paused a second, watching her. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled her suit off. As he realized that she was shaven, his erection became harder. His hands grasped her hips again, fondling them, elevating them slightly, and then he was kissing her inner thighs. It was a slow journey, conducted at the pace of a bygone era.

She stopped thinking as his kisses began to fall upon her shaven lips. Laura felt another, unexpected pleasure, and looked down to see that his one hand was gently caressing, then oh so lightly pinching, a shaven lip. Feeling it was one thing, but the sight was too much. She watched his tongue as it approached her clitoris, then shut her eyes as the unbearable pleasure overtook rational thought. Gasping, her first orgasm was upon her.

When she opened her eyes, her breathing normalized, Laura noticed that the stars were no longer visible. There was a thick cloud cover and even as she boldly toyed with the zipper of his cargo shorts, a warm rain began to sweep the river, drenching them both. The combined humidity and sexual desire made Laura feel as if she were an extra in a remake of "The African Queen."

The sensation of Clint's lips and the warm rain on her skin made Laura realize that her dreams of Emersonian solitude, of becoming part and parcel of nature, were as ephemeral as the sanctity of the primeval wilderness. Still, she sensed that she would achieve unity of a different sort in the near future without resorting to her vibrator. She led Clint out of the river and into the tent, where the pattering of the rain on the top created an intimate, inviting atmosphere.

She took a towel and dried him off, lingering teasingly on his broad back and thighs. She admired the effect that long hours of exercise had had upon his physique.

She ran her fingers, then her lips, lower. She kissed his nipples, and let her hand move down to lightly touch his testicles. He responded by fondling her hips. She felt his hands in her hair. Soon the sound of the rain on the tent roof was mixed with gasps and low cries of ecstasy.