F.R.O.G.

"...hon. Hon, I said I have to kneel..."

And the sturdy downward dog collapsed to the mat.

I stood up and stepped back to make room as she came down. There was an oblique ray of sunlight making its way through the dusty window at the far end of the frog which happened to glance off the head of the Buddha in the bowl at the other end of the yoga mat. And right in front of me was Barb, on her knees now, naked, her head down on her forearms, her butt in the air as vast as Texas, her ports open for business.

The possibilities teeming through my animal brain seemed to go on forever. How long would I need with this woman to check every one off the list? Barb would be an undertaking, an expedition. I could have taken weeks or months to explore her, just to get the lay of the land. Her left nipple could be a fully booked weekend all by itself. And yet from where I stood, those magnificent tits were half a continent away. If Barb's ass was Texas, Barb's tits were northern Nebraska.

But of course we were in a time crunch, so our scope of activities would be strictly limited, and any remaining excursions parked (forever) in my fantasies. The important thing now was to achieve union and make manifest the entanglement of our electrical fields.

I dropped to my knees behind her again and reached for her pussy, now sopping. I slipped a few fingers inside her and placed my thumb on her perineum, then tugged backwards. My cock was waving around, waiting to be put to good use, a nuclear submarine looking for somewhere to dock. When Barb's cunt was within range my submarine entered Corpus Christi Bay. All that was left to do was glide up and put in, then put in, then put in, and put in.

I took handfuls of her ass and lifted both cheeks to get as deep inside her as possible, then let go and watched the ripples cascade all the way down the backs of her thighs.

I could hear the heavy slap of her tits against her ribcage, in keeping with my rhythm but off by a measure, like call and response. Like jazz. Fucking this beautiful, larger-than-life woman was like jazz.

Jazz and geography... deep-sea shipping... frontier exploration... By now my head was simply a hollow projection chamber, screening all impressions and sensations as they occurred, devoid of reason, primed by instinct and touch.

Meanwhile, after some receptive nnh-ing and mmh-ing up there in the Dakotas, Barb was becoming talkative.

"Tell me when you reach the mountain-top, lover... Tell me when you get there... Just let me know, okay?... Lover?... How's the view, hon? How's it look, lover?... Oh, God, tell me what you see... tell me what's down there..."

I didn't know what she meant, and it was a contrast to my own nautical musings down here in Corpus Christi, but it was stimulating in the extreme, the idea that I was taking her somewhere I couldn't physically see for myself. I was happy to go along with it.

"We're almost there, baby," I called, "I can see the valley, now, down below... Um, there's a big wide lake... It's big and wide."

"Mmm-hmm."

"It looks deep, too. There's a dam up ahead."

"Big dam?"

"Tall. Wide like the lake. But there's cracks all over it. Something. Something keeps. Slamming into it."

"I can feel it, hon. You think the dam's gonna break?"

"I think so. It can't hold."

"Ohhhh, I think I feel it breaking."

I'd long since nudged open her cervix, and now my cock just seemed to grow longer and longer. There was some kind of magic going on. The Buddha in the bowl opened one eye and winked at me complicitly.

"Hold on, lover, it's collapsing now. Grab something."

"Gaah! Freddie. Freddie."

Barb smacked the yoga mat repeatedly as her entire body shook. I clamped my hands at the top of her hips and held her tight to me. My cock was up amongst her ribs by now, delivering its atomic payload. It seemed the top of her head should have popped off--such was the force of my repeated blasts--and I was momentarily surprised Barb remained intact. It's possible my judgment was impaired, however.

What Barb did do was let out a wail that might also have been a sob, but in either case appeared to be the consumption of the last ounce of energy she had in her, immediately preceding her slump to the mat.

I think I must have nodded off soon after--lying alongside Barb with my head on her left shoulder--because next I was aware she was in full motion, already half-dressed, speaking to me from high up in the rafters of the F.R.O.G, saying, "Come on, hon, we better hustle."

*

We went on to see the two remaining houses on our list. I remember very little about them. At one point I attempted to kiss Barb, but she'd resumed full agent mode. She actually pinched my cheek the way an affectionate aunt might. It had the desired cooling effect on me.

In the end, Kelly and I bought the very first house we'd looked at; Barb said we'd be surprised how often that turns out to be the case.