Every Saturday throughout the summer the nearby country club puts on a small fireworks display. But to celebrate our nation's independence they go bigger, longer and louder. We aren't club members, but our houses are near enough to it that we can view the displays in most of their glory above and between the houses and trees.

But on this particular Fourth of July I have a different plan. The neighborhood block party is packed with people. So many that surely we won't be missed if we steal away for a while after dark. And so after an enjoyable afternoon and evening of food, drink, family and friends I fill you in on my plan. You nod excitedly and follow several minutes behind me shortly after 9pm after telling your husband you're not feeling all that well, that he and the kids should stay and have fun but you're going to go rest.

You find me in the dark at our rendezvous point by the country club fence. We embrace, my hands on your ass, holding you tight. After a few moments I bend down, cover your mouth with mine and we kiss deeply, hungrily, tongues and lips in frantic motion. You grind against me, feel that I'm already growing hard. Goddamn do I ever love you, I say. I would love to take you right here, but I have something else planned.

I show you where someone has cut a hole in the chain link fence behind some bushes. I lift the fencing away from the post, hold it open for you as you hunch down and pass through the opening. A moment later I follow you, a messenger bag hanging from my hip.

Well off in the distance we see the clubhouse, a brightly lit building full of rich revelers. We are headed away from the center of the activities, though I don't know exactly where -- I've never actually golfed in my life, don't know the layout of this course. We walk hand-in-hand along a dimly lit asphalt pathway for several minutes until I see a perfect spot, well away from the nearest lamp. It's a small green hill perhaps 10 feet high near a sand trap, a great place from which to watch the fireworks.

I reach into my shoulder bag, remove a lightweight blanket and spread it out on the sloped ground. I sit down with my legs splayed in front of me, beckon you to sit in front of me. You settle in, leaving you in perfect position for me to push your long blonde hair aside and kiss the back of your neck, down to your freckled shoulder, wrap my arms around you and hold you tight while we wait for the fireworks to start. The feel of you, the smell of you, have their usual effect on me and I'm already getting turned on, my pulse quickening. We don't have all the time in the world but there's no need yet to rush.

I remove my arms from you for a moment, reach into my bag. You watch as I produce a bottle of red wine and a pair of red Solo cups. Classy, you say with an arched eyebrow, and I can just make out the mocking glint in your beautiful eyes as my own adjust to the darkness. It's a screwtop, I comment as I open the bottle, eliciting a gentle laugh from you. I pour us each a splash of pinot. Not bad for 10 bucks, I remark as we both enjoy a few sips.

You turn toward me, move your cup to your left hand while pulling my head toward you with your right. We kiss. The wine enhances the usual honey sweetness I always taste on you during our special stolen moments. I'm glad we got to carve out a bit of time together, you tell me after we break off. Me too, I say, wrapping my arms around your waist again and nuzzling you, my beard scratchy on your neck, a feeling you tell me you like.

Quickly enough my loving feeling begins to turn lustful as I cup your magnificent breasts, feel your nipples grow erect as my thumbs rub against them through your clothing. You begin to melt as my lips find the back of your neck, maneuver even closer to you so you can feel my burgeoning erection against your wonderful ass. My hands go down to your thighs, slowly slide their way upwards, moving your skirt aside until they're just an inch from meeting one another. You nod, say yes, and I slide both of my index fingers beneath your panties.

I explore, encouraged by your dampness, my left finger touching near the top of your folds while the right one explores further down, gently separates, opens your sweet flower, enters you. You lean back against me, a broad grin on your face as I nibble on and kiss the ear you've presented to me. I gently circle your clit, slide my other finger deeper into you, loving the feel of your warm, wet womanhood. I withdraw my right finger, bring it to my mouth, enjoy this tiny taste of you, wanting more.

Move back a little bit and slide your panties off, I instruct, crawling around you until I'm lying on my stomach, my head between your legs. I start halfway up your left thigh, begin to make a moist trail of kisses, moving up inch by inch until I reach the object of my desire. The combination of scents from your body lotion and your own essence delights me, and my tongue extends forward, gently lapping at you, tracing up towards your clit and then back down again several times. I then inch forward, snake my arms beneath your thighs to keep you wide open, briefly nibble on your inner labia before running my tongue deeply into you.

You run your fingers through my short hair, then grasp my head and gently guide me, directing me on how best to please you. I follow your guidance, feel my chin and cheeks growing wet with your arousal, feel my own arousal has grown in my shorts, taking small pleasure in the friction against the blanket when I move my hips. I'm lost for several minutes in your sweet mutterings and sighs, the soft sounds of my tongue between your folds, blind beneath your skirt.

The first fizzling, crackling sounds of the fireworks surprise us both. The countdown begins, I mutter jokingly. I crawl out from between your legs, roll over onto my back, shimmy out of my shorts and boxer briefs. You reach over, stroke my erection, bringing it the final bit to full hardness in next to no time. You straddle me, still clad in your skirt, blouse and polo shirt, happy to note that you can see the fireworks in all their glory, the early shooting stars leaving trails of green, gold and red sparks behind them. I ooh and aah, half-mockingly, half-enthralled. I'll give you something to ooh about, you say as you line me up and take me in, lower yourself entirely in one long, slow motion. Aah, I say at last, earning a small slap to my cheek.

I've missed this, I say with a sigh. I love being with you. Being inside you. You shush me, reach for my hands, lock fingers with me as you begin to ride me. We hear classical music playing from the clubhouse speakers hundreds of yards away as the bombs burst in air, the show beginning to ramp up in both sight and sound. The sky is ablaze as we move together, move as one, you enveloping me, me penetrating your depths. Your eyes alternate between lingering looks at the pyrotechnics above and quicker glimpses into mine between salvos. I'm lost in all of this beauty, your lovely face, your amazing body, the exquisite sensations of our union as we slowly fuck under stars both natural and manmade, twinkles of light far and near.

You look so happy, you tell me during a slow moment in the display. That's because I'm with you, I reply. You're silly, you tell me. That's because I love you, I say. You just love fucking me, you say. No, I also love your tits, I say, disengaging from our handholding and sliding my hands up your shirt, feeling you through your bra. I reach my right hand around, find the clasp, pop it open, palm your wonderfully full breasts, brassiere cups brushing against the back of my hand.

I guess I won't be needing this, you say, pausing your motions momentarily while you pull your shirt over your head, then shimmy out of your bra. Mmmm, so much for watching the fireworks I say, delighting in the view of your unencumbered breasts as they gently jiggle each time you bottom out on me. You smile down at me, radiant, as we slowly take our pleasure from one another, lost in the moment.

Fifteen minutes or so into the display the fireworks grow louder, brighter. I begin to thrust harder, faster, and you adjust to the new, more frenzied tempo. You lean back, place your hands on my legs, increasing the friction, upping the intensity. Every stroke feels amazing within your tight confines, and you noticeably spasm in surprise when I reach over and gently pinch your clitoris, then begin to massage it with my thumb and forefinger. Our lazy, languid lovemaking takes on a new urgency as the glow in the sky increases in intensity.

I want this forever I want you forever fuck fuck fuck I love you I breathlessly intone, my heart wide open, every nerve ablaze with pleasure, in and of the moment and only this moment. You smile down at me, so perfect, so desirable, so desired. Your eyes shine brightly, your silhouette supremely sexy, beautifully backlit by the radiant colors that fill the sky.

The skies, the skies...silver and gold streaks shoot low while higher up, hundreds of feet in the air, massive bursts of color -- green yellow red purple orange white -- burst forth. The sky erupts with phosphorous flowers as I erupt into your flower, as you join me in our shared finale, shuddering, shaking, vibrating around my pulsing cock while the sight, sound and smell of the explosions overwhelm us, as you draw this physical manifestation of my love forth until you collapse onto me, my arms wrapped tightly around you, sharing a deep kiss in our post-orgasmic bliss. I tell myself that the loud cheering from the clubhouse is just for us, the crowd's way of acknowledging the rightness of our coupling.

Fucking amazing, I finally mutter. You are, you say. We are, I reply, running a hand through your slightly damp hair. You're silent; the small smile on your face failing to reach your eyes. Our stolen moments are coming to a close all too soon as smoke surrounds us, the sulfurous stink of gun powder filling our noses.

We should probably pack up and go, I finally say, gathering up our clothes. We quietly dress, fold the blanket up and return it to my bag, leave our cups and half bottle of wine behind as a temporary testimonial to our stolen fun. I take your hand and we walk back to the path, cut across the grass to the fence line, find the secret entrance.

I'll go on ahead of you, you tell me. I'll take the long way back to the party, I reply. No one will know. We kiss one final time and I hold you tight, basking in our shared warmth, until you break off and we return to the repetitive rituals of our realities, already looking ahead to our next illicit escape.

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