Hide In The Sun

The sun was high now, hot, and the hide concealed in the thorn bushes, despite its reflective coating, was hot, too. Very hot. Jan studied her companion from the corner of her eye, feeling the sweat trickling down between her breasts. He must have felt her eyes upon him, because he turned, that damned half-smile on his face again. Arrogant oaf!

"Will we see them again?" she said. "I still have two rolls of film I'd like to use."

"There's a very good chance, but it will be late afternoon, most likely. They'll be resting up in the heat of the day." He made a long arm and grabbed a thermos bottle, pouring a half-cup of still-cool water, passing it to her. "Drink half, I'll have the rest."

She was meticulous, because she'd suffered enough from his remarks when she'd stepped on a dry twig, which cracked like a gunshot, 'spooking every animal for a mile in any direction,' he'd remarked, his tone caustic. She passed him the cup.

"Thanks," he said. My god! Gratitude.

They lay for a while, until he sat up. "I think we can forget any wildlife for the next two hours. They'll all be sheltering." He looked at her. "Do you get embarrassed easily?"

She flushed and he laughed. "Yeah, I guess you do."

She was angry, but determined not to show it. "Why do you ask?"

"If you could possibly stand the excitement, I was going to take my shirt and trousers off, try to get a little cooler."

"Be my guest," she retorted, rolling over to look out on the veldt again. Nothing. She was aware of movement beside her, a scent of male musk, then he was lying on his back next to her, naked except for a brief pair of boxer shorts, damp in places where his sweat had run, and - incongruously - his socks and boots.

He grinned up at her. "You might be more comfortable with less on," he said, his smile turning enigmatic.

"So that's what this is, an excuse to get me out of my clothes. No dice, brother." Her tone was cold.

There was sudden consternation on his face. "I'm sorry, Jan. I never thought. I'm not used to female clients. I just ..." His voice trailed off. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him. Alan Terry, great white hunter, mocker of clumsy tourists, was blushing.

She smiled. "You're forgiven."

He made a face. "I was thinking of your comfort, honest. It will be another three hours before Elijah and Kwasolo bring the Land-Rover back to the river, another hour after that before they're expecting us."

She laughed, amused suddenly. "Four hours for me to ogle you, Alan."

He made a face. "True, but I'm comfortable now."

"And I'm not. You're right, I would be more comfortable with less on, except ..."

"Except what?"

"My tits are small and I don't wear a bra."

"Ah. I see. I'm sure they're lovely, even if they are small. The rest of you is." He blushed again, vividly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"So why did you?"

"Because you are. Lovely. Very much so."

She was confused. "You haven't acted that way. Every little mistake I make, you're onto me like a, like a ..." She shrugged.

"Like an idiot who's alienating a lovely woman, because I'm scared to try to get close to her," he said softly.

"Yeah, like that. Why?"

"You scare me."

"I scare you? Oh, brother, you don't show it!"

"I feel it." He made a face. "I've never been any good with women."

"Why not?"

"I tend to see only tourists, most of them older, fatter, noisier than you, certainly none as attractive. They see the glamour," he paused, a rueful smile on his face, "they see the glamour of the 'Great White Hunter', they're bored with their husbands and they throw themselves at me."

"How many have you caught?"

"Two, in three years. Both widows, as it happens, so less guilt. They seemed to enjoy it. I did, but there was nothing else there except the sex."

"Some men wouldn't complain." Like my ex, she thought.

"I'm not some men."

"I'm beginning to realise that." She looked gravely at him. "I think I've misjudged you."

His look was wry. "Probably not. I was trying to get you out of your shirt. I realised you weren't wearing a bra."

She laughed. "And now?"

"I would still like to see you, but now I think it's because - almost for the first time - I want to make love to a woman who doesn't want me to." He shook his head. "I'm not into coercion, so you're safe."

"Am I?" she said.

"From me, yes."

"What about me?"

He looked confused, suddenly. "What about you?"

"What if I wanted to make love, too?"

He shook his head, a rueful look on his face. "I'm not that lucky."

She smiled. "Today, you are. Alan, I'm divorced. I haven't had sex for two years. Hell, I haven't wanted sex for two years. Now, suddenly, I do. I don't know why, except maybe it's the way you smell."

He was startled. "The way I smell?"

"Yes. Pure male, no artificial additives."

"Because deodorants would make the animals suspicious, I told you."

"You did. I'm surprised you can't smell me, I'm so wet."

He grinned. "I can."

She began to unbutton her shirt, his eyes fixed on her hands. A smile spread across his face as she cast the shirt aside, reaching for the button on her waistband, sliding the zipper down, lifting her ass and wriggling out of the trousers. She sat on the groundsheet and reached for her boots. He stopped her.

"Keep them on. If for any reason we have to make a rapid exit, with boots all we lose is our dignity. Without them, there's no telling what we could stand on."

She giggled. "I must look ridiculous."

He shook his head, smiling. "You look even lovelier than I imagined. They're very fetching boots."

"If I could stand, I'd give you a twirl."

He reached for her, hesitant, and she moved into his arms, raising her lips for his kiss, her breasts flattening against his chest. They were sitting, not-quite-facing each other, hip to hip, his arms warm around her. A hand moved and she felt her breast caressed, his touch gentle. He broke the kiss and his head dropped, taking her nipple between his lips, nuzzling at her. She dropped her hand into his lap and he jumped.

"Feels good," she said. "Let him out while I get these soaking panties off." She wriggled, and pushed the panties down her legs, and off over her boots. Beside her, Alan did the same with his boxers. She glanced down. Hey! Looks good!

He came up onto his knees, pushing her gently back, moving their shirts to make a pillow for her head. She smiled up at him, reaching out and running her fingers along his hardness, delighting in the feel, velvet over rubber over steel. He blew her a kiss, moving down, moving her ankles apart. He grinned up at her.

"You've got me so excited, I think I'll go off first pop, so we'll see if I can remember what one of my widow-ladies taught me." His head went down and - delighted - she realised he was going to eat her. His tongue came out and he stabbed briefly at her core, making her jump, but then she felt his tongue on her upper thigh, moving up, kissing as he went, his lips nipping briefly at her pubic hair, tugging it, making her giggle, a giggle that turned to a gasp as she felt his tongue flick lightly across her clitoris, sensitive with her increased excitement, disappointment taking her as he moved on across to her other thigh.

But he came back, lower, breathing deeply of her rich aroma, and this time he sucked at her labia, licking the folds of flesh, licking at the creases at the top of her legs, piercing briefly into her, his tongue pointed, then flattened, sweeping up her cleft from anus to clitoris. Perhaps it was his touch, perhaps it was the unreality of it, making love in a hide at midday under the African sun, but she felt herself getting excited, very excited, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold off her climax for long, but nor did she want to, she wanted to show this man that he was exciting her, bringing her to climax. She was close, she knew she was close and when Alan sucked briefly at her clitoris it was the final touch she needed and she let the moment wash over her, feeling her belly ripple, strangling the scream in her throat, her fingers in his hair, clutching.

His tongue flicked out, taking her over her peak again, then again. She tugged weakly at him and he moved up, covering her, his prick sliding easily into her soaking depths, the thick, blunt head threatening to take her over the peak again, but she felt his movements quicken and suddenly he was coming, too, thrusting into her, trembling, shaking, jerking in reflex as his seed filled her depths.

Slowly, they regained their breath, the sweat running off each of them, puddling between them, sweat-slick easing the movement of skin on skin as his lips found hers again in a searing kiss of passion and promise.

Eventually, they broke apart and he eased himself from her. She smiled up at him. "That was worth waiting two years for. Will we have time to do it again before the Land-Rover comes back?"

He glanced at his watch. "Ample time, although I'm not sure whether I'll be able to, you've drained me so." He grinned. "I'll certainly try."

They managed twice more before the Land-Rover came, and she moved into his tent that night, causing Elijah and Kwasolo to wear delighted grins.

The wild-life magazine competition that she entered with the photographs from the hide revealed that the winner was Mrs Janice Carter Terry, of Nairobi, with a photograph of a Lion mounting one of his harem. They never told anyone, but at the instant she released the shutter, Alan was taking her the same way.

Thanks for reading this far. Fun to write. It's a competition entry, so vote, please. Feedback would be nice, too.