Love Potion #9

We passed two more couples along the way, one couple very obviously in the act of achieving union (she was on top, grinding slowly and sensuously). The other couple seemed to just be lazing about, the girl sitting against a tree, leaning back with her legs arched up, the guy with his head in her lap. It took me a moment to realize that he was feeding from her sizable breast. Then I realized the girl was Maggie, from the baby room. My previous question, about whether her boyfriend knew what her boobs could do, was now answered.

Not much later, the lake came into view, and I could see bodies in the distance—naked bodies. There was faint music in the distance, which turned out to be country music, of course. ("I hate that shit," Molly told me.)

Soon, the entire scene unfolded in front of us: around 20 people, about evenly split between girls and guys, and yeah, all naked. Molly explained that this was a known spot for the kids in Bakerton, too, so not everyone knew each other.

No one seemed self-conscious; it was as though being naked was completely normal. The guys mostly sat in small chairs or on blankets, some of them drinking beer. Most of them had erections, and seemed unconcerned with them. The dudes just sat there with their dicks at full mast, like it was no big deal.

The girls all seemed beautiful to me. They all had conspicuous body hair; it would have been hard to miss. These were not girls who trimmed or shaved anything, so their bushes were bushy, and their leg hair was noticeable. And, I marveled, it didn't affect how attractive they were. I watched as one of the girls played around with a guy near the shore—a tickle fight, it looked like—and the big, brown clumps of hair under her arms looked feminine to me. I know, that sounds like a contradiction, but it wasn't. These girls knew how to pull off body hair. I couldn't explain exactly how they did it, but something in the way that they just owned their natural state made it work.

Anyway: I was enjoying the scene. It was difficult not to ogle them all, honestly. The girls' bodies were all so stunningly hot, and seeing so many naked women in one place was a surreal experience. And, I knew well that they all probably had milk in their breasts, which made them seem that much more erotic. My cock was more erect and swollen than ever. I tried to focus on my girlfriend's nude body so I wouldn't just gawk at the rest.

I had learned from experience that girls definitely do have eyes in the back of their heads—but they have eyes on the sides of their heads, too. There was no doubt Molly had noticed that I'd been gaping at the naked chicks, even though she hadn't been looking in my particular direction. I wanted her to feel like she was more interesting to me than some rando lake girls.

Molly set down her little basket, and we hit the lake water immediately, splashing each other with cold lake water. That coolness, on an unbearably hot day, seemed like miraculous relief. Cold as it was, it felt awesome. And, I really liked the opportunity to look at Molly's completely naked body. She may have been a "newcomer," having only been there a few years, but she definitely knew how to sport her body hair. It looked natural and beautiful on her, odd as that might sound.

There were cases of beer sitting around near shore, but not everyone was partaking. More guys than girls had beers in their hands; with the girls, it seemed about 50/50. Molly did not drink at all, and I was never a big drinker, so neither of us asked for any.

"I hope all the body hair on the girls doesn't bother you." Molly had pressed up to me, speaking in my ear, her voice low. "You're gonna see a lot of it."

"Well," I whispered to her, "I've been thinking: if you don't like women's body hair, maybe you don't like women."

She gave me an adorable smile. "Yup. Exactly. It's just natural."

We goofed around and had more splash fights.

---

At one point, someone turned the music up loud—I didn't actually see where the tunes were coming from—and several couples started dancing. Well, it was really more of a freeform frolic, but in theory, there were girls dancing with guys. Boobs bounced, dicks bobbed up and down, and there was quite a bit of whooping. Apparently, this one particular song was a favorite.

One thing I couldn't help but notice: there were girls glancing at my cock. It was still rock-hard, maybe even bigger and harder now, given the situation. I was tempted to feel embarrassed, and then I reminded myself that all the guys were walking around like that. Sometimes I'd catch a girl glancing down between my legs; she'd look away quickly, as if she feared the wrath of Molly. Other girls were a little more brazen about it, catching my eye after taking a good look down there, as if to signal their approval of what they saw.

At one point, a girl trotted up to Molly and me, clearly just shy of sloppy drunk. "He's got a huge dick," she slurred, laughing. She looked at Molly: "You take that whole thing?!"

"Yup." Molly replied with no hesitation, smirking at her. "Whole thing, all the way inside."

"Wow, you go, girl!" she stammered, stumbling away.

Molly gave me a quick grin. "I was hoping she'd stay. I wanted to tell her how much you make me come."

No one at the waterfront was having sex; it was apparently an unwritten rule that you did not do that, drunk or not. Boyfriends and girlfriends would occasionally wander off with a blanket, their intentions obvious. Others were coupling up—girls who had arrived solo paired off with guys they'd been chatting up. They'd start kissing, but would head into the forest to do further business.

Off in the distance, at the other side of the lake, there was a small waterfall—quite a lovely scene, actually. I could see that behind the falls, there was a small cove. I noticed this because I could see movement inside there; a couple had taken residence. This was far away, but it wasn't hard to tell, based on the way they were moving, that they were merging their bodies vigorously.

I was starting to get really horny (as opposed to regular horny). "Hey, Molls," I said, "think we can go take that walk soon?"

Molly gave me an adoring look. "We can go right now. I'm in the mood. I'm always in the mood." She fetched her basket, grabbed a small beach towel from it to dry herself and then me, and away we walked.

Out in the forest, maybe 30 feet away from the path, we lay down the blanket and got to business. Molly didn't bother with demands for a lot of foreplay. At first, we kneeled in front of each other, kissing, my cock poking her belly, brushing at the few long strands of pubic hair that grew below her belly button. But very soon, she got on her back, spread her legs, and said, "Join bodies with me."

I hovered over her, pushed her hairy, wet vulva apart, and achieved union with her. After a few minutes, Molly started coming, and she didn't bother trying to stay quiet. Maybe it was a show for the others, or maybe it was just that the idea of joining our bodies in plain view was exciting to her. Whatever the case, she had an orgasm about every other minute, big and long.

The blanket she had brought was mostly large enough for us to fit on while we were merging, but my feet occasionally slipped onto the forest floor and brushed against pokey sticks and dry pine needles. I noticed, and really didn't care; I was deep inside Molly, pumping away. Distractions did not really distract me. Occasionally, when I propped myself up on my arms so I could look down at her body, I'd see some stray pine needles that'd found their way onto the blanket, and I'd brush them away.

The humid air made us both drip sweat, and neither of us cared. We felt amazing together, and that's all that mattered. Her pussy was oozing, her bush was clumped and wet, her underarm hair was stringy and damp, her slender body was covered with a glowing sheen of perspiration, her fingers were playing with the edges of her swollen areolas, and she looked downright beautiful as we worked together to give her orgasm after orgasm. Her moans were getting louder and louder, bordering on screams and raw howls.

Twice, people passed by on the path. I knew they were looking at us; I didn't have to check. And now, it made perfect sense that those couples we'd passed earlier would not have been bothered to notice passers by. I didn't care who might be watching; if they wanted to see me working hard to make Molly come, I was happy for them to see it. There was nothing to be ashamed of, or keep private. We were celebrating.

I was trying to count how many times she came, and I think it was about seven or eight. I lasted maybe 20 minutes or so (about 15 minutes of Molly's orgasms) before I just couldn't take it anymore. Maybe that doesn't sound like a long time, but Molly was so hot that it felt like an erotic marathon for me. I let myself go and felt my cock pump loads of come into her, and I groaned hard; I may have felt a little encouragement to be louder than I normally would, but it did feel good. Whenever I came inside her vagina, it always made me feel whole and complete.

Walking back to my car, the thought occurred to me: as a girl, her role while we merged our bodies was to try to have as many orgasms as possible. My role, however, was to hold off my single orgasm for as long as I could, so I could focus on making her come. This seemed incredibly unfair, and in truth, it was. It was also a fact of nature and biology. She could have multiple orgasms, and I could not. It wasn't her fault that I was capable of only one—and a comparatively short one, by the way, like maybe three seconds long, just a blink of an eye compared to Molly's eons of orgasmic bliss. My place was to help her come, and I could enjoy her orgasms from the outside as they happened.

There was this line from a Marvel movie I saw before we moved to Watley: "I guide others to a treasure I cannot possess." That had really started to resonate with me. Molly's orgasmic capacity went far beyond anything I could imagine for myself, and there was nothing that could be done to even things up. The difference was wholly unfair.

Unfair, but hot as fuck.

---

It may surprise you to hear that I was afraid of losing Molly at this point. Insane, right? Yeah, I know. Looking at it now, it seems like crazy insecurity—and it was, I won't lie. We were young. But from my point of view, she was the most enchanting creature I had ever met, and so I naturally feared losing her.

I'd been with a fair number of girls, enough to know that there was something very unique about this one. Not only that, I felt compatible with her in a deep and fundamental way. We certainly had physical compatibility: yes, I was taking food intimately from her body on a regular basis, and yes, I was satisfying her sexually (she told me this directly, so it wasn't just my own assumption). When I was inside her, everything seemed perfect. Perhaps more importantly, we just somehow knew each other's thoughts and feelings and moods—we just clicked, effortlessly.

We never really argued; when misunderstandings happened, one of us always recognized it and we'd figure things out. Molly was my soulmate. I felt comfortable and at home with her in a way that I had never experienced before.

In short: I realized I was in love with her. And there's nothing like love to make a guy worry about losing a girl. Much later on, I explained all this to her, and she flat-out laughed at me.

"How did you not realize that I was already in love with you?" she demanded.

I didn't have a good answer; I guess I did not dare hope, even though the signs were all there. Guys are stupid, at least sometimes. I know I was. I had put Molly on a pedestal, and I would say even today that she absolutely deserved to be on one. She was a magical, mystical being.

Molly would tell you now that she had similar feelings about me. That seems nice, but no, she's wrong: she is the otherworldly, supernatural entity, bigger than life, the epic myth, the girl who could inspire the launch of a thousand ships by her mere existence. I am just an admirer, just an awestruck mortal, and it is simply due to unwarranted good fortune and kindness that she sees me as any more than that. If she had suddenly started walking on air, or casting spells, or taking flight, I would not have been surprised. There were moments when I would look at her naked back and wonder if she might have hidden wings.

All I knew then, though, was that I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could, while I could. She made me happy. I was in love with her, even though I didn't dare utter those words, yet. Any moment I could be with her was a moment well spent, and partly because I had a sense that my time with her might have an expiration date. If you'd told me that we would wind up together forever, I never would have believed you. How could I possibly keep her that long?

---

"Oh, hey, there's the old willow tree."

Molly and I were out at the regional park one afternoon—I never actually learned the park's name, and it never occurred to me to ask—for a picnic lunch. She really wanted to cook for me at some point, and (as she said) if that just meant making some sandwiches, fine. It was a start.

So we were moseying around a big grassy field, lugging along an old-fashioned picnic basket she had ("It was my grandma's from when she grew up here, and my aunt kept it for me"), and a big, thick picnic blanket.

"You remember that tree?" she wanted to know, pointing. Molly was wearing a full dress, one of her "lighter" ones, which meant that it was light in color, but also made of a lighter, thinner material, so that she wouldn't, in her words, "wind up a hot, sweaty mess." The hem of the dress danced around her ankles, a sight I had grown fond of. It was very alluring.

"I think I do," I said. "I think I remember playing inside it, under the canopy."

The two of us headed directly for it. It was another hot, humid day, and anything with shade was a friend. The willow was so big and old that its hanging branches and leaves formed an opaque wall that surrounded it. We pushed our way through the wall to the interior.

It was a large room within the tree's walls; it felt like a secret hideout. You truly could not see outside the surrounding embrace of the willow branches.

We laid out the blanket right near the massive trunk and sat down together.

"This is great," I marveled, looking around at the "room."

"Sing me a song. Now, please."

I started humming a little tune at random.

"Wait," she said. She sounded astonished. "What is that?"

"Oh," I told her, "just this song I made up when I was little. I remember I sang it a lot with this one kid."

And I started singing: "Willow, willow, willow tree, your branches all surrounding me ..."

I heard Molly make a choking sound, and then she was singing along with me: "Be my tent, help me hide, keep me safe, I'm here inside."

"How do you know those words?!" I was in utter shock.

Molly burst into tears. "Because," she managed, "I used to sing them with you." She was all tears and sobs.

I was crying, too—at least, I was fighting back tears, feeling my throat closing up.

"That was you?!" I blurted. "Oh my god, that was you?!" Tears streamed down my face now.

She nodded violently, still sobbing.

We were in each other's arms, holding each other tightly—not a lover's embrace, but the long, overjoyed hug of two old friends reunited. It took a few minutes until we recovered from the shock and delight.

Then, we both stripped off our clothes as quickly as humanly possible, and joined our bodies together. I was home.

Every time Molly came, you could hear her screaming for miles.