My Camping Trip

You hold up a finger, telling me to wait, and roll over to the little door. You unzip the door, then reaching out a long arm to grab the bundle of your sleeping bag that was still outside on the tarp. When you zip the little door closed, I'm shivering and whining until you undo the rolled up bundle of gray and black plaid, unzip the length of the bag until it is an even square of material, then fling it over the top of us. See, you tease me, isn't that better. I begrudgingly grumble my thanks into your lips, slowly feeling that the combined body heat of our two half-naked bodies under the soft flannel interior is indeed better.

I roll onto my back as you kiss me, sweetly rubbing my arms to warm me up. I had briefly started to pull it up to remove it, and you stopped me, saying I'll be too cold; you'll work around it. And you do, your hands snaking under the cotton material, fingers spreading out to cup my breast. You sigh with satisfaction as I unknowingly blurt out a quiet yes, as if you have waited to hear my response for as long as I have wanted to say it. My eyes close in rapture as you tug up my shirt just enough to gain access, your lips closing around my nipple. I enjoy the way you've got me in both hands, jiggling and massaging, playing and teasing. You capitalize on the opportunity to finally explore the part of me that you've been tempted by in varying garments, incidents where I caught your eyes undressing me; the part you've briefly touched or bumped before, not always by accident and not always unwanted. It's so surreal to finally experience this that I think we are lost to this exploration for long enough before I feel something else of yours impatiently nudging into my thigh.

I've heard stories about you from Kelly, and I'm trying not to think of them, to not give that ungrateful bitch the acknowledgement that she had you first. She said you were big, that sometimes it hurt. She was complaining but mostly bragging. I curl my leg around your thigh, I rub myself against the hard ridge bulging through your briefs. You come back up to my lips, you take a look at my face. You're trying to make sure this is what I want.

I slide my finger down between us, down to the tip of you that is already trying to poke his way free from your briefs. I stroke across his smooth and soft head, I purr that I think he wants something. You gasp and flinch, you'd think I'd just put a match to your skin. That level of power is so addictive; I get my hands down the front of your shorts and slowly stroke upwards, along the length of you. You tip your head back with a groan as I slowly draw my hand away. Shuddering, you turn your head forward and when your eyes meet mine, I feel another rush of heat thru my body. Those sweet brown eyes are finally narrowed with intense focus. The kind of look you'd give me when you are daring me to commit some act like jumping off the boxcar from a moving train. This fierce spirit of competition that is reckless and dangerous to a point that others question your sanity. But you have almost died before, you've already seen death. Nothing has ever scared you more than probably what we are about to do. But the look in your eyes says you are ready to take the plunge. And I'm ready to take you up on that dare.

You roll me onto my back and kiss me fiercely. You nudge yourself into my mound and I whine with need. I was grasping your chest with one hand until you take that hand and push it down to my shoulder, pinning it the floor. I squirm just enough to confirm that you mean to keep my hand put, a surprised gasp when you do the same with my other hand. I can feel your strength solidly pinning me down, a domineering grin when you keep yourself away from my lips.

You lower your head, using your nose to lift my shirt up again just enough so you can get to my breast. I whine in protest as you manage to keep me pinned while devouring me with your mouth. Then you lower to kiss my belly, finally releasing your grip as you curl back and sit up. I'm watching you push off your briefs, a bit of smug satisfaction to see my eyes staring at your cock. Kelly was not lying.

I'm thrilled but now nervous. I'm sitting up, trying to think of how I should be positioned to acclimate this when you lower yourself, pushing me back to the floor. Despite the smoldering look in your eyes that warns of a very intense fuck with your impressive cock, you kiss me tenderly. A kiss on my cheek, then below my ear, a whisper saying you're gonna take my little peach now as you slowly glide your cock across my slit. I feel a visceral response from my body, a clutch in my chest and my pussy. I mumble a confirmatory yes into your lips as you wrap your arms around and beneath me, lifting my bottom off the ground. And somehow you manage to deftly roll us over, and flip me on top. You grin at my momentary confusion, and tell me to go gentle on you.

Go gentle on you?

You bat your eyelashes at me with a nod of your head.

I chuckle at your pretense, then glance down at your cock and say he's the one that needs to go gentle on me.

You chuckle back, then do something that confused me at first. You take my right hand and gently bring it up to your mouth, your tongue going around my fingers, licking them wetly. I'm just enjoying that sensation when you take my hand and then lower it to your cock. You wrap my fingers around your cock and stroke, smearing my saliva from tip to base. Then you bring your fingers up to my lips and wait for me to lick them. Figuring out where these fingers will be headed, I make sure to get them very wet, practically slobbering on your hand. Those slobber soaked fingers slide between my thighs, slowly stroking over my opening, teasing my clit, until ever so gently do I feel them dip inside me. I choke back a gasp as your middle finger slithers up and down just once, then slides back out.

I've just barely moaned when you see my disappointment that your finger went away, so you bring it back. But you only tease me with another quick slide of your finger. I guess your cock would like it's turn now.

Reasonably lubed up with our saliva, I get myself in position. I think of all the times I've straddled your lap before, the playful moments where you put me on your lap certainly aware of what we could've been doing with our clothing removed. You kindly hold yourself in place while I slowly bear down, my lips spread apart by the crown of your cock. I can't help but grimace, a groan of pain as you stretch me open. You sweetly tell me to go slow, take a breath. You rub my ass encouragingly. It's been awhile for me, and I just want you so bad. I take another breath and bear down with a shimmy as you coach me thru it like you were teaching me how to drive. Take it nice and easy, not too fast. Feel how it wants to go in, yes, now go faster, but easy. Just set an easy pace for your little peach.

It's so sweet but I can't help but tease you. You just want to fuck my little peach, is my reply. You chuckle deviously and adjust your hips, spreading your legs apart more so that I will sink lower. Oh my god I think I can feel you in the back of my teeth. But I can feel my clit rubbing up against your base, and that feels very, very good.

You let me rock up and down, a gentle rhythm that pleases us both, until you start to mess with my tits. You've wet your fingers again, experimenting with various techniques to pleasure various parts of me. I've never had so much stimulation, I've never had a boy keep touching me while we were fucking. But this is so much more than fucking. I can see how your eyes drink me in, the smile on your face as you watch me ride your cock, the way you gently nudge me back and forth so I'll get pleasured. I feel an ecstasy that is not just an orgasm. I feel adored and wanted. I feel like I am yours. And you are mine.

I've tossed off my shirt because it kept getting in the way, I'm flipping my hair back in a showy way so you'll run a hand up into it and bring me down to your lips. I'm kissing you with a giggle, I'm feeling the aching squeeze get stronger when your breathing is broken into ragged gasps. I sit straight up and lift up on my knees so I can get long, full strokes. Pinioning up and down as your eyes snap closed, you groan out a stream of obscenities. You clutch my thighs as you seize up, and I'm so thrilled to hear you coming that only in that last second do I realize that we have not gotten a condom. Even though I brought a handful in my duffle bag. Even though I'm not on any other form of birth control because I've been meaning to go to the free health center, but kept procrastinating like the dumb teenager I am.

Shit, shit, shit.

I'm jolting up as fast as I can, but I can already feel your cum. You shove me off with one hand while the other hand yanks your cock out. Pearly strands splatter us, all over your belly and my legs. There's so much of it and I can't help but laugh at my horny stupidity.

You're gasping for air, muttering more cusswords. I apologize for not getting a condom, and you tell me you're the one who should apologize. It's your dick, you argue. But I'm still so happy, I just lean down to kiss you. I tell you that my peach really enjoyed your dick.

We clean off with your t-shirt and you wad it up then toss it in the corner. I settle down beside your sweaty body, tucking the sleeping bag around us and you curl an arm around me. I quickly fall asleep after you kiss the top of my head, after you thank me.

It's the deepest sleep I've ever known. I slept through the noisy birds and the freezing cold. It's only my bladder that eventually wakes me up, just as it seems that you are doing the same.

You're already up and shimmying into your jeans, a look over your shoulder as you hear me awake. A hasty smile as a greeting and you're pulling your shirt on. You seem eager to escape the tent.

I smile back and also get dressed quickly because it is still cold out. I don't get to say anything before I see you charge off into the woods. I go to my usual bathroom spot; I'm definitely a little sore. But it was worth it.

When I get back to camp you are already there, pulling out a small hand towel from your backpack. You're going to go clean-up a little. In the freezing lake, I question, and you nod your head. You must feel pretty dirty. The answer is on your guilt-ridden face, and I watch you walk down to the water's edge. You've taken off your shirt and have gotten the towel wet. I chuckle as you loudly yelp out in pain as you wipe the freezing wet towel around your face, chest and armpits.

Maybe you do feel a little gamey and dirty, but my amusement quickly wanes as I get the distinct feeling that you are avoiding me. I go back into the tent and sit down on the pile of our sleeping bags. It still smells like the spicy scent of sweat and musk, the tangy aroma of my juices and your cum. I close my eyes and tell myself to calm down. We are both adults, we are both feeling a little gross and maybe stir crazy. But a little voice inside me warns that last night may have been nothing more than sex. Because that's usually all it is with men. Just sex, just me being a receptacle for their penis. A receptacle that they must woo and charm until I'm just dumb enough to let them fuck me. And then the receptacle is no fun anymore. Now it's just another problem to escape and avoid.

I try to clean up using some baby wipes that I discover I had packed in my bag. I put on more deodorant, I comb my hair and chew some minty tic-tacs. I put on fresh underwear and socks, my jeans and a snug knit sweater in burgundy. The sweater is an old favorite; you once told me you liked how fuzzy and soft it was when you hugged me in it. I put the sweater on and hope you'll still like it, and that you'll still like me.

The air is still cold and crisp when I leave the tent, but at least the winds are calm. You are over at the crooked log we've used as our table, pouring out dry granola into bowls. You ask if I'm hungry with a wide-eyed smile, but a smile that's a little forced. I nod and take the bowl; you say there isn't enough water to make into milk with the little bag of powder you brought. I say that's ok, and we eat in silence.

You eat like you've been without food for days, mumbling how hungry you are. I'm waiting for you to state the obvious reason for your hunger, but you just keep staring down into your bowl. The granola is now stale and gotten chewy; I barely eat half of it. I offer the rest of it to you, and walk towards the lake while you finish eating.

The water is a gleaming surface of deep blue, like a sheet of glass. Without the torrent of wind, everything seems like a still life painting. A strange peacefulness that was previously filled with a tempest of sordid emotions.

When I walk back to camp, you are bagging up items, packing up. Figuring I should do the same, I go into the tent and start rolling up my sleeping bag. I try to ignore the scent of you and me as I bundle it up with the little elastic cord, and unzip the door to the tent. I jump a little when I find you squatting right in front of it, your hand poised to unzip the door. Our eyes meet and you look unsure, hesitant. Worlds away from your expression last night when you were certain you wanted to have sex with me.

You step away so I can leave the tent and you go in to roll up your sleeping bag. Then you carry it out along with my duffle bag and sleeping bag. The tent is now empty, ready to be disassembled. I find that I'm slightly better at taking apart the tent than I was putting it together, but not much. I nearly stab you in the chest with one of the long, flexing rods, narrowly missing your neck. You bite back a cussword and huff at me to be careful. An uncharacteristic show of temper from you.

We silently pack up the rest of the items, I stuff my duffle bag back inside the smoky backpack you lent me. I attach my sleeping onto the backpack without your help and manage the straps on my own. You try to joke how our bags are lighter now since we ate most of the food. I don't laugh and I don't assist you with your backpack. With one last glance at the little spot that's been our home for the past two nights, the place we made love in, we leave.

We hike across the sandy hummocks and reach the packed dirt path the leads back up into the hills. I'm glad to be moving, grateful to have something to focus my energy on. You are unusually quiet; an awkward mumble every now and then, an observation on some random plant we come across or an animal that skitters away into the brush. I don't say anything because if I start to speak I will definitely start a fight with you.

The silent hike continues for some time until the sun is higher in the sky and the day is warm enough that my sweater is a bit too warm and fuzzy. We've reached the summit of the open hillside, just outside the canopy of the dense forest that will be the next longer trek of our journey. I say I need to stop for a moment and drink some water. You point out some jagged tree stumps we can sit on that are just a few paces off the trail.

We sit and you pass me the Nalgene bottle. There is less than half a bottle left. You see me eyeing this amount and you tell me that's all the water we have left so we each get a few sips. I take the few tepid sips even though I would love to gulp down half of this bottle. I hand it back to you and you apologize. It's ok, I answer.

Another pause of silence, and then you apologize for earlier, for losing your temper. Ok, sure you're forgiven. You can tell I'm upset, your hiking boot clad food kicking at the dirt. I'm so tired of your awkward apologies, and I'm so tired of being angry and hurt.

You clear your throat, preparing for some explanation I'm not sure I want to hear. But the lecture doesn't happen; you timidly ask if I'm ok. An earnest expression of concern. I exhale with frustration but it doesn't hold when I look in your eyes. You look at me and I think I see regret battling with desire. You wish you didn't want me, but you do.

I can't be mad anymore, I can't even pretend as you start to speak. You made a mistake, you shouldn't have let yourself get... carried away. You care about me so much. You don't want to hurt me. I deserve better.

I wonder how far I would get if I ran away from you. I wonder if I could live off plants and grubs, if I just stay in the forest and never leave. If I stay in this place that once made me so happy and forget about a life where you don't want me. If I can pretend that other world doesn't exist, the world where you are obsessed with a girl who doesn't give a shit about you, and can't understand how much I love you.

You're calling me amiga again and it's making me so upset I feel queasy. I get up from the log and stagger away, going back to the trail. I'm angrily wiping the tears off my face and feeling a rush of cold go over me, but I keep walking. I keep going even as I feel light-headed and you're calling after me. I remember seeing the world tilt sideways as I started to fall, and it all goes black.

I wake up to the rich smell of chocolately soil that's beneath my face and your hands picking me up. You scoop me up and carry me to a tree. I'm propped up against the scratchy bark. I feel cold and hot at the same time, I feel my face flushed with embarrassment and hostility that I have no energy to act upon. You try to ply me with more water but I mutter how warm I am. The sweater, you say. My warm and fuzzy sweater.

Your hands are lifting it up and holding my wiggly arms over my head. A pile of burgundy lands on the ground beside my legs. Then a wet bandana, your bandana, is going behind my neck. My head is tilted forward and I'm staring down into my own cleavage. I put on a nicer push-up bra to go under my sweater. Then I hear you digging around in my duffle bag. You are looking through my clothes and pull out the used t-shirt I wore on Friday.

Dressing me is harder than undressing me, but you gently manage my body in a way that is painfully stimulating. The wet bandana is taken away and rubbed over my forehead and behind my ears. I like this too. You try to give me water again and this time I do drink. You say that I'm dehydrated and it's all your dumb fault. I agree with this by chuckling weakly. All of this is your fault.

You chuckle a little too. You tell me to keep drinking and tuck my sweater into my duffle bag. Then you ask if I can stand. It doesn't seem to matter if I can do anything with myself anymore, but you wrap an arm around my back and begin to lift. We slowly stand together, and I steady myself with a hand against your chest. My palm placed in the center of your solar plexus, the warmth of your skin felt through your shirt.

The world is slightly spinning as I look up into your eyes, the air feeling thin as I try to breathe. But you also look as though it is hard to breathe, struggling to stay centered and focused. It's difficult to just keep staring at me like this, to do nothing when it's easier to just lean in. To keep moving towards the inevitable, to lean down to my lips.

It's incredible how quickly the kiss escalates. How my body has a reserve of energy to act upon my urges and to meet the fervor of your kiss. But your arms are holding me up and supporting me, cradling me into your body as we keep tasting the insanity of this embrace and only wanting more of it.

I don't care about the scratchy tree bark when I feel your bare skin, I don't care about the exposure of being out in the open, hidden by a sparse stand of trees. I don't care about your dirty unwashed fingers that are touching me, the wet tongue savoring me and preparing me for you. Somehow I don't mind how you move me and position me. I don't want anything else but the penetration that makes me yours.

This time you use a condom, a brief pause that is remarkable when I'm still in your arms, my legs around your hips. I demand you fuck me even though we already are, I demand you acknowledge how good this fucking feels. You want my little peach don't you, asshole?