My eyes traced figure eights, back and forth, as the hips in front of me rocked with her walking. The skirt would tighten just a little on one side, then the other, showing a demure panty line when it did. Well, she insisted on going first. It must have been what she wanted me to see. To be fair, though, she knew this trail and I didn't.
I had known her for a while. We went out after classes with a lot of the same people, then kept running into each other at random times. It turned out we liked doing a lot of the same things, too, including hiking. So, when she invited me on a day trip, I took her up on it.
I didn't realize it would be just the two of us. I felt a little sheepish about her taking the step that I had been thinking about for so long, but only for a moment. We talked easily on the drive out. She changed into her hiking boots once we got to the trail head. I leaned back against the car next to her while she did. Her balance shifted in one of those moments on one foot, and she leaned against me for support. I reached out to steady her, and was surprised at just how good my hand felt on her hip. I let it go, though – she was just putting on her boots.
We grabbed our packs and set off. She wore a long-sleeved peasant blouse over a dark tube top, a tan, knee-length skirt with a pleat on the side, and a bandanna around her neck to keep the sun off. I told her the skirt looked good, but I hadn't seen anyone hike in one before. She gave me a little look and a smile, and said "I can move well in it."
Then we were off. She took the lead since she knew where the spot was. I followed, watching that deep, strong hip swaying, back and forth. She had that look that female soccer players get, a bit straight-waisted but athletic, so I enjoyed the view.
It was a hot day, and we both worked up a sweat on the uphill path. When we stopped for a canteen break, I took my shirt off and stuffed it in my pack. She said "That's a great idea" and stood up to do the same. I looked forward to seeing that slim bust set off by the bandeau. She surprised me, though.
She stood up and un-tucked the blouse from her waist band. Then she reached up under her blouse and started pulling the tube top down. When it was at her waist, like a wide belt, she tucked the blouse under. Then she worked the dark, stretchy material up, tugging the blouse down with her other hand. The tube went over her head and off, leaving only the open-necked blouse on her top. I had never seen anyone do that before. It must have showed in my face as she tucked the blouse in again.
"You don't do things the way other people do," I asked, "do you?"
There was that quirky smile again. "Should I?"
She asked me to pack it for her. I pointed out that it was a little damp from her exertions. "It will dry in a few minutes," she said, and set off again. We grabbed our packs, I clipped the bandeau to the outside of my pack to dry, and we were off again.
I couldn't help noticing the scent of that clothing still warm from her breasts. The clean smell of her coming from it kept wafting up. Every time I noticed it, distracting bits of fantasy crossed my mind. It didn't help that the sun was in front of us. When she turned, the shadow of her breast showed through the loose blouse. She seemed not to notice, but I sure did. To tell the truth, I'm really not sure how much was real silhouette and how much my imagination filled in. I do know that every glimpse of that curved shadow just made me want more.
We stopped again a while later. I set my pack down and took a few gulps from the canteen. Then I stood up and said, "I'll be right back." I went a little way away, found a spot just out of line of sight, and relieved myself. It took a while, because my half-erection had to subside first. I finished, zipped up, and went back.
"My turn – and no peeking!" She took a small roll of tissue in a ziploc bag from her pack, and went in another direction. I didn't peek, but I did hear her. Leaves shuffled as she walked, clothes rustled for a moment, and I heard her answer nature's call. Another quiet rustling, the sound of dirt being kicked to bury her tissues, and she was back.
"You didn't peek, did you?" She seemed surprised, as if my voyeurism had been assumed. "Here, would you pack this for me?"
She passed me a handful of cloth, robin's-egg blue. It was her panties. This was just too much. With a theatrical gesture, I held them to my nose and sniffed noisily.
She grabbed my arm, punched it and said, "You're terrible!"
"I'm terrible? You're the one undressing from the inside out, and you say I'm terrible?" I noticed that she hadn't let go of my arm. She even hugged it a little closer against the softness of her breast before she released it.
I stood up, reached into my pants, and adjusted the erection that was off at a painful angle. The look on her faced was confused and amused. "What was that?"
"If you must know, you've given me the biggest hard-on I've had all year. It was pointed down my leg, pretty uncomfortable, and I shifted it to a better position."
That thoughtful look again, with a conspicuous glance at my crotch. She shook her head a little and tsk-ed. "The things no one ever tells a girl."
Back on the trail, I could barely keep my eyes on the ground in front of me. She walked on, seemingly oblivious. Her hips rocked like before, but without the panty line showing. It seemed like the skirt didn't pull quite as tightly across that lovely round hip. All I could think of, though, were the bare curves inside that skirt.
After a while, she pointed out our picnic spot just ahead. That last stretch got a little rocky. At one point, she lifted her leg to step up onto a ledge. Her skirt hung down from the lifted thigh, and that pleat in the side unfolded. A slit at the bottom of it opened up, showing just a little more above her knee.
Then it kept opening, up and up, until her thigh was bare to the waistband. I stumbled on a rock (tripped over my tongue, was more like it) and recovered. Poised in mid-step, she looked back at me.
"You're right about that skirt," I said. "You do move well in it." She smiled at me, dipped a little curtsey, and walked on.
We reached a flat grassy patch in the sun, and unpacked our picnic. She started with a light blanket as a ground cloth, and staked the corners and sides. I got out cheese, fruit, and bread. She had a few other things, including a bottle of wine.
I just couldn't figure her out. She sat right next to me, leg against warm leg. When she leaned over, and she did a lot, I caught glimpses of her perfect breasts. We passed things back and forth and her cool fingers touched mine – a lot more than seemed strictly necessary. It thrilled me when she leaned over and her breast brushed my arm. But, when I set my hand on her knee, she picked it up, pressed it to her cheek, and set it back in my own lap. I put my arm around her shoulder, but she slid out from under it reaching across the blanket for something. She had me insanely turned on and must have known it, but I couldn't figure out what she wanted.
After a while, I just stopped trying to guess. I lay on the blanket, closed my eyes, and stretched my arms together up over my head. When I did, she grabbed both of my hands, and I felt her wrap something around wrists. I didn't fight her; I wanted to know what she had in mind. I looked up and saw her smiling, tying them together with her bandanna.
"What are you doing?"
"I want to play with you," she answered in a cheery tone.
"And I want to play with you, too but ..."
"Shh. You don't get it. I want to play with you, like a toy, and toys don't play back. Is that OK?"
"Yes, but – "
"Shh. You'll be a quiet toy, won't you?" She was looking down at me now, upside down in my field of view, her face famed by shining dark hair. "Won't you?"
It was some kind game. I had to say that I wasn't going to say anything, so I answered with a closed-mouth "Unh-huh." At that point, she could have asked for anything and I would have agreed. She smiled; I had worked out her riddle.
Still holding my tied hands, she pulled one of the stakes holding down the blanket. I felt her use it to pin my tied hands over my head. "There, that should hold you. It will hold you, right?"
The question seemed silly. The stake couldn't have been more than ten inches long, and the soil there was soft. I'd hardly notice if I pulled it out of the ground. Then I figured it out. The stake would hold only if I agreed to be held. In fact, I'd have to work to avoid pulling it out by accident.
With that, the most wonderful little-girl smile appeared on this big girl's face. "It's not fair, you know. Every guy I go out with wants to look at me, at every part. I spent hours in bed with one guy who kissed every square in of me. It was great that he liked me."
She had moved around to my side, kneeling next to me. I could feel her smooth leg against the side of my chest. "But I never got my turn. I always wanted to explore them, too. They were always too impatient by that point."
She was looking into my face now, stroking my chest with both hands. Back and forth, with more and less pressure, as if she wanted to know every different way it could feel to her hands. I closed my eyes and sighed. Her hands worked down my stomach, toward my hips.
Her eyes moved down with her hands. "Ooh, that looks uncomfortable." She was right, my erection pointed down my leg again. She undid my belt and reached down into my pants. Her hand cradled my erection and worked it back straight up, making little noises with her tongue as she did. She was copying what I had done, back on the trail! And far more gently than I would have done, too.
"There. How's that?" I looked down and saw her hand reappear.
"Mmm." Answering without answering again.
When she pulled her hand out, she looked at it for a moment. Then she rubbed her fingers together, and across the palm of her hand. "Oh you! You liked that, didn't you?"
Well of course. The slick trail across her hand proved it. She cupped her hands together and sniffed. "I love that smell. Did you know that every guy smells a little different?"
Those delicate, strong hands worked back up my chest. They stopped now and then, for a gentle pinch or flick at my nipples, or at any point that interested her. She chattered as she explored. To me? To herself? I'm not she that she knew, or that it mattered.
"It's almost as if guys are made of different stuff than women are – harder, tougher." I'm not buffest on the block, but don't have much fat, either. I could feel my muscles shifting as she leaned into her roaming hands. It was a little embarrassing when her hands slid over my armpits. I'm not ticklish, but I was a little sweaty. I could smell myself as her hands spread the scent. She seemed unconcerned, though. The quiet chatter continued, talking about how I felt to her or whatever came into her head.
I'd never really been appreciated before, not like that. I'm not in bad shape, but I don't think of my body as all that special. It seemed special to her, though. Every now and then she'd lean over and kiss a spot. At one point, I realized she was kissing my chest where she had just rubbed my sweat. Embarrassment flared a little every time she did something like that. It wasn't that different from the attention I had paid to past girlfriends, though. I loved doing it, and they never seemed to mind – did they feel the way I did now? Embarrassed, but enjoying being enjoyed.
Part of her curiosity seemed to be about what I liked. I had no reason to keep it a secret from her. Each time something felt good, I moaned in appreciation or flexed under her hands. The first few times, she looked up at me with a concerned expression. No, she wasn't hurting me. Quite the opposite. After a while, my noises didn't seem to attract her attention any more. I noticed, though, that she kept coming back to the spots I let her know about.
She worked her way back to my hips, faced away from me now. Then she turned toward me. My legs were together and she straddled my thighs. That made me vividly aware of her nakedness, unseen under her skirt. As she leaned down, her blouse hung loosely. That deep neck opened toward me. When she looked up, she could see that I was staring down her shirt, enjoying a nearly clear view of her breasts. She smiled at me then looked down again, leaving the view open. I loved the sight of those small firm breasts, hanging softly and shifting or shuddering as she moved. It was all I could do to keep from pulling that silly little stake out of the ground, but I didn't want this game to end.
The button on my fly opened to her, and she unzipped me carefully. She embodied every little girl opening a present, not yet sure what was inside but eager to find out. A tug or two slid the jeans down my hips a little. That cleared space for her to take the edge of my boxers with both hands.
Her face glowed with concentration, and maybe something else. The undertone of chatter continued, "What do we have here? What do you look like, hmm?" My erection was practically popping out of my boxers by that point, so the slick head of it showed almost immediately. She fingered the wet spot on my underwear, then cooed and continued to pull the cloth down.
When my penis was fully exposed, she held it between her hands. It pulsed at her touch. She giggled happily when it did, like a child seeing a toy do something new. She clasped it for a moment more, then climbed off my legs. I had taken my boots off when we sat down to eat, so my pants slid off easily when I lifted my hips to help.
She sat back to look at the whole of me, with happy appreciation. It made me think of a sculptor looking at her statue, in that moment when she finally decides 'It's done.'
But she wasn't done. "Let's see if we can get you to relax a little." She obviously meant my erection, which bobbed in time to my pulse. She knelt next to me, facing towards me, and took it in both hands. Those cool hands took a firm grip, then started to move along my penis.
Even though she said she'd never had enough time to play with men's bodies, she certainly knew how to handle them. She never even looked down. Her hands knew just what they were doing. Instead, she looked at my face – at me, to see me respond. Every now and then she'd pause, milk my penis of another clear drop or two and spread the slickness across the head. Then she'd resume her stroking, looking back into my eyes.
I was straining at that point. My hands new what they wanted, and it wasn't being held overhead, keeping that flimsy fantasy stake in the ground. She used only one hand on my penis now. The other reached up to my chest. As she leaned over, I could see that her nipples had come to taught points. My little ones stiffened too, and her free hand played them. Her knees slid forward a little, with no change in the rhythm or change in pressure on my penis. Leaning over to kiss my chest, her breast bobbled against me. My hips rocked even more deeply as she looked into my eyes.
My whole body was winding up like a spring. A wave of tension would wash over me, leaving corded muscles all down my stomach, then recede. Each time it started again, her grip tightened and sped up. Her eyes held mine, looking for something. That quiet chatter continued too. "Pretty man, pretty male. Come on, you can do it" and things like that, over and over. Meaningless, mostly, like what she might say when combing her cat's fur, but it kept me focused on her.
Then it came. My head jerked off the blanket and my mouth opened in some long, low animal sound. Her gaze never wavered but became more serious, more concentrated. My hips weren't just rocking, I was lifting them off the ground now. Every muscle stood out, from my stretched arms to my straining legs. One of her hands on my penis, the other stroking my face, semen jetted across my stomach. A smaller burst followed, and smaller ones, but her grip never left me. I stayed taut and gasping long after my ejaculation stopped. She felt that in my penis, somehow, and held firm, as if she were holding onto the moment for me. That affectionate grasp kept pulling excitement out of me long after there was any more liquid to come. I expected her to let go when the flow of semen stopped, the way so many women do. Instead she held me at a peak that seemed to go on forever.
Even that feeling subsided after a while. My hips lay flat, my head dropped back, and I felt my erection shrinking in her hand. Her grip softened as it did, and she finally let go. I lay there, exhausted. She dampened a paper napkin and wiped her hand. A dry napkin collected the sperm spattered across my stomach, then she wet-wiped me, too. Limply looking at her, I got the impression that she even enjoyed this intimate bit of cleanup. Just part of her adventure, I guess, kind of like a younger girl cleaning her horse.
"Beautiful man. That should hold you for a while." A while, yes, but she'd find out soon enough.
She turned around, straddled me with her legs, and sat gently on my stomach. Her skirt tucked under her at first, but she pulled it out so her naked skin touched mine. She felt lighter than I expected. Maybe she was supporting some of her weight on her legs. With her back to me, all I could see was that gorgeous curve of hip, the arch of her back, and her silky black hair. She was looking down, straight at my crotch. I felt her lift my softened penis between her fingers. Not being able to see what she was doing with my tender tissue made me a little nervous, but only a little. She had been gentle all along, and continued that way. I felt her move it side to side, up and down, as if examining it from every angle. She tugged a little, stretching just a bit, and I made happy little noises as she played.
My balls came under examination next. When felt her fingers start to feel their way around me, I moved my legs apart to give her easy access. It was a hot day, so my balls flopped low. She cupped them in one hand, then began to touch them with exaggerated care. Her finger traced each one and the empty sac between. The soft, hairy skin slid easily between her fingers. She felt around a little higher, too, as if she had taken some anatomy lesson and was trying to find all the parts she had learned about.
As she leaned forward, less of her cool, smooth bottom touched my stomach, and more of her vulva's warm softness. I couldn't see through that skirt, but I imagined it open and pink, with her legs spread like that. Her aroma wasn't imagined, though. That clean, sexual, animal scent surrounded her hips and my head. I wanted to taste that smell, but the little tug on my wrists reminded me to let her play.
Handling my genitals had the effect that I knew it would. My penis started to thicken and rise, and my balls started to tighten. That drew excited little noises from her, and a gentle stroking of my balls as they drew close. I couldn't see, but I felt my penis in the palm of her hand, where she stroked it with her thumb.
"Again? I thought we took care of that." She didn't seem to mind, though. Her leg swung off me so she could kneel next to me – the hoped-for peek under her skirt never came. I was fully erect by that point and my testicles pulled in close. The skin around them had tightened and toughened with excitement. She continued cupping them in her hand, and softly rolled a little of the enclosing skin between her fingers.
A stringy, clear drop had already fallen from the tip of my penis. She shifted again, making room between my legs, and knelt there. One hand encircled my shaft. The other found my testicles, and gently scraped a fingernail across its wrinkles. My erection bounced in her hand so she continued. Then she found that line down the skin around my balls, almost like a natural seam. Friction across that had me moaning.