River Rafting

So: this morning-drowsing was delightful, even if drowning in bacon was a problem.

A tiny noise outside the tent: she raised her head to stare through the netting. Brian squatted there: she hadn't heard him arrive. Smiling, he set down three cups of steaming hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows. It was a nice view she had, from her ground-level position, KK thought... a clear view up the leg of his shorts. Too bad the shadows up there were so dark. Then, much too quickly for her taste, he stood up and moved away out of view without a word. She had an equally good view of his legs, back, bottom as he left, and she damned her lack of control yet again, even as she unzipped the flap and reached for the chocolate.

At breakfast, Brian turned to KK in the middle of her bacon and eggs and coffee, and said "Paddle with me today? I need a partner, you have a threesome, and two are a canoe-load."

Across the fire, Annie and Marcy heard the question, and nodded their approval when KK threw them a questioning look. KK nodded happily to Brian, wondering why the hell she was so pleased? She shot daggers at her two friends' gentle smirks, then heard Brian reminding her: "Swimsuits! And lots of sunblock!"

That surprised her, pleasantly so: not the swimsuit idea, but the way he didn't even ask whether someone with her ebony complexion could sunburn, which she certainly could. Badly. So, that meant he was better informed than most white-boys. And more intelligent, too - a real plus. And prettier, which also did not hurt a bit. She grinned to herself, thinking that she sure hoped he would have a high-visibility (meaning tiny and transparent) swimsuit. A racing Speedo would do nicely, please. OR - perhaps they could just skinny-dip? At that, she shook herself mentally, and ordered herself again to "Quit that!"

Out on the river at last, the canoes scattered about like jackstraws in Flatland, randomly re-arranging into pairs, threesomes, flotillas, for conversation, for exchanging beers. KK and Brian just drifted: no paddling, except for short side-trips into the streamside thickets of rushes and willows. They talked. He was fun, literate, interesting to her, and he drew her out at her own pace. Which was slowly.

They swam. He looked away as she shucked off her shorts, down to the bikini. He did, however, let her know he approved of what she showed, and did it with a single subtle eyebrow movement that didn't embarrass her.

He, himself, was nicely proportioned: runners' legs, a smooth chest. Definitely overall solid. And one of her favorite items, a personal turn-on, a nice, hard butt under his Speedo. Favorite, that is, back when she was allowed to notice such things -- and to occasionally do something about it.

Sunblock was fun: he volunteered to do her back, she let him. He had nice hands, gentle, firm, but no liberties taken. It certainly did feel good, the touch: how long had it been anyhow since she'd been touched by a man at all, other than handshakes at the office? She reciprocated with the lotion: he shivered just once beneath her palms. Abruptly, she realized that her crotch was slippery wet, and not just with Colorado River water. She tried to force her thoughts elsewhere, as they sat and watched the desert slide by for the rest of the afternoon.

The effort was a complete failure.

That evening, the group camped on a flat area well above the river, since the water level could rise a lot and quite unexpectedly. In the morning, three more cups of chocolate were delivered in silence. The girls decided that they could definitely get used to this! Then, day two, they did swaps: two hours at a time with Brian. KK initiated it: after all, the three women were out there "together", for a sharing-experience. In the afternoon they made Brian go it solo, and the three overloaded a canoe, giggling and careful, complete with beer. Lots of girl-talk ensued, especially evaluating their fellow tourists, guides, couples. Wild, enjoyable speculation, and undoubtedly way-wrong (but fun!).

That evening they set up another flat-sand campground. The daylight seemed to extend to infinity. After dinner, the sun was still high, seemingly pinned to one of the Middle-Ages' celestial spheres. Marcy declared herself to be too sweaty to be proper company, and suggested a trip to the river for the three ladies, offsite, into warm shallow water with soap and shampoo. They debated the propriety of adding to the river's pollution load. The debate didn't last long.

They chose their site, scanned for possible intruder-eyes, found none save little birds in the overhanging trees and rushes. They stripped, school-girl giggling. As KK bent to drop her shorts, Marcy stared, whistled, said to Annie "My God, Annie, lookie there! What I wouldn't give to have a butt like that! Looks like it's cut from stone, by God, and that thing will never ever sag, damn you anyhow KK! I'll bet that's what men call 'a truly succulent ass'. And legs, too, all the way up to your ass!"

KK snorted and said "So, Dearie, just where did you expect them to go, anyhow?" She kicked the shorts free, peeled off her tee-shirt. Her breasts caught, stretched, bounced free. She shimmied them into a blur, whisper-yelling "Free! Free! Great God Almighty we're FREE at last!" Annie and Marcy nearly doubled over laughing, then stripped to match KK. Silently, they eyed one another.

Marcy finally blurted admiringly "God DAMN, KK, what in the eternal hinges of hell is the matter with that idiot you got rid of, anyhow? He suddenly go gay, or something?" She paused, then said "Compare!" and thrust out her chest. "One titless wonder, namely me. One "DD-cup-too-much-neck-ache-special", which is Annie. And then there's YOU! Older than either or us, and looking like a goddamned teenager between the navel and Adam's apple. It's just not fair." She pretended to pout.

They all eyed one another for a moment, until KK said "Enough of this! We're not dumb-as-rocks men in a shower, comparing degrees of hung-ness! We are LADIES! We don't think of things like that. Just like we don't sweat, either!"

They splashed into ankle-deep water before Marcy let out a squeal, pointed to Annie's crotch. It was baby-smooth, shaved perfectly naked. "Why?" was her one-word question, promptly echoed by KK. "Because my guy likes it that way... he suggested it. At first I was skeptical, but ladies, let me just tell you, now I love it. It frees up lots of nerves I never knew I had. And baby, when he shaves it for me... for both of us, really, well..... ooooh la la! Talk about "personal" service!"

She cocked a hip at them, showing off. KK giggled, kicked water at Annie, and muttered "Looks like a plucked chicken to me, Dearie. Or the twat of a ten-year-old. Which none of us is, or would want to be again, I bet. Interesting, but not my style."

They shampooed one another. Rinsing was great fun, then they lay in several inches of warm water, and watched the faint current slowly carry their suds away. Shortly, KK got up, went to her pack, and returned with a razor and tiny travel-can of shaving foam. Annie and Marcy looked at her, startled: KK just said "LEGS, dears, I'm going to shave my legs. And pits, too. But NOT my TWAT!"

Annie snorted her amusement as KK lathered. "Now, WHY, Marcy, do you suppose she's doing this? Out here? In the goddamned desert? While roughing it? I mean, hells bells, it'd almost make a person think maybe she had a BOY-friend or something!" Marcy agreed.

The net result was a brief but exhausting three-way tussle. It ended in a serious fit of laughter, with KK proclaiming her absolute emotional and physical celibacy. No Men! The others exchanged knowing looks and winks, until KK flared "I am NOT chasing anyone, ladies! Least of all Brian, whom I do not KNOW, and whom I just now MET! I'm simply not interested, and you both know it!" She glared at them.

Marcy smirked and said "Right-oh, dear. Funny, though: the only person in the group NOT to notice how HE is noticing Miss KK... is you yourself!" Annie nodded agreement.

KK snorted again and stamped her foot in the sand. Annie joined in: "You can't be that dead between the legs, love! He's got a really nice body and he's intelligent and friendly and our age. And he's solo, solo, SOLO! Plus, if I remember rightly, you fell asleep practically on top of him on the bus, so there must be something non-negative about him! And, KK, if his chest is made of anything less rigid than cast-iron, well, then he still carries an imprint from your left nipple! You should get your mind and body on the same channel!"

KK squealed, and chased her two friends over to their clothes. Laughing again, they got dressed. Then Marcy looked at KK's breasts as the tee-shirt settled over them, and snagged on stridently erect nipples. She grinned broadly, and said "Methinks the Lady doth protest too much. Look, Annie, at yonder nips! I hear they never lie!"

KK chased them back to camp for that.

That evening, in the tent, KK lay quietly for nearly an hour, contemplating her jealousy of the time her two companions had spent with Brian in that other canoe. The intensity of it surprised her. Then, quite late, under the full moon, KK slipped from her sleeping bag, stole from their tent alone and unmissed by her exhausted companions now deep in sleep.

SO HERE SHE WAS! Willingly, unbelievably, she had been squatting naked in the desert moonlight with a near-stranger fondling her in a most intimate fashion - and successfully, too. Now she was deep inside his very personal alternative universe. Mesmerized. All with thirty-eight other humans within easy earshot. Good screaming Jeezus!

Inside her pelvis, the finger explored. Smoothed, stroked, petted. Tickled. Scratched gently. Her belly muscles writhed like a pit of snakes. Beneath her short-short tee-shirt, her nipples were insanely sensitive and as erect as they'd ever been. Every breath she took, every heartbeat even, dragged the fabric over them, every thread was a tiny exquisite needle. Her nipples themselves felt pointed, sharp, like they could cut their way to freedom if only she could will them to move.

She found herself gasping shallowly, irregularly, for breath amid the swarming excitements within her body. It was male-scented and warm and close, this void, comforting, safe. ("Safe?" she thought? She was nuttier than she would have believed, wasn't she?!!) The primeval cave. The urgency in her belly took on a much deeper note, lost any overtones of sophistication, any veneer of civilization it might have had.

Finally, a second hand touched her shoulder, gripping firmly. Her belly churned: what next? The two hands pulled her forward another knee-step, pressured, turned her around to face the entrance, the trans-universe portal. The finger slipped from her body as she turned and left an aching, searing need that positively took her breath away. The turning was a cooperative venture, she was compliant, she provided the motive force, he the guidance. The hand stayed on her shoulder, stroking her earlobes, her hairline. The back of her neck. Wild-fires flamed where it roamed. She settled, feet together, knees spread wide apart, supporting her upper-body weight on hands cupping her knees. Was she facing Mecca, by chance? Or something else, something equally mysterious and far more holy?

The other hand returned, fingertips stroking slowly down her spine one vertebra at a time. She knew, she hoped anyhow, where they were going. They did so, but it took an eternity, a slowness that made her shake and nearly scream. Gourmet indeed! Delicately down the crack of her ass, across her shivery, twitching anal pucker, then finally up inside her pussy again. His fingers took possession of her insides as if they'd been going there daily for a thousand years. Firm, gentle, hot, possessive. Nice.

She shivered hard as the deepest fingertip slowly rotated her cervix: it was as if he were stirring her brain with an icy spoon. Outside, the landscape seemed to melt and flow until it was no longer silver-black scenery but instead a field of glowing charcoal, featureless, yellow-hot, extending from herself to the edge of the world.

She closed her eyes, felt more than heard the gentle whisper of his knees across the nylon floor behind her. The finger left its nest again: she mourned its removal even as she felt the warmth of his body nearing hers. His heat flowed over her, surrounded her, permeated her. Close. Closer yet. A touch, symmetrical, the insides of his thighs against her outer buttocks.

She studied the sensations, parsed them out deliberately. Something solid against the base of her spine. Warmer than the general warmth, hard-soft. Cock. Hardon. How many years? Something else, odd, brushing the upturned undersides of her toes, her arches. Curious. Then, abruptly, she knew: balls! She wiggled her toes, rolled the ball-sac gently, got an appreciative whoosh of expelled breath from the owner, his first sound since she'd entered this void.

She liked that: he was obviously having fun, why shouldn't she?

He pressed against her full-length, trapped his cock tight between them, clipped her solidly between his thighs, wrapped his arms around her, squeezed her to him. She was vaguely surprised that he'd made no attempt to enter her yet, although he was obviously, screamingly ready and able. That was considerate. Nice, again. Or maybe, to hell with consideration!? Nice, nice, nice. Leave him alone, girl, he's doing just FINE! She sighed, melted against him. Her vulva throbbed, spread itself welcomingly open. She could feel it doing so.

Brian seemed to know her status, his hands slid under her shirt, cupped her erect breasts, thumbed her nipples just exactly right. She groaned, embarrassing herself, but then she decided she just didn't care. Mortgage secured? Maybe. Closer and closer to signing with every touch. Then the fingers pinched her nipples, exquisitely, stopping just short of pain. Holding them, the hands pulled her downwards, down, down, until her chest was on the floor, pressing into his palms. She signed the mortgage.

He was dangerous! She wiggled against him, her nipples like white-hot drill-bits boring into his palms. She was urgently ready now. Like a cat in heat, her hips went up into the air of their own accord. She was shaking: it was time, time! TIME! It was so much the right moment, she was so incredibly ready and needy, that later she would be embarrassed to think of how the animal in her had taken over.

Then his cock touched her. In precisely the right spot, and precisely the right way.

In the event, it was much more a case of her engulfing him that of him entering her. He seemed to understand her need and near-fear, and held himself almost immobile, no joyous, "me-first!" plunging into her just because she was open and available.

Advantage to her? She sighed herself backwards, and that first long-sliding thrust did something she had never dreamt could happen. It made her come, hard, instantly. One incredible stroke. Through the haze of scenery now gone from yellow to white-hot, she wondered if she could have a mile of that object, please, Sir. Six inches in and six out, a foot of hard cock per stroke. If she didn't explode into a fine mist of lust enroute, then a mere 5280 cycles would do just fine. Especially if each was like this first one... and they were.

Either he was supremely good, or she was incredibly and perfectly ready for him, or they were a world-class erotic team already. She voted mentally for all of the above. Luxuriating in her ongoing rush of orgasms, she found herself wondering if she wasn't being entirely selfish: was he enjoying himself as much as she was? But that thought, that worry, dissolved as he pulled his hands from beneath her boobs, and his fingers joined the fray behind her. One, then two together gently opened her bottom. This was new to her: new sensations, true gasp-makers. Strange, having him inside through that opening - hot, very very sexy, but also nice. She was using the word "nice" a lot, but it fit. She accepted it all happily, with the overlying thought "Play with my butt any way that pleases you... it pleases me, too... just don't forget about my mile of cock!"

He seemed tuned to her needs and thoughts, and didn't let her down. She felt the dual sliding inside her, in perfect syncopation, and wondered what it might feel like to him, those fingers caressing his own cock through her thin inner membranes? Probably extraordinarily sensual. He seemed to intuit the question, slipped his fingers from her, substituted her own. She reached deep into herself, studied things inside her, felt the surge of him entering and leaving, felt clearly the rim of his cockhead go past her fingertips with every stroke. She shook violently with each deep penetration. Had she ever in her life been so blatantly open and desirous of being entered? She couldn't remember any sensation like this before.

His hands raised her ass higher, he slipped her fingers out, slid his own back inside, sent his other hand to check out her clit.

She exploded again, impossibly, into even higher intensity, wondering if she were really truly going to pass out now? Fingertip drumming on her clit, nicely, then his cock was GONE! Now, down there between her legs, there was a genuine void, a truly hateful thing. He shifted behind her, returned into both openings with a rush but from a new angle: less skin contact, more depth. Tradeoffs, always tradeoffs. Nice to have the choice again, though. She grunted happily, partially supporting his weight for a moment.

Fingers slid from her bottom: agonizingly slowly, his cock withdrew as well, leaving her totally empty. Again. NOT NICE! Not at all nice. Then, renewed pressure made her happy, but it was odd, pushing gently at her anus. She'd never tried that: amazing, at her age, a left-over virginity of sorts. But she wanted to be re-filled. NOW! So, if this was his option, his personal letch, so be it. She was woman, she could accommodate, adapt. She heaved upwards. Unbelievable sensations filled her head as his cock swooshed into her bottom.

As Brian entered her through this unexplored opening, she thought she fragmented into many observers, participants, critics. Her hands scrabbled on the nylon tent floor, desperate for something to hang onto, failing at traction. The cock, and her muscles around it, were the focus of her existence now, all subtleties were gone: it amazed her, this cock-centricity of the moment, she had never ever considered a cock the centerpiece of her action, but now, in its wholly new receptacle - it was! All other sensations faded, went onto indefinite hold.

Outside, the landscape, that charcoal furnace, flared through blue-hot into ultraviolet. Would she ever breathe again? The incessant, heart-rate drumbeat of her orgasm surged and soared with each long, solid stroke. One corner of her mind grinned privately at her, recalling her concern over whether Brian was enjoying himself: every slap of balls on her butt made it clear that he was. Each stroke brought a tiny sound of pleasure from his throat, and each thrust seemed deeper than all previous ones.

Her imagination was in full gear, too: this velvet-coated stake of a cock seemed determined to link her mouth with her ass! She thought she could feel it in the back of her throat now. Her inner voyeur dreamed, fantastic images, wooden cock through her ass, out her mouth, impaling itself into the sand, a wooden stake sprouting roots to seek the water nearby below, her muscles held him in position as he rooted. She saw the amazement on the faces of the party ten years hence when they found her skeleton, face down, the sapling from his cock growing up through mouth and pelvis. What would they think? Who cared, anyway?