River Rafting

In the short tent he stood crouched above her, strong hands pulled her upwards onto him by the hip-bones. The tugging slid her chest across the nylon, making nipple-zings.

Inside her, he came. She nearly screamed with a sense of both power and fulfillment. He came harder than she could have imagined. So hard, so prolonged, it was somehow calming. So calming that it even crossed her mind how unfair it was, her getting minutes to his paltry seconds, her symphony to his meager cymbal crash. She squeezed his cock hard, magnanimously trying to extend his pleasure a bit. It worked.

They soaked in one another. KK's landscape glow faded back through its spectrum. When she opened her eyes, silver/black pick-up-sticks had reasserted their original scenic dominance. She wondered if she had screamed out, told the world of her ecstasy? Blood from her bitten lip suggested not. That was good. Somehow he was out of her body now, but not out of her mind... and they were kissing, exquisitely, still lost invisibly in the tent's void. A much different void, now.

She wasn't sure: had she, or had she not, actually said a coherent word other than "I have to pee!"? Probably not. That, too, was good.

"What will the sperm do in there?", she wondered. She giggled, snuggled, and found a teenage-like hardon in her hand. He hadn't even softened. Interesting. Suggestive. Abruptly, and unexpectedly, her furry little beast stood up in her belly, did a whirling tap-dance, and took command. The cock made a perfect handle, trailer-hitch, come-along. With it she pulled Brian outside into the quicksilver.

Initiative to KK, no doubt this time.

Their two figures moved in slow motion, shifting planes of pure silver and ebony. A human reflection of the landscape around them. One step: two, three... a clean spot on newly-laid sand, no plants or rocks or cactus. Adequate as an altar, she thought. She turned him using his cock as a tiller, until moonlight flooded his face. His pupils were huge, as if on drugs. Maybe, she thought, they were BOTH on drugs: one another?

Her hand on his chest settled him to the sand. With arms behind him, he sat on his butt looking up at her, impudent cock bouncing and glowing silver. She scanned him from her height, knowing that he couldn't see her face with the moon behind her this way. Now it was HIM staring into a void, wasn't it? Turn-about, indeed.

She stood above him, straddled him like the Colossus of Rhodes. He sighed deeply as he studied her: the sound, and what it meant, raised the hairs on her neck again. He liked what he was seeing, no doubt about it. Good! She studied him. As he had studied her, from the void. Silver, silver, silver. Glistening hairs on his legs, arms. Nipples like BBs. She glanced at her arms, at her legs: blackness of the void personified, what a contrast. Join them, get what as an average? Who could say? It wouldn't be gray, though. Something mysterious, much more than the mere sum.

His hand moved to the base of his cock. Something odd there, not enough to make a breaking bubble in her consciousness. He tilted his cock upright, away from his belly, held it there like a short, curved flagpole complete with knob on top. He waggled it slightly - an invitation to further flirtation? Was he suddenly being crude? She studied his expression, found he knew exactly how silly he was being, so "no", he was not devolving into crudity. His pose and actions reminded her of the old Japanese wood-block prints with their comic erotica, grizzled old men with monstrous hardons competing to hold up strings of coins, buckets of water, balanced on their erections. Silliness was nice - we don't have to take ourselves, and all this, too seriously, do we?

Backlit, she giggled from inside her perfect anonymity, watched the jet black shadow of his cock, the original maypole, try to tell time on his belly. Time, indeed. HAH! This time, it was going to be hers! If he and his cock were Priapus, male principle, then she was Astarte, Ur-Goddess, and her blood carried the memories of FEMALE back to the primeval ooze itself.

She squatted slowly, deliberately. She had all the time in the world. She would, by whatever Goddesses might be, complete her miracle-mile on this man!

Her hand pushed his aside, took control. He yielded graciously. She realized that he really, truly, understood what was going on. He was hers for her duration, not for his own needs. Why did she know he was not going to soften on her before she was done? That he was going to be properly there for her? But then, what man wouldn't, in a command performance for the fertility goddess herself?

KK's fingertips circled the base, touched baby-smooth skin. He was clean-shaven. That was what had been disturbing her about the view! But her surprised fingertips decided at once that this was another good thing. Two shaved crotched in a day? Perhaps there was something in it after all? But best to save that thought for later. Down she settled, thighs shaking as her toes and heels dug foundations for the ceremony to come.

Her face stayed invisible to him as she took a long, deep breath and took him into herself. She was BACK! Below her, his face danced in and out of existence with the movement of her shadow as she rocked, head thrown back, breasts bouncing. Would the Coyotes' Union mind if she howled aloud? Did they own the copyright? Brian's expression was one of pure delight: he understood! One hand for one nipple, a second mortgage ready for signature, the other hand's thumb in the darkness of her crotch belonged entirely to her clit. Sweat sprang from every pore as she rocked until spasms, his and hers together, simply stopped her.

She was done. Not forever, but for this moment.

Later, they found that sand had gotten into everything. That meant EVERYthing. But the river fixed that quite nicely, thank you. The next hours were incredible. The attitude of this man! He found the whole business of making love to be FUN, and he talked about it. And he MEANT it! Later, she even told him about her "mile of cock" thoughts, and he laughed with her: their best calculation suggested perhaps about three-eighths of a mile for the evening, but even that was optimistic.

Unlike all her previous men, he just didn't seem to be worried about orgasms, except for a concern that she get plenty of them. And she did! As for his own, he assured her that they would just happen when they were desired, and the game leading up to and away from them was the primary thing. Sure, they even managed a couple of the classical "highly desirable" simultaneous ones, a new experience for her, but that wasn't difficult because he simply kept her soaring until he came. It was like shooting into a pond -- hard to miss! The simultaneity wasn't a short-term thing, or even particularly special, because it was inherent in how they made love. She realized with a start, half-way through their third or fourth cycle, that she was using the term "making love", both mentally and openly.

Brian was up for anything. Sex, for him, was neither a desperate, tight-lipped, high-tension attempt to keep from coming too soon, nor an equally unsettling attempt to drive to a climax. Everything he owned seemed to be sensual, and the more body parts were brought into play, and discussed (with a MAN -- such an incredibly odd concept!!), the better he seemed to like things. Kissing was like falling into a honey-filled well, and it went on forever and ever, it was its own erotic universe, replete with nuances and left-turns and miniature near-climaxes.

When she told him how much she liked his butt, he flipped over on his belly in the sand, settled himself into her own earlier knee-chest position, and made himself available for exploration and inspection. No man she'd ever been with had accepted even the tiniest touch on his anus, and this man wet two of her fingers, had her slip them far up inside his bottom, and reveled in teaching her how to massage his prostate. She was instantly in love with the sensations, the warmth, tightness, slippery intimacy, especially the feeling of trust for her that emanated from him as he gasped to her deep, curling strokes. In those first few seconds inside him, she felt that she began, finally, to understand the intensity of the attraction and need men felt to be up inside a woman. It was beautiful, intense, unsettling. And, as Brian kept telling her, it was just plain FUN! Little mammals giving in to their innate curiosity again, freed (between themselves, at least) from social restrictions on the urge. How wonderful.

Eventually, they did leave the riverside's sand-bed to return to his tent. There was no question at all of her going back to spend the remainder of the night with her friends. He was a snuggler, too. She buried her face in his side, and they held one another, about the most comfortable arrangement either had encountered in recent memory. She dozed off, only to awaken with a tiny start some time later. The sun wasn't yet up, but light was rising even as she looked out across Brian's neck. He stirred, she was again, unaccountably, embarrassed, looked up at him from his armpit with only one eye. He was smiling at her, his hand was on her bottom. DAMN but that felt good. She wiggled, found a half-hardon. There was an interesting bi-polar itching in her mouth and crotch. She tentatively scooted about, dipped her head towards his crotch. He shifted, made himself widely available to her, muttered "Me, too!", and pulled her crotch down onto his face as she inhaled his cock.

Yes, it was possible to scratch both itches at once. God almighty YES, he could do this, too: she drove her head downwards, inhaled him to the root, proud of her re-discovered, hard-won ability to deep-throat. He gasped, slid a hand down to see if it was really happening, complimented her: nobody else ever had done that for him, he loved it. She glowed internally at the praise. The leftover scents of their lovemaking filled her head as he filled her mouth and engulfed her pussy. And the absolute lack of urgency was perhaps the biggest turn-on. How odd that was! Again, he got her soaring in mere moments, and when finally, finally he bucked to a climax with her madly-wriggling fingers mashed against his prostate, it was a twosome thing.

She was pleased, but no longer surprised.

Rearranged, they lay and watched the light go brighter, saw the first hot blast of direct sun hit the tops of the trees outside. And just then, with a rustle, Annie and Marcy appeared, bearing morning hot chocolate. Wordlessly, they retrieved KK's shirt and shorts and sandals from the heavily-disturbed sand of their trysting spot, set the clothing and two cups down beside their door. Grinning, the two girls silently disappeared.

KK retrieved the cups. Silent themselves, sitting up with knees touching, they inhaled the steam, tasted. She wondered, basically, what next? And didn't know how to proceed. What did Brian want or need, anyhow? What did SHE want or need, for that matter? Then he broke the silence. Just exactly right.

"Encore?" he asked.

She nodded.

He watched her: she liked the expression, it felt good.

"Paddle with me again today?"

She reached for his ear, pulled his mouth down to her aching nipples and whispered "Of course!"