Super Thighs Me

Ravishing—there was no other suitable word for her. My second thought (the rest of this tale is all about my first thought) was wondering if this stunning woman had attracted the attention of anyone else. I looked around, but there were no other obvious or repressed erections within the shorts of any other males in sight. Apparently I was the only one transfixed by her, at least for the moment.

She had been playing with a handful of kids in the sprinklers. I assumed they, or at least one of them, were hers, but it turned out I was wrong.

It was a hot July afternoon in the coastal range of California, way up north, the second day of the annual long-weekend "Back to Nature" music festival. The grassy meadow off to the side, ringed by towering pine trees, away from the music stage, had been set up with kid activities—hula hoops, wading pools, sprinklers, balls to kick around—diversion for younger folk while grownups got to enjoy their music at the main stages.

She was a sight, to be sure, droplets of water clinging to her skin as she watched the squealing, raucous kids dart underneath the artificial rain. Meaty she was, with heavy thighs, a swimsuit lifted out of some outrageous catalog, some cartoonist's twisted idea of a cave-woman outfit, the fabric tight and wet against her thick, curved body. Her waist and hips were wide.

I swear one of her thighs was the same size as my waist. My waist at twenty-one years, maybe. Cellulite dimpled her legs yet the result that summer day was enthralling.

She laughed as the kids ran in and out of the sprinklers. Her movements were calm and confident, absolutely enchanting. I looked around again, sure that every other male within fifty yards would be enthralled, but I remained her only admirer.

Of course it always feels a little odd to be a spectator to beauty. Especially when thoughts of an unspeakable nature are running wild through one's brain. She shifted suddenly under the arcing water and her breasts jiggled, poorly restrained by her silly garment. I found myself wondering what they would feel like pressed into my face, with her on top of me, maybe with some lovely sensations emanating from a different part of me.

What it would feel like to impregnate her.

I shivered. I love my imagination, love my fantasies, but in that moment, I also decided that if I couldn't strike up a conversation with this enchanting woman somehow, it would not be for lack of effort.

The music festival had once been a regular part of my life. My former wife Jean introduced it to me when we'd first met. Jean loved bluegrass fiddling, not something that had been part of my aesthetics, but I had been game to follow her to a couple festivals and concerts, in the normal accommodation that comes with an early relationship.

I began as a reluctant trooper but had grown to enjoy the scene. Since I knew she wouldn't be coming this year, it felt safe enough to attend, there'd be no danger of running into her. Enough time had passed since our divorce to allow me to tolerate her presence, but I wasn't anxious to seek her out.

Up here north of Weaverville, one of the most remote places in northern California, the festival was happily a bi-polar event, family friendly on the surface, but large enough that there was plenty of room for more adult types to indulge their proclivities in ways that nobody cared about. Some of the locals took to calling it "Grassfest," and the smell of hemp was prevalent at night in certain corners of the festival.

Hippies there were, stoners, wine-happy teenagers, handsome local college-age girls that aroused all manner of illicit fantasies in the city folks like me who did their camping once a year, up here in the forests and mountains. No cell-phone reception, no internet, no distractions, just music and outdoors.

My chance with my newly found lust-interest came unbidden. While I was ogling her and day dreaming, a group of boys nearby kicking a soccer ball around sent one flying my way. I stopped it on one bounce with an agile foot, glad that I had played at one time in my life, and flipped it up into my hands. A quick kick would have sent it back to the crew, all eyes of the lads upon me, but I sought an opportunity. Carpe diem, fish of the day, all of that.

I walked back towards the boys until I was within twenty feet of them and my new-found goddess, then gave it a good, authentic-looking, double-handed throw-in, hoping I looked like a wingman from Manchester United doing a toss-in from the sideline.

My water nymph had watched me, an amused smile on her face. I sidled over.

Now or never. I rejected a trite "hot enough for you?" opening, perhaps wisely.

I nodded towards the three or four kids around her. "Sure is sweet to have the meadow here for kids."

The smile sent back slayed me.

A wedding ring glinted on her left hand, a detail I hadn't noticed from farther away.

"Yes, they like something other than sitting and listening." She waved in the direction of the nearest stage, where some bluegrass sounds were lilting over. "To boring hillbilly music." She had a sense of humor.

"Heat and water," I gestured towards the sprinklers doing their slow wave back and forth, the squealing kids darting in and out. "If I had some nice cold watermelon back in my cooler, I'd bring some over. But I don't."

She laughed. "That's a sweet thought. They'd love it."

We were still talking, my luck was holding.

"Which of these lovelies are yours? I asked.

There was a skinny girl with light tangled hair, maybe eleven, and two boys that looked like they were related, a little younger. Sandy blond hair for both, older one stocky, the younger all elbows and knees.

"None directly. The boys are my nephews. The girl," she turned to the oldest. "What was your name again?"

"Jenny," the girl said, before dashing under the water again. They had a game going, in and out of the air-borne water.

"Jenny has just joined us."

"I love the way the festival brings everyone together," I said. "Just fun and music and good times all around."

While staying just out of sprinkler distance, I found out a little about her.

She said her name was Melanie, which I repeated to get it right. Maybe it was her real name, but I'd wait until I heard someone call her that face to face though, since she announced it with a glint to her eye, as if maybe playing with me.

She got my real name in return.

My questions about her were delicately deflected, but she was happy to talk about her sister Miranda and the two boys, Benny and Stephan. I was carefully kept at arms-length.

I did note a quick dart of her eyes to my left hand. At first I felt glad I no longer wore my wedding ring, ditched some time ago, as it signaled my non-marriage status. But then my thoughts flip-flopped, maybe it might have been better if present, made me safer or something? It all depended on her possible interest and the nature of it. My excitement was slowly ratcheting up.

Another woman in a sun hat, tank top and shorts walked up to us, pushing a stroller with a boy, perhaps three years old, in front of her.

"Miranda, meet Chester," my goddess said. So this was her sister, they didn't look anything alike. Miranda was small, with a bright face and the beginnings of too much sun on her shoulders and legs. She took me in, top to bottom. Maybe she was practiced in sizing up the guys her dynamic sister would engage in conversation?

"Chester, eh? A 'treasure chest' maybe?" she said. I instantly took a dislike to her manner.

For not the first time in my life I cursed my parents for bequeathing me this absurd name. First generation American-Jews, they wanted an assimilation-guaranteed name for their only boy. All the jokes I had heard over time, everyone thought they were original and clever, and Miranda looked pleased with her jest. But I couldn't afford to do anything but play it straight.

"None of it's buried at least. What you see is what you get." I waved a hand.

Both woman examined me carefully. I'm not all that tall, more wiry in build, but my sturdy cycling legs I thought showed well in shorts, probably my best asset in the looks department. That I am so far in appearance from your standard alpha-male had been handy more than once in my life. I wasn't intimidating and strove to look the nice-guy-next-door type. I hoped fortune wouldn't desert me here in my time of need.

But Miranda turned towards Melanie. Miranda and Melanie? You're killing me. Did their parents name their sons Mark and Michael? These sorts of parents drove me nuts.

"Time for lunch back at the campsite, the boys will be hungry."

My reflexes kicked in before opportunity slipped away.

"Thought I might take a quick hike up towards Laney Peak later, any chance you might fancy a trot up that way? The trail's not too steep, at first anyway, and there are some nice views."

Melanie looked at me carefully.

I held my breath.

She turned to Miranda. "I know you want to catch the Humboldt Bluesbreakers at one. I'll keep the boys then. Maybe I can get in a walk with Mr. Chester after?"

My status must have graduated with the "Mister" designation, unless this was sarcasm.

Miranda eyed me again, more carefully. Wary even.

"Yeah, that's fine." Miranda addressed Melanie. "Appreciate your time donation so far this weekend on the family front. Rod and I have been able to catch a good pile of sets without interruptions."

"Let's meet at that Jeffery pine over there," Melanie turned to me, pointing to a tall pine, slightly separated from the others at the edge of the meadow. "Around four?"

I nodded and tried not to look too eager.

"Gonna be shaded, I hope, on the trail?" she asked.

"Yes, forest for the first part, we can turn back whenever it gets too hot or sunny."

Too hot, that was exactly what I was hoping for.

"You're on, see you then."

She turned with what I took to be a sultry smile over her shoulder, and was off. My whole body quivered.

Well, I must say I did not learn a whole lot more about Melanie on our hike. She was very careful in her answers to my questions, but listened to my stories as I tried hard not be a jerk. Her smile flickered on and off, never entirely went away. I was pretty sure I detected interest.

I told her way more about my life than I got out of her. Tech work in San Francisco, a startup named Glutify, exercise equipment for the home-fitness crowd, emphasizing the core and lower body. I said if we ever got the phone interface right and synchronized it all with fitness apps (my area) we expected to do fine. Nice flat in San Francisco on Ashbury Heights. She got the impression I was hoping to project, that I was "comfortable" economically and a creative person.

She looked deliberately at my left hand again, and arched her eyebrows. I knew exactly what question she was posing without her asking.

"I was once. For almost five years. Some time ago. No kids. Not a happy ending."

She nodded.

"Endings rarely are. When two folks separate it is almost like atomic fission." I loved how she spoke that last word. "The energy release is astounding."

"You seem to know something about this?"

"Alright, you've been asking questions, and I have not been very forthcoming. Sorry, I'm just being careful. I work as a court reporter in Sonoma county." I tried to imagine her in a tight-fitting, blue blazered business suit and shivered. This was just north of San Francisco, a rural county but hardly rustic. The judges, DA and lawyers would have a terrible time concentrating on court matters.

"With those little typewriter-thing machines?"

She nodded. "I've seen lots of the aftermath of split-ups. Of course the public version is always ugly, and folks aren't in court unless there's troubles of some sort or another."

I tried to find out what town she lived in, Sonoma county covers some ground, but she was evasive.

"Look Chester, I like you so far. Don't press me. You can keep asking questions but I'll answer only what I want to. Okay?"

"Fair enough. It's just that, I ..."

I tried to think about what I wanted to say next, without blowing it, trying to indicate some measure of my growing attraction.

"Yeah, I know. I know what you're thinking, your signals are pretty clear. If you'd been staring at my thighs any more intently I'd have a couple holes burned into them. You guys think we don't notice." She shook her head. "Couple things to keep in mind."

I was all ears.

"I'm married." She held up her left hand with the ring. "Happily."

My throat tightened.

"I'm not adverse to other friendships, some dalliances, but I must, and will, keep them at a distance."

Another set of hikers were coming up the trail. She gestured to a strand of pines in shade some distance away, away from sight. "Let's continue our talk there."

We moved off the trail, my eyes glued on her ass as she walked. My knees grew weak. Her cellulite wobbled, her calves bunched up appealingly, and the sway of her hips would not have been out of place in Hawaii.

She put her back up against a pine tree, facing away from the trail. Then gave me a come-hither smile that would have foundered Ulysses' ship and doomed his crew.

I moved in like a wolf. Her kiss was sudden, electric, extraordinary.

We kissed for a few minutes, her arms surrounding around me. I wished the tree trunk hadn't kept me from reaching around to that ass of hers.

Her hand then drifted to my crotch. She did not seem surprised at what she felt.

She came up for air, hand stroking me lovely, balls to top of my prick.

"Chester, not here. Not now. You're camping right?"

Some of the festival goers stayed in town, but there weren't many places to stay other than camping.

"Yes, got a nice spot along the knoll on the north side of the grounds."

She gently pushed me away from her, although her hand lingered at my groin.

"Let's walk back to your campsite, so I know where you are. I need to get back to Miranda's now, help get dinner going. But maybe I can get in a visit with you later tonight? After the last set at the stage?"

I salivated and tried not to look overly excited.

My penis was in a thoroughly unhappy condition for the next quarter mile as we walked back down the trail. In no place of my shorts was it comfortable, and my balls were complaining too, all worked up and squashed together.

I couldn't get her to say much more, but I led her to my tent. She gave it a quick appraisal, presumably pleased it wasn't one of those tiny, one-person backpacker's affairs. She turned to me, said she had to be going. But she squeezed my hand, not before looking around to see if any of my neighbors were watching us. Camping is pretty tightly packed at these sorts of events, and folks can notice a lot.

"It may not be possible for me to get away, later, but I'll try. You here for the weekend?"

"Yes, I'll stay through Sunday night. Took Monday off, so there's extra time."

"We leave daybreak on Monday. If I don't make it tonight, there's always Sunday. Okay?"

I held in my excitement well enough but tried to give her quick kiss. She dodged away but left with a sultry laugh.

I looked for her that evening at the main stage but didn't spot her. The festival isn't huge, maybe a thousand folks scattered about, but it is big enough you can't always find someone easily. No sign of her or her or the rest of her extended family.

I enjoyed the music, wandered around with a keen eye out, but never spotted them.

I returned to the tent, uneasy, poured myself a half tumbler of cognac, and waited. My mind did flipflops, hoping for the best, and convincing myself of the worst. What were the odds of her stopping by?

My camp neighbors had a little circle going, drinking and chatting and laughing. Every once in awhile one of them would turn towards me, probably wondering why I stayed standing in front of my tent's entry.

My thoughts ran all over the map. Dates with girls earlier in my life that had gone sour. That this wouldn't have been the first time someone had stood me up. Words I had uttered to potential partners in the past that had been off-putting. Ways I had misread feminine signals. But hope never deserted me, even with the stars out, as I gazed upward between cognac sips and anxious looks down the way for my new paramour.

I was still standing by the opening of my tent when she sauntered by, her eyes had been looking to left and right coming down the path, searching for me. And some fun, I hoped.

She had on sandals, and a pair of track shorts, very different from her look earlier that day. And a long-sleeved men's button-down shirt, white and untucked.

I inhaled. The top four buttons were undone, just far enough to get a look at her valley. I am a sucker for women in men's business shirts. There was no way for her to know this, but she would have looked stunning in any costume she came up with, I reckoned.

"Hey, my dear," I offered up as a greeting, trying to strike the right balance of familiarity. I have no doubt she detected anticipation in my voice.

"Sorry, took a bit for my escape. Had some bedtime reading to perform." To my intense surprise and pleasure, she held my right hand and reached up for a quick kiss.

"Inside?" she gestured. "Best if my comings and goings aren't so public." She looked again at my camp neighbors, still immersed in their talk.

I unzipped the entrance and led her inside.

My tent isn't tall enough to stand in, so we sat down, cross-legged facing each other, eyes locked.

"I'm so glad you came." My words were breathless, far too uncontrolled.

She laughed. "Don't think that has happened yet. But the night is still young. I cannot stay long."

While I had had wild hopes of her staying awhile, even the night, I nodded. Whatever she wanted. The bright side was that perhaps things would be put into motion quickly.

"I told you I'm married." She sounded serious.

I nodded.

"Kids?" I asked.

She nodded. "Kim and Trevor. David has them at home, I came with Miranda, well just because. And it has been a lovely weekend so far." She paused. "I don't do this often. But I'll make an exception for you."

Her eyes gleamed. My erection stirred.

There is always that first moment of hesitation when getting to the threshold of intimacy. Who will make the first move? Everyone checking carefully for signs. Of consent, for limits, the mental state of your potential partner. How will the dance go?

I was just about to reach over to her for a kiss, but she made the first move.

"Let's get your shirt off," she said, "let's see what sort of 'chest' you have, Mr. Chester."

I was back-footed by her directness, at the same time pleased by her own initiative.

She reached over and tugged my tee shirt upwards. I helped out by raising my arms and she pulled my top off smoothly.

She looked carefully. Eyes went from shoulders to navel, then back up to my eyes. I'm trim, not scrawny, but fairly well assembled. Not big, in any dimensions.

Her smile was enough of an invitation.

"Your turn," I said and reached over to unbutton her shirt.

She let me, an amused smile on her face the whole time. Although my excitement was huge, I managed the pesky buttons on the front of her shirt smoothly. And as she'd already undone the top ones, so there weren't that many to wrangle.

Her shirt stood open, that valley exposed. No bra.

Oy. What a sight. Moses could not have been happier when he spied the promised land.

I pulled the shirt open so that her breasts, heavy and drifting, came loose. Again I inhaled and paused before pulling each sleeve off her arms.

We sat looking at each other, both topless. A thousand thoughts raced.