A Girl and Her Veggies Ch. 01bychrissiegirl©
Marie loved to masturbate. She loved vegetables, and her vegies loved her (with a little help from me)! First, we met in the desert....
Eight of us spent a month and a half in a remote corner of the Southwest digging holes in the sand looking for traces of Indian civilization. We lived in tents up a little gorge where there was shade. We didn't shower much, and the nearest washing machine was two hours away. It was fucking hot, dusty and sandy. We could manage a bucket of water each day for bathing. We were, to put it mildly, informal.
Marie came from the East Coast. We'd never met, but we had corresponded a little since I was in charge of the logistics of the group. She'd sent a picture, which was nice. When I picked her up at the airport, she looked good. Tall, dark, French blood. Big eyes, small breasts, long strong legs and a quick smile. By the time we drove four hours to the site, I was entranced. After a week of digging, we circled each other like two magnets–just a little flip one way, and we'd slap together so hard you'd have to pry us apart.
I had a policy of discouraging romance on these expeditions–it seemed to just cause trouble. I was the leader and was supposed to set an example. I tried, really, I tried. Our attraction was clear to us, and to the others, and also our dedication to what we were doing. After all, I thought, there would be plenty of time afterwards to get together. We kept our distance for about a month. Then, Marie got cramping in her legs and a very sore back–big girl down in a small hole all day long, long legs bent every which way for hours. Dehydration. She had to take the afternoon off.
Before dinner I stopped by her tent to she how she was. Our tents were scattered up the gorge and hers was the last one, the only one past mine. She said her legs were still tight and her back was giving her trouble. I offered to give her a little massage after dinner. As I walked to Marie's tent I wasn't thinking "sensual massage". After all, the girl was in some pain. In fact, I wasn't thinking at all, except it would be neat to be a little more intimate and quiet with her than we could be on the site. We had talked now and then when she passed my tent–she woke me when I overslept a couple of times, and we'd stumbled up the gorge together after having a few beers at dinner, but that was as intimate as we'd been.
Her tent was roomy, and her stuff was neatly packed around the edges, and she had a comfortable pad and fluffy sleeping bag. It smelled of her. As usual, she was in a tee shirt and shorts, but when I looked closer these weren't the usual working shorts, but soft, short cotton ones with an elastic band. Her dark tan line faded just a little below the shorts, and so by the time her legs disappeared behind the cloth, they were pure white. It wasn't the usual tee shirt, either. To begin with, it was clean and smelled like laundry soap. And it wasn't just a regular tee, but soft, light cotton that draped like fog around the gentle curves of her breasts. (Marie didn't wear bras; her breasts weren't big enough to require them, and she couldn't be bothered in this heat with any more clothes than necessary).
We spoke a little, and then I began massaging her back. The small of her back and her thighs were tight, so I began there. It wasn't going to work to avoid her butt, so pretty soon I was kneading her buttocks with my hands. She had a great butt, just big enough, nicely rounded, soft and strong at the same time. I gave her thighs a thorough going over, and down her legs to her feet. Her feet were slim and amazingly soft considering how hard we were working. She began to relax quite a bit. I lifted her tee shirt up to her armpits to rub her shoulders and back, and she dozed off. While she slept, I gently rubbed her, tracing with my warm fingers down her back, buttocks and thighs, down to soft heels and long toes, and I continued gently rubbing her until she stirred. By that time, I was in love.
She was thoroughly relaxed and sleepy, and I asked if she wanted to turn over. "Yeah, my stomach is really tight! Can you do that, too?" Certainly. I rubbed her belly, deeply, and felt her pelvis relaxing. I traced her muscles down, over her shorts, my palm brushing against her pubic bone on the way to her thighs. Her legs relaxed and her feet fell open, like a cat in the sun. Then I massaged her face and neck and shoulders, and came down over her chest, and her breasts, just avoiding her nipples at first, but then rubbing them with my palms. For the first time I'd seen, they stood up, defying the heat that had melted them into soft patches in the day. The gentle curve under her soft cotton shirt sported two little points. I rubbed her belly again, lost in thought. I wanted to continue, but beyond this point we could not pretend any more–the magnets would slap together. Was I ready for that? Marie dozed off again, and so again I traced her body gently with my hands until I lay down my head next to her and fell asleep.
The next day, we had changed. We knew that it was inevitable we would get together, and we both enjoyed the sweet certainty of watching a flower bud, knowing that nothing would prevent it from opening. The others had begun to look on us as a couple, and waited, as we did, for it to really happen. When they said, "You two can do the dishes tonight," and we didn't protest a bit. Waiting became tedious, unnatural, and few days later we "opened the bud" ourselves.
Marie had a little cramping that day, and asked for another massage after dinner. When I got to her tent, she had her usual candles burning, and she also had a little spread in front of her bed–a bottle of red wine, some crackers and a small stash of cheese she'd hidden in the fridge. She flashed her irresistible French smile, "I've been saving this since we got here–we'd better finish it up before we leave!" We had a couple of glasses of wine and talked and flirted a little–we felt like an "item" and it was nice! Then I began the massage, sliding her tee up to her armpits, and working her back and shoulders then down to her butt and thighs, and gently her feet. When she was "done", I asked her to roll over, and instead of pulling down her tee, she just rolled over, a little sleepy, but warm and cozy–and half naked in the candlelight.
For a moment, I thought of protecting her modesty and pulling down the tee, but a little smile on her lips told me that she had done that on purpose, and her nipples, puffy and large, told the whole story. I straddled her hips and gave her a slow, sensuous massage. Her eyes stayed closed, her lips open and smiling. I gently rubbed her nipples, breasts and traced her lips and large eyes, and lay next to her while my hand traced her body, wandering around her breasts and sliding down to her belly again, and then over her shorts. She wiggled a little, and pulled her arms down to push her shorts down and I slid them the rest of the way. She laughed and sat up and pulled off shirt before collapsing again.
The patches of white between her tan lines were clear and bright in the candlelight. Creamy breasts with dark nipples, and white thighs broken by a thick patch of soft dark hair. My hand found its way over her soft patch and fell between her legs, brushing her fresh, white thighs and gently pushing at the door to her private delights. For a long time, I stayed outside the door to her pussy, until the flood inside began to leak, and the swollen guardians at the gate relaxed their vigil and let me pass. Inside it was wet and hot everywhere. Her labia were not large; they were small and compact and very smooth and glistened. Between them her clit slipped out, and danced around my fingertip like a gypsy around a fire.
Marie had high cheekbones and a large sensuous mouth, which was lazily held open by her gentle breath. It wasn't long before those gentle winds grew to a noisy storm that rocked the tent, then for a moment settled into painful little moans, and groans and happy whimpers before growing strong again, strong and regular, like the march of a symphony; and her legs opened and thrashed, she gasped and shouted, and then collapsed and pulled me to her, to shower my face with kisses.
If someone had come looking for me that last week, they would have found my tent empty. They might have guessed where I was. So, every night until we broke camp, Marie and I would disappear up the gorge to make love and sleep–wrapped in a confusing combination of blankets and sleeping bags. Some nights we began slowly, sipping the wine and gentle kisses. Other nights we made love quickly, and fell hard asleep. Every night began with my hand slipping softly between her legs, and dancing with her wild gypsy. Marie liked to masturbate, she told me, and she liked to dance with my finger until she was wild and crazy and wanted my cock so very badly she would grab me with all her might and pull me on top of her and my stiff cock would find its way in the dark, without help, and slip through her tuft of black hair, thrusting and devoured in the heat within.
And in the dark night, laying relaxed in the sticky mess of our lovemaking, Marie told me her secrets...She had not been with a man for almost three years, since she was in graduate school. She didn't want a relationship. She said she loves masturbation. "My sex life is really very satisfying", she added, and a thrill went through me. I lay there thinking, "hmmm, is there more?" There was.
Marie told me that for most of those three years she's had sex regularly with her roommate, as short, tiny blonde named Cindy. She went to a school were lots of the girls "got together", so it wasn't so strange. They weren't "a couple" she said, they were friends who liked to have sex—especially Cindy, who was pretty much always eager to satisfy Marie. "How can I resist?" Marie said, "she's very cute and cuddly, and she knows exactly how to turn me on! Actually, many nights having sex with Cindy is a little too intense, and so I just masturbate. Well, actually," she laughed, "Cindy usually masturbates me herself."
My fantasies went wild. I guess every guy has lesbian fantasies, and for me it's a real turn on to be with a woman who makes love with other women. Ok, so I'll tell you the truth—sometimes when I'm making love with a woman I actually fantasize that we're two women together. Marie's hands and tongue and lips had known only the soft fleshy folds of another woman, and when we made love, my fantasies felt very real. In our quiet moments, she held me like a woman, kissed me like a woman, and smiled at me like a woman, before we both erupted into the ecstatic thrusting of our undeniable, and uncontrollable sexual passion.
Ah, but the title of this story is "A Girl and her Vegetables." Vegetables?? What about the vegetables? One night we lay talking, and Marie talked about how much she liked to masturbate, and I asked what really made her most horny. Well, she said, just before coming out here, she got this thing about vegetables.....