He has never met anyone quite like himself. At least he doesn't think so. And that's where the problem lies. If we could read the minds of others, would we find more similarities than differences? If so, what would be the consequences?
To uphold the accepted values of our society we like to sit in parsimonious moral judgment of others. But do we secretly envy them their freedom, their experiences, even as we voice our verdicts, condemnation and contempt? As we judge, are we really grateful that we are not on trial ourselves, even if we ourselves are the only jury?
Bobby was certain it would be impossible to find someone who thought as he did about life, love, sex and death. Especially sex. He believed unreservedly that he had a very dark side. Fear crept into his everyday thinking. He was sometimes afraid of himself. Afraid of what lurked beneath his public persona. Private, hidden, fantastically morbid thoughts. If he ever allowed his musings to turn to action he'd be concerned for the well-being of others.
What would it be like to rape someone, he wondered? Was it still rape if that someone encouraged the act by behaving seductively, or even enjoyed the experience? Is it even possible that they could? Necrophilia. Pedophilia. Sex with animals. Fisting. Incest. Public sex. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. Role playing. Cross-dressing.
So many intriguing proclivities. He knew about all these, some inclinations decidedly more deviant than others to his way of thinking. A few just simply macabre and abhorrent. Still, there must be people who are really wired differently for such sexual depictions and acts to be in the public domain in the first place.
Group orgies didn't seem so scarey and he was comfortable with the idea of gay and lesbian relationships. But did BDSM attract him? Was moderate pain or even outright humiliation an aphrodisiac for some people? Perhaps. And not that hard to imagine. Did he want a woman to piss on him? Work a dildo up her ass? Up his ass? Did she really enjoy being spanked? Having her tits slapped and nipples stretched painfully as she neared orgasm? Possibly. But who knew for certain?
Was all that porn out there just make-belief, created by men for male audiences with similar latent desires? Were the women merely models, staging an event for which they were handsomely paid? Another kind of prostitution? If so he could put his demons to rest because it was the idea of pleasuring someone else that truly, in his mind, determined what was acceptable sexual behavior.
Fantasies. If consensual, should we be encouraged to turn them into reality? A confluence of circumstances would be needed. The time, the place, the person, the connection. Exploring the possibilities together. Understanding the motivations and limitations, needs and desires of one another. What were the odds of all this coming together? About the same as winning the lottery. Of course, it might feel like winning the lottery!
****
"What's the kinkiest sex you've ever had with Suzanne?" asked Bobby as he stared intently into the flames of the campfire. He and his closest friend were enjoying the setting sun as they concluded another day of portaging and canoeing at a nearby state park. An annual summer ritual, the two men reveled in the solitude of their surroundings and each others company. A one-week respite from the stress of big city life, jobs and the constant demands of their spouses.
"Kinkiest?" asked George. "There's such a word? I dunno. Nothing really. We made out in my truck one time, parked at the beach if that counts."
"That's it? Sex in a truck?"
"Well, yeah. I mean there were some people around but kids too so we had to be really careful. It was a long time ago though. Just after we got married. I picked her up from work and on a whim just decided to drive to the beach instead of directly home. We parked far enough away, talked for a while and we just sorta got carried away. It was still quite light out. At one point she even flashed her tits. That was... well, it was pretty exciting for both of us. We'd never done anything like that. And we never have again. How 'bout you and Janine?"
"Nothing even remotely like it," said Bobby. "We did it once in a motel room with the drapes open a bit. We don't... you know, we don't do it much now. Fuck, that is. Period. It became kinda routine after a while and I think we both just got bored. I still love her. Don't get me wrong. But after all these years there's no passion left. No interest even. Like they say, it's like living with a great roommate. You get on really well, but that's about all."
Aside from the sound of crackling embers the two men sat in companionable silence. After a long minute George got up from the log that served as their seating arrangement for the evening and made his way to the tent.
Returning with one of the many bottles of Absolut stored in his backpack, he poured a generous helping into Bobby's paper cup and then filled his own. They were drinking the vodka neat, having run out of mixers as usual on the second day into the trip. "Throw some more wood on the fire will you," he requested as he resumed his place on the log. "Shit, I'm beat. That was quite the run today. Hot as hell and I think we must have covered about ten or twelve miles. Just as well only half a mile of that was portaging. Tell you what though. My butt sure knows I've been sitting in a canoe most of the day."
Bobby took a long pull from his drink and nonchalantly stoked the fire, adding wood as he did so. The alcohol was beginning its therapeutic work on him. It was easier now to ignore the aches and pains caused by four consecutive days of hiking and paddling. "I'm getting too old for this," he volunteered.
"Maybe we should take tomorrow off and just chill at the campsite," offered George as he inspected a blister that had formed on his left hand. "We've got the time if we start heading back to the cars on Friday."
Night sounds of the surrounding wilderness now began to encroach as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. It was time to cook up another batch of noodles and Bobby rose to collect the necessary paraphernalia and ingredients for their evening meal. He almost always did the cooking. George typically assumed responsibility for setting up the tent and securing the canoes for the night. As he worked at his preparations Bobby reflected once more on the disappointment that had become his sex life with Janine.
"I'm a married monk," he voiced his concern out loud knowing George would be listening, no longer distracted as he was by more evening chores. "I mean, damn. It's frustrating as hell. Sometimes I just wanna do something really crazy."
"Like what?" queried George, taking a moment to glance over at his companion as he bent over the fire, using unremarkable culinary skills to start the process of boiling water in a pot.
"I dunno exactly. Can I ask you something big guy?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever had an affair?" asked Bobby after a momentary pause for thought.
"No. Have you?"
"No. Have you ever wanted to George?"
"I guess. I mean I've never had the opportunity and I've never gone looking for it. But, yeah, I could see it happening. My sex life with Suzanne is nothing to write home about either. Seems to me, more and more she can take it or leave it. If I don't initiate something we go for weeks without it. Doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. Never used to be that way."
"See, I'm kinda thinking monogamy isn't the only choice in this day and age. If it works, then great. But I don't think it does for a lot of men," explained Bobby. "Not if they had a free choice."
"Why, 'cause we're horny all the time?" asked George, smiling broadly.
"That's a big part of it buddy. Seems like sex is in our face 24/7 these days and it's not our wives who are doing the teasing. Movies, video games, television, magazines, advertising, fashion, porn on the Net. I heard it said once that only a man can think about dipping his wick as he sits on scaffolding 20 feet above the ground, on a blistering hot day, welding the side of a ship. Now how different is that from what women mostly think about?
"I don't think their minds are on sex very much, except maybe as an afterthought. And then only if the circumstances are right. Like when she isn't too tired, is content with her career and personal life, isn't having a spat with one of her friends or all fucked up with misgivings about her own sexuality and appearance, and when she is with someone who turns her on, and is feeling..."
"... horny," interjected George.
"Well, yeah. All those things combined. See, but that's the problem. Unless all the conditions are right I don't think women get horny very often. So sex isn't what's on their minds most of the time. And the only reason they flirt and put out early on in the relationship is because they want to make babies for fuck's sake. Literally. That's what I think anyway."
"So all this crap about husbands stepping up and assuming a bigger role in housekeeping so the little woman will be more relaxed and accessible is a pile of hogwash?" asked George.
"Pretty much all crap I'd say. I've never seen any research done that suggests house-husbands and supportive men who do their share of the chores around the house and spend a lot of time with the kids get more or better sex. Have you?"
"No, can't say that I have. So what are all us married monks supposed to do?"
"If I knew that I'd be a much happier man, my friend. Much happier." Bobby paused as he gathered his thoughts. He trusted George. They had been good buddies since high school and were pretty much as close as two men could get, short of being gay.
"Can I tell you something?" he continued. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have sex like you see in porn on the Internet. You know, wild and unrestrained fucking."
"Unrestrained as in....?" asked George.
"I dunno. Use your imagination. You name it, you do it."
"Like really kinky stuff."
"Yeah, really kinky."
"Okay, I'm letting my imagination run wild and all I'm getting is horny," laughed George out loud. "And, no, you stay right where you are," he added, throwing a stern glance in Bobby's direction.
"No fears man. I'm not thinking that way. But things like BDSM, golden showers. That sort of thing. Would you ever do that stuff?"
"I guess. No. Actually, who the fuck knows. If it was there, maybe. I'm betting every guy thinks about things like that, at least once in a while."
"Would you do it with Suzanne? Or with a stranger? Maybe a lover?"
"Suzanne doesn't even come into the picture... into my fantasies I mean," replied George, "because it would be so improbable. Hell she'd divorce me just knowing I think about kinky sex on occasion. So in my fantasies it would have to be with a stranger in an unanticipated tryst. Makes it seem more possible. And more unreal and palatable at the same time if you get my drift, speaking as someone with a moral conscience."
"I know what you mean. Still, isn't that kinda sad? That we can't be honest enough with our life partners to say, 'hey, look-it. It would really turn me on if we... if you... could we try...'. And know that they would want to enjoy the experience with you. It's too bad. Being in love for so long, caring about and for someone each in our own way, and we don't even feel safe exploring our fantasies together. I wonder how many men out there actually have that ability, that privilege? I'm thinking very few."
"Not likely any of those in traditional relationships anyway," offered George. "Their women wouldn't be too obliging."
"Yeah, next thing you know they'd be checking your computer to see what porn sites you visit and demanding that you stop. Why is that? Because they don't want you fantasizing about having sex with other women, that's why. In case you get it in your head to try it one day. At the same time, they wouldn't ever be interested in doing any of that stuff with you.
"It goes back to the earliest times, to the days of hunters and gatherers. Men provided, women cared for the offspring. Women held on to their men. It was a preservation thing. For themselves, their offspring and society. That possessiveness still governs relationships that women have today, and not just with men, even though they're so-called emancipated and quite capable of looking after themselves. I could be wrong, but I doubt it."
"I dunno buddy," replied George after some serious thought. "I think you may be stretching things a bit here, even if you're just talking generalities. I mean don't men have the same jealousies, the same need to possess and protect what they have? Like, how would it be if Janine slept with another man?"
Bobby grinned. "Hell, fine by me as long as I could watch while they were doing it. Maybe jack off on her." He hesitated briefly, then continued: "I remember Janine got pretty pissed at me one time when I was telling her about a fantasy that involved another man. She said she hated it that my fantasies involved other people. She made it clear she wasn't happy about it. That's pretty much when I stopped sharing my thoughts with her.
"Truth is I really don't know if I would have a problem knowing she was doing it with another man. If I was actually there, if I knew it was really happening. I just don't know. I might kill the bastard, or I might join in. I think it would entirely depend on what Janine wanted. If she was getting off on it, hell that might be pretty exciting. A great turn-on. How weird is that?"
Bobby paused again: "How 'bout you and Suzanne?"
"You're one fucked up dude brother," replied George, punching Bobby playfully on the shoulder. "So I guess it really does come down to that. If it's okay for you to sleep around, it would be okay for your wife to do the same. Make sense?"
"I guess. Kinda. You didn't answer my question about Suzanne though."
"No, I can't say I'd stand for that."
"Okay, fine. That's legit. But could you share her at least in a fantasy? And could she share in that fantasy? No harm in that, right?"
"Oh I'd have no difficulty. But she'd never agree to even share the fantasy, let alone carry it through. So what's the point of telling her?" replied George earnestly. "My guess is she'd just get pissed off, like you say Janine did. The way I see it, women typically think there is something wrong with those kinds of fantasies so there can never be a meeting of the minds there, right?"
The two friends sat quietly absorbed in thought until Bobby once more broke the silence. "Well, that's it then, my fellow monk. That's all she wrote. Nowhere to go with this. For all intents and purposes we are celibate and frustrated. Our wives are celibate and happy. I guess we know who holds all the cards. Who has always held the full hand."
"Yes sir. At least the cards women know about," replied George. "So many extramarital affairs. So many secrets. Just another way this world is all screwed up. But something I've always wondered about. For every guy who cheats in a relationship, there's a woman doing the same to their spouse, boyfriend or whatever."
Bobby gave George one of his knowing looks. "I've got the answer to that one too. Those are the women who are still looking, or looking for something better. Why do you suppose it is the rich and famous who get hit on the most? And let me ask you, when was the last time you were hit on anyways?"
"Precisely never."
"Exactly. My point. Case closed. You and me Jack. We're plain, ordinary folk. Spoken for. Signed, sealed and delivered. I'm not being unkind here but we're not much of a catch. Mid-career nobodies in our fourth decade, a little overweight, kids at home, driving mini-vans and still heavily in debt. Hell, I wouldn't even be interested in me."
"That's why I love you, man. Your conversation is always so uplifting," chuckled George.
"Yeah, well. Somewhere in all this shit lies the truth man," mused Bobby, finishing his plate of noodles and washing it down with a mouthful of vodka. "It's not a pathetic picture. Just a blurry, less than colorful one. I'm going down to the waterfront to wash these plates off. When I come back I'm going to help myself to another very large measure of vodka before I turn in for the night. And dream of something other than sugar plum fairies."
***
As Bobby rinsed the plastic crockery through crystal clear cool water, faint sounds reached him from somewhere across the still lake. Darkness hid any activity from view but the rhythmic splish-splash of canoe paddles was unmistakable, clearly audible over the ripples of subdued giggling. "Hello," he called out. Instantly the sounds ceased. "Hello," he repeated. "Who's out there?"
"Land ho," he heard a disembodied woman's voice respond. "Hi-ya landlubber, or whatever the proper greeting is. We're coming in. Keep talking so we can track to you."
"I think it's a good thing you come ashore," Bobby called again. "You really shouldn't be out when it's dark. Besides, the weather on the lake can be a little unpredictable this time of year. What are you doing out there anyway?"
"Dark? Duh, really? Is it? I thought my eyesight had gone," came the sarcastic reply. What had been muted chuckles now turned into merry chortling. "Keep talking me hearty. We're almost there I think," the voice came back a second time.
"What do you want me to say?" queried Bobby. "I can recite the words to the national anthem, pieces of Shakespeare. Whatever. Just keep paddling."
"Just don't mime anything," came the immediate retort.
"Right, got ya. Speaking of playwrights, we had a really great English teacher one year in high school. His way of getting us to understand Shakespeare was to first tell us about the life and times that the bard lived in so we could better appreciate what he wrote about, the words he used and why. Then we all took parts in the play and read them out loud in class and discussed them. I'm sure you find this all very fascinating. To this day...."
"Enough," interjected the first voice, now much closer. "Spare us any more words about reading old writings."
With that a shadow darker than it's surroundings began to form before Bobby. Gradually the outline of a canoe and its two occupants took shape. He reached for the grab loops on the bow and pulled the aluminum craft part way up the sandy strip of beach. As he busied himself steadying the boat so that the two women could step out, he became aware that George was standing at his shoulder, already offering his hand to each of them as they came ashore.
"Ever the gallant gentleman," muttered Bobby as he straightened himself up and gestured courteously to each newcomer in turn. "George, I'd like you to meet Mystery and Enigma, ladies of the lake. Mystery. Enigma. This is George. And I answer to most anything but come most readily if you call me Bobby."
"Interesting choice of words. Hi, I'm Grace. And grateful," said the first woman, smiling. "And this is Eileen," as she pointed with her chin towards her companion. "We were so lost. Eileen has no sense of direction in daylight never mind in the dark. We had no idea which way to go to get to shore."
"Well, all that el Jimador didn't help," explained Eileen, reaching down into the canoe to retrieve several unopened cans of the tequila cocktail. "This is all that's left. We started out with a bunch but Grace got thirsty," she chuckled.
"Well," offered George, "you ladies look wet and cold. I have no idea where your camp is but you're welcome to share our fire. Follow me." With that he turned to head up a nearby embankment, Eileen firmly latched on to his extended elbow.
The log barely provided seating for four but as Bobby explained, sitting side by side and shoulder to shoulder would help the fire do its work to dry and keep them warm. From time to time after a little awkward maneuvering he was able to study the newcomers, albeit in profile, but he was pleased with what he saw.
Eileen was perhaps five-foot six-inches tall, a brunette with short, tightly curled hair and a rather masculine, chiseled face with brown eyes and thin lips. Not unattractive, she smiled and chatted easily, skipping with ease from topic to topic without missing a beat. She spoke rapidly, her words on occasion running into each other. She was undoubtedly both intelligent and quick-witted. She wore a pair of Vibram sports shoes, loose-fitting shorts and a boldly striped cotton t-shirt with a nondescript logo on the left shoulder.
Grace, for all her more reserved bearing and presentation, wore decidedly form-flattering apparel that wrapped and clung tightly to her slight, taller-than-average frame.
A worn pair of Nike runners and ankle-length bobby socks invited the eye to explore exceptionally long, athletically curvaceous legs. At her waist, tight-fitting polyester white shorts hugged her ample ass, the cheeks descending just below the pant line. The soft material stretched smoothly over her inner thighs and crotch, offering the promise of a clean-shaven pussy and displaying a pronounced camel toe nestled snugly in a white thong, made suggestively more visible by the damp and now somewhat transparent fabric.
Her large breasts rested seductively in what could be no more than an undersized sports bra. Her dark areolae pressed against the thin material, accenting plump nipples that periodically hardened against the cold or as her emotions dictated during the evening's animated discourses.
Her long red hair hung loosely down the entire length of her back and over her shoulders, beautifully framing her gray-green eyes. She had a thick head of hair, the kind you usually only see in shampoo commercials. Yet it only partly drew attention away from the movement of her heavy breasts as she constantly ran her fingers through the fine strands to untangle the trestles and occasionally usher them off her chest with a flick of the hand.
Inevitably the vodka and tequila coolers relaxed the inhibitions of the friends now keeping company with strangers.
"We're part of a summer camp group for women," explained Grace. "Or should I say at least we were. We struck out on our own this morning. Camping with a bunch of other women is so... well, like so boring. All this chin-wagging about fashions, food, dieting, dead-beat spouses, unruly kids. Yuck. Eileen and I just thought we'd be better off finding our own adventures."
"And there you were," snickered Eileen. "Right on time. Knights to the rescue."
"So you won't be missed tonight," ventured George turning towards her and smiling.
"What does that mean, you old lecher?" asked Eileen returning his grin.
"Hey, not so much of the 'old'," complained Bobby. "Geez, you'd think a guy in his early 40's was already over the hill or something."
"Sorry. Didn't mean it that way. My bad," apologized Eileen in the modern vernacular of the younger generation. "Actually, I rather like an older man. Someone a bit more mature. Able to hold a conversation. Someone with experience in things worldly, if you know what I mean."
Grace offered her friend support. "Me too. Fact is, most guys of our age are so juvenile. I can't stand it. They're just into head games all the time. You can't believe anything they say half the time."
"So you can believe everything they say some of the time then," suggested Bobby.
"Oh sure," she replied. "When they're talking sports. Or their jobs, those who have them. Or the length of their dicks. Actually, no. I take that back. You can never believe them when they're talking about the length of their dicks. I had one guy once tell me he was huge. I made him pull it out and I played with it until he was hard. I could no more gag on it than... than, well I don't know what. I had to pull his pants down just to be able to see it properly."
George couldn't resist a comeback. "Does that make a difference to you, the size of a man's cock?" he asked.
"Not for me," rejoined Eileen. "It's about what he can do with it. And what he does before it even comes into play. That's what a woman wants most. The attention before the act. Then what follows, follows."
"I'll admit I'm surprised Eileen," ventured Bobby. "That's a pretty cool way to think about sex. You know, maybe it's just us guys for the most part but to judge men by the size of their cocks is no different than if we look at a woman and say wow, look at those tits. Anything smaller and I wouldn't be interested. I wonder why it's okay, more than okay for many guys, that a woman has smaller tits but it's never okay it seems if a guy has a small dick."
"Does that mean you have a small one," she probed, turning to look Bobby in the eyes.
"Average, I would say. Only average."
"Geez, don't apologize! I don't have a problem with that," said Grace. "I only meant to say I hate the bullshit that goes around about a man's cock. Seriously, I think it's mostly male talk. I don't think women care that much as long as you know what to do with it."
"Interesting. Maybe you're right. That's a very mature outlook you two have. How old are you ladies anyway?" asked George.
"Old enough to know what we like," said Eileen. "I'm 27. Grace is 25. We look younger but that's our real age."
"Hard to tell by the firelight," suggested George. "Anyone for another drink? Maybe something to eat?"
"That's an open question," said Grace smiling. "Could get you into trouble. But for right now I'll settle for another el Jimador. I presume you guys are married. I am. Eileen's not. Not yet anyway."
"Yeah. Both of us. Not to each other," quaffed Bobby. "I mean we have spouses. Wives, to be clear. Yeah, you could say we're married. Really, really married. Does that bother you?"
"No. Does it bother you?" asked Grace quickly.
Each member of the group took a moment to contemplate the import of the question. When the conversation started up again it was as if the question had never been asked.
Gradually the fire died down and the foursome pulled the log closer to the warmth of the embers and huddled together more tightly. Hands strayed to explore and delight while the conversation, now more sporadic, became intense and ever more sexually charged.
Eileen was the first to break the spell. Wordlessly she took George by both hands, lifted him to his feet and led him to the tent. Bending to follow him through the entrance flap she looked over her shoulder at the two remaining fireside companions and said: "I called it. No idea where you two are ... well, you know. See ya." With that she slipped into the tent, removing her top as she went.
"I guess that was clear enough," mumbled Bobby.
"What? You disappointed? No foursome tonight?" asked Grace.
"Hell no. Kinda what I was hoping for actually. How about you?"
Grace carefully edged her hand down the front of Bobby's shorts to fondle the head of his erection. "I'd say there's a small beach close by that has a reserved sign on it. Should we go find it?" Reaching for a flashlight, she jumped to her feet and began walking towards the lake. Bobby was delighted to follow her lead.
Surprisingly the sand still retained some of the day's warmth although the water had cooled significantly despite the mid-summer night temperature. As Bobby scooped a depression in the sand to accommodate the towel he had brought along, Grace mimicked her name as she walked sedately to the water's edge, hips swaying in the tight shorts.
Bobby watched wordlessly, training the circle of torch light as she sat on her haunches facing him and scooped water with a cupped hand, first wetting her breasts and then slowly, ever so slowly, applying the cool liquid repeatedly up and across her crotch. Her fingers lingered over the camel toe plainly visible inside her shorts, touching herself gently.
"You're fucking gorgeous, you know that," breathed Bobby. "What am I saying. Of course you do."
Grace smiled easily. "Thank you. It's nice to be appreciated. I like being watched. It's one of my favorite things." She deliberately moved a hand into her bra and began tweaking the nipples, first one and then the other. Both areolae puckered tightly, pressing their erect flesh against the fabric. Grace was clearly enjoying the attention as she cupped her breasts, massaging them with practiced and precise movements of her hands.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she said after a short time of self-pleasure.
"You don't have to ask me twice," stammered Bobby. Eagerly he pulled aside his pant leg and reached in to take his cock in his hand, tugging it urgently to bring it free of the material so that it could stand fully erect and visible. "Will this do?" he asked lamely.
"It's too dark to see much. I guess I'll have to come over for a closer inspection," offered Grace. "But first....." and with that she reached up to her chest again and lifted both breasts out of the bra.
Bobby looked on transfixed, amazed at the size and perfectly rounded shape of Grace's tits. He'd never seen a nicer rack, he thought. Not even on the porn sites. They were magnificent and he told her so.
Grace moved out of the water and towards him, her breasts fully mobile as they swayed in synchronized movement with her approach, crawling on all fours as a dog might advance towards its owner, crouched playfully. As soon as she was close enough Bobby's hands reached for her, pulling her down on top of him.
"Shit, I could cum just holding you like this," he whispered as he bowed his head to take a nipple in his mouth, working its firmness gently between his lips and teeth.
"I like, I like. Keep doing that," she returned. "Just like that."
Bobby had no intention of refusing her. In fact he knew he was mere putty in her hands at this point. She could mold and shape him any way she wanted this night. He was totally unable to resist. Already her hands were on his cock, stroking the shaft and gently cradling his balls. She was breathing heavily too now, licking his ear and probing it with her tongue, her warm saliva running down his cheek.
"I like a little pain when I fuck, Bobby. Can you hurt me a little? Bite my nipple Bobby. That's it. Some more. Go on. Ow, ow. Fuck yes, do it again. Hurt me you bastard. Bite my tit. Bite it harder."
Bobby did as he was asked and as her excitement grew he no longer worried that he might go too far. The red welts from his bites were quite visible against her alabaster skin but she delighted in the discomfort.
Grace's excitement abated momentarily and as she pulled back, she lifted her bra over her head and discarded it. Now topless she worked quickly to release Bobby's belt and zipper, then with equal urgency tugged his pants and boxer shorts down and free of his ankles and feet.
"Take off your shirt", she commanded. When he had done so she allowed her eyes to slowly scan the full length of his body, beginning with his eyes and moving down from his face to his broad chest, his stomach, waist, hips and finally his cock. Her hair trailed over him as she moved her head over him, taking her time as though she meant to commit every part of him to memory.
Finally she sat back, unfolded her long legs and spread them wide so that he could take in the full view of her crotch. "You like?" she asked innocently.
"God, yes. What's not to like. Can I see?" asked Bobby rather needlessly.
"Umm, I dunno," replied Grace offhandedly. "Not sure you've earned that yet. I think you're being a little presumptuous, by the look of things," she quipped. Leaning forward, she slapped Bobby's cock. Then slapped it again. "Good, it's standing up for itself," she laughed lightly.
Bobby found her actions strangely erotic. If anything, he was harder than ever. "I think he likes it," observed Grace and slapped him once more, this time a little harder. "Fuck yes," she continued. "There's pre-cum all over the place."
"Is that good?" asked Bobby, not sure what else to say.
"That's very good Bobby. Very good," she replied as she bent forward once more to run her tongue over the head of his cock, licking and then savoring the sticky moisture that lined her lips. "Do you want to see my cunt now?" she asked, feigning shyness and putting the end of an index finger into her mouth like a prepubescent girl at play with her first boyfriend, discovering his body and her sexual desires for the first time.
She did not wait for his response. She raised her hips and pulled at her shorts until they came free of her hips and slid down and off her long legs. Her thong stayed on but covered so little of her that Bobby could only stare at the invitation presented by her open thighs. Grace was not yet ready to abandon herself to him however. "Protection, Bobby," she muttered.
"Oh shit Grace. We came up here expecting to meet moose and bear, not women! I don't have anything," he blurted out.
"Never mind," she replied, retrieving her shorts that were lying close by. She reached into an inside pocket and produced a 3-pack of Trojan ribbed and lubricated condoms. "My favs," she winked. "Try one of these on for size."
The talk about protection and the fitting of the condom broke the spell for a short while, but both Grace and Bobby were too far into each other now to let the interruption ruin the perfect night they both wanted with each other. With Bobby's cock sheathed, Grace was quick to resume the game.
"Lean over and grab your belt Bobby," she suggested. "That's it. Now I'm going to tell you something. I think you're a perfect asshole. You know that. I think you're a little shit for thinking you can have me.
Bobby froze in stunned silence. "Now don't you think I'm being very naughty, saying that to your face? I think I deserve to be spanked don't you? Here, spank me. Use your belt on me Daddy." And Grace turned around and thrust her ass up and towards him, her labia clearly visible, aroused and swollen.
Bobby understood what she wanted and the role play came easily to him. Who said the Internet wasn't educational, he thought. "How many times must I tell you not to use foul language, young lady? Show some respect for your elders," he intoned. And with the emphasis on every second word, he laid the belt across her buttocks in not too gentle a manner.
Grace yelled out in exaggerated pain. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't ever do it again. I promise."
"That's what you said the last time," Bobby chastised her further. "And I won't tolerate this behavior any more. Simple as that. You have to learn from someone how important it is to mind your manners." And with these words he again used the belt, watching all the while as her cheeks quivered with the impact and the insult.
"Fuck, Daddy. That hurts. Fuck you," yelled Grace.
Paying no attention to her protestations Bobby continued the charade. "No, fuck you little girl. That does it. I'll show you what fucking is all about." Bobby threw down the belt, pulled Grace's thong to one side and thrust his pulsing member into her hot, soaked cunt. "Take that. How does it feel to have Daddy's hard cock thrust up in your cunt, you little bitch?" he grunted. His one hand worked around her slim back to slap her tits aggressively. With his other hand he clasped on to her hair, holding it tightly as he pulled it with authority to raise her head.
He was riding her hard now, his thighs bumping noisily against her buttocks, but with unexpected determination Grace suddenly twisted free of his grip and scurried a short distance away. Tears flooded her eyes. Bobby looked on with concern, mouth agape. Had he overstepped the line?
Grace sprang forward and punched Bobby in the chest with some force, obliging him to sit back on his haunches, legs akimbo. "There," she said. "I guess now you're gonna tie my hands with that belt so I can't hit back." She was grinning broadly again.
Bobby knew then that they were still playing the game. In fact Grace was getting more into it than he had anticipated. He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, pulled her arms behind her back and wrapped the belt tightly about her elbows. He inspected his work carefully and, satisfied, swatted her a stinging blow to her ass.
Taking still more control of events he laid down on his back. Holding the base of his cock he said evenly: "You get your little cunt over here and sit on Daddy's cock. Now!" he almost yelled the instruction.
Grace obliged, straddling his thighs until Bobby's shaft once more sank deeply into her. She gasped at the way it filled her now that her weight was pushing her hips against his loins. Unable to hold on to him, Bobby instead held on to her thighs to steady her and soon they were in the throes of a purposeful push and pull that promised an explosive, pulsing orgasm for them both.
As they moved ever-more rhythmically in unison, anticipating and experiencing every sensation each and the other felt, Grace threw back her head and closed her eyes, all the while muttering her pleasures in loud, staccato outbursts. It seemed she might be close to her first orgasm when she stopped moving, looked down at Bobby and said, simply: "I gotta pee."
Bobby didn't miss a beat. "So, what's stopping you?"
"Now?" she asked. "Here?"
"Hell yeah," responded Bobby. "Here and now. Go ahead. Pee on me. I want to feel your warm piss all over me. I want to drink your piss."
It took only a moment for her to begin. As she did so she arched her back and hips, willing her stream to reach higher and further. When that effort proved insufficient, she lifted herself off him and straddled his chest and shoulders to empty herself liberally and freely over him.
Bobby reached for her, lifting his head and sticking out his tongue to catch what he could of the golden liquid, marveling at the earthiness of her taste in his mouth. Grace had mounted him again and their love-making resumed in earnest. Bobby could not hold out much longer.
"I'm cumming, Grace. Fuck, here I cum. Oh fuck, oh fuck," he moaned.
"Yes," thundered Grace in breathy reply. "Yes, cum with me you fucking bastard. Shoot your wad into my cunt, all the way up into me. Fuck yes. Oh God yes. Now. Now. Together. Come on. Yes. Yes." And with that Grace bucked hard, then threw her body in ecstasy from side to side, drawing everything she could from the stranger's cock thrust deep inside her.
When it was over she rolled to the ground and lay alongside him. Gently he removed the belt to free her arms before kissing her deeply. They lay embraced for some time as their breathing subsided, lost in thought and enjoying the warmth of each other and the sand beneath the towel as it enveloped their bodies.
***
The first thing Bobby became aware of the following morning was a thunderous headache and a hangover worse than any he had ever experienced. It was not yet six o'clock when he first opened his eyes but the dim morning light was blinding. He lay quietly for several minutes and then raised himself on to his elbow with difficulty. On the other side of the tent, George remained peacefully asleep, alone, making small gurgling noises in his make-shift bedding.
Bobby lay back down, groaning as he held his forehead in some vain hope that this alone might banish the pain. Moments later he opened his eyes again, trying hard to focus on something. Anything. Then he began to remember. He looked over once more at George.
"Hey, buddy. Wake up, man," he called. Getting no response, he threw a water bottle across the tent, narrowly missing his friend even though he had tried to leave a wide margin for safety. "Hey, George. Come on man, wake up."
George stirred reluctantly. "Fuck, what's up?" he moaned.
"Where are the girls?" asked Bobby simply.
"What girls?"
"What girls? Eileen. Grace. You know, Mystery and Enigma. Where did they go?"
George, still more than half asleep, was clearly disgruntled at having been woken up. "Shit Bobby. Get a grip. Eileen, shmyleen. What the hell are you talking about. What girls?"
"The girls on the lake." Bobby was almost pleading now. "Remember, they were here last night. With us. Where did they go?"
"Fuck go back to sleep Bobby. You're dreaming. All I know is that we're taking today off. And I ain't ready to get up yet." With that George turned over and soon resumed his snoring.
Bobby could not go back to sleep. He searched the campsite and went down to the lake but found no evidence that anyone other than he and George had been in camp all night.
He made coffee and drank the hot beverage slowly, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. Thinking was not his strength right now but no matter how he turned things over in his mind, one thing became more than abundantly clear. Eileen and Grace had either left early, being extremely methodical in erasing any sign that they had visited the night before, or he had dreamed the entire thing -- a fantasy within a dream. Fatigue and too much vodka could do that to a man, he guessed. His biggest problem now was, quite simply, what to do about the massive erection he was sporting, despite feeling like hell.
The trip over the next two days proved uneventful. As they finished loading the canoes onto the roof racks of the cars, a tour bus pulled into the parking lot to stop in front of the gift store and food kiosk. Emblazoned on its side were the words: 'Mallory's Summer Camp for Ladies' followed by a phone number and a crude rendition of a happy face.
"Wait here," said Bobby. "Something I gotta check out."
George watched his friend sidle over to the bus and look up into the driver's side window. A large, silver-haired woman sat at the steering wheel. "Excuse me, Miss. Would you happen to have a couple of lady passengers by the name of Eileen and Grace on board?"
The driver deigned to look down at Bobby, taking her time to assess him and his intentions. "Hey, listen up back there," she yelled then, looking over her broad shoulder. "Grace. Eileen. Gent here lookin' for ya. Says he knows you."
