My Friends the Allens -- Big Cypress
by Mark Aster

= = =
Note: this story takes place in a fantasy world where
vaccines against AIDS and pregnancy are safe and common,
and casual sex with strangers is not suicidally stupid.
The real world, sadly, is not like this: so don't try
this at home, readers.
= = =

The boat moves quietly through still, opaque water,
blades of sawgrass sliding and hissing against the hull.
Things rustle and call in the huge flat emptiness around
us.  The sun's too bright, the air is much too hot.  Odd
black crabs the size of spiders scramble around on the
bark of the tall isolated trees.  Big Cypress.  Might
as well be Mars.

Mick, our guide, is up in the bow, guiding us on with a
long paddle, really a pole, through the invisible channels.
His shoulders, wide and sunburned and sweaty, move with
rhythmic muscularity.  Julie, lying languid behind him,
reaches up one small hand now and then and touches his shirt,
touches his flesh through the cloth.  At first he would look
around at her, but now he's used to it, and her touch, and
the thought of her deep innocent twenty-year-old-girl eyes,
is part of the thought of the swamp, and the water, and the
big cool tree-island somewhere ahead.

Pat lies back behind her sister, eyes closed, ankles
up on the gunwales of the narrow flat-bottomed boat.
The sun beats down, her chin casts a shadow over her
neck; her big breasts and the lush curves of her body,
her spread thighs, are outlined by the glare, and as
I stroke with my paddle to push us through the water I
want her very much, I want to go down with her into the
cool water, and strip her, and kiss her, and fuck her.

"Why do you folks want to go out to the Maiden, anyway?
Not exactly a big tourist spot."  He's asked this before,
but I don't know, and the girls haven't answered.  Julie's
hand moves over his back, up to the base of his neck, and
her fingers touch his skin.  "Just a whim," she says, her
voice soft and whispery like the sawgrass sliding under us,
"we have good memories of that place."  Somewhere ahead in
the endless wetness is a tree-island that the locals call
the Maiden.  Much too much work for a picnic lunch.  Pat
stirs, rustles in her pack, takes out a cloth soaked in
cold water, raises it to her mouth.  She touches it to her
lips for a moment, and passes it back to me.  I put it on
my forehead, and it is cool and alive.  For a little while.

The water gets shallower, the channels more twisted.  More
tree-islands rise around us and slide behind us.  Mick
points out local attractions, alligator holes, unlikely
white-tailed deer bounding in the distance.  Finally, the
Maiden.  The boat slips wetly onto the gentle bank, and for
a moment we all sit in stillness.  A hint of cool air drifts
down to us, and awakening from one dream we pick up the stuff
and debark.

The soil is moist and dark under the strange swamp trees,
palm and baldcypress and brown gumbo-limbo.  Pat spreads the
blanket, Julie opens the thermoses, and we sit down, the
ground denting softly under us.  We eat and drink cool
things.  Pat is beside me, Julie sits cross-legged very
close to Mick, her knee brushing his, her hand now and then
touching him casually, caressing him as her eyes move over
him, up the trees, out into the brilliant wet prairie
beyond.  He licks his lips, frowns to himself.

I go to the bushes to answer a call of nature.  Mick comes
up beside me.  Hot smells come up from the ground where our
urines splash.  He clears his throat.

"Is she...?" he asks.

"They're both," I assure him.  "You're a very lucky man."

He looks at me for just a moment, smiles.  We tuck our
cocks away and turn back from the edge of the water.

Back at the blanket, Julie has untucked her shirt and undone
the bottom two buttons, tying the tails up in a loose knot
that leaves her midriff bare.  A sunbeam threads through the
canopy overhead and splashes onto her stomach.  Mick sits
down, and Julie lies casually backward, her head on his
knee.  She looks down at herself, and her fingers play over
her bare skin.

"Mosquito," Mick grunts, and he raises a hand to swat away the
big skinny winged thing that has lit on Julie, just above her
navel.  But she reaches up and gently restrains his wrist.
They watch, we watch, as the mosquito sinks its straw into
Julie, in between the fine sweat-moist hairs of her skin, and
drinks, and flies off toward the sawgrass.

"I don't begrudge the swamp a little blood," Julie says, and
she guides Mick's hand down onto her stomach, rubs his rough
blunt fingers over her skin just below the lower slopes of
her small covered breasts.  His hand explores her, and when
she releases it, it slides up under her shirt, and he takes
her right breast in his hand and gently squeezes.  She kisses
his arm lightly where it passes by her face, and she sighs.

Pat purrs to herself and moves up behind me on the blanket,
and I turn to her and we brush noses and we kiss, and her
mouth is warm and soft and welcoming.  As Julie reaches up
and undoes the rest of her buttons, I take Pat into my arms,
and her body is firm and womanly against me.  Her tongue slips
into my mouth, fat and supple, and her breasts press against
my chest.

Julie relaxes on the blanket, her head in Mick's lap, her
hair spread out over his thighs, as his hands roam over
the naked skin of her breasts.  He strokes and squeezes her,
pinches her pink nipples between his fingers, touches her
greedily.  His eyes are slightly closed, his lips parted.
Julie's breath deepens as his hands touch her, and her hips
squirm slightly on the blanket.  "Ooh," she whispers, "ooh
I like your hands."

I kiss Pat's lips, her nose, her eyes, her cheeks, her neck.
She runs her fingers through my hair as I undo the buttons
of her shirt and touch her big sweaty braless breasts.  Her
stomach is firm and golden; my fingers wander down over her
skin, between her hips, and slip in under her jeans and her
panty.  She smiles and reaches down to undo her pants.

As Julie turns to face Mick, and slowly undoes the buttons
of his shirt, I slip my fingers between Pat's thighs, and
spread the lips of her vulva.  She lies back and puts her
arms around my neck, drawing me down and kissing me deeply
as I begin to stroke around her clit with my fingers.  The
air smells of woman, and rich deep wet soil.

Julie pushes Mick's shirt back off his shoulders and touches
his wide hairy chest.  She kisses him softly on the mouth,
and her nipples press lightly against him.  As Pat's clit
stiffens and throbs, and my fingers circle the opening of
her vagina and she gasps, Julie stands up, and reaches one
hand down to Mick.  He stands before her, his hands on her
hips, and she licks her lips, looks into his eyes, and reaches
for his zipper.

Pat's legs are spread wide at the edge of the blanket, and
her pussy is open.  Hungry for the taste of her, I start to
move my lips down her body, but she pulls me back up, kisses
me hard and long on the mouth as my fingers slide into the
wetness of her, and she whispers "touch me, just touch me",
and I penetrate her with my fingers as our tongues twine
together.  She rocks her hips and moans.

Mick's penis is dark and wide and uncut; it comes silently
out of the wrinkled sheath as Julie strokes it and kisses
his mouth again.  He unsnaps her shorts and pushes her pants
and panties down, and she steps out of them, still holding his
cock and caressing it as it hardens, looking happily into his
eyes.  She pulls the skin back and forth, and he groans and
pulls her against him, the sunbeam hot and bright on her ass
as he takes her buttocks in his hands and kisses her lips,
pressing her small young body against him.

"Aaahh!" Pat sighs as she begins to come, softly and liquid,
with my fingers in her vagina and my thumb teasing her clit.
I lick her full red lips with my tongue and fuck her faster
with my hand, and her back arches and her mouth opens wider,
and she is incredibly beautiful.  I squeeze her left breast in
my other hand, take the nipple into my mouth, and suck hard on
the stiff female flesh as she gasps and the orgasm takes her
entirely, and she wails loudly, the sound of her coming leaping
out of her mouth and out across the water.

I press down on Pat's mons with the heel of my hand, and long
aftershocks run through her body, and she purrs and moans.
Mick is naked on his back, Julie straddling his stomach,
naked except for her powder-blue unbuttoned shirt that swirls
around her as he caresses her, squeezing her with his hands and
devouring her with his eyes.  She rises up on her knees and
slowly settles backward, the glistening light hairs of her
pussy brushing against the tip of his erect penis, where a
drop of liquid shimmers in the sunbeam.

Pat's arms are around me again, and she kisses my mouth and
my throat, and her hands wander over me.  She unzips my jeans
and draws out my cock, and squeezes the hot flesh and smiles
into my eyes.  I let out a long breath and settle down on my
back, the ground soft under my shoulderblades, looking up at
the feverish green of the trees as Pat's mouth moves wetly
over my stomach and my hips.  Her tongue teases the thin skin
along the underside of my penis, and her hands gently stroke
me, up and down and up and down and I harden under her fingers.

Julie slides down onto Mick; her head goes back as her body
engulfs him, then rises quickly up, and slides down again.
He has one big hand on each of her breasts, and he rolls her
nipples between his fingers as Pat's mouth draws me in, hot
and engorged, and I close my eyes and touch her head.

Julie cries out, a high perfect sound like a glass bell; she
is holding her pussy up above Mick's hips, with just his glans
inside her, and swirling her hips in small circles, rubbing
the tender opening of her cunt up and down over the soft
thickness at the head of his cock.  Pat's mouth does the
same to me, drawing me almost out of her, squeezing the
tip of my cock with her lips, and then running her fingers
up and down the shaft, squeezing and stroking and sucking.
My penis begins to pulse.  Mick grunts and reaches behind
Julie; with his hands on the small of her back, he pulls
her down onto him, his wide shaft plunging into her, and
she cries out again, a clear little scream of pleasure as
he pulls her down and kisses her mouth and thrusts into her
and she comes.

Pat's mouth opens and she stretches out next to me, her
mouth on my face, and her hands wrapped around my cock,
still stroking and pressing, gradually faster and harder.
She licks my lips, and her fingers slide up and down, in
the warm slippery wetness of her saliva on my penis.  I
gasp, and she smiles, and pumps harder.  Mick bellows and
clutches Julie's ass, spreading her buttocks apart and arching
his back, pushing farther into her as he comes, and she comes
again, and then Pat's mouth is on my balls, one of her
fingers rubs against my anus, her other hand jerks tenderly
at my cock, and I come, groaning a long low groan as she
milks it out of me, two, three, four long hot streams of
white that burst from me and splatter on the edge of the
blanket, onto the ground, and soak quickly into the moist
receptive earth.  She licks the last drops of cum from my
glans and takes me into her mouth, running her tongue around
the shaft as it slowly deflates, and more waves of pleasure
flow through me.

The shadows are just beginning to lengthen toward afternoon
when we pack the stuff into the boat and head back.  Mick
gets in front, Julie close and comfortable behind him.  I
get in behind Pat, and reach over and take her gently by the
hair and kiss her mouth.  Her eyes are deep and gorgeous.
"Blood and semen?" I ask quietly.

"Blood and semen," she whispers back, "we have very good
memories of this place!"


My Friends the Allens -- Big Cypress
by Mark Aster
The End