Message-ID: <15666eli$9809280819@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15666.txt> From: "Sasha Stephens" <november919@hotmail.com> Subject: ST: Forest fire [M/F] - a lush communion of nature and sex Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <19980928015954.5155.qmail@hotmail.com> The rest of November's stories are available at November's Erotica, a free site: www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193 _______________________ Forest fire (1/1) by November Tuesday Parallel we progress, up into the woods. When my face is flushing red with heat and sweat he stops to drink. When one of us clambers up the side of the mountain, another follows, braced, two vectors steadying each other, one smooth motion, forward. I like his calves moving ahead of me like reassuring machinery, the taut work of muscles underneath the skin. I can see the glimmer of sweat on his neck where wisps of hair give way to skin. We are making good time. When the sun is about overhead in the sky I am walking lightly, an ease settling into my muscles and bones, and I hear the waterfall first. It heightens and rises as a sound distinct from the rustling leaves, and as I come out of the trees, I see it: a white fire rushing six feet down to mingle with a rocky pool that slowly becomes a river. Without question I ease sideways down the loose dirt bank of the river. I sit on a rock warm from sun and begin to unlace my boots. The cool air on my feet is a prelude to the water shimmering in the sun. Behind me, I hear him coming through the thicket. I bend and unlace my other boot. Both feet free, my watch removed and tucked into the left boot, I walk into the pool. The cold is painful. I flinch and smile and as it deepens and the shining plane of the surface rises past my knees, past the hem of my shorts, then chilling my hot privates, and I fall back, and scream, and shudder as the cold is all around me and my breath is suddenly too much to hold. My feet again touch bottom and I stand, water falling in cold rivulets down my shoulders, between my breasts, open my eyes and see that he is standing on the bank with his toes in the water, and that his eyes are on me, and suddenly the water is too much, almost shamefully intimate, and my face is the only part of me not immersed in numbing water, and the only part of me which is still red and hot. I reach down and pull two palms full of water toward my burning face. When I look up he has passed me and gone toward the depths. When the sun arcs down past noontime, we are underway again. The forest is deeper and the path smaller. There are brackish puddles and mostquitoes hum. I rub in my bug spray, cool on my legs and forearms, and hand it to him. The light that filters down through the layers of green leaf becomes darker and more and more complex as we progress. We stop ad a small clearing and eat the sandwiches he has made, simple bread and meat with spartan deliciousness, and cool water from the river. As we begin the climb up the mountain, past all of the promised landmarks, suddenly there is the cabin, built into the side of the mountain, more terraces and decks than a house. After walking all day this final hill seems as if we are approaching the promised land. My calves ache with each step and I clutch the railing like an old woman. I can hear him breathing behind me. I close my eyes and feel the warming tension in my calves, and I can almost imagine his breath on my wet skin. At the top there is one deck, newer than the one atop it, which is newer than the house atop both. I walk past the first deck and to the second, and stand high in the cieling of the forest. The light which glints on my sweaty brow is orange, the last determined light of the day, crossing green treetop for as far as the eye can see. There is nothing but sky above, cloudless from green horizon to green horizon to the house rising above us. He gets to the top and stands next to me. I feel a first anxiety stir in my belly, knowing that I want to sleep with him and that we are actually here, and that likely the others won't be here until well after morning. Look. I stand silent and hear only his breath, as our eyes fill with the texture of the endless treescape. Look. Suddenly I am back at the swings behind the school, knees wobbly and not knowing what to say. Instead I stand and stare at the magnificent green and blue world. I can smell it, trees and sky. I breathe. The breeze that blows carries all of the essence of trees and wind and air, and I breathe of it so deeply I am suddenly dizzy. I try to know it all, all of the wonder of this life, with a sense that is not sight nor sound nor scent nor taste but all, and neither. I am alarmed by the nagging curl of tears in the corners of my eyes and the fleetingness of the exact light that makes the world so beautiful. Only then, can I turn and say to him 'I'll start the fire." I turn and walk up the steps to the cabin, for the first time that day naggingly out of tandem. Inside there are two rooms, front and back, all windows and all full of orange light on black and cream beam walls. It is simple to a level that transcends beauty. I open windows and let the air breathe in and out on both sides. The ashes of last season's fire have been left for so long that they hae drifted into crests. I shovel the ashes into the rusty pail, sweep the hearth clean. On this smooth surface, like a floured counter, I build. From my pack there are old ATM machine reciepts, momentary reminders of an urban existence so remote it seems to be of another lifetime. On the hearth I split logs into light splinters, again and again, until I have a pile of kindling. Across the reciepts I place the kindling, and leaning against the back wall of the fireplace, three stout logs from the woodbox. In my pack there are matches, and the flame flirts with the edge of a reciept, then blackens it, then catches. The flames extend up toward the open flue, skyward, climb slow up the kindling and then lick at the logs, and I am staring. Then I realize that he is staring at me. I drop the matches on the hearth, screen in the fireplace, and rise. I am a blacknosed chimneysweep, and as I wipe my nose I realize that my hands are filthy. There is running water at the sink, but you must pump it. I do, until my shoulders ache, and finally a tepid trickle that thickens and becomes more clean and full and blissfully cool. I wash my hands and face and then fill the basin. There is flour, and shortening. I take them from the shelves and add salt, and in one of the wooden bowls I make dough, and that I roll out into biscuits, and that I cook over the fire. The fire's glow imparts the walls with warm orange light that looks pretty against the blue storm brewing distant outside the windows. I am aware that he is gone, and I am busy making bread, and cleaning, and spreading my sleeping bag out on the flat bunk. Just as I see heat lightning shuddering in the distant sky, he returns up the steps with a pail, and I see that he has picked berries. "There's water." I say. He goes over to the basin and washes the berries with the water I drew. He scoops them in his tan hands as I watch. He has found sugar in the cupboard and he pours it on the fruit. He shakes the pail, then pulls a berry out and puts it inhis mouth. His eyes are on me. I reach for one. It is cool and sour-sweet. I smile. We eat bread and berries. After dinner I sit and stare out at the lightning. My eyelids are bcoming heavy. He is watching me. "Go lie down," he says. "I'll tend the fire." I want him; I wanted more of this night, but somehow the berries and cool water in my stomach and the pleasant ache in my muscles and the memory of the light across the earth is enough. I fall on my pack and roll up my jeans for a pillow. I fall down deeply, occasionally hearing him - stirring the fire, clank of setting the pail next to the basin, and then I am gone. * * * There is faint light and drumming on the roof. It is sweltering and sweat is gluing my tee shirt to my naked body. I sit up and my eyes adjust to the sights around me. There is a bunk low over my head and another several feet away. I see his sleeping form there. Deeply breathing. That drumming? God, it's hot. It's rain. Slowly I get up and see the fire dying down. I see my pack against the wall and with touch I take soap and shampoo from it. It is so hot. The breezes coming through are cool and gusting, but no relief. I peel off my shirt. I am naked and it doesn't matter. I decide that modesty is silly and superfluous here. Lightning is still scissoring the sky, but it is far away and there are visible seconds before you can hear it. Here the rain hits the deck in a steady tempo. It is loud out here. I stand in the doorway for just one second, then brave the rain. Instantly, I am drenched. I walk to the edge of the lower deck and am blissfully cooled by the torrential wind and rain. Christlike,I extend my arms, feeling the blessed sting of rain on my skin. I wash then, lathering my hair, fingers snaking through, scratching my scalp, and just as instantly, the rain has rinsed the soap away. Suddenly I realize that if he came out he would see me. I turn, and he is indeed standing there, , it startles me as lightning rumbles then claps closer, and I see that he is coming down to the lower deck and he is also naked. I am holding the soap between my breasts as if holding it in prayer, turning it over and over in my hands. Still looking at him, eyes for the first time intense as the rain slicks his hair down over his shoulders. The soap is slick between my fingers and I rub it over my breast, down my side, to my belly. I wash my body as he comes closer, then silently I hand him the soap. Brief blue lightning flashes on the water on his torso. He accepts the soap and I note the texture of his fingers brushing mine, the discernable texture of fingerprint on fingerprint. I watch as he brings the soap to his chest, moving in circles, up and down his arms, eyes never leaving me. I watch his body, the rough lines of his shoulders, the tuck of his stomach, the wet jewels cradled below. I watch as he soaps the solidity of his legs and the rain cleanses and washes away the soap instantly. He soaps his thighs and his lovely flaccid cock and underneath, and his face and his back. My nipples are painfully taut and hard as the storm gains intensity. The lightning is cracking closer, shaking the deck. My arms are drawn in toward my body and I can't move, I'm just watching him. Then he hands the soap to me. Look from his hand to his dark eyes and back, then, I take the soap and lather my skin, arms, legs, the small of my back, and again the urgent nipples. I rub the taut flesh of my neck and a deafening crack through the air makes me shudder. The soap falls and skids away to the deck and then falls over the edge, down through the trees. I don't look back after it. He stands there, head tilted back, wiping water from his eyes. He is clean on this god's earth, soapsuds congregating at his feet amid the bouncing rain and then disappearing. As am I , standing with my head toward the swirling sky and rainwater cleansing my body, running down, making me cleaner and cleaner and cleaner. His mouth is rough on me, pressing insistent past the pliant cushion of his lips and mine; he is kissing me so hard I feel the bones of his face against me, and teeth, and I snag his bottom lip in mine; it is lush and soft like a ripe fruit, and I bite short and hard in pain. I am reaching up around his neck pressing him to me, and we are kissing and as we kiss his hand travels up my side to my breast and pinches, and I shudder, breath huffing out of me. His hands are swirling on my wet breast as his tongue bathes my lips, and the sounding crack and flash of storm as the very air reverberates with lightning. And then with as much restraint he holds back, just breath on my lips, just his eyes on mine and water trickling down my temples and that is all. I follow him into the cabin. Inside we are warmed by the fire which is now high and thriving. I take my sleeping bag from my bunk and lay it down on the floor. I kneel on the blanket. He is next to me, warm hand running up my leg, kissing me, kissing and kissing and kissing. I have wanted him, all day wanted to drink him in, I touch him, push the rivulets of stubborn water off his shoulder, kiss him, tasting the rain on his lips and face and hair. He presses me down, spreads my legs, runs his hands over me. He kneels inside my legs, hand circling his hefty cock, a thick and heavy organ which he holds just outside my open flesh. I arch back and moan softly. He merely continues to jack it, so close that I can feel the warmth of the cock head but not its touch. Then, slowly, he steadies himself and pushes. The head of his cock is pushing past my lips, further in, pushing inward, then anchoring itself deep inside me. The delicious pressure of my circling muscles around him and his responding throb and swell escalates slowly, surely, exponentially and then he is too spent by the day and the rain and wanting, he arches back and thrusts in and shudders and shoots warmth into me. He lays afterward, half sprawled, and stunned I think thatI could fall in love with the way he shuddered like that. Just that. He rolls over and I close my eyes as I listen to his breathing calm and slow. The drum of rain on the world. The fire's rebellious crackle. And then there is no sound; I am sleeping. to be continued... ______________________ The rest of November's stories are available at November's Erotica, a free site: www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>