RED FLASH

SASSY RED

LOVELY LATINA

SEXY GIRLFRIEND, SEXY SHAVED

THE SUMMER OF LOVE


1967, the "Summer of Love," a time to break down the barriers, to be free to explore, to love whoever, whenever, wherever you wanted. Sandra was eighteen when the hippies danced in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. She wasn't a hippie. She was a student at the state college. The college was Co-Ed, but her dorm was all women. He freshman roommate turned her on to free love, shedding her innocence like shedding her clothes. It was, for a moment, a beautiful time.

BARE FLOORS, BARE BUM

Sunny, sexy, and artistic.

CALL OF THE WILD

Linda would never cheat on her husband, but she kept a secret from him. They had a sex life, sort of. The basic, or the minimal. Whatever married couples have after a decade. They still loved each other--it wasn't that. They had done what most married couples have done. They had a drawer of lingerie she pulled out on Valentine's Day and maybe two other times a year. They had a bottle of lube by the bed and a vibrator that helped her get off at the same time as him. Love making was, let's just say, efficient. Something they did that was part of the things they did. Like brushing teeth: nothing bad, but not totally exciting, either.

So in Linda's heart was restlessness, a churning pent up energy. Fingers would not release this energy. Neither would her regular vibrator on her clit. The energy was a swirling mass of yearning she could not satisfy. She puzzled over what to cal it. Finally, she realized, it was lust. Pure lust. It was raw and insatiable. She'd only seen it once, growing up on the farm in Illinois when her dog went into heat. Her dad kept the dog locked up inside the whole time to keep her from running away. And the whole time the dog paced and howled. Something deep inside filled it with desire to fuck. Linda had no conception of it then, but she did now. It was perfectly clear that she was a mammal, too. That humans might be "modernized" today, but underneath the facade of clothes and homes with indoor plumbing, we were still primal beasts.

Linda didn't mean to let the dog out. She was coming home from school (the rural route bus dropping her off at the end of the drive, her walking the quarter mile to the farm house each day). As she opened the door, the dog bolted past her, an explosion of fur and fangs. An animal possessed. She watched it tearing off, across the pasture.

She knew she'd get into trouble. Panicked she spent the rest of the afternoon trying to track down the dog. Eventually, she found her in the old milk barn--replaced by the giant aluminum barn, the wooden one that was used only for hay. Thats where she found the bitch, circled by a pack of mangy mutts, every spotted type of half-feral farm dog. They circled and sniffed, growling, and snapping. Linda tried to shout, to shoo them away. But they paid her no attention. And Linda was scared, and fascinated at the same time.

One of the dogs lunged and snatched the bitch by the back of the neck, pinning her down. The bitch yelped, but seemed to yield at the same time. Then it began. Linda watched in horror and adolescent curiosity as the alpha dog mounted the bitch. She watched the whole thing, each dog taking a turn in descending rank. She looked into her dog's eyes, and saw that she wasn't in pain, but was glazed over, lost, surrendered to what must be pure biology, the built-in nature of survival.

Linda later went to college and there met her husband and got married and learned about sex the human way. It seemed so tame, so polite. Full of manners and permissions. They bought sex How-To books when the passion began to wane. Those only talked more about sharing feelings and creating safe space... what the hell, thought Linda. She didn't want sex to always be safe, or gentle. She wanted it rough, savage, strong. The closest she could find was watching porn.

In porn, she loved the way the woman grunted and begged, demanded to be fucked, and how the big, stupid stalion-like men with horse-dongs fucked. No one asked permission, no one shared feelings: the men pulled out their cocks and the women spread.


Linda loved the pornos with one woman and several men. Whenever she felt herself in "heat," she'd rent one and watch it while her husband was at work. At the porn store, she'd also purchased I giant rubber dong. She loved it. It was thick, as big as a horse, she said to herself. It had a suction cup base, and she could stick it to the glass of the TV set. It dangled at her face as she watched a woman sucking off a circle of men. She sucked the rubber dong, imagining herself the woman, hungrily gobbling every erection shoved in her face. A cock in her mouth, and one in her hand, and other men, strangers, standing by, stoking their meat, getting ready for their turn. Beta dogs. They would have their turn.

In porno, after cock sucking, the fucking starts, and that's when she would move to the bed, stick the dong on the headboad, and back up to it like a dog. She pushed back as it seemed to push in. It felt so good, and she'd work it in and out and she watched the porno. She liked to turn the volume way up, so she could hear the slapping of flesh and the moans of the ravaged woman echoing off the walls.



She wanted to be filled, fully. She started with a finger, getting her relaxed, ready, then it was time. She let the dong pop out of her soaked vagina and reached for her vibrator. She worked it into her ass, and began to pump, feeling the first sensations of being filled in the back, being taken the way she wanted to be taken.



After the vibrator, she returned to the dangling dong, ready to take her. She positioned it at the small pucker of her anus. It was difficult to get started. The soft semi-erect rubber would bend, and then pop out. But once she got it going, she almost fainted. It stretched her wide as she could go. It was pain and ecstasy. Every move shot pain through her body, and yet it was a rush. She felt like she was being ripped apart. She felt like she was being totally taken.

At that point she was not herself anymore, but a swirling, seething vision of an animal in heat, being fucked by other animals. She was the dog in the barn she was the mare and the stallions at her farm. She was the woman in the porn. She was not an individual but a body, a female of a species getting mounted. The sounds from the TV set were matched by her own screams as she exploded and shook in powerful orgasm.


She would repeat as many times as she could stand. She'd nap on sheets smeared with lube and smelling of butt sex. By 4, she'd clean up. Her anus sore, bleeding slightly. Her knees wobbly, thigh muscles shaky. She felt spent. The ball of lust inside her had been drained, for now.

She put on fresh clothes, human clothes. Returned the video, stashed the dildo in her hiding place, and started dinner for her husband.

BE A STAR


When I bought my boyfriend a digital camcorder for Christmas, I knew exactly how I wanted him to use it. I have always had a creative eye, I must say. To inspire him, I lay back naked and began to touch myself. He quickly moved up for a closer look.
Then, when he was good and hard from me teasing myself, and him, I climbed on top of him.



I took the camera into my own hands. I wanted him to see it from my point of view.


Then for the final act, I climbed off him, and positioned the camera on the tripod. I lay back and rolled him on top of me. "What do you want?" he asked.

"In the ass," I said, feeling bolder and dirtier than I ever had. I knew it was the camera, the permission of it, not to be my usual self, but someone else, the woman on the screen, the digital flicker of pixels. "Yes," I screamed out for the camera mic. "In my ass. Fuck my ass."

Excited even more, he began to pound. Driving deep, slapping me with his balls.

"Yes," I screamed again. "Cum in my ass. For the camera!"

I was ready for my close up.

MORE THE MERRIER AT A SKI CABIN

One year for New Years, my girlfriend and I rented a cabin on the mountain. When I told my co-worker John about it, we got to talking. He seemed so enthusiastic, I casually mentioned he and his wife Ashley should come along too. "Oh, no, we wouldn't want to impose on your romantic weekend," he said.

"No worries," I said. I'm sure there's plenty of room. "Besides, more the merrier, right?"

So it was agreed. Unfortunately, my girlfriend Rebecca was not as thrilled. She had rented a cozy cabin for two. It had a hot tub on the deck, a big open area on the main floor, and a bed in the loft. John and Ashley would have to sleep in the living room on the floor, and we'd take the loft, but there'd be little privacy to be had. People in the living room could not see us by looking up, but it still seemed exposed when my girlfriend stripped off her shirt, before bedding down for the night.



As we lay awake in the cabin, getting used to all the sounds of a new place, we could hear the rumble of the river outside, teh trees swaying in the wind, and the low rustle of blankets and giggles and then the unmistakeable sounds of sex. "Great," said Rebecca. "Not only do we not have the cabin to ourselves, we have to listen to them going at it." She flipped over with an irritated sigh. Secretly, I listened, imaging what was going on just out of sight, just below the loft

The next day, we were greeted by mountain sun, snow, and the rushing of a mountain stream. We made coffee and breakfast. The women seemed to get along easily, starting to joke with each other as they cooked. Ashley had brought orange juice and champagne to make mimosas--that kicked off the weekend. John split some wood for a fire later, and we went out on snow shoes for a hike.

John and Ashley were a perfect couple: young, energetic, full of life, laughing, and always daring each other to do something crazy. There was always a sexual energy crackling between them; they flirted with each other, and made lots of sexual jokes. No of the jokes were funny; in fact, they were downright stupid. For example, John had a flask of Knob Creek whisky. Ashley asked: Are you going to polish off that Knob? John: I think you're better at polishing off the Knob. Ha ha ha. Lame as their jokes were, they had the effect of lightening the mood, and making everyone feel a little giddy.

Evening comes early in the mountains, and so after our hike, we were back in the cabin, stripped down to long underwear, sipping hot coco and peppermint schnapps, and sitting beside the fire. I couldn't help but notice Ashley's nipples poking through her long underwear. She had nice, full breasts, and the snug fabric framed them well.

When we played charades, I couldn't help but watch her breasts shake as she made wild hand gestures. Rebecca was having a great time, laughing easily and swaying into Ashley.

We were exhausted and sore from the hike in the snow, so we decided to hop in the hot tub. It steamed and just beyond the light falling from the cabin, the river rushed. "You know what we need to do," said John. "It's New Years! We need to take a polar plunge!"

I thought he was joking. "That's a good way to get hypothermia," I said.

"You have to go naked!" yelled Ashely. John had already hopped out. We could just see him faintly through the steam and in the darkness. He whipped off his swim trunks, and scrambled down the snow bank to the rushing river. The only visible part was his white bare ass. What an idiot, I thought. He's going to fall in, get sucked into the current. I was growing angery at John's druken bravado, when Ashley hoped out and scampered after John. She stripped down, too, and another pale pair of buttocks flashed into the dark. "They're insane," I muttered, but no one heard me. Rebecca was out, too. And I caught just a glimpse of her racing to catch up. Screeches and squeals pierced the rumbling of the river. Then, a few seconds later, all three, bare ass, and shivering, leaped back into the tub with a splash.

"Your turn," said Rebecca.

"Don't be stupid," I said. I didn't intend to be hurtful, but I guess I was pretty drunk by then, and exhausted.

"I'll go again," said John, trying to diffuse the tension.

I didn't want to be pressured to jump into the river. I knew it was freezing. I knew it was dangerous. I didn't have to prove anything.

So we sat a while longer. I was stewing in my own resentments, feeling left out, and awkward. Here I was, in a hot tub with my girlfriend and another couple. Everyone was naked but me. Just taking off my shorts would have been weird, but I really didn't want to jump in, either. It was dark, and no one said anything else. We looked at the steam rise to the stars.

We got out and went back inside. A few more drinks as we stood in towels beside the fire, drying off. I excused myself for bed. A headache was coming on. It felt like 3AM, but in fact it was barely 9PM. "Don't you want to stay up for midnight?" Rebecca asked.

"No, you go ahead, I need to crash."

She nodded.

I went upstairs and changed for bed and lay down. I could hear the fire crackling and the low murmur of their voices as they played a board game and sipped cocktails. I downed glass after glass of water, but it was too late: my headache had gone full-bore, and throbbed. I was exhausted and soon asleep.

I didn't hear the cocktails being poured downstairs. Or more wood being added to the fire. Or the card game that started. Or when Rebecca came up and checked on me. It was the glasses of water that eventually stirred me from sleep. It was dark up in the loft, and just a faint glow from the fireplace was visible form the railing. I listened for voices, but didn't hear any. I could hear the fire pop, and a low rustling of murmurs. It sort of sounded like the soft slapping of the night before, the low rustling of sex. Quietly, I crept toward the railing.

Peeking over, I saw a sight as if a dream. I didn't know if I was dreaming. There on the floor was Ahsley. I could see her large breasts, how they fell to each side of her chest from their own weight. I could see John. His muscular chest covered in dark hair. And I saw Rebecca. Her smaller body between the two. She was on her knees, John pounding her slowly from behind. Her face between Ashley's spread legs. Ahsley held Rebecca's head with both hands and pushed it into her crotch. They moved in slow motion. John pumping, Rebecca slurping, Ashley squirming against Rebecca's tongue.

I was shocked, angry, hurt, and aroused.

What could I do? They were already intwined. Recebba looked perfectly happy, perfectly relaxed. If I went downstairs, I'd just break it all up. I'd embarass them, or they embarass me. Maybe there are those pre-determined to jump in freezing rivers, and those who will always let the critical moment pass, watching safely from a distance.

SCHOOL TRIP

Our senior year, the class make a trip to the Smokey Mountains. My girlfriend and I were bored as a park ranger led a nature walk. When no one was looking, she quickly flashed me. No one saw, and if they did, they would have just thought we were taking another stupid tourist picture.

SHE LOSES HER VIRGINITY BY THE RIVER TO HER BEST FRIEND

Summer. I was home again, so I called Laura. She picked me up in her old beat up volvo station wagon. In high school we spent our free time together. Best friends, each having stupid high school summer jobs, and lots of free time. She was old and had the car. She went to college first, a girls college in california called Mills. Summers she'd return and we'd pick up where we'd left off, two high school friends packing towels to the river.

To sit on the river back, to soak up the sun, our skin glimmering and warm. Bring a bag of chips, sun screen, and a flask she'd brought back from college. These were slow honey golden afternoons, with dragon flies hanging in the air, sweat salty on our upper lips. Wear cut-offs and bikini tops. Boys with coolers of beer willing to share. And always, always cheap sunglasses from whatever gas station along the way.



We loved to lay out in the buff. Sometimes boys would drift past on rafts holding beers aloft, and cheer and hoot. Or sometimes it was two hippie boys in a canoe with a guitar, puffing reefer, and giving us a slow nod. This was the late 70s, and people spent a lot more time nude, and no one seemed to care.



When we'd get hot, we'd scramble to the rock outcropping and dive into the swimming hole. The current spun a slow back turn eddie here, but if you swam out into the middle of the river, the current would pull you downstream and then spit you back out on the sandy beach where our towels awaited.

The first summer back from college, I called her, and so we returned to the river. Everything happened as usual, and we worked up a good buzz from her flask of gin. But this afternoon seemed sexually charged. I thought I caught her staring at my breasts, or making a point to bed over and linger as she unstrapped her sandals. She talked of a new love in her life, a girlfriend she'd met at school and how she was technically a virgin still, because she'd never been with a man. But I'm not a virgin in my heart, she said.

We were pretty drunk by the time we scampered up the rocks to jump. She climbed in front of me, seemingly offering a good view of her thatch of dark curls.

We jumped and treaded water in the swimming hole. We moved, circling around each other, closer and closer. And then, touching, naked in the water, bumping knees and elbows as we slowly churned our arms and kicked. We kissed. I long, wet, passionate kiss. All the years of high school we had developed a friendship, all the care we had for each other, but no way to express it. It all happened, suddenly, and even though unexpectedly, it was completely unavoidable. It had to happen. we kissed and the river current pulled us downstream, and when we broke our lip embrace, we were back at the towels.

We climbed out, dripping, shivering, and weak in the knees. I looked at Laura with eyes that asked, is it over? She looked back with a sparkle in her eyes that said, do you want it to be over?

I nodded. She took my hand and we sang onto the towels. Our lips met again, and then her hands began to move over my body, and without thinking, my hands began to explore her body. Her lips caressed my neck, my breasts, and gentle blew her warm breath on my river-pinched nipples. Then I felt her finger wiggle into me. I gasped, shocked. My breath escaped me. I looked around nervously, what if boys came in a raft, or a fisherman? She pushed deeper. I was wet and reeling from her touch. I didn't want her to stop. Then her lips moved down my belly. And down. More nervous, I tensed. "Wait..." I said, "not here..."

"Relax," she said. "Let me."

So I did. And her mouth moved to my curls, parted them with her fingers, and her warm wet tongue touched my skin. It was the softest sensation I'd ever felt. I melted. I closed my eyes, and the sun on my eyelids made everything orange. I could her the river lapping at the bank, and her low grunts and she licked and slurped my juices from my inner folds. And then it began, the low, slow orgasm. Lifting like water, making me weightless and buoyant. And I came. And came and came.

When it was over, Laura looked at me and winked as she wiped her mouth. "Yummy, you taste like a river."

Afterwards, I tried on her. I don't know what I was doing, and I don't think I gave her an orgasm. But she told me it felt wonderful, and that it gets better with practice and time. "You still have three years of college," she said.

At school, I met boys, and had boyfriends, some serious, some not. It's been decades now, and I'm married. I never got together with Laura again. She got a summer job, or internship, or something the next year and didn't come back home. We didn't have email or facebook then, and it was easy to just fall out of touch. I think Laura wanted it that way. She just stopped calling, stopped answering letters. I don't know why. I was my first broken heart. And my first sexual experience. I know what she meant by losing her virginity in her heart.

That afternoon was when I lost mine.

STRIKE A POSE

He picked up the digital camera and suggested nude photos. She gave him an eyeful.

LONG DISTANCE BRINGS COUPLE CLOSER

My girlfriend and I dated long distance all through college. We got used to phone calls late at night, which lead to sexy talk, which led to phone sex.

Now we're happily together, but sometimes we miss the feeling of longing. Longing is desire unfilled. It's being close enough to reach some one and not touch. Close enough to smell, but not taste. Ancient Greek myth is filled with these examples: a cup that is always full, until you go to drink and its dry. Grapes growing just overhead, but out of reach. It is a form of torture. Agony. But with a little pain sometimes comes pleasure.

Now my partner and I like to lie just far enough apart, not touching, and lie back. We close our eyes and slowly let our hands fall down between our legs. We pretend that the other is not even there. Soon we become aroused, and soon our breath quickens and our body responds, and we are lost into our own private moments.

At that time, we can hear the other. The panting, grunting, moans. Wet skin, and the rythmic slap. We match sound and pace. Now I can smell us, and we know we are getting close. And closer. And faster. And then we come together.

GETTING AWAY MEANS GETTING IT JUST HOW SHE WANTS IT

They had made plans for the bed and breakfast months ago. It was a cute, simple B&B on the Coast, near a small town called Oysterville. They picked the place because they needed to get out of the city. Seems all year was work and deadlines and house projects. They just needed a weeked away. No cooking, no laundry, no yardwork...nothing. To recharge their batteries, they needed nothing more than the three basic humans things: eating, sleeping, sex. Especialy the last. They could always catch up later on sleep.



He started out driving and she read a magazine in the passenger seat. She had left her underwear at home; she said, who needs underwear this weekend?

As they drove, she felt the breeze from the vents slide up her legs, tickle her trimmed curls. She read him articles from Cosmo. They'd picked up a copy at the gas station on the way out of town. It had pieces like "What drive men crazy, ten tips to try tonight" and "what men would ask for in bed--secrets reveaed!" She read aloud and he added his oopinions. Talk of biting, spanking, tying up with with ties on the bedpost, whipped creme, blindfolds, made her increasing wet, and made his cock strain in his pants.

After an hour, they traded drivers. The conversation continued. She realized that even though she always felt free to do whatever felt good in bed with him, that they never really talked about it as they made love. They just did it, fell into the patterns of what worked well. As she drove and he continued to read to her from the magazine, her hand had moved down between her legs. She had pushed up her dress and was slowly running up and down her wet folds, grazing the now sesitive hood of her clit.


He stopped reading when he noticed. She noticed his pants were strained a spot of precum had appeared.

By now they were deep into the Coastal Range on a two lane road. They'd finished the magazine, but were still turned on. She reached over and unfastened his pants, releasing his half-hard cock to the open air. As she drove, she slowly storked it. She kept her eyes on the road, but could picture every inch and wrinkle in her mind. She knew exactly what she wanted when they arrived.

Finally they were on the coast. They checked in and set down the bags.

She unpacked a bottle of lube and set it on the bed. She then stripped totally naked and assumed the possition. On her hands and knees, she thrust her ass to the air, wide, open, inviting him to stand behind her, lube her up, and fuck her like she had needed to be fucked in years. He was hard, filled with the strain of hours of foreplay. He was ready. He would fuck her, no holding back.

He climbed behind her, lubed up, and pushed it home to the hilt. They both moaned deeply, having found exactly what they were needing.

ONE FOR HER MEANS ONE FOR HIM

It was time for bed. He was in already under the covers with just the reading light and his current book. Rather than walk in wearing her nightgown and robe, she entered naked. One hand behind her back. She had two toys. A long hard vibrator and a battery pack operated soft jelly butt plug. It was her surprise. But what she would do with her toys, she wasn't yet sure. She could use them on herself, make him watch. Or better yet, use them on him. Maybe she would make him pick one, and not tell him why he was picking. Which ever one he picked, she'd use on him. The other he'd use on her. That's fair, balanced marriage, right?

FIRST DATE TO STRIP CLUB LEADS TO SPECIAL NIGHT

There first date was to a strip club, the Diamond J. They hadn't planned it, but the college town was small and had a few bars, but only one that served full meals so late. It has a poker room in back, past the Keno machines, and past that a door that lead into a small strip club. The college girls danced their to make book and tuition money. The locals were mostly college boys, there boyfriends and some times professors. It was a small town. And such things were accepted. It was not a town by a highway, there were rarely, if ever, long haul truckers or felons on the lamb. Just college girls and it worked out fine.

Her freshman roommate Michelle danced. And said she should try. She hadn't. But it was no big deal to go into the back club after a midnight meal of chicken fried steaks, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns to meet with a study group for an upcoming test. Or a first date to order a night cap of whiskey rocks.

The first Tuesday of every month was amateur night and first place was $500. They joked about entering her. the money would be nice, she agreed, but not the point. More, she thought of Michelle and figured, it's college. If not now, then what stories will I have when I am old. All skin sags eventually, she knew. Why not shake it once in her prime?

Still, she wasn't ready then. Not on the spot. So she tucked it away.

The first date become more dates and after a few months they lived together. Sometimes they would talk about amateur night and laugh. Finally, one day, she said--well, why not?

He was shocked, impressed, embarrassed, and excited. Sure, he agreed. We'll need to do it right to win the prize, she said. He agreed to that, too.

They returned to the Diamond J. They watched the dancers now as if studying for a test.

At home, she'd practice her moves. He'd watch, gladly, offering any pointers he could.

When the first Tuesday came and they were in the morning shower, she said she should shave like the dancers. He looked at her with a gleam.

I'll help, he offered, taking the razor in hand and kneeling before her.

BOTTLES UP!

"Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker."

Clearly drinking is a fast way to get in the mood, either with a partner or alone. Here Sexy Sex pays special tribute to the ladies who drink their beers and wine, and enjoy the bottle as the second course.

It is clearly sexy to do, and just as sexy to see.


She sets it in place and slides down.


Our Coors girl likes the Silver Bullet.


Some prefer imports, like Heineken

Or

some like Corona.


Some help from a friend.


This lady prefers wine.



In slippers, shaved, what better time than to enjoy some chilled white wine.

SHE FINDS WAY TO MAKE THE RIDE HOME MORE INTERESTING

The road from my college town to home wound down through a narrow mountain valley, following a rocky, crooked mountain river. Every quarter mile or so was an unmarked logging road, a turnout, or a gravel bank where a lone fisherman would fly cast. In spring the air was thick and humming with insects. As we drove, you'd get sticky, sweat on your thighs and legs. If we'd made love that morning, we could still smell it on our skin. We drove, hair whipping in the window. Kick off the flip flops.



As we drove, her hand rested on my thigh. The sun slipped down in splinters through the tree, and she began to rub through my jeans. Responding, I grew hard. She knew, and I knew what was next. She unzipped my jeans and wiggled around to drop her head in my lap.

I concentrated as we rounded each corner of the narrow road. Her lips touched my skin, still musky with our morning sex. I grew harder and she slipped her tongue slowly up and down my rigid shaft. I tried to focus on the road. She slurped and sucked then paused. More? she'd ask. I knew it was dangerous, but I eagerly said more.

Maybe we should find a turn off, she suggested.

Within a mile, we pulled off onto a logging road. I drove up, just out of sight of the road, parked. We didn't speak as she pulled a blanket from the back and continued to hike up the logging road, around a bend, out of sight of the car. We both knew what would come. She spread out the blanket and then we stripped off our clothes. Naked, the sun beat down on our backs, shoulders, and warmed our pubic hair. It was sexy, like Adam and Eve, maked in the forest, in a spot of sun.

She reached to my body and instantly it sprung back, hard and ready. Then we were together. She riding me, her breasts flopping in the sun, me on her, her fingernails criss-crossing my back, her on her knees, and me ramming into her like wild animals.

When we made love in our bed, it was sexy, but often soft as the flannel sheets. Sleepy like morning before coffee. But outside, she became a wild child. I became a savage. Somehow outdoors, we were stripped of civilization's moors. It was the call of the wild and it surged in our blood. We were sweaty, sticky, and savage. Instead of her usual cooing, "uuuuuummmmm, uuuummmm, baby, like that.....ooooohhhh." She barked out: "fuck me, fuck me hard."

I pounded her from behind. I grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her back harder, deeper. "Harder!" she screamed. "Harder, fuck me hard!" Her voice became jagged and raspy as she yelled. "Cum on my ass," she cried as she became to convulse in orgasm.

I pulled out and shot globs of sticky cum across her ass.

Exhausted, I collapsed back. She remained in position, her face buried in her arms, that were crossed on the ground, making a pillow. Her ass jutted in the air. Noontime sun is so bright. As I lay there, I stared at her body. Her two smooth round buttocks, creamy white, red scratches from our love making, bits of grass and dirt, pine needles stuck on with sweat. She left her ass in the air, feeling the sun and breeze dry the sweat. The globs of milky cum had splattered across her butt and lower back. some began to slip up her spine and begin to dry in the sun. Some dribbled down the cleft of her butt. It tickled the pucker of her anus, the few hairs that grew there that her razor never caught. She had a mole and a few freckles. And her vulva was swollen, red, glossy with her own juices. It cum slid over her lips, beading and dripping off her clit. It was a shinny pink, small bead of skin wrapped in her folds, brushed by her trimmed curls. There is nothing as beautiful, I thought, as a pure blue sky, framed by towering trees, and a woman's hindquarters jutting up the sky, her cunt rosy and slick from hard sex, cum caught on her curls, her ass open, exposed, her anus a tight wrinkled passage of invitation.

The image is burned in my memory. It remains my definition of wildness in wilderness.

UNDERGRAD GIVES HER INSTRUCTOR A SIGHT TO REMEMBER


When I was in grad school, I instructed "Writing for the Media, Journalism 203." the class was mostly perky young women with ambitions of being local news anchors or bubbly field reporters. Most were pretty stereotypical--big hair, lots of makeup, a saccrine-sweet bird chirpy voice. As a 24-year-old grad student, these freshmen were nice eye candy, but little else. Except one student. I always remember Ashley. I had such a crush on her. She was a few years older, close to my age. She wasn't bubbly or Barbie, but simple in appearance and sexy as hell. She had the air of someone who'd traveled, seen the world, and was now ready to get serious about a career. She was a girl that radiated confidence without being overbearing or obnoxious. She had reddish hair, freckles, and a sultry voice with just a hint of her childhood Georgia. Those qualities alone were enough to drive me crazy, but I could also sense her sexuality. She had an easy in way she moved, the way she talked, the way she'd glance at you and smile, just enough.

When spring arrived on campus, the students, like the flowers, seemed to blossom. The girls wore skirts and tank tops, the boys flirted and jostled. Everyone felt the surge of spring. I'd take the class out to the commons. They loved class outside on the grass. That was when I glance over to Ashley and caught a glimpse. I could barely keep my eyes off. Each week that spring, it seemed she'd sit just close enough, just angled right, and her legs just visible enough, for just long enough. I'd steal glances, but never linger long enough to chance detection. I'd return home, frustrated, and replay the stolen glimpses in my mind. I knew I had to save the moment somehow before the semester ended.

One day, outside on the commons, I raised my cel phone and pretended to glance at it to see the time. "Looks like we still have 5 minutes of class," I said, "Any questions on the homework?" As I spoke, I snapped this image. It is the only one of that whole spring.



Somehow I'm sure Ashley knew. She made no attempt to move. At the end of class, she thanked me for the good lecture, and winked, and flashed her smile, just enough.

A BLANKET IN THE WOODS, FOR OLD TIMES SAKE

We had been broken up at least since spring. School had ended and summer started and we told ourselves that the relationship was over. Still, we'd call, we'd go to movies. We drove up to Mt. Hood for no reason other than it was a sunny summer day. Mostly we were silent. It's hard to chit chat when you are "officially" broken up. We hiked up a trail to a waterfall. I dunked my head under the spray, but Sally didn't want to. She fretted and grumbled. All I could think of was our early days, when we both would have stripped, dashed in and out of the icy mountain water, and sun dried naked on hot boulders.

We turned and went down the trail. I wish I could remember exactly how it happened next. I go over it in my mind, but it is always more a feeling than the exact steps. Back at the car, we knew we'd get in and turn back to the city. The air was hot and humming with insects. We were sweaty and sore from the hike. I was horny. So was she, apparently. I guess we both had been thinking of the road trips we used to take back from Montana. We'd stop, at any forest turn out. Grab a blanket from the back, and hike just far enough off the road. And fuck. Lord did we fuck. Fast, sweaty, hard, loud. We'd shake the trees. We'd slap together, grunt, moan, gasp, grind. That summer she rarely wore underwear, bras, or deodorant. We would get sweaty and wash in a creek. Then drive until we were hot and horny enough to pull over and drain ourselves again. But the thing is: we'd never feel drained, the more we fucked, the more we wanted it. The more we dripped sweat and cum, the quicker our bodies replenished.

Now, standing at her car, ready to turn back, we understood. One of us grabbed the blanket. We said nothing, not even a nod of recognition for old times sake. It was just a straight movement. We had a blanket, we walked just far enough off the road. I lay down, she climbed on top. We pulled aside just enough clothes and then we were there again, back to that moment, the riding and churning and crying out. The slapping and screaming and scratching at the sky. The shudder, the release, the collapse and skin and salt.



It would be our last time together, though we didn't say it then. It didn't matter. Words didn't matter, or time. Just the forest above, and splinters of light falling down. The moment repeats in my mind, forever.

BACKSEAT

Sometimes when the mood grabs you, it's nice to hop in the back seat, take off just as many clothes as needed, and go to it. Yes?

KICKIN IT, RIVERSIDE

Saturday they went to their favorite river. They stripped down to swim suits and rubbed on sun screen, cracked a cold beer and were ready to relax. Sun and water, the sound of the river over the rocks. He could not help but look over, the line of the bikini fabric promising everything and nothing all at once. So he reached.

MORNING GIFTS

Mornings, the light streaming in. He always wakes up hard. She is wet and knows. With touching they are rolling and then she is on top. His eyes are urgent and she says yes. His tip is at her hole and looking at him with all the love she can hold in her eyes, she spits on her hand and reaches back. Then he is in and his eyes say thank you. She moves and he is home.

READING EROTICA

She thought it was funny when he gave her the Best Erotica Anthology that year for Christmas. They started out by reading to each other aloud. But when you have the real thing, they always beat the story to the punchline themselves.

Now it's been sixth months, and they read cover to cover. The book was stashed under the bed and remained. Now she pulls it out when she has a few hours to herself. She reads to her leisure. No need to hurry the end.

A COLLEGE GIRLFRIEND GIVES GIFT OF PHOTOBOOTH--TO HERSELF

Summer was almost over and they'd both be in different cities, different colleges. They had spent the last three months together nearly everyday. Robyn finally agreed to go all the way with her boyfriend, and from then on, there was no stopping. They had sex on her parents' couch, in the backseat of her car, after hours in the lockerroom of the public pool where she worked, on a river bank. She was in love and he was in love and the trust and optimism of youth made them believe all things were possible. Even staying together through their first year of college in different parts of the country.

She wanted to give him something to remember her by. She wanted something sexy, something to set her far apart from the other hundreds of coeds.

The idea came while she was shopping downtown. In one of the old department stores, she'd seen an old-fashioned photobooth. She slipped in her dollar and closed the curtain. Quickly she shed her cloths and began to move as the camera clicked, flashed, clicked, flash, click. The gears turned. She started out covering herself, more out of nervousness than trying to be coy. As the camera clicked, she moved one arm and revealed a breast, then moved and revealed her pubic patch, and then, again, and the last image she stood open to the camera, exposed. She became quite aroused and didn't want to stop after the four exposures.



But she didn't want to get caught. Quickly she slipped her sundress back on, exitted the booth and hovered over the machine until it spit out her small strip of photos.

A moment frozen forever. She glanced around flushing in embarrassment and giddy with the thrill. Wet with excitement. No one had come into the old store in the past hour and likely no one would in the next. She fed another dollar, and stepped inside the booth.

This time she did not hold back and made herself shutter in climax.

She ended up giving the second set to her boyfriend. They remained together the first year, but broke up by sophomore year. She never saw the photo-booth strip again, and wondered if he threw it away or kept it. It didn't matter. She had the first set, which she kept for herself. The first time should always be for yourself, she says.

BREASTS AND BEACHES BRING ONE COUPLE TOGETHER

In high school, my sister and her best friend April would sit out in our backyard in their bikinis and sun tan. I'd use any excuse to go sit and chat for a while, sitting at the best angle to strategically steal glimpses at April's breasts. They were not large, but for what I had seen, they were full, firm, and perfectly shaped. If a cloud slipped over the sun, sometimes her nipples would pinch hard and poke through the thin fabric. On sweltering days, beads of sweat would slide from her collar bone and trickle down the valley of her cleavage.

The thin fabric of her top barely seemed to cup them. And if she moved, if seemed the round of perfect flesh could spill out. And the thin ties that held the thin fabric seemed more taunting than practical. This became even more painful if she'd lie on her stomach, and slowly, gently, tug ever so slightly on the string and the top would fall to her sides, and her angular shoulders would be perfectly bare. In my mind -- so juvenile then -- I double dared myself to wander close with a garden hose, pretending to water the flowers, and accidentally spray cold water on April. She'd ach her back with a squeal --just a split second, but just exactly long enough to finally she her breasts exposed.


It has been years since these memories. Married now, my fantasies range farther than spraying my sister's best friend with a garden hose. But this summer, while sunning with my wife on a river beach, I could not help but catch a glimpse of sweat trickling between her breasts. I stared at her curving skin and the rise and fall of her breathing. I don't think I have a breast fetish, per se, but I was suddenly and undeniably aroused.

Maybe my wife caught a whiff of my pheromones suddenly in my sweat, or maybe she just felt that sense when someone is staring at you. She turned and met my stare and then glanced down at the sharp bulge in my swimsuit. She could see my body straining for release.

"Whats got you so keyed up?" she asked.
"I was just checkin out your boobs, sweetie," I said playfully.
She smiled. "You've seen them."
I knew that she knew there was a story. She has that way of not letting me off the hook. So I told her all about my teenage crush on April. She nodded as she took it all in.
"You were how old?" she asked.
"I was 15, a freshman, April was 18, a senior."

My wife nodded sagely. "That seems about normal." She thought for a while. "But when you were checking me out, were you thinking of me or of her?"
Ughh. Talk about a loaded question. In such situations I have learned only one technique, and it rarely, if ever works. I turned the question back to her. "Who do you think I was thinking about?"

"Humm," she said, caught off guard. "I'd say probably her."

I had to nod, and look at her sheepishly to see how deep in the doghouse I was. But marriage is funny. It can go either way. This could have sent her into a pissy mood where all her insecurities mixed with all my faults mixed with the last four arguments we can comes out all mushed up and ugly. Or she could brush it off and say, "you're a lecherous old man, but I guess you're harmless. Let's go get some sandwiches"

She must have been thinking all the options through. The one she picked still surprises and astounds me today. She reached over and grasped my cock that had gone half limp and rubbed it back to full. Then, glancing quickly up and down the stretch of deserted beach, she positioned herself directly in front of me. Without even taking off her bikini top, she dropped her chest to my groin and pushed my cock up between her breasts. Pressing her cleavage together, she began to give me a steady rhythmic tit fucking until I came between her breasts.



She slipped off, tucked my body back in my shorts, and looked out at the slow turning river. From far off, we could see another couple walking this direction, but they were far to distant to see clearly. We didn't talk for a while, waiting as the couple eventually neared. I could see globs of my cum on the round flesh of my wife's breast. They were not large, but they were full, firm, and perfectly shaped. Still aroused, her pinched nipples poked through the thin bikini fabric. Beads of sweat slid from her collar bone and trickle down the valley of her cleavage and mixed with the white salty globs of my cum. She did not wipe them off, now the couple was about 200 yards away.

I had cum a lot and the couple was now about 100 yards down the beach. My wife still made no motion to wipe her chest clean, and I was frozen with wonder. I didn't dare reach over and brush it off. The sun shone down. The sweat and cum mixed and more salt flakes glistened. And even though we were totally clothed and looked innocent enough and were pretty sure the couple could not have possibly seen us from the distance, but as they approached, the cum was still clear between my wife's breast, and spattered on her bikini.

I stared transfixed at her breasts as the couple neared. Slowly they wandered closer and my wife sat facing the sun, her cum-soaked breasts rising and falling with her breathing. Then, just as the couple were just about to pass us, my wife rolled over on her stomach on the beach towel. She unfastened her bikini top and let the sun warm her bare back.

The couple passed with a slight wave and a smile. I thought I could detect a bit of that knowing look of understanding and approval. But I couldn't be certain. They passed and continued onward up the river beach. I knew that it would be a while before they were out of eyesight again. I knew if they walked that far, it would mean that much time to walk back. I glance down at my wife, the line of her spine and her round butt, the fabric clinging, sandy and damp with sweat.

"Well," she said, not lifting her head. "Now when you think of breasts in a bikini, maybe you'll think of mine."

I have ever since. I cannot possibly think of April without then shifting into the beach. My wife knew this then and I know now.

STRIP POKER!

So we were all drunk and someone brought out the cards and someone said let's make this intersting and a few rounds, more drinks, much nervious and giddy laughter, shirts are off. Everything here is the tipping point... all that lead up to this and all that will suddenly shift as we look nerviously, knowing someone soon will be buck naked. Winner takes all.