THISTLEDOWN

In the summer the weeds grow tall along the river bank. The wind sweeps up the thistledown and carries it in the air. It's a slow, summer feeling, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, but walk. And, when just out of sight of the road, maybe a quick flash for the camera.

My thanks to the couple who made this photo. You are so cute. And the day, and the sunlight, the setting and scene, so simple and perfect.

SPLASH OF SUN

It was the weekend, and finally time to relax. She napped, like a cat, with the afternoon sun slipping in, warm, from the window. She'd rolled and shifted in her sleep, and her skirt had bunched up on her hips. As the angle of the sun shifted, it moved down along her body. I caught it, a perfect moment, the light golden and warm on her smooth buttocks, suggestive and inviting. But she was so peaceful, so relaxed, I let her sleep, and took only a photo for my memory. I return to it and touch myself; sometimes looking can be just as powerful as possessing. Sometimes even more so.

GREEN RIVER, WYOMING

When people go to Wyoming, they go to the upper NW corner of the state: Yellowstone Nation Park, the Tetons, Jackson Hole, and Cody. A much smaller percentage may check out Cheyenne's Frontier Days, Devils Tower, or hunt Elk and Moose in the Big Horn Mountains outside of Sheridan--but no one goes to the lower SW corner. The main Interstate passes through, and so do the trucks--fueled up in Cheyenne, they push at 75 miles an hour to make time across a barren, alkali wasteland of bluffs, and arroyos, and oil fields.

There was a mining boom here once, and a railroad, and the historic markers note different camps of Chinese laborers who were masacured. It is a rugged and haunted past of vigilante justice, racism, and greed. The towns have almost dried up and tumbled off these wind-swept hills. There are bars for the oil men to spend their paychecks.

I know this because one summer I was hired to update the GO USA! series of travel books. I was fresh out of college, and lowest on the pecking order, so while the senior staff got all-expense trips to Hawaii, California, New York, I was stuck driving the open ranges of Wyoming, updating listings for tumbleweed motels and highway diners. SW Wyoming was my least favorite corner of the state, until I turned down a two-lane road off the interstate and drove south. The small road wound its way through the red hills for miles. As I neared the Utah border, the road began climbing into a mountain range. The sage turned to ponderosa pine. The bare red dirt became grass. I drove at least 20 miles into the mountains, climbing the twisting road, and then dropping to an open valley, with a river running through. After climbing out of the red desert, into this lush green valley, it was one of the prettiest sights I'd seen in the West.

The state park department had paved a parking lot, and built a boat ramp and rest room facility, as if expecting 100s of RV campers, tourists, fishermen, and river rafters. But that day, the middle of the summer season, I had the entire valley to myself. I was at least 50 miles from the interstate. It was just me and a warm sun, a slight breeze off the water, and nice shade under the cottonwood trees. It was past noon and the sun was high above. It was, I decided, a good time for a dip.

So I stripped and set my clothes on a park department picnic table. I waded into the cool, green water, and then dove. It was delicious.

Afterwards, as I sun-dried, I strolled over to a historic marker. (I always read ever marker because they provided instant material for the travel guide.) I was surprised. Unlike al the the others, this plaque did not speak of racial violence, or a great flood, or fire. Rather, it commemorated the first river expedition of this head waters. It wasn't Lewis & Clark, or some grizzly mountain man. It was three couples from France. It seemed so out of place--but then, I was so out of place...such a remote pocket where the vast mountains of northern Utah rise up from the high desert. I had found this place by chance. Had this first group?

They had packed their boats for an adventure, and navigated down river, headwaters to confluence, and south, until they reached the mighty Colorado. They were the first to white water this section of river, and for that the park department left a sign.

Standing naked, warming the river drops on my skin, I thought of this group. I pictured them all young, lean from outdoor activities, tanned, and smiling.

We all get youth once. I felt humbled that they had made theirs so full. Even if their legacy was now only an interpretive sign, in my mind it was the essence of an adventure with friends. I felt happy for them, and fortunate to be at the same place where they may have launched their boats.

The trip took them three months. I could only imagine setting off like that. I looked wistfully downriver as the the green water slide silently south, into deep mountains and eventually down narrow canyons. I tried to picture the group as they posed for a photo to commemorate the beginning of things. Then I turned back to my car where miles away semi-trucks barreled along the interstate.

CHE BELLA

She went to Italy in college. She fit right in.

BLUE

DOUBLE DOWN

They were siting outside for lunch. They'd been apart for a month. Each had been eagerly awaiting the reunion. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she mentioned that she'd given herself an all new spring shave and trim just for him. "Oh really?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

She nodded, smiling. "Show me," he urged.

"Here?" she asked, glancing around.

"I bet you won't."

"Oooh, a bet! Want to make it interesting?"

He nodded, excited, but uncertain if she'd take the flirting into action. "$10."

"10? I'll see you're ten and raise you..."

"You're bluffing," he said.

She stared at him, her beast poker face.

"Ok, " he said, he pulled his wallet out. "He pulled out two twenty dollar bills."

$40 would pay for lunch, which was nice, but not the point. She knew she had him: he had no idea what she'd do. The element of surprise was hers--which is always the upper hand.

She stood, quickly. And although a few people might have glanced their way, she unzipped, showing she wasn't bluffing.

PUSHING THE COFFEE TABLE ASIDE

She was feeling frisky. I grabbed the camera. We pushed the coffee table aside. She lay on the carpet, twisted her body into new and inventive positions. This one showed her thong. You can guess what happened next.

AT THE CAFE

I see Paris,
I see France
I see Jill forgot her underpants...

THE WOMEN'S SAUNA

I knew a girl named Laska--like "Alaska," without the "a." She was from Alaska, but not named for the state. Actually, she told me, Laska is a Russian word, and it means beautiful. Her family was Russian decedents, belonging to a sect of Russian Orthodoxy called the Old Believers. They'd escaped Russia in Czarist times, scattered across the world, including small villages in the former Russian territories of Alaska.

Laska told me of her childhood in the village. The men fished and drank vodka, she said. The women grew tubers and canned what vegetables they could grow in the short summers. They kept goats for milk, cream, butter. They sewed the men's work clothes and dresses for church. At nights, they would sauna. It's a tradition shared by nearly all cold-climate cultures. It was a time to relax from the day's chores. The men and women had separate saunas. That time, said Laska, was her fondest memory of the village, and growing up. The sauna was a safe place. No drunk fathers, no abusive uncles. No chores and no scoldings from mothers and aunts and grandmothers. Some of the women had already had babies, and some were not yet married. Some women looked more Scandinavian, other's were part-Inuit. Whatever their body shape, size, or age, in the sauna they were all the same.

"American culture," said Laska, "doesn't have this. It's sad."

"It's sad," I agreed.

GIRLFRIEND IS A CENTERFOLD

When I was growing up, my dad had a stack of Penthouse magazines stashed under my parent's bed. Of course I found them. And when I had the house to myself, of course I looked. How erotic it was then, even just a glimpse of a girl with a tank top and no shorts. A peek of a public patch. These were the older girls, the ones we Freshmen dreamed of dating--Seniors, cheerleaders, the girls who played tennis or swam. The girls who wore rugby shirts of their jock boyfriends. Girls who talked of boys at bathroom mirrors. The girls who were our counsellors at camp when we were 12 and they were 15--such a divide then. We were still kids; they were in the adult world of high school, with boyfriends. They had "made out." We could only dream of stealing a peek, in a shower room, like our favorite scene in "Porky's," or in a magazine.

Here's to those years of innocence, the desire before the experience. It is agonizing and awkward when you are going through it, but looking back, what any of us would give to look at a girl like this and feel that way again.

KODAK MOMENT

How sexy that this couple stops along a nature walk. She goes down on him, pulls out his penis and begins to suck. That alone would be enough for a sexy-sex experience. But even better: she holds the camera at arms's length. She snaps a picture of her inspired work. He thinks he is a lucky bastard, twice.

Suck and Show

ALL-AMERICAN COUPLE

How lovely, an American couple, smiles. In their first house, and wedding pictures in albums. You see them at work, at dinner parties. You think--they are so good looking together. They are the young man you want to marry your daughter; the daughter for your son. A handsome couple. Successful. Going places.

And, maybe, we think for a moment--they must have good sex. We want to believe that any couple so good looking, so full of promise will have the sex that sets the example for the rest of us. We want his cock to be hard; her body to be firm. We want them to suck and fuck and be our inspiration.

Or maybe most people don't. Maybe they go to church and don't want to think of the newlyweds boinking. Maybe, when traveling and trying to sleep in a hotel bed, the sound of bedsprings drifts through the thin walls--maybe some are annoyed. Some don't want to think of other's sex lives. But I do.

Lying in that hotel bed, hearing the mattress moan. Driving down streets of houses. Shopping. I want to think that in every town, in every social circle, is a couple as good looking and happy as this, who love each other, and love love love to get it on.

BW NUDE

THROUGH THE SAN JUAN ISLANDS

On a ferry ride in Puget Sound, heading to Canada, they stopped on the side deck of the ship just long enough to snap a photo. The wind and spray of the water was chilly. No one else was out on deck. She quickly tugged down her top enough. The moment was only a few seconds, but the memory lasts forever.

FRIDAYS FINGERING FUN

BUTTERFLY & FISHNETS

BW FINGER

CURTAINS SO THIN

This is just such a sexy image. It reminds us that the curtains of the neighbors are so thin. Maybe we visit for neighborhood socials. Maybe we look in their fridge at a dinner party as we help in the kitchen. Maybe we use their bathrooms and soap, and can't help but get a small glimpse of their daily lives. Would coats ever be put in the bedroom; would guests fetch them at the end of the evening, and ever glance up and notice two steel bolts in the ceiling?

Wold we guess, as we head home, each to our respective beds, that this couple pulls out their swing. She strips and spreads. His bare knee is in the shot as he leans back to snap a photo. What happens next. Does he stroke himself to the sight of her suspended, stretched out? Is it his voyeur fantasy to see his wife open as a sex toy? Is it her exhibitionism fantasy, to hang from the ceiling, opened wide, watching him stroke his cock? Will they touch themselves to orgasm separately, or only for a while, until he can no longer hold back.

He stands, hip height to her in the swing. In the background are shoes in the closet, laundry. But for now, this is not a bedroom, but a sex den. He is in control and she is helpless. She has surrendered to the swing's restraint. He has grown lustful, seeing her open to his sexual power.

His cock is hard, pointed at her and lubed. Will he push it in her wet vagina, or take her in the butt? She is spread, open, voluntarily helpless. She knows he will take her how he wants, and fuck her in the swing, hard. And then pull out, and snap another photo of her, dripping his cum. She'll feel dirty, and used, and that' perfect. Because her life in the suburbs is only sustained with a little spice to her sex life.

She doesn't care if her neighbor's notice the bolts on the ceiling. She knows what they do in their bedrooms when they get home is their own business--and no doubt, just as kinky.

EYE CONTACT

They couldn't believe their luck. Scott and Amanda talked in general terms, joked even, about picking up a woman to take home to bed. In public it became a silly game--"look at her, how about those legs in bed? " she'd joke to him. OR he'd joke to her, "think she's a good kisser?" In bed, the jokes became erotically charged. As they used their hands and mouths on each other, they'd describe what their imaginary third partner would be doing. On her knees, with him mounting her from behind, they'd pretend their third partner was below them, her tongue soft and warm, licking both of them at the intersection of their sex. This imaginary playmate made him hard and her wet, as each pictured the fantasy in their minds, but neither really knew what the other was picturing.

Then, when they met Megan, there was no question. She was hot--sexy hot--with a drop-dead body, and lovely face. They both fell for her instantly, both wanted her, and to share her. As they talked, the more they liked Megan. As they learned more about her life, relaxing over drinks on their couch, Megan told them that in college she'd dated both men and women, that she liked both, but that it in college everyone was experimenting, and now, out in the work force, it was hard to meet people who were both sexy and normal. Amanda and Scott's eyes met: we've found the one, they silently said to each other.

More drinks flowed and more talk of college and sex, and Scott and Amanda continuously meet each other's glance--a check in and an afirmation that this was really happening. Their looked, wild with anticipation, kept saying yes.

Megan shared that she'd broken up with her last boyfriend, and to get some distance moved to this city. She thought it'd be an easy next chapter to start, but she'd found everything difficult, finding an apartment, getting a job, and making friends.

"Impossible," said Amanda, "you're so beautiful and funny."

Megan smiled, but shook her head. "No, it's amazing how hard it is to make a circle of friends on a new town. I've been temping for the past 6 months--when it's lunch time or happy hour after work, no one asks "the temp" if they want to come along. I even joined a gym. But when I go their, everyone's working out, with headphones, totally doing their thing."

"But I'm sure you get hit on," insisted Amanda.

"Yeah," said Megan, with a laugh, "hit on by exactly the meatheads you don't want to be hit on. It's not like the normal, sexy people like you two actually hit on me. I mean, think about it. You guys have each other and have a hot sex life. I don't want to get hit on by the lonely, desperate, and dumbass men who think they're players."

"Well I would hit on you," assured Amanda. It was a bold thing for her to say, and when it came out, she felt instantly nervous and exposed. But Megan smiled and hugged her.

Amanda and her husband Scott exchanged looks. It was on.

Amanda took a cue from what Megan had said. She began bragging about her sex life with her husband, and went into detail about his generously-sized member. She was trying to get Megan to picture her husband's cock, hard. Amanda was so proud of it. She loved to suck on it, and she imagined it out and within reach of her lips. She wanted to taste it and give Megan a taste. To share his erection, like a favorite toy she'd share with a BFF as a girl.

Megan told her she was lucky to have a hot and hung husband like Scott. Amanda agreed, but said that she was slightly jealous of Megan.

"Of me? Are you kidding--look at you two. You are both so gorgeous, You have a house, and...you've like got it all."

"But you have experience I never had," confessed Amanda. The two women had not moved apart since their hug, and were sitting closely together. Amanada lower her voice, almost to a whispher, as if confessing a deep, personal secret. "I've never even kissed a girl." She glanced at Scott. He nodded.

All three could sense the direction and the next step.

"Oh, well, it's no big deal," said Megan. "It's just a kiss."

The two women looked into each other's eyes and slowly moved together, until their lips met. Megan began to kiss Amanda. Amanda melted, letting herself be carried by the new sensation, and by the eagerness of what would come next. They kissed for what seemed like several minutes. Megan's tongue and lips so soft, so gentle. It was not at all like being kissed by a man.

Everything next seemed to flow as if a dream. No one talked, but everyone seemed to move as if they'd all done it a dozens of times, as if they were already familiar lovers. Perhaps it was because Megan had been with both men and women before, or perhaps because Scott and Amabda had imagined and re=played the scenarios over and over in their minds. Or perhaps their is a deep-down, inherent human memory of sex from thousands of generations that kicks in. Clothes came off and within seconds Megan was naked, Amanda only in her panties, and Scott only in a t-shirt.

Scott had reclined to let Megan turn her attention to his cock, which was, she found, large as promised. It was stiff and eager and waiting for her mouth. Megan's upturned hips seemed to invite Amanda for her first taste of a woman. This would be it--the crossing point and no turning back. Amanda and Scott sharing Megan, pleasuring her, and in turn, being pleasured. Amanda was inches from Megan's pussy. She could see it wet, glistening, and inviting. She leaned her face forward, inhaled, nd took her first taste. She looked up at Scott, fixing his stare with her eyes. He was blissed out, getting the knob of his thick cock sucked by Megan. Their eye contact said it all. It was exactly as they had pictured it.