She Wore Blue

The sticky, summer heat hasn’t left the air, even though the sun left us hours ago. My flashlight cuts through the night to find branches, brambles, and the ever elusive hem of her dress as she skips ahead, showing the way to some secluded spot she assures me is something special. Her words, mostly.

She slows up ahead, twirls once, then stops. She’s finding it. We must be close. I pick up my pace, narrowing the gap between us, and she skitters off again just as I’m close enough to reach out and touch.

The trees clear, and the brush beneath our feet turns to solid stone. At least, solid stone up until the edge, where the rock face drops ten feet into a lake. She stands at the cliff’s edge, so close her toes almost curl over. Breathless, chest heaving, she looks back to me, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

“What do you think?”

The moon reflects in the lake, making it a study in black and white and blue. The sounds are deafening; the sounds of the city stripped away, amplifying the tiniest rustle of leaves or the intake of her breath into shouts that cut through me. And yet, despite the natural spectacle before me, my eyes can’t help but return to her, the look of serenity and belonging awash over her face, the unavoidable knowledge that there is nothing and no one to stop me from getting what I want. What we want.

As if reading my mind, she lifts her dress over her head, the moonlight sharpening the contrast between the pale of her skin and the darkness of her bra, her panties.

“You don’t want those to get wet either, do you?” My voice barely raises above a whisper. She looks up at me, eyes full and alive.

“Sure I do. But I’d rather not have to jump in the lake for that.”

The clasp of her bra unsnaps under my fingers; the straps begin to slide. I take a step back to admire her. How her skin seems to glow in the blue light. The goosebumps the night air has raised up and down her arms, her thighs. The way she stands, almost embarrassed, her arms crossed over her chest, making her look a bit like an awkward, gangly school girl, being admired for the first time. Even after all these times. And yet, in her eyes that playful fire remains. She winks at me while wiggling out of her panties, gives me the softest of kisses on my lips, and jumps over the edge.

I pull off my shift, then my shorts, nearly stumbling to the ground as I try to pry off shoes and shorts and boxers simultaneously. I hear her splashing below, her giggles leavening my lust in contrast. Finally free of my entanglements, I jump.

I don’t expect the water to be this cold, this late in the summer, but once the shock wears off with that initial intake of breath, I feel the thrill of it all. The water washing over me, covering me completely for what seems like the first time. The nakedness of it all, so much more real and intense seeming as my cock floats against my thigh. And of course of her, treading water not ten feet from me, the cock-eyed smile of someone whose first rodeo this ain’t.

She splashes me as I swim toward her. I splash back. Again, the giggle. Maybe it is the girlishness that draws me to her, hiding in her eyes behind that facade of adult seriousness. The gap between closes with each splash until I’m right on top of her. Figuratively, for now.

I kiss her, not the easiest of maneuvers while both attempt to float, but one that elicits just the right gasping moan as I pull away with her lower lip between my lips. I press my hand between her gently kicking thighs, feeling the cool water of the lake give way to the warmth of hers. For once that perpetual grin melts away, overcome by something older, deeper. And then it’s back again.

She pushes away from me and swims, swims to the deeper parts of the lake. I follow with unhurried, unprofessional strokes, so much different from the polished, practiced arches of her arms. At last she stops, seemingly surrounded by the lake entire, the moonlight bouncing off the surface and setting the pale of her skin aglow. She clads herself with the lake itself, blue and silver at once swallowing her and empowering her with an elemental sort of grace. With, of course, buoyancy endowing her with gifts unheard of in our natural gravity well.

“Come to shore,” I ask. And she nods.

I lay next to her on the stone by the side of the shore, whose remaining summer’s day warmth and unyielding hardness play a firm counterpoint to the softness of her cool, wet flesh. I run my fingertips up and down her stomach, marveling as my hand move with each intake of breath, trusting the moment and this place to keep the world at bay. Just her and me, forever and ever, if only for right this second.

I trace over her breasts, lazily across her nipples standing rigid in the night. Down her side, exploring the texture of a scar about the length of my little finger worming across the lines of her ribs.
“College drinking wound. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop.”
“Funny, I have that same problem.” As does my hand.
Her lips find mine. Her own hand mimics mine, wrapping softly around my cock, stroking it in time to our kisses. Long, deep, without tongue.

Before long her hand and the feeling of her beside me have shaken off the last effects of the cool water, and I’m ready. Ready is the wrong word. I ache for her. My mouth waters. My cock hardens and stands as rigid as my muscles are taut for the want of her. In short, I need. I need to fuck her.

I move inside her, each stroke grinding her against the stone. Caught between a rock and my hard place.

“A cock and a hard place?”

“Either.”

She laughs. I laugh. I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Won’t stop fucking her. She arches into me, my lips finding her bared neck. I move faster, harder, the sound of my ins and outs filling the stillness of the air, only rivaled by the hoarse gasping of our moans. Head back, eyes closed, she grinds against me, her smooth, hardly dry legs clutching me by the small of my back. My hand finds a fistful of her dark hair, a gentle tug bringer her face level with mine.

“Open your eyes. I want to see it.” And she does. Probably too far gone not to.

My hips grind in a circle against her, my cock swelling and stretching from the inside. I’m close.

In. Out. Hard thrusts now, hard enough now that she gasps each time I pound her ass into the rock. My hands clench at her hair, her skin. Her legs pull me tighter. My hips buck faster, faster, until there’s no control left and I come, going inside her, shot after shot filling her as I practically scream with release, her own voice my echo.

I clutch her to me, my mind suddenly clear as the night air, my cock spasming and softening inside her. She shivers. So do I.

“What did you think?” Her voice has an uncharacteristic softness to it.

“Of here? Or this?” I pull her against me. She nestles her brow against my chest.

“Here. Just here.”

“Everything I could have hoped for.”

“I’m glad.”

We stay like that for a long while, walking the line between dream and aware. Until the sky began to color, the sun ending the night and demanding we climb to find our clothes.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/9ivqta/she_wore_blue

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