I took you to the California desert, even though we barely knew each other. If someone asked, obviously it was a date. A first date. But we felt no need to discuss it. For some inexplicable reason, your skin felt so familiar to me. I liked standing close to you when we found ourselves in each other’s presence, which happened more and more lately. If we brushed, no big deal. You didn’t move away. Actually you leaned a little closer.
We parked at the side of the road a couple of miles in. You moved so comfortably in the sun. The expanse in every direction didn’t intimidate you. When you drank from the water bottle, three diamond drops fell onto your neck, and I thought it might be the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
We smiled and laughed as we walked, while our eyes carried on a completely different conversation in the silences. Neither of us looked away. There was no awkward nervousness. That’s odd, you know. Or at least unusual. Something was twining around us, and the rest of the world was falling away.
We climbed one of the mini-mountains of the Mojave caldera. Each step spread the rich emptiness of Joshua trees wider at our feet. A hawk flew at eye-level as it searched the landscape below.
Near the top, we stopped to rest. Without thinking, you leaned back against me. When you realized, you tensed, maybe thinking you should sit back up, but you decided to accept that it was right and relaxed.
It was so natural when we finally kissed. Not just a polite kiss. A full, twisting, reaching, grasping, desperate kiss. And it ignited us.
I tasted your neck, your breasts, your shoulders. You clawed at my neckline. My buttons popped, and you buried your face in my chest.
On the warmth of that rock in the sky, I pulled your shorts over your hips, and you draped yourself back. You jolted with thrill as cold water sparkling from the neck of the water bottle splashed your pussy.
God, you were beautiful. All of your secrets were unveiled in the erotic artistry between your thighs.
I parted your desert flower, and my tongue slicked precious water over your clit.
You whimpered my name. Over and over.
The harder your clit pulsed against my tongue, the slower and more deliberate I licked you. I innately understood your desires. I understood what you craved without being told or corrected.
Your back arched in a primal rhythm.
Your fingers raked my hair.
You rocked your pussy against my tongue as you climbed, and my cock rammed the inside of my shorts with the purest of lust.
Your voice whimpered as you fluttered so close to cumming. You saw the entirety of the world below as the greatness of the fall approached.
But I slowed.
And you writhed hot and animal.
I wanted to discover new religions. New languages that might express the pull between us.
And then you shrieked like the voice of the soaring hawk, and your pussy clenched and contracted again and again and again.
I rode your fever. There in the nameless landscape.
You bucked and pressed and opened and covered me with your pussy.
And when it calmed, I kissed you, and you consumed your own essence from my lips.
Then you freed my cock, and dear god I plunged into the sacred rivers we had made.
(Written on a train listening to Lana Del Rey and her dreamy California contemplations.)
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/9zoa75/mojave_mfoutdoorsoralconnection