Lonely Lover Lost

V felt the hairs on his chest move in the gently breathing of the breeze, just like the barley rippling in the small fields below. He loved to let his skin air dry like this. Before wading in, he'd chosen one of the smoother pitches on the rock and laid out that really thick bath-towel that C & R had given him, folded double for real comfort, with the two smaller ones ready beside it. On leaving the water he'd glanced around like he always did -- nobody around -- not that there ever was, but you never know. He'd let his bathers fall with a wet "flop!" on the smooth rock and stretched himself out in the sun. He'd arranged the medium towel across his hips and manhood, tucking it under his buttock on each side. Lastly, he'd draped the smallest one to cover his face down to his breast-bone -- on a day like this the sun could really get you, he burned quickly nowadays.

Preparations done, he let his hands fall by his sides and relaxed every muscle he could find. He felt the angle of his feet open a little as he let go of the always-ready-to-flee tonus in his calves. Through the thin canopy of his face towel, he felt the intense light of the sun and sky eternal above him. Through the bath-towel, his back and buttocks sensed the warmth and smoothness of the granite below him. He let time stop existing.

He'd never really understood how there could be this much water so near the top of a hill. Like, rainwater gets collected over an area and runs to the lowest part, right? So the bigger the collection area, the deeper the pool. The Nostrel covered a quarter of the hilltop, that's hardly any collection area at all, yet it was deep enough to swim in -- only three strokes out, three strokes back, but that's a whole lot better than nothing when the sun's high and strong. In his old life, he'd never have bothered to swim in a hole like this, he'd have been down on the beaches with everybody else. Now he was glad to get away from all of that. It was bad enough seeing people's reactions on the street when they saw his face -- it didn't exactly get better on a beach when he took his shirt off and they saw his neck and shoulders. Nowadays he chose his places carefully, and Nostrel Tor was one of them. Neither the steepest nor the highest of the Tors, it was no climb that hikers could brag about in a bar. No steep face for the rock-climbers. No parking, no ice-cream booth, no nothing: nobody.

He let his consciousness drift out to sea like some white-winged sea-bird, until a new sound cut through his contemplations. That had to be hiking boots scraping granite gravel. Damn! He decided to pretend to be asleep -- like, he was respectably covered and hadn't moved for an hour anyway. He listened. Boots on gravel -- they're on the flat bit on the other side of the pool. Only one person, he realised. Let them get on with whatever they'd come up here for and wait until they'd gone. No tinkling from carbine hooks, so it wasn't a rock-climber.

Sailcloth swish -- a day-pack being pulled off a shoulder and dropped on the granite? Velcro buzz -- feet being released from hiking boots? Rustling sounds -- clothes? Yes, because now the sounds of wading and swimming. His secret swimming-hole wasn't a secret any more -- had he lost his place of refuge?

Three strokes out, but instead of three strokes back there were more wading sounds followed by wet bare feet on rock. On this side, damn! Water dropping onto granite. Quiet, don't move. How long are they going to stand there? V felt his pulse racing and wondered if it could be easily seen. At last... wading back in, three swimming strokes, wading out on the other side. More rustling -- towelling? Dressing? A zip pocket being opened on a day-pack, and closed again? He waited in vain for the sounds of hiking boots being put back on. No! Naked footsteps round the pool, coming his way!

The barefoot sounds stopped beside him, cloth rustled as someone sat down, or knelt down, close beside him. He stayed with his pretence of sleep, kept his breathing slow and even. He really didn't want to get involved in a conversation, and anyway his vibrator was under his neatly folded clothes.

Gradually, gradually, he felt the coolness of a shadow over his stomach. Were they leaning over him? His senses were tense. The coolness on his stomach slowly faded to a sensation of being closed in, something between him and the blue sky, neither light nor heavy. Gradually a new sensation of warmth, but not the dry heat of the sun millions of miles away, this was human skin close by. He concentrated on playing asleep, mustn't twitch a single muscle.

Slowly he became aware that the hairs on his stomach were deflecting against something when he breathed in, and then the sensation of proximity changed to a sensation of contact. First here, and then more, and there... a hand, surprisingly cool, was landing very gently over his navel. And it stayed there. For ages. He remembered being touched like this by a healer he'd gone to when he'd still been in pain and feeling really low, but that time there'd been a steady drone of mumbled prayers. Now there was nothing but silence. He couldn't even hear anyone breathing.

Gradually, he realised that the gentle hand was not completely still. There was a slight friction that slowly changed direction. A circular motion? Yes, gradually growing into a slowly widening spiral, up towards his breast-bone, outwards towards the blades of his hips, downwards, each time round a little lower...

The insight hit him: this person's intention is sexual! I'm being interfered with by a sex pervert! Pretending to be asleep probably isn't going to help me here! Male? Female? Bisexual? Violent? The hand felt very peaceable... and suddenly he realised he didn't really care what or which. The only people who'd touched him at all during the past couple of years had been physiotherapists who were being paid to try and get his skin and muscles back in function. Now someone was touching him because they actually wanted to touch him. Gently massaging him... and at that thought a whisper of blood wondered about wandering into his penis, he felt its contact with his hip towel shift in pressure, and in an instant he realised that whoever was kneeling beside him would be able see what he was feeling.

Before he'd worked our what to do about this, the hand on his stomach paused in its motion and its pressure shifted. There was a wave of shadow as a knee was lifted right over his chest and dropped onto the towel sticking out on the other side. As soon as it had landed, whoever-it-was squeezed their knees in towards his thighs, keeping his hands firmly clamped where they'd been resting.

The hand resumed its slow spiral and his blood flow resumed its intention. As the turns of the spiral massage gradually loosened his hip towel, his penis raised itself a little tent, soon to be gently lifted away. He felt the light breeze playing round the shaft of his penis. The circling hand that had already rambled through his pubic hair once gently climbed his penis on its next circuit, and eased his foreskin down. He felt the sudden coolness as the breeze evaporated the moisture that had been hidden there. More fingers landed on his glans and gently spread something incredibly slippery round its rim, round, round -- gentle waves of quiet ecstasy filled him and made his nipples harden. This person knew a thing or two.

A first wave of panic about unprotected sex with a stranger had just hit his consciousness when he felt the old familiar sensation of condom, being centred on his glans and then gently rolled down his shaft, slowly, slowly, further, further, guided by fingertips rooting deeply into his bush and nudging the super-sensitivity of his balls. One of the hands vanished from the thin latex covering his shaft, to quickly return again and swathe the condom in cool slipperiness, up, down, around, around.

Suddenly both hands were gone. He heard sounds of skin against towel and then the hands landed firmly on his forearms, pressing his arms against his hips. Whoever-it-was obviously wanted to keep him real passive, and was leaving nothing to chance. He needed to do nothing. He felt the knees shuffle into a new position and felt his penis' silent shout of anticipation: here it comes! He'd read about this position once, "it gives the woman full control and increases the contact pressure on significant spots within her vagina, at the same time decreasing the pressure on the man's most sensitive trigger point under his glans, thus decreasing any tendency to ejaculate prematurely". If it was a woman, that is.