A Five Minute Astronomy Lesson

The gods have, for once, smiled on us. Work and family commitments have cleared simultaneously, and we are able to spend some precious time together here at my lodge overlooking Lake Michigan, high above the water. You have driven up, and we have the place to ourselves. Furthermore, it is the week before Memorial Day and there are no residents in all the adjacent homes. It is quiet, tranquil, and full of lovers' solitude.

Never having trysted here before, this will be your first Lake Michigan sunset. It is a slightly cloudy evening, with high stratus clouds, which make for an optimal display. It is a balmy, warm spring evening, comfortably warm enough to sit out, and we decide to take in the whole scene from the front deck, at the edge of the bluff 100 feet over the Lake. We take a bottle of wine with two glasses and sit on the benches facing toward the lake. The sun is low in the sky at about 15 minutes before its actual sunset. We sit wordlessly, sipping wine occasionally, comfortable with the silence, and the beauty, and with our two selves communicating without words.

As we have so often in the past, in places very different from here, we touch each other fondly. We touch in ways which for us unfailingly express in powerful physical language the sharing of beauty and joy. Stroking of hands, neck, cheek. Holding fingers. Kissing backs of hands. Light brush of fingers against palm of hand, breast or genitals. Together with the sunset, the golden-red peace and sensuality of it are exquisite. I touch your breast lightly and you respond with pressure on my hand pulling it closer, cupping your breast eagerly. You are wearing only a tee shirt and your nipples become firm, inviting more. I skim them lightly and slowly, and then, prompted by a quiet but undeniable urge, I begin to stroke and flatter your breasts. When subtle but unmistakable shifts in your posture speak a wordless message of desire, I bend slightly, lift your tee shirt, and kiss and lightly butterfly-kiss your nipples with my tongue.

The sun, now a huge orange globe, surrounded by a riot of cloud-induced color, is low in the sky, just about five minutes from touching the horizon. The golden red of the evening seems to belong to us alone. We each, at the same moment and without a word, turn to the other and kiss sensuously and lengthily. As we hold the kiss we begin, also wordlessly, to strip our clothes, four hands working and touching together in one shared task. For soul lovers, such actions require no plan, no agreement, no negotiation. It is neither a surprise nor an expectation. It is in the nature of things, the motion of our two planets.

As we finish removing the last articles of impeding clothing we are both standing at the rail of the deck. I turn you toward the lake and with an easy pressure suggest you lean over the rail, comfortably resting on your elbows. With a smile you do so, spreading your legs slightly. By this time my eager soldier is at half attention, and he unerringly finds his mission, lightly brushing your pussy. With that touch, you more fully arch your back and present a woman's warm and eager welcome for his ardent attentions.

Standing behind you, I clasp you closely, pressing my abdomen to your back, my groin to your buttocks, my thighs to yours, my genitals to your crease. I brush my hands and fingers lightly along your shoulders several times then draw them to your breasts, pulling you even closer toward me with a desperate need to feel us as close as possible, to merge our skin, twin stars in an orbital dance.

With this utter closeness, your pussy meets my cock. We slowly begin a beloved entrance ritual, my visitor pressing inwards a little deeper with each push, spreading slickened gates a little wider with each push, until I have entered half my length. Then with a final urgent surge I push to the hilt, entering you, filling you, and feeling your closely fitting walls holding me, welcoming my grateful (?singing) cock with a thousand eager fingers. At the same instant, we each gasp with indescribable feelings of completeness. Though this moment has occurred for us countless times previously, it is still new and startling and joyous each time.

By this time the sun has just made its first touch to the horizon, and my cock has just reached its zenith, its most desired place. I whisper, "You know, Princess, it takes just four and a half minutes for the sun to traverse its full diameter, from its first touch to its final disappearance. I've timed it." It is a rhetorical statement requiring no answer other than an increase in the firmness with which you grasp my hardened member. You know beyond knowing that whatever may happen next, it will consume precisely that four and a half minutes.

As the sun begins its determined journey into the lake, I begin a slow stroking motion. With each movement outward, as I reach the firmer entrance ring of your pussy, about to leave it, you provide an eager clutch which causes me to slow, hold position there, and pulse my cock for you, before reentering. We establish a sensuous rhythm, each slow stroke a reddish-golden blur. Earth time stretches into astronomic timelessness. We move together, in a lover's paradox where "together" means "in opposite directions", you moving back to meet my forward moving cock, increasingly rigid with each degree of set of sun, with each movement in and out. Your wetness together with my own precum increase so that the friction of skin against wall is sensuously and deliciously smoothed yet heightened. A soft, rhythmic, wet, and sliding sound is present, which is both soothing and exciting to us – the lapping sound of a vessel at home port welcomed by warm friendly waters.

As the sun's descent reaches half point, our movements become gradually more rapid and determined. Our joined bodies are moved by forces beyond ourselves, forces of ancient time and distant worlds. We are both lost in a canvas of sun, color, huge forces, and a core of preternatural heat emanating from deep within. We become one with the sky, and the evening stars swirl around us in wonder. Our heat trumps the sun, our motions become as inexorable as planetary orbits. As the falling sun disappears, your desire swells, and my manhood fills in powerful response to our shared desire.

At four and a half minutes, the sun is seconds away from full immersion into the lake. As its last arc dips below the horizon, it seems to hesitate. I convulse in a spasm of ecstasy, give one strong thrust deep into your womanly universe, groan loudly, and empty my soul into you, exploding warm sweet semen into your eager cul-de-sac. You tremble, stiffen, buck, and moan a shrill, age old sound of woman-ness overtaken and filled by man-ness. Our combined noises blend with sound of evening wind in the trees. And it is good.

For moments there is a perception of increased sky glow, even though the sun has disappeared. I imagine that Apollo, the sun's charioteer, has hesitated to peek back, peering over the edge of the horizon to find out what had retarded his exit. He sees us, comprehends, and now has stories to tell the other gods on Olympus at dinner tonight – how Ares and Aphrodite have been challenged by mere mortals.

As for us, we remain breathless, both physically and spiritually. We allow the warm spring air to touch dry our naked and slickened bodies, then we walk hand in hand back to the house. In bed tonight, the merest touch of one of us upon the other will fill any darkened room with a sun-gold glow.