Now that Desiree and I were a couple, we spent the rest of the winter together. Usually, it was at one of our houses, or occasionally at a friend's. This led to a lot of fun, but a lot of frustration as we almost never found ourselves alone with any kind of privacy. However, like teenagers everywhere, we found ways.
At school, we would climb the ladders behind the auditorium stage. There was a little room there for lights, ventilation, and theater controls, and we made the most of it. I have endless memories of lying on my back on the dusty floor while Desiree hiked her long cotton-print skirt up and rode me languorously. She loved to control the pace, and I was happy to lie back and caress her hips and breasts while she rocked her way to bliss. It was hard to go back to class afterward, but every second we spent up there was worth it!
There were also two cars involved, but Des had a tiny Honda Civic that wasn't much good for anything except road head and discreet fingering. When we went in my car-a roomier Volvo wagon-we often ended up parked up a logging road, stretching out in the back on an old sleeping bag. For some reason, my lasting memories of those encounters are all in the missionary position, my weight resting on Desiree's broad hips, my chest cushioned on her ample breasts, and my face against the side of her neck, surrounded by soft brown hair. Her arms and legs would wrap around me almost tenderly, and I can still recall the warm spread of her skin against mine as our bodies came together fully. With gentle thrusts and counter-thrusts, we would rock lazily in the steamed-up little world until we were spent. Then we would roll onto our sides and enjoy what she called "the afterglow".
Every now and then, we enjoyed the supreme luxury of a house when one set of parents or another went to church, or to a meeting, or out shopping. We tried very hard not to make it obvious that we were hooking up, but I think both sets of parents knew and gave us as much space as they reasonably could. Her parents didn't mind if we used their hot tub, and they were gracious enough not to look outside while we were there. If they had, they might have seen their daughter perched on the edge while my tongue explored her sweet, spicy depths. A while later, they would have seen their only daughter kneeling on the submerged seat, her ass barely out of the water, while I stood behind her, snowflakes falling on my shoulders as I pumped myself deep inside her. Needless to say, we were as quiet as possible on those occasions.
Finally, the endless snow began to melt. Desiree, with her Earth mother attitude, turned out to have a huge fetish for having sex outdoors, and she had grown up in the town and knew every isolated place. As soon as it was over 40 degrees, she had no problem whipping off her shirt or at the very least hoisting her skirt up to allow me access. Guys have it easy, I realize, and on the colder days I have to admit all I did was unzip!
Spot Number One: an abandoned shack just below a small dam. Dusty, cracked window panes and a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, an ancient wood stove, a creaky cot with a thin mattress, and the detritus of a hundred teen couples passing through-beer cans and condom wrappers, snack food bags and cigarette butts. It smelled permanently damp in the spring, but it offered unparalleled privacy and shelter from the wind.
The first time Des parked her car at the edge of a twisty back road, I thought we were headed into the woods as usual. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and slipped between two mountain laurel bushes without a word. I followed, and saw to my surprise a real path twisting through the shrubs and trees. After a hundred yards, I could hear the river. Another fifty yards and the structure came into view. Des pulled the door open and propped it carefully as if it were her own summer house. Then her preparations became obvious!
From the backpack, she pulled a rolled up afghan and covered the cot. A bottle of water and a bottle of Wild Turkey (her favorite) were placed on the rickety table. Finally, she extracted a carved wooden stash box and a matching bowl. With a smile, she packed it full and we shared it peacefully while she told me the history of the place.
Sitting cross-legged on one end of the cot to keep it from sagging, she said this had been the foreman's office when the dam was built during the Depression. Since then, different people used it for different things, but it was always available, and most people tried to keep it somewhat clean. She went on to say that her old boyfriend Chris heard about it from his older cousin and they used to come down when it was warmer to swim and get high.
"It's a little cold for swimming still," she said sadly, "but I totally want to put my feet in the water!"
I was toasted enough to play along, and I kicked off my sneakers and socks and rolled my jeans up over my calf muscles. Des led me along the path to the water through a grove of birch saplings just starting to bud. She carried the Wild Turkey and I brought the water bottle. At the bank's edge, we sat on tree roots and eased our feet into the water. It was bitingly cold-of course-but my feet soon went numb, and we alternated sips of whiskey and water, enjoying the sunlight and the gentle buzz and the quiet chuckling of the river over smooth stones.
As she lay back on her elbows, Desiree's full breasts were pushed forward. My eyes traced the lush contours with growing hunger. She caught me looking and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Wanna see 'em?" she asked indulgently.
