Tourist Season

Part 2 - Canada Day

Author's Note:

Greetings fellow lover of erotic fiction. This is a sequel to my Summer Lovin' 2018 Contest entry, Tourist Season..

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. The places in this story are fictitious. I have kept the location purposely vague. Spencerville and Pickerel Falls exist under different names and they are about 300 km apart. The real Bernard Lake is notable as the biggest lake in the world with no islands. Realistically, this could have played out in any small town in Tourist country.

This is a work of fantasy. Time is compressed.

You'll find depictions of various sex acts between consenting adults, both of whom are over eighteen. Most of the sex is pretty vanilla, but remember: vanilla is a pretty great flavour. Be aware that the woman involved in this story is described as thick, substantial, voluptuous, zaftig, ample and chubby. He's a big guy too. If the thought of a confident woman with a large, shapely ass, full thighs, large breasts and a rounded belly having great sex with a burly bear of a man offends you, that's cool, but please stop reading and find a story with characters more to your tastes. This is a mixed relationship. He's Canadian and she's American. There are fireworks, mainly because of the Canada Day/Independence Day shared long weekend!

I'd love to hear what you think, so please leave a comment. Don't forget to vote!

*****

The United States was born in the crucible of war and rebellion, led by men who were not afraid to commit treason against the crown in order to advance the cause of Freedom. The good people of the USA were then promised Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Canada was born after endless meetings between the local government and the Colonial Office in London until the Brits finally threw up their hands and said, "Fine. You're so smart, you run the fucking country. Good luck!" Our Constitution promises Peace, Order, and Good Government.

As the great British philosopher Mick Jagger said, "You can't always get what you want."

By an odd historical coincidence, both nations were founded on a date ripe for a long weekend. In Pickerel Falls, the Canada Day/Independence Day holiday period was celebrated in high style. The local Chamber of Commerce, the Tourist Association, The American Cottagers Association and various service clubs ensure that nobody is left out. There are fireworks on the first and the fourth of July respectively, the Ball and Puck tournament (teams play slow pitch and beer league level hockey for a combined championship), a kid's carnival, a beer garden on the main beach for no particular reason, and the first of three fishing derbies in the area. This one happens to be for largemouth bass.

I was working from my home office over the last week of June in order to get some yard work done in the daylight. Meg texted me on the Monday before Canada Day.

Meg: Leaving West Seneca Thursday @5am. Should be @pickerelfalls before noon. Meet 4 lunch @beanhereb4?

George: Sure. I'm off. Will b working @my cottage on Bernard lk. Will grab a swim an b there @ 11:30

Meg: no tanlines! Sunscreen on ur D. Got new bikini

George: Will it ever see the water?

Meg: Depends. How private is ur cottage?

George: very. Nobody within a half click at least.

Meg followed that up by sending me a picture of her naked boobs.

George: LOL! C U and the girls when U get here. Safe trip <3

Meg:!! <3

I put the phone away without thinking about our conversation too deeply. I was still mesmerized by the image of her tits. I was just about to get on a conference call via Skype, so I was looking for the email invitation when it hit me like a sack of hammers.

Wait. Hang on. Did I just...

... Say I love you?

... First?

... To a beautiful intelligent curvaceous woman (with an absolutely filthy mind and a nuclear grade sex drive) via text message using an emoticon?

...And get one back???

For that matter, do emoticons count? If that had all really happened, then that made me a moron for doing that via text, and a lovesick puppy for doing it so soon, not even counting me being the luckiest guy in the World for getting a heart in return.

I had to talk to Terri. I signed in to the meeting, delivered my information and made excuses to get out in a hurry. I left home and headed to Bean Here Before.

Since we were kids Terri and I have been close. She helped me through my divorce, which was hard for the both of us because she lost a friend in my ex. She was a surrogate mother to my son growing up and she misses him as much as I do (he's a geologist in British Columbia, and gets home about four times a year). I introduced her to Enzo (Manny), and was delighted when they got married.

I needed her advice.

I showed her the texts.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Nice tits. She's not really my type though."

"Be serious Ter," I demanded.

"I am serious. They aren't just big, but they are well shaped and the nipples are perky..."

"Look I'm sorry. I meant to edit that out. Forget her tits." She interrupted before I could say anything else to chastise her. She was enjoying watching her big brother squirm.

"I dunno," she continued, "they are going to be memorable. Are you going to use this picture as a Christmas Card?"

"Are you finished?" I asked, not impressed with her jokes.

"Yeah, I just have to write something on my shopping list." She produced a pen from her t-shirt pocket and a pad of paper from the counter. "Let's see. Milk. Oh, and cream. Okay, I got it out of my system. Where were we?" She teased.

"How badly did I fuck this up?"

"That depends - do you love her, or do you just want to see her tits again?"

"Yes. I mean - no! Will you get off her tits?!"

"You started it," she retorted. "Look, if you love her, or think you do, on top of the lust you feel for her, then I'd say you are the luckiest man in the world. She seems to feel the same way; you did get an emoticon back, after all.

"You've been single for five years. It's time. No more casual fucking anything that moves. You've successfully sowed the wild oats you that didn't when you were younger. Listen: Don't. Fuck. This. Up! I like Meg; she's intelligent, thoughtful, and quirky. And she's gorgeous - I mean those -"

"Don't say it. Okay, so I don't have to worry when she gets here?"

"Not at all. So, let's talk Thursday lunch. I'm thinking about cheeseburgers and poutine for that American-Canadian thing, you know, for the long weekend? With apple pie or butter tarts for dessert."

"Cute. What are you serving to drink with that?"

"Lattes. Oh, and milkshakes."

I sighed audibly. "I'm leaving. See you in a couple of days."

---

The week dragged. I finished the report I was working on, weeded my veggie garden, cut the grass and abandoned town for my cottage.

I had built the A-frame on the island in Bernard Lake to have a place to get away from it all. The island had never been sold for a cottage because the local utility company refused to run a power line to it. City folk and locals both want all the comforts of home at their wild retreats. I put up solar panels for lighting, haul propane for the fridge and stove, and have no TV, satellite or Internet. I have a battery operated radio for weather and the baseball scores, with lots of books.

Most of all, I have solitude.

The cottage is nestled on the south side of the island, hidden in a stand of rare red spruce trees. The cabin is so well hidden that I'm am told people wonder why an uninhabited island has a dock.

The north end of the lake is kind of remote. I don't get many visitors. The north side of my island has a sandy beach leading to a shallow swimming area. It's always been a natural place for skinny-dipping.

I was jumpy Thursday morning. I was supposed to be clearing brush for a new pump house, but I was hesitant to start the chainsaw or pick up the axe. I cleaned instead; it's hard to injure yourself with a vacuum cleaner or a mop. Funnily enough, I tripped over the vacuum cleaner cord and stepped in the mop bucket, splashing the dirty water in my eyes. I decided that the place was clean enough after I tidied up the mess I had made while attempting to fix up the cottage in the first place.

I took a dip on my beach, dried in the sun, and got dressed. I'm a big guy. I usually don't spend much time sunning on a public beach. Meg has inspired me to spend a lot of time naked at the cottage. She seems to appreciate my body. I'm getting used to it.

My boat isn't as nice as Meg's. I have a pontoon boat that I use for almost everything. With a cooler, a storage locker and a portable BBQ I can fish all day. It gets me anywhere between Pickerel Falls and Spencerville reasonably quickly. I can haul anything from a bag of groceries to furniture and appliances to lumber and concrete.

The only thing I can't do is ski.

And that's not the boat's fault.

---

I arrived at Bean Here Before at 11:00. Meg was already there, talking with Terri, Becky from the Gas Station, and Charlie's Assistant Manager, Adrianna, from the Marina. They were talking to, or rather, at Charlie. I stepped up to the table.

"Dammit, Charlie! That guy is the cousin of the President of the Cottagers' Association. Why do you have to be such an asshole?" my delicate flower of a sister said lovingly to her colleague from the Chamber of Commerce. Her face was nearly as flaming red as her hair.

"He started it! He's an idiot. He doesn't know an outboard from an outhouse and he tries to tell me that my prices are too high? I don't have time for people that dumb! He can go buy one from Dipak in Spencerville."

"What? You have lots of time for idiots. What about that brain surgeon from Toronto you hired to run the ice cream stand at the Marina? What's her name? Candi? Bunnies? No, Bambi! " Becky commented.

"What do you mean?" Asked Charlie, incredulous.

"You remember hiring her, I'm sure," said Adrianna. "She showed up to the interview in a micro miniskirt that was a half size too small and a tank top that was a size and a half too big. Between you trying to figure out how much the skirt would cover her butt when she bent over and trying to see her boobs fall out of the top as she breathed, I'm sure you remember her," she said sarcastically.

"She came highly recommend. Ann-Marie at the Co-op is her aunt. Just looking after a good local girl. No offense Meg."

Meg was about to say something went Adrianna spoke up again.

"Oh, let me, Meg. Meg was in the last time she was up here; the day she came in to pay her bill. You might recall it was stinking hot the last week of May. I told her about the ice cream stand, and walked her over. Tell him what you ordered, I'll do her."

"I asked for a hot fudge sundae with extra hot fudge," said Meg.

Adrianna pulled the middle of her tank top down a bit, exposing some cleavage, and thrust her chest out. She began, "I'm like, soo sorry ma'am." She said in her best airhead voice.

All four women finished the sentence in unison: "it only comes in one temperature!" and erupted into uncontrollable laughter.

Charlie stalked off, swearing.

"I better go calm him down." said Adrianna. "And I better warn Dipak that he's got an angry customer on his way. I swear that fucking Marina would go under in a month if I let Charlie run it. That would put a dozen people, including Bambi, out of work."

"I thought it was his Marina?" asked Meg.

"He just owns it," said Becky. "Its far too important to the town to let him run it!"

"Exactly!" agreed Adrianna. "I'm off. See you all at the dawn yoga on the pier Saturday. Nama-fucking-stay-cool!"

"I gotta go too," Becky announced. "I left a University student running the gas station. He'll have all the girlie magazines behind the counter again!" Becky stood and paused.

"Dawn yoga?" I asked).

"Women only, you pervert!" answered my loving sister.

"I heard that Charlie and a bunch of his buddies from the Fraternal Order of Porcupines were setting up telescopes and binoculars to watch," said Meg.

"I bet that's where my binoculars went from the gas station. That perv of a student!" Becky grabbed her purse and rushed out.

"You're here early, Meg." I said. She stood and we embraced. She took my face in her hands and kissed me briefly but memorably.

"I missed you. I woke up at three and I couldn't get back to sleep. I just got in the car and headed out. I stopped for breakfast north of Toronto. I even had a second cup of coffee. Of course it wasn't as good as this!" she raised her mug, smiling.

"Another fucking Red-eye! A Cappuccino isn't going to kill you." Said Terri, standing. "I assume you want one too?" She asked me.

"That would be great. Thanks!" Terri left, grumbling about people with no taste.

"Look at you joining in!" I mentioned to Meg.

"Terri invited me just now. Sounds like fun. Of course I'll have to get up real early", she responded."

"What time?" I questioned.

"We're meeting at five so the sun will rise as we're doing it. Will that work?"

"Sure. I'll get Terri to drag Enzo along and we'll go fishing for a couple of hours," I agreed.

"Okay you two," Terri had arrived with the Red-eyes. "What are you up to? I heard my name?"

"Bring Enzo when you come for yoga. While everyone else is fishing for bass we'll go for some pickerel. I bet you've never had pickerel, Meg," I commented.

"George. Translate. She lives on Lake Erie." Terri interrupted.

"I don't wanna," I pouted. She was spoiling my fun.

"George, you're starting to sound like Charlie."

"Fine." I turned to Meg, ready to explain. "Walleye. The fish we call Pickerel, the ones that the town is named for, are the same ones they call Walleye in the States."

"Ah, okay." Meg was smiling.

"Alright you two, do you want the 'Good Neighbor Special' for lunch? Cheeseburger and poutine, milkshakes, and your choice of butter tarts or apple pie for dessert," Terri rattled off.

We ordered two.

After lunch we strolled through downtown browsing the stores. I picked up a few things here and there like fishing tackle, some beer and chicken for supper. Meg checked out the clothing stores, buying a beach cover-up, a sun hat and yet another bathing suit that would never see water. It was a black and white diamond patterned one piece with a deep V neckline and a scooped back that barely covered the crack of her ass.

We loaded our purchases in the barge, putting the food and beer in the cooler, and headed out down the channel from the top of Pickerel Falls to Bernard Lake.

"It looks like we might get a shower," I commented, pointing to a black cloud in our path. Before I could ask if she wanted a raincoat, she said:

"Ah, this outfit is new. I don't want to get it wet!" She peeled off her tank top and stepped out of her shorts, stowing the clothes in the storage locker. Under her clothes she wore what I assumed was the new bikini.

Nobody can convince me that a substantial woman like Meg can't wear a bikini and wear it well! It was pure white. The halter top was tied behind her neck in a perfect square knot. She got extra points for that. Her heavy breasts challenged the material's strength every time she moved or breathed. There was a deep abyss of cleavage between them. Oddly, there was another knot between the cups at the bottom of the cleavage line.

The boy short bottoms clung to her ass cheeks and split them cleanly, emphasizing the perfect round shape of each globe. I had never seen such a perfect camel toe before.

"You know what? I think I want this to be dry for later." she said. With that, she seized the middle of the top and pulled it over her boobs, setting them into a wonderful fluid bounce. She dropped her shorts, replacing that camel toe with her sparsely furred Mons and heavy lips.

That's when the rain hit. Enormous stinging drops pounded us. Meg knew what to do.

She danced.

So what does a woman like Meg dance to?

Aerosmith. Big Ten Inch Record.

She used the whole deck. Writhing, grinding, shaking, and pretending to blow Joe Perry. She didn't miss a word and she sang it twice. The second time, when she got to the line "'cept for my big ten inch," she danced to me across the wet deck, unzipped me, and pulled out my rapidly hardening member. She kissed the head, licked the rim, and then swallowed me whole.

I dropped the boat out of gear and let it drift a bit. The rain had eased just a little, but it continued to soak us. I struggled out of my sopping wet t-shirt, dropped my shorts and stepped out of them, too. Meg took me deep in long easy strokes, effortlessly stimulating my cock. I'm not exactly hung like a pornstar, but I'd never experienced anything like this before.

The rain pasted her hair to her head and dripped down her face along her neck and over those beautiful tits.

She sped up. She grabbed my balls and squeezed slightly, withdrawing from my shaft to work the head again, while still playing with my nuts.

Look, at the end of the day, I'm just a man. During a slow lazy fuck or blowjob, I like to believe that I can last forever. Meg, on the other hand, was trying to make a liar out of me by making me cum.

"Okay, Babe. I'm close!"

"Fill me up, Georgie-boy. Paint my throat white with your seed. I want it all! Please!! PLEASE!!" She begged.

I'm a good Canadian boy and she said "please". Twice. I complied. Big time!

Meg swallowed, letting the rain wash away a stray drop of spunk from the corner of her mouth.

"Good boy, George." She said, petting my cock. "Are we nearly there?"

"About three kilometers; say two miles. It's there to port. On the left?" My dock was visible through the gradually lessening rain.

"You don't have to get dressed unless you're cold. We have the north end to ourselves." It was almost 40°C when we left Pickerel Falls, and the rain hadn't changed that.

"Nah. I like being naked in the rain. Besides, my pussy will need seeing too soon. She's a bit jealous."

"She?" I questioned.

We docked the barge a few minutes later. The rain had stopped and the sun shone from a cloudless blue sky. That's cottage country weather in Ontario. The only thing constant are the changes. We gathered our clothes and gear and headed to the cabin. I showed her where to put her things while I got us some towels and put the food and beer away.

She came into the kitchen while I was organizing things and hugged me from behind, mashing her wonderful tits into my back and grinding her hips into my ass.

"Nice place;" the mundane comment was somehow emphasized by her full body hug. "I bet there are lots of places to eat my pussy.

She's getting very sad from the lack of attention." She absently stroked a finger down my cock.

"And it seems she has a name?" I asked, jokingly.

"Call her Gina - just like your friend at Bean Here Before. It comes from her Latin name, 'Vagina'. She's a unrepentant drama queen, and an attention-seeking little slut who loves to perform, but she's as temperamental as an Alpha Romeo. She needs a firm hand, nimble fingers, and a sharp tongue. But mostly an imagination. You know the type. Why don't you talk to her first?"

A friend once told me that the brain is the biggest sex organ. Dirty talk, eh? I can do that.

"Well, first I will have to open up the little minx and see what's going on inside. Bring Gina to the great room and sit her on the couch."

I felt a little cold when she released me. I followed her swaying ass to the couch. She sat on the edge, knees together, a mischievous smile on her lips as she looked up at me.

"First off, Gina, don't be shy. Open wide; show me your beauty." She opened her knees about four inches. "Don't tease me you little slut. I said open wide!" I said in my best stern voice.