Under a Raven's Eye

High above the western desert, a single black-winged figure floated upon the heat rising from below. Sharp eyes scanned here and there for something to scavenge or, if need be, something to kill.

But the raven's attention was brought to an open-topped vehicle rumbling along the lone highway carved through the sparse trees and rugged rocks of the landscape. There was but a single person within it, a young man clad in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, sunglasses covering his eyes, colorful, swirling tattoos spiraling down both arms from somewhere beneath the shirt.

The raven followed for perhaps a mile, until the vehicle slowed and turned onto a road that led to the camping grounds. The raven knew where the young man was going; it had seen him many times before.

* * * *

Arrival at the camp ground's entrance brought a smile to Ethan's lips. He loved his weekends at Enchanted Rock. Others looked forward to Fridays because it meant binge-drinking and hapless flirtations with members of the opposite sex; for Ethan, it meant escaping the rigidity of the modern world and being close to nature for a couple days.

The middle-aged woman did not even bother to stop Ethan's Jeep as he rolled the vehicle toward the small wooden shack beside the open gate. Ethan was almost as much a regular occurrence as the comings and goings of squirrels, birds and deer. But Ethan never took his apparent welcomed status for granted, and always slowed down as he drove through, if only to give a friendly smile and wave his annual pass to the always cheerful woman.

Being early autumn, the campgrounds were not quite as heavily populated as they usually were during the summer. Not that it really made a difference, since Enchanted Rock was so vast that thousands of people could pitch their tents and never be closer than a hundred feet from their neighbor. But the obvious dearth of vacationers made the state park calmer, quieter.

He parked the Jeep, bolted it up, and took the heavy backpack and rolled-up tent from the back. With a grin of anticipation, Ethan made his way into the mixture of red oaks and mesquite trees, on his way to his favorite spot.

* * * *

Ah . . . home sweet home, he thought with a smile.

His favorite camping spot was well away from the numerous hiking trails that meandered through the park. Indeed, Ethan wasn't sure if it was even within the "official" camping zone. But he had never been accosted by a park ranger - had never even met one this far in, in fact - and had never encountered any problems with the local wildlife. While signs abounded here and there warning of wolves and coyotes, Ethan had never seen either at his spot.

A covering of freshly-fallen leaves and dried twigs covered the small clearing. It measured about twenty feet across, more than large enough for a tent and a campfire. At the same time, the branches of the gnarled, twisting mesquite trees formed a canopy that nearly always kept the clearing in shade. It was the perfect spot.

Using a stout branch he had found months before, and left within the twisted split trunks of a particularly large old tree, Ethan cleared away the leaves, creating a pile just off center of the clearing. Doing so revealed the pit he had dug a year and a half before, ringed with stones, and had used practically every weekend since.

He also revealed the three large, strange stones that sat equidistant around the edge of the clearing, obviously placed there with purpose at some time in the distant past. There were very faint carvings upon each one, facing inward. Ethan figured they had probably been set there by members of a native American tribe hundreds of years before. Maybe, at some distant point in the past, this little clearing had been a place of communion.

But Ethan had never thought to research it. His college days were thankfully over and with them, the need to look into useless, trivial matters. It was enough for Ethan to get away to the natural world; he felt no need to learn about its history.

The large, four-person tent was the first task, which Ethan accomplished with practiced ease and speed. Next, he cleared out the pit and formed a framework of dry twigs and bark within it, with a tightly-compacted ball of crushed leaves and paper from his backpack in the center. He had the fire going within a minute, and knew he would be able to keep it going until the following Sunday afternoon, when he left.

Now, he thought, looking about with a smile. Time to get comfortable.

As casually as if he had been in his apartment back in the city, Ethan stripped off all of his clothes, setting them within the tent. From experience, he knew he would not have to wear anything but his all-terrain shoes for the duration of his stay. That was the part he loved the most. That was the freedom he craved from the moment he awoke every Monday to the moment he left the city every Friday afternoon.

Gloriously naked, Ethan stood from the tent and stretched, feeling a few pops in his back and shoulders.

Now I'm settled in, he thought with a grin.

A flutter of wings caught his attention. He looked to the northernmost of the three aged carved stones, upon which had lit a large, black-feathered bird. Ethan chuckled.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said.

The bird's head cocked back and forth, training each eye upon Ethan in turn. Taloned feet tapped upon the stone surface as the avian shifted its weight.

"Want some beef jerky?" Ethan asked the bird, almost as if expecting it to respond. He ventured toward the tent. The raven's eyes followed him, watching as if in expectation until Ethan returned, holding a piece of dried meat.

"Here you go," Ethan said as gently as he could, approaching the raven with slow, careful steps. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you."

The bird fidgeted, head snapping back and forth. But it did not take flight as Ethan approached. Indeed, only once Ethan was within arm's reach did the raven puff up its wings in preparation.

Ethan smiled. "Okay, okay," he said, stopping where he was. He tossed the piece of dried, salted beef toward the bird, which caught it expertly in its beak. A rapid flutter of feathers, and the raven took to the air, darting above and beyond the canopy.

"You're welcome," Ethan called with a wry smile.

* * * *

Almost exactly ninety-nine paces from his camp - dependent upon how Ethan placed his feet as he trudged through the underbrush - brought the young man to a small trickling stream at the bottom of a ravine some nine or ten feet deep. During heavy rainfall, Ethan figured, the stream was a roaring, narrow river. But he had never seen it. The deepest the water had ever been in his memory was around two feet; at present, it was half that, but moved along at a crisp enough pace that he felt sure it was safe to drink.

He squatted at the edge and scooped up a handful to drink, then another to splash upon his face and shoulders. He smoothed back short, dark, wet hair with satisfaction, loving the play of the breeze across his features. A natural impulse had him reaching down to lightly fondle his dangling penis, transferring wetness from his fingers to the slightly-swollen tube of flesh.

He looked around, feeling randy. Hmm . . . why not?

A wide, flat rock lay several feet from the stream. He knew where it was almost from memory. He sat upon it, legs splayed out, leaning back with his left hand upon the edge of the mostly smooth, water-polished surface. His other hand settled between his thighs, lightly tickling his testicles.

Arousal welled within him. He watched his cock swell and lengthen, then rise up between his legs. The broad, pink-purple head emerged from its snug fleshy sheath.

Fingertips danced slowly up along the shaft, making it twitch in anticipation. A thick, clear bubble of fluid oozed from the slit at the tip. Ethan massaged it into the head and glans, making them slippery. He squirmed and sighed. Wrapping his hand around the shaft just beneath the rumbled edge of the foreskin, he began stroking his cock.

* * * *

Camping. I fucking hate camping.

Gina grumbled as she made her way along the trickling, meandering stream. Perhaps two hours, at the most, had passed since she had arrived with her family at the campgrounds, and already she had been besieged by any and every blood-sucking insect on the planet. Cans of Off! notwithstanding, she felt like she had lost a pint of blood already.

At least I got away from them, she thought ruefully, thinking of her mother and the latest "love of her life," Ben. God, why couldn't they just go camping on their own? Why make it some half-assed bullshit "family weekend?"

Grumbling and tired, Gina continued along the bank of the trickling stream, peeling apart dead leaves she found here and there. But then, as she rounded a bend, she saw something she had not expected to see.

Her eyes bulged, and mouth fell slack as she gazed upon the naked man seated on a rock by the stream. Her gaze was instantly directed to the impressive phallus jutting up from his groin, and the firm hand stroking up and down.

Holy shit! Automatically, she clapped her hands over her mouth and ducked to the side, seeking the shadows along the bank. She could not tear her attention away from the masturbating man.

Oh my God, she thought, looking back and all around, as if afraid she might be caught in her voyeuristic moment. But the air was still, save for the occasional scuttling of some invisible creature in the wood, or the chirruping of some insect.

An excited smile slowly stretched Gina's lips as she watched the man jack off. He was pretty attractive, she realized. Slender frame, muscles in all the right places, sexy tats, and a damn impressive cock sticking up from his loins . . . God damn, he's really pounding that thing!

Uncontrollably, one of Gina's hands made its way down her buxom body, fingers delving under the waistband of her snug-fitting shorts. She found her suddenly needy clitoris just past the smooth-shaved mound of her sex and massaged it in time with the rapid, up-and-down strokes of the man she watched.

Come on, she urged silently. Make that thing shoot . . . .

As if in answer to her mental yearning, the man arched his back and thrust his hips up off the rock. His impressive cock shimmered for a moment, glistening in the sparse trails of light stabbing through the wooded canopy overhead. Gina watched, biting her lower lip.

Then . . . thick fountains of glimmering fluid erupted from the tip of the man's penis, arcing in the air before splashing into the stream and upon the banks. He panted and groaned, obviously thinking himself alone in the world as his orgasm coursed through him.

Gina grinned, following the last few dribbles of semen with her eyes as they ran down the man's cock and over the clutching fingers of his hand. The liquid was so thick and clinging, unlike that of any man she had seen before. She found herself licking her lips.

* * * *

Ethan panted as he came down from his orgasmic plateau. No release from masturbation could match the sensations of being with a woman at such a moment, but he had to take what he could get. It was enough, for him, to placate the neediness of his libido.

He snapped his cock forward repeatedly in an effort to shake off the last few drops of cum, then sat up to recover. He smiled in his self-created afterglow, elbows upon knees, dripping cock angled down between his legs as it softened.

That was a good one, he thought euphorically.

Snap!

The sound of a twig breaking brought Ethan's attention to the forefront. He automatically slid off the rock, crouching down to cover his genitals as he looked about. Anxiety blossomed in his heart. Great. That's all I need, is to get caught jacking off by a park ranger.

"Hello?" he called.

But no answer was forthcoming.

He sat still for several moments, gradually relaxing. He reasoned that if someone had seen him, such as a park employee, they would have made themselves conspicuous. But as the seconds ticked by, Ethan became more and more convinced that what he'd heard had been the work of some forest animal.

Still, time to get back to camp, he thought, and pushed up from his crouching position. Gingerly climbing up the bank of the narrow ravine, he began making his way back toward his tent.

* * * *

Crouched low behind a tangle of roots at the edge of the ravine, Gina watched the man climb up and away, disappearing into the forest. She still had her hand in her shorts, clutching her pussy, but the excitement, the arousal, had faded.

Somewhat, at any rate.

Slipping her hand from her shorts, she casually brought her fingers to her lips, and sucked the pungent essence from them. A smile spread slowly across her lips.

Maybe I'll see you later, she thought.

* * * *

As the sun descended and the night arose, Ethan reclined comfortably upon a roll-out beside the fire. The temperature was dropping, cooling the skin that did not face the small blaze. He scooted a bit closer, so that the heat spread across his body, and lay back, gazing up through the opening in the leafy canopy overhead. Without the intrusion of the city glow, the sky was dark already, with dozens of stars already winking down upon him.

If only I could just live out here, he thought with a smile.

* * * *

On the one hand, Gina was glad to see her mother happy. The woman had gone through a string of would-be suitors since the divorce five years before, when Gina was only fourteen. Most of the men she attracted had been, well, questionable, to say the least. But Ben, at last, appeared to be genuinely interested in Gina's mother, and not just physically. Their relationship had already passed the six-month mark, which was longer than any relationship Gina herself had enjoyed.

Still . . . it was downright awkward to watch them cuddle and kiss beside the small fire, clutching one another, holding hands, gazing into one another's eyes. There was the ick factor, of course, of watching her own mother in a state of semi-arousal, and then there was the reminder that Gina's own personal life had been lacking since the girl's own breakup a few months before. The combination of the two made her uncomfortable.

Following the hackneyed tradition of fire-roasted s'mores, Gina politely stood. "Um . . . I'm gonna go use the little girl's forest," she said with a wan smile.

Her mother and Ben were busy nuzzling. "Okay, dear," Gina's mother murmured. "Don't go far."

Gina rolled her eyes. "Be back in a bit," she said, stepping away from the campfire. She headed first to her tent, from which she extracted a small flashlight, then went in the direction of the ravine and the little trickling steam within.

With the flashlight leading the way, it took Gina perhaps only ten minutes to find the spot where she had seen the naked man. Delicious anxiety caused her heart to pound in her ears; she had no idea what to expect if and when she met the man she had seen earlier. Indeed, she was not even certain whether she wanted to meet him or not; the diversion he posed, however, was enough to give her something more exciting to think about than campfire songs and watching two middle-aged people make out.

There was enough pale moonlight shining through the break in the trees above the stream to make the flashlight unnecessary. She turned the device off and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. Looking about, she found where Mr. Tattooed-And-Nude had climbed up the ravine; the exposed roots of a large red oak provided excellent handholds.

She climbed up, and found, to her delighted surprise, a narrow path just obvious enough beneath the filtered moonlight. She followed it carefully, trying to be as stealthy as possible. After all, she did not know exactly who she might be sneaking up on. There was no way of knowing if the man she had seen was alone. Maybe he had come with friends.

A sudden distressing thought occurred to Gina, which made her stop in her tracks. Oh, God, what if he's gay? Oh, that would be, like, the cruelest trick ever . . . .

But she forged on, and after less than a minute, the fluttering glimmer of a campfire could be seen ahead past the trees. It seemed to sit in the midst of a clearing, if the gentle glow of the moon shining down was any indication. Inspired, Gina moved on, placing her feet carefully upon the tiny path.

And then she saw him. She grinned, congratulating herself.

The tent, certainly, was large enough for at least two people, but there was no sign that the little clearing was inhabited by anyone other than the deliciously nude man laying upon the rolled-out sleeping bag beside the fire. Encouraged by that apparent fact, Gina ventured closer, until she was just at the edge of the clearing, obscuring herself behind the twisted dark bark of a mesquite.

Mmmm . . . nice, Gina thought, looking upon the naked man. She found herself smiling. In her rather limited experience, she had never been privy to the sight of a slumbering, naked man. She found the novel sight endearing. Here lay a man, oblivious to her presence, so casually and - to Gina's eye - beautifully naked. Here lay an opportunity to observe a man with an uncompromised and unabashed eye.

He had a good build, Gina decided. Slim and toned, but not skinny. He obviously worked out. His stomach rose and fell slowly, lightly decorated with a growth of soft, light-toned hair that was a bit thicker upon his chest and around the base of his languid penis. His testicles, Gina noticed, seemed shaved, otherwise they would not have glowed with such a slightly pink fleshy radiance.

The tattoos that covered his chest and arms were a myriad of colors, and she could not make out the exact forms. Still, the play of etched ink only added to his innate sexuality. His face was strong and still youthful, telling Gina he was most likely in his early or mid-twenties. He possessed a strong jaw and smooth features. He smiled faintly in his sleep.

Her eyes were drawn to the man's thick phallus, which was impressive even when relaxed and lay across his groin. Smooth foreskin enveloped it like fleshy cling-wrap, keeping the contents within fresh and protected.

Some guys are showers, Gina thought as she nibbled her lip. And some guys are growers. This guy's both.

As she had done before, Gina slid a hand within the beltline of her khaki shorts and the cotton panties beneath. Her nipples became more and more sensitive as her arousal grew. As the fingertips of her hand found her clitoris, she almost gasped.

God, what would happen if I just . . . jumped him right now? she wondered. She giggled at the thought. She imagined the man waking up in a fit, and looking down as she stroked and licked his cock . . . .

What would he say? What would he do?

She whimpered as the array of possibilities exploded in her mind, like fractured scenes from some implausible porno movie. She squeezed her pussy with her hand, feeling how wet she was.

He suddenly stirred, grumbling in his sleep. The movement instantly quelled Gina's libidinous fantasies and made her crouch behind the tree.

Don't wake up! Don't wake up!

And he did not. He simply shifted, rolling onto his side to face the fire. The orange glow played across his features, outlining the lines of his muscles.

Gina's arousal shot back to her in spades. Heavy-eyed and in need of relief, she backed away from the clearing and made her way along the narrow path to the ravine.

* * * *

She felt possessed, as if overtaken by some naughty natural spirit that would not be satisfied until her libido was. Once she had jumped down to the edge of trickling stream, Gina shoved off her shorts and panties and sat with lean legs splayed wide on the selfsame rock upon which she had watched the tattooed man masturbate.