She was kneeling over me, panting. Her knees were on each side of my hips. Her hands were on my waist, balancing herself, and she bounced steadily, slowly on my erection that had been firm since noon. Her breathing was elevated and her pulse had to be high. She kept a constant rhythm, controlling the speed of our coupling, determining the pace of my penetrating her very wet and eager passage, and I worked with the dedication of a expert and an advocate, determined to help her remember these moments for as long as she was lucid.
It was her favorite sexual position, and we did it almost exclusively, most every day. She tightened her supple, pink inner muscles and held me tight like a glove gripping my fleshy shaft and holding me in place, the place I preferred over any other, the place I didn't want to ever leave. She looked down at me and smiled, a smile that asked, "You like this?" I answered with a nod and a push of my hips that sent me deep. I could feel her pulse in her pussy and sweat dripped off her forehead.
She closed her eyes and savored the feel of being filled by my average but enthusiastic, engorged cock. We were as one, and our sexual movements were timed perfectly. She was pushing down as I was arching up, thrusting into her with all the force I could muster, holding her erect with a hand on each of her thighs, reaching into her as far as anything could go. My ears were ringing as I pounded into her and she held me tight, and I could feel her pulse beating against my rigid cock as her pulse transferred to her throbbing pussy.
As it was the position she loved best, she always chose it. It was the one we'd first done on the sand at Gaviota just before dark, on a Saturday evening, around the point, in June of 1984, and we had reenact it every year at the same place and celebrated it in our memories as often as we could.
We've worked to perfect the technique often, practicing our execution and striving to improve our endurance by training and repetition, by dedication and analysis, by continuing to work on form and style as often as possible, making our sex an undertaking we worked on diligently and with conviction.
We managed it once in the tach room at a stable where her Tennessee Walker was boarded, with horses just outside the door, smelling the scent of testosterone and pheromones, and lifting their ears to sounds of mating just a few feet away, and like counterparts they shuttered and whinnied in accord with the mating going on in the tach room close by. We finished with a flurry that was not missed by the animals outside and they watched us intently as we left as if they knew what we had done.
We did it once behind the stage, in the changing room just out of sight of actors waiting to say their lines, standing behind the curtain, unaware of the coupling taking place so close, uncaring about the other things that were happening in the universe as they went about lives just a few feet away from our sexual endeavor.
When she came she covered her mouth and we laughed at the absurdity of sex and drama happening at the same time without the other knowing. We snuck out between scenes and wardrobe changes and giggled at our shamelessness. It was dramatic sex and art combing in nearly the same place. She had been cowgirl fucking as the play went on.
We accomplished it once in the back room of her father's souvenirs shop with customers making purchases while I was making my deposit in the the shop owner's daughter. We finished just before the chime above the shop's entrance rang out the warning that our time had just run out. We gathered our clothes in record time and managed to slip out before the proprietor checked his storeroom for merchandise or mischief or someone penetrating his daughter.
We once completed the act in Arches National park, on a pad below the famous arch, just out of sight of tardy tourist who hadn't managed either to exit on time. She had left on her hiking skirt, had slipped out of her panties, and lowered my pants just enough to allow the act but facilitate a hasty exit if necessary. Excitement ballooned in my torso as she rode me beneath the arch in our customary rodeo posture.
We froze as the ranger walked by within a couple of yards and passed in the dark as we christened the formation with the most basic human celebration of all, and when his footsteps finally faded out we resumed our task with a quiet climax that went unheard by all except the two of us and the arch and whatever spirit may have been listening to the hushed sounds of the night.
At a Springsteen concert, surrounded by fifty thousand fans, we engaged with the enthusiastic encouragement of those close enough to see, and celebrated the music with a concert of our own on the ground next to singing and capping fans who cheered us on with lusty shouts of 'right on' as we fornicated in the crowd and came on the last loud and lively notes from Bruce. Again she had kept her dress on, my pants just below my hips, and all that the other fans could see was Springsteen fans in the crowd, one of them sitting on a friend, in perhaps a gesture of gleeful fandom during a stirring song about America. The concert ended after two orgasms of monumental force with high decibel levels of background music.
Every time we think of Bruce we pull up lusty memories of coming to sounds of My Home Town and visions of happy faces looking down at us cheering us on, wishing they were bold or drunk enough to join us. On the way home after that concert I was exhausted but didn't know it until I woke up at noon two days afterward. It was the best musical event I have ever attended and we set a record of numbers of orgasms at one event with fifty witnesses clapping and saluting our sexual brazenness and resolve.
Maybe the most exhilarating of our episodes was on top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, after hours, and overlooking the city of lights with both of us totally nude, less the hundred American dollar bribe I had slipped to the tower security guard to give us the private time on top of the tower. We undressed, put down the mat we had brought along, and got into position. I got down on the cold pad, reached up to her, and helped her down on top of me.
She put a knee beside each of my hips, eased herself down on my rigid pole, slid it into her, and began to bounce. We started slowly, with the excitement of it raised because of the location, the exhilaration of the incredible height, and the risk of being caught. I slid up into her without pause. She was as wet as a kitchen sponge and I moved quickly in and out of her watery pussy. Time went quickly, and before we knew it, forty minutes had gone by. The security guard had given us thirty and her orgasm came just in time, as we heard the elevator starting up the shaft behind us. We quickly dressed, picked up the pad, just as the elevator door slid open and the sheepish guard stepped out and motioned us back into the lift.
I have to admit, if I am totally honest and impartial, and realistic, and principled, one of the most stirring cowgirl sexual experiences I have ever had, was when I got the opportunity to view it happening and was not a direct participant.
We were traveling through Italy with a tour group and took a side trip to Capri where met a fellow traveler who was also from the US. He was, of course, handsome and charming, a California surfer-type lawyer who had a wife at home and a progressive view of sexuality and life and love in general. He and his wife lived in the Bay Area near Sausalito, where they ran a small legal office.
We bonded quickly, became fast friends, and shared a great deal about our thoughts on marriage, sex, and life. We went dancing and, of course, he was a great dancer who made Claire gleeful with many sensuous dances throughout the evening. They danced close, slow, and sensuous. It was a romantic evening that progressed from a luscious dinner, to slow dancing, to a midnight walk along the seashore, to his suite in a chalet in a romantic hostel near the beach.
"You have a lovely, lovely wife," he said when Claire had gone to the ladies room. "May I be honest with you?" he asked, a look of absolute seriousness on his face. "I am very attracted to her. My wife and I have an understanding. Each of us has our own circle of intimate friends. She has her circle and I have mine. We both have sex with other people. May I ask? How do you two feel about open relationships, about sex with other people, about intimacy?"
I shrugged. "Theoretically, we agree with the concept of open relationships, but neither of us has ever been with anyone else since we got married. Both of us was quite sexually active, but since being married, no we have not," I said.
"Would you mind if I proposed it to your wife?" he asked. "I would love to sleep with Claire? I have to be honest. If she would agree, would you object to me having sex with her?"
I looked towards the bathroom door. "I have tried to never keep her from doing anything she wanted to. I guess what I am saying," I said, "is that it is up to her. If you want to ask her, then be my guest. That is between the two of you. She loves cowgirl," I said with a smile that surprised me. His proposition excited me more than I had expected. I found myself turned on by the proposal of Claire having sex with someone else. It was new and exciting and I got tremendously aroused just thinking about it. That new sensation surprised me.
When Claire came out of the bathroom I excused myself and told her that Julian had something he wanted to talk to her about. I left them sitting in his living room and went out on the terrace. I did not watch them, but looked out over the island. Later, I learned that he explained his marital arrangement with Teresa, his wife, told my wife he was very attracted to her, and asked if she would like to have sex with him. It was something she had never experienced, someone so direct, completely honest and bold, simply coming out and asking her to fuck.
Shortly, there was a knock on the glass behind me and Claire was calling me back in. "Julian has asked me to have sex with him," she said. "I have told him I would like to, but it depends on just how you feel about it. We have never talked about exchanging partners, and his wife is not here to participate, so I am not sure it's fair, but I would like to. I really would. We have friends who have done it. So, tell me honestly how you feel about the idea. If you say you aren't comfortable with it, then I won't."
"Honestly, it excites me to think of you having a grand sexual time tonight here on Capri," I said "I am not sure why, but it turns me on quite a bit to think of you two fucking tonight like minks."
