Grove Beyond the Field at Sunset

Roger had finished his joint, but Marcy needed one last glass of red wine before she was ready.

"They'll chase us out of there as soon as it's sunset," set Roger, looking out his condo window at the rapidly orangeing sky. "The Park Police, I mean," he said. "They're very strict and might do worse if they catch us." He wore a comfortable pair of sweats, sneakers, and a polo shit. He looked over at Marcy, finishing her wine at a steady pace. She wore a white cotton nightgown under a winter-coat with a faux-fur color, flip-flops on her feet.

"You want to take a flask?" Roger suggested.

Marcy finished her last sip and her last swallow. "Next time," she said. "If there is a next time."

"Oh, you're gonna like it," Roger promised.

"Let's find out," Marcy said, and extended her arm for him to take.

Her took her down to the parking garage, then in his Audi they drove into the Park. Roger lived on the park's border, so it took maybe five minutes to find the correct turnout and the correct parking lot atop the hill. There were already a dozen cars parked in the few parking spaces for this erstwhile picnic area, the well-kept imports and domestics of successful urbanites.

"Park closes fifteen minutes after sundown," read the posted signs.

They parked in an empty parking space, facing the broad field beyond several, unoccupied picnic tables. Marcy thought she could see a couple on the far end of the grassy field, also dressed in odd, strangely slumber-party-esque-clothing, slipping into the trees beyond, then she lost sight of them.

As Roger and Marcy beeped the Audi locked and started walked hand-in-hand across the grassy field, another car, a Land Rover, pulled into the parking lot. It was another couple, a man and a woman, he wore jeans and button-down shirt, she had on a wrap dress and was barefoot.

Marcy could not see if she was wearing anything under the wrap dress, but from how her body moved, it did not look like it.

They smiled at each other, but each couple kept their distance.

Marcy's heart pounded as they crossing the grassy field. Roger held her hand easily, and kept a swift but manageable pace. Marcy was excited to see what was through the tree line.

The tall grass scratched her legs and feet, but Marcy also liked the rough and raw feel of bucolic nature against her skin. She showered and shaved her legs just before, "getting clean before getting dirty," she told Roger. "There's nothing dirty about what's natural," Roger replied. "Not when you're from South Carolina," Marcy said.

But as they stepped through the tree line, Roger had to hold her hand and help Marcy across a wide ditch, and then they were squeezing past the spread of a bush and stepping under an elm branch, no longer holding hands as they each pressed their way though the bramble.

"I don't think we came in though the front door," Marcy complained to Roger in a whisper. "Where is everyone? I don't see any--oh my god."

And there, no more than ten feet away, was a man with his back up against a tree, and in front of him, a short, chubby redhead was rapidly bobbing back and forth with her red head as she kneeled in front of him.

Her eyes were closed and his eyes were closed and Marcy could see the entire central communication of their relationship as the redhead steadily sucked her man's cock, tip to base, humming with steady rhythm, loving and tasting and throating him completely, oblivious to all who were watching and proud of their confident eroticism all the same, drawing energy from the positive energy they were inspiring throughout the grove.

Marcy stopped short and Roger caught up to her. He put his mouth close to her ear, he looked where her eyes were looking.

"I think we're in the right place, huh," Roger said.

"Yeah, I think so, too," Marcy said.

He kissed her neck slowly, holding her close and safe against his chest. Marcy watched the woman sucking, watched the eyes-closed face of the man enjoying. But as Roger finished with her neck and moved to her ears, Marcy saw movement from her peripheral vision, and as her eyes chased the movement, she saw the couple who arrived after them had entered the groove further down, and Marcy saw indeed the woman in the wrap dress was nude underneath, and her breasts and hips and belly bore the signs of healthy motherhood, as she undid the inner tie of the dress and handed it to the man she was with, who draped it gently on a branch. The woman found a small clearing and sank to all fours, taking a position perpendicular to Marcy and waiting patiently, looking deeper into the grove while she did. Marcy saw her stretch her hips and roll them, while the man she came with disrobed as well.

In a few moments he was nude and he was on his knees in the dirt behind her and then Marcy saw he was entering her easily and they were fucking in the open air, quite easily and normal and natural, like every Sunday night this couple came to fuck before sundown. Maybe that's how her children were conceived, thought Marcy, and Marcy wondered how many the woman had.

Marcy looked to see what this lady was looking at, off into the grove to Marcy's left, and she did so as Roger began to feel Marcy up and cup and squeeze her breasts with greater and greater intensity. His hands covered her breasts so even though they had been pulled out of her nightgown by Roger, no one who was looking would be able to see how big and full and sexy they were with such pink, suckable nipples, and Marcy was sad of that, so she reached up and took Roger's hands and drew them down to her hips, placing them there, feeling the cool forest air on her breasts and her man's warm hands under her nightgown's hem.

Roger held and squeezed her hips and her butt, kneading the soft flesh of Marcy's plump posterior and Marcy could see in the fading light of day that the grove was full of couples. Spaced out at discreet but not private distances; and, it appeared to Marcy, extending as far back into the grove as second-base would appear to a batter at home plate in a softball game; couple after couple, embracing, mounting, riding, screwing, fornicating, and loving with casual abandon and absolutely no shame. Breasts and bottoms and penises and pleasure-grimaced faces flashed through the greenery of the forest like glimpsing the love-making of wood-nymphs and satyrs in sacred groves of antiquity.

Healthy, couples of various ages, and in various states of dress and undress, fucking up against trees, fucking bent over where there was something to lean on, and simply laying down on the ground and pounding into each other, grinding and joining and uniting and writhing together in the agony of unity, the rigor of coupling.

Roger's hands found how wet Marcy was in front, and how open Marcy was to having a finger opening the ring of her asshole behind.

Where Marcy could not see other couples she could hear them, hear women moaning and sighing and OhOhOhOhOh-ing and the grunts and labored breathing and yesyeyesyesyes-ing of the men fucking into them, hard and fast and primal, here in this grove of strangers, all fucking together at the end of the day like their ancestors did hundreds of thousands of years ago, and for hundreds of thousands of years since.

Roger guided her down onto all fours, and Marcy let him. He took off coat and laid it gently beside her. She kicked off her flip-flops, felt his hands pull up her sleeping gown past her hips, so his hands could hold her there on her bare skin.

So her nightgown would not get in the way of him penetrating her.

As he did, she was watching the couple that came after them finish, she shuddering in orgasms and he dutiful holding off and slowing down as she did but then speeding up to finish inside of her as quickly as he could, in the fading light, in the tight grip of her post-spasmed pussy.

Marcy felt Roger fucking her and knew her cotton nightgown was turning green with grass stains because she was being fucked in the open air like a peasant girl, despite her two post-graduate degrees and yuppie lifestyle, she and all these other Upper Northwest Yuppies were fucking like peasants in a secret grove by the setting sun, watching and hearing each other do it, and do it and do it, and then Marcy realized she was telling Roger to

"Do it! Do it! Do it!"

as she watched the other, older couple get up from their casual, natural lovemaking and hug and kiss and he held her wrap dress out and open for her, dressing her in the grove like her ladies' maid.

The grove was quickly becoming shadows and the climaxes were becoming louder and less inhibited and there was the rustling through the darkening greenery as couples got up and Marcy could see the half-hard cocks of satisfied men and the bouncing bodies of loved women, dressing and scurrying quickly back to the parking area, and Marcy felt like one of those loved women as Roger was not holding back and Marcy reached down to make those circles on her clit that she liked that would help her follow Roger to bliss and orgasm and natural union.

The orgasm felt like full electrical failure.

When Roger and Marcy rebooted a half-minute later, they held and kissed and felt the world spin on its axis. Full of exuberance and clear-sighted practicality, Marcy looked at Roger in the dim and said, "let's beat it before the cops get here," and jumped up and ran across the field, back to the parking area, barefoot, leaving Roger to carry her coat and flip-flops with him, while he watched her skip across the field, a happily-fucked woman in a grass-covered nightgown, loving the luscious way the weeds and the tall grass caressed her well-loved body, loving the sisterhood she felt with these other women and their lovers crossing the wild field back to civilization and respectability, sharing the sacred shared truth of their divine humanity.