Menesetung Memories

Ever since my divorce I immersed myself in the many things I had previously denied myself. One of them was motorcycling. I had let my license lapse so I redid it. Friggin graduated licensing now, I can't ride at night, 'til the next stage. I also can't carry a passenger and I have to have zero blood alcohol level. The alcohol isn't a problem. The divorce was necessary and not very traumatic for me so I never got into the drinking habit. Neither is the passenger prohibition because, let's face it, I'm too fucking new to have someone else's life in my hands.

Today I was in Goderich. I rented a room in a small hotel on Hwy 21 and rode into town, a half hour before the listed time of dawn, as permitted by my license. My goal was to catch the sunrise coming up the river, from the height of the Menesetung bridge. The bridge is an old CPR bridge that is part of the Heritage Trail. I got my photos, a few rather spectacular ones, then decided to hike the trail. 3 kilometers up I came to a tomb of some illustrious figure I cared not a whit about, then returned. Just before I got to the bridge again I encountered another trail. This one was barely improved and wound through hills and valleys, through heavy forest, to the river below. It's actually a loop and as I approached the bight of the trail I began hearing noises in the woods. At first I was a little frightened, being a city dweller, but I stopped and listened more closely. I was able to tell it was a woman and at first she seemed to be in some distress. I was about to rush forward when I heard her soft words, "Oh, fuck, yes!"

It didn't take a great leap of intellect to realize someone was engaged in a dawn tryst in the wilderness. At this time of day, on this trail, there weren't likely to be too many explorers. I rounded the last thicket and just off to the right of the roundabout was a large tree. I later learned it was named The Heritage Oak tree. It's some thirty meters tall and about 235 years old. Leaning against the tree was a woman, mid-thirties, I'd say. Her hands were thrust forward against the tree and her torso was leaning forwards at a thirty degree angle Her head was down and her shoulder length hair covered her face. She was wearing a long tunic that was pushed up over her generous butt, and yoga pants that were pushed down below the aforementioned feature. I couldn't see much beyond the curve of her ass because of her paramour's hands holding her hips, tightly. He was thrusting hard and fast and slowly gaining speed.

Eighteen months. A year and a half since my ex and I had been intimate and that was rather stilted, as usual. It had been almost a decade and a half since I'd seen a woman in the throes of enthusiastic ardour like this one was. I could barely think and my own arousal was causing quite a lot of discomfort in my Dockers. One of her hands was clasped on her fellow's, and her other clawed frantically at her covered breast. I quietly switched lenses to a faster one and approached as close as I dared. I didn't think they'd hear my shutter over their own noise.

The man's face was aiming up but I could see his eyes were closed. He was alternating between groaning and whimpering. It seemed the pressure on him to control his release was taking a tremendous effort. The young lady, on the other hand, was making no such effort. She was clawing her way to the top. I managed to get a photo of his hands digging into the soft skin of her hip just before he moved. Both of his hands moved to her shoulders and he started slamming into her, her own face rising to howl out her pleasure. She began to cry out with each impact and I could see her fleshy butt ripple on each stroke. I tried to get some photos of his cock reaching out to her as he withdrew but it was still too dark for the speed they were moving. I got some good photos of each of their faces, separately and together, as they joined.

The gentleman's teeth were gritting in a rictus of apparent agony, the lines on his forehead scrunched together as she reached her peak, apparently sending him over the edge. Four mighty thrusts and he cried out, bellowed really. The lady's own cries rivalled his in volume, though she was crying his name and screaming yes. Her knees almost buckled and he barely held on, fighting his own tremors. When they stabilized he leaned against her back and softly kissed the skin bared by her top below her neck as they gasped for breath. Their eyes were still closed so I manoeuvred myself behind them then backed away until I was hidden by tree. I quietly moved another thirty feet, then I slowly approached them again. This time I whistled a tune, badly I might add, to make them aware of my presence.

As I rounded the tree again I saw them standing there, intently reading the accompanying plaque. I appeared startled to find company on the trail and I hailed a greeting. They responded and seemed to visibly relax as they assumed I had not heard them. I approached them and introduced myself with a handshake. I quickly looked around as if wary and, leaning closer I warned them of the dangers of wild animals. He looked confused and she looked suddenly scared until I winked and said, "I thought I heard a wildcat scream a few minutes ago." She looked mortified but he laughed at the jest.

We walked back to the parking lot together and I found out they were husband and wife. I was a little surprised because he appeared five or more years older than she. They were on vacation and staying in Grand Bend, about 50 kilometers down the highway. I bought them a coffee at Timmies and we talked. I found out it was his first marriage and her second. We had a nice chat and exchanged contact information, then went our separate ways.

When I got back to my room I sorted the pictures I took and did some minor editing on my laptop. I emailed them to each of the email addresses they gave me and mentioned that I didn't want to embarrass them at the time but I thought they might like the photos as a memory. I'll admit, those pics certainly helped me until I got back into dating again.