On Trinity River

As is wont to happen when my wife of 18 years and I get outdoors and without the kids, we tend to re-discover each other and the lust we now experience only when time allows. With the kids out of town with their grandparents for a week, we stole an opportunity to borrow a friend's inflatable raft and hit a quiet section of the Trinity River in northern California. Two hours of calm, quiet floating in the warming morning sun had us lazy, hungry, and ready for a little shade at just a few minutes past noon.

We beached our raft on a small sandy stretch at the apex of a tight bend in the river. We hadn't seen anyone else all morning, pretty sure now that we had the river mostly to ourselves. The cool fog that lasted deeper into the morning must have kept most people in town today. We lunched on balls of fresh mozzarella, juicy mangos and olive oil potato chips, capped by a half-bottle of Chianti - passed between us without glasses - that I'd managed to sneak into our wet bag when she wasn't looking.

Laying in the sand, under the high noontime sun, quiet, alone, warm, we relaxed against a small Douglas fir log. Within moments we were both on the edge of full-blown sleep. Trying to avert a long, sunburning snooze, I peeled off my t-shirt, shorts and Tevas and headed out into the water for a quick skinny dip.

"Someone's going to come around that corner and see you," she warned.

"There's no one here, and so what if they do? What're they gonna see that they've never seen before," I responded flashing my nakedness back her direction. "Join me!"

But she just watched me through her sunglasses as I braved the mountain-chilled river. She wouldn't ever dream of being naked in public, even if it was only the mergansers and osprey that would see her sexy forty-something body. The birds would only see her black running shorts and conservative bikini top today, I suppose.

A few minutes in the water was all I needed to wake up enough to recognize the opportunity at hand, and I could only hope she'd be as interested in exploiting that opportunity as I was. Walking back up the beach slope to my wife, I must've had that look that all wives know all too well. That I sported a rapidly growing boner - which looked larger than normal atop a cold-water shriveled ball sack - likely clued her in to my intentions.

"I know what you're thinking," she said with a grin.

"Is it the same thing you're thinking," I asked.

"Of course not," she laughed, "but I think I've had too much wine and sun to stop you right now."

What's this, I thought? Was my own wife actually flirting with me? Her flirtations are less obvious today than many years ago, but I've come to recognize when a "no, not really" accompanied by that grin, really means, "take me".

I kneeled down in front of her, careful to keep the tip of my river-damp pecker out of the sand. I leaned in and kissed her. Ah, those comfortable married kisses, still passionate, but a different measure of passion than first time lovers. I knew by the nature of the returned kiss, of her flashing tongue penetrating my lips, that she too eagerly anticipated more than just a kiss.

"Stand up for a moment," I suggested, and up she stood. I reached into the waistband of her black shorts, untied the knot - not too slowly, yet not too eagerly – and slid her shorts, panties and all, down to her ankles.

"What if someone comes around the corner," she asked, nervously scanning the river bends on both sides of our beach.

"We haven't seen anyone out here all day," I said. "I think we've got the river to ourselves today."

Never taking her eyes off the water, her ears cocked to the breeze to detect any sound different than the wind, water or birds, she sat down on the edge of the log, spread her legs apart, and said, "I'll watch just in case. It'd be my luck that someone would see us, see me, spread wide open like this."

"And that would be a problem, why?" I asked as my fingers slipped into the blonde folds between her legs.

A long "Mmmmm," was the only answer I got to my question. I could almost hear her eyes close when my tongue began its familiar slip and slide inside her. I love the way she tastes when we've been outside for a while. Warm and wet, full of her very personal, unique scent, more slippery than usual. I love the feel of the smooth, almost hairless portions of her inner thighs in my palms. I love the feel of my fingers, coursing through the blonde tufts of hair that shelter her sweet insides from view.

Now, I'm not claiming supernatural abilities, but she's always loved the way I lick and suck her almost as much as I enjoy bringing her that particular pleasure. It never takes her long to climax when I'm down there. Within a few minutes I heard her familiar, "Oh, God, yes. Right there. I'm so close." Moments later, that long, low "ohhhhh" followed by a teeth-clenched "mmmmmmm" and a shudder. She came hard, pressing her swollen pussy into my mouth, my tongue swirling around her clitoral nub, until it was just too sensitive for her to bear any longer. She pushed me back, pulled her knees together, and through pursed lips, let out a long "whew."

I'm not one to expect anything sexually from her, at least not anymore, and I would have graciously and quietly gone along with the pure satisfaction of pleasing her this early afternoon, all the while of course hoping that she'd reciprocate. And on this day, I was not to be disappointed. Still naked from the waist down, she stood and said, "Let's trade places."

I didn't hesitate, and as any normal married guy who was about to get an all-too-rare blow job would, my pants were off in about three seconds. My cock was already rock hard, its girth and length well-fed by several minutes of her scent and moans and sun-baked orgasm.

"You like this, don't you," she asked as her knees dropped into the same sandy depressions mine were in only a minute earlier.

"Of course I do. I love the outdoors," and like her, my sentence trailed off into a low moan as she swallowed up the head of my cock.

She doesn't go down on me all that often these days, but when she does, she's so very good at it. Her tongue slipped up and down the entirety of my shaft, licking my balls, sucking on my sack, before heading back up and over the top of my cock. I was, as most men will say when being sucked by someone who truly knows how to do it well, in heaven.

I heard the soft rhythm of hands paddling in the water before I saw them. She, fortunately, never did, judging from the continual, uninterrupted attention of her mouth and hands between my legs. Trying not to distract her from her oral ministrations, I looked upstream, to my left, around the bend at the furthest corner of the river. A yellow ball cap was the first thing I saw, then a blue cap popped into view. Two college-aged guys, no shirts to cover their smooth, tanned chests, swim-trunked butts dragging in the cool water, floated down our private river in oversized inner tubes.

Damn, I thought. This is the end of that. If...no when she hears them, this is all going to end. I should tell her, shouldn't I? She was really into it now, sucking and licking, working hard to bring me off as thoroughly as I had just done for her. And I knew I was getting so close. A couple more tickles of her tongue underneath my shaft...a well-placed squeeze at its base...a finger strategically pressed underneath, and it'd all be over.

I really should tell her that these two guys were just about into view and that she should cover up quickly. After all, her naked ass was pointing directly at the river, about thirty feet from where these guys would be paddling by in a minute or two. She'd have a hard time forgiving me for knowingly exposing her like this to two young strangers.

But this felt just too damn good. As the guys rounded the corner, the yellow cap motioned in our direction to the blue cap. The blue cap strained his head backwards then paddled and spun his tube around quickly to face us. They both stared, mostly at my wife, but occasionally up at me. Keeping one hand on the back of her head to keep her in place, which elicited an audible moan from her throat, a moan I knew they could hear as they closed in on us, I raised a finger to my lips, informing them to keep quiet. They both grinned, stopped paddling, and let the quiet current move them downstream toward us.

With only the sounds of the river in the background, my wife never knew they were there. Tempting fate, I leaned down and pulled the top of her shirt up and over her back. Her lips left the rim of my cock only long enough for her shirt to come off entirely. From their upstream vantage point, I knew these guys now had a great profile of my wife's small a-cup boobs and long, pink nipples, which with the help of a well-timed pinch, were stiff and tight. I'm sure they also had a good view of my cock slick from her lips sliding up and down its full length.

To their credit, these guys kept quiet. It took a couple minutes for the slow-moving river to carry them around the bend to a point directly behind my wife. She remained on her knees, her butt raised slightly above the sand. I knew they had a great view of her ass, and I hoped a peak at her recently sucked and orgasmed pussy. I know that view from behind her so well - the blonde curls teasing around the edges of her wet lips and ass. The folds of her puffed lips shadowed behind the fur. I reached down and squeezed her butt cheeks, pulling them up and apart to enhance the view for our friends.

Their eyes said it all - wide open, staring, straining to see whatever they could see of this naked 40-year old lady whose body revealed little of her approaching middle age. Cruising by, they twisted and turned to keep her body in front of them. I watched them, proud to show off the finest naked girl on this stretch of the Trinity.

"Are you close," she asked, loud enough for these guys to sit up and take notice as they floated past our beach.

"Oh yes," I said with one eye on the guys. "Just keep doing it like that. So good. So close."

She moved down on my cock with a renewed fervor, stroking the base with one hand as her head rolled and bobbed atop my swelling cockhead. When her fingers slipped under my balls and pressed on the tip of my asshole, I popped. She rarely swallows, but this, it appeared, was my lucky day. She stayed on top of my cock for the first two shots, accepting the creamy flows deep in her throat. As my hips raised and my cock thrust and jerked inside her, I turned to my right to see the guys floating around the little dune at the far end of the bend. I caught two big ol' grins cross both their faces and a thumbs-up from the blue hat as they floated around the bend and out of view.

She pulled off and let the last few spurts launch themselves gently into the sand, squeezing and pulling the base of my shaft was until I was fully and completely drained. She wiped a little drop of come off her lip and stood, completely naked now, and faced upstream into the warm sun.

"We should get dressed before someone sneaks up on us," she whispered in a tired, sex-saturated voice. "Sooner or later someone's going to come around that corner. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be to be caught doing what we were just doing?"

"Nope, can't imagine that at all," I replied, trying to tamp down the satisfied laugh in my gut. I pulled her close, both of us naked in the river sand. We kissed, tasting ourselves on each others' lips...the taste of a love and a desire that's sustained itself over 18 years.

Just then a big echoing laugh and a "oh yeah!" hoot echoed through the tree-lined river canyon. My wife jumped back into her shorts and t-shirt so quickly that she didn't key into the fact that the hoots were coming from downstream, not upstream. "See! Someone's close. Get dressed."

"Yeah...suppose we wouldn't want anyone seeing us like this now, would we."