When we first headed out on the trip, I really, honestly had only one thing on my mind---is it gonna happen? A man needs to be honest about these things.
I tried my best not to look at you while I was driving. Short shorts...your legs folded up haphazardly in the seat...flimsy spaghetti top leaving little to the imagination. I simply drove and let you run the radio and stole glimpses at your mouth moving when you sometimes sang along.
We rolled uphill, out of the desert and into the foothills, leaving the main road when the time came. When we stopped at the last little village for a final civilized pit stop, I sat in the pickup and watched you walk away with something between artful appreciation and animal hunger, my eyes glimmering privately behind my shades. From there we drove around to the back side of the village and found the gravel road that wound its way up into the warm New Mexico mountains, wondering if it was gonna happen now that I finally had you all to myself. . .
Of course getting you out here had already taken some serious doing. I promised camping. I promised good weather. I promised free and easy and secret and no strings...but really I couldn't think of anything more desirous than three nights alone with you in the warm woods, so here we were. And with the me-and-you cause finally looking up, I was feeling pretty good about my chances on is-it-gonna-happen?
So here we were, camped out at my special spot, discovered many years ago while riding through these mountains with my dad and brother, a spot I had instantly vowed to bring a special girl to at some point in the future. Which was now.
I just finished setting up the tent. Everything is unpacked and you're already settled in a camp chair with a my small copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey.
"How are you liking it so far?"
You turn a page. "So far so good."
I stand still for a second to stretch and take a few good, deep breaths of thinner air. The forest quiets and a small sound of running water reaches our ears.
"You wanna see where the stream goes?"
I see your eyes lift off the page and can tell you're weighing the options. Hm, get up and walk around or stay here and be comfortable? Tough call.
But the running water does sound appealing, and the sun is getting warmer between the trees, so you say ok and get up to follow me down the slight slope into the wash. Nature is sometimes better than art, anyway. The stream is running full from recent rains, and we follow the late summer water lazily down the hill, through the trees and come up to the small, overgrown waterfall. The plant roots mushroom out to form a lip over the edge of the rocks, and the stream waters trickle over them to shower down into the pool a short fall below. From where we are, there's a small view out between the mountainsides, down into the opposite foothills that I know eventually bottom out in the hot, flat White Sands valley.
"Is there a way down there?" you ask.
"Yeah. It's around this way..." I walk back uphill and find the rusted old pipeline running between the rocks.
"This is part of the rainwater collection system for Alamogordo. They installed it way back in the day when the military came in. You kinda have to use the pipe to climb down the rocks...careful, it's a little leaky and slick in some spots..."
We pick our way down the ledge, circling around the sound of the falling water till we arrive at the bottom. There's one last cut down to the stream that we have to manage. It's muddy and a little steep, so I help lift you down, but we still get some dirt on ourselves before we make it to the mossy, rock-strewn streambed. It's much hotter down here, deep between the trees and roots. Humidity rises off the thin water, causing our clothes to cling to our bodies.
The small shower of falling water looks delightful from the edge of the shallow pool. I peel my shirt off, kick my shoes and socks up onto a flat boulder, then start to undo my jeans.
"You mind if I do some underwear bathing?" I ask, but when I turn around to look, you're already stepping out of your pants. I grin to myself. Nevermind...
The streams of water feel nice and cool on my skin, raising tight gooseflesh all over my chest and shoulders. It's just cool enough to be comfortable, so I step fully under the fall and let the beads run wet fingertips down my back and legs. I close my eyes and lean my head back, feeling the sun and water on my face at once. Absolutely wonderful.
"Excuse me."
I open my eyes and look over my shoulder. You're about a foot from my skin in nothing but your panties. I blink a few times, then step aside to let you under the water. I go over to the big rock and lean back in the sun, thinking how crazy exotic you look in that little pool with all the wet rocks and green grass and trees far above your head. At first I don't let myself watch you run your hands over your body, but really...a man should be honest about these things. So I look. A lot.
And of course my imagination takes over, and soon I'm picturing us naked, leaning against the soft, slippery rock face behind the falls, your legs wrapped around my waist and my lower body pumping away between your thighs, sliding you up and down on the smooth, wet stone with each thrust. My hands are gripping your slick, firm ass from beneath, my lips tasting your neck and shoulders as we entwine wetly beneath the falling water.
I snap myself out of it when you look at me and say it's not polite to stare.
"Sorry."
"No you're not." Your thumbs run around your pantyline, moving the wet material around on your waist and ass.
