Ethereal Muff

She follows me down a winding trail through the fir, cedar and spruce forest to the shoreline of Georgian Bay. Waves gently lap against the shoreline of smooth, multi-colored pebbles, the air is heavy with the sweet scent of the surrounding forest, and the surface of the water is bright with countless tiny reflected beams of the sun as if there is a gigantic disco ball in the sky casting its sparkling radiance across the water to the edge of the horizon. Jennifer, my wife, happily wanders over the smooth stones and feels the water. Watching her joyful, sprite-like movements and peering into the luminous, translucent water as if it is a medium to determine the future, I sense that Jennifer and I are on the verge of something momentous that will either make or break our fracturing relationship.

Whatever form the day assumes, I feel it is to be effervescent with new life and liberating for Jennifer and myself. It is sure to involve this beautiful location on the Bay and the intriguing couple we met last night. If my feelings amount to a daydream, then it is one to aspire to.

Georgian Bay is a short distance by trail from our cottage on Gillies Lake, yet it feels like a world away. The trail weaves for about a half mile through the boreal forest where black-throated green warblers sing, and down a two hundred foot escarpment of limestone, to the shore. The scenic view from the shore, and the peacefulness found here, causes Jennifer and I to suspect we've gone through a portal to splendor, serenity and happiness, and are now walking in a dream.

Jennifer and I look into each other's indigo eyes and smile, for we especially need such an ethereal and beautiful world now. There has been some distance between her and I recently.

Two years into our marriage and we are not spending as much time together as we used to. Our relationship seems more routine than it is passionate and exciting. The magic has dissipated, replaced by complacency and indifference. Even sex, now once a week or less, seems more mechanical than passionate. We reached a plateau in our relationship and need something, a spark perhaps, to take it to a new level.

Jennifer, a slim brunette with beautiful blue eyes, a face like Elizabeth Hurley, a small, five foot four inch, narrow and girlish frame, and average sized yet ample breasts, is attractive at 32 years old. What she may lack in the form of more pronounced curves, which is what I prefer, she makes up for with her fierce ambition and energy.

This ambition makes her at once an object to be both desired and feared. Desired because she is unreservedly passionate when given attention. Feared because her appetite for attention is insatiable and malleable. The knife cuts both ways.

Jennifer will do just about anything, even become another person, in order to obtain the attention she hungers for. One morning as Jennifer and I were looking out the window of our apartment in Arlington, she boiled with envy as an attractive blond walked by in a flashy, designer business outfit. The woman, then strutting through the gate of our apartment complex in high heels, caught my attention because of her attractive bubble shaped ass.

"I'd look like her if I had her clothes" Jennifer seethed.

My wandering eyes betrayed my own insatiable nature when it comes to women. Believing fervently that sex was something I should save for the woman I loved, despite testosterone telling me otherwise, I waited until I was 23 to cum inside a pussy. Yet there I was at 32 with my beguiling, alluring wife at my side, watching the swinging curvaceous ass of another woman walk out the gate.

Jennifer and I are both insatiable, each in our own way.

One of the best ways to mollify our cravings for attention, whatever the sources and substances that allowed us to feel this way, is through aggressive and energetic sex. A few months ago while Jennifer and I spent a long weekend attending a wedding and rehearsal in Atlanta, we barely closed the door of the hotel room before she, resplendent with jewelry, in a one piece thin blue dress that clings to the outline of her body, and with carefully sculpted dark brown hair that took half the morning to prepare, positioned herself on hands and knees on the bed. I eagerly lifted the dress high on her waist, shifted the hot-pink panties down her bare round thighs, and as the panties hung on one of her ankles, slid my bulging cock, dripping with pre-cum, into her wet pussy. Since we had sex a few times already this day, I held her white ass cheeks and waist for longer than usual, working up sweat that dripped from my brow onto the narrowest part of her bare back, before creaming her pulsing sopping pussy and holding it tight on my throbbing, cuming cock. We haven't had such passionate, energetic sex in a while, and are desperately in need of it.

There have been plenty of opportunities for such sex since our Atlanta trip, yet nothing has triggered the kind of assertive sex that Jennifer and I crave. Instead, it all seems mechanical and passé. Our relationship is suffering because of this. We need something innovative and different that brings us to a new level and that is better and more satisfying than before.

It is like Jennifer and I are stuck looking out our apartment window at the attractive blond strutting by with her bubble ass and fancy clothes. Jennifer wants to be wanted, and I want the blond. Somehow, if we desire our relationship to continue, Jennifer and I both need to get what we want in some form or another.

Arriving at our cottage after two days of travel from Virginia, I am eager to spend some time alone with Jennifer in the surrounding peaceful and serene environment. Distant from the constant distractions and relentless noise of the city, it is easier to think, to understand circumstances, oneself and others, and come to terms with any problems. I hope that in such an environment Jennifer and I may reignite the flame of passion between us and thereby rebuild our relationship.

It is hard enough, however, just finding some time alone with Jennifer. Even though our cottage is on the edge of the wilderness, it seems someone else is always close by or threatening to make an appearance. Inside the cabin obtrusive relatives and thin bedroom walls conspire with prying neighbors outside, to diminish any time Jennifer and I might have alone together.

It becomes clear that if Jennifer and I are to find the peace and stillness we desire, we need to wander farther beyond the cabin and its accompanying neighbors and relatives. We are determined to walk to Georgian Bay the next morning. There we expect to find our serene, undisturbed and beautiful Eden. The only apparent threat to our plans and expected bliss is a seldom used dirt road along Georgian Bay. The road links a tiny village to a remote lighthouse. If Jennifer and I are not discovered by people driving by, we may yet be heard or seen by them as they tumble out of their vehicles, as they often do anywhere along the road, to enjoy the Bayshore. However, on weekdays there is less traffic on the road and tomorrow is Wednesday. Jennifer and I are determined to risk an intimate outdoor tryst.

Late in the afternoon, just after deciding upon our escape route to Georgian Bay, Jennifer and I encounter an intriguing couple as we, and they, walk by the cabins along Gillies Lake.

My eyes are instantly drawn to the woman with straight shoulder length raven hair, a white t-shirt and khaki trail shorts composed of a thin, quick-drying fabric. Her tight fitting t-shirt and shorts cling to her body so that the hourglass outline is clearly visible with nary a fold from neck to legs. The only apparent ridge is in the shape of a camel-toe between her legs. Her bare thighs are round and shapely along with her ass, which taper to a slender back and waist. It is just the way I prefer a woman's body. I'm definitely an ass-man. Her succulent round large breasts dangle unrestrained by any bra, like ripe fruit. The circles and tips of her nipples are clearly visible in her tight shirt. Flower patterned cotton panties peek into the space of skin between her shorts and shirt. Her legs appear a little wider apart than with most women. One peculiar and endearing feature is her slightly upturned and narrow nose.

As I look into her emerald eyes she straightens her back, slightly thrusting her breasts forward as she does, and slyly smiles, as if encouraging me to look over her breasts and everything else.

I saw the same sly smile as I woke up in the Georgetown University Hospital after ligament surgery on my knee. Nude except for a loose fitting, thin and mostly open hospital gown, I opened my eyes to see the hot young and fit blond anesthesiologist deviously smiling at me. It was just her and I in a big room. One might think that the first thing a patient would do upon waking from surgery is check their body for the damage, yet I can't forget this woman's cunning, erotic smile. I did not want to look away. I couldn't look away. Her look was so seductive and arousing. She seemed partially ashamed and yet fiercely proud of something, and I couldn't help but think she had been looking at my goods while I was asleep. It seemed like there was an erotic secret she was keeping that she dared not whisper in my ear. Had I been more sensible in mind and body, I would have asked her what the secret was.

Returning to the boreal forest of Ontario, there is a beautiful and sexy raven haired stranger before me with the same cunning and arousing smile as the Georgetown anesthesiologist. I vow to discover what she is smiling about and make her feelings known. Whatever the cost, I don't want to fail to take advantage of such an arousing smile again.

The cost of discovering this strange woman's secret could be significant. My roving eyes alone could cause Jennifer to explode into a jealous rage, as often happens.

Once, with Jennifer at my side in the Assateague Island National Seashore Visitor Center, I complimented an attractive blond, a park employee, who was answering our questions about the park. I merely said "I like your hair" and it triggered a hurricane in Jennifer. She waited to unleash her fury, at least, until we were outside the visitor center. Once there, safely beyond the hearing distance of the woman I complimented, Jennifer raucously prodded me to "go back inside and have sex with her!" Jennifer continued to dress me down as people streamed in and out of the visitor center giving me dirty looks.

"Never say that to a woman" Jennifer scolded me "unless you want to have sex with her!"

At the present time, however, Jennifer is captivated by the man with medium length dry brown hair, slight sideburns and blue eyes. Distracted by him, she either doesn't notice or care that I'm eyeing his mate. Like myself he has muscular legs, yet his arms are more built up than my own. At about six feet two, he is three inches taller than I am. He is square jawed, clean-shaven, attractive, young and apparently well off. He wears lightweight black shorts and a fancy checker patterned short sleeve shirt. Jennifer is making the same solicitous motions with the man as his mate is with me.

As big as he is, he might be even more of a threat to me than Jennifer, if he should be the jealous type. Yet he likewise is looking Jennifer over, from head to toe, hungrily like a tiger sizing up a meal. Heedless of my stare, he watches her, looking over every inch of her body and pausing to seductively peer into her eyes.

I feel a strange mixture of relief, apprehension and lust. I am a uncomfortable with Jennifer and the strange man staring at each other so full of apparent desire, yet also relieved that I can stare at the woman in the same manner without fear of retribution from either of our mates. As with having sex out in the open, I'm a bit fearful that someone may interrupt at any moment, yet wildly aroused at the opportunity that is unfolding, perhaps because of the riskiness and newness of it all.

The couple, Tanya and Owen, just purchased a fancy new cabin nearby. They look clean, healthy, in-shape, kind and respectable. Their flashy jewelry and recent cottage purchase, betray a certain amount of wealth, stability and discriminating ability. They agree to meet us tonight at a campfire in front of our cabin.

The campfire on the shoreline of Gillies Lake, built with maple logs that I cut, split, hauled and stacked, crackles and glows beneath the stars. Since we are so far from bright city lights, there are innumerable sparkling stars, steadily moving satellites and occasional meteors in the atmosphere above. An arm of the Milky Way galaxy, with its accompanying dark matter, is clearly visible in a wide streak across the sky. It is August 11, near the peak of the Persied meteor shower, and there are many shooting stars. Jennifer sits next to Tanya on the windward side of the campfire, with Owen and I flanking them.

The night is warm by north country standards, the large fire produces steady heat and since it is so late in the summer, there are no mosquitoes, so we all can afford to dress lighter than we otherwise might. In the soft glow of the firelight I admire that Tanya's thin cotton jogging pants and light sweatshirt seem like they are made to fit her individual form. I'm practically hypnotized by her tantalizing round thighs, robust breasts pressed against the sweatshirt, and the camel-toe mound between her widely spaced legs.

Tanya relishes and gives back the attention I lavish upon her. She returns smiles, looks into my eyes and laughs as I tell stories. As time passes, she rests her hands on my arms or legs any chance she gets. I am free to give and receive attention since Jennifer and Owen are distracted yet again with each other. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, Jennifer laughs at all Owen's jokes and her eyes follow his movements. They flirt with each other at every opportunity. As the night goes by and Jennifer and Owen come close to one another while going back inside to get a drink or adjusting the logs in the fire, they slightly touch each other as Tanya and I are doing. We find out, to Jennifer's apparent delight, that Owen is a massage therapist.

With Tanya nearby, my wife's evident attraction to Owen doesn't occupy my thoughts much, nor does the attention that Tanya and I lavish upon each other much bother our spouses. All four of us each have something we desire and that occupies us. Everything is balanced for the moment. Conversations between the four of us flow easily and uninhibited. Alcohol assists the free-flowing talk, yet no one among us is drinking heavily.

Since she was a child, Tanya, like me, has been enthralled with this area, the Bruce Peninsula, with its translucent, refreshing waters, mysterious and serene forests, and inherent beauty and peacefulness. On one side of the Bruce Peninsula, which divides Lake Huron from Georgian Bay, there are natural and pristine sandy beaches that extend for many miles. The Georgian Bay side is rocky and wild. As with a lover, Tanya returns to the Bruce Peninsula at every opportunity.

Believing that beauty is better appreciated when it is shared, Tanya and I introduced our respective spouses to the splendor of the Bruce Peninsula. The introductions included, in each case, bringing our spouses to Bruce Peninsula National Park, where limestone cliffs meet Georgian Bay to form natural swimming pools and a mysterious grotto with turquoise light streaming into it from the water below.

In the national park there are moderate sized cliffs that I have been jumping into Georgian Bay from since I was a teenager. The feeling of launching into the air from a height far above the water, and falling for a few seconds, is exhilarating. Tanya loves to jump there too.

Jennifer, despite her usual boldness and eagerness to try something new and exciting, was strangely timid when faced, for the first time, with the prospect of jumping from 50 feet or so, into Georgian Bay. It is rare that Jennifer displays her vulnerable side, as she did when looking into Georgian Bay from above and considering whether or not to jump in. Such a display of helplessness in her, brings out the protective and nurturing side of myself. At such moments, I love her immensely, completely and infinitely, and I will do anything to keep her from harm.

Owen sympathizes with Jennifer and jokes that Tanya forced him to jump too.

"Can you believe what that crazy bitch wanted me to do?!" exclaims Owen while simultaneously smiling at his mate and exciting the other three of us to equal passion, for or against cliff jumping.

Tanya and I choose the same side and adamantly defend cliff jumping, while Jennifer and Owen attack it vehemently. All of our arguing is in a good natured way. It feels good to take Tanya's side so passionately, and with all four of us arguing so ardently. We fervently emphasize our points and emotions by gesturing with our hands, looking deep into each other's eyes and putting our hands on each other. I become entranced with Tanya's heaving breasts, the opening and closing of her full, substantial lips, her energy and enthusiasm, her thighs in motion -- rotating and spreading before me as if she is dancing, and especially the vivid, bobbing triangle shaped mound between her legs. I enjoy watching Jennifer moving and bouncing in much the same way, and with Owen amorously following her movements. It all feels like foreplay between us. The more passionately we argue, the more aroused we each become.

As the argument dies down, I reveal to Tanya and Owen that Jennifer and I are taking the trail to Georgian Bay tomorrow morning. Amazingly, they have not discovered the trail yet. We encourage them to try it. Tanya gives me another sly, seductive smile, which I relish.

Jennifer continues to argue about the cliff jumping, bringing up the scene from the movie "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" where Mila Kunis encourages Jason Segel to jump from a cliff into the water and he ends up hanging from a vine, dangling over the ledge, screaming like a girl and ultimately falling in unintentionally and helplessly. Recalling the scene, we all laugh.

Jennifer mentions that she likes Jason Segel, despite his belly.

"Yeah" Tanya chimes in "he is charming, attractive, manly and funny, much like Vince Vaughn. I can see why Jennifer Aniston liked Vince."

They inquire of Owen and myself about actresses that we prefer. I mention Scarlett Johansson, as Scarlett has a curvy, enticing body with breasts and ass tapering to a slender back. I am thinking to myself that Scarlett's body is a lot like Tanya's, and hope Tanya is thinking the same thing too.

Owen mentions Hillary Swank and we all express surprise. He defends himself.

"She's scrappy and spunky, and she has nice lips. Who wouldn't want to throat fuck her!?"

We all laugh.

As the laughter lessens, I admit I haven't tried "throat fucking" anyone.

"You never tried throat fucking?!" Owen asks in astonishment "You must, you simply must, it feels so unbelievably good, Tanya is amazing at it!"

Owen becomes conscious of getting ahead of himself and speaking before really thinking about what he is saying. He pauses because he isn't sure if his audience is ready for what he has to say. He goes back to the subject of Hillary Swank.

"All I have to say is I'd love to see Hillary's lips wrapped around my cock."

"We know what you like Owen" Tanya says with a smile "let others say what they like."

Finding all eyes on her, Tanya mentions how much she loves sex outdoors, and how natural, peaceful and stimulating it is there. A woman after my own heart, I think.

Pleased with the territory that we have ventured in, I echo what Tanya has to say about outdoor sex and add that I like a natural muff "slightly maintained and trimmed, and a balance between what is given to a woman naturally and what she can improve a bit. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"