She sat in my lap, humping my finger for all she was worth. She was crazed, totally out of control. The wail of a wild animal, a small pebble in the wrong place under my hip, both woke me up. I looked at my watch, 6:18. Damn. Great dream. Why do I always have to wake up just at the best parts?
I grabbed a yogurt from the cooler and sat on the low flat rock on the other side of the fire, small flame, mostly embers now. A piece breaks off, flames shoot up. Down below, the ocean waves crashed. Across the valley, in the notch between those 2 peaks, was the top of the sun just sneaking out of its bed for the morning. Hope it got a little better rest than I did. The foggy cool air blew against my bare back, my naked hips. Not cold, but comfortable. The hard rock pressed against the bare souls of my feet. I wiggled my toes.
A bite of yogurt lay on my tongue, sliding from side to side. I looked down at Susan laying on her girly L.L. Bean sleeping bag, unzipped and laying wide open, like her legs. It said a lot about her, tan on the outside, light pink on the inside. She even had her pillow from home with a matching pink pillow case still laying perfectly parallel to the edge of the sleeping bag. This stark contrast to my hand-me-down boy scout sleeping bag, the inside covered in images of all the merit badges, still smelling like Valley Forge or some long ago camping trip. I forget what my uncle had told me. My pillow crooked, laying half in the dirt. On the other side lay Sam, actually Samantha, laying on her stomach, her pale skin, still shapely hips, a small dimple, the smooth sway of her back, looking so lovely against the dark brown of her sleeping bag, her face pressed against her arm.
What a rat pack we were. Many decades past our youth, it was still nice to get away for a weekend alone. Since we shared a house, it wasn't like we weren't alone with each other all the time. Just nice to get out and lay around naked under the sky.
Sam's Aunt had owned these nearly thousand acres for years. It was her great, great, grandmother that had claimed this land after her husband died when their wagon train had been attacked on the way to the gold fields far to the east of here. There was only one road into this part of the property, and it wasn't nice. Even in Susan's Jeep, it felt a lot like we were in a covered wagon as we bounced over the dimpled holes and parted ridges that formed the ruts.
My tongue lapped the last bite of yogurt from the bowl of the spoon. Susan's hand rested between her legs. Another drop picked up by the tip of my tongue. Her finger pressed inside. The drop rolled along my tongue. Her eyes opened and watched me looking at her.
I tossed a small stone. It landed just below her navel, against her forearm. "Penny for your thoughts."
"Wondering which you'd like to lick? That yogurt or ..."
"You baby."
Her knees spread even further apart. Her finger rolled lazily over her clit. "Well?"
"You looked mighty content just touching yourself. Was just enjoying you with my eyes."
One of her fingers continued to circle the clit, one from the other hand slowly teased the labia. Her head leaned forward to watch herself. The fingers spread her lips, slid up and down the insides edges.
"Bet you can't resist much longer?"
I couldn't and she knew it. My fingers squeezed a nipple, the other hand stroked the underside of the breast. A little of the yogurt flavored moisture from my mouth on a finger lubricated my nipple. The smooth flat purple rock between my legs had become darker, become wet.
Sam now watched Susan, her hand cupping a breast with a finger rubbing her nipple. Soon, her mouth closer to Susan, a finger sharing the touch. A tongue replaced the finger, a touch become a lick, then a kiss. Susan released a low groan, a louder moan. Sam's tongue dug deep. A wail by the fire like in my dream, another from the far away trees. Sitting up between Susan's legs, Sam's arms out to her sides in celebration, she let the morning sweetness slide down her tongue into her mouth.
A clear cool stream ran through the property with a small shaded pond off to one side. We used the stream to rub our hands over each other, pretending to slide soap over our skin, paying attention to all parts, all being special. We would take turns holding each other, legs parted pointing upstream, letting the swift current make love to us, the small waves washing over our mounds, through us, purifying us, the Earth Goddess restoring us. Afterwards we would lay, still wet, on our towels, letting the rays of the sun slowly dry our skin. Looking more like lovely aging nymphs, we pranced across the grassy land, carefree, touching, exposing, loving each other as the need flowed over us.
Sadly, we walked back to the camp, hand in hand. We knew this was our last day, that after lunch, we would have to begin our drive home. Of course we would have many more weeks like this one, right here.
As a couple, made of three women, we often attracted attention. Sometimes arms wrapped around a waist, or hands between the three. A kiss here, then there. We often caught the timid look, an obvious stare, an open mouth. We tried to just ignore it. Having been a couple of two women for a long time, I had gotten used to the stares. Now that Sam made our circle larger, it was causing attention like before. Time made that pain, more a discomfort, fade like a boo-boo for a child.
It was a nice vacation for Susan and me years ago. A great resort in the desert, warm days, cool nights, great food, and bedroom pleasures. A few more days left before returning to our place in the Napa Valley, a small vineyard, a nice house. A far cry from our early days with the stress of work, never having much money, the stares. The more recent years had been a dream, one I never wanted to wake up from. I'd been in several relationships with women before Susan that were slightly worse than being alone. I often would stand by a dumpster waiting for the truck so I could just toss myself in as it was being picked up. The royalty from my writing now making nice salve for all the old dreary days.
Laying on the chase lounge, sun warming my skin, I remembered once talking to a woman about exploring poorly formed feelings for other women. Not a clue in the world why that floated through my mind. She had been reading some erotic lesbian stories and developed a curiosity about what that might be like. There seemed to be a good female friend she wanted to approach, but was terrified that she would wreck the friendship. I'd offered some suggestions how she could 'test the waters' so to speak.
Susan lay on a lounge chair close to me, arms dangling, her fingers intertwined with mine.
"So nice being with you Kate."
"Can't imagine anything better."
Our hands swung back and forth a little. I could feel the love flow back and forth through the connection of our fingers. Fingers are a good conductor of love.
A woman passed by our feet. "Why me?" She was crying softly, a few gasps and sobs. "Why?" She wiped her face next to her nose with a finger. If fingers are the conductor of love, tears are the conductor of sadness. Often purifying.
I looked at her. She looked back as her finger left her face. "Sorry. Not a good day I guess."
"Want to talk?"
"It'd ruin your day." She took a big sip of her Corona. "But thanks."
"You're making me want one of those. Grab a chair.
"I want one too."
