I woke early, as both of us usually do when camping: perhaps its a sleep-conscious awareness of the sun's rise, or the rustling sound of the wildlife that start its day foraging for food, or the half-awake chirping of birds that gradually builds in frequency and volume. Whatever it is, I enjoy that dozy barely awake time early mornings out in the West Coast rain forest and can tell that somewhere close by in the campground someone else is up as I can hear the quiet clink of cutlery or dishes, a crackle of campfire, and the faint aroma of coffee percolating the old fashioned way.
My nose, poking out of the sleeping bag is cold, a little damp even, in contrast with the warm cocoon of body heat from the two of us in our zipped together down-filled nest. He, my partner, insists we stay warmer if we take all our clothes off, sleeping nude, skin against skin, and I must say, it seems to work for me. In the dim bluish green early morning light from the sun penetrating the forest canopy and the canvas of the tent I can see the back of his head when I turn my head slightly to the side with its dark blackish brown hair, wavy, of course tousled in places and in others somewhat flattened where he rested his head longer as he slept. But endearing, nonetheless. I know that several of the other women, and I'm sure some of the men, on our Swinging Couples retreat agree with me that Peter is a sweetheart.
He murmurs something unintelligible as I snuggle close to "spoon" him, perhaps the hair of my bush is tickling his ass, or my erect nipples are crazing the skin of his back but I'm careful to let him half-sleep and partially doze off again myself while my hand, dangling over his hip, begins to softly stroke his flaccid cock. Even asleep, his member responds to the delicate touch of my fingers and I smile a little to myself. I can feel the head mushrooming and the shaft engorging and I wonder what stuff his dreams are made of as I continue my gentle sleep play.
Eventually, I hear a soft scratching from the outside on our canvas walls and I grin in anticipation. I reach one bare arm up and off to the side where I signal a quick response on the tent with my fingernail and then tuck myself back into the sleeping bag. I had been expecting, well hoping really, that I'd hear that soft scratch which was an inquiry of sorts, meaning "Are you up and at 'em? . . . Mind if I join you?" There was a slight pause, and then the zippered closing of our tent flap was quietly pulled open. Michael's face peered in with a conspiratorial grin. His eyebrows raised; another inquiry meaning, "Do you want to play?" and I flashed a cheeky smile back at him, an invitation that yes I did want to play and a wink to let him know Peter was still asleep and that he wasn't to awaken him for as long as possible. The flap hung still for a moment as Michael quickly removed his sandals, pants, and shirt outside the tent and then it rustled fully open for a quick few seconds as he hunched down and quietly half-crawled, half-crouched his way in. Another quiet zip and the three of us, Peter still fast asleep, were ensconced in the little "world" that was the inside of our tent.
Michael's mouth tasted of minty toothpaste and coffee as our lips met in an open mouthed kiss. He was crouched on the other side of Peter's sleeping body and I could see that his cock and balls were already primed for action even in the cool early morning air. He could feel my smile, rather than see it, as we kissed, and both of us could hear the soft suck of our lips parting as he drew back a little to ask a question. His next inquiry was also a silent one of lifted eyebrows and a one hand cupping his balls, lifting both them and his cock as if in offering to me. I suppressed my giggle of anticipation, but the look on my face told him I was eager and ready for our sex games, although I wanted a twist on the usual action. I gestured by angling my head ever so slightly and flicking my eyes down at Peter's sleeping body then I looked back up at Michael, opening my mouth and waggling my tongue in a licking motion. His eyes twinkled and he pointed with one finger down at Peter's sleeping body. Once more his eyebrows raised in a question.
"Yes," I gave him a silent affirmation with my barely perceptible head nod, "Peter, I want you to focus on Peter," I communicated without saying a word.
Michael smiled and a delicious expression, like a fox about to enjoy a tasty treat, settled on his face. Between the two of us, we managed to silently unzip the dual sleeping bag and gently peel back Peter's side so that his naked body, back still warmed by my spooning, was available for Michael's talented mouth and tongue. Last night, as various groups of couples had intermingled, I had the joy of experiencing sex with both Michael and his wife. In the course of the evening we had managed to take a bit of time to chat and share proclivities in between all the sucking and fucking. It was a rare occurrence, but as it happened, all four of us were bi and the various permutations and combinations that made possible encouraged us all to want to stay in touch. Something two of us, at least, were currently taking literally.
Ever so gently, I angled Peter's cock up toward Michael, and he nodded and then bent over so that his mouth was positioned just above it. He licked his lips then looked me in the eye once again. We both were enjoying the eroticism of the moment. I kept my hand on Peter's balls, gently massaging them and then slowly rolling them around between my fingers while Michael began to delicately dance his tongue over the head of Peter's shaft: quiet, deliberate little licks that must have been just right as Peter moaned in his sleep. I loved to watch a man give another "head" and especially when it was a man I liked and had enjoyed who was "doing" the man I loved. The delicate little licks became firmer and Michael began to swish his tongue back and forth around the oh so sensitive corona at the base of Peter's glans. I could feel Peter's testicles tightening further in response to Michael's oral ministrations and my warm massaging hand. I could also see the corresponding swelling and shifting in Michael's member as he crouched naked inside our tent.
