A Place Somewhere

\ This is the truest story I have submitted to Literotica. Those of you who read past this disclaimer will be happy to learn that it is also the most unbelievable. The idea that two middle aged adults could have the degree of libido depicted in this story is unbelievable—but true. Yes, this means that both characters were well over the age of 18. Nelly and I had been living in a small apartment with two teenaged sons who did not get along while I was extremely busy writing my dissertation. The vacation the story pictures took place just after my dissertation was approved—the end of a long hard slog. Adding to the pleasure of the occasion, I had just found a large bud of marijuana on the passenger side of the floor of the car—an artifact of my oldest boy or one of his friends. Nelly and I had been "dry" during my studies which were to important to our future to take chances. I don't know if they ever missed it, but they must have because it was both deluxe and king-sized. The place names are changed to keep our secret place just that. If the description here is enough to show someone the way, good luck to you.

There is a place somewhere. I've been there. It's tucked up against the granite shoulders of the High Sierras. The river of the devil runs through it—Rio Diablo. He's a minor devil, and actually a pretty nice guy. His waters run cold but with the summer the air temperatures in the 90's, who cares?

We didn't have far to carry our gear, and with the heat that was a good thing. But by taking everything but the kitchen sink with us it was a hard slog. Each of us each carried both a pack and a duffle bag. My bag contained a 8 x 10 Persian carpet; Nelly carried the pillows, air mattresses, and sleeping bags—we're sissies when it comes to sleeping on the ground.

Nelly was irritable at first because the trail led up a slide of loose scree and she had a hard time handling balancing. I told her to wait while I took my stuff up to the top and hurried down again to take her bag. I would have taken her pack too, but she wouldn't let me. She has her pride.

The geography on top was a fascinating formation of gullied granite. Cracks in solid stone formed a chessboard-like grid. The gullies had eroded, each one its own ecosystem, filled with succulents, trillium, pine, madrona, manzanita, poison oak and a universe of mosses and lichens mixed together to form random beauty. Making our way over this terrain was challenging. We chose to carry our baggage in two trips and moved in leaps and bounds, always keeping our gear in view, staying close to the edge of the escarpment, enjoying the view of the river below and the impenetrable profusion of chaparral which splashed its way from the river to the bottom up the cliff like a breaking wave. From the edge we could see the dry riverbed that was our destination.

First we had to scramble down from the top of the cliff, throwing our bags ahead of us, clinging to roots and tree branches, working hard to brake and stay in control. When we finally arrived at the bottom we were sweaty and scratched by passing thorns, stickers and burrs stuck in our hair and looking bedraggled. Everything in the Chaparral had thorns. Struggling through the undergrowth was battle but a worthwhile one, for when the last vine let go and the last thorn had broken off in our flesh, we found ourselves suddenly in a new dimension of sparkling white sand. Grass lay down a carpet between a line of alder trees that arched over the sandy lane formed by the dry river bed. This was our yellow brick road and we followed it in silent awe, as excited as Dorothy and Toto. Could Eden have been sweeter?

We soon broke out of the tunnel of green and found ourselves in an amphitheater of raw stone surrounding a cove in the river. The dry river turned to avoid a wall of granite and angled out through the bay to the river. Below us the river banks spread to allow the river to roam back and forth through channels of sand and gravel. Above us, the still water ran slow through a deep cleft in the bedrock. The deep pools looked like a string of pearls from the cliff tops while on both sides ledges formed platforms from which to dive without fear of breaking your head. From our camp we could clamber up the steep banks to dive from ten, twenty, even fifty feet--into the deep blue-green water.

Hot and sweaty, we wasted no time in dropping our packs. We striped as we ran toward the water, leaving a trail of shoes, socks, shorts, and shirts. Nellie waded in, while I ran out over the gravel and made a shallow racing dive, scooping gravel with my nose in the process. Ouch, and I couldn't let my pain show or Nellie would never have let me live it down.

You are your heart for a couple of beats. That's what it feels like hitting the icy water. We raced up the full length of the three pools swimming all out--somewhere around a hundred and fifty feet. Then we climbed out on a hard rock ledge and lay flat to soak up the sun. It was well over 100 degrees, so it didn't take long before we were ready to dive in again and swim back to set up our campsite. Along the way, we stopped here and there to haul out, frolic in the water, dive and cannon-ball each other—generally playing grab ass while we cavorted in the water, loving the feeling of the water on our naked bodies, comfortably nude. This was a hands-on activity.

Back at the cove we looked at several potential sites for our camp and finally picked the obvious one adjacent to the pool. We unrolled the carpet and pulled it snug up against a rock ledge. Nooks and crannies in the rock became places for candles, a pipe, lighter, shoes, and a CD player. If we hadn't had the river, we would have had the kitchen sink too. In the end the site looked a little like an altar. It was an altar. Ave Venus. We camp in style and the mosquito coils we scattered around weren't even needed. Nelly pulled the pillows out while I filled a pipe and we shared a bowl of sinsemilla as we sat back, sprawled against the pillows, bare of any encumbrances like clothes or cares. We cast off the staleness that had crept into our relationship and coupled as Adam and Eve did, without consciousness of sin or society. We were alone with the rest of God's wild creatures and our libidos soared. I have always found an extra measure of sensuality in having my cock sucked while the hot sun beat down on my body. It goes back to our first alfresco fucks in the woods behind our house where the only fear of being spotted came from aircraft flying by. I love outdoor loving. It's like the heat of the sun is funneled into Nelly's mouth and lips. I have to ask her to stop--it won't do to have this end yet.

Instead, I kissed my way down to swim in her sea. She was dripping with the juices of her excitement, with little curds of lubricity swimming in the valleys of her vulva, her sex a live thing that responded to every flick and flicker of my tongue, nose, lips, all of which I engaged in stirring the thick viscosity of her sex. The aroma swirled up in a vortex that attracted birds to surround us with their singing.

When her sex became fulled opened, we come together like a clap of thunder, followed immediately by lightening. My cock slid in without resistance, pausing only long enough for my synapses to fire, causing my muscles to bunch up and pull me out and then reverse the process and again and again.

At first I am a savage fucking relentlessly, giving no quarter, making no allowances for her delicate feminine nature. I am driving rivets, hammering, pile-driving, arming cannons and slamming the ramrod home with force and vigor. Sweat pours off our bodies and we slide against each other--as well lubricated as as my cock is in her pussy. Every time I feel the rustling of a warning that I'm about to cum, I change strokes. Sometimes it's enough to pause. Other times I pull nearly out and use just the corona of my glans to tweek the tight sphincter of her cunt. And sometimes I suck her juices and smear them on my face.

Nelly's turn to be on top and she melts around me forming a pool around my root. I grab her hips and push them against my grain until the split tail of her clitoris is clamped around the base of my root. My eyes feast as I push her hips gently back and forth, to and fro, just enough to keep her pussy hot. Every time she begins to come I change strokes just enough to freeze her on a plateau of excitement until I can rachet her up another notch. It's like jacking up a car. Each click up is accompanied by more movement from her pelvis, more noise, and the delicious bouquet of her spices.

Suddenly Nelly counter attacks. She whips her steed into a gallop, digging her heels into my flanks. Thank goodness she isn't wearing spurs. At times like this, the woman has such an advantage; she doesn't have to remain attached to the cock. I fear she is going to rip it off, so violently does her assault storm my stiff resistance. But I am a stallion, after all, not to be ridden meekly like a mare. I thrust up my hips so boldly that she has trouble staying in the saddle. I buck, twist, and gyrate but she is a rider, and she has found her seat and she whips me to the finish.

Normally cooling down after a really good orgasm time takes on a sweet lingering quality, but 110 degrees of heat changes things and so we made our way to the deep pool and dove in and swam around until we cooled and we no longer in danger of heat prostation. Then we quickly put together a lunch and ate sitting on rocks dangling our feet in the water. Lunch was a hard loaf of sourdough bread, which we tore into shreds and spread with butter and avocado, topped with tomatoes and roast beef. We pumped water from the river using a micronized filter. After lunch we swam down river a couple hundred feet and watched crazy people bungee jumping off the bridge. Swimming down a river rapids that is at most two feet deep with large and small boulders, s a surprisingly mellow adventure. You use your arms and hands to steer and brake with your legs, following in your wake. Periodically you move along quickly but mostly you move in spurts and gasps. Swimming upstream is harder. Back at the campsite I have an announcement to make. I know this is unheard of, but I'm horny. It's been years since I've ejaculated twice in one day. But the mythic garden we occupy has magical qualities.

We fuck easily, the only heat coming from the sun, and my cock is indefatigable. It seems like I am constantly on the edge of coming but able to hold off; even taking time to cross the river and climb out on the rocks. Then erect again, I sat astride a rock with Nelly straddling my lap, rocking me in and out of her.

Then we swam across the pool and dove off a high platfrom for a while, pausing to warm up, pausing each in the cold water to cool off. Then, returning to camp, the real loving making continued on our amazing magic carpet. The temperature was cooler now maybe in the 80's. Now we can play without overheating, and for a long time we take apart the pieces that make up a good fuck and try them one at a time. My favorite is always the magic moment of entry, where the muscles of Nellie's cunt open just enough to allow me in and then quickly close over the corona of my glans. Nelly likes quick time. The CD player sets the pace and in the fast movements of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin, she keeps pace effortlessly. I like the slow movements and when I'm getting most excited I often find myself fighting Nelly to keep her from running away from me.

When the big "O" finally comes it happens because I judged it time. A synapse closed in my mind and suddenly I was starting the journey anew, but this time with a purpose, bringing the two of us off together. My breathing is hitched to my hips and each thrust is accompanied by an exhalation and a grunt, providing the beat to the new tune I am hearing in my head, whistling under my breath. Nelly has no difficulty reading my intent and is with me each step of the way. Whenever she threatens to run away from me, I relax and ride her wave and she soon gets the message and then we are back in step, climbing high and higher. Over and over again we come to a crescendo only to start over because I am still hard and still working to wear Nelly's pussy out, something that can't be done.

All the previous sex is having a definite effect. I can feel my orgasm lurking in the background, struggling to emerge. It's not going to just happen. I'm going to have to earn it. We fuck and fuck and fuck and I'm coming closer and closer, the pain-like feeling that isn't painful becoming stronger and stronger, and yet I can't get over the last hurdle. Then suddenly I am moving at Nelly's speed and faster, thrashing my hips about so violently and rapidly that I sometimes meet myself coming up on the way down. My stomach is slapping Nelly's, slap, slap, slap, and Nelly's legs are kicking my legs to the same beat, kick, kick, kick, and I am yelling, crying, coming, coming, coming down.

Amazingly, the next day we made love in the morning and again at bedtime with some messing around in the afternoon. What a pleasure it is to be able to fuck with abandon knowing you aren't going to come easily and if you do come, you can do it again later. How I wished I could take the magic with me from this Eden.

Third day we lazed around in the shade most of the day and when we had sex in the early afternoon, I quit after seeing Nelly through several orgasms without having ejaculated myself. I was saving it up for evening. After dark we sat on the rocks looking at the Milky Way, which was in full glory. The Perseid Meteorite showers were putting up a wonderful display for us. We passed a drink and a pipe around and didn't fight the shivering that came from the glory of, the beauty of it all. Then bed and a very sweet and mellow fuck for a long time, but time didn't matter.

Then came the fourth day. Actually, there really wasn't a fourth day. Our trip was planned for five days, but when day four dawned, actually, later, when the sun crested the rim above the canyon, we both realized that we were bushed. We couldn't take another day of the sun. We retreated to lower elevation and finally found a motel with Kingsize beds and an in-room spa. We read and watched T.V. and it was just like home except we didn't have to break up a single fight with the children.

I often wonder if we could go back. Wish we could go back. What has happened to the dry river in the succeeding seasons? Has the spring runoff washed it away? Do Nereids and Dryads draw a veil over our spot making it invisible to the world. Has somebody left shitty toilet paper where a carpet defined our hearth? Are beer cans rusting in the pools? I'm almost afraid to return.