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The Rock

By

E. Keith Culhane

She told him that she wanted to go on a nature walk, where he could tell her all about the plants and animals he studied. He knew just the place: a secluded canyon near the ocean.

The sunlight streamed downward through the trees, painting the dirt road with patches of shadow and light, shimmering with the movement of the cool breeze in the treetops. They walked lightly under the trees, just the two of them, stepping into pools of coolness and then hot shafts of sunlight, listening to the bubbling of the stream and the whispers of the branches.

The road curved into deep shade and disappeared under water. The stream was about fifteen feet wide, but less than a foot deep. The water was crisp and clear; the bottom hard-packed sand where the road lay. He watched her bend forward and untie her shoes. She asked about the trees, about some flowers growing nearby, about a butterfly dancing past in the breeze. He glanced at the butterfly, just long enough to identify it, and told her all he knew of the rest. He saw her breasts sway as she worked her shoes off her feet, watched her pluck daintily at her socks and shove them carelessly into her empty shoes. She bent again, and rolled up her pants, the blue fabric tight against the smooth skin of her calves.

She stepped slowly into the water, toes first, arching her leg like a ballerina, the muscles of her thigh taught against the blue-jeans. She looked back at him, and he said that he would jump across a little farther upstream where the water narrowed. She smiled and plunged her foot underwater.

"OOOH," she breathed, "that's cold!" She arched her back and tilted her chin up, hands clenched at her sides, and slid her other foot into the water.

He broke free from the sight of her, and dodged deftly around some tree branches, heading upstream along the bank. He didn't have far to go before he reached a place where two boulders lay across the water from each other, one on either bank. The boulder on his side stood proudly in the sunlight. It was smooth and dry, and granite-hard. The boulder on the opposite bank reclined in the shade. It glistened with wetness, and looked slick and soft where the moss covered it. He paused for a moment, unsure of his footing, then leaped across. He walked back downstream, through the underbrush, gathering a dusting of leaf fragments on his shoulders, down his back.

He stepped back onto the road and saw her. She was tying her shoes, bent at the waist, buttocks protruding saucily into the air; an invitation. She finished and straightened up. Looking about, she saw him standing motionless, watching her. He brushed the leaves from his hair, his shoulders, sweeping his hands across his bare arms. His own touch made his groin tingle, his face burn.

They started off again, eventually coming to the end of the canyon, which was shaped like a box. The road petered out at the remains of an old farmhouse, long since burnt to the foundation. They had seen no one, and he knew that the stream crossing would deter any hikers unaccustomed to the swollen water. They stood in silence in the dappled sunlight near the stream bank. He stepped close to her and noticed a tiny drop of liquid that clung to her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. Her shirt made a vee shape that pointed downward. He stepped closer. He saw the lacy edge of her bra and the patch of darkness where the fabric hugged her nipples.

She turned and smiled up at him, a knowing smile, and he bent over her. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his face to hers, past her lips, then lower, to her neck, then lower still. He paused just above her breasts, looking hungrily down her shirt, luxuriating in the femininity of her.

He brought his face close to her skin, just above her breasts, and gently licked off the drop of liquid. She put her arms around his head and moaned softly. He knelt down on the damp bank, his face in front of her breasts, and gently, insistingly, pulled her shirt down from her shoulders. He looked at her pretty bra, then reached behind her to unsnap it. "Someone will come," she said hesitantly, when he uncovered her breasts. He darted out his tongue and lightly licked her nipple. He smiled wickedly up at her. She flushed. "That's not what I meant!" She looked away, embarrassed. He reached a hand up, took her breast firmly, and squeezed, stroking from the fullness of the base to the nipple. He licked the other one, sucked gently on the nipple, and reached his free hand around to stroke the back of her thighs. She leaned into him, stroking his hair. His hand followed the curve of her buttocks, down and underneath, where the fabric of her jeans met in a little knot of stiff denim. Careful not to push against the ridge of fabric, he hooked his fingers upwards, slowly and firmly, until he felt the outlines of her through the material. He rubbed lightly along the length of her, sensing the softness under the fabric, and she pushed back against his hand.

"Oh God!" she moaned, and pulled his head from her breast. She fumbled with the buttons on her jeans, then pushed frantically at her pants, which caught on her thighs.

Still kneeling in front of her, he saw her powder-blue panties glow softly in the sunlight.

He stood, and when her pants reached her ankles, and she struggled with her shoes, he pulled off his shirt. Her pants made a knotted mass at her feet, and she stepped out of them. She pulled her shirt over her head, and tossed it on the ground, dropping her bra at her feet. She looked at him imploringly. He put his hands on her waist and gently turned her around, facing the huge swelling of a massive, rounded boulder. He reached over her shoulder and dropped his shirt on the hard surface of the rock, smoothing it out so that it covered the stone from her breasts to below her waist. He pushed her gently forward against the rock, and felt her urgency as she settled herself against his shirt, flipped her hair, and stretched her arms up, fingers splayed wide.

He unbuttoned his own pants slowly, running the fingers of his free hand down the curvature of her back, stroking her lightly with his fingertips. He caressed her flanks, then turned his hand around and brushed his fingertips against her wetness. She moaned, moving her hips against the actions of his fingers, and stiffened in anticipation. Her head tilted up, eyes closed, her hair falling from her face.

He entered her slowly, savoring each moment. As soon as he penetrated her she moaned loudly, her hands clenched against the rock, her breath coming in gasps. Her head began to sway from side to side, and she tried to push back against him. He held her against the rock with his thighs, his hands circled about her waist, and ceased movement. She calmed, her breath hissing between her teeth, her body sagging forward against the rock. He waited for a few moments, until she went limp, then he plunged all the way inside her, felt himself in her deepest recesses, and held himself there.

"OH!" she screamed, "Yeah, oh God, just like that!" She bucked back against him furiously. He pushed into her with all his strength, then reached underneath her and touched her with the tip of his finger. She beat against the rock with the palms of her hands, bubbling incoherently, and twisted wildly underneath him. He stroked into her steadily, slowly increasing speed, his fingertip circling all about her wetness, pressing into her, feeling her jerk and flex.

"Oh now," she hissed, "now, now, now." She pushed harder against him, "Oh, oh, oh," she panted. He released his grip on her waist, and circled an arm around her shoulder to cup her breast. She leaned her face back and licked frantically at his neck. "Hmmmm, hmmm, hmmm," she moaned into his neck.

He leaned sideways and ran his tongue along the top of her ear. He bent lower and licked under her chin, kissed her neck, kissed her earlobe.

"Oh please!" she whimpered, "Please! Give it to me!" He leaned back from her, so that they were connected only at the hips. He felt the coolness of the breeze, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the deeper, wetter warmth from within her. He lunged forward one last time, reveling in his possession of her, then released deep inside her, hearing his own moans, clutching tightly around her shoulders, shuddering over and over while she writhed beneath him. He sagged against her, and both heard the noise at the same time; distant voices. He pulled away from her and they raced for their clothes as the voices drew nearer. He was still buttoning his jeans, and she stood with her shirt on, her bra and shoes in her hand, when the voices rounded the bend in the road and became people.

It was a couple, walking hand in hand, carrying a blanket. They stepped onto the road, and the couple greeted them politely as they passed. He turned and called back to them when they were almost lost in view around the next corner. They glanced back. He pointed towards the streambank.

"Try the rock!"

Copyright, 1995 - 2006 by Cindy. Not to be used without express permission.