Scintillectually Yours

The pink of my toenail polish was an exact match to the backdrop of Azaleas in full bloom along the Parkway. The warm wind tickled my bare feet—propped up on your passenger side mirror—and I stretched out lazily against you, keeping in mind your need to shift gears as we continued to climb the Blue Ridge. You glanced over at me and smiled, asked if I was hungry. It had been several hours since we’d pulled into the overlook, dipping into the picnic hamper I’d packed that morning. Yes, I was hungry. My gaze lingered on your right hand, wrapped around the stick. Yes, I was hungry.

Reluctantly, I pulled my feet in and put my hiking boots back on. The shadows were getting longer; I estimated it was about 4 p.m. or so. We’d set out early and done a little shopping in Blowing Rock before driving north with no real destination in mind and no reason to head home any time soon. You turned left into a small gravel drive and I looked around curiously to see if there were signs marking private property. The temperature dropped considerably as the woods became dense around us. Pine branches licked the side of the truck and I moved closer against you.

And then I gasped. We had come into a clearing on the side of the mountain. The view was spectacular. I jumped from the truck and stood there, not too close to the edge—heights had a way of giving me vertigo. There was this vastness that threatened to pull me into an endless abyss. I needed to feel grounded. Rooted. You put your arms around me from behind and breathed into my neck. “Ohhh,” I sighed, “it’s beautiful.” What an understatement. I was looking at miles and miles of undulating forest. Each mountainside was colored with a different paintbrush dipped in sage, emerald, cerulean blue. You could see the shadows of the clouds pass along the ground and the sky was a liquid pale blue particular to Spring in the Southland. It was an intricate patchwork quilt spread out below us and I delighted in the idea that WE were sharing so much of this glorious creation.

“Yes,” you said, “you are.” I pulled your arms tighter around me. “Let’s eat here, okay?” I said. You nodded into my hair. “I have an even better idea…why don’t we just spend the night here?” Yes, I thought, yes.

We spent some time setting up “camp.” The truck contained our usual assortment of folding chairs, blankets, a lantern, and an air mattress that you proceeded to inflate while I unpacked the picnic basket. By the time we settled down to eat, dusk was upon us. We fed each other smoked chicken, fresh ripe tomatoes with bufala mozzarella in a thick balsamic vinaigrette, and crusty French bread. Soon I moved from my chair to sit on the ground in front of you, watching the sun set as your hands moved from my hair to my shoulders and down my arms.

As evening fell upon us, you pulled me over to the truck. We climbed up on the air mattress and I fell into your arms, chilled from the night air. Our kisses moved swiftly from soft and lingering to long and hard as our hands began exploring that which we already knew so very well. You pushed at my tank and engulfed my nipple—nee, much of my breast—in your mouth. My back arched involuntarily and my fingernails found that spot on your side that elicits your deep-throated moans. As your fingers replaced your warm mouth my nipple grew rock-hard. You pinched hard and it was my turn to moan.

Now my shorts were being tossed aside and I spread my legs wide for you. Open to you, open to the sky. I looked up and thought for one fleeting moment that the inky blackness dotted with millions of stars could have been painted by Van Gogh himself. I was quickly brought back to earth at the instant your tongue dove into my cunt. Deep. Oh, my legs and thighs were cold but your mouth was hot upon my pussy. I reached down and spread my legs wider, bracing my boots on either side of the truck. The thud of metal in the still, dark night…otherwise broken only by my ragged breathing and your murmurs of satisfaction as you feasted upon me.

I was so close to coming and you knew it. Now my cry echoed throughout the evergreen valley as you entered me with your fingers. Two…three. “more,” I whispered, “more.” I slowed my breathing as you tucked in your pinky. “Still more,” I pleaded, “more.” I let out a long, slow, deliberate breath through the widest part of your hand and smiled up at the heavens as your fist curled inside me. Then suddenly you were above me, looking into my face, watching me intently as your hand rocked away at that sweet, sweet spot. I reached down between your legs, positioned to either side of my thigh, and pressed my hand firmly against your hard wetness.

I pushed against you with my pelvis. My hips took on a life of their own, grinding into your fist, pushing you further into me. Deeper. Faster. My thigh pushing my own hand against your cunt, the pace of your breathing matching mine. Our eyes met as the walls of my vagina bore down upon your wrist and you were coming with me, still watching each other as we voiced our orgasms into the hills around us.

Our bodies stilled, drenched and silent. You moved to withdraw your hand. No. No. Not yet. I stayed your arm with my other hand and then pulled your head down to me. I wasn’t ready to leave this place…this wide open space that graciously accepted us and allowed our lovemaking to continue through that Starry Night.