The evening sun drifts warmly behind the mountains. Clouds are clearing from the sky as slow shadows travel across the valley. Soon all will grow vague in the dim light of night. It is a 7 mile walk down this a valley of grass land to the swimming hole. Cattle mirror our direction, they following a leader to a new location for the night. Our naked bodies glow brightly in the fading orangey sun light. My hiking buddy Mr. Hood is a tall thin fellow. I am rather average in height and two years older. Hood often states that I am lucky, my genetic makeup allows me to have fine muscle definition. At age 56 I’m lucky to keep myself fit. We each live a hundred miles in opposite directions from here. We are naturist and free hikers. We have only one rule on our camping trips, “naked all the time, everywhere.” The ladies in our live don’t share our interest in hiking. On other outings we talked about walking to this small pool of water. One time we drove Hood’s red jeep down to check out the pond. We were hoping for a swim, only there was a group of horse riders from the Grasshopper Creek Guest Ranch heading down to the pond. This time, we are a third of the way down the valley. This evening is warm. The prospect of playing in water dominates our talk.
There are few water sources in this area of central Montana. The mud holed is a reservoir, the product of a dammed mountain stream. It was created for the cattle . It is the only pool deep enough to play in. The water is cold, although it sits out in the open grassland. The expectation of warmth is gone as soon as our feet touch the murky liquid, yet it is joyous and refreshing after each of our long one hundred mile drives. The dust of the road washes away in the muddied water. Clots of mud cling to our skin. We play like children laughing and tossing each other into the night washed air. Our feet sink in the soft mud while lighting fish slick bodies into the air. Waterlogged we reach our limit.
There is a need to conserve energy for the walk back to camp. We choose to walk the forest roads back . We know the route. So there is little chance of getting lost in the dark. The chance of anyone driving on it after dark is slim. Even if there were a vehicle traveling toward us, they would be moving slow and the glow of head lights would give us fair warning and time to take cover. Unlike the evening we were caught off guard by a silver pickup truck that came up behind us at dusk. We scatter like chickens, looking for a place to stand, while waiting for the driver to passed. No worry about a call to the police. No phone coverage up here. the law would have to drive 14 miles just to look for us. This time we have the night on our side.
Wet muck dries and cracks off our naked bodies. The quart light of the stars shines gray on the path. The forest is black and almost silent. The return to camp, is a slow ascent. The winding one lane rocky dirt road looks white in this light. We pass the time paving our way in conversation. Hood goes into great detail about his adventure into auto body repair. After his youngest daughter totals her car, he takes on the job of making the thing drivable. Now and then a cow adds voice, butting into our conversation. Somewhere in the talk we trade in sights on each of our sex lives and our continued disappointment that our ladies don’t understand or share our enthusiasm for anal sex. My present lady sees nothing in it but dirty. The woman before introduced me to it as she took pleasure from the power of inducing my orgasmic weeping. This story at some time bubbled to the surface in the past on some other camping trip. It was then I learned my friend had the same interest. He learning about it through self-exploration canlı bahis a few years back.
The world sleeps as we chat. On the other side of the valley, The Grasshopper Creek Guest Ranch still has a single light on. It is past 12 A.M. Unseen loose stones roll under the souls of our hiking boots. Toes stumble on dark lit stones. We laugh at each other’s sudden miss steps. There is a spoken gratitude toward the shoes that protect easily broken toes. Every now and then we catch the other from a fall and prospect of a nasty scraping of skin. Although by the end of our hiking, we both will be scratched and cut.
The stars are bright in the clear sky. Often we stop to gazing at the twinkling night glitter. The moon has risen, it sheds more light. Now black shadows follow us. Half caught glimpses of flashes fading at the edge of the earth, these events bring our walking to a halt. We watch and speculate the origins and cause of the falling objects. Insects buzz past to unseen destinations for a quick hook-ups. The two of us are surprise that none have stopped to dine on us.
Once at the top of the mountain we are treated of a vista of sky and land. We have a mile left. Mr. Hood and I take the turn off the road heading down a vague path, passing through the shadows cast by the moon lit trees. We enter our camp. It silent, waiting for us to bring it animation. There is the re-ordering of a few wind scattered things. The evening is always accompanied by a breeze in these mountains. Folding chairs too light to withstand the moving air now rest against sagebrush. We fold the chairs and lay them near the tent. Then linger out under the sky.
The grass is warm under my back, I gazing up at the dome of heaven. My head cradled in my hands. The star entrancing, I stare at them not ready to go to sleep. Hood’s voice moves somewhere near. The startling touch of a hand moving blindly along the inside of my lower leg, brings my friends voice closer to me than I thought. Legs part. He crawls between them toward me.
My gaze fixed on the stars. No need to see, just to feel. The weight of heaven blankets my body. Soft breath of the night moves over me. The scent of pine and crushed sagebrush drifts in the air. My eye see the stars while my mind feels the touch of my friend. Balls lift and fall like heavy gold coins as the purse of tattooed skin rolls between friend’s fingers. Lose steel ball jingles in Prince Albert ring. This sound adds realism to the image in my head. Deep and soft my breath fills the hollows in me. Warmth washes over my body, with my exiting breath. Beating heart quickens in its pace. Imagination caught on intoxicating thoughts.
Hood’s hands, lifting my legs up and apart. They fold at hips and knees on to my chest. Hood’s cool knees are felt somewhere next to my lifting lower back. Rounded hard cheeks rested on top of hiking bud’s thighs. A soft sound of something being squeezed out touched my ear in passing breath. Fingers give a firm press to exposed entrance. The tight mouth opens to Aladdin’s Jen’s incantations. Exploring fingers enter orifice. It opens wider. Digits searching for golden spot, along cave’s roof of skin. Exploration halts.
I moan a murky, “yes.”
Another press draws an echo. Whitish fluid appears in open pierced cock’s mouth. Small drop drips from ring.
Hood’s forearm pressing on my balls. They cradled by his slow moving wrist. Somehow he bends over me. Shadow cast by moon light crawls across my chest. His free hand plays with my right pierced nipple. Nipple hard, speaking deep into prostate. The gold nipple ring dances to friend’s finger jig. I want to feel his lips tearing at my ringed flesh. My thoughts bahis siteleri divided. I craving for more. My cock leaking softly. Firm semi-hooked fingers glide deep inside moving from end to end. I moaned in both directions.
Glowing moon causes watching face to go black with shadow. He taking pleasure from the power of his actions, watches my open transfixed eyes, caught somewhere between earth, blood and sky. Fingers strumming on base cords, voice a melody of moaning. My fingers find the border of his nipple. I dances on the edge of hair and skin. Small mounds rise to touch as center of the mound rises hard.
I love nipples. The way light passes through them giving them an internal rosy glow. This is what caught my eye years ago when I started painting nudes. Physical sensuality is what I paint. The tangible reality of the feel of skin, the taste of skin and sound of nerves firing to touch. There in my studio I paint the memory of my young pregnant wife releasing milk. Her darkened nipples, rich in color and full. The sweet taste of her life flowing into my mouth. I live life for the collecting of such memories. I relive my life in one way or another on canvas.
I use my self often as model and reference while I paint. There are two mirrors six feet by four feet to aid me as I work. I look often at the body I see there in the glass. Looking at the glow of skin. Always what color is that. Yes, the realism of a nipple, any nipple is a work of beauty.
Sensuality, this is why I’m here. The sensation of the air, sunlight, water, plants brushing across skin are all what I am about. I want, I want to feel everything. I want to hear this man moan. I want to hear him moan to my mouth on his nipples. There is pleasure in that power. I can image the reddening of his nipples in the dark light. I see his small mound rising greeting my tongue.
Hood gasping, his nipple trapped between piercing canine teeth. Cool erect skin warmed by heat of mouth. I pull on nipple locked between teeth, dragging his body down closer.
His moving arm rhythmically, beats a melody the length my chest, across my cock and balls and into my ass. Nimble fingers massaging nerves in my throat. My lips tight on reddened nipple draws life into him. Internal sensations fire colored flashes that hit my eyes. Heart pounding. I slide between the spaces of rhythm, time and opened sky.
I am drunk with feeling. I drink this second and minute like the dark porter beer I love. I wait for the toy. Somewhere is one of the toys. Even though it will feel cold I want it. It is now part of the deal between Hood and I.
The sensation dredging sweet memory of Carol a woman I loved. She was one, I was willing to do anything to please. With her I could never be sure what was down the road. We bought toys, I thought they were for her. What we did was not what I expected. All I could do was enjoy the ride. I grew addicted to her fucking my ass. I learned the ropes of preparing for such sexual acts. She was into power. God did she love the power. She loved hearing me scream in orgasmic ecstasy. My cock dripping and drooling as she turned my prostate into hamburger. Always my voice crying begging for more. Fuck, she was the first and last woman to ever do such a thing to me. I’ve been left thirsting for those sensations for 9 years. I never have been able to match with my own hands the driving force that that woman created in me. All I want is to feel myself screaming that way once more.
Muscular bicyclist legs wrap around Hood’s waist. His fingers slid out of rectum. I grasp his cock. It is drooling. The hood of skin nearly drawn back. I guide him into the closing hole. He enters, leaving bahis şirketleri a trail of thick drool as the last fold roll off glans’ ridge. With tight lock on shoulders, he push me in to his hips. The slide in is slow. I feel my skin rise to the lift of the flared ridge of the glans. Is this what the women I fuck feel, it must be. Remembering how it felt when I used to fuck Carol this way, I image what he now feels as his body slowly rubs its course in mine. The movements are slow rhythmic pulsing beats. He must be feeling his way. This a first, our usual were toys and the failed dream of our women using them on us. Voices coo to the stroking.
“Oh you feel so good around my cock. Oh yes, this is so damn good.”
“Oh God, oh God, yes.”
Straitened legs are almost wrapped around his neck. Cock’s voice inside me is now jabbing lightening. Cock’s voice is loud and demanding in its flight across sky of skin. My voice rolling thunder as to skin strikes skin.
I envision his ass moving wildly to flying hips. My body bouncing and bending to the meeting of force. His is cur like in his humping.
Whimpering, whining, chanting, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh yes, oh yes.”
Wild stabbing of cock drives deep and is almost withdrawing completely. lose balls echo the fierce movements. The sharp sound of skin slapping skin echoes off the trees.
Blazing Flashes of color rocket across my closed eyelids. I see nothing but odd continuously reforming patterns. These are hypnotic as they flash to every sensation. I want to feel all of it. Oh God, yes to feel. I want, I need sharper focus, need clear focus. I am drunk with the need to feel.
“Oh fuck, ahh ahhh ahhh.”
Hood’s grunting and growling rides on top of his bucking body. Some stabs misplaced. The force seeks and finds reentry. All movement feeding the ferocious fire. Climaxing current erupts to boiling rush. Ecstatic escalating thundering of curses ride internal force. Orgasmic crying fills the air. Clinching rectal muscles bind galloping piston to prostate in wringing primal squeeze. Spiking wave send tearing flood vomiting out of cock’s mouth and over ring on to skin. I wailing to the force of expelling fluid.
Lips purse once more around Hood’s nipple as last wave of vomiting recedes. Teeth nearly piercing mound of flesh. My voice running through him and out his mouth. He wolfishly howling. Body bucking wildly. His grip hard around my ankles. Upper back and shoulder digging into the ground. My lower back and hip are held off the ground. His Bolting thrust of piston dives down and then grinds to grunting halt. Uncertainty rides in voice questioning what should be done.
Growling, “fuck, fuck.”
Hood grunting, sends another bolting thrust, forcing cock into deeper penetration in full grinding growling lands on his sudden halt. Voice starts crying.
“Oh, oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
Renewed bucking dives into an abrupt crashing freeze. Hands in white wringing grip of ankles, he bending me in half. His body board strait nailed into me. his feet clawed into the ground. Full gutted snarls, roll from flaring nostrils and exiting breath. Motionless body, except the piston, bouncing a cluster of lifting and falling spasmodic jerks against walls of skin.
“Ah Fuck, ah fuck, ah fuck, ah ah ah fuck. Ah ah ah ah fuck. God Damn, oh hell, oh hell, oh hell ah ah ah ah ah ah aha ha ha ha ah Fuckkkkkkkk. Ah fuckkkkkk.”
He resumes less than vagarious pumping, until his body collapses. I image the thick opalescent white fluid collecting along the side length of the still swollen throat and sides of the glans ridge. The smell of crushed grass surround us as Hood’s once digging feet release ground with last cry of “fuck.” His limp cock falls out as fluid runs out of closing opening. Murky voices heads for sleeping bags. There the orgasms will be slept off.