Evelyn – for that, I learned over bloody steaks and a transparent veneer of dinnertime small talk, was her name – was at the dock at eight, at dinner with me by 8:30, in my cabin by eleven, and half-naked by midnight. If either of us had taken a moment to step back from our commingled tornado of unbridled desire, I think she would have been almost as surprised at the progress as I was. She perched topless on the edge of the bed, her pert and bountiful breasts erect in the slight chill of the drafty cabin, as I hastily ripped off my T-shirt, dreading the appearance of the beer gut I had cultivated that lethargic winter. If she noticed it, it didn’t slow her down, any more than I was deterred by the diaspora of red birthmarks speckling her left shoulder. She looked sheepish and embarrassed when I noticed the imperfection and I wanted her the more for it.
Our lips had engaged in light swoops at first, brushing past each other as our hands began a first wave of exploration. She was soft, tender, her flesh responsive and warm in the summer dusk. A slight pressure against my lips and soon our tongues had soon entwined, knotted, spirited envoys to dark frontiers. Her long black hair obscured my face like an arbor. I forged as far in as I dared, tenderly brushing the backs of her teeth, feeling her eager response.
Her hands wove graceful patterns over my back as I darted toward her waiting breasts, kneading faded red aureolas capping perfectly sculpted cupolas of flesh. Goosebumps, from excitement or from the evening chill, rose up under my fingers. It felt like hours since we had last spoken, yielding gladly to language more expressive and primordial than words.
Her busy hands retreated from my back and regrouped at the front of my jeans, now caressing the conspicuous bulge impossible for either of us to ignore. She fumbled furtively, searchingly, then grabbed my hands from off of her petulant tits. Smiling slyly, she glanced downward with her vast coal-black pupils, directing my gaze.
Damn button-fly. I leaned back and undid it as fast as I could, discarding jeans and boxers with one swift and decisive motion. She had had the same idea, and when I turned from my Levi’s heaped on the cold cabin floor she wore nothing but a pair of yellow cotton socks, awkward concession to the chill of the cabin floor. Under less engrossing circumstances I might have laughed at the sight. She rotated and lay back bodily on the bed, resting one arm above her on the pillow and curling a slender finger, motioning me onward. I was inundated in desire: to admire the artful curves of her slim and youthful figure; to run my hands over every inch of her gooseflesh, or to just accept her straightforward offer of a mad sprint to ecstasy.
The last vestiges of my rational mind froze on the floor next to my crumpled-up jeans. I leapt on top of her and, kneeling, fondled and bit her tits as she began to rhythmically stroke my member, up and down, up and down, with a gradual but clear acceleration. We both started to moan, hers a quiet, almost imperceptible monotone, mine a carnal drowning wail. I felt a glorious pressure building in the base of my cock and moved her hands away, afraid the pace was getting ahead of me.
“Don’t get me too excited, now,” I smiled. My voice seemed foreign, intrusive.
She curled a finger into my chest hair and pulled our faces close together, staring into my eyes for a host of forevers. Her right hand migrated to my impatient manhood, which she seized between her thumb and forefinger and delicately maneuvered toward her damp, inviting tangle. Her eyes rolled up and mouth lolled open as I slid into her with primitive grace, sighing blissfully as I braced myself against the foot of the bed.
Our rhythm came instantly, instinctually, forward and back, in and out, her little wails ringing in my ears as I concentrated, eyes closed, the summit in sight now. The bed began to shake, creak. She moaned louder with each repetition, and I welled up, an ecstatic mix of blind superheated mammal lust coalescing in my steaming-wet prick. I breathed heavier with each push until unannounced groans emerged from the depths of each exhalation.
She grew louder too, until a piercing, elongated, eternal shriek came from below me. The fabric of my being amassed at my outer limit, swelled in an eternal second, pierced a levee and disappeared with a roar, one final gorilla moan. I stopped, panting now, and opened my eyes. She wore a dopey grin, and doubtless I did as well. She stroked my beard and smiled, weary and content.
I was suddenly acutely aware of the pressure on my overtaxed forearms. Delicately, I removed myself and rolled onto my back beside her. Ignoring the warm essence staining the bedsheets, we pulled up the covers and wrapped our arms around each other tightly. She was joyous, calm, expectant. She wanted to say something. I guessed at it.
“First time?”
“No,” she lied.
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