Posted by anon on December 23, 1998 at 20:45
The jeep jolted along the ruts of the bush track. We'd travelled for an hour through eucalypt forest, shaded by the massive trees, but now as we neared the coast the soil had become sandy and the forest had given way to scrub and the sunlight was slanting into the front of the cab.
Marion slid down in the passenger seat and lifted her feet onto the dash, into the warmth of the sun. She wiggled her toes and admired the red-painted nails. "This Paul," she said. "Tell me about him."
"I work with him," I said. "He has the office next to mine. I don't know him that well - occasionally we go out and have a coffee together. Some lunchtimes we play a game of squash. He mentioned he likes the bush, said he knew about this place. So I suggested we could take a day-trip here together.
"He's a nuggetty bloke," I went on, thinking that she might like a physical description, "shorter than average, stocky, thick across the shoulders, bull neck. Like a rugby player. Maybe he lifts weights. His hair's thinning at the front, so he crops it short. Ginger-haired, he is, sandy complexion. He isn't married - maybe divorced, maybe separated, maybe just never married - I never asked."
I didn't tell her the most interesting thing about Paul, though. I was going to let her find that out for herself.
The cab was warming up now, under the direct heat of the sun. I would the window right down. The cicadas were sending a wall of shrill sound across the bush. I stole a glance at Marion. I'd told her there was nowhere to change at the beach we were going to, so she'd worn her swimmers under her clothes, a one piece costume, and over it a pair of cut-off jeans and a check shirt, which she'd unbuttoned and knotted around her waist.
She was a creature of the warmth, like a lizard. She reached into the back of the cab for the water bottle. Her generous breasts rolled as she twisted around. She lifted the bottle to her lips, took a long draught, swallowed, and drank again until the container was empty. A trickle of water ran down her chin, and she wiped it with the back of her hand. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.
After another ten minutes the track entered a clearing. Paul's four wheel drive was pulled up at the far end. He was squatting next to it, in the shade of a melaleuca, having a smoke. I drew up alongside. He threw his cigarette into the sand, stood up and walked across to greet us. "Found the place OK?" I introduced Marion. She looked him up and down. Barefoot, wearing only shorts and a tank top. In spite of his sandy complexion, he had a skin that could take the sun. It was burnt a deep, golden brown. The hair was thick all over his body. On his legs, his arms, his shoulders, a mat of hair the colour of copper.
"How far to the beach?" Marion asked. I couldn't hear the surf pounding, so I knew it must be some way off. "It's half an hour's walk," he said. "So let's go." He pulled on his pack and set off. I made to follow him, but Marion held back. She looked around the clearing. I thought of all the water she had drunk, the length of time we had been in the jeep, and wondered. But then she shrugged, pulled on her pack and followed Dave.
We descended into a gully and the scrub became thick, melaleucas and banksias, pressing in from the sides, arching over our heads. Bees hummed in the bottlebrush flowers. The track was rough and narrow. Dave took quick, sure steps, holding his arms out occasionally to balance himself as he descended. His buttocks were large and firm and they worked under his shorts as he walked. Marion, I could see, was studying them.
I studied her: tall, square shouldered, straight backed, blonde hair, unfashionably long, which she had woven into a single plait which hung down her back and swayed from side to side as she walked. Narrow waist, which, with her full, shapely buttocks, formed an inverted heart. Long, brown, smooth legs.
Ten minutes more and I still could not hear the roar of the ocean, but below us, hidden by the bush, I could hear a creek running. Marion slowed, and I caught up with her. She stopped, and waited till Dave was out of earshot, then she leaned back and whispered in my ear, "How much further, do you think?"
Now I was sure of it. The sound of the trickling water had created an urgency. I searched for a way to dissuade her from stopping, disappearing into the bushes to relieve herself. "It can't be far now," I said. I pressed against her. "We'd better keep moving. There are leeches around this part of the coast." She screwed up her face in disgust. Any thought she had of stopping had vanished. She squeezed her thighs together for an instant, then quickly walked on.
And after ten more minutes we emerged abruptly from the bush onto the shore. The beach was a crescent of gold a kilometer long, bounded at both ends by ragged cliffs. against whose bases the sea pounded. No other form of life than us, and the gulls wheeling around overhead.
Paul walked through the soft sand, to where a fringe of sea-weed marked the high tide mark. He threw down his pack and pulled off his singlet. We stopped alongside him. Marion propped herself on first one leg, then the other, pulling off her sandals.
She should have done the safe thing then- run to the water's edge, quickly pulled off her shirt and shorts, and dived in, allowing the shock of the cold water to relax her sphincter, releasing herself into the cool, enveloping sea, where no-one could see. But she didn't do that. She was curious. She was attracted by his masculinity. There was an animal quality to it - the short, muscular body, the coarse hair which covered it. Her curiosity overcame her need.
She couldn't be overt about it. He was standing gazing out over the sea, running his hands over his scalp. She stopped level with him, but two yards away, facing in the same direction. I knew what she was thinking. She was wondering whether, like her, he was wearing his swimmers under his shorts, or whether he would need to change into them. She was wondering whether she was going to catch a glimpse.
I watched from behind. My heart began to beat faster. I could forsee what she was going to see, and I could imagine what the effect on her would be.
Paul looped his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts. She was undoing her shirt, and as she pulled the sleeve down her left arm, she stole a glimpse sideways. The white band of his jockey shorts showed. He was going to have to change. I knew what she was thinking. She wondered whether it was going to be big, whether it would dangle down lewdly when he pulled down his underpants, or whether it would be small, nestled up in the hair of his belly, like a bird peeking out of its nest. I could see all this going through her mind.
She unbuttoned her denim shorts and allowed them to drop to the sand. He pulled his shorts down over his underpants, stepped out of them, and straightened. Marion chose this moment to bend forward and pick her shorts up from the sand. Bent at that angle, she would only have to turn her head slightly to get a good look at him. I watched her closely. She had her feet slightly apart and she bent from the waist. Her glorious buttocks parted and her labia became apparent, pressing against the fabric of her swimsuit, like the halves of a peach. She was supple and she bent until her hands almost touched the ground. She tilted her head to steal a sly look at Paul, and then she saw it.
I saw her body stiffen with shock when she saw it. I heard her make a sharp intake of breath, a hissing sound as the air whistled between her teeth. My heart was pounding now. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my sides. Her labia enlarged even more, and separated. Her small, inner lips were faintly visible now, against the thin material. All this happened during the instant in which her lungs involuntarily filled with air, from the shock of it, and as her gasp ended a different, more high pitched hissing sound began, and I saw what I had been waiting for. With the shock of it, she lost control. The material between her legs suddenly darkened with moisture. Then a single, golden drop seeped through and trickled down the inside of her leg.
Her buttocks and the backs of her thighs tensed as she fought desperately to stop the flow. She glanced down anxiously between her legs to see how much had run down. I felt a sudden twinge. My penis was ferociously erect, and painfully constrained within my briefs. I was light-headed, almost faint.
She knew that if she stayed, she would lose control completely, that it would gush out and run down her legs, but she was mesmerised, rooted to the spot, like a rabbit hypnotised by a snake. Then she found a way to hide it: she dropped down to her haunches and sat on the soft dry sand yoga-style, with her legs bent back and her feet turned inward behind her buttocks and her mount pressed firmly against the sand and her thighs pressed together, hiding it.
He looped his thumbs in the elastic of his underpants and pulled them down to his ankles with one swift motion. His penis rolled out, enormous, dangling down almost to his knees. Marion had abandoned all pretence at dissembling - she was staring openly at it, taking sharp, shallow breaths, panting like a puppy. Her face was bright red - signalling, I guessed, her embarrasment that, within six feet of the both of us, she she had lost control of her bladder and was now pissing lustily into the flimsy strip of fabric between her legs.
He stepped into his swimmers and pulled them up his legs. The band came up under his dick, lifting it outward. He casually garsped it in his hand, stuffed it down the front, and hitched the swimmers up around his waste. He leant forward, and jogged off toward the surf. The whole episode had taken no more than ten seconds. It might have been a dream.
I knelt down behind Marion, almost straddling her, my thighs on either side of her hips, my penis pressed up against the small of her back. I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her gently back toward me. My mouth was dry. 'What do you think of Paul,' I whispered in her ear. At least it was meant to be a whisper, but my voice came out strangled, quavery.
'He's - he's so big,' she whispered back.
I moved my hand down to her belly. It felt hard, distended.
'I'm very full,' she said. 'I should have gone in the car park. I wanted to go all the way down to the beach. When I saw it, I got such a shock, I lost control. I did wee-wee in my pants.'
'It's so big,' she went on. 'It was hanging down like a stallion’s cock, when it's just finished mounting a mare.' I felt her hips rocking gently from side to side. Her sex pressed against the soft sand, she was using the words to excite herself. I moved my hands to her breasts. 'Don't,' she said, 'He'll see us.'
But Paul had now swum out to the first line of breakers. He was far away. 'It's all right,' I said, 'You can finish. Just let it go.'
I slipped my hands under the sides of her swimmers and held her breasts. They were large and firm and the nipples were as hard as acorns. I squeezed them. She turned her head back. Her eyes were closed. 'I'm going to do it,' she said. 'I'm letting go. I'm letting go now.'
The hips were rocking harder now. She pouted her lips and I devoured them. She reached back, between us, slipped her hand into my briefs and grasped me, hard. She parted her thighs. I heard the hissing sound and smelt the strong, ammoniacal smell of her urine. I felt the juices gather, deep in my belly. Like the magma of a volcano, they gathered strength and forced their way upward until they squirted out in searing streaks across my belly.
After some time she opened her eyes. Paul was far away now, swimming into the clear water beyond the breakers. 'I've finished now,' she said. 'You've been naughty too. Let's go for a swim.'
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