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We were all but naked, alone in a tent in the middle of the woods. Who knew that Rough and Ready could lead me to paradise?
His fingers dangled above my white underwear, which had escaped Meghan’s scorching, his fingertips brushing up against the cotton. Somehow, despite everything that had happened today, I was soaking wet. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was just Carter.
Through the fabric of his boxer briefs, I could see that the sentiment was reciprocated. His boner was hefty, and his underwear was straining to hold it in, as if the mere weight could rip them asunder.
We didn’t need words this time around. We understood how each other’s bodies worked, understood what they wanted. There was no forceful direction, no careful instructions. It was intuitive and sweet, a communion of mind as well as flesh.
Carter, still kneeling, took his underwear off, leaving his enormous cock exposed. Though I was tired, injured, and all around a mess, the sight of that glorious cock revitalized me, as if it had special healing powers that modern medicine had yet to crack.
He was a statue of a man. Had I noticed that before, in the fit of our passion? I didn’t think so. I didn’t think my eyes had gone over every inch of his body, inspecting it and finding it beyond suitable. He was what my mother would call “strapping,” a man built in the image of nature — thick thighs, a slim torso that narrowed into a sharp V, large shoulders that created the topmost edge of the triangle. I could reduce him down to shapes — parallel lines, pyramids, the cylindrical curve of his cock. He was sacred geometry.
“You doin’ a li’l window shopping?” he joked.
“I’m not shopping,” I replied. “I think I already own the goods. Isn’t that right?”
He nodded solemnly. “You do indeed, Phoebe.”
With his help, I shimmied out of my underwear. He brought them to his nose, and I laughed.
“Ew!”
He shook his head. “Smells like you.”
“Burnt?”
“Delicious.”
Carter nestled the underwear in the corner alongside the rest of our clothes. There was now just enough space in the tent for our bodies and nothing else. It was like a cocoon of nylon, ensnaring us, allowing us to grow inside and become our better selves.
While in the corner, he delved into his pocket and whipped out a condom packet. I watched as he rolled it on, admiring the view it gave me of him.
His body was over me again, as though it had never left, his cock inches from my moistness.
“Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And with that, Carter pressed inside me.
His cock felt like the answer to a prayer. Is it possible for a mere appendage to fulfill a soul’s deepest longing? It made me over anew, rewrote my story.
We were in simple missionary, the plainest of positions, the one people shy away from because it’s ‘too bland.’ But with Carter it was spectacular, intricate, a movement of hips and thighs and arched backs and angled chins. He made everything brighter.
His fingers found my clit and began to massage it, urging me to let go of my tension, to find peace.
“That’s my girl,” he said as my face melted into bliss. “Relax.”
I felt my weight sink deeper into the floor, the way it did when I meditated. I was grounded in nature’s carpet, only the thin layer of the tent separating me from Mother Earth.
He thrust inside me with long, deep strokes, his cock moving like the bow of a violin, thrumming across my strings and causing me to produce deep notes of joy.
I curled my fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to mine. Our lips met and we kissed passionately.
His hand remained on my pussy, coaxing me to release, while his cock plunged in and out of me, moved by the strength of his hips and thighs.
“You’re magnificent,” he said.
There was no space between us. It felt like one body, united in shared pleasure. At both our centers there was a surging of warmth, of union. He ended at my beginning, but that was the only one I could distinguish between us. Is this what it was, to exist in two bodies at once? To transfer yourself from one form to another? His lean hips felt like my own, and when his bones pressed into mine, I could’ve sworn that they melted into a single framework.
His face reddened and my breathing grew shallow. I arched my hips up with what energy I had left, my body needing more of his healing.
“Carter, I’m going to come.”
Somehow, he managed to press more deeply into me, his fingers burrowing down into my clit.
“So am I,” he admitted, his breath ragged.
“Together?”
“Together,” he agreed.
With that, he gave a few more long, deep strokes.
I felt the thread between us snap as relief poured out of us, blood hot in our veins, muscles sparking and sending a dizzying variety of signals to our brains and hearts. Brain. Heart. There were no more plurals.
