Literary Erotica
"Encounter" a sex story by David W. Landrum
They parked a hundred yards from the shelter. The sun hung above the horizon of Lake Michigan. Purple and burgundy clouds towered upward. The beach, clear but for a few driftwood logs, darkened, its scrub grass casting shadows and the waves falling in a sure, slow cadence.
As they kissed, she remembered how much she had missed the lake. The man she had been married to for so long would never bring her here. Once or twice she had come on her own or with the children, but never with him. And though she kissed her new lover passionately, the kissing was not spontaneous but prescribed for what they planned to do. He opened her blouse and ran his hands over her breasts. She rubbed his jeans at the crotch. Eventually he slipped his hands under her skirt and touched her—she had not worn underwear.
Not much time passed before she said she was ready. They got out of the car. He draped a blanket over his shoulder and carried a small gym bag in one hand. They walked to a rise of stone and negotiated a narrow passage until they were inside a natural enclosure, open but canopied with trees and vines. The rock walls rose up above a floor of sand. The woman took off her blouse and skirt and lay face down on the blanket.
“Lots of lube,” she said. “Remember what we read on the internet.”
“Got it,” he replied.
He disrobed, squeezed a generous dollop of a recommended lubricant jelly on one hand, pulled the cheeks of her buttocks apart, and spread the gel around her opening. He got more and spread it on top of what was already there, gently opening her anus with his fingers, making sure a good amount of the lubricant coated her sphincter, which would be sensitive. It was the first time either of them had done this. He did not want to cause her any pain.
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“Good?” he asked.
“Um huh.”
“You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
He slipped on a condom and slathered lubricant on it, just like the internet sites said to do. He knelt above her.
“Here goes,” he said.
She made an affirmative sound. He lowered himself and pulled her buns apart. Finding the place, hoping it would go well, he pushed into her.
He had slid in easily but heard her gasp and felt her tense.
“Carrie?”
“It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Put it in a little further. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
He thrust carefully another inch into her.
“Okay, stop,” she said, her voice even.
A moment of silence passed. Both of them were relieved that they had negotiated the beginning so successfully, but now neither seemed to know what do.
“Well, come on,” Carrie said after a moment. “Fuck me.”
They both laughed muted little laughs. The man—his name was Jesse—began to move, gently, remembering what the articles they had read said about being easy, smooth, and not penetrating more than three inches. As he thrust, he heard her gasps and murmurs—of pleasure, he realized. He had felt her body relax. With that, he was able to relax as well.
Carrie rejoiced that it had gone okay. They had done it. It had hurt just a little when he put in—the books said it would and she had had expected it—but they had got past the painful part. Warmth radiated from her perineum upwards. She enjoyed feeling his body against her back and his breath on her neck and ear. When he reached under and took hold of her breasts, bolts of pleasure surged through her. She breathed out with delight.
No one would see them here, she thought. She had insisted on doing it here despite his objections.
“Can you even think of what it will be if we get caught?” he had asked.
“We won’t get caught,” she said. Knowing how much sway she held over him, she maintained her desire to do it outside and he finally assented.
She slowly sank into the rhythm and pleasure of what they were doing. The fear of something that seemed vaguely sinful and slightly dangerous faded. Despite their yearlong physical relationship that had included everything but this, and despite all the research they had done, she had accumulated a lot of anxiety about it. Her anxiety fell away as she surrendered to the odd pleasure working in her body. Her mind again wandered backward.
She remembered the time she had hurt her ankle. Her husband would not buy her the crutches the doctor said she must have. Despite her frantic, amazed protests, he steadfastly refused. For a week she had to crawl—literally—around the house until one of her grown children found out what was going on and, after an angry altercation with her husband, helped her learn to use the crutches he had brought. Carrie filed for divorce a week later.
The warmth in her hips increased. Jesse moved evenly and with restraint. A rush of love for him overspread her. She felt her nipples harden and felt herself luxuriate.
“Can you reach down and rub me?” she whispered.
She did not know if he could, but he slipped one hand under her torso. His fingers found her other opening.
Now she knew it would happen soon. She thought of the first time with Jesse. He taught English. She had begun to take classes there after her divorce. In the early days, the two of them met at conferences so his wife (whom he had since divorced) and her own children would not suspect. Her eldest daughter, though, was sly and street-smart.
“Going to another conference, Mom?” she asked her voice full of amused irony, eyebrows raised. Again, she smiled as he moved and as the pleasure continued to spread. She waited a moment, wondering if for some reason it would not happen. Then she felt it start as a tiny spot of pleasure and build until a deep, strong spasm shook her. She almost shouted as currents of joy coursed through her like the waves out on the lake.
Her orgasm set him off. He ejaculated suddenly and violently. He lost control for just a second and hurt her a little with his flailing, but the pain passed and the jouissance returned. Her soul sank into deep contentedness and satisfaction.
They lay quiet. She heard the waves and the gulls and saw how the light had faded and the tree-hidden cleft where they had made love was almost dark.
“We ought to go,” she finally said. “Make sure you grab the condom so it doesn’t come off.” Then, after a moment’s pause, she added, “I don’t think that would be much fun.”
He laughed—a quiet laugh but warm and rich. She felt a flush of love. A tiny spasm—an aftershock of pleasure—shook her, though he did not notice. He pulled out of her. She felt a bit of pain, but by this time the condition he was in made it minor. She rolled over and sat up.
He smiled, took her breasts in his hands, and kissed her as he squeezed. Another small orgasm shook her.
“I can’t stop coming,” she laughed. They kissed—hard kisses. She knew she loved him now. She knew she could trust him.
“Let’s get dressed. No need to push our luck,” she said.
They wiped off with the damp cloths they had brought, then dressed and squeezed out of the rocky shelter. He carried the blanket, she the bag full of accoutrements.
A thin slice of sun posed above the horizon. The clouds had turned a deep purple and Prussian blue. She remembered how her ex-husband had tried to cheat her out of the shares in the two service stations they owned. Her lawyer had caught the ruse and stopped it. She would have all the money she needed to finish school from her part of the profits. The sun slid down, the waves churned more furiously. She felt she could stand there with him forever. Venus appeared. A wisp of moon lingered in one corner of the sky. After watching until it was dark, they walked back to her car.
Copyright July 2011, David W. Landrum
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.