Vacation Sex: Two Lies and a Truth
There is something hedonistic, carnal, and rebellious about cabins and beaches that makes us want to go a little native with skinny dipping, minimal clothing and snuggling around the beach fire. Yeah, we want to make love outdoors. Seemingly TV producers agree with us and direct all sorts of survivor shows and couples naked-in-the-wilderness. The instinctive linkage of sex, procreation and survival play on deep animal instinct we all carry. Unfortunately, this fledgling theory doesn’t explain the randy hotel romps that often seems to emerge. Maybe the elemental draw to difference is why we so look forward to camping, beaches, cabins, and yes, hotels. My peers felt this same animal urge throughout high school, thus, bush parties meant bush to us in more ways than one.
The three events described below are memorable even though two of them are fictitious. Maybe you know the game Two truths and a lie? This one is a little harder; can you pick out the one non-fiction story?
The Louisiana Cabin in the Hardwoods
It is really nice to have generous friends who will loan you their excusive hunting cabin set in the middle of 2,000 acres of upland hardwood forests and small wildlife plots; an elevated A-frame with a large wrap-around deck and all behind two locked gates. Knowing they were out of the country ensured we had their little paradise to ourselves. The nearest house was ½ mile away through the forest as the crow flies and there was only one road in and out. In short, we had the fields and hardwood forest to ourselves! The operative words were hard and wood.
There was also a small outdoor swimming pool where no clothes need be worn while swimming or even strolling down the wooded path to poolside. There we floated, swam, sat in the sun to ensure there was nowhere that the sun doesn’t shine. Then, there was a near miss. While floating on her back and letting the puppies loll and poke up through the water surface like twin fantasy islands, I noticed a red thing crawling on her left breast. Instinctively, I swatted it away, inflicting some pain in a tender place with my hand. She loosened a howl and dagger eyes. However, I had recognized the red crawly as a “cow killer” or more accurately, a red velvet ant, which is a wingless wasp with a hugely painful sting if provoked. Thankfully, it did not sting her or things would have turned ugly and lopsided. The reason they call them “cow killers” stems from an old wives tale that if a cow accidentally ingests one while grazing, it can sting their throat, causing it to swell up and asphyxiate the cow.
My darling quickly relented and understood my swat. There was a lot of nervous laughter and discussion about when it is actually appropriate to strike a nude lover’s breast. I would do it again in a heartbeat and pool girl agreed it was a good move. Pool diligence is key because over the years we have retrieved frogs, pygmy rattlesnakes and mice from this artificial pond in the woods.
Later, as the sun was setting, we pulled the mattress out onto the elevated deck and lounged around scantily clad scoping out the fields as the deer and coyotes started spilling out into the food plots; late summer streams of blackbirds flew in ropy lines back to their roost; the first barred owls started their haunting calls. Yes, we swatted the occasional mosquito because it was Louisiana after all and we were nearly buck naked. We both knew tonight would be special and intimate but there was no hurry to get there. In fact, we had a nice supper, re-robed and took the silent electric golf cart and a spotlight to tour the dark property and see foxes, raccoons, and scads of deer — our own little safari. Then we returned for a nightcap and the languor of protracted love making under the stars on the porch. It was a perfect isolated opportunity to be noisy and rambunctious in our fun, all the while knowing white-tailed deer were raising their heads in alarm 100 meters away and the flying squirrels scampering the deck railing would sail off to more sedate tree trunks. Because of the warm summer night and the faint dew mixing with our impassioned beads of sweat meant I suggested a midnight swim, but she was having none of that until she could inspect the water surface for things that bit or stung.
Lover girl was particularly animated in the wild setting and wanted to take a second go-around turn on top with fulsome bouncing exposure as she chased her pleasure and yielded back to me even more than I had given. There was a crescendo that escapes words but some of the wet and guttural sounds I still remember. We took a smiling pause to hold together while breath was caught, things softened, were pushed aside, and slipperiness reined. Eventually, she gave me a big yawn and a promise to try for sunrise sex in the same place tomorrow morning after coffee, thus we were quick to sleep.
After a solid eight hours of sleep and a big mug of coffee, that camp deck saw my turn to be on top but ended up with both of us hanging on to the balcony railing and doing a half downward dog; is there a yoga name for a dog burying his bone? Our second collapse was back onto the dew-dampened mattress as the sunrise intensified. This called for a big brunch of crispy Belgium waffles, blackberry syrup, eggs and thick sliced bacon. Another swim awaited us but I made sure to skim any suspicious insects out of the pool first.
That Watery Shield Country Cottage
The gin-clear water of the lakes dotting the scraped rock landscape in Southern Ontario would appear as cold as ice. However, the long hot days actually warm them to nice swimming temps. During the day the lakes are fairly busy with water skiers, canoeists and jet skis but by evening, they are glassy vacant and alluring. While swimming is the order of the day, skinny dipping is the order of the night. The easy way to make that happen is to just paddle out the 100 yards to the floating swim dock well after dark, ditch your clothes and let the crystalline warm water bathe your skin.
Thus, the love of my life and I frolicked. We swam, we dived and lounged in the nearly full moon’s rays. We climbed up onto the elevated swim and dive platform and eventually, lay wet and naked against each other watching the twinkling cabin lights up and down the shoreline. Things were going to happen, we were going to make the dock produce some waves, but suddenly, we heard another couple laughing and coming down to the water’s edge. “Quick, grab your suit and let’s hide under the deck!” The swim dock had a two-foot air space underneath with large flat support boards where, as kids, we liked to hang out. We could stretch out and peer through the ¾-inch cracks above. My intention was to give the newcomers a good scare and laugh, whomever they were.
However, they arrived with a strong sense of sexual purpose, even with the erotic comments [male voice] “Goddam! I am swimming with a rudder pointing down!” and her reply “Honey, I can’t get any wetter! I’ve been waiting all day. Let’s just get to the damned dock so you can scratch my itch”. Oops, maybe we would just lie here in silence and see what happened. They were already nude, aroused and only had eyes and hands for each other. It didn’t even occur to them that the swim platform was wet either.
So there we lay, quiet as church mice, a mere 18-inches beneath the 30-year old neighbor couple getting ready to go at it. Frankly, I found it all very arousing as it was exactly what I had hoped for us to do before we were interrupted. They were going to play out my fantasies. The view was exquisite and unique through the slats in the boards with glimpses of knees, feet, breasts, a very normal erection and an impressive set of swinging balls. She started with some quick and hungry oral action which seemed to earn her the right to request, no, insist on, having him go down on her with a rough vigor for a few minutes while she made all series of lovely groaning moaning noises interspersed with a salty narrative of what she wanted him to do to her, involving pounding, hair pulling and making it all hurt just a little bit. Yikes, Yes! He shushed her lightly saying “Hey, you know, sound really travels over water, hold it down”. As he chastised her, a loon call from about a mile away echoed to us and she said quite loudly and rebelliously “Would you just do me now?”
I could easily have inserted my middle finger into the dark place that was where her derriere would be but the only things we could really see were those parts lifted into the moonlight. I thought my wife, two feet away, laying on her own support board, would be mortified until I heard that familiar — Pffftbt!- of an escaped nervous laugh that she was trying to contain and I started silently giggling uncontrollably. The woman above said “What was that in the water?” and the guy, who was just in the process of sliding in doggie style, was quick to calm her “Just the fish under the dock chasing minnows”. Good dodge there buddy! Thanks! There was enough movement in the swim platform now that we were inconspicuous.
Now they were in a steady rhythm making waves and little pleasure sounds and I wondered if we made similar wet slapping animal noises. I secretly hoped so because it was very stimulating and made it clear they were really into each other and going for their own big pleasure hits. The occasional water drips on my neck and chest were slightly disconcerting but I put them out of mind. Fortunately, her passion spiked first and she collapsed with her head down just inches from my wife’s face as she made gasping sighs that sounded almost like sobs. I looked gingerly at my wife’s outline and I could see her right hand gently moving in small circles in her groin so I mimicked her and started a slow stroking of myself too.
Stud boy was a go-er! Now holding his full length inside her, she gave a little growl and started shoving back hard against him to get him off too. He grasped her hips and I could hear and feel the wooden platform shake with each lunge into her depths. I presumed he was going to come but before he could, she collapsed into her shaky breaths gasping for air as she lost control again then yet again for a third time. I saw my wife’s head turn and look at me with lips parted hungrily. Her right hand gently reached out to take mine as her back arched slightly in a movement I know well. There it was, two women in a paired orgasm only 18-inches apart, yet, only one knew anything about this sharing. Was that a sweet lesbian experience or was it the stud slapping rhythm that got my wife off? I asked her later and learned it was pure visualization and substitution of her into the woman’s place while imagining it happening to her. Nice.
The best I could figure was that I would be doing my own release shortly too. Nothing like matching the exact pace and feeling you want. I will admit, healthy middle-aged men have 40 years of experience with such timing. Peering upward past her mashed boobs, I could make out that his balls were no longer pendulous and slapping her but had drawn up tight, not unlike mine right then, so I sped up a bit. Then, with a few spasmodic thrusts, he looked skyward and spoke to God as I gently leaned left and arched a glistening gift into the lake water. I saw a grin spread across my wife’s face and her hand squeezed mine in shared pleasure.
The neighbors held each other for a minute or two, kissed a bit then stood and dived into the deep water to swim back to their teenaged kids in the cabin. They never even knew we were there! We had shared a deeply intimate experience with a couple that had willingly thrust themselves upon us. There was no shame, blame, fault or guilt. No embarrassment, or awkwardness. We had been accidental voyeurs in a lovely coupling that had spilled over into our own eroticism. It was about the best 3-D porn imaginable! What a nice experience! We swam for a while too, rinsed off, hugged and kissed a bit then my lovely said, let’s exactly reproduce their experience tomorrow night on the dock OK? I said “Sure, maybe we can imagine them being right under us watching it all too, you know, put on a really good show for them.” When this sent an excited shudder up my wife’s spine it told me a little bit about the fantasy of being watched that was lurking inside her. Score!
We had only been married six months and thought sex was REQUIRED every night or something bad might happen. Ahhh . . . youth! Our deprivation problems got worse while sharing a Florida beach house at our family reunion that involved sharing a large common sleeping room with two other couples in their own queen sized beds. It was all a blast and much like a big slumber party with games, pajamas, and drinks at night. During the day we were running flat out with swimming, beach walking, body surfing, and sailing the resort’s little Laser and HobieCat sailboats.. But there was simply no privacy. We talked in hushed tones about sneaking into the bathroom together, or being like teenagers and taking our parent’s car out to somewhere private after dark. Then we did some near drowning in efforts to have sex in the ocean too. Unfortunately, the sweet spot of water shallow enough to stand and deep enough to obscure activities from the busy beach happened to be in the surf zone which gave new meaning to “having a tumble”. The wave-stirred sand plumes would have made this an abrasive endeavor anyway. Beach sex is terribly overrated in my opinion; looks good in the movies but not so much in practice. The stroking and groping in the ocean did little to quell our horniness either.
Then, while sailing 400 yards offshore, on a beam reach in the little Laser class sailboat, opportunity’s door opened. We were outside the breakers and outside easy observation, zipping along at hull speed of about 8 knots. That is when my dearest caught me looking longingly at the errant curly hairs escaping her swim suit bottoms. This was well before the fads of shaved clamshell vaginas and anal bleaching were all the rage. It a few moments my young body was mimicking the erect sailboat mast. She burst out laughing and then with dancing devilish green eyes, dropped the waistband of my swimsuit and gave me a good kissing. It was all I could do to not jibe downwind.
This was all playful stuff and in that a miraculous moment, we had five or six bottlenose dolphins riding our bow wave accompanying us seemingly effortlessly. Their percussive breaths and shiny gray mounds surging up through sheets of water were ethereal and frankly, trippy. Even they seemed somewhat sexual but then again, everything I saw at that moment from waves, to mast to centerboard to tiller to cleaved wake seemed deeply Freudian and sexual. The dolphins momentarily distracted us. A special gift though!
When they departed, we were back staring wantonly into each other’s eyes. In a bold move, my sweetheart pulled my suit to my thighs, stripped off her bikini bottoms, and with acrobatic grace, straddled me and held her position braced against the base of the mast and the side cleat. Thrusting was up to me and I am sure we did some zig zagging as I completed the most complex set of multi-tasking vectors in my life. This made rubbing your head and patting your stomach seem like child’s play! Fortunately, instinct to thrust is hard-wired into men and in less than a minute and I was pushing hard to climb totally inside of her and lift her off the deck. Although she didn’t get her own full blown release, she swears it was one of the most unusual, erotic, and memorable encounters of her life and a delight to share such pleasure to me. I wanted to yell “Hard-a-Lee! Come about!”.
I still can’t believe we didn’t capsize!