A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02

The flames danced, licking at the sweet treats, hardening them on the outside, melting them on the inside. The end of the stick beginning to glow red due to the prolonged exposure to the heat. He was about to marvel out loud at what strange things marshmallows were until she spoke.

"I never wanna go home."

He sighed, contentedly. "Let's move out here, then. We'll barter with the ranger and live off the land."

Mecca laughed, the firelight dancing in her dark eyes. "Do you know how much a cabin out here would cost?"

"Cost?" he laughed. "Chop down a few trees, nail 'em together, and instant house."

"As if. Do you know it used to be that nobody wanted to live out here? It's in the middle of nowhere. No city water, heat, or electric. No phone and certainly no cable. Your nearest neighbor is Smokey the Bear, and once snow falls, you're stranded here till the spring thaw."

"That's 'The Shining' you're talking about. The Overlook Hotel."

She shrugged. "Close enough. But anyway, the cheapest, bare bones, basic model cabin is 300 hundred thousand dollars."

"Bullshit."

"I looked in one of those Homes and Land magazines. They're between 299,000 and $499,000."

"That's half a million dollars."

"I know!"

"Fuck that. We'll rent a yurt."

She removed the marshmallows from the fire and blew on them. "You and your yurts."

"One yurt, two yurt, three yurt, four."

"Such a goofball," she laughed. "Want one?"

He shook his head. "Wonder why they cost so much, now?"

"Marshmallows?"

"Cabins in the mountains."

"Before, everybody wanted to move to the city and get a good job, so they could have it all. Now, everybody's sick of it all, so they wanna move out into no man's land, so they can have some old-fashioned peace and quiet. I mean, do you know how noisy it is in the city? A real city?"

"The sirens, the horns, the car alarms. Barking dogs, rowdy neighbors, loud music from the club across the street . . ."

"What would you have paid to get away from all that?"

"Anything," he answered honestly.

"So, you don't like marshmallows?"

"Too sticky."

She shrugged, shoving one into her mouth. "Your loss."

"And what if that ranger had tossed his towel aside and started grabbing your tits."

She scoffed. "As if you'd let him do that. You'd cold-cock him and drown him in the drinking water."

"Fuck that. He ain't contaminating my water."

She finished off her second marshmallow, then stood and stretched.

"What are we gonna do, now?"

She smiled down at him. "I am going to take a shower. Alone," she added quickly. "And you are going to pull out our sleeping bags."

"Inside or outside?" he asked.

"It's getting kind of chilly. Better put 'em on the inside of the tent."

He gave her the thumbs up, sat up, then did as he was told.

Twenty minutes later he'd extinguished the campfire, secured their foodstuffs, turned on their battery-powered lantern and stripped for bed: bare feet, boxers, a black doo-rag and his favorite Raiders T-shirt. The night air was cool, the campground was quiet, and the sleeping bags were cushioned. Thinking of a warm, wet, freshly-washed Mecca was all he could do to keep himself awake.

Twenty minutes turned into thirty, which soon grew into forty.

He rolled onto his back, folding his arms over his chest. What the fuck was taking her so long? It's not as if she had to do her hair or anything. She hadn't brought any of her styling supplies, and if she had, she certainly wouldn't be using them just before bed.

He rolled back onto his side, staring at the open flap of their tent. He'd give her ten more minutes. If she wasn't back by then, he was going in after her. In the meantime, he'd just rest his eyes a little, sparing them from the glare of the moonlight on the pond water.

Mecca laughed. "You weren't supposed to fall asleep till afterwards."

He opened his eyes, yawned, stretched his feet inside the sleeping bag and his arms outside of it. "I wasn't sleeping," he said.

"You were resting your eyes," she supplied.

He blinked a few more times, his eye finally beginning to come into focus. She was standing beside the sleeping bag, her hands on her hips. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"What does it look like I'm wearing?"

He snickered, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Would you like to buy some cookies?" she asked.

"Are they made with real Girl Scouts?" he asked.

She crouched down beside him, adjusting the obscenely short hem of her green jumper, pulling it down, only to have it ride back up. Her legs were far too long, and her ass was far too round to be completely covered by such an insubstantial amount of fabric.

He reached out and touched it, relishing the feel of the course polyester between his thumb, index and middle fingers. "Is that the real thing?"

Mecca scoffed. "As if I could squeeze my fat ass into that tiny little uniform I used to wear. These are officially licensed Girl Scout socks and garters, though. And this is my original sash, completely covered in merit badges."

He sat up to get a better look at her get up. She was even wearing a white shirt, a red criss-cross tie and a beret. He remembered fantasizing about what Girl Scouts wore under their uniforms from his own scouting days. Boy Scouts had officially issued undershirts, tighty-whiteys and tube socks. If Girl Scouts had similar accoutrements, he never got to see.

"So, what you wearing under the uniform?"

"Aren't you a little young to be asking something like that?"

He chuckled easily. "How old do you think I am?"

The girl shrugged. "Ten, eleven?"

His laughter grew. So, it was role-playing she was after. "I'm twelve," he finally said.

She put an overly bright smile. "Wow. An older guy."

"And how old are you?"

"Ten. I just went over the bridge."

"So, you're not a Brownie, anymore."

"Nope. But what do Boy Scouts know about Brownies?"

He scooted closer to her, brushing his fingers up the back of her arm. "They're good to eat."

"I like chocolate chip cookies better."

"Oh?"

She nodded.

"You sure have a lot of merit badges."

"I'm very skilled," she said.

"Yeah? What's this one for?" He poked one just above her left nipple.

"Sewing."

"And this one?" He poked one just below her right nipple.

"Babysitting," she said proudly.

"Babysitters are hot."

Mecca laughed.

"I peaked on mine once. She was changing clothes in the bathroom, and I saw her boobies."

She laughed harder, her cheeks glowing a bright red. "You did not."

"I did, too. But I think yours are bigger than hers."

"Nuh-uh. I bet she's 16, at least. She's probably got ones out to here." She cupped her hands a good two feet in front of her chest and shook them.

"Yours are still bigger," he insisted. "Take your shirt off, and I'll show you."

She shook her head.

"What? Why not?"

"You're not supposed to?"

"Why not?"

"It's private," she said. "And if someone tries to touch you there, you're supposed to run away and tell a trusted adult."

"I'm a trusted adult."

"You are not. You're 12."

"It's okay, then. I'm a kid, you're a kid, so there's nothing wrong with kidding around."

"What's that in your pants?" She poked at his burgeoning erection. "It's making the sleeping bag stick up."

Daniel gasped.

She pulled her hand away. "Did that hurt?"

Damn, she was staying true to form. Did that hurt?

He shook his head. "But you know what?"

She leaned closer to him, curiosity brimming over in her eyes.

He drew nearer, whispering in her ear. "You just touched my special place."

Her eyes grew large, her mouth dropping open.

"And you know what that means, don't you?"

She shook her head again.

"Since you touched me, I should get to touch you. Down there," he added for impact.

She quickly clamped her knees together.

"C'mon," he said. "It's only fair. You touched me, so I get to touch you. You're not a cheater, are you?"

"No!"

He put his hands on both her bare knees. "Then open up."

She pushed his hands away. "Someone'll see!"

"Just me," he said quietly. "C'mon. Fair is fair."

She looked at him, then around the tent.

"No one else is here. Just you and me."

"Well . . ."

"Aren't you curious?" he asked. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She bit her lower lip, then gave one resolute nod.

Daniel smiled.

"But not here."

"Where then?" he whined.

"The pavilion."

Even in the low light of the tent, there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. She wanted him, and she intended to have him. He swallowed hard. He knew what he'd said, and he knew what he felt, but . . .

"Chicken?" she teased.

"Nuh-uh."

"Then meet me there." She rose to her feet then darted out the door.

"Mother-fucker."

He sat there for a full minute debating whether he should put his clothes back on or not. It was the middle of the night, and Mecca and he were the only campers. The ranger had been so freaked out by the shower house scene, he doubted very seriously if he'd come anywhere near their part of camp.

Try as he might, there was just some part of him that didn't like the idea of some strange set of eyes watching him in one of his most intimate moments. Some things were just meant to be done behind closed doors. Yet, he didn't seem to have any qualms about sticking his hands down the front of her pants, masturbating her till she came in the palm of his hand.

"Think I won't do it?" he'd asked her. "Think I won't fuck you right here where you stand?"

And, in all honesty, at that point in time, he would have done it. Without a doubt, without a moment's hesitation, without a second thought.

The way she smelled. The way she felt. The way she responded to his every touch . . . So wet for him. Ready for him. Tight for him. All for him. Anything for him. The last tree in the forest. The last chip in the bag of a discontinued brand.

He reached down the front of his boxers and stroked himself.

He removed his hand, unzipped the bag and left the certainty of the tent behind him. What idiot would sit alone and masturbate when there was a warm, willing body in the immediate vicinity?

He gave a passing glance to the shower house, then strolled passed the yurts. Starshine and moonlight lit the path. At the fork he came to the dump station, the drinking pond, the check-in station, the main road and the parking lot. Beyond the ranger's cabin, the road split into another fork. The night was chilly, and the air was still, but everything around him seemed alive. The moon danced on the water, leaves swayed on their branches and crickets chirped in the distance.

It was just like summer camp. But instead of sneaking out with the boys to steal ice cream from the freezer in the mess hall, he was stepping out on his own to attain something just as desirable and even more forbidden.

He licked his lips in anticipation. Sweet, creamy and oh-so delightful.

The pavilion was just off to the right. And she was waiting for him. Still in uniform.

She smiled at him as she watched him approach. There wasn't much to the structure: a concrete floor, four support columns, a pitched roof and three railings--one on each side and one in the rear. Benches were built in, connected to each of the three rails.

The front of the outbuilding was left completely open. The main road was to the front. A pond was to the immediate rear, and the check-in station was just to the right of that.

Mecca sat at the rear of the structure, her legs crossed at the ankles. He sat down beside her.

She fidgeted in her seat. "I've never done anything with a boy before."

"No?" he asked.

"I let a girl feel me up once, but that was because she was completely flat, and she wanted to know what they felt like."

"Is that right?"

She nodded, meeting his gaze, then lowering her eyes.

"You are so fucking pretty."

The girl giggled. "You said a bad word."

"I wanna touch you." He slid his hand up her left thigh, scooting closer as he came to the area in between them. "Your skin's so soft, so smooth."

She giggled again. "Tickles."

He increased the pressure he was applying, attempting to eliminate the ticklish sensation.

Mecca gasped.

"Better?"

"Feels weird," she said.

He scooted even closer, pressing his right thigh against her left one. "Feels good," he whispered. "Uncross your ankles."

She shook her head as he pressed the heel of his palm against her inner thigh.

"Fair is fair," he reminded her. "You said you'd let me if I came out here."

"I heard it hurts," she said.

He shook his head. "Noooo. It's amazing. It feels incredible."

"What if I don't like it?" she asked.

"You like me, don't you?"

She shrugged.

"If you didn't like me, what'd you come to my tent for? Why'd you touch my special place? Why'd you say I could touch yours if I met you out here?"

As if on cue, she blushed.

He kissed her on the cheek.

"Daniel . . ." her blush deepened.

He kissed her again, closer to the corner of her mouth. "Do you know what I wanna do to you?"

"What?"

He drew her left earlobe into his mouth, sucking on the tender piece of dangling flesh, till she writhed beside him, her hands fisting in her lap. "Why don't you touch me?" he asked. "I've got all sorts of surprises for you."

Mecca moaned, tilting her head back as his mouth moved from her ear to the front of her throat. Again, he attempted to part her thighs, kneading her firm flesh, running his palm over the smooth skin, his fingers slipping along her inner creases. She reached up, cupping the back of his neck, urging his mouth towards her.

He resisted.

"Please," she said. "Kiss me."

He kissed her, but not on the mouth; he tossed her tie aside and unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. He then proceeded to trace the contours of her collarbone with the tip of her tongue. "You know what I want," he said. "Open sesame."

She shook her head.

"No?" he questioned her.

"Good girls don't do that."

He yanked her out of her seat and pulled her onto is lap.

"Stop! Don't."

Catching her off guard, he parted her thighs with his right knee, then maneuvered his hand to the desired location.

She tried to push it away.

He gave a stinging blow to the outside of her right thigh. "Hold still," he warned. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"There's something hard in your lap," she protested.

"The more you move, the harder it'll get."

She immediately stilled.

"Good girl." He repositioned her on his lap; her clothed core directly above his hardening cock, her legs spread wide as she straddled his thighs.

"It's poking me," she laughed.

"That's because it likes you," he said. "It wants to get closer to you."

She squirmed again, pressing her hot core against his throbbing shaft. "I don't see how." She reached between her legs and took hold of the bulge burgeoning beneath her. "It's right under me. You can't get any closer than that."

He placed his hand over hers, urging her to increase the pressure she was applying to his genitals, as he pressed his lips to the rear of her ear. "I beg to differ."

She giggled. "That tickles."

He released her hand, moving it slightly upwards, then sliding it beneath her wrist to rest upon her woman's mound. He then sucked her left earlobe into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth as he thrust his hips against her, his middle finger running along the seam of her clothed sex.

She sank down into him, her head falling back, her hips moving in time to his rhythm.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

She sighed her reply, tilting her head to the side, allowing him to nibble along her neck, then down to her collar bone.

"You're so wet," he whispered to her. "You've got me hard as a rock."

"It's sooo big," she seemed to swoon.

"May be . . . But it's the perfect fit for you."

Mecca gasped, her body temperature rising, her chest heaving. "My heart's beating so fast."

He moved his other hand to the front of her jumper, briefly cupping her right breast before moving to pull the zipper down. After creating the necessary opening, he slipped his hand between the folds of fabric, deftly undoing the tiny buttons of her white blouse.

"What are you doing?" she breathed heavily. "You said you just wanted to touch me. Just touch me down there."

He continued to stimulate her with his lips, hands and hips. "But it feels good, doesn't it? You like what I'm doing to you, don't you?"

"Your hands are so big, Daniel. And that . . . thing is growing."

"You're making it grow," he replied. "It likes the way you're touching him, the way you feel on top of him."

The girl groaned.

His left hand finally reached its goal: the soft stretch cotton of a seamless, underwire bra. He wiggled his fingers, maneuvering them inside the cup, his entire finally coming in full contact with her bare breast. She squirmed and gasped as he kneaded and squeezed, testing the weight and fullness of the fatty tissue, tweaking her nipple till it was turgid and rounded.

"Stop, Daniel. Please."

He slipped his fingers inside the outside edge of the eyelet-trimmed panties, his tips coming in contact with her lips. He groaned in decadent delight as he found no trace of hair on her nether regions. Never had he had the exquisite pleasure of being with a fully shaved female . . .

The girl giggled, attempting to sound innocent and unknowing, he assumed. But it's effect was the opposite. A fog of lust settled over his brain, and he could see nothing beyond the back of the head of the girl on top of it. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

He, again, swept his hand over her bare sex simply to make sure he wasn't imagining things. "You shaved," he said gruffly.

She giggled again. "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm not old enough to shave."

It took every ounce of restraint he had to keep from blowing a load in the front of his boxers. "I wanna see it," he choked out.

"See what?"

He dipped his longest finger in her steaming hot snatch, unable to stave off the shiver that shot down his spine as her inner muscles clamped down on him, seeming to suckle him, drawing him in deeper. "That." He gave her a light push, easing her off his lap, her feet landing flat on the ground, her statuesque frame just a few feet in front of him. "Turn around," he said. "And drop your jumper."

She turned around, staring down at him, her eyes glowing, her face flushed, her beret askew, a large gap present in her clothing, where he'd unzipped her jumper, unbuttoned her blouse and fondled her within the confines of the cup of her bra. "It doesn't drop down," she said. "I have to pull it up and off."

"Do it."

As she did so, he stood and dropped his drawers, his erection now free to expand to its full length. He grasped it tightly with his right hand, giving it a light shake, a few drops of precum spilling from his head onto the concrete below.

He watched intently as she undressed herself, exposing her nearly flawless form to the earth, the sky, the trees and anyone or anything that happened to be in the immediate vicinity. Inspired by her boldness, he removed his remaining garment, tossing the Raiders shirt along the railing of the pavilion.

She ran her hand down the front of her body, dipping her hand between her slightly parted thighs, quietly gasping as her fingers found her center of pleasure. She tilted her head to the side and smiled at him. "See?" she said.

He waved her towards him. "Come over here."

"You're not gonna hurt me, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not even in my worst nightmares."

She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out, causing her buxom bosom to bounce.

Some part of him said this wasn't really happening. He wasn't really outside. He wasn't really naked, and Mecca certainly wasn't anywhere near him. Both he and she were far too decent to indulge in such outlandish behavior. They were modest, God-fearing individuals who felt more-than-a-little uncomfortable simply holding hands in public, let alone other more intimate displays of affection.