Nicole's Fantasy Ch. 02

He works up a lather and puts the soap down. Using just his hands, he starts at the nape of your neck and washes/massages your whole body, not missing a square centimeter. As he descends your back, you hold your arms away from your sides and his hands come under to wash from your stomach to your collarbone, meeting in the valley between your breasts, his arms push the foam over your breasts like the wind pushed the snow against the trees. His hands are rough from working wood but it feels fabulous in contrast with the slippery suds. Each arm gets a two-handed massage down to the tips of your fingers and then he goes back to the soap to get more lather. As he places his hands on your hips, you step your legs slightly apart and he doesn't hesitate to wash your pubic hair, around the labia and up your arse. He doesn't tease, doesn't go inside, just caresses everything with his fingers. You remember the slick pine branch of the tree and the feeling of abandon as you rubbed yourself up and down. You know that feeling is coming again and soon. Down one leg he slides, his hands circle around and massage your thigh and calf. His hands come back up to the top of the other leg and you tingle when he brushes against your hair again, and the other leg gets an expert massage.

While he is still kneeling to wash your ankle, you turn around and pick one foot up, keeping balance by holding the towel bar on the wall. He gently washes your foot and toes and looks up at you as you change feet. His smile is your reward as his eyes stop at a few points on the way up to meet yours. You twirl your finger to make him turn around and his smile gets even bigger even though you are teasing him unmercifully. He turns and sits down cross-legged, waiting patiently for whatever you have in store for him.

His hair is not long but it's full and wavy as you run your fingers through it, careful not to use your nails on his scalp. The shampoo is rich and you slide your hands down either side of his face to play with his beard. Your back is a little sore and you don't want to lean this way so you straighten up and consider. You have an idea. You throw one leg over his shoulder and slide it down carefully into his lap. He shifts so you don't step on anything but you can feel his erection swell against your leg. Now you are sitting on his shoulder with a leg on either side much like a certain tree you remember quite fondly.

He caresses your leg with his hands as you wash his hair and beard. Massaging down his neck and chest brings your breasts down to the top of his head and you like the feel of his soapy hair on your nipples. You move your leg in little circles, pushing and skimming his hot erection with your calf. Your movements make his shoulder slick with more than just shampoo and he slides his hand up your leg and back to your arse. You can feel the shoulder muscles and bones move under you as he slides his thumb in from behind to be swallowed by your labia and to push against your clit. His index finger lays across your arse and the other three fingers are splayed across your buttock. When you squeeze his hand, he squeezes back. His free arm caresses your leg and he kisses the inside of your thigh, which sends shivers of a different kind through your abdomen and up your spine. His thumb flicks to and fro across your clit as you are riding his shoulder back and forth. Your legs tense with the pleasure building in your loins and you can't help but get up on your toes. He presses himself against your ankle with promises of things to come. Your breathing is rapid and short like every thrust against his hand and shoulder. His free hand comes to touch your clit as the thumb of his other hand stands up and is engulfed inside you. Bending over and putting your chest on his head lets you arch your back and accept his thumb as deeply as it will go. The finger teasing your arse goes in just the length of a fingernail and you feel yourself going over the edge. With a ragged gasp you throw yourself into the orgasm. The wild abandon that overcame you at the tree swallows you whole as shuddering contractions grip and release your body. The world begins in your loins and ends at your skin, nothing else exists.

When you start breathing again and open your eyes you are laying across his lap with an arm around his neck, knees up in the fetal position, you can feel his urgency pressing across the small of your back. One of his arms is holding your shoulders, keeping your head from hitting the wall and his fingers are still inside you, moving ever so gently. You put your other arm around his neck and unbend your legs in a luxurious stretch. He removes his fingers and holds you, molding your curves with his arms. You have to laugh at the shampooed rat's nest that is his hair and beard and then at yourself because you must look just as silly. He leans his head back into the shower spray and closes his eyes as the suds slowly slough off. You take the moment to revel in his chest, his collarbone, the hollow at the base of his neck, the Adam's apple hiding behind his beard, running your palms and fingers over each in turn. A little part of your mind can't believe how relaxed you are. No shame, no worries, no fear, just the greatest feeling of comfort and freedom you've ever had in your life. This must be what love is...it must be. But you've only known him for a few hours! What difference does that make? He's strong and gentle, assertive and unselfish, eager and patient, living his life the way he wants it to be. How could you not love him?

His dripping face once again looks at yours with soft eyes and a grin that won't quit. You trust him completely and will do anything for those eyes. You fling one arm out in a take-me-I'm-yours gesture and have no doubt that you will enjoy every minute of it. He lifts you up and stands, holding you like he did when you crossed the icy stream. Turning carefully around in the confines of the shower, he passes you under the water to rinse most of the soap off. He gently sets you down on your feet, but only for a moment. He turns the water off and in the silence puts his arms around you and pulls you into a kiss, a real one this time. It starts gently and tickles a bit, but he closes his eyes and you do the same as you listen to the kiss. It says "Thank you...you're amazing...are you real or just a dream?" The second kiss is more urgent, "I'm real, I'm here, I'm yours...let me taste your body with mine...don't want this moment to end..."

His passion his hot and hard against your belly as his hands descend your back to cup your buttocks and lift you off the floor again. You pull with your arms to lift yourself even faster and rub your body against his. As your legs go around his waist, the third kiss is almost incoherent, "...I want, I want...inside you/you inside me..." You both lift until you are above his flame, his fingers slide to spread your labia as you lower yourself down onto him. At the first touch you stop and squeeze the tip, kissing it with your lips. Then you open up again and take a little more of him inside and kiss again. The third time you kiss the whole hot head, and a hiss escapes his clenched teeth, and you know you haven't the strength to do it a fourth time. With passion radiating from your every pore, you take him in, slowly, over and over, each time feeling better than the last. Again the world closes around you and this time you feel only him. His face against yours, his chest against yours, his strong hands clenched under your buttocks, the almost inflexible shaft pushing deep and pulling out.

You are both breathing heavily now and he's not holding back, the edge is fast approaching. Faster and faster you lift and drop, squeezing with all your strength. He gasps a last breath before the final thrusts, and exhales your name in a hoarse whisper. You can feel the pulsing of his release seemingly everywhere as your own body responds in kind. His moan is punctuated by each spasm and his head bows. Then his arms shoot out to grab the wall and towel rack as his strong legs go weak in sweet surrender. With a groan of pleasure and sadness he lowers you both to the bottom of the tub and then lays back to enjoy exhaustion. Still coupled, you feel occasional involuntary spasms inside as he shifts from rock hard to merely stiff, each one accompanied by a little moan that echoes the first one.

You kiss him languorously and tease him with a wiggle of your hips. He gives a little "Ooo" but doesn't complain. You sit up and grin at him and he reverently cups your breasts with his hands. Nothing in the world could make you feel better at this moment than the look of rapture and amazement on his face as he gazes at your body. You suddenly feel, for the first time ever, that your body fits your self-image like a glove, it's perfect, just because he thinks it is. You kiss him soundly again because you can't help it, and he returns the kiss with equal fervor. You both seem to know that words would only break the spell of this enchanted day so you grin and gaze, fondle and kiss, basking in each other's warmth.

Nature, being the impish Puck to all human schemes and ideals of romance, breaks the spell by making your stomach growl. Loudly. You both burst out laughing.

"You owe me dinner," you threaten with mock seriousness, touching your nose to his and glaring at him. Then you kiss him again, like taking a quick bite from an apple.

He strokes your hair lovingly and says with real seriousness, "I owe you more than I can ever repay." When he sees your expression soften, he smiles broadly and says jovially, "But dinner sounds like a great place to start. Let's go!"

You climb out of the tub and the relative chill makes you race to get dressed. You actually beat him getting dressed because you cheat. No panties, no bra, no socks, just a big bulky sweater, a pair of jeans, and your loafers. He has to get his clothes from his duffel bag: underwear, socks, jeans, a corduroy shirt and a really nice pair of cowboy boots. You are gratified to see his belt buckle isn't as big and shiny as a hubcap, but rather a Celtic knot pattern intricately carved out of some lustrous wood. You both just slick back your damp hair, he flicks his beard a couple times, dons his hat, and offers you his arm. You grab it with both hands and head for the dining room.

There isn't even a question of "Where would you like to eat?"--you are both ravenous. The buffet has much the same fare every night, but this time you try a little of everything and go back for seconds on the things you find especially tasty. The pumpernickel comes in small loaves and by the end of the meal you've eaten a whole one all by yourself. When the server comes around to ask about dessert you both look at each other and decline. You know what you're having for dessert, and it's not on the menu.

EPILOG

When you got back to your room, your clothes came off even faster than they went on. The full meal slowed down the pace of lovemaking, but gave you more time to taste, touch, hold, and see. Anything one wanted, the other gave wholeheartedly, knowing that it would be returned twofold. Tree and rain, wind and wing, the two of you were symbiotic creatures for pleasure and love rather than subsistence and survival.

When you woke up the next day, the pillow held three fresh daffodils and a piece of hotel stationery with a phone number on it. The next move was up to you. You almost called him immediately to ask if there was room in that tent for you, but something held you back. You tried to deny the hesitation; wanted so much to believe it didn't exist that you were angry at yourself. You picked your brain apart looking for that little piece of doubt so you could squish it like a bug. After a few tears of self-pity, you stopped, stared at the ceiling, and tried to quiet your thoughts. The solution made you sit straight up in bed. That was it! The next minute you were dialing the phone. Almost immediately you and Scott were talking like old friends catching up on each other's lives. All the questions that would normally have been asked before now, were asked and answered. Most important of all, there was no hesitation on either end of the connection when it came to saying "I love you." Plans were made, e-mail addresses exchanged, and even the goodbye wasn't that hard because it was only a "goodbye for now."

If it weren't for the photos you would barely remember the rest of your holiday. All your thoughts soon returned to the castle in the forest. The flight back home was a bit melancholy, but you were almost eager to get back home and start your life again. Not the same life you left though, it was different now. You were constantly amazed how love can motivate.

That feeling you discovered at the tree, the carefree attitude that comes with true happiness with yourself, opened up a place in your mind and moved in to stay. You know where it is, and can visit it anytime you wish. Indeed, it's hard to keep it from coming to visit you. Your skin gets jealous of your clothes. Your hands are unfaithful lovers that your body simply can't deny, even knowing they also lust for Scott Carpenter, David Duchovny, and that cute guy at the library. The sight of trees can make you horny. More people get up and dance whenever you are on the floor. You are so alive people wonder what drugs you are taking and where they can get some.

If only it were that easy. You can't explain it, and those few people who have heard your story all tell you that you should never have left, that you should go back as soon as possible and marry him. But you want your own goal and the contentment that comes from pursuing it. You want to see it in your head, like Scott sees his house, and more than anything you want to share it with him. Something tells you that if you go back without finding a focus for your life, the focus will become him, and humans being what they are, the relationship will wither and die. Oh, you are going back all right: no doubt about it. More than once, perhaps, until you finally stay for good.