Sex and Dinosaurs

To the victor go the spoils. I climbed off from Harlow and pushed her knees apart so I could kneel between them. I squeezed her taught buns, and spread them to see her ass and her pussy. She knew the score too, and she was already seeping warm nectar.

Harlow caught her breath when I reached to find her trigger, and her slit was dripping when I pushed my fingers into her. She searched the bedside table for a condom and handed it to me, then she pushed her butt up and my deep, warm target opened. I sucked her from my fingers while I rolled the condom on with one hand, then I worked my cock into her and thrust down.

Her cunt took the head of my cock and maybe a little more before I paused. She pressed back against me and I thrust again, then again until Harlow's body wrapped my shaft and her firm butt squeezed under me.

Harlow buried her face in the pillow and used her hands on the head board to push back against my thrusts. God, fucking the bitch felt good! I held her hips and pounded against her butt until she lifted her head off the pillow and bit off a scream. Her body tightened around my cock and she flattened on the bed while I took her orgasm.

The air conditioner rumbled on again and I pushed up on one arm to let the cool air flow between our bodies. I let her relax for only a moment then I grasped Harlow's wrists and held them tight under her chin and let myself go. I sank my cock deep into her and slapped my hips against her, and then I lifted my head and gasped while the repeated spasms pumped my essence into her.

I fell face down on Harlow's mattress and she rolled onto her back, laughing. I felt the back of her hand slap my side and she said, "Dr. Powell, I believe that last win was mine."

The cool—almost cold—morning came early, or at least it seemed to. I'm sure it came at the same time it did the day before because no-one changed the alarm on my cell phone. To me it felt early. I groaned and stretched my back while Harlow exchanged text messages with Lillian.

We stopped at the grocery store for supplies then met Tom and Lillian at the project's storage shed at the end of Bucket of Blood street. I don't know how a street gets a name like "Bucket of Blood." Someday I'll ask.

Lillian had breakfast burritos. "They're Teresa's." she said. "She sells them at the Food Mart on Navajo. They're the best."

I can't claim to be an expert, but Lillian seemed to be right. I drove with the steering wheel in one hand and the sloppy burrito in the other while Harlow reviewed her notes and ignored the mess I made. There would be no volunteers today. The plan was to look at what we'd excavated so far, run two new GPR surveys and set a course for the last month of the season.

The sun was just coming up when we got to the site. I disconnected the rock drill from the compressor and used the air line to clean the loose dust and grit off the mudstone slab. Harlow tightened the sun shades then carried the ice chests with food and water under the shelter while Tom and Lillian assembled the GPR unit they brought with them.

The cool morning gave way to a hot day, but it was almost noon before we took a break; the generator and the compressor were low on gas. Dr. Thayer asked, "Can we cover this?" and swept her finger toward the excavated slab. "Leaving it exposed seems like asking for damage."

Harlow found a spare sun shade and we spread it over the site and let it drape off the edge of the excavated fossil layer. We sat on the canvas cover and planned for the afternoon while we lunched. The plan started with me making the hour-long round trip back to Holbrook for gas.

Lillian insisted, "Dana, you go and keep Frank company. That will let Tom and I work from a different perspective while you're gone." I glanced at Harlow, not sure if I wanted to leave Tom and Lillian to find a different perspective. Her expression made me think she agreed, but Lillian was insistent.

The site was quiet when we returned. With the compressor and the generator off, the only sound I noticed was from the breeze through the scattered scrub junipers and the occasional flap as it lifted the sun shade and let it fall again.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun beat down. I refilled the tanks while Harlow went to see what Tom and Lillian were doing. She walked to the edge of the excavation, then stopped and covered her mouth. She backed away then turned and ran back to me.

Harlow put her finger to her lips to keep me quiet then whispered, "They found a different perspective." She tugged me toward the ledge, and as we got close I heard a rhythmic sound, or more like a number of different sounds defining one rhythm. Harlow stopped me where we could see over the edge of the excavation and under the sun shade.

Tom reclined against the ice chests with Lillian mounted over him; her unfettered breasts swung from side to side while she rocked against him. The rhythm we heard came from their breath, from the unintelligible sounds they made, and from their bodies slapping together.

Lillian faced away from us, so she couldn't have seen us watching. We could see Tom's hard and glistening shaft under her each time she rose and see it disappear into her again when she lowered herself to grind against him. The sweat of their labors gleamed on their skin.

Tom looked up to where we stood and at first gave no indication that he saw us, but then he pulled Lillian's ear to his lips and said something. Her movements slowed gradually, then she climbed off from Tom. She found her shirt and pulled it on but left it open. Tom sat up, and his round belly sagged down on his lap.

"Did we get back too soon?" Harlow asked, and we climbed down to where Tom and Lillian waited. "It looks like we interrupted a fruitful discussion. Did you gain a knew perspective?" Harlow's tone had a rough, sarcastic edge.

"Can it, Dana," Lillian started, "We're all adults here."

Tom chuckled, then said "It's field season. This is an old perspective for us."

I'd known Tom for years and in that time there was never a glimmer of a relationship with Lillian, not even during our planning meetings. Lillian had a life partner and he was married—he had three kids. I asked, "So, don't you have some conflicts?"

"None," Tom said. "My marriage is a commitment. Lillian's relationship is a commitment. What we have is an exchange of thoughts and ideas and sometime bodily fluids. It's good for our work and it doesn't change our commitments."

Lillian went on, "Tom and I have worked together since grad school. There's something about swapping deeply held ideas and theories—even if they're academic ideas and theories—that's very much like sex, and one can lead to the other. I'm surprised you haven't found that out yet."

Harlow blushed, though it was hardly visible under her tanned skin. She turned away from Lillian and away from me.

I admitted, "We have sex, but we argue more than we swap deeply held ideas. There isn't much similarity. We thought the sex was something we had to hide—something that was professionally unacceptable. Now what do we do? You're our mentors and our closest examples!"

Harlow sighed and turned back to us. "When we do have sex it's not for communication. It's a contest."

I was surprised when Tom laughed. Tom looked at Lillian and shrugged. He said, "You were right." He turned to us and went on, "You've been at each other's throats for a couple years. It must have seemed odd that we made you co-managers here."

"There was a reason for that." Lillian explained. "What you were doing was self-destructive. We thought you needed a lesson in professional cooperation and we fully expected that cooperation would lead to sex. But if sex is just another contest to you, then maybe that didn't work."

"Or," Tom added, "You aren't being honest with yourselves about how you feel." He nodded toward where the GPR unit sat in the sun. "Now that you're back and the generator's fueled, it's time to finish what we came here for."

It was late in the afternoon when we finished the survey, and by then thunderstorms towered over the Mogollon Rim. The storms were too far away to reach us, but they broke the sunlight and their cool outflow broke the heat. Harlow and I watched the intimate exchange of ideas between Tom and Lillian all afternoon, and I wondered if Harlow and I were doing something wrong.

I sat down on the dusty slab and started idly picking rock away from a partially exposed ilium while I daydreamed of finding some diagnostic bit of evidence. Harlow settled down beside me and said, "You aren't supposed to be uncovering the bone, you know. It will just start weathering."

I didn't need her instructions. I looked up at Harlow and wondered aloud about what was really on my mind, "Do you think Tom was right? That we aren't being honest with ourselves?"

Harlow sighed and it made me wonder if she spent the time turning the same question over in her mind. "Maybe." she said. She watched my reaction cautiously. "When we argue then work out our differences, I get a little aroused. I thought that was because I won, but maybe it isn't. Maybe it's because of the exchange." She looked to where Tom and Lillian were talking in the shade then said, "And I do like the sex, even when I don't win."

"I like the sex too," I said, "And I like it when we talk. Honestly? I like most things about you."

Harlow's voice relaxed and her expression changed to a curious smile. "Most?" she asked, "What don't you like?"

I should have known to never answer a question like that. If I was going to answer at all, then I probably should never have answered the way I did. "You're really pigheaded sometimes." I said.

Harlow's eye's flashed with anger. "I'm pigheaded?" she shouted. She climbed to her feet and glared at me. She flung her hands up and yelled, "You're the idiot that was sure he didn't need more water, then collapsed from dehydration!"

I could have sworn that I heard Tom and Lillian laugh as Harlow stormed away, but when I looked I found them sitting soberly, with their hands covering their mouths.

Thayer and Hamlin excused themselves after dinner and left us looking at each other across the table. We stumbled through a few minutes of awkward conversation and fell silent until I reached to touch Harlow's hand. She didn't move away, and it became the first time we touched when others might see. "Are you going to open your door tonight?" I asked. It had become a metaphor.

She shook her head, "Powell, no. I'm exhausted and I don't feel like playing the game." She paused for a moment then a wry smile spread on her lips. "I'm surprised you would want a pigheaded woman like me, anyway."

I wasn't going to retract my opinion, but there was something I needed to admit. "Maybe it's because I'm a pigheaded man," I said. "Pigheadedness is something we have in common." Her response was mostly guarded, so I went on. "You're intelligent—and funny when you want to be. I usually enjoy the time we spend together, but our game-playing makes that hard to admit. I'm ready to set the games aside if you are."

Harlow wasn't ready to give in. She nodded to the bar where the locals were starting to celebrate Friday night and said, "If you want to get laid, then I'm sure you can find an eager girl here. You have the looks for it. Your arms are impressive and you have a chest to match." She pulled her hand away from mine and went on, "And those big hands. I suppose you could make any of those girls' heart flutter."

"But not yours?" I asked.

Harlow didn't answer my question. "Let's talk about tomorrow," she said. "You know the geology and the Norian environment better than I do. I know the chemistry and the biophysics better than you. Can we plan a half day at the site and maybe teach each other the details that we haven't shared yet?"

If what was true for Lillian and Tom was true for us, then Harlow just propositioned me.

"I want to sleep late then get back before it's too damned hot." I said, so it was mid-morning when we left the motel. We packed the truck with water and groceries, and we headed for the site.

Harlow and I bent our heads together over the exposed fossils and studied the thin layers of shale that broke the sandstone. We sorted through the collection of leaf and insect impressions that the volunteers found in the shale and shared our ideas about the 200-million year old continental environment, about physiological adaptations to high heat, and on, and on. We lost track of time.

It was late in the afternoon when the passion we shared for the subject became a more normal sort of passion. We wrestled together on the canvas cover with our mouths locked together. My shirt and Harlow's top were heaped against the sandstone ledge, and both of us had a hand in the other's shorts when the first loud peal of thunder rolled over the empty desert.

Harlow pushed me away and we both struggled out of the haze of our excitement. Thunderheads towered over the Rim, closer and bigger than they were the day before. I snapped my shorts over my hard-on and climbed the sandstone ledge to watch the clouds boiling up. Harlow—still topless and with her hair half down from her pony tail—climbed up beside me. She said, "It looks like those might actually reach us this time. Do you think it's time to get out of here?"

I thought it was. I packed the last of the chests into the truck while the cool gusts from the storms pelted my legs with sand. Thunder was rumbling almost continually when Harlow ran her hand over my back to get my attention then shoved my shirt at me. I turned and swept an arm around her narrow shoulders, and backed her against the passenger door.

"You're like a drug, Harlow," I said. "Once I start it's hard to stop." Dana pushed her hands up between us, and I thought for an instant that she might shove me away, but instead she rested her hands on my arms and tipped her mouth up.

"If I'm a drug, Powell, then I'm a drug that wants to be used." she said, "You just need to abstain until we get back to the motel." She made abstinence impossible; Harlow rose in my arms and pressed her body against me. She was as hungry for me as I was for her. I pressed her against the truck, explored her mouth with my tongue, and inhaled her sweet, excited scent.

The thunder grew from rumblings to crackling overhead. By the time the first drop splashed on the truck Harlow had me wrapped in her legs and I was using my hand on her tail bone to grind her against my hardened cock. The second drop hit my back, then another hit Harlow's shoulder. I pushed back and looked around, and Harlow slipped to the ground. The rain—dark blue and laced with lightening—loomed over us. I said, "We need to get out of here before the trail turns to washed-out mud."

The thunder and the rain chased us up the dirt trail from the site, but when we reached the highway we left them behind. The thunderstorms were in the distance while we stored the chests and equipment in the project's shed, but we watched them stride toward Holbrook on long legs of lightening.

The rain was on us again before we reached the motel. I parked the truck as close as I could get to our rooms, and we ran through pouring rain while lightening flashed overhead. Harlow had her door open first, so I followed her in. She stopped in the middle of the room and shook water off her hands and wiped her arms, then she opened the door between our rooms and shoved me through.

"Go shower," she said, and then touched my cheek. "You might shave, too." Then the door clicked shut.

Her shower was still running and her door was still closed when I shut the water off and dried myself, and it stayed closed even after her water shut off. I waited with my towel tied around my waist and grew ever more impatient.

The storm outside subsided to a light rain before I heard Harlow touch her doorknob. I pushed through the door and found her wearing nothing but her tan lines; even her muff was freshly shaved. She looked down at my hard-on straining under the towel and added a smile to her ensemble.

Harlow pulled the towel off my waist and let it drop, then wrapped both her hands around my hard rod. She said, "You certainly give a convincing presentation, Dr. Powell."

She used her grip on my cock to push me back against the bed. I asked,"What are you doing?" while she pushed me back to sit.

Harlow knelt between my knees and kissed my face and my neck, then watched my face while she rubbed my cock against her nipples. She said, "I'm going to suck you off, Powell. Can I count on your collaboration?" I could only groan my reply and collapse back on the bed.

I closed my eyes and tried to breath, but I'm sure my chest was heaving while Harlow worked her tongue around the head of my cock. Her lips wrapped my shaft; she pumped me with one hand and with the other she rolled my balls between her fingers.

I lifted my head to watch my glistening rod slip between her lips. The sensations made me twitch uncontrollably. I tried to postpone my orgasm, but Harlow knew I was about to lose it. She looked up at me, kissed the head of my rod and said, "I'm hungry. Feed me, Powell."

When Harlow wrapped me with her lips again, I realized that I was already past the point of no return. I warned her, "Now!" My climax shot through my hard-on and the spasms rippled up my body. I arched my back and unloaded into her mouth, onto her cheek and her chin.

Harlow pumped my shaft in both hands and watched my face until I was drained and relaxed, then she climbed over me. I slipped my hands down her sleek body and grasped her hips, and then her firm butt, and guided her smoothly shaved pussy to my mouth. She wiped my essence off her cheek and her chin then sucked it off her fingers while she watched me drink from her hot slit.

Her scent and taste were so civilized that I barely recognized them. I slipped my tongue among her folds and creases, then she protested when I lifted her off my face and laid her on her back. I knelt between Harlow's legs and picked up one foot. I kissed her sole and slipped my tongue between her toes. I kissed her and sucked her, and listened to her quiet moans. I did the same with her other foot and she closed her eyes and squirmed slowly on the sheets. Her slit seeped warm nectar.

Tension built in Harlow's muscles while I let my lips travel along her leg. I knew she would be ready by the time I buried my face in her feminine center, but she didn't wait for me. As soon as I was within her reach Harlow gripped my hair and my ear and pulled my mouth to her. She was wet and delicious and her sensitive bud was firm. She sighed in relief while my tongue slipped over her hood and said, "Right there, Frank, right there."

I held her butt in my hands and drank from her; I pulled her labia through my teeth, and I worked my tongue over her hood. Harlow screamed and called my name the first time she came. She gripped my head against her so tightly that I couldn't breath, and she writhed.

Harlow rolled away from me when her spasms subsided, but I followed her. I reached between her legs, pushed my thumb into her, and trapped her trigger under my fingers. I leaned over to wrap one arm around her, and I pulled her up to kiss her neck and the back of her ears.

She never completely relaxed from her first orgasm and her second came quickly. She thrashed in my grip and gulped her breath. Rich nectar trickled over my hand to lubricate my fingers, and her body clenched and pulsed around my thumb while spasms rocked her body.

I stroked Harlow until she lifted her head and tried to crawl away from me. She gasped, "I'm too sensitive!" I let her go and rose to my knees between her legs. I found a condom in her bedside table and fit it to my cock then leaned to her ear. I opened her slit with two fingers and whispered, "Are you ready?"