Six

I woke in the middle of the night in a hot sweat. I was laying on my right side with Lover curled up behind me. I felt his right hand resting underneath the pillow cradling my head, while his left lay nestled between my breasts. I was afraid if I shifted too much I'd wake him, so I slowly peeled myself from his hot skin and headed to the kitchen for a glass of ice water.

We were staying at a small cottage that opened onto a private lake. An occasional vacationer would go by in a canoe or kayak, but motorized boats were strictly prohibited for ecological reasons.

The cottage was covered in various pine and fir trees, and I loved it, like I love most places that we venture to together. For being "out" in the woods, we had a lot of amenities including inside plumbing with enough water to fill an old cast iron tub in the bathroom, a stove, refrigerator, phone and the owner of the cottage was very proud that he'd just put in Dish TV. We didn't have the heart to tell him it probably wouldn't get used the whole time we were there.

I stood in the kitchen drinking my water and looking out the large picture window in what should have been the breakfast nook. Instead, two large recliner chairs fit comfortably at the window. They were great for both reading on a rainy day, or, as I found out earlier, making love with me straddling Lover. We were laughing and talking during sex, which is something you do when you finally become comfortable with one another. The lust is still there, but it becomes playful and knowing and no longer exploratory.

We were laughing and kissing and yammering on and on, when Lover looked over my shoulder and saw another couple in a canoe on the lake. He twirled halfway around in the chair so that I was facing the window. I could see there was no way they could make out what we were doing, but the idea of them seeing my breasts bounce up and down while we fucked brought me to orgasm immediately.

When the rain finally left the area around dinnertime, it left behind a humidity that was unbearable. We both took cold showers and crawled into bed naked. It was too hot for sex. Too hot to think of anything but getting to the morning, when hopefully, the weather would improve.

But here I was at 3 a.m., standing in the kitchen reminiscing. And it was still too damn hot.

I put my cup down on the counter and walked naked out onto the porch. The air wasn't moving outside either. I walked down the four porch steps and made my way to the dock.

There were no clouds in the sky, so every star in the universe was out and the moon lit up the water to the point where I could make out a rowboat tied to a dock at a cabin across the lake.

My naked skin felt bloated from all the sweating. So I did what any normal person would do; I dove into the water. The water rolled over me. It was refreshing and sexy, and even better it was a very cool 70 degrees. I rolled over onto my back and floated for a while. I could feel my breasts bob peacefully and the water move through my pubic hair in tiny waves. I stared up at the moon and listened to the bubbles from under the water. I was so distracted that I didn't hear Lover approaching.

"How is it?" he asked.

I pulled my head out of the water and started treading. It was a good 10 feet deep just 15 feet from the shoreline. "It's a lot better than sweating all night in that bed," I said.

"Hey, we sweated in that bed last night just fine," he said putting his toe in the water to test it. "I didn't hear you complain about it then — and that went on for h-o-u-r-s."

The corners of my mouth turned up in a half smile. He was being charming and fishing for gratitude for helping me discover and master the world of multiple orgasms and female ejaculation with a partner. But I'm a pain in the ass, so I ignored his hook. He'd have to seek compliments some other time.

"The water is pretty cool," he said lifting his foot out of the water. He was staring at my breasts with great appreciation. I leaned back and went into my float again, so he could have a better view. "Your nipples look happy in the moonlight," he said. Then he dove into the water to join me.

When he surfaced, he approached me, so I started treading again. "Let's move closer to shore," he requested. He swam until he could touch the bottom and keep his head out of the water from the shoulders up. If I touched the bottom, it was still over my head, so I put my arms around his shoulders, kissed him and wrapped my legs around his back.

"This is nice," I said in between playful openmouthed kisses.

"I agree," he replied.

One of his hands was on my ass, while the other toyed with my nipples. Even in the cool water, I could tell he was turned on. "Is there a time you're not in the mood?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not in the mood—" he said. "Whenever you're not in the mood. And I've never known you NOT to be in the mood, ma biche. You get worked up just about everywhere: airports, cottages, bedrooms, public restrooms, cars, botanical gardens, kitchens, rooftops, weddings, restaurants, docks, forests, dining room tables..."

I rolled my eyes and put my hand over his mouth to stop the list of places we'd fornicated. "So what will happen when you tire of me and my ambitious libido?" I asked.

"I've been asking myself about you tiring of me since day one," he said kissing me up my jaw line. "That was almost a decade ago," he whispered rubbing his left thumb over my right nipple. I tightened my legs around his waist to a death grip in response. He backed off slightly but traced the fingers of his right hand down my neck as he spoke. "Want to know the first time I knew I wanted to make love with you?" he asked.

It was unusual for Lover was offer personal insight, unless he was trying to goad me into trying something new and sexually deviant, so I nodded eagerly.

"It was that time we met up in California. You were there for a conference. It was maybe the second or third time we saw each other in person—"

"I remember," I said.

"You had on these tight jeans and a revealing shirt," he said. "We met at that little restaurant for a drink. I walked in and saw you sitting alone because I was terribly late. You had grown out your beautiful, blonde hair and were sipping on a martini and nibbling off of a cheese plate. The restaurant was small and quaint — romantic, really. The lights were dimmed with candles on the table and mellow white party lights on the wall," he said. "When I walked up to the table, you tried to leap out of your seat to give me a kiss and a hug. But you didn't have that kind of coordination left, because I was an ass and was so late that you were on your third martini."

"Yeah, I remember being a sloppy drunk," I responded.

"It was good. You so rarely let go of your proper self early on. It was one of the few times that you let everything come out of your mouth. I got to see a lot of things through your eyes. I saw how you looked at me. And although you were feeling quite overwhelmed as a new parent and not knowing where you fit into your own life, you seemed so confident to me. Like if someone had given you a list of either/or choices, you'd know exactly which ones you needed to make for yourself. As I walked you back to your hotel, all I could think about was pulling you into one of the side alleys and taking you right then and there. Instead, I gave you a chaste kiss on the lips and dropped you off at the door to the hotel.

"Yeah," I said. "I wanted to kill you for it, too."

"Really?" He was more than a little surprised.

"That night I was alone in my hotel bed tossing and turning and crying about it. I was so conflicted. I wanted to invite you up. I wanted to give you a real kiss. I wanted so many things. I ached for them, but the next day I took my cab to the airport and flew back home," I said.

"I had no idea."

"Of course not," I said. "I wasn't ready for it then. It was frustrating, but it was better to wait."

"So when did you know?"

"It wasn't just a big decision; it took a lot of baby steps. The first was when I stopped kissing your cheeks when we met and just gave you a quick small kiss on the lips. The second was when we went to dessert that night and we got really heated and intimate while talking across the table. I was so ready to walk over and straddle your lap that I had to look away from you blushing at every conversation topic."

"Yeah, I was still clueless at this point," Lover commented.

"I think the first time I really kissed you, I knew it was going to happen sooner or later," I said sighing. "I don't just kiss people."

"You did warn me that you weren't a casual girl at least a million times."

"It's true."

We talked in the water for an hour and then we wrapped our naked body together in giant beach towels and sat on the dock chatting in the moonlight until sunlight broke.

I was extremely tired. I rested my head on Lover's shoulder as we sat in silence.

"I propose I cook you a big breakfast and then we take a long morning nap," he said.

"Mmm, pancakes?" I asked sweetly.

"I could do crepes," he said. He knows I'm not crazy about crepes.

"Please, pretty please, with sugar on top, may we please have pancakes?"

"Humph."

The couple in the canoe from yesterday paddled by on the far side of the lake, and I got an idea. I slid out of the towel exposing my naked body to the morning light. I sat between Lover's legs and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I'll make you a deal," I said.

His eyebrows raised slightly. "I think I'm going to like where this is going."

I took his hand and put it between my legs. I was wet just thinking about my proposition.

"I'll give you a blow job right here, right now, in front of those people, if afterwards you make me pancakes," I offered.

Lover looked over my shoulder at the canoe. I had no idea if they were watching, and I didn't care. "You do know the way to a man's heart, don't you?" he asked.

And with that, I smiled at him and lowered my face to his penis. I slowly kissed the underside from base to tip. I kissed gently around the head before licking it across the top and around the sides in slow circles. Finally, my mouth wrapped around his penis and I moved it up and down while I massaged his testicles.

Lover leaned back on his arms and threw his head back, so his face was looking up at the sky. "You're really very good at these," he said in a half groan. "Sometimes I think you're a little too good."

"Shush," I said, "Just enjoy."

I went up and down at a decent pace. It wasn't rushed, but I changed my routine up a bit so as not to get boring. After 20 minutes, my mouth tired a bit, so I started using my hands to help out.

"No cheating," he said. He was such a hard ass.

So I went back to work with my mouth. My tongue rolled over the tip several times causing him to babble. "Oh, right there. That feels good," he'd moan.

I put a lot of spit on my right index finger and gently spread his ass cheeks, inserted my finger and began to massage his prostate while I moved my warm mouth up and down on his shaft.

Nothing that came out of his mouth made any sense in any language at that point, but what did make sense to me was his cum hitting the back of my mouth as I stroked him through his orgasm and watched his body twitch and shake in bliss.

I licked all of the semen from him and swallowed before I sat up again. His eyes were barely open, but he looked sated.

"What's that look for?" I asked sweetly.

"As if you don't fucking know," he replied pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. "I'm changing our deal a little."

I frowned in response. He stood up and then pulled me up to a standing position. The canoers who'd gone by earlier were on their way back to their cottage.

He spread out the beach towels and lay down on his back. His head pointed out to the water and his feet pointed to the cottage.

"Lover, I want my pancakes," I whined.

"And I'll make them for you, as soon as I get to eat something."

"Really?" I asked all chipper reading through the innuendo.

"Yes, yes, yes."

"What if I ejaculate?"

"I'm counting on it," he said. "So get over here."

I sat down over his face. My vagina was already dripping from giving him a blow job. His lips found mine without any problem. He moved his head from side to side and rubbed his nose against my clit. I bent forward a little and gave him more access with his hands should his tongue get tired. It also allowed me to look over the water.

The man in the bow of the canoe suddenly lost his paddle when he looked in my direction. He saw me naked, bending forward, clearly atop my lover with my breasts swinging back and forth as I jolted and rocked from the euphoria that is oral sex. The woman in the stern laughed and retrieved the paddle for her partner. Then she splashed him with her own paddle when he was unable to avert his eyes.

"They see us, Lover," I said to him as he started to manipulate me with his long fingers.

He stopped licking long enough to say, "Use it."

I didn't break his gaze, as I normally would to fantasize. Instead, I kept looking at him, half of his face underneath me. Suddenly I wanted his penis, but it was too early. His fingers moved in and out of me trying to take their place.

"Talk to me, Lover," I said.

"You're naked—"

"No, talk to me in French," I said.

I saw enough of his left cheek turn up in a grin to know he'd been waiting for this. Part of my attraction for Lover has always been his experience, open mind and the variety of sexual encounters we'd had. But another large part of my attraction is all about his culture. I am probably the only Quebecophile in the United States.

I love Montreal. I love Quebecois film. I love their dialect of French. I love that they have wine in a can, passion for the Habs and full frontal nudity on TV. I love the Dépanneur, the plateau, the Tom Toms. I love milk in a plastic bag, Loonies, not turning right on red on the island and frigid winters. But mostly, I love that my older, more experienced Lover knew how to woo me in not one, but two languages. I also loved that no matter what he said, it always sounded so much more romantic and so much dirtier in French than in English.

I moved off of his face and sat back a bit so I was over his chest. His right hand inserted three fingers into my pussy, while his left made slow circles on my clit. I played with my nipples listening to him taunt me.

I couldn't look away from him. I was so distracted that I didn't notice that the little canoe was getting closer and closer until they were only 30 yards away. It wasn't until I threw my head back and my hips forward in pleasure and ejaculated all over Lover's chest, neck and beard that I realized the woman in the canoe was taking photos of us with her telephoto lens. I could just see the vacation slide show. "Interesting pine tree. Crazy expensive rental cabin. Loons. More Loons. Oh, yeah, female ejaculation at first light."

"We could give them the full show," Lover offered. His penis was showing signs of erection again.

I looked down at his dripping body and swished some cum off of it with my hand. I kissed him gently on the lips as I maneuvered to sit on his penis. I could hear the camera clicking.

"Mmm," I said looking straight at the woman. "Don't laugh at me, since we talked about my insatiable, voracious sexual appetite earlier, but I think I'm too hungry and too tired."

Lover sat up and hugged me. "We can't have you passing out from low blood sugar, ma biche." So we got up, collected our towels and walked back into the cottage, where 15 minutes later, Lover served me pancakes with melted butter and syrup, as promised.