The First Day of Spring

"Yikes."

"Yeah, well, let me give you the full tour before you get all resolved on the matter. Can you keep your mind open for an hour?"

"Sure. Let's go".

The tour of the property took us along the picket of Ruby Falls. He pointed out trails that he had made throughout the woods, but didn't take me down the trails. The truth was, I didn't want to walk trails within the woods. The day was beautiful and I wanted to stay in the sun. My skin was as white as his, and I loved the feeling that sun sponging gave me. I was happy and easy minded, and the second and third glasses of wine marked too little time as it passed. By the end of the tour, which didn't include the cabin, I had an arm around my friend's waste for support. Most of his bandoleer was empty, the can pucks occupied one of his empty holster-koozies. It wasn't the first time we had been in a state together, but it had been a long time.

"You know, you should put a handle on this belt of yours. It would make it much more friend friendly." I slurred, tugging at his belt at the hip. The mutual physical contact warmed me. I hadn't had it in such a long time.

"Alas, my commitment to my beer exceeds our friendship" he quipped, squeezing me across the shoulders with his arm.

True to his word, only an hour had passed. The sun had warmed up a bit, and I wondered if it was in the eighties yet. It felt like it. It felt good and so did I. It was barely past noon and I was well wined, to the point of needing something horizontal to hold onto. He placed me in a hammock and collected my chalice. Collected might not be the right word. It smacked of confiscation.

"Time to shift you to water, Jessie." He had taken care of me when I was drunk, countless times. Always the epitome of kindness. Always so sweet. It never occurred to me to wonder why things hadn't evolved between us. That just wasn't the dynamic of our relationship. We loved each other, but something just wasn't there. It was the wrong kind of love. All succor and no thrill.

I laid in my hammock, sipping my water, wondering if I had shifted to water in time. I was still feeling good, but was tipsier than I was accustomed too. Besides, it was too early to be too drunk. It was also too early to fall asleep in a hammock, so I rolled out of it, hoping that I cut a more fetching image than Jake had. Not for his sake, but for the sake of my dignity. As I stood Jake handed me steaming bread, that smelled sweet and of cinnamon.

"Where did the fresh bread come from?" I mouthed around the hot sweet goodness. I was drunkenly baffled by its appearance. I was slurring a bit too, but I focused on making the words clear. Talking like your sober, means your sober, right?

"Madam, I command a full regiment of surprises, each of which strikes from the shadows. I will shine no light upon them" his accent was civil war south, and made me smile. "The bread will soak up a bit of the alcohol in your stomach, or rather, it will slow the absorption of the alcohol that is in there. The water will help too." To this day, I don't know how he conjured that bread.

He loaded the two beer holsters at the head of his hammock and sprawled out, sipping a third. I was struck by how much I missed my friend. Talking to him on the phone was great, but his physical presence mattered somehow. It was a comfort. I know I am being redundant with that word, but it is the word that fits. Blanket and home fit too, but are much harder to use when telling you this story, so please forgive my repetition.

I didn't ask if he'd mind if I sunned myself. I knew he wouldn't. Hell, in general, no man minds, but for some reason it is kind of expected that we women folk ask. I knew it wouldn't affect him. Even if he did mind, he wouldn't say so even if I did ask. I pulled my dress up over my head, kicked off my sandals, and settled back into my hammock, face down.

"Would you like some tunes, Jessie?" he asked from his hammock.

"No. The windchimes on your porch are wonderful to listen too. So are the birds. Music wouldn't be right". Somethings are easy when I have a good buzz. Living in the present and enjoying it are among them.

The gentle breeze and the warm sun were as intoxicating as my wine. I heard Jake leave his hammock. I thought about how exposed I was in my florals, but I didn't care. We'd skinny dipped before, so it wasn't like he hadn't seen more of me. The years that we had been friends and my years of life experience had converted my modesty to indifference. I heard him reeling in his poles, and casting them out again.

"What kind of fish are smarter than you are today?" I asked.

"All of them. But I am hoping that a couple of crappie will be suicidal, despite their considerable powers of intellect." I like crappie. Flaky, light, and moist, with very little fish flavor. Jake had made it for us serval different ways in the past. Most of them I really liked. There were a few times where it didn't turn out so good.

"I am going to lay here and quietly pray that they have a death wish. Good luck, my friend" I said.

"I'll be back in a bit. Need anything from the cabin?" he asked.

"Actually, where is your loo?" two hours after wine time was dewine time.

"In the cabin. It's all yours. I am going to go and close the gate. Don't think we are in any condition to go anywhere".

"Good point" I said as I poured myself out of my hammock and put on my dress. The walk up to the cabin was easy. I loved the feel of the grass between my toes. The grass was fine, thick, and couple of inches long. The inside of the cabin was breezy and lit by skylights. There was no hum of electric appliances. It was simple and minimally furnished. A kitchen and living room downstairs, and a loft bedroom upstairs. The bathroom was downstairs as well. Thankfully, Jake had added running water.

I washed my hands and returned to the pool and saw Jake sprawled in his hammock again. I saw that there was a bottle of hand sanitizer on the picnic table and helped myself. I could hear him gentle snoring. He looked so comfortable. Not that he himself was comfortable, which of course he was. Who wouldn't be comfortable sprawled out in a hammock with a great beer buzz? No, he looked comfortable like his hammock was comfortable. I pulled off my dress again and sat next to him on his hammock. I expected to feel my heart rate pick up a notch, but it didn't. He slid over to the other side of the hammock, carefully making room for me. I laid in beside him and soon we were acuddle.

His snores returned and I nuzzled into him. I laid my head on his shoulder and draped an arm and a leg across him. The man was comfort incarnate. He was a chicken pot pie on a cold day. The arm beneath my head cupped my back and held me against him. I watched my friend as he slept. His snores deepened until they were a bit too loud. I reached over and grabbed his shoulder to coax him into rolling onto his side, towards me. I pulled him over as I rolled onto my back. His snores diminished to quiet breaths in my ear and my repose was reacquired.

I felt the sun's warmth soak into my skin from above and his warmth soak into me from the side. I enjoyed both peacefully, and felt myself slipping into slumber when he repositioned and his right hand rested on my thigh. While I wasn't moving before, I certainly went more still as his hand rested there on my thigh, inches from my crotch. His gentle snores continued their smooth rhythm.

I considered moving his hand away, and decided against it. I didn't want it to move away. Inexplicably, I wanted it to move towards. I wanted more comfort, but I didn't want to jeopardize the friendship. So, instead, I lay there, still, with my much-prized contentment disappearing. Then I made the decision. I gently reached up and grabbed his arm below the bicep, and I guided his hand where to I wanted it. He awoke as I moved him.

He didn't ask me if I was sure. He didn't pull back his hand from the yielding softness of the flesh and fur beneath my thin shorts. He gently stroked and kneaded me quietly. The only noise I could hear were the gentle tingles of the wind chimes. He made no move to pull my shorts aside nor did he try to slide a finger into me. He knew me. I had revealed my secrets to him in the past, as he had revealed his to me. We learned much about the opposite sexes from our discussions with each other. I had told him things about the failed attempts of my ex-lovers and I had wallowed in the successes of others. And he had done likewise. Above all things, Jake was a man that listened and remembered.

His fingers worked against my flesh until I could feel my sex go slick and my plump bud fill to stiffness. I clenched his shoulder and resisted the considerable urge to bite him. I am a biter. Always have been. It can barely be helped.

He slid a finger slowly, back and forth along the length of my heat. It was the cleverest combination of petting and stoking. He didn't rush. There was no urgency. It didn't feel like he was trying to push me into anything, much less a climax. I don't know how much time passed as his fingers glided along my tender glade, but I do know that my hips had been involuntarily rocking, first with subtlety and later with urgency, long enough that I was breathing hard from the exertion. I could feel the burn in the muscles in my hips, thighs, and ass from the effort. I was about to grab his hand and push his fingertips against my bud when his hand moved there of its own accord.

Two of his fingertips straddled my stiffness and a third lighted upon it. He made small circles as I pushed myself against his hand. My breathing was fast and shallow, and my pulse pounded. My need hijacked my brain and made all of my decisions. Words poured from my mouth, some intelligible, most, not so much. Thankfully I can't remember what I said. But I do remember when I caught my wave. I remember the clenched screams that poured forth as I seized my orgasm, holding it tightly as it built and rolled.

His fingers became light and impossibly fast, almost a flutter. That is where most men make their mistake and blow it for team orgasm. They think that a certain pressure is good, so twice the pressure it better, but when I am getting close, the exact opposite is true.

My screams came full and earnest and I shuddered under the massive weight of an untenable orgasm. His fingers backed off of their rapid work, gradually, but quickly, and my orgasm cascaded to conclusion as his hand rested over my throbbing, sodden fullness. As my breathing slowed, my need surrendered my mind back to me and my mind lurched to try to catch up to the moment I was in, to what had just happened with my friend. But my mind was fried. I knew I should be thinking a million things, but I wasn't. Besides, what could I say? My friend had just given me quite a remarkable orgasm. I didn't want another one. Hell, I don't think I could have handled or produced another one. I didn't feel lonely, which had always been a problem when I rushed into things in the past. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want him to leave. I just wanted to be in that moment for a while.

So, I held very still, like a fawn still in its spots. Minutes passed to the sound of his wind chimes. Eventually, his gentle snoring resumed, which relaxed me considerably. The tension of the awkward moment associated with the afterwards was gone for now. I laid there relaxed, with his hand still blanketing my crotch. His crotch was still against my hip, and his erection was just as absent as it had been the entire day. The absence was a good thing. Somehow, it made things simpler. It made things between my friend and I okay. I would like to say and I slipped into a peaceful slumber, but I didn't. I wanted to. If I was asleep, then I wouldn't be conscious for the awkward moment when he awoke. I was very worried about what I had potentially done to our friendship.

So, an hour or so passed while Jake napped. I could feel the weight of his hand against me, but I didn't dare move it. Moving it would risk waking him. It could appear as a decisive rejection, which I would have to explain. How could I explain that? Besides; physically, I liked it where it was.

In the end, Jake saved me from the troubles in my mind. He woke up, pulled his hand away and got up from the hammock. He tended his fishing poles.

"Fish still too smart?" I asked.

"Yeah, and not near suicidal enough. Hey, you got any of your Backstreet Boys CD's? Might push them over the edge."

That was my great shame. His was notoriously bad decisions about his hair styles, mine was falling in love with bad music. A smile was my only response. Things felt the same. But I couldn't help it. I wanted confirmation. That was one of the best things about Jake. He was so easy to talk to. Having a topic that we couldn't talk to each other about would make us not be us.

"Jake, about that thing that just happened..."

"Yeah?"

I couldn't figure out what to say. I sat up and looked at him. His back was to me as he continued to fish. God, the man was hairy. I can remember that I had settled on "thank you, buddy", which would have been simply awful. As I gathered my commitment to those words he said "No worries, Jessie. It is all good."

I smiled, my mind soothed. Not as much his words, but more his tone, assured me that things were going to be okay. "Yeah, I know. Thank you."

"Anytime".