Chapter 7

Saturday November 12

Martin surprised me by video-calling me on Skype this morning. Usually he and I talk by email or SMS.

“Lexi, I have to meet her,” he said desperately.

“What? Who?” I answered.

“The girl from the gym - um, Mandy,” he clarified.

I sighed. “Martin, I don’t think you realize how creepy that would be to her.”

“Lexi, there was something between us - really,” he explained. “I mean, I think she felt it too. I don’t know - maybe you’re right and she’ll think I’m a total freak, but ... I promise not to stalk her. Lexi, she could be the one for me, and if I don’t try to make a connection, I’ll be wondering what I missed my whole life. Please!”

I thought it over while looking at Martin’s pleading eyes - which I guess is why he wanted a video call. “Okay, I’ll tell you what: write her a letter - just a couple paragraphs - and give me a picture of you. If I don’t think it’s too creepy, I’ll bring up the idea with her. If she seems receptive, then I’ll give it to her; but if not, you leave her alone forever. Okay?”

“Deal! Thanks, Lexi - I owe you.”

Paul and I made plans for tonight: an early dinner and then driving to a camp site an hour away to play with his drone...

Dinner was nothing special; we didn’t click all that much. And all I could get to admit to on spying was having peeked at some skinny-dippers once.

Once we were at the camp site, we sat in the back seat of his large SUV, watching the drone’s camera on the SUV’s screen. He showed me some nice wilderness shots, and a pretty cool sunset over the tops of the trees, but I was mostly interested in what the campers - kids my age, probably from the university - were doing.

It’s November - there was no skinny-dipping. Even the people gathered around the camp fire had plenty of clothes on. We got some audio, but it wasn’t clear enough to make out any words. Nobody seemed to noticed the drone at all.

A girl and a guy left the camp fire together. She had been leaning on him and touching him a lot for the previous few minutes, so I had a strong suspicion about what was on her mind.

“Those two are totally going to fuck. Follow them,” I proclaimed.

The two suspected lovers entered a tent together, and then there was nothing to see. “You said you’ve got infrared on this thing, right? Can we see through the tent?”

“Sometimes,” Paul said, and threw a switch.

Two orange and red silhouettes appeared where the tent had been. The smaller one was kneeling and moving like she was taking off her shirt. The larger one was sitting, and leaned in toward the girl’s chest after the shirt maneuver.

“Think she’s wearing a bra?” Paul asked. For the most part we could only see general shapes, but we could tell the difference between core body colors and limbs. Paul’s question was answered a few seconds later when the guy’s arm went in front of the girl, and she shrugged as if to remove shoulder straps.

Then came the panty-peeling. After that she pushed him down, flat on his back, and knelt near his middle. Unless I miss my guess, the next motion of the heat blog was the guy taking off his pants.

The guy was lying flat. The girl was kneeling and swaying slightly. “Handjob?” I guessed.

“I think so,” Paul agreed.

It didn’t take long for before the girl mounted the guy and started bobbing up and down on him, leaning her arms on his chest.

Even though all we could see were a couple vaguely human-shaped blobs, the fact that we were spying on real people making love without their knowledge started to turn me on. Honestly, I wanted to unbutton my jeans and play with myself, ignoring Paul, but that seemed kind of rude. I had no interest in fucking him, but I wanted a little stimulation while I watched the show.

“Be honest - if I weren’t here with you, you’d be jacking off right now, right?” I asked. He didn’t need his hands any more to control the drone - I think he had parked it in a tree.

“Well ... I wouldn’t...,” he stammered. I gave him a get-real look and he finally admitted, “Yeah.”

I put my hand on Paul’s crotch and started rubbing his junk. He accepted it but didn’t say or do anything else. The girl on camera raised her arms above her head and giggled a little while riding the guy at a steady pace. I assume she was showing off her breasts.

“Pants off,” I suggested to Paul, patting his crotch lightly. He pulled his jeans down to his thighs and I did the same. I pulled his dick out of his underwear and started stroking it, but he still didn’t take the hint, so I stopped to guide his hand down the front of my panties.

Now we were getting somewhere. Paul’s dick - skinny but very warm - was completely hard and twitching in my hand. My own juices were only just starting to flow, but Paul knew what to do well enough and my clitoris appreciated the attention.

The girl was leaned back by this point, her hands on his legs. We didn’t see much motion, but we could kind of make the guy’s moans, so I assume she was gyrating around his cock.

Then another person came into the tent - another woman based on what we could make out of the voices. The two girls argued lightheartedly while the new taller one took off her clothes. The shorter girl got up off of the guy and the tall girl took her place atop him.

Paul came. Thick pungent semen splattered on the back of the driver’s seat.

He lost his focus on rubbing my clit while he came, but I hoped he’d get back to it shortly. Instead, he asked if I wanted to get high. He pulled a baggy of home-rolled cigarettes out of the storage compartment between the seats.

“I’ve never done that,” I said meekly. “It’s just pot?” I asked.

“Yeah, this stuff is clean,” he said. He waited for my answer.

“Sure, I guess,” I said. I performed a quick mental inventory of my clothes to be sure that nothing would be hard to wash the pot smell out of.

I took over rubbing my pussy lazily, splitting my attention between the drone video and Paul’s drug activities. The tall girl was sitting straight upright riding the guy’s cock with short but quick bounces.

Paul took the first drag from the shriveled paper and then handed it to me. Once my lungs got used to the fact that I was deliberately filling them with poison, I started to enjoy it.

The short girl knelt behind the tall girl, and I think put her hands on the tall girl’s breasts. Two voices - the guy and one girl - began a dialog. The words were lost to us, but the tone was unmistakably dirty talk.

By the time we finished the first joint, I was completely wet and good to go. I had figured out that I was going to have to create my own sexual satisfaction. By the time we finished the second one, I was completely jazzed, but I still hadn’t managed to come yet. I don’t know if it was the setting or the pot or Paul, but things just weren’t working like they normally do for me. I was pretty seriously stoned.

Paul was hard again by that time. He had taken to stroking his dick himself.

The guy was behind one of the girls doing her doggy-style by that time, and going at it pretty hard. It seemed likely that our show was going to end pretty soon. The other girl was sitting near by, but it was anyone’s guess what she was doing.

I decided to see if Paul’s cock could satisfy me where my fingers had failed. I crawled onto his lap facing him and lowered myself onto his pole. Some corner of my mind remembered that I should use a condom, but that went unheeded. Paul looked into my eyes as I started humping him.

“Don’t look at me,” I instructed him. “Tell me what they’re doing.”

Paul described the action pretty well: the girl lowering herself down to her elbows while the guy banged her from behind. The other girl was walking on her knees toward the guy and kissing him, and maybe twisting his nipples.

It was strange moving my body on Paul’s lap to move his cock inside of me. I had done it this way plenty of times in the past, but now with the pot, my body felt slow, like it was nothing but a sack of fluid sloshing around with so much momentum. But Paul’s cock felt that way too, which was a novel and welcome change. I was getting close.

Then Paul described the moment of stillness on-screen, suggesting that the guy had come. The three campers collapsed into a giant-orange ball.

There was a moment of silence when Paul had nothing to describe. He broke it by asking, “Are you going to come?”

“I’m trying,” I said, a little annoyed. “Talk dirty to me.”

Paul sucked at talking dirty. I can’t even remember the stupid stuff he said - I tuned him out, or maybe my mind just wasn’t able to follow his ideas. But it kept him busy while I kept moving our bodies together, trying to come.

Paul lost his train thought and started to moan, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him come first and spoil all my hard work. I started working my hips hard into his cock, racing him to the finish line. If I had slipped and his dick had popped out, I probably would have hurt him.

When I did come, it was a relief, and it felt good. All orgasms feel good. But it wasn’t great.

I thought about stopping right then - I mean, Paul sure hadn’t put much effort into the experience. But he seemed like he was close to the edge. “I want you to come now,” I told him, and kissed him.