Chapter 14

A full bladder woke me up. Rachael complained in her sleep when I extracted myself from the sleeping bag.

She hadn’t emerged when I poured coffee and sat quietly admiring the rising sun and the vast land spread out before me. Oblique light gave the hills shadows that emphasized the undulation of the land, valleys dark, hilltops bright.

She hadn’t emerged when I organized breakfast. I poured myself a second mug of coffee and waited, enjoying the silent beauty. I loved it here. The real world was somewhere else, not here. Life was simple and stress-free. I had to smile when I understood how Rachael made me feel younger. She was giving me the gift of experiencing emotions and desires I hadn’t felt since being a young man and now, through the lens of maturity, they were so much better.

Rachael eventually emerged from the pup tent fully dressed, frowning and carrying the roll of toilet paper.

“Morning,” I said with a smile.

She grunted something and left. When she returned, she was still frowning. It looked very cute.

“That’s disgusting,” she informed me, dropping the toilet paper roll.

I handed her a glass of orange juice and started the scrambled eggs.

Taking a sip, she grimaced. “What is this? It’s awful.”

“Orange Tang. Orange breakfast crystals.”

She put the glass aside. “I can’t drink it.”

Then, when I served her scrambled eggs, she took a bite and frowned again. “There’s something wrong with these eggs.”

“They’re freeze dried.”

“Why did you bring freeze dried eggs? What’s wrong with real eggs?”

“Real eggs wouldn’t have survived the trip. In case you’ve forgotten, they break easily.”

She put her plate aside. “Do we have any real food?”

“Oatmeal.”

“Kay. I’ll have oatmeal.”

While I prepared it, Rachael took in the vista and finally smiled. “It’s beautiful here.”

Her pleasure was short-lived. She took a spoonful of oatmeal and grimaced. “What did you do to this? How hard can it be to make oatmeal? You pour hot milk over it, add sugar, and it’s done.”

Grinning, I told her, “We don’t have milk. I used hot water.”

“Jeez Louise, Gramps! This camping thing isn’t as much fun as you made it out to be!”

Pointing, I told her, “I promised a view. There it is.”

Still grumpy from disillusionment, she announced, “I’ve seen it. Can we go home now?”

“Then you’ll miss canned baked beans for lunch and reconstituted Beef Stroganoff for dinner and sex in the open.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want baked beans and ... Did you say sex in the open?” Her eyes lit up.

Smiling, I nodded. “As soon as it warms up.”

“Okay,” she said brightly. “Sex. Then we go home.” Her eyes sparkled when she smiled and announced, “I’m not sore anymore!” She rolled her butt on the ground. “See?”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“We should pack up first, then have sex, and then leave,” she told me. “I might be too tired to pack after sex and I don’t want to stay here another day. I want real food.”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“It is. Let’s pack.”

Packing takes longer than unpacking. Rachael made that observation several times. I didn’t comment. She had a plan in mind and was executing it. I wondered how she’d approach sex.

An hour of packing in increasing heat made me sweat. Finally done, I went and sat on the exposed bedrock, leaning back against a huge freeze-thaw-loosened boulder.

Rachael meandered over to me and handed me a bottle of water. She sat next to me and leaned in. I put my arm around her shoulders.

“It’s really incredible here,” she said, taking a sip of water. “I wish there was a lake here, then it would be perfect.”

We sat in comfortable silence until Rachael commented, “Maybe we should stay.”

“Excuse me?”

Her hand settled on my thigh and rubbed lightly. “I’m just sayin’. It’s so peaceful and warm.” Her hand edged down my thigh, stopping when the side of her hand touched my crotch.

Without looking at me, she put her hand over my crotch and squeezed. My reaction was predictable. Blood stirred. My penis woke up and thickened.

“Maybe freeze dried Beef Stroganoff will taste good,” she opined, fondling my crotch as I became erect.

“You’re kidding, right? We just packed up.”

Rachael traced the growing bulk inside my jeans. She rubbed lightly, then her fingers walked up the zipper to the button. Demonstrating remarkable digital dexterity, she popped the button open.

Now I started enjoying myself. “Have you forgotten about the latrine and cold nights and watery oatmeal and orange Tang?”

She lowered the zipper, peeled the fly open and fished inside. Her hand burrowing down over my underwear to settle on my awakening penis.

“Oh. Well, if I’m hungry enough, maybe the food will taste better, like food at a picnic.” She squeezed my erection, then caressed the tip with her finger.

Casually, she extracted her hand and burrowed inside my underwear and grasped my shaft. She caressed the tip with her thumb rather expertly. I throbbed. A small amount of precum leaked and she spread it around; an amazing sensation. Then, struggling slightly, she repositioned me, bringing my erection up. With my cock pointing up she laid her hand along it. I was very aware of how her hand couldn’t cover me completely.

“Or we could go home if you want,” she added, her hand burrowing down to cup my balls.

“How long are you planning on keeping this up?” I asked.

She finally looked up at me and grinned. “How long can you keep it up?”

Reaching down from her shoulder, I played with her small breast over her T-shirt, twirling the tip of my finger around her little nipple, then palmed her. She smiled softly. I bent my head and kissed her, and once again I was taken away by her soft lips.

I was beginning to recognize her kisses. Sometimes, when feeling frisky, Rachael’s tongue would tease and dart away. Sometimes, when feeling happy, she simply pressed her lips to mine. Sometimes her kisses were deep and passionate, a sure sign of her being horny.

I enjoyed them all. But this kiss was the one I loved the most. This was the one where she showed affection. She moved her lips, pressed, and murmured as if my kiss was ambrosia to her. Rachael expressed love and adoration and I felt it in my chest.

Then her hand gently gripped my erection and stroked slowly. The kiss ended. She opened her eyes, smiled at me, and said, “Number four.” She paused, then added, “Maybe you should open my jeans.”

Opening the button of her jeans, I told her I was lost. “Four what?”

“Oral is number one. Vaginal is number two. Nancy is number three.” She laughed brightly. “Manual is number four, and frottage - a personal favorite - is number five. That’s what you said.”

I chuckled. “You remembered it?”

“I memorized it,” she clarified.

Trying to ease my hand inside her jean was a fruitless endeavor. They were far too tight. “Take your jeans off.”

“You take yours off, too,” she ordered, untying her boots. She kicked them off and stood.

“Keep your panties on, please,” I begged as she reached for the waist of her jeans.

She paused. “Why?”

“I like putting my hand inside your panties. It’s exciting and much more arousing that way.”

“Kay.”

With us both in underwear, I leaned back, legs stretched out. Rachael, instead of sitting at my side, straddled my thighs and sat. Her simple printed cotton panties looked childish. But what they protected was very, very obvious. Cotton stretched at her crotch, pressed tightly to her pussy. Feet on the ground, knees up, butt on my thighs, her pubis strained, bulging, a slight camel toe forming.