Star Struck

by Tasty Little Pop Tart

Copyright© 2011 by Tasty Little Pop Tart

Romantic Sex Story: Steve and Emily take summer jobs as camp counselors. One of Steve's responsibilities is astronomy instructor for the boys. Emily draws duty for the girls. As unlikely a pair as can be found, Steve and Emily hit it off anyway. A romance for the rest of us.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   .

Based upon the short story Star Gazing by Olderneighbor

The ad caught my eye: Be a Camp Counselor!

I frowned, imagining myself with a bunch of kids out of class. No way, I thought, shaking my head. I dropped the section on the floor and unfolded Sports. The Twins had won again and the Vikings lost. Not games, but personnel. Might as well be games, I thought.

An hour later I put all the sections together and dropped the newspaper on the end table, atop the rest of the week's papers headed for the recycle bin. That headline jumped out at me again.

Be a Camp Counselor!

No way, I repeated to myself. I didn't think of it again until the following day when I dropped the Saturday edition atop the pile. I picked it up again.

Be a Camp Counselor!

I'd been a teacher almost 30 years. I knew about kids. I was retired now; bored, gaining weight, losing my shape. I needed a gym and I needed a diet. I didn't need kids.

Sunday after church I bundled the papers together and walked them out to the laundry room and dropped them in the recycle bucket. Monday morning I carried the bucket out to the curb. At 10 A.M. I heard the roar of a diesel engine and the cascade of empty bottles, aluminum cans and other recyclables pouring into the metal bin. I don't know why, but I rushed outside and down the walk to the curb and retrieved the bundle of newspapers. I found the section with the ad and wrested it from the stack, just as a harried-looking Hispanic man walked up and grabbed the bin off the walk. I grinned at him, holding out the bundle which he took and carried to the back of the truck along with the bin. He looked at me non-committal, as though homeowners, especially eccentric gray-haired ones like me, met him at the curb every day. I returned to the house, feeling foolish.

I didn't call for a week. It was the last week of April and I figured any chance I had at the position had evaporated with my procrastination. On Monday morning I called anyway, got a woman named Peg, inquired without hope if any positions were left.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"How old am I?" I hadn't expected a question like that. I had expected to be let down easy with a Sorry, sir, but those positions were filled a week ago. You should have called earlier. "I'm 62," I replied defensively, not wanting to sound defensive.

"The reason I ask," she apologized, "is that too many positions are already filled by young adults. We're not supposed to ask your age, but we'd like to fill the remaining three positions with persons a little older than the children themselves." She laughed, which made me relax.

"I understand that," I admitted. "So you have three positions left?"

"Three," she concurred.

"And it's possible I could apply for one."

"With the right credentials," she agreed.

"I taught English for thirty years. Does that qualify?"

I could see a grin stretch her lips. "Can you be out here this afternoon? Say about two?"

"I would be delighted," I replied honestly. "Where is here?"

She gave me directions to Silver Lake.

At noon, I backed the Wrangler down the drive, put it in gear and headed out of town. I was nervous. I was antsy. I kept looking in my rear view mirror for cops with flashing lights, emergency vehicles, approaching flood waters. I was short of breath and had to stop twice on the way to go pee. I hadn't been this nervous since my last date, set up by my daughter. Never date anyone set up for you by your daughter.

I arrived in Silver Lake at 1:45 and followed her directions south on 45 to Wyoming Street, which I followed 3.2 miles to the intersection with Wicomico Drive. I almost turned back. My underarms itched and I had to go pee again. Setting my teeth, I turned right and drove the half mile to the given address. It was not the camp. It was the office of the administrators, Christian Youth Camps. A sign across the front windows declared so. I parked the Jeep and went inside to meet Peg.

"Mr. Burns? Hi, I'm Peg Barklay. Good to meet you." Peg was a redhead of 35, big-breasted in a billowy white blouse made to hide the fact. She wore black slacks and black shoes. Her hair was up, her makeup was so well applied as to be invisible. Her otherwise perfect features were marred by a scar across her right cheek, which only pointed out how attractive she was. A huge diamond lit her ring finger.

"Quite a drive," I commented. "Glad accommodations are at the camp. That's correct, right?" I wasn't driving four hours to and from camp every day.

"That's correct," she confirmed, smiling. A pretty smile. "Counselors are housed in separate quarters, and also in the bunkhouses."

"Like in the army," I said.

"Like in the army," she agreed. "You served in Viet Nam?"

I nodded. "68 and 69. Your father did too, I bet."

She smiled again. "He was a major. He still complains about the weather and the people and the bugs. The enemy too, of course."

"The weather and people and bugs were the enemy," I said.

According to Peg, camp activities ran Monday through Saturday, with Sundays off. "It starts the 12th of June," she said, rotating the schedule on her desktop for me to examine, "and runs until August 15th. There are two separate groups; kids that stay the whole summer, and kids that rotate in and out every week. The facility consists of the boy's camp here--" She pointed out a red area blocked out on the map. "--and the girl's camp here." A yellow area blocked out was farther north on the lake edge. "Male counselors with the boys, female counselors with the girls. Simple as that," she added, smiling. "Interested?"

"You bet I am. What about entertainment?"

"I hope you like campfires," she said.

"I love campfires," I acknowledged.

"What about stars?"


"We need an astronomy instructor. Our usual volunteer is away on a sabbatical until school. He teaches English also, though of course, an English background is not required to be a star instructor."

"Of course not," I agreed.

"Of course not," she repeated, smiling again. This woman was flirting with me.

I got the position, star instructor and all, and even took home a textbook on constellations. I would need it, as it turned out.

June 10th I returned to Silver Lake for indoctrination. I met the other camp counselors, a surprising number in their early twenties. I was the only true adult, the only one over the age of 45, an old fogy. Being with those kids made me feel my age. I immediately began to question my judgment in wanting this position. Stupid shit, I thought. You're a grandfather.

The kids arrived in two days. Two days to familiarize ourselves with the camp layout, the peripheral staff (cooks, drivers, housekeepers, etc.), the mechanical equipment, the medical equipment, the lifesaving equipment, the surrounding property.

The age of our kids ran from 9 to 15 years old; most of the counselors were college students, only a few years older than the kids themselves. Kids in the boy's camp were not allowed to visit kids in the girls camp without special permission. They ate breakfast when they were told to, ate lunch when they were told to, ate dinner when they were told to, and performed activities they had signed up for or were assigned. Swimming in the lake was daily between 10:00 AM and 4:00 PM, with evening sessions three times a week. Girls swam in their waters; boys swam in theirs, separated by a half mile of rocky shoreline. Fraternization was discouraged. Copulation was extremely discouraged. Copulation occurred every summer anyway.

As the oldest person in camp, I received my own private accommodations. I would spend no time in the bunkhouses, I discovered my second day there. I didn't know whether to be relieved by that, or disappointed, steamed or joyous. I had a log cabin to myself, complete with bedroom, bathroom, dining room and kitchen. A handkerchief-sized living room fit a short couch, a coffee table and an end table into its confines. I had my own porch for when it rained. I had an air-conditioner. What more could I want?

The first week was rough. For everybody. Jody Cramer broke his arm tripping up the front steps of his bunkhouse. George Williams cracked his head falling from a tree he wasn't supposed to be climbing. Matthew Coleridge developed a string of bloody noses that had the nursing staff baffled. All the kids got spider bites, bee stings, poison ivy, chiggers, everything but menstrual problems, which I couldn't have dealt with anyway. We lost three counselors to various ailments, none of them life-threatening. Three boys were sent home for sneaking off to the girls camp after dark. One of our counselors suffered the same fate, as did one of theirs. Stupid kids.

One of the few activities boys and girls got to share was astronomy. This excited both groups, as the lessons were after dark and held in the stygian blackness of the boy's baseball field.

It's amazing what can be seen at night away from the city. Away from anything. We saw the Milky Way clear as day. Everyone oowed and awwed. I pointed out a hundred stars, dozens of constellations, the other planets. The female counselor assigned to me lasted a week. She'd rather party than accompany an old man around, pointing out stars and fantastical constellations. The day she resigned I was assigned a new counselor named Emily. She was a partier also. At least I took her to be. No one as gorgeous as Emily could be anything but. I gave her a week, tops.

"I hear you're Steve," she said, approaching me with her hands in her front pockets. Her charges, like a gaggle of flighty geese, followed behind her. She wore a tank top and cut-off jean shorts. Her breasts were huge, straining the front of her tank top. As she approached, every eye in my group of boys filled with lust. The girls eyed her with envy. I eyed her with trepidation.

"I'm Steve," I agreed. She was 5'5" tall, maybe 130 lbs. Her hair was blond, cut just above her shoulders, her eyes blue and her lips full. A spray of freckles crossed her face but I couldn't tell that then. It was dusk, almost dark. I had to battle my heart beat and blood pressure and I'm sure I wasn't the only male with a stirring of erection.

"I'm Emily," she said, sticking out her hand. I took it and squeezed it hard. Her grip was firm and dry, authoritative. She had very clear eyes. I almost blurted out the restriction against wearing tank tops around boys.

Behind me, someone giggled and someone answered with a giggle. The girls all began to giggle. Emily's smile widened and she shook her head back and forth knowingly. The movement of her hair momentarily had me mesmerized. I said: "It's gonna be overcast tonight, Emily," indicating the approaching clouds with a tilt of the head. They had arrived on the northern horizon around dusk; they were rapidly propagating south. "We don't have much time."

"Carry on," she said, returning her hand to her front pockets. "We're all eyes."

We had forty-five minutes of clear skies, and then the clouds shut off our view. Emily seemed unaccountably interested in the evening sky, pointing out various constellations with a question, making astute observations about distances and the slow-pokey propagation of light, asking two questions for every one I answered. Jesus, I thought. This girl is sharp. I had no idea.

Thunder rumbled and lightning lit up the clouds. Emily herded her little group and I mine, and together we made a run for it, even as the first drops of rain pattered the dry grass around us. It was pounding by the time we reached the utility shed. We crowded beneath the awning built out the side, everyone wet and cold. Always the gentleman, I unbuttoned my shirt, removed it and draped it over Emily's shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, surprised. I stood beside her in my T-shirt, trying not to shiver. Around us, girls snuggled up to boys and boys to girls. The giggling began.

"Girls," Emily warned.

"Boys," I added. "Let's not take advantage of the rain." There was a guffaw, a handful of snickers, and bless the covering darkness. "Stupid kids," I muttered.

"Excuse me?"


The rain poured, the thunder crashed, and the lightning struck. I hadn't seen a storm like this since the summer before. It began to hail. "Wow," someone said, listening to the roof. I wondered if the corrugated plastic would hold up. The harder it rained, the more tightly packed our little group became. Hormone Heaven.

"So, Steve. How did you get this job?"

Oh, for Christ's sakes, I thought. Not small talk.

"You know a lot about the stars. Are you a science teacher?"

"English," I corrected. "But I'm retired now."

"No," she said, disapprovingly. "Your not old enough to retire. You're what, 45?" I saw her grin in a flash of white lightning. I wondered if she saw my chest puff out.

"I bet you tell that to every old man giving you shelter against the storm," I said.

She laughed, bumping me with her arm. I listened to embarrassed giggles from the girls. The girls thought it funny. Old man, hitting on their counselor. Was I?

"Actually, this is only my second week dodging the rain drops. Until a month ago, I didn't know the Big Dipper from The Big Bopper."

"Who?" one of the girls cut in teasingly. A flood of giggles this time.

"I needed something to do over the summer, and the something came with a star chart."

"I see," she said, laughter in her voice. "I was told I'd be partnered with some centurion with trifocals and an ear-horn." She pantomimed listening through a trumpet. "Instead, I find Michael Chiklis, with hair." More giggles from the girls. "What did they tell you about me?"

"Nothing," I said matter-of-factly. "Your name was Emily. That was it." I didn't add that Emily was supposed to be the second oldest person in the camp, that she was offered as an olive branch to assuage my damaged feelings. "And it's centenarian, not centurion. I'm not a Roman soldier, for Christ's sake." Again, the giggles.

To my surprise, Emily lasted more than a day. A week later, we were under the stars, the whole lot of us plopped on our butts in the middle of the field. Her little group and my little group intermingled freely. Emily was conversant enough with the sky to do a lot of pointing herself. I was very pleased with her progress. In the dim light afforded by the starry canopy, and the camp to our backs, I watched Emily with her head thrown back and her finger pointed at some obscure pinprick of light.

"Ten million years ago," she said, "Mr. Goompah and Mrs. Goompah and their three little Goompah's went for a ride in their skimmer mobile, heading home from Grandma's house. It was night, and the light from their headlights is just about to enter Earth's atmosphere after all these years. Who can tell me what that light is made of?"

Amid the giggles, a 10 year-olds girlish voice piped up: "Photons, Miss Gould?"

"That's right, Kaylee. Does anyone know what they are?"

The group was made up of 9 and 10 year olds, the youngest campers. The worst we had to worry about in the darkness was some innocent hand-holding and shoulder-rubbing. No snogging, certainly no touchy-feely, not with this group. I could devote all my attention to Emily.

She had recently ended a long-term relationship. The guy had cheated on her repeatedly. The final time was with her own best girlfriend. Camp was therapy for her. She was 29 years old, in fact the 2nd oldest camp counselor, though not the 2nd oldest person in the camp. Someone in the support staff had that honor. She lived in Silver Lake, hadn't left the camp since we'd arrived. Her vehicle was a silver Honda Prelude. Yesterday, I had discovered it parked next to the Wrangler. Of course, it had been parked there since the first day, I told myself.

"Are you seeing anyone?" she'd asked recently. I usually kept the conversation centered on her. I don't like discussing myself.

"Not presently," I admitted. "Though I have hopes."

"Anyone I know?"

"She's blonde," I disclosed. "And older."

"Not a kid?"

"Not a kid. I don't date kids."

"How old do you date?"

"Not under 30," I said.

"I guess I'm safe then," she said.

"I guess you are. Darn it." I snapped my fingers.

We'd been in the woods, the kids on a rare combined nature walk. She and I brought up the rear; two other counselors ran point. It was pleasantly cool under the leaves, a nice break from the June heat. For one insane moment, I almost reached out and took her hand. Unconsciously, she crossed her arms over her chest. She wore a camp-logoed yellow T-shirt and jeans shorts. I noticed the stragglers kept looking back at us and grinning.

She asked, and I told her about my divorce, my grown kids, my nervous retirement. She told me about her brothers and sisters--she had a twin, not identical, named Rachel--where she went to school, where she worked, the history of her recent dating. "Non-existent," she said. She'd broken up in March and hadn't seen him since. She'd packed all his things and had them stored in a closet. She'd just as soon throw them out, she said. Stumbling over a root, she brushed against my arm with her right breast and I grabbed her bicep in one hand, her forearm in the other to steady her, then an arm around her waist. We both turned red, which ended conversation for a while. Now, under the stars, I found her irresistible to look at.

"Who knows the stars in the Litte Dipper?" she asked.

Answering giggles. The same voice as before asked: "Polaris?"

"Any others?" Emily acknowledged. No one offered. I didn't know them all myself and I hoped she didn't ask me.

Tonight, she wore a tank-top and jean-shorts. After three weeks, her arms and legs were nicely tanned. I could tell, even in the starlight. I wondered what she looked like in a bikini. I wondered what she looked like naked. I took my eyes off her and moved them safely to the stars.

The session ended at 10:00 PM. As usual, Emily took her kids north through the woods, along a dirt track, while I shepherded mine back to camp. I was so enamored of Emily that it physically hurt when we separated. She had been unusually quiet tonight, moody and stand-offish. I wondered if I'd offended her somehow. I wondered if she were on her period. Many women get moody on their periods. I hoped that was the case. She hadn't said goodbye.

You're being stupid, I told myself. The girl is 29. Half your age. Younger than your sons, barely older than your daughter. Imagine bringing her to Thanksgiving dinner.

I found myself so depressed that I went for a walk. I kept remembering the way her breast had pushed against my arm--it had graduated from brushing to pushing--and the way I had reached out and steadied her with that arm around the waist. It was that, I suspected, the arm around the waist that probably bothered her. Not the innocent brush-up against my arm. I had left my arm around her waist a moment too long. She had noticed.

"You dumb shit," I mumbled to myself.

I was at the lake, standing at the tree line. I had no memory of heading for the lake, had in fact thought myself going east. I was about to head back when a soft rustling in the brush to my right froze me in my tracks. I unconsciously called "Hello?" and then kicked myself for it. Were there bears in the woods? I knew we had deer. An elk had been spotted two nights before. God help me, I thought. Not a moose. I'd rather see a bear.

Quietly, I turned away and retreated into the tree line. It was pitch black. Where was the moon when you needed it? I hadn't needed the moon, getting here.

"Steve? Is that you?"

I about peed my pants. "Emily?"

"Over here."

I returned to the tree line and discovered Emily standing twenty feet up the shoreline. In the starlight I could tell she held something against her chest. I realized it was her clothes. "Um, sorry," I said, averting my gaze. She laughed and dropped the clothes at her feet and dashed for the waterline, splashing in. I got an instant erection.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I come here every night," she said, waist deep in the water. Peripherally, I watched her large breasts sway back and forth as she pulled her hair into a pony-tail and secured it with a dark band from around her wrist. Even in the starlight I could see the dark of her oblong areoles. My heart beat faster and faster.

"The lake is off-limits at night," I said stupidly.

"Not for counselors," she replied gaily. I watched her sink in the water up to her neck, shudder violently. "It's cold. Why don't you come in here and warm me up, Steve?"

"Wh-what?" I stammered. I hadn't heard her right. I couldn't have.

She giggled. Like a little girl, she giggled. Still neck deep, she beckoned me with her hand and tempted me with a grin.

"I'm not wearing a bathing suit," I objected, stalling.

"Neither am I," she reminded me.

"Yes. I know."

She laughed again, fanned water around herself, dipped her head back in the water to wet her hair. That surprised me. I'd thought she'd put it up to keep it dry. A moment later she disappeared entirely, grinning mischievously. I stepped forward, concerned. She popped up again, directly before my position on the shoreline, still grinning. Shameless young tart, I told her. She laughed again.

"I never thought of myself as a tart." She ran her hands over her hair, pushing out water. She rearranged her ponytail. She seemed to be kept afloat by the buoyancy of her breasts. "You don't really think that, do you, Steve?"

"Of course I do," I rebuked sternly. "Tempting an old man. You could give me a heart attack."

She rose from the water to her full height, arms still in the air, hands still fooling with her ponytail. Like all males, a woman with her arms upheld mysteriously intrigued me.

"I didn't intentionally lure you down here, Steven." Her smile was that of the Mona Lisa. "You could walk away, you know, preserve your dignity. I don't practice mind control."

The hell you don't, I thought. You have pinpoint control. You manipulate me like a figure in a Playstation game. And still her arms were raised.

"I'll tell you what," she said, finally lowering her arms. "I'll cop to the charge of being a tart. I'm being shameless. But I didn't know you'd be here, so I can claim innocence in that respect." She patted the water with her hand. "Why not join me? I'd honestly like your company. We can keep it as innocent as you want. Just two camp counselors, out for a midnight swim. It needn't go farther than that." She remained motionless, letting me decide.

What was there to decide?

Unhurriedly, seeking to preserve some dignity, I kicked out of my shoes, removed my socks, pulled my T-shirt over my head, and stripped out on my shorts. I hesitated a moment before removing my underwear. I was still carrying the erection.

"I've seen men erect before," she advised, reading my mind. She lowered into the water, re-wetting her hair, which I realized was a sexual ploy, one she might not be aware of using. How much of her actions were intentional, I wondered, how many automatic? Why did I care?

Naked, I walked the six feet down to the waterline. She pushed back, propelling herself with her arms. When she stood again, the water rose halfway up her breasts, concealing her nipples. I realized it was a concession to my embarrassment. I really liked this girl. This woman, I reminded myself; 2nd oldest counselor in camp.

"You're in very good shape for a man your age," she said, admiringly. For a man my age, I thought, I should be ridiculously flattered. She fanned her arms again, moving water around. Another uniquely sexual action, I thought. My erection strengthened even as the water blessedly concealed the fact.

"Don't go anywhere," I warned. "I get above my head, you'll need to come rescue me."

She fanned more water. "You can't swim?"

"Never had a reason to," I replied. "Never got deep enough before. I'm not naturally buoyant, like some people I know." I felt my way carefully over the stony bottom. We were between the north beach, and that of the boy's camp. It wasn't sandy.

"Buoyancy is a Godsend," she retorted. "The only time I don't feel these is in the water."

I blinked, taking a moment to catch up. "They are rather large," I admitted. "I imagine they keep your back in shape?" She laughed. "Does it bother you, guys ogling you all the time?" I was within feet of her now, and stopped. Being this close had the effect of raising my blood pressure ten points, while pushing down my libido. What was she doing here with me, anyway, an old man?

"Guys aren't the only ones who ogle me," she admitted. "It's pretty much everyone with eyes. Big draws everyone's attention."

"There's reduction surgery," I pointed out. "With most insurance, it's a legitimate medical expense. Jennifer Connolly had it done. She won the Academy Award the next season."

"For having her breasts reduced?" she asked dryly.

"For strengthening her credibility," I answered.

"I'm not Jennifer Connolly. No one gives awards to camp counselors."

"True, but think of your back."

"You're a strange man," she said, laughing.

I reached out under the water and found her hand. She offered it willingly.

"I like you, Steve."

"I like you too, Emily. Though for the life of me, I can't figure out why on your end."

"I can't admire an older man? Want to know him better?"

"It doesn't make sense."

"Sense, doesn't make sense. You just have to go with it."

"I am," I concurred. "Mind-blowing as it is."

Overhead, a brilliant yellow, red and green meteor streaked across the starlit sky. We both looked up, watched it's quick demise into nothingness.

"I never looked at the sky before," she admitted. "Not until two weeks ago. Not like this, anyway." She dropped her eyes to me. "Before they were just pinpoints of light. Now they're living, breathing worlds, places other people might be holding hands in the water, gazing toward Earth. I'm glad I volunteered for the position."

"I'm glad you volunteered too," I agreed. "Very glad. May I kiss you, Emily?"

"You have to ask?"

Using her captured hand, I drew her to me, only to find water splashed in my face.

"Hey!" I objected, blinking and rubbing my eyes.

"I'm not that easy," she teased. "If you want me, you'll have to catch me, Bucko."

Bucko, I thought as she backpedaled through the water. She struck out north on an angle toward the beach. She swam like a fish, an Olympic competitor. "Hey!" I objected again. "That's taking undo advantage."

"Of what?" she shot back over her shoulder.

"Of my age and tendency to sink like the Titanic!" I hollered as I stumbled forward cursing a stubbed toe.

I surged blindly after her, pushing hard against the sometimes-jagged bottom stones--my only advantage, having good traction--and flailing my arms wildly trying to push myself ahead. She only laughed at me, gained her feet and loped gracefully out of the water to mock me from the shore. She was so damned beautiful. It made my heart ache. The moment I reached the shoreline she spun and dashed for the trees, quietly but delightedly yodeling her enjoyment.

"Catch me if you can! Catch me if you can!" she taunted.

I was winded. I couldn't hope to catch her, now not sprinting off like a doe like that. I stopped momentarily and, breathing hard, rested my hands on my knees. I hoped to lure her back, ambush her. She was too smart for that.

"I know what you're doing," she called from the tree line. "And it won't work."

"What am I doing?" I panted.

"Trying to entice me into a trap."

"I'm not that smart," I lied.

"Oh, yes you are," she countered. "It won't work."

I broke into a sprint, tearing up the beach after her. She squealed and spun and bolted down the trail between the trees, ducking and dodging and hopping over obstructions like someone outfitted with night-vision goggles. I barely made out her fleeing white flesh against the backdrop of greenery. I stood no chance against limbs and branches and rocks and protruding roots.

"Ow!" I hissed. "Dammit! Fuck! Shit!" I stopped, panting and limping and gripping my shoulder where a limb had stabbed me. I thought I felt blood. I thought I might have split a toe. Or two.

"Are you all right?" she called from ahead. She sounded barely winded, no more than a moderate set of stairs would leave her. I cursed under my breath, trying to make out her form. Was that her, hand against a tree trunk? She was 25 yards ahead, unreachable.

"You know what happens when I catch you, right?"

She giggled throatily.

"I'm gonna spank your bare bottom, girl. Turn it candy-apple red. Find a nice flat stump and take you over my knee."

"I better not get caught then, huh?"

"You better not," I agreed. I had every intention of following through on the threat.

"Are you hurt?" Concern had entered her voice.

"I'll live."

"Seriously, Steve. This is kinda stupid."

I couldn't agree more. I wasn't telling her, though. I wanted to catch her on my own, by subterfuge, if possible, and blister her bare behind. Devious old man. She began to walk back toward me.


"You're still getting spanked, Emily."

She laughed, still merrily. She was enjoying this too much. But then again, so was I. My anger at being made a fool of drained away. I wanted her dangerously bad.

"Maybe you should stay there," I said.

She halted. "Why?"

"Because..." Don't do this, Steve, I told myself, belatedly. "Because I like you too much. You're gonna regret this enough in the morning as it is."

"You think that's what's going on here?" She started forward again. "That I'm hiding my hurt and resentment under a blanket of adolescent frivolity?" Her shape began to take form, solidify in the near-complete darkness. I thought my irises had to be open to the rims to make her out. She walked as though being nude was the most natural act in the world, as though she did it in the forest every night. For all I knew, she did. The closer she drew, the harder my heart beat. My erection became fierce.

I tried one more time. "Emily..." But then she reached me and put her arms around my neck and brought her lips into contact with mine. Her breasts flattened against my chest and my hands naturally went to her hips, and then to the small of her back. She moaned as her head tilted and her mouth opened to my tongue. I tried, unsuccessfully, to save her from my erection. It pushed against her right thigh and then flattened out between us. She did the flattening. It was all her. The moan in her chest was a living, breathing thing.

"I really like you, Steve," she whispered huskily. Our foreheads pressed together; our noses touched. I moved one hand to the middle of her back, the other to her buttocks. She was trembling badly. I felt a shudder run through her and then she shuddered again, as though touched by an icicle. I wanted to put her on the ground. I wanted to take her in the dirt. Her hand found my cock.

"I'm glad you're not small," she breathed. "Just the right size for me." Her tongue went back in my mouth and her hand began a maddening stoking up and down my shaft. I wouldn't last ten seconds this way.


"Yes, Steve?"

"I'm very near ejaculation."

"I know you are, Steve. It's what I want."

My heart pounded against my rib cage. I could barely breathe, much less talk. I had seldom experienced premature ejaculation. I should be ashamed, but I wasn't. Emily made even that humiliation wonderful.

At the same moment she opened her mouth and uttered the words guaranteed to be my undoing, "In my mouth" she dropped to a squatting position and caught the first torrent of sperm on her tongue. It was everything I could do to keep from howling like a wolf, baying at the moon. I gripped my head with my hands to keep from gripping hers. She was motionless, using her mouth as a reservoir as gout after gout of hot liquid left my testicles and blew out my cock. I had never been sucked before like this, could not even consider it a blowjob. She let me empty myself, acting as a bank, as if my sperm were a valuable deposit: gold, or platinum. The more I orgasmed, the weaker I became, my knees like rubber, then well-oiled hinges. I finally put my hands on her shoulders to remain erect.

"Emily--?" I gasped.

She only grunted. It was nearly over now. The final drips of semen flowed into her mouth and only then did she begin to fellate me. I realized, with some chagrin, that she had swallowed my seed.

"You didn't have to do that," I reproved. I felt guilty, horribly so. I had never forced a woman to swallow me before. That's how it felt, as though I'd forced her to. She suddenly stood up.

"Kiss me."


"You did nothing wrong. I chose to get on my knees. For days now, all I could think about was putting you in my mouth and doing exactly what I did to you It worked out so much better than I'd hoped for." She kissed me hard on the mouth and I kissed her back. "Do you know what it means, knowing I excited you this much?" She kissed me again, harder, and this time I opened my mouth and tasted her tongue, her palate, the inside of her cheeks. I could only taste her.

She wrapped my neck again and drew up her legs and wrapped them around my waist. I held her by the buttocks, supporting her weight. Her breasts were flattened against my chest, covering almost my entire rib cage. In no lifetime did I ever want her reducing their size. Selfish, inconsiderate, mean. She made my tongue want to surrender, gracelessly.

"Emily--" I gasped, finally breaking the kiss.

She panted harshly, head back, eyes half-closed, nostrils flared, mouth open. She said nothing. I could feel her orgasm, raging. I raised her and sat her down on my upturned cock. It went into her effortlessly. She moaned gutturally. She was wet as a swamp.

"Oh my God." I felt her tighten around me, breath shudder into her lungs, shudder out again, back in again, muscles all over her body spasm. Her head fell back, further and further, parallel to the ground. She breathed harshly through her mouth. I had never experienced a woman orgasm before, without stimulation. I held her motionless, the only movement that of our lungs and trembling muscles. I couldn't hold her much longer. I was weak as a kitten.


"Yes?" she moaned back.

"Am I doing that to you?"

The words came out of her, almost indecipherable. "I'm not doing it myself."

I leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck, her jaw, her ear, the spot where her neck joined her shoulder, the ridge of her shoulder out to the joint and back again, along the line of her jaw. Each kiss brought a paroxysm of shivering. Her nipples poked my chest, like fingertips. Her buttocks clenched and unclenched in my hands. I didn't realize for a moment that she was riding up and down on my cock, fucking herself. I shuddered, dropped to my knees, placing her on the ground.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I can't hold you any longer."

She didn't care. Her head remained strained back, the tendons taut in her neck, her lips drawn back and her eyes rolled out of sight. And then suddenly she was with me again.

"Fuck me, Steve," she rasped out. She pulled me to her, flattened her breasts viciously between our bodies, wrapped my waist in a strangle hold with those powerful legs, opened herself to my desperate cock. I thrust forward and down, impaling her, driving her into the dirt. Ignoring the pain in my knees and elbows and the tips of my toes, I could only imagine her back, the pain she felt. The trail was rocky and scored by twisted roots. My face buried in her neck, against her shoulder. I sucked in flesh and brutalized it as my cock brutalized her hole. I had never been held so fiercely tight. I had never been so locked to another human being. I understood the concept of union, of oneness, of joining ... of mating with a loved one.

"Oh, my God," I moaned.

"Oh, my God," she moaned back. I wondered, belatedly perhaps, if she were fertile. The idea had the opposite effect I expected. I wanted her to be fertile. I wanted it desperately.

"Oh, Steve," she moaned, writhing. She bit my neck and did to me what I had done to her. I felt my own head reach back, my own tendons bow. I shuddered, struggling for breath. Inside her, my cock reached deeper and deeper. We shuddered into our second orgasm.

"Oh, oh, oh. Oh, my God, Steve!" Impossibly, we wrapped each other even tighter. We became one joined creature, Emilysteve, a writhing, curling, twisting serpent of completion. My sperm gushed into her again, air gushed out of her lungs. She crumped, a word not in the dictionary but the only one to describe what she did. Her limbs did things impossible of human limbs. It went on and on, liquid flowing out of me in a high-pressure jet, scoring her insides, and then it was over.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, panting.

"Oh, my God," I panted back. I had just run the 100 mile dash. My lungs felt scoured, my brain imploded. Sweat slicked our bodies. Semen slicked our genitals. It leaked out and down between her butt cheeks and I laughed.

"What are you laughing about?" she accused.

Her face was flushed, her hair soaked with perspiration. Beads of sweat dewed her brow, leaked past her eyes. Even now, her nostrils were flared. Her eyes were two pools of inky darkness.

"You don't want me to tell you," I warned. "How's your back?"

"Abraded," she said. "How's yours?"

"Sorry. I never should have put you down."

"And miss this?" she cried in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" She kissed me fiercely. I kissed her back, gently. Her kiss became mine. "I could grow to love a man like you," she said, cupping the side of my face. I kissed her nose. I kissed her lips and her chin, her eyelids, and her forehead.

"I love you too, Emily."

Returning to the lake, we gathered our clothes, dressed each other, and then made the trip together to the playing field where we had watched the stars. I undressed her again, and we made love on our clothes, going deep into the night, almost until sunrise. I delivered her back to her cabin as gray touched the eastern sky.

"Is this where you say goodbye?" I asked mournfully. " 'It was nice, Steve, but you know the no fraternization rule.'"

She reached up and cupped the back of my neck, drew me down. "I didn't seduce you for a one-night stand, Steve. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"A sensible one," I admitted.

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