For the past six months, I have been working in Australia, the land of Dreamtime, in the Northern Territories of Queensland. Tropical Rainforests, the Great Barrier Reef, and, if one has the imagination and the courage, the land of sexual dreams that are like nothing else on Earth.
The heat embraced me roughly like a savage and desperate lover who will not be denied. The rainforest at Fitzroy oozed the scent of vegetative decay onto the beach and the humidity stuck to my body. The beach, I knew, would provide little solace from the sun or the forest's earthy breath. The ocean beckoned as the sun glinted like a million diamonds from it's surface.
My bikini was already wet, and not merely with the inevitable sweat of summer in Queensland. The sea seemed to reach for me like a concerned mother who comforted her distressed child with coolness and a primal memory that this was 'home', the place where life evolved. I floated on the surface, face down and my diving mask opened the wonders of the Great Barrier reef to my eyes. Soon, I was in a world of my own and almost in a state of sensory deprivation.
The eddies and currents played around the reef and soon I was part of their hypnotic dance. A brief glance above the water confirmed that I had drifted far enough from shore to be isolated in my little world.
It seemed so natural to reach around and unclip my top, tying it around my right wrist, and then to untie the bikini bottoms, tying them tightly with the top. At one with nature.
Below me, the ballet of life continued. Deep on the seabed, the spiny sea urchins waved their sharp needles lazily in the underwater breeze, and even the fish darting in and out of the coral seemed to have lost the sense of urgency that usually pervades their lives. The gentle swell moved me and my hand reached between my legs.
My nipples hardened instantly, and I felt the gush of wetness between my legs that always accompanies the first stirings of arousal. I let my breathing slow to the point that it matched the gentleness of the swell.
Oh, how beautiful the anemones looked! Their fronds stroking, almost caressing the plankton from the water, was it my fingers on my clitoris, or their touch? The two became one.
The parrot fish was nibbling at the hardened coral, and it seemed so natural to reach for a nipple and mimick its movements. The dream deepened until I was no longer aware of the snorkel in my mouth. The reef was me, and I was the reef.
In the ocean depths of my stomach, the first stirings of orgasm reached out for me. My fingers denied me the penetration I usually crave, my mind was attuned to the ocean and it would be that rhythm that determined my release.
Ahead, and slightly below, a turtle eased its way through the water, casting me a curious but brief glance before heading out of sight.
Now, the swell within me was building and it seemed to me, or was it merely my imagination, that the activity on the reef below had also become more urgent. The fish were darting more now rather than drifting, the sea urchins movements were more eratic, and then I saw the eel darting its head from its hole, once, twice, three, four times. Like a thrusting, urgent cock.
On the fifth lunge my orgasm welled from within me and it seemed to me that the currents massaged my breasts, prolonging my orgasm well beyond its usual lifespan.
And after? Oh, a location check and I was alarmed to find that the currents had delivered me close to shore, but the most natural thing in the world was to walk up onto the deserted beach naked, allowing the water to drip from me.
My time in Australia is at an end, yet here, I have experienced the utter liberation of my sexuality.
I shall miss this place.