Come camping

The tent looked like a dusky opportunity under the dark tall evergreens, lit brilliantly against the slowly sinking sun. Long fingers of shadow contrasted with flickers of glittering patches of sun. Amidst a background of birdsong and rustling leaves, the sound of water lapping against a sandy shore sang a song of peace. But as he sat in his chair a hope and the tension of desire grew. Would he spend his night alone? She knew where he was, he was sure of it. But maybe he cared more than she did? Maybe she was right now dressing to go out dancing with the girls. Dressing. He imagined it, letting one fantasy go for a moment only to be traded for another. He loved that green dress, but he knew there must be others. He knew how she loved to wear black and he couldn't imagine she'd like anything that wasn't sassy and alluring. He could see her in a room he'd never been in, wet from a shower, flipping her dripping hair over the front of her head and rubbing it dry. She lets her towel drop and slips on the black lace underwear she saves for the girls, and slinks up into her form fitting sheath. Braless it plunges almost to her belly button. He wonders how women keep those dresses from flying open and giving every man in the room what they want. The tiny rhinestones running down the back plunge glittering down as she checks in the mirror. Just where the silk comes together in the small of her back, a tiny tattoo butterfly can be seen. He thinks about licking it. He can taste her skin, smell the sweet scent of vanilla making him hungry. She lets her wild hair go free, just one butterfly clip to keep it out of her face, and slips on those gorgeous silver heels. There's nothing to those shoes and every tiny toe can been seen. He's just about to watch her choose her earrings when he hears the footsteps coming up behind him. He stares into the fire and wishes, dreams, breathes in, and waits. In front of him steps the object of his unsated desire. And his mind collapses under the relief of knowing that she came. There's only one reason for her to be here, and they both know it. She lowers her enticing self into the chair across the fire from him. Suddenly the black dress disappears from his mind and the tight jeans and soft low necked shirts she wears everywhere are ten different kinds of sexy. This is how he likes her. He can see that she is totally relaxed finally. Finally in the environment she always longs for. She is not a city girl, she's just enduring it. She doesn't talk. She closes her eyes and smells the air, hears the forest, and sighs in contentment. For the first time she looks at him. Her eyes glittering in the twilight across the fire from him are considering. And he knows it. Just waits. Just as he has always done. Because it's the only way she comes to him. In one Swift move she pulls her shirt off over her head, and he sees for the very first time how beautiful she is. He dreamed it for so long. But here she is. Not a mirage, half naked before him. God he wants to touch but he's not moving one inch unless she does. At least that's what he tells himself. To his delight, she touches instead. The flickering light of the fire bounces off her breasts and she touches everywhere the light licks her. Self teasing. Somewhere someone is playing a guitar and the music is adding to the perfection of the evening. Against her will she lets a soft groan of pleasure escape her lips. He slips his hand into his intentionally loose pants and wraps it around his rock hard cock. She's running her hand through that wild hair and he suddenly realizes that it actually is still wet. He was right about that. And she hasn't bothered to brush it. He smiles. Dares to say her name out loud. She stands and slips her jeans off one leg at a time and then drops her panties into the blazing fire. Promises for later if he desires. She's leaving him an open invitation. Hes stroking now, having freed himself from his pants as she lounges back in her chair in a languid movement that makes him suddenly relax, as if she can control his climax with her attitude alone. Hes forgotten. She can. At her mercy he slows and stares at the mysterious, alluring, aggravating, perfect naked woman. But now she is touching herself, soft circular motions that he makes note of just incase. The heat rises, enhancing the effect of the fire. Hes twisting and tasting now, and she can read him like a book. She slides two fingers into herself, and pulls up, and in and out, rhythmically, as her other hand dances over her firm breasts in a ballet he would watch again and again. This time he says her name louder and she purrs with pleasure. She's watching him, waiting for him now. Her hands speed up but she waits. I couldn't wait to meet you, she says, And he explodes. She arches back in pleasure. And he can't find his breath she's so exquisite. He'll take her up on the offer. He already knows. She rises, and he follows.