Heat

– I meant to finish this months ago, but life got in the way. I’m looking forward to returning to a more regular writing schedule this winter. Hopefully this one counts as better late than never. –

You know the worst thing about the Midwest?

August.

Sure, there are other things. Potholes. Cornfields. Cleveland.

But after three straight weeks of 98 degrees and 90% humidity you don’t really care that Kansas is a thing. You just want out — to escape the stifling grassland; preferably to a place where you don’t need to swim through the steam to reach the next air-conditioned oasis.

Where I work we need to maintain a minimum staffing level to fulfill our obligations. So vacation requests are handled on a first come first serve basis. First person to request time off gets first pick of available dates. Usually I get in early, guaranteeing myself at least one week that I want. But by the time I remembered to request this year, my only option for a summer break was the final week in August.

Monday and Tuesday were a bust. Too hot to leave the house. I tried Monday morning, heading out to my favorite brunch spot for an omelet. But after burning my hand on the gear shift lever at 10:00 am I decided to pack it in. The weather app promised cooler temperatures mid-to-late-week, so I set about crafting a plan to salvage what was left of my vacation.

There’s a state park a few hours north, on the edge of a popular college town. I’d hiked there several times before. It was quiet, with a decent elevation and full tree canopy, and a 15-foot waterfall at the crux of the two longest trails. Temps in the mid-eighties were still warmer than I preferred. But after months of being stuck in a warehouse 10 hours a day, a little time outside seemed…necessary.

I texted my friend Natalie, curious if she’d want to tag along. She was fun, outdoorsy, and never seemed too busy for an adventure. And sometimes, if we’d both had a few drinks, you might find her with her head in my lap, cock in her mouth and my fingers slowly circling her clit; agreeing this was a great way to spend an evening. But this time I struck out. I was on my own. I’d have to make the best of it.

Every hotel in town was booked for Friday night (damn college football weekend), so I reserved a room for Wednesday and Thursday and headed out after lunch. Two hours and three Interstates later I pulled into a parking lot already half-filled with cars. I intended to drop my bag in the room and lap the short trail before dinner. That plan screeched to halt the moment I shut off the car.

Cooler temperatures midweek my ass. It was 90 degrees at 4:15. The air saturated my clothes as I trudged across the pavement, and by the time I arrived at the check-in desk I knew I was done for the day. Cranking up the air in the room I decided to catch up on some streaming shows before heading across the parking lot to a local burger joint for a lite supper.

But soon the sun disappeared behind a fortress of darkened clouds. The wind whipped up and the rain poured down in sheets, lashing the windows and transforming the parking lot into a rippling black pond. I watched for a while, checking the weather report to find nothing about precipitation. If Thursday was anything like this….

….

Eventually the rain stopped, and I headed out for dinner. It was cooler now — high 70s or so, and the squall had dried the air enough for the wind to wick away the water instead of steaming me in a sauna. I picked a seat in the corner of the restaurant patio and settled in for a meal.

The dining room filled up quickly. Mostly locals — you could tell by the comfortable clothes and their rapport with the bartenders. But midway through my second beer, three young women rounded the corner from the waiting area, following the hostess to a four-top across the aisle from me beneath the center awning. And they were obviously based somewhere else.

Two of them looked similar, (sisters maybe? cousins?) with straight blonde hair and big broad smiles. They dressed like they’d come straight from the yacht club: white shorts, striped navy tees and deck shoes; one with a denim jacket, the other in a hat. The third was taller with rectangular glasses, buoyant, gently curled auburn hair, and a short powder blue A-line summer dress accentuating the tone and length of her legs.

She caught me looking as they stopped at their table. I turned away quickly, smiling to myself, disappointed, yet amused that I wasn’t as discrete as I used to be. I took a full swig of beer and set the mug gently on the coaster before glancing back toward their table. The brunette had switched places with her friends, taking the seat on the far side of the circle, just about facing me.

For a while I kept my eyes to myself. They ordered drinks and struck up a lively conversation. My burger and fries arrived, and I concentrated on securing the toppings so as not to make a fool of myself the first time I bit into it. But as I worked my way through the meal my attention began to wander. First to the parking lot. Then to the bar. And finally, to the beauty at the table twelve feet away.

I stole glances between french fries and over the rim of my glass, careful to look away the moment before she turned her head or shifted her eyes toward me. Despite my best efforts she caught me once or twice. I flashed a smile, she did the same, we both looked away until the next time it happened. I was always drawn back. Her face was so bright, skin glowing in the warmth of the pendant lights.

She shifted in her chair, slouching a little, stretching her legs to the edge of the aisle and crossing them at the ankles. Her dress rode high up her thighs, the shadow of the fabric and the table above shielding me from what lay beneath. I pretended I hadn’t noticed, drawing out a sip of beer until she returned to her conversation.

Inappropriate thoughts crept through my mind. I prodded them, trying to keep them at bay. She was at least ten — if not fifteen years younger. I was here to hike, not ogle women just barely out of college.

The waiter stopped by my table, asking if I needed anything. I should have asked for the cheque. It would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, I asked for ice cream. It was still warm out, seemed reasonable.

A few minutes later I spotted him heading my way, a tray with a tall bowl and several margheritas balanced on one hand. As he stopped to set the bowl in front of me, movement behind him caught my eye. I looked past to the ladies’ table to catch the brunette uncross her ankles and ease her outside leg into the aisle, her knees drifting apart just far enough to show me smooth, plump pussy lips unencumbered by fabric or modesty. I froze, staring. Drinking it in.

“Everything okay sir,” the waiter inquired, snapping me back to the moment. I tore my eyes away and looked up, then down at the ice cream, then up again, trying to reset my brain.

“Yes,” I replied, “thank you. It looks…delicious.” I don’t think I was talking about ice cream. And from the way his forehead wrinkled I think he knew that. I dipped the spoon in and took a bite. He nodded and moved past me to the table waiting on drinks. Staring at the bowl I tried to collect my thoughts. But all I could picture was the perfect pocket of pleasure framed between those gently tanned thighs.

I lifted my head. Her legs remained splayed, treasure visible. Leaning back in her seat she lifted one foot, skimming her calf up over her shin until one knee rested over the other, closing the curtain on my view. Our gaze met. The corners of her mouth curled up and her eyebrows shrugged, and I felt the stir in my groin as I realized that perhaps…I was meant to see what I saw.

I smiled a little. Then stopped. Her friends had turned to watch me, giggling into the hands covering their mouths. I scooped a spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into mine, staring at the table. Nothing like looking creepy in front of attractive women half your age. I decided to finish my dessert and keep my eyes to myself, get back to my room before embarrassing myself further.

Before I could execute my plan, the women settled their tab and left. Through the glass I watched them skip across the parking lot toward the hotel, laughing with each other along the way. Something slipped from the brunette’s swinging hand, and when she stooped to pick it up she looked back in my direction. I flinched, wanting to turn away. But I couldn’t. She was mesmerizing. She flashed a smile, then ran to catch up with her friends.

I waited until I was sure they were settled in their rooms before heading back to mine. I ambled into the bathroom and checked myself in the mirror. I was in good shape for 40 plus. Ten years ago I might have made a pass at them; bought them a round, slid over to their table, try to talk one into joining me in my room. Instead…I took a shower, cranked up the air conditioning, and went to bed.

….

Thursday morning I grabbed some apples from the breakfast bar, threw on a tee shirt and cargo shorts and prepared to hit the trail. It was a little after 8:00, about 75 degrees. The weather app promised 85 by 2:00 pm, which gave me plenty of time to loop the long trails before the heat became oppressive. Armed with two frozen water bottles and the fruit in a small backpack I caught a ride share to the park and headed out.

The forest was teaming with life. Birds of all feathers chattered in the trees while rabbits and squirrels and other small creatures darted about in the in the brush below. The canopy was lush and thick, filtering much of the early light and heavily shading the first few miles, making for a pleasant hike.

But the trail was overgrown from nearly two years of under use. The deeper I forged into the trees the more difficult it became to stay on track. And the leaves that earlier shielded me from the sun now trapped its heat beneath them, turning a warm walk in a light breeze into a hot slog through a noisy sauna. I didn’t remember the route as well as I thought, and before I knew it, I was lost.

I took a seat on a fallen log and fished a bottle out of the backpack. The ice had melted but the water was still cool. After half the bottle I traded it for my phone and tried to figure out where the hell I was.

Reception was spotty and the GPS couldn’t decide between several locations. From the lay of the land and direction of my hike I decided to head northeast. At some point I would run into the river, which would lead me back to my trail. I finished the first bottle and resumed walking.

The temperature continued to climb, humidity trapping sweat on my skin. The skitter of critters through the underbrush ceased and the bird songs faded into the heat. An eerie quiet settled in, tempered by the crunch of fallen twigs underfoot. My limbs felt dull and heavy and a thought repeated in my head. You should have stayed home. I was looking for a place to rest when I finally heard it. Running water.

In spite of myself I picked up the pace, oblivious to the incline I’d been descending the past few minutes. Up ahead the canopy thinned, tree trunks spacing out along the edge of a clearing. Picking through the tall grass I emerged into the sunlight onto the smooth flat rocks forming the edge of the river. Marked with a boulder on the far bank was the entrance to the second trail. To my right, Lost River Falls.

Fifteen feet up, the black shale outcropping curved into a gentle crescent. The lazy river curled over the edge in a soft, thin sheet, spilling into a shallow pool before funneling through a narrow channel to the river basin and snaking on downstream. Now high in the sky, the sun blazed the sparkling water white, casting a rainbow over the riverbank and a deep shadow on the vertical rock beneath the ledge.

The gentle roar swelled in my ears. I intended to cross to the trail and head back, but it was so hot, and the mist in the air felt so enticing. I turned toward the falls, threading my way along the bank over the channel to the edge of the pool. On a rock nearby I set down my pack, flanking it with my boots moments later. Peeling of the sweat-soaked tee shirt I waded into the water.

The pool was warmer than I expected, but much cooler than the air, instantly soothing my feet. I shuffled along the shale bottom until the water sloshed around my calves. Reaching out I pierced the curtain, splashing droplets over my face and chest. Drawing a deep breath, I closed my eyes and stepped into the falls.

I stayed a minute, despite the chill, the water flushing the ick of the morning off my skin. It beat on my back and shoulders, leeching heat from my muscles and ache from my bones. I ducked under and out several times, like it was a rolling ocean wave on a Caribbean beach. Cleansed and refreshed, I returned to the rock.

I rung out the shirt and laid it flat over the adjacent stone, then fished the second water bottle from the backpack. Bottle to my lips I soaked up the view. Vibrant green forest, shimmering white water, worn black rock winding through the landscape. I smiled to myself. Sure it was hot, but it beat the hell out of being stuck in the warehouse.

The snap of a twig behind me drew my attention. Setting the bottle on the backpack I glanced over my shoulder and caught a figure crossing my periphery on the opposite bank. Shielding my eyes, I turned for a better look. And was not disappointed.

At the far end of the crescent in a bright blue skort and a radiant white rash guard stood the brunette from the restaurant. She had clearly been hiking for some time. Her skin glistened with sweat, and the glossy fabric of her shirt clung to every curve of her torso. Her legs — long and lean — planted her firmly on the uneven ground. Her curls were tied back in a ponytail, exposing her face to the sun.

I couldn’t help but stare. She looked like a model in a Patagonia catalog. And it took only a moment before all I could think about was her in that blue dress, slouched in that chair, sipping her drink while showing me the world.

The shriek of a hawk overhead broke my trance. I found her smiling at me, her head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised. Flustered, I acknowledged her presence and turned away. I needed to collect my shit and go; salvage whatever was left of my dignity.

I stuffed the bottle back in the pack and shook out my shirt, hauling it on over my head. Soon it would weigh me down and I would need to take it off, but for now it was a cold towel on the back of my neck and that was just fine. Something disturbed the water behind me. Snapping up the backpack I turned to investigate.

She stood before the falls, her back to me, gazing up at the gleaming ribbon spilling from above. The bands of a black sports bra crisscrossed her back, the rash guard scrunched in her fist was tossed casually into the grass on the far bank. Her hands disappeared in front of her, then reappeared above her head, taking the sports bra with them. Tipping her head back, she eased into the liquid curtain.

The water sheared around her, cutting a sexy silhouette in the high noon sun. My cock stirred to life, craving the view from the other side of the falls. I knew I should get moving — I didn’t want to be busted again. But something gripped me, held me in place, my imagination in overdrive.

“Still just looking, huh.”

I whipped my head back and forth searching for the source of the voice, before realizing it could only have one origin. I turned back. She had stepped back from the water, her fingers twisting round her ponytail, pulling out the band. With a flip of her wrists her curls burst out, slapping down over her back. She peered over her shoulder. A chill shot down my spine.

Her eyes narrowed, the corners of mouth creasing up. She skimmed her hands along her sides and over her hips until her thumbs hooked in the waistband of her skort and the material bunched in her fists. She tugged them down slowly, a perfectly rounded bare ass rising like a sunrise over the fabric horizon. Watching me, she straightened up, skort slipping down her legs into the pool.

“You know,” she said, tipping her head back, “it’s better over here.”

My dick strained against my shorts, drawn like a magnet to that little gap between the tops of her thighs and the base of her cheeks. She returned to the falls, disappearing under the water. The backpack slipped from my fingers, sluffing off the rock and into the grass. My head spinning, I waded toward her.

She emerged from the cascade facing me. Rivulets of water streamed down her face. They trickled over her breasts; firm and high on her chest, dark nipples pointed upward, soliciting a touch. The streams continued down the flat of her belly, curling in at her hips and under her mound, before spiraling round her thighs and calves and melting into the pool. She poked two fingers under my chin and lifted it.

“My eyes are up here.”

“Sorry,” I replied, just a little nervous. “I’m easily distracted.”

Her bright baby blues lingered on my face a moment before roaming down my body to the prominent bulge below my waist. Looking up, she smiled. “But not shy, I see.”

She peeled off my shirt and threw it aside, then flattened her hands against my skin. They were soft, and cool from the water, a welcome disruption of the sizzling heat. I reached out, skimming my hands over the base of her ribs, then down to her waist and the curve of her hips. She leaned in, pressing them into mine, trapping my erection between us. A twinge shot through my core. I sighed. She had me.

My attention wandered up to her breasts, cupping one sumptuous orb in each palm. Her head lolled, eyes fluttering, biting her bottom lip. I gave a gentle squeeze, dimpling the flesh and rolling my thumbs across her nipples. Her chest thrust forward, a groan escaping her throat. Leaning over I swirled my tongue over one before suckling it into my mouth.

She shivered beneath me, drawing her breath between her teeth. I traded one for the other, back and forth, marveling at the tone and texture of the most perfect pair I’d ever laid lips on. She clutched at the back of my head, insisting I continue teasing her while clumsily fumbling with the clasp on my waistband. I kneaded her breasts in my palms, their mass resisting, plumping into the space between my fingers. I growled, invigorated by the memory of how pliable the body can be in its youth.

Winning her battle with the clasp she stripped off my shorts and sprang my cock from its fabric prison. It jumped at the brush of her wrist and flexed in her grip as she tried to close her slender fingers around the shaft. The heat radiated out, warming her fist. She exhaled in my ear and followed up with a whisper barely audible above the falls.

“Fuck me.”

I plucked her nipple from my mouth and looked her in the eyes. “Here?”

“Right here,” she confirmed, “right now.”

I glanced around the clearing and into the woods. “Are you sure?”

She snatched my hand from her breast and shoved it between her legs, curling my middle finger and dragging it through her slit. She was soaked, slick with her cream. “Right now,” she repeated.

My hips swung forward with no input from my brain, prodding her belly with the tip of my dick. “What if someone sees us?”

She hooked her arms around my neck. A devilish smirk creased her lips. There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows exactly what she wants.

Well,” she said softly, “then we should make sure they get a good show.”

She pulled herself tight to my chest, transferring her weight to my shoulders. I braced myself as her legs left the water — first one, then the other — wrapping themselves around my waist. I held her buttocks tight in each hand, my penis pressed flat against her labia. Shifting my weight and dipping my hips I maneuvered the tip between those velvety lower lips and thrust myself into her pussy.