I picked her up early this morning because I was so excited, anxious, DESPERATE to see her. She wore a flimsy white tee with horses on it, shredded at the bottom. I bought her breakfast in a quiet little deli, and we drove into a nature reserve. We walked along the river and, when we had gone far enough, with enough trees and hills between us and the prohibitive world, I pulled her shirt down. She was wearing a bathing suit underneath. I untied it and massaged her breasts. We kissed standing on the rocks in the middle of the water. I licked and pinched and ran my fingers across her nipples until they began to ripple with that soft firmness that shows that the nerves are awake and feeling. I licked and squeezed and ran my hands along lengths of skin that I can't even begin to remember without holding my breath and paining.
We had to take a boat ride with family and friends. It only served to keep us from stripping and fucking in the solitude of my bedroom. We were cagey and horny, aware of the eyes of those around us, who suspected but didn't know about our lusting after each other. We tried to find privacy before the boat left, on decks and boardwalks, in ship cabins with far too many windows (where, for the while we were there, I spread her legs and slid my fingers into the edges of her panties, looking around for witnesses or spectators), but all we found was a lounge outside a pier bar bathroom. People kept coming up and down the stairs, and we would leap away from each other on the old sofa there every time someone did, nervous that our secret would get out. We made out in little jolts of privacy: I touched her chest, her ass, her beautiful stomach, she grabbed my visibly swelled, invisibly throbbing cock through the thin material of my boxers and shorts. It became too much. She snuck me into the women's bathroom, into a stall. She locked the door, closed the lid, and sat down, and I pulled in close to her. I kissed her, fully embracing the dirty taboo of the situation. I began to pull off her shirt…
Not ten full seconds had we been in the stall when a knock and a voice came. "Come out of there, man." A male voice in the women's bathroom, a voice of authority. We were confused for a moment, not entirely sure we had heard correctly, if we understood. We looked to each other for confirmation. We heard it again "Come on out, man."
She walked out of the stall and the bathroom. I hesitated, still not sure if I was in the situation that my newly stimulated paranoia projected. But when I left the stall, my fear was realized. At the entrance to the room was a tall, muscular bouncer, aiming a knowing, but not laughing, look right at me.
"Listen, I know what you're trying to do, but I can't have that kind of thing in here. I've got families up here, and if you want to be trying this shit…"
I had the message before he had said a word. I crept off and joined her at the top of the stairs, humiliated but exhilarated and just as turned on as ever. We walked down a pier and kissed gently on a bench, trying not to display even a tenth of the heat that was inside of us and between us. When we went to the boat, the bouncer threatened to embarrass us in front of our families, and even hours later, when we came back, we still dodged out of his way to avoid any mention of what he knew.
I am leaving on a week long trip. I will not see her until I come back. There is a dull aching in my body where the feeling of pure sexual bliss, bliss with HER, should be. This will be a long week.