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Jacquot couldn’t let go. He gradually started in again, this time more subtly, harder to pin down. He’d “just happen” to go to the same grocery store when mom went shopping. He’d “just happen” to pick the same movie as we did. (We loved necking in the movies. It was so daring to sit there in the dark surrounded by people while we French kissed and felt each other up. It made up for our not being able to make out in public. But knowing Jacquot might be there put a damper on our fun.)
We were getting spooked by him. When we were making love at night, we’d wonder if he was out there lurking around. We needed to get away from the pressure, so mom rented us a cabin in the mountains for the weekend.
She let me drive the green Beetle up to Fort Collins, along the Cache la Poudre River into the Rockies, and over the pass into Walden. She was wearing a denim miniskirt that showed off her thighs, but I tried to keep my eyes on the road. It was a beautiful route, with willows flanking the river between pink sandstone canyon walls. For me the river was Diana’s flowing center, the springy willows her hair, the pink walls her legs, and I was penetrating up to the source of her stream. Over the front range, we dropped down into a broad, fertile plateau, green and well-watered, ideal for raising hay, cattle, and horses. The rolling lushness of it reminded me of her midlands—her loins, stomach, and hips where I had spent nine wonderful months. On the horizon soared the white peaks of the high Rockies, where the storm gods lived in snowy heaven.
The small town of Walden, a commercial center for the local ranchers, was less charming than its name and the country around it. Our cabin was beyond it in the wild, at the end of a long gravel road behind a locked gate, totally isolated. Diana had picked it especially so we wouldn’t have neighbors.
The log cabin was comfortable but a little hokey, done up for Eastern tourists who want a cowboy outing: elk’s head mounted above the river-rock fireplace, spurs and horseshoes decorating the mantel, bear skin rug, wagon-wheel chandelier, a branding iron for a fire poker. In the closet hung some western duds for the dudes: chaps, fringed leather vest, bolo ties, gun belt without a gun. The walls were hung with prints by Charlie Russell, the cowboy artist. The ceiling was knotty pine—with all the knots looking like eyes peering down on us.
Next to the cabin were a small corral and a barn that held a few chickens and two riding horses. Surrounding that were pastures of the adjoining ranch, where other horses and a herd of black Angus cattle grazed. Beyond in all directions stretched forest and mountains.
Ours were the only buildings in sight, so we finally felt free to just be ourselves and show our love. In the city, especially since Jacquot had shown up, we always had to hold back. Even something as simple as a kiss on the lips could cause suspicion. Although I was legally an adult, society had labeled our love a crime and would punish us both with years in prison. This constant need to be careful took its toll on our spirits. The Beatles’ lyric, “You’ve got to hide your love away,” seemed written for us.
The first thing we did, right on the front porch, was take off each other’s clothes. Reveling in new freedom and the warm sun, we rubbed each other’s naked bodies with tanning lotion until we glistened. Some parts that weren’t used to the sun got extra attention—we wanted to get hot but not burn.
Out in the pasture, the animals were mating. Wild with desire, the stallions were mounting the mares, biting their necks to the point of viciousness, neighing and whinnying as they sank their poles deep inside the magic place. The bulls were lumbering up on the cows, humping those massive haunches, thrusting their schlongs into those commodious cunts, both bellowing with pleasure. In the corral, a cock was treading a hen, hopping onto her back, digging his spurs in to hold on, poking his little red rooster into her feathery nest, crowing with delight. The bears and bugs and bunnies were fucking, and their frantic antics made us tremendously horny to join them.
“I’ll bet some of them are mothers and sons,” I said, creaming mom’s rear end. “The animals aren’t hung up on all that prudery.”
“That’s true. They’ll do it that way whenever they get the chance.” She squirted a line of lotion along my cock and massaged it in.
“Yeah, it’s ridiculous to say it’s unnatural…when nature does it herself.” I patted her buns.
By now we were both aroused, but we wanted to find an idyllic setting for enjoying each other. Our plan was to explore the place on horseback, have a picnic, then play around.
To get there, though, we needed to wear a few things. Not wanting to squash my balls, I’d brought a jock strap. Curious about how it worked, Diana insisted on putting it on me. She stretched the elastic bands around my rump and tried to fit my penis into the pouch. One hairy, wrinkled testicle dangled from the side. “That will never do,” she said. “But I’m afraid pendik escort I’ll hurt it if I just put it in.”
“You won’t hurt it,” I told her. “It’s not so fragile.”
Mom reached inside the pouch from the top, gave what was in there a tickle, raised the lower edge of the elastic, and cautiously pulled the straying nut back in. By then the shaft was hard and stuck out the top, unwilling to go in. She asked doubtfully, “You sure this strap thing’s going to work?”
I nodded. “Once he knows you’re not going to play with him anymore, he’ll give up and go back in.”
She gave him a parting kiss. “Good-bye for now. See you later.”
The kiss made him grow even more. “That’s not the way to discourage him,” I told her.
Mom looked at him sympathetically. “Well, I don’t want him to get too discouraged.” She examined the bulging pouch. “I don’t see how that elastic can protect him. The least little bump would go right through.”
“All it does is hold everything up out of the way…so he doesn’t get banged around.”
She gave it a pat and said, “OK…I hope so. I’d hate for anything to happen.” She looked me over again, then turned me around and snapped the straps against my bare ass. “It’s cute,” she concluded. “But not as cute as nothing.”
For protection from rocks and sun, we put on our cowboy boots and hats which we’d brought from home. These we hardly ever wore in Denver—too touristy—but out here they were practical work clothes.
The horses were two gentle mares, patient and used to all sorts of dudes. Our being nude dudes didn’t seem to bother them at all. With only her hat and boots on, Diana looked like the ultimate cowgirl swinging up into the saddle.
Staying within the property of the cabin for privacy, we rode a trail that wended among aspen trees along a stream leading to a green glade where beavers had dammed the flow to make a pond. We could hear the burble of water, the flutter of leaves in the breeze, chatter of birds, splash of trout in the pond, clatter of horse hooves on rock—but all these sounds were just punctuation in the surrounding silence. We were a long ways from Denver.
Diana’s thighs rippled and her jugs jiggled from the rocking sway of the horse. Every part of her was in tempting motion. Her nipples stiffened from a combination of the groin massage she was enjoying, the fresh air, and my admiring gaze.
I wanted to see a beaver, looked all over, but couldn’t find any. Mom’s was enticingly out of sight too, hidden by the saddle pommel. I knew it was there, though, and that I’d be playing with it soon.
I got a great shot of it when she dismounted—blue glints shining on her curly black hairs in the sunlight, red lips spread and moist from riding, ready for me to ride them. She’d left a long smear of juice on the saddle, and I inhaled her delicious fragrance. Her scent and those of the horse and leather combined into an olfactory feast of nature in the raw.
But we had other sorts of hunger too, so we unpacked our picnic, then unsaddled the horses and tethered them so they could drink in the stream and graze. We spread the saddle blankets on the grass and sprawled out to enjoy a naked lunch of carrot sticks (most of which went to the horses), tuna sandwiches, potato salad, apple juice, and chocolate cake (none of which went to the horses). We tilted back our hats, gazed up at the white clouds and blue sky, and felt totally at peace.
“We’re so lucky,” Diana said. “We get to do what other people only dream of.”
I picked a dandelion crown and blew the dried seedlings over her; they stuck here and there on her fine-pored skin like spangles. “That’s ’cause we’re brave enough…to actually do it…to really love each other.” I kissed her earlobe, her forehead, her slightly upturned nose. She lay back on the saddle blanket and shielded her eyes with the hat. I plucked a grass stalk that was bending with graceful heaviness under its load of seed and teased the tassels over her breasts, down her tummy, around her loins, between her legs, through her bush, and into her fecund, furrowed delta. She squirmed under the tickling, and her moisture clung to the seeds, making them shine. Now they’ll sprout wonderfully, I thought, tossing the stalk back onto its mother earth. My balls hung heavy with a load of seed that yearned to return to its mother.
I cupped my hand protectively on her pubic mound; as I fluttered my fingers over it, she breathed a long sigh. I kneaded it gently, squeezing the lips together, then opening them. They seemed to like that, so I did it some more, this time with a finger between them that rubbed over her clit.
While that hand was occupied, the other went up to her breasts to show them some appreciation. My fingertips stroked them, skimming the nipples, aureoles, and full, sloping sides, teasing them into alertness. Then my whole hand massaged them, first one glory, then the other. My lips joined in the fun so neither mamma would be neglected, kissing them, sucking them, tasting suntan lotion and sweat.
With escort pendik mock horror Diana asked, “Oh my son…that thing between your legs…you’re not going to ram it into me again, are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“No! Why? How could you do such a terrible thing to your mother?”
“Because I love you.”
She exhaled with resignation. “Then I guess you’ll have to do it to me.” She pulled the top of my jock strap down, and what it was holding expanded out at her, red and indignant at being confined. “There it is. It doesn’t look like it would take no for an answer.”
“It won’t. It’s going to take you. But it’ll be nice to you…if you’re good.”
“Then I’ll be good.” She pulled the strap all the way off. We kissed and our tongues writhed together like two snakes mating.
“Get up on your hands and knees,” I told her.
“Like this?” mom asked obediently. With her mane of bay hair falling over her face, teats hanging down, fanny up in the air, and legs spread, she really looked like a female animal, a pony ready for mating. She even smelled horsy.
“You’re my beautiful chestnut mare,” I told her.
“And you’re my mighty stallion.” She wiggled her butt in readiness. “I’m in heat.”
I lay on my back underneath her and nuzzled into her udder, let her tits flop in my face, and sucked their heavy fullness. This was definitely the place to be. I felt like a pony foal or Romulus and Remus being suckled by the wild wolf.
But Diana had other parts too. I scooted down between her legs, breathing the aroma of saddle leather, and stared up at her vulva, open and wet in estrus, exuding its own magnetic odor that drew me to it and made me tremble. The plum-colored lips were swelling and moving. Fill us, they ordered.
First I gave them my face. My mouth fastened on her clit and began to suck. My nose, not big enough to fill her but good for starters, squished through the petals into her vagina. My eyes focused on her ass, its pink little bung smelling a bit like roasted peanuts. I licked a finger and rubbed it around the rim; she wiggled and squealed. I prodded it in a bit more, opening her rear vent; she squirmed. Propping myself on my elbows, I ran my other hand over her buns, spreading first one then the other. She had such a nice ass, so round and gentle, appreciative of affection, incapable of cruelty. It might not be as smart and sassy as her tits, but it was sensitive and good-hearted.
“I want your cock—now!” Mom’s voice came from above.
“In my pussy,” she said with a pout of impatience.
I crawled out from under her, loomed over her, and mounted her from behind. She raised her rump to me and lowered her head onto her folded arms, compliant and eager. I placed the tip of my tool at her entrance and with one swift thrust of my hips plunged it all into her at once.
She yelled with pain and delight. “Oh, fuck me!”
I kept doing it, drawing it out and shoving it back in, but she didn’t yell anymore, just gurgled. Sweat ran down her breasts and dripped off her nipples like milk. For a lovely long time we rocked in each other. Feeling like a rutting stallion, I bit the back of her neck, not hard, just enough to let her know she was mine.
I realized I was luckier than a stallion. Although my organ wasn’t as big, my hooves had fingers. I reached my hand into her muff and caressed her spread-open parts. I found her clit and inflamed it with rapid pulses while driving my length into her. Gazing happily around at the mountains, trees, stream, and fellow creatures, I knew we were all joined as one.
As we continued, Diana’s body tensed to rigidity, then began quivering in climax. From her arched neck and open mouth poured a mating cry, a howl of desire. She met each of my thrusts with her own orgasmic force and ground her groin into mine.
I started coming and my surges flattened her onto the saddle blankets. I pounded my spouting limb into her harder and harder, and we humped together in a swarm of flesh, vibrant with all the force of nature, overwhelmed with the love and passion we were pouring into each other. Gradually our gushing streams ebbed and our flailing bodies quieted until we lay still, exhausted, mute.
After this power we’d unleashed, all we could do was hold each other and pant with satisfaction. Diana was first to speak: “My dear animal…what you do to me! I don’t want it to ever end. This is so amazing.”
Our hats had come off but we were still in our boots. The saddle blankets itched against our bare sweaty skin. Still unable to talk, I picked up two green-and-silver aspen leaves and balanced them atop her brown nipples, but they kept falling off. Finally I put them back on and before they could fall I blew them off. “It doesn’t have to end,” I managed to say, but a shadow of fear had passed over me, and it sounded like I was trying to convince us.
Mom shielded her eyes from the sun and was silent a while, then said, “Let’s do something. Let’s…go swimming.”
She kicked pendik escort bayan off her boots and stood up in nude maternal glory. “Last one in’s a chicken.”
“What’s wrong with being a chicken?”
“You’ll find out.” She tiptoed out onto the beaver dam wincing from twigs against her tootsies, leaped into the pond, sank under the water, then burst back to the surface, spluttering and shrieking, “It’s cold!”
“Told you so.”
Incensed by my laughter, she splashed me with great gouts of water. “If you don’t come in I’ll drown…just like Ophelia.”
I didn’t know who Ophelia was, but I didn’t want her to drown, and I wanted to see up close what the cold water was doing to her nipples, so I went in too. I started slowly, a little bit at a time, but she splashed me so much that I jumped for her and we wrestled in the water. “You’re in trouble!” I said, spanking her bottom.
“Look at you!” Diana pointed at what was now shriveled from the cold water. “I haven’t seen it so little in ten years.”
Gradually getting used to the chill, we swam and floated in the pond, laughing and kissing, tingling with stimulation. Stippled with goose bumps, her breasts bobbed buoyantly out in front of her, nipples darker and more prickled than I’d ever seen.
From the surface I saw a dark hole underwater on the dam that looked like the entry to the beaver lodge. I dived down for a closer look, but everything was blurry. Hello, beavies, I thought. Hope you’re having fun in there.
After five minutes we were cold again—time to get out. “Oh no, we didn’t bring a towel,” Diana said. “Now we will freeze.”
Shivering and chattering, we scampered around the meadow and shook ourselves dry like dogs. The horses munched the grass and watched us contentedly. Then they clip-clopped us back to the cabin.
Once there, it was clothes time again—enough naked delights for now. We got dressed, bidding each other’s bods a temporary farewell. Diana had brought along some weekend work that needed attention. She dug into her briefcase, and I decided to take a hike.
Through experience we’d learned that we got along better if we each had time to ourselves. If we did everything together, it got too intense and we’d burn out on each other.
“What do you want for dinner?” mom asked as I was leaving.
I thought it over. “I guess they don’t deliver pizza out here.”
“You could be the mighty hunter—shoot us a buffalo.” Diana aimed an imaginary rifle.
“Buffalo Bill beat me to it…shot ’em all. How about a chicken?”
“No. If one’s missing we won’t get our deposit back. But fresh eggs would be good. I’ve been wanting to go vegetarian anyway.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Outside, I rambled the other direction from where we’d ridden, crossed the pasture, managing to step in both horse apples and cow pies, and came to the forest. Among the ponderosas the air was cool and breezeless with an astringent nip of pine resin. I saw a porcupine bristling with quills as it waddled along, and I wondered how they mate without stabbing each other. I saw a blue jay and a chipmunk.
I searched for edible plants. We’d read a new book, Eat the Weeds, and were into wild salads and veggies. In a meadow I found dandelion, sheepshead, sorrel, and along a stream, watercress. When my hands were full, I headed back.
In the barn I gave the horses some more oats. A lariat hung near them on the wall. It gave me an idea, so I tossed the coil of rope over my shoulder. I found four eggs in the laying boxes, speckled and brown and stuck with bits of down and dung. I thanked the hens and took them. Feeling like a Provider, I marched into the cabin.
Diana was sitting at the table sorting through piles of data processing cards. These colorful, perforated rectangles had been a great advance in office automation, although now they are as obsolete as slide rules. I asked if I could help, and she said sure. It turned out the cards were the mailing list of a new organization she and some other attorneys had founded, Lawyers for Peace. They were setting up legal defense teams for draft resisters, bringing lawsuits to stop US violence in Vietnam, and wanted eventually to pass laws making war and the manufacture of weapons illegal. Those were more optimistic times, when change seemed more possible than it does now.
Diana had gotten a friend in the state’s data processing center to put the mailing list on these cards, making it easier to send out newsletters and organizational material. This unauthorized use of government equipment could get them both fired, but that risk made it more appealing.
She explained how the cards worked, and I grew fascinated. I’d always liked puzzles, but most of them seemed pointless. These cards with their patterns of meaningful punch-holes were a puzzle with a purpose. When she told me the people who do this make lots of money, I got even more interested. Decoding the information on the cards, then sorting and classifying them, was my first introduction to what later became my career: computer programming. The fact that it was for an idealistic organization also stuck with me. I still donate my time designing software for the War Resisters League, the Natural Law Party, and Greenpeace.
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