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Stimulating Stories About Outdoor Sex
A Compilation of Literate Erotica
The Golden Girl
by Harry Merkin
This
short story is a work of
fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents
either are the product of
the author’s vivid
imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual human
beings, living or dead,
business enterprises,
events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
I had arranged to meet a
college girlfriend while on a
short trip to the West
Coast. At school, she and I
hadn’t met until after we had applied to grad schools. Just
as we were starting to get
really close, we received
our graduate school
acceptance letters. We
should have been elated
since we both got into our
first choice schools, but
we were devastated. We would
be on the opposite sides of
the continent.
I
called her Golden Girl.
Whether holding hands while
walking very slowly through
the quad, or with our heads
resting on the same pillow,
or while sharing one ice
cream cone because that was
all we could afford, she was
my one and only Golden Girl.
She was radiant. Her voice
mesmerized me. Her body
thrilled all of my being, so
much so, that I considered
our intimate moments to be
perfect. Those times, when we
were essentially conjoined,
when words became inadequate,
taught me that the greatest
of the poets had not
exaggerated about love.
Nonetheless, I began to see
their most beautiful
compositions (which I had
once greatly admired) as
being mere approximations.
----------
She was so happy when I
first saw her that
afternoon. We lingered at a
coffee shop near her condo,
then drove down to the beach
to see the sunset.
I parked and we walked into
a cold wind and sought
shelter by some rocks.
We kissed tentatively; each
weighed down by thoughts of
current relationships and
lives now so hectic and so
different. We were finally
able to relax when I said,
“I could only begin to
imagine how it might have
been if we had stayed
together.”
She replied, almost in
tears, “I have thought of
that every day, every single
day since we last held each
other.”
Our kissing was now as
intense as the last time we
had sex. Our tongues resumed
familiar motions. She
admitted she had known we
would kiss, but had not
dared imagine what else we
would do.
I lifted
the front of her skirt and
reached under. There was an
unexpected additional layer
of fabric. She whispered, “I
wore a skort. I knew where
your hands would go. I wanted
some barrier if I lacked the
willpower to stop.”
“We could stop now.”
She
answered by unbuttoning the
skort at the waist, stepping
out of it, and draping it on a
flat rock. My shirt and her
linen blouse were next on
that rock, and then my pants.
For old time’s sake, she
turned so I could help her
with her bra. I
simultaneously kissed her on
the neck and slid my fingers
under the loose cups. I
gently massaged her nipples
(wonderfully turgid from the
cold) between my thumbs and
index fingers. We were
shivering and held each other
more closely while we
watched the sun disappear.
We pulled down each other's
underwear and, lacking a
towel or blanket, I laid on
my back and she got on me. We
kissed even more, perhaps to
avoid the next step we both
wanted, yet did not really
want.
We shared
stories of the last twelve
years. Some were inane and
some were intimate. After
telling her of a hilarious
episode, she laughed so hard
that I felt a hot flow on my
belly and crotch.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I peed!”
“That felt unbelievably good!”
“You’re not mad?
“No, of course not. I really liked it! Please do more.”
She
was so cold and had been
holding it back for so long
that the flow kept going and
going, warming my most secret
places (both physical and
emotional), then trickling
onto the sand.
She
did not stop me when I lifted
her just enough to push my
penis into her vagina. She
rode me like never before.
Her bobbing breasts looked as
good as always. No, they
looked even better in the
fading golden glow from the
west.
We climaxed
together and she laid back
down on me.
I
eventually suggested we go
into the waves, just to wash
ourselves. The water was
incredibly cold.
We
dressed in the dark before we
were totally dry, and slowly
took the path back to my
rental car.
----------
Walking into the terminal,
there was a PA announcement
for a Mr. Frost. I
immediately remembered a
very short poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay,
by Robert Frost. I had
memorized it as a
14-year-old. I thought back
then, I was doing it for my
English class. I had
actually done it to educate
me, to force reality onto
me, in a truly brutal
manner, twenty years hence.
The words came out as though
I had learned them just
yesterday. The people around
me in the security line must
have thought I was insane.
“Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”
I
was inconsolable and could
not stop the tears. An older
women offered to help me. I
told her I was grieving. I
was grieving for two lovers
separated 12 years ago and
again 12 hours ago.
‘Emotional roller coaster’
had always seemed to be a
really lame cliché. I lived
through one on the long
flight home.
----------
The End
Harry Merkin (a nom de guerre)
is a dick-brain who is more
articulate than an arthropod
and has many ways with words.
He tries desperately not to
write like Edward
Bulwer-Lytton, but often
fails.
NOTES
A. This short story is a fabrication.
B. Harry has had sex on
sand. Once, just once. He
and she had left his tent
because it was too hot. It
was an old, cheap tent with
poorly designed ventilation.
There was sand everywhere on
and in their bodies. Harry
thought that was very funny
and said so. She could not
have disagreed more
vehemently. She, in fact,
was so pissed that she
dumped him late the
following day after they had
driven the 150 miles back to
the town where they lived.
Harry regretted not having
been able to wait a few
hours, until it was cooler,
for sexual satisfaction. That
would not have been a
hardship. After all, they had
gotten up an hour before
dawn the past two nights to
go skinny dipping in the sea.
Harry bought a very nice
tent the following weekend.
It saw much action and there
are many happy memories
associated with it.
Photo Props acquired for proposed
stimulating images or short
videos. – linen blouse, skort & vintage golden panty to be worn by a model.
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