by Eric Albert
(12/07/05)

It was just shy of one in the morning. Nedra and I had gone to a friend's party and were leaving, warm and glowing from the intercourse. When we got down to the roofed porch, the air was crisp and the world was white with several inches of virgin snow. She said, "You could fuck me here."

Unexpected; not unheard of. I faced her toward the street and stood behind her, then pulled her pants and panties down a little, just enough, and disentangled my abrupt erection from four layers of cloth. Cars drifted slowly by before us.

I entered her. She felt unnaturally hot against the frigid night. I put my arms around her and moved steadily, stepping a well-known dance. My breath was white beside her left ear. She moaned. I came. We came apart.

We fixed our clothes and held hands to the car.

May and I are done with classes for the day and enter her dorm, talking about one thing or another. As we turn left off the corridor into a stairwell, she moves a step ahead and suddenly hikes up her skirt to show me she's wearing nothing underneath. "Catch me if you can!" she yells, and takes off up the stairs, still gripping her bunched skirt at her waist.

I chase. Our sneakers clangor on the metal, hearts tattoo inside our chests, she is laughing giddily because she knows my eyes are focused on her cool white ass, and she knows I'm going to catch her, and she knows that when I'm through with her that ass will be as red as hothouse roses, like she likes it.

And so we run, and, for the blessed moment, we do nothing else.

It's all there on tape, waiting to be watched whenever I feel too full of myself.

The frame autofocuses into clarity, and you see her from the side, lying on a bed, propped on her elbows. Her splendid body glows in the light of a bedside candle.

The bed is in a cottage where we're staying on vacation, and I have thoughtfully brought along a tripod and a camcorder because nothing says "relaxing weekend getaway" to a woman like having her boyfriend videotape their sex.

I enter the scene, taking off my glasses now that I've located the bed. I clamber over her with hircine grace as a warm smile lights her features. We embrace. She flips her long hair out of the way and our mouths meet for a slow and tender tangle of tongues.

She positions herself again on her stomach and elbows; the superb curve described by her back and buttocks would drive Bezier berserk. She picks up the small plastic bottle next to the pillow, squeezes some of its contents onto her right index finger, then r-e-a-c-h-e-s back to put the lubricant inside her smaller hole.

She repeats this process, slicking and stretching herself, several times. She moves to hand and knees, then turns until her backside faces the camera . . . aah. She still has a finger -- no, it's three fingers now -- inside her, and she slowly removes them, revealing the bull's-eye of her convex flesh. She wipes her hands on a tissue.

I get off the bed, my jutting penis briefly visible. I move behind her, and now it's my butt on display, and my turn with the lubricant bottle. Then I position the head of my penis between her cheeks and, my muscles flexing, push forward to slide fully in.

I take a tissue from the box on the bedside table and start to clean up. (Probe Light's a fine lube, but leaves one feeling like a Shelob victim.) I toss the tissue and grab a second one. I do a double take as I realize the fucker's on fire. I've trailed it through the candle flame.

"Birthday party," I think, and blow twice on the burning tissue. "Bellows," thinks the burning tissue, and the flames leap up half a foot. I turn in panic, forgetting my situation, and my erection yanks free.

My singed fingers open and the blazing mass drifts toward the floor. She climbs off the bed, laughing. I lean forward, a naked caveman, staring, hypnotized, my face ruddy in the glow of this strange new phenomenon. She steps by me and stomps the fire out.

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