by Kate Brannigan
(8/16/00)

Late on a warm spring morning in 1971, I laid a blanket down in a knee-high wheat field just outside of Milton, Massachusetts, not far from Boston, where I wasted my first year of college. I was close to a shallow, clear, pebble- bottomed creek, yet I was hidden by the wheat from the rest of the world, the way I wanted to be. Perfect. Reading Nietzsche, I wondered why this tormented philosopher had such a hard time feeling his life, his body.

I pulled a little ball of tarry black hash/opium from the chunk in my pouch (such damn good dope they brought into Boston), and brought out the smooth little rosewood pipe my brother had made for me. Aaaah. I took off my clothes to bathe in the clear sun. I stretched my arms and legs wide, reaching into the cool green wheat, and melted into the nature I so needed communion with.

The farm belonged to a friend of a boy I had met at school, a boy who was a little weird, intense, and very enthralling. Aaron. He had told me there was nobody living on the farm anymore, except for him. I suspected Aaron and the man who owned the place had shared more than friendship together. Aaron scared me a little with his unspoken sexuality, his artsy weird mind, and his ethereal way of describing the house and its owner. He had never looked away from my eyes while he spoke.

But he didn't seem to matter that day in the wheat field -- I had driven from school, parked at the house and walked to this remote corner, the corner I had had my eye on since I first came to the house with friends not long before. It was the perfect escape from the pasty-faced New Yorkers and Bostonians I went to school with, and my colorless school-teacher roommate.

I had missed the open fields, pastures, creeks, the dirt, and the sunshine above it all. I had missed Maryland and I had wanted to wander back to those things, secluded, listening by the creek, bathing in the sun, hidden by a green bountiful wall of wheat. I dozed with my arms full of wheat, my dreams galloping in the clouds, my body naked, with my book and clothes piled down on the end of the blanket, the sun pulling and tingling my winter-starved skin.

I half woke, feeling hands somewhere I couldn't quite locate. They felt good. But, hands? Oh God.

I looked up into the ice blue eyes of Aaron kneeling over me, smiling, naked. He said I'd grown wet where he was touching me. My nipples were drawn and hard, reaching for sensation. I panicked and started up, but Aaron's legs were across my belly, his hands pushing my breasts back, squeezing my nipples between his thumb and forefinger knuckle. It was all right, he told me. He talked about Nietzsche, piled with my clothes at the end of the blanket. He told me a lot of things, straddling me above the wheat, looking at me, and I began to listen and let my arms fall back. He had a lovely, lithe, tan body, with some hair on his chest. His nipples were sun-darkened and smooth. He had ruddy hair that fell across his eyes. His cock was about half hard, just lifting, and he quit talking, leaned down and kissed me, searched me, in a way I'd never tasted before. Maybe in a way I shouldn't be tasting. He was soft and powerful and I wanted more, was afraid of more.

Kissing my neck. My breasts glowing now each time he sucked one, biting softly at the nipple, hardening it into a knot. His knowledge and ease with sex scared me. My staying there scared me. My excitement scared me. He slid his legs back and kissed my belly and down inside the point of my hips and I felt the pulling pangs of my own rising heat in my pelvis.

Aaron kneeled up, put one hand firmly on my chest, and inserted a finger into me, looking into me, igniting a rush of arousal. I saw the intensity of purpose in his eyes.

He looked back down, spread my legs with his wrist and elbow, and just played in the soaking heat my pussy had become. I let him, against my nagging conscience. He looked at my pussy closely, fingered my clit, slid into me, pulled me open, everywhere with his fingers. The warmth of the sun joined with him, tightening me into the whirlpool of heat he was churning through my clit, until I felt my hips rising up and my pussy harden suddenly into a flash of orgasm that shot straight into the sun, pulled out through Aaron's racing fingers. I felt the floodgates of my conscience open to the sex of this strange and quixotic man. No pretense, no fear, no guilt.

I looked at him fully, finally, his hunger exploding, his dark come-sparkling cock up tall and full, his eyes burning with lust. On top of me quickly, he pushed that beautiful wide head down into me, and fucked, and fucked, and groaned, pulled my legs up into him and fucked and drove, long and hard, and finally he arched back and roared and convulsed over and over, jerking into me, deeper, coming and coming. I widened, long pussy lips swollen and spreading around him, opening for him to reach into the deepest center of me as he came.

Aaron fell over on me, dragging his arms up into my hair, kissing me, sucking my mouth open, breathing hard. And with a great lift, he tucked his leg under me and rolled me over onto him, still impaled on his cock. I held his face, his neck, and kissed and sucked, pressed my thighs together around his spent cock, still thrilling at its feel inside me, pulled and drew my tongue across his eyes, up under his ear, his neck, and poured my tongue into his mouth, and finally fell over next to him.

Just before I dozed off into the swirl of sunlight and wheat, I heard Aaron snoring lightly next to me.

I woke up to Aaron's gentle prodding. He'd pulled another piece off my gummy black chunk and was smoking it, wanting me to smoke with him. When it was done, I fell back on the blanket and spread my arms and legs to the sun, spread my pussy open to Aaron, and let go. Aaron rubbed his hands from my ankles, and stopping at my hips, reaching into my pussy, smearing the wetness along my thighs and into my nipples, and then licked and sucked them. He moved my arms above my head, inhaling hard through his teeth. He was aroused by his own touching and seeing, by the opiate swirling through his head. His cock was filling, wanting again.

Lifting my head up, he put his other hand around his shaft and began stroking it so close to my lips, so close I could watch, pushing up under the cockhead so it darkened and widened. I watched him stroking and squeezing himself into lust, me into lust, and the ridge of that head flared and filled and I felt my own hunger. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the want. My mouth salivated and my jaw slacked watching him engorge his cock with desire. He was watching me, and making me want him so much. I reached for it, wanted to suck in into my mouth, roll up over the head and pull the ridge hard past my lips, to feel the heat and veins of that shaft. And then he pulled back.

You want it?

God yes, I want it.

You want it? He was stroking harder, deeper, and looking down into my soul, holding my head close to him.

I reached up and pressed my hands high into his thighs and squeezed, felt his stroking hand pounding into my knuckles. His cockhead was shining hot now above his murderously sexing hand, roaring dark, and the hole on top had split open. I wanted to take it so much. So close. I was out of my mind with want.

You want it? You want it? And suddenly both his hands were at the back of my head and he plunged his cock into my mouth, fucking, fucking with a cock so swelled with lust I could hardly take it.

And then he arched into the sun again, and a roar came from his chest, and he jerked into the back of my throat, and jerked, and I drew, and sucked with my throat, and drained the come from him, pushed on his ass from behind, and drank him into me. I held his ass to me, holding him still deeply, still pulling, moaning, sucking gently, deeply, and more salty sweet come was mine, smacking, sucking, pulling, and holding him fully with my mouth until he began to draw back, softening. I let him go, my mouth and throat the center of my being. Aaron let out a sated growl, and fell over onto his back, one arm across his forehead, smiling.

Let's go swimming, he said.

What? The creek's only a few inches deep.

So you'll lie down, let the cold water run over you.

God, I must been out of my mind to be there like this, doing these things with this man, this boy, I hardly knew. But such things he did that I had never imagined. Strange and electric things.

I stood above the wheat and looked at the world around me, the world I had stepped out of hours ago. Then Aaron's hands and arms clamped around my thighs, and back under my arms and he picked me up quickly, turned and started walking to the creek.

Come with me. I'm going to show you something you'll like.

He walked to the center of the creek, which was riffling shallow over the tiny pebbles there, and set me down. The water was cold on my feet, but it felt good. Aaron looked at me, motioned with his hand and walked to the edge of the riffles where the water calmed slightly and was only about six inches deep.

Without hesitation, he laid down on his back in the water, his head upstream on the riffle bank. The water swirled around him, and he uttered pleasure sounds, lying there, swirling his arms through the clear water. Lovely body, I thought. Strange man.

The water was cold. After a few minutes of watching him swirl in the water while I tested the steam with my feet, I squatted down and ran my hands in the water.

Aaron stood up from his reverie dripping water, his skin taut and shimmering and his cock pulled back tightly from the cold. He walked to me, dragging his feet through the creek water, his arms raised.

Try it. Lie here in the shallow riffles. Sit and lie back.

The cold felt good. I had been hot. Sweat and Aaron's come had dried on my legs, down my neck, across my breasts. My pussy was swollen and sore. The cool water felt really good, and Aaron's hands were bathing me, pulling water up onto me, rubbing and soothing me clean and cool. Water was running through my hair, down along my arms, down my back, downstream. My breasts drew tight and my nipples grew hard from cold. Aaron pinched each nipple in his fingers and pulled up a little.

You wear a string bikini?

How... yes, I did in summer.

You were dark last summer, still have color, except for here -- and pulled my breasts again -- and here. He turned slightly and cupped his hand over my pussy, half submerged in water, and ran his finger between its lips before he pinched them.

Standing up, Aaron began looking in the riffles like he was looking for shells on the beach. He reached down and examined stones, tossed a few away and walked back to where I was letting the wonderful whirlpool of creek water pinch my skin with cold.

Straddling me with his knees in the pebbles beside me, he leaned down, smiling, and played his tongue along my lips until my tongue met his and I sucked his softly in, took his tongue into my throat, and we kissed. He pushed his tongue in, flicked it across my lips, sucked and teased my open mouth. He moved his lips down, sucking along my belly, sliding himself back in the water.

Still smiling, Aaron raised on his knees, stepped between my legs and spread them open, lifted my knees back, my pussy just out of the water. Smiling. Then he picked up my hand and put a stone in my palm.

Feel this.

It was smooth and water-worn, some two inches wide and round. Was this what he was looking for earlier? Odd. Still smiling and looking into my questioning eyes, he took the stone out of my hand, moved back over me between my legs, pushed a finger in my pussy, pulled it out, and pushed in again.

Then he pressed the flesh of my lips open and pushed that stone between them, twisting and pushing it up and in until it was swallowed.

Squeeze it baby. Feel it hard inside and he leaned down and pressed his tongue into my clit, sucking and pulling, rolling across my lips, and pushed a finger into me, pushing and bumping that stone inside me.

Another stone. He was flicking and sucking my clit with his tongue, his lips, and was easing and pushing another stone into me.

Now, baby, squeeze them into you. Squeeze them and pump them. I'm going to make you see stars.

And he poked and bumped and jarred those great stones inside me -- and licked, flicked and sucked my pussy, my clit. My pelvis screamed for release. The sensations were overwhelming. The stones had my body erupting. His fingers. His mouth. He knew. He groaned. He growled my pussy into his throat. My hands dug into the water, my fists closed over the pebbles. I had to hold on. I was losing myself in a tidal wave of climax greater than anything I ever imagined possible.

When I came there in that creek, I screamed in my release like I never have since. I came so totally, so incredibly, I nearly lost consciousness, and certainly lost any idea of the outline, the limit, the reality of my body. When the release was finally over, I could only lie there, arms out, spread eagle, in the riffling water, only capable of breathing. The fire in my pelvis was still hot, smoldering. My swelling had clamped those stones inside me, and the deep channels they were buried in spasmed against them for the next 15 minutes, gradually letting go, letting me go.

Aaron watched me lying there, recovering. He still smiled, now and again saying something, asking me something -- - I don't remember what. He leaned over and inserted his finger into me.

Push.

I did and he lifted one stone clear, sending renewed sensation up my spine. Inserted his finger deeper.

Push again.

The second stone. More pleasure waves.

I had never been so totally drained, so emptied, so spent, and I never have since. I still wonder if it was all real. I slept that day beside Aaron for hours, well into the afternoon. He had carried me out of the creek, hardly able to talk, powerless to even hold onto him, hardly knowing even where I was. We didn't talk much when we left that field later. After what had happened, words seemed pointless.