by Will Keen
(5/23/01)

I walked alone among the Joshua trees, breathing the savory morning air, warming to the desert sun. As I moved deeper into the bare landscape of the Lost Horse Mountains, my body worked itself free from the grip of the city. A solitary oasis, marked on the map by a cluster of palms, beckoned to the east of me. I headed that way, hiking a stream bed, tracing the flow of the phantom water back to its origin. For miles my only company was a band of pinyon jays raucously foraging along the ridge line above.

Far up the dry sandy wash my trail abruptly ended at a high wall of polished stone. I was brought to a halt, but didn't really care, taking it as a sign to rest. I sat down, shrugged off the backpack and stripped off my shirt, then leaned against the sheer cliff to soak up its heat. On this spot, maybe once or twice a year, a waterfall would pour over the cliff edge and churn its way downstream. I enjoyed sitting in the path of this virtual flash flood, at peace with the silence of cactus and rock. No one knew where I was. No one could see me, hiding out in a nameless box canyon under blue sky.

As the sun rose, the huge boulders around me shifted with the shadows, and I began to notice their extraordinary forms. Reddened and sunbaked, the granite lay tumbled along the arroyo. Wind and rain had eroded the rocks, revealing their smooth inner cores. Some of the rounded ones were so perfectly weather-worn they appeared to be giant carved nudes. A pair of monoliths reminded me of trunkless legs of stone, while others sat as steady as yoginis holding timeless poses. Rocks were tanned and inviting lovers, women with great curved buttocks. I approached a large granite figure, running my hand up the hard flank to a truly maximum gluteus, feeling her heat radiate from the rock.

I pressed my back against the body of this earthen creature. I let the warmth penetrate me from behind, as the sun caressed me from the front. I closed my eyes and the rock began to shift, lifting from the ground, shaking off sand, pressing into me. I relaxed into the fantasy. . .awakening a massive goddess from her slumber. Energy was moving in me; suddenly I wanted to stand as naked in the desert as the stone yoginis. I shed the rest of my clothes, delighting in the freedom, exulting in the flood of light on my skin. I took a handful of sand and rubbed it on my chest -- it felt good, scratchy and enlivening. I played with the idea of making love to the clefts in the beautiful sun-glazed rumps bending down before me.

I was becoming aroused, and as my cock felt the first flush of blood, I tugged at the foreskin, wriggling it between my fingers. I stretched it full length, responding to the ambient seduction. My cock hardened to its own kind of supple stone. Instinctively, I licked my right hand and began sliding it smoothly along the shaft. I tensed my legs, pushing my heels into the sand, leaning back more firmly against my sensuous stone goddess. She met me with equal strength, supporting me as I swung my hips away from the rock. As my pelvis thrust forward, I closed my eyes again and saw the native rocks dancing in my head, swaying their rear ends at me, teasing me. I stroked faster, tingling, alive to the rare sensation of having the sun warming my erection, fully exposed in the brilliant light. I gripped my cock with both hands, sculpting it with friction and heat. As I stroked and thrust, I was breathing deeply, working the grit of the rock surface against the skin of my back and ass.

Soon I was shaking the sides of the canyon, making love to the land. I mer ged into the rock behind me, her heat a palpable presence, pushing back at me as I stroked the desert to climax. My breath became ragged and I fought the impulse to use my cock to chisel the stones surrounding me. I came hard, my whitewater falling in spurts to the desert floor as I let out a loud howl that bounced off the canyon walls. I laughed at the unexpected echo reminding me that I was making love to myself. When I opened my eyes to look, my stone lovers were still holding their positions, immutable.

My legs quivered for a bit from the pure body release, so clean in the limitless light and air. I relaxed, at one with the vibrant desolation of the canyon. I stretched my muscles, reaching down to touch the moist place where my semen had fallen; it was already soaking into the porous soil. The beginning of an oasis, I thought. My seed would stay buried here until the next gentle rains brought it to life. Or, better yet, there would be storms! Yes, thunderstorms would come to penetrate the sands, moving underground to carry me down the wash, spilling into all the ephemeral streams of the flood plain until I was spread across the entire desert.

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