Serendipity - Version Charlie

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue

Chapter Six

We slept late again that morning. 

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said.  "Please don't pack up the bed before I get back."

"If all we do is make love, we'll never get to all the places on the list," I pointed out.

She pouted.

"Ohhh, all right."

So, again, I had us packed up with only breakfast out when she returned from the shower house with wet hair.

"I met Clyde," she said.


"He's Mabel's husband."


"He asked me if I was with you of my own free will."


"I gathered that Mabel talked to him.  He just wanted to make sure you weren't taking advantage of me, or hadn't kidnapped me or something like that," she said.

"What did you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him?  I told him thank you, but I was fine, couldn't be happier, and wished we could stay longer but had places to go and people to meet."

"Oh," I said.  "See what I mean?  You should have waited another year or two to sink your hooks into me."

"Should have, could have, would have," she said tossing one hand.  "What's done is done.  Don't cry over spilt milk."

"I wouldn't, except the milk that got spilt is in your pussy and might be making a baby," I said.

"Don't start that again," she warned.  "It's my body, as you pointed out yourself."

"But I might be the father," I said.  "That makes it my business too."

I'm sure the conversation might have gone on, except we were interrupted by a man named Curtis Potter.

I should probably identify him further.

Curtis Potter is the sheriff of Clark County, in the great state of Nevada.

We had already explained that we were on our way to take Caitlin home after her visit to me.  I was a little worried about the condoms. I was sure Mable had told him about that.  I had no idea what the age of consent was in Nevada, but that wasn't the big problem.  The big problem was that I wasn't willing to lie to him about our relationship.  And that information, plus the information about the condoms, might end me up in really hot water.  Granted, without proof, it wouldn't go anywhere legally, but it could cause problems.

"You understand I'm not accusing you of anything," said Sheriff Potter.  "I'm just making sure everything is on the up and up."

"We understand," said Caitlin.  "Would you like to call my mother?  I'll be happy to give you the number."

Sherriff Potter raised one eyebrow.  There's a look that gets on the face of an experienced lawman that you only see on their faces.  It's a look of combined suspicion, reasoning and planning.  They know people try to lie to them.  Because of that, they're trying to think two steps ahead.  Take, for instance, the possibility that if a young girl offers to give you the number of her mother, you don't know if the person who answers the phone is actually her mother.

"Suppose I just call her on your phone," he suggested.

"Okay," said Kat, brightly.  She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"You mind if I take a look at that?" asked the sheriff, holding out his hand. 

"Sure," she said, handing it to him, not realizing she'd just consented to a search of her phone.

But all he did was look through her contacts.  Apparently they looked legit to him, because he punched the one that said "Mom" and asked, "Where's the speaker phone on this one?"

"Right there," said Kat, reaching to press the screen.

"We'll just do this public like," he said, smiling.  I noticed that he only smiled with his lips, and not his eyes.

"Hi, Baby," came my sister's tinny voice through the speaker of Kat's phone.  "Where you guys at?"

"Mrs. Anderson?" asked Sheriff Potter. 

"Who is this?" came Hannah's strident voice.  "Where is my daughter?"

"This is Sheriff Potter, Clark County, Nevada."

I'm sure he'd have said more, but my sister's panicked voice started bombarding him with questions, asking what was wrong and if Caitlin was alive or not and so on and so forth.  I lost track in there of everything she asked.

Once he assured her that Caitlin was alive and well, he started asking questions.

"Are you aware that your daughter is in the company of a man?" he asked.

"You mean Bob?  Of course she is.  He's bringing her back home," said Hannah.

"And she was visiting him for the summer?"

"She stays a month with him every summer," said Hannah.  "What's this all about, Sheriff?"

I think it was at this point that Sheriff Potter decided to be a little more delicate about things.

"Well, someone brought it to our attention that a young lady was camping out ... staying in a tent with an older man," he said.

"So, they're camping out.  Where else would she stay?"  Hannah sounded aggrieved, now.  My sister has always had as little to do with authority figures as possible.  She feels like government should do its job and have as little actual interaction with the people as possible.

"I just wanted to make sure it was all voluntary," said Potter.  "I'm just looking out for your daughter, Ma'am."

"Voluntary?  She begs to go see him every summer," said Hannah.  "Of course it's voluntary.  She wanted to see the Grand Canyon.  And you get to see it a lot better when you go there by car, instead of just flying over it!" snapped my sister.

"All right, then," said Pott, who looked a lot less suspicious now.  At least I thought he did.  "Thanks for your cooperation.  Like I said, I just wanted to make sure."

"Thank you for your care and attention," said Hannah.  "May I presume I do not need to stop what I'm doing and come all the way from Santa Barbara to pick my daughter up?  You haven't arrested my brother, have you?"

Now I'm quite sure that, at that point, Hannah had not connected the dots.  Not in the way Sheriff Potter had.  Of course he hadn't mentioned the condoms.  Maybe if he had said something like, "And do you approve of your daughter buying extra sensitive, ribbed condoms in bulk?" that her responses might have been different.  Would have been different.  Who am I kidding?

But he didn't, so Hannah didn't have that information.

And the thing is that her attitude, as expressed in what I'm sure she meant as a joke or a barb, said more than that to Sheriff Potter.  To Sheriff Potter, it said that Caitlin had her mother's permission to do what he suspected Caitlin had been doing.  With me.

"No, Ma'am, I haven't arrested him.  Thanks again.  Do you want to speak with your daughter now?"

"Yes, please," came Hannah's crisp no nonsense voice over the phone.

He handed the phone to Caitlin, who took it off speaker phone and walked off to, no doubt, give her mother a less than sordid rendition of events.  Potter looked at me and shrugged.

"The age of consent in Nevada is sixteen," he said.  "Since the two of you are just passing through, and her mother is so agreeable to all this, I'm not going to think too hard about the fact she is your niece, which, by the way, is not legal in Nevada, if you've been doing what Mable thinks you've been doing.  I would, however, suggest that the two of you camp in California tonight, assuming you don't just drive her straight home."  He frowned.  "Which would be the best thing you could do, in my opinion."

"Thank you," I said.  I left it at that.  I wasn't going to try to justify anything.  You can't, in a situation like that.  I was just thankful for the break, and for being able to go on our way.

Twenty minutes later we were in the car, headed west.

I told Caitlin what he'd said.

"You're not taking me straight home," she said.

"What did your mother say?" I asked.

"She just wanted to make sure I wasn't traumatized by the police," said Caitlin.  "You know my mother."

"Indeed," I said.  "So you want to stick to the schedule?"

"Of course I do," she said.  "I only have one more night with you.  I'm not giving that up."

By that, she meant the fact that we had planned on staying our last night in Death Valley National Park.  To that end, we stayed on US 95 and took our time, since it wasn't all that far from Indian Springs.  We felt safe enough, as just travelers, to stop at most of the tourist traps or cultural spots along the way.  Twice, Caitlin wanted to pull off and find somewhere to make love, but I reminded her of the advice Sheriff Potter had given.

We had intended to run up to see Grapevine Peak, which is the highest point in the Armargosa Mountains, but that was in Nevada, and we'd had enough of Nevada, so we left 95 at Beatty, and headed west into Death Valley, and California, on 374.

She celebrated the "Welcome to California" sign by leaning over to give me a blow job while I tried to keep things on the highway.

We pulled into the Furnace Creek Campground and were delighted to find lots of tent sites available.  They had a pool too, which was good, because by the time we got set up, we were both dripping sweat.

"I see a visit to the pool in my future," said Kat, wiping her brow.

"Your very near future," I said, agreeing.  "Where is your swim suit?"

"It's in a suitcase.  I won't have to dig too hard to get to it."

"I didn't bring a swim suit," I said.

"You've got those running shorts you used to sleep in," she reminded me.

"You mean the ones I don't sleep in anymore?"

She grinned.  "Yes, the ones I won't let you wear anymore."

So, five minutes later, still dripping sweat, we were ready to go to the pool.

The only problem was that we changed into our swimsuits in the tent.

Which means I watched as she stripped, and gently gave her breasts to the gentle support of the cups, before snugging up the gusset of the bottoms against her vulva.

"Houston, we have a problem," I said.

She looked over at me, where I was on my knees so I wouldn't hit my head on the roof of the tent.  I thrust my hips forward.  The outline of my erection was clearly visible.

"It's way too hot to do anything about that right now," she said, smiling.  "But after we swim I'd be happy to help you out."

I pouted intentionally.  Then I pulled my shorts down enough to expose my rigid prick to her.

"What am I supposed to do about this, then?" I asked, trying to tempt her to at least suck it.

It didn't work.

"I've never seen you jerk off.  That might be interesting.  Then again, I'm melting in this heat and I really want to get in the water."

"I'm melting too," I replied.  "And beating off is a lot of work."

"Just move it around like you used to do back when you didn't want me to know you had a boner for me.  Once you get in the water it will be fine."

Which means I had a boner showing through my shorts as we walked to the pool.  It was lying at an upwards angle, and off to the left side.  My balls made a dent right in the middle of the front of the shorts.

It wasn't actually so bad.  There was nobody around.  The whole place seemed deserted.  I had left my watch in the tent, but I knew it was around four-thirty, so people might still be out on day trips to this or that attraction in the park.

I was watching Kat's hips rising and falling in front of me, and had almost forgotten my erection when we turned the corner around the pump house and opened the gate that led into the pool.

Which is when we found out why there hadn't been anybody anywhere else. They were all in the pool.

If you've ever been camping in a national park, then you already know about the kind of people who gravitate towards that pursuit.  If you're not a camper type, you're missing out on a subculture of American society that is made up of people who are warm, friendly, capable, and generous.  As a rule, they all like their privacy, and yet, they're quite willing to sit and talk around a campfire for hours.  I think that very fact is what makes this community so valuable, in terms of general mental health.  We don't just sit and talk any more, generally speaking.  And when we do, it's in a bar, or cocktail party.  Even then the conversation is fluff, for the most part.  Serious subjects aren't discussed.  Certainly religion and politics are avoided, and when they aren't, the people who bring that up are.

But in a campground, you have time.  Once the camp is set up, the hike, or sightseeing for the day is finished, and supper is simmering on the fire, you have the time to sit and watch the flames and talk.  It's a very intimate kind of gathering.  As darkness falls, and the only light comes from the fire, it can feel like your little group is the only one left in the world.  Age old fears of what's out there in the dark can make your imagination more active.  At the same time, your belly gets full, and the fire warms you in the chill of the night.  You know you'll probably never see these people again, so the subject of discussion is no longer a source of angst.  Around the fire you can agree to disagree.  The adults talk about this or that.  If there are any teens, they join the adults, because there's nothing else to do in the dark.  Once again, the members of the tribe gather to celebrate they have survived another day.

That doesn't always happen, but it can happen, and every experienced camper knows it.  The Hendersons, two nights before, were not an anomaly, and we were not surprised when they invited us over to share their fire and meal, that night.   And because every camper knows he or she may spend some time with other people in the campground, they tend to pay attention to the others there.  This is also something that's different from city life. In the city, we walk by each other and actually avoid making eye contact.  We pretend the other person isn't there, other than doing what is necessary not to bump into them.

In a campground it isn't that way at all.  People not only look each other over, they introduce themselves.  You find out where they're from, and where they're going and what campsite they're in, at a minimum. 

What I'm getting at is that having a boner in your swim suit can be a real problem in the situation I was in.  I had thought people were still out doing things.  Turns out everybody was back from their day activities and were all in the pool. 

And when we entered the facility, every eye in the place turned towards us.

That population consisted of roughly twenty sets of parents or adult couples.  There were maybe ten kids, aged thirteen and below.  They were playing Marco Polo, around the knot of adults that were standing neck deep in the middle of the pool.  There were no girls Caitlin's age, but there were six boys in roughly their middle teens.  They had been standing in a group trying to look cool and talking about who knows what.  Probably the deficit of hot girls their age.  

Kat solved that problem.

And I provided fodder for the conversation amongst the adults.

The boys flowed toward Kat as if some magnetic force was involved.  This was not a new phenomenon for her.  She was used to boys (and men) approaching her at the beach, and she had become adept at dealing with this kind of attention. 

I, on the other hand, was not used to appearing in front of a bunch of people, clearly sexually aroused, in the company of my smoking hot niece.  We had already agreed that we weren't going to try to disguise our relationship.  That wasn't really what had caused the problem with Mable, but it was part of the problem.  You can't really say, "Glad to meet you, Mable.  This is my niece, Caitlin.  By the way, we need a box of condoms for our stay here. What do you recommend?" 

Anyway, I knew that all these women who were staring at my groin, and all these men who were staring at my niece, were going to find out all about who they were staring at.  And I had no clue as to how to proceed.

What I did was cover my boner with both hands, run, and launch myself from the side of the pool, landing like a whale breaching.

Kat, bless her heart, stayed to beam and flirt at the boys, making it clear she had no idea where I was, and couldn't care less.

I was ostracized, initially.  But eventually the men and women parted, as some unseen force caused the conversation to go in directions that were not coed in nature.  First the men gathered on one side of the group, as the women leaned their heads in toward each other.  Slowly, distance appeared between them as the women stayed there, and the men seemed to drift toward me. 

One guy finally broke free of the group and tried to make it look like he wasn't coming in my direction on purpose.  But I knew what was destined to happen, so I made the first move.  I tried to act like nothing whatsoever had happened and stuck out my hand to him.

"Hi, Bob Simmons, architect, out of Chickasha, Oklahoma.  My niece came to visit me and we're on our way to get her back to California."

He took my hand and grinned.

"Tony Gannon.  Family vacation."  He pointed to the group of women, most of whom were looking our way and trying to make it appear as if they weren't.  "The red head over there is my wife, Trudy.  Elizabeth and Tony Junior are over there."  He pointed vaguely toward the group of Marco Polo players, who were oblivious of anything else.  "We live in Herrington, Kansas," he added.  "Some north of you Okies."

I nodded and then, suddenly, having made the obligatory noises, I had nothing to say.  Tony solved that problem for me.

"Your niece, huh?  I get it now.  She's a cutie.  Probably isn't a man alive who could resist that."

Did I forget to tell you the camping community is pretty up front in their conversations?  They can be a little blunt too.

"Oh, I resist her," I assured him hurriedly.

"I can tell," he said.  "You need a better swim suit, my friend."

"I do?" I asked.

"Your reaction to what she's wearing was kind of showing through what you are wearing.”

"Shit," I said, trying to sound dejected.  "I know I shouldn't walk behind her. I hoped I'd moved it so it wouldn't show.  Especially to her."

"I don't think she saw it," he said, conspiratorially.  “Everybody else did, though.  The hens are over there clucking about it as we speak."

"Shit," I said.

"No problem," he said.  "She's a good looking girl.  How old you say she was?"

"Eighteen," I said, resisting the urge to remind him I hadn't said.

This was a subject we had decided to lie about.  If people thought she was eighteen - and she could easily pass for eighteen -  then that might temper any suspicions that developed.

"That's a crying shame," he sighed.

"How so?" I asked.

"Because I'm happily married," he grinned.  "Just ask my wife."

I grinned back.  "I loved having her visit, but I'll be glad to get her back home."

"How long did she stay?" he asked.

"A week," I said, lying some more.  "She wanted to check out the OU campus before school starts and staying with me was cheaper than the alternative."

"Why in the world would she want to go to school in Oklahoma when there are all manner of universities in California? And don't they let in state kids go for free there?  Isn't that one of the reasons they're so strapped for money?"

"Her dad played football for the Sooners," I said.  "Her parents met there. Family tradition and all that."

"Oh, yeah," he said.  "Well, glad to meet you.  We're at number 79 over that way."  He pointed towards where the sun was dipping toward the horizon.  "If you want, come by later and we can chew the fat."  He grinned.  "Your niece is welcome too, but that would probably ruin the night for one of them young bucks."  He glanced toward the knot of boys fawning over Caitlin, who was preening like a pro.

"She's got a boyfriend already," I said, inventing more lies.  "They're both going to OU in the fall.  That's one of the reasons she came to visit.  She was looking for someplace to live.  She said if she left it up to him they'd end up in a dump."

"Things sure have changed since our day," sighed Tony.  "I'd have loved to shack up with some babe back then, but the girls wouldn't go for it in those days."

"Yeah," I said.

Suddenly the ecosystem of the pool was disturbed as Kat broke free from her group of admirers and leapt from the edge of the pool in a graceful arc, her outstretched fingers entering the water with barely a splash, followed by the body so many men had been admiring.

It was like a shark had suddenly entered the water.  Everyone looked to see where the shark was, and when she surfaced, tossing her head expertly and breast stroking effortlessly, most eyes watched her to see where she'd go.  She wasted no time moving toward the shallow end, swimming right past the group of female adults.  Had she looked at them, she'd have seen a mixture of glares and evaluating looks.  The glares were from women who were envious of her youth and looks, things they had lost forever.  The others saw her as that shark, a danger to them in that she might lure their men away and ensnare them.

But she ignored them all, swimming up to Tony and me before standing up.  She rose from the water like Aphrodite.

"I'm hungry," she said, ignoring Tony.  "I'm going back to the tent and start supper.  You should probably stay here.  I was worried about you earlier.  Old people can get heat stroke pretty easy, Uncle Bob.  If you're still here when supper is ready I'll come get you, okay?"

"Sure," I said, hiding a grin.  If she wasn't taking part in school plays, she should start.

Just as every eye had watched her come in, they were all on her as she fairly leapt from the pool and left.  She got into her flip flops and did that thing where she reached around to adjust the back of her tiny bottoms. 

The only sound in the pool was a single young voice calling "Marco," answered by half a dozen piped "Polo's ” until she turned the corner.

Then, suddenly, there was a babble of adult voices speaking in hushed tones.

Since Tony was the only one in the pool who had any information about us, I was still persona non grata, as the pervert with an erection, in the company of a beautiful young girl.  Oddly, seeing as how I had watched her swaying hips leave just like everyone else did, that erection was gone, having softened to something along the lines of a huge slug.  I reached to adjust the slug so it lay between my legs, and gave Tony the chance to spread the word.  I got out and lay down on a scorching hot chaise lounge to take in the rays of the sinking sun.  I winced as my skin made contact with the surface of the lounge, but took it like a man and didn't jump right back up again.  I'd made enough of a spectacle as it was. 

Tony did, in fact, spread the word.  That became obvious as the tension in the air lessened.  Maybe that was my imagination.  The tension, I mean.  But after Mable and Sheriff Potter I was a little gun-shy. 

I watched through barely open eyes as Tony rejoined the men.  Suddenly, the separation of the sexes was no longer necessary, and the women rejoined their mates.  It only took fifteen seconds.  He didn't have that much to tell them, really.  But what he did tell them appeared to answer lots of questions, and I could almost see them jump to the same conclusions he had.  Cute girl, normal guy (even if he is her uncle) and obviously no interest displayed by her towards him.  The women could understand using a man to save some money and stay somewhere safe, and the men could understand that boner.  The women did too, of course, but they simply chalked that up to men being pigs.  Since Kat had ignored me in the pool, gravitating toward boys her own age, she was in no danger. 

As to what their sons might try with her ... well ... that was my problem.  I was the one responsible for protecting her.

Such is the result of a well-crafted story, which met the expectations of culturally sensitized people.

They assumed nothing was going on.

Their expectations would have been shattered, had they known what happened when I got back to the campsite. 

Kat had, indeed, gotten the fire going and had the Dutch oven tucked into the edge of what would eventually be coals.  It was filled with potatoes, stew meat, carrots, celery, some beef broth and a packet of brown gravy mix.

"Supper won't be ready for an hour," she announced.  She was already sweating again, and the tank top she was wearing was stained dark between her breasts.  "Come into the tent with me.  I want to talk to you about something," she said.

She went into the tent.  I pulled the Dutch oven an inch or two farther away from the fire and then followed her.

She was already naked, having removed the running shorts and tank top that were all she'd had on.

"I can take care of that erection now," she said, kneeling on the sleeping bags.

"You're still dripping sweat," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but the water cooled me off enough that I feel good again. And I've never made love while all sweaty," she said.  "I think it would be rad.  Am I twisted?"

"Nothing between consenting adults is twisted," I said, sort of glossing over the fact that, technically, she wouldn't be an adult for another month and a half.

A lot of people think of rubbing two sweaty bodies together as being something icky, or nasty or whatever.

They're wrong.

Hot, sweaty sex is ... I don't know.  Words like "fantastic" and "terrific" and "awesome" aren't really the right words for it.  They're in the ball park, though.

She lay back on the bags and spread her legs for me, reaching, making it clear she wanted me on top of her.  Her cleft was split open, like an overripe peach that has hit the ground.  My prick leapt back to full hard within seconds, which made things difficult because my running shorts were still wet and clung to me, not wanting to come off.  My cock got tangled up in the wet cloth too.

"Hurry," she said, her voice low and sultry.  "Those boys made me horny."

Finally I got free.  I got into position and she reached for my shaft, skinning the tip back and bringing it unerringly to her opening.  We both sighed as I slid in.  My skin was still cool as I lay down on her and her warmth felt as good to me as my coolness felt to her.

My coolness didn't last long, though.  As I look back on it, that was the very first time that we made love just for the sake of making love.  I wasn't trying to make her cum, and I wasn't trying to cum myself.  It was just delicious moving inside her, and feeling her skin against mine.

Soon we were both sweating profusely, and it made things slippery in a way that only coating each other with vegetable oil, or something like that could equate.  The lack of friction made it laughably easy to slide forward and back, which pressed my penis deep into her and then pulled it away.  It was almost impossible to do the same things we'd done before, unless I dropped my knees between her thighs, where they could get purchase to help me move in a particular direction. 

But, in this situation she closed her legs and I lay fully on top of her, leg to leg, belly to belly, chest to chest, sliding on her while my prick plundered her vagina.

"I love you so much," she moaned.  "I don't ever want to stop doing this."

"Me neither," I grunted, somewhat artlessly.  With her legs closed, she was even tighter than usual, and while there was no friction on the outside of our bodies, inside hers was something else indeed.

She must have sensed that.  Or maybe she could feel the difference too, because she started pushing my buttons.

"Fuck me," she whispered.  "I want your strong cock deep inside me."

I knew what she was trying to do, and I resisted.  It felt too good to be over this quickly.

"Don't you wish I was one of those young studs that made you horny?" I panted.

"They're just boys," she said, haughtily.  "You're a man.  I need a man, not a little boy."

"Well, you got me," I groaned.

Her legs opened under mine, slipping easily out from under me.  She threw them wide and then brought them back in to grip behind my back.

"I'll never let you go," she whispered, pulling her pussy hard against my groin.

Suddenly - and I have no idea why it happened just then - I remembered all those men staring at this woman, wishing they could be doing what I was doing right now.  And the boys who had gathered around her.  They were neophytes, when it came to this, but they, too, wished they could be in my place.

But she was mine.

And just as she would never let me go, I suddenly wanted to possess her in some definitive way.

To that end, I did something I'm ashamed of to this very day.  Caitlin says I'm silly, and that she loved it, but it wasn't an act of love.  Not really.

What I did was dig in with my knees and walk forward, lifting her hips off the bags until she was bent in half.  Her ankles uncrossed and her legs came loose.  I reached for one leg and pulled it up over my shoulder, and then did the same thing with the other one.  Now she was helpless, bent in half, able to move only her arms.  It must have been difficult to breathe, though she didn't complain.

And then I went in as deeply as I could, pounding her until I felt the lava erupt from my balls.

I injected my sperm into her intentionally, claiming her womb as my own.  I shouldn't have done that.  True, we had given up on the condoms by this time.  But that's not the point.  What I did was try to impregnate her.  Without any compunction, I made her helpless and then inseminated her, attempting to breed her as if she were my property.

I think I sort of lost my mind.  Thankfully, that only lasted a few minutes at most.  Once I jetted into her, with the tip of my penis as close to her womb as possible, I realized what I had just done and felt terrible.

Well ... maybe not terrible.  But bad.  Uncomfortable.  I was aware that, in those few moments, I hadn't cared about her.  I had used her to dump my sperm, not caring if she enjoyed it or not.  Not caring if she could even breathe.

I let her unfold and pulled out, to kneel between her wide spread thighs.  We were both gasping for air.

"That was intense!" she panted.

"I'm sorry," I said, still feeling guilty.

"What for?" she huffed.  "That was the best sex we ever had!"

"I tried to get you pregnant," I moaned, confessing all.

"I hope you try that a lot," she said, apparently unaware that I actually felt bad.

"You don't understand," I groaned.  "This time I came inside you on purpose.  I wanted to get you pregnant!"

She reached for me.

"C'mere," she said, still breathing hard.

I fell down to stand on all fours over her naked, sweaty ... sperm-filled ... body.

"It's you who doesn't understand," she whispered.  "I know you think you're taking me home, and that what happened between us this summer will be a thing of the past.  You think it will never happen again.  But you're wrong.  Yes, I have to finish high school, but that doesn't mean we're finished.  I mean it when I say I want to do this forever.  I'm going to find a way we can be together.  And some day we are going to make a baby.  Maybe several babies.  So the thought that you want to make a baby in me doesn't scare me one tiny bit, Mister Simmons.  Not one, teensy, weensy, itty, bit.  Now, kiss me, and then I want to see if I can get you hard again, because I didn't cum yet and it's my turn."

It was a pretty speech.  It was designed to make me feel better.  And I did feel a little better.  But she was speaking from a position of a young woman with dreams and fantasies that, as an experienced adult, I knew were unlikely to come to fruition.  Unlikely at best.  And I knew how disastrous it would be if the caveman in me, during those few brutal minutes, had succeeded in fertilizing her egg.  High school, while unmarried and pregnant, is no picnic for a girl, regardless of her social standing before people become aware she's knocked up.

Not to mention the anticipated reaction of her parents, who would not be amenable towards her plans in any case.

But I did feel better.  It was impossible not to as happy as she was.

And having your dick avidly sucked by a beautiful, passionate young woman generally makes it hard to feel bad too.

As does having that girl mount your newly stiffened prick and ride it like Annie Oakley.  Did she ride, or just shoot?  I don't know.  It's not important.  What's important is that we had more hot, sweaty sex, with the fading rays of the sun, through the orange material of the tent, making the sheen on her belly and breasts seem to glow as if there was light coming from within her.

Three times she leaned down and whispered, "I'm gonna cum now. Thank you," and three times I felt like what's his name on the front of the Titanic, yelling, "I'm the king of the world!"

But then her pussy went to work on me and coaxed another load of that dangerous seed from my balls.

And the Titanic didn't seem like such a good comparison any more.

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