Gail is the best lover I have ever taken to bed, anticipating every sexual whim, fulfilling every lusty desire. That same sensitivity had made her aware of my restlessness recently, and she confronted me one night after unusually ardent lovemaking. We were nestled cozily together and I was curled against the curve of her back.
“You’ve been a little jumpy and subdued lately; what’s bothering you?” Returning to scenes of my Sante Fe childhood is a periodic necessity for me in order to survive in the Big Apple.
Gail listened patiently while I waxed rhapsodic about my favorite memories. “Backpacking to that rocky peak the Indians named Old Baldy is a heady, almost sexual experience you’d love: Holy Ghost Canyon, Spirit Lake, Valley of the Rocks, and finally the summit, Lake Catherine herself — I’d love to share that with you.”
Gail rubbed my renewed erection. “If remembering is affecting you this way, think of the effect it would have on both of us.”
Our hunger and heat were more intense than before as Gail guided my cock inside her and slowly lowered herself to take me to her very core. Flames blazed higher as we moved together, our bodies melding and greeting with each new thrust I made inside her.
I could feel her clitoris making contact with the bulging vein on my cock’s underside with each thrust. Then Gail was rocking and squirming in response, loud cries signifying her soaring pleasure.
Without interrupting the rhythm of our arousal, I pulled her down onto her back and rode her while the waves of her orgasm still rippled through her. Gail wrapped her arms around my waist, and I thrust into her even harder. My entire body glowed hotly. As we began flying high together, her vagina clasping, caressing, stroking, urging me on, my body stiffened and my own orgasm took me up to a wonderful new height. The muscles of her cunt milked my cock dry, refusing to relinquish me until I became limp.
“Wait until we make love at Lake Catherine,” I assured her.
When we arrived at Santa Fe, it was love at first sight for Gail. We idled for two days before our trek, and I showed her the picturesque and historic influences of Spanish and Indian cultures on America’s oldest city. She loved it all, the adobe-style architecture, the native artifacts sold by Indians sitting like statues along one wall of the Palace of Governors on the town plaza, Canyon Road, where art studios and boutiques selling hand-woven materials abounded. But I could hardly wait to reconsummate our relationship at Lake Catherine.
Leaving long before daybreak, we took a jeep to Santa Fe’s ski basin and hiked in from there. By the crack of dawn, we were already high enough to see tiny people — dots scurrying far below when we stopped to rest. Gail drank thirstily from my canteen, her body melting into mine for warmth as she drank with my arms wrapped around her. Already I could feel our hearts pounding from exertion. We continued the ascent.