The Grass and the Wind

You look over the grass prairie.  It’s a hot day, with just enough of a breeze to keep it from being scorching hot.  The grass is tall, and soft, and thick, and luxurious.

You walk out on the prairie, lost in your own thoughts.  There’s no one around for miles; the entire world that you see is your own.  Nothing but the birds and the insects and the grass.

The grass is so thick your feet never touch the ground; the grass bends and holds your weight.  You reach down and press your palms into the grass and feel the soft strength of the grass. It bends without giving.

You look around to make sure you’re alone. There’s no one except the birds.  You lay your blanket out, take off your sneakers, socks, shorts and tank top.  You lay on top of the blanket, naked to the sun and the breeze, feeling the grass cushion.  You hear the gentle rustling of the wind in the grass and the distant screech of a bird.

You close your eyes. You stretch your arms out at your side, and you lay in a savasana pose.  You feel very relaxed, at peace.

The breeze blows gently across your naked skin.  You feel the heat on your nipples, across your thighs. It feels like a lover’s feather touch. You lay, unmoving, eyes closed.

The touch becomes more insistent. It teases your nipples, with slow sensuous circles, light flicks of breeze.  The heat of the sun warms your nipples and the touch cools them.

Your nipples are erect, excited.  The wind-tongue traces the valley between your breasts, and caresses your belly button.  It travels back up between your breasts, to your throat, touches that spot under your chin and makes its way back down, across your nipples to your belly.

It slowly feels its way down to your inner thighs.  It travels down and up, tracing the muscles under your skin, from mid-thigh to the fold of skin that promises more.  The touch is soft, unhurried, and insistent, like the sun and the wind.

The wind-tongue flicks its tip across the folds of your pussy, warm like the sun and cool like the wind.  It traces the most intimate places, explores the folds.

You’re relaxed and tense; relaxed from the warmth of the sun, the peace and quiet of the prarie, and tense because the wind-tongue is exploring you in places and ways you’ve never been explored.

The wind-tongue teases your clit, gently at first, then more and more as you respond.  It’s slow, unhurried, yet teasing as if taking pleasure from your pleasure and your yielding to its touch.  It slowly, slowly explores the opening of your pussy, pushing aside the sensitive folds there.

You feel your tension building, you feel your body respond, and yet you don’t want to move.  You want the wind to keep blowing across your nipples, cooling your skin, you want the wind-tongue to keep exploring.

The wind-tongue is more insistent, it finds your clit and you feel the warm sun, the cool breeze, and the gentle pressure of the wind, all at once.  You feel the wind swirl around your clit, the pressure building, slow, insistent.

The wind picks up a little bit, bringing a sudden small chill to your sun-warmed skin.  Your nipples respond to the change, and then the wind-tongue brings your focus back down to your pussy and your clit where the the wind now becomes demanding, wanting you to want more.

The wind-tongue flutters faster and faster, while you lose yourself in the sensations.

As the wind dies down, the wind-tongue sends you over the edge into a warm, glowing orgasm and you’re left on the blanket, relaxed, eyes closed, wondering what just happened.

Rain Dance

It’s a hot afternoon, one of those days when the dark clouds threaten rain.  Not the gentle kind of rain but the rain that the locals call a frog strangler; hot, steaming, pouring rain that comes down in big fat heavy drops.

The first drops of rain come down. You run down to the dock, strip off your clothes and stand at the end of the dock, looking up, arms outstretched, welcoming the feel of the rain drops on your skin.

The rain is warm, gentle at first.  You begin to dance.  It’s a dance without rhythm, a dance without a name, a dance that celebrates the rain and the thunder and the lightning and the splashes of the raindrops on the lake.  You dance like the raindrops fall.

The rain comes down, heavier and heavier.  The drops are big and warm.  The water runs down your face, down your neck, like lover’s fingertips tracing the curves of your body.

You feel each drop as it runs down across your breasts, pauses at the nipple, and then falls off to join the others. You feel the drops as they run between your breasts, across your navel, and down to your pussy.

You feel a touch tracing the folds of your pussy, the wet gentle drops exploring every fold and every space.

You feel the the drops falling on your back, flowing down along your spine and between your butt cheeks.  The drops tease your butthole, and flow down ever so gently the inside of your thighs.

You dance, you dance to the rhythm of the drops where there is no rhythm.  You dance to the feel and touch of the drops.

You feel the drops running down your outstretched arms, across your ribs and to your hips.  They feel like a lover’s gentle touch on your hips.  The touch sways you gently and pulls you back ever so slightly.  You feel the drops on your back and now they feel like a lover.  You feel his erection between your butt cheeks.

You sway with your skin slick with rain and your phantom lover holding you ever so gently.  He pulls you back and you bend over, letting him enter you from behind.

He feels like the rain; warm, slick, gentle.  He pushes into you and you moan with pleasure.  The raindrops now run around your hips and caress your clit.  The touch on your hips feels like warm rain.

You feel him thrusting into you, gentle and warm like the rain, slow and fast, almost without rhythm but at a pace that you know is like the rain falling on the lake, intense, relentless, filling.

With a last quiver, you go over the edge, in a big warm orgasm that spasms your whole body.

And then you dance alone on the dock, in the warm rain, filled with peace and quiet and satisfaction.

The Wood Elf

It’s been a hard day, and you take a walk in the woods to get some peace and solitude.  It’s a bit cold, you feel the chill breeze on your face and in your hair, but you’re dressed for the weather and the woods welcome you with serenity and you’re warm inside your winter jacket.

You find a comfortable place to sit with your back against an old tree.  You close your eyes and rest for a while, listening to the sound of the forest.  You doze, you dream.  The worries of the day fade away as you feel the comforting bark against your back.

You listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the forest, rustling leaves and branches.  As you sit you feel the the wind change.  No longer is it just a breeze; there’s a gentle rhythm to it.  You open your eyes and off in the distance you see a figure dancing.

Soundless, with nothing but the breeze to guide him, the figure dances.  You watch him dance through your half-opened eyes, still not sure if you’re awake or dreaming.  He dances closer to you and then he’s in front of you.

He’s tall and thin, with long blond hair.  He reaches out to you.  His fingertips brush your hair and cheeks.  He wears no gloves and his fingers are warm.  He takes your hands and you stand and dance. Soundlessly, to just the music of the trees, you dance.  You feel the warmth of his hands through your winter jacket.  You feel warm and safe in his embrace.

He stops dancing and slowly kneels down.  You kneel with him.  He’s facing you to your left.  His left hand cups the back of your head; his right traces a path from your hair across your cheek and down to your nipple.  You feel the heat of his touch through your jacket; his fingertips brush your nipple and continue down across your belly.  The heat of his touch is unmistakable.

You feel his touch past your waist, slide down the outside of your jeans.  You’re already wet and excited and you feel his hot touch on your pussy.  He traces the folds of your most sensitive places.

Your hands reach out and unbutton his pants, releasing his manhood. It stands erect under your fingers.  You hear him moan ever so gently, the first sound you hear him made.

You peel back the foreskin exposing his pink tip.  His left hand pulls your head down.  You run your tongue around the tip, up the back, through the fold where the head meets the foreskin.  You feel him tense up; the heat of his right hand on your crotch increases.

You take him in your mouth.  His size and heat surprise you.  His touch finds your clit and massages it ever so slowly.  You moan around his penis.

He pulls you down onto him, keeping the same rhythm as the wind, as your dance.  You slide his shaft deeper and deeper into your mouth as his touch strokes your clit.

He pulls you all the way down; you struggle a bit to slide his shaft down your throat but then your face is pressed against his belly as his hot touch on your clit gets more intense.

He pulls you down over and over; the pressure of his fingers on the back of your head and the pressure of his fingers on your clit are now following the rhythm of the wind.

His touch drives you over the edge and as your body explodes you feel and taste his come in your mouth.  He clutches you hard, and a moan, only the second sound you hear him made, escapes his lips.

And then you hear the wind blow through the trees, and he’s gone.  You’re warm and happy and relaxed – and not sure if you dreamed this.

The Mountain Nymph

It should be an easy climb. At 4600 feet of mostly bouldering, you only have 68 feet to go, but you are so tired. You stop, stand upright with your arms above your head ,and gaze at the peak. This is why you came here, to Sierra de la Solidad – Mountain of Solitude. For the quiet, the melding of your body with the rock, the oneness with something far greater than mere earth. As you gaze upward, you are startled to see an ocean wave rising behind Pena Blanca, growing taller and on a crash course with your path, in a place where no ocean exists and no water rises or falls. You close your eyes tight and brace yourself for the assault, but you are not pummeled by the wave. You feel a wet warmth glide over your face, down your chest, slowly bringing moisture to your belly, between your thighs. The wet warmth rises up behind you, pools in the small of your back, settles on your shoulders. You open your eyes, and a woman stands before you, but not a woman. A mountain nymph, ethereal, not quite the shape of a woman. You blink, and she is behind you.

Her hands move through your chest to find your nipples. You can’t feel her hands, you strain your chest outward to feel her hands, you can see them playing with the hair of your chest, see them brush your nipples, which respond without her touch. Her hands float down, tracing the line from your sternum to your crotch. She touches your penis, and you can’t feel it, but you feel a wet warmth, slick, as if she had just herself, run her fingers through her wet pussy, then spread it over you. You can smell her, and feel her wetness on your organ as the skin is pulled back and you become fully erect.

She laughs softly, and it sounds like distant music. She turns you around, takes your hand, and leads you to the summit. You are no longer tired, you don’t even feel your feet touch the ground. You float with her over the last peak and find her sitting on a narrow ledge, beckoning you to join her.

You sit. She runs her hands over your eyes, closing them. Her fingers trail on your lips, and you begin to feel the softest touch. She climbs onto your lap, facing you. She is there, but not there, and you yearn to feel her. She smiles, and positions herself over your right thigh, slowly rubbing back and forth, deeper, until her moist clit is pressing into your thigh. She looks you in the eye as her hips roll forward, backward, and her wetness spreads across your thigh, down into the space between your legs. Her motion is fluid like the water she was, and it finds a slow rhythm, urgent but not in haste.

You reach out to touch her, and she is gone.

Her hands are on your shoulders, pulling you back, gently laying you down on the ledge. You don’t feel the harsh stone, but now you feel her hands. She rolls you on your side, and lies with her chest to your back. You feel her hard nipples against your back as her hands envelope you and hungrily seek your body, your chest, your hips, your penis. Her hands are warm and so wet, and every part of you that she touches begins to tingle. You want to see her, so you turn to face her, side by side, chest to chest. You look into her eyes to know that she is real, but you see through them.

You begin to move together as she presses into you. Her lips seek your lips, her tongue seeks your tongue. Her nipples rub your nipples, and her wetness runs slick on your penis. Her toes intertwine with yours, and you still aren’t close enough to her. You want to feel all of her, but she won’t let you. Yet.

She pulls her tongue from your mouth and lets it glide down, slowly, sucking on your left nipple, then your right. She uses the tip of her tongue to tease, touching, not touching, until you strain toward her. Again she laughs her song and you are wanting to feel more of her, all of her. She glides down your body with her tongue, and finds a dew drop on the tip of your penis. She sucks it, and you feel her tongue, you grow even longer to feel her mouth. She opens herself for you and takes all of you, all of your manliness and pulls it inside her mouth, her throat, it’s so hot and wet and you feel an urgency rise as she slowly pulls and teases and pushed your organ in and out and deep and deeper still.
You think you can’t wait. You think you will come now, hot and full and in need of release. But you open your eyes, and she is gone.

You moan with wanting, you ache with your need. Blink. She is in front of you, her back to your chest, and she is fully a woman now. Firm buttocks, smooth unblemished skin, high breasts, long hair tumbling over the ledge. This is not who she is, but how she feels next to you. She becomes your fantasy as she pushes back toward you and spreads her legs, inviting you to seek her wet warmth, daring you to find it and enter her. You wrap your arms around her hips, and find that she is using her fingers to rub her clit, and the singing sounds come faintly from her lips. She rubs slow, and moans. You let your finger follow hers as she shows you what she needs, where she needs it. With your other hand you pull her belly back, and feel her firm butt press deeper into your groin. You know what she wants, but you want her to say it. You tell her to say it.

“Come inside me” she whispers, and with her invitation your penis seeks that warm space between her legs, and you push inside her from behind while a quick note escapes from her lips. You rest there, not moving, letting her know the feel of you before you drive her and yourself to the brink of no thought.

Slowly, you move deeper inside. And out. She presses her knees together to hold you more tightly and you feel a pulsing throb begin in your penis, inside her, until the pulse matches rhythm and you don’t know where you end and she begins. Faster, and she pushes back to bring you deeper inside, then faster still until you both cry out the final moment before the light explodes in your eyes and your mind goes still as your body goes rigid, and the wave keeps coming, her wave, your wave, until at last the wave crashes into the shore and slowly recedes.

You try to pull her close to you, but she is gone. You hear the soft melody of waves breaking on a distant shore, and receding back to the ocean where they belong. Did you dream this belief, or believe this dream?