ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2013
- Posts
- 1,650
The morning air kindly helped cool George’s skin where it breached the surface of the water. Likely later in the day the pond will grow warmer in the daytime sun, but at this time it had a calming feel to it. Enough that it didn’t take long for George to feel more comfortable - not just with the temperance of the water, but with the demons that chased him out of the cabin. The demons, yes, but not the feel.
Lydia still laid up against him, at least in the way his body felt she was still there. She was a like a ghost now, the curve of her rump against his hips, the shape of her breast against his hand. It was only clear in his head for only moments, but his body remembers every bit of her body.
And it makes his body react.
George began floating on his back, allowing himself to slowly drift towards the edge of the pond. His head, his chest, and his feet broke the water; but in a most sensitive way so was his hardening member. He remembered the way when he grew stiff that morning how it slid it's way against Lydia’s curves. How it almost seemed they fit together like two parts of a table. He thought how they may lay together again tonight. How he may do things differently. What he could have done. If she let him, what he could also touch, could also feel.
The water was so shallow now that where he came to rest only took a couple of shifts and he was lying in the soft grass at the shore. Lying in the warm sun, his hand moved down to what had become solid. In the back of his head, he thought maybe if he took care of himself, like he had done in the dark covers at home, he would be more gentlemanly with Lydia; yet that washed quickly with the thoughts returning of what lay under Lydia’s shifts, what he may see as this adventure continues, what her breast may feel like free of her clothing.
There were no other thoughts than his imagination. No other feeling than his hand running over his manhood. He had left the world around him behind, and focused just on his visions of his sweetheart and the touch of his own skin.
Lydia still laid up against him, at least in the way his body felt she was still there. She was a like a ghost now, the curve of her rump against his hips, the shape of her breast against his hand. It was only clear in his head for only moments, but his body remembers every bit of her body.
And it makes his body react.
George began floating on his back, allowing himself to slowly drift towards the edge of the pond. His head, his chest, and his feet broke the water; but in a most sensitive way so was his hardening member. He remembered the way when he grew stiff that morning how it slid it's way against Lydia’s curves. How it almost seemed they fit together like two parts of a table. He thought how they may lay together again tonight. How he may do things differently. What he could have done. If she let him, what he could also touch, could also feel.
The water was so shallow now that where he came to rest only took a couple of shifts and he was lying in the soft grass at the shore. Lying in the warm sun, his hand moved down to what had become solid. In the back of his head, he thought maybe if he took care of himself, like he had done in the dark covers at home, he would be more gentlemanly with Lydia; yet that washed quickly with the thoughts returning of what lay under Lydia’s shifts, what he may see as this adventure continues, what her breast may feel like free of her clothing.
There were no other thoughts than his imagination. No other feeling than his hand running over his manhood. He had left the world around him behind, and focused just on his visions of his sweetheart and the touch of his own skin.