Canoe At Dawn
A Sexual Fantasy
It is dawn over a pristine Canadian lake. We walk, barefoot, down the steps to the dock. Wisps of steam drift over the warm water.
Words are not needed. Her eyes, her smile, say it all.
A cedar-strip canoe is waiting at the dock. We step in, her in the bow, and silently pull away from shore. The canoe is evolutionary perfection, encompassing equal parts beauty, grace and strength. Just like her.
The sun bursts over the treeline, and with one smooth movement she pulls her sweater over her head. Goosebumps cover her back and arms. She turns to me and smiles as her nipples perk up in the crisp morning air. I let my robe slide off, the heat of the sun clashing with the cool air on my skin.
She tucks her paddle away and we come together in the centre of the boat. She arches her back as my warm hands slide over her body. The temperature has sensitized her skin to even the slightest touch.
She sits on the thwart and drapes one leg over each gunwale, her feet dangling in the luxurious warm water. An invitation. My tongue finds the precious pearl at the apex of her flower.
The canoe rewards symmetry, balance and smoothness of motion. It is unforgiving of lapses in concentration.
Our sexual congress is slow, smooth, beautiful, with cheeky laughter as we gingerly shift positions. We gaze into each other's eyes as she reaches climax. I keep her in that state for as long as possible, counterbalancing her every move lest a capsize put an abrupt end to our play.
Her shudders subside, and her smile grows, without breaking eye contact. We take our seats and paddle back to the dock, forgetting our clothes in the boat as we climb back up the steps for breakfast.
Rating
0.0 out of 5
0 ratings, 0 reviews