Friday, February 5, 2010

a memory

Peach Trees: Deviant Art --

dreaming fucking dreaming fucking dreaming fucking dreaming

we arrived back in the Steens Mountains after a long, dusty drive. up a narrow, rough road, the camping coolers rattling, our naked skin coated with a fine layer of dust. after a week of the pulsing, pounding noise of partying and dance music and mayhem and dust storms at Burning Man in Nevada, the solitude and peace of the Alvord Desert and mountains felt like a miraculous gift. decompression before the shock of re-entry into the real world.

we wound up the hillside to a ravine where a fruit orchard sprouted like a miniature eden. there, the green leafy branches hung heavy with peaches and cherries and apples. ripe and sweet. a soft, warm wind swirled through the treetops. the wild peaches i plucked were juicy and free of worms. peach nectar ran down my chin. i didn't wipe it off.

we set up camp and soon thereafter a hippie camped down in the orchard came trudging up to our camp. he was on his way to Eugene from Mexico...something about child custody and courts. we didn't pay too much attention. he was a scrawny, dirty strange man, but friendly and seemingly harmless and offered us some hash.

the sun began to set behind the dry golden hills and we stumbled around giggling in a hash haze. then the drug hit me hard right where it counts and i shoved my man into the tent, dragging him in there like a good horny cavewoman should. just thinking about fucking in that little cave, the yellow-lit thin-walled coccoon of our own making as our skin became hot and the day became cold....leaves me wanting all over again. we took a dip in the hot springs and let the warm minerals soak deep into our bones. that night we clung tightly together, nervous about the stranger in the weeds and kept half-awake by the howling wind that came racing across the desert.
in the morning i slipped out to pee and caught the sun in my lens. he soon followed and as the coffee water heated up on the little stove i tugged my flannel pajama bottoms down, kneeled atop the cooler, and caught his cock between my thighs. he took my shoulders in his hands and pulled my face towards the sky by my hair. he fucked me hard from behind, growling and grunting, his hand warming my ass with swift, firm slaps. he shuddered and pulled out and stroked himself until came on my face. his thick, warm nectar ran down my chin. i didn't wipe it off.

we fucked and fucked and fucked like animals on the hillside, the sun warming our backs while the hippie lie sleeping in the orchard below, dreaming with the snakes.

that morning, i became immortal.


BadAssKona said...

Every weekend, my love, immortality beckons! And, then, there's the ride home!

Craig Sorensen said...

Dining upon ambrosia, it would seem.

Very nice memory.

Gina Marie said...

Yep, Mr. BAK, the road trip is at least half the fun!

Hi Craig, Ambrosia indeed. The garden of eatin'