The scent of the pines opened up a space inside of him that he hadn’t even realized was closed. The verdant light filtered through the trees and occasional glimpses of Oakland spread out like a green-checkered picnic blanket on one side. On the other side Mount Diablo rose in the distance, but the most intoxicating part of the scenery was Rachel.
She had been a dedicated mentor for him as a sculptor. A few years his junior, she never let anything less than his true artistic vision emerge from the stone. Her deadlines, which Steve had regarded as arbitrary at first, were just what he needed to ensure projects reached their polished end.
A fan of Rachel’s work, the way she turned heavy slabs of slate into billowing shapes, he always felt that she was the most beautiful sculpture of all. Watching her hips roll with the undulations of the trail, he felt that she was committing the topography to her physical memory and would be able to reproduce it in exactitude if called upon to do so.
She held herself erect with chest thrust forward, as solid as Mount Diablo, but with the same organic energy that animated her statues. She turned to speak to him and the sky lit up her dark maple eyes, dripping with humor. Her cheeks were flushed from their ascent as a gossamer sheen of perspiration evaporated from her forehead. She thrummed with the power to bring stones to life.
Steve enveloped her in an embrace as tight as the one that held his own hand to his wrist, searching her lips for an answer with his own. A sudden chill breeze brought a note of urgency to their union as hands embraced and caressed one another’s forms.
A straw-covered bed of packed earth in the midst of a circle of redwood trees welcomed their entwined bodies. Buttons were loosed and skin came into contact with skin. Steve couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He had gotten a key from Ken, his colleague at work, that opened the gate that led to this private trail. He never imagined that the privacy afforded would be necessary, but he was grateful as he slipped Rachel’s jeans off of the French curve formed by her rounded ass.
Steve pulled down the right cup of her bra to reveal an erect nipple that he held between his teeth as he flicked the pointed tip of his tongue across it. He slipped his right hand under the other bra cup to squeeze her other nipple between his fingertips. While he etched a trail with his tongue between her bra cups and around her belly button, he heard her giggle.
“Did you just laugh?” he heard her ask.
“I thought that was you.”
He lifted his head from the domed slope of her belly and cast his gaze down the slope they had recently ascended. A group of boys approached, mouths agape, led by Scoutmaster Ken.
Literature in Small Doses 