15 Minute Writing Exercise: Damp

I’m bent over my garden bed, one palm bracing me against the soft, damp earth, while the fingers on my other hand expertly pull small weeds from around my vegetables.  While my hands work, my mind wanders.

I imagine her watching me from the house, appreciating the view.  Would she be content to stand and watch through the window?  Or would she slip out the door and walk softly down the breezeway toward me?

Would she come up behind me silently, pushing me sprawling into the Brussels sprouts, basil and damp earth?  Or would she pull me back against her pelvis, grinding into me with her need?  I have a sudden memory of how she feels against me, the insistent heat stoking my fire while she presses herself into my ass.

And what if I turned to face her, would I pull her down with me onto the rain soaked grass?  Would I cushion her with my body, running my dirty fingers through her hair and across her face?  Would she protest or press me back against the grass?  I can imagine the back of my shirt getting as wet as my briefs, which are growing wetter.  She’s thrusting against me, rubbing herself across my cock, her damp face pressed into my neck.  Maybe I’d roll her over, lifting her legs to wrap them around my waist while I took my turn, thrusting, grinding, groaning against her throat and mouth.  Her breath would quicken, fingers digging into my back, and and I’d wonder if they were scratching me through the material of my wet t-shirt.

I’d brace myself, holding that exact right position while she comes, pressing her face against my chest now, hoping the neighbors won’t hear, won’t come wandering out to see what on earth is going on over here.  What on earth, indeed.  It’s earthy and ecstatic, of the earth and venturing into the sky, as it always is with us.  I’d feel her breathing deepen, slowing down and she holds me as tightly against her as before, letting the feeling linger, echoing through both our bodies.  My tongue will find hers, I’ll feel her quicken again and my butch cock will respond, growing harder, insistently entering her through all barriers.  Rocking her, kissing her hard as I writhe against her, rain and sweat mingling into a single stream across my face.  My howls of joy absorbed by her body, face buried between her breasts.

I imagine we’ll lie there, panting, waiting as our hearts slow to a steady beat, gradually feeling the dampness of the grass, the steady drizzling fall of rain.  Eventually, the warmth between us won’t make up for the cold and we’ll run inside, giggling, slapping each other on the ass, excitedly speculating on whether the neighbors saw or heard anything.  And then, well, that’s another story.

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