“That’s not really your thing.”
He had just said that. My neighbor just said that.
Brad and his girlfriend, Amy, had moved in next door to us a few months ago, and my wife and I had welcomed them to the neighborhood. We made small talk with them on our first encounter. The obligatory summer barbecue took place in our backyard, and they mentioned that they wanted to return the favor sometime. Throughout our interactions, my wife and I were open about our faith; they knew we were Christians. One evening when I was enjoying the cool of an early autumn evening on the front porch, sitting and talking with my wife, Brad and Amy walked over to our house and waved. We waved back. They walked up our driveway.
“Hey, man!” Brad said. “You know how Amy and I promised to return the favor at that barbecue? Well, I got a cool idea. I got this new hobby. It’s ax throwing. It’s real fun! Anyway, we want to take you guys sometime, kind of like a double date. What do you say?”
“He’s kind of obsessed, to be honest, but it’s not really my cup of tea. So it would be great if you two could join us,” Amy said.
I looked at my wife, and she shrugged while tilting her head to the side. “Why not?” she asked rhetorically.
“Sounds fun to me,” I said, so we set up a day and a time to meet at a local ax throwing venue.
The evening arrived for throwing sharpened chunks of metal mounted on sticks. When we arrived at the venue, I parked the truck, got out, and walked around the front to the passenger side to open the door for my wife. She smiled and grasped my offered hand, and as she passed me, I looked down her body and up again. She had chosen to wear black lace-up boots with gray-washed slim-fit jeans that weren’t immodest but definitely did not disguise her feminine form. Her red flannel print short-sleeve buttondown was open, showing a plain white camisole underneath, and she had pulled her hair back in a practical ponytail. Of course, she noticed me checking her out, and a knowing smirked adorned her face along with lightly applied, natural-looking (unneeded) makeup.
“Lookin’ good yourself,” she told me. I was wearing a light green flannel with the sleeves rolled up. My dark-wash blue jeans framed my butt just the way she likes. Sometimes I catch her glancing at it when I wear these jeans. Brown leather boots and a brown leather belt completed my outfit. You could tell we were both trying to look like the ax-throwing type, whatever that is.
I opened the door to the building and entered after her, my hand on the small of her back. The ambiance and décor met our expectations: it had a nature-and-lumberjack cabin look with plenty of wood, metal, and stone. Brad and Amy waved to us from the reserved target cage at the far end against the faux stone wall.
Brad taught us how to throw the axes. After we kind of got the hang of it, we had a friendly competition among us. I did okay for my lack of experience. Brad’s recent enthusiastic practice at his new hobby had paid off, and he seemed to have some natural talent as well. After throwing a few rounds, we took a break and stood around talking. My wife was on my left, holding my hand. Brad was on his second beer (“It helps me relax into my form.”) The conversation drifted onto the topic of sex.
Brad suddenly stopped and smiled apologetically. “Oh,” he said. “I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” my wife asked.
Brad glanced at Amy, then back at us. “Well, you know how it is,” he explained. “Once you get married, you know.” His hand passed through the air, drawing an imaginary, descending line on a graph where the x axis is time and the y axis is the amount and/or quality of sex. “And you’re Christians, so…” His voice trailed off before continuing. “So, you know, that’s not really your thing.”
I raised an eyebrow and looked over to the left at my wife. She was looking at me, her mouth slightly open and both her eyebrows raised. It was almost as if we telepathically communicated this thought: They have no idea. Her mouth closed with a slight upward curve. Her eyebrows descended and her eyes squinted slightly as her look became desirous. She gave a slight backward nod of her head and a flicker of her eyes to the side toward the fake stone wall right behind her.
I looked at it, then back at her. My other eyebrow rose too, silently questioning her certainty of the nature of her desired action. If she nodded, it was visually imperceptible. What wasn’t imperceptible to me was her assurance.
I turned to face her. I offered my right hand, palm up. She placed her left hand in it. I transferred her left hand to my left hand so that I had both her hands in my left. Gripping her hands firmly so she could not escape, I lifted her arms above her head with my left hand. Backward pressure led her a half step rearward where her back contacted the wall, and my left hand pinned both of hers against the fake stone.
I kept eye contact and a serious expression on my face as I stepped forward so that my body almost touched hers. My legs were spread some, almost like I was straddling her. Demonstrating such heat out in public caused her to blush, and her head dipped down slightly, but she maintained eye contact. I lifted her chin back up with my right forefinger. Another moment of staring into each others’ eyes passed, but it felt like a minute.
My right hand brushed her left cheek on its way to behind her head. I palmed the back of her head, the base of her ponytail solidly held by encircling forefinger and thumb. I glanced down at her waiting lips. In the background from this extreme angle, her normally modest camisole, tight against her breasts, showed off their shape, and even some cleavage could be seen at the neckline. Her perfume and her own scent rode the heat rising from her body.
I looked back into her eyes before tilting her head to my left (her right) and kissing her. Her eyes closed, and her mouth welcomed mine. The kiss was quick but open-mouthed. Our tongues contacted each other firmly. The kiss concluded with the stereotypical suction kiss sound as I pulled my head back. Her eyes opened and looked directly into mine, and together we remembered another one of the times we had danced this dance. Only that time we had taken it further.
We had gone for a morning hike in a forest. Typically my wife would wear shorts and a tank top, but this was one time she wore a short hiking skirt. That day I found myself walking behind her a little more than usual. My wife’s hips had also seemed to be swaying a little more than usual; I think she was onto me. A few times, the angle of view and movement of the skirt combined just right, and I saw just enough to wonder if she was wearing anything underneath the skirt.
“Honey?” I said.
“Yes?” she replied, briefly looking over her shoulder with a suggestive smile before focusing on the path in front of her.
“Are you wearing—”
“No,” she interrupted.
It felt like I was growing a third leg between my other two, but this one was not going to make hiking easier. I almost had to meditate while walking to calm my erection down so the tent would not be noticeable to fellow hikers. I jogged up on the right of my wife, grabbed her hand, and looked at her. She still had that smile, but she kept facing forward, enjoying the feeling of me looking at her.
We came upon some boulders on the left, and my wife suddenly walked to the side into a gap between two of them, dragging me along behind her. The narrow passage went a few steps before opening to another crevice, again to the left. This gap was just deep enough for two people to stand without being seen from the trail. She turned, grabbed my left hand too, and backed into that gap, pulling me with her.
The same moves happened as above, but with less flow, as this was earlier, and we had less experience under our metaphorical belts. The pin against the wall. The eye contact. The head grab. The kiss. The eye contact again. Only this time, the kissing had resumed. My right hand massaged her breasts through her tank top and sports bra. Through the layers of fabric, my thumb depressed her left nipple. Then I slid my palm down her side, her hips, her thigh until it touched skin.
Reversing direction, I slipped my hand up and back, underneath her skirt to squeeze her luscious left cheek. I groaned into her mouth in appreciation as my fingers sunk into womanly flesh. Several more times, I grasped at skin, fat, and muscle, then I gave that left cheek a smack, feeling it jiggle against my hand. Her cute yelp of surprise briefly broke off our necking.
“Ssshh!” I said, bring my right forefinger up vertically and pressing it against her lips. She gave the finger a peck and smiled. I smiled too. My right hand dropped between us, and our lips and tongues met again. My forefinger found her clitoral hood under her skirt and lightly rubbed it with a steady rhythm. Her breath rate increased; her lungs demanded more than her nose alone could give her. She had to stop deep kissing to use her mouth for breathing. I kissed her neck.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Just keep doing that.”
I focused on maintaining the pressure, motion, and rhythm because, apparently, that was working. Her moans got louder, then stopped momentarily. I felt her body tense. I knew this would be a loud one. To keep from drawing unwanted attention to ourselves, I sealed my mouth against hers in an open kiss, muffling her orgasmic scream. Afterward, I had to keep her pinned against the boulder for a few seconds so she wouldn’t collapse to the ground. When I did release her and step back a little, she still fell to the ground, but voluntarily. There, she yanked down my shorts and sucked me off. It did not take long, and she swallowed my ejaculation to keep it from getting all over her or me. (We still had to walk back to the truck while passing fellow hikers).
Our mutual recollection concluded after we relived that whole erotic experience in the blink of an eye. The “thunk” of an ax blade burying into a wood target brought back the surrounding place and time to our senses. We relaxed and stepped away from the wall. She still held my left hand with both of hers. The whole wall pin had consumed maybe five seconds. We sheepishly looked around. The only people aware of the incident were Brad and Amy, my wife and I—and maybe that one guy across the room who was staring at us after accidentally throwing his ax into the ceiling. He may have caught a glance right before his wind up.
Brad spoke with awe in his voice as he eloquently summed up the thoughts of the four (or five) of us.
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