The river

This was a different trip, not the morning after the camp and not the same river. I had the day off again, a pull-off, late sun on the rocks, flannel open at the throat, boots wet at the edges, braid over my shoulder. I was alone until I was not. Sabine was thirty-four, a woman with a sun hat she had already taken off. Gus was thirty-six, her friend, not her property and not mine. They had been skipping stones. I said I was not working and not collecting company for a trail. Sabine asked if I wanted company for something else. I asked what they were offering. She said her mouth. He said his cock, if I wanted it. I said I wanted both, and I wanted the word cold to end it if I said cold. They agreed like adults who had done this with each other and knew how to add a third without getting cute.

We moved off the main stones to a flat shelf still in the late light. I kept the flannel on and the boots, pants down. That dressed minute on the rocks is the one I keep, braid, sun, water moving. Then Sabine knelt and put her mouth on my cunt. She licked like she had wanted to before she asked, which she had. Gus watched until I crooked a finger. I told him to fuck me while she stayed at my clit if she could. She laughed and said she would manage. I turned, hands on a warm rock. Gus pushed his cock into my cunt. Sabine got her mouth back on my clit from the side, awkward and perfect. He fucked me in long strokes. She licked. I told them yes, just yes, because my vocabulary had gone to the river.

Gus's cock filled me. Sabine kissed my mouth when I turned my face, wet from my cunt, and I kissed her back while he kept fucking me. The double attention pulled the orgasm up fast. I came, and I squirted, a sudden rush across Sabine's mouth and chin. She laughed into it, delighted, and licked me through the pulse while Gus held still so he would not knock her off. I thanked them while I was still shaking, actual thanks, not a porn line. I meant it. Gus asked where to cum. I said in your hand. He pulled out and finished in his fist, cum on his fingers, river loud. Sabine kissed me once more, soft, and wiped her face with her own bandana, grinning.

Nobody asked for a number. I did not offer one. We skipped one stone each like idiots, then they went upstream and I went to the car. Pants on, boots wet, cunt still throbbing, a thank-you sitting clean in my chest. Different trip, different bodies, no claim. I drove toward the rented cabin and did not look up their camps on a map. The pack would be by the door. The night did not need a sequel.