Reaching Out

"Well I think this is the best thing that could possibly have happened to us."

That's what you say at the news. The news, two hours before our scheduled flight home, that the airport is forced closed by a ruptured water pipe. Our vacation is going to be extended for another night, until things get sorted out.

"All good adventures begin with the unexpected. And now we've got an extra unexpected day. Lets go do something we haven't yet done."

"All bets off?" I ask.

"Anything possible, everything permissible" you say, and your eyes sparkle. We indulge in a day of walking cobbled streets, savouring local foods, drinking wine in the sunshine, and celebrating one another's company.

"Love you."

"Love you back."

When the day and the evening are both done, we hold hands and wind our way back to the hotel where we had stayed the night before. With the airport closed, it and everything else in the city is overbooked. But the hotel has opened up its rooftop gardens to help with the unexpected overflow of stranded travelers. A flat roof that is a sea of bodies, blankets, sleeping bags and luggage, all laid out in puddles of personal space. A flat roof in the middle of a metropolis stirring with the slow and sensual pulse of a summer's night.

We have zipped two sleeping bags together. I am already half asleep, my hands slowly tracing curves on the smooth of your back, when he arrives. He is one of the last people to pop up out of the stair box. He surveys the roof for the safest place to ease between others already settled. He is hesitant, because he will need to squeeze himself in, close in to someone else, closer than might be comfortable.

Then he catches your eye.

I wasn't paying attention at the time, not then. But you have since told me how he was drawn slowly forward under your direct gaze. I know exactly what effect you had on him. I can picture your subtle smile that slyly said 'settle down right here by my side, if you dare.' A smile from the most beautiful woman on the roof. A smile that turned the awkward necessity of finding a spot for the night into an unexpected excitement. Turned it into a fantasy about the woman with sexy red hair and lush red lips, and a long body hidden under the contours of her covers.

No words are exchanged. He settles in quickly beside us, his mind wondering all the while. He peeks over at you regularly as he tucks himself in. He is young, and he is handsome as a man and sweet as a boy. You are watching him with your eyes half closed, enjoying his preparations for sleep. Perhaps you are imagining him under his bag, following the ever shifting lumps as he strips his clothes. You close your eyes fully only after he closes his.

Hours later the city is quiet. In the gloom of the very earliest morning light, nothing is astir. Almost nothing. Next to us, there is the softest of movements. I cannot remember now which one of us wakes to it first, and who gently jabs the other. But there we are, both waking, and watching his arm deep down in his bag. A slow back and forth. A pulsing lump that is the spot where his hand stirs his cock. His eyes are closed. He is dreaming the sweetest of dreams. Surely he is dreaming of you.

You have told me when we have shared fantasies how you love to watch a man's pants stretch and strain over a cock that needs escape. Escape -- to be boldly exhibited. Escape -- because it aches for your touch. We are mesmerized, looking across at the quiet stirrings next to us, you with a straight line of sight, and I propped up and looking up over your half turned shoulder. I am starting to run my hand over your naked back again.

The naughty thought that this young man needs some adventurous help is on both our minds, and we suspect it of one another. So, after a while of watching and wondering, I dare myself to reach around you to unzip our bag a few inches until your arm is free. All very slowly, as if in a spell, as if testing a half formulated plan to see how aligned we really might be.

After a studied pause, you carefully reach your arm out, and over, and down. We both tremble. I nudge your back reassuringly. You stretch the final bit, and place your hand gently on his bag, directly over his bulge.

There is a moment where all movement stops. Then he, with his eyes closed, uncurls his hand and drops it away. Just the thin bag separates your hand now from his self hardened cock. Instinctively you work your way slowly down the length of it, gently shaping the bag over its outline, then forming a half shell for his balls. Your body quivers under my hands, which are circling your smooth warm bottom.

This is not to be done lightly, but also cannot be done awkwardly, lest the spell of permissiveness be broken. And so we approach it reverentially. Carefully, you start to work your hand up and down the outline you have formed.

He stirs, he breathes a little deeper, and his eyes remain closed. You establish a relaxed but steady rhythm through the soft fabric, which flows like the most luxurious of fluids as it bunches and stretches under your fingers and over his cock. His body is finding a subtle rhythm of its own, with little risings and fallings that track your touch. Around us the air is quietly stirring, as if in gentle accord, as if encouraging.

Talking, even whispering, seems out of place. So our communication, our check ins, are by touch. It is a bit scary, this, but mostly I want more. And I am so hoping that you share that desire. I know you need to see, from me, that it's alright to go there.

Once again, I am bold with zippers, only this time not with ours. With one arm I push myself up higher, and with the other reach over you and tug down on his zipper – way down as far as I can reach, down to his knees. With my clear encouragement, temptation is baldly laid out. As I settle back, I watch you consider the option, look at me, and then, with your arm, smoothly fold back his sleeping bag.

He is exposed slowly to the night air. First his torso, smooth and tanned. Then suddenly, almost as if it has somehow not been expected, his cock, bouncing lightly into view as the last flap of material catches and releases over its rigid contours. It is tight, magnificent, glistening in the nightlight. His stomach is flat, his thighs are strong.

We are looking down the length of his body, and his cock is hovering, suspended between his youthful belly and the infinite night sky above. It twitches as it tests its new surroundings and yearns.

His cock's appearance, engineered by both of us, brings you to a state of focused excitement, which you telegraph through your body. I feel the heat starting to rise from between your legs as you look over the torch we have exposed. My hands are working their way gently between your thighs. We are moving in rhythm so as to be brave as we are enticed.

This time, when you reach out for him, there is nothing between the two of you. I see your hand descending down his body, and I hear you both make involuntary sounds as you touch him for the first magical time. Softly, you repeat the finger dance from before, re-establishing the rhythm, adjusting the tempo to his feedback through your ever bolder, now cock-wrapped hands, savouring.

I am working you under our bag. You are working him under the night sky. I can see his cock start to strain as it stiffens fully under the attention it is receiving. We are all three under a spell of desire.

I speak to you with zippers a final time, suddenly and smoothly pulling ours down all the way to our feet, so you might pivot your body out of the bag. I am holding your hips, like an anchor. It's your call. And then I whisper the only words of the night, just to signal to you how I might feel about the next possible step: "Please love, come back up and kiss me after."

And so you bend over him. I am moving my hands more quickly, reassuring you, exciting you. You have your hand cupped around the base of his balls, so gently. You rest your cheek for a moment on his belly, watching his stiff cock pulsing closely, head to head. Then you slide it into your loving mouth.

I watch the back of your head as you swallow the young man, and start to suck out little throbs of shared pleasure. The tempo slowly but steadily drives up. Your hand and your mouth are working together from opposite ends.

I sense that he will not last too long. I look over at his face, which is behind you and which you cannot see. He opens his eyes and looks at me. For a moment we are frozen. Then we relax: it's good, we signal to one another through a long look. He turns his focus back to you where it belongs.

You feel a hand in your hair, tenderly working its way through your locks and readying you. Perhaps you think it's me. But then, it is remarkable how perfectly coordinated the gentle movements of that hand are with the physical rocking you and he have established.

I can't see his cock. It's yours now. I can see his fingers tightening on the back of your head, moving and positioning you. I can see his body arching a little. You, no doubt, are feeling his cock coil and his balls pull close and hot to his body. You know these signals, and you tremble again under my hands.

His other hand is suddenly on your head as well, and the two of you are rocking together and he groans and I see you working as you milk him as he comes, low and long. Thrusts of bursting pleasure, then more but quieter and longer and luxurious, a slow tremble through your bodies, and a long release as both of you let sag, your mouth still wrapped round his cock.

You slip him loose a few moments later to take some deep breaths, and study the coating of fluids on his satiated, still stiff organ.

There's a little pause, while you again rest your head on his belly, and run your fingers up and down his slippery love-pole. You twist to look back at his face, and reach with your hand to move a curl of hair on his forehead back in place. He lies still, eyes closed.

And then you turn and look at me, and I smile. I look into your beautiful mischievous eyes. I look at your gently smiling, cock smoothed lips. When you go down on me, I love kissing you afterwards, when your lips are soft and warm and wet. I want your lips, right now.

We begin with a kiss. Then my fingers are moving swiftly up the length of your pussy. There are tastes in your mouth I have never experienced before.

For years after this chance adventure we occasionally tell each other the story of that night, to intensify our pleasure. And I like to think that he sometimes lies with his hand working his throbbing cock, thinking about you.

For me, this could not have happened anyone else, and I love you so.