by Kerri Sharpe
George was sitting up on the cot. He had put his spent length back in his pants and refastened those few buttons she had opened. As before, he looked like the epitome of uniformed perfection. ‘We want to go over our plans again before we retire for the evening,’ he said tactfully. ‘But, if we’re confident we know what we’re doing before the end of the dance, you’ll be sure to see us there, Miss Vivien.’
Understanding that she would see neither before their battle, Vivien graced each of them with a perfunctory kiss, thanked them and then left their tent. Her heart continued to race as she stumbled from their billet towards the sound of jaunty string music in the dance tent. Purple twilight flooded the sky, an end to the day as satisfying as the time she had just enjoyed with Pickett and Stuart. Vivien thought that bedding two high-ranking officers of the Confederacy – both of them resplendent in their full military regalia – was a fantasy made real. She was still smiling at the memory, and shivering with after-echoes of the pleasure, as she entered the dance tent.
‘Do you have an escort for this evening, ma’am?’
She glanced up at the golden-haired officer, taking in the flowing curls that bounced against his shoulders and the dapper cut of his navy-blue uniform. The polished length of his shiny sabre glistened and, with a rush of mounting excitement, Vivien quickly caught her breath. ‘General Custer?’
‘At your service.’ He bowed gallantly.
Bolder than she would ever have imagined herself, Vivien placed a hand against his broad chest. The weave of the navy cloth was deliciously coarse beneath her fingers. The coolness of the buttons was icy against her sweaty hands. She swallowed thickly as she saw his eyebrows rise with his expectation. ‘I hope you truly are at my service, General,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve just heard two Confederate officers explain how they plan to cause havoc at tomorrow’s re-enactment by making Pickett’s Charge a success.’
Custer’s eyes grew wide. For an instant Vivien sensed a real danger that the dashing young cavalry officer might briefly forget his character. ‘Are you serious?’ he gasped. ‘Who are they? Why on earth are they going to do that? And how the hell could they possibly manage it?’
She glanced over Custer’s shoulder and saw General Henry Hunt standing by the side of the dance floor with a drink in his hand and an affable smile twinkling through his beard. Although he wasn’t as handsome as Custer, he looked resplendent in his military best and Vivien was won over by the sight of the Union uniform, dashing sabre and the splendid glitter of stars that adorned his epaulettes and cuffs. ‘I can’t tell you their names,’ she began. ‘That would be inappropriate. And I don’t know why they’re going to do it,’ she added honestly. ‘I never thought to ask.’
With obvious impatience, Custer asked, ‘Can you tell me how they plan to do it?’
A sly smile graced her lips. Standing on tiptoe, pressing her body against his as she whispered in his ear, Vivien said, ‘General Hunt should be with us when I tell you what they’re planning. If you can find a discreet place for the three of us to discuss this matter, I will gladly demonstrate how they plan to be victorious.’
Amber Leigh’s short stories have appeared in the Wicked Words collections Sex in Uniform and Sex in the Sportsclub.
Slow Burn
Sophie Mouette
KAREN GAZED OUT through her powerful binoculars, scanning the familiar vista of pine-forested mountains, the needles dusty and tired-looking now with late summer drought. Following her long-established routine, she peered in every direction, looking for any telltale sign of fire: a plume of smoke, a flicker of flame, even unusual activity among birds and animals that might signal flight from a blaze not yet visible from the tower.
And in one direction, she watched for another telltale signal – a Forest Service vehicle heading for the base of the trail to the fire tower. The final approach was accessible only on foot, but David would bring his Jeep in as far as it would go and she would help him carry in the supplies he’d need for his shift in the tower.
David – her relief in more than one sense of the word.
At last, she saw the vehicle in the distance, its green and brown tones blending in well with the scenery. At this distance, she couldn’t see much of the driver, but she filled in the details from memory.
Short-cropped fair hair. Dark eyes in a weathered face. Great legs that she’d first noticed in the shorts of his summer uniform. Long hands, strong and rough from outdoor work, but amazingly deft at touching her most sensitive areas. Cheekbones that suggested Scandinavian ancestry, although she’d never asked.
There were a lot of things she’d never asked David, a lot of things he’d never asked her. She wasn’t even sure where he lived – they had each other’s contact information but never sought each other out in town on the rare occasion they’d had off-duty shifts at the same time. Their relationship was here, in the fire tower, as one relieved the other for a six-month stint in the majestic solitude of the mountains. It worked for both of them.
Until now. This would be their last meeting here. The tower would be decommissioned after David’s stint, replaced with aerial and satellite surveillance. At the end of the last shift, several rangers would come in to help carry out equipment and supplies that would no longer be needed.
And after that, who knows what happens to two hermits without a hermitage?
She set down the binoculars and began to make herself ready. Not that David expected a Victoria’s Secret model waiting for him, but Karen enjoyed the occasional moments of not being her usual low-maintenance self.
She’d washed her hair the night before; even in summer, the thick chestnut locks took a long time to dry in her usual tight braid. But her morning’s routine had left her a little sweaty so she climbed down the one-hundred-and-twenty steps to the little living cabin and its solar shower stall.
This was her notion of luxury, one she would miss back in so-called civilisation: dappled sun playing on her bare skin as she soaped up, a pair of jays squabbling in a nearby treetop for music. She was hyper-aware of the flow of soap and sun-warmed water over her skin.
For days at a time out here, she could forget she was a sexual being. Sensual, yes, revelling in sun and rain and the play of light, pine fragrance and bird call and simple tasty food. Sexual, no. Now she was letting herself remember.
She imagined David’s hands on her slippery body, sliding from her shoulders down her torso and back to her breasts. As she imagined, she echoed her fantasy with her own hands. Her nipples tightened. Blood seemed to pool in her groin, changing her centre of gravity, making her feel weighty and languid.
She was tempted to slip a hand between her thighs, but she didn’t have time for that. The downside to solar showers was that there was only so much time to linger.
She finished rinsing just in time.
She patted some of the water off then headed, naked and damp, into the cabin.
The ten-by-twelve interior was spartan: a narrow bed topped with a sleeping bag, a plastic chest of drawers, a plain pine wardrobe, a folding table and camp chair, Coleman stove and lantern. Shelves on the walls held a curious but organised mix of canned and dried food, books, first-aid supplies and other necessities. But a bunch of wild flowers filled a salsa jar on the table and the table itself had a bright purple tablecloth.
She had other little luxuries squirrelled away as well.
From a mostly emptied drawer that had until recently been full of cotton panties and hiking socks, she pulled an emerald-green stretch lace camisole and matching boy shorts. She slipped into the lingerie and checked the effect in the scrap of a mirror, stretching and turning so she could get a better idea. She’d tried them on in her apartment when they’d first arrived, but that had been months ago.
They still looked good. If she wanted to be critical, the classic Forest Service tan – face, forearms, a V at the neckline and a bit on the legs – didn’t complement the outfit, but she wasn’t in the mood to be critical.
; David would be there soon, and his Forest Service tan and hers would be wrapped together. That was all that mattered.
She put a clean uniform on over the lingerie. eCrisp short-sleeved tan button-down shirt with a Forest Service patch on the left sleeve. Green chino pants, still neatly creased after being packed away in anticipation of this day. A brown leather belt. Boots she’d even bothered to clean the night before, by lantern light when it became too dark to read.
A simple uniform, not that different from her standard shirt and jeans, but it meant a lot. Her return to the outside, for one. For most people, the routine she would be entering, of patrolling trails and educating visitors, would be an isolated life, but compared to the quiet of the fire tower, the human contact was overwhelming. The uniform formed a barrier to keep the human world at bay until she was ready for it.
Even David, she admitted. Her skin felt feverish anticipating his touch and the delicate fabric of her panties was already soaked through, but for the first half-hour or so, trying to remember the give and take of conversation was nerve-wracking. The uniforms, hers and his, helped with that, gave a little formality to the exchange until, by some unspoken signal, they’d know the time for formality was passed.
Was that the Jeep? He had to leave it almost a mile from the tower, but in the quiet, the engine noise carried.
Only one way to be sure.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made the hike to the access road so quickly. Probably the last time she’d been waiting for David to arrive.
‘Long time no see.’ Did her voice always sound that hesitant or was it just rusty?
Fortunately, David didn’t mind, if his smile were any indication. ‘It has been. Too long. It’s good to see you.’
She drank him in. Not actually the first human she’d seen since she’d relieved him on fire tower duty, but the first one who mattered as something other than a terse line in her log book. (July 6: party of three hikers. July 14: two hikers, German; directed them towards Squaw Lake.) He too was turned out in full kit, although he wore shorts of the same green as her slacks, and he was a bit rumpled from the drive.
She didn’t realise she was reaching out her hands until he took them.
Just hands, but the skin contact was enough to make her catch her breath.
In a movie, David would have pulled her into a passionate kiss. Instead, they held position, in contact but at arm’s length, just looking at each other. And for the moment, this, her first skin-to-skin contact in ages, was enough to make both her heart and her clit pound.
David was the first to speak. ‘Let’s head up. The sooner we do …’ He grinned and blushed a little under his tan.
She grinned back. ‘Give me some stuff to carry.’
The short scramble to the cabin and tower seemed to take forever and not just because they were carrying heavy packs and a canvas bag of groceries each. They were both used to that. The trail was too narrow to walk side by side and hold hands, so Karen led the way. She could feel his eyes on her the whole way up.
It was part of the ritual to put away the first load of David’s stuff, chatting a bit to let Karen rediscover her voice and David re-accustom to the quiet. ‘Looks like you brought less than usual,’ she commented.
‘No point in more than I’ll need for this rotation; we’d just have to carry it out again.’
The can of tomatoes she’d been holding slipped from her fingers. Fortunately, she’d been about to set it on the shelf, so it sounded only like she’d put it down a little hard. ‘Don’t remind me.’
An awkward silence. Then, to fill it, she said, ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’
‘I put in for a transfer to Alaska.’ His voice dropped at the end of the sentence, as if he expected a bad reaction. ‘You?’
They never talked about their outside lives; it was strange to hear it now. Stranger still to articulate.
‘I bought some undeveloped land near Eureka years ago,’ she said. ‘I’ve been socking money away, clearing the land when I have time to get out there.’
‘Sounds like you planned for the inevitable.’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t expect them to decommission so many towers so quickly. I was just planning for retirement.’
She didn’t want to talk about it any more. Didn’t want to think about this being their last meeting. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, took the sack of flour out of his hand, and led him across the room.
The bed was sturdy, but only big enough for one. Years ago, one of them – she’d forgotten which one – had hauled up a queen-sized futon mattress. Normally it stayed folded up in the back of the wardrobe.
In preparation for David’s arrival, she’d swept the faded rugs on the floor and laid the futon on top of them, spreading crisp, powder-blue cotton sheets and plumping up the feather pillows. A quilt was folded on the bed, easily reachable to drag over their tired, sated bodies. She’d arranged a grouping of three fat white candles, dried leaves pressed into their waxy surface. They wouldn’t light the candles – far too dangerous during the dry season they were here to monitor – but she liked the homey look of them.
David turned to her, took her face in his hands. ‘You are a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, his tone bordering on wonderment.
Karen’s throat tightened. They were both thinking the same thing: that this was their last time. Somehow, the stars had aligned so they’d met here, clicked into a strange, twice-a-year relationship that suited them both.
She wasn’t sure if she loved him, because she wasn’t sure what love felt like. But she thought that if it did feel anything like this, it must be pretty damn good. She didn’t kid herself that this could be more like normal love, like a normal relationship. They both knew they were too set in their ways, too much loners to survive together for any length of time before they turned into snarling, territorial creatures.
She skimmed her thumb over his lower lip, dipping into the cleft in his chin and feeling the prickle where he’d missed a spot shaving.
Accepting the truth didn’t make it feel any less bittersweet.
They kissed, his tongue searching for hers. She met him gleefully, feeling the touch resonate. Each six-month wait made the first kiss feel new again, yet still with a sense of homecoming.
She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt so she could press her mouth against his collarbone, drinking in the scent of him. No aftershave or cologne, just the smell of healthy male. She nibbled the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and smiled against him when he caught his breath.
‘Ah, Karen.’ He rained kisses on her face even as he tugged her shirt free from her waistband. Impatient, wanting to feel his hands on her now, she helped him, sighing with happiness when the final button came free. He pushed the shirt back over her shoulders and caught sight of the emerald lace camisole.
‘A present I get to unwrap for a new surprise every time,’ he said. He spanned her waist with his large hands, slowly skimming upwards until they rested on her ribcage, just beneath her breasts. Normally she wore a pull-over, functional sports bra, not needing strong support because her breasts were small. The benefit of their size was that when she wore something like this (which was, admittedly, only twice a year), they didn’t need support at all.
Her nipples stood out against the lace, begging for attention, and he didn’t make her wait. He ran his thumbs over the needy peaks, and she rose up on her toes, the sensation starting a wildfire that rippled down between her legs.
He turned her around and pulled her back against him. She could feel his erection press against her ass. Part of her wanted to drop to her knees, unbuckle his belt, and taste the hard length of him. But another part of her wasn’t ready for him to stop teasing her.
This was part of the ritual, part of the pleasure. Kneading and pinching her nipples, he brought her to greater heights of excitement. Her clit throbbed as she wriggled back against him, stimulating him until he, too, was on the edge
.
And all the while they gazed out at the most beautiful sunset, the sky afire as the sun sank over the wilderness vista they loved.
She was gasping by the time he stopped, her head spinning as her body sizzled. As if by unspoken agreement, as he tore off his shirt and shucked off his shorts, she divested herself of her boots.
He liked to undress her, so she let him undo her buckle, slide the chinos down her legs. His eyes glittered his approval at the boy shorts that skimmed low on her narrow hips, accentuating the curve of her bottom.
The shadows deepened, and she turned on a single lamp before they knelt together on the futon. His cock made a tent of his red cotton boxers. A smear of fluid darkened the material, further evidence of his excitement.
She loved his cock, long and slender, rising from a thatch of crisp blond hair. Loved its taste, its smooth hardness. Her sex spasmed. She wanted him inside of her, filling her.
He pushed the camisole top up and feasted on her nipples, fingers on one, mouth on the other, then alternating, until she was trembling with need. She ached. He drew his finger along the outside of the close-fitting shorts, and she realised she’d soaked them through. She smelled herself before he tasted her on his fingers, eyes locked with hers and promising so much more.
Not to be outdone, she threaded her fingers through his thick chest hair and tugged gently. Such a different feel to her own body. Beneath her hands, muscles flexed. She tickled his nipples, knowing how sensitive they were. His hand moved back between her legs, stroking her over the lace shorts. The sensation was maddening; not quite hard enough to push her over the edge, not with a layer of cloth between his hand and her aching clit.
She arched her back, striving to press against him, but he followed her move, backing away at the same speed so the pressure remained constant. She moaned her need, unable to articulate, but it didn’t matter – he knew what she wanted.