Magic of the night
The night is hot and humid and sleep is not coming easy so I sit outside my tent gazing at the stars dreaming.

I see your silhouette emerge from your van at the next camp, like me the beauty of the night has drawn you out to watch the night sky not seen in the city.

I'm surprised as you walk over and introduce yourself and I move over to let you sit beside me on the log. I'm not sure if your hip pressing against mine is due to the lack of room on the log or your need to be close and I continue to make small talk about the stars and the beauty of the night.

I feel the softness of your t-shirt against my arm as we speak and you turn towards me to point out a blinking light stride across the sky and your breast brushes my arm, or did I imagine it...

We talk about nothing really, only needing a reason to sit in the stillness of the night, and I raise my forearm to point at another star and you lean in to aim along it and I feel the roundness of your breast and its warmth rest upon my arm as we continue to chat. Neither of us acknowledge the touch, not wanting to break the magic of the sensual spell that is growing between us.

I press my leg against yours as the conversation continues to roll on, and you respond by moving closer to me, my hand moves to rest on your leg and still we pretend it isn't there as I move it higher to the hem of your shorts and the conversation about nothing continues.

You reciprocate and your hand is on my thigh as we change topic, our conversation is laboured as our hearts pound within our chests, but it must continue or the spell may be broken. We talk of the mundane my fingers slide up the soft skin of your thigh and I feel the warmth of your honeypot urging me forward. My fingers seek the heat beneath your shorts and my elbow enjoys the roundness of your breasts as it presses against them and still we chat about nothing.

Your fingers trace the hardness of my growing manhood as we talk about our mundane lives, and you lean into me more encouraging my touch as you describe to me your week ahead. Your nipples press against your t-shirt and I so want to taste them but to do so would mean the end of our conversation and maybe the end of the spell, instead my fingers press harder against the warmth under your shorts and you reciprocate bringing my manhood to full attention with your touch.

Your body begins to rock to the rhythmic rubbing of my fingers, and you unzip my fly as I explain to you how my week will unfold. We chat about the towns we live in not wanting the conversation to stop... as my fingers slide up the inside of your shorts leg to touch the wetness of your panties and your fingers stroke lightly the length of my manhood.

I smile as I explain the suburb where I live and my finger traces the soft lips of your flower and you lose your line of conversation at the sensual pleasure its brings you, but only for a second, before we are again deep in a conversation about nothing.

Your fingers explore the rim of my wanting manhood sending me into raptures within as my fingers gently sink into your wetness. Our mouths continue to talk and our ears to listen, but our bodies have given themselves to each other's touches swimming in the delicious sensuality of the touch.

The stars seem to brighten as we seduce each other's bodies and I feel your body tremble then my fingers swim in your juices and with one more stroke my seed gushes forward to warm your fingers and wets my thighs.

Only now does the conversation stop, our hearts pounding as we give ourselves to the pleasures of the body and the spell is broken as you confess you are now tired and retire to your own camp leaving me to wonder was it real or a dream brought on by the beauty of the night
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