Jen's Legacy.
The beginning of a fateful day.

She was lying upon him when she awoke the next morning, and she had his shirt on, though it was not fastened and just hung loosely over her, not coming between them. He must have put that over her as she’d slept.

What else had he done?

They hadn’t succeeded in making proper love, not yet, though they’d continually got closer to it as they’d moved together. She’d steadily begun to relax and to open up more as he touched her, rather than tightening up on his exploration of her and even when he continued to try and get farther into her with that astonishing, wonderfully insistent weapon of his.

They’d slept like that, in each other’s arms with her usually lying upon him, her legs apart, and him always touching her between her legs from behind; continually taking her breath away, or was gently pushing at her, into her. It seemed natural to be doing that.

Each time she awoke during the night, not sure what had awoken her, she studied his face, aware of the effect she was having on him even in sleep—with him being almost constantly aroused—just as she was always conscious of his body and what it told her, where she could feel it, and even see it in the dim light, and touch it when they moved apart for however brief a time.

She moved more onto him and rested on his chest, feeling his arms go around her, then feeling him touching at her again, down there behind her, as they had done so many times that previous night, waking up to her, waking her up, and obviously ready to play, and even to try to make love again.

‘If at first you don’t succeed….’

He seemed able to produce sperm on a continuous basis and that puzzled her. There had never been any shortage of it from what she had felt each time he had come onto and into her, and she had lost count of how many times that had happened.

He’d also done something else to her that she had slowly become conscious of, feeling his face, and sensing his breathing into her as he'd moved to put his head between her legs and had mouthed gently at her vagina, kissing it, investigating it with his tongue and driving her wild in her semi-sleep as she moaned and became agitated, but not wanting him to stop; holding his head close into her to stop him backing away. It would all have the desired effect in the end.

Men wanted to do the strangest things, and not all of them were easily understood, though they were all driven along by that part between their legs; driven to find that corresponding area on a female and find out all about that and to get into it.

It was exciting to learn all of these things.

She remembered being restless other times too, and how he had applied more of that lotion to her under her breasts and around her groin, and in the folds of her skin behind her, without disturbing her, but had not taken advantage of her in any way as he could so easily have done as she rested, and as she still wanted him to do.

She would not have been able to sleep through that, and wouldn’t have wanted to.

‘Taken advantage of her!’ What a thing to think! He could have had her anytime he wanted to, and she would always have felt that he had merely succumbed to what she so wanted him to do, welcoming him into her body and never mind the discomfort the first time. Her concern about that inevitability, had gradually dissipated like the faint, wraith-like mists on a still, summer morning.

He had often rested there upon her with his hand on her, and his face nestling in that hair, as though irresistibly drawn to her, needing to be able to smell her! She didn't fully understand that. She thought that it meant-- as some of her friends had shockingly suggested-- that he must be a ‘tits and quim’, man, not interested in anything else on a woman. If he was that, then what was she…? a cock worshipper? Because if she was being honest, she would have to admit a deep fascination for that part of his, and what it was already doing for her.

His eyes were open, and he was looking up at her, then kissing her as he moved under her.

He'd moved the sleeping bag away from them to let their body-heat dissipate at different times through the night, before covering her with his shirt, then his jacket, then pulling the sleeping bag over them again when they were not warm enough.

They may not have made love as she’d wanted, though they had always, and inevitably, come closer to it.

Faintly-disturbing thoughts nudged into his mind.

How could this be so easy for him, after so recently losing Jen?

He should have felt guilty for that, and like a traitor to that love, except for the feeling that he had not totally lost Jen at all. She was here with them, approving, watching over them, bringing them closer together all of the time. He accepted it, though he didn’t understand it. Claire was Jen. Jen was Claire. The two were slowly melding together.

He shook himself out of it.

“We can eat and then relax in that pool once I’ve taken water out of it and filled our bottles; bathe each other (wash a lot of things off her body that had dried on her, and other areas that were still slippery wet, from him), and then wait for the day to warm up." She liked that idea.

“We don’t have to leave so early. We are not so far from Badger’s crossing, just a few hours of a relatively easy walk ahead of us, provided the weather holds off.”

The weather was the key to most things up here. He’d watched the heavier clouds gathering low on the horizon and begin to move in, over them. He may have to change those plans too, but they couldn’t stay here if bad weather was moving in.

There was another sheltered site he remembered. If the weather closed-in on them before they got to Badger’s, they could head for that.

Once the sun rose up into the sky, they left the warmth of that sleeping bag, sensing that there was a touch of frost in the air, and once he’d brought the fire back to life, both, quickly got into the relatively warm water, now flowing over the top of the dam, with enough water for them both to lie down in it easily together with a sense of floating, able to touch each other easily now, and laugh together as two excited lovers always would. It was not warm enough to stay in it for long, but at least they could bathe each other, marveling in this new-found love as they touched each other more confidently, and then--once she had helped him shave, taking such care over it as he had held her breasts-- headed back to their fire to sit near that, with the sleeping bag draped over their shoulders as he made them the usual breakfast of some variety of unappetizing, dehydrated food.

He knelt in front of her and dried her hair with his shirt, setting her breasts dancing for him as he did that; kissing them, then getting her dressed; but not immediately. They would always have time to learn a little more, to kiss, to touch, to play; for him to try and go into her again.

She would need to wash him off her again before she got dressed.

“Before we leave, I’ll check your feet over again and see if that rash needs any more lotion on it.” He knew it didn’t, but he wanted to undress her again, and touch her everywhere. He could do that anyway, and at any time. The invitation was always there.

As he finished drying her hair and saw to her in other ways, she thought of so many things she needed to ask him that she needed to know about him and that she’d forgotten to ask the night before.

Who was he? What was he? Why was he going to Culver?…If he had been going to Culver, and not actually planning to end it all at Witches' Cauldron; an ambition that she’d successfully changed by coming into his life and re-awakening his love for Jen, and finding love with her; Claire.

She was convinced she’d saved him from that by what she had found the courage to do, knowing what they’d shared and talked about, and how things had gone forward, between them.

She wanted to know everything, but first she would ask him to put more lotion on her. She especially wanted him to put more of it along her, between her legs, to feel him touching her there as he had the previous night, and put more of it under her breasts as he fondled them, slowly becoming breathless again. Then back to focus again on her vulva and both of their needs involving that sensitive part that tingled whenever he touched it. It would soon get out of hand for him again if she did things right.

Of course, she would have to undress again for that, and so would he!

One of those times he would succumb to her temptations, and would not be able to resist the obvious invitation and the necessity of pushing into her without any hesitation. One time, just one time, it would happen; especially if she were to insist and help him more obviously and aggressively each time by pulling at his hips once he’d made a start into her.

Half an hour later, they dressed again. They might be able to get away this time. Maybe.

The last thing he did before they walked away, was to take that dam apart, and to place the sandstone slabs to one side for the next lovers who stumbled upon this spot, to find. Maybe even them, when they came back here in another year.

Their minds were both working in the same direction already.

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