Twenty feet down the path it feels like we have almost left civilization forever. There are only the trees and the rustle of squirrels and the songs of the birds and the gurgle of the river and the damp smell of impending rain and of course her hand in mine.

I watch Stacie as we walk: her joyful little smile, the sparkle in her eye, the sway of her naked breasts beneath the transparent-in-the-right-light rainbow striped t-shirt, a pleasant fact realized as I sat in the passenger seat in her van in the parking lot at work, watching her lean in through the driver's side back door to rearrange her luggage in the back seat, the evening light exposing her dangling breasts and hard nipples as though the shirt was not there at all.

The illusion of being lost is soon lost along with my vision of fucking her naked in the empty woods. We are passed by a guy on a bike; walk past a partially burned out old stone house with a dirt floor, gaping windows and doors, a semi-intact roof and fireplaces that look recently used; are passed by a different guy on a bike going the other direction; cross over an obviously new bridge; and hear the yells and splashes of hormonally-overloaded teenagers throwing large rocks in to the river.

There is a bench nicely placed in a curve of the path overlooking the river and a small rocky beach through a gap in the trees. It is from that beach that the teenage boys are tossing the rocks as the teenage girls watch on, only pretending, I hope, to be impressed with their amazing feats of masculine idiocy.

"Damn," says Stacie, "that was the bench I wanted to make out with you on."

So we keep walking, quietly holding hands, smiling at each other, are passed by yet another bicyclist.

It begins to rain. Gently at first, gentle enough that the towering trees provide adequate protection. We stop. We look at each other, we kiss. My hand is on her back. My other hand tweaks her nipple through the shirt. Civilization be damned. But the rain is growing harder.

"We better go back," she says.

It is really coming down now. We are too in love to care too much, so we do not run. The teenagers with the rocks have though. The path is deserted, there are no bikes. The van is parked only another hundred yards away - we could go back to it, make out there, but instead in a moment of uncharacteristic semi-outdoorsiness I pull her into the remains of the stone house with the gaping windows and kiss her again, this time with my hand up under the shirt, exposing her breast to anyone foolish enough to be on the path.

"I love this shirt," I tell her, still holding her, but breaking away just a second from the kiss.

"I wore it just for you," she answers.

"And for Greg."

"He's not going to see it."

"No?"

"No. I'll be naked in his bed when he gets home."

"Excuse me a second," I answer, and slap her ass as hard as I can while hugging her, which isn't very hard. "You are a bad, bad girl and I love you and you turn me on" and then I kiss her again, much more forcefully this time. The kiss this time goes on and on, our hips gently gyrating against each other as our tongues play erotically.

She breaks the kiss, taking a half step back, breathing heavily. "There's only so much of that a girl can take."

"Of what?"

"Of your hard cock pressing against me like that!"

"And what do you want to do about it?"

"I want to suck you."

"Right here?"

"Right here. There's nobody out in this rain. Are you feeling exposed?"

"Yes, but come here."

I drag her back in to the corner. It is still visible from the path, and I am still feeling exposed, but I can't take it any longer either. I unzip and unbuckle my pants and she kneels before me, taking me into her mouth as I watch her and the path, her and the path.

The sensation of her mouth is as always, unbelievable. "I'm not going to last long" I warn her.

She smiles, and sucks harder. I put my hands on the back of her head, holding her in place, guiding her in and out. A few short strokes of her talented lips and tongue, the forceful suction on my already enraged erection, and true to my word I am coming, exploding in an orgasm that will exhaust me well into the next morning.

She stands. Shaking I refasten my pants and hold her tight. Still holding each other we walk to the doorframe and stare out together into the rain, not speaking for many minutes.

Finally the rain stops and we walk silently together holding hands back to her van.

"You have fun this weekend" I finally manage.

"Oh I will honey!" she answers. "I really want to go to Starbucks. Can you come with me? I'll buy you whatever you want."

"Free coffee and a blowjob?" I ask as we buckle ourselves in, "What brought that on?"

"You're a wonderful boyfriend and you deserve it. Anyway did you really enjoy it? You came so fast."

"What are you talking about? It was incredible. It's always incredible. You're the best cock-sucking slut in the whole world."

"I know" she giggles. "I just wanted to hear you say it. And I love it when you come so fast. It lets me know how turned on you were already and how good I am!"

"You are a bad, bad, bad girl."

"I know."

The rest of the drive to Starbucks is spent in discussion of Greg, of her hopes for the future, of her amazement at how fast she has connected to him, and how smitten she is, of her fears of vulnerability.

Inside Starbucks she has difficulty locating what she calls her "free coffee card" in her purse. "It's transparent" she explains to the girl at the cash register when she finally finds it, "I was having trouble seeing it."

"Kind of like your shirt," I mutter under my breath. But nobody hears me.

"You know," Stacie says, in one of those sudden reflective moods, "I go to Starbucks all over the country, but this is the one where I bought this card."

"You travel a lot?" asks the barista, pausing in her mixing of Stacie's Cafe Americana.

Stacie answers affirmatively.

"Good for you," says the barista.

"I always wanted a job like that," nods the girl at the cash register in agreement, "I've always wanted to travel."