Mmm,That's Nice
"Careful you don't slip," I told Jenny.
She wore soft sandals as we made our way around the foreshore of a lake. There were small rocky outcrops to negotiate. We stopped at a small, grainy sand patch. We burrowed butts into the sand and cuddled, embracing life in the slow lane as two young people enjoy each other's company, sojourners in life, and appreciative of the natural world.
After sitting on the sand, we made our way by a narrow coastal track to the open-plan cabin where we were staying. Our location was a secluded, postcard-perfect, sheltered bay beside a large inland lake. Our time frame consisted of a long weekend in mid-summer 1979.
We arrived Friday night, and three days lay ahead of us. The initiative for our time away before our final Uni exams was Jenny's.
The cabin's expansive feature window expanded a panorama of the lake. The water settled at its far reaches beneath rolling hills. The heavy drawn curtains made the window a picture frame. Hints of a summer squall brewed.
My memory focuses on the inside of a cabin. The outside world drifted away. Yet, I watched a fisherman cast on the lake in the middle distance. His back turned to Jenny and me.
We lay in bed, partially naked, covered by a doona to our waists. Jenny reclined on her stomach, her eyes dreamily closed. I half-propped, glancing at the fisherman in his runabout.
Jenny stretched calm and languid. I had indulged her femininity with my tongue, sharing the intimacy of her sex in a rewarding interfusion.
Now, my recall no longer pictures her butterfly winglets. I see more clearly a fisherman casting. He braced in a small craft powered by a sizeable black outboard motor. The dark colour overbalanced the aesthetics of the composition outside the window.
This Saturday rolled on outside. We spent the day in each other's arms. We had occupied each other's bodies on Friday night. Our flesh reciprocation seeped into Saturday morning and the afternoon. We demonstrated the stamina of youth—the nature of intense, spirited body courting.
I noticed the lake waves bobbing and chopping in the wind. The fisherman's triangular stance allowed him to keep his balance. He cast patiently.
Propped, I thought, that fisherman better not turn around.
No, he's too far away to make out anything except blurred figures. Geez, he'd better not have binoculars.
The wind gusted stronger, and swashing white crests were visible. Outside the window, taller scrubby plants wind-bent towards the cabin. The fisherman ceased casting. He started his outboard. The boat and the man exited my window scene.
I touched Jenny's dark hair and ran a finger down the curve of her back. I positioned myself above and behind Jenny. She lay flat on her stomach, her legs slightly parted beneath the doona. I enjoyed her rounded twin buttocks pressed against my lower abdomen and groin. The shape of her flesh mirrored the mounts across the lake. The life of two fastened together in a simple kneading.
"Mmm, that's nice," Jenny murmured.
Hindsight makes me pause and wonder.
Where does the climax of Jenny's and my relationship reside?
Where was the point we could go no further?
Was there an actual moment of the 'best' sex for us?
Did we share a point of a joint mental peak?
Would we name the exact moment as defining our togetherness?
These are the true imponderables. No doubt Jenny and I would hold different moments. For Jenny, it likely includes memories I have not elaborated on. I know days like the cabin hold a particular place in my memory.
How do you encapsulate sexual awe?
You describe it as it occurred, not in a lustful way, only with ardent devotion.
"Mmm, that's nice."
Jenny issued an invitation, carte blanche. We were ready for the closest yet most distant sexual position, coupled while not facing. The sex drive of my raven sweetheart expressed in, 'Mmm.'
I knew Jenny exuded passion. I recalled it from the edge of her bed.
"Mmm," her open consent.
Jenny remained on her stomach. Her position allowed me to explore her. I released nodules of pleasure by licking her earlobe. I feather-touched the delicate hair follicles at the nape of her neck. My hands, in tandem, massaged her back and spread out to embrace her hips.
Through this, her head rested on one side of a pillow. Her accepting eyes opened. Then, the unexpected, her eyes closed, and she entered her mind to savour my touch. I continued to push in between her buttocks. The corners of her mouth rose in contentment. Jenny was positioned, relaxed and ready for me to take her from behind.
"Mmm, that's nice."
Her words came again.
Jenny exposed her vulnerability in her invitation.
Yet I left her waiting. My touch proceeded no farther. I did not penetrate her, flanked by her derrière
As I evoke 'remembrance of things past,' I question myself.
Why did I decline Jenny's overture?
Should I have propped the pillows and invited her to her hands and knees?
Had Jenny explored this position before and enjoyed it?
Is a compelling, sensual foray enough in itself?
No, I suspect, Mmm, elicited her plea for more.
Was, Mmm, our closest point of togetherness?
Jenny stretched, ready to try the sexual new with me. In a sense, we had. Intimacy builds in unique ways. My counterpoise moment to her sensational labial slide. Her slide, our first-ever genital contact, and now, my nudge between her buttocks, both given to one another under a doona.
The absolute mysteries of the flesh can be shared whilst hidden - like the world before Adam and Eve's fall. Jenny's libido whirled more explorative than mine. I needed to take her further than I had travelled so far. She liked the lure and the rush of the unexpected in the boudoir. Yet, I recall how she luxuriated in a soapy massage when we showered together.
Still, she never hunted my penis like I pursued her pussy. She never held my penis, stroked it, or gave me 'head'. She tried when I requested it nicely. She engaged warmly, yet I flopped between her sweet lips.
Meh, we cruised through it, no articulated comment, both of us unperturbed.
Mmm, that's nice.
It remained 'nice.' Nice, a simple word. There are simple pleasures. Sophisticated language is helpless, delving into our deepest thoughts.
Mmm.
I remember it as sensual and suggestive. I recall it as sex, taken and not taken. I revive a long weekend dedicated to us, crowned by Jenny and me on a Saturday afternoon, exploring each other in fresh ways.
I moved from behind Jenny, spooning under the doona. She lay mellow content. Everything seemed to be before us. I wasn't reflecting on the life we shared.
Something should stay before us. And what's behind us should help us move forward.
When we can't see together, there is no togetherness.
We held, 'Mmm,' in our cuddling. It was nice.
Nice as better than fine; it defined.
Our sex life merged into our lives combined.
It is easy to recall: Mmm, that's nice.
Jenny rose; I followed her cute naked butt as she got a glass of water. I lazed in the queen-sized bed. The summer gust passed. The fisherman putted into the window frame and renewed his casting.
The casts snagged my memory. I recalled another girl, another time, and a far-off place.
I allowed the thought to fade quicker than fisherman's next cast.
My eyes held Jenny as she returned to the bed.
I am forever deferential and remain in awe of Jenny's graceful genital generosity, held in, Mmm.
What more could I have desired and shared as a young man than time with Jenny?