116 posts 12/21/2019 9:39 am
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Prairie nights of love and lust.
** from a previous blog at rm_wordswolf| Night fell hard, a curtain trailing it's soft summer purple and orange edge and pulling a sheet of sharp stars glittering across the sky. We'd been working dusty hard in the gardens, giving the chickens a better home, and keeping up our symbiosis with mother Nature. In the mid-western heat and dry wind, the fine dust cakes like damp flour in our creases, and we had cakes and parched throats and sun-bleached hair despite drinking gallons of water each day, a mid-day hose down, and our light summer farm clothes. | Working for love is different than working for , and we found ourselves working harder, living harder, and loving hard. When days end, we're spent, but thirsty, eager for the rewards of honest living, savoring the freedom, and steeping ourselves in this shared, blissful solitude. Days spent working together, we watched and hungered for each other. I watched and admired Ren for her talents, her ability to organize a space, to plan a garden, to nurture. She appreciated my manual skills, tools and mechanical knowledge.
| We filled the tub, carried a jug of chilled honey wine and a pizza I had prepared to the back yard. The pizza went into the oven, the jug of wine into the terra cotta chiller, and we stripped and with our sea sponges cleaned the dust and grime off each other in the outdoor shower before dinner. most nights it cooled off quickly, but everything stayed warm from the days blazing sun. Tonight was no exception, topping out above 98 degrees, the earth beneath our feet was still above 80 half an hour after the sun had set.
| We fired up the pizza oven many nights and created new variations using the gifts of our gardens and goats. Some nights just tomato, basil and cheese, some half the variety the garden produced that wee Some nights we put the pizza in and washed up, but unable keep our hands off each other, we'd end up making love, meandering here and there, fucking against a split rail fence, the barn wall, in the grass, before we'd have hose down again, rescuing a nearly burned pizza at an interstices.
| Five ago we'd dug a dry well covered by a brick patio with no mortar. Water soaks in and dries out in the next day's sun. Our tub, a full 6 foot early 20th century porcelain relic from a former asylum, would be there in thousands of , soothing our ancestors. We'd plugged the overflow to fill it full up from our solar heated storage tanks. We captured water each spring in 500 gallon tanks and filtered through sand and heated with the sun during those long hot summer days, always anticipating our evening baths. We had enough rain during the summer replenish our cisterns and had been able bathe into the fall most . We collected water from several barn roofs through a series of time delayed gate-valves that would give the rain eight minutes wash the roof clean, then open start filling the cistern. We found the water cleaner from the start that way. We had a third tank that supplied the house in addition a wind-driven Artesian well pump, all the comforts, no costs.
| Tonight we hopped in the tub after our wash-down, after touching each other everywhere, the desire building. The pizza and wine were on the deck abutting the tub's edge, and I fed Ren, and she fed , and the day's aches soaked away. We relaxed, taking a short nap after the pizza was gone. The fruit trees were producing, plums and peaches now. I'd grabbed a few for a terrestrial desert, and fed them Ren, who shared with , enjoying the juices dripping down our chins, requiring each clean the other before the next bite. We spent an hour in the tub, then toweled each other off, and the nature of being so close to nature, of feeling so good about the fruit of our labors, inspired us to hold each other, wrap one large towel around us both, and I slipped into her, and just stood there connected beneath the stars, awed by our fortune, grateful for each other. Soon, I withdrew and lay her down on the deck cushions. We heard the barn cats exploring, and I delved into my desert, she awaiting her own reward. Like percussion therapy, her orgasm released the days tensions, and she became jelly for some time, gasping at first, then breathing deeply, her face to the stars. This life refilled our passions constantly, and we were bubbling brews of love potions for each other, reviving over and over during each day. We lay there side by side while she recovered, then I felt her hand on my cock, covering it as it grew in her hand, cupped reverentially like a protectress of a ceremonial object. She turned quickly and took me in her mouth, hungrily siphoning off my stress. When I came, she drank smiling and laughing, letting me buck til spent, then came and kissed me with a sly smile on her lips.
| | We had no routines - each night some difference, a sweet and savory pizza, cold beers, deep red wine. We felt a rhythm with the land and sky, adjusted to whatever came our way, the torrential downpours would drive us inside to the bed beneath the skylights where we watched the storm together. Winter found us reading, writing, talking in the heart of the house by the stove, often at opposite ends of the couch each with our own lamp and side table littered with tea and papers, books, and dreams.
Summers were our favorite - we worked hard, less time for reading and writing, but we were executing our plans from the winter before, growing more food, building better systems of sustenance, and of course, spending the warm nights in love. We loved each other beyond what most films could portray, but | our reality included arguments, arguments that always settled, that always garnered respect for one another, and consideration. In most cases we both recognized our own errors, misunderstandings or misinterpretations, or other issues dragged into our paradise from previous trainings. We always ended up mouths to cunt and cock though, sometimes with her riding me, sometimes with me massaging her, making love from behind, on the kitchen floor, the porch swing...
| Some nights she'd climb on top of me, her mouth to my cock, her cunt hovering over my face awaiting another desert. Ren's juice is clear, slick and sticky, a slight salt flavor, and a tonic for me. I can taste our work, the earth and rain and distant ocean in her. many times each day, I wonder at our fortune, and love and lust for her more.
| We sound isolated, but we are not. We arranged ten prior buy a series of farms with a large group of friends. Some likened it a commune, a tight community like the Amish live, but we're all independent, and while also mostly of similar political and social persuasions, our friends in the surrounding thousands of acres include gay couples, a trans friend we both knew as a man in college, and a minister and her wife. They're the people we know, not a designed community, but we all wanted live freely and from the land. We have groups of friends who live in the nearest town, a town with 2 hotels, bars, one independent grocer, a small community college, and five thousand residents. We're god-parents four , adopted, and we're aunt or uncle half a dozen others. We're intimate with several of our friends, sometimes spending nights under the stars together - yes - naked, and yes, we've had group sex with some. All our friends are OK with each of our decisions, whether their own beliefs or comforts. It's how we all get along so well, our model society of love.
| By :15, Ren and I have climbed the stairs, now tired from a day of work and making love, but eager be together in bed beneath the stars. The house had cooled some, our heat pump working overtime to bring the bedroom temperature to a comfortable level. We slept under a single cotton sheet in summer, and lying down, I turned to spoon Ren and we were asleep before saying good night.
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