Eighteen, masturbation, outdoors, naked, stepdad, virgin, sensual,
I was glad the altogether bit of the picnic was over.
The heat was in the afternoon, but more urgent was my need to get away from Stan.
My soon-to-be new stepdad Stanley was too much to watch, along with my mum Patricia.
You know, the mature, rekindled, flirty, lovey-dovey, doey-eyed, nearly childishly playful but bordering on needing a room because they know where this all leads: sex piled on sex.
Even worse, their wedding was only three months away. But hey, they weren't saving a fuck for that day.
Stan was a blokey guy; a manly man; into hunting, fishing, sports and a chainsaw sculptor by trade.
He certainly appreciated the hidden object in a piece of wood; in his mind's eye, a rugged, rough-hewn troll or a delicate, half-naked female bush sprite.
I will grudgingly concede he was a craftsman with his chosen skill. He could see 'the within.'
He sold his pieces for a truckload of money, too.
My two younger brothers, Harry and Pete, doted on the guy; they needed a male presence, even a substitute stepfather.
They loved how Stan shared kicking a ball around the backyard, took them fishing off our local jetty, and how they all piled on top of each other while carpet wrestling.
My brothers were right into Stan's boy too. Mike, at eight, was between their ages of seven and nine, and they were a trio of action.
Mike liked my mum; as a mother-hen, he needed feminine nurture in his life.
However, I didn't need a stepdad; I'm eighteen.
I needed a lover or, more basically, a 'bases' groper on my, unfortunately, still virginal body.
A senior college girl, though, is more wary around a new potential mother's partner — after five years in a man-free house.
You know younger brothers don't even look twice or once when you are sunbathing in a bikini on the back lawn. They whine to mum to get your arse on the move so they can kick a ball around.
They are only aware of your presence when they claim you are hogging the bathroom and push past you roughly in your tight towel as you emerge from the shower. They couldn't care less how nice your freshly shaved legs look.
Even your mum hasn't noticed how you have really filled out your breasts in the last six months.
She has eyes only for Stan, her man.
Stan, all man, notices you around the house; after he moves in.
He notices your short, tight pants and camel toe. You see his eyes dip south. You turn as you walk along the hallway one day because you feel eyes watching. Stan is checking out your booty.
You shower early to avoid the late log jam in the bathroom. As you exit wrapped in a small towel, Stan takes you all in, shaved legs and barely constrained breasts.
You avoid being alone with him. You dress modestly. You ask for and get a bathrobe. You keep your bedroom door shut.
Stan isn't doing anything in your personal space or saying anything suggestive; he is doing nothing, really, except being a male.
You notice, too at college, more guys, often though only immature pricks, glance — checking out your boobs.
You calm yourself and say you are being paranoid about Stan. You are stressed with final college exams looming in two weeks.
Stan has a better side, and you grudgingly concede it; he makes ace wood-fired pizzas, does his fair share of household chores, and knows how to charm a woman; flowers and fine dining, mum is enamoured.
It had you wondering, though, what was his hidden fault for him being a free man, why had his ex, Matilda, left him high and dry.
Your thoughts move on; you need a boyfriend.
Yes, you need your first romantic fuck.
You realise that's an odd combination of words.
The romantic sexual encounter sounds more refined: under the silk sheets, taken by a hot young guy with tenderness and kisses, you are vague on the details, but it starts your usual gentle masturbation fantasy under the doona.
The slow build of your wetness and the fondling of your clit, and the sliding of your fingers through your escalating creamy fleshiness between your legs.
This is you as a demure, sensual creature. Controlled auto-eroticism. The fantasy of the perfect first sexual encounter. The orgasms are sweet and petite.
You are a nice girl; your fingers are moist and the sheets stay dry.
Then there is 'fucking you' when you sneak your mum's vibrator.
She's not using it anymore. You don't build a fantasy; you just turn it on a high setting, gel it, and shove it between your legs, which are spread up wide and indecent.
You buzz it deep and work it fast, in and out of yourself and finger your clit frantically at the same time.
You only do this when the house is empty, as you can't control the moans and loud groans of intense bodily pleasure that explode through you and your guilt at gushing and dampening the sheet beneath you.
There aren't many days when you get to be home alone now. Your unleashed self is coiled up.
There are, however, the days when you need to self- fuck.
So, you finger-frig in the shower and get back to study.
You know you will probably succumb to your first cock in the back seat of a car. You have teased the vibrator around your arsehole. You really like it and secretly want a guy to take you there.
You want to lose your shy girl image because you already understand from college; receptive-forward girls cum hard and cum often.
Stan has asked mum to take the boys for a swim at the billabong. Cool off before the drive home. I know he also wants her to bond with his boy.
My brothers have already grabbed their gear along with Stan's lad; however, mum is hesitating.
She asks." Who will pack up?"
I say," I will."
"Thanks, Em," and she means it.
Suddenly I realise I could be stuck alone with Stan; while he does what —just watch me?
"Emily, I'm going to wander about for suitably broken limbs to sculpt or fallen trees to remove with my permit; catch everyone at the car in an hour," and Stan organised himself and wandered off into the bush.
I give a cheer to nature for drawing Stan away from where I am.
Mum grabbed a bag of gear and towels and headed off after the disappearing boys. The billabong was five minutes down the stream tributary.
I packed up everything. Geez, it was extra humid and hot now.
Stan hasn't hung around in the close bush.
I realise I'm just sexually frustrated, and he only looks at me in a general guy looking at a girl, any girl, especially when some flesh is on show.
He barely glances at me in my long bathrobe or loose slacks that I use now to hide my cute butt shape around him.
My clothing for today is slacks and a long-sleeved, buttoned-high blouse. No skin invitation for anyone.
But a wrong choice, given the heat. I'd love shorts and my bikini top.
Screw Stan.
I knew I had about forty minutes before Mum and the boys returned.
I went for a walk up the streambank path. It was very warmish even in the shade, and I rolled up my blouse sleeves and opened my top three buttons; yes, there was cleavage, but there was only me.
The water at the Ford looked so cool and inviting. I removed my shoes, rolled my pants up, sat on the bank's edge, and dipped my feet. It was refreshing.
There was no one around.
I heard relaxed Brolga bugle calls in the bush.
Stan would be in there, too, deep in the thicker tree zone. I told myself this as I removed my blouse and slacks.
Bra and panties in place; is not skinny dipping, I told myself if I was caught out.
I lay in the welcoming cool water, imbibing its stimulant flow over my skin. Measured in my pose. Legs together, straight out, toes flexing.
I was relaxed in myself.
Tranquil, like the distant Brolga calls.
Lines of Neilson's poem, The Crane, were then humming through my mind; 'he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.'
I was transposed into the sun, sky and stream.
After several minutes, I released myself from my rippled lacquering and looked for a large, flattish boulder to sun 'moi' on and dry out my underwear on my body, not off.
I did look down and realised my nipples and breasts were clearly visible and shaped by my wet bra.
Next, I looked further down between my legs to the clingy cotton and fuck; my dark plush pubic triangle was visible against the dampened fabric.
I heard a closer Brolga trumpet.
Something or someone was nearby.
As I scanned, there was Stan on the bank, eyes fixed, you know where.
Not a lot left to his imagination except my pinkest private bits.
I flushed rosy, and then I suppose uncomfortable, full red.
"Em, " he said. "Don't be embarrassed; it's just your beautiful body."
"Yes, I know, but it's not really for you; you're about to be my stepdad."
"Exactly; I'm not your dad. I can appreciate you as a young woman."
I thought, okay, you bastard, try this one.
I shouldn't have, knowing he was a bloke: "So it would be okay if I saw you in the buff in the bush, wandering about butt naked, in your birthday suit, is that what you are saying, nothing to worry about."
"Sure, I'll strip off, too, if it makes you feel more comfortable."
I thought, where the fuck is this heading.
I was possibly about to see my first real dick, and it was to be my stepfather. Though technically, he wasn't yet. Though, he was fucking my mum.
I was flustered as I went to get fully up and partially slipped because I wasn't looking where I was going.
I was watching Stan, though he hadn't moved.
I was okay, but I was really soaked through.
Stan, by then, had come to my aid and helped me up. We both could see everything about my body up close now.
The sodden fabric reveals what the drying conceals.
Stan assisted me to the bank. Arm around me; no groping.
He was authoritative: "Em, get it off. It must dry on the rocks before you return to the car park."
I still hesitated.
Stan didn't.
He unclipped my bra, let it fall to the ground, and eased down my wet cottontails.
He didn't touch me.
Well, screw you, Stan; I thought, aren't I woman enough for you.
I have great tits, no kidding and a full cute brunette bush, only trimmed around the bikini line.
No, he just laid out my underwear to dry, barely looking at me.
Christ, I didn't have shrivelled saggy breasts or fat rolls covering my pubes, and my bum hadn't started to flop; sorry, mum, mine was a taut nubile booty.
I thought too soon.
Stan removed his wet sneakers, then his trousers and T-shirt very quickly.
"There is no need for embarrassment. We are both equally naked," he said it too slickly.
OMG, he was frickin well-hung. Well, a modern girl does come across some porn.
He took me by the hand and led me into the thickening trees. He stopped and pointed to a fallen limb.
He said: "Look carefully; what do you see in it?"
It was uncanny as my imagination opened the limb; I saw a lithe female form in the bend and knots of the branch.
My thoughts expanded to a favourite painting, Long's iconic Australian landscape, Spirit of the Plains, where a flute playing naked nymphette leads a chorus of dancing brolgas.
I was nude in the bush. The red gum limb held the uncanny shape of a nubile sprite.
Tree shadows were playful across my body like a dreamscape; I heard the wind gently soughing through the high branch tops, the brolgas in the distance trumpeting. My fancy, like an artwork, could take me on a journey God knows where from here.
"A shapely woman," I said it uncertainly, though in my mind, I was sure, sure, too, of what followed.
"Yes, but the real woman is you."
I pressed my body into his body. We kissed deeply and passionately. It seemed too frickin natural and acceptable.
"It's great you can release what is within," he added as he touched my pubic mound softly.
My fingers were at the same time wrapped around his swelling big cock.
His hand was fingering my rapid wetness between my legs.
My oh my; was I over-moisturised down there. I was soppy and sodden with my own just-released juiciness.
I couldn't hide my virginal need.
My fucking self was unleashed.
Stan eased me back against a broad Murray red gum trunk and fondled my tits. His mouth took turns on each titty.
Geez, it felt good.
I liked to tweak and flick them myself, but a guy's touch and tongue were driving me wild. I couldn't get enough, and thankfully, Stan didn't stop.
He sucked and nibbled till he sensed my urgent breathing. I needed massaging somewhere else. And yes, down he slid, kissing into my navel and slinking his tongue across my soft womb and then OMG; he was licking my slit.
"Oh Fuck," I said, not prepared for the sensational first sweep of his tongue over my pussy lips and swollen clit hood.
Geez, was it amazing.
It was better than good. It was great.
And as he built the flicking and probing with his tongue tip, it went up the rating scale to sensational. It was off the scale by the time my orgasm raced through me. A stunning coursing fem-climax, way more intense than any I had created for myself.
"Uughh, uughh," I moaned.
I wanted to stay in my orgasmic moment, hold it.
Still, the premium experience went exceptional as he eased his long rod into my coochie.
Wow, was this the real deal?
The full cock and pussy package. He was thrusting, and instinctively, I started grinding my body into his pushing and pounding.
I was euphoric, beyond a personal high, as he created a bit of space between our bodies to position his fingers on both sides of my clit. It was so sensitive, but happy to be included again.
He thrust with a compelling rhythm, and I was luxuriating in it. I was so goddamn happy to be a woman. I was in love with my cunny, and I was in love with cock.
It would be a regular part of my life from this day forward. I was finally happy with my inner self.
This was me, and it was great.
Stan steadied me and eased me down on top of him in the bracken. He showed me how to ride him.
It was awesome each time my clit pounded into his pubic bone.
"I love your bush, "he said, "Always keep it; it is you, corporeal and alluring; a mystery to release; trust me on this one."
"Mmm; mmm; yeah, mmm," was all I managed.
Caught in youthful first fantastic sex.
"Trust me," he said again; as he eased a finger into my arsehole.
Wow, it was intense.
My pussy filled, and my arse eventually with two fingers. My two holes nearly joined.
He could do anything he liked with me. I was that overjoyed, happy, and delighted in actual sex.
The shadows of the bush were dancing over our bodies under the trees.
Light and shade. Male and female. Universal yin and yang.
The bracken tickling.
The Brolga's voices chorusing, seemingly in approval.
I felt so light, ecstatic, yet fully dense too; so female-filled.
The sex had taken over. I wasn't thinking about being caught. I didn't care about my mother's needs. I had my own to keep filling.
I was covetous for every experience under the trees that was offered. Right here and right now.
The heights of pleasure soared as Stan had his fingers out of my arse and his big pecker eased into my crack.
"Oh fuck; oh yeah; oh my, so deep; …oh… oh… oh;" I was nearly screaming, louder than a piercing Brolga trumpet.
I was delirious with pleasure. This was the unimaginable undreamt pleasure. My backdoor pleased, and my clitty was being massaged by his fingers.
I came again, just as intense as I had a few minutes ago.
"Raah, uhh, uuh!"
Our pleasure released together as Stan groaned as he creamed my arse.
I collapsed onto his chest. His firm, manly chest. He wrapped his arms around me.
I could have lain there in the shadows of his body forever. I was that happy.
Stan eased me up: "Let's get your dry underwear and get back, okay; you're a wonderful woman within Em."
As I redressed, I had to ask, "You understand women. How did you fail with Matilda?"
"No, Em; Matilda's sexual preference destiny was with another woman; I blessed her direction; we are still friends; always will be."
I knew I was out as myself, with nothing to hide. I was exposed to my sexual self as clearly as the soon-to-be-revealed shape of the fem-sprite still inside the fallen tree limb.
Mum and the boys were at the Land Cruiser waiting as Stan, and I arrived in the Reserve carpark, carrying back between us the limb he would shape up into a nymph.
I helped him secure the limb on the trailer behind the 4WD.
Mum talked happily on the drive home about her and the boys bonding swim. It looked like she had the workable blended family she wanted.
It looked like I had a stepfather who understood the girl within.
Two weeks later, Stan gave me the beautiful wood-carved sprite. From an aged and weathered broken limb, it emerged in a deep dark blood colour from inside a river red gum, a resolute dryad, the complex grain faultlessly polished with loving skill.
He titled the piece Released.
I fully understood; Stan had my mum; she was his woman.
My journey was going to be mine.
Stanley took on the role of a supportive stepfather; never again did we share the physical from his new marriage. He was always there for me, ready to respond and be a sounding board to those perplexing relationship questions that emerged continuously as I started my journey across the sexual steppes of life.
The inner me, in my finest erotic moments, dancing like the Brolgas in Spirit of the Plains.