I met Amber at the health food store. She worked there and I thought she was a pleasant young woman. I had ridden my bike there. I was trying to re-invent my life. I was --- let's just say I was in my 40's. I wasn't in bad shape, but I wasn't very fit and had started riding my bike whenever I could. It was spring and I didn't have many miles under my belt.
The store was only four miles away, but the first time I rode there I was kind of bushed. She noticed how red my face was and started a conversation. I would like to think she was just being friendly and not thinking I was about to have a heart attack. However, she is a student in the physical therapy program at the local community college, so it is likely she was probably thinking she could use me as practice.
Like I said, I will give her the benefit of the doubt as far as it goes in being a thoughtful person. Little does she know, that at that very same college she attends I hold the record for the most strike outs in a softball season. A record that I set 30 years ago and 10 years before Amber was born. It was during those softball years that I met my husband, I mean my ex-husband --- that is part of the re-inventing.
So I might not have been in tip top shape last April, I did have the potential. In fact I can ride that same bike 30 miles up and down the local, hilly terrain. I could probably be even better if I had not taken up another sport.
Our conversation eventually shifted to me riding my bike and how I was getting in shape. She asked me if I had ever paddled a canoe. I told her some, enough to know what a bow and aft was, but that it really was a two person sport.
I left it there, she didn't want to hear about a nasty divorce. She told me she was looking for a partner to 'train' with. We discussed it some and I told her as long as we practiced three or less times a week, hopefully less, I would give it a shot. I asked her why she didn't find a young man her own age and she gave me a funny response.
"I'm not the kind of girl who likes to hear a guy telling her how to stoke the paddle," she said. "O and I am in the aft of the canoe."
"So you are an alpha female --- well as long as you can tolerate my pace you have a partner," I responded.
Turns out, she is pretty good, both in her ability to steer a canoe (the person in the back of the canoe does all the steering and calls the paddle changes --- when you change the side of the canoe you paddle from to rest your body) and her ability to accept the time it took a woman that was more than twice her age to get back in shape.
I should have paid her to let me train with her. It was better than therapy, which I probably needed at the time. She was very understanding and knew how to listen to a woman who hated two-timing men and keep her thoughts to herself.
It was funny we were very different and maybe that is how we balanced the canoe. She is 5' 10", very thin, with just about no bust at all, though she had very solid hips and her thighs could probably snap a man in half. I am 5' 6" had a chest enough for both of us; I had blossomed into 38 c size bra in the last 10 years. I guess our similarities would be our hips.
Another difference was our outwards aesthetics. She didn't shave at all, or at least what I saw. Her legs and arm pits were unshaven. I am not sure why I think about this, but I guessed she had a very hairy pubic area. I wasn't hairless, but close. I actually had a regular schedule for a bikini wax.
After a month we would joke about these differences with little tweaks. I actually surprised myself in participating in the banter. Not that I can't joke with the best of them, but my mouth had followed Amber into the gutter.
"If you don't think you will chip a nail, could we pick up the pace," she would say from the back of the canoe.
I would respond by asking her what she does with all the time she has because she doesn't shave or suggest all the shampoo costs must break her. "I am guessing your pussy alone must take a half bottle of Pantene."
As we were getting more comfortable with joking, we were also progressing as a paddling team. One in May day we were paddling against the wind on the way back to her car and she mentioned a race that was being held in Vermont.
"What, a race, like against other people?" I responded and stopped paddling.
"Sure, it's not a race unless someone else is there, but it is a small race. And the scenery there is nice, though it is kind of remote," she said and added: "I mean, why do you think we are training three times a week."
"I thought we were going to paddle until you developed enough tits to wear a training bra," I chided her and she splashed my back.
"Come on you are in very good shape, you will do fine," like usual, she zeroed in. She knew my concern about racing had more to do with me worrying about failing, though the word 'remote,' often went with 'roughing it,' and I didn't like that.
She was also spot on in her approach; appealing to my vanity. I wasn't sure if my fitness was up to par for a race. I did think I was in great shape. My belly was resembling flat and when I flexed my biceps, the muscle was pretty hard.
"We can take my van so you have enough room for all your make-up, so you will look fine," she continued teasing me.
"I mean this is fun, why race," I asked, but really I thought it would be fun to see how we stacked up in a competition.
"Don't worry, this race is kind of out of the way," she offered. "In fact you would have to drive 15 miles just to find some guy to gawk at your boobs."
"Ye who have so little, how would you know where one needs to go to have her breasts looked at?" I retorted.
"The race is in two weeks, what do you think?" she said returning to the topic at hand.
I started paddling: "I think the wind just blew us back half a mile."
While we were loading the canoe onto my car, I conceded to doing the race by saying: "Okay, but you have to let me pick the hotel."
"Um, well that is the problem," she said sheepishly.
"Why? I will pay for the motel, the night is on me," I told her. "Of course I expect you to do most of the paddling during the race."
"There isn't any motels in the area," she said. "That is the other reason I suggested my van, so we could camp in the back."
"You think there is enough room for your ass and mine in the back?" I asked half joking, but I was thinking that van is pretty small.
I really never thought about not staying in anything but a motel room when I travelled. I started to wonder just how close we would be in the van. It seemed like the van was not even as wide as a queen size bed.
We trained a little harder for the race and when the event day arrived I was excited. We had to get up early to make the 8 a.m start time. I had not slept well, kind of jittery about racing. I ended up doing three or four things wrong. The main thing was pacing. Amber had told me we needed to race at the speed that we trained, but my competitive blood got boiling when the race started. There were four canoes in the C-2 Women Recreation Class. When the race started it was clear there were two canoes (Amber and I were in one of them) that wanted to race and two that wanted to take a leisurely paddle.
I am not sure how fast Amber wanted to go, but when the other canoe took off, I started to paddle to keep up with them. It was a mistake in that my body could handle the 27 mile race at our pace. At the other canoes pace, it was a lot tougher. Amber had asked me a couple times if I was okay with the pace. I told her yes, though my arms were burning, but as long as our competition was ahead of us, I was going for it.
We never lost sight of our main competition and we turned in a very strong second place (third place finished 10 minutes after us).
Another thing I did wrong was not eating enough. I had a small breakfast and during the race didn't eat anything. Amber actually did most of the paddling for the last mile while I bonked. I was so wiped out that it at the end of the race all I could do to stagger to the van, which was parked at the campground at the finish, and dissolve into a nap.
I woke an hour later, famished, to the smells of Amber cooking dinner.
"Hey Paddle Girl, welcome back to the living," Amber said when I stumbled out of the van.
"That is a good name, I feel like someone just spanked me," I said and sat down at the picnic table. I had rested, but my body was now stiff.
There was a bottle of Pinot Grigio with two glasses on the table. More importantly a bottle of ibuprofen. Amber was always thinking. She handed me a glass.
"To your first race," she toasted and I took a healthy gulp.
I made a second toast: "And to ibuprofen," then washed down three with another big swallow.
"Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes, when the rice is done," she said
"I'm guessing it will take that long to find that heart shaped jacuzzi in the nice clean bathroom," I said joking, but wondering where one takes a pee in this place. A nice soak in a hot tub would have been nice, but probably too much to hope for.
"Your in luck, there bath house is over there," She said, pointing to a brick building. "Best of all the showers are steamy hot."
I went over to my travel bag and grabbed my towel. At the same time realized that I didn't pack anything. I was thinking I would just sleep in the clothes I had on. I actually thought I would be able to talk Amber into driving back after the race. That was before I bonked.
Then I noticed that Ange no longer had on her paddling togs. She was dressed in cargo capris and a tight T-shirt. Amber had removed her geeky tortoise shell glasses and her brown eyes were friendly and consoling. I nervously looked down from her peepers to her chest. With no bra on, her nips were point right at me.
"Are those pine cones in your shirt, or are you just happy to see me," the words just came out, possibly because of not eating four 12 hours and the quick glass of wine. The weird thing was, once it was said, I began to wonder just how interested in me she might be.
"I think I have to cut you off after one glass," She said in a cautious tone.
"O no you don't, if I am going to sleep in that little van," I said and filled my glass.
I took my towel to the bathhouse. After I took a piss and enjoyed a wonderful 10 minute shower. I would going to be sore for a day or so, but the shower, the ibuprofen and the wine had me very relaxed. I didn't want to put my lycra cycling shorts back on. So I put on the nylon shots that I wear over the tight lycra shorts to hide my full bodied ass. The only problem was I didn't have any panties and I didn't want to put the sports bra back on. 'What the hell I thought,' we are in the wilderness. I put on the T-shirt they gave us at registration.
Dinner was great and we had a fun time reliving the race, with Amber teasing me a lot about how competitive I had become.
"First you don't want to race, then you go at it on a pace I can't keep up with," she said.
"O come on, you could have gone faster, and at the end, face it --- you were the only one paddling," I admitted.
"So you acknowledge I paddled your big ass to the finish line?" she teased me. "I guess you owe me don't you."
"O, so next race you expect me to do all the paddling," I had the wine giggles.
"Next race? you can't hardly walk and you are talking about the next race," she just laughed.
"It's your fault, you have turned me into a canoe slut," I said and tried to stand up, but my body had tightened up. "Ooooh, do you have traction in that van."
"No, but it really is your lucky day, I'm a physical therapist in training," she said holding up her hands, flexing her fingers in a peculiar way that looked like she was squeezing my breasts.
I picked up the bottle of ibuprofen. Amber in turn picked up the dishes and put them in a storage tube, "I think we can do the dishes tomorrow."
"You have no argument from me," I told her, trying to stretch my arms.
When she put the lid on the tub I noticed her feet, more specifically her toenails: "Amber you little Whore."
"What," she asked, not knowing what I was talking about
"You painted your toes, like some horny little hussy," I said pointing at her toes and could tell she was embarrassed that she actually had painted her toes. "Were you thinking you were going to get fucked, out here in the woods?"
I was drunk, horny and --- when I was with Amber --- bawdy. It wasn't a good combination. The wine had really brought out my trash talk.
"You never know what can happen," she said and I noticed her nipples were really jetting out. I was tempted to pinch them, but being drunk doesn't always make your irresistible. Unless the other person is a man. Amber, regardless of how I teased her, was all woman.
"Besides," she added, "Who are you to go commando with your bazookas flopping all over the place."
She made a pinching motion towards my left tit, so I turned away and felt a knot in my shoulder, "ooofh, I am not looking forward to tomorrow."
Amber grabbed my shoulder and started rubbing the pain from behind me. I took her hand pushed it right to where the stiffness was. I let out a sigh, I was in need of some tlc. I could tell by the firm grip of Amber's hands on my shoulder I was getting the "tough love" version of tlc.
I was tired, but not so sleepy, since I had the power nap earlier. Actually Amber's hands on my shoulder had me kind of jazzed.
"Why don't you lay down, so I can work on that back," Amber suggested. I opened the van and climbed in side.
From outside the van, she laughed and said: "I was thinking about on the picnic table, but here is fine."
"Oops," I giggled. She climbed inside and pulled the door shut. I was already face down and prone. She climbed over me, straddling my lower back and started to squeeze and knead my shoulders. My body was enjoying every thing about this.
My mind was another story. I kept trying to figure out where this was leading. I was starting to desire Amber, but didn't know what I was suppose to do. Somehow, regardless how I felt about sleeping with women, the thought of being intimate with a 19 year old seemed unlikely (and a little bit depraved). One thing for sure, her hands and the Pinot Grigio were making resistance impossible. And really there wasn't anything improper about where her hands were roaming.
"um," I started.
"Yes?" she asked.
"What is going on here?" I asked, I had to put it out on the table, even though we were in the van and not the table.
"Relax," she replied, then sidestep my question. "I am a trained professional.
She had strong, but comforting, hands. I knew that massage was part of her physical trainer training. It was clear her hands were skilled at massage.
"I know, but at what," I questioned.
"Do you want me to stop?" she responded.
"No," I answered a little too quickly.
"Thought so, you upscale princesses always like a good rub down," she teased. I wonder what she meant, had she massaged a lot of other women? a lot of upscale princesses???
Amber paused and sniffed the air a couple time. I was a little nervous. One of the things about my body is when I am horny, I get very wet and my juices are pungent. The loose nylon shorts were baggy and allowed my 'aroma' to fill the van. It would be easy to keep my thoughts to myself, but impossible to keep a secret how my body was reacting.
It was dark in the van, I couldn't see anything, but was completely aware of her touch. She worked her way down to my middle back. My shoulders felt better and were tingling...hell my whole body was singing. She shifted a little and sat on my ass.
"Nice ass, if I could have sat on this cushion during the race, I could have paddled all day," she said and pushed hard on my spine. The friction did little to take away the chills that danced from vertebra to vertebra. It did, however, stoke the combustion taking place between my legs.
I had never thought much about sex with a woman. I guess in college I thought a little about it, since about half the team were lesbians. Of course if you weren't in the 'bumper club,' as they referred to themselves, you talked about hitting a drop ball, not hitting on women. I didn't know what happened. Yet at the same time I wanted her to work her way into my pussy.
"You are good at this; why didn't I take advantage of this sooner," I said, noticing I had a dreamy tone in my voice. My goal now was to be subtle. If she had no intentions of making love to me, I didn't want to make the situation uncomfortable, but I did want to make it clear she could go as far as she wanted.
As she worked my back, she was grinding her mons or --- dare I say --- her labia against my ass. I wasn't sure if it was purposely or a by-product of the massaging action. One thing for sure, my shorts --- loose or not --- were soaked. Another thing that was definite was she had her powerful thighs squeezing my hips.
Placing both her hands against the small of my back she pushed down and moved her hips to the back of my things. Was she going to massage my ass? How intimate would she be?
"How about you, is your ass sore from sitting in the canoe?" she asked
I was so close to begging her to finger fuck me. O so close.
"I wouldn't say no to a little hiney rub," I answered
"Clara, there is nothing small about this hiney," she laughed and reached her hands up the legs of my shorts and squeezed my ass cheeks.
"I guess they are more than a handful," I said. "I guess I can concede that."
"Concede," she said and used the word to accent the act of sliding her thumb into my twat.
"Ummmm, yessss," I whispered, now there was no doubt where this is going. "to what ever you want."
We were on our way now. After a couple thrusts of her thumb in me, she grabbed the bottom of my shorts. I lifted my hips and Amber pulled them to my knees. I kept my hips up, offering her easy access to my slit.
She started to finger me with her index finger, then added her middle finger. When she had pushed in a third I was moaning without control. She kept it up and I started to wonder what the other campers might be thinking, but I couldn't stop moaning.
She crawled to the side of me, "roll over," she asked. When I did she finished taking my shorts off and settled her head between my legs. There was no apprehension in her approach. She dove her tongue deep into me, then lick a couple circles around my labias. Taking my clitoris into her lips she began to suck me.
She would lick up the juice that was in my slit, then suck my clit. It was too much and I came in gushes. She took a victory lap around my pussy lips, then began to consume the juices pooled in me.
My hands had ended up on her head, stroking her hair. I was coated in sweat, so much for the prissy image I had. Once she had consumed my goo, she put her index and middle finger inside me.
"Amber that was so nice," I whispered.
Her fingers were slowly in and out of me. I couldn't see her, but with my hand on her head, I could feel that she was looking up to me.
"Do you need to wait, or are you ready for more," she cooed.
" 'Do I need to wait?' " I said almost rhetorically, then squeezed her head into my pussy as I lifted my hips, "Amber it is a case of I can't wait."