Scarlet men reveal their naughtiest fantasies. Ben’s involves women with athletic bodies.
The town I live in is on the edge of a climbers’ playground, and there’s quite a local community of ‘gritstone surfers’ – guys who’ve dropped out of the rat race or are still deciding whether to opt in, living on what they can scrounge and odd jobs which can be dropped when necessary. Well,
I say guys. There are some girls, but they’re mainly groupies, watchers and washers of the kit. Megan B is the exception.
The blokes all drink and smoke joints ferociously, to prove they can take more of anything than the average, and, as a heavy-drinking snapper at the local paper, I occasionally bump into them in the pub. But for all their rollicking and roll-ups, most of them are much more middle-class than me. I like their girls, though. Especially Megan B.
Megan’s famous for being able to out climb most of the men. She does it by training harder than any of them and she isn’t big into the pub scene. But we’ve noticed each other a couple of times.
She isn’t pretty, but she’s dramatic – black hair, brown skin, long arms and legs, all skin and sinew. I think she looks like a muscular spider. One day she breaks some record on a local lump of rock and the women’s editor decides she’d make a good subject. We both go round to see her, in her scruffy flat.
She’s wearing a black vest and candy-striped shorts and clearly nothing else, and I watch with pleasure as she moves around, chatting and making tea, while the reporter makes notes and I snap off the odd shot on a fast film. The last one, she bends down to hitch up a loose lace on one of her high-tops and she does it from the waist, so her legs are straight and her booty’s in full profile, like a sign on a pole saying Hot Fuck Inside. My cock jumps and so does my trigger finger. She hears the click and whirr and gives me a half-smile when she stands up.
The reporter closes her notebook and asks me what else I want. I say I need to see Megan in action. She says she’ll be out climbing at the weekend. With her boyfriend, she mentions. But when we say our goodbyes, there’s a bit of crackle in the air.
I’m waiting at a gate at the end of the track when she draws up, 7am, as arranged. No boyfriend, I notice.
“Couldn’t get him up,” she explains, with obvious disapproval. “It means you’ll have to climb with me, to give me an anchor on the severes. Have you climbed before?”
Only trees as a kid, I say. She says she’ll tell me what to do.
She empties out a bag of bits of metal and packs a selection into the pockets of an army tunic, which she’s wearing over the same vest and stretchy leggings.
She lashes me up and we set off up what looks like a vertical piece of rock. With her calling out instructions, I somehow manage to follow the steps she finds. Each time I catch up, she does the technical stuff with the metal things and I do my best to look like a reliable anchor as she sets off on the next reach. At the start of the third, she has to make a particularly awkward stretch and I hear the tiny sound of fabric tearing. She pauses for just a second, as the breeze tells her what has happened, and I catch a glimpse of black fur in between the candy stripes at her crotch. It flashes at me again as she climbs on.
She’s squatting down, waiting, when I catch up with her again, where the face gives way to a steep slope. Her eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Free climbing from here,” she says, unclipping the rope. “I’ll see you at the top.”
She sets off up the bank like a goat and I follow as fast as I can, which is a lot faster than I would have achieved without a naked pussy beckoning me on.
Sometimes I see a wink of pink in the black of her bush.
The summit is a small plateau. I haul myself onto it and find her sitting on a rock, jacket and vest discarded, legs apart. She holds my eyes as I moved towards her. I drink the sweat from her armpits and she rips open what’s left of the leggings. I drop to the floor and stick my tongue hard into her sugar and spice. When she’s had enough of that, she licks my face clean, swaps positions and rides me with her back to me, so I can watch her pussy going down on me like a hungry mouth between the cheeks of her perfect arse. She comes first and jumps off and pumps my gouts of hot cream out with her hands. High above, a small plane waggles its wings.
All in my dirty mind? I’d like to show you the photos the paper never saw. But I just can’t find that file right now.
