HOMOS and SMOF

Noren, Hiss 15, 01029

“Good morning, Sandahl,” I said as I came around one corner of the breakfast table. It was a fend-for-yourself morning, so I had grabbed a rice ball and a rithya, a tart fruit enjoyed by the llerkindi as a breakfast. After peeling off the skin and draining the juice into a glass for later, the dark-red globes of flesh that surrounded the seed core came out easily with a spoon. It’s messy and juicy and it’s not a bad way to start the morning at all.

Aaden appeared, carrying two crumpets slathered with peanut butter and a glass of orange juice. I snapped what my fingers. “That’s what I forgot. Tea.”

“I’ll get you some, if you like.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ll get it.” As I wandered away, I walked to the railing of the Castle roof and looked over the side. I could see the faint glint of metal from the beach. “Everything’s in place, Dave?”

“Everything is in place,” he agreed.

I returned with a steaming mug of the stuff Aaden’s herbalist friend had put together for me. It wasn’t something to be drunk more than once a day, but when it did, it opened your eyes. I tasted both traditional black tea and Brazilian mate’ in it, but there was something else in there as well. “Anyway,” I said, “It’s nice to see you for breakfast, Sandahl.”

He nodded his head simply. “I decided to join you. Not as breakfast, though.”

“I should hope not,” I chuckled. “We only save that for our enemies.” He lookup at me, vaguely alarmed until he realized I was kidding.

“Have you told him yet?” Aaden asked me.

“Told me what?” Sandahl asked.

“Aaden and I are going to a… What do we call it, Aaden? A convention? A party?”

He chuckled. “I guess a party would do. It’s a get-together that happens every ten years for people who collect antique military hardware. It lasts four days and it’s usually a lot of fun. People bring their gear, put up tents, show it all off. It’s put on by the History Of Military Ordinance Society. Ken collects one particular kind of hardware and so sometimes goes as a presenter. We’d like you to come along.”

“I don’t have to stay there, do I?”

“No, you don’t have to stay, and you don’t even have to go if you’d rather stay here. But I imagine your friend Kekashkah will be going.”

“That does sound like something she would enjoy. Does this… Histo…”

“‘HOMOS’ is the acronym.”

“Does HOMOS go back as far as her curiosity?”

“There will be some tented pavilions for pre-industrial warfare, yeah. So, are you interested in going?” I asked. “Because if you are, we have a gift for you. Well, it’s a gift whether you go or not, but after all the work Aaden and I put into building it, we’d appreciate it if you would come to the HOMOS show.” I resisted reaching out to touch his hand. He was still awkwardly uncomfortable with the familiar affection Aaden and I clearly showed to one another and I worried about how he interpreted my touching him. In truth, I saw a wonderful mel under all that confusion and provincial morality and his love would be welcome in my home any day, but it was definitely better for him to figure out his way in this life at his own pace.

He shook his head. “It never occurred to me that aliens would have history, or historical societies. I’ll go,” he said. His guss drifted out with his arms as I watched him stretch. He looked charming and I found myself deliberately turning away.

When he was finished, I said, “Come on, then. Grab your jacket.” I walked to the edge of the Castle roof and jumped. The gravitics let me down easy onto the sand.

He followed, looking a bit queasy on the way down. “I’ll never get used to these things,” he said. “And I hope that I don’t jump someday thinking there’s going to be something there to catch me and it’s not.”

“Just remember to ask first,” I said.

I led him through the crack in the rock that led from the lagoon to the ocean. Sitting on the sand just meters from the retreating surf sat three gleaming white and chrome vehicles. Even in their powered-down configuration they had the intimidation factor of a giant dragonfly. Two meters high, barely two wide and about four-and-a-half long, these were among my most prized antiques. In answer to the question already forming in his head I said, “They’re usually called Tokyo Police Copters. In the second century, what Terra calls their twenty-first, they were used in the Terran nation-states of the Pacific Rim by law enforcement officers. That mount in the front contains a tracking infra-red camera for finding fugitives; the helmet has a full range of heads-up capability. The helicopter has predictive auto-avoidance systems so you can’t run into buildings or hit them with your blades.

“Anyway, that one on the right is yours. Aaden and I had it built for you. It contains a ‘taur bench seat and the controls have been modified to resemble those of your Forcassa Basic Attack Copter model twos, the ones you flew before the second war. Go ahead, try it out.”

With a delighted grin and not so much as a ‘Thank you,’ Sandahl walked up to the menacing-looking vehicle and found the pilot’s cage. He stepped over it and the ‘taur bench and settled in, looking for the straps and seatbelts. After a few minutes, he pulled on the helmet. “How does it fit?”

He grunted. “It’s passable.”

I laughed. It was probably the most comfortable helmet he’d ever owned in his life; it form-fitted to his head, finding the medium between effective safety and maximum comfort. “We don’t need special outfits to fly them, although if the weather were any cooler we’d probably want more than just a leather jacket. Just the helmets. I took the liberty of packing spare clothes and stuff in the storage compartment under your seat for you.”

He nodded. Aaden joined us and a few minutes later we were in the air. I asked Sandahl how the controls felt. “They’re accurate enough. It’s very quick, though. It’ll take a little getting used to. And I’m not used to the wind. It doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s probably louder than you remember,” Aaden replied. “It’s an Internal Combustion Engine, Rotary Design. Your FBACs used an electrically-driven engine. So the TPC is going to be significantly louder.”

“So that’s what I’m hearing!” Sandahl replied. “It doesn’t sound as loud as I would think.”

“Your helmet is putting out cancellation to protect your hearing,” Aaden pointed out. “Let’s fly to the Shipping SDisk S111. Ken, you get behind me. Sandahl, you’re to the right.”

“Got it,” Sandahl said, taking up position as casually as if he’d been born to it. Like three giant insects, we set off across the ocean. When we got to the SDisk, we hovered, circling each other briefly and politely, before the world again blinked and we found ourselves hovering over a vast field of flat, green grass. “Looks like Alias,” I said with a laugh. Aaden’s chuckle replied in my headphones. The largest field of grass in the entire universe, as far as anyone knew; a plain to put the great plains of Terra to shame, because the Plain of Alias had as much surface area as several Earths. “This way,” Aaden said, ticking the stick over and angling forward. Sandahl and I followed.

“I’ll never get used to flying without a horizon,” Sandahl muttered. “I feel like I’m constantly about to run straight into the ground and I should pull up.”

“It’ll take a while to overcome a lifetime of habit, but it’ll happen. Besides, wait a century or so and you’ll be able to go back to Ritacha and fly there.”

“I’ll never get used to that either. The idea that you guys are going to rebuild a planet.”

“Well,” I responded, “it isn’t something we do every day.”

“No, just twice in one century,” Aaden chuckled.

The voice of AI Yuri, flight control for HOMOS, came through loud and clear in our ears. “I am tracking three Tokyo Copters coming in low from S735. I assume that’s you, Ken and Aaden?”

“You assume correctly, Yuri. Nice to hear from you again,” Aaden said into his mic.

“And to see you again, Pilot Satpulov. I’m sending you a vector. I assume you’re using protocol 2033?”

“Yes, and I’ve got the vector. Thanks, Yuri.”

“Just remember, you’re parked in the light VTOL area; watch for others.”

“As always. Out.”

We found our campsite, hovering over it carefully. In my helmet I could see four other flight vehicles vying for the airspace. We agreed that Sandahl should put down first. I wasn’t surprised, however, when he managed to drop it into the designated space as if he’d been flying TPCs for years. Aaden and I calmly put down beside him, grateful for the lack of wind.

Sandahl couldn’t contain his pleasure as he took his helmet off. He had been trying to hold in his feelings the past couple of weeks, but this time I’d managed to create a real chink in that fresh layer of armor. “Thank you!” he said, bounding over to me, his tail wagging in a way that could only make me laugh. He grabbed me and hugged hard, startling me completely.

I managed to find my composure long enough to hug him back, hard, and over his shoulder I saw the tall, graceful figure of an Uncia walking toward us. Aaden intercepted her before I managed to say anything and said, quite deliberately, “Hello. You must be Wildcard.”

Kekashkah stopped and said, “Wildcard?”

Sandahl turned at the sound of her voice. “Kashkah!”

“Sandahl! I thought it was you coming in. Ken told me you were going to be here.”

“Me too,” he said, his grin pulling his ears positively vertical. “Have you ever flown one of these thing? They’re wonderful!”

She chuckled. “No, I can’t say as I have.” She turned back to Aaden. “And what’s this ‘Wildcard’ business about?”

I answered her question. “That’s our nickname for you back at Alpha. Since you’ve forced our hand, so to speak, regarding Sandahl’s privacy, we’ve taken to calling you ‘Wildcard’ in our documentation. You’re an element over which we can’t make any changes.”

“And I’m happy for that!” Sandahl said.

She gave him another hug and nodded. “‘Wildcard,’ huh. It makes me sound like some sort of kid’s-book superhero.”

“Can you leap over tall buildings in a single bound?” Aaden asked.

“Not without power armor.” She immediately took to ignoring us– a healthy maneuver. “So, lover, where do you want to go first?”

“Let’s see your swords.”

“Flatterer.”

Aaden touched my shoulder. “I’m going over to the Prop Engines section.”

I nodded. “I’ll set up the tent by myself then.”

“As if that’s an effort.”

I chuckled. In truth, setting up the tent took less than ten minutes, since it mostly assembled itself. The hardest part was placing the stakes, which dug their own holes. After that, I looked up and wondered what to do next.

It was funny, but inside I was finding myself craving male company. Maybe it was Sandahl’s squeamishness about my bisexuality; his reticence made me restrain myself whenever I was around Aaden, and that was not something I was at all comfortable with. Have suppressed it so strongly, I suddenly found myself wanting more of it. Of course, part of that was probably also Tylia’s fault. I’ve been spending too much of my time with girls.

I wandered around, as always attracted to the bigger things. I would see Kekashkah’s collection of Russian swords and armor later. Instead, I strayed past the Main Battle Tanks section and found myself walking along the border separating the main of the HOMOS camp from the SMOF people. “Ken!”

“Sergei!” I shouted back, identifying where the voice had come from. The decidedly heavyset Satryl mechanic walked over from where he had been sitting, beneath the shade of his two-legged… mecha, I guess. There’s no other word for what the SMOF people create. It was a classic vehicle, a monstrosity in white with wings that looked liked they belonged on a giant mosquito. I walked up and gave him a hug. “Good to see you!”

“And you. How is that old armor I gave you?”

“I gave it to a friend. She needed it more than I did. She’ll do it proud.”

“So you need a new suit?” he asked.

“No, a friend made me a new one. Fezzik.” He nodded, recognizing the name. “Anyway, Sergei, I came by to see the new creations. This one must be yours. Does it fly?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I would not call it a smooth ride, but it will fly.”

I looked over the other craft in his rather large lot. One caught my eye. “You like that one?” he asked, noticing the way my eyes lingered over it. The vehicle itself was an interesting piece of work; a curvy tripod, two legs in front and one rear, it towered about fifteen meters. It was the color of a construction site, that safety orange every other working vehicle is slathered in. The legs were articulated; clearly, this thing was meant to walk, although I recognized a pair of fusion drives in the back meant for flight. Three large howitzer-type barrels extended out of a hardpoint in the rear at the commonplace and somehow suggestive 30 degree angle.

“I guess I kinda like it,” I admitted. “I definitely like the pilot.”

“Yes,” he said, dragging out that one syllable. “That all-glass canopy does reveal much, does it not? And the prone bench.”

“Yes. Does lovely things to her, shall we say, profile? And I like white jumpsuits.”

“I shall make a note of it,” Sergei chuckled, then reached into a pocket of his windbreaker and clicked something. “Ally? Could you come down here? I have an old friend for you to meet.”

An over-the-side ladderpole extended from the far side of the vehicle whose pilot we had been appraising and she slid down it expertly. I recognized that mountain of hair and those beautiful, inhuman ears immediately. “Ally? Ally Kowling?” I said, walking up. “It is you! Goddesses galore, it must be over a century since I last saw you!”

“Ken!” She hugged me tightly and I returned it just as tightly. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too! So you hang out with the SMOF people nowadays?”

“Yeah, well.” She blushed. “You know me and big guns.”

“Yeah, you and your sister and big guns. Is she here?”

She shook her head. “She’s playing with a friend. It’s nice having a little time to myself. Everyone thinks we’re a unit. So, did you bring your two ‘copters down?”

I nodded. “Three this time.”

“Three?” she asked, holding up three fingers as if to confirms what she’d heard. “When did you get a third? For that matter, where did you get a third from?”

“It’s not real, it’s a kit build. Fitted for ‘taur. Ritan, actually. Aaden made it.”

“The Ritan is here?” she asked. “Can I meet him? Can I?” She bounced up and down with a childish glee, giving me that smile that melts men’s hearts in the process.

I laughed. “Ally!” She stopped bouncing. “I’ll see what I can do.” I gestured up at the mecha she’d been demonstrating. “So this thing is yours?”

“Yep! Built it myself down at the Castle Rhysh Shipyards, even. That was fun. Took nearly six years to get all the parts together. The guns work, too. 30mm BlueRails.”

“Cool,” I said. “It shoots through schools.”

She looked at me with a dubious expression in her eyes and ears. “I don’t think I’ll being using them for that.”

“It’s an old joke,” I said. “An old and very, very obscure joke.”

“So what are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t have any plans, really. My camp’s over that hill over there, with the scout helicopters crowd of course.”

“You wanna come to a party tonight? SMOF’s throwing one. We’re gonna show old Anime movies.”

And what else is new?


I decided to go to the party. I hadn’t been able to convince Sandahl to come– he and Kashkah had other plans and I had no right to object. As I walked in through the tent flap, someone handed me a bottle even before acknowledging who I was. I gave it a cautious sniff to determine that it was beer, and not bad beer at that. Giving it a swig, I walked into the crowd. It was a pretty quiet crowd, the kind I’ve come to expect from groups like this, groups that are serious about their art and their science. These people were specialists, and their specialty was bringing fantasy to life. They have enough releases. Chemicals and loud music rarely make sense to people like this.

I found Ally at the center of a collection of males who hovered around her likes bees around saccharine, liking the smell but not entirely sure if they’d found the real thing. Ally had her own legends, as soldier, sadomasochist, and special operative. How anyone thought she could be a spy with those ears I have no idea. But somehow that moniker had stuck. She did have a checkered past and she did some jobs for the Pendorian Special Services, but none of them quite qualified as anything more than glorified… how did she put it? Oh, yes, “high speed cargo transfer in non-standard ports.”

I walked over to the table where more party favors were being doled out and picked up a cooler for her before walking over. “Excuse me,” I said to a very cute Vulpin, who recognized me immediately and got out of my way with an emphatic “Excuse me, sir.” I rolled my eyes and watched Ally grin as I handed her the cooler.

She tilted her chin up at me and I leaned over to give her a kiss on her cheek. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Is that all?” I mimicked to her. “What do you mean? That’s more than we’ve had between us in the past several centuries.”

“I think that’s more than we’ve had in all the time we’ve known each other, actually.”

“That depends. We’ve played. I don’t recall us ever kissing, though. So who are your friends?”

Ally made introductions, passing around the names of the people before us and the roles they played in the Society of Military Ordinance Fantasy. SMOF, despite all my earlier grousing, had a respected place in the hearts of many Pendorians. We are a world of tinkerers and these people tinkered more than most. They created new machines from the fevered imaginations of the past and their own two hands. They also had created many instances of mechanical origami, machines that transformed from one shape into another. Although none of these designs would ever be fit for combat– the cost of enabling transformation made the machines themselves too weak to carry battle hardware compared to dedicated machines– there was an eerie beauty to watching them change form.

It was only their inclusion in HOMOS that irked many people, myself included. But in truth a lot of military ordinance was heading into history. Battle in space was a matter of unrestrained bloodshed; Mutual Assured Destruction was the order of the day and it sometimes depressed me to think that that was the end result of our evolution.

“Ken here has a fantasy piece in the HOMOS section,” Ally was saying. Hearing my name taken in vain like that, I looked up and objected. “But you do. You have a Tokyo Hornet fitted for a ‘taur.”

“That’s a kit build my coimelin did. It just happens to be in my camp next to two authentic restorations. Just because I have a rebuild for a Ritan doesn’t mean I’m going with the fantasy people.”

“But, Shardik, surely you acknowledge that the Fantasy people have pushed forward a lot of the kinds of technology we here use today?” asked a striking white-and-rud femMephit.

“Such as?”

“Sauron is a member of SMOF,” she pointed out, using the popular nickname for Sarren Macrile, a Pendorian engineer artist who specialized in security equipment. “She gets her ideas from the same places we all do, reading fantasy material to find unusual or striking designs that would never occur to bland, boring designers.”

I thought about it. Sauron’s seccor robots were some of the most gorgeous machines I’d ever seen. I actually had four of them for my own security at public appearances and I had to agree that they were indeed absolutely lovely creations. Compared to a straight security robot, they were statuesque designs of gleaming chrome, steel and light. Some of her non-practical designs had a creepiness all their own, though; one line that she claimed were fully functional were little more than the skeletons of the monsters they represented. “Okay, fine. Macrile’s designs are wonderful. But…”

“But what?” Ally asked. “The rest of us have our own hobbies. We don’t all design transformers. And some of us are serious military historians in our own right. It’s just that the idea of creating something new, something people once only dreamed of, is what makes SMOF interesting.”

“Okay, I’ll grant you that.” I tried to steer Ally away from the crowd, and they willingly allowed us to part. “So,” I whispered to her. “You said you had an idea for an interesting evening other than us sitting around with a bunch of your fellow nerds and talking about what-if’s?”

She glanced around the room, making sure that we were only being surreptitiously watched (although I’m quite sure that we were being watched by quite a few), then put her arms around my neck and pulled me close. In a heartbeat our bodies were molding together, the scent of her hair rich in my nostrils. “I want to take you someplace and cuddle you.”

“Just cuddle?” I asked, at that moment really willing to give her whatever she wanted.

“Cuddle… and more.” She looked up at me, and I looked into warm pools of friendship many centuries unwarmed. “We’ve only been together twice, Ken, and both times we were in Rhysh, surrounded by very formal settings and very formal peoples. I’d rather we just went somewhere without rules and held one another. You still owe me for bowing out of an orgy one night.”

“Got anyplace in particular?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm. My ship.”

“Then you lead the way,” I said. “It’s your ship.”

She took my hand and led me out of the noisy tent and into the cool evening. It was a perfect night; a few clouds painted a clear sky in which stars twinkled fiercely through Pendor’s dense atmosphere. I heard the noise of engines in the distance and the laughter of other parties. Most of the people who would be attending HOMOS and SMOF had arrived by now. Reunited old friendships and kindled new loves would both happen this night as they did every night, at every outdoorsy convention to which I had ever attended.

Ally picked up the ropes that closed off her group’s section. Two white aircraft with legs stood next to her orange artillery carrier, their noses pointed proudly toward the sky. Compared to them, her diminutive craft with its big guns suggested penis envy, although the idea of someone as solid as Ally having that legendary condition seemed ridiculous to me. I didn’t question it, though, as she led me to the hardwire ladder that extended from the cabin. “Climb up,” she said.

Inside the cockpit I found room for two and then some. Clearly this wasn’t intended to be a functional military vehicle in that sense of the word. There was too much room around the lower bench. The rear seat was just that, a bucket chair. “Why two different layouts?” I asked her as she came over the side and closed the large glass canopy over our heads.

“This is for general piloting,” she said, running a palm over the bench, “And that one’s for insertions.”

“What kind of insertions?” I asked, innocently.

“All kinds of insertions,” she said, turning to face me, her legs straddling the bench. “Orbital insertions, atmospheric insertions, that kind.” She leaned forward, her face just a few inches from my own. “You know,” she murmured softly, “this ship has a universal coupling.”

I may be dense, but I’m not that dense. “Anything can couple with this ship?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice taking on a husky tone. “It’s a tight fit, though.”

“I’m sure,” I said. I kissed her mouth finally. Her kiss was enthusiastic and gentle at the same time. I could finally taste her the way I wanted to, without rules or obligations or gamesmanship in question.

My hands sought out her magnificent breasts through the material of the jacket she wore to keep out the evening’s chill. I found the zipper that held it closed and pulled it down slowly even as our tongues wrestled. It was kinda funny how my attention seemed to sweep back and forth from our kiss to my slow undressing of her.

Her hand brushed against mine and pushed it away. “Let me,” she said, scooting back along the bench.

“Be my guest,” I agreed.

She pulled down the zipper slowly and tossed the jacket into the front footwell. “This is my ship. You’re my guest in here, remember?”

“How can I forget? It’s not exactly a color I’d choose for my own vessel.” She returned the grin as she slid a hand into the velcro strip that held her white jumpsuit closed. Jumpsuits had been a favorite with her a few centuries ago and I was pleased to see that some things never change. Especially on a frame as lovely as hers.

As she peeled herself out of her clothing, her breasts bobbed, full and lovely. I’d forgotten how perfect they looked, how simple and natural they looked. She leaned forward, her smile wide as she offered them to me. “You’re staring.”

“You’re very beautiful.”

“You mean, these are,” she said, cupping her breasts in her hands, making the offer even more explicit.

“No,” I said, “You are.” I looked up into her eyes. “You always have been, Ally. Although you’re looking better now than when you were with what’s-his-name. Mika.”

She nodded. “That wasn’t a good time. I wanted so much to please him but he likes his women so skinny– Did I tell you I ended up in Cutters once because of him? I was so starving myself to be what he wanted that I started to experience geriatric effects.”

I reached up with one hand behind her neck and pulled her down toward me. “You look so much more beautiful with a figure, Ally.” Our mouths met, and this time I let my hands reach up to touch her breasts, her gently rounded belly, the line of the bottom half of her jumpsuit. I pushed them down over her hips and exposed the rest of her to my wandering fingers.

“We have to get you out of your clothes now,” she whispered, her fingers tugging at the sides of my t-shirt. I let her pull it off, then tossed aside the long skirt I’d worn this afternoon for the party. Not the sort of thing one wears when flying but I hadn’t anticipated doing any during the party and they’re very comfortable. Soon naked, we tumbled together onto the bench, my back up against the support chair used for high-speed maneuvers. In that position, she leered down at me and instantly went for my hard cock, taking it into her mouth in one smooth gulp. “Ally!” I gasped.

“Mmm?” she said.

“Nothing,” I breathed. “Do what you like.”

She did, caressing my hard cock with her soft, almost velvety mouth. I felt the friction of her lips caress their way down the length of my shaft, the heat of her tongue slathering the length of it. I wove my fingers into her strands of soft, white hair and held her but did not hold her down. The bench caused her to push her ass prettily in the air, just as I had seen this afternoon. I wanted to touch her, caress her but the most I could reach was halfway down the length of her back. Her breasts suggestively caressed my thighs as her head bobbed. Curiously, my erection flagged. She had a mouth almost too soft– I wasn’t getting very much friction from it.

I placed a hand under her chin and lifted her head. She had a puzzled look on her face as I leaned down to kiss. “Save it for something else,” I said.

She nodded, but didn’t look too sure. I leaned her backward, further, until she toppled over, her head resting in what was usually the chinrest of the bench, her legs splayed on either side. I found the angle very pretty all the same as I kissed her belly. She grinned at me and I stuck my tongue out at her. “My,” she said, “What a big tongue you have.”

“All the better to eat you with, my dear,” I smiled as I kissed her belly again, then her mound. A full share of pubic hair obscured my view of her beauties within, but the smell curled around inside my brain, a sweet, coppery scent that immediately entranced me. I parted those delicate white curls and peered at her inner mystery. I didn’t recall her lips being so long or so thin. Her hood completely covered her clitoris.

I bent to apply my tongue to her cunt. “Oh, yes,” she sighed as I found her full clitoris still under its hood. I tugged at the hood with my tongue but she touched my cheek “Don’t. Too much, it hurts. Just the top. High up.”

I followed her instructions, sliding upward and licking her clitoris through the hood. I could feel it, a dense ridge of flesh under a fold of delicate skin. Every firm stroke of my tongue was rewarded with a soft moan and a jerk of her hips and belly. Clearly, I had found a sweet spot.

I licked a little harder, and she objected. “Too hard,” she objected. Small complaints aside, the moans from her told me I was doing a good job, but this time her hands pulled me toward her mouth. Our eyes met for a moment and then our kiss closed again, her tongue licking my lips. “Save it for later,” she said, returning my comment.

She sat up, pushing me back against the angled back. “Aww,” she said, her hand closing on my cock. “It went down.”

“It comes back up,” I said.

“Mm-hmm.” She closed her hand around it, stroking it. Unlike her soft mouth, her insistent hands brought my cock immediately to life. Once again a solid shaft, she turned around and presented her ass to me. I guided her down onto my cock, and watched with a fascination I hope I never lose as my cock disappeared into her cunt. Warmth folded around my cock as she backed completely into me, her butt pressed against my belly. Her asshole winked up at against, tempting me to think other lascivious thoughts. But my goal now was to fuck Ally well.

I gripped her butt and her head bobbed, nodding. “That’s it.”

She pulled away just a little, and I pulled her back. We established a rhythm, a rocking one. For the first time since we’d started, I looked up at the stars and realized that if I could see out of the canopy then someone could see in. “Screw it,” I sighed, and pulled Ally toward me again, keeping up my half of the rhythm.

“Huh?” she said, turning her head back toward me.

“Can people see in?”

“No,” she said, turning her head back and shaking it. “One way.”

“Oh, good,” I said.

The rhythm kept up, solid and strong. I felt my orgasm rising, and the growls coming from her told me that she was clearly enjoying her end of things. I felt a shiver run through me, a sharp bolt of pleasure that told me the end was nigh. I wrapped my hands down around her hips.

I began pushing back faster and harder, thrusting deeply into her. “Yah!” she yipped softly as the sex grew in ferocity. Another shiver, and another, and suddenly the tension was too much. I could not hold back, and I came with a surprised, joyous yell.

We lay there, quivering against one another. A minute or two passed before she began crawling away from me, turning over with a grin. “You’re pretty good as a lover, you know.”

I replied to her comment with a smile and a warm heart. “You’re being kind.”

“No, really,” she said. She eased closer to me and hugged me. “Are you expected back at your camp?”

“I think so. But if you want someone to cuddle, I’d be willing to make changes.”

She thought about it for a few minutes. “You’re sure it wouldn’t be a problem?”

“Got a radio?”

She gestured to the front of the cabin. I toggled the radio. “Yuri?”

“Here.”

“Connect me to my campsite, would you?”

“They’ve all gone to sleep. Aaden left the message, ‘Have a good night, Ken, wherever you end up.’“

I chuckled. “I guess I’m not expected back after all.”

She took my hand. “Come on, let’s go back to my tent. There’s more room there.”

I let her pull me along to the ascent ladder. The crossbars disappeared into the shaft of the ladder, turning it into a solid pole, and she slid down. I followed her, being careful of my hands on the slick pole. A light rain had begun. Her tent was dry, and her body was warm.

So much for male attention.