I’ve been working on another steamy story. Birdwatchers, it’s called.
It started out as a short writing experiment, but the words kept flowing and in no time, it got to a thousand words. Then another thousand. These words might not all make it to the final version, but here, have a look:
It’s quiet here. Tourists don’t hike this far up the mountain. She knows it. She doesn’t bother looking around before slipping a hand into her bikini bottom. The motion of her fingers is obvious beneath the fluttering fabric.
Her breathing deepens into a rhythm. Her chest rises and falls, lifting and lowering the book she clutches in her left hand while her right one shudders between her legs. Her belly is tight. Her crimson lips are a soft and pouting O.
“Oh!” she cries. But her voice is swallowed by the forest.
Her canary yellow picnic blanket is crumpled in a nest around her. She is turbulent, swept away by a squall. It whips her until her body starts to tremble, her headscarf comes loose and, finally, she drops the book.
“Oh!” she cries again, and arches her back against the rock bed. Her sunglasses topple off her face. Her eyes are hummingbird green and beating their wings in the storm.
It still needs some work, but I hope you like it. I’m aiming to have this one out in October.
Img via CardinalComms (CC0)