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Ramble on Sex

by CKing
© June 1999

Do you lust after women like I do?
Do you just need to feel it sometimes just to feel it?
Sure, its that much better when you know someone or you're "in love" but sometimes you just fricken need it.

My body suffers withdrawals and I long to hold a woman sometimes. I just can't get enough. I'm pretty feminine as feminine goes. I were dresses without much prodding. Even look pretty good in them, so my friends say. Couple years ago, with my last girlfriend, we even wore our black hose, spiked heels and short black cocktail dresses to the office Christmas party and our slow dance almost killed off a few of the older folks.

I don't care. I love breasts. I love the feel of a woman's nipple in my mouth. Between my fingers. Exploring the folds of a woman's cunt, spreading her wings and touching her hottest points. It gets me off.

Maybe its that I am such a woman I know what I like and I try it all. Maybe because I know the depths of that orgasm I want it all.

I want to just ramble about sex with a woman. Because I'm a woman and I lust so for that feeling, that touch.

When I'm lying beside her and reach down and feel that wet hot juice on my fingers at her crotch. I'm ecstatic. To feel my own clit tingle and shake, fill with blood and throb with want with just touching into her flowing cavern. I know all the places I want to explore. I know all the places to seek her out. It's all those places I like and then some. It's all those places that respond and then some.

I was gay before I was married, then stupid for a while. Been there done that. Now I have secured my destiny. Come out of the closet and proclaimed my lust for women. Fully. Dutifully. I am free.

You can't hardly describe the level. Unless you've been there you'd think I was dreaming. Cascade after cascade of pure rushes of pleasure. To the pit of my stomach. To the very tips of my toes. Orgasms that pull from every muscle every nerve its last fortress of hold. To then let it all go in the most highest of ecstasy as the rushes pass through your body. The tremors. The fricken tremors afterward are a statement in their own right at the intenseness of the moment. If you haven't felt the tremors get yourself another woman!

Pure body shakes. The most delightful of delightful. And can you explore. Part of my most wonderful memories and the part of my future I look most fondly towards is the darn exploration. Discovering a woman so minutely, to every fine point of her most precious spots. That excites me most.

Now don't let me get you wrong. There is sex that is sex with someone you don't know so well that might not even last that blows your doors off. But that learned pleasure, after many nights of love making, that is the cake. Learning what is the right spot. Making it drip from touch one. That is the best thrill. And it gets better. You can't deny that as you learn and explore and are at ease with the exploration it only gets better.

Do you know that to this day I still suck my breath in if I'm in my car and remember that very moment that my former lover let me penetrate her butt. Really. The feeling of my finger pushing in around her virgin hole and the muscles relaxing to let me in. The strange pleasure that wreathed through me when I could actually touch, with my finger through her anus, the finger I had deep inside her vagina?

AAAhhhh, such pleasures we recall. I want to ramble about sex with a woman. Her erect hard nipples brushing against my erect hard nipples. The feeling of her waist and her belly button below my touch. Darn, women have such attractive, calling bodies.

You know, I never really got off on picturing a penis penetrating a clit. I enjoyed more the picture of two clits, their lips flooded and bursting, the hard tips touching and folding together between themselves and the pouring of hot juices mixing at the contact.

OK. So feeling a woman's pouring juices REALLY gets me off.
Because I am a woman and know how it feels I am that much more gentle. Because I know as a woman the very areas to search I am that much more critical. Because I know what I like, I am that much more rhythmic.... building.

Some people ask me if I miss the penetration of a man. I tell them that's what they make fingers and toys for. Sometimes do I miss the ejaculation inside me? I've had a few women that actually squirt and it feels just as good. Just grab me. Just stroke me. Just make me feel it all with your fingers and your pussy and I won't miss a thing.

At times I have longed so to be inside a woman. Just really be inside her and I've been frustrated at the combination of body parts that two women try to mesh. If I didn't have a male penal reference I probably wouldn't even have thought to think about it. But occasionally as much as I want to be inside her, I do. Not just my fingers. But a soft, pliable part of me that can be inside her and feel it all. Squirt her insides out with my love juices and feel the inside response. My fingers are sensitive and I've felt it. My clit and nipples have felt it too. I don't feel left out or insensitive. But I wonder if I had some part of me to wholly stick into her and feel her muscles more around it than my finger I would.

Being a woman's woman is even that much harder. Picture such lusting for nipples and rubbing them together. Picture the hairs of our pussies intertwined and know my desire. See the wetness come together and the beauty of two desirous women coming together and picture it all.

It's like when my tongue stroked my last lover. I was more excited about tasting her taste and smelling her body's smells then actually eating her. Sure, I wanted it all and I got her there. But more of the fun to me was slowly spreading her cunt lips. Playing back with her pubic hair. Lapping up the "pre-game" flash floods. Sure the ecstasy was flicking her clit head into oblivion. Sure it was the swelling of her whole cunt that set me afire. Just feeling her lips spread beneath my tongue was my own pleasure. But the most erotic was the act of doing it, with a woman, to a woman, being a woman.

I don't want to touch on the ESP. The difference in levels is too much. It's there so boldly that you have even more a time trying to describe it in words then you can orgasms. The all sensing. The all feeling. It's the prerequisite to great love. What no man was given as God's great creation to feel but for women. That is the awe. That is the perseverance beyond just making love.

But I'm here to ramble about sex with a woman. So I pour out in come between my legs when I am laying beside one and just running my hands up and down her waist from her nipples to her mound. So I really have a craving to tug at taught nipples and brush mine in her face. I sound harsh but my body is soft. I feel strong with my plunges within but my fingers stroke easily and gently too.

When I take my dress off above my head and my tanned body is showing my nipples hard and erect, my legs seeping with wetness and desire all I want is her nipples, her wet cunt and I am in heaven with the ability to touch it. Hold it.

A woman making love to a woman. Knowing most of the places. Conscious of the needs and responses. Just the thought of a woman beside me in my bed makes me light headed and horny.

My ramblings about sex? Just touch her. Help her feel her body as you feel it. Ring forth the multiple orgasms and let in the stuff that follows with it. The ESP, the feelings, the nurturing, the common sense for each other. That is the part that is usually first that creates your sodder. Trust, lust and want create your endeavor.

What ecstasy do I reap as I find a woman to make love to? All my worlds pleasures and pain wrapped up into one long exploding orgasm with a woman that is felt to my toes. Can't ask for more. But I can surely learn and from there do it always better!

I sure do lust after women. Just a woman's body against mine. I won't admit that it happens way to seldom. Because I am also so aware of the connection, the desire, for it to be my soul mate. Until then I try it all or at least some. See my body suffers withdrawals if I don't have orgasms too often. It does cure all anyway. So I just have to see. How many orgasms will I be blessed with this month.

~~~~~~


My Week On Crew

by CKing
© July 1999

A friend who had worked many crew weeks in years past clearing trails on the Appalachian had talked me into it. Several months ago I signed up for it. This past week, I actually did it...and survived! The first ever all women led, all women work crew to participate in trail clearing and building on the Appalachian Trial system.

The Appalachian Trail Conference is a non-profit, low-key focused environmental organization that for the past three quarters of a century has worked with individuals, groups and governmental agencies to create and maintain over 2,100 miles of wilderness footpaths from Maine to Georgia through one of the most popular corridors in our nation. In 1921 the Appalachian Trial system was started by a forester Benton Mackaye and within 15 years there were beginning paths stretching from Katahdin, Maine to Springer Mountain Georgia. The ATC was established in 1925 to coordinate efforts between different hiking and maintenance groups along the trail as well as to decide routes and trail management problems. In 1982 the US Forest Service began supplemental funding for the ATC to sponsor work crew programs. The crew program was originally based at an old Lutheran Girl’s School in Konnarock, Virginia before moving to its current location in Sugar Grove, Virginia near Mt. Rogers.

Our crew was assigned to Konnarock as a base camp and our field base was off the Upper Paint Creek Road near Hot Springs, North Carolina about an hour north of Asheville. You have one gathering night at base camp to meet leaders and crew mates before shipping off the next morning to set up field camp and still be at the work site by lunch.

Now I had arranged for the kids to have their visitation with their father for the week, lined up a co-worker to cover my files for the week and packed as much as I thought I would need for a week in the woods but still had no idea what I’d really be doing. My friend had said allot about “clearing scrub”, “moving rocks” and “no showers”, but as a 39 year old mother of 3 that was pretty active and adventurous I still questioned my own ability to fit the bill. It didn’t really hit me the importance of this being the first all women’s crew until we really set out on our tasks.

We had a very diverse mix of women from across the country. Most had, that impressed me enough, heard about the volunteer crew over the internet. The rest of us had learned about it through friends or associates working within the Appalachian Trail Conference or a sister group Natahala Outdoor Centers.

There were two college students, one from Colorado and one from Florida State. A nurse that was taking the summer off to lead trail crews before hitting a hospital in one state or another. A painter, writer from the western North Carolina mountains who had lots of trail experience with mixed crews. A state social worker from New Orleans that was 53 and out sledged us all. A secretary from New Jersey that had walked many trails but was working her first crew work weeks with us. An office worker, writer that was working the summer at the ATC in base camp coordination that also took a turn to lead crew. And me, mother, Realtor, and wild woman from Charlotte, North Carolina. Some were in their second week of crew. Some were working this week and yet another to follow and some, like myself were just there for the one women’s work week.

On Thursday morning the van kept going further and further up the mountain gravel road towards the top of Upper Paint Creek. Near the top, after 30 minutes of bouncing pits and loose gravel there was a surprising section of asphalt. One of our leaders, Jenny, explained that many years ago there had once been an attempt at a ski resort on this mountain to no avail with the shifts in winter seasons for the area and now only a lone gutted A-frame disintegrated off the road along with the dwindling patches of asphalt.

The van stopped and we were pointed towards “field camp”. A path that lead to a crossing point of the Appalachian Trail about a half mile off the road about 200 feet from a nice very cold creek. We were instructed to pitch our tents and set up the base kitchen. Please understand that this is after hauling, in several trips, all the coolers, tents, equipment and necessities for the week. We helped each other with tents and tarps. Two dug the privy.

We were told to make a lunch and pack water and snacks into our day packs and set back off for the van. No, we didn’t rest between. I have memorized that trek. Over the creek, down the path past the two downed trees, up the grade, over the old creek bed, up more grade, through the weeds, then to the road.

The van then took us another 1/2 mile to the bottom of the mountain edge we’d be working on. We loaded backpacks with sledges, rock picks, axes, clippers, shin guards and hard-hats. And our day packs. And the medical pack. We were then trailed back to the start of “our section”. This would be a new section of the AT that would open sometime next year. After 20 minutes of hiking back further on the trail we started up the mountain face where previous crews had fashioned sections of 25 feet, then 30 feet then 20 more feet of completed trail and rock steps. It would only be after another 48 hours that I would truly appreciate the work that I now stumbled onto as we hiked towards our section. Suddenly the cleared area ended. The rocks were jumbled and slick. Rhododendron and brush filled the pink flagged trail. This was our section.

In brief, the crew leaders pointed out areas that we would build steps, clear Rhodo and fashion pathways. We all looked at each other and our laughs were very strained. We were all still sweating profusely from the hike in with all the equipment and we were on this side of a mountain, a bunch of women, setting out to clear this trail and most of us had never done this before. Our crew leaders were very good in pairing us up and assigning tasks to break us in. Ultimately concerned with safety first they instructed us in the use of the rock bars, picks, sledges and other moving tools. For the next four plus hours we started right in on it. Moving just one huge rock at a time onto a prepared base of crushed rock. Pushing it, pulling it, turning it perhaps three times until it set firm and solid in its final place. It wasn’t until halfway through the second day that we actually were amazed at our accomplishments and saw two or three steps together, completed, that accounted for all the hours spent.

Those first few work hours melded us all as a group. Learning together. Passing each other tools. Watching out not to squish a finger. Working together to do it right. Breaking around 3:00 to eat granola bars, fruit and chocolate, we looked at each other with tired, dirty smiles as we tried to catch our breath among the scrub and broken rock around us. For a moment, I realized that even though this was my vacation, they had a time clock. Goals to complete. In signing up for volunteer trail crew, you agree to work. ATC provides all the tools, the site, the food, the supervision, but you agree to work. And even on that first day, we worked until 5:00 PM!

My first field night was a blur. My muscles ached and I was so dirty. I was determined to be half clean and triumphed the freezing cold spring fed creek by camp....including my hair! I was amazed by the camp fare. Delicious beans on rice, salad and something that looked like mud but was actually pretty good tasting peanut butter pie. The assortment of snacks, breakfast stuff and lunch material was great to all have been packed in inside coolers. The call was to be up by 7:00 AM and have breakfast eaten, lunches, snacks and water packed with cleanup completed to be at the work site by 8:30. I went to bed for the first time in many years at 9:00 PM. I took two Tylenol and couldn’t have turned over if I tried.

For days we worked, we laughed, we learned about each other and ourselves. Personally, I never felt more scared at times that I would fall down in exhaustion or have a heart attack. Or that I’d fall from the mountain with a simple turn of my ankle. But I took deep breaths. I looked around at my surroundings. The women I was working with. The nature that I was within and I was so OK with it all. The hard work. The grind. The test of my body, my strength. A couple times I watched out for myself and stopped sledging to take a water break or walked slower down the trail back to the van. But I was so proud of myself for being able to hang with all those younger women! I felt a camaraderie with the woman from Louisiana. I told her how amazed I was at her attitude and physical shape at 53. She made me feel good that I was keeping up with the others with my ability to “sledge” which is taking slab rocks and sledging them into 2 inch chips to fill between rocks and as step bases and still singing and hopping around.

Several times we worked in light rain or just after heavy drizzle. Muddy and slippery, the rocks were not easy to work with. We swapped off teams and the crew leaders let us work out our own sections at times and worked with us on others. To learn the tools was so great. To work together in making something firm and strong to last for years was an endeavor. It was too cool.

We rotated meal prep and clean up. Our conversations around field camp ranged from the most absurd and silly to the depths of philosophies, emotions and politics. One thing that we discussed at length throughout our week was the advantage, the special feeling of this being an all women’s crew. That we could dress half naked at dinner after creek baths. The things we could talk about together as women. Not competing at the work site but working together to accomplish the task. Things that as women we all identified with and felt somewhat the same about. We didn’t down men, but some of the girls had been just the week before on the mixed crew week as a part of their two-week sign-up. They noticed the differences. We talked about our advantage. The importance of this experience with all women was as important as the work we completed.

The crew leaders urged us to put that in the survey they send out after crew. The bosses and dignitaries questioned the new all women’s crew as being discriminatory not allowing males. As women we need these to do things just with women. The next day, I worked that much harder with the night’s conversation in my mind. We were women. But we could move this rock and make this trail as well as or if not better then any group!

During one of the work days a nearby sponsor hiking group from Asheville came in to work an afternoon with us on the trail. Most of these guys were over 60. One of them was in his 80’s and I questioned how long it took him to get from the road to the work site! I slapped myself for thinking such things and didn’t complain to myself about the heat so much that day at all, being my age and all! But they steadily got up that mountain and moved rock and cleared scrub right along with us. We were respectful and we all worked diligently together. That night our crew talked about the change in the air when the men were on site. We talked again about how special it was to just be working with women. Our strengths. Our bonding. We looked forward to the next day just having it all to ourselves.

I was a little surprised at my exhaustion. The dirt. I cleaned each night in the creek. Even more so than many but I had to be somewhat clean. Wearing blackened muddied pants more than one day in a row was different. I went to bed as early as I could and was aware of my intake of water, calories and fiber. I hadn’t worked that hard over so many hours and so many days that I couldn’t remember. Yet as the days wound down in my exhaustion I still kicked back in a chair and took in the trees. The babbling creek. The diverse conversation from the diverse group of women that surrounded me. I was in awe at the whole trip.

A couple that we stumbled on the night before leaving to meet the crew in Hot Springs, at a through hikers motel along the trail, were from Holland. They had taken several months off to hike from Georgia to New York. We had told them we would be working somewhere on the trail and wished them well in their hike north. After two days working crew upon returning to field camp they were there at the intersection by the creek near our camp. We greeted each other and they talked about their hike over the last two days from Hot Springs to this point in the trail. They asked for directions and we pointed on past our camp towards our work site and up over the next mountain gap. We new they would see where our new trail peeled off from the main trail until its’ official opening. It was so neat to think that they were here in our country to enjoy our trails. The ones we worked on to maintain and build. They would take these sites and experiences home with them. Sites from our North Carolina mountains and I was a part of it.

I don’t have the final statistics yet, they will send them to us later in the summer, but we moved several tons of rock. We laid over a dozen rock steps and placed as many stones as a part of the path. We prepared a part of the trail that would be a future part of the Maine to Georgia Appalachian Trail that would last for 20 to 30 years. As I ease into my nice hot bath I think of the hours and hours of sweat and toil. I mull over the pictures I took of the sections I worked on. I think of the faces of the women I worked with and laughed with over this past week. I recall breaking camp and hauling it all back to the van. These thoughts so vivid of our hugs before we had to go with the ache still in my muscles, the dirt still under my nails.

Vacation? It’s all in the interpretation! I know that the next time I take the kids to camp at a state park along the Blue Ridge or hike a section of the Appalachian trail, I’ll be thinking of the men and women that made it possible. That worked hard hours to have a place for us to see. To enjoy. It was hard, hard work. But I wouldn’t trade the mud, dirt, camp food, smiles or camaraderie of my crew for anything in the world! My week on crew.

For more information on volunteering for Appalachian Trail crews or for
hiking information, please contact ATC at 540-544-7388 or www.atconf.org.