Nothing is sweeter than fucking in the great outdoors. The gentle breezes caressing your bare skin, the sun kissing your curves, the smells of nature filling your senses, musty earth and coconut-scented sunscreen mingling with sweat and whispered words of love.
I was in high school the first time I had sex in the woods. We snuck off to have a walk in a nearby meadow, which turned into an adventurous shag on the ground between urban trees. The best part about it wasn’t the sex, but telling my friends at school about it on Monday. I felt so rebellious, and it sparked a need in me to have sex in all of the places.
On car bonnets, against trees, in sunny meadows, in shells of abandoned buildings (with barely a wall to speak of), in the beds of pickup trucks, in the ocean, on rooftops, swings, balconies, picnic tables – there’s nothing better than fucking out in the open.
Especially in nature. Feeling the grass with my toes and getting dirt under my fingernails makes me feel in commune with everything that has come before me and everything that will come after me.
Nothing is sweeter than fucking in the great outdoors, unless those outdoors are next to a mosquito-infested lake.
Or scratchy sand grating at your knees.
Or next to dogs you’re supposed to be walking who have now stopped running around, parked next to your face, and have started intently staring at you.
It’s not always perfect, but when it is, it’s perfect. Most of the time.