Chapter 17: Going With The Flow

 



     "Come on big guy, you can do it," encourages FM under the covers, spurring me on with words and hands.

"It's been a long, hard day," I moan, mortified at my lack of response.

"Fine then," she hisses, curling up toward the tent wall in the faint starlight filtering through the canvas. "Your loss."



     After my last premature night with Freida-Mae, I'd made the mistake of asking around the foosball table about preventative practices. Coitus interruptus, thinking of your mother, taking a deep breath, and beating off everyday were gleefully offered in quick succession, the last of which I'd already put into action. 

     What I'd failed to bring to the table was the unthinkable for a twenty-year-old, being unable to get it up at all. So I laid there on my back listening to FM's rhythmic breathing and the slowing chirps of crickets, finally falling into a fitful sleep to the trickle of the little stream beside our tent.



     "Oh!" I gasp, startled from a dream of a raging river and with a tented sleeping bag.

"You're up!" FM exclaims, lifting the cover and climbing on, her dark hair falling around glowing skin of her chest and shoulders.

"That's...better," I huff, rocking with her rising rhythm as I find my key to longevity. 

"Long...hard...NIGHT!" she screams, finally falling into my chest as I pull the bedroll back over us.




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