We had had a huge, delicious, celebratory meal with family. We were stuffed. We had washed two loads of dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and tucked everything in its place. We sat down for coffee and looked at each other. It was 8 o’clock on a Saturday night. We hadn’t made plans. All there was to do was have sex.

“I’ll walk the dog if you want to wrap up down here, turn the computer off, and meet me upstairs,” he said.

“Or . . . ” I started.

“Or?” he prompted. I have a strange way of becoming tongue-tied around him which is the product of of awe plus nerves, or something. I finally managed to squeak out that I thought that maybe, possibly, if he wanted, and wasn’t too tired, we could go for a little walk ourselves–not too far.

After a moment’s consideration, he answered, “Okay. But I’ll still walk the dog and you can still turn everything off, and we can walk a bit together after.”

I felt like jumping up and down with excitement–I hadn’t thought he would say yes to what I perceived as a rather romantic, happily-settled-couple activity. And I certainly hadn’t expected him to look so amazingly sexy when I finally got myself out the door. He had boots on, and he was leaning up against a truck, arms crossed. He took one look at the sweater I was wearing and said: “That’s not warm enough. Put on my winter coat.”

“Are you sure?” I said. I tend to think that wearing too much warm clothing is a sin.

He shot me a look and his voice came back as pure command. “I’m sure.” I figured out then that we might be outside some time.

* * *

We sat on stones at the bottom of the field on his property, looking up at his house in the bright moonlight. Then I sat on the stone, bare-assed, for awhile. We talked. I got on my hands and knees to blow him. And then, again, just like the night before, his hands were all over me, inside me, rubbing my clit, fingering my ass. For some reason he stopped, looked around, picked up a few stones. He hefted one, bigger than his fist, in his hand.

“What I should do is maybe find a rock about half this size,” he said, and bent down to the ground again so I couldn’t see what he was doing, “and take it, and push it up inside of you, and just grind it into you.”

And with that he thrust his fingers inside me and reached for my g-spot. He pushed, hard. I gasped. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No! It feels amazing!”

And it did. In my mind, I imagined him rubbing a small, smooth pebble against my swollen tissues. I imagined him pushing harder and harder–he is always thrilled to see how much I can “take”. I saw his excitement and it aroused me more, and he pushed more, and we were caught in a heightening circle. I leaned back on the rock and felt my head press into the chicken-wire fence behind me, felt the fence bow out. As I leaned into it more, branches and leaves crowded into my field of vision; my hair piled up around my cheeks and ears into a halo framing what I could see, and in the middle was his face, aroused, lustful, curious.

I thought of all the rape fantasies I’d ever had as a girl, fantasies of being caught by brigands or soldiers in a woods in some far off time and place, dragged off fighting and crying, perhaps saved at the last moment but a knight-rescuer, perhaps not discovered until too late. Now it was happening, and my ravisher had the face of someone I loved. Robbie was tearing at my insides, flesh and stone together, and it was too much, wonderfully too much.

I came rather violently, as best I can recall given my recent sexual amensia. Finally I sat up, pulled myself together, and looked at him. He had that kind of proud, cat-that-ate-the-cream smile on his face that he gets when he has managed to get the better of me, sexually. I smiled back. “Did you–” I started. “Was that actually a rock in your hand?”

He looked at me and almost shook his head in disbelief. “No,” he said simply, without adding “you fuckwit.” But he also gave me another smile, that one that seems to wonder, as I do, what can top what just happened, given that we know something will.

This and other wonderful illustrations by Joshua Middleton, thanks to Sex in Art.