Rush of the Forbidden

We’re all hanging out by the campfire when people start drifting off to sleep. He and I stay, talking non-stop until we can’t sit still anymore, so we head into the woods. Before long we hit this open field split by a little stream. Sunrise is creeping in and suddenly we’re chasing each other, grabbing at skin, clothes coming off between laughs until we end up in the quarry pond where the stream pools. We fuck right there in the water, hard and quick because the sky’s already turning pink. Then we sneak back separately, fire still just barely smoking, and can’t stop staring at each other over the dying coals until my husband and his wife crawl out of their tents. Now we run into each other everywhere—aisles in the supermarket, under fluorescent lights in shops, in the shadow of a parking garage—and every chance we get we press close, hands finding bare flesh just out of sight, our own filthy little secret.