Suddenly, she stood at the mouth of the river. A yellow ring of fading sunlight encircled her tanned, muscular body. She was perspiring, only in places. Places she longed for the touch of a strong man.
There he was. She saw him approaching, from across the river. She wanted him, needed him, with every drop of boiling, surging blood in her perfect, sensual veins. He entered the water, plunging headfirst. He too longed for her. His huge, toned biceps tugged at the waves, straining to push through the river's grasp to reach her and her desire. The current ran fast; so fast and so hard that she thought for a moment that he might be swept away.
"No!" she cried, and leaned toward him, willing him on. "Come to me! Push!"
His long, powerful arms drove ever deeper, ever more desperately into the watery darkness that tried to engulf him. The pull of the river was fierce; his struggle, his need was fiercer, more ferocious, and he drew nearer, inch by painful, pleasure-filled inch. Finally, the river loosened its mighty grip, and he pulled himself defiantly to shore. Her shore. As he strode triumphantly, victoriously onto her firm bank, she could see his tight muscles had tightened ever more. He looked like a rock, like a huge, hulking stone monument to manhood. She licked her lips, and saliva came readily to her tongue; she couldn't help herself. As he drew close, ever so close, he slowed his gait, postponing her wildly uncontrollable lust. He touched her, and she shuddered with luscious anticipation. He drew her in and moved his lips to her ear and whispered: "Ohh, was that river cold. Could we just talk?"
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