The knock at the door was not particularly welcome. I live in a wooden cabin on a wild and scenic river on Oregon’s Eastern Cascade slope. While the valley through which the river runs is not totally isolated, I can go several days without seeing another person unless I go out seeking them. I had just finished two hours splitting logs with wedges and sledge adding to my wood pile. The pile has to stand up to a potentially long, cold and snow-filled winter. Winter, however, seemed long away given the recent heat wave. I’m certain that the temperature today was well into the 90s.

I had just stripped down to a pair of shorts when I was interrupted. “Come in,” I shouted, and in walked Matt Woosten, a friend and the valley’s mechanic and general fix-all if it is some kind of machinery.

“Car, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Will it go unpunished?” I replied.

“Depends on how much you like this kind of punishment. Myself, I think I could or at least try to work up a favorable outcome to this one. You see, my sister in Portland arranged a trip to the lake and the Wenoska Valley for a bunch of government lawyers and administrators. I was called upon to set them up with a horseback ride, meals, a bus to take them up near the glaciers and to do some fishing. Herb Jenson and his son were going to guide the fishing, but Herb cut his foot and he and his boy left on the noon float plane for the other end of the lake. Herb probably needs multiple stitches and they want to sew him up at the hospital in Groves. Only one of these ladies wants to fish, but she really demands that she gets her trip because, to listen to her, that’s why she came in the first place.”

“That’s very nice,” I responded, “so how does it concern me?”

“Well,” Herb said, looking quite guilty, “you have a raft, you know the river, you can fly fish, and I know you can make the time."

“You know too much.”

“Not many people tell me that. Nevertheless, I’m calling in all of my markers to ask this favor. Will you take her?”

“You don’t have any markers. Best as I can recall, you owe me.”

“I don’t think you will be sorry. She is one nice-looking lady.”

“You have been trying to match-make for me ever since my wife died. Twice they were half mountain lion and at least once she was so prickly I thought she was a porcupine. I’m not a guide service,” I said.

“Well, that presents a problem. You see, she is out there in my truck getting hot in the sun. I told her that you will be willing, and after the float you would take her back to the cruise boat landing. And, besides, you aren’t that busy and I need the help or my sister in Portland gets hammered,” he stated.

“In other words, you set me up. Tell her to cool her heals for a few moments and I’ll take a shower and ask her in.”

Matt left without further comment. It’s always best to leave quickly after you get what you want. You have to understand a bit about my cabin. It is small and remote, although in a beautiful location on a bend in the river. I built a large porch out the front. When you lean over the railing you are almost over the edge of the river. The porch has a picnic table and a hot tub (really more of a soaking tub) that has water heated from the wood stove hot water system. It also has a porch shower consisting of piping that goes out onto the porch, a large shower head and drain that carries the waste water to the septic drainage field. In short, the plumbing and deck arrangement is rather primitive but functional. While the location is remote, the cabin is absolutely not private. I don’t own as much as a shower curtain. Then again, nobody can see me. So I stripped, lathered up and quickly scrubbed. I left a towel on a beam hook, and as I grabbed the towel I locked eyes with her.

“I can see that Matt did a good job of asking you to give me a few moments,” I stated. “He never listens to what I say. You must be-------?"

“I am Louisa Marks, but mostly I’m called Lou. You have a lovely place here."

I noted that she said nothing about my standing there without a stitch. While I was not bad looking and I am in good shape from hiking, rowing, cutting wood, etc, 6’ 2” and 210 lbs, I am in my 60s and no longer poster hunk looking, so I just continued drying off. For her part, she turned and wandered back into the cabin. My brief glimpse of her revealed a moderately tall, reasonably slim brunette, I would guess at about 5’10” and 140 lbs., although it was difficult to tell because she had on a fly fishing vest over a long-sleeve shirt and jeans -- on a day like this, way overdressed. I tied the towel over my waist and walked into the cabin. My bed rests against the south wall next to an old country-styled armoire containing the clothes not hanging on wall hooks. She watched me as I pulled on shorts, T-shirt and jeans followed by sneakers.

“Nice to meet you. I’m R. Carlyle Barrington, but up here just Car will do. Do you always walk in and watch a stranger shower”?

“Nobody told me not to go in. And for an older guy you are not so bad to look at,” she said.

“I figured Matt ignored a few details, including my instruction to wait and I that I would come out when ready and the fact that I’m not a fishing guide and that I’m easily embarrassed,” I commented.

“No. He said nothing other than you would be happy to take me fishing. And as for your being embarrassed, I doubt that, I’ve been in your bathroom.”

My bathroom, like the rest of the cabin, is functional but primitive consisting of an old claw-foot tub and a shower pipe setup similar to the porch shower which I used once it gets too cold to shower outside. It has a toilet, pedestal sink and mirror and shelving with the usual storage of bathroom articles and necessities. In addition, however, it also had a large wall-hung cabinet which was currently open to reveal my collection of enema-related equipment. None of this was closed off from the main room by anything other than a sheet hung by the toilet. I wasn’t about to enter into a discussion on my equipment with this lady and quickly changed the subject to fishing.

“What do you know about fishing?” I asked.

“I have fly fished for years, first with my father and then with my two older brothers. That doesn’t make me an expert, but I am reasonably competent, and I just love to be out there on a river. I tie many of my own flies and generally catch and release,” she responded.

Well, that’s better. I can easily discuss fishing and certainly was in need to keep the subject in that direction and away from the contents of my bathroom. So I asked her to follow me out to my shed where the fishing gear and ores were stashed. I keep my raft winched up on the shore so it won’t float away if there is a sudden rain storm and the river rises. We chatted about the weather (hot), river conditions (still a bit high following the last rain and heat generated glacial melt) and fishing.

It gave me an opportunity to learn a bit about her background. She is a lawyer by training but now was working as a consultant for the government on wilderness issues and the problems created by too many people needing and desiring to use wilderness areas and the need to preserve and protect the same areas. In all, she seemed to be reasonably balanced on these issues. Smiling to myself, I again took notice that she was a bit overdressed for the day given the heat and perhaps a bit of a “dude” fisherman, given the quality, expense and brand names of her gear. She was using a four weight Sage rod and reel and Simms shirt and vest. She pulled Simms waders out of a very nice duffel bag and pulled them on as I readied the raft for launching. I’m not a snob, nor do I disdain those with very good gear. I have several Sage rods and also own Simms waders. I just wondered if her skills would match the brands. We frequently see people over here from the big cities that dress the part but don’t know which end of a rod to pick up.

The afternoon turned on me. From being cynical about this sophisticated and well-educated lady who at least dressed the part, I soon discovered that she was the part. High income had afforded her the means to have the best of what she wanted and she knew what to do with it.

I passed the first two marginal holes on the river, took us down the first rapids and pulled out on a long gravel bar located just above a big hole formed by a near 90-degree turn in the river. We climbed out onto the gravel bar. And rather than take her rod to commence casting, she walked down to the lower end of the hole studying the shore for evidence of the insects that were under the rocks emerging and hatching. Once done, she returned to the boat, selected a nymph from the fly box in her vest and tied it onto a tippet attached to a sinking tip floating fly line. It was a Cadis fly nymph, although I could not tell what specific kind.

I grabbed my old rod and headed down toward the hole’s tailout. Watching her cast was pure pleasure. This lady knew what she was doing. Her shadow casting was smooth and effortless leaving the fly suspended above the water before it floated down upon the surface. She roll casted effortlessly to set up her intended cast to avoid brush on the banks behind the bar, and at least once she executed a two-handed snap T before a standard double Spey cast. None of this was done to be showy. It was just efficient and effective. On her fifth cast she had a hit, but the fish did not take the fly cleanly and she missed it. Several casts later she hooked up a nice 14” Cutthroat trout which she maneuvered over to her submerged boots and deftly reached down and freed the hook from the Cutt’s mouth so it could swim away.

“That was well done,” I commented. “You handle your rod very well, and the release was done perfectly. That one will live to get caught again some day when it is larger. Here they will run up to nearly 24 inches.”

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you approve. And I appreciate your being willing to take me out. I work in offices in cities and I really miss having access to this kind of beauty. I grew up in a small town in Montana. This area is much like where I was raised, not far from Missoula.”

“You’re welcome. When Matt dropped you off, I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, and then I was sure it wasn’t a good idea, and now I am enjoying watching you fish. I guess it means that we should start over and be leery of first impressions.”

“Generally I agree,” she stated, “but I am a fairly good judge of character and should know better than to come to snap conclusions. I’m not certain that I sized you up properly either.”

“What do you mean,” I asked.

“I wasn’t so sure that you weren’t some kind of eccentric when we first met. After all, you live secluded and were showering outside in the open. I know, I know, I wasn’t invited, but I thought that Matt had worked everything out prior to my arrival. Then I saw what was in your bathroom. I must admit it got me thinking. And then I could feel a bit of resentment from you, I suspect resulting from having your privacy invaded, your afternoon taken unexpectedly by a stranger, and finally your special interests discovered by a prying outsider. You had a right to be a bit edgy. Instead, you have become good company and have been very nice to me,” she said. “I only think it fair to apologize for my unexpected intrusion and let you know that I grew up in a very free-thinking family. I am well read and have and enjoy my own kinky side. My reading tells me that you do not possess an extensive collection of medical and enema related equipment because you are, shall we say, constipated. While I don’t have any first-hand experience, I’m not at all shocked. Most of us have some kind of special interests. How about we go to the next hole?”

I couldn’t immediately think of just the right thing to say, so I merely said, “Let’s do.”

Three rapids and holes later she had landed six beautiful trout up to 20” in length. By then I was again sweating from the exertion of rowing and she was also sweating from being overdressed on a hot day in vest, shirt and waders. Even standing in the cold glacial-fed river could not cool you off in the day’s heat. She walked back to the boat and stored her rod.

“I’m roasting. Is there some place I could take a dip without standing in the middle of the river,” she asked?

“After the next run the river divides into two channels around a small island. The channel on the left is smaller and forms a small pool that would work, but I warn you that the water is very cold. It will feel like the Finns jumping out of the sauna into a snow bank,” I replied.

“I don’t care, let’s go.”

The next run is fairly steep, and one of the larger rapids on the river, and we both got splash and spray as the raft shot down the river. I thought she might change her mind about cooling off, but I pulled over onto the island's lower tip and stopped the boat. She climbed out of the boat and removed her vest, followed by her waders, shirt and jeans. Standing there in her bra and panties she was a lovely sight, nicely proportioned with rather large breasts and smallish hips. She has been obviously cautious about exposure to the sun. Below her neck and above her knees she was very white and had she been exposed to the sun for any time by now she would be red as a beet or blistered.

“Is this the time for me to say you saw mine so I should see yours?” I suggested. I got a curt response but with a grin.

“Nice try.”

And she walked around the end of the island and disappeared into the brush on the other side. I didn’t, however, believe she disappeared. Soon I heard her shriek. I assumed she dipped into the pool which I would guess not withstanding the high air temperature was at most 50 degrees. This is pretty normal for a glacially-fed mountain river, but a bit chilly for swimming. Sure enough, she soon came back around the corner happily complaining about goose bumps. I sat in the boat looking at her as she turned her back and removed her wet bra and panties and dressed again in shirt and jeans. Somehow this was more arousing than seeing her full frontal.

Back in the boat she declined more fishing and we rowed to the take-out spot. We had drifted nearly four miles in four hours and now found ourselves very hungry, hot and happy. Along the way we discussed politics and economics. She is very smart and had some useful and thoughtful insights. Matt had left his old truck and my trailer at the take-out point and within a half hour we had loaded the boat. I assumed that the next stop would be the cruise boat landing and that she would depart. Then came the next surprise.

“I would like to stay over and fish again tomorrow; that is, if you would allow me another trip. I would be happy to pay you for the service. If you are willing, I’ll find a spot at the landing to stay.”

“You won’t,” I stated. “This is peak season and every place is booked up.”

“Could I get a sleeping bag and tent? I’m willing to sleep outside.”

“I suppose, but I’m far from certain. Again, this is peak season and it is even difficult to find gear,” I responded.

“So,” she said, “I’ll just have to stay with you.”

“I have only one twin bed and a cot. You won’t be very comfortable. And as you witnessed, I am not set up for visitors, particularly the unmarried female type of visitors.”

“That settles it then,” she said firmly, “I’m staying with you.

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New story post by Ron B

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The Knock At The Door

Chapter 2

Back at the house we unloaded the raft at my primitive launch, stored the gear in the shed and went back inside the cabin. I knew we needed to rustle some food. In addition, rowing the river in 90 degree weather had left me sweating again and in need of a shower. I also needed to fix some food. That would be relatively easy since I had fresh lettuce, carrots, onions and sugar snap peas in my small garden behind the house. I could make a pretty good green salad, and I had mushrooms and several small steaks in the refrigerator. I also had some good cheese and some smoked trout. I didn’t always catch and release. I picked veggies while she watched and then I suggested my shower and she agreed to prepare a salad. So I started one fire under the grill and another in the wood stove, since it also served as the water heater, as she cut and sliced.

Once again I was faced with showering “out doors” in the open, but since she had already seen all I had to offer, I stripped and climbed under the water. It was still warm from the morning’s fire, although I would need to keep fresh wood on the coals to get the hot water tank functioning again. The water in the hot tub was already 73 degrees and now it would continue warming.

First thing out of the shower while toweling off the water, she surprised me again. “I see you have a portable massage table. You rowed all afternoon and I am a pretty good masseuse. After dinner, how would you like a massage?"

“You surprise me again. Yes, that would be nice,” I eagerly responded.

“Why,” she asked, “does that surprise you?”

“You are a lawyer and a consultant. You deal with the rich and famous. I didn’t expect massage talents nor did I expect an offer from you to massage me.”

“Well”, she said, “there are some strings attached. I want a massage too.”

I almost forgot dinner, although it was simple and delicious. With it we consumed a bottle of nice valley wine. I couldn’t keep my eyes of Lou. It had been a long time since my imagination had been so stirred. We ate on the porch and following she gathered up the dishes and swiftly washed them in the sink storing them on the drying rack. I was sitting on the deck watching the river and sunset over the mountains when she returned wearing one of my towels.

“I need to shower too.”

With that she dropped her towel, turned on the water and stepped under the shower head on the deck. I don’t know her age, perhaps early 40s. You could tell she wasn’t a lot younger by her defined muscles but also the smile lines around her eyes and the effects of gravity on her full breasts. Her nipples were pronounced and centered in dark pink areolas. Her well-defined pubic hair was also dark brown and, like her hair, seemed to still lack any gray.

She lathered up her hair as I watched her. Her breasts listed and swayed as she worked her fingers into her hair, and then as she rinsed she smiled at me. I have never seen a woman so comfortable and confident about herself.

“That was great,” she said as she grabbed the towel and started to dry off. She finished and slipped on a large T-shirt. It is difficult for me to read her thoughts. She had been full of surprises, but it was not difficult to read mine. Standing there in my shorts, I was more than half erect and there was no way to hide it. So I didn’t.

By the time she dried off I had opened another bottle of wine, unfolded the massage table and assembled several bottles of massage oil stored on the shelf next to the table. It seemed to be a time with few words. We were both working on age-old instinct. She waited as I climbed onto the table, facing down. Soon her surprisingly strong hands were kneading my neck and back. I was in heaven. I couldn’t help but think about what would happen when she moved lower and I turned over.

She worked her way down combining light touch, pressure points and deep tissue. She knew what she was doing. Perhaps the best was her work on my feet. I both did and did not want it to go on forever, but it ended when she told me to turn over.

Now my expectations were on display as she worked up my calves. She was neither tentative nor bashful when she reached my sex. She spread my legs and centered first on that space between my balls and anus stroking and pressing from the center and moving outward and then slipped a finger up my ass and finding my prostate.

“I bet you like this,” she said.

“Ummm.”

“And this.”

“Ummm.”

I was drifting off somewhere next to heaven. But it didn’t last long. Moving around the table so she was beside me, she pulled the T-shirt over her head, leaned over and brushed her nipples across my chest and then placed one breast over my mouth and I took the nipple in my lips running my tongue over the end and then sucked until I could feel it become stiff. It was large and already hard.

And then she said, “My turn.”

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New story post by Ron B

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Chapter Three

Now I was the nervous one. Lou was so good at the massage and leaving me a melted mass that I worried that I would just fumble. So I tried to imitate what she did, working first down her neck, shoulders and back.

As I worked lower I didn’t know how far to go, but she solved my doubts by spreading her legs, inviting me to touch her ass and pussy. She was already wet. I teased her lightly and then worked down her legs to her feet where she indicated with soft moans that she, too, was finding pleasure from the touch. When she turned onto her back it was difficult to continue on with the massage and not just plunge into sex. So I worked out a compromise by massaging first her forehead and scalp and worked my way down, cupping her breasts and kneading her nipples. Working lower, she opened for me and I softly massaged her mons, lips and clit. More moans!

“I thought you would never get there,” she said.

“I wanted to start there and not leave, but I thought it best to feel my way there. I suppose I should stop feeling bashful, but I don’t know how far you want to go,” I responded.

“I don’t want you to do it any more now,” she stated.

I could not hide the look of disappointment on my face, which made her laugh outright.

“You look like a little kid who was just denied the candy after you already had a lick. I want you to show me how you use your enema equipment. I have never had an erotic enema before and I suspect that you can make it very special. I’m a bit afraid, maybe not of you but of it, and I don’t want pain, but I’d give odds that you know how to make it nice, warm and soothing.”

I had never had an invitation like that before. I had previous experiences with giving erotic enemas, but never had a woman without experience asked me to do her.

“What kind,” I blurted out. I could tell she had no idea what I was asking. “To enjoy it will take several, since the first couple will be cleansing, and after that they will be pleasurable.” I ran on…. “There is more cramping when your intestinal tract is full of waste, so it is more fun when it is empty. Besides, then you can relax and not worry about an accident.”

“I’m signing on, but I had no idea you were going to suggest more than one. How about one with an option for a second and so on? You teach,” she said, “so I will know how to do you.”

Where has this woman been? Out of the blue she comes looking for a fishing guide and eight hours later I’m about to give her an enema!

Now I was on firm ground but I felt like I was about to take the final exam on the most important test in my life. If I passed I would graduate and if I failed it was over. There are so many variations on enema play. But her clues led me to believe that she was into sensuality, not pain, not bondage or humiliation. She wanted sensual sensation. That type of play was also my preference, so I decided to give what I like to receive.

It was difficult to leave her, but I departed into my bathroom to assemble some gear, choosing a large open-top silicone bag and a green ribbed nozzle. I decided for the first I would try for as pleasant a cleansing as possible and leave the more intense sensation causing nozzles for later. I added a bit of baking soda and salt and a capfull of Dr. Bonner’s peppermint castile soap. I realized that I was risking more intense contractions and cramping with the soap, but a more thorough cleansing.

Filling the bag with a little over two quarts of warm water, I returned to the table. I hung the bag on a chair and retrieved a rope kept in the bathroom cabinet. This I tossed over a roof beam located over the foot of the massage table and secured the ends about four feet above the end of the table. To the knot I hung the hook on the enema bag leaving it about three and a half feet above her. She watched all this silently but with interest.

“Let me explain a few things. To enjoy these sensations it is best to clean out the colon. That can be done slowly on the toilet or a bit more rapidly and thoroughly lying down. I have added a bit of castile soap to the water to stimulate contractions. Initially it may be uncomfortable or cause cramping. To quote the doctor’s cliché, 'You may feel some discomfort. Please tell me to stop the flow of water if that happens. We are not in a race. After the soap enema, we will use plain water to remove any soap that is left. From that time on we will have pure sensual fun. First, I’m going to lube you for insertion."

I took a tube of lube from the cabinet and then gently parted her legs and applied lube. Her lips and clit got the first application. She smiled and gave me a look that all but said, “What does that have to do with giving me an enema?” Then I moved down and applied it around her opening. After massaging the entrance a bit, I slipped a finger up into her, moving it in and out spreading the lube. Each time I penetrated a bit deeper. When I put a second finger against her opening, I placed my other hand over her lips and gently started massaging her with my open hand so as to cover the vaginal opening, lips and clit at the same time. It seemed to relax her as both fingers entered and swiftly were inserted their full length. She was tight and the muscle extended several inches into her cavity. I glanced at her and found her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips.

“The enema better be good if it is going to top this,” she whispered softly. I was aware of my indecision. I didn’t want to end the feeling and watching her respond to my petting, but I also wanted to start her enema. So reluctantly I removed my fingers, stripped off my surgical glove and picked up the nozzle. After being opened by my fingers, the nozzle easily slid up into her rectum.

“Okay, I’m going to start the water flowing now.” No comment from Lou. Her eyes were closed and her head turned to the side. Over the sound of the nearby stream you could hear the click as I opened the valve. Still no reaction from her.

The silence lasted about three or four minutes and then she said, “OH, OH! You'd better stop.” I did. From the shape of the bag, perhaps one-half of the fluid had been transferred. Her face screwed up and she started panting rapidly.

“Cramps?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I stopped the water, but you should take more when the cramping passes.”

“It’s better now. You can add more.”

This dialogue continued as more and more water was added until the bag was totally deflated.

“You did very well.”

“Can I get up and go?" She started laughing at the phrase.

“Not yet. Hold it as long as you can. Let it work its way up and loosen things up.”

But she couldn’t hold it much longer and I helped her up and to my hardly private bathroom. Leaving her did little to hide the results of her first erotic enema. Between flushing I could hear her exclaim “Oh” over and over. Finally there was silence and then she was standing and looking for a washcloth.

“On the shelf behind the broom.”

“I have never, never done that before and I could never imagine doing it with someone watching.”

“I wasn’t watching; you just happened to be in my very small room. It was unavoidable. Do you want me to leave? You want me to go out into the dark with the bears and lions and mosquitoes?"

“No, I want you to do me again, only this time I want it to feel good.”

She was a fast learner. I refilled the bag omitting the soap and adding a bit of peppermint tea I brewed after dinner. It would help with cramping, and besides, it smelled good.

“How are you doing?"

“I’m okay but feeling a bit unsettled and nervous. Will the second time be more comfortable?”

“It should. This time we will take it slowly. The water is soothing and warmer than last time. We will run it in slowly.”

She climbed back up on the table and lay down. I placed a pillow under her head. She was beautiful. I seriously considered forgetting about the enema play for just taking her into my arms. She was aware of my interest, since part of me was rudely pointing at her every time I faced in her direction.

“It is nice to see that you are not too advanced in age to appreciate my vulnerable state.”

“It appears that what I thought time had stolen you brought back. I don’t think it has much to do with your vulnerability. It may have something to do with how beautiful you are. I hope it lasts before I fall asleep. Us old guys have a hard time staying awake.”

“Go ahead, sleep, but first do me. I still have to find out what all of the hype is about.”

Once again I had the pleasure of donning a glove, spreading lube and entering her rear. This time she parted her legs, raised her knees and opened herself for me. Did I mention that she was beautiful? This time I slid in the nozzle but didn’t immediately start the water. Instead I moved it in and out while with my other hand I stroked each side of her clit which was becoming engorged. Her breathing quickened and she started softly moaning.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

But I did just long enough to start the warm water and then continued the soft stroking. At first she just continued moaning and then her legs stiffened and her hips briefly rose off the table and then down as she opened her legs wider and pulled them back toward her chest. She started quivering and then went over the top into an intense orgasm. “Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh”. She seemed to like what was going on after all. I continued lightly stroking as the warm water slowly drained from the bag. When it was empty she didn’t even notice. I think her attention was far away in some corner of her brain were intense sensations were stored and liberated. I realized that she had become very wet, swollen and open.

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes,” she panted, “Don’t stop.”

But I did. I stopped stroking her and spread her legs even further so I could lean over her sex and ran my tongue up and down the area from her lips to her hood. I guess she liked that too, since once again she stiffened and started again with “Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh.”

“Oh, God, I need to go. Help me. I’m not certain I can stand.”

So I removed the bag from its hook and with my other arm first helped her sit up and then stand. I couldn’t help myself since first one breast and then the other presented itself within inches of my mouth, I took each in turn to my lips and sucked strongly while running my tongue around the areola.

“You can do that all you like after I empty out,” she gasped.

Slowly we walked to my little bathroom. I helped her position over the opening of the commode and she sat down. Then I reached between her legs and pulled out the nozzle.

“Hold me,” she whispered to me. So I knelt down and put my arms around her and with her head bent into my neck and shoulder she started releasing.

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