The Quarry

Illustration by Brett Thompson

The quarry is a mystical place that really exists, where young people go to watch nymphs swim naked and bask on granite heated by the summer sun.

The Quarry was the first erotic story I ever wrote, not including one I wrote when I had just entered puberty. I don’t have that one. My mother found it and took it, presumably for my own good. She never mentioned it, but it disappeared from my desk drawer. She should never have been in there.

I’m an electrical engineer, but I’ve been a writer my whole life and unofficially minored in creative writing when I went to Cornell. I took six semesters of it.

For all the writing I did after college, I hadn’t tried to publish any of it, and then one day I decided to try to determine how good a writer I was. I looked around on the Internet, and saw that lots of erotica was being written and self published, so I wrote and dropped a couple of stories into where readers would read and rate stories. I got grades of 4.6 to 4.8  out of 5.0, but this wasn’t real recognition. To be recognized as a good writer I wanted someone to pay me for my work.

I looked at the Erotic Readers and Writers Association call for submissions page, and decided that I would submit a story to, a pay site no longer in existence. I picked RuthiesClub, because it had been in existence for a long time (by Internet standards), it paid more than most sites ($45 for a 4000 word story), and for every story it published it also paid an artist to create an illustration. RuthiesClub had high standards and invested in its artists and writers. My story, The Quarry, was accepted.


The Quarry

by Matthew Dyne

I lived in northern Vermont with my brother. It was a very rural area. There weren’t many jobs—in the winter it was mostly working in the woods cutting trees for lumber or pulp, or on the railroad laying rails at thirty below with the wind whistling through the cuts.  In the summer it was working on farms. Family farms—mostly dairy.

It was summer time. My brother and I and three friends were baling hay, which meant running a baler behind a tractor, breathing diesel fumes, getting eaten by black and deer flies, and tossing eighty pound bales onto a wagon for hours on end. It was hot, sweaty, demanding work and, when we’d finally finished, we knocked off and decided to go to the quarry.

The quarry was old and abandoned and a wonderful place, especially at the end of a hot day. When we got there, we parked our car off the road and walked for almost half a mile through a mature hardwood forest growing mostly sugar maple and yellow birch. It was quiet, peaceful, almost mystical, and the long walk gave people a chance to mellow out.

At the end of the path, the trees opened into a great bowl—well, really, a small bowl. It was dainty by quarry standards, but the walls of tumbled granite gave it grandeur befitting its age, and at the bottom of the bowl was a crystal clear pond fed by underground springs. The water was clean enough to drink and icy cold, even in midsummer.

The quarry’s isolation and beauty made it a prime spot for stripping and swimming naked. Except for the most shy, it was always used that way. There were five of us guys, hot and dirty, and hoping we’d get lucky by finding a few women to swim with, or maybe watch basking on the rocks.

I was in my twenties, and my brother and friends were a couple of years younger, and though we were disappointed to find ourselves alone, we still had a fine time drinking a little beer, cooling off in the water, and sitting naked, warming back up on the hot rocks.

We decided to leave and go someplace to stoke up on calories. The work and swim had primed us with a fierce appetite. Yet, no one seemed in a rush, and so we dressed and sat and told stories while we passed around the last bottle of a six-pack. We finished and were about to grab our gear and get on the road when we heard footsteps rustling in the leaves. We turned, and to our astonishment two girls walked into the clearing. They could have been wood nymphs with the way they looked and how they surprised us. I guessed them to be about eighteen or nineteen but all grown up, if you know what I mean.

“Hi,” we all said, or nodded, trying to be as friendly and unthreatening as we could. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that each of us guys had exactly the same thought: Are they going to take their clothes off? I was also pretty sure the girls knew exactly where our thoughts were. This was the quarry, after all.

One of the girls came forward, but not too close. The other girl hung back. She seemed uncertain, and maybe a little frightened. “Hi,” the one that came forward said. “How’s the water?”

“Cold and refreshing,” I told her. I was trying hard not to stare, but she was more than an eyeful and I failed miserably. She didn’t seem to mind, though. There wasn’t much doubt that they’d come to swim. The thought of their nudity continued to race through the pleasure centers of my brain. I imagined her thinking Do I dare?

“My friend, Connie, has never been here before. She’s visiting. I’m Melina.”

“I’m Matt.” I turned to her friend. “Hi Connie,” I said. “It’s okay, we’re friendly.” The rest of the guys grinned and nodded.

Connie took a shy step forward and smiled hesitantly. “Hi,” she said, still not sure about us. I could sympathize with her fears, but I’d never known anyone who ever went to that magical place to be disrespectful, let alone dangerous.

Melina took the towels and a cloth bag from Connie, put the bag down, and spread the towels out to make a nest. She took Connie’s hand, and guided her to their spot, and Connie sat. Melina began unbuttoning her shirt.

The five of us guys watched her undress. She was turned sideways but stood back far enough to give us the whole view. She took her shirt off and stood in her bra and jeans fitting tight to the curves of her ass. The bra fitted loose to breasts that didn’t need one. She waited, watching ripples of breeze blowing across the water.

I couldn’t believe the perfection of the moment, watching this nymph of a goddess, anticipating her going the next step. Every one of us—me, my brother, our friends, and even Connie— hung on every movement of every fine muscle of this divine creature as she so generously shared herself with us.

It couldn’t get any better I thought, but it did. A trout jumped, and grabbed a fly, and disappeared into the dark, leaving concentric rings spreading across the pond. It broke the ice, and we all laughed, even Connie. We boys looked knowingly and sheepishly at each other.

Melina undid the button of her jeans. She peeled them down and off, bending and showing us her backside while she balanced precariously, pulling the jeans off her legs and feet. Then she stood again to show us the progress, and I swear that every living thing in that great bowl, and every thing that wasn’t living, every tree that had forced its roots into a niche seeking life among those massive blocks from a time gone by, and every grain of quartz and microcline within those thousands of tons of ancient hard rock, and especially all the souls of all the men who’d ever blasted, sweated, broken and died among those monoliths from earths deep guts—everything, everything—turned her way.

She smiled. She was the center of attention. It was what she had come for. After a moment, she reached behind her in that gesture only a woman can make  and unclasped the catch of her bra and peeled it down her arms and off her breasts, to reveal them to us in all their glory.

Breasts are wonderful things—a pleasure to touch and be touched—but the breasts of a girl just come to womanhood are rare and budding flowers. And, that fine day, Melina’s breasts were a gift to the five young men she found before her, and a gift, I believe, intended even more for her young friend.

There was still one more gift to give, and she gave us that too. She turned and stripped that last slim garment down her legs and stepped out of them, and spread her legs wide enough to let us see her golden tufts and swirls and the fullness of the sweet lips they had adorned. Thank you Lord, I thought, Now I can die in peace.

At this point, I believed Melina was a little embarrassed by her performance. She looked to the side and said, “I’m going to jump,” and she gestured to the cliff over the pond, about twenty feet from the water where lots of people take the plunge. I was sure she was embarrassed, because then she said something silly—she said “I hope I don’t break a tit.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” I replied, and I felt as foolish for my lame comment as she must have felt for hers. The moment had really called for something grand or insightful, or timeless, but I wasn’t at my best.

We all watched while she jumped, and then watched as she swam and gamboled in the water. And, finally, she swam to the shore and began to get out. I’m sure she must have felt cold, because she looked down at her breasts and then got really embarrassed. Her nipples were turgid and distended—as much so as I was sure they could ever be—and pointing right at us. I could see that, for a moment, she didn’t know what to do—get back in the water, or cover them up. She chose to cover them with her hands as soon as she stood, but the hiding of them seemed to embarrass her even more, so she took a good hard swallow, stood straight, let us look, and then she turned and showed herself to Connie who was watching her as intently as any of us guys. I imagined Connie getting wet between her legs. I’m sure she did, her wetness welling from deep, dark and secret underground springs all her own.

Melina dried herself. Her nipples stayed hard for a long time, but she got used to us enjoying them and, after we’d been together long enough to get comfortable just hanging out, she got to like showing them off and even flirting with us by sticking her chest out to us from time to time.

“Where do you live?” I asked Melina?

“I live in Woodbury. What about you?”

“Noyesville. We must have missed each other in high school.”

“I just got out a year ago. You must have been ahead of me. You look like you were haying.” My scratched forearms were a giveaway.

“Up at Palmer’s farm.”

“Bob Palmer’s my uncle. Actually, my father’s cousin, but we call him uncle. He’s nice.”

“He is. He pays us better than most, and Martha feeds us lunch, which most folk don’t. I’ve worked for him three summers in a row, and helped him skid logs last winter.”

“I’m surprised we’ve never met.” Melina took a deep breath, and drew her shoulders back a little—not that she needed the advantage. “I thought I knew all the cute guys around here.”

“Must have missed one. My loss, I guess.”

She laughed playfully. “I’d better pay attention to Connie,” Melina whispered. “She’s visiting from the city. She’s my girlfriend from college, and she gets jealous if I pay too much attention to guys.”

Connie was lying on the towels in the sun, and Melina lay down naked beside her as we watched her every move. She wasn’t showing herself any more, but she wasn’t hiding anything either. She went about her business, her legs would spread or close as her movements required, and we’d catch glimpses of her labia and the enticing swell of her clitoris.

She lay beside Connie and nuzzled her mouth into her neck. I could hear Melina purr, a sweet gravely growl from deep within her. The vibrations from her lips and throat seemed to close her friend’s eyes, and I could see Connie drift into another world where only she and Melina existed.

“You said you would,” Melina said.

“I don’t want to,” Connie whispered, turning toward her but with her eyes still closed.

“You promised.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I want you to.”

“Please don’t make me.”

Melina pulled the shirt from her friend’s jeans. Connie whimpered but didn’t resist, and Melina slid her hand beneath the waistband and part way down, resting her fingertips on Connie’s pubic mound. Her long middle finger was a bare fraction from the clitoris below. I could see her finger arching, pressing, and pulling the flesh upward, stretching the skin and teasing, but not touching the sensitive tissue nearby.

“If you do, when we get home, I’ll do what you like best,” Melina promised.

“And if I don’t?”

“I won’t.”

“You bitch.”

“You love it.”

“Can’t we go home now? Please?”

“Not until you take your clothes off.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll let you do it to me.”

“My favorite thing?”



“I promise.”

“Oh,” she groaned. “You’d better, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“I will.”

“Okay. You can take them off.”

“I want the boys to do it.”

“You bitch, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t want them to touch me, okay?”

“I don’t want them to touch you either.”

Melina turned to me. I’d said the most to her, so I was chosen. “Would you do it” she asked?

I was speechless. I nodded my head, vigorously.

“Come close,” she said to the others. “You can watch.” She looked at me. “No touching.”

I nodded in agreement.

I straddled the woman’s legs and fumbled with the button on her jeans. They fitted her like a glove.

“Go slow,” Melina said to me, and then she passed her hand gently over Connie’s face to close her eyes again. She wrapped her arms around and under the woman now passively awaiting her fate, and kissed her long and wet, with her tongue deep inside her friend’s mouth.

Connie wrapped her arms around Melina and kissed back with equal passion. I unbuttoned her jeans, and slowly slid down her zipper. We all listened to the rasp of its teeth. Connie lifted her hips—Cooperative, I thought—and I walked backward on my knees. I took the cuffs and, with help from her most delightful arching and twisting of limbs and loins, I pulled her jeans down and off.

Wow, nice, I thought. Melina continued to kiss and nuzzle Connie, who continued to hug her tightly, probably for security as we guys leaned in close. She was still covered with a string bikini between her legs, but her prominent mons rose invitingly, and her vulva was a tight little handful in a cute, cloth pouch. I longed to squeeze her tenderly but firmly in my fist.

Connie raised her knees and closed her legs, but Melina wouldn’t let her, and pushed her friend’s legs flat again. She placed the fingers of one hand on her friend’s thigh, gently insisting she open for us.

“Ohhhh,” Connie moaned. I don’t know if it was Melina’s touch or her being exposed that caused her to cry out.

Melina looked at me. “Take her panties off,” she said.

“No, no,” Connie moaned and closed her legs tightly.

Melina moved and sat behind her friend’s head. She lifted and placed Connie’s head into her lap, and stroked her cheek. She leaned down and kissed her mouth, and then she slid her hands into her friend’s shirt and under her bra, cradling her breasts. I know Melina must have had two fingers around each nipple because I could see her hands working, and Connie’s writhing and moaning at Melina’s touch.

I slid Connie’s panties down and off, trying to touch her as little as possible. And there she was—all her womanly wildness bare, smooth, and exposed—not a hair to be found.

“I did that last night,” Melina said. “Do you like it?”

Yes, I nodded my head enthusiastically. Yes, yes, yes. “I wish I could have it,” I said sadly.

“It’s all mine,” said Melina.

I nodded. I understood.

Melina unbuttoned her friend’s shirt, and Connie lifted and helped take it off. Melina unclasped her bra and Connie helped take that off to. She looked at each of us, so close to her, leaning over her body now completely bared, and how we lewdly inspected each shadow of each hollow of every bone that we could find showing through her skin, every crinkle of each nipple and curve of each breast, the inward flow of her waist, the dimple of her navel, the swell of her abdomen and hips, and the treasure between her legs which she opened, now willingly, to let us admire.

“You’re a good girl,” Melina said. “Now I’ll take you home.”

“And you’ll let me?”

“Yes, I’ll let you do it to me,” she said, and she kissed her friend once again. As she did, Connie’s legs spread, and I could see the milky pool gathered there, waiting perhaps in anticipation of Melina’s fine fingers traveling the length of her insides.

When the last of the sun sank behind the hills, Melina and Connie dressed and we walked them to the road and said goodbye. We thanked them both for their generosity. “You’re welcome,” Melina said. Connie looked away, then back, and shyly gave me a smile and a cute little nod.

“Wow. I never seen nothin’ like that before,” my brother Billy said.

“I don’t think I can eat,” Dennis said. We all turned to stare at his prodigious belly.

“That’ll be the day,” said Rob, and we all laughed.

“What do you mean? It’s all muscle” Dennis retorted defensively. That really got a good laugh.

We piled into my pickup and, as I drove away, I glanced in my mirror and saw Melina behind her steering wheel and Connie straddling and kissing her in wild abandon.

  1. January 30, 2011 at 2:57 pm

    Hi Matt
    Fantastic posted…and I loved the way you used dialogue. I attended a Writer’s Lab holiday last summer and guess have always written. I publised stories on the Lush Stories website, who are quite good as ever story is reviewed for grammar, punctuation etc…and advice given.
    However, your story was a fantastic read. You should write more, I love your style.

    p.s please tell me where this Quarry is 😉

    • January 30, 2011 at 8:49 pm

      Thanks Mark. I can always count on you to read and comment, and you can count on me.

      Write more? I already do. In the last five years I’ve written thirty-five short stories, two novels, and a novella. Most of my stories have been published on one web site or another, and two stories and a novel have been published and distributed in print or as e-books.

      The novel that has been published is so naughty that I published it under a different pen name, and I’m not sure I want anyone to know I wrote it. In some ways it’s sweet and delicious, but it’s definitely politically incorrect. Do they still practice corporal punishment in the UK? I’ll probably publish the first few chapters here for Xmemore who loves to be spanked.

      The quarry really does exist, and there is a college nearby from which many young women, men too, come to skinny dip in the summer. I’ve spent many a fine afternoon at the quarry and seen some amazing bodies. The place really is deep in the woods and has a magical quality. People who go there are always friendly.

      Once I was hanging out there with a couple of guys, and there were a few women at the quarry too. Another woman came by, and she stood on top of a rock and did a slow strip tease I’ll never forget. She had on a red dress, red panties, and a red bra, but she didn’t have them on for long.

      Another time I went there alone and two college women came by. The water is very cold, and when one of the women got out of the water her nipples were so swollen she was embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen nipples stick out so much. She started to cover them up but then was embarrassed about that, so she shrugged and let me look, which I did. Her girlfriend was jealous.

      The most amazing thing I ever saw was what I based the original version of my story on, but my original story had only one girl in it, and she was under eighteen, a lot under eighteen, so I had to make the girl older to get the story published. To put a little sex into the story I added a second girl.

      What really happened was I was at the quarry with my brother and a couple of guy friends, and there wasn’t anyone else there. Then a girl about fifteen showed up along with her twelve year old brother, for protection, I guess. Us guys were naked, and we were a bit in shock, and I’m sure every one of us wondered if she was going to take her clothes off.

      Note: I totally disapprove of anyone preying on underage women. I don’t even approve of ogling young women. Let them alone until they grow up. At most, take a quick glance and keep your thoughts to yourself.

      She undressed slowly and shyly but knowing on some level the effect she was having on us, and she must have been terribly aroused herself, what with being the center of attention of a group of men alone in the woods (except for her brother).

      When she was naked she turned toward us (she had been in profile before, for modesty), and she indicated she was going to jump from the ledge. She said, “I hope I don’t break a tit.” It was a silly comment that I interpreted as coming from her embarrassment.

      Anyway, I’ll never forget what she looked like, so fresh, so pure, so newly sexy.

      The quarry is in the so called Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, the northeast corner. It is about fifty miles south of the Canadian border. You can see where I got some of my ideas from.

  1. February 8, 2011 at 3:08 pm

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