A Monumental Affair - Sex Stories

A Monumental Affair

The unparalleled panorama of staggeringly beautiful scenery was nearly lost in the heat haze that shimmered off the tarmac as we made our way steadily along route US163. Fortunately Lucy was driving, allowing me to soak up the views from the car window as the landscape, completely overwhelming in both its majesty and its size, swept serenely by. Lucy and I had arrived in Las Vegas five days earlier with four other friends. Principal among them was Helen, good friend to both of us and also bride to be. Tentative plans for her hen night in a pub back home had escalated beyond reason as we had goaded each other into ever bolder and grander plans to celebrate her last single night. We eventually found ourselves booking a ten day jaunt to Las Vegas. The myriad of delights on offer to tantalise both discerning and undiscerning visitors alike had proved too much of a draw for all six of us. While we'd booked into the Stratosphere Hotel for the duration of our stay, we'd sampled the delights of the Bellagio Fountains, The Fall of Atlantis at Caesars Palace and Freemont Street's illuminated canopy. I'd had an incredible amount of fun in more hotels, casinos and attractions than I could remember, though finding a way back out of any of them was often a Herculean task. To this day I don't think the word "exit" formed part of the language of any Las Vegas establishment. We had another four days to fill before Virgin Atlantic was scheduled to whisk us back to normality and the dreary grey ...

... skied autumnal weather of London. While Las Vegas had been amazing fun, I fancied spending time somewhere far more natural and away from general hubbub of the city and the strip. I managed to persuade Lucy to hire a car with me and run off into the wild for a few days to see some of the desert and canyons that seemed to pretty much surround the city. After a quick trip to see Hertz and a bit of credit card magic, we soon found ourselves speeding out of the city on I-15 towards Mesquite. We spent a day each at Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon. They were both stunning in their own way, but as I pored over the map in the motel in Page after a day at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, I hoped the best was yet to come. I saw something on the map that took me completely by surprise. My dad had always been a massive John Wayne fan. He'd made me watch all his Westerns over and over again while I was growing up. "Get yourself to Monument Valley," he'd said, before I left for the airport. "Take loads of photographs for me and make your dad jealous." After he'd positively raved for half an hour about the possibility of me going there, I hadn't really thought any more about it. I knew Monument Valley was in the western states somewhere, but that was about the limit of my knowledge. Yet there it was, staring at me from the map. I estimated it to be about another three or four hours drive eastwards from Page. We weren't due back in Las Vegas until the following night, so that should be ...