I found my tree before the sun went down. A thick grey-gum at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by scrub, just far enough back that the shadows swallowed me. From here I could see everything, but no one could see me.

The campers spilled in as the light faded. Cars, voices, the dull thud of tent pegs being hammered into the dirt. They moved with the restless energy of people leaving their week behind. Laughter, swearing, the clatter of gear. I stayed still, leaning into the rough bark, breathing in the sharp scent of eucalyptus. Mosquitoes whined at my ears, bit at my neck, but I didn’t shift.

When the fire caught, the clearing transformed. Faces took shape in the glow, shadows leapt up the tree trunks. I watched them settle into their circle, cups of wine in hand. Their voices dropped, softer now, more intimate. I caught fragments. A joke. A burst of laughter. The creak of a chair. The tall woman in the cardigan raised her arms wide when she spoke, spilling wine onto the dirt. Her mouth moved, but I could not hear her words.

Then the man stood and unrolled a mat. I heard him announce something, his voice carrying, and the group laughed. A blonde woman volunteered first. She lay down like she was daring them all to watch. And we did.

The man’s hands pressed into her back and I saw the change in her. The laughter left her face, her body softened. She let out a long sigh that floated into the night. The group quietened. The fire cracked. The creek behind me was still, more swamp than stream, buzzing with mosquitoes. But here, in the firelight, everything slowed into rhythm: his hands moving, her body melting.

I couldn’t look away.

One by one they followed her. Different shapes, different hesitations, each of them eventually giving in. The air around the circle grew heavy. No more banter, no more jokes, just the sound of hands on shoulders, breaths leaving bodies, the rustle of clothes as they adjusted themselves. My pulse thudded in my ears. My cock started to harden.

Then came the younger one. No more than 22 or 23 year's old. Her pyjamas, loose, her hair falling into her face. She looked nervous, like she didn’t belong. She lay down slowly. He worked on her back, gentler than before. When she exhaled, her lips parted, her eyelids fluttered, I felt it in my chest. My fists curled against the bark. I leaned forward without meaning to. I was close enough now that I could see the fine lines of her body in the fire’s glow.

They kept going until the fire shrank to coals. One by one the others drifted away to their tents. I listened to the laughter fade, the zips close, the silence creep back in. Soon it was only the man and the girl left by the embers of their campfire.

They spoke softly. I strained to hear. Her head tilted, her hand brushed his arm. Then she took his hand. I saw it clearly in the dying light. My breath caught.

They stood and walked toward the darker edge of the clearing, away from the others. I followed. Silent on the grass, staying far enough back that their heads turned only toward each other.

She pressed her back against a tree, pulling him close. I froze behind another trunk, the bark digging into my cheek. Her mouth met his, urgent and hungry, her body arching against him. I could hear the sounds of it — quick breaths, the scrape of cloth against bark, the soft thud of him shifting closer. My hand was now in my pants, squeezing my cock.

And then her eyes flicked sideways. Straight toward me.

She knew. She saw me. And instead of pulling away, she clung to him harder. Her hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling his head down, her lips fierce against his. She turned her body so that I had the clearest view, like she was inviting me in without a word.

Except from my right hand, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I stayed rooted to the tree, every nerve lit, watching and slowly wanking, as if it was the only thing I had ever wanted.

When it was over, she leaned against him, her face flushed, her breath fast. She whispered something I couldn’t catch, but her smile was sly, wicked.

I stepped back into the dark, into the humming mosquitoes and the cool bush air. They thought I would vanish when the fire died.

But I will still be here.

Watching.

Always watching.