“When you imagine us *being* together, where do you see us and how?”
I’m awake in the dark a few minutes before my cellphone alarm starts chiming. I get up in silence leaving my wife to sleep. I make coffee, clean the counter, and put away the dishes in the dark before dawn. My mind wanders over to you as you are making your own preparations for the next few days just as I am.
I pulled the essentials together last night before bed. Clothes, snacks, backpacking meals, water filter, alpine stove and crockery, sleeping bag. I decanted a bottle of wine into a Nalgene. Now bundled into my pack, the load seems dense but easily manageable. As unusual as this adventure is, I’ve done my diligence as far as safety. I let Margaret know where I’m actually going and what time I’ll be back. I’ve told her who to call to come look for us. I have flashlights, a map and florescent marking tape.
I leave the house just as the dawn is creeping over the eastern foothills. My heart pounds and I tense for a few seconds as I start the car and turn it into the street. It takes me a few deep breaths to bring my pulse back down. We’ve decided to meet a little way outside of town. No need to drive two vehicles into the wilderness. Its clear with a light mist on the ground as I turn onto the highway. I’m thinking of the way you smell and the softness of your breath on my face. I make the last turn into a quiet Park and Ride.
I’m early but its empty. I wait five minutes. Just as I start to contemplate the possibility that you aren’t coming, you thought better of the whole thing, or simply got nervous and couldn’t go through with it, I see your headlight appear. Once your pack and your jacket are stowed in back we exchange a deep breath and nervous smile. The car doors clap shut and you lean close to me, pause two heart beats and press your lips against mine. Our mouths form a hollow kiss and we feel the chemical wash of endorphins pour over our brains and the lustful thirst in our bodies tries to crack us open, to push its way into daylight. This deep kiss lasts and leaves us in recoil, breathing hard. I realize my hand has been gripped to your inner thigh. We’ve never so much as shaken hands. “Its nice to see you”, you say in a calm tone of voice. You put your hand on my chest and gently push me back into my seat and say, “Drive, now”.
We drive up the valley along the highway. The sun is low in the sky but its warmth is ploughing the dew into low bands of mist that cling to the low foothills and groves of trees scattered through the farmlands. You DJ off of your phone while I drive. The sun and a gleam in your eye and Muse songs on the stereo make the drive pass in a blur.
We turn off the highway. The eastern valley is beautiful but poor. Its a familiar poverty that urban hipsters typically view as “scenic” or “authentic”. But soon we’ve passed by the rusted tin roofs, derelict trucks, appliances and tractors, making our way into more and more remote regions. We leave behind our ever-present river and drive up through another river’s drainage. We cross through native land, past an abandoned cemetery. Signs point to the Suattle river in our right. Finally, in a cool stand of trees we reach a gravel parking area. A trail head is visible with a small reader board. No Fires Permitted and the usual. A sign says “Miner’s ridge – Image lake”.
Aside from the two other cars parked at the trailhead, güvenilir bahis we see no sign of people for 45 minutes. We are hiking through trees, climbing but almost imperceptibly. Our packs feel light. And we enjoy the light breeze and the sun filtering through the ever-greens. At a creek crossing we come to a heavily built wooden bridge. An older couple with a grey-mussled dog are crossing as we approach. For a second I think I recognize them a feeling of fear rising. Then I see they are not familiar. They nod affably as we pass, assuming we are a couple in the traditional sense, not a couple committing adultery with the tacit consent of our partners. We continue on past many smaller crossing of creeks and springs most with a string of stones or logs to cross on. We need a break shortly before noon with snacks and water. We choose a spot on some rocks near a semi circular basin in a stream up against a broken rock face. The July air is warm with a delectable breeze. In the partial shade we sit near each other, nearly touching.
“You look warm” you say to me smiling and before I can react, you fling a cupped hand of stream water onto my face and chest. The cold is a shock but it makes me laugh. “I’ll let you have that one but next time, you’re going in the drink” I sputter.
As the warm afternoon wears on we begin to climb higher and steeper. Our saving grace is the tree cover. After the 15th or so switchback you ask “so how many switchbacks?” Our bodies are now all slick with sweat.
“Forty,” I say.
You pause and give me a grave look. “What the fuck did you get me into?”
“You’re doing great,” I say as I lean in and taste a little drop of the sweat dripping down your neck. “Walk in front and tell me whenever you want to take a break.”
It is late afternoon when we start to break out of the tall trees. We’ve come almost 14 miles. We see trees getting shorter and alpine vegetation taking over the landscape. We can now see the top of the ridge exposed through the trees and scrub. I ask, “How many switch backs? I know you’ve been counting.”
“Thirty. Seven.” you say between breaths. Ten minutes later we are standing at a Tee in the path running along the top of Miner’s Ridge. The path on our right runs a few hundred yards. It rolls and humps to an end at the foot of an old fire lookout. No one is home so we climb the plank stairs to a heavy door hung horizontal. It lifts when we both push and we climb out onto the lookout platform. We are looking down on the ridge and can see down the valley opposite the way we ascended. We see the hem of the white peaked North Cascades at the horizon to the West and the bulge of Mount Plumber to the north east. But to the south, across the Suattle river valley stands Glacier Peak. It is a rare thing to see this side of it. Its visible from 1-5 in Marysville on a clear day but here it is no mountain in a picture frame. Here it looks close enough to touch and the breeze from the south carries the coolness of the glacier through the July heat.
“We have a little way to go yet.”
We climb down from the lookout and shoulder our packs. In ten minutes we pass by Image lake basin. Image lake is one of the most precious and stunning places on the Earth by my reckoning. I’m looking forward to visiting the lake with you in the early morning tomorrow. Camping is restricted in the lake basin so we continue on ten more minutes to a flat türkçe bahis camp spot in the open against some trees. Some remnants of the winter snows are scattered around.
With tent and camp set up for the night we walk over across the lush green meadow to a rushing stream to gather water a hundred yards away.
“Tired much?” I ask. You answer with a grunt and a nod. “My shoulders” you say as you rub the place where your pack straps cross your shoulder. The sun is fading to yellow and orange but the air is still warm. “Will take off your shirt?” I ask.
You stare at me as you do it. I sit behind you and dip my handkerchief in the stream of ice-cold glacial run-off. I wring it before I touch it gently to your back. You shudder and then relax as I wash your neck and back with the icy water. I let the drops roll over your shoulders down your beasts. Afterward, you bathe my body in the same stream. You wash the grit from my chest and back and shower the cool water over my head. My tight neck and shoulder muscles relax and my skin bristles when a breeze crosses over us but it feels so good to be clean after such a long, hot day.
We heat water, cook our meals (by putting boiling water into plastic pouches) and eat quietly, gazing out off the side of the ridge and staring at the staggering view of Glacier Peak. We sip the wine from the Nalgene for dessert. Its a bit warm from the heat of the day but it tastes sweet, tart and refreshing as the light starts to dim. We wash dishes in the icy stream. This time the icy water freezes our hands and sets our teeth chattering. Finally in the setting sun we get the first reward of or day’s toil: Glacier Peak in the evening alpine glow.
“I’m tired. Of waiting…” you say as you stand, taking hold of my hand. You lead me to the tent. Inside, the mats and sleeping bags are laid out neatly side by side. You kick away the sleeping bags and push me down onto the sleeping pads. In what seems like one swift motion our shorts and sweatshirts are off and we are kneeling facing each other in the center of the little tent, our noses nearly touching, your hands gripping my wrists as I reach for your flesh. “You say you’re a giver?” You whisper in a kindly mocking voice. I only nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “…so then, give me”, you say before taking my mouth with your mouth in an urgent kiss. You have both of your small hands around my cock. I pull your hips down onto my hips as i kneel and I feel myself open into you.
I feel the flood of your wetness, sliding until you pull back slowly, then again, with slow moving flicks of your pelvis while i kneel cradling your bottom in my hands. I feel you slowly tensing as you start to come. First your hands, then your face then your extremities become more rigid but the pleasure is driving us on. Only after a four or five breaths of this do you begin to moan. You moan in your breath like a sigh, not calling out or screaming. I feel your climax all around me and I feel your body seize on mine and stop, your weight resting on my hips. I feel the deep spasms inside of you as you pause and I realize how close I am. With an urgent shift of my weight, I lift your body off of me and back away from you panting. My brow and chest are rolling sweat.
“I don’t want to come yet” I say. You sort of roll your eyes.
“Come here and cool off, then”
I lay down on my back next to you. I kiss güvenilir bahis siteleri your neck and taste the saltiness and spice of your skin. I savor the smell of your sweating body in the flush of pure lust. You blow gently across my forehead like you would to comfort a fussy, feverish child. After a several minutes, I move my right hand underneath you, pulling your right thigh upward and move my left hand slowly down across your pubic bone to your sex. You are wet beyond belief. “Can I touch you?” I ask gently. You nod your head with your eyes shut and your teeth apart. Your hands rest to either side of your head. I begin slowly, not entering you but gently learning your warm surfaces and contours. You tell me with your body’s involuntary movements which places I should attend to and how vigorously. Your breathing becomes panting and you push my hand away.
You resume what my left hand was doing with your right as your left hand reaches for my cock which is only slightly less rigid than a few minutes ago. You guide me back into you slowly at first then fast and hard with all your weight while your hand keeps its stirring rhythm over your tender flesh. This time you cry out. This time there is no holding back. All our hunger is come forth. All our thirst is poured out. Our bodies plunging and bracing together in the rhythm of pure pleasure. A pressure builds in our bodies simultaneously. The pressure can’t be held in so we spill out together, gasping for sweet air, grasping with our mouths for each other’s mouths, grasping for each other’s bodies. I watch your face as you come over and over. Wave upon wave of orgasm that make your eyes wince and flutter. I’ve come and gone a while ago but I keep going until with a last aching gasp and shudder we just stop and hold, feeling each other deep inside.
We rest for minutes clutching each other and sweating. Finally you reach up and open the tent zipper. You let a flood of hot aspiration escape the tent. Some cool air will settle on our bodies still rolling with sweat. I fetch filtered water a few feet away and duck quickly back inside. The night temperature is plummeting and the sweat is cooling now. Stars are starting to come out. There is no moon. In an hour (if we’re still awake) we’ll have a view of the Milky Way. After we had drunk enough water we settle back into the tent by headlamp. We start to settle into our bags with sticky legs and hands.
“Wet wipes?” I offer. You accept with a furtive glance away. I pull you close and kiss you again. I whisper, “Thank you. Thank you, so much”.
“Do we cry, now? Talk about our regrets?” You ask.
“No. No way.” I blurt out. But cautiously I ask “Do you feel like crying?”
“No” you respond coolly. Then with a smile, “I don’t love the idea of sleeping in my sleeping bag by myself.”
“Let me show you a trick.” I unzip the two bags completely. Happily, they are the same make. This is going to work. I fit the zipper of one into the zipper of the other and then again on the other so side. I offer for you to enter with a gesture. I get in beside your naked body and zip us in part way. We sleep with the stars and cool air above us. Dreaming in an exhausted sleep, dreaming in bliss and warmth. Resting our tired flesh calmly side by side through the night. On a mountain.
Gentle Reader, please take note. This fantasy contains the element of long hours hiking. It is merely a means of getting to the setting. There is no intended element of trail or sadism in this narrative. If you aren’t turned on by the idea of walking for hours under a heavy pack, don’t worry. That doesn’t turn me on particularly either…