by Tarin Lex
I part my lips in ascent, but his lips don’t touch me there.
Formally, Hale requests, “Does all of this sound nice to you, too?”
“Yes,” I sigh, ever agreeable to him. My voice is someone else’s—airy and light. Now I really do feel like I’m twenty-four. And it’s whatever. Ages are numbers I don’t give a damn about now.
I open the bullet and lie back and let him watch me stroke my own inner thighs with my hands, over my tummy and breasts he handled so deftly before. All the while he jacks his cock, soothing himself as one might dip their toes in a warm bath. The view and my touch light every fiber of my soul on fire.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Oh, fuck. I don’t even care if it’s true. I activate the bullet’s vibration. I close my eyes, pretend he’s not there. I press the cool, spongy silicone over my lips to pamper them, up and down, long and slow. And then I trace it along the very edge of my pearl as I reach the edge of a climbing O, closer, closer to the center. Lower, I dip the shuddering toy between my folds, massaging my own desperate, silken tissue with languid strokes.
Climbing… climbing…
Living… dying…Living, flying.
Falling, falling…
“I should warn you, babe.” Whose voice is that? “When I come for you…I will come, a lot.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t see.
I can’t stop.
It feels so good.
I moan aloud, exalting my sex.
I deserve it.
Over the precipice, I open my eyes. I look up. The pained/delighted look on his face sends little waves of shock over all of my erogenous zones, encompassing me. The feel, my own touch, the sight of him enjoying his fine, fat snake as well as enjoying the sight of me…it all rushes together at once. My pussy wets and palpitates and then clenches hard at the peak.
I feel utterly bathed in bliss.
Hale does come for me, praising my name in guttural tones. He deposits his warm wet seed right between my breasts, where my heart beats. He presses one chaste kiss to my nose.
And I go up in smoke.
Five
Hale
She’s not the first woman to ever sleep in my arms.
She’s not the first woman to ever share a tent with me.
But for the first time in a long time, a long time indeed, I’m not anxious to let go.
The early morning sun is starting to shine through our tent, coloring everything with a golden-orange glow. I look down at Hope’s matted brown waves, her damp cheek, her mouth against my bare chest, lips parted lazily with sleep.
She’s intoxicating and smart and good. God, is she good. I haven’t felt inside of her, savored her. I haven’t even kissed her lips.
We haven’t made love.
I hold her with both arms, pressing her to me. I swipe a wayward curl from her face. I count the hours we have left, alone, together. My chest warms and then constricts.
Maybe I won’t make love to her. Instead I’ll just…love her.
Can’t even remember the last time I fell in love. I had resigned to the fact I’d never fall in love again. Delighted in it, even. Falling hurts. Often it’s me who does the hurting. You can only fall for so long until you hit rock bottom.
I guess this time, I’m climbing. Ascending. Arising.
Because falling in love with Hope feels a lot like flying.
Hope
I’m surprised how long I sleep, considering my internal clock is two hours ahead of his. When I wake up, Hale is already up and at it, cooking us breakfast. It’s only dehydrated Mountain House, but still, I could get used to him cooking for me.
It’s a dangerous line of thinking, Hope.
We don’t say much. Renewed after, well, whatever it was we experienced together last night, combined with much-needed sleep and food, I don’t feel the need to talk. There’s so much to look at. And I don’t mean Hale. The mountains are enormous, jagged, alive with spring. There’s a footpath that leads from our campsite to a large secluded lake, and all I want to do is dip my toes. So after I filter enough water to last the day for both of us, I do just that. The water is cold. The long quiet moment alone makes me yearn for more seclusion. Time to collect myself, my thoughts.
When I return to the campsite he’s packed everything for us and looks ready to go. I am too.
“Let’s have an adventure, shall we?” He’s smiling in a way that makes him look boyish, almost giddy. That’s also refreshing. He’s not a different person, per se, than he was last night, but I can tell he’s showing a different side. Last night he was the boss. Today, he’s the guide. Professional, yet animated. A big kid and my protector.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, smiling back. And we set off.
Hale wasn’t kidding about today’s scenic hike, or its grueling-ness. What begins as a leisurely jaunt through a vast meadow of tall grass and colorful flowers soon becomes a steep, precarious incline up the side of the mountain. I knew there’d be some level of difficulty here, but I didn’t realize how dangerous the hike would be. Two people could not trek side by side without one of them falling over. Waterfalls carve down along the rock face, making it slippery as we pass them. The wind picks up as we ascend, and the strange feelings that came over me last night return with a gnawing vengeance.
Hale walks ahead of me, looking as comfortable under these conditions as a sunbather in South Beach. He peers back at me over his shoulder every few minutes. You good? he mouths. I give a reluctant smile and nod.
Up, up we go, and dizziness starts to cloud my vision. Mountains are funny, how you always think, there’s the top, the highest point, and it just keeps growing taller with each of your steps. The faint headache comes back. Pulse, pulse against my temples, behind my eyes, down into my throat. I swallow the lump of terror knotted there.
Don’t look down, don’t look down.
Like that ever works. The air is perfectly crisp and cool but my trekking poles get clammy-feeling against my palms. I feel as if my eyes take over half my face when I gamble my life with one glance down over the edge. Yes, it’s gorgeous, breathtaking, so ethereal and wide and awe-inspiring. I am inspired…to never do this again. It’s like a painting. I’ve seen paintings. I’d rather be looking at one right now. The complacent mountain goat just chillin’ against the rock face below, the perfect sky-blue, the indecipherable green that I happen to know are trees, big ones, but they look so small so far away.
I should’ve given up more last night with Hale in his tent. The kit and the caboodle. I would’ve, if I’d known I’d die today.
I’m so caught up in myself that I’ve lost sight of my trajectory, and end up slamming right into Hale’s backpack. He stopped?
Oh thank heavens, it’s a plateau! A resting place! Water, water… I need all the water.
Hale reads my mind when he whirls around to steady me. He grabs my bottle from the side of my pack and pops it open for me before he gets his own water. Aw, shucks.
“How you holdin’ up?”
Miserably.
“Great,” I lie. “It’s beautiful!” That part’s true. I might as well smile. The only way back is…back. There’s no sense in complaining aloud.
Hale drops his backpack and sits down and I sit down too like, hell, yes. He leans back on his palms and spreads his legs in a V in front of him. I do the same, my legs forming a narrower V, and he taps his foot to mine and my stomach gets all…butterflied.
We catch our breath, hydrate more, and have a snack. Hale talks of weather patterns and climate change and Hemingway. His insights are fascinating but I’m certain I’ll stumble over them later when I try to retell it to my family and friends…in Florida. That part makes my stomach roll. So, so far away from him.
Hale stands up. “Not too much farther now.” He offers a hand to hoist me up.
“Thanks.”
We assume our prior rhythm and hike a bit more, Hale in front, my inhales beco
ming weaker and weaker as I bring up the rear. It’s cardio, it’s good for me, right?
A while later, just when I’m sure I can’t take another step, Hale stops again. “Here.”
“What?”
“We’re a hundred feet shy of the highest point, but this spot is more scenic for lunch. Hope? Hope. Stop looking at your feet.”
I lift my head slowly to look at him, and as good-looking as Hale is, my eyes immediately stray from his face. I feel my jaw open, gaze wide. I look past him, through him, all around.
I love staring at the ocean, its distance and breadth, its fortitude over the ages. Even its violence moves me. This vista spellbinds me in a similar way. Getting here felt like dying and now that I’m here, standing taller than all but one graphite peak, it’s heaven on earth. The vastness is hard to wrap my mind around. So many innumerable details. Sunrays break through the cloudy sky to dapple waterfalls and streams below. The pale-yellow light bathes the endless expanse of mountains, mostly green and lush, some of their peaks still capped in snow. They roll out into the faraway distance, as if as one, appearing wavy and almost as blue as the sea.
“Did I lie?”
“No, Hale.” The great expanse looks unmoving and yet alive, breathing. Ever expressive.
“You did it,” he says. “Want me to take your picture?” He points to where a flat plate of rock extends over the mountainside. “There.”
Electrified or unthinking, I step toward the photo-op. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“Well.” He grins, setting down his backpack and trekking poles. “It’s not the riskiest thing you’ve done today.”
I giggle because that’s probably true. I drop my gear next to his and walk the five or six steps out to the edge—or rather, the ledge. This time I really don’t look down. “How should I stand?”
“Whatever feels right.”
He tells me about his younger brother, Asher, who’s the real photographer in the family. I know he’s trying to keep me calm while he fiddles with the camera settings, and it works. It’s nice to hear about Hale’s family. His mom’s a midwife in Stanbery. His dad passed away too soon. Asher lives deep in the woods not too far from Hale. He and his young wife, Ariel, have a six-month-old baby girl.
I smile as Hale takes the pic. Inside, something unsettled pokes at my chest. My throat tightens. It’s the altitude or the long hike affecting me. It’s not the topic of babies and the ache that assaults me in random moments. I’d accepted the fact I’d never have my own child. Not every woman has to be a mother, and I have friends, like Abby, who are truly happy in that decision. Settled.
At times I thought I was happy too. I have been momentarily content, yes. But settled? Happy? I realize older women than me have gotten pregnant and carried to term. I could still try to have a child, but I’d need to get started…soon.
Next thing I know I’m mopping tears from my cheeks.
“What’s wrong, beautiful?” Hale steps out to wrap me against him and lead me back toward safety. “Babe. What happened?”
Baby fever—that’s what. Maybe it also explains the dizzy spells, vertigo, and nebulous headache.
“Not sure,” I mutter. “I promise I’m fine.”
At least I’ve already fallen in love? No I’m not fine. I’m not fine on any level. I’m something else.
Some kind of crazy.
Six
Hope
At Hale’s insistence—and oh did the man need to insist—I sit down in a safe place, a great distance from the edge, and let him make us coffee and lunch. My pulse is still thrumming hard. I can’t convince myself I’m afraid. The view is amazing and doesn’t instill fear in me when I’m resting and the most treacherous elements are all behind us. Maybe it’s nerves or just poor conditioning. I should pass on the coffee, but really. Who does that?
I don’t have much of an appetite until Hale returns with steaming beef stew in one hand, chicken fried rice in the other. I can’t decide which one looks better and neither can he, so we share both. Hale sits next to me, close enough our hips touch. We pass our meals back and forth, dipping our spoons one after the other, sipping from only one cup of coffee. Is this the most real intimacy I’ve ever experienced?
My appetite dissolves quickly. I set down my Mountain House. “You can have the rest.”
Hale chuckles. “You already captured my heart, babe.” The way he is says it, I can’t tell if he’s teasing. “You don’t have to do that. Eat.”
His concern is sweet. Then I catch him gazing at me with those dark eyes narrowed.
“You okay?” He presses a hand to my forehead. “Did you sleep well last night?” I grin at that, but his expression remains serious.
“I did.”
“Water,” he says. “You need to be always sipping on water.”
But then I’ll have to pee…
Unyielding, he all but pours the water down my throat. “We’ll hike a bit more and then start the descent. It’s leisurely from there. You up for one more night of camping? We’ll be right in the heart of the Starry Night Preserve…”
His voice trails off along with my thoughts. Alone—I think I just need to be alone.
“I really can’t eat another bite. Mind if I go for a little walk, right around here?”
Hale lifts an eyebrow at me. His voice drops. “Not sure that’s a smart idea.”
“I’ll stay close. I need to…you know…”
“All right,” he says. “Stay close. Take this.” He shoves a water bottle into my hand.
I don’t really have to pee. I just need to breathe in a moment of solitude. Like this morning, that was so nice. Time alone is my fuel.
Into the woods I go. Over rocks and fallen trees, dried leaves and sticks crunch beneath my feet. Hypnotic crunch. Midday yields to evening. Sunlight filters down in pink and orange shafts through tall, tall trees. The whole forest comes over me.
My knees go weak. Just need a moment alone. A chipmunk scuttles past. A sparrow sings. My woodland friends. The forest is awake, stirring, spinning, spinning. A moment alone. Enchanted woods. A dark aura clouds my vision. Alone. It’s dreamlike. Am I dreaming? I feel dizzy, lightheaded, very, very sleepy.
Alone…
Alone.
Alone!
Hale
Hope takes way too fuckin’ long. I finish my meal and wait, my concern quickly intensifying. Great instincts, jive turkey. How much privacy could she possibly need? When my worry reaches a fever pitch I grab a water bottle and my blade, a Kit Black original, and stalk after her.
Minutes pass. Long, tortured minutes. Shit—where the hell could she have gone? I quiet my steps but move quickly through the woods. If she really had to pee she’d have looked for someplace dense, private. If she veered off trail to find retreat, she’d move toward beauty.
“Hope,” I call. “Hope!” I pause, quieting my breaths. I listen close. Every one of my senses is attuned to her, have been since the second I saw her sipping wine at the Stanbery bar. So why do I feel like she’s nowhere close?
Why do I feel like she’s…gone?
The thought of losing Hope manifests and wraps around my heart and twists, twists, until it feels about to snap.
People don’t vanish. She’s just around here. I will find her. “Hope!”
In her absence my breathing staggers, my heart makes a tight fist. Hope is my breath, my heart, my will. I need her. Goddammit.
I love her.
By sheer stupid luck I look down—the bear scat catches my eye, but next to it, imprinted in the fine clay, the distinct shape of the soles of her boots.
“Hooope!”
I follow in her footsteps. Seconds, minutes expand. Dusk will come over us here, soon.
And then, finally, there she is. I come upon her unmoving form, passed out on a bed of leaves and clay beneath the cover of a Douglas-fir. Christ. What if—
No. I won’t do what-ifs. I can’t bear to.
I admonish her in quiet, coarse
language I don’t think she can hear right now, as I hoist Sleeping Beauty over my shoulder and carry her out of the woods. If she meant to travel all the way to Idaho just to torture me senseless, she’s done it every which way. I cede to her. Pretty sure I’ll always want to.
Too bad my Florida woman seems to be physically averse to the state. Afflicted with acute mountain sickness—has to be.
She won’t stay here. Even if I rescue her. Even if I make love to her under the canopy of countless stars tonight. Even if I show her that the whole damn world exists right here, in the Wylder Bluffs.
My whole world could exist right here.
If only she’d stay.
Seven
Hope
My eyes slit open facing a deep, dark forest. I quickly discern I’m being carried. Whatever’s doing the carrying jostles me roughly, loudly, over bumpy terrain. I’m uncomfortable but firmly held. I blink the scenery into focus. Dense woods. Sunlight. Smells like cedar and damp moss.
Faster than I’m ready, the recent events all wash together.
I tumbled over with weakness and vertigo. Into the woods I went. A man…a big, handsome, devilishly arrogant mountain man. Kodiak Man—no, Hale was his name. The treacherous hike. The little game we played last night…
“Shit-shit-shit.” He stops abruptly. It has the effect of a train hitting me full speed. Stupid inertia.
“What?” I groan.
“I’m setting you down,” he says, planting my feet and then holding my face to look me square in the eye. God my neck is so sore from looking up.
Is he going to kiss me? Not that I don’t want him to. Just the timing, it seems…odd.
Kiss me though.
It’s hard to see where his pupils end and the iris begins, but I can barely tell when I study him close. Right now the pupils are so enlarged the iris forms an obsidian ring as thin as spider’s silk. He’s not horny. This time, Hale’s eyes are darkened with fear.
