Eagle River

by Isabelle Kane

  Kjersten moaned, then reached down between their straining young bodies to grip the base of his cock. Then, she slid down his body and took the tip of his cock in her mouth, gently suckling it. Raising her mouth off of it, she lathed her tongue around the large, firm head as she continued to stroke her hand down the now wet shaft. Galen shut his eyes and bit his lip against the overwhelming sensation as she cupped his balls and gently gripped them. Then, she slid her tongue down and around the base of his balls.

  Not able to take the sweet torture any more, he pulled her up and then set her down on the blanket beside him. “It’s my turn,” he murmured as he nuzzled the sensitive skin by her ear. First, he nibbled and nuzzled his way down her body. Then, he cupped her sex, feeling the moisture between the lips as she thrust up against his hand. He gently separated her lips, ran his tongue around her clitoris and then over it as he gripped her hips in his hands. Kjersten nearly came up off the blanket. He continued to go down on her while she gyrated about seeking satisfaction.

  “Fuck me now, Galen.” She gripped his muscled forearms, her eyes, hot and desperate.

  “Ride me,” he directed, lying back down and shifting her over him and down onto his aroused penis. Both groaned at the ecstasy of penetration.

  She rode him, frantically, desperately. All the while, he stared up at her. He reached up and guided her hand down to her clit so that she masturbated as she rode him. Desperately, they thrust together.

  “I can feel you so deep.”

  “I want to come. Fuck me,” he directed, forcing her hips into a faster, harder rhythm. They strained together to ride a wave and then came together.

  Afterwards, they lay together touching and chatting, avoiding discussing anything that might destroy the perfection of that stolen afternoon. They didn’t return to their respective homes until near evening.

  That very night, after Galen got home, Jessica lost her battle with cancer. So, there hadn’t been any more time at all for Galen and Kjersten to be together.

  Looking back now, Galen wished he’d handled things differently with Kjersten. But after his mother’s death, life had been a pain filled blur for him. The visitation and the funeral hadn’t seemed real. Afterwards, he’d gone through the motions of life, gone to school, worked out, but he had also closed himself off because he hurt so much inside.

  Kjersten had called him almost every day at first. Then, it had gone to a few times a week, then weekly. For months, she sent him cards, letters, a care package, and even a playlist on a cassette tape.

  A few weeks later, during dinner, the phone rang.

  Galen and Kyle eyed each other, tired of the endless calls by well-wishers.

  Finally, Kyle conceded and picked up the phone. “Odgers here.” Then, he held it out to Galen. “It’s for you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Come on,” Kyle covered the receiver end of the phone. “It’s Kjersten. Just talk to her.”

  “I just ... I don’t know.”

  “Take it,” Kyle pressured.

  “Fine,” Galen muttered. “Hello?” he barked into the phone.

  “Galen?”

  “Yup.”

  “I can’t believe I finally got you. I’ve been calling you, but you probably know that.”

  “I just didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Galen. I loved your mom, too.”

  He was silent.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m coming home in a few weekends. I want to see you.”

  “No.” The word burst out of him abruptly.

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t want to see anyone. Not now.”

  “You don’t want to see me?” Her voice sounded hurt.

  “I don’t want to see anyone.”

  “Galen, please, what’s wrong?”

  Again, he was silent. “I just don’t want to do this right now, Kjersten. I don’t want to talk to you.” It hurt him to say the words, for he knew they would devastate her, but he used them anyway. “Don’t call here again.” Then he’d hung up on her.

  “Why did you do that?” Kyle demanded. “That girl cares about you. You’re not thinking right.”

  But Galen’s heart was broken with the loss of his mother. He wasn’t ready or able to care about anyone else. He just didn’t want to deal with any of it anymore. “Just leave me alone.”

  Looking back, Galen cringed at the cruelty of his words and actions. I wasn’t thinking right. I was truly crazy with pain and grief. I can’t blame her for moving on. But with Cam? Why with that bastard?

  Chapter Three

  Home

  ~ Galen ~

  Galen cringed, pinched his eyes shut, against that final memory. How could I be so awful, such a jerk? How could I be so messed up? Looking back, it was like in those months after his mom died, a part of him had been dead as well. He had sort of locked down all of his emotions just to survive. He’d survived, but at what cost?

  He still had his family, but he’d driven away a girl he thought he may have loved. How can I fix things? Not sitting here, that’s for sure. He exhaled slowly and then turned the key. The pickup hesitated a moment, coughed, back fired and then turned over. He gave her a little gas and eased her the rest of the way up the driveway and parked at the house.

  He got out of the truck. The moon was nearly full and bright and he paused, struck by how pretty the place still looked at night. What a joke. At night, an eye didn’t get stuck on the work that still needed to be done or that had been done half-ass. It just looked so peaceful. And then, he could almost forget the real cost of this place, how much Kyle kept paying in blood and sweat. It had been a good place to grow up. Galen knew that he’d been lucky that way. That was probably why it all hurt so much now. He wasn’t used to things sucking so badly, even though they had for some time now.

  Still feeling all jumpy and wound up, Galen knew that there was no way that he would get any sleep. So, he turned away from the house and walked towards the hay barn that the moonlight had given a shadowy, silent sort of majesty.

  During the day, the decrepit red wooden barn appeared to be nearly falling down and drafty with missing boards. But despite the fading red and brown wood and the pieces of metal tacked on here and there, the place was sturdy. It stayed up winter after winter, under big time snow loads. It was more than adequate for hay and equipment storage, and a great place for a couple of football crazy kids to play.

  Kyle was the one who’d hung a tire from a chain from the roof at the far end of the long aisle. The hay was stacked high on both sides and a couple of bulbs cast a vague light down from where they hung high in the rafters. In the summer, they left the doors open at both ends. That way, there was plenty of light.

  For part of one football preseason back when he was in sixth or seventh grade, Kyle had wanted to play quarterback. He’d had a strong arm, but had been weak on accuracy. Coach Murray had told him to rig up the tire and practice. But, unlike Galen, Kyle had gotten bored with it. He’d also gotten big in middle school. So, Kyle had been put on the line. It had probably worked out for the best anyway. Kyle liked to hit people.

  Galen and Kyle had cleared all of the hay out of one corner and put a weight bench back there and an old radio. They’d covered the cracked, faded, and cobweb covered walls with a collage of sports posters, magazine pages, and newspaper clippings. The green and yellow of the Green Bay Packers, though faded and dust covered, were the dominant shades. There was a poster of Fuzzy Thurston on one wall and one of Paul Hornung on the other, as well as a vanity parking sign that read “Reserved for Packer Fans.” There was also a cheesehead hat that Kyle had gotten when he and some buddies had tailgated at a Packer game at Lambeau field.

  Below the Fuzzy Thurston poster there was a stack of Old Sports Illustrated magazines. Galen remembered when his face had appeared in “Faces in the Crowd,” just last year. As a kid, he had fanta
sized about just that happening. But then when it finally had, it hadn’t mattered all that much. His mother had just died, and there was no one to put the clipping in his memory book. That’s how it was, whenever he started feeling okay, something always came up that reminded him that his mom was gone. And now Kjersten was gone, too, and it was his fault.

  Shakily, he took a deep breath. He tried to let go of all of the self-pity and the misery that was eating him up. But, it stuck there, lodged high in his throat, like that home fry that he’d choked on at a Perkins once. His eyes caught on the blue and white of the jump rope that hung from a nail on the wall. He grabbed it and went to work.

  Twenty minutes later, when he was dripping sweat and his calves ached with a satisfying burn, Kyle walked in.

  “I saw the light on out here. You got quite a lather going there, Galen.”

  “Early night for you?”

  “Slow night. The talent pool of ladies was weak.”

  “That usually doesn’t bother you,” Galen sniped as he tossed the rope down and picked up the football. He walked down to the furthest end of the barn and sent the ball sailing towards the tire. It bounced off the rim. Muttering under his breath, he walked the length of the barn, picked it up, walked back again, and then threw.

  It bounced off the rim again.

  “That’s true,” Kyle remarked laconically. “You having a rough night,” he said as he sat down on bale of hay, took out his tin of Copenhagen, and put a chew in.

  Galen’s third throw made it through the tire, as did the next one and the handful of throws after that.

  “I’d quit while I was ahead, Galen. You’ve pretty much torn the hell out of that old tire,” Kyle commented laconically. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  “Let it go, Kyle.” Galen responded as he walked over to the bench and started to put added weight on the bar. Kyle automatically moved to help his brother. Neither commented on the choice of the hour for working out. Both brothers had developed strategies for getting by. Galen’s was to push his body to exhaustion while Kyle’s usually involved a visit to one of the seedier local drinking holes. Kyle put the pin on. “I was over at the Court’n House tonight. Someone mentioned that you blew Cam Fawst out of the water in that football toss over at the fair.”

  “You still hanging out at that dump?” Galen evaded the question.

  “Nothing wrong with having a few cocktails now and then, little brother, and some of the skanks who hang out there are pretty well put together and friendly. At least I don’t waste forty or fifty bucks on an evening and then not get anything out of it. Besides, you know how it works, if you keep it wrapped, it doesn’t count. So, I’m practically a virgin.”

  Galen groaned as he lay down on the bench. He gripped and released the bar. “Sandra would lose it if she heard you talking like that. You ready?”

  “Yeah, whenever. Galen, this will all eventually pass, too. You’ll get over it, over her.”

  Galen braced, about to raise the bar. “Come on, Kyle. I gotta concentrate.”

  “You did chest this morning, right? You’re just tearing muscle up by lifting more now. That’s no good... You’re just beating yourself up, aren’t you? You’re one sick dude. I’m telling you, overworking a muscle group is no good for your body.”

  Galen exhaled in exasperation and rose to a sitting position on the bench. Kyle was well lubricated and ready to talk. There was no way to shut his brother up when he was in such a mood.

  “Galen, I know big time athletes work hard, but you’ve turned into some kind of masochist.” Kyle chuckled as he sank back down onto a bale of hay.

  There had to be more coming, there always was. There was a lot of bullshit to Kyle. But when you got down to it, Kyle was a good guy and a great brother, the kind of guy who killed himself on a farm that was barely breaking even in order to take care of his invalid father and teenaged brother.

  Kyle rested a hand on Galen’s shoulder. “You’ve gotta learn that you can’t let things get you down. You just keep going on. That’s what it’s about... Like Mom dying. There was no reason for it, and you find yourself wondering why God let’s shit like that happen. It just don’t make sense.” He cast his eyes down to the ground. Then, he leaned forward and spat a smooth caramel colored stream onto the dirt floor in front of him. “You just can’t let it get you down. We got dealt a crappy hand in life. Shit happens, but we still got each other, you, Sandra, Joe, and their kids, and even Pop, the old bastard. Are you getting what I’m saying?”

  Galen met his brother’s glance. “Kjersten was at the fair.”

  “Oh?” Kyle kicked around the dirt in front of him with the fine Ostrich leather boots that he was so proud of having won in an electric bull riding contest. “Once you’re at college, you’ll forget all about her. The girls will be all over you.”

  “You don’t get it, Kyle. I thought she was the one.”

  “I thought that she was okay, too... We all did. But it’s better that you found out now anyway. And you’ll get over her. I’m tellin’ you, one semester and you’ll have a hard time remembering what she looks like.”

  Galen snorted.

  “Football players are gods at Illinois University. I know what I’m talking about. But don’t you get screwed up. You remember what’s important and keep your nose clean. You got that? There’s no point in thinking about what you shoulda done or what you did wrong. You just gotta let it go. You have a lot to look forward to.”

  Galen nodded.

  “Come on, let’s go in. I’m freezing my nuts off.”

  * * * *

  After the drama of the night at the fair, Ben lay in bed and found that sleep eluded him. Galen. Kjersten. Cam. Their faces swam through his restless mind. It’s incredible and horrible that Kjersten is with Cam. And yet, he’d seen the rift develop between Kjersten and Galen. They were his best friends. Of course he’d known that Galen had shut down and shut Kjersten out. And, Ben had been there that night in Chicago when Kjersten and Cam had gotten together. His mind drifted back to that night.

  It was a typical Thursday night at the Delta Psi fraternity house of Milwaukee University. Several couples of the evening gyrated their pelvises together to the heavy primal beat. The basement rooms reeked of beer, in some corners, vomit. Thursday nights at Delta Psi were always the same. They had seemed so cool earlier in the semester. Ben wondered, Why did I bother to come? Already more than half way through his sophomore year, Ben was finding the scene a little stale. Feeling way too sober, he glanced around in some disgust.

  “Hey, Ben. How you doing?” A chunky red head with abundant cleavage overflowing her army green tank top shouted to Ben through the cloud of cigarette smoke around the keg she manned.

  “Good. How about you, Jane?”

  “Fine and getting better. You want a beer?”

  “Sure.” He took the proffered drink, not because he planned on drinking it but because it was the expected prop at such events. “Jane, you are looking fine tonight.”

  “Yeah, right,” she replied, blushing.

  “I’ll see you around,” Ben said.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  In the dim lighting, he made out a familiar tall, emaciated figure behind the DJ table so he headed over

  “What’s up, my man, Ben?” the DJ commented on seeing him.

  “Is that you, Walt?” Ben questioned. “I can’t tell under the shades.”

  The DJ pulled off his shades. “How you livin?”

  “I’m living large,” Ben responded with a slight smile.

  “No man. It’s livin’. You sound too white. Drop the g.”

  “Got it.” Ben held his hand up for the high five. Walt was about as white as one could get. “Hey Mark.”

  Mark was short, muscular, and Italian. Together, he and Walt were the best DJs on the campus and were in high demand for all parties.

  “Anything interesting tonight?” Ben queried as he leaned back against the wall behind the table piled high with
equipment and CDs.

  “Nothing too extreme,” Mark returned. They studied the crowd. “Looks like Fawst is gettin’ busy again tonight.” He gestured to where Cam Fawst was all over a tall, willowy blond. Cam had his arms on either side of her up against the wall, his mouth buried against her neck.

  “I don’t get it,” Walt smirked. “Cam treats women like shit, but the chicks are always all over him.”

  “That’s because he’s the Coyotes’ QB, you dumbass,” Mark commented.

  “Word,” Walt agreed. “This is a new one. She’s hot.”

  Ben studied the couple. There was something oddly familiar in the slender line of the girl’s body, in the way she moved. Suddenly recognizing her, Ben experienced a sickening twist in his gut.

  “Just a minute,” he moved away from the two DJs. He negotiated his way around the crowded room through the cigarette smoke haze, past the other couples hooking up, past the clumps of girls dancing together, past the chugging football players. But he couldn’t catch Kjersten’s eye. Across the dimness of the room, he saw that her eyes were closed. He glanced around, but none of Kjersten’s friends were in sight. So, he hurried back outside to where groups of people were oblivious to the freezing temperatures. In one of the peripheral groups, he glimpsed Lauren Case, Kjersten’s friend and roommate. Lauren was cute with a curvy body that was a little on the plump side, a buoyant personality, and a dark bob of hair.

  “Lauren?”

  “Ben!” She jumped up and hugged him. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she enthused, clearly feeling a warm glow from the beer.

  “Lauren, I need to talk to you.” Ben pulled her away. A couple of the girls stared after them.

  “I’ll be right back,” Lauren called back over her shoulder. “Ben, what’s going on? Quit pulling me. Let go of my arm.”

  “I’m really sorry, but what’s with Kjersten?”