by J P Books
Since I could remember, I’ve been told that I walk like a lumberjack, look like a lumberjack and act like a lumberjack.
So, it just seemed fitting that I become a lumberjack after high school. Thanks to the physicality of the job, my 250 lbs didn’t become soft and embarrassing but turned into muscle.
My dad got me my first tattoo when I was just a kid too. It was a half apology for letting me see him beatin’ on mom, and a half pushing me into being a man. “If you’re big enough for a beard, you’re big enough for a tat,” he told me. “And no fucking whining, either.”
I didn’t whine. I still remember biting a hole through my cheek on that first tattoo. I was determined not to let him see me squirm. I picked a huge raven that was flying up my arm and over my shoulder.
Little did I know at the time that a tat that size should have taken at least three appointments. But I suffered in silence. The inker was scared of dad, so he didn’t say anything.
After that first one, the rest were easy. I get a new one a few times a year to remind myself of where I came from…and where I’ll never go.
Most nights at the pub I sit there with a pint in hand and see the marks on my fingers reminding me never to lose control. Never be like him.
I’m sure that’s why I am the way I am. Solitary.
I’ve never really been good at relationships. Chicks see a guy like me and figure I’ll act a certain way. When I turn out to be the kind of guy who wants to snuggle and watch a movie, not get in fights and then throw a woman against a wall to release my sexual frustration…
Well, we’ll just say I’m not good at relationships.
And mostly that’s ok. I still get laid.
And I still miss getting laid when Nathan and I are out in the woods with no women within a 20-mile radius.
So when he says he misses the ladies, I know exactly what he means.
And I can’t help but think how nice it would have been to have a real, live memory of Olivia’s naked body, tiny underneath mine.
I guess I’ll just have to use some imagination.
CHAPTER 3
Nathan
We pull up to the cabin and I shut off the engine. Jaxon is not a big talker, but I’m used to that by now. There’s always plenty of country tunes to fill the silence.
We drop out of the truck and both head to the back of the cab to grab our bags. Despite the fact that Jaxon has a good 3” on me and at least 50lbs, my suitcase is twice the size of his raggedy old duffle bag.
He takes good care of that beard of his but, otherwise, seems content to just wear the same old flannel or plaid top and jeans day after day.
I’ve seen pictures of him as a teenager wearing almost the exact same outfit. Some things just don’t change, I guess.
No wonder everyone’s always said he looks like a lumberjack. I wonder if it’s because he’s so damn big. Maybe he just can’t find any other clothes?
I don’t know.
I guess I’m not exactly any more stylish than he is, I usually end up wearing jeans and a black tank most days.
Anyone with a body like mine would be insane not to want to show it off. Especially in the summers when I’ve got this great tan going on.
I haul my suitcase up the few steps to the cabin and unlock the door.
Jaxon grabs the cooler with the food along with his bag, and we head inside together to settle in.
We’ve stayed in this cabin, and many others just like it, for periodic one-month stints over and over again over the past 5 years. We’ve got a pretty good routine down.
The first night is always the worst though, as we try to remember what it’s like to share space again. That’s why we always make sure to have the best food on the first night.
Prime burgers, juicy and dripping with flavor. And beers of course, but there’s always beer around us.
We can afford to drink a few every night, with the amount of work we put in each day. That’s another reason why I love this job. I don’t need to go to the gym when I spend my days felling trees. And, of course, the money isn’t bad either.
So long as I don’t do something stupid and have 6 boys as my dad did. One lumberjack’s salary is more than enough for one lumberjack, but a family of growing boys thins it out pretty quick.
Fine with me, I’m not really looking to settle down with a wifey any time soon. There are too many gorgeous women in the world to limit myself to just one.
Not to mention the gorgeous men, I think to myself, glancing sideways over at Jaxon.
That man intrigues me. To look at him you’d think he was a biker dude, maybe even head of a rough gang or something. I mean, he’s huge and rock solid, covered in tattoos.
But I also know he hates the stereotype and couldn’t be further from gang leader than a ballerina. I keep waiting for him to settle down with some nice, mousey woman, but he never does.
Which makes me wonder if maybe he’s not looking for something less mousey…maybe something less womanly. We’ve spent 5 years together and I can’t crack his code.
I think about it as I rummage through the kitchen, unpacking the perishables into the fridge.
Getting the call last night from Steve was a shock. Steve’s a good friend, we’ve had a tumble here and there, but he’s not really my type. Not that I have a type, but if I did, it wouldn’t be Steve.
But to hear that Jaxon spent all night with some hot chick, and then didn’t take her home? It has my mind racing.
Does he just have no game? Could her friend really have been that dire that she couldn’t survive on her own? Was he secretly not interested?
I’m finished putting the food away, but I stay in the kitchen watching Jaxon. He’s splayed out on the couch already, with some fight on or something.
Fuck, that guy and his fights. I don’t see the appeal. A couple of men in their underwear either beating each other to a pulp or rolling around on the ground with their heads in each other’s crotches.
Hang on…maybe there is some appeal there?
I shake my head. No, he loves watching racing too. I think the guy just has a bad taste in sports. Soccer though, now that’s a sport. Tons of action in soccer. And who looks better mostly naked than David Beckham? Maybe Beckham’s wife…
Now there’s a woman I could settle down with. Damn, she knows how to look good. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to look your best.
Jaxon is always giving me looks for making sure my face is always as smooth and soft as a baby’s bottom. It’s a point of pride and there’s nothing wrong with that. If he ever finds out the amount of waxing that goes into keeping this chest, back and ass equally as smooth he’d have a fit.
I’ve seen him with his shirt off plenty of times. For such a bear of a man, you’d think he’d be hairier than he is. But he’s a ginger, so maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe he grooms more than his beard and just doesn’t cop up to it.
That would be a fun piece of blackmail to hold over his head. Jaxon, getting his back waxed.
“Yo, Jax,” I holler at him. “You want a beer?”
“It’s 9 o’clock in the morning you lush,” he answers dismissively.
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” I mutter. The first day is always the worst.
Unwilling to drink solo, I drag my bag into my room and start unpacking for lack of anything better to do.
Eventually, we’ll settle into a comfortable rhythm here, each of us mostly doing our own thing. It’s easier once the days are spent working. We get home, eat and hit the couch for whatever sports happen to be on TV. Rinse and repeat.
Thanks to the complete and utter lack of women, Jaxon is the only body around that I have to ogle and fantasize about. So I do a lot of both, though I’m sure he’d be scandalized to find it out.
I wonder what he thinks about all day when I’m watching his huge body toss logs around like twigs and imagining what it would be like to have hi
m toss me around…onto a bed.
For 5 years I’ve watched him, and I won’t lie, I’ve paraded in front of him on more than a few occasions to see how he’d react. It’s like he doesn’t even notice.
I could wear a clown suit or nothing but my boxers and I think he’d just shrug and do his own thing. It was frustrating, and maybe a little damaging to my ego at first, but I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I haven’t stopped my own daydreams, but I’ve stopped hoping that I feature in any of his.
I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for, but I’m fairly certain it ain’t me.
Which brings me back to this mystery pub girl. It’s killing me that I didn’t get to see her, watch them together.
What if he was lying, and he did take her home and just didn’t want to tell me?
I imagine him with some tiny little woman, tattooed and fearless. A match for him, despite the difference in their sizes. She’d probably take control. Telling him what to do, where to touch her, how she wanted him to make her come.
He’d follow her directions, going down on his knees in front of her.
As I let my mind wander, I go and close my door. Jaxon may feature in my daydream, but he doesn’t need to hear me jerk off to it.
CHAPTER 4
Olivia
The sounds of retching wake me up, my eyes cracking open as my brain struggles to catch up with my ears.
Sarah. Oh, poor Sarah.
I swing my legs out of bed and sneak up to the bathroom door to tap on it lightly.
“Hey honey,” I say tentatively through the door. “Are you ok?”
Obviously, she’s not – I can hear that much – but it’s what you say, right? I hear her groan and cough a few more times into the toilet before it flushes. I hear the water running, and assume she’s rinsing her mouth and freshening her face.
I’m prepared for the worst, but when she opens the door she looks absolutely pitiful.
“Oh, honey,” I go over to her, petting her hair. I hate feeling hungover. It is the worst feeling in the world to me which is one of the main reasons I never drink all that much. I can imagine the state of her stomach and head and it makes me woozy.
“Come on,” I lead her back to her bed.
“No, I can’t go back to bed,” Sarah says weakly. “I have to shower or something, get ready for our hike.”
I look at her dubiously. I’m desperate to go on this hike that I’ve been planning for months, but I cannot imagine this wretched mess in front of me making it down to the car, let alone up a mountain.
“How about we start with you on the couch. I’ll go try to find some juice or coffee or toast or something and we’ll see how you do with that.”
Even though I can see Sarah go a little green at the mention of juice, she nods her head and tries to smile. “That sounds great. Perfect. Exactly what I need. I’ll perk up as soon as I have some coffee,” she slumps onto the couch looking positively miserable.
I pat her head and start searching for my clothes. I get dressed quickly and head downstairs to the restaurant to see what I can rummage up for food. I have a backpack full of trail food, but I don’t think that’s going to help right now.
A tiny part of me hopes that she really will feel better after some coffee but remembering the sheen of sweat slicking back her hair has me pretty convinced that our hike is canceled. At least for today. As I trudge back upstairs, I try to come to terms with the idea of rescheduling.
It just means Sarah will have to come back for another weekend getaway, which is good.
I sigh, knowing that it’s not the same. I’m ready to know now. It’s a good thing Sarah looks so awful because, otherwise, I’d be getting really pissed off that she ruined this trip over a few drinks with a cute guy at a bar.
I open the door and see her passed out on the couch. It’s hard to be mad at someone who looks that bad.
I sneak over to her and put a coffee cup by her head, trying not to wake her.
She jumps at the sound of the cup on the table though and then grimaces as her head and stomach rebel.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she says smiling.
I look at her and shake my head. “There’s no way you’re going hiking today. Don’t worry about it, just crawl back into bed and feel better.” I hand her a water bottle. “Take this and drink it. It’ll taste terrible with your hangover tongue, but you need it.”
Sarah looks up at me guilty, and I can’t help but feel bad for her. Not only does she clearly feel like death, but I know she feels bad for ruining my trip. She doesn’t always consider her actions in the moment, but she really is conscious of how they affect people when they’re busy affecting people. Like now.
“Olivia, I’m so sorry! I know how excited you were for this hike, I can’t believe I’ve ruined it for you. If I thought I could get out of this hotel room without having a morbidly embarrassing accident on the way to the lobby, I promise I would go!”
“I know,” I answer. And I do. And the thought of her having a morbidly embarrassing accident actually makes me chuckle. “It’s ok. We’ll just go some other time. You can rest and I’ll just chill and catch up on some reading. It’s still a nice getaway.”
“No,” she says firmly. “You should go. You’ve gone on so many hikes on your own before. I know it won’t be the same but I would never forgive myself for making you sit here in this room with me being gross all day. You should go and take your pictures and have your adventure.”
It is tempting…
“No, that’s ok. I’ll stay and take care of you, gross or not.” As much as I want to go, I would feel like a terrible friend leaving her all alone like this.
“You have to go!” Sarah pleads with me. “I already feel bad for ruining our together trip, I’ll feel like the worst friend in the world if I ruin it for you completely and totally. You can’t do that to me, you’re way too nice to make me feel that bad on top of feeling this bad,” she tries to laugh but ends up taking a big gulp of air instead and holding her stomach.
“Are you sure?” I ask, still feeling bad for her but experiencing a tiny little glimmer of hope at the idea of a partially salvaged hike.
“Totally. It’s an order.”
I smile at her, a real smile this time, and get up to get properly dressed.
“Ok then, maybe I will,” I say over my shoulder. “Is there anything I can get for you before I leave to help your…” I gesture to her general body area, “current quality of life?”
She stifles a laugh and shakes her head. “No, thanks. I think I’m just going to sleep until this hangover either evaporates or kills me.”
I laugh as I pull my favorite pair of jeans overall shorts over my favorite turquoise tank top. They’re my favorites because they’re my hiking clothes. Just having them on, with my dingy red backpack strapped to my back and my camera slung over my shoulder, puts me in a great mood. It only takes me a few minutes to get ready.
I check on Sarah once more, grab the coffee and muffin that I had picked up for myself, and march out the door.
The ride up to the beginning of the trail is only about 15 minutes, and before long I’m taking a deep, clean breath of fresh mountain air. I spare one more thought for Sarah, hoping that she’ll be ok, and then I clear my mind and let the immenseness of nature take its hold on me.
I can never justly explain the emotions that going hiking brings out of me. It’s not happiness, exactly. It’s not really a sense of purpose or accomplishment. It’s more of a sense of awe, and rightness. That untouched nature is the way things are supposed to be and I’m being gifted with this rightness just by being out there and experiencing it. I can’t stop smiling when I’m hiking. I know I look like a complete goofball and I couldn’t care less.
The trail to the falls does not disappoint. I see my first family of deer within 20 minutes, and I’m snapping pictures of sweet little birds at every corner.
The trees are
beautiful and green, in contrast to the dry grass that is everywhere. I keep my ears tuned for the tell-tale sound of rattles but I haven’t heard anything. I’ve seen flashes of marmots darting about but haven’t been able to get a good picture of them yet.
I did my research before coming out, and I know that the first few miles of the trail are some of the hardest climbing, which is what I prefer. Best to get it out of the way when I still have all my energy!
I’m starting to get hungry when I finally reach a gorgeous blue pond. This is where I had planned to stop and have lunch, so I head over to a few boulders and unpack some of my supplies.
It’s truly breathtaking and I can’t help feeling mesmerized by the reflection of trees and clouds in the water of the lake. As I gaze into the mirror, I realize that some of the clouds are looking mighty dark, and I lift my head up to see if it’s just a trick of the water.
It isn’t. There are some dark clouds mingling with the happy white ones. Nothing in the weather forecast suggested a storm, but I know that the storms out here on the mountains can come on hard. I wonder if I should head back…
I know I’m only an hour or so from the lookout and I’ve heard that there’s nothing quite like the view from above. There are still way more peaceful white clouds than black ones, so I decide to take my chances. But I eat quickly and head back out right away.
By the time I reach the summit I’m once again fully immersed in the majesty of nature and my surroundings and I don’t even remember the clouds or register the rumbling sound of thunder until the first fat drop of rain lands on my camera clicker finger.
That shocks me back to reality though, and I look up to see the sky has completely darkened.
The shadows and greying light make it absolutely perfect for my pictures, so I keep snapping a few off in a desperate attempt to capture this beauty forever. The rain starts to pick up quickly though, and I stash my camera away in my backpack, running for the cover of the trees.
