Tramping

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I closed my eyes…the sparks from his fire ring flashing erratically against the soft, velvet interior of my eyelids. A rush…a hot, viscous flood of my juices flowed heavily into my palm as my voice rent the still fabric of the night once more. Rapidly I thrust my fingers into my quivering core…trying to satisfy the driving need that screamed through my very being…two…three times. Lunging…thrusting against my plundering fingers I cried aloud…until the wet flow of my passion dripped heavily against the fabric of my sleeping bag…until I lay trembling and gasping within the heated womb of my own desire.

This can’t be happening, I thought…it can’t.

But it is…

* * * * *

Earlier that evening:

It was good to get off.

Leaving college with all its aggravations far away in the valley below had been the best decision I’d made in a long time. Life had been pressing in on me of late…filling in the room I needed to move…to breath. I had to reclaim some space, if only for a weekend. Even a woman of my tender years could feel the pinch eventually…and this retreat was sorely needed.

Slowly the road wound northward, leaving Phoenix in its wake, taking me into the high country filled with towering Pondorosa Pines, alligator juniper, cedar, and giving me the occasional stolen glimpse of my ultimate goal…the ancient escarpment known as the Mogollon Rim.

My small “bug” struggled as the road began to climb, narrowing and twisting as I passed the towns of Payson and Tonto Village…Koll’s Ranch, until finally I spotted the turn-off for the “260 Trailhead” nestled invitingly in the shadowed vale beneath the Rim.

I had arrived.

My valiant little vehicle struggled bravely past the ruts and potholes that scarred the narrow track back into the forest, until finally, and with great relief, I found myself in a small clearing where another dusty conveyance sat patiently awaiting its owner’s return.

Quickly I checked my watch and then cast a worried frown upward at the darkening terrain. It was only 5:00 but already the sun, obscured by the erratic jut of the cliff beyond, was failing…threatening to withhold its much-needed light and warmth at any moment. I needed to be on my way…and soon.

Unlocking the luggage compartment in the front of my aging Beetle, I wrestled briefly with my blue nylon pack…youth-sized because of my diminutive stature. I glanced cautiously about…careful to scan my surroundings in case any undesirables should happen to notice me…a woman…hiking off into the wilderness alone.

The only visible signs of life for miles around were the long-eared Kaibab squirrels that scampered among the underbrush, and a brief glimpse of red just vanishing into the growing gloom of the trail beyond. It was probably the owner of the dusty Jeep that was to keep my own lonesome vehicle company for the next two days.

The deepening shadows reached their greedy fingers across the clearing as I hurriedly stuffed my long, red hair beneath my slouch hat and hit the trail. It would take at least another two hours before I approached the rustic camping area at the base of the cliff that was to become my first night’s lodging. There, according to my map, I would find a few crude fire rings designed to keep campers from setting the forest ablaze, a small, but usable pit toilet, and…luxury of luxuries…a pump from which to replenish my water supply before heading along the next day.

I was in my element! Already the air had a heady taste to it…a liberating quality that sent my senses soaring. This time was mine…and mine alone. For two whole days the social and academic pressures of Arizona State would be relegated into obscurity. I was on my own…

…and loving it.

The trail wove almost imperceptibly upward into the foothills, the thin air causing me to stop and take an extra breath every now and then. Each time I did, my eyes would catch a glimpse of “Red-Pack” (as I had rapidly come to think of him)…my elusive trail companion just slipping beyond the next hill or behind the next copse of trees. Would “he” be camping at my destination tonight, I wondered? The thought was disconcerting. I’d seen no other sign of hikers on the trail this evening…no other cars waiting sleepily at the dusty trailhead. Would “Red-Pack” and I be sharing the small, primitive campsite alone tonight?

Brief, disturbing memories of recent headlines forced their way into my consciousness…banners heralding yet another rape… murders of women who chose to hike the wilderness alone. Perhaps I should turn around and head back toward the parking lot…try again next weekend. But no…there wasn’t time. The daylight was almost gone…the trail behind me too rugged to hike without it. I would be lucky indeed just to make the campground by nightfall. There was no turning back. I was committed.

Warily I struggled along for another half an hour, then finally broke through to the well-worn but seemingly abandoned camping area. Perhaps “Red-Pack” had chosen canlı bahis to forge on ahead…to cover as much ground as the dwindling daylight allowed. Could it be possible that I had been concerned for no reason at all?

Then I heard it…the sound of a pump handle rhythmically drawing its chill, wet load from the depths of the earth.

He was here.

Quickly my eyes searched the area for some sign of his campsite…a glimpse of his telltale red backpack…and then I spotted it.

The clearing, measuring no more than 40 feet across, was rife with hidden pockets of seclusion. Here, true to the nature of the trail itself, the trees and thick underbrush of jojoba and juniper seemed to separate one site from the next. It was obvious that we were indeed isolated and alone…far from the bustle of civilization where a cry in the night…a scream might be heard.

A slow, instinctive coil of apprehension began to grow in the pit of my stomach. This man…this “Red-Pack”…what if he…

“Looks like we’re all alone here tonight, Miss…”

I jumped! Where had he come from? Hadn’t I heard the pump handle off to the south…?

I coughed, my nervousness almost palpable in the growing darkness of the clearing. He was big, this “Red-Pack”…at least 6 feet tall…tanned and muscular. His hand, now grasping the canvas handle of a collapsible camping pail appeared large and strong…capable of almost…anything.

I swallowed, my voice failing me as I took in the maleness of him…the commanding masculinity…the distinctive accent that tingled deep in my subconscious. Was he from Australia…New Zealand? I couldn’t tell. My mind reeled. He was so close…so close…

“…name’s Doug, Miss…Miss…”

I coughed once more, my nervousness robbing me of anything approximating normal speech. Then finally…gratefully…

“S-Sarah… Doug. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he smiled, his warm grin filling the clearing with a disarming glow, his hazel eyes banishing my fear. “You better get set up quick, Sarah. Not much daylight left, ya know. Kinda hard to get settled in a new place in the dark. Give us a yell if you need any help…ok?”

Mutely, I nodded, an unnamed attraction stirring in the pit of my stomach, then headed toward the furthermost campsite and shrugged off my gear. I groaned. My body ached. It had been a long time…far too long since I’d shouldered my pack for a hike like this…and already I was paying for it. I wouldn’t bother with a fire tonight. I wouldn’t even bother setting up my tiny one-man tent. The sky was clear and I had a sack of sandwiches in my pack… I’d just lay out my bedroll and let nature take its course.

Again my mind wandered to the magnetic, dark-haired stranger who sat cross-legged mere yards from my nest among the pines. Why was I so drawn to him? Why did my pulse quicken at the brief flashes of him beyond the trees? Did he know? Could he tell? Was he secretly yearning for…

NO! I had to stop this! He’d been nothing but polite…a gentleman in fact. I was the pervert here…just me and me alone! It was my probing stare that was invading his privacy…not the other way around.

I took a deep breath, calming myself, bringing my surging hormones under control. This man, Doug…what would he think if he knew? What would my friends think…my family? This wasn’t like me, not sane and proper Sarah…the perpetual voice of sanity in an insane world. This wasn’t me…not me at all…and yet…

Well, I was under control now…brought up on a “short leash”. The rules of civilization…my rules…once more prevailed. The darkness, now seductive and complete, embraced the clearing as I clicked on my tiny flashlight and swept a space free of pebbles for my ground cloth. Then, after “scarfing” down a hastily scavenged sandwich I slipped out of my clothing and slid into the softness of my sleeping bag.

It felt good.

Too good.

Its silken caress against my naked body brought on a fresh spate of longing…a slow, uneven throbbing between my thighs. What was he doing? Was he eating? Were his lips, so full and inviting, now wrapping themselves around the “nipple” of his canteen?

I bit my lower lip, stifling a soft moan…the thought slithering across my flesh like a thousand tiny fingers. My hand, as though driven by a mind solely its own, now crept upward to cup my left breast…the hard thrust of my passion pressing hotly against my palm, and I moaned once more. I had to see him…I had to…

Quietly I shifted, coaxing my sleeping bag through the darkness to a better vantage point, my eyes piercing the still darkness…searching for his silhouette against the stark relief of his campfire…denying the voyeuristic nature of my actions.

And then I froze.

He wasn’t eating…not setting up camp. Instead I watched as he brought his fingers up to the tiny blue buttons of his denim shirt and began to release them, one by one until the firm, tanned surface of his chest lay bare in my view and my heart began to pound in my ears.

A small pot of bahis siteleri water lay warming within his fire ring… a bar of Irish Spring at his side. I knew what came next…I knew…I knew…

Trembling now, I watched as he dipped his hand into the tepid liquid, lathering it with the greenish soap and smoothing it across his chest. My lips parted, my breathing becoming shallow and irregular as I watched the firelight flicker against the firm, tanned planes of his body…his nipples hardening in the chill of the forest. Dimly, my hand began to mimic his slippery palms …stroking as he stroked, caressing my body as I watched him caress his own until every atom in my being screamed out for his touch.

And then he reached for his belt buckle.

My heart froze in my chest…my breath forgotten in a cloud of blinding lust. I felt the hot flood of my passion flow thickly between my thighs. My God…oh my God…what was happening to me? My head began to pound until once again the air filled my lungs in ragged relief. What was he doing now? What…

Slowly I pressed my hand between my thighs as I watched him slide the remainder of his clothing down the length of his trim, strong legs. He must be a runner I thought distantly, his firm, well-formed muscles catching my penetrating gaze. But it was not the sight of his thighs that captured my rapt and unwavering attention…not his tanned and well-toned chest. There, in the tightly curled thatch at the juncture of his legs jutted his manhood…proud and erect…massive…compelling.

I closed my eyes, the very nearness of him more than I could bear. My nipples, now painfully hard, pressed maddeningly against the soft inner surface of my sleeping bag. I licked my lips. What would he taste like? What would it be like to wrap my lips around…

Then, as though by some act of sublime perception, he began to lather the rigid surface of his erection…as if to cleanse himself…but more. He closed his eyes briefly, pausing to take in the hush of the clearing…to ensure his privacy…his seclusion.

Another gush of hot, sticky fluid seeped unbidden between my thighs…against my palm. Slowly, my index finger penetrated the moist, quivering auburn thatch of my sex.

Seeking…

finding…

…massaging the hard bud of my lust as I watched him continue to stroke himself before the fire. I was lost…my body shaking uncontrollably… stroking in unison with the dark, mysterious man before me.

I moaned…loudly now. Could he hear me! I flushed, my mind telling me once again that what I was doing was wrong…so wrong…and yet I couldn’t stop…not now.

His eyes filled with a hunger that I knew was mirrored in my own… a low, primal sound sweeping the clearing…was it me…was it him? Then, as I watched, he raised his head and peered deeply into the flames, his gaze far away and lost in a moment beyond his vision… a memory? His grip tightened on his slippery shaft…stroking rapidly now…faster and faster as my body responded in unison with his ancient rhythm. Suddenly, I froze… my gaze caressing his turgid flesh as he shuddered…his thick, heavy cum erupting into the flames before him…sizzling upon the glowing rocks of his campfire as his lips parted in primitive abandonment.

I closed my eyes, the sparks from his fire ring flashing erratically against the velvet interior of my eyelids. A rush…a hot, viscous flood of my juices flowed heavily into my palm as my voice rent the still fabric of the night once more. Rapidly I thrust my fingers into my quivering core…trying to satisfy the driving need that screamed through my very being…two…three times. Lunging…thrusting against my plundering fingers I cried aloud…until the wet flow of my passion dripped heavily against the fabric of my sleeping bag…until I lay trembling and gasping within the heated womb of my own desire.

At that moment I would have said anything to feel his hands on my shuddering flesh…done anything. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t…

And so, torn and overcome I crawled away, my eyes now seeking the solace of the darkness beyond…a necessary eclipse to the uncontrollable passion that still swept through my veins like wildfire.

“Red-Pack” no more, I vaguely heard Doug pour the remains of his wash water on the fire, stirring until the embers cooled…settling himself into his sleeping bag for the long night ahead. And it would be long indeed, I thought… the memory of his body…his lusty passion forcing the sleep from my body…from my mind.

Dimly, I wrapped the warm intimacy of my sleeping bag tightly around me and stared into the night sky…at the canopy of stars that smiled tauntingly at my shameful condition. “Doug”, I thought as sleep finally closed my eyelids…his name is “Doug”. ———————————————-

The morning sun pried mercilessly into my subconscious long before I was ready to greet the dawn. How long had I lain awake last night, my hands pressed tight and trembling between my thighs…how long? And what about Doug…?

Doug!

I bahis şirketleri was suddenly wide awake. Was he up…strolling about his campsite with the long, easy gait of a man who knows where he’s going…what he wants?

Quickly I rolled to my side and searched the clearing for signs of his backpack…to my dismay. He was nowhere to be found. Doug, unlike the obsession that had driven me to undiscovered heights the night before…was gone. I’d come here to the wilderness to be alone, and now I was…completely alone. As quickly and unexpectedly as Doug had come into my life, he’d vanished, leaving a void in the pit of my stomach that only he could fill.

I had to see him again…it couldn’t end so abruptly…so unresolved! It couldn’t!

Then I smelled it…coffee…but where? Turning back toward my own fire ring I saw it…a cup of blue speckled enamel…warm and inviting…and a note.

“Wake up, Sleepyhead,” it began. “I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy, so I’ll see you at Christopher Creek…or before… and don’t forget to bring my mug!”

I smiled. Christopher Creek…the next campsite along the trail. He’d be there…waiting…for me.

Quickly I downed the coffee and stuffed a few granola bars in my breast pocket. Within minutes I was on my way, my objective firm and unwavering. Christopher Creek…and Doug.

The trail became steeper…more demanding as the day wore on. Finally, fashioning a walking staff from a stout branch, I ascended the last rise separating me from the green and verdant glen that harbored Christopher Creek.

I paused, looking behind at the vast, seemingly untouched patchwork of evergreen and poplar that lay below me. I’d been right to come here…so very right. And now…with the prospect of sharing this with someone who so completely set my mind ablaze with a passion I’d never experienced before…

Once more thoughts of Doug…his hands…his body…the soft caress of his voice filled my mind as they had done countless times along the trail. Would he be there? He had to be…he had to! And then I saw it…far below among the dense foliage…moving rapidly along the creek bed…a flash of red.

He was there!

A slow flush crept upward from my neck, across my cheekbones…moisture already dampening the cotton lining of my satin panties. What would I say to him? What could I say…after…last night?

Following the path, I wound my way slowly into the valley below, my pulse racing…perspiration slick against my palms. Would there be people here this time…others…or would we once more share this small, green sanctuary between ourselves?

Again the sound of our passionate encounter filled my mind as it had so many times since last night…accompanying my step along the path…filling my senses until I longed for the sight of his red pack once more in the distance.

His blue mug, hooked to my belt, clunked for the thousandth time against my walking staff…the sound echoing in my ear…”I’ll see you at Christopher Creek…at Christopher Creek…at Christopher Creek…” ———————————————————-

The remote campground at Christopher Creek was a thing of beauty…a place removed from the busy world beyond. Unlike its popular counterpart, miles downstream, this portion of the creek was inaccessible except by foot, and only the most determined of hikers would ever know the pristine beauty that lay here at the very foot of the escarpment.

Carved by a millennium of gentle persuasion, Christopher Falls poured its way through the still air to fashion a pool of modest proportions at its base. From there the stream meandered past the shaky, rock-strewn dam that now lay before me…challenging me…laughing at my ineptitude as I placed my right foot before me and attempted the tenuous crossing.

At first it seemed as though my insecurity was all in my mind. Many feet had used this passage before mine…why would I fail when they hadn’t? Gently I positioned the lug soles of my boots…one before the other…feeling the solid purchase of the rocks beneath me as I made my way along. It was easy…no problem I thought…

And then…

Suddenly I heard a “snap” as something gave way…the rock beneath my foot pivoting crazily…throwing me to the right. I felt my weight shift downstream…my pack tipping…threatening to pull me with it onto the moss-laden rocks below. I had only one choice. Quickly I threw my weight to the left…toward the calm blue depths of the ancient pool…and felt myself Immediately engulfed by its sun-warmed depths.

I gasped as I hit the surface, my pack filling with water…becoming heavy…pulling me backward toward the bottom. Frantically I tried to regain my footing, but the rocks below were slick with algae, and my feet slipped maddeningly from under me. I struggled…trying to release the wet hip belt from my pack…to slide out of the thick, padded shoulder straps, but in my panic the slippery nylon just slid between my fingers. My head began to pound…my air supply giving out…my mouth filling with the silt and tiny bubbles that my efforts churned from the rocks below.

And then I felt him…

…his hands strong and competent…lifting me to the surface…forcing the buckles of my pack to release their hold on my body.

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