Adirondack Audacity Page 10

“Hey, fair is fair, let me take a few pictures of you. I’ll add them to my collection of boyfriends. All those boyfriends, their pictures cover my entire bedroom wall.” I stick my tongue out at him reaching for the camera.

  “Careful with that tongue, or was that an invitation?” He cocks his head; the leering look in his eyes suggests he has other things on his mind than taking pictures.

  “Hand me the camera, Romeo,” I take the camera, surprised at the heaviness of the cool metal resting in my palm.

  “Now come over here and show me how to work this thing.” I hold the lens piece up to my eye and view the lake and surrounding shoreline.

  I feel him come behind me and steady the camera. The warm touch of his skin against my back, his breath tracing curls of desire down my neck…and suddenly I have other things on my mind than photography……..oh, so many other things.

  “Concentrate,” he commands. Spoil sport. And how can I concentrate with him only wearing cutoff jeans, brushing his naked shoulders on my bare skin? And I know what he wears under those cutoffs…..nothing! He persists, showing me how the various dials and lenses work until I’m able to bring an object in from a bleary image to sharp focus.

  “Go sit over by the rock.” I brace the camera in my hand, point to a rock framed by the trees and lake.

  “I’m not posing like some girly model,” he says. Click, goes the shutter of the camera. “Hey,” he says with a disarming grin. Click goes the shutter again. “Fine, where do you want me?” He flops down, assuming a cheesy model pose. I indulge in a moment of unabashed ogling before depressing the shutter. Yum. Where is that sweet innocent girl who came to camp? My inner good girl sighs in disgust……long gone.

  “Just look at me, pretend the camera isn’t here, let me see your eyes.” I suggest, adjusting the lens, realizing the camera loves the angles of his face, and use the zoom to focus on his eyes. Little do I realize but years later these pictures will be a treasure of memories, taking me back to this summer in the Adirondack Mountains.

  The film runs out along with his patience. Laying the camera aside, the time for looking is over, I want to touch…“Vic,” I reach out holding my arms open, an invitation, and some invitations don’t require an R.S.V.P.

  Passion flares in his eyes and with a quick leap, he’s beside me nuzzling the hollow of my neck, his arms slip along my bare skin, pulling me ever closer, waves of heat intensified by the summer sun course through our bodies. My teeth tug; teasing his lower lip followed by nips and light kisses until with a groan his mouth seeks mine in a feverish meeting that borders on assault. I love it……and want more…..the chocolate…caramel….vanilla….slivers of pure white coconut…..exotic spices. I want it all….now. I thrill to the power and intensity of his hold on me. His head bows kissing the curve of my breast. In a strangled breath he says, “These damn blue ruffles on his bathing suit have been driving me crazy all summer long, wiggling, waving, taunting and teasing with the promise of what is underneath.” He slowly lowers the strap on my bathing suit with a sensuous movement followed by his tongue and the slow exhalation of his breath. All conscious thought leaves me as I give in to the heady intoxication of his hands laying ownership to my body. With a deft twist, I feel the hook holding my bikini top give way. He lowers his head, plucking the offending ruffles away with his teeth, leaving my breasts bare and rejoicing in the afternoon sun. It feels wonderful, free and sensuous. I arch my back, squirming with pleasure. My eyes fly open as his mouth circles my nipples, sucking gently causing spasms of white heat. I’m beyond myself with desire, no thoughts of denying him, if anything encouraging him with soft whimpers, wiggling my pelvis against him, begging for more of this unspoken ecstasy. He moves with practiced ease from one breast to the other, kissing, licking, teasing while taunting the other breast with his fingers. My very bones melt into the sun soaked rock.

  As his hand slides down the edge of the bikini bottom, he looks questioningly, his eyes half hooded with desire. Conflict plays across his face as his fingers slowly slide under the fabric and into my very being. My body lights up with longing. His lips continue their slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling softly…oh please….slowly he eases the bikini bottom off. I’m lying naked in his arms.

  “Elle, open for me, quierda,” he murmurs against my ear. Before I can confirm or decline his offer, he slides a finger inside me, then another and he moves them with agonizing slowness in and out.

  “Just here,” He breathes as his fingers work their magic. And just when I think I can’t stand the exquisite torture a moment longer, he rolls on top of me, holding my arms out to the side of my body, I can feel the sharp outline of his manhood pressing into the soft pillow of my stomach. Ohhh……my !

  And suddenly he is gone. With a desperate groan he flings his body off me. “Elle, Elle, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  My lust addled brain fumbles, Sorry?…sorry…for what! My body feels bereft without his touch.

  “We can’t, we just can’t. I have to stop.” Sitting up, he holds his head on arms propped against his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “It’s too soon, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” he caresses my cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Trust me, I wasn’t feeling any pain, exquisite torture, maybe.

  I’m alone, skin bare to the gentle breeze blowing over the island and the gaze of a dragonfly humming overhead. Shivering without his warmth and the sun sinking into the horizon, I wrap myself in a towel to cover my nakedness. Leaning into him, I stroke his hair seeing the torment deep in his eyes. “I trust you,” I say. “I know you would never hurt me. And just for the record, oh my, I wanted it to go on forever.”

  “We can’t, it’s far too risky.” He brings a knuckled fist up to his mouth, rocking slightly back and forth on his haunches.

  “How do you know so much about, you know, making love?” I ask.

  He glances over at me, sighs; and looks away, shaking his head. “You grow up early in Mexico, especially with my father.”

  “How so?”

  “At fifteen he expects us to be men, run cattle, hunt, shoot and…..” At this he looks at me, shakes his head, his jaw clenches, “and whatever.”

  “What do you mean…whatever?” I ask, not sure I want to know, but plunge ahead anyway. “Have you had sex, Vic? I mean like real sex with a woman?”

  “As I said, you grow up quickly in Mexico.” Not looking at me, he takes my hand, tracing the inside of my palm with his finger, stopping to place a kiss on the tender hollow. He looks deep into my eyes, “It was different, not like with you. She was just my

  father’s………she wasn’t you,” he finishes with vehemence, running a hand through his hair. “Please don’t ask me anymore. Just trust my feelings for you are real. I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me no, you have to tell me no.”

  In truth, I don’t want to know more, the thought of him with some strange woman is like a stake in my heart. I pull the edge of the towel closer, resting against the heat of his body as a shiver of apprehension runs up my spine. The sun sinking slowly toward the mountain ridge paints the sky with slashes of pink, purple and lavender gray. And I realize the folly of what he asked of me. No, such a simple little word, how can I say no, when every fiber in my being wants to say…..yes.

  …

  Later that night back in my bunk, all is black as pitch. The light of the moon imparts a dusky glow. The cabin makes queer nocturnal noises, the rustling of mice and batting of insect wings against the window screens. Tossing and turning, I yawn and pound my pillow for the hundredth time. My mind is a jumble of thoughts; precluding sleep. Lacing my hands behind my head, I stare out the window. When I came to camp this summer, I envisioned new friends, adventure, and maybe a little romance. But love? There was a moment, I suppose, when I may have entertained the idea but scoffed it away as being too ridiculous for me……..I’ve never had a real boyfriend. I’ve never really liked anyone, never felt that surge of feeling or the fall from loves grace. I�
��ve only watched others weather it from afar. How could I be in love? I just turned seventeen.

  But I don’t care about how tall I am, or how gawky, or how I klutz up everything. All that matters is to have his arms around me, the soft tender feel of his kiss, how I feel when I am with him. The truth is undeniable….I’m in love with Vicente Rienz. How could this happen? One day I hate him and, now…..ridiculous. He is dark and mysterious, far too dangerous for a girl like me. But with him, I’m someone else, someone bold…….my only thought is putting distance between me and my old self and what I left behind, because the truth remains…….I love him. This summer, Vic Rienz is just what I need.

  Chapter 12 The Hermit Last night Burt invited our group to a dinner party. The rumor is true. He lives in a house high up in the boughs of a large maple tree. A tree house, he calls it his den. I swear the man is part bear with a little elfin magic thrown in for good measure. It’s amazing the comforts that can be found in a ten by twelve dwelling. The cooking area consists of a propane stove, a cooler which he stocks with ice from the camp freezer, shelves fashioned from rough hewn planks of wood, the bark still showing on the outer edge. A set of fiesta wear dinner plates brightens the room in a blaze of orange, yellow, deep blue and green, sunshine even on a rainy day. A scattering of pillows cover the floor in a kaleidoscope of color. A sky blue rug causes the room to appear upside down, the sky at your feet, and the ceiling painted black, stenciled with shimmering stars. A small circular staircase leads up to a sleeping loft above. Two walls of the tree house are taken up with windows overlooking the forest floor below;; it’s like living in an eagles’ aerie.

  Burt made a delicious vegan enchilada dish and served Mexican beer. And even though we’re underage, Burt gave us a beer, one….no more, with the threat of death if Morris found out. It was a magical evening.

  …

  And today feels like heaven, a humid day in midsummer; the afternoon off, a backpack filled with

  picnic supplies and a hot boyfriend…… whose butt heading up the trail in front of me is…….rather….. delicious. Add a blanket and a few stolen beers, all the ingredients needed for a perfect day.

  We plan to hike up the mountain crest that overlooks the camp and lake below. There are no marked trails leading to the summit only an eroded creek bed as a guide. By summer the creek is reduced to a slow trickle. Rocks worn smooth by the rushing water of spring are skeletal remnants of the stream’s former glory. Water striders break the still surface of small pools caught in the eddy of the stream.

  Bathed in golden shafts of light streaming through the tree tops, the scent of the forest is like that of a hothouse with its door just flung open. The light is dreamy, the air soft carrying the piping calls of birds. As we climb higher the world below vanishes, distant villages and lakeside cottages disappear under the canopy of forest as civilization gives way to wilderness. The whine of tires on the highway and the drone of a passing plane fade to the sound of hiking boots crunching over loose dirt and rock, and the occasional grunt of pain as our feet trip over exposed tree roots.

  The journey up the mountain seems endless as I struggle to keep pace with Vic’s long legs. Finally, stopping to rest, I drop my pack to the ground and stretch my aching back. As I pluck the clinging shirt away from my sweaty body, I sigh in disgust. To think I washed my hair and put on make-up this morning. I probably look like a factory worker getting off the third shift, the feminine allure lost two miles back down the trail.

  “ Hey, look at this. What the hell is this place?” Vic slips the pack from his back onto the matted ground and glances around with a confused look on his face. Tucked into the trees on the edge of a meadow is a camp of some sort. Not an ordinary camp, no tent, picnic table, neatly stacked Coleman supplies or folding camp chairs placed around a fire ring.

  This camp consists of a lean-to made of pine logs and a crudely constructed workbench covered with animal pelts in various shapes and sizes. A beaver skin is stretched across a drying rack. The heads and scales of fish litter the ground underneath the bench. Rustic stools made from stumps sit around a campfire ring of stones. A dirty worn jacket hangs from a hook protruding from the lean-to.

  “It l ooks like someone lives here,” I say. A sense of foreboding makes the base of my spine tingle. Something about this place doesn’t feel right. We’re intruders, entering into someone’s private domain. There are no posted signs warning against trespassing but the omen is in the air. A passing cloud blocks the sun, casting the meadow in shadows.

  We ’ve walked into a scene from an 1890’s

  Adirondack guidebook, a picture from one of the reference books kept in the camp library depicting the early days of the Great Camps. At any moment I expect to see a group of wealthy guests on a hunting party come striding out of the woods. Laughing, singing, carrying a creel heavy with fresh fish caught from a nearby mountain stream. A world from the past. Whoever resides here has fallen from another place in time with no desire to enter into the entrapments of modern day civilization. Almost every article in camp is constructed of natural materials.

  “You think someone is living here?” I ask, “Maybe it’s one of those civil war reenactor types, trying to live as you would in the 1800’s.”

  “Yeah, it could be. Let’s look around a little more.” “I don’t think we should snoop around someone’s camp.”

  “We won’t touch anything,” he says walking along the perimeter. “But this is really cool. I just want to check it out and then we’ll leave.”

  I glance to my left. A coffee pot and matching tin cup along with a pile of mussel shells lay scattered outside the fire pit……messy eater.

  A deer hide stretches between two trees, drying in the sun. I give a little shudder, animal carcasses everywhere. An Adirondack pack basket filled with small sticks of kindling wood hangs from a hemlock tree. Off to the side strung on a rope between two small sapling trees I recognize the roots of Queen Anne’s lace, chicory, cattail, sassafras and wild calla. All these plants have edible or medicinal properties, valuable for anyone living off the land. Maybe we’ve stumbled on a real life Henry David Thoreau. Burt will be so jealous.

  A large red maple with a fork down the middle dominates the clearing. Several sturdy branches are placed in the V of the tree, spreading out like rungs of a wagon wheel. Only the tips of the branches are visible from under a huge mound of leaves. It looks to be some type of crude shelter or burrow.

  A sense of unease washes over me….. I want out of here. Whoever lives in this camp cherishes their privacy. We have no business being here.

  “Vic, let’s go.”

  “Just one more sec, I gotta crawl in here. How awesome is this.” Unable to contain his curiosity, he drops to his knees inspecting the entrance.

  “Cool.” Wiggling in on his belly soon only his denim legs are left exposed.

  “What are you doing?” Squatting down, I tug at the leg of his pants. “What if there is a bear or coyote in there? Get out!”

  “Rrrrrrrrrr,” a growl comes from inside the leaf mound.

  “You are so not funny. Get out of there before I leave you for bear bait.”

  “Trust me, no animal made this hut.” His voice is muffled by thick layers of leaves. “You’re the naturalist, you know that. Come in, this is really cool. There’s a bed constructed of pine branches covered with a Hudson Bay blanket, pillows made with deer hide, and a few pieces of clothing.” He slides further into the gaping black hole, his legs disappearing. “Come on.”

  “No way. My mama raised no fool to go crawling around in dark little holes in some wacko’s camp.”

  I run my hands up and down my arms glancing back into the forest expecting the owner to appear at any time. “I know all about making shelters, my brothers and I played in the woods behind our house. Every fall we raked leaves and made huge leaf shelters.” I kneel down next to the opening peering inside. “My mom and dad allowed us to sleep in our fort as long as it wasn’t too cold o
r raining. We quickly learned the more leaves the better for keeping us warm on damp October nights.” I smile at the memory.

  “Sounds a little drafty for me, I like my down comforter.”

  “Burt talked about making shelters with the kids this summer, using branches and leaf litter from the forest floor. He had some crazy idea of them sleeping in the shelter and earning a survival badge.”

  “Uhuh, I’m coming out. Just the thought of sleeping in here is making me cold.”

  “Come on, City Boy, let’s get going before Big Foot returns.”

  As I stand up a darker, more menacing presence approaches, I smell him before I see him; the rank smell of an unwashed body assails my nose. Fear rises in my throat as the claw of a hand bites down on my shoulder yanking me to my feet.

  I attempt to twist away from the vise-like grip. A blood-curling scream rips from my throat. My fear escalates into terror at the sight before my eyes. The man is huge with hair black as a moonless night. A long beard covers his entire chest. His dark hair is plaited in two thick braids that reach to his waist. He stares down with blood shot eyes. He says nothing, lifting me off the ground with one hand; the other hand a raised fist, deciding whether to punch me or toss my body off into the woods.

  “Put me down!” I scream, squirming in his grasp. His lips curl back in a snarl.

  “Ellllleee,” I hear Vic calling out to me.

  “Viccccc!” I struggle to break free, causing his grasp to tighten, pulling me closer to his filthy body.

  “Ellen, what the hell is going on out there?” Vic yells thrashing about in the hut, attempting to escape. In his haste instead of crawling out the entrance hole, his head bursts through the roof of the shelter. Without the interwoven support, the structure tumbles down, pinning him beneath the framework of branches and wet leaves.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Put me down, oh please, put me down, sir. I’m so sorry we didn’t mean to intrude on your camp. We were just curious.” I plead. “We didn’t hurt anything.”