Adirondack Audacity Page 12
“Touch me. I can’t wait any longer to be with you,” I plead with him. “I want the first time to be under the stars on this mountain overlooking our lake. I want this moment with you.” Life taught me tomorrow holds no guarantee and my mother’s death proved tomorrow doesn’t always come. I want today.
“Elle, Elle,” his voice intones my name in a ragged breath as desire fights with reason. A desire driven by questing hands, as I slowly unbutton his shirt slipping under the material to touch the bare skin above the waist of his jeans, stroking the soft down of dark hair causing his belly to clench in longing as he moans. Gently pushing me away, he stands up, reaches down and pulls me to my feet. Squeezing my face between his tan lean hands, he rests his forehead against mine, “Elle, please, I’m not that strong. Please don’t tease me….” His voice comes out in a strangled whisper. I take a step back from him, the trees and stars forming a background canvas, a temptress of the night, I unzip, undulating my hips to slither out of my jeans and stand naked, skin a pearly glow in the luminous darkness, arms held wide casting a spell of enchantment.
With a resounding groan mimicking a gut punch to the stomach, he picks up my pliant body. My arms tighten around his neck and capture his dark hair. I will take this and give it to him, just this once, gather him close to me in love.
Bending down, he gently lays me on the faded sleeping bag. He trails his fingers up and down my spine as we gaze at each other. He brushes back the long mane of hair tumbling over my right shoulder, picking up a lock, inhaling the scent of summer sun. As I move to kiss the throbbing pulse at the base of his neck, he stands up, shucking off his jeans, tossing his unbuttoned shirt to the side, and stands gleaming in the faint light of the moon. I’ve never seen him completely naked before and gasp in surprise at the sheer masculine beauty of his body. A swimmers’ body of wide shoulders wedging down to a chest defined with taut pectoral muscles tapering to ridges of abdominal cords cutting across his stomach. He bends down on athletic legs to lean over me, propping himself on one arm, as his other arm slides around my back pulling me close so I can feel the heat of his strength along my body. His chest is hard against my breasts making them tingle.
One hand cradles my head, stroking my cheek, as he pushes back the hair from my face. “I love you,” he whispers, just before his mouth slides over mine, cutting off any response. A weakness seems to invade my body as I melt into him tracing the muscled ridge from his hip to the smooth curve of his spine. “Love you back,” I say. His tongue slides seductively into my mouth to coax a response that is hot and scalding. I cling to him, devouring his kisses, catching fire as his hands rove up and down my body, creating a backlash of desire in their wake. His mouth slides down from my lips to my throat, nibbling at the hollow of my shoulder blade, then across my chest. Grabbing the damp tangle of black hair, I guide his mouth to my breast, searing pleasure races through me as his mouth closes over the nipple and my back arches in delight as my body writhes beneath him succumbing to a spiraling passion. “Vic,” I gasp as exquisite tremors of pleasure race along my skin.
Unable to remain still under the onslaught of his hands and mouth, afloat on a frenzy of longing, the ground beneath me undulates like the waves of the ocean. He moves down my rib cage to my belly, a skim and glide of fingers followed by the trail of his moist tongue. His hands sliding down touching the triangle of curls between my thighs, then his fingers slide between my legs finding the tender bud, touching, pressing and driving me mindless with need. He moves down to kiss the concave hollow between my hip and stomach trailing kisses lower and lower. Pushing my knees apart he places small nibbling kisses up one side of my inner thighs then down the other. Running his tongue lightly over the core of desire, my body quivers in response. “Oh, yes,” I gasp, pulling his head in closer, reveling in the pleasure of such intimate contact, weightless floating on his touch. When I can take the exquisite pleasure no longer, he rises to lie next to me, crushing me in his arms. Moaning with need, his lips come down to mine bruising with a ferocious possession. His voice thick with passion, he pauses above me, “I want you.”
“Love me, Vic.” For a moment he is above me, looking down, eyes deep and black as I pull his mouth down to drown in his kiss. Lifting his head, he cradles my face between his hands and whispers, “Let me in, caro.” And with that he slides into me, deep, and deeper. Long, slow thrusts until a quick spasm of pain causes me to inhale sharply, he stops, waiting until I beg him to continue, carrying me spiraling upward mindless with passion, feeling more and more until the sky above me explodes into a million starbursts of delight. “Elle, Elle,” he cries. Clutching my body to him, he groans in response finding his own satisfaction, thrusting deeper into my quivering body.
We are one dancing with the mountains under the sky of streaking stars in a noiseless display of fireworks. Fate or destiny, as desire blooms under the flare of a hot August night.
Chapter 14 Busted The rustic boathouse tucked a mile down shore from the main camp, sets as a reminder of days gone by, slowly returning to the forest from disuse and neglect. A flight of rickety stairs leads to the second story, a large spacious room framed with small leaded glass windows and a French door which opens onto a small balcony. Years ago, guests of the camp seeking a place of solitude would come to the boathouse and sit, read, enjoy a cup of tea or an evening cocktail as the sun set behind the mountains. Once cleared of cobwebs and the accumulated dirt and grime of neglect, the boathouse proved to be a perfect meeting place for young lovers. Our night on the mountain meant to quell the fires of passion, served only to stoke the flames into smoldering embers of desire not to be denied. Desire overcame reason and we were headed toward a towering inferno of disaster. And on the nights we could sneak away, we made love in the boathouse with reckless abandon ….until Burt found us.
A thunderstorm had just passed over the boathouse leaving the sky pierced and shattered with trailing flashes of distant lightening pursued by the answering rumble of thunder. It’s drizzling outside, not a downpour or a shower, just a slow steady sprinkling drizzle. The soft dancing of raindrops on the tin roof plays a steady tune in reverence to the falling rain. The French doors are open to capture the subtle breeze of the storm’s aftermath. Small brown bats dipping and weaving using echolocation to hunt; dart past the open window. Up and down, back and forth streaking over the lake’s surface chasing mosquitoes in the feeble light of the moon as it breaks through the thin veil of cloud cover. A foundation of old deck cushions bleached clean by the sun and zealous scrubbing, along with a couple of old sleeping bags makes for a cozy haven. Drowsy in the wake of spent passion, the tin roof symphony lulls us to sleep innocent in the belief of being safe and alone.
And that’s how Burt found us. The beam of his flashlight cuts through the darkness of the boathouse, ravaging our sleep laden eyes.
“ Son of a bitch,” I hear the expletive explode, shattering the quiet of the night.
“Damn it, damn it, Damn it,” Burt swears, enunciating his words even more than normal. “I knew the two of you were up to no good.”
I scream in terror, pulling the sleeping bag up to cover my nakedness, while Vic pushes me behind him in a protective pose, saying, “What the fuck?” Trying to shield his eyes against the glare of the flashlight’s beam, he yells, “Who the hell is it?”
“Who the hell do you think it is? It’s Me! You two dummies! You’re not even up to knuckleheads anymore, you are both beyond Stupid.” I groan to myself, I’ve never hated the way Burt emphasizes certain words in his sentences as much as I do at this moment. Stupid. He is bellowing his anger at us out into the night
“Burt,” we groan, relief mixed with fear.
“Just what the Hell do you think you are doing?” He rants at us. I pull the sleeping bag higher, mortified, busted by Burt, ohh, this is not going to be good. “Could you turn the flashlight off or direct it away from our faces?” Vic asks him, holding up a hand, shielding his eyes from the glaring beam.
“Damn it,” Vic growls, pushing his hair back, a pained expression on his face. He drops his head onto his hands, elbows propped up on his knees, exhaling a loud sigh. I nestle closer burying my face into his back, praying if I don’t open my eyes Burt will vanish like a bad dream. No such luck, he is still there with a mounting temper to match his red hair.
“I want the two of you dressed and in the Algonquin Nature Cabin in ten minutes. If you choose not to show up, then I will be forced to go to Morris and report the inappropriate conduct of his two favorite counselors. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” He commands in a tone just shy of being beyond furious, punctuating his words with the flashlight. Bouncing the flashlight beam from my face to Vic’s, weaving back and forth until we’re dizzy from the rapid motion.
Blissfully, the light ceases the back and forth assault on our eyeballs as he pivots on his heel, disappearing into the darkness of the staircase. “Ten minutes and don’t be late,” echoes up the steep wooden steps.
“Oh, we are so screwed,” Vic says, gathering me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. “Oh, Elle, I feel like I’ve been caught by your father. You know Burt adores you. I’m a dead man. If he punches me, I deserve it.”
“We’re in this together remember, he has to punch both of us.” In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think, Burt’s not very big………. how hard can he punch…..
…
Clad in jeans and sweatshirts, our hair damp from a quick swim in the lake, we mount the steps of Algonquin cabin holding hands in a white-knuckle clasp. Burt shakes his head, looking away from us as we come through the door, a pinched look of pain scrunches up his face. I hear him mutter under his breath, “God, I wish I didn’t care so much about what happens to them.”
The cabin is bathed in the dim glow of candlelight. Being so far removed from the main camp, it is impractical and expensive to run electrical lines. Therefore, the cabin exists in the rustic state of light furnished by candles or lanterns. The rough wooden table in the center of the room is covered with a vintage flowered tablecloth I found in the boathouse. At the end of our workday, Burt would make tea while I set the table using our favorite mugs. It was a small ritual we shared, taking a quiet moment to reflect on the activities of the day and plan ahead for tomorrow.
Two pillar candles imbedded with bits of pine needles and wood chips flicker in the dark casting golden shadows on the walls. Our teapot, the one with the chipped lid sits on the table. Steam wafting from the spout fills the room with a minty aroma. Burt
remembered mint tea is my favorite, but tonight, three mugs sit on the table, and he’s standing there with a thunderous look on his face, arms akimbo. He flashes a look of murderous venom at Vic. Okay, so this isn’t going to be a proper English high tea…….
“I really want to punch you,” he fumes at Vic shaking his head vigorously back and forth.
“I understand, sir.” Vic replies nodding his head in agreement. “I deserve it.”
“You do not.” I butt in with rising indignation. “I’m just as much to blame for this as you.”
“You, be quiet,” Burt says, stabbing his finger in my direction to emphasize his point. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all summer. I begged you to trust me, let me help you. Do you know the consequences of your actions? Do you really understand what an unwanted Pregnancy could mean to your futures? Do you? Do you?” he repeats as he whips into a tirade about the statistics of teenage pregnancies, early marriages, suicide and just about every pitfall that can happen to stupid kids who don’t stop to think about the future.
“I could see this coming since the beginning of summer. I tried to intervene, make you understand that You are too young to be having sex. Just… too… young!” His voice rises on each word. “Seventeen years old, shit, you have your whole lives ahead of you. You wait until you’re in college, at the very least.”
“What do you have to say for yourselves? Huh?” He flops down onto a bench, chest heaving from the exertion of his rant.
I think he simply ran out of breath, unable to yell, rant and rave at us any further. What did we have to say for ourselves? Well, there’s not a lot to be said in our defense. We’ve been like small children playing with matches, hoping not to get burned. So we stand looking sheepish, nodding in agreement with his assessment of our wrong doings. As we sit in that peaceful cabin in the woods, he’s right, we’ve been playing a game with consequences too dire to imagine.
“Sit down,” he says in a weary voice, pouring the now cooled tea into our mugs, passing a small plastic bear of organic honey. “What am I going to do with the two of you?” he muses shaking his head.
“What are you using for birth control?” He asks suspiciously.
Vic and I glance over at each other with a pained expression on our faces.
“Oh, Sweet Jesus, Mary, Mother of God! Don’t tell me you haven’t been using anything, anything!”
“Well, the rhythm method. Kat said if you count back fourteen days from your period…” I start to explain before he erupts, his voice shaking with disbelief.
“The rhythm method! Do You know how many good Catholic families of eight kids are running around in the world because of the rhythm method? Millions, my parents for starters, I have five brothers and sisters. It doesn’t work very well.”
“And we used…….” My voice trails off in embarrassment, looking at my feet, unable to continue.
Vic finishes in a tight voice, “I had some condoms.”
“Of course you did!” Burt fumes. His voice lowers to a hiss as he slams the table with his fist. “You should know better,” he points an accusing finger at Vic. “She’s innocent, I can’t believe she let this happen, but she loves you. But you know better, Vic, I know you do. You know how the world works.”
“Innocent?” I squeak in disbelief. “I’m not an innocent baby. Kat said….” I weakly try to explain but confusion and doubt cloud my words.
“You chose to talk to Kat, Queen of Camp Wild Life instead of me! I’m a biology teacher, my life is teaching about reproduction, but no, you talked to your eighteenyear-old girlfriend. Ask her about her abortion last year,” he says, dropping this bombshell in our laps.
Our eyes widen in horror at the thought of Kat having an abortion. Oh, God, abortion, babies.
“Yeah,” he continues, “No one is supposed to know about it, she came to me at the end of the summer last year, scared and wanting to know her options. Some guy back home.”
“Oh my God,” I say, the breath escaping my lungs replaced by a quaking fear. A tremor starts at my spine working through my body to a quavering chill. I clutch Vic’s arm in a vise-like grip. He straddles the bench, pulling my trembling body into the hollow of his arms, kissing my forehead saying, “We’ll be all right, mia, Don’t worry.”
“A little late for that,” Burt says getting up from the chair he was straddling. “Stay here,” he commands as the screen door bangs behind his retreating back.
“Where is he going?” I ask, the warmth of Vic’s body doing little to quell the rippling fear gripping me. “What’s he going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Vic says with a deep sigh, “I’m so sorry, Elle.”
The screen door squeeks on its’ hinge announcing Burt’s return. He tosses a small box on the table. “Here,” he says pointing to the box.
Vic and I look at the box in confusion then read the word, condoms. Condoms. I can’t look at Burt’s face, I pray the floor will open up and swallow me; even China won’t be far enough.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper into Vic’s shoulder.
Vic instead chooses to look directly into Burt’s eyes, a man to man in agreement.
“If you’re going to have sex, have it responsibly. Count your days and use the condoms, better yet don’t have sex for a year or two. The pill works the bes
t. Ellen, make an appointment with a doctor, but you may need your parent’s permission being under the age.” I look at him in disbelief and horror at the mere suggestion of involving my father and Helen, is he nuts!!
“Consider talking to Noreen, the camp nurse, she may be able to give you some advice.”
“It won’t be an issue in two weeks,” Vic says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms in agitation. “My father is sending me back to school in Mexico. He wants me to finish my high school education there, it’s tradition for the men of our family. And when my father insists, no one stands in his way.” The muscles in his jaw twitch, his arms pull me tighter into his embrace. “I don’t know when I will see Ellen again.”
“I see,” says Burt. “I’m sorry, but maybe it’s for the best, try looking beyond next year. College will open many doors for you. I’m sorry I came down so hard, but it had to be said. You know I care for the both of you,” he shrugs his shoulders, stifling a yawn. “Look, I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted. I’m too old to be running around all hours of the night. I don’t think I have the energy to climb into the tree house. Maybe I’ll just sleep on the ground, like a bear.”
“Burt, wait.” I call out, leaving Vic’s arms to give him a hug as he stands at the open door. “Thanks for caring.”
“Hey, I was young once, believe it or not. Blow out the candles when you leave.”
Chapter 15 Farewell Summer is over on the mountain, Pegasus retreats south as Orion climbs higher in the night sky. The early fall reds and yellows of deciduous trees pepper the otherwise green mountain slopes. The golden rod is thick with bees as the sun ebbs ever closer to the equator and night time temperatures bring the foreshadowing of winter.
A hillside meadow stretches to the mountain lake, dotted with a tide of black-eyed Susans. The yellow daisies wave in the early afternoon breeze. Our last day at camp. A sense of melancholy pervades our hike up the hill. Thick tufts of cumulus clouds give relief to the heat of the day. Shaking out the faded sleeping bag, we fall wearily onto the cushion of daisies, cocooned in a sheltering ring of tall wildflowers. We are surrounded, hidden by a wall of purple knapweed, blue chicory, and Queen Anne’s lace, overshadowed by the vivid Tuscan yellow of black-eyed Susans.