Wilderness Paradise: Of Brothers and Sisters, Part 3
Flashback 6 years – Caught in the Act
We didn’t hear them coming in. Mom and Dad had returned from church earlier than we had anticipated. Normally, we would have heard the garage door ratcheting open or their footsteps, as they trudged up the stairs, but Rachael and I were so caught up in fucking each other that we were deaf to everything but the primal grunts and moans of our rutting. For that is exactly what it was – a raw and raunchy fuck in the middle of our parent’s bed.
To say that they were livid would have been the understatement of the year – in the morbid and atramentaceous aftermath we were banished to our rooms, forbidden to leave or talk to each other until some form of parental adjudication had been reached. For as far back as I can remember, even when we were just little kids, the punishment meted out for any mischief was determined after a caucus of the entire family. We would sit around the dining table, objectively discuss the waggish incident, and then my dad would solemnly come up with the punishment. It was all done with a decorum that was democratic and fair.
But this time it was different. It had to be different – we weren’t kids anymore and the breach was one with reprobating consequence. I could hear them arguing and that was rare in our house. I don’t know if my parents were still in love, I can only assume that they were, but they had always treated each other with respect. My father was never a shouter. And neither was my mother, except on the rare occasions when we would push her past the limits of her patience. But now, though I couldn’t make out what was being said, they were arguing and it was loud.
I wondered how my sister was holding up … poor Rach! It was my damn fault for messing up her life. How could I have fucked my little sister? I had to be one of the biggest perverts around – that was evidenced beyond the shadow of a doubt. I mean, I had to be. She was only eighteen and I had seduced her or acquiesced to the seduction and should have known better.
I heard the Master bedroom door open and my Mom’s voice, “That’s rubbish, Thomas, you know as well as I do that kids will …” and then the door closed again, turning the dialog into muffled dissonance. She only called my dad by his Christian name when they disagreed on something otherwise it was ‘dear’, ‘baby’, ‘darling’ or some other mushy endearment like “Pooh-Bear” that defied logic. My dad doesn’t, in any way, resemble Winnie the Pooh!
I had no idea what they were arguing about – there was no gray area here – so the querulous banter was baffling. The thought that Dad might kick me out of the house did cross my mind and maybe Mom was lobbying to prevent that. I was suddenly filled with an acute sense of apprehension. I would have to live with Uncle Philip or Uncle Jack, my mother’s brothers whom Rachael and I were closer to than the relatives on my father’s side. In a pinch, I’d pick Uncle Jack but for something more permanent, it would have to be Uncle Philip. I looked a bit like him and he’s the one that got me into Martial Arts.
What were the chances of being thrown out of the house? I wasn’t sure, it could happen though. It wasn’t that farfetched – I had never seen Dad this angry, not just angry but in a murderous rage. Mom would lose it every now and then but Dad had always been the ‘Sultan of Cool’ and in fact, in the past it would be him moderating for lenience. Left to my mother, I would have been hanged, drawn and quartered for some of the shit I had pulled.
My mother’s: “You’re grounded, young man, for at least a week!” would end up being a day because of Dad.
I could still hear him, “Honey, boys will be boys! You need to cut him some slack …”
And my mother’s terse rebuttal, “Yes, but my boy will NOT grow up to be an insolent thug, not if I have anything to do with it!”
And then there was Rachael. My sister was the “good” kid, never doing anything to arouse my parent’s ire. A’s and B’s in school, on the Volleyball and Basketball teams, liked by all the teachers, popular with her friends, home every evening before curfew etc. etc. She was also my staunchest supporter interceding on my behalf as only she could and now this was the way I paid her back!
With my curiosity piquing, I was tempted to break quarantine; to sneak out to the linen closet in the hallway that was adjacent to their bedroom. A strategic ear to the wall, next to the architrave, and you were as good as in the room with them. That’s when I heard the knock on my door. It was a soft, sequential tapping; a quick three, a pause and then a slow two, a code that only my sister used.
“Luke? Can I come in?” It was a whisper.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rach, we’re in enough trouble already. This time …” I paused, not knowing what to say, “this time, they are really pissed!”
I blamed all of it on my crazed, hormone-induced lust. I was always horny – a walking hardon and that was my sorry excuse! I had let them all down. How could we ever be a normal family again? How could I even look at my mother and father? I mean they Beşiktaş Escort had seen us naked, me on top of my sister, fucking her like a horny character straight out of a Teutonic Rhapsody! Hansel and Gretel fucking in the Ginger Bread house! It was deplorable and I was filled with objective revulsion.
“Just go, Rachael, leave me alone,” I added, finding some perverse solace in my self-vilification.
Not that she ever listened to me. She opened the door and slipped in shutting it behind her. She stood by the foot of my bed in her jammies, looking contrite and as beautiful as ever, this despite her hair that fell in a disheveled, rumpled mess around her face and eyes that were red from crying. It was breaking my heart – this need I felt for her.
“If they find you here …” I began.
“I don’t care,” she started, nervously fidgeting with the ends of her hair and then continued, “Dad’s blaming you and that’s wrong. It was me, Luke, I started this. And they are fighting now and you know they never fight! I hate it! I just hate … I hate myself!”
She began crying, softly at first and then, sobbing hysterically. I got up off the bed and went over and hugged her to me, holding her tightly, feeling the warmth of her spreading along my body as she melted into me. And while she sniffled and sobbed into my chest, I kissed the top of her head, trying to comfort her.
“It’s okay, Bugs, it’s okay. Don’t cry, baby, we’ll get through this, I promise,” I murmured.
“How? How will we ever get through this?” she sobbed and clung to me.
“I don’t know how but trust me, we will. We are not the first brother and sister to do it … to have sex. Did you know that the Pharaohs married their sisters?”
I swear it wasn’t meant to be sexual but my cock, ever rebellious and with a mind of its own, twitched and hardened throbbing salaciously against her lower abdomen. What the fuck was the matter with me? And if that wasn’t enough, incredulously, through the sniffles and heaving sobs, I felt her hand snaking down in between us. This was nuts! Totally insane – what was happening to us? We were both losing it!
The crying slowly subsided, “Did they really marry their sisters?”
“Ye-ye-sss, yes …” I stuttered as she squeezed my dick and began stroking me.
“We should have been Egyptians, don’t you think?” she whispered into my neck and giggled.
“Ohh! Yes! Yes …” I managed to croak as her delicate fingers caressed the pillar of flesh.
“Mmmm, is this for me, doc?” she asked her voice changing, like a little girls except low and husky.
I felt her breathing quicken and despite the awkwardness, because of the way we were standing, the sensuality laced with the fear of discovery had a proselytizing effect; not that I need much persuasion. I was now captive to her desires and my rationale and self-loathing of a few minutes ago vanished; obliterated by her silky touch.
“Rach, this is a bad idea. You should stop, baby …” I protested but it lacked any real conviction and then as if to seal the deal, she ran her hand over the coronal ridge of the mushroomed dome.
“Oh God!” I groaned loudly and shivered as the pleasure shot through me.
“Ssshhhh, I need this now, I need you …” she whispered easing me towards the door.
She threw the deadbolt home and dropped to her knees, pulling my pajamas down and then engulfed my cock, taking it into the warmth of her soft, wet mouth. I watched my sister suckle me; her delicate fingers stroking the root of my shaft while her lips clamped around the tip sucking me like a straw. Her head bobbed back and forth, her hair rippling in a silky, golden vortex, her cheeks hollowing with the effort while her tongue tickled and bathed the sensitive ridge of my glans. We were lost in that muddled, timeless labyrinth of a forbidden Eden, my mind flooding with thoughts and scarlet images of her; lewd and lascivious images embellished by the awareness of our incestuous bonds.
I was teased by the strains of her wet slurping as she sucked and swallowed and sucked again and again at the pre-coital juices leaking out from me. I closed my eyes and waited for that inevitable velvet thrill that would consume me and send me tumbling, freefalling mindlessly through the tortured abyss of nothingness while I filled her mouth with my muculent seed.
*****
Back to the Present: Tracking my Sister
As soon as Danny heard the scream he reacted. And I mean ‘reacted’: he jumped up like he had been shot from a cannon, doused the fire, tossed the pan aside and headed in the general direction of the scream. ‘There goes dinner’, I thought to myself.
“Come on, shorty, let’s go!” he called back. He was already twenty or so yards from me.
“What about all this,” I asked and pointed at our stuff, concerned about the expensive climbing accessories in my backpack.
“Leave it! No one’s going to take it … there’s no one here!” the giant said with obvious impatience then urged, “Hurry, someone could be in serious trouble! It’s most probably a bear!”
I slipped the chalk Beylikdüzü Escort bag into my pocket, pushed the backpacks under a bush and followed him as he made his way through the heavy brush and undergrowth. We scampered up a few sharp inclines until we came to a massive rock face. It formed an imposing wall shooting straight upwards, roughly sixty or so feet, with a deep cleft that ran the entire length. These fissures were called chimneys. I could shimmy up using my feet to press my back against the opposite wall of the crevice but it was too small for him. I looked over curious to see what he was planning to do – climbing something like this was hard at best but with the fading light, this was going to be a far greater challenge.
The big man didn’t waste a lot of time. He studied the rock for a few moments and made his decision.
“You go on up,” he said, “I’ll circle around. There’s no way I’ll make it up this!”
“I though you …” I started to say but he cut me off.
“Oh shush-up, little man, let’s not waste time. It’s getting late; I’ll catch up with you, don’t you worry!”
“Hey, maybe I should come with you?”
“No. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get around this,” he replied, paused and gave me reassuring look, “Don’t be scared, shorty, I’ll find you. I have to, you know, how else are we going to convince your sister?” And with that parting remark and a big grin he was gone.
It never ceased to amaze me just how light he was on his feet and how quickly he moved for a big man. I watched as his silhouette dissolved into the caliginous shadows of the trees and wondered whether I could really take him in a fight.
*****
It hadn’t been an easy climb because the chimney skewed and narrowed dramatically near the top making progress impossible. I was forced to traverse out onto the main face which was a lot more dangerous in the fading light. I was free-climbing or more accurately, free-soloing, without the benefit of a safety rope and had to feel with my fingers for cracks and ridges, anything to pull me onto the face. One mistake, a tentative grip or a loose rock, and it meant a sixty-foot drop guaranteed to put a damper on my trip!
When I finally got to the top, my thighs and arms were burning with the strain. I stood there, bent over, shaking out my arms, loosening them up thankful that I had brought the chalk along. The last thing you needed on a climb was sweaty palms. And, that’s when I heard muffled laughter coming from nearby. There was someone else up here.
The camp was in a small clearing about a hundred yards from the ledge. There were five of them and they had a pretty good sized fire going. Three of them looked like paunchy, middle-aged executives but the other two were in pretty good shape. One of them was different. He was tall, a bit taller than me, maybe about six four, lean and muscular and if you knew what to look for you could tell that he could take care of himself.
When they saw me approaching, they stood up and one of the three older men called out, “Hi there stranger, not lost are you?”
But before I could reply, the lean one by the fire stepped towards me, not quite in my path, but without question, in a confrontational manner.
“Who are you?” he asked with an edge to his voice.
He must have been in his early thirties. His hair was cropped short in a buzz cut. He face was narrow and hard with a wide, lipless mouth and a strong shin. His thin, aquiline nose, thick brows and deep set eyes gave him a hawk-like expression. My first impression of him was right – this guy had a hard bark on him.
“I’m Luke Meacham,” I replied, trying to remain neutral though I resented his tone, “my friend and I are camped about a mile from here. We thought we heard a scream – did you guys hear anything?”
“Yeah, we heard it too. It could have been those girls …” A second chubby guy with a round, friendly face started to say but was cut off by the hawk.
“Maybe we did and maybe we didn’t. What’s it to you?” He asked, being obviously belligerent.
“Aw, come on, Cooley … there’s no need for that!” The first man said and then extended his hand convivially, “I’m Bill Jacobs, and yes we all heard a scream. We even considered investigating it but Cooley here thought it was a bad idea, you know, chasing after who-knows-what at night.”
“That’s not what I said!” the lean one retorted, “I said it’s up to you but I wanted to make it clear that I can’t be responsible for three out-of-shape guys playing Rambo out here! That’s what I said.”
Bill Jacobs gave Cooley a cursory glance before replying, “There’s certainly some validity to that. We are a bunch of big city slickers looking for a harmless weekend adventure. I don’t think we’d make it too far, not without Cooley or Jeff.”
I liked him; he looked you in the eye and was honest. And, it was pretty evident that Cooley was calling the shots. He was the guide and Jeff, the young kid, was his sidekick. The boy looked friendly enough; possibly a college kid looking to make some extra money on the side.
“Did Beyoğlu Escort you see anyone else up here?” I asked, addressing Jacobs.
“A group of four passed by early afternoon; three women and a man.” He answered, then pointing eastwards across a small ravine he added, “It came from around there but whatever it was, there was just one short scream …”
He shrugged and made a face leaving the obvious unsaid. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who they had seen. I was on the right track and closing in on Rachael.
“You mentioned a friend?” Jacobs queried.
“He’s taking the long way around – he’ll be here shortly.”
Good question – where the heck was Danny? What in the world could be keeping the big man? And just then, with the uncanny timing of a Hollywood script, Daniel Benn materialized.
It was like a classical, quondam movie. The sky lit up in hues of orang and gold, the silhouette of trees their silvery flecks of leaves shimmering in the backdrop and our Phoenician hero, rising up from the flames! He came sauntering in without a care in the world, an allegorical Paul Bunyan; axe in hand, giant bull by his side and riding the wings of the Northern winds. He glowed fiery-orange in the fading embers of twilight and called out to the camp, giving them all a big, radiant smile.
“Hi there, friends, do you have place for weary traveller?” He asked, his rich, baritone carrying over the hiss of the rustling leaves.
There’s something fascinating about rather large men. I mean, really big men who exude strength especially when they are blessed with imposing attributes like Daniel Benn obviously was. We admire those Sunday afternoon gladiators, gridiron beasts, who lock horns in tests of brute strength and those that are born with exceptional physical ability. We look for Samson and Hercules in our friends and heroes, men who transcend the boundaries of mere mortals.
Longfellow said it best in his ode, “The Song of Hiawatha” –
“Dear, too, unto Hiawatha
Was the very strong man, Kwasind,
He the strongest of all mortals,
He the mightiest among many;
For his very strength he loved him,
For his strength allied to goodness.”
And like Kwasind, there was an inherent goodness in Daniel Benn that I sensed the very first day I met him – a streak of decency as big as the man himself. And that was what made this confusing. There wasn’t another person I’d want courting Rachael but my own needs muddied these already murky waters.
After the initial pleasantries were over, Danny and I stepped to one side.
“They saw Rachael earlier. And they heard the scream,” I said pointing to the East where Bill Jacobs had indicated.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. There could be other hikers out here.” The big man said, “This is big country.”
“I know but just in case …”
He looked across the shallow ravine, covered in evening shadows, the trails dense with trees, rocks and brush. He stood rubbing his chin thoughtfully then turned to me and offered, “It’s too dark. I had a hard time getting here so as much as I want to press on, I say we bed down for the night and pick-up at first light. What do you say?”
I realized he was right and whatever it was, there was really nothing we could do now.
“I agree,” I concurred, nodding my head.
“Ha! You’re not as obdurate as you look, little man,” he said with a smug expression on his face. Except that he pronounced it ‘ob-doo-rate’.
I was about to come back with a retort when Jacobs walked up to us.
“We were just about to eat. Why don’t you join us?” He asked.
“Thanks and much obliged but are you sure? My friend here can eat a Brahma Bull and that would be the appetizer!” I cautioned.
Jacobs laughed and smiled up at the big man.
“We have plenty. We were going to stay a week but unfortunately, Fred isn’t feeling too good. Nothing serious but I think we’ve all had enough of the great outdoors. We are heading back tomorrow to the comfort of room service. You’ll be doing us a favor. We don’t want to haul it all back with us!”
“That’s very kind of you. And yes, I could most probably chow down a side of beef right about now but I’m on a diet. I’ve got to look good for my girl!” The giant said patting his flat stomach and giving me a wink.
I just shook my head. What the heck was I going to do with this Brobdingnagian dope? I was beginning to like him more every day; a brother I never had, but deep down this uneasy feeling kept gnawing at me, this feeling that once Rachael saw him, I would be history. Damn! That would be a pisser! I was so in love with her and couldn’t stop thinking of her. Well, we’ll just have to wait and let things play out.
Jacobs and his friends turned out to be pretty nice people. We enjoyed their company and they were obviously taken with this Bunyanesque clone. Over dinner, Danny entertained us with hilarious stories of his misadventures filled with self-deprecating humor and I swear by the time the meal was done, these men would have followed him across the Styx into the depths of Hades. That is, all except Cooley. He was suspicious of the giant from the very first moment and made no attempt to hide his dislike. I got the feeling that Luther Cooley disliked just about everyone. I caught him looking at me several times during the course of the evening, a curious expression on his face, and I felt certain that, sooner or later, we were destined to face off.