We were hiking up the mountain. That’s hiking, not climbing; the trail was steep, but it was still possible to call it hiking, even though we had to pull ourselves up with handholds every so often.
Since I was the more experienced hiker, I went ahead, with Mike following behind. I offered to let him go ahead sometimes, but he said he was content to have me blaze the trail. At one point, I kind of had to stretch one leg way up, keeping the other one flat on the ground, and push up hard. I heard Mike gasp behind me.
“What?” I asked, looking around.
“Nothing,” he said, blushing like the blue-and-blond he was. I don’t know why he was so embarrassed. Every hiker was a tenderfoot once. If he’d slipped or whatever, he didn’t have to feel bad about it.
“Are you hurt?”
“What? No!” he said, looking confused. He was clearly mortified, so I dropped it.
A little farther along, a small brook crossed the trail. Someone had put stepping stones in it, so getting across dry was easy. For a while after that, the trail was relatively level, going around the mountain instead of up the side. Looking up, I could see why: there was nothing but sheer rock face directly summitward of where we were.
I’m not into rock climbing.
It was really kind of embarrassing that it was on this level part of the trail that I tripped (over a root? my own feet? I don’t know) and fell, clutching uselessly at a branch as I went down. The fall wasn’t bad, on soft leaf-mold, but the branch slashed open my hand, not deeply, but enough so it wanted bandaging.
So we sat down by the trail to deal with it. I squeezed some blood out to make sure the wound was clean, swabbed it with disinfectant to make sure, and bandaged it with gauze and tape. Or rather Mike did that last part; ever try to tape gauze to your own palm? And it was my right palm, too.
While he was doing that, I looked around. A single drop of my blood was clinging to the very tip of a leaf, where it had fallen when I squeezed it out. I didn’t try to aim it or anything; that was sheer luck. The leaf was bright green and the blood was dark red; it was kind of remarkable.
Mike had finished bandaging my hand, but was still just holding it. When I finally noticed and looked at him, he was looking at me.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing,” he replied, looking away. We got up and moved on.
For reasons I couldn’t really understand, the trail seemed to wind through the woods for a while after that. That didn’t make sense, but the woods were thick enough that I didn’t want to cut across to shorten our path. I was figuring we should find a place to camp soon when Mike suddenly stopped walking and shushed me.
“Jack. Look,” he said, and I followed his gaze upward. There, perched on a branch, was a hawk, just sitting, looking directly at us, very still. I was about to decide that it was stuffed when it turned its head, pointing first one eye then the other at us, as birds do; then it flew away.
“That was strange,” I said.
“Sure was,” said Mike. He was pale. But that might have been because he’s really light-skinned, unlike me, and the light was fading.
“We’d better make camp,” I told him. “Pretty level here, doesn’t look like a flood plain. How about here?” He hesitated, then agreed. Fortunately our tent was a quick dome-and-a-half type setup, so it was quick; actually if it hadn’t been I’d’ve stopped us earlier. Still, it was full dark by the time we got it set up.
Inside, we unrolled our sleeping bags. I undressed and stuffed my clothes in the bottom of the bag so I’d have warm clothes for morning. Mike did the same, except he kept his boxer briefs on. As he pulled some stuff out of his backpack, a small object fell out.
“What’s that?” I asked. It had a button on it, and two LEDs; the green one was lit.
“It’s nothing,” he said. OK, whatever. I was pretty tired. I groaned as I lay down.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mike.
“No big deal. Just all that uphill walking catching up with me. My legs are really sore,” I said.
“Would some massage help?”
“Maybe,” I said, and rubbed my legs some, but did you ever try to give yourself a leg massage? You can kind of do the quads, but the hamstrings are really hard to reach, and glutes—forget it. “Not really working,” I said.
“Hey, I could work on them if you want.”
“Nah, you don’t have to. I’m the one who didn’t stretch or whatever.”
“It’s OK. I don’t mind.”
“You sure?” I was thinking how stiff my legs would be in the morning if I didn’t get the kinks out tonight.
“No problem,” he said, and came over. Like I said, I could do the quads OK, so I lay face down while he worked first on my calves, then on my hamstrings. Then he stopped.
“Um,” he said.
“What?”
“Is your…are your glutes sore too?”
“Hell yes,” I groaned, “they’re the worst part.” I mean, didn’t he know what muscles you use going uphill?
“It’s just that…” and he broke off again. I waited. Nothing.
“What?” I finally asked.
“To massage your glutes…I kinda have to touch your ass.”
“Well yeah,” I said, laughing. “That’s where the glutes are.” He said nothing. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But they’re really sore.”
“Well…OK,” he said, and started in on the glutes. He was pretty good at massage; it hurt a little, at first, like it does when you rub sore muscles hard, but then I started to relax. I guess I was kind of sleepy, because I kind of started drifting. Then I woke up.
Something was different. He wasn’t so much rubbing my glutes as he was…well, stroking my ass.
“What the hell!” I said, and kind of rolled back. He pulled back his hands in a hurry, but I noticed that his boxer briefs were…well, let’s just say there was one more pole in our tent!
“Are you popping a rod from touching my ass?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just can’t…” he trailed off. He was bright red, and staring at me in fear. I was putting two and two together.
“Mike,” I finally said, keeping my voice level, “did you ask me to take you hiking so you could get me alone and naked in a tent?”
“No! I mean…well, kind of. Not only that.” To my own surprise, I wasn’t mad. I was hurt, really hurt, that he would abuse our friendship that way. I liked Mike, I really did; in some ways he was my best friend. For him to pull something so underhanded really bothered me.
He watched all that happen in my face, I guess. He started to cry. Even though he’d tried a pretty shabby trick on me, I wanted to comfort him.
“Look,” I said, “we’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s get some sleep now.”
“I don’t think so,” he said through tears, and picked up the small object he’d said was “nothing” before. When he pressed the button, the green light went out, the red one lit, and suddenly the whole
* * *
We were hiking up the mountain. That’s hiking, not climbing; the trail was steep, but it was still possible to call it hiking, even though we had to pull ourselves up with handholds every so often.
Since I was the more experienced hiker, I let Mike go ahead. That way, if he took a bad fall I could catch him before he went sliding too far down the trail. I told him that that would mean he was blazing the trail, though it was already pretty well marked, and he said that was OK.
Besides, Mike has a really great ass. I wanted it ahead where I could look at it. He had no idea I had that ulterior motive, of course. At one point he had to really stretch his one leg up to get to the next foothold; the view of his ass was so spectacular that I gasped aloud.
“What?” he asked, looking around.
“Nothing,” I said. He probably couldn’t tell I was blushing, dark-skinned as I am. If I’d been as blond-and-blue as he was it would have been really obvious!
Since I was the more experienced hiker, I went ahead, with Mike following behind. I offered to let him go ahead sometimes, but he said he was content to have me blaze the trail. At one point, I kind of had to stretch one leg way up, keeping the other one flat on the ground, and push up hard. I heard Mike gasp behind me.
“What?” I asked, looking around.
“Nothing,” he said, blushing like the blue-and-blond he was. I don’t know why he was so embarrassed. Every hiker was a tenderfoot once. If he’d slipped or whatever, he didn’t have to feel bad about it.
“Are you hurt?”
“What? No!” he said, looking confused. He was clearly mortified, so I dropped it.
A little farther along, a small brook crossed the trail. Someone had put stepping stones in it, so getting across dry was easy. For a while after that, the trail was relatively level, going around the mountain instead of up the side. Looking up, I could see why: there was nothing but sheer rock face directly summitward of where we were.
I’m not into rock climbing.
It was really kind of embarrassing that it was on this level part of the trail that I tripped (over a root? my own feet? I don’t know) and fell, clutching uselessly at a branch as I went down. The fall wasn’t bad, on soft leaf-mold, but the branch slashed open my hand, not deeply, but enough so it wanted bandaging.
So we sat down by the trail to deal with it. I squeezed some blood out to make sure the wound was clean, swabbed it with disinfectant to make sure, and bandaged it with gauze and tape. Or rather Mike did that last part; ever try to tape gauze to your own palm? And it was my right palm, too.
While he was doing that, I looked around. A single drop of my blood was clinging to the very tip of a leaf, where it had fallen when I squeezed it out. I didn’t try to aim it or anything; that was sheer luck. The leaf was bright green and the blood was dark red; it was kind of remarkable.
Mike had finished bandaging my hand, but was still just holding it. When I finally noticed and looked at him, he was looking at me.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing,” he replied, looking away. We got up and moved on.
For reasons I couldn’t really understand, the trail seemed to wind through the woods for a while after that. That didn’t make sense, but the woods were thick enough that I didn’t want to cut across to shorten our path. I was figuring we should find a place to camp soon when Mike suddenly stopped walking and shushed me.
“Jack. Look,” he said, and I followed his gaze upward. There, perched on a branch, was a hawk, just sitting, looking directly at us, very still. I was about to decide that it was stuffed when it turned its head, pointing first one eye then the other at us, as birds do; then it flew away.
“That was strange,” I said.
“Sure was,” said Mike. He was pale. But that might have been because he’s really light-skinned, unlike me, and the light was fading.
“We’d better make camp,” I told him. “Pretty level here, doesn’t look like a flood plain. How about here?” He hesitated, then agreed. Fortunately our tent was a quick dome-and-a-half type setup, so it was quick; actually if it hadn’t been I’d’ve stopped us earlier. Still, it was full dark by the time we got it set up.
Inside, we unrolled our sleeping bags. I undressed and stuffed my clothes in the bottom of the bag so I’d have warm clothes for morning. Mike did the same, except he kept his boxer briefs on. As he pulled some stuff out of his backpack, a small object fell out.
“What’s that?” I asked. It had a button on it, and two LEDs; the green one was lit.
“It’s nothing,” he said. OK, whatever. I was pretty tired. I groaned as I lay down.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mike.
“No big deal. Just all that uphill walking catching up with me. My legs are really sore,” I said.
“Would some massage help?”
“Maybe,” I said, and rubbed my legs some, but did you ever try to give yourself a leg massage? You can kind of do the quads, but the hamstrings are really hard to reach, and glutes—forget it. “Not really working,” I said.
“Hey, I could work on them if you want.”
“Nah, you don’t have to. I’m the one who didn’t stretch or whatever.”
“It’s OK. I don’t mind.”
“You sure?” I was thinking how stiff my legs would be in the morning if I didn’t get the kinks out tonight.
“No problem,” he said, and came over. Like I said, I could do the quads OK, so I lay face down while he worked first on my calves, then on my hamstrings. Then he stopped.
“Um,” he said.
“What?”
“Is your…are your glutes sore too?”
“Hell yes,” I groaned, “they’re the worst part.” I mean, didn’t he know what muscles you use going uphill?
“It’s just that…” and he broke off again. I waited. Nothing.
“What?” I finally asked.
“To massage your glutes…I kinda have to touch your ass.”
“Well yeah,” I said, laughing. “That’s where the glutes are.” He said nothing. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But they’re really sore.”
“Well…OK,” he said, and started in on the glutes. He was pretty good at massage; it hurt a little, at first, like it does when you rub sore muscles hard, but then I started to relax. I guess I was kind of sleepy, because I kind of started drifting. Then I woke up.
Something was different. He wasn’t so much rubbing my glutes as he was…well, stroking my ass.
“What the hell!” I said, and kind of rolled back. He pulled back his hands in a hurry, but I noticed that his boxer briefs were…well, let’s just say there was one more pole in our tent!
“Are you popping a rod from touching my ass?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just can’t…” he trailed off. He was bright red, and staring at me in fear. I was putting two and two together.
“Mike,” I finally said, keeping my voice level, “did you ask me to take you hiking so you could get me alone and naked in a tent?”
“No! I mean…well, kind of. Not only that.” To my own surprise, I wasn’t mad. I was hurt, really hurt, that he would abuse our friendship that way. I liked Mike, I really did; in some ways he was my best friend. For him to pull something so underhanded really bothered me.
He watched all that happen in my face, I guess. He started to cry. Even though he’d tried a pretty shabby trick on me, I wanted to comfort him.
“Look,” I said, “we’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s get some sleep now.”
“I don’t think so,” he said through tears, and picked up the small object he’d said was “nothing” before. When he pressed the button, the green light went out, the red one lit, and suddenly the whole
* * *
We were hiking up the mountain. That’s hiking, not climbing; the trail was steep, but it was still possible to call it hiking, even though we had to pull ourselves up with handholds every so often.
Since I was the more experienced hiker, I let Mike go ahead. That way, if he took a bad fall I could catch him before he went sliding too far down the trail. I told him that that would mean he was blazing the trail, though it was already pretty well marked, and he said that was OK.
Besides, Mike has a really great ass. I wanted it ahead where I could look at it. He had no idea I had that ulterior motive, of course. At one point he had to really stretch his one leg up to get to the next foothold; the view of his ass was so spectacular that I gasped aloud.
“What?” he asked, looking around.
“Nothing,” I said. He probably couldn’t tell I was blushing, dark-skinned as I am. If I’d been as blond-and-blue as he was it would have been really obvious!
)
