On the way up the mountain last month, I stopped in the little town at the base that had the only gas for a hundred miles. The building dates to the 1890s and serves coffee and sells a few groceries and tourist items. It's the only store in a town of forty people. The gas pump still has the rotating dials, no digital. One side doesn't work. To get the other side to work often requires tapping your heels together and turning in clockwise circles three times. Sometimes, that's not enough.
It's my kind of place: rustic, way off the beaten path, down-home. On that day, the magic worked, and I topped off the tank, needing every drop and two extra cans for where I was headed. Not a place to run out of gas.
Walking in to pay, the owner wasn't there. Instead, there was another woman I'd briefly seen on other trips. She's about five foot four inches tall, stocky build, jet black hair, dark olive skin, wearing classic, worn rancher jeans and a faded western cut shirt. As I approached, she was looking down at something on the counter.
"Forty-five twenty-five, unleaded," I said. When she looked up, I'm startled. She's got the most intense, riveting eyes: smoky, deep, onyx black with brown/gold flecks that radiated light. They also seemed teary, cloudy. Brushing her cheek, she reaches her open hand out. I'm spellbound, not sure what she wants.
"Your card," she says in a deep, resonant tone.
I blushed, "Oh, yeah," digging around in my pocket and handing it over. She runs it, handing it back. At least I remembered to take it and put it in my pocket. "You OK?" I couldn't look anywhere but her eyes, deep pools drawing me inward.
She paused a moment, looking very intently, sizing me up. "No. Yes. Maybe." Another pause. "He left me."
I didn't know who he was but felt sure he was a fool. It was so still I could hear the building creaking in the wind and the steady, soft tick of an old-fashioned clock. It seemed important to say something, but words weren't showing up. Finally, they came, "Want to talk?"
She turned to look out the window and back at me and nodded. Pouring two cups of coffee, we sat across from each other at an old, worn table with rickety chairs that seemed as old as the building. I wondered what stories that table could tell, of the conversations and lives that happened here over a hundred years. We sipped our coffee in silence, she holding her cup at her mouth, the steam drifting across those luminous eyes. I noticed a few white hairs starting to show at her temples. She broke the silence, "You going up top?"
The spell softened, at least enough to form words. "Yes, looking for some good landscape photographs."
"You've come here before. I've seen you."
I knew we hadn't met. I briefly saw her making coffee and moving like a shadow in the back room. "It's my favorite place. I get here whenever I can."
"I've seen your work. It's good. Claudia showed me." On previous trips, I talked to Claudia, the owner, about carrying my art. She wasn't much interested. "Claudia's a storekeeper. She knows nothing about art," she said as she waved an arm dismissively at the store. "I looked at your site."
"Thank you. Online doesn't show it well. I've got my portfolio, if you're interested." She nodded. When I returned, the chairs were moved together. I opened the portfolio and sat down, the closeness of her body intensifying the spell she seemed to weave. Thankfully, I didn't need to speak. Slowly, she turned each page, carefully looking at each print. Many people look at my work. Very few people take the time to really look at my work. Without saying a word, she gave the highest compliment an artist needs.
Pausing on a landscape of the snow-capped peak with fall golden aspen trailing through the canyon, she ran a finger along the rim and down the river valley. Turning, her eyes met mine briefly, then went back to the print. My heart pounded as she looked straight at me, "You love her?" Her eyes would tolerate nothing but the truth.
"Yes, I love her."
"I can tell. This shows her spirit and your love." I was glad to be sitting otherwise, I would have fallen. In ten minutes, she had easily slid around my walls and defenses without me noticing, like water flowing around stone. I could see tears forming in her eyes as she stared at the mountain. "He said he loved me, but, he didn't love her. I don't know how that can be." What words could even begin to answer that? The stillness continued. The clock ticked. She turned a few pages. "You like storms?"
Shaking my head, "No, I don't like storms. I love them. I moved out here for the storms."
She smiled. I flipped to a panorama from the top looking out over hundreds of miles of open desert, a snowstorm trailing off as dawn light broke through the clouds. "Tell me the story," she said.
"You know how it goes. No storm in the forecast. Wake up to a white out, sideways blowing snow and constant 35mph wind that lasts for three days. As it cleared, I got that shot."
"I heard about that, didn't know it was you. What did you do for three days?"
"Sat. Meditated. Listened to the wind tell its story: pain, heartbreak, power. Watched hoarfrost grow sideways on rock."
"You must be very experienced or stupid."
"It's a fine line. I got the shot, drove down. No search and rescue calls."
She smiled for the first time, her face lighting up, her eyes laughing. "That's the line, isn't it? No helicopter rides." Then, she laughed, a deep, heartfelt laugh that opened up another side of her. After flipping through a few more pages, she went to the door, flipping the open sign to closed. "I'm closing early, Claudia doesn't mind." Turning to me, she said, "I need to go to my spot. Do you want to come?" The last was spoken in a small, tentative, please-don't-say-no voice. "That is, if you have time."
My body screamed, Hell, yes. I answered with a more subdued, "I'll make time. The mountain will be there tomorrow." She smiled, looking relieved.
We took my rig, driving up the main road for a few miles before turning onto a little used side road. She talked about growing up there, living on the mountain, what it was like. Her father was Basque, her mother Paiute. It wasn't common for the two cultures to mix, but her parents broke the rules. They had a very passionate and sometimes stormy marriage. When she got older, she traveled around and tried to live in the city, but it never lasted long, always returning to the mountain. After a while, she quit going elsewhere and settled in there, doing odd jobs and working on ranches to get by.
We came to a locked gate that would have stopped me and everybody else. She had the combination. After another few miles, we turned onto a jeep road and then again later, turned onto a two-track through short sagebrush until we couldn't drive any further. We started following an animal trail through scrub trees, mountain mahogany and sagebrush. The air smelled of high desert and the sun was warm and inviting. It felt like we were entering a different dimension, light seemed brighter, time dissolved.
After hiking a few miles across some drainages, we went up and over a small rocky ridge line. She was nimble, like any canyon creature needs to be in this terrain. Descending the ridge, we came to a creek and turned upstream, picking our way around trees, plants and boulders. Stopping, she waited for me, extending her hand. When mine touched hers, a tingling spark of energy shot through me.
We walked around some large boulders into an open area with a small creek trickling over a ridge into a hollowed-out rock pool. There were trees providing shade, flowering plants at water's edge, moss-covered rocks and boulders and birds flitting between tree branches. Rays from the sun filtered through branches creating sparkles in the water. It seemed, if I looked closely, there would be fairies and sprites dancing in the air.
Holding my hand, she watched intently while I took it all in. Leaning close to my ear, she whispered, "This is my spot. You must tell no one." I could only solemnly nod, knowing if I did, there would be consequences that I couldn't bear. I'd seen great European cathedrals and amazing Himalayan temples. This place rivaled them all. It was sacred ground and demanded respect.
She walked to the pool's edge and began to undress, which I took as a sign to follow. Holding hands, we waded into the pool, feeling the water caress our skin. Standing under the small waterfall, we embraced as the water splashed over us. There was a ledge directly underneath that I sat on, pulling her to my lap, her back leaning against me. Reaching between us, she pressed my cock against her mound, rubbing the bottom of the shaft as the top parted her lips. My hands encircled her olive-toned breasts with dark, chocolate nipples, gleaming with sparkling water drops. I pulled her back against me, feeling her relax, forming to my body.
I'd never been baptized, didn't quite understand it. This might be what it meant. The sensations of her body against mine, the trickling water, sunlight filtering through trees seemed otherworldly and more real than anything at the same time.
Turning, she straddled my lap, squeezing my cock between her thighs and cheeks as she floated with the water. Placing her hands behind my head, she drew close, her lips barely touching mine, her eyes closely watching my reaction. The tip of her tongue traced my lips as I inhaled her breath.
Standing, she pulled me up and we waded back to the bank to a mossy, flat-top boulder to sit. It felt like an altar. She knelt between my legs on a carpet of pine needles, slowly tracing her hand up my thigh, squeezing the base of my cock. Looking at me, she smiled as she brought her tongue to lick the head and along each side of the shaft, exploring every inch. I leaned back in bliss at her exquisite, firm touch, one hand stroking her head and hair. Her pursed lips ran over the tip and slowly drew me into her mouth. This was no obligatory blowjob. It was a loving exploration with her tongue combined with sweet sucking that felt heavenly.
Satisfied, and me rock hard, she squatted, placing my cock between her lips, running the tip up and down, coating it with creamy nectar. She watched intently as she lowered her pussy, taking in just the head and slowly moving up and down. Continuing this rhythm, her pussy gradually engulfed more until bottoming out at my pelvis. My throbbing cock ached as her muscles repeatedly gripped and released with her movements.
My mouth found hers and I pulled her tongue into me as far as possible. Her pelvis rotated against mine as I began pushing forward. Rising up to the head and slowly sinking down, a rhythm formed between our vibrating bodies, the echo of our slapping reverberating across the canyon.
Holding tight, I stood and lay her down on the altar, her legs locked around my waist. She tilted her pelvis just so and my cock slid deeper and began its own thrusting dance with her pussy as she pushed back toward me. Her arms around my neck, our foreheads touching, I totally let go and fell into the deep, dark pools of her eyes until there was only panting breath, pulsing bodies, and the sun beating down on us next to water falling into the pool. I felt something inside her break free, float off into the air, as her body softened, sinking into the earth, yielding to me.
Walking back to the truck, she reached out and took my hand, saying nothing, squeezing occasionally to make sure I was real.
It was dark by the time we got back to town. Getting out, I lifted her onto the hood so we were eye to eye, her legs wrapped around my waist, my cock pressed against her. It was becoming our favorite position. An almost full moon had risen and its light bounced gleaming off her black hair and made her eyes shine with an enchanting mystery. Gently, softly, I kissed every part of her I could reach. Pulling back, she looked at me with a smile, very different from a few hours ago, the clouds having lifted. I looked into those eyes that first drew me in, seeing a joyous dancing light that I wanted to follow wherever it led.
"I wasn't planning on working today," she said.
"I wasn't planning on being here until next week." We kissed some more. "Seems like I should at least know your name," I said with a smile.
She laughed while shaking her head. "I have many names. You already know me. What's a name? Around here they call me Stormy. My core friends call me Kiba, Piaute for mountain. My lovers call me Otsana, Basque for she-wolf."
"What do I call you?"
"You choose."
I leaned in and whispered, "Otsana," as she nibbled on my ear and playfully bit my neck.
"I'll call you Anai, brother." Her tongue dove into my mouth to seal the pact.
"Next month I'm going to our cabin up top for the first winter storms, usually about six weeks." She paused, searching my eyes for clues. Leaning forward, she whispered in my ear, "Would you like to join me, if you've got time? We could hike the canyons on good days and get snowed in during the storms."
My cock jumped against her in response as my hands caressed her hair and head. "I've got a show in two weeks. After that, I'm free. I'll make time."
