Ten Mountain Men’s Baby by Nicole Casey

9

Holly

Ihad been hiking for three days straight. Already I’d found my “hiker’s legs”; I wasn’t sore but invigorated. I’d slept two nights in a tent—and surprisingly well. I still had one more night of sleeping in a tent and another day’s hike before I was scheduled to stop off in Franklin, North Carolina. Though I enjoyed the workout and the opportunity to think and let my imagination wander, I was itching to get to my next stop and see the reaction my first blog entry had garnered. I was equally anxious to meet the people in Franklin and post my second entry.

I still maintained a quiet hope that Ryker would be in Franklin and that I would get to meet him. It was a fantasy, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. And hiking alone in the mountains gave fuel to my fantasies. They were mostly what kept me company. I had even formed a picture of Ryker in my mind: tall, rugged, blond with blue eyes, not unlike the photo of Devon that Mrs. Fieldman had shown me back in my office.

I told myself that what was most important was the bond that we shared: two fish out of water, looking to connect with people in need, looking to connect with our roots. I told myself that it didn’t matter much what he looked like. And sometimes, I even believed it.

The temperature had dropped considerably. And I suspected that would continue as evening approached; even light snow was expected. Though I was making great time, I allowed myself a little detour off the main path, letting myself be tempted by the side trails and dips into the hidden brush below. I heard the running of river water and went to have a look. Better satisfy my curiosity now, before the weather makes that inadvisable if not impossible.

I wasn’t alone. About a hundred feet upstream, a man was sunbathing on a rock. I would have gone to him and introduced myself but for the fact that he was completely naked. I didn’t mind, of course. He was fit and bronzed. I stared at him a while from a distance.

It took him a few minutes to notice that I was there. When he did, he put on a pair of boxers. He waved to me. I waved back to him.

Normally, I don’t approach strange men in the wild wearing nothing but boxers, but normally, I don’t sleep in a tent and hike through the Appalachian Mountains. So, I embraced the new normal and walked over to him.

He looked to be about my age—mid-twenties—with dark hair and a dark complexion, physically fit, but more muscular than I’d expect from a hiker with broad shoulders and slated abs, smooth with sharp cuts not unlike the slab of rock he was lying on.

Though he tried to play it cool, I could tell he was embarrassed at being caught without his clothes on. Instead of putting him at ease, like a normal person might, by shifting my attention to the surrounding landscape, I checked him out from head to foot and back again with no effort to hide my wandering eyes. This also was not something I normally did.

Decidedly, Appalachia-hiking Holly was nothing like normal Holly. And that suited me just fine.

I didn’t ask him his name—like normal Holly would have—and he didn’t ask me mine. He could be Ryker, I told myself. And it was perhaps that silly delusion that had me hoping he wouldn’t, unsolicited, give me his name. I didn’t want the delusion spoiled.

He got dressed, and suddenly my interest diminished significantly—so, some characteristics of normal Holly still remained. A gentle breeze blew over the river. It was quite chilly, so I decided to get back to the trail. I hesitated, hoping he would offer to join me, which he did.

Four days and I’ve managed to pick up one hot, naked man along the way. Not a bad ratio. And promising, considering this is supposed to be a six-month hike.

As we walked, I told him about the charity work I was documenting. To my surprise, this seemed to freak him out.

“What?” I said. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No, no.” He shook his head but still wore the disbelief on his face.

“And what do you do back in Massachusetts?” I asked.

“In Massachusetts? I’m a doctor.”

“Really?”

“Well, not yet actually. I’m still a resident.”

I thought to say, I’m a doctor, too. We have something in common. But I’d met medical doctors before who weren’t too keen on sharing that title with a dentist, so I said nothing about our similarities.

The sun did not make a gradual retreat, slowly ushering in the evening as it had in previous days. Instead, it left the sky quite suddenly. One minute I was telling him about the charity, “Medicine on the Trail,” and seemingly the next minute, visibility was poor, and the weather had dropped to what felt like near freezing.

“Is that snow?” he said. He extended his hand, then examined the flakes that fell on it.

“Already?”

“It is snow,” he said.

“Dammit. I was hoping to make it to Franklin before the snow started to come down.”

“Just think,” he said, wide-eyed and full of excitement, “how beautiful it will be if we get a real snowfall.”

The prospect of camping out in a snowfall had me quite concerned but seeing the excitement on his face took a lot of the worry away.

The evening turned to night on a dime. Fortunately, despite the poor visibility, we were able to find a spot to set up a tent.

I unpacked my tent and spread it over the patch of flat ground. I looked over and saw that he was doing the same with his tent. “My tent’s big enough for both of us,” I said.

* * *

We sat side by side, sipping hot tea, the front of the tent open, and watched the snowfall. I shivered. I wasn’t really cold, but I was giving him the signs to get closer to me still. He took the hint.

He scooted behind me, spread his legs to either side of me, and pulled me back, offering me a strong and warm body to lean against. He set his hands on his knees. I took them and wrapped his arms around me, shivering, though I wasn’t really cold. He got the hint and rubbed my arms, then squeezed me tightly.

I laid my head against his hard chest. His chin rested on my head.

“You never told me your name,” he said.

“You never asked.”

“What’s your name?”

“Holly.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Holly,” he said. His breath fell on my head. He brushed my hair to the side.

“It tickles.” I turned my head so that his chin touched the top of my forehead.

He gave me a kiss on the forehead, as one might do to say goodnight to a child. “Do you want to know mine?” he asked.

“Your what?”

“My name.”

I thought about it. In my mind, I was still calling him Ryker, and I liked it, liked the fantasy of it: a chance encounter, two destinies colliding in the mountains. Whatever his name was, I was sure it was nice, but unlikely Ryker. I didn’t want to hear it. “No,” I said.

He chuckled. “That’s okay. I’m not going to pressure you.” He held me tightly, one hand cupping my elbow, the other at my waist.

“I once hiked the Canadian Arctic,” I said, “but I didn’t have a man to hold me and keep me warm.”

“You poor girl.” He kissed me again on the top of my head. “I don’t suppose it’s easy to find naked men sunbathing in the Canadian Arctic.”

“You might find this hard to believe,” I said, “but that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me every day.”

“You’re right; I do find that hard to believe.”

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve heard stories,” he said. “I know about you.”

“Oh, do you?”

He rubbed my arms. “I know who you are.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re Holly from California.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“The only thing I can’t figure out is why you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Maybe so. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“How you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”

I looked up at him, confused. “What are you saying? I’m not old enough for you to assume I’m married. That’s a strange assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption. I heard you were, that’s all.”

“Oh, you heard? Are you hearing voices? Is the wind speaking to you?”

“It is.”

“What’s it saying?”

“It’s saying we should zip up the flap and get under the covers.”

“Hmm. It wouldn’t be wise to argue with the wind. Best do as it says.”

* * *

I lay on my side, his arm around my waist, pressing me tightly against him. My leg slipped between his. I felt his member stiffen. I snuggled in closer still, and his erection pressed against my hip.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Mmm. Warm and comfy.”

He rubbed my shoulder and arm, then ran his hand from my shoulder down my back, slowing as it passed firmly over my backside. He spread out his fingers and clawed at my hip like a kneading cat. He spread his thighs apart and lifted my leg slightly, his hips meeting the movement with a gentle push. He leaned his head back, a look on his face somewhere between pleasure and pain.

I put my lips to his jaw somewhere between a kiss and a nibble. “Are you all right? Comfortable.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s just”—he shifted— “slightly.…”

I kissed him on the cheek and slid my hand down his chest to his belt buckle. “I know.” I unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and undid the zipper, the rotation of his hips helping me maneuver.

A faint murmur escaped his mouth. I slid my hand under his boxers. His stiff member poked out from the top of his boxers.

“Ah.” He exhaled in relief. “That feels so much better.”

I chuckled. “You shouldn’t wear such tight pants.”

“They’re not tight,” he said. “It’s just.…” He was right; his pants weren’t exactly tight. But they were too small, too restrictive for his large cock.

I kissed him on the neck. “You poor guy. Your cock is too big for your pants.”

He laughed. “Yeah, just my luck.”

I pulled the collar of his shirt down and kissed him on the chest. “More like, just my luck.”

I ran one hand up and down the length of his shaft; my other hand ran across his rock-hard chest in like motion. My lips brushed against his chiseled pecs, touching him lightly with the tip of my tongue.

He quivered. His breathing became heavy, and his hips rocked and bucked in sync with my strokes. He grabbed my shoulder, my neck, the back of my head, clutching wildly as if he were falling and desperately trying to hold on for dear life. The wind beat loudly against our tent. It wasn’t soft or subtle; it was wild, aggressive, bordering on dangerous.

“Best do as the wind says,” I murmured.

My fingers stiffened as they explored the cuts and curves of his muscular chest, digging and clawing at him, my cadence spurred by the angry wind whipping at our tent.

He worked on my pants' buttons—too slowly for my mood—so I helped him. I pulled down my pants, though they stuck at my knees, then I pulled his down to mid-thigh.

He took me by the waist and turned me over so that my back lay against him. He kissed me on the shoulder, pressed his teeth against my skin then kissed me again. His hard cock slipped between my legs; the tip brushed against my wet pussy.

He slid his arm around me and pinned me tightly against him. His hand reached across my chest to stroke the top of my breast while his other hand explored my hips, legs, and crotch with firm strokes.

I ran my fingers up and down the length of his shaft.

He murmured and planted a kiss on the back of my head.

I guided him into me, just the tip, as he held me firmly against him in a position that wouldn’t allow for me to slide him all the way in. Still, I gyrated and shifted, trying to take in more and more of his cock. I attempted to move onto my side to give him better entry, but he resisted, and he gripped me tighter still.

I let out a plaintive whimper mimicked by the loud whistling wind outside our tent.

He let go of my shoulder and grabbed me by the waist with both hands. He lifted me. I seized the opportunity of increased mobility to pull my pants down to my ankles and then kicked them free.

I guided his cock up and down my wet pudenda, taking the tip inside me while my fingers stroked his length and his balls. As I did so, he put his hand to my back, forcing me to sit upright. He then brought me down, entering me with a thrust from his bucking pelvis.

The wind howled and smacked against the walls of our tent. I, too, let out a howl as his stiff cock smack against my inner walls.

“Oh, God,” I murmured. “It’s too big.” I fell to the side, bracing myself with outstretched hands.

But he didn’t let up. He shifted to meet me at my new position. His thrusts increased in speed; his cock penetrated me deeper and deeper still. His knee pressed against the back of my leg, pushing it up. And he shifted, straddling me, thrusting deeper into me from a new angle.

“Oh, heaven!” I cried out.

His firm hand ran from the small of my back to my neck. His greedy fingers ran from the back of my knee to my ass and squeezed. He stroked me and massaged me while gyrating and thrusting with his hips. His long, thick cock entered me and explored me, teasing an exit before plunging anew into depths I’d not thought possible.

The wind shook our tent, threatening to knock it down. But I hardly cared. My own cries of pleasure matched the crescendo of the wind beating and whipping outside.

He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me back to him. His cock slipped out of me just as I was nearing climax.

“Oh, no,” I said.

His hand slipped around my neck to take my jaw and force me to face him. His hot breath fell against my cheek. He put his lips, then his tongue to my skin, and searched for my mouth. As he did so, he slid his hand down my wet pussy and inserted a finger in place of his dick.

He kissed me. My tongue glided across his bottom lip. His tongue slid across my top lip.

I pulled away. “I was about to come,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s too early. We’ve got all night.”

I turned over and straddled him. With one hand, I grabbed his hair and pulled him to me for an embrace. My other hand took his huge cock and guided it back into me.

He gripped the back of my legs and bucked.

The wind roared.

Best do as the wind says.

I met his bucking hips with thrusts of my own, threw my head back, and howled.