Mountain man – part 2

After my night of wine-hazed passion with S, I awoke in a panic. We had to be ready for breakfast at eight and back-packed and booted for a practice walk soon afterwards.

My mouth felt like a dried up dead cat and I was a little dizzy when I got out of bed, but with a mad rush I just made it on time.

S showed up halfway through breakfast looking shower-fresh and ready for action, his firm biceps peeping out from his t-shirt. He glanced at me and flashed a cheeky grin. It must have been obvious that I was feeling a little fragile. He probably did this kind of thing all the time – bonking single female guests, then striding out over the hills the next day, without any side-effects.

As we gathered for a quick pep-talk before setting off, he looked around our group and advised us to apply sunscreen as it was unusually hot for June. “You could have put some shorts on,” he said, disapproving of my khaki cotton trousers. I just shrugged and blushed.

That was the only thing he said to me for the whole of the walk – which took us all day. In my young head, I assumed he thought the previous night was a drunken mistake. So instead, I chatted with my fellow travellers, keeping a serene exterior throughout the day and into the evening for dinner and drinks. A good night’s sleep, alone, was a wise move, as the next day we had an even earlier start for the first leg of our five-day trek into the mountains.

At least the next morning I was in better shape, rucksack all packed for a day of trekking and a night in a bunk house. I had even put on some shorts.

We spent the day walking across green pastures until we reached a rural village of barking dogs, clucking chickens and a stone building where we were to spend the night. After a shower, copious amounts of gin and tonic and cheap red wine, I retired to bed in a room I shared with two new female friends. S again didn’t follow.

The situation remained the same the next night as we had ascended further up towards snow-capped mountains and our beds for the night were triple decker bunks – a real passion killer when you are sharing a room with five other people. Of course I was the one stupid enough to take the very top one, which didn’t even have a ladder to reach it. So, a late night trip to the hole-in-the-ground toilet meant having to whisper to S, who happened to be on the bottom bunk, to lift me down. He thankfully obliged without hesitation and at least for a few seconds I felt his solid body against me.

Within a few hours into our journey the next day, I realised I was struggling and my ankles and knees were on the verge of collapse, while everyone else seemed to be in better shape than me and doing fine. Clearly they had all practised the art of drinking gallons of wine and walking for six hours the next day.

S, who hadn’t completely ignored me over the last two days – in fact he had joked with me and teased me for my accent (we both came from opposite ends of the UK) – came to the rescue. Despite the fact that he was carrying a heavy rucksack, seemingly weighed down with bricks, he strapped mine to his front and marched on, untroubled by the extra weight. I could only stare in amazement at his broad shoulders and meaty calves, as I sheepishly followed him.

Our stop-over that night was a mountain hut, but S asked if anyone fancied sleeping outside with him. He was looking at me specifically. Clearly, my weakened state was tugging on his heart strings.

So, while everyone else was settling down in cosy bunk beds, I was standing shivering in my fleece – the temperature seemed to have dramatically dropped on this section of the route – waiting for S to zip our two sleeping bags together.

We got in and had no choice other than to huddle together to keep warm. I could feel his heart beating against me, and as we squeezed one another, I could feel something else pulsating against me. We kissed again and hurriedly removed our bottom half clothes for a frantic but irresistible bonk. His dick was broad, like the rest of him and fitted snugly inside me. He even complimented me on my tight vagina. I enjoyed the warmth of his body and the extra closeness of him, now we were linked together in the most intimate way. It was over quickly, but this time it didn’t matter, as we were both exhausted.

I got up the next morning feeling shattered – communal sleeping out in the cold with a virtual stranger does not make for a restful night. But still, we all had to continue on our way, especially now as we were in ‘nowhere’ territory, on land barely accessible by vehicles other than donkeys.

After another full day on knee-shattering loose gravel, we landed in a remote village, our stay for the night. It ended with another night under the stars, but this time two of our female travel companions joined us to chat and drink until we all dropped off. So no action for S and I, who lay metres apart from each other.

The next day, I was excused from most of the walking, as my collapsing knee had got quite serious and S was probably worried about me suing the travel company. His boss, Paul, had arranged to meet us in a more vehicle-friendly leg of our trek to pick me up and take people’s luggage to the next pension of the route. This afforded me a head start with a room and a glorious warm shower – a luxury after days of washing in a cold shower one night and mere splashes of spring water the rest of the time.

After a snooze on the bed I heard voices – everyone else finally arriving. S was trying to explain in broken Spanish how many guests there were and how many rooms were needed. There were two other beds in my room, so I assumed two of the other girls were supposed to share with me. Feeling guilty for showering and resting while everyone else was tired and sweaty, I got up and put my head round the door, saying there was room for two more. S looked a little annoyed at me. Later that evening he said: “You were supposed to stay quiet – then we could have had that room to ourselves!” Hey ho – so much for having a conscience.

We got through dinner, more gins and lots of chat – by now we had really bonded as a group and I had become good friends with the other girls on the trip. What made it awkward, though, was the night that followed. S still wanted to share my bed. He snuck into our room when he thought the two girls sharing with me were asleep and we quietly snuggled under the covers. Or more accurately, we squashed into the single bed and I ducked under the sheet to give his member a special ‘hello’. He squirmed quietly, battling with his urge to make a noise.

Then, when it all got too much he gently eased me up the bed and rolled on top of me. I ran my hands down his broad back and up again over his shoulders and firm, beautiful arms as he lowered himself slowly and silently inside me. There was nothing frantic about this interaction, as we were trying our best not to make the bed creak. But somehow, it was more delicious and exciting as we were in a room with two other people. We rose and fell, rose and fell, as he gently kissed my neck, shoulder, breast and I drank in the smell of his clean body and fresh perspiration. I pushed down his rump to take him deeper inside.

We tired and he pulled out. The next morning, S was still beside me and our other two companions woke to see him. He wished them a ‘good morning’ before sloping off to his own room. I then endured some teasing and being asked how many marks out of ten I would give him. It was now obvious that no one in the room had been asleep during our ‘silent’ shag.

That morning’s breakfast hailed the start of the final stage of our journey. My knee had not improved much, probably not really aided by my nocturnal actions. I staggered through the pastures and along an old Roman road. At one point S took so much pity on me that he lifted me up and gave me a piggy-back over a short distance. This only made me worship him even more, as even back in my 20s I was not a slip of a girl.

A long, painful descent took us back into the little town where we had started all those days ago. The day was rounded off with a hearty meal and yet more cheap wine. I slept apart from S, sharing a room with one of the girls, but this time it was welcome, as I needed deep, revitalising sleep.

The next day was a free ‘do what you like’ day. After breakfast, a jeep roared into the guesthouse car park. Behind the wheel was S. “Get in,” he ordered me. Weak-willed and infatuated I climbed in, without hesitation. He drove us a couple of miles to a low rise concrete block where he rented a flat. After a coffee we went straight to his bedroom – his private space, no one around.

For the first time since our original night of steamy passion we could fully peel off all our clothes, enjoy our bodies in a range of positions, make as much noise as we wanted and let the bed rock and creak to its heart’s content. He was all mine for a couple of hours.

As we lay in a post-coital embrace, smoking post coital cigarettes (it was 2000 when I smoked and people still enjoyed indoor smoking guilt-free), I asked him why he decided to sleep with me.

“Well it was a toss-up between you and two others. One was likely to get too attached, and probably stalk me afterwards, and the other was all mouth and trousers. You seemed like you would be fun. And you were.” So here it was – my future path – the person who was fun to fuck and gave off vibes of not wanting a serious connection. I just said: “Oh, right. Thanks,” and kissed him.

That night, our last night together as a group, a momentous occasion after our epic journey, and our last night with S, I really did take being ‘fun’ to the limit. I got so totally, utterly paralytic, by mixing the cheap wine I had become accustomed to with beer, and some drags of hash, that I was barely able to speak or stand, let alone spend one last night of body exploration with S.

He wasn’t there for our minibus ride to the airport the next morning so I never even had chance to say goodbye to him.

 

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