He heard the chirping of birds, still buried under his quilt in his tent. She lay beside him, radiating warmth. He wondered if he should poke his head out and see if the sky was gradually glowing -- and if the dimmest stars were disappearing yet. He decided not to do it yet. He smelled her. A familiar smell – reassuring and cozy.
She stirred. “We’re out of water.” He knew that. He figured she’d tell him. He had hoped she would have said something else first, rather than that. He replied, “I’ll go down to the spring in a few minutes.” She didn’t say anything. That was not a good omen.
He decided to emerge from the warmth of the quilt. The air on his face was cold. The trip to the spring would not be fun. “I’ll go now,” he said. She wriggled against him. “Good! I’ll be here when you get back.” He didn’t say what he was thinking: that she’d be cooking breakfast – and that the last thing in the world he cared about was a hot breakfast.
Since he had his wool cap on, and slept in his hiking clothes he only had to put on his damp, chilled trail runners. (He slept with his wool socks on, too; if his feet poked out from under the quilt, the cold air wouldn’t wake him up that way….).
Lugging the empty plastic Nalgene water bags in one hand and his water purification tablets in the other he headed down the trail the quarter mile to the spring he’d discovered the day before. It was now getting much lighter, though the sun had not yet risen over the horizon.
The water rite followed its usual script. In half an hour he was back in camp. She was – as expected – cooking.
The sun had just risen, casting orange and yellow rays over the mountains.
“I made eggs,” she said. He looked at her breasts. His eyes wandered down to her butt as she turned away from the cook stove toward the alcohol bottle. “I’ll fry some ham next,” she added.
He thought of her naked. He thought of her in lingerie. He recalled her smell. Even when she was sweaty she smelled sweet. He really didn’t care about the eggs and ham. “Is there coffee made?” he asked. “If you want coffee you’ll have to make it yourself,” she said without any intonation. Declarative. “Yes, dear,” he said, hoping she’d give him a smile. She didn’t. She was immersed in the mechanics of the ham, now in the pan.
He remembered the first camping trips eons ago. Back then they didn’t focus so much on food. They focused on each other. They feasted on dreams and minds and bodies.
“We have a lot of miles to cover today,” he added. “I guess I can skip the coffee.”
She nodded. And then she said something very sweet. “When we get home, would you like to fuck like we used to do years ago?” He was amazed that she remembered. He nodded.
“You will have to please me, you know!” He nodded again.
“You know I’m the boss, right?” And again he nodded.
She giggled…. And then she said, “You know something? I think you are a lot more satisfying than eggs and ham.” He smiled. “I try,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “If you didn’t work out, you know I’d replace you in a snap of a finger, don’t you?”. He wasn't sure if she was joking or not. He decided she wasn't sure either – so he said, “You might.”
She looked at him, with a sly look in her eyes. “I don’t think we have to worry about that. Now bring me that water! I’m going to make myself some coffee – and if you’re good, I’ll give you some too.”
THE END
0 comments:
Post a Comment