My high school girlfriend had grown up hiking, and so, dating her, I decided to go hiking, too. I joined her family for a week during Spring Break. We traversed a rugged section of the Cascades known as Goat Rocks.
Hiking with her family was fine, though I had to share a tent with her younger brother. Under the watchful eyes of her parents, we had little time to slip away for hanky-pankey. Day after day, being only a thin tent wall away, and yet unable to even have 10 minutes alone grew, more and more unbearable.
One would think that days without showers, hiking in the mountains, would make someone sweaty, smelly, and unattractive. Actually, there must be some sort of built-in genetic coding that instantly kicks in, deep DNA memory of humans in generations past.
When her hair was uncombed and simply pulled back, when she wore no make up, when she smelled slightly musky of the earth, pine pitch, dirt, and the sky, she was sexy as anything I could have imagined. A deep, stirring attraction of primitive ancestors, wanting to copulate madly on the sod. We both felt it. The attraction was stronger than gravity itself.
On the trail was our only potential time alone. She never was a strong hiker and sometimes she'd hang back on the trail to catch her breath. Eventually, I realized, I could slip back, too, as her parents trudged ahead. (Packing 50 pounds on you back, you start looking down only at the trail; after a mile, you lose track of how far up ahead or behind the other hikers are.) I realized, we could have short moments if we hung back. Never long enough to release our pent up urges, but enough to stoke them more: A kiss. A grope. A flash of the moist, matted curls of her delta of venus.
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