Reflections on Mountains

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The Pig’s Ass porter’s taste is bitter. Violent convulsions drive through my tongue and down my throat with the warm creamy brown flood. The Porter, causes reflection of a meal at a Tarbert’s guest house years before . We were there eating the local offering of steak pie. It cried for a drink that matched it. The only brew offered came from the local pub. The drink mirrored the cold Scottish August evening — bitter and dark. I never had such a beer. My definition for such things weak. The taste for beer new. I had no working knowledge of the difference in ales, stouts and porters. This beer had a biting edge to it.

My preference was sweet, cold hard cider. This taste, the product of a region where I grew up. The orchards production of hard sour apples made a cider that left me begging for more. My Sicilian employer, offered cold hard cider as a drink, after a dirty day of landscaping. The walks home full of cheer while the nectar’s edge grew dual. The Talbert beer was not sweet in any form. It was a hard slap on the tongue and daggers knifing the throat to the gut. I loved it. It had masculine sensuality to it.

The introduction to new tastes, the result of our drive across Scotland. The road trip of four days required every driving skill. Navigating narrow roads, entering round-a-bouts, while sitting and driving in the passenger side of the car. This was challenging.

Driving is what I did. Manhattan, D.C. and L.A., driving such places required being flexible. The only city I refused to drive was Mexico City. Driving was part of the deal between Carol and I.

My fear of failing her caused me to double check every impulse. The woman next to me was on a personal quest. She had a romantic vision of this storm driven Hebrides island of Lewis and Harris, land surrounded The Minch and the Atlantic. Her visions of the Scottish islands, formed from romantic novels she read as a teen. I knew nothing of it. My job was to make it happen. My life was being reshaped day by day. My taste in food changed. Thoughts of her drift casually through me.

Now after the long two hour ferry trip, I was drinking this bitter thick-as-molasses beer. Its flavor washed into that of the meat gravy, forming a tantric union. Its knifing caused my body to shiver violently. I reached for more. Slow drinking matching my eating. The hard warm stout clawed and ground its way down my throat like raw sex.

The Scottish Iles of Lewis and Harris or the small fishing village of Tarbert are now long behind me. These memories of 2003 and earlier play strongly in my head. My friend, Mr. Hood, and I are 8000 feet on a mountain top in the middle of the plains of Montana. We sit on folding chairs facing each other, as if this mountain meadow and its grand view of fenced grassland below is our living room. We both are nude hikers. Naked we sit in the afternoon sun, drinking from the brown colored glass bottles. We share a taste for porters and stout ale. The Pig’s Ass Porter a local brew from Belt, Montana. The meal is cold fried chicken, potato salad and bean salad, bought by Hood on his way to this location. The evening is warm, the light of the day golden.

The thought I drink too fast flashes through my head. There are those who accuse me of drinking my occasional beers like soda pop. I don’t drink to get numb or to make what I want to do easier. I drink too fast because I consume my life faster than I can produce it. This is a monster, it consumes everything before I do. The third bottle was on my lips before my friend had finished one. There is guilt in this. I am like those nearly naked pink pigs on the label of Pig’s Ass Porter. No, this pig wasn’t dressed in black tails like those characters on the label. No need for clothes, not up here on this mountain top. The pig image somehow fits me no matter the differences.

These thoughts are consumed, along with the road dust of one hundred miles. The distance to our central mountain retreat. Naked I wait next to my car. Hood’s red jeep pulls in behind my car. We hug as brothers. Our rule naked all the time, everywhere. We work like ants moving our cargo from the road to a meadow. Camp goes up fast as we talked. Our duties understood, we each drive tent stakes into the hard rocky ground. The air echoes with the hammering. Long rods are slid through the sleeves that give the tent its full erect form. Our conversation, like groping hands pulling stories of the pasts out of our thoughts into voice. Our lives full of unexplainable intersections.

We each were looking for a hiking buddy who could deal with nudity. Our women unwilling to engage in such extreme activity. Our individual search brought us in contact through a nude hikers site. We camped three times the summer before this summer. Nicknames developed as we wrote and developed plans over the winter. He became Mr. Hood or some form of that name. I became Mr. Ring or some other form based on the context of our writing. A winter passed. The fruit of our planning now all around us. This camping trip escort sincan kicks off another summer. By the end of our outing, our bodies will be covered in nettle rash, scratches and cuts from bushwhacking our way up pathless mountain drainages.

Eating our meal, we plan the time. The discussion of going for a night hike and swimming a mud hole flows in the air between Hood and I. The body across from me leaks other thoughts while we talk. Hood’s slow dripping cock, revealing. This is new to me. I draw and paint nudes, I don’t remember my models ever doing this. No, there was a model who drooled like this while on a photo shoot in an abandon industrial site, back in my old art college day. I did not understand the meaning of it then. I have no recall of seeing any man at the De Anza nudist camp ever leaking like this while sitting around and in the hot tub. It is a mystery to me, one of many. Mr. Hood was speaking other thoughts. His hood of skin slides a bit more back. Another stream of clear fluid, drips in long string, landing on edge of folding camping chair.

A story written by a 14th century Florentine about a maiden and a desert hermit crosses my mind.

Hermit, pointing to himself, explaining to the maiden, “this is the Devil.” Then he pointing to her,” this hell.” He opens her hell casting the demon into her dark prison. The Devil’s hood slides off his head, his mouth drools. How the Devil tortured her soul. The Devil crying, weeping and spitting fire in hell. How she loved having the Devil in her.

She begged for more and often.

These thoughts are pasted on to the observation I make of my friend. My mind drifted from the story , to my friend’s voice and then flies on its flight of reflection.

My thoughts of past whorl pooling in my mouth with the ale. Naked thoughts bring color to my body. The fish monger with the clam, washes through my senses with the beer running down my throat.

The Seattle fish market, a fishmonger holding up a giant clam. Carol and I watched in rapture. The salesmen’s dress in gray long sleeve shirt, yellow rubberized overalls and rubber boots jokes with the tourist. The clam’s long whitish yellow over size syphon hanging. The fleshy tube gains length, waving arm showed the prize to the crowd. Carol and I traded course suggestive comments.

The fish monger, calling a woman’s name, “Stella, Stella I’m ready.”

The children in the crowd looked blankly at their parents wanting explanation.

Seawater dipping out of the phallic syphon, its length almost that of salesman’s forearm. In the future I saw a man on Black’s beach who looked like that, his proportions unnatural, almost to his knees. He was obscene, a monster.

Naked women mumbled to their friends, “You won’t ever see that ugly thing in me.”

Carol’s joking voice focused on the clam, she coyly implying that was something I would go for.

The clam suggestive qualities, brought childhood memories of swimming nude at the Boys Club with the rest of the neighborhood boys. Many of them first generation. Their parents mostly from eastern Europe. The act of circumcision unthinkable. Boys playing naked in the pool, rough language and suggestive sexual movements. Later we explored the meaning of our bodies in the woods by the harbor. There, a nearly 18 year old boy’s cock found its way into my 10 year old ass.

The fishmonger’s voice diffing over a mental landscape. The reflections of a boiling life written forward into the present. Yes, my hiking friend did look something like that clam. Only now, there was almost no hood.

Carol and I drive through Astoria, Oregon. We make a required stop at a smoke house. There we loaded up on snacks for our trip across Oregon to Montana. Salmon jerky, smoked muscles, smoked oysters and Salmon cheeks. We fall into conversation on the suggestive nature of brown / black muscles and female genitals. The shape of the folds that came to an apex that looked like a clitoris. I talked about her folds, comparing them to these morsels. She, digging the largest ones out of the bag, examining each before popping it in my mouth. Her body seen in the things I eat. There was the consuming.

Years earlier there was the night in Laguna Beach. It was dark out. The waves rushed in, the air cool, it was September. The asymmetrical rhythmic pounding of the ocean outside our windows. All the lights in our room on. She crawled across the bed, laughing. She stood up. I looked up at her glowing face.

The memory of the Mother’s day rolled into my mind on one of the beating waves. We went to lunch at a pizza parlor. she wore a white floor length dress. Her hair newly bleach white. I fell in love. She looked like a movie goddess of the 1930’s. She an angel; I wanted to fuck her. To fill her with my cum. To make her mine.

Carol’s naked ivory skin glowed in the warm hotel light. I looked up her naked body. She towered over me, she a Goddess of Love. I sat up and ran my tongue along her right leg. Her voice rolled in the ankara escort joy of my actions. Tongue slid up and over her new shaved cunt. I loved her hairless. It stayed that way for the rest of our time together. The taste of nectar dripping from her smooth heavenly fruit. The fresh shaved skin sweet, showed the trail of my consuming mouth. Her ivory skin blushed pink as her thick lips swelled rose hue. I gripped her ass tight, pushed her hips toward my face. Burying my mouth deep between the lips of the upside down mouth. Hot tongue sliding in and out and over her clitoris. Her body swayed to my moving head. Teeth raked her hood. She cried to the sharp blades passing. I held the soft inner fleshy lips between my canines, lightly pressing. Her voice rose between pain and ecstasy. Swollen lips sucked full between my lips. Her back bent, I held her in my grip. She moved across my mouth. Rough tongue danced to moaning. She cried her fear. I drove her higher. She leaked love. She looked like those mussels and raw oysters. There was hunger in the consuming of sweet flesh.

From Laguna Beach, we stopped at a body piercing shop in Huntington Beach. An Asian woman slid a steel bar bell in each of my freshly holed nipples. Nipples weep in swollen pain, as we drive across the desert. We stopped in Vegas. There Carol and I visited a porn shop. I had never visited one before. The closest I had ever been was a magazine shop that had a back section of nudist and soft porn magazines. There, greasy old men looked at a mix of bodies. The smell of cigar hung in the air.

We were looking at toys. She had some plan in her head. I was to pick out a dildo. The choice was a real looking uncut cock. I laughed nervously. We left the lights of the city after visiting a few casinos and their shops. Carol and I were shoppers.

The night’s stay on the border of Nevada and Arizona in a small desert casino town brought violation. The mirrored room, showed multiple reflections of me on all fours and the blonde haired woman behind me forcing a hard silicon cock in my ass. She pushing hard, caused the rubbery thing it to spring violently inside of me. I begged her to take it easy. The morning brought a drive of sore sitting. The months ahead was dominated by a quest for information. Watching how-to CDs and porn. There was the testing of lubes looking for the right one that matched our new sexual expression.

I traded this story with my friend. The seven mile walk littered with such details. Now walking the return trip from the mud hole we swam; the residue of the adventure drying and falling to the rocky road. The night still. Cows called in the distance. Insects buzzed past. Above the stars spoke of impossible distance. Odd flashes of light briefly seen crossed the ink blue of night. We laugh in our trading of stories. There is in my friend the same wish, that our present wives would indulge in more than the usual forms of copulation.

Hands bound, eyes blindfolded, I laid on bed…naked…waiting. The new toys spoke of the games we play. My ass wet from preparation. The blonde voice drifted around the room. Odd striking hit my legs and chest, punctuated with the pronounced crack of leather strips. My focus sharp on her words. Laughter deadening the sting. I’m a blind spider feeling vibrations through the bed, my web. Open wet lipped mouth slides down my face, my tongue slides in. Moving tongue opens her more. She rocks over my mouth; I, half breathing, crying for air. Smooth shaved skin sinks around my mouth. Nose presses clitoris into singing. I’m half-dying, crying for air. She moves her clitoris over my tongue. I suck air in to greedy begging lungs. Tongue working across moving dance floor. Her voicing filling the room. Crying loud, louder and louder, her voice rises in a death roll of sound. Mouths wash wet . Teeth raking, lips thick, moaning to crying, rise to screaming. Flying voice fills the room. Sound spit into ringing ears.

Her breath regained, she slides down over my body. Hard steel ringed cock slides into her. She rides the shaft of tattooed skin. She talks of the ring, feeling the difference of it and skin. Her voice moans.

Sightless I see her. Mind sucking in the feeling of her. “God”, the feeling of her! I want to touch her. Hands held fast above my head cuffed to rod. Nothing I can do. Body sucking, voices moaning, ring sliding backward to forward thrust. Pull on ring opens cock’s mouth wide as female juice flows in. Cock swallows it down. “God”, “Oh God,” I cry!

Tattooed, pierced, hard cock almost brought to the point of crisis, falls as she moves lower. Legs forced open. Wet hand feeling under balls, cause legs to lift. Fingers dance around rosy ring. Smooth skin twitches to the brushing finger tips. Mental voice begging for penetration. Words kept silent. Rotating fingers whirlpool their way in through the rectal canal as sphincter opens. Internally pressing in circular movement widens the door open. Three fingers enter. The massaging digits cause waves of pleasure. Prostate etimesgut escort bayan swelling — sing, sing higher, sing higher! Nerves vibrate from the inside cock out to skin. Bent legs rest on chest. Uncertain thought drifts through clouded mind. Electric shock flying deep from center deadens all questions. Body begging for more, more, more, more! This is opium. Eyes dimly focus on reality.

Mixed visions collapse in each other. Voice of longtime lover, woman with bleached hair, taking pleasure from power of control, drives toy cock onto me.

She, “you feel so good, I love fucking your ass. You’re so tight around my cock”.

I begged for more, “please harder, harder, harder, faster, faster. Oh god, fuck,” a stream of clear drool drips in long strands off my Prince Albert ring.

She cries, “I’m cumming.”

“No, fuck me, fuck me, Oh God fuck me. Keep it going don’t stop now.” Voice rolls in thunder of cries.

Lost in mindless feeling. Image of naked hiking partner sitting on cooler, casually indulging, drinking ale. Fingers play a tune in me, coaxing past memory to boil in my body.

Body is begging. I fold back into myself. The sensation is all that matters, how it is created not an issue. My senses consume every move. The desire to feel, only to feel is all there is. Fuck me, whoever you are just fuck me.

Uncut dildo bought in Vegas, penetrates into vision behind closed eyes. Hard sensation fills tunnel of skin. Passage opens wide and glans ridge presses inward, rubbing on fleshy walls. It feels cold. It feels warm. Breath caught and held, in response to progression of the moving object . It moves in asymmetrical rhythm. Mind latches on the complex order of the unpredictable thrusting. I try to predict the order to the movement. It is hypnotic. Waves vibrate to shifting form. Indulgent nerves grow extravagant in their messaging. Hedonistic stimulation forces voice to debauched moaning. Mindless writhing body contorts. Uncontrolled muscles harden in convolutions. The internal drumming wrenches cries of ecstasy. Fleshy tightening of rectal throat, reforms grip to the inward-outward thrashing. Hard, fast, the strokes run deep. My balls and cock roll bouncing to the driving force. Back sliding in tidal surge across mattress. I, like a child, eat the sweet candy being created within me. I fly and dive in the current of frenzied force. Begging, my voice cries the wretched sound of joy!

Prey clenched in anus mouth, Crocodile body twists in violent death roll landing on knees. Speaking voice unheard, it drifts outside the room that envelopes my thought. Hands follow convoluting body looking for grip. Shift in position sends new rush.

Crying. I need to cry, “Oh help me. Oh, so good. Oh so long I have not anything like this. Oh so good”

Fermenting internal sensation explodes in storm of confused violence. Rocketing voice screaming in terror. Echoing voice fills the sky, with death call. My cock vomiting a stream of clear fluid. Long stringy drips fall off ring. The climbing wave rushes over receding torrent of spectacle of sound and movement.

Climbing, climbing climbing, “God, Oh Godddd,” voice caught, balancing on edge of knife. Violent execration moving in timeless shapeless void. My voice sings the song of Kali, crying the nameless gods of death. Voice folds into rebirth.

Digging hands holding hips. Body fights against white fingered grasp. The force of kali sward drives deep and hard. I fly to near up right position. Hand on back forces me leaning forward and steadily down. Tension drives through leg and back muscles. Wrenching forbidding cry, molten in heat, fills the air with thunder. Lightning flashing across my hard shut eyes. Receding voice rapes the room with terror of ecstatic chorus. Expletives, drive hips in compulsive primal gyrations. Slapping balls pound a counter rhythm. I dance around copulating demon. Hard hand pushes my back down. I cry curses in a pillow. Eyes weeping to the cruelty, voice begging aggression not to stop.

Hard python-like gripping rectal muscles wrench hard around the thrusting. Racing body, dives piston to full throttle, savagely plunging in full extension and nearly to complete withdrawal, reverses to inward plunge with lightning speed.

Crying I beg,” faster, faster, oh fuck yes, yes, ah, ah, aaahhhhhh, ahhhh, gaaaaaaaa!

I shoot back to near up right. Hard hand fights against my new position. He forcing me back down. Muscled force against muscled strength. Passion’s might, bends the moving hooded demon. Squeezing walls of skin conform to full recognition of cock contours in choking internal contraction. Unseen door in me opens to boiling intensity of message sent from aching over-full glands. Whitish drops run down loop of steel ring. Tidal surge grows, squirting thick white liquid. Steel ornament passing through skin and out of cock’s mouth, bathed in dripping coating of white.

“Fuck, too tight, fuck” Ferocious hammering in and against me rages. Hand buried in hard grasp pulling my shoulder toward him with convulsive force. He climbing my back screaming. Voice rides on the ejaculating wave. Jousting body slows to hard rocketing stab. Energy soaked moaning lacquers over my voice. Voice, lava hot flows.

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