A Land Far, Far Away Pt. 02

"It's broad daylight," she said.

Again, he gave no reply.

She was getting nervous, he could tell. She kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and her eyes refused to stay focused on just one spot. A thin film of sweat formed above her upper lip as she began to lightly gnaw upon the lower one. "What?" she said yet again. She reached her free hand up and wiped at the corners of her mouth. "I got something on my mouth?"

He leaned in close. "No." Closer. "But you do, now." Closest. This was the closest he'd ever felt to a female in his entire life, and he'd be damned if he let his own embarrassment, his own insecurities, his own self-doubt, keep him from claiming something that so obviously wanted to belong to him.

"Daniel . . ."

He slipped his tongue between her lips, tasting the salt of the French fries they'd so recently shared and the sweetness that was solely her own.

She moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch.

"Think I won't do it?" he asked her. "Fuck you right where you stand?"

She gave a throaty chuckle, staring up at him. "No, I don't."

He reached for the snap of her jean cut-offs.

She tried to pull back, but he held her fast. "Daniel!"

His thumb and index finger took hold of her zipper. "Think I won't do it?" he asked again.

She stuck her chin up, meeting his eyes defiantly. "If it's a game of chicken you want, it's a game of chicken you'll get."

Tooth-by-tooth the zipper came undone, his lips fastened to the column of her throat. Bees buzzed around them. Birds chirped overhead. Wind whipped through the leaves, whispering a soft, willowy tune. He pressed his hardness against the soft flesh of her right inner thigh.

"Still think I won't?"

"You're just teasing," she said. "You'll never go all the way. Out here where everyone can see."

He reclaimed her mouth. "Maybe I want them to see . . ."

She gasped as he sent his hand down the front of her short pants.

"Wet already," he said. "And you just changed these."

She shook her head. "I'm just hot," she said. "Sweaty."

He skirted the outside edge of the crotch to her panties, then dipped his middle finger inside, feeling the slick moisture forming on her outer lips. "Awfully slimy for sweat," he retorted.

"Stop that." She moved her hips against him as he masturbated her with his hand.

"Does that mean you give up?" he asked. "You don't want me to take you right here where you stand?" He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb.

"Stop!" she tried to shove him away. "I--I'm gonna cum."

He placed his mouth in the crook her neck, hooking his middle and index fingers, shoving them deep inside her as his thumb continued to stimulate her from the outside. "Then cum for me, Mecca. Shower me with your love."

She cried out, her entire body snapping taut, then going limp in his arms. She gulped for air as he continued to kiss and caress her, his fingers still twisting in her undulating canal.

"That's it," he encouraged her. "Give it to me. Let me have it all."

She cried out again, another orgasm overtaking her as he held her tightly in his arms.

"More?" he asked.

She shook her head against his shoulder.

He slid his fingers from her slit, smearing her juices across her lower lip before slipping them into her mouth, allowing her to lick them clean as he rubbed his cock against right leg.

"Dammit," she choked out as his tongue replaced his fingers and he tasted her essence on the tip of her own tongue.

"I think I'm gonna help you with that shower."

She nodded again. "Good. I don't think I can walk too straight right now."

He stooped down to pick up the bath supplies, wrapped his arm around her waist, and led them back to the shower house. He highly doubted the young ranger would disturb them in there. He seemed rather reserved and lost in his own world, more irritated than relieved to welcome the first campers of the season. He was probably one of the rare breed that thrived on isolation and solitude as opposed to human interaction and companionship.

Once they reached the shower house door, he reached in Mecca's front pocket, fishing out the key the ranger had given her.

"I bet he masturbates a lot."

"What?" He turned the key in the lock and pushed it open, ushering her inside.

"The ranger. All alone out here. No one else around. Nothing else to do."

Daniel shrugged. "He could hump a knothole."

"He'd get splinters," she argued.

"He could hump his hand and pretend it's a knothole."

"Ewww."

They walked down a long, dark corridor, feeling along the wall for a light switch. It wasn't pitch black, some light streaming down from rectangular windows high above, but there was certainly less illumination than either of them preferred in a strange environment.

"Maybe he likes it dark," she said. "Afraid the forest animals will get funny ideas if they see him naked."

He kept his positioned in the middle of her back, the swish of his nylon track suit and the light clinking sound of Mecca's unzipped shorts the only real sounds in the echo-y chamber. "He probably doesn't like to look at himself naked."

She gave a knowing laugh. "Like certain other people I know."

Daniel shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot: shrugging. It wasn't that he was completely indifferent, he just . . . didn't have anything verbal to say. It wasn't something he was entirely willing to confirm, but it wasn't something he could whole-heartedly deny. "So, I'm a little body conscious," he said.

"My tits are too big," she said. "And I've got teeny, tiny stretch marks around my ass."

"You do not."

"And the very tops of my thighs still touch."

"So?"

"Models' thighs don't touch. A-List actresses' thighs don't touch. Even strippers' thighs don't touch."

He slipped his hand between her legs, rubbing the underside of her crotch. "I like your thighs."

She drew in a deep breath, then pushed it out, leaning slightly back against them as they continued to wander their way around the shower house. "And I like your hands. And your eyes. Your lips. Your laugh. That really weird thing you call a sense of humor. And I love your cock. It just gets me every time."

"That's what it's supposed to do . . . I guess."

She reached behind her, caressing him through his clothing. "It's smooth and hard, and the head is the perfect shape for sucking. Kind of tapered at the end, then it just flares out and . . . Damn, that's good shit."

"I'm glad you like it."

She stopped walking, and he stopped behind her. "Love it," she said. "And you," she added. "Kind of like a package deal."

"Package," he laughed.

"Seriously," she said. "I feel completely overwhelmed sometimes, like I'm drowning and I can't get enough air, but . . ."

"You can only say it because you don't have to look at me."

"Daniel."

"Seriously. You don't want me to see you like that. All scared and vulnerable and shit. Like I'd reject you or something."

He felt her shrug.

"Maybe."

He smiled there in the darkness. "I'd love nothing better than to push you down on your knees, shove my dick in your mouth, then fuck you from behind till we're both sweaty, sore and spent."

She drew in a shuddering breath.

"But, I'd rather take you back outside and make love to you in the pavilion, under the stars, beneath the trees, out in the open where everyone can see us and just . . . envy us because I know we have something some people search their whole lives for and never find."

Quiet.

"Mecca?" He reached out blindly before him, touching nothing. She was there, then she was gone. "C'mon, now. Don't do this. Did you leave?"

"No."

He turned at the sound of her voice. Somewhere over his right shoulder.

"My mother hates you," she said. "Not that I particularly care what she thinks, but she is my mother, you know."

"What? When did this happen?" He kept moving forward, listening for the sound of her voice, hoping to stumble into her again.

"You know, like when you talked to your dad because he wanted to know where you'd been. Well, my mom called and she wanted to know where I'd been. Not that we're really close or anything, but we like to remind each other we're still alive."

A few more feet and he was certain he'd have her again.

"Anyway, I told her I'd been seeing someone. Someone I really like. And she got all motherly and excited, telling me it was about time I found a man, and she told me to come over so we could talk face to face."

The way the place echoed confused him. He couldn't tell if she was in front of him or just behind him on his left side.

"So I went over there, we sat down, we talked, and I showed her your picture."

"My picture? Since when do you have a picture of me?"

"Years," she said. "Terri gave me a picture of you from her wedding. Two, maybe even three years ago. You were 'decorating' her car."

The idea she had a picture of him in her possession made him feel oddly exposed, the eyes of unknown people traveling over an unfamiliar face. Where did she keep it? Whom did she show it to? Who did she say he was?

Or maybe it was something she kept for her eyes only. Tucked beneath a mattress. Hidden under a loose floor board. Locked away in a keepsake box . . .

"She asked if I was out of my fucking mind," she paused to laugh there, quiet, pensive, derisive. "Literally. I mean, my mom said the 'f' word. She doesn't cuss, she doesn't smoke, she doesn't drink. She . . . She has walked the line her entire life, and has never bent a rule, let alone broken one." She paused again; silence filling the shower house. "Unless you count having me. Unwed teenage mother, you know. That's not exactly on the narrow path." She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "She looked at me like she wanted to murder me. I mean, physically hurt me. And she just kept saying it over and over: 'He's white. He's white. Are you out of your fucking mind? Just look at him. Look at him.'"

Daniel cleared his throat, trying to clear out the large lump that had settled there.

"And then she just got really hateful. 'What kind of man wears a ball cap to a wedding? What's he hiding under there? Is he bald, Mecca? How much older than you is he? Does he have any kids? Ex-wives? Alimony? Child support? Does he work? Does he have a car? Does he have his own place or does he sponge off everyone else?

"'Look at those eyes. Is he a stoner, Mecca? A pothead? What else does he do? Does he have you on that shit? Is he a pimp? Trying to turn you out?

"'And what does he call that shit on his face? It's certainly not a beard. Can he even grow a beard? Only a real man can grow a beard, you know. He kind of looks like a momma's boy; like he's scared of girls.

"'I bet he doesn't really like you,' she said. 'You're just convenient. He doesn't have to admit he's gay as long as he has you. And I bet he'll try to talk you into some of that three-way nonsense. You, him and another guy, no doubt."

She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. "'Open your eyes,' she told me. 'He's fat, he's ugly, and he's using you. There's only one thing a white man wants from a black woman, and it has nothing to do with living happily ever after."

Quiet.

Daniel swallowed hard, uncertain of where to start. "And what did you say?"

Mecca laughed. "Nothing. I didn't say anything. Not one word." She laughed again, a hacking cough disrupting the melodious sound. "I would've fucking killed her. I would've reached across the fucking couch and strangled her. Squeezed her throat till that awful tongue popped out of her mouth and her neck snapped, stopping up all those hateful words and ugly lies."

He felt his blood run cold, Mecca's icy tone considerably cooling the air around them. He began moving again, this time away from her voice.

"She always ruins everything for me. Anytime anything good happens to me, she has to ruin it with that awful tongue and her ugly lies!"

"Just . . . Just take a deep breath and calm down, Mecca."

"She doesn't even know you. Never even met you. Who the fuck does she think she is?"

Her voice seemed to be growing louder; she must have been getting nearer. He kept backing his way around the room, trying but failing to recall the way they'd come in.

"Who the fuck does that to their daughter?"

He shook his head, uncertain if she could see him. "I don't know," he said. "I don't have the answer."

"She never should have had me," she cried. "She said if she knew I'd turn out like this, running after some old, fat, bald white man like a common, street-walking whore, she would've aborted me."

He stopped retreating at that point.

"'Where's your black pride?' she said. 'Where's your black pride?'"

Again, quiet consumed the room.

"Mecca?" He trained his ears, listening for any sound of his forlorn love.

"I just don't know if I can do this again, Daniel."

He laughed out loud. "What?"

"I'm weak," she said. "I play pretend really well. I act really tough, and I try to keep everything under control--at home, at work, with you . . . but you make me feel so out of control, Daniel . . . Not necessarily in a bad way, but . . ."

Again, he found himself reaching out to the darkness, trying to feel his way back to her.

"I walked out of her house and slammed the door behind me. She's got some family portraits hanging on the wall, and I swear I heard them go crashing to the floor."

Just a few more feet, he told himself. A little to the right.

"I've always tried to do the right thing, Daniel. I've always tried to make everybody happy. I try not to rock the boat or kick up a mess, and I always try to leave a situation better than when I found it. Like Manny, Terri's husband, your cousin-in-law. Terri used to tell me stories about when Manny was a logger, and how he knew all the trees by name and leaf shape and bark type and . . . all this other shit normal people don't give a damn about. But, anyway, Terri said that, as loggers, they had to plant a tree for every one they cut down or, eventually, there wouldn't be any more trees to cut down."

Daniel nodded, taking a moment to stand still and take in his surroundings, refocus his efforts. "That makes sense."

"Well, for every tree I've cut down, I planted two. But when people have come and cut down my trees, they never planted anything. I have one tree left, Daniel. And it's really small and totally pathetic. I mean, Charlie Brown's Christmas tree would put mine to shame."

Left! Definitely left.

"I just don't wanna end up barren, you know. Scorched earth or whatever."

"Gotcha!"

She gasped, and he gasped with her.

"What the fuck were you doing?" he rapidly ran his hands up and down her back trying to stave off her series of shivers. "Was that some perverse version of Marco Polo?"

She shifted in his embrace; he could feel the points of her elbows digging into his lower ribs. "Do you know what it's like when you go to the grocery store to find your favorite brand of . . . cookie or cracker or chip or . . . whatever it is you like to snack on. And there's an odd-colored sign beneath your favorite food. It seems it's been marked down 75% because it's being discontinued. Well, this is your favorite food, and you love it more than anything, so you buy every last box they have."

Daniel nodded.

"But you're not the only one who likes this particular food; you have friends that like it, too. And seeing as how you bought all there is, the only place they can get it is from you."

Again, he nodded.

"Which is no big. You're not a selfish bastard, afterall. So you share. You share and you share and you share till one day you're down to the final box."

"And you don't wanna share anymore," he said. "Because it's yours, and you know once you finish it off, it's all gone. For good."

"So you eat sparingly from it, savoring every bite."

"But you still can't make it last forever."

"But you try," she said. "Canning it, freezing it. Doing anything you can to prolong its life."

"But," he sighed, "eventually, you come to the last chip. The last one there will ever be. And what do you do?" he asked.

"Hold on to it till it goes stale and rots."

He laughed to himself, feeling oddly . . . empowered by her analogy. Like the Lord of the Rings. No one person had ever given him such total control over their lives. "All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not whither, deep roots are not reached by the frost."

Mecca laughed, too. "What? Since when do you recite poetry?"

He shrugged. "It's not poetry; it's Tolkien, the guy who wrote 'Lord of the Rings.'"

She slapped his shoulder. "I know who Tolkien is. I just don't remember him saying that."

He cleared, stepping away from her. "I'm gonna let you clean up in here."

"What?"

"I think we both need some time to re-collect ourselves, and this darkness is--"

Suddenly, the lights clicked on.

He looked at her, she looked at him, then they both looked around the shower house. It was one big room, tiled in white, tiny dividers protruding from the walls, separating one shower head from another, but not shielding one shower user from the prying eyes of another.

Then the ranger/registrar appeared wearing nothing but a towel. He was tall, thin and surprisingly muscled for someone so slim. He visibly started when he noticed he wasn't alone.

Mecca and Daniel, again, regarded one another. Her shorts were undone, floating dangerously low on her hips. Her hair was tousled, her face was flushed and, her eyes were bloodshot red. Daniel was completely clothed, but he was sporting a rather rampant erection, a marked tent having formed in his track pants, causing his jacket to poke out as well.

"I--I'm sorry," the man said. "I--I didn't know anyone was in here. It was dark. I--I'm sorry." Though obviously apologetically and clearly embarrassed, he made no move to distance himself from the scene before him.

She looked up at Daniel, then over at the young ranger. "See something you like?" she asked.

He shook his head, averting his eyes. "I didn't mean to stare."

A predatory grin quirked the corners of her mouth. "Join us, or get out."

The boy chuckled nervously; Daniel scowled. Mecca repeated herself. "It isn't an offer you're likely to ever get again, so I'd consider it very carefully."

Daniel's frown deepened. Despite what Mecca's mother may think, if he were to ever get involved in any type of three-way, it would be him and two girls; not the other way around.

"You're kind of skinny, and definitely younger than I'd normally like, but . . ."

The boy stumbled backwards as Mecca advanced. "I'm so sorry. I won't bother you two again." He scampered out the door, his shower shoes flopping against the floor tile as he went.

She turned and smiled at him.

"What the fuck was that?"

Her smile grew. "You may have won the first round of Chicken, but I certainly got you that time."

He threw his arms up in the air, rolling his eyes.

"I'm done with this place. Let's just get the tent set up and fix something to eat."

"Agreed."

* * *

As night fell, and their bellies were finally full, Daniel stretched himself out on the ground beside the cookfire, watching as Mecca skewered a couple of marshmallows and stuck them near the fire. Yes, there was a picnic table, and yes, there was a grill, but marshmallows toasted over a charcoal just didn't have the same ring as marshmallows toasted over an open fire.