Malevolence Ch. 01

Using his other camera, a non-SLR 35mm, he snapped a shot of Lisa in infrared. Over the lens, he kept a deep red filter to block visible light. The Infrared film would capture that spectrum of light invisible to the naked eye.

"What'll I look like in infrared?" Lisa asked.

"Like an alabaster-skinned goddess."

"You mean an albino."

He chuckled. "Okay, if you wanna think of it like that, an albino. Only you won't have red eyes."

Lisa heard the shrill cry of a hawk mere seconds before it swooped down and attacked her, knocking off her hat. "What the hell?!" The hawk doubled back and swooped down on Travis. He saw it coming and ducked or it might have knocked off his hat as well. "What the fuck?!" The hawk circled and came after them again. They didn't hang around; they hightailed it off the summit. That didn't deter the hawk; it continued dive-bombing them a good distance downhill until finally, it flew away. They slowed to a walk. In their haste to escape, Lisa didn't don her T-shirt. She just grabbed it off the ground and ran.

"That was crazy," she said.

"Yeah," Travis agreed, "it must have a nest up there."

"They're not nesting this time of year."

"Well, maybe it ate a discarded roach."

Lisa smirked. "I don't think hawks get stoned."

"You never know."

Halfway down the hill, they heard voices, male and female voices, unseen in the forest ahead. Lisa tossed on her red T-shirt mere seconds before two guys and two girls, all wearing cargo shorts and T-shirts, rounded a bend in the trail and popped into view. None of them were surprised or offended by the sight of a naked man. They understood some people prefer partaking of the great outdoors nude. Two days earlier they had met three nudists, two women and one man, frolicking under Eddy Falls.

Trail etiquette dictates that when hiking parties meet on a narrow trail, the party trending uphill has the right of way. Travis and Lisa stepped aside to let the foursome pass. "Howdy!" one of the guys said. "Howdy," Travis and Lisa replied in unison. Travis sought to extend the exhibition so he tossed out an obvious question. "Y'all headed for Thunder Point?"

Travis' ploy worked. The group stopped. "Yeah," the redheaded girl answered. "Is the view really as good as they say?"

"Better," Lisa answered. "But be careful. There's a crazy hawk up there."

The six of them talked for a moment longer, during which the two guys eyeballed Lisa up and down. Both of them wondered what she was wearing under that T-shirt. Obviously, she wasn't wearing shorts. That she was using both hands to hold onto the lower hem to prevent the wind from lifting it suggested she might be wearing only panties, or nothing. The redhead and her blonde friend let their eyes drift below Travis' waistline. And while they were doing so, tingling pulsated in his groin. His penis began engorging and elevated a significant angle from vertical.

The foursome resumed hiking uphill. Travis and Lisa continued downhill toward the landing. Once they arrived, she whipped off her T-shirt. The newcomers' two canoes were beached alongside theirs. All of their gear was still aboard. Unscrupulous individuals could have easily stolen whatever they wanted. Lisa and Travis would never do that. And in their experience, in similar situations never had any of their gear been stolen due to the upstanding character of those who venture far into the wilderness.

During his time at Walden Pond, Henry David Thoreau wrote: "I had more visitors while I lived in the woods than at any other period in my life; I mean that I had some. I met several there under more favorable circumstances than I could anywhere else. But fewer came to see me on trivial business. In this respect, my company was winnowed by my mere distance from town. I had withdrawn so far within the great ocean of solitude, into which the rivers of society empty, that for the most part, so far as my needs were concerned, only the finest sediment was deposited around me." The same holds true for the character of those who venture into the wild: Farthest from shore is where the finest sediment is deposited.

A half-hour of paddling brought the honeymooners to their campsite on the Canadian side of the lake. They climbed out and pulled their canoe onto the pebbly beach. Knife Lake was a crossroads in that region of the wilderness. Many canoe trails, both in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and Quetico Provincial Park, passed through there. Out on the lake, a quarter mile away, two people were paddling a canoe eastbound. At that distance Lisa couldn't determine gender. She guessed they wouldn't be able to tell if she was naked so she didn't cover up.

The campsite, on a rocky point far away from any cliffs, commanded a sweeping vista: Knife Lake stretching east and west, the south arm across the way, islands, bluffs, forest, boundless summer sky. Raw, naked nature it was, and the human nakedness complemented the scene.

Fifty yards offshore, a large granite rock jutted above the surface. "Race ya!" Lisa shouted. She ran into the water, high-stepped as far as possible then dove in and began swimming toward the rock. Travis accepted the challenge; he ran, high-stepped, dove in and followed. He gradually closed the gap and with modest effort could have passed her. But to ensure domestic tranquility, he trailed behind and allowed his bride to capture the prize. Swimming back to the beach was another matter; he took no prisoners and won handily. All's fair in love, war, marriage and swimming contests.

For a time they sat chest-deep in the shallows, talking. Lisa was adept at finding new angles on familiar topics to energize their discourse; their conversations were never forced or contrived. Like most young couples, they sometimes talked about sex when not actually doing it, usually in general terms but other times explicitly. Lisa got Travis' attention when she asked, "Whatta you think about anal sex?"

Having never done it -with her or anyone- he didn't know what to think about it. He cleared his throat. "Uh, is that something you wanna try?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Only if you do."

"So, where did this come from?"

"Oh . . . I was just thinkin' about that movie." She grinned.

He chuckled. "What? Watching Ned Beatty get buggered makes you wanna try anal sex?"

"Yeah! Silly, huh?"

"Maybe not. You serious?"

She looked him in the eye, intensely. "I'm just kinda curious."

Without another word they rose to their feet and waded ashore.

On the pebbly beach Travis spread his towel and reclined on his back. Lisa positioned herself comfortably and took his flaccid penis into her mouth. It wasn't soft for long; a short time of sucking resulted in a rock-hard erection. Lisa repositioned herself on hands and knees. On his knees, Travis sidled up behind. All they had for lube was corn oil they brought for frying the fish Travis hoped to catch. Corn oil for the corn hole. Seemed fitting somehow. Travis dribbled a dab in the valley between her buns and thoroughly slathered her sphincter. With another dab he coated his fat erection. Now ready, he pressed his swollen glans against her anus and . . . nothing. No matter how hard he pressed it wouldn't penetrate. He grabbed his erection with one hand and tried to force it in. Nothing.

"Stop pinching," Travis implored, "it's not helping!"

"Sorry, I can't help it."

Lisa's difficulty was mental; inculcation during her formative years still held sway. She was raised in a fundamentalist Christian household. As an adult she continued attending church but had modified some of the dogma to accommodate having premarital sex. However, sodomy was a big no no, a mortal sin. Hence, her unconscious resistance to rear entry.

"Relax," Travis advised. "Breathe."

Lisa took a deep cleansing breath. Then another. Despite her attempt to relax, several minutes of penile pushing proved futile. Every time Travis pressed his swollen glans against her anus, he could see her sphincter pinch. The harder he pushed, the harder she pinched. Maybe, Travis thought, she was empathizing with Ned Beatty's predicament. He wondered what trick that disgusting hillbilly must have used to gain such easy rear entry. Moonshine for lube?

Eventually, they abandoned their quest for buggery and settled into slow doggy vaginal coitus. This was Lisa's favorite position, the one where she always experienced the deepest arousal and most intense orgasms. Her arousal secretions combined with the corn oil made her vagina extremely slippery. After several minutes of slow thrusting, Travis could tell Lisa had become deeply aroused; her abundant lubrication had buttered his testicles and her anus was dilated. Travis saw an opening . . . literally. Without breaking pace, he pulled out and, before Lisa could pinch or protest, rammed his rod in the back door and sunk it halfway home.

The unexpected intrusion startled Lisa. "Owwwwww!" Scowling, she jerked her head around and looked over her shoulder. "That hurts!"

"Want me to stop?"

Her expression softened, but only slightly. "Um, no. Just go slow."

"Okay."

Gripping her hips, Travis slowly, ever so slowly, continued pushing deeper. "Owww." He stopped pushing momentarily then continued. "Owww!" Inch by inch he continued pushing until all seven were fully buried. Lisa exhaled forcefully as if air rammed in one end had to escape out the other. Still gripping her hips, Travis commenced thrusting, slowly. The squirrelly sensation was painful but much to her surprise, pleasurable. After all, pain and pleasure are two points on the same continuum. Lisa was pinching again but now it was too late. The viselike grip her rectum had on his erection Travis could easily get accustomed to. Already deeply aroused, Lisa became increasingly so with each deep thrust and withdrawal. And as the minutes ticked by, she voiced painful pleasure. "Mmmmmm . . . ohhhhhh . . . owwwww . . . "

Travis indulged another public sex fantasy:

Two canoes bearing four young women come along and stop just offshore. All four stare and smile. The fantasy expands. The women are female counterparts of the four principle characters in 'Deliverance.' They are even dressed the same. Chuckling quietly, Travis hopes the Burt Reynolds counterpart doesn't use him for archery target practice.

For Lisa, anal intercourse was uncomfortable, but at the same time, highly arousing. When Travis' erection was fully buried, she felt more stuffed than during vaginal intercourse in any position; she felt fullness and stretching and pressure everywhere on her insides. Before long, familiar welling began; an orgasm was imminent. But unexpectedly, it stalled. There, she lingered in limbo on that delirious threshold of inevitability where one more thrust, just one more, might topple her over the brink. But it didn't happen.

Travis was attuned to his wife's arousal response, knew how to push her buttons. He thrust deeply and pinned his groin against her butt. Lisa moaned loudly. He began gyrating his hips. She moaned even louder. He gyrated faster. She began a mantra: "Omigod . . . omigod . . . omigod . . . " One last "omi-" was all she could muster before white-hot heat exploded like a supernova. "Nuuuuuugggggh . . . " she groaned loud and long. Travis always found it fascinating that when cumming, such a petite woman could growl like an enraged grizzly.

Travis kept gyrating and indulging the public sex fantasy. Burt Reynolds kept his arrows in the quiver. Before long, gut-wrenching spasms electrified every nerve ending. Spurt after spurt spewed semen deep inside where nature never intended. Feeling her man losing control sparked another explosion of white-hot heat. "Nuuuuuuugh . . . " Lisa's second climax was so intense she nearly lost her breath.

All motion ceased save for heaving chests and trembling legs. Lisa collapsed on her stomach. Travis' penis popped out. He laid atop her sweaty back with most of his weight propped on his elbows. After he caught his breath, he placed his lips at her ear and squealed, "WEEE! WEEEEEEEEEEEE!" They never laughed harder.

Still basking in the afterglow, they enjoyed a long, relaxing supper. Afterward, they laid in each others arms watching a veil of cirrus drift in from the west. The high clouds were the canvas upon which Mother Nature painted her sunset: smeary shades of red, orange and mauve warmed the sky and reflected off the placid face of Knife Lake. The forest glowed like wildfire. Fish leaped above the surface and splashed down. And somewhere far far away, trumpeting elk reminded that civilization was nothing more than a thin veneer, the vain striving of humanity. Nowhere on earth did Lisa feel greater peace than in the wilderness. And sharing that peace with her husband filled her with so much joy, it overflowed and trickled down her cheek.

Next: The journey continues.