Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

"I'd think a guy with a pickaxe. Suppose they crawl along in the dark, and then there's a sudden flash of lightning that reveals a huge man with a pickaxe raised over his head, waiting to plant the pointed end in Henry's skull and then take Fern back to his cave to rape her silly. Think that'd work?"

"I think that's just what I needed. Thank you, you're wonderful!"

"Do I win a prize?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, you'll think of something. Come on to the bedroom with me." And that's how it happened that I was given the idea for the scary part of the chapter at nine-thirty at night but didn't get to write it until nine-thirty the next morning.

On the bed, I mentioned that I should probably have Henry and Fern try some new positions. "Oh, like what?" asked Suzy.

"Well, you've got to remember that Fern is a lot shorter than Henry. That makes sixty-nine almost impossible unless Henry curls up like a shrimp on a skewer. She's already shown that she likes Cowgirl. She's short enough to look really cute bouncing up and down on him in that position. But she might like to try Reverse Cowgirl for a change of pace. A lot depends on how well hung Henry is. If he's real big, Reverse Cowgirl might be too difficult. Then there are some really elegant variations of the position with one leg straight up in the air. They tend to flatter the figure of the girl, making her look taller and thinner than she is."

"How do you mean, one leg straight up? What would that look like?"

"Well, like this." I gently laid her partway over on her back and lifted her left leg up straight, and had her hold it there with her hand on her calf. She looked like a supermodel. I was so struck by her beauty that I hung back, afraid to touch her and spoil the spell she was casting.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't I look good in this one? Don't you like it?"

"No! That's not it! You look so enchanting in that position. You're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. Ever!"

"Well, come over here and take me then. What are you waiting for?"

I might have been enchanted but I wasn't paralyzed. I almost knocked her onto the floor in my eagerness, and we soon explored all the things you can do when you start in that position and roll this way or that way from it, while locked together in a wild mating embrace that eclipsed all of our previous accomplishments. At the end, I was on my back on the floor, panting. Suzy had her legs on the bed and her upper body on the floor, also gasping for breath. "It's a good . . . thing," she gasped out, "that we're . . . both . . . in . . . good . . . condition."

"Let me . . . help you . . . up onto . . . the bed." I offered. I rolled over, got up on my knees, and gradually got up pretty straight. I lifted her shoulders and shoved her onto the bed rather inelegantly, and then followed her onto the sheet.

Something just wasn't right. I was about to say something important but I was facing her left foot. So instead I grabbed her ankle and kissed her instep, then started to suck her toes into my mouth one at a time. That got me a sound I'd never heard before, sort of a giggling sigh. I turned her foot around and licked the sole, starting by the heel and ending at the toes. "Oh, Jack. What a talented tongue you have." Everything was quiet for a minute, then "Remember Jack, I'm a lot taller than Fern is." Again the conversation lagged, until she said, "What's one more than four times seventeen?" I quickly did the math in my head and then showed her that I had the answer.

I had a good, but episodic night's sleep. The first time I woke up was around three, when I tried to snatch a kiss before turning over, and found once more that I was facing Suzy's foot. Rather than wake her, I just grabbed my pillow and reversed myself on the bed. Then I gradually went back to sleep while studying her beautiful face. When I woke up for good it was about eight-thirty and a goddess was bringing me a cup of coffee, followed by bacon and eggs with whole wheat toast on the side. She set the breakfast on the bedside stand and slipped in under the sheet beside me. I gave her a hug and asked, "Have I ever mentioned that I love you?"

"Not yet this morning."

"Well, I do, and for a lot of good reasons."

"How many?"

"Oh, a whole lot. Not quite seventy."

"Oh, you smooth talkin' devil, you."

Chapter fourteen

Henry and Fern were still crawling along over the gravel and crushed stone, trying to get far enough into the mine to see what was going on in there. The entrance to a mine is supposed to be the adit, a word I had learned from a lifetime of crossword puzzles, but I hadn't been able to work it in. Such a neat little word; seemed a pity to let it go to waste.

It seemed to Henry that they must have crawled a mile, and he'd had about enough of it. Fern jerked at his leg, and hissed "Wait." He looked around, trying to see by the dim light what was causing the delay. Fern crawled up beside him and whispered, "Unhook me."

"What?"

"Unhook my bra."

Henry shook his head at this mysterious request, but he obediently reached into her mostly unbuttoned shirt and around her back with one hand, while gripping the strap through the shirt material with the other hand, and soon had the familiar task done.

"Now help me out of it."

He slipped a strap off her shoulder and poked it down her shirt sleeve, then reached up into the sleeve with two fingers of the other hand and pulled the bra strap out and over her hand. He repeated the exercise on the other arm, and finally reached inside the open shirt front and dragged out the bra. A cascade of small rocks spilled out of the cups, where they had collected as they were scraped off the ground by the top of the bra, which had been acting like a miniature bulldozer. Henry smiled as he finally understood what the unhooking and bra removal was all about.

Fern gave him a small kiss on the nose for thanks, and suggested, "Let me go first. I'll stay on the left to give you room to draw that cannon," referring to the big Taurus revolver with the six inch barrel. Henry nodded, silently wishing he had brought his 45 caliber automatic with the double stack magazine, instead of the 357.

The light from half a moon and a million stars had provided some illumination in the tunnel for a while, but every twist shut out some of it, until they were maneuvering by feel alone. Occasional stray light beams shone through random cracks in the rock, providing evidence that something was going on deeper inside the mine, and that it must be quite brightly lit up. But those rays were coming from a lower level, shining upward, so they lit up patches of the rock ceiling overhead but did little to show Henry and Fern what they were about to bump into, or where the smoothest places on the tunnel floor were. So they bumped along, occasionally having to reverse their direction to try another avenue, and their overall progress was agonizingly slow.

Fern was still in the lead when she suddenly stopped. Henry crept up to where he thought her head must be and whispered, "What's going on?"

"Something's wrong."

Henry sniffed the air. He knew that there was a ventilation shaft somewhere nearby, because the air smelled fresher and cooler than what they had been breathing. He whispered, "Air shaft nearby."

Fern didn't reply, but remained stationary. Henry's ears caught something. It could have been a sound, or maybe just an air current, but he became alert to danger. He rolled slightly to his left and drew his revolver. For most people this would have made a scraping sound but the absolute silence of his draw spoke of long years of practice and long hours of working oil into the leather. With the big revolver out ahead of his shoulders, he reached for Fern's right hand and gently touched it to the gun barrel so she would know that he was preparing for trouble.

Just then a bolt of lightning ignited a gnarled tree that grew alongside the ventilation shaft, and momentarily bathed the inside of the tunnel with flickering light, revealing a hideous apparition: a huge man standing about eight feet farther along the tunnel, his back against the wall on the right, with a pickaxe raised above his head, ready to strike. Henry's left hand pushed Fern away, against the left tunnel wall, as far as he could get her from the threat. His right hand, as if it had a mind of its own, fired a quick double tap into the giant's crotch. There was a crash, and the next brilliant flash of lightning showed that the giant had dropped his pickaxe two yards ahead of Henry's nose and was doubled up, screaming in agony, as he rolled back and forth with his hands covering the injured area. Henry didn't often miss, and at such close range it was child's play to put a shot right between the eyes of the big man. Instantly all sound and motion stopped, and the huge mass of bone and muscle relaxed and lay perfectly still.

There was no longer any need to whisper. "Aw shit," remarked Henry. "There goes my hearing again."

I felt Suzy's hand on my shoulder and turned to see that she was reading what I'd just written. "Oh Jack, you wrote it just the way I told you about it. You really did put it into your story. This makes me a contributor. I've influenced a piece of literature that will live forever. Oh, I feel so, so, so important, to have given an idea to a real author. Eventually this book will get published and copies will be sold all over, and my part of the story will be right there for everybody to read. Jack, you've made me so happy, so thrilled! Oh, I love you so!"

It was too bad, really. I was on a roll. I could feel a few thousand words all primed, ready to pop right up onto the monitor. But what can you do? I mean, it's hard to combine the roles of great author and great sex symbol, but somebody has to do it.

Later, while nature was taking its course, I got into a situation that was . . . different. It must have been partly my fault. I admit that I let my mind wander. I was still thinking about how to get Henry and Fern out of that mine safely, and wondering if they would face any legal problems from killing the pickaxe wielding giant. So yes, I really wasn't paying attention to the matter at hand, which had to do with tending to a sexually aroused Chickahominy Indian woman on a bed. I must have thought that the sex was going along so well that I could let it run on autopilot for a few minutes, but obviously I was wrong. Not just wrong, but negligent. My attention was drawn back to the sexually aroused Chickahominy woman. She was banging away on top, face down, but rotated ninety degrees from the usual heading. And because I had no idea how she had come to be in that position, I didn't know what to do next.

Now stop and think about this situation for a minute. If this misalignment was caused by an accident, I should immediately try to correct it. But if it was deliberate, was she trying to work her way around to a complete reversal, and if so, what was supposed to happen next? Should I help her rotate the rest of the way? Hold on a minute; maybe this was a new position I wasn't familiar with; maybe she was supposed to stay right there, riding me sidesaddle, as it were. After several seconds of panicky deliberation, I decided to wait it out and see what would happen.

Suzy kept up her tempo, and showed no signs of weakening. If anything, she was going at it with even more abandon than she had displayed earlier, and I could only guess that she was nearing a major climax. Oh, it was a group activity, if it's not too presumptuous to consider the two of us a group. I was right in there, helping out as much as I could, but the driver's seat was clearly hers. I was the tiller man on this fire run. Or if our life together could be compared to a rushing stream of water, then we were riding a log, but she was the one steering it and I was merely hanging on.

Then our whole world exploded. We'd just had one of those simultaneous orgasms that authors love to write about, but only if they are out and out liars, because when they happen they short out all of the circuits in your brain and all you know afterward is that you have been through something beyond anything else in human experience. It's like, suppose you were an eyewitness to the end of the world, how could you describe it?

We lay on the bed, drenched with sweat, the sheets in some areas wringing wet. The best news was that Suzy could still remember my name. "Oooh, Jack, that was magnificent!"

"It was the closest to a mutual out of body experience that we'll ever have, I think. Suzy, it was magnificent because you were magnificent. We have just had an amazing tour through all the sensations that a body can feel, and you were the guide who led the way."

"How'd I get turned sideways?"

"No idea. It just happened, I guess. Sure didn't take away from the total, ah, majesty of the whole thing."

"Jack, what's going on with me? Why am I like this? The sex is great, sure, but what is this all about? I went for years without any, when all the girls around me were fucking their brains out. Now they've all settled down to regular, normal lifestyles with diapers and washing machines, and here I am fucking like a sex maniac."

"Making up for lost opportunities?"

"No. It's not that simple. There's gotta be more to it than that."

"Sounds like a case for Doctor George. When are you due at his place?"

"Tonight at seven. Coming with me?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Chapter fifteen

Walking home from George's office, I couldn't hold back any longer the question that Suzy usually was answering by then, without my having to ask. "How'd it go in there? Any brilliant insights into the cause of your hyper sexuality?

"No, I came up dry. He said that maybe we'd both have to come in next time, since this is a shared activity."

"Would we get to share the couch? That could get pretty interesting."

"You just stop it. You're getting me all excited, and here we are on a public sidewalk. Just control yourself, or help me control myself, at least until we're in the apartment."

"That seems reasonable, but your suggestion that we go at it right out here in plain sight is rather exciting. Different. Extreme. Why would you even think of that? Does it mean anything?"

"In the culture of the Indian tribes that lived along the east coast, there's a belief that not all of our thoughts are our own. Some ideas are inspired by nature's gods, meaning the universe: sun, moon, stars, trees, water, all the things that we can see or touch but wouldn't normally expect to have ideas. That's why the people of the tribes are important to everything else in the world. The trees, for example, would plant an idea in the mind of a person, who could then carry it out, sort of like acting as the agent of the trees."

"Interesting concept. Do you believe that?"

"Yes and no. I heard stories about Indian beliefs and legends from the time I was a little girl, but to most adults it was all just amusing stories for children and not something real. So I really believe in the same things you do, except that the memories of those stories are still there, and I think that at times they may influence my attitudes."

"What are the gods of nature trying to tell you to do right now?"

"Draw close to you. Be close and never let go, like a tree and a rock, right next to each other forever. The rock supports the tree, and the tree shades the rock."

"I like that. Seems to me that the Indian lore is something to pay attention to, that it has value even in a world that can put men on the moon and bring them home again."

"I'm glad you see it that way, that you didn't just tell me that it's all nonsense and I should forget about it. I think you may be the first White adult who ever took me seriously as an Indian. That feels good, makes me feel real, and important."

"Isn't that what we're always trying to do as adults? Aren't we struggling to make a difference? Isn't love partly feeling that we're important to somebody?"

"I don't know, but I do love feeling that I'm important to you. I think I started out just wanting to get everything that I could from you, and now I feel exactly the opposite. I want to give all I can to make you successful and happy. I don't think I can ever feel fulfilled without making you feel fulfilled."

Whether inspired by the trees and rocks or not, we arrived at the apartment and retired to the bedroom by mutual consent, without discussion. But this time we simply lay on the sheet and talked in low voices, touching but not getting all heated up. Suzy was replaying some of the therapy session in her mind, dropping a few words about the highlights, but mostly she was silently reviewing her conversation with George so she wouldn't forget any of it. Obviously this was very important to her, so I kept quiet and let her go at it. She appeared to get to an interesting part, and was very still for about a minute with a look of intense concentration on her face. "I'm still having trouble getting past the notion of loss. I keep trying to tell myself that I've found my life companion and I'll never be left alone again, but my experience tells me that anybody I feel strongly about will be taken from me, and no matter how close we are, I'll be abandoned again. It's a strong feeling, and I can't shake it."

"Your unconscious mind is just trying to protect you, and no matter what I tell you, you'll end up listening to yourself and blowing me off. I have no intention of ever leaving you, and if anybody tried to take you from me he'd be in for the fight of his life. But your mind is saying, in effect, 'Why should I listen to him? What does he know?' This is going to call for real persuasion, and it may be necessary to get into hypnosis or something high powered like that. George will know how to handle it, but you need to make it clear to him what kind of a battle is going on in your head."

"But how can I put my whole self into loving you and making a life with you, if I keep telling myself that it won't work, or that it won't last?"

"I think it's a good thing you're having two sessions a week, not one. You're beyond my depth, and only George can answer that question. Put your trust in George, and your faith in yourself. Don't hold anything back, and you'll come out of this all right. But right now I think you're just going in circles. I used to do that, and the only thing that helped was talking with George. What happens is that the more times you think the same thought, the deeper it gets implanted in your mind, and the harder it is to root it out. So I suggest that you try to shut your head off for a while and think about something else, and save the loss scenario for Thursday night. Incidentally, I'll be out in the waiting room as usual, so if he wants me to sit in on part of the session, all he'll have to do is whistle."

"All right. It's got my brain tired, anyway. I'm really sorry that I have to be such a burden on you. I'd like to be positive and upbeat for you, and instead I keep coming up with one problem after another."

"Well, sure. That's what therapy is all about. The answers are usually obvious, once you figure out what the problems are. But don't get down on yourself. Try to look at all that you've accomplished since you've been here. You no longer feel that you have to lie to me and manipulate me. You've told me all about your Clarence Hempstead project and worked out an agreement with me to collaborate on it. You've done additional research on the matter of where he was working on his blockade runner. You've started seeing a therapist to get your head straightened out. You've declared your undying love for me, and pledged your loyalty to me forever, and you've got me licking your feet like an adoring puppy. Now you've helped me over a rough spot in my novel about Henry and Fern. That's a lot to accomplish in a short time. I should think you'd be pretty proud of yourself."