Singing Cricket, Mountain Fucker

Chapter One

Singing Cricket was growing weak. He was on his vision quest to earn a warrior's name. He could feel strength in the rocks he perched on. He was at the edge of the Black Hills. The rocks would later be called Mt. Rushmore by the white man. He could sense both wisdom and strength from his current location (Jefferson's brow) but he could not absorb any of this power.

His father Big Cricket had told him to seek out the advice of his grandfather Little Cricket for his warrior name quest. Little Cricket who had given him his name, Singing Cricket, told him to listen to the singing of the mountain crickets. This was the same song that Big Cricket always sang to him. The singing mountain would give him his new warrior name. Singing Cricket had been all over the mountains listening for the singing of the mountain crickets.

Big Cricket had warned his son, "The mountain cricket will be found in caves or in recessed ledge areas. They are meat eaters. They are not like other carnivorous scavenger species, which always eat the eyes first. The cave crickets eat the liver first, to gain strength." (The livers strength comes from body fluid debris it collects as it does its filtering job.)

The full moon was close. Singing Cricket was a friend of the moon, and could feel its power increasing. Singing Cricket had been on his name quest since the start of the last full moon. He had crawled all over the edge and face of the Rushmore Mountain and other mountains in the Black Hills. The bad part about his quest was that the crickets didn't sing until after dark. He had been spending lonely nights on high isolated mountain ledges. He decided to break his quest for the singing crickets. He would seek out the singing mountain in the commons meadow. He wanted a name that would strike fear into his enemy. The name "Cricket" was secure within his tribe as great warriors but it did not instill fear in the warriors of other tribes.

Singing Cricket egressed, guided by moon beam lit paths. He noticed a small glen that was lined with mountain flowers starting their nocturnal retreat. Singing Cricket was drawn to the flowers. He selected a handful. He didn't feel comfortable with flowers in his large hands; he tucked them within his medicine pouch. He tweaked the nipple end and it snapped shut.

It was a rough path. It was not used by humans, mountain goat droppings proven it was a high and treacherous path. Singing Cricket moved with the motion of a strong man. He was known for his large and strong hands, which he was using as much as his legs on this path.

Big Cricket had warned him of his inherited strength. He also told him of the strength of the legendary "Crow Killer" a towering white man who killed Crow Indians with his bare hands. He favored snapping their necks, by flat handing them in the forehead. The added attraction of this technique it tenderized the skin. He then scalped them with a technique that only he could do. He made a single cut across their brow with his knife then ripped their scalp off with a single jerk of his hand. This would tear a pennant shaped scalp from the skull. The Crow or anyone else always knew it was the Crow killer. (White people knew him as Liver Eating Johnson, or Jeremiah Johnson) His other kill feature was he rolled the body for a side slash and cut out the liver. He took one bite and threw the liver on the warrior he had killed.

Big Cricket was wise in the ways of the white man. Singing Cricket had asked him how the Crow Killer got his strength.

Big Cricket said, "I met the Crow Killer in the Black Hills. I was on my vision quest. He did not try to kill me because I'm not a Crow. He knew I was on a vision quest. We shared smoke and food. He told me his quest was to kill every Crow that he met. They had killed his wife and infant son. It was my suggestion that he eat the liver of each warrior. The liver is the strongest organ in the body. He would gain their strength."

Big Cricket said, "Crow killer told me that the warrior's in his family were all liver eaters. They came from the mountains surrounded by the far away North Sea of the Norsemen. They were called Scots or Highlanders and ate haggis. He told me that they mix food for a horse; (oats) add blood and liver for warrior food. They call this battle food, chuckies."

Singing Cricket had asked Big Cricket, "Was Crow Killer stronger then you?"

"Take your warrior quest to the mountain meadow that faces the falling Sun and greets the moon to answer this question. You will be following the path of the Crow Killer."

Singing Cricket had recently tested his strength against the Crow warriors. The first Crow that had crept up on him, he had stabbed through the stomach and up into the diaphragm and tickled his heart. His knife was obsidian secured with the sinew of a bull elk while still moist from the kill. The handle was Osage Orange.

Big Cricket had cautioned him, "If you hit the ribs, it will break the knife. Kill like the cricket; go through the stomach, it has no bones. Pierce the diaphragm, your enemy will not be able to move or yell. You can carry on a victory chant as they kill themselves."

Singing Cricket had asked the impaled Crow what his name has. The Crow answered in sigh language. He raised two fingers for, "Two words" then one finger for the, "first word" then two fingers again.

Singing Cricket had played this game before. He said, "Two."

The dying Crow with the first name of, "Two" made the symbol for, "sounds like" and started a rowing motion.

Signing Cricket said, "Crow" you are called, "Two Crow."

The rowing motion worked well, the knife moved into, "Two Crows" heart.

"Two Crow, good name. I'm Singing Cricket the liver eater. I will let you keep the scalps you earned. You will enter the hunting grounds with out your scalp and liver." The knife did not have a hilt; it stopped at the gripped handle. Two Crow lost the energy to fuel his eyes.

Singing Cricket sang a song to his manhood as he swiped the knife across Two Crows brow. He wiped off the slime blood in his hair. He forced several fingers under the brow skin and tried to do a lift and jerk as Two Crow faded to the ground. The blood flow made everything too slick. As Singing Cricket took his first bite of Two Crow's liver the other Crow attacked him with a lance.

Chapter two

Singing Cricket took his time with the second Crow. He broke his lance then started to choke him. The Crow tried with all his power to break Singing Crickets grip on his throat. Singing Cricket lowered the Crow warrior, to stop the jerking of his feet. "What is your name, Crow warrior? Speak to me with sign language before you die. You can keep your scalps and die as a warrior." Singing Cricket had noticed the many scalps lining his lance.

The Crow Warrior raised three fingers.

Singing Cricket said, "Three words."

The Crow shook his head, "No"

The Crow slowly moved the fingers on each side of his index finger to make little knees. He smiled as Singing Cricket recognized this symbol.

"'Fuck You,' "I thought that your name contained three words, not two. I will add the, 'two.' Your name must be, 'Fuck You Two.'"

Singing Cricket hands shifted, he heard a bone pop sound. "Fuck You Two" eyes rolled up and dimmed. Singing Cricket made a clean cut across his upper brow with his knife hand. He grabbed a hand full of hair and pulled hard. Nothing.

Singing Cricket finished chewing the liver of the first warrior. He grabbed the second warrior's hair, howled for strength, ripped and shaped the perfect pennant scalp.

"Fuck You Two" eyes were looking at his scalp in Singing Crickets hand. Singing Cricket did a fold and tuck securing the scalps. The fresh flesh would seal together as it dried. He wore both scalps from his waist line just below his liver.

The other distinctive apparel, from his Kickapoo tribesmen, was his elk skin moccasins. His father and grandfather would not wear deer skin moccasins. They had extra large feet. The first time deer skin gets wet it stretches and becomes useless. The technique to correct this is to get it wet and stretch it by pulling it over rounded posts. This produces a soft, supple but thin moccasin.

His were made of elk hide. His mother had selected the hide from around the legs of an elk. It is calloused and tough. It would not shrink when wet. She also promised it would make him fleet of foot to get to his enemies first. There were Indians taller then him, some Cheyenne and Lakota, but there were few that were stronger. Singing Cricket now knew how to focus his strength, none were stronger.

Singing Cricket began his search for the mountain meadow. It was not far. He spent the rest of the day resting, fortifying his strength with food prepared by his mother. It tasted awful, smelled awful. He could feel his strength starting to peek out. She packed him the haggis recipe that the Crow Killer had shared with his father. She formed it into balls and stuffed it into a bag made from the first stomach of an elk. (The first elk stomach sporran) He waited at the near side of the meadow for the moon to appear.

He knew this was the correct meadow. Big Cricket had described it perfectly from twenty years ago. He could sense that other great warriors had been here. This could be where the Crows were heading. He knew that Indian woman were on the other side preparing themselves for gene pool enrichment moon dances.

This meadow had been used by the Plains Indian tribes as a common meadow. The average warriors did not know of it. The women of the tribes passed this information down to the daughters of the strongest warriors. Legendary warriors of skill, wisdom and strength had all been conceived by tribal woman hand picked and sent here by the wise woman of their tribes.

The moon appeared. Singing Cricket smiled to the moon. He turned and showed his fresh Crow scalps to the moon. He detected a slight shift in the opposite edge of the meadows. He needed big medicine. He called to the moon with his best imitation of a mountain cricket. The moon did not answer. He tucked mountain flowers all over the front of his deerskin loins. He remembered the haggis he had eaten and added several flowers to his mouth. He worked the dry flowers around inside his mouth, spit out some liver filtered flower juice. He watched three Indian women move into the meadow.

He leaped toward the moon.

"I am Singing Cricket."

"I ask for a warrior's name."

"See me leap with the feet of an elk."

"See my hands that can pull a scalp."

Singing Cricket went into his version of a meadow moon dance. He leaped, he pranced. He charged the moon like a full antlered bull elk. He reared up like a mountain bear. Each movement took him closer to the three females. His path was littered with mountain flowers.

One of the females stepped toward him. "Do you bring us gifts great warrior Singing Cricket."

Singing Cricket did not know much about females. He had tried to poke a few captured women. They were tied over a log next to the river. He got in line, shook his manhood around imitating the other males. He couldn't see the wrap around woman's backside because of his youth. Then he was in front, he wished he had watched closer. He ran at her following his erect manhood, he grabbed himself, fired a greeting that made his knees weak. The other Indians laughed as he ran to the river. The small fish cleaned him and tended to his excretions. (This action created a variation of trout called the sperm trout) Every time he saw or smelled small fish he would feel a surge of excitement. He did not want to be called, Little Fish.

Big Cricket had told him the secret to "Cricket men's" success with the ladies.

"Singing Cricket, what I share with you is a family secret. My grandfather Two Cricket shared the secrets of women with me. Always agree with them, and then go hunting. Women think men are stupid, if things get tough, tell them you are stupid and go hunting. Don't screw their sister, she will tell everyone, and then you got to go hunting. Always remember they are controlled by the moon, that's when they do their hunting."

"I am Singing Cricket; I have shown my gifts to the moon."

"You must now show your gifts to Singing Mountain. Follow us to the mountain that sings."

A moon flash (Adrenaline) moved over Singing Cricket. He could see through the dark woods, the Singing Mountain waited. They started down a dim path. It ended in a small clearing controlled by a large black walnut tree. He could see small paths leading into the woods. They each selected one.

"The Singing Mountain waits for you down the large path; if you have the strength for any additional names we welcome you down our paths."

Chapter Three

Singing Cricket took the final steps of his quest in a bold warrior manner, he was thinking maybe he would dance down the path. (Dancing Cricket) Then he saw the Singing Mountain. She was sitting on a giant elk skin. He stopped.

He hoped she had another elk skin. There wasn't much room on hers. Singing Mountain was much larger then huge. She did not stand up. She didn't need to. She was beautiful. She was hirsute with a red/brown glow. She was a giantess with normal features. Everything about her was in proportion just bigger. She wasn't a full blood.

"Sit with me,"

"I have been waiting,"

"for you too long,"

"I heard your dance."

"I heard your song."

Singing Cricket noted that her voice was not the voice of a giant woman. He said, "Stand up, let me look at you."

She stood. He followed her breasts as they traveled up. Her legs were too long, her waist was too high, she towered.

Singing Cricket started a walk around. He moved all around her, with his hands and eyes. Her buttocks area would support and produce the strongest warrior. Her breasts were huge and moved together. Her nipples and surrounding tissue was pink. He knew that this was good but couldn't remember why.

Singing Cricket positioned himself behind her. He did a reach around and felt her widely spaced pelvic bones. "You have strong bones. You are a warrior's woman. You should have already produced strong sons. Why have you waited for me?"

"I was sent here to give you a warrior's name. You will give me a warrior son, who will be the champion killer in every battle. He will kill the white man's champion with his bare hands. He will scalp him in the same manner as your two soggy top scalps, and the 320 Crow scalps of my liver eating warrior father. You are a strong warrior. I need a strong warrior. I feel the power of the moon in my loins. I feel the power of my father in my arms and legs."

She faced him. "The moon has not stopped for us."

Singing Cricket threw off all of his clothes except his elk tit medicine bag.

Singing Mountain's breathing became elevated; her body was building up a reserve energy source. She faced the moon and asked for strength. She spread out her arms. Singing Cricket could see that she had a firm grip on the moon. He had never visioned a woman could have such power.

"Bring your flowers from the mountains to me."

"Crush them and rub them on my breasts."

Singing Cricket decided that he would do anything she asked. He needed a warrior's name. He felt a dumb throb start to radiate male signals from his loin area. He wanted the best name possible. He did not want to be called, "Bad Fuck in the Woods" or "Land Slide Giant Poker."

He crushed a mountain flower from his medicine pouch in each hand. He extended his hands over each of her breasts. The life of each flower, a single drop, hit each nipple. She signaled her nipple erection with an exhale. Erectile tissue slowed the essence flow of the flower. The moon light showed where its glistened path had ended.

"Be gentle with your strength, you are my first man."

Singing Cricket said, "I have never been with a woman with such power. I saw you hold the moon. You should be called, 'Holds the Moon.'"

"So far you have earned the name, 'Crushes Flowers'"

"Mountain Flowers"

"I am Singing Mountain, I sing to the mountain and the mountain sings to me. The mountain that faces the rising sun will be called Mt. Rushmore; four great leaders of the white people will become part of the mountain."

"I felt the power and wisdom of the mountain you speak of. I am Singing Cricket, it did not sing to me."

"You are Stupid Cricket, do you hear with your ass? You must pull in the power of the mountain. Let me show you. Or, I could call you, 'Ass-Ear Cricket.' Or, 'Hears with Ass.'"

Singing Mountain did not wait for any action from Singing Cricket. She knelt down on her hands and knees then bridged her arms. Her huge breasts bulged from the sides as they started to absorb the body weight. She rested her forehead on a smooth flat stone.

"This is how you hear the mountain. It speaks to me now."

Singing Mountain was in position. He had seen the dogs in the village, "do it." He got into position behind her, admired the surface area of her pale skin. He also noticed the line of hair extending from her ass that widened as it pelted her entire back. He extended himself and took a big sniff of her ass."

"Your ass speaks to me. I can tell that you eat the vile warrior food called haggis."

"'Sniffs Haggis Ass,' is the name that you have now earned."

"Singing Mountain I do not know the secrets to creating warriors. My grandfather said the singing mountain would guide me. There have been no other women for me. I now know that this is the wish of the sun, moon and mountains. Be gentle with your wisdom, you are my first real woman."

Singing Mountain rolled over into a prone position. "'Wise Warrior,' come and lie with me, we will share each others haggis breath. The warrior within each of us will merge. When I breathe you breathe, when I move you move. We will move together as one. You will learn."

"We will need the help of the Bear." Singing Mountain extended a small elk tit pouch with white bear grease in it. "Rub some of this on your manhood."

Singing Cricket poked his manhood into the elk tit medicine bag and gave it a quick spin. He liked the way it felt. He kept poking and spinning.

"Give me the tit pouch, before we need to kill and melt down another grizzly bear, Elk Tit Banger."

"Bear Greaser, sounds better to me," Singing Cricket said.

"I need to know the name of the Crow warriors you killed. The Crow nation keeps two of its most feared warriors guarding me. They do not want me to produce any champion slayers. They fear my son would continue the quest of his Crow killer grandfather. If you killed the wrong Crows the fierce Crows could attack at a critical moment."

"Their death chant was silent. They used sign language to tell me their names. The first Crows name was, "Two Crow" the other ones name was, "Fuck You Too.""

"That's them; I thought that bead work in the one scalp looked like Two Crows mothers work."

Chapter Four

"Singing Cricket, lie on top of me and poke me with that huge blob of bear grease." Said Singing Mountain.

Singing Cricket said, "I need to look at my target area first, all I can see is a big patch of bear fur. It looks like a scalp taken from a bear's ass."

Singing Mountain said, "The moon is not waiting for us, take a look." She spread out her legs.

Singing Cricket moved fast for a large and strong man. He was in the reddish brown pennant sniffing and snorting like an elk in full rut. He still couldn't find the moon treasure; he was bopping his noggin on her high pelvic area. His exhales did not reveal anything that looked like a target area.

"Lower, lower, 'Can't Find Pussy'"

"Go for the wet spot, 'No Pussy for You'"

Singing Mountain was a primitive woman. She was built for the most primitive of fucking techniques. (Elk style)