A Taste of Incest - Pears & Cider

Edie slid from her seat and rounded the booth to hug Marge. Both women had wet eyes.

"We've got to go. Don't take any bogus checks." Edie kissed her friend and threw a ten on the table. "I'll write. Don't worry. We'll be fine." She looked at Ron. "Time to saddle up."

Marge walked off before Ron could stand. He hoisted his and Edie's gear and followed his cousin outside. Edie drove to the Fred Meyers superstore on the other side of town for necessities. Yes, licorice was mandatory!

They arranged their gear and supplies. Edie checked her watch.

"We'd better hustle. I talked to a clerk I know. She said word's going around town already. I don't want Dad or Ted or anyone to come looking for us, and they sure as shit better not find us. Time to get out of Dodge. You up to driving? Pick a direction. Onward!"

Ron pulled two coins from his jeans pocket.

"You want directions? The nickel is north-south, the quarter is east-west. Toss'em."

Edie threw the coins; they they flashed in the sunlight and landed on the parking-lot asphalt. The nickel rolled into a drain grate. The quarter showed heads.

"East it is, then," Ron said.

*****

EAST took them along the dark turquoise Rogue River, past Savage Rapids and little Gold Hill, with it's hokey Oregon Vortex and House of Mystery, and then over the craggy Cascade Mountains, with a detour to Crater Lake. They chose a quiet campground.

They did not bother to pitch a tent this first night out but only unrolled their sleeping bags on the inflated air mattress inside the shell -- cramped, but cozy and comfortable. They quickly found that both air mattresses and truck springs tend to squeak when in motion. They squeaked a lot that night.

A crashing noise woke them in darkness. Trash cans overturned, WHAM!

"Bears," Ron said. "Good thing we're in here."

"Good thing we didn't leave any food out," Edie said. "Or anything. Shampoo bottles and toothpaste are bear magnets." So is menstrual blood, Edie thought, but she did not need to mention that. Her next period wasn't due for over a week. Yay for The Pill!

They snuggled again, and squeakily fucked again, and slept again.

EAST took them over more mountains and past wide green valleys and broad blue lakes surrounded by endless pastures. They passed the wreckage of a U-Haul trailer at a remote intersection in far-reaching grassland. The firm's logo and slogan were clearly visible: ADVENTURES IN TRAVEL.

Ron chuckled. "I have a rule about adventures. Only one type is allowed -- survivable adventures."

"My kind of man," Edie cooed. She jerked the steering wheel back and forth, rocking the truck and its contents. "Let's survive this one, too."

Ron drove a steep road up the sharp Abert Rim escarpment, past a string of desert lakes, and into the high Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge. They were at elevation. Dusk and light snow fell together.

Ron was apprehensive. "You sure this is safe?"

"Not to worry," Edie laughed. "Sometimes it snows here on July Fourth. It's all gone the next day. Usually."

"Yeah, well, it's early October now. Not fireworks season."

"Don't be such a pussy." She squeezed his thigh. "But we can stop here."

They skidded to a halt on a wide gravel clearing and crawled in back, under the shell. Dinner was cold canned ravioli and warm red wine. Sanitation was rough. They slept in the truck again. No bears tonight, whew. The rough gravel road was visible under thin snow the next morning. Yes, another survivable adventure.

EAST took them up the Donner-und-Blitzen River onto Steens Mountain. The paved road spun past huge deep barren glacier-gouged gorges. Edie drove along a knife-edge rim between what looked like two dry Yosemite Valleys.

"There's nowhere else on Earth that looks like this," Edie said. They leaned back against the camper shell, a light breeze ruffling their hair. They passed a canteen.

"Dad brought us camping here in the Steens a few times. You remember my big brother Steve? He almost skidded down that slope once." She pointed. "He rolled into that scrubby juniper. Only thing that saved his ass. He must have been fourteen then. I was ten. This was during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I think Dad hauled us here 'cause he thought there'd be a nuclear war and he didn't want us near any targets. Like the Russians would bother nuking fucking Grants Pass. Ha! And we're downwind from Portland here. Dad wasn't thinking too clearly."

Ron shrugged. "Sure is a long way down to the bottom. What else is up here?"

"Oh, the best is yet to come. I'll drive us up to the top. C'mon, let's roll."

They climbed into a forested zone. A short hike took them to an overlook. You have maybe heard the word 'awesome'? This was FUCKING awesome! They perched atop a sharp fifty-mile-long escarpment, almost two miles above sea level, dropping over a mile vertically, straight down to a vast dry lake and surrounding desert basin.

Ron was almost hypoxic. "Holy fuck! What is that?" The view sucked his mind away.

"In summer, it's hell. And it'll be damn cold up here tonight. C'mon, let's go down to the campground in Frenchglen. It'll be warmer there. I need a shower. You, too."

"Good idea. And where do we go from there?"

"How about we flip a coin?" Edie pulled a quarter from her jeans pocket. "Heads is south; tails is south; and if it lands on its edge, that's south too." She looked over the sheer cliff-edge. "No need to toss; we'd only lose it." The coin disappeared into her tight jeans. Nicely-filled jeans, Ron thought again.

SOUTH took them to the Black Rock Desert, future home of Burning Man festivals. They parked on a low ridge overlooking the bleak expanse ringed by barren mountains.

"Another monster playa? You have a thing for huge dry lakes? Been here before?"

Edie shook her head 'no'. "Not here, but I've read about it. Racers who don't want to haul all the way to out the Bonneville Salt Flats for speed runs come here. It's just as flat and dry and almost as long. And you must admit, it's a great place to get an all-over tan." They were both naked except for baseball caps and Firestone-soled huarache sandals.

Far-off dust trails climbing skyward revealed several vehicles rolling on the porcelain-smooth flats. Something much larger and stranger sat only a couple miles away at the playa's edge.

"What's that? Got the binocs?" Ron pulled the optics off the dashboard and passed them to Edie. "Ha, it's what I thought. A big fucking land yacht." She handed Ron the glasses. "See? About thirty feet long, two masts -- looks like they dropped a boat hull on a truck chassis. The sails are furled; not much wind today. They'll have to tow that thing. Or maybe they're expecting gusts. I guess we should listen to the weather forecasts."

"Did you want to camp up here? We could, y'know." Ron scanned the horizon through the lenses.

"No, I read about a place a ways west of here, between the Black Rock and Smoke Creek deserts. Might be a good place to pitch the tent and stay a couple days. Got some hot and cold springs there -- a little oasis. It's grassy, even."

*****

Edie was right. They found it, a wet oasis without palms or other trees, but an oasis nonetheless. And deserted on this early October mid-week day.

They stayed naked while they set up camp. They removed hats and sandals while 69ing on blankets spread on the ground, but resumed their head and foot protection before dipping into the grassy pools. The cold spring was... cold. The warm spring was very relaxing and not very mucky.

Ron lit a small fire at dusk. Edie cooked a tasty stew. After cleanup, they retired to the hottest, clearest spring. They floated a canteen of white port wine between them and gazed at the brilliant stars. The Milky Way illuminated all with a mystic glow.

"Listen to those coyotes!" Edie whispered. Eerie songs filled the night.

"We used to spend weekends in Joshua Tree National Monument when I was a kid, camping in the Wonderland of Rocks. The coyotes there... well, we heard all these weird echoes bouncing off the huge boulders. Pack size was probably a half-dozen, maybe a few more, but it sounded like hundreds of them surrounding us." Ron shivered at the memory. And his erection grew.

"Hey look, a shooting star!" She pointed at the ephemeral flash. "Next chance we get, let's buy an almanac, so we'll know when to expect meteor showers and other astronimical stuff."

"Yeah, and when to plant corn, and which fish to bury under the roots."

"Sure, the Old Farmer's Almanac, good idea. But I'd rather plant pot. Hmmm, fish under the roots... yeah, that would be good fertilizer." She made mental notes.

"Y'know what this makes me think of? I saw the Grateful Dead play at the Fillmore. I was on acid so it's a little fuzzy. But they jammed DARK STAR for about an hour. Got a great lyric:"

Shall we go, you and I, while we can?

Through the transitive nightfall of diamonds.

"That's a meteor shower, transitive nightfall of diamonds, wow!"

"Umm, you're not a DeadHead, are you, Ron? That's just a little too dopey for me."

"Naw, I'm no fanatic, I was just there. With my... oh, fuck it. Just watch the stars."

"With your WHAT, Ron? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Dealer? Probation officer? Mother?"

"Just a friend. Forget it. Not important. Hey, another shooting star!" He pointed.

Edie hid her scowl. Trying to distract me! She figured she would get no more out of him. Not now, anyway. She made another mental note.

"Any wine left?" Ron passed her the canteen. She finished it. "I'm pretty waterlogged -- I'll be a prune soon. You had enough?"

"Yeah, I'm about slow-boiled." He climbed from the pool. "Need a hand?"

"Thanks." He pulled her out. She clung to him, her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Ron. I really do. This has been one of the best days in my life." She kissed him. "I don't care that you're my honest-to-fuck cousin. No, wait, I do care, but not about not-the-cousin rules. Lots of couples have been cousins. Sometimes it was mandatory. And it's not like we grew up together. Before this, we'd only met, what, twice? Long time ago. It's not like you're taking advantage of me."

Ron kept his thoughts private. Now was not the time to tell her of his bisexual past. "I love you too, Edie. You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. Maybe forever." He held her chin in one hand, turned her face to his. His expression was solemn. "Edie Carson, will you... shack up with me?" He tried to keep a poker face but his twitching lips gave him away, even under starlight.

She slapped his bare butt. "You fucker! Just for that, I'M on top tonight! I'm Annie fucking Oakley and I'm going to ride your tail into the ground! And no doggy-fucks! You can start by kissing my ass." She bent over and aimed her lovely arse at him.

"Yes, ma'am. Your wish, my command." He knelt behind her and gave each cheek a big wet slurp. "And while I'm here..." He eased her legs apart, licked her taint, and then probed her labia.

Edie gasped, "That's right, peon. Honor your mistress." His tongue danced deeper. "Ooh, more honor, yesss..." Her spicy nectar seeped out.

Ron's cock was soon bull-hard. He stood, held her hips, and slipped inside her.

"Oh fuck! Hey, I said, no doggy..."

"MOOO!" he sang, and moved faster.

"Oh fuck," she murmured. She bent further and held her ankles. Perfect position! One of Ron's hands stayed stabilized her hip as he jackhammered her. The other stroked her clitoris. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck... OH FUCK MEEEEE!!" she wailed. She thrashed, knees wobbling. Only Ron's strength kept her from collapsing.

He withdrew from her, still stiff. "Okay, Annie fucking Oakley, come to bed and ride your horsey. NOW!" He led her to the tent. The zero-humidity wind had thoroughly dried them. He plopped onto the airbed, butt down, dick up. "What're you waiting for, a green light? "

Edie straddled his thighs, lowered herself, and guided him into her depths. "Oh fuck yeah! Yippie-ki-yay, dammit! Oh fuck!" She leaned over him, her hands on his shoulders for support. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck..." She undulated on him, faster and faster. She ululated, faster and sharper, "ah... ah... ah ah ah..."

Ron could not see her in the dark, but he could imagine: swaying breasts and long dark hair, undulating belly muscles, eyes pinched shut, face contorted. He reached to pinch her candy nipples.

"OH FUCK OH FUCK OHHHH..." she squalled. Her vocabulary was rather limited at times like this. "OHHHHHH..."

Ron could no long contain himself. His orgasm surged; his semen erupted into her, coating her empty womb with a hot-lava spray. "Unnhhh," he groaned.

Edie fell onto him, her breasts pressed into his chest. Her arms held him tight. Her mouth found his and captured his tongue. She moaned through her kisses.

"Oh fuck Ron, oh fuck, Ron Ron Ron, oh fuck, I love you so much Ron, ohhh..."

His softened cock finally slipped out of her. She stayed where she was. She snuggled tighter against him. "Oh, you're so beautiful, so wonderful..."

"You're pretty good too, cousin." His attempt at a Humphrey Bogart voice didn't work. "You're damn good," he whispered. "Damn..."

They slept in a close embrace. No bears came by to disturb them.

*****

Ron pulled on his all-terrain huarache sandals and crawled from the tent at dawn to relieve his bladder, extinguishing the few embers of last evening's fire. Edie followed him out and squatted behind a bushy black sage. They draped themselves in serapes against the chill.

[Author's note: A serape (say-RAW-pay) is a blanket with a head-hole in the middle. It is rather like a poncho, but usually not waterproof; and it is warmer, because it is a blanket, duh. Huaraches (wha-RAW-chays) are sandals whose soles are often cut from old rubber tires. They leave distinctive tread marks.]

"I don't know about you, but I could use a cleanup," Edie sighed.

Ron gestured toward the spring pools. "Your bath awaits, m'lady."

"Mmmm, good idea. Want some coffee first?"

"Only if it's properly prepared." He pulled a bottle of cheap tequila from the truck.

"Right away, m'lord." Edie lit the Coleman stove under a pot of water. She dug out the coffee crystals, powdered milk, and sugar, and two enamel cups. Their Tijuana Coffee was ready in minutes. Hmmm, better not drink that on an empty stomach, she thought. She found a pack of peanut-butter cookies. Such a civilized breakfast!

The first simmering ray of sun creeping over the horizon found them in their camp chairs at the folding table. Cookies and coffee and cactus juice -- a stimulating way to start the day!

[Author's note: I am quite aware that tequila is brewed from the maguey agave plant, a sort of aloe, and NOT from any cactus. This was a METAPHOR, folks, an allusion to the liquor's spicy flavor, and an alliteration. Send no death threats, please. Thank you.]

Ron hoisted towels and Dr Bronner's liquid soap. They moved to the warm pool.

"How are we going to do this, exactly?" Edie asked.

"Let's dip into the spring, then get out and lather-up each other, then dip back in to rinse, then head for the hot pool to sanitize."

They unstrung their dusty ponytails; long hair spread like dark corollas as they drifted, faces skyward, eyes closed, peaceful. They bathed, and dried, and returned to the tent, and fucked, and dozed.

They crawled out again mid-morning with the sun fairly high and the air still chilly. Serapes, huaraches and ballcaps were sufficient dress for their stroll around the oasis area.

Edie pointed at large rockpiles some distance away. "I saw those marked on the topo map. Want to take a look?"

"We can use some exercise, right? Other than fucking, I mean." Ron grinned. "I'd like to jog but I'm not really dressed for it. Think I'll put on sneakers and shorts. How about you?"

"Yeah, good idea." Edie donned her sports bra, too. Damn, she was glad she had bought one of the first! She didn't need her boobs hitting her knees in later years.

Their five-mile run circled past boulders and monoliths. They surveyed petroglyphs, ancient Native American grafitti scatched into rock surfaces. "People have lived here for quite a while." Ron pointed at one graphic inscription. "Good hunting, too."

They stretched the run a couple miles to view more inscribed rockpiles. Not all the messages were ancient. Some bore European names, and dates from the 1800s; others, painted obscenities, were obviously more modern.

Jogging induced sweating, which promoted another dip into the hotter springs, fully clothed. You don't need soap to launder in a mineralized hot spring. Ron strung a clothesline; wet garb swung in the breeze while Ron and Edie resumed their sandals-and-ballcap attire -- after more sex, of course.

Ron rigged a tarp as a sunshade. They lounged in sheltered camp chairs, read, chatted, sipped lemonade, and plotted. The portable radio, a cheap Grundig, picked up stations from Reno, eighty miles away. It also received shortwave bands; they could listen to the world after sunset, when propagation improved.

Ron studied a large-scale topographic map. "Lots of dry lakes around here."

Edie looked up from her Steven King novel. "These are all that's left of ice-age Lake Lahontan -- used to cover most of the flatter areas in western Nevada. We covered this in geology class. Glaciers carved out those valleys in the Steens, and Yosemite. It all melted away, leaving a monster lake here; it dried up bit-by-bit. These playas are sometimes two miles thick with salts and sand. And really, really flat. The Bonneville Salt Flats are the same. Right here, we're between two big playas, the Black Rock and Smoke Creek deserts. Imagine the lake surface being a few hundred or thousand feet above us. BIG fucking lakes, all dried out."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, they're down in the Mohave Desert too, but the military turned lots of those into Air Force bases. Go exploring or camping near any and you're likely to get buzzed by hotshots punching afterburners a hundred feet overhead. Blows out eardrums. Fuck, they're loud!"

"These would make great spaceports," Edie said. "Especially the Black Rock. They'd probably call it Starport Reno. Smoke Creek would be the overflow dock. And right here," she waved at the oasis, "would be the atrium of the spaceport hotel. Hope they allow skinny-dipping."

An hour before dusk, lounging in the warm pool, they heard a motor approach from the south on the Smoke Creek Desert track. A trail of fine dust followed the motorbike rolling into their camp. The rider dismounted and pulled off her helmet.

"So you guys found the Pep Boys, huh? Mind if I join you?" She paced toward them, stripping her clothes off. A medium-height natural blonde with an hourglass figure, big areolas, sturdy thighs, and a big smile on her tanned late-twenties face. She slipped into the water beside them. "Hi, I'm Annie. Don't mind me; I'm always like this. Or worse."

"Er, hi. I'm Edie and this is Ron. The Pep Boys?" She was puzzled.

"Yeah, that's what we call these three springs. Manny, Moe, and Jack, from cooler to hotter. We're in Moe here. Some call them the Three Stooges, but that sucks. We'd still be in Moe. Where you guys from? I'm up from Reno."

"We pulled in from Grants Pass," Ron said. "So you know this place?

"Shit yeah, I'm up here all the time. Got a gang of friends coming in tomorrow; I'm sort of the advance scout. You plan to stay here awhile? That's cool; there's plenty of room to pitch camps."

"We don't know yet. Say, you look familiar. Were you in Twin Falls for that..."

"For the Eval Knieval fuckup? Yeah. Hey, I know you! You're that guitar guy -- you lost your glasses, they fell in a creek, right? And you were about blind and missed everything? Yeah, I'd BETTER remember you. We had a good..."