We lay down on our bellies, side by side. The hot sun beat on my back and my thighs and my butt. We turned our heads so we could look at each other. She was very close. She smiled.
"You're good," I said. "Go climbing with me tomorrow."
"But I'm not very strong."
"You're strong enough," I said.
"I try. I workout. There's a place down the street from my job that has a climbing wall."
"You could do most of the climbs around here."
"But I do six pull-ups and I'm exhausted. And my neck aches for a week afterwards."
"I think you can do it."
"Easy for you to say." She rolled up and, with both hands, she grabbed the thick muscle at my side. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Look at these lats. Twice as big as mine."
She let go of my side, but my heart raced from her brief touch. It had not been a shy touch. I thought it might mean something, something sexual. I searched her face for a meaning. Her eyes darted.
I almost forgot I was trying to convince her to go climbing with me. I needed to continue the argument. She had said something about the merits of muscle size. "But you weigh less," I said, "you don't need to be as strong."
She harumphed. "So how many pull-ups can you do? Twenty? Thirty?"
"There is a lot more to climbing than pull-ups."
"No kidding. That's why I don't like it here. It's like a giant chin-up bar."
"Why on Earth would you practice and workout and then not go climbing?"
She sat silently, her forehead furrowed.
"If you get in trouble, you could just rappel down."
She did not say anything.
"Come on. I need a partner."
She did not say anything.
"You can belay, can't you?"
"OK," she said, slowly. "I'll climb with you."
* * *
I got ready to lead the second pitch. She put her shirt back on and got herself into a good belay position. My hands were dry, my arms and legs felt strong. She checked over the rope one last time.
* * *
"You never did tell me what you do all day."
"Mostly I go bouldering and I hike all the trails. And I like to lie in the sun."
"I don't mind being by myself."
"Why don't you go with your boyfriend? You should be out climbing."
"He gets mad at me if I can't do something. It's just a lot easier if he goes with people who are as good as he is."
"Is that why you came here? To wander around the campground by yourself?"
"Oh," she groaned, "I don't know why I came here. Look," she said forcefully, "let's not talk about my boyfriend."
* * *
The second pitch was easy. The rock was near vertical, but there were big horizontal cracks and shelves at convenient intervals. It was a simple series of reaches and pull-ups and mantel moves. I got a good pump going in my arms and shoulders and back.
* * *
She curled up into a sitting position at my side. "Give me your hand."
I felt nervous. I rolled up to face her, my penis, now exposed, hung down across the top of my thigh, and I gave her my right hand. She held it in both hands, close to her face. She studied my hand closely, flipping it over once, then back. She ran her fingers along my thick calluses. Her fingernails were trimmed neat and short. "You climb a lot," she said.
"During the winter," I said. "I work all summer."
She rubbed the heel of my hand with her thumbs, and then she kissed my palm. My cock began to stiffen, and I shifted uneasily. She noticed. "Don't be ashamed," she said. "It's a natural body function."
I breathed deeply and she traced the outlines of my fingers. My cock hardened.
She looked me in the eye and drew my hand to her sternum.
"Touch me," she whispered.
* * *
When I got to the overhang, I felt good and strong, so I decided to try something showy. The wide chimney up through the overhang was the obvious path. But this spot on this route was famous for an easy, but spectacular move. There was a big hand-sized hole on the top side of the overhang, one you could grab and hold forever if you wanted to. The trick was to reach around the lip of the overhang, grab hold, and swing out into open space until your feet dangled freely. While you hang from one hand, the spectators ooh and ahh. A simple pull-up and you are past the overhang.
A crack on the underside was a place to hold onto while I leaned away from rock. I reached around the lip of the overhang and fished blindly for the hole. I found it right away, got four fingers into it. It was as secure a hold as you ever find.
I carefully let loose of the crack with my left hand and swung out until I hung in mid air. I chalked my free hand, moving slowly to avoid swinging, and reached up and stuffed both hands into the hole. It was a simple matter to pull myself up to the edge, hook my heel over the top, and pull myself up onto solid rock.
* * *
She lay back and closed her eyes. My hand trembled as I placed it over her face. I was afraid my calluses would be rough, or that I had lost sensation in my fingertips. So I touched her as lightly as I could, the softest possible touches skimming her forehead, and down, over her closed, twitching eyelids, down her nose, and across her lips. She swallowed. I feathered across her lips and they parted, and I felt her breath on my fingers. My hand traveled down around her chin to her neck, and the muscle in her neck jerked and tensed, then slowly relaxed.
I felt clumsy. My thick fingers were more attuned to granite walls than to a woman's body. And so I imagined her body was a rock, and I slid lightly across her skin, searching out hollows and bumps and creases. I found comfort in her collarbones, behind her knees, the upper slope of her breast, underneath in the cleft of her butt. I hooked a finger in her navel and she laughed.
I touched her and I explored her. Sparse wispy white hairs grew all over her legs. And a small blond tuft under each arm. A long, smooth scar on her forearm. Firm muscles in her calves and thighs. She stank of her briny sweat.
Her thick, crinkled nipple perked up in the branch of my thumb and forefinger. She groaned and stretched out and my cock jerked up straight.
* * *
The top of the overhang was like a platform to stand on. The climb was practically over. I placed one last piece of protection and scooted up over the final edge.
I was on top!
* * *
She lay back and spread her legs and her crotch was all plastered with wet and hair. She ran her hand up and down the inside of her thigh, and her pussy opened up, showing off the crimson inside.
I crawled up between her thighs. I ran my hands over the inside of her legs and she sighed. Her hands landed on my hips, and she pulled around and grabbed my ass. I came up closer and we kissed.
I swiped my hand across her pussy, felt the steamy heat, and rubbed her until she groaned deep in her throat.
I dragged my hands up over her ribs, she let out a gasp and her breath quickened. I could feel the deep beat of her heart. Her eyes glazed over and her tongue slipped out over her lips, leaving them wet. I kissed her, her mouth opened and our tongues slithered together. My stiff cock poked her belly. She kneaded my butt with both hands.
I took hold of my erection and guided it downward. She reached between her legs and held herself open like a split-open fruit. I penetrated slowly, and she groaned and moved her legs up and her heels rested on my lower back. Her pussy felt warm and thick.
* * *
I could not see her climb the second pitch. The overhang blocked the view down, and my belay anchor was away from the edge. I had to handle the rope by feel.
And this time she climbed very slowly.
She was shorter than I was, and she had an obsessive concern about her arm strength. So the second pitch, while not technically difficult, would likely be a lot of work for her. I did not think it would be too hard, though.
But it went slower than I guessed. She did not move fluidly, she stopped frequently, she never got a rhythm going. It was like she would get to each horizontal crack and stop.
And then there was a long pause. The rope vibrated taut between my hand and the edge, but there was no motion. I held for a long time. I listened for any sound but could not hear a thing.
"Are you OK?" I yelled down.
"Yeah," she yelled back.
"Do you need help?"
"No. I just need to rest a little. I'm real tired."
"Do you want to rappel down?"
"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
After a few more minutes, the rope slackened. She was moving again.
* * *
She clutched my shoulders and pulled herself up until her nose nearly touched mine. She was so close I could barely focus on her face. Her eyes shone blue with pinpoint pupils. Her moist breath tickled my lips. I thrust faster and deeper. Our bodies slapped together.
She rocked her hips strongly, long upward swings with my every downward thrust. Her breathing turned shallower and our noses bumped.
She let go of my arms, set her shoulders on the ground, and humped back hard. She used her fingers, loosely separated, and brushed them back and forth over her clitoris. She whimpered and her jaw dropped open, her eyes fluttered closed, and a tremble overtook her.
All of a sudden I felt my own pressure rise.
"I think I'm coming," I grimaced.
I pulled out and placed my shiny trembling cock on her belly. She reached out and fingered the head, and her touch set me off, my cock expanded out and spat its thick semen, depositing it more or less into the cup of her navel.
* * *
I felt her struggle in the tension and slack of the rope. It is an odd way to feel somebody, through a rope. You can not see a thing, and you make up images based on the subtle pulls and slackenings. If the rope moves easily you imagine a smile. If the rope vibrates with tension, you imagine a grimace and a wrinkled brow.
Her rope moved by inches. At times I wondered if it moved at all. I would pull another inch up, and I would wonder if I had simply pulled out an inch of slack between us. But slowly, ever so slowly, I added loop after loop to the coil at my left.
As she got closer to the top, I heard her. She did not say words - she made low animal noises. A growl and a curse and I pulled another six inches of rope through my hands. The scrape of feet on rock. A whimper. And then a long extended groan, and an exhilarating two feet of rope. A pause and another inch. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." And another three inches. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." And another two inches. And then, out of nowhere, a whole foot.
And then the long pause. I could hear her breathing. I looked at the coil of rope that had already pulled through my hands. She should be near the top. Perhaps stopped in the shade beneath the big overhang.
"I can't do this," she said.
"Sure you can."
"My arms aren't long enough. I can't do the reach around this overhang."
All of a sudden, I knew I had made a mistake. I should not have made the fancy overhang move. I should have taken the easier route through the chimney. If she could not follow my route, she would need to traverse to the big crack, work her way up, then traverse back to pick up the protection. Traverses can be dangerous business. When protection is not straight above you, if you fall, you pendulum across. And it is not easy to hold a swinging body. If I remembered right, this particular traverse could be tricky. Not an easy section for a tired climber.
I set myself hard, braced my feet, and tried to remember if I had set a solid belay line. Fortunately, I am usually very careful about that.
"Traverse to the chimney," I said.
I heard her mutter. "Fucking son-of-a-bitch I'm going to fucking kill myself."
* * *
We froze for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Her face glistened with sweat. Her lower lip trembled, curling under, and for moment I thought she would cry. But she let out a long ragged breath, kissed me, and sat up.
She dropped down off the rock and quickly washed off in the cold river water. She scrambled back up and we settled down next to each other, on our sides, face to face. I felt like I should say something, but I couldn't think of anything to say.
Finally, I patted the towel. "Lie down," I said. She grinned and rolled onto her belly.
* * *
I had to let out rope while she traversed towards the chimney, giving up all those precious inches that had been so hard to come by. My muscles tensed up. I felt the rope for the slightest change.
There was a loud scrape of feet against the rock.
"Falling!" she screamed.
I felt a rush of panic. I grabbed the rope tight, whipped my brake hand across my body and tensed my legs for holding a fall.
The rope slowly tightened. She was not free falling. She was slipping slowly downwards. I held on, but there was no sudden jerk, just an increasing tension on the rope.
And then just the light, constant tension. I held for what seemed like a full minute. Was I holding her weight? I did not think so, she had caught herself. I imagined her toes pressed against a small bump in the rock, her fingers clutching hairline cracks, her chest and cheek pressed against the rock face.
"Slack!" came a muffled yell.
Gingerly, I let out some rope, and it went slack. I exhaled. She had found a secure spot.
* * *
I moved her hair away from her neck. The entirety of her naked back was there for me. I reached out and placed my hands on her.
I massaged her back muscles, searching each one out individually. The firm deltoids around her shoulders, the big fan-shaped trapezius below her neck, the ripple of teres major and infraspinatus, the latissimus dorsi covering her ribs, the erector spinae along her backbone. And her round and firm gluteus maximus.
She moaned as I drew my hands down her back to her waist. My hands could span the entire width of her lower back, my thumbs over her spine, the fingers flaring out to press into the lower back muscle. And back up, over her shoulders, around to her arms, then drawing back down her lats. "Look at these lats," I teased, and I grabbed her. She jerked and giggled. "That tickles."
* * *
She came up over the edge dripping sweat. The veins in her biceps bulged against her skin.
For a moment she remained poised there, on her hands and on the balls of her feet, panting heavily, tensed like a bobcat. Her blue-gray eyes shimmered like the heat rising off hot pavement. Her pupils were dark and dilated.
And then she vaulted forward on top of me. Her shoulder hit my chest with a thud, and the force of her threw me back on the ground. Her mouth was near my ear. "Off belay," she whispered, and then her wet tongue filled my ear. Her body trembled all over.
* * *
I rubbed her back and ass and legs.
"We don't really have that much in common," she said.
"My boyfriend and me."
It looked like we were going to talk after all. "You don't think so?"
"You must have something in common. Why did you get together?"
"I guess because he excited me. He was an adventurer, and he had lots of good stories. He can be fun to be around."
"But not any more?"
"I guess the stories get old after a while. And I think he's bored of me."
"We never have spent much time together. We don't live together, so we sometimes don't even see each other for a week or so. Before this trip, I couldn't tell you the last time we spent the night. And even here, we sleep in the same tent, but he doesn't usually come to bed until after I'm asleep."
"It doesn't sound like much of a relationship. If you don't mind my saying it."
"No," she sighed, "it doesn't seem like much of a relationship."
I was tempted to ask her what about me, but she sighed heavily. I felt her muscles relax under my hands.
* * *
We struggled with the knots and buckles of climbing paraphernalia. I got my harness off, pulled off my shirt as she wiggled around on top of me. Her fingers were still uncoordinated from the exertion of the climb, and she had a hard time loosening her end of the rope.
She stepped off me to get her harness off. I threw off my shorts, not even bothering to take off my climbing shoes. My cock jutted freely, and she gave up struggling with her clothes, dropped down and grabbed my cock with both hands. I grabbed her breasts through her shirt and squeezed her swollen nipples. She kissed me and she stroked my thick erection.
She sank down onto my lap, trapping my cock between her thighs, and I rolled upwards and we hugged each other close. We kissed hungrily, wet, full-mouthed kisses, our arms crushing us together. I wanted to squeeze the air out of her. She grunted and squeezed me back, and our mouths sucked.
I needed oxygen, I let go, broke the kiss, and I lay back on the ground. She looked down at me from above, smiling, her lungs heaving. She yanked her shirt up over her head, showing me her pretty little tits. I arched back up and buried my face in the shallow valley between her breasts, and I licked the salty skin there, then up and across to suck up the nipple. She groaned and held my head to her peaked nipple and I grabbed her other breast with my callused hand.
She groped me, pinching my nipples, stroking over abdominals and pectorals. I untied the drawstring on her climbing pants and she was naked underneath. My hand searched its way between her legs. Her pussy was hot and humid.
* * *
"Sometimes I get so frustrated. I asked him once, `When are we going to fuck?'" She sighed and shook her head. "And he yelled at me. `I don't want to hear you use that kind of language ever again!' He was so mad, I was afraid he was going to hit me."
* * *
She pressed me down onto my back and straddled my thighs. She grabbed my cock and held it straight up, pointing it at the sweaty tangle of blond hair between her legs. She lowered herself down with a sigh. Her hot pussy enveloped me.
Her hips revolved slowly, holding my huge erection deep inside her, and she let loose a burst of giggles. The corded muscles in her thighs jerked and twitched. I ran my hands up and down her legs and up over her pelvis to her ribs and up on her breasts. Her legs tensed and strained.
She humped up and down and I squeezed one of her little tits and used my other hand on her pussy, pressing my thumb against her clit.
Faster, she bucked up and down, quick jerky thrusts. Her upper chest flushed pink, sweat trickled down her tanned belly. I reached up and put my hands over her face and she groaned, and she sucked my thumb in her mouth and I fingered her sensitive lips. Her hips bucked, my cock swelled. I drew my hands down her neck across the hot skin of her chest, pinching up her nipples.
* * *
"I think he might be cheating on me."
"Why do you think that?"
"I don't know. I just think so sometimes. But it isn't the cheating part that bothers me. The thing I hate most is that he takes me for granted."
* * *
She threw her head back and let out an enormous whoop. Her voice echoed against the granite cliffs. My cock twitched and gushed and filled her pussy with seed. She tossed her head back and forth, her golden hair, damp with perspiration, swirled about her face.
And we were motionless. My cock shrank within the confines of her sloppy pussy; her hands pressed down against my shoulders. She looked down at me from above, and a drop of sweat fell off her chin and splashed against my neck.
We breathed hard and stared at each other. A smile came to her lips, and she threw her head back and laughed.
She pulled forward, my cock drooped out, and she laughed again. She leaned down and kissed me. She tasted of salt. I put my arms around her, squeezed her close, felt her cool slick body against me. I could hold her forever.
But she would have none of that. She stood up and my arms slipped away. She stood and looked down at me, smiling wide. She turned and bounced a few steps away and she laughed, her sweaty body shining in the late-morning sun. I sat up and watched as she strode naked and confident to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the valley below. And she threw her head back and yelled out at the top of her lungs: