Davy's On The Road Again Ch. 14

"Good. I hurt like hell, too, but my mouth wants cock so you just lay back and enjoy it."

She kissed me as she slid down my chest. Burrowing her face into my chest, she nibbled on my nipple. Sucking it and licking it, her hand went down to my crotch and, sonovabitch, waddya know, I was stiff and hard and filling her hand. Honest, I didn't know I had it in me! Amy worked me like a lollipop as my mind began to drift off into somewhere I can't remember. And the reason why I can't remember is because I fell asleep, sound asleep, like snoring asleep. Believe me when I tell you that I heard about it the next morning.

We got up early to catch the sun peeking over Mount Sheridan's 10,000 foot summit. We caught a ride from our Ranger pals down to Lake Yellowstone Hotel's Sun Room. As we sipped our coffee and waited, Amy told the tale.

"Yes we were tired last night but I was frisky. Can you believe that while I was going down on him, he fell asleep! Honest to God! It was like one minute I have this monster in my mouth and then I notice his breathing get deep and he goes soft. Then he's fucking snoring! It's a good thing I don't have an inferiority complex! Damn!"

I took a good bit of ribbing between the laughter. Fortunately, the sun began to show itself and the attention turned away from me. A mist was above the lake and it looked as though the mountain was floating in the air above the mist. It was so beautiful to behold, the room fell silent.

After breakfast, a Ranger was waiting for us. He explained that he was our guide for the day. He first took us over to Old Faithful where we joined the throngs to watch it spout. That was pretty cool. Then he drove us down around Lake Yellowstone where he showed us the Amphitheater near Grant Village. It was a cozy space. He assured us that they would supply a PA system and a couple of amps. We drove up around the West Thumb of the lake all the way up to the Fishing Village. I can't even begin to tell you how scenic the ride was. We took a zillion pictures of trees, of water, of wildlife, you name it. Annie had a field day, too. (I hoped I looked good!) On the way back up to the cabins, we stopped at several falls, the Lower Falls being just the other side of fabulous. Through valleys and over rivers, past gamboling grizzlies and grazing bison, it was a fabulous ride and since we were all still sore from the previous day, it was a blessing.

Back at the cabin, I tended to Santo who seemed to have spent a lazy day. We took a long walk through a field to a rocky stream with several terraced falls. The water was cold and he enjoyed drinking from it. On our way back, I took a wide circle around several elk standing by the creek. We surprised several beaver who raced into the water. Unfortunately, our detour took us up a steep hill and then a good walk back to the cabins. Santo was as out of breath as I.

They were all sitting on the porch drinking, smoking and listening to Mark play. Santo ran up to the porch and promptly flopped under Amy's feet. I got my guitar and joined him. He asked me to call the tune and I selected "America, The Beautiful". We did such a sweet job on it, we said we'd do it at tomorrow's show, although I'd have to look up all the verses on the web. We worked on several American-themed songs and folk songs and developed a little set for the next day, Singing about the beauty of this country - in this place - just seemed so appropriate.

During a break, Amy, Annie and Deb began to prepare some dinner while I lubricated my throat with a good Napa cab. Laura asked me about playing and Mark and I responded with comments we'd made prior during the trip; about music being a conversation, about being fun and not work, about music being innate and like a flowing river.

"Davy, when you're making music, what goes through your head?"

"Hmm, interesting question. I really don't know. I mean, I don't have linear thoughts. Maybe it's because I switched to the creative side of my brain but I don't concentrate on anything but the music. I know that my guitar is there with me and all the parts of me are in concert together so I don't have to think about that. I'm just listening is all. Sometimes, when I am distracted by something while I'm playing, I immediately go back to listening to the music and I back into again. And it's hard to distract me. It's kind of like I talk, I think, I play and I sing and it's all in the same voice. I think I progressed past the idea of 'performing' years ago. I suppose you could say that I'm always performing."

"No, no. That's bullshit," said Mark. "That's the thing about you, Davy. You never perform. It's like us sitting around here and playing on the porch only there are people out there listening. They're incidental to the scene. Cooder said that to me after the benefit. He said that playing behind you was like wearing comfortable pajamas and I have to agree. Sebastian said something similar, too. I think that's part of the appeal of musician's wanting to play with you. There's no artifice...it's easy, it reminds us that it's pleasurable...and it's fucking tasty."

"And speaking of tasty, we have dinner ready. But I need some help taking the table outside. We need a table from another cabin, too."

We put the tables together and lined the chairs around them as platters of pasta, sausages and meatballs, garlic bread and salad filled them. It was a wonderful meal, full of warmth and camaraderie. As the sun set and the sky turned vivid, we all decided we were in paradise.

"Let me tell you," said Annie, "I can think of only a few shoots that were so easy-going and relaxed. It's like Laura and I were welcomed into your group as soon as we met up. I feel like I've known you guys forever and it's only been a few days. Shooting you is maybe like playing music with you. Like Mark said, it's easy and it's mellow and it's fun."

"I agree," said Laura, "you all are so honest and open about everything. It's like we've been together for years, almost like family. Are you like this with everyone?"

"I'd say that we're all a pretty welcoming bunch but that's because we have no fear of each other. There's a strong level of trust," added Deb.

"Yeah, you know, there's a wall between us and fans but it's a very thin wall," Mark offered.

"Yeah, I agree. With fans, you want to make them feel comfortable as quickly as you can so you can remove some of that fear. I mean, what do you want? To live in paranoia? Not me! Not ever again!"

We passed on coffee and dessert so as not to stay up too late. I wanted to give Amy the fuck she desired the night before but I didn't want to drag it into the wee hours. Also, the air and the entire environment tends to wipe you out. We cleaned up our camp and left the tables for tomorrow.

Back in the cabin, Amy and I squeezed into the shower stall and played with each other.

"You know, Davy, I'm kind of tired and I just want to go to sleep tonight."

"Yeah, right! I know, payback is a bitch."

"Ok, well - you eat me and let's see if I fall asleep."

"Is there betting? Are there odds? I want to bet the superfecta."

"Stop talking already, will you? I'm nearly asleep!"

"We'll see about that."

I pulled her legs apart and dove right in. I was hardly surprised to find her very wet and juicy. I slobbered around her labia until she pushed her clit into my face so I concentrated on giving her the maximally efficient orgasm. I sucked the little thing between my lips and moved up and down in it. This made her jump, much to my liking. I put two fingers into her and began to stroke her as I laved her clit. Her response was to bear down on my fingers, pushing them deeper and rubbing her hard g-spot. My fingers were soaking as she pushed against me. "Fuck me. Get inside me." What else could I do but to follow her instructions?

"Back in the saddle again..." I began to sing.

"Fuck me, cowboy. Harder."

We were pumping hard at each other and I felt her tremble. She grunted and I knew that she was close. Hell, I was close, too. We banged each other frantically until I felt her arch up against me. That's when I let loose my torrent of cum, spraying her insides and flooding her. We peaked at the same time and then collapsed with a flop on the bed.

"Wow," she said, "wham bam, thank you, sir. That was some great economic fuck! I can't recall us ever doing that. I guess we really needed it, huh?"

I made like I was snoring and she whacked me in the head with her pillow and called me a 'wise-ass."

"Guilty as charged," I said. "Still love me?"

"You bet, ya big galoot. Now you can shut up and let me get my beauty sleep."

Just for good measure, she whacked me again with her pillow. Five minutes later, I spooned us to sleep.

The next morning, we all sat around our outdoor picnic table munching blueberry muffins and coffee. There was a good deal of banter as we all teased each other about making too much noise in our beds. The three men made a big deal of showing how virile we were while the women teased us about faking orgasms. George said that he always faked his orgasms but Sarah had none of that claiming that she always got the wet spot afterwards. Annie, being gay, said that the wet spot was hardly a man's domain. Like I said, a lot of funny banter went on.

Ranger Williams drove up and asked us if we could play at around 3:30 as it was a good time for the Rangers as well as the park visitors since most were getting weary by then.

"Sure, why not. It'll be a good way to cap the day."

"Good. Meanwhile, would you all like to go for a swim in a secret pond? It's pretty private and away from the trails. Wilson and his wife have volunteered to take you up there. You can even bring your dog so long as you tie him to a tree."

We were all game for a little adventure so we got our gear together and soon the Wilsons, Tommy and Sandy, drove up.

"Come on, cowboys, hop in." He explained that it was his day off and he'd volunteered to show us a good time. Sandy was delighted to be in our company, or should I say, George's company. We hopped into the back of his truck where there was a large cooler stocked with water, soda and beer. About twenty minutes later, after following a bumpy unmarked dirt trail, we pulled up next to an idyllic pond fed by a twenty foot falls. The pond was a long wide oval that spilled down into a winding, rock-laden stream. The pond was very private and surrounded by tall pine trees. What a spot! Santo's tether was long enough for him to dip, too.

"This is ours," said Tommy, "we keep visitors and hikers away from here." Sure enough, there was a couple of lean-tos and an outhouse off to one side. "The water may take a little getting used to as it could be cold although, since it's getting late in the season, it may have warmed up a bit."

I pulled a joint from my pocket and asked Wilson if he minded and would he like to join us.

"I'd love to but I can't. They test us randomly ever since they found the pot farm on the sunny side of Snowy's Butte. But thanks anyway. I'm sure Sandy will have a few hits, though.

Everybody tossed of their clothes and, in bathing suits, jumped in as Mark, George and I toked up. Immediately, there were squeals and laughter.

"This water is cold!"

"No, it's not cold, it's refreshing!"

"Fuck you, it's fucking cold!"

Mark and I jumped in and swam around. I swam by Amy and pinched her ass. Yeah, the water was cold but it wasn't that bad, especially if you stayed under it. Pretty soon, everyone had adapted to the water and we were frolicking around. You could stand on the slippery rocky bottom, or try to stand without slipping. Annie was on the shore, snapping away and laughing at our antics. She took several shots with us under the falls and one posed shot with Amy and I kissing. (I knew that wouldn't make into print but I wanted it to hang on a wall.) After a couple of hours of this goofy fun, we dried off and headed back. About two hundred yards away from the pond, we drove past several grizzlies in the woods heading toward it. We were all very glad we'd picked that moment to leave. I was also glad that Tommy had his dart gun on him. Also, on the way back, we had to stop and take in the view before us: snow-capped peaks, lush valleys, winding streams and several steamy vents. Paradise.

About two, Tommy and Sandy returned in two large Range Rovers to take us to the amphitheater near Grant Village with Santo squeezed under my legs. They took a different loop road down there and we were treated to all new scenery. We had to stop to let the tail end of a bison herd cross the road. Although we were not too close, we were close enough to smell them and you know what, they stink!

We pulled in around three and were surprised to see that the seats were already filled. There were people on blankets and lots of folding chairs, too. Tommy explained that they had distributed flyers in the hotels and camp grounds around the park. Another ranger told us that some people had been here for several hours already. The amphitheater itself was a nice intimate and rustic facility surrounded by woods and with a view of Yellowstone Lake behind it. We were ushered behind the stage while park staff set it up and tested mics. Williams stopped by to wish us well and Rusty also stopped by. There was a tent set up for us with some snacks from the nearby hotel and we were told that we could have dinner there after the show. Soon it was showtime and I walked onto the stage with my Martin and my dog, who promptly sat at my feet.

"Hello, fellow visitors to Paradise. My name is Davy Harper and this afternoon, it is my pleasure to sing for you in this wonderful park. Let me introduce my band to you, please give a warm welcome to master fiddler extraordinaire, Mark O'Flannery...(applause as Mark walks out) and the beautiful harmonies and harmonica stylings of Ms. Amy Bieler...(more applause as Amy walks out and waves)...and down here, holding down the bottom is my dog, Santo (even bigger applause). We're going to perform a set today that we hope you enjoy as it was inspired by our visit here. We want to thank all the Yellowstone Park Rangers who have made us feel this place in some deep places, National Park Services, the Department of the Interior and most important, our country, The United States of America." I stood at the mic and began to sing a cappella, with the lyrics in my hand.

"O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties,
Above the fruited plain!

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood,
From sea to shining sea!"

Mark began to play with a little beat and Amy joined in harmony. I started to pick.

"O beautiful for pilgrim feet,
Whose stern impassion'd stress,
A thoroughfare for freedom beat,
Across the wilderness.

America! America!
God mend thine ev'ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

O beautiful for heroes prov'd
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev'ry gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream,
That sees beyond the years,
Thine alabaster cities gleam,
Undimmed by human tears."

"Please feel free to join in."

"America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea."

"That was so lovely, let me hear it again"

"America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea."

Big applause. "Oh, thank you. That felt great, didn't it? Well, if you liked that, what do you think of this?" Mark and I began to play as Amy added a haunting harp.

"Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together
I've got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner's pies
And we walked off to look for America."

I must admit, we did the song justice. Paul Simon, cranky bastard that he is, would have been proud. I once took some lessons from his brother, Eddie, a heluva guitarist and I learned the song from him.

"Do you all see a theme here?" We went through a bunch of crowd pleasers, each done in our own way. Several times, Mark, Amy and I went off on breaks that soared in different ways and, as Mark and I have learned, we took off an interesting codas bringing in themes from other songs (like adding a little of "Born In The U.S.A." which we didn't play, to the end of "Rocky Mountain High", which we did. We also added a bit of "Rocky Mountain Way" into the break. It was neat. On "City of New Orleans", Mark added Glenn Miller's "American Patrol" into the break. That was very neat.) Our set included Chuck Berry's "Back In The U.S.A.", Randy Newman's "Feels Like Home", The Band's "Across The Great Divide", a bluegrass version of George M. Cohan's "Yankee Doodle Dandy", Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier" (an interesting and peculiar reggae arrangement, but it worked), Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom" and Dan Fogelberg's "Forefathers."

"I want to bring out a friend to join us on a couple of songs...please give it up for "A Man of Lonesome Sorrow", Mr. George Clooney." (Big roar) We kicked into it as George came onstage doing a little country steppin' with his elbows out. We backed him like The Soggy Bottom Boys. During the break, he and Amy do-si-doed. He got a great applause, bowed and went to run off the stage but I held him as we kicked into "This Land Is Your Land" in which I imitated Pete Seeger and had everyone standing and singing. Even Santo barked along.

"I want to thank you for your hospitality today...and a big tip of the hat to our Rangers (I pointed to each one of them for applause)...and I think it's only fitting that since everyone is standing, we end the show like this..." We sang a cappella.

"While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,
Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free,
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer. "

God Bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above.
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home.
God bless America, My home sweet home."

"Thank you all...clean up after yourselves...kiss a Park Ranger...Thank you...Donate to your local Food Pantry...Thank you."

The applause seemed deafening in that little theater as we stepped off the stage into the audience. Shaking hands and signing autographs under the blue sky capped the show for us. It was a good forty-five minutes until we could break away and go backstage into the tent where we guzzled bottles of water and even poured them over our heads. The Rangers were effusive in their thanks and praise. We posed for a bunch of group pictures with the Rangers (and one with Williams, Wilson and Rusty). Annie told us that she had taken some of the best shots all week. Laura had spent time in the crowd getting sound bytes from members of the audience and she said they would fit well in her article. In short, with a nod to The Beatles, a wonderful time was had by all.

Tommy and Sandy drove us over to the Grant Village Inn and we were offered a room to clean ourselves up. We asked the Wilsons to join us for dinner. And what an excellent dinner it was. We all had the local specialty, Fresh Lake Trout, pan-fried and encrusted with toasted pecans and lemon butter. It was lip-smacking good. It was a great way to end the performance and we all felt good about the show. The kitchen staff even took Santo to a side room where they fed him a big bowl of scraps.