The Storm

Damn it! The little creek had been flooded from the violent rain. The placid little mountain stream, usually a pleasant, quiet little trickle, was a churning, heaving white water rapid. Foam was splashing up to, onto and sometimes over the old log and timber bridge; our only way out of Randy and Constance's mountain retreat. It was a nightmare scene now caught in my headlights. The forest surrounding us was so dark the hundred foot tall old growth firs crowding the road couldn't be individually distinguished; then this insane travesty of a creek. I had waded there two summers ago. It wasn't ankle deep.

Without light of some kind it would be impossible to move in the rain forest until after daylight, many hours away. When that bridge went, it would be a long hike in that forest.

The bridge was definitely going to go! And soon!

I sat for a moment watching the froth leaping into the air higher than my head from the madly churning rapids. What scared me wasn't the water reaching to less than a foot of the bridge, it was the water now more than an inch deep over the bridge approaches and rising almost visibly.

The creek was just inches below the bottom of the bridge. Eight hours ago I could easily have stood atop any of the shoulder high boulders littering the streambed, and been unable to reach the bottom of the bridge.

Time to forget the beer run Constance and I were on and get back to warn the other guests.

Constance looked scared sitting beside me, clutching my arm. "Peter, I've never seen it this high before! We've never had water over the road." She had to speak loud to be heard over the drum of water thundering onto the roof of my fire engine red Jeep Grand Cherokee.

It had been raining steadily for several days, but shortly after my fiancée Sibyl and I arrived at the party the skies opened and began pouring buckets. I'd never before seen rain like this around Seattle. Sure it rained, but almost always a soft gentle rain. Hard, driving, knock down the cornfield rain like this just didn't happen here; until this afternoon.

Randy, Constance's husband, was giving a weekend party in the mountain 'cabin' that had been in Randy's family for generations. The land around it was all National Forest with no private buildings now being allowed. Except that Randy's great grandfather built a cabin here years before on land he bought before this was declared a National Park. Hell, it might have been his great, great grandfather. In any case, it was a classic case of "Grandfathering" as Randy told us ad naseum. The pun was long dead, but the fact remained. His family, and the branch of the family directly descended from the old man, had a legal right to keep a private cabin on this national land.

The law did not define what it considered a cabin, and over the years it had grown considerably. The main "cabin" was now an eight room, two story house. It was log construction, which was the only thing that came close to making it look like a cabin. In the city it could have been considered a small mansion.

Loosely connected to the main cabin, and connected with covered walkways which according to the law made them all "one building", were four smaller four and five room "cabins". They had been built to house married children and their families. Each had a bathroom with composting toilet, a sitting room and several bedrooms. Kitchen and dining room facilities for the complex were housed in the main cabin.

Sibyl worked for the firm Randy's family owned, and at one time Randy had been her supervisor. Sibyl had told me that Randy had an important job in the company but everyone knew he wasn't going any higher. He was too much of a playboy, too impetuous, and his judgement had proven skewed when he overcame those obstacles. I'd seen some of the chances he took personally, and understood why the staid family establishment had no desire to see him running things. If I had been one of them, I would have been unwilling to have him running the accounting department, which was his job.

It was a trick turning my Jeep around on the lightly flooded road, but I managed and in moments we were back around the bend and parking in front of the main cabin. We had been gone less than fifteen minutes, and several puzzled faces were looking out at us from the windows.

After a jury-rigged beer cooler Randy had devised had been carried away by the river, Constance and I had been commandeered into making a beer run. Sibyl had been in a corner chatting with Randy when the grumbling grew too loud and she or he volunteered my services to drive into town to replenish the supply. I wasn't too keen on going, but this was a weekend party, after all, and taking the two hours out to keep the party going didn't seem too much of a hassle. Randy insisted I not pay for the beer, and donated Constance's services to ride along and use their credit card.

Sloshing through the parking area, we picked our way to the front door through the BMW's, Mercedes, and even one Ferrari. Inside Constance went one way, and I went the other passing the word for everyone to evacuate. We estimated the bridge was going to be washed out, probably within three or four hours. Anyone that had anyplace to go for the next several weeks had best move their sweet patooties and get over that bridge before it disappeared. It was twenty-five miles to what we in Washington State call civilization, and with this flood coming out of the sky it wouldn't be a pleasant stroll.

The first BMW fired up, and drove off ten minutes later. In the meantime, I was getting worried because I couldn't find my fiancée. .

I had pretty much covered the main cabin when I realized the party had spilled over into the 'attached' cabins. On my way out to let those folks know about the bridge, I figured I'd find Sibyl.

There were a few couples sitting, chatting and dancing to the stereo in the first cabin but no Sibyl. After checking all the rooms there, I moved on to the next, which was locked and empty. Not finding Sibyl there it occurred to me she had probably been in the john, so I quit worrying. Knowing it was better being over zealous than sorry later, I continued on to check out the last cabin, which also looked dark and empty.

The din of rain on the tin roof of the last cabin made it impossible to hear as I approached and for a moment I puzzled over why this cabin was roofed with tin instead of cedar shakes like the others, then forgot the problem. I was certain it was empty, it was certainly dark, but if I didn't check it out I'd be fretting about it all night. The sitting room was empty and dark. Stepping to the barely seen hall entrance I saw the door to the first bedroom was standing open, the room empty. However, as I hesitated before leaving I noticed a dim red glow showing under the door of the second bedroom at the end of the short hallway.

I felt uncomfortable about opening it, this was a party after all. However the noise on the roof was too loud for anyone in the bedroom to hear me even if I used a bullhorn. The hallway was pitch black except for the dim glow under the door, but suddenly I knew someone was in there. I stumbled over a woman's shirt lying in the hallway. I picked it up, and spotted a pair of women's slacks lying in front of the closed door.

Even in the almost nonexistent light coming from the glow under the door I knew the shirt and slacks. Not thirty minutes before I had been admiring them on Sibyl as she stood chatting with Randy. That had been just before she enthusiastically agreed to my taking the Jeep into town. That was just before Randy asked his wife to go with me on the two-hour drive.

I stood a moment, wondering what to do. It embarrasses me now to recall it, but I almost left the whoever was in that room there as Constance and I evacuated everyone else. I almost left them to hike their way out in the morning. The distance and the damage being done to the sodden forest would make it a miserable two or three day walk. Maybe even a dangerous one. That thought was the one that decided me against trying to ignore what was going on.

Instead I carried Sibyl's shirt and slacks with me as I slowly opened the door to the bedroom.

A small lamp stood on a bedside table, washing the room with a dim red glow. Half way between the door and the bed lay Sibyl's white, frilly, almost transparent bra, torn in half. Almost under the bed were the remains of her panties. I recognized the underwear. They were a lingerie set I gave her as a personal and secret birthday gift Wednesday. For a ridiculous moment all that filled my mind was the thought that I had never seen Sibyl wearing the set; along with the non sequitor that it had cost me $110.95; plus tax.

Snorting I focused my attention on the bed.

Not much was to be seen. The couple was almost lost in a soft mattress, and surrounded by a hugely fluffed quilt. The only thing to be seen were two shapely female legs, spread wide, sticking up in the air and waving back and forth. Between them a large, fat male ass was rising and falling.

They had no clue I was there.

I turned and left.

Bundling up Sibyl's slacks and shirt so they couldn't be identified, I hustled to the main cabin and out to my Jeep. I shoved Sibyl's clothes in the back and out of sight before running back inside to snatch up her coat and purse from the room where all the coats had been left. Most of the coats were already gone.

Armed with Sibyl's coat and purse, I marched back to the scene of the ongoing crime.

Stepping just inside the bedroom, I looked around and spotted Randy's clothes. They were neatly folded and stacked tidally on a chair against the wall. The thought crossed my mind that Randy was ever the accountant, keeping everything neat and orderly. Grimacing, I realized his interest in neat and tidy was for those things he considered important. My fiancée's clothes, and by extension my fiancée, had been shredded and tossed helter-skelter. It was easy to understand what he considered unimportant; like my Sibyl, like a liaison with any woman.

Scooping up Randy's things up I carried them outside where I tossed them up onto the roof out and of sight; socks, pants, underwear, shirt, the whole shebang. As I hefted his pants I noticed the weight of his wallet and keys but didn't stop to take them out. They went up with the pants.

Grimly I returned to the bedroom. There the woman's legs were now wrapped around the fat ass, which was making short, hard, happy thrusts downward. Over the cacophony of the rain I could barely hear a woman's screams.

Flipping on the overhead light, I stood lounging against the door as first Sibyl's face and then Randy's popped up over the top of the quilt, looking at the doorway. Their eyes dazzled by the sudden glare of the overhead light and interrupted, as they were, in the middle of an orgasm, neither immediately recognized me. Randy's face turned ugly, and I could see, and almost hear, his obscenities and screams demanding I turn out the light and leave.

Sibyl was first to identify their intruder. Her face went from an embarrassed scarlet to a pale mask of fear as I watched her sweet lips mouth, "OH! OhmyGod! Oh no!" Then she began struggling to get free of the heavy burden lying atop her naked body.

Of course it was impossible. Nature did not mean for a woman whose body was accommodating an erect male member inside it to be able to break free from that accommodation without the cooperation of the owner of that member. Up to then Randy had seen no reason to consent to said withdrawal. He violently wanted the light out and the intruder to leave but saw no reason to interrupt mastering the piece of fluff lying under him.

It was comical later on, recalling the exact instant Randy recognized why Sibyl was struggling to free herself from his member. He rolled suddenly to the far side of the bed, his face pale, his mouth hanging open. It only took him a moment though before he decided to try to brazen it out.

As his bluster began, still completely unheard over the roar of rain on the tin roof, I stalked to the bed. Taking my fiancée's arm I yanked her off the bed and stood her, nude and upright, beside me. She was in shock, trembling as I wordlessly stuffed first one arm, then the other into the raspberry red, full-length London Fog raincoat she had worn to the party.

In one stride I was at the end of the bed to pick up her shoes where they had been tossed. I scooped up her destroyed underwear and shoved them in her arms along with her purse and shoes before taking her hand and hauling her after me barefoot down the hall. Clutching her shoes, purse and underwear to her breast with the other hand, her raincoat flapped open with every step, revealing her nudity.

Outside the tin-roofed cabin we could again be heard but I was silent as I hauled a barefooted Sibyl along behind me.

Sensing, or perhaps hearing his footsteps over the rainfall, I spun around to confront Randy as he ran up behind me. He reached to grab my shoulder, and I knocked his hand away.

"Not another move, slimeball. Got it?"

He stopped and looked at me uncertainly, no longer confident or belligerent while standing there naked. He had found his shoes, but nothing else, even socks.

"Where are my clothes, Peter?" he mumbled.

"I put 'em away, slimeball. Before we continue this discussion you should know that the bridge across that little creek up the road will be washed out real soon. 'Most everyone else has already left so they won't be trapped here. I suggest you make tracks, too. Get some of your other clothes, slimeball. It will take you a while to locate those you took off to ball my ex-fiancée."

"I don't have any other clothes here! We don't keep things here; things can mildew. Come on, where are they buddy?"

"Damned if I'll tell you. That's your problem, not mine. And you sure as hell aren't any buddy of mine. Any friendship we had, you fucked, understand?"

His shoulders slumped, and that was the moment Constance stepped out onto the covered walkway where we were standing. She saw Randy standing there, wearing only his shoes with the shoe strings dragging on the ground and froze, both hands covering her mouth and her eyes flitting between Randy, Sibyl and myself. Glancing down, I saw Sibyl's raincoat hanging loosely, giving glimpses of her nudity with every movement she made as she stood on one foot trying to slip on her second shoe.

Breaking out a momentary trance, Constance told me, "We should get out of here, Peter. Most of the others have already gone. One of the guys is an engineer. He drove down to look at the bridge, then came back to tell us we don't have a couple of hours until it goes. He said it might wash out any minute."

"I'm on my way, Constance. Take slimeball with you, I'll have enough trouble in my car already."

She nodded before turning back into the main cabin calling over her shoulder, "Randy, get your naked ass moving. I'm leaving as soon as I get to the car. If you aren't in it, you stay here."

I followed after her, still clutching Sibyl's hand. She was crying softly.

Once in the main cabin I stopped to let Sibyl tie her shoes. As she stood up the lights went out, except for a small emergency, battery powered light by the door, as Randy flipped off the power before following Constance out the door. She never looked back to see if he was following.

Sibyl and I sloshed out to my Jeep. Stopping at the car we saw Randy's naked ass flop down in the passenger seat of their Mercedes. Constance didn't wait for him to buckle the seatbelt around his naked middle before she had the car moving. Looked to me like he hadn't even closed the car door tight before she drove off.

My Jeep was the only vehicle left.

Wasting no time I backed around and headed out. Turning the corner and glimpsing the bridge I certainly understood the engineer's concern. It couldn't have been forty-five minutes since Constance and I had turned around there. At that time there was an inch of water over the road. Now it was at least five inches deep and rising. We watched Constance drive the Mercedes over the bridge, the car throwing rooster-tails up behind it.

When we reached the bridge white froth from the creek was covering the roadway and bridge. Driving over it I felt the bridge sway.

It was a silent drive back to the city, with Sibyl hunched up against the passenger door, staring out the window. Once we were well past the bridge I had handed her the shirt and pants I'd stowed there earlier. She wasted no time struggling into them. Driving slowly because of weather conditions, not sure what else might have been happening along our wilderness route it, was an hour before we reached the main highway.

Sibyl finally broke the silence, "Peter, we have to talk. I don't want to lose you. I know it didn't look like it, but I love you. Please, can we talk? It wasn't what it seemed."

"Sibyl, we do have to talk. But in a moving car, like this, isn't the place. I have to be able to see you; look into your eyes. And maybe we should let a few hours go by first."

"Peter, we have to talk. I agree sitting here in the car isn't the place, but we have to start tonight. I can't let you have all night to brood about what you saw without telling you what happened. Give me a chance to talk. Please! We can go to my place, or yours, or someplace. But we have to start talking tonight! Please?"

Nodding my head, I drove on, heading for her apartment. Not another word was said until we walked into her place forty-some minutes later.

Sibyl made coffee, which she badly needed. Dragging her out of her sin nest it was very obvious to me, who knew her so well, that she was "under the influence". Now she was coming down, and the recipient of an early stage hangover. The tension between us didn't make it any easier.

I sat down at her kitchen table, figuring this a more suitable venue for the discussion than the living room where we had enjoyed so many tender moments. She brought the coffeepot with her, then sat down catty-corner to where I was sitting. Fixing her eyes on her coffee, she waited.

Leaning back in my chair, I sipped my coffee and also waited.

Finally she began in a small voice, "You know I dated Randy before I met you, Peter. While I was working in Randy's department, he and I spent a lot of time together. Nothing permanent, but if he or I didn't have a date on Saturday, we would call the other and often got together. Until I met you, some of the people around us thought we were a couple. The week after I was promoted to supervise my new department I met you. From that time on I have never dated, nor wanted to date, anyone else. You were my man."

She sipped her coffee for a moment, then added, "You still are."

I grunted acknowledgement that I had heard her, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with what she was saying.

After a moment, she continued, "It was great this afternoon, seeing so many of my friends from the Accounting Department. That included Randy of course. When we stopped dating it didn't mean we were no longer friends. But you already know that. This afternoon I was drinking a lot more than I usually do, for no real reason. Since you were the designated driver I didn't pay any attention to it. For that matter, we had come prepared to spend the whole weekend if things looked like fun. So I wasn't paying a lot of attention to how much I drank, and I was having fun. Looking back on it now, Looking back, it seemed Randy was always freshening my drink. So maybe he was trying to get me drunk. I wasn't paying any attention, after all, I was there with you."

"Sometime during the afternoon Randy and I began reminiscing about the "good old days". And sometime that afternoon Randy and I shared a joint. That's something I never told you about, Peter. In our age group an occasional joint isn't frowned on, though I know you disagree with the popular opinion that it does no harm. I agree with you now, and I've always been afraid to tell you about doing that. You always seem so vehement about it. But I did enjoy a toke occasionally. Tonight I had to be drunker than I thought and a toke sounded like fun. That's no excuse, Peter, I know no one was pouring the booze down my throat."