Vision of the Spirit Ch. 03

Both his hands pushed under the shorts to massage the sensitive area where thigh meets abdomen. "No, not really."

Willow responded physically, a little. Her eyes closed and her body tensed. "I think you've taken a wrong turn."

"No, I haven't. I've been following the path I marked on the way in."

"You know what I mean," she said, and pressed her hands on top of his, to stop their motion.

Tom looked at her chest, and said, "John's eye tells me I'm on the right track."

She followed his gaze down the front of her tee-shirt to where a nipple poked out John Denver's right eye.

Tom sang, "You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest." Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "And I want to do the same for you," and then kissed her cheek.

A shudder raced through Willow's body and up Tom's arms. It contained a secret message that his brain miraculously decoded. "That's what you're afraid of isn't it? You don't want to lose control."

Her lips parted, as if to answer, but instead she looked away.

Once again, Tom removed his hands from her shorts and stood up. "Have it your way. Get your shoes on and let's go."

Quietly she complied, sulking like a child sent to bed without supper.

After a mile she came up along side, and said, "I'm not afraid of losing control. You're close, but that's not it. I'm afraid of something else."

Tom walked on, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Finally, she said, "I'm not the woman I was before the crash. I won't be going back to Vegas. This is a new beginning."

"I'm happy for you. Sounds good," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

Willow sensed his indifference. "Kicking Horse, I think you're acting like a horse's ass."

"Hey, I'm just trying to distance myself from the biggest horse-cock tease on the face of the earth."

There was a long pause before she admitted, "I was awful, wasn't I."

They continued in silence for a while, but there was a new bounce in Willow's step. She became more attentive to their surroundings and often pointed out birds and asked what kind they were.

Tom surprised himself with how much he knew and Willow's many questions meant she enjoyed his tutelage. It was the most normal thing they'd done together.

"Look, over there." He pointed at a goldfinch perched in a maple tree. "That's a gold hawk."

"A gold hawk? It looks like a little parakeet."

"They look cute and harmless, but that's their game. You stroll by, admiring the cute little Tweety-Pie, and then they strike. Once they sink their poisonous talons in you you're paralyzed in seconds."

Willow furrowed her brow.

"They remind me of some women I've met," he said, and tossed a rock to scare away the diminutive predator. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he promised, taking her hand. "Stay close."

"Okay," she said, sounding a little put out by the bird lesson.

Willow's curiosity apparently sated, they walked silent, hand in hand. With a far away, deep in thought look on her face, she occasionally stroked the braid that lay over her shoulder, like a comforting reaction to an uncomfortable idea.

They stopped at the edge of a 100-yard clearing, overgrown with tall grass and wild daisies. The surrounding trees blocked the sun but allowed a soft breeze to filter through. "This is it," announced Tom, dropping the pack and stretching his lower back and shoulders. "We'll stop here. It'll take about another four hours tomorrow."

From a zipped pocket, he pulled out a bar of soap-on-a-rope and a razor. And from the main compartment, he pulled a change of clothes. "There's a great little pond just over the ridge, and I need a bath." He took five paces, before he added, "You can come and watch if you want. Some women like to."

There was no response in favor or opposed.

Huge boulders surrounded the pond, making it a secluded tub with a capacity for twenty, if they were very friendly. A stream pushed through the center, constantly refreshing the pool. Tom slid down the rock face to a ledge and removed his clothes. Never one to wade in slowly, he leaped into the center and shivered in the chin deep water until his body became accustomed. The sunshine and the cool bath rejuvenated his tired body. Quickly, he washed and shaved.

Drifting on his back, he enjoyed the blue sky above, while listening to the muffled sounds of the brook.

A pebble landed in his navel and scuttled his daydream.

From the top of a rock, Willow smiled down. "You were right. It was fun to watch."

"Nice shot. I'm impressed. Maybe I should call you Stone Willow."

She lifted a grocery bag in one hand and the bottle of Jack Daniels' Old No. 7 in the other, and said, "I brought dinner."

"C'mon on in. The water's… chilly, but I'll warm you up."

She slipped down the smooth rock face, placed dinner off to the side and then stood on the rock shelf. They stared at one another in silence for a while, until Willow said, "What are you waiting for?"

"For you to join me."

She stroked the braid, and said, "I'm waiting for you. Don't you want your job perk?"

Faster than you can say, 'occupational therapy', Tom climbed out. "Of course I do, how could I forget."

Naked and dripping a puddle, he stood over her. Their eyes locked, and Tom recognized the unmistakable look of anxiety. An odd tenderness subdued his passion. The vulnerable young woman behind those warm, brown eyes softened his heart. "Turn around."

He pulled the rubber band from her thick braid, saying, "I'm going to wash your hair, first."

As he unraveled the hair, Tom understood Willow's penchant for stroking her braid, although his reaction to the softness was not to be calmed but to be aroused. Somehow, the undoing felt erotic. By letting him remove her comforter, she became more exposed and revealed a trust.

The wavy strands gradually fanned out over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Once the hair was undone, Tom wrapped his arms around her chest and buried his face in it, until his lips found the nape of her neck. She smelled naturally good, pheromone rich, and tasted salty.

Her head tipped into his. "That tickles."

He nuzzled her ear, while his hands raised 'John Denver' off her chest. When the shirt was bunched around her neck, he quit teasing her ear to pull it off. Tom's hands returned and unbuttoned her Daisy Dukes. He squatted, kissed the scratch on her lower back, and pulled the shorts down.

With nothing left to remove, Tom picked up the whiskey bottle and took off its top. Holding it out, he said, "Ladies first."

"Thanks." Willow kissed the bottle open mouthed and swallowed several times, lowering the fluid level significantly before returning it.

Tom lifted it in salute, and said, "Here's looking at you." Then drank more than she did, in true macho style. The alcohol instantly warmed the center of his torso, and he resisted the urge to cough. "Wow," he croaked.

"Good, isn't it," she said, with a smirk.

He took her hand. "I know something better," and pulled her into the pool.

"Oh, it's so cold," said Willow, shivering with her arms wrapped across her chest.

"Wait, you'll get used to it." Tom pulled her in for warmth and to feel their slippery bodies pressed together. She wrapped her arms around him and returned the hug. While embraced, he spun them around to place her in the sunshine. They stood silent for a time, listening to the natural world and their own thoughts.

Her cheek lay on his shoulder and her breath tickled his neck. She said, "This is nice. It's been a long time since I've really enjoyed someone holding me."

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, but the confession pleased him.

"What I'm afraid of," she continued, "I wonder if I can feel anything real anymore."

Tom used two fingers to force up her resistant chin, so that he could see her eyes. They swam in pools of their own. "Can you feel me now?" he asked.

A smile bloomed, fast and pure. "Yes."

He kissed her forehead. "Can you feel me now?"

"Uh-huh," she whispered.

He kissed one saline eyelid and then the other. "Can you feel me now?"

She nodded.

Bending slightly, he traced his lips over hers until they parted. Their mouths played gently at first. Tom increased the pressure and she returned it. Tongues came in as reinforcements. Where the lips led the bodies followed, and they squirmed together with growing desire.

Tom pushed away, gripped her arms, and asked, "Did you feel that?"

She nodded with eyes closed.

"Good," he said, "It's bath time."

The hair was first. Bar soap isn't the best for making suds, but if you use enough, it works. She leaned forward against his chest as he scrubbed the wet mop into a froth of bubbles.

"Mmm, that's nice," she whispered.

"It's time to rinse. Just relax and float," he said, and laid her back in the water, suspended horizontally by one hand between her shoulder blades and another one under her bottom. The current rinsed away most of it, and the rest by gently rocking her back and forth to make the hair undulate, like the finest of sea grass.

Serenity beamed from her face, while erect nipples cut the water's surface like buoys marking a prime fishing spot.

The whiskey empowered Tom's impulsiveness, and he couldn't resist the temptation to sample the sultry morsel. He bent down and captured one delicious bud between his lips.

Her back arched, "Mmm."

Piloting her in slow circles, he kissed the breast and fondled her bottom. Then reversed course and sucked the other one, letting the cool water tease over her.

A new, log-like navigational hazard jutted out from between his legs. Willow's hand ran aground along its length. She smiled. "Can I feel you now?"

"No, not now."

She became restless in his arms, so he let her feet sink and stood her up.

Weak kneed, she leaned back against him for support, with his cock sandwiched between them.

"Hold still," he said, lathering his hands. And then scrubbed her from the shoulders up. "Rinse time," he warned, before a baptismal plunge, cradled in his arms.

He carried her to the shallows and sat her on a rock.

She stretched in the sunshine.

"You look like a mermaid," he said, soaping up his hands.

"You look like a sailor who just came in for shore leave," she responded, staring at his erection.

Ignoring the remark, Tom washed and rinsed her feet, taking time to remove the bandages and check her blisters. He spent extra, lingering moments above her knees. Next on the schedule was her back. After a ticklish rubbing, the rinse cycle became a splash war. A truce was declared, so that he could clean her front. Both parties seemed willing to end hostilities when his slippery hands caressed her breasts and then slid down between her thighs.

Tom's blood began to overheat. He dragged her off the rock and back into the cool depths. She clung to his shoulders. Under the surface, his fingers slipped between her pussy lips. "Can you feel me now?"

"Oh yeah," was the breathy answer.

Her body felt weightless, and Tom reveled in playing with his new pool toy. A finger penetrated her warm canal. He held it still, at first. Able to support her with one hand, he floated her up and onto her back, so he could watch his finger slip in and out of her.

Willow's eyes were closed. She seemed lost in the sensation.

Tom bent to suck a nipple, while his thumb swirled her clit. Her legs floated apart, like the first half of a frog kick, making everything easier to see and easier to do.

The arm closest to Tom sank beneath the surface, groped his erection, and teased his glans between two agile fingers. The long foreplay had burned his fuse dangerously short. "Not yet," he pleaded.

She smiled, and said, "Sorry."

Holding her between the shoulders, he captured her mouth with his, and began to plunge his fingers in and out. The sound of frenzied splashing added audible excitement.

She kissed back with renewed intensity. Her arm, wrapped around his back, squeezed. Her legs began to pump, unconsciously seeking a foothold to thrust against. With their mouths clamped together, Tom felt her moans against his lips. He could feel her pussy spasm around his fingers. She held him tighter, let out a muffled scream and arched her back. His unrelenting fingers continued, until her muscles stopped their waves of contraction.

Breaking the kiss, he twirled with her in his arms, and asked, "Did you feel that?"

Willow laughed, and said, "God, you know I did."

They stopped, and he set her feet down.

She hugged him tight. "Thank you, that was wonderful."

After a brief recovery, Willow pulled on his arm, saying, "Horse, come over here."

They waded into the shallows, until they reached a large rock. "Sit," she commanded.

He sat, and Willow knelt in the water between his legs and attacked his lap. Her cool, wet hair draped over his stomach and hips, hiding her face from view. But he felt her lips kiss him, her tongue lick his cock, her fingers caress his scrotum. One cool hand rubbed up his chest, found his nipples and teased them. Her head began to bob with a motion intent on leveling the orgasm score one to one.

"Willow, that's amazing," he said, lifting aside the soggy strands to watch her lips work his shaft. A variety of hums and sucks soon had him at the point of release, and then she quit. His cock pulsed with every heartbeat. She just watched it throb, and smiled. When the peak subsided and the blood began to ebb, she sucked him back to the brink.

After the third time, Tom thought his heart would explode before his balls. "Please, don't stop."

Hearing him beg made her grin. "Okay, I can use the protein."

Once again, she engulfed his cock. Using both hands to steady it, to stroke it, and caress it, she played him slower than before. The rise to the peak crawled persistently higher. And when she sensed his point of release, Willow quickened her mouth, forcing the blast of ecstasy from his loins. Tom's seed pumped in waves of aching relief up his shaft and between her sucking lips, never to be seen again.

She continued to toy with him until he softened.

When she released his cock, Tom pulled her on top of him. Her cool flesh felt refreshing after the heat of sex. Her hair dragged along his sides. She tried to lay her head on his chest, but he wanted to kiss her, to taste her mouth. Willow liked the idea, so their kisses lingered.

Finally they relaxed in a satisfied stupor.

Several minutes passed, while Tom held her. These last two days had transformed from a nightmare to a dream come true. In his best Keano Reeves imitation, he said, "This has been a most excellent Vision Quest."

"How so?" she asked, hugging tighter and nuzzling under his chin.

"In a way, it's been a two-fer. We've both been tested and become stronger, more self-confident people."

"Mm-hm."

There was more on his heart, but it bordered on naive pandering and would sound ridiculous if he said it aloud. "What are you going to do when we get back?"

"I don't know. What are you going to do?"

"Good question." He thought for a moment, and said, "I've worked across the country to get here, and I haven't planned any farther ahead than this. It might be fun to hang around for the Lewis and Clarke anniversary. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be me."

A finger traced around his left nipple before she said, "Ancestry's something you have no control over. What's that old saying? 'You can choose everything in life but your parents' or something like that."

This was getting too serious. Tom's stomach rumbled. "Let's eat. What's for supper?"

She pushed away and sat up. The bedraggled hair framed her breasts. "Lots of chips and crackers."

"Yum," he smiled, more at her than the menu. She was the main course and dessert. Everything else was appetizer.

"Oh, and we have whiskey!" she said, and held out a hand to pull him up.

"All right! A feast!"

The food was in the shade on the opposite bank. Halfway across, they dunked to rinse off. He copped a feel and stole a kiss without protest.

As they climbed out onto the rock ledge, Tom asked, "Where's the backpack?"

She pointed. "Up behind that rock."

"I'll get the comb."

"Okay, I'll get dinner ready."

They grinned foolishly at one another, like two lovers on a weekend getaway.

Tom peeked over the rock rim, and scanned the perimeter. With nothing but flora in sight, he quickly grabbed his comb and returned to the nudie picnic. Willow had a smorgasbord of Tortillas, Sociables, Doritos and Ritz laid out on her tee-shirt. A new jar of mild salsa sat in the middle next to the two-thirds bottle of Old No. 7.

He picked up the whiskey and toasted, "Thank you, Great Spirit, for guidance and unexpected friendship."

With a bright smile, Willow said, "Amen."

A twinge of affection tingled from his belly up to his ears -- something he never felt this soon after sex. What he needed was a gulp of firewater to douse such crazy emotions. It was just hunger acting out. When finished, he handed over the bottle and then moved behind her, saying, "Go ahead and eat. I'll comb your hair before it dries."

After a taste from the bottle, Willow began to eat. Tom worked the comb through the thick tangle, trying not to pull. Every once in a while, she'd feed him over her shoulder. And every once in a while he'd just nibble her shoulder. When he did she laughed or acted ticklish.

"Done!" The shiny hair lay in straight rows down her back. "When it dries I'll braid it for you."

"Switch places, and I'll do yours," said Willow.

When she stood, her ass was right at eye level. And when she turned around, Tom began to comb her short hairs. "Hmm, not enough here to braid."

"I hope not!" she said. "Now stop. It's my turn. Scoot forward."

He laughed. "Now I've got you saying it."

She pushed him. "C'mon, scoot!"

Tom slid forward, and laid out more chips and crackers. The gentle tension of the comb over his scalp and her light touches around his ears and shoulders held a rare tenderness. To be fussed over was something special.

"We should set up camp, soon," he said, covering an array of snacks with the chunky condiment. "We need to collect firewood and boil some drinking water." Holding a loaded chip over his shoulder, he asked, "Willow want a cracker?"

The comb stopped briefly, as she leaned against his back to take the morsel deep into her mouth and drag her lips over his fingers. "Than' 'ou."

Naked bliss continued until every hair was combed and they'd had their fill of junk food. The conversation remained superficial -- silly things, like politics and religion. After all was said and done, they agreed on tolerance.

The sun began to fade, and the whiskey buzz rose. The bottle was half-empty, but Tom said, "half-full."

Willow slurred, "You're such an op… opto… optometrist."

Tom laughed so hard he cried. The laughter proved contagious. She joined in the tearful outburst. Between breaths, she asked, "Whasso funny?"

When he explained her mistake, her face darkened. "I'm stupid."

"No, you're not!" He pulled her into a hug, buried his face in her hair, and whispered, "You're drunk," and then they laughed a little more.

Getting dressed required too much coordinated effort. Only their bottoms were covered when they left the privacy of the rock tub.

Tom used his walking stick to knock down a crop circle in the middle of the daisy field. He gathered large stones for a fire ring, while Willow gathered some wood. Once the fire crackled with enough determination to stay lit, he put on a pot of water and they walked back to the stream to wash before bed.

Upon their return to camp, Tom unrolled the sleeping bag, and said, "I'll braid yours if you'll braid mine."