by DJ Wilson
“Stop with the drama. That’s not a bad idea though. I could use a little stress relief.”
I smacked him on the head, his big one as he climbed up next to the stand.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“For wanting a blow job at a time like this. Remember, I’m only along for the ride.”
“You brought it up first, girlfriend. I was trying to oblige. You have to chill out. Whacking something is bound to calm your nerves. It sure works for me.” I grinned ear to ear, the boy in me, anyway. Then, the man in me relented, “Want me to do you? Bet that would calm you down.”
You’re dreaming. Hey, if I could unzip it and whip it out, I might take you up on that. Men! “Good luck with that. Taking my clothes off and putting them back on would kill any mood enhancement generated by your lips and tongue.” Ooh ... I shivered, on second thought, nothing ventured, nothing gained...
“Who said anything about lips, I was gonna—”
Asshole, I was so close to taking you up on your offer. “I thought this was about me, remember?”
“It is about you, this is all about you. Here, take my stuff,” I added, passing it up to her waiting hands, “and don’t drop it.” Settled in on the six-foot wide stand with an aluminum safety railing, I mounted the mini-tripod for the camera and assumed the hurry up and wait position. “You might as well chill for a while, Vic. We’ve got at least an hour till show time.”
“Just where am I supposed to be looking and for what exactly?”
Handing Vic my binoculars,” look through the man made cut out in the trees. What do you see 40 plus yards out?”
“I see a barrel chained to a tree, and a little bear and a big bear. Oh, that’s so cool — real bears.”
“Here, let me see,” I stammered, taking the glasses from her, looking in the direction of the bait barrel. Sure enough, there was a 300 lb. sow wrestling around the molasses covered oats that filled the 55-gallon drum, but no cub. “Are you sure there were two bears?”
Hell-o. “I am. The cub was a third of the size of Mom.”
Turning the camera to video, I handed Vic back the glasses and began filming the momma bear flipping the drum over and over trying to shake the food onto the ground before settling down and licking out the grain through the two inch diameter hole in the end. “Where did the cub go? You were so good at finding it the first time, let’s see if you can find it again.”
“See, I am good at other things besides the obvious you already know: gambling with other peoples’ money, criminal law and sex.”
Giving Vic a fist bump, I concurred wholeheartedly, still wondering what happened to the other bear as I searched right and left through the camera viewfinder. Her hand was gripping my leg. “What? I complimented you, girlfriend. I’m sure you have many more talents that I’ve yet to see.”
Chapter 34
I found the bear, D. It’s … it’s—”
“Good job, Vic. I’m proud of you. Where is it?”
Shut up and follow my finger, pointing directly below us, “It’s down there.”
“Oops ... That’s not good with momma nearby.” Somehow we were scented and the not so little cub was coming up our tree to investigate. Trying not to make a commotion to attract the attention of momma, I started whispering “Shoo ... shoo ... get down ... now!”
Like, I could do that great white hunter. “D, give me your squeeze water bottle.”
“You can’t throw it at him. If you knock him off, momma bear will come running and we’ll never get out of this tree.”
Geez! “Who said anything about throwing it, I’m gonna squirt him. Hopefully the cold water will shock him just enough to make him turn around.”
Handing her the bottle, I watched Vic perform her magic. With the bear not more than six feet away, Vic squirted the bear directly in the face. To my chagrin, baby bruiser rather than being startled began to lap it up like a dog, swallowing as much of the 32-oz. water bottle as Vic was willing to give him. Knowing we were quickly running out of options, I grabbed the rifle and released the safety just as a big tree branch snapped somewhere nearby. Baby bruiser’s ears perked up signaling danger, whereby he immediately scampered back down the tree and joined up with his mom, before running off into the forest with Mom not far behind.
Ha! “Told you it might work! Good idea huh? Come on, you can tell me.”
Who am I to burst her bubble? I knew what the branch breaking meant, only because I’d seen this scenario play out two times before. Whispering, “That was a great idea. You did good. Sit very still. Act two is about to begin. Train your glasses on the barrel and wait.” I flipped the camera back to ON and waited, too.
Out of the deep woods, a shadowy cinnamon colored behemoth emerged and lumbered across open ground to the barrel. Judging Yogi’s size, compared to the 55-gallon drum, I estimated him to be two feet taller than it was and at least 600 pounds. Yogi picked the barrel up like it was a feather and tossed it against the tree. Then he jumped on top of it and rolled it around like a trained bear from Ringling Brothers. Finally, he too gave up and resigned himself to slowly lick out the grain just like the sow before him.
“He looks mean, D. I wouldn’t want to have a run in with him, day or night.”
“Look at his right ear. It’s missing. This is the dominant bear ’round here. This is his bait, his food, his territory. Everyone else is trespassing.”
“Including us?”
“Including us. He should be gone by dark.” But he wasn’t. Yogi was thoroughly content to lay at the barrel for the next hour and tongue out the grain one lick at a time. The darkness gradually enveloped us. Meanwhile it was almost six o’clock and I knew we had to go if we were going to meet Greg. “Vic, do you think you can climb down the ladder quietly in the dark?”
Are you an idiot? “With Yogi, as you call him, down there somewhere? Nope! Shoot Him. You have a license, you have a gun, shoot him!”
“Too much work. I’d have to gut him, skin him and haul him out. That would add another six hours to our adventure. Of course, if you’d like to make love on the rug we could make out of him, I could be persuaded to change my mind. Besides, the gun is only for protection.”
“Then protect me, D. Shoot the bear.”
Handing her the rifle, “You shoot him. Then you can make love to me on your bear skin.”
“But ... but, I’m not having sex on a bear skin rug, understood?”
“Understood. Loud and clear. Shoot him for the meat then.”
That’s a thought ... “What if I miss?”
“Then we’ll have one very pissed off bear to contend with.”
Handing him back his ‘Big Gun,' “never mind.” Asshole!
“Vic, hunter’s pay big money for a once in a lifetime chance to shoot a bear this size. I wouldn’t want to deprive any one of that opportunity. That fella’s gonna make some husband a happy man when he gets to wrestle momma around with that big old hide.”
Ooh, yuck! “That’s gross, D. You talking about the bear or the wife?” I surprise myself sometimes.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, girlfriend. Not to change the subject, Greg will know something is going on if we’re not back by seven. He’ll come looking for us.”
“And what are we supposed to do until then?”
“Well, we could tell stories couldn’t we?”
“I’m drawing a blank, D. What stories would you like to share?”
Retrieving her hand from the rail, I placed it on my lap. “Be patient, I’m sure something is bound to pop up.” I laughed at my crude attempt at humor in a tree stand … in Canada … with a menacing looking bear feeding not 120 feet away. She wasn’t amused.
OMG — men! “Seriously, D? You want to fool around now? It’s hard to get in the mood in a tree even if it is with you.”
“Vic, don’t you know by now, men just need an opportunity and possibly a place? It’s you women who pretty much always need a reason.”
“How well I know. Remember, I told you, you’d have to get me wasted before I’d share the skeletons in my closet?”
“I do. Sadly, I don’t have anything to drink, smoke or swallow to bring that about.”
Chapter 35
“Fear is an amazing thing. It blurs the lines between fight and flight. It courses through your veins and brings on a rush similar to amphetamines. It makes you wholly appreciate living in the past, the present and the future; if and when it comes. Close your eyes, D,” I managed to say while getting up the courage to bare my soul, “and don’t interrupt me until I’ve had my say.”
Whew! Where do I begin? “My mom and dad divorced when I was ten and because my dad traveled with work, my older brother and I lived with mom. Michael, all of thirteen, took it upon himself to be the man of the house, which included disciplining me. If I got in trouble at school and he found out about it before Mom got home, he would spank me with his hand or a belt and send me to my room.
“At first, I hated it and couldn’t stand being around him. But — I can’t believe I’m telling you this — by age twelve I began to enjoy it. I would purposely make up things just so he would spank me. It excited me and he knew it.
“He stopped, but I didn’t stop wanting it. I wanted spanked. I wanted punished. Since he wouldn’t do it anymore, I found others that would. By age fifteen, I realized how much power I had over men — teachers, principals, and counselors — all I had to do was let them cop an occasional feel when I was bent over their knees.
“I kind of told you I was a congressional page in Washington for a semester in high school. How do you think that happened? My hoo-ha and my desire to be spanked opened doors I never dreamed possible. What was amazing was that I never had sex with any of them until that Washington year when this chief of staff forced himself on me. He raped me repeatedly and threatened to send me packing in disgrace if I ever told anyone.
“I was too scared to say no to him until the end of the semester when I filmed us having sex. I had him spank me, tie me up and have sex with me in every way possible. I wanted something on film that he could not refute. And I got it.
“My last day in Washington, I met with the congressman in private and showed him just enough to get that asshole fired and me a full ride to the college of my choice. I had it coming; I know it. Like your Momma said, ‘You can’t continually play with fire and not get burned.’ There, now you know. I’m a terrible person, D. I told you I was flawed...
“Please say something, D.”
I was speechless and ashamed to be a man. I was hurting with her, for her. “We’re all flawed, Vic. Remember? Everyone has a past. Don’t let anyone tell you different. It’s how we scrape the — pardon my French — shit off going forward that defines us. Are we stained? You betcha. Does it linger, everyday? Does it make it harder to succeed and easier to fail, absolutely?
“Our minds are constantly at war with our past convincing us of our unworthiness when the road gets tough. If everyone gave up and quit living because of the baggage of our yesterdays, I’d venture to say there would be very few of us left to make this world habitable.”
I paused, took a breath, swallowed, then continued, “Did you deserve it? Who am I to say? Could I have been one of those men? It’s unlikely, but possible. Anything is possible. You put yourself in a vulnerable position, Victoria. Good men, bad men, all men are subject to fail without notice. Especially when the power of a receptive and willing woo-hoo as beautiful as yours is drawing them like a moth to a flame.
“Remember what I said earlier, men just need a place and an opportunity. Sadly, you provided both. Are you the only one? Hell no! I’ve dated many girls who were assaulted, abused and raped by brothers, fathers, cousins, uncles and close family friends — people of authority, people of trust, who you know damn well knew better, but were somehow provided an opportunity. Sadly, sexual abuse of a minor happens to both males and females. Guys seem to fare better outwardly because of the stigma associated with it. Girls, as you well know, suffer inwardly.
“I hurt for you, Victoria. I hurt for all of those like you and me who are scarred for life because corruptible men can’t keep it in their pants.”
I wrapped her up in my arms, and felt her tears on my cheek and she felt mine, too. Sitting quietly in the darkness, we held each other close. We were two scarred individuals who crossed paths, maybe it was only so we could help each other heal. And in the silence we did. With each moment that passed the heavy loads of our sordid pasts were spirited away, one by one, into the night’s starry sky.
Reality beckoned. The pervasive sounds of a rumbling engine off in the distance signaled Greg was on his way to retrieve us. Rousing the woman nestled in my arms, “Vic, it’s time to go.”
“D, I don’t want to leave. It’s healing here.”
“This, coming from someone who an hour ago couldn’t wait to leave?”
He better not laugh at what I’m about to say. “Well, that was before I confessed my sordid past to you.”
“Confession is good for the soul. I’m glad you trusted me enough to share.”
“I trust you, I always have. From the very first time we met and you wouldn’t sleep with me, I knew.”
“Speaking of sleeping with you. I’d like us to go back to the way we were before, you know, when all we did was sleep together without the sex.”
I saw that coming ... I knew it. Pursing my lower lip, “You don’t want to make love, sex, whatever you want to call it, anymore?”
“It’s not that. We’ve had amazing comfort sex. It’s been pleasurable, but it’s not been real. That is, as long as I’m forever thinking about Candi, while I’m making love to you.”
I hit him, hard. Pounding his shoulders with both fists, “Why can’t you let her go, D? After what you’ve seen, I’ve seen, we’ve seen, you still think there’s hope?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m a horrible romantic. I can’t get closure until I see her again. I have to know ... I have to know...”
D’s right. How do you compete with someone you can’t see, that only he feels. “I can’t promise you I won’t jump you again, but I will do all I can to help you get the answer you need. I got it. You can’t open another door if there’s one yet to be closed. All I have to say is the quicker you get me home the better.”
Before Vic could finish her thoughts, Greg appeared, roaring down the trail, his headlights cutting through the darkness. Stopping within fifty feet, he yelled, “Is there a problem up there? You been shaking that tree in the dark and forget what time it was?”
“Yep, we been shaking the tree and testing your stand, especially the rails. Did you know it can support Vic’s hands and my legs in a 69 position for an hour?”
“You ruined it right there, D. I was beginning to believe you until you said an hour. No one could last an hour like that ... 10 minutes tops. But you can keep on dreaming since that’s what men do when they can’t perform like they once did.”
“Yep… The real reason we’re still here, by the way ... big Yogi, 600 lbs. plus, been over the bait for the last two hours. He’s somebody’s trophy, that’s for sure. Vic wasn’t too keen on heading back with him wandering around below. Besides, I didn’t want to walk. Glad your ass finally showed up.”
Greg laughed. “You’re welcome. Miss, you can come down. With all the noise we’ve made, Yogi’s run off by now.”
The headlights from the Ranger lit up the tree making it much easier to descend the ladder in the dark. With Vic in the passenger seat and me standing in the bed, we made great time back to our machine and eventually the Green Mule and trailer.
I was puzzled, Where are the infamous beaver dams we crossed on the way in? Once the boys loaded up their toys and we were all in the truck, I asked, “Excuse me, Greg. We didn’t cross the beaver dams on the way back. Why?”
“Oh, we don’t go that way in the dark. Can’t see,” answered Greg, snickering. “Besides, it’s not safe.”
/> Did he just laugh? “D, did I miss something? Why is he laughing?”
How should I say this and not get clobbered? “Vic, per my instructions, Greg took us over the challenging route on the way in. You have to say it was more memorable than the ride out—”
Little boys and big toys! “Memorable? It’s only memorable because of my bruised ass and my sore hoo—”
“Ha! You’re just mad because you fell off and we didn’t.”
There’s some truth to that. I steamed all the way back, until I didn’t, realizing I actually had a wonderful time. “Thank you both for making this day possible. It goes in my lifetime book of memories.”
Greg spoke first, “You’re welcome. I’m glad it worked out for all of us.”
I followed, “We’ve got some great film to add to that book of yours. I especially like the scene that shows your sweet cheeks hanging over the log, peeing in the bag.”
Son of a bitch! “D, you didn’t film that, did you? Show me. I want to see what’s on that camera. Now!”
“You can catch it on the News at eleven. I’ll have it edited and on the air for all the world to see by then,” I added, before Vic punched me hard in the groin, then squeezed.
“That hurt? This hurt?”
“Yep.”
“There’s more where that came from if I ever hear of it making it to YouTube. Our eyes only, big boy. You got that?”
“I got it ... ah hem ... you can let go now, Vic ... toria. I got it.”
Boys. ... hell-o! I’m in a truck full of juvenile delinquents. Lucky me!
Chapter 36
Dinner was served late. Debra didn’t seem to mind. Such is the life of an Outfitter’s wife. Grilled salmon, fried potatoes and green beans was our fare for the evening. The wine we shared was a sparkling Moscato, followed by her famous Saskatoon berry pie topped with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. “I can’t thank you both enough for riding through here on your way home. Greg and I want you to know you’re welcome anytime, not just hunting season.”