Dangerous Road Conditions
JON speaking.
Five o'clock - it's time to leave the office. My desk is in the corner, away from the receptionist's desk where I can see every person coming and going on Main Street. My necktie is loose, my coffee cup is on a coaster, and my eyes are fixed outside the window, focusing on my escape path. I daydream about the scent of espresso, artistic lofts, and beat poetry in San Francisco. The phone at Helen's desk keeps ringing, reminding me that I'm trapped in the constant rhythm of typewriter keys, ink, and cigarette smoke from the bullpen.
I'm waiting for David.
His car appears on Main Street, sputtering as it rolls in. With each honk of his horn, I think of Mole from "The Wind in the Willows" driving recklessly. Helen calls out my name, "Jon!" - she holds a tie for me. I tensionally accept the tie and make my way out the door.
I'm distracted as Helen reminds me, "Don't waste your resources!"
My resources? Apparently, that's what she calls my tie. I imagine it was destiny for me to leave on time today.
§
We take to the hilly roads, making our way through pot-holed streets, surrounding ourselves with beautiful greenery and tall mountains in the distance. I breathe in the scent of pine and eucalyptus in the air. David laughs as his car responds to each pothole. The road ascends, gradually turning from tarmac to dirt roads, filled with jagged rocks. Boulders towering above us seem like watchful sentinels.
We reach the top of a hill where the ruins of the Rockhaven Asylum stand. Broken windows reveal the dark interior. Some walls are overgrown with vines and weeds. It's a perfect spot for bats to sleep during the day.
David turns his car off near the asylum. The sound of birds twittering echoes in the air. Together, we get out, walk around the building, and stop near the entrance.
He shares, "My father was a doctor here."
I question, "What kind of doctor?"
His eyes dart around, avoiding mine. "He experimented with the patients using LSD."
He silences himself, starting the car, and moves away.
"Where's the hidden treasure?" I inquire.
"Lower down." David points to a grassy hillside. Nearby, a family of deer graze. Further down, I can see a sign: "Private Property - Thespian Woods."
To me, the woods are eerie. The trees are out of sight, a dark, intimidating place. The eerie creaking and groaning of branches, stroked by an unheard wind, seem to be whispering secrets that send chills down my spine.
"What's down there?" I question, trying to seem carefree. "Seems spooky."
"It's like Transylvania," Dave responds. "Only scary if you believe in ghosts."
My mind is filled with dread when he opens the door and offers his hand to me. We're stepping into my destiny.
We made it past the asylum and found ourselves in what appeared to be a remnant of a campground. It was a surreal short-lived stop. All that remained were concrete foundations, evidence that people had once built something here. The area was almost entirely grass overgrown. The land belonging to David's father had its own sense of mystery, but it was a place you could sense the history of the place, even if our visit left little evidence of a recent past.
There was also an abundance of yellow lichen on the exposed stones and concrete. The dazzling color created an abstract art across the surfaces. To me, it was a beautiful element that brought a unique touch to the area.
With the late afternoon sun casting a long and low shadow across the road and the campground, it felt poetic as we continued onwards.
David shared more stories during our journey. He told me about his father's spider collection and his life working as a sigma xi scientist. David emphasized that it's important that the mind find patterns. We are here because of that constant search for a new way to understand things. Something that keeps us mentally healthy in a world full of disorder. David's father and his work made a huge impact on his life.
I've been preoccupied with creating, capturing, and collecting. I'm passionate about anything creative; painting, photography, writing, and exploring new cultures. My camera is a faithful companion. It's also a symbol that I enjoy being self-sufficient, building my own mental map.
The adventure with David isn't over yet, and I can't help but feel like the journey might lead to more discoveries, like rounding the corner of the campground to a destination unknown - like the unfinished painting in my head. How does this quest end for us? Just like any other creative pursuit, the journey is the goal, never really ending. Let's keep wandering, uncovering, and seeking those clues that paint the world for each of us - capturing life with every click of the shutter while we explore the breathtaking scenes around us.
We're only haunted when we fear the uncharted.
We gathered up everything we could carry: the cushions from the rumble seat, Dave's guitar and sketch pad, a military-grade blanket, and a backpack filled with food and camping equipment.
"Are we good to go?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," I joked.
"That was lame," said Dave.
We made our way to an abandoned clearing deep in the forest, where an old, fallen tree laid, its bark worn away by the elements, revealing the smooth, weathered wood beneath. We placed our items beside it, a comfortable spot to rest.
"I have one more thing before we sit," David mentioned. "Insect repellent."
I raised my hand to stop him, concerned. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Nah. It's not DDT."
He pulled up my shirt to my waist and aimed the spray can towards my groin.
"Preparing the engine," he said. His fingers fumbled with the top steel button of my jeans.
"Hold up, fun fact: This stuff isn't tasty either." I teased.
He tossed the can away, then smiled and blushed. "Are you out of dairy products by any chance?"
I chuckled and rolled my eyes. "Sorry, no butter for you."
David shouted in pretend frustration. "Darn!"
"Here's a suggestion," I offered, pulling him closer. "Why don't you and I make our own butter tonight?"
"I'll make a note of that," he answered with a wink.
As he continued his teasing, David's fingers low in my jeans, attempting to unfasten the button. I pushed his hand away. "That's the preview," I said, fastening my button again. I craved his touch, but the wait would make our physical union more pleasurable. "Don't spend all your ammo," David joked, hands up in surrender. We laughed, and I contemplated dragging his head under my arm and pulling his hair. "Keep your gunpowder dry." David feigned surrender, hands in the air.
His tone changed to seriousness, halting our game. "Turn around, Jon." He instructed me. "Let me show you what I've got."
At the edge of the clearing rested the remnants of a downed helicopter, a Bell 47, a small 3-seater aircraft used for rescue and medical evacuation, decaying in the forest's depths, where oaks formed a canopy and sunlight trickled through. Up close, the helicopter's battered metal exterior was held together by the exposed ribs of internal support beams, trees entwined with them. Rotor blades protruded from the tangled greenery. Copper wires wrapped like vines around the branches.
"This is where my father died," Dave said. "The helicopter didn't make it over the power lines. It crashed and killed him."
"Why wasn't it cleaned up and recovered?"
"It's on Rockhaven property," David explained. "Legal issues related to cleanup stopped them from removing the wreckage."
As the sun began to set, streaks of orange and red filled the sky, twisting like blood-soaked webs. The plane was hovering above us. David took out his sketchpad and began to draw the wreckage while I snuck off into the woods to relieve myself. A tiny plane flew overhead. The leaves of a scarlet oak drifted silently towards the ground, ghostlike in their descent. I imagined my brother Buddy and our childhood moments with firecrackers by a hidden waterfall.
"Remember when I'd tell you about my daydreams?" Buddy said in a moment of nostalgia, home on a temporary leave from the war.
"So how is that going?"
"I'm getting closer," Buddy said.
Suddenly, my brother was gone - replaced by the memory of his violent end, and the roar of helicopter blades, acrid smoke, the stench of petrol and scorched human flesh.
Suppressing my sobs, I wiped my eyes and returned to the clearing, where David waited. When he saw my face, he sensed my sadness and related his pain, telling me about the crash that left a young child orphaned and his mother silenced. Both of our childhoods were tragically cut short.
As the sun set, the sky blazed with a mixture of oranges and reds, as if on fire. David put down his pencil, and I, too, stopped my sorrowful thoughts. The fallen soldier's memory echoed in the bellow of helicopter blades, the scent of burnt metal, and the ashes of my fallen brother. With new understanding, I looked to David. He paused for a moment before speaking. "I wish we could discuss this more. I think it's time for both of us to let go of our secrets."
"Let's do that," I replied. "When we get back." David nodded.
We sat in silence.
He described the grinding sound of tires on pavement, the feeling of disgust as his mother's car crashed against the metal railing on the bridge. I saw the whole thing happening before my eyes. Shatterproof glass was shattered into pieces that flew out in all directions, creating a glittering display. A young boy named David, only four years old, was thrown from the car. He hit the rocky embankment, and the taste of coppery blood filled his mouth as he spat broken teeth onto his bloodied hands.
In disbelief, he managed to get out of the ditched area. The door of the smashed vehicle hung half open. Seated behind the steering wheel was his mother. Her face was blood-soaked and her eyes appeared empty and lifeless. Could this be the same woman who kissed him goodbye and left him for work every morning?
My mind went back to the previous day, and I saw my brother's motorcycle in flames. A wild imagination took over, picturing David's father trying to escape by helicopter. The tree branches slashing against the cockpit, the screams of fear, the helicopter crashing into the ground. Three lives had ended - David's mother, my brother, and a hero; and David's father, an outlaw. In the clearing, we both grieved in silence, darkness wrapping around us as our shadows grew deeper. When I turned to look at David, I found tears glistening in his eyes. We were no longer strangers but wounded companions.
David tacitly got up and began gathering some kindling. Dave and I collaborated on starting a campfire. As the flames began to crackle, I noticed how David's cheeks puffed out from blowing on the kindling. The dry leaves and twigs burst into flames, bringing vibrancy to his eyes.
I suggested taking pictures of him in front of the campfire."
"What are you suggesting?" David asked.
"Just a few snaps. It'll look cool with the fire reflecting on your face."
"Cool," he replied.
"Get undressed. This will seem more broody and sensual."
"Okay. Let's do it."
I adjusted the settings on my camera, and David did as I asked. I snapped pictures of him in several positions, and he seemed to enjoy the moment.
"Can I have the copies?" he inquired.
"Of course, I'll even sign them."
"Wow! That's amazing! Apart from my hotdog?" David asked with a snicker.
I just laughed, and we both shared a chuckle, our somber moments forgotten for a while.
As dusk approached, I rested my hand on his thigh. We sat in silence, catching a glimpse of the vast stretch of empty woods and meadows near the river. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. A single spark resembled a shooting star as I made a silent wish.
"Feel the love embracing your heart," I said softly. "Allow it to be like the nightingale that bestows you with darkness."
A wolf's howl broke the silence.
"Ah, I guess we're having dinner," David laughed.
We prepared our hotdogs and buns, roasting them over the fire. The smell of burning meat filled the air. I nudged my leg against his while we savored our food. His rugged look was beautiful. He was not only a great survivor, but he also had a more refined side that he kept hidden.
I sat besides him as we ate. David's thigh touched mine, and I felt aroused. We stared deeply into each other's eyes.
"I'll make you a deal," David said. "I'll let you suck on my burnt hotdog tip if you'll take a bite off your burnt wiener."
I agreed, and we began kissing. The fire danced around us, reflecting in his dark blue eyes. Our tongues danced together, with an unimaginable amount of fiery tenderness.
As our lips parted, David gently touched my face with his fingers. He then handed me my wiener from the stick. I bit off one side then returned it to him.
"Fire Department!" I said jokingly.
We maintained a comfortable distance as I nibbled at his burnt tip, feeling it glide through my lips and tongue. It was not bad. We gathered onto the log together, and in that moment, I knew that I could see more of this young man I had just met. We continued to sit in silence, until it felt too cold, and I got up.
"Do you need more kindling?" I inquired.
"Whatever you want," he replied in a playful tone.
I helped him get up, and the gentle embrace of the darkness enveloped us both. We stood there, and he squeezed my arm. I noted the tenderness of his otherwise rough demeanor.
We heard a sound in the trees behind us, and we turned to look. There, a deer appeared, with is majestic body and erect antlers, before jumping back into the forest.
Dave, exhaling, murmured, "Magic," and held my hand, guiding me off my seat. "Let's put out the fire," he said.
I grinned, asking, "The one on the ground or on my body?"
He gave me a broad smile, "Both."
He got his guitar while I picked up a large stick, spreading the ashes and quelling the burning fire to a dim, orange ember. Dave then sat down on a log and started tuning his strings.
The symphony of the forest played on, with David joining the choir, strumming his guitar and his clear, tenor voice harmonising with the tree frogs and cicadas' songs.
He sang, "The first time I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and endless skies."
Our eyes met, and I casually traced my fingers on his lips before starting the second verse of the love song, "The first time I kissed your mouth,
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love,
That was there at my command."
He stopped briefly at a strum, eyes never leaving mine, and we knew how it would progress. I took a deep breath before mouthing the words, but overwhelming emotions—love, gratitude, happiness—choked my voice, making me hesitant to speak.
David turned his head up to the sky and sang, "The first time I lay with you,
I felt your heart so close to mine,
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last 'til the end of time, my love."
Momentary silence. The forest sounds momentarily submitted to us; the tree frogs paused their serenade. I was breathless with anticipation, heart pounding. David put down his guitar, turned away, slipped a condom and some KY Jelly from his backpack, and discreetly checked the environment for intruders, like a refined predator. He then looked back to me and requested, "Are you ready for this?"
With a swift breath, I responded, "I am, and I'll be on top."
He nodded, bookending the conversation with a simple "Okay."
We slithered into our tiny shelter—a camouflaged blanket draped upon a sloping branch, supported by the tidbit Helen had so generously given. Inside, we lay on two connected cushions, primed for intimacy. His eyes lowered shut, enjoying the sensations of my fingers gliding over his face. I stroked his chest, letting him sink into pleasure. My fingers journeyed over his neck, located his pulse, and touched the base of his skull. He turned his head, fingers caressing mine. I yielded to his caress.
He tenderly touched my genitals, unsnapping each button in turn, as if they were the secret buttons to a hidden treasure. His grip was delicate, pushing away the fabric of my trouser, feeling the trembling pulses of my balls underneath. His breathing quickened, becoming purring kitten-like as he realised his discovery. As he continued his exploration of my body's sensualities, I pressed my tongue onto his ear. His eyelids closed. "I want you now," he begged.
The lovemaking would change everything.
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