

The following work of fiction contains sexual activities between
consenting adults. If you are too young, too uptight, or your
local government is too oppressive, you should stop reading now.



This story is in the public domain. While you are legally free
to do anything you like with it, out of courtesy to the author,
I humbly request that you leave my name and contact information
with this story.


Climbing
By Poison Ivan



By Poison Ivan

_Warning! The following work of fiction contains 
sexual activities between consenting adults. You must be at least 18 
years old to read it._

The sun peeked up over the top of the ridge as we walked along the
bottom of the big granite wall.  The sky was cold and blue, and my
breath condensed in soft white clouds.  It was still cold, but with
the sun up, the day would quickly grow hot.

The granite wall was enormous, a gray slab towering straight up.  I
had to bend backwards to see the top.  At the start of the climb, a
thin crack in the face slanted up and to the right.  White chalk left
by old climbers outlined the crack like a scar.  I ran my hand across
the hard, rough rock.

I cinched my harness tight around my waist and checked my
protection rack.  My collection of wedges, hexes and camlocks jangled
on its web loop.

The route would be two pitches to the top, with a belay point on a
big ledge halfway up.

"Ready?" I asked.

She began to uncoil the rope.  "O.K.," she said.

             * * *


The first time I saw her, she was naked.  It was in the gray dim
light just before dawn, and I made a trip down to the river to fill my
water bottles.  I followed the dusty path down through the rocks and
low brush.  Birds in the fir trees chirped like maniacs.

I came around a bend in the trail and there she was, facing away
from me, standing knee deep in the river.  She stood out at the edge
of the heavy current, and the fast-moving water swirled and sucked
around her legs.  She stood firmly, looking upstream.  Her light blond
hair was cropped evenly at shoulder length.  Her bare butt was
clenched defiantly.

But it was not her nakedness that struck me hardest.  It was not
unusual to see naked people in the river.  A few hundred feet upstream
was "The Tub," a deep, still pool where long-term campers often
bathed, usually _au naturel_.

Instead, what struck me hardest was her bare back.  The triangular
shape of her upper body.  Her muscular shoulders and V-shaped torso.
She _looked_ like a climber.

I stood and watched for a few moments.  I could not figure out what
she was doing.  Could she be trying to ford the river?  But the
current was too deep and fast, she would never make it across.  Could
she be bathing?  But The Tub was a much superior place to get cleaned
up.

She turned her head and I think she saw me.  But she did not make
another move.  She did not even confirm my presence.  She simply
turned her gaze back upstream.

I turned around and went back to my campsite.

             * * *


The "climbing rope" is misnamed.  A climber always climbs rock,
never the rope itself.  The rope serves as emergency protection, a
guard against falling.  The only time the rope is used is to stop
disaster.

It is the lead climber's responsibility to anchor the rope during
the climb up.  He does this by periodically wedging various pieces of
protection into cracks in the rock, and attaching the rope through
carabiners and webbing.

The lead's partner, the belayer, sits on the ground with the other
end of the rope.  If the lead climber falls, the belayer must hold the
rope fast.  A belayer must be vigilant.  An unprepared belayer may
have the rope yanked suddenly out of her hands.

It was my job to lead.  It was her responsibility to catch me in
case of a fall.

Our roles set, we prepared to climb.

I tied the rope into my harness while she tied a belay line around
the thick stump of an old pine.  She worked her knots quickly and
easily.

She sat down on the ground and wrapped the blue braided climbing
rope around her hips.  The loose coils lay near her left hand, the
brake hand.  Her other hand, the feeling hand, held the rope that came
to me.  She placed her dusty climbing shoes up against two big rocks
on the ground, bracing herself.  She pulled up the slack in the rope
until it tugged at my hips.

I coated my hands with chalk from the nylon bag tied to my waist.

"On belay?" I said, a mere formality.  She was ready.

She looked me dead in the eye.  "Belay on," she answered.

"Climbing," I said, and I put my foot up on the rock.

"Climb," she answered.

             * * *


The next time I saw her was at the Safeway in town.  I was buying
food for the next few days and I saw her from behind, walking down an
aisle.  She wore cut-off shorts and a white ribbed tank top.  I would
recognize her shoulders anywhere.

After I bought my food, she was standing outside the store with a
plastic grocery bag dangling from each hand.

"Hello," I said.

She looked at me and nodded.  Her eyes were steely and her face was
deeply tanned.  Her lips looked a little chapped.  Her white top clung
tightly to her tits, and her nipple points were clearly visible.

"I think I saw you the other day, down in the stream," I said.

"Uh huh."

"Are you staying in the campground?"

"Yes."

"How long are you here for?"

She shrugged.  "Until we get tired of being here.  I guess."

I didn't know what else to say, and I was about to turn to leave,
when she spoke up.  "Do you have a car?" she asked.

"Back at the campground."

"Not here?"

"No.  I rode my bicycle."

"Too bad," she said.  "I could use a ride."

I looked her in the eye, and a faint smile touched her lips.

"Then how did you get here?" I asked.

She stuck up her thumb and waved it.  "Hitched."

I stuffed my groceries in my bicycle panniers.  I rolled my bicycle
over and stood at its side.  "Do you climb?" I asked.

She nodded.  "Some.  But nothing hard."

"Maybe we could climb sometime."

"Sure."  She shifted both grocery bags into one hand.  She glanced
off towards the road.  "Well, I need to find a ride.  I got to get
going."

"O.K.  See you."

I got up on my bike and pedaled back towards camp.

             * * *


The first few moves up the rock were easy, simple finger jams, easy
foot placements, and up the crack I went.  I paused at a nice 
finger-wide ledge, placed a hex nut into the crack, and clipped the rope in.
A good, bombproof placement for protection.  This piece would hold a
hard fall.  I looked down.  Her face was pure concentration, the rope
securely held around her hips.

I looked up.  The crack dwindled off to the right.  Straight up, it
looked like there was a big handhold.  I tried to remember what I had
read about the route.  There should be a permanent bolt somewhere up
there where things began to look impossible.

I twisted my hand into the crack, felt the security of rough
granite against my fingers, brought my feet up, got tension in my
legs, and pressed upwards.

             * * *


I looked for her down at the stream every morning.  But for a whole
week, she was never there.  I thought she had gone back to wherever
she had come from.

My climbing partner then left to go back to work, and I was on my
own.  My first day alone I walked through the campground and found one
other person without a climbing partner, but he was not interested in
climbing that day.  So I practiced on the boulders around the
campground and checked over my ropes and equipment.

Mid-afternoon came and it got hot.  Black biting flies buzzed all
around, a real nuisance.  It was uncomfortably hot, and I was bored.
I decided to go to the river to cool off.

And there she was again, standing in the river, water flowing
around her knees.  And again, she was stark naked.

For a moment, I considered turning to leave.  But I did not want to
leave.  I wanted to stare for a moment.  I wanted to look at her
nakedness, her tanned, sinewy body, her pert breasts with big dark
nipples, the voluptuous curve of her muscular hip.  Her rounded
shoulders and shapely thighs.

But I also did not want to spy.  If I was intruding on a private
moment, she had the right to know.  Saying something would be the
polite thing to do.  I walked up closer to the stream.  The water
roared.  "Hello," I called out.

She turned to look at me.  She stumbled a little in the swift
current but caught herself.  Water splashed up to her thighs.  Her
whole body was deeply tanned; she apparently sunbathed nude.  She had
thick, blond pubic hair.  She made no effort at all to cover up.

"What is it?" she yelled.  I could barely hear her over the roar of
the river.

"Nothing."

"What?"  She cupped her hand to her ear.

"Nothing!"

"I can't hear you!"

"I said `Nothing!'"

She scrambled towards the bank.  I was embarrassed.  A naked woman
was fighting her way through the big rocks in the streambed for the
stupidest possible reason, because I didn't want her to think I was
spying on her.  I wanted to just turn and leave her alone, but now
that she was making the effort to get out of the river, I had to stay.
I shifted my weight from side to side.

She got within a few yards and was close enough to hear.  "What did
you say?" she said.

"Nothing.  I'm sorry.  I just wanted to say hello."

"Oh."  She ran her fingers back through her hair.  Her pectoral
muscle flexed, and my gaze was drawn to her naked breast.  I wished
she had some clothes on.

I was so uncomfortable I wanted to run away.  But I had to say
something.  I couldn't leave it with just a hello.  "What were you
doing out there?" I asked.

She shrugged.  "Nothing."

"I was just going to cool off in The Tub."

"Oh.  O.K."  She looked back out into the roaring river.

I fidgeted.  I had to get out of there.  "See you," I said.

"Bye," she said.

And I turned away.  Turning away was a relief.  I didn't like
standing there talking to her while she was naked.  It would be easier
to get in The Tub, wash off, and soak in the cold water.  And maybe
think about climbing.

             * * *


The rock was not completely vertical, there were frequent dents and
bumps, so the climb upwards went easily.  I built up some momentum,
and I was soon holding onto the knob I had seen from below.  There was
a good crack there; I placed a big wedge, another solid piece of
protection.

I looked ahead.  Two parallel cracks ran up towards a permanent
bolt that had been drilled into the rock.  The bolt marked the start
of the most difficult part of the climb.  My route book described that
section above the bolt as "awkward."  Other climbers had called it "a
bastard."

I pinched my fingers and toes into the two vertical cracks and
shimmied upwards.

             * * *


I stripped naked and lowered myself down into the cool river water.
The initial contact with the water was shocking, and it tightened my
skin.  But I slowly grew accustomed.  It felt good to be out of the
heat.

I gave myself a soap-less wash, using my flat hands to rub the
grime and dust that had built up on my skin.  Afterwards, my skin felt
cool, clean and responsive.

I soaked shoulder-deep and felt good for a few moments.  I tried to
peek downstream, but I could not see her, an accumulation of stones
blocked my line of sight.  Which was just as well.  I closed my eyes
and relaxed and thought about nothing.

I concentrated on my heartbeat, the sound of it, the slow thumping.
I thought I might even doze off, but I heard the scramble of feet on
rocks.  I opened my eyes and she was standing there on the rocky bank.
My position gave me an angle up between her legs, at the wild tangle
of blond pubic hair, and an exciting glimpse of a fold of skin there.

"Can I join you?" she asked.

I took a nervous breath and sat up straight.  "Sure."

She stepped down into the water.  Like a sex-starved teenager, I
peeked at her bare breasts with their stiff nipples.  She sank down
slowly until her chin touched the water.  She blew air out and the
surface of the water rippled under her breath.

She settled back against the bank and closed her eyes.  She let out
a long, easy sigh.

If the water had not been cold, I am sure I would have had an
erection.

When I get nervous, I have a tendency to babble.  I could not stop
myself from saying something.  "Are you here with someone?" I asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at me.  Her eyes were light gray and
her pupils were tiny.  "Yes.  My boyfriend."

"Is he a climber too?"

"Yes."

"How come you aren't climbing with him?"

She shrugged.  "He has his buddies.  They're stronger climbers than
I am."

"Then what do you do all day?"

She did not say anything.

"How hard of a climb can you do?"

She shrugged again.  "I'm good with my feet.  But the climbs here,
they take too much upper body strength."  She raised her arm up out of
the water, and the muscle of her shoulder tensed.

             * * *


The tips of my fingers found a tiny crack, the rough rock tore at
my calluses, my arms throbbed, and I could not find a spot for my
foot.  Everything I put down on, I slipped off.  It was not working,
so I stepped around, rearranged myself until I had both feet securely
against the rock, but then I was pointed in the wrong direction, and
my arms really ached and I had scraped the skin off both my thumb and
forefinger.  And there was nowhere obvious to go.  I had maneuvered my
way into a bind.

I could try to drop back and regroup, but I did not know if my arms
would hold up.  I could see a horizontal crack straight up from me,
but I could not judge its size from below.  And it was a long lunge.
And I had no recent protection placed, and nowhere to put any now.  I
had clipped into the bolt below, but that was a long way down.

If I fell, how far would I go before the bolt caught me?  And could
she hold a hard fall?

I saw nowhere else to go.  My leg began to bounce up and down like
a sewing machine.  I could not hold the position much longer.

I made up my mind to go for it.  I did not even weigh the risk
completely, and before I knew it, I drove myself upwards as hard as I
could, a full leap.  There was a moment where I felt suspended in air,
no pressure on my hands or feet, and I was unsure of whether I was
rising or falling.  And when my fingertips found the crack, I felt
that wonderful surge of excitement in my chest.  I grabbed with my
fingers and tapped every bit of strength I had and clawed into the
rock.

I swung side to side for a second, dragging my toes against the
rock, until I finally settled motionless, hanging by three fingers on
each hand.  My forearms felt stiff, but I was out of immediate
trouble.  The crack was bigger and deeper than it had looked from
below, nearly an inch of space to hold.  I got a good hold with one
hand, rechalked and got a good secure grip.

I pulled myself up and got my toes into the crack.  My heart
pounded in my ears.  My whole body trembled.

             * * *


"I think I do O.K. on a lot of climbs.  Especially ones that aren't
so popular.  And I've done some mountaineering and glacier travel.
But I haven't done much technical rock climbing.  I'm kind of new to
this."

"I would think you would do well."

"I hate this place.  All the silly overhangs.  It's all a test of
upper body strength.  You don't need technique.  You need raw muscle
strength."

It was true.  Many of the climbs were famous for their overhang
moves.

She slipped down into the water until her head was completely
submerged.  Then back up she came, and she wiped her hands across her
face, flicking the water away and slicking her hair back.  I couldn't
help but notice the contraction of her biceps and her deltoids.  And
the flex of her pectorals, and then I caught myself again staring at
her breasts through the water.

             * * *


I made it the rest of the way to the big ledge without incident.
There were several big cracks around, perfect for belay anchors.  I
dropped my protection rack, set several strong anchors, tied myself
in, and sat down.

Now it was her turn to climb.  From the ledge I could see most of
the route below, so I could watch her.  I pulled up the slack in the
rope.

Her high voice filtered up.  "On belay!"

"Belay on!" I yelled back.  I set myself to handle the rope.

"Climbing!" she yelled.

"Climb!"

             * * *


I shook out of my staring stupor.  I caught her eye, and she smiled
at me.  Was she flirting?  I am sure I blushed.

The urge to say something overtook me.  "Why don't you come
climbing with me?" I said.  "My climbing partner is gone, I could use
another partner."

"I've never done a lead.  Don't you want to climb with someone you
can split the leads with?"

"You don't know how to place protection?"

"I've never done it before."

"That's O.K.  I can do all the leads."

"And I can't do hard climbs."

"I'm sure you can do _some_ hard climbs."

"I don't want to slow you down."

"If you don't climb with me, I'll just have to go bouldering around
the campsite."

"I could go bouldering with you."

"Wouldn't you rather do some real climbs?"

"I know the boulders around here pretty well."  She suddenly stood
up and got out of the water.  Again, I was aware of her nakedness and
I blushed.  "Come on," she said, "I'll show you something."

I hesitated.  She stood at the bank and looked down at me.  Her
tanned body dripped cold river water.  I did not have an erection, but
I was afraid I might get one.  I took a deep breath and stood up.

She grabbed our towels and took off downstream.  She hopped from
rock to rock, her arms out for balance, a towel in each hand, her bare
butt flexing.

She was lovely.  I took another deep breath.  There was no one else
around.  I left my clothes behind and took off after her.

             * * *


She climbed like a dancer, limberly and with rhythm, using her legs
and feet to get out of trouble.  She could raise her foot to shoulder
height and still get leverage to push up.  At the most difficult
point, the part where I struggled hardest, she found a foothold I had
not seen, and made the finger ledge in two separate moves.

She moved evenly upwards, pausing only to remove the protection.
When she reached the ledge, she was winded and her shoulders and
thighs bulged.

"That was great," I said.

She sucked in air.  "Thanks."

"I didn't see that foothold down there."

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"Yeah."

The ledge at the halfway point was big enough for a crowd of
people.  We drank water and ate bananas.  We rested in direct morning
sun, and it was already getting hot.

The second pitch was supposed to be easier.  There was a
spectacular overhang near the top with a shoulder-width crack through
it.  I scouted the route while she rested.

I figured out the approximate path to take, and just as I turned
back to face her, she pulled her shirt up over her head.  Underneath
she was naked.  Her whole upper body was wet with sweat.  She used her
shirt to mop her face and chest.

"You're not very shy, are you?" I said.

"Hmm," she grinned.  "Do you mind?"

"Oh, no!"

"I didn't think so."  She looked down at her own breasts, and wiped
her shirt across them.  "I'm not uptight about it.  I don't have the
kind of tits men ogle."

             * * *


We walked downstream until we reached a big boulder.  The boulder
was about ten feet high with a nice crack running up one face.  It was
a nice example of a layback move, an elementary technique, but one
beginners have a hard time with.

I had never seen this boulder before.  It never occurred to me to
look for bouldering exercises down by the river.  The crack was not
coated with the usual accumulation of climber chalk, so I was not the
only one who did not know of its existence.

"Spot me," she said.

She hooked her fingers into the crack and stepped her bare feet up
on the vertical surface of the rock.  In a layback, you use your legs
to push your body _away_ from the rock, and you use your arms to
counter-balance the outward force.  When done right, the inward force
from your arms exactly matches the outward force from your legs.

I stood under her, looking up at her bare back and bottom, and she
quickly scooted right on up the crack to the top.  Her technique was
flawless.

"Throw me the towels."

I tossed up the towels and clawed my way into the crack.  It was a
nice exercise, but I felt funny doing it naked.  I had never tried to
climb barefoot before, and my penis felt awkward swinging freely
between my legs.  Still, it took only a few seconds to join her on
top.

The rock was flat on top, with just enough room for two people to
lie down.  She had the towels spread out.  She sat with her legs
curled under her, her hip thrust to the side.  Her skin was already
dry, and sweat beaded on her forehead and cheeks.  She patted the
towel.  "Lie down with me."

We lay down on our bellies, side by side.  The hot sun beat on my
back and my thighs and my butt.  We turned our heads so we could look
at each other.  She was very close.  She smiled.

"You're good," I said.  "Go climbing with me tomorrow."

"But I'm not very strong."

"You're strong enough," I said.

"I try.  I workout.  There's a place down the street from my job
that has a climbing wall."

"You could do most of the climbs around here."

"But I do six pull-ups and I'm exhausted.  And my neck aches for a
week afterwards."

"I think you can do it."

"Easy for you to say."  She rolled up and, with both hands, she
grabbed the thick muscle at my side.  I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Look at these lats.  Twice as big as mine."

She let go of my side, but my heart raced from her brief touch.  It
had not been a shy touch.  I thought it might mean something,
something sexual.  I searched her face for a meaning.  Her eyes
darted.

I almost forgot I was trying to convince her to go climbing with
me.  I needed to continue the argument.  She had said something about
the merits of muscle size.  "But you weigh less," I said, "you don't
need to be as strong."

She harumphed.  "So how many pull-ups can you do?  Twenty?
Thirty?"

"There is a lot more to climbing than pull-ups."

"No kidding.  That's why I don't like it here.  It's like a giant
chin-up bar."

"Why on Earth would you practice and workout and then not go
climbing?"

She sat silently, her forehead furrowed.

"If you get in trouble, you could just rappel down."

She did not say anything.

"Come on.  I need a partner."

She did not say anything.

"You can belay, can't you?"

"O.K.," she said, slowly.  "I'll climb with you."

             * * *


I got ready to lead the second pitch.  She put her shirt back on
and got herself into a good belay position.  My hands were dry, my
arms and legs felt strong.  She checked over the rope one last time.

             * * *


"You never did tell me what you do all day."

"Mostly I go bouldering and I hike all the trails.  And I like to
lie in the sun."

"By yourself?"

"I don't mind being by myself."

"Why don't you go with your boyfriend?  You should be out
climbing."

"He gets mad at me if I can't do something.  It's just a lot easier
if he goes with people who are as good as he is."

"Is that why you came here?  To wander around the campground by
yourself?"

"Oh," she groaned, "I don't know why I came here.  Look," she said
forcefully, "let's not talk about my boyfriend."

             * * *


The second pitch was easy.  The rock was near vertical, but there
were big horizontal cracks and shelves at convenient intervals.  It
was a simple series of reaches and pull-ups and mantel moves.  I got a
good pump going in my arms and shoulders and back.

             * * *


She curled up into a sitting position at my side.  "Give me your
hand."

I felt nervous.  I rolled up to face her, my penis, now exposed,
hung down across the top of my thigh, and I gave her my right hand.
She held it in both hands, close to her face.  She studied my hand
closely, flipping it over once, then back.  She ran her fingers along
my thick calluses.  Her fingernails were trimmed neat and short.  "You
climb a lot," she said.

"During the winter," I said.  "I work all summer."

She rubbed the heel of my hand with her thumbs, and then she kissed
my palm.  My cock began to stiffen, and I shifted uneasily.  She
noticed.  "Don't be ashamed," she said.  "It's a natural body
function."

I breathed deeply and she traced the outlines of my fingers.  My
cock hardened.

She looked me in the eye and drew my hand to her sternum.

"Touch me," she whispered.

             * * *


When I got to the overhang, I felt good and strong, so I decided to
try something showy.  The wide chimney up through the overhang was the
obvious path.  But this spot on this route was famous for an easy, but
spectacular move.  There was a big hand-sized hole on the top side of
the overhang, one you could grab and hold forever if you wanted to.
The trick was to reach around the lip of the overhang, grab hold, and
swing out into open space until your feet dangled freely.  While you
hang from one hand, the spectators ooh and ahh.  A simple pull-up and
you are past the overhang.

A crack on the underside was a place to hold onto while I leaned
away from rock.  I reached around the lip of the overhang and fished
blindly for the hole.  I found it right away, got four fingers into
it.  It was as secure a hold as you ever find.

I carefully let loose of the crack with my left hand and swung out
until I hung in mid air.  I chalked my free hand, moving slowly to
avoid swinging, and reached up and stuffed both hands into the hole.
It was a simple matter to pull myself over the edge and back to solid
rock.

             * * *


She lay back and closed her eyes.  My hand trembled as I placed it
over her face.  I was afraid my calluses would be rough, or that I had
lost sensation in my fingertips.  So I touched her as light as I
could, the softest possible touches skimming her forehead, and down,
over her closed, twitching eyelids, down her nose, and across her
lips.  She swallowed.  I feathered across her lips and they parted,
and I felt her breath on my fingers.  My hand traveled down around her
chin to her neck, and the muscle in her neck jerked and tensed, then
slowly relaxed.

I felt clumsy.  My thick fingers were more attuned to granite walls
than to a woman's body.  And so I imagined her body was a rock, and I
slid lightly across her skin, searching out hollows and bumps and
creases.  I found comfort in her collarbones, behind her knees, the
upper slope of her breast, underneath in the cleft of her butt.  I
hooked a finger in her navel and she laughed.

I touched her and I explored her.  Sparse wispy white hairs grew
all over her legs.  And a small blond tuft under each arm.  A long,
smooth scar on her forearm.  Firm muscles in her calves and thighs.
She stank of her briny sweat.

Her thick, crinkled nipples perked up in the branch of my thumb and
forefinger.  She groaned and stretched out and my cock jerked up
straight.

             * * *


The top of the overhang was like a platform to stand on.  The climb
was practically over.  I placed one last piece of protection and
scooted up over the final edge.

I was on top!

             * * *


She lay back and spread her legs and her crotch was all plastered
with wet and hair.  She ran her hand up and down the inside of her
thigh and her pussy opened up, showing off the crimson inside.

I crawled up between her thighs.  I ran my hands over the inside of
her legs and she sighed.  Her hands landed on my hips, and she pulled
around and grabbed my ass, curling her fingers into my butt crack.  I
came up closer and we kissed.

I swiped my hand across her pussy, felt the steamy heat, and rubbed
her until she groaned deep in her throat.

I dragged my hands up over her ribs, she let out a gasp and her
breath quickened.  I could feel the deep beat of her heart.  Her eyes
glazed over and her tongue slipped out over her lips, leaving them
wet.  I kissed her, her mouth opened and our tongues slithered
together.  My stiff cock poked her belly.  She kneaded my butt with
both hands.

I took hold of my erection and guided it downward.  She reached
between her legs and held herself open like a split-open fruit.  I
penetrated slowly, and she groaned and moved her legs up and her heels
rested on my lower back.  Her pussy felt warm and thick.

             * * *


I could not see her climb the second pitch.  The overhang blocked
the view down, and my belay anchor was away from the edge.  I had to
handle the rope by feel.

And this time she climbed very slowly.

She was shorter than I was, and she had an obsessive concern about
her arm strength.  So the second pitch, while not technically
difficult, would likely be a lot of work for her.  I did not think it
would be too hard, though.

But it went slower than I would have guessed.  She did not move
fluidly, she stopped frequently, she never got a rhythm going.  It was
like she would get to each horizontal crack and stop.

And then there was a long pause.  The rope vibrated taut between my
hand and the edge, but there was no motion.  I held for a long time.
I listened for any sound but could not hear a thing.

"Are you O.K.?" I yelled down.

"Yeah," she yelled back.

"Do you need help?"

"No.  I just need to rest a little.  I'm real tired."

"Do you want to rappel down?"

"I'm fine.  Just give me a minute."

After a few more minutes, the rope slackened.  She was moving
again.

             * * *


She clutched my shoulders and pulled herself up until her nose
nearly touched mine.  She was so close I could barely focus on her
face.  Her eyes shone blue with pinpoint pupils.  Her moist breath
tickled my lips.  I thrust faster and deeper.  Our bodies slapped
together.

She rocked her hips strongly, long upward swings with my every
downward thrust.  Her breathing turned shallower and our noses bumped.

She let go of my arms, got her shoulders set on the ground, and
humped back hard.  She used her fingers, loosely separated, and
brushed them back and forth over her clitoris.  She whimpered and her
jaw dropped open, her eyes fluttered closed, and a tremble overtook
her.

All of a sudden I felt my own pressure rise.

"I think I'm coming," I grimaced.

I pulled out and placed my shiny trembling cock on her belly.  She
reached out and fingered the head, and her touch set me off, my cock
expanded out and spat its thick semen, depositing it more or less into
the cup of her navel.

             * * *


I felt her struggle in the tension and slack of the rope.  It is an
odd way to feel somebody, through a rope.  You can not see a thing,
and you make up images based on the subtle pulls and slackenings.  If
the rope moves easily you imagine a smile.  If the rope vibrates with
tension, you imagine a grimace and a wrinkled brow.

Her rope moved by inches.  At times I wondered if it moved at all.
I would pull another inch up, and I would wonder if I had simply
pulled out an inch of slack between us.  But slowly, ever so slowly, I
added loop after loop to the coil at my left.

As she got closer to the top, I heard her.  She did not say words.
She made low animal noises.  A growl and a curse and I pulled another
six inches of rope up through my hands.  The scrape of feet on rock.
A whimper.  And then a long extended groan, and an exhilarating two
feet of rope.  A pause and another inch.  "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuck."  And another three inches.  "Fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck fuck fuck."  And another two inches.  And then, out of nowhere, a
whole foot.

And then the long pause.  I could hear her breathing.  I looked at
the coil of rope that had already pulled through my hands.  She should
be near the top.  Perhaps stopped in the shade beneath the big
overhang.

"I can't do this," she said.

"Sure you can."

"My arms aren't long enough.  I can't do the reach around this
overhang."

All of a sudden, I knew I had made a mistake.  I should not have
made the fancy overhang move.  I should have taken the easier route
through the chimney.  If she could not follow my route, she would need
to traverse to the big crack, work her way up, then traverse back to
pick up the protection.  Traverses can be dangerous business.  When
protection is not straight above you, if you fall, you pendulum
across.  And it is not easy to hold a swinging body.  If I remembered
right, this particular traverse could be tricky.  Not an easy section
for a tired climber.

I set myself hard, braced my feet, and tried to remember if I had
set a solid belay line.  Fortunately, I am usually very careful about
that.

"Traverse to the chimney," I said.

I heard her mutter.  "Fucking son-of-a-bitch I'm going to fucking
kill myself."

             * * *


We froze for a moment, staring into each other's eyes.  Her face
glistened with sweat.  Her lower lip trembled, curling under, and for
moment I thought she would cry.  But she let out a long ragged breath,
kissed me, and sat up.

She dropped down off the rock and quickly washed off in the cold
river water.  She scrambled back up and we settled down next to each
other, on our sides, face to face.  I felt like I should say
something, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

Finally, I patted the towel.  "Lie down," I said.  She grinned and
rolled onto her belly.

             * * *


I had to let out rope while she traversed towards the chimney,
giving up all those precious inches that had been so hard to come by.
My muscles tensed up.  I felt the rope for the slightest change.

There was a loud scrape of feet against the rock.

"Falling!" she screamed.

I felt a rush of panic.  I grabbed the rope tight, whipped my brake
hand across my body and tensed my legs for holding a fall.

The rope slowly tightened.  She was not free falling.  She was
slipping slowly downwards.  I held on, but there was no sudden jerk,
just an increasing tension on the rope.

And then just the light, constant tension.  I held for what seemed
like a full minute.  Was I holding her weight?  I did not think so,
she had caught herself.  I imagined her toes pressed against a small
bump in the rock, her fingers clutching hairline cracks, her chest and
cheek pressed against the rock face.

"Slack!" came a muffled yell.

Gingerly, I let some rope out, and it went slack.  I exhaled.  She
had found a secure spot.

             * * *


I moved her hair away from her neck.  The entirety of her naked
back was there for me.  I reached out and placed my hands on her.

I massaged her back muscles, searching each one out individually.
The firm deltoids around her shoulders, the big fan-shaped trapezius
below her neck, the ripple of teres major and infraspinatus, the
latissimus dorsi covering her ribs, the erector spinae along her
backbone.  And her round and firm gluteus maximus.

She moaned as I drew my hands down her back to her waist.  My hands
could span the entire width of her lower back, my thumbs over her
spine, the fingers flaring out to press into the lower back muscle.
And back up, over her shoulders, around to her arms, then drawing back
down her lats.  "Look at these lats," I teased, and I grabbed her.
She jerked and giggled.  "That tickles."

             * * *


She came up over the edge dripping sweat.  The veins in her biceps
bulged against her skin.

For a moment she remained poised there, on her hands and on the
balls of her feet, panting heavily, tensed like a bobcat.  Her 
blue-gray eyes shimmered like the heat rising off hot pavement.  Her pupils
were dark and dilated.

And then she vaulted forward on top of me.  Her shoulder hit my
chest with a thud, and the force of her threw me back on the ground.
Her mouth was near my ear.  "Off belay," she whispered, and then her
wet tongue filled my ear.  Her body trembled all over.

             * * *


I rubbed her back and ass and legs.

"We don't really have that much in common," she said.

"Who?"

"My boyfriend and me."

It looked like we were going to talk after all.  "You don't think
so?"

"Not much."

"You must have something in common.  Why did you get together?"

"I guess because he excited me.  He was an adventurer, and he had
lots of good stories.  He could be fun to be around."

"But not any more?"

"I guess the stories get old after a while.  And I think he's bored
of me."

"Really?"

"We never have spent much time together.  We don't live together,
so we sometimes don't even see each other for a week or so.  Before
this trip, I couldn't tell you the last time we spent the night.  And
even here, we sleep in the same tent, but he doesn't usually come to
bed until after I'm asleep."

"It doesn't sound like much of a relationship.  If you don't mind
my saying it."

"No," she sighed, "it doesn't seem like much of a relationship."

I was tempted to ask her what about me, but she sighed heavily.  I
felt her muscles relax under my hands.

             * * *


We struggled with the knots and buckles of climbing paraphernalia.
I got my harness off, pulled off my shirt as she wiggled around on top
of me.  Her fingers were still uncoordinated from the exertion of the
climb, and she had a hard time loosening her end of the rope.

She stepped off me to get her harness off.  I threw off my shorts,
not even bothering to take off my climbing shoes.  My cock jutted
freely, and she gave up struggling with her clothes, dropped down and
grabbed my cock with both hands.  I grabbed her breasts through her
shirt and squeezed her swollen nipples.  She kissed me and she stroked
my thick erection.

She sank down onto my lap, trapping my cock between her thighs, and
I rolled upwards and we hugged each other close.  We kissed hungrily,
wet, full-mouthed kisses, our arms crushing us together.  I wanted to
squeeze the air out of her.  She grunted and squeezed me back, and our
mouths sucked.

I needed oxygen, I let go, broke the kiss, and I lay back on the
ground.  She looked down at me from above, smiling, her lungs heaving.
She yanked her shirt up over her head, showing me her pretty little
tits.  I arched back up and buried my face in the shallow valley
between her breasts, and I licked the salty skin there, then up and
across to suck up the nipple.  She groaned and held my head to her
peaked nipple and I grabbed her other breast with my callused hand.

She groped me, pinching my nipples, stroking over abdominals and
pectorals.  I untied the drawstring on her climbing pants and she was
naked underneath.  My hand searched its way between her legs.  Her
pussy was hot and humid.

             * * *


"Sometimes I get so frustrated.  I asked him once, `When are we
going to fuck?'"  She sighed and shook her head.  "And he yelled at
me.  `I don't want to hear you use that kind of language ever again!'
He was so mad, I was afraid he was going to hit me."

             * * *


She pressed me down onto my back and straddled my thighs.  She
grabbed my cock and held it straight up, pointing it at the sweaty
tangle of blond hair between her legs.  She lowered herself down with
a sigh.  Her hot pussy enveloped me.

Her hips revolved slowly, holding my huge erection deep inside her,
and she let loose a burst of giggles.  The corded muscles in her
thighs jerked and twitched.  I ran my hands up and down her legs and
up over her pelvis to her ribs and up on her breasts.  Her legs tensed
and strained.

She humped up and down and I squeezed one of her little tits and
used my other hand on her pussy, pressing my thumb against her clit.

Faster, she bucked up and down, quick jerky thrusts.  Her upper
chest flushed pink, sweat trickled down her tanned belly.  I reached
up and put my hands over her face and she groaned, and she sucked my
thumb in her mouth and I fingered her sensitive lips.  Her hips
bucked, my cock swelled. I drew my hands down her neck across the hot
skin of her chest, pinching up her nipples.

             * * *


"I think he might be cheating on me."

"Really?"

"Maybe."

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know.  I just think so sometimes.  But it isn't the
cheating part that bothers me.  The thing I hate most is that he takes
me for granted."

             * * *


She threw her head back and let out an enormous whoop.  Her voice
echoed against the granite cliffs.  My cock twitched and gushed and
filled her pussy with seed.  She tossed her head back and forth, her
golden hair, damp with perspiration, swirled about her face.

And we were motionless.  My cock shrank within the confines of her
sloppy pussy, her hands pressed down against my shoulders.  She looked
down at me from above, and a drop of sweat fell off her chin and
splashed against my neck.

We breathed hard and stared at each other.  A smile came to her
lips, and she threw her head back and laughed.

She pulled forward, my cock drooped out, and she laughed again.
She leaned down and kissed me.  She tasted of salt.  I put my arms
around her, squeezed her close, felt her cool slick body against me.
I could hold her forever.

But she would have none of that.  She stood up and my arms slipped
away.  She stood and looked down at me, smiling wide.  She turned and
bounced a few steps away and she laughed, her sweaty body shining in
the late-morning sun.  I sat up and watched as she strode naked and
confident to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the valley
below.  And she threw her head back and yelled out at the top of her
lungs:

"I _did_ it!"

Her voice echoed in the valley.

"I got _fucked!_"

She whooped loud and threw her fists in the air.  Her back muscles
pumped up.  "_I did it!_"

             * * *


She and her boyfriend left two days later.

I only saw her one other time, more than a year later, at Yosemite.
It was early morning, and I was exploring the area around the
campsites.  I followed a path down towards the river, came around a
big boulder, and there she was.

She stood hip-deep in the river, naked, surrounded by swirling
water.  Her hair was longer, down to mid-back, but I recognized the
triangular shape of her back.  The river flowed so strong she had to
lean forward against the current to keep from being swept downstream.

"Hey!" I yelled.

She looked at me and her face lit up with recognition.  A smile
bloomed and she yelled.  "Hey!"  And she dunked her head completely
under the water, her entire self submerged in the roaring cauldron of
foam and for a moment I panicked, I thought the river had taken her.
But then she burst back up and she lunged towards the bank.

She bounded out of the water and let out a whoop.  Her whole naked
body was covered with goose bumps.  "I can't believe it's you!" she
said.  She ran towards me and jumped against me and hugged me.  Her
cold, wet body was a shock.  And she laughed and stepped away.  "I am
here on my honeymoon," she said.  "I can't wait to introduce you to my
husband.  I think you'll like him."

She dried off while I watched awkwardly, and she put on a long
shirt.  She held my hand and led me back to her campsite.

And she introduced me to her husband.  And he was a very nice guy
indeed.




              

Comments? Good or bad, I'd love to hear them. Email me at
poisoniv1@hotmail.com. Or you can find mor estories like this on
my website, http://bounce.to/poisoniv1.

