Gates of the Arctic

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“How did you know?” I murmur beneath your ear. “This week’s really taken a toll. How could you tell that I needed to get away for a while?”

You smile. “Don’t I always know? I can see it in your eyes…the set of your mouth. How could I ever miss it?”

Gently I nuzzle the hollows of your throat, grateful that you’re here, and that you understand me so well. “Should I wait inside while you do that ‘preflight thingy’?” I ask, looking around the small bush terminal for an unoccupied seat. “Or should I come out on the tarmac with you? Is there something I can help with?”

You stifle the urge to laugh, knowing that help is the last thing I would be in getting your bright red Stearman airborne…but you know I’m serious, so you resist. “You can keep me company. That always helps…with anything,” you whisper into my hair. “Come on out to the tie-down. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

I laugh the laugh that you so tactfully resisted. I knew what you were thinking…what you’re thinking now. It isn’t here on the runway in Barrow that you crave my company, or even up there in the blue arctic sky. It’s our weekend together that has your juices flowing…and mine. As much as you’re looking forward to our flight into the clear, cloudless sky, you’re anticipating our weekend alone in the Gates of the Arctic more…a wilderness preserve so rare and unspoiled that much of it has never seen the hand of man.

“Why don’t you get in?” you offer, guiding my feet as I make my way into the forward cockpit. I feel your hands linger on my derriere as I leave the chill surface of the pavement…warming much more that my body. Again I smile. An unspoken message has passed between us…an understanding…a promise. This weekend is for us alone…all else will be left behind. The only thing to touch us…or be touched by us is…

I blush as the thought of us in the wilderness for two days fills my mind. Two days…two days…a lifetime for a fruit fly…yet a microsecond in the timelessness that will surround us on this trip…but time enough.

Gratefully, I slide into the relative comfort of my leather-clad seat, watching as you check and recheck the countless tiny considerations that must be secured, approved and adjusted before we may make our escape.

Finally, you’re through. You flash me a brief nod, then climb up beside me, checking to be sure that I too am secured for the flight. Once again your fingers linger…quivering slightly as they slide beneath my shoulder harness, tugging, testing… caressing my breast in their passing. My nipples harden in anticipation, wishing even now that the flight was over and that we were lying naked together beneath a starry sky in each other’s arms…far from the eyes of man.

I stifle a cry as you break contact and climb in behind me…the warmth of your fingers imprinted in my mind…on my yearning form. I feel the rumble of the engine…the slow growl of the craft as it comes to life and begins to make it’s way down the deserted runway. It fills me…it stirs me…it offers the promise of things to come.

Slowly you taxi into position, turning us into the wind, and preparing to defy the laws of gravity once again. This is not new to you…but every time I see you take to the air I’m amazed at the renewed wonder in your eyes. You were meant to be here…of this I have no doubt. I’m but a visitor…someone with whom you’ve chosen to share this special would of yours…and the thought means more to me than mere words could ever tell you.

Tugging my goggles into place, I feel the wind stiffen against my leather flight jacket as the craft picks up speed. Faster…faster we race until at last we break free from the earth below, soaring ever skyward like gulls on the wing. We rise weightlessly into the thin, clear air, gaining altitude, leaving the soddies and prefabs of Barrow far behind. I feel the plane shift as you bank sharply to the right, heading for the shoreline, our guide on the first leg of our journey.

Within seconds we’re following the Arctic coast eastward…past the lagoon…Browerville…the Point where we’ve spent so many intimate moments. Below us the ocean caresses the land, lapping gently at timeless shores, the small white “calves” of icebergs-past gently lolling listlessly in the lethargic chill of the blue-gray sea.

A bowhead breaks the surface, spewing water into the frosty air as it makes its way westward toward the Bering Straits and its mating ground far, far away in the tropics beyond. We smile, knowing full well the primal urges that drive this massive beast toward its ultimate destination. My pulse quickens. Am I like that? Are you? Is this bright, red bird a part of our mating ritual as well?

The ice cap…ancient beyond reckoning, lies to the north…it’s pale contours heralding the edge of no-man’s land. But that isn’t for us…not today. You tap my arm as the silt-laden delta of the Coville River passes beneath our wings…its intricate by-ways crossing and recrossing in a lazy flow to the sea. You bank once more, and we head southward…following its course past the prefabs of Nuiqsut…the taksim grup yapan escort oil rigs of Prudhoe Bay falling away to the east.

We travel onward, the Coville narrowing, picking up speed as we begin to leave the tundra behind and climb the foothills of the Brooks Range. You pull back on the stick, and I feel the plane rise…the earth above…the sky below as you guide the Stearman through a series of loops…a farewell to the flatlands. I howl with delight…laughing as the world rights itself and my pulse strives to regain its rhythm. It’s good to be alive…so good.

Slowly we climb, past Anaktuvuk Pass…Umiat…until the final bastions of civilization lie far behind, and we’re free at last. The blue-white crags of the Brooks Range flow beneath us…the passing of man serenely absent. Finally and completely, we’re alone.

You tap my arm once more and point out a narrow strip of beach…the afterthought of some long melted glacier…abandoned now by the still depths of a deep mountain lake. You point downward, and I feel the Stearman begin to lose altitude, our bird coming home for the night.

Once more you head into the wind as our landing gear gently touches down. Then turning, you taxi back to the far end of this impromptu runway and swing about in preparation for our inevitable departure. But for now…leaving is the last thing on our minds. This place has called us…drawn us to it. We belong here.

Quickly you drop to the ground, then offer your hand as I make my way from the cockpit into your waiting arms. This is what I’ve been waiting for…longing for. The flight was wonderful…breathtaking, but it was mere foreplay to what awaits here in your embrace.

You gather me against you…your body hard and rugged against the soft contours of my own. You part my lips with your tongue, probing within…a parody of the act we both want so desperately. But we need to show some restraint, some control. Mere minutes of daylight remain, and we have a camp to set up while we still can.

Briefly we scout the area, then select a spot beside a granite cliff, within view of the lake beyond. I begin to lay a fire about ten feet from the base, knowing that when the flame is lit, anything in between will remain warm and toasty. I walk along the shore gathering enough driftwood to last the night, and then return to find all of our gear neatly piled by our campsite.

Ever the nest-builder, I begin to spread our ground cloth atop the sand at the base of the abutment, topping it with the double sleeping bag…soft down…that we’ve chosen for this occasion. The last of the sun dips behind the mountains, leaving us to our own devices. I turn. You’ve gotten the fire started. Wonderful!

You give me an impish grin and begin to peel the clothing from your body. I smile at your impatience. What am I ever going to do with you? The possibilities are endless…

Quickly I begin to shed my jeans and panties, dropping them unceremoniously in a heap. Then, crossing my arms, I begin to lift the huge Shaker sweater that covers my naked breasts up and over my head…but where have you gone?

I hear you laugh…your voice calling out to me from the darkness beyond. A splash. You must be crazy! That water is close to freezing!

Quickly I grab a spare blanket from our gear, knowing that you’ll be chilled to the bone, and gather my sweater once more.

“Dan…where are you?” I call into the night, my breath coming in frosty gasps as I make my way toward the beach.

“Dan…?”

And then you’re there…your arms surrounding me…your hands taking my burdens from me as you lift me in your arms. I feel the throaty rumble of laughter in your chest as you carry me across the beach.

“Dan! You wouldn’t…”

(But you would…)

I hear the water swirling around your calves…your thighs…my body…

“DAN!!”

The water assaults my buttocks, evoking a shattering yelp…but then I’m once again high and dry. Laughing, I jab your shoulder with my fist.

“You! You’re a menace…you know that?”

Even in the still darkness of our mountain retreat, I can sense your smile bathing me in its warm and reassuring glow.

“Let’s go back,” I whisper. “It’s warm back there…cozy. I brought you a blanket…”

Briefly, you dip your head and lap at my turgid nipple, then make your way back to the dusky line of the shore. You’re chilled, and I wrap you in the blanket I’ve brought, then once more don the oversized sweater that will be my own saving grace.

Our fire casts a warm and welcomed glow, and we trace its beacon through the velvet blackness back to our nest. The cliff behind us has warmed in our absence, and now a luminous biodome of warmth encapsulates the area around out bedroll.

Dropping silently, you kneel atop the soft, downy surface of our makeshift bed, the blanket pooling around your legs. Your eyes, so recently filled with mirth, have taken on a different hue…an intensity that was absent until now.

Settling back on your heels, you draw me toward taksim masöz escort you, my feet assuming an uneasy position on either side of your resting knees.

“Dan?”

“Shhhhhh. Don’t talk. Don’t move,” you whisper, your voice holding me in a way no physical bond ever could.

Silently I wait, watching the look in your eyes grow smoky…heavy-lidded. Your hands begin to trace the outside of my thighs, sliding up beneath my sweater… stoking my body in ways unseen until a spark within me begins to glow and kindle. You lift the hem, exposing my wayward curls to the dim flicker of the firelight.

I gasp…the clear air filling my lungs as your tongue begins to invade the moist, delicate center of my passion. My head throbs. I’ve forgotten to exhale…a common problem when in your presence.

Softly the breath seeps between my lips…companion to the low moan that grows within me. Your hand, once holding me fast, now begins once more to explore the hidden contours of my body…the quivering flesh of my abdomen…the hardened pebbles adorning my breasts.

Again your lips command…imprison, as they continue their tortuous foray into places beyond my control.

“Don’t…”

“…move.”

I feel your heat…your hands…and my power to obey vanishes like the last of the day. Crossing my arms before me, I lift the hem of my sweater and raise it over my head, baring my body to the heavens above.

Your hand… so bold…so demanding, has now become my prisoner instead. Gently I caress it… fondle it…taste the pocket of your palm with the tip of my tongue. You falter…miss a beat as I tenderly place your index finger between my moistened lips…licking the roughened pad…sucking the salty essence of you into my hungering mouth.

I close my eyes, drawing this pale surrogate ever deeper, feeling you shift…firm and solid between my feet…harboring a tumescence meant for me alone.

Bending my quivering knees, I enclose you between my thighs…our bodies erect…our flesh alive with the flaming gyrations of the fire beyond. I feel your silken shaft pressing against me, hard and persistent, seeking to penetrate my very being. A tug of your hands, a jut of my hips, and we’re one with each other…a union as old as time in a place that time forgot.

My breath comes in soft pants as I feel your hardened flesh moving deeply within me…pinning me…possessing me. I feel your hands nudging rhythmically against the rounded orbs of my buttocks, pulling me tighter…

“Go slow…” you whisper as my pulse begins to race. “Go slow…we have all the time in the world.”

But something inside of me has left the realm of verbal restraint…left my meager ability to contain it. It’s your control alone that keeps me from flying apart…shattering like the crystalline floes of ice that even now creep down the mountainsides in pristine glaciers.

“I…I…c-c-can”t,” I stammer incoherently, my fingers clutching at the nape of your neck. “I’m trying…” Again I feel your body…so deeply imbedded in my own…so intimately a part of me, and I know that trying won’t be enough.

I press my lips to yours…seeking to quell the ragged gasps which shake my body, but I find that you have begun to adopt my rhythm instead. Our tongues meet… intertwine… giving and taking in kind. My nipples, taught and rigid, graze the firmness of your chest and my moans fill the stillness.

I begin to unravel before you…so close…so close. A sense of urgency begins to fill your eyes. Maybe waiting is better left for another time…another moment, you decide. Then, with a consummate skill borne of passions past, you slide your fingers between us and gently massage the delicate hub of my ardor.

I crest…my hold on reason, rationality lost…stifling the primal screams that rise unbidden in my throat. I sink my teeth deeply into my lower lip, clinging to my last dim shred of control.

“Let it go…let it go…” you murmur against my throat as I feel the hot gush of your essence fill me. “It’s just us. I want to hear you…let it go…”

Your words curl like a living thing between my thighs, penetrating beyond the boundaries of my tangible being. A cry shatters the stillness…primal…uncivilized…mine? And again…and still once more, eroding finally to a whimper dying in the firelight.

The proof of our passion warms my body, flows in heated rivulets against my thighs as I sink back against the softness of our aerie high in this lofty wilderness. All thought of yesterday…of tomorrow leave as I feel your arms enfold me. Today is all that matters…this moment is all that exists.

Gently you draw the edges of the sleeping bag around us, our bodies touching, sharing their warmth. And as the first stars of night make their way across the sky, we drift off in each other’s arms…fulfilled…at one with each other…at peace. ………………………….

Morning comes…chill and resolute. We’re reluctant to leave the warmth of our cocoon…but leave we must. The fire has dwindled down, taksim otele gelen escort and only the soft glow of remembered passion still remains in its wake. I feel your lips brush my eyelids…softly teasing me from my reverie.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to rise and shine,” you whisper in my dreams…like a mosquito buzzing persistently into my ear.

“Mmmm…lets stay here,” I respond petulantly. “You said that we had all the time in the world…remember?” I remind you, feeling your early morning arousal prodding my thigh.

You smile…my gentle coaxing all that you were waiting for. “What did you have in mind?”

I grin…an impish devilment growing in my eyes. “Breakfast,” I reply, slowly sliding beneath the edge of the sleeping bag. “After last night…I need nourishment.”

Slowly you feel my tongue lave a trail down the length of your body…tickling your flesh…tantalizing the rigid prominence at the juncture of your thighs. Unseen lips enclose you…entice you…fill you with needs more basic than food…warmth…air. Your passion begins to grow…to accelerate. Deep inside a band tightens… drawing you into its spiral, focussing your very being on one tiny spot in the great universe. Your eyelids close…all the sensation you need is beyond the range of your vision now.

Tension builds…the band snaps. You feel the flood of your humanity flow between the warmth of my questing lips. Your body begins to shake uncontrollably, soft guttural moans emanating from your throat.

Lost in the nest of your thighs I smile, sated in the knowledge that I’ve given you pleasure. A sharing of passion…a gentle gift. Today is ours…a safe haven from the world beyond. We have all the time in the world.

Finally rising into the chill air, you toss another log onto the fire as I crack a few eggs into a pan and set the coffee to heat. This place we’ve chosen…it’s a good one. The heavily forested mountains on either side form an effective windbreak from the cold arctic breeze…a Shangri-La unspoiled and untrodden…lost in the vast reaches of the wilderness. No sounds of mankind here…no motor-driven annoyances…just the sigh of the mountains watching enviously as we play with each other, lightheartedly skipping stones across the surface of the lake.

Gathering wood for later this evening, we decide to hike up to the treeline, far above, and experience the fullness of our adventure in its pristine perfection. A stream, gushing between the saddle of two peaks has formed a moderate access…one not too backbreaking…a welcomed sight.

Stuffing our daypacks with the needs of out diminutive journey, we set out…climbing steadily…following the watercourse as it winds its way between the rocks and trees of the hillside. The air, crisp and clean, begins to thin and we find the need to rest more frequently as we near the top.

Finally, after hours of what had once seemed like an easy ascension, we break free of the trees and find ourselves scant feet from the very pinnacle. You start to climb…your height and strength easily outdistancing my own, but then you stop. The look in your eyes says volumes as you reach down and clasp my hand in yours. A brief tug, and I find myself abreast of your lofty position. A nudge…and I rise to the very peak itself…a gift from you.

Seconds pass, and I feel you beside me once more, your arms holding me, your touch keeping me from spiraling dizzily into the green depths below. There is no sign of man here…not here…no cigarette butts, no Coke cans…nothing to defile the untouched splendor that surrounds us. Alpha and Omega…the beginning and the end…an eternity will pass before another foot touches this place. An endless string of humanity will come and go, and still this spot will be ours alone.

We spend the afternoon marveling at the glory before us. Dall sheep, eagles and grizzlies form a moving panorama before our eyes. Caribou wander in to drink not far from the strange red bird that nests beside the calm waters below. Then, as the evening threatens to swallow the tentative footholds that allowed us access, we make our way down the mountainside to our camp by the lake.

Our “home” is as we left it…untouched and awaiting our arrival. Quietly I stir the coals, adding more wood, coaxing the flames alive once more. Then, setting a huge coffeepot of water on to warm, I begin wrapping potatoes in aluminum foil to bake in the embers for supper.

I hold up a slab of side bacon for your inspection. “Are we eating this tonight, or are you going to try your hand with a rod and reel?” I ask, knowing full well that your rod has been carefully packed in the storage compartment for days.

I smile as you gather your gear and head down through the growing twilight toward the shore. I have a few moments alone…some privacy. I’ll need that in a little while.

Bending to my task, I begin to prepare the bannock bread for tonight’s meal. It’s my own recipe, heavy-laden with currents, dried apple, slivered almonds and cinnamon. With expert ease I mix the ingredients, then fold in an additional measure of wild blueberries that I’ve gathered from the hillside. I form the dough into small patties, dropping them into the sizzling skillet for a few minutes to brown on one side. Then, flipping them over, I set the pan on an angle to allow the bread to bake slowly in the reflected heat of the flames while I take advantage of my solitary status.

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