Lovers on a Hike

Yesterday afternoon, Christopher took me on a hike through the mountains, which was a wonderful opportunity for us to step back from life, look out over the city with awe and appreciate life; however, something unique and unexpected stole attention. At the top of one of two large sprawling hills, a couple (each no more than twenty years of age) pressed up against an electrical tower, sharing in each other's bodies.


The young woman, a petite Japanese girl that looked much like our own Ryoko, had slipped her red-and-pink underwear and tan pants from her legs and flicked them without regard into a nearby thorn bush. Her accomplice, a young, tan caucasian boy with hazel eyes remained clothed, leaning on the concrete base of an electrical tower.

The young man's broad shoulders were accentuated by a light leather jacked. For a moment, my lips tingled and my eyes began to water. Clothed as he was, his zipper must have been slipped down, for the Japanese girl held tightly onto a coil of metal, wrapped her legs around the boy's waist, and rocked forward and backward. She tossed her hair over she shoulder as she rocked, her neck suddenly arched backwards, while the tips of her toes curled forward. They looked like baby hot dogs shiverin the cold.

The couple was lost in the moment and couldn't have seen was watching. Christopher and I looked at each other and smiled, half-embarassed and half-excited.

Just then, a police car swerved around the corner and stopped at the base of the hill. If only for a moment, I felt a strong desire to rush up to the couple, to rip their bodies apart, pull their clothes on, and point them in a safe direction re-commence their passionate snuggling. Instead, we stared on, open-mouthed and helpless, entirely unsure how to proceed. Should we run? Should we stay and share what we'd watched.

The bright-red break-lights of the cruiser kicked in and seconds later the officer sped away. Meanwhile, the couple had re-arranged their linking bodies. The girl held onto the concrete base of the electrical tower with our warm, brown, outstretched arms, while her lovely ragdoll stood behind her, kneeling, and holding on tightly. While their bodies ripped like soft waves, the boy took his hand and slowly moved his fingers up the young Japanese girl's right inner-thigh. Then, as if I in the boy's embrace as well, I felt a warm tingle on my own right leg.

"I almost think we should..." I said to Christopher, trailing off.
"...should leave?" said Christopher.
"No," I said, "Not really. I was just thinking."
"I don't understand," Christopher said, staring at me blankly.

I could tell he wasn't on the same level, wasn't appreciating the beauty of the moment we were so fortunate to stumble upon. I wanted to brush Christopher off, like dust on a shoulder. This was "our" moment anymore. It was mine. I wanted to stroll up to the young couple, touch their backs, their arms, their faces. I wanted to share in what they had. I could have joined them.

I didn't. I've been thinking about it all morning. I feel a pain in my hips, a nervous anxiety just short of regret. Could I have met them? Are they one of the few people in the world that understands what these glorious bodies of ours are for, what potential for pleassure they have?

I really don't know what I've lost. When will such an opportunity show itself again?

Later in the night, Christopher laughed the whole thing off as we drove towards home. He felt the incident was grotesque, or at the very least improper. It seems so many boys feel this way... so focused on regret for their own desire, that they scold everyone--even themselves--for letting it all go.

I want to go back. I want to find nature's embrace.