Johanna 7
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Johanna - 1 - Addendum free porn video
I never thought of Dad as a thrill-seeker or a daredevil, for he always methodically planned every activity to minimize the risk. However, he was certainly drawn to the adrenalin that came from danger and the endorphins that came from effort. He took me on expeditions that I would have horrified Mom. After a particularly hazardous activity – scaling a cliff wall, a hair-raising ascent to a snowy ridgeline with our skis in our backpacks, a particularly difficult jump on horseback – he would wink at me and say, “Not a word to Mom, okay?”
Once, when I was nine, and we were camping by Echo Lake, and I asked Dad about the woods on the other side.
“Let’s swim across and find out,” he said.
It was almost a mile across the lake at that point, but Dad knew that the water was warm from the many hot springs that fed the lake. He swam by my side and I tried to emulate his easy breast stroke. However, about halfway across, I began to tire. He saw it and also knew that I would never admit it.
“Just float on your back, Johanna,” he said, without giving me a reason.
I obeyed and he calmly towed me the rest of the way, getting us to the far shore without incident.
Dad and I did backcountry trips together every winter that always included a great deal of skiing, hiking, snowshoeing, camping, and sometimes even ice climbing. Backcountry skiing in Montana is probably one of the most extreme sports in the world, but I was too young to fully appreciate the perils. And I was never afraid when I was Dad. He had never had a lesson, and was not a particularly stylish skier, but we never came across a slope on which he could not find a way down.
Once, he was leading the way down a particularly steep and narrow chute through the trees, and I was right behind him, my ski tips on his tails. I knew I was too close to him, but the thrill of drafting him at high speed, my skis following the grooves he carved was just too tempting. He came up on a sudden drop-off, and pulled up sharply. It was impossible for me to stop in time, and I plowed into him, knocking him over the edge. Everything unfolded in slow motion. He grabbed the branch of a scrubby bush, but it began to uproot under the momentum of his fall. He flipped himself over and managed to grab another one bush that held. I looked past him in horror at the rocks hundreds of feet below. Then he pulled himself back up over the lip and lay beside me panting.
“I’m so sorry, Dad, I know I shouldn’t have been so close …” I faltered.
He put his hands on my shoulders. He looked back up the steep slope at our ski tracks in the fresh powder. He smiled, his blue eyes mischievous.
“It looks like there was only one skier,” he said. “You really know how to ride a rail on those skis, Johanna. And you know what to do when you get back to Wisconsin.”
“Yes,” I said. “Not a word to Mom.”
These sorts of things happened all the time with Dad. His calm confidence took the fear out of any desperate situation, leaving only the excitement. I was secure in the knowledge that nothing bad could happen when he was around.
*
Dad rarely praised me verbally, but whenever I did something well, I saw the approval in his eyes. I sought it assiduously. He never preached or explicitly taught me anything. His actions were my guide – take responsibility for everything you do, never lie or boast, help those who are weaker than you and those who are dependent on you, including animals, do things because they’re right, not for a reward – all of these things and more I learned by watching him.
We were in Billings once when I was about 10, picking up some parts for a generator. We decided to get an early dinner before starting the long drive back. We went into a sports bar with flat screen TVs all around, seated ourselves and ordered our drinks and food – hamburgers and fries, a soda for me, a beer for Dad. As we ate, we saw a group of husky young men in jeans, boots, and hats gathered around a thin, pasty faced guy in a suit. They were joking with him, but as time passed, the joking escalated. They pulled his tie, slapped the back of his head seemingly in jest, kicked his briefcase on the floor by “accident”. Each time they did something, they laughed uproariously.
The bar was quite crowded, but no one interfered, probably because several of the young men had guns in their belts. Dad finished his dinner, pushed his chair back and got up very deliberately.
“Stay here, Johanna,” he said to me.
He walked over to the group and said, “Why don’t you boys let this gentleman finish his drink in peace?”
The young men were obviously surprised. They looked Dad up and down, and I could see they were looking for a weapon. I knew he was unarmed – his guns were in the truck outside.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, cowboy?” asked one of the young men, his tone belligerent.
Dad ignored him and asked the man in the suit, “Where are you from, sir?”
“Minneapolis,” he replied.
“We’re friendly folk here in Montana, aren’t we, boys?” Dad asked the young men.
“We’re bein’ friendly,” replied another of the young men. “Just joshin’ with the man.”
I could see the young men fanning out. A couple of them put their hands on the butts of their guns. I got up and walked quickly behind the bar, where there was a shotgun on pegs.
“You boys just need to think this through,” said Dad. He looked serious, but there was a kind expression on his face. “Don’t be hotheads now. You know that nothing good can come out of pulling a gun.”
“He’s right, Kenny …,” said one of the young men.
“Don’t put your nose where it don’t belong!” said the one addressed as Kenny, angrily. “Just take care of your pretty little girl.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said, cocking the shotgun and resting the barrel on the bar. The barkeep took a step toward me, but stopped when I gave him a sidelong glance. Kenny locked eyes with me for a moment. He didn’t look particularly mean, just rowdy. He looked like the young men I rode with all the time.
“That shotgun’s got a mean kick, girl,” he said, smiling.
“I know,” I said.
He started laughing, and all the other young men joined him.
“You’ve got quite a girl there, cowboy,” said Kenny.
“I know,” said Dad.
Dad was silent as we walked out to the truck a short while later. I was tense, for I expected him to be mad at me for disobeying him. When he still hadn’t said anything when we got on to the interstate, I was sure I was in trouble.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, thinking to preempt him. “But I was afraid they were going to shoot you.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he smiled.
“They weren’t going to shoot me,” he said. “But I’m proud of you.”
He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him on the bench seat of the old truck. I snuggled up, breathing in the smells of leather, cheap aftershave, and him. Years later, I can still smell it.
I was asleep long before we got home.
*
Regan Jennings owned a hairdressing salon in the nearest town to Dad’s place. She was pretty, and about 15 years younger than Dad. From my earliest trips Montana, I remember her as always being around. She cut Dad’s hair and sometimes mine, often had us over to her place in town for dinner, and sometimes came out to our rural homestead. She was never central to my thinking, since she didn’t ride horses, though I remember doing a few hikes with her.
The morning after our trip to Billings, I found her sitting at the kitchen table. She was wearing a very short nightie and had a mug of coffee in her hands.
“Hello there, sleepyhead,” she said to me. “Your dad told me about your gun toting antics yesterday.”
“What are you doing here in your nightie, Regan?” I asked, too surprised to be subtle.
It was her turn to look surprised.
“Bob and I have been seeing each other for over a year now,” she said. “I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, I’m sorry if it’s a shock, sweetheart. I love your father.”
“Does he love you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I know he likes me. And he’s lonely.”
“He’s not lonely!” I shouted. “He has me!”
“Of course, he does, sweetheart,” she said, a soft expression in her eyes.
Dad came in through the back door, wearing his work clothes.
“I’m heading out to fix the posts on the north pasture,” he said. Then he saw the way that Regan and I were eyeing each other. “Is anything the matter?”
“I was just telling Johanna …,” began Regan.
“Why’s she here in her nightie?” I burst out.
“I think you better get your clothes on and come with me,” said Dad.
We rode out to the north pasture together. I didn’t say anything, but I was sure he could see I was not happy. We worked together for half an hour before he spoke.
“I love Mom,” he said. “But she’s made it quite clear that I don’t make her happy.”
“She’ll come round, Dad!” I cried. “Gordon Greene is such a loser. Once she sees that, she’ll come back to you.”
“I hope you’re right, Johanna. But I’m not very hopeful.”
“If you love Mom,” I said, trying another tack. “How can you sleep with Regan? She’s only a bit older than Roberta!”
“It’s not that simple, Johanna. Life isn’t ‘love me, love me not’, white – black. I know Mom still cares for me, but she has a live-in boyfriend that she cares for too. I love Mom, but I also care for Regan. She’s a bit older than she looks, she’s nearly 30.”
“Are you going to divorce Mom? And marry Regan? That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s what Regan wants. But it really depends on you.”
“Me?” I asked, incredulous.
He put his hands in my armpits, picked me up, and swung me around.
“You’ll always be my girl, Johanna. I’ll never give you up. I wouldn’t marry Regan if the two of you couldn’t get along.” He put me down and looked into my eyes hopefully. “You’ve always got along with her fine before now.”
“That was when I didn’t know she was sleeping with you,” I said.
I considered the situation as we went back to work. I disliked Gordon so much that I could not imagine Mom staying with him in the long term. But she couldn’t get back together with Dad if he married Regan. We broke for lunch and got back on the horses to ride back to the house.
“Mom has a boyfriend,” I said. “So I suppose it’s only fair that you have a girlfriend. I do like Regan. But not as your wife.”
“Okay,” he said.
*
Years later, I did wonder about Dad and Regan. Did they make love out under the stars of the Big Sky? What was Dad like as a lover?
Anastasia
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