Escapee
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No Escape free porn video
No Escape
Len shouldered the heavy pack, and ratcheted his legs in
short steps up the grueling trail which once served as an
access road. The deep ruts in the trail were well hidden by
the high grass. He would manage. This experience was too
good to worry about little pains.
He watched the flashlights of the others bobbing along as
they crested the top of the hill ahead, four other teens
ahead of him, two others behind him. Collectively, they
referred to themselves as 'the gang'. In a small town like
theirs, they were a fearful presence. They were the
headbangers, metal-heads, and punks of the school. Len
himself had been pulled into the Vice-Principal's office
some weeks ago and asked point blank if he was practicing
Satanism.
He laughed at the thought. He had to get the hell out of
this shit-hole town. He might even have to get all the way
out of the Mid-West. The people here were insane. Len
played D&D. He listened to heavy metal. He wore long hair.
In a place like this, that added up to being a Satan
Worshipper. Well, that and the rumors.
The group of young men wandered into the flat field that at
one time had been a clay pit. It had been abandoned long
ago. Few weeds grew in the hard clay, making the area an
excellent campsite. They gathered near the firepit they'd
used so many times before.
Some people called this "God's Country". The entire area
was mostly abandoned strip mines, with the occasional
trailer set out beside the road. They were a good five
miles from anywhere. The gang mostly came out to areas like
this, camped, and generally ignored all the fucked up
people around them.
Len knew that it was a form of mental escapism. For him, it
was a way to stay sane long enough to get away. He grew up
poor, the child of a single mother who suffered from
alcoholism. He was the kind of student who did what he
needed to get by in school, excelling only in the subjects
that he enjoyed. While he was physically short, he had an
insane fierceness about him that had saved him time and
again from the crap other high school students faced. The
truth was, somewhere along the line, he'd been pushed a bit
too far, and something in him had snapped. Take anyone, put
them under enough stress, and they'd be the same. That was
Len's view. So he bided his time, and waited to get out of
Southern Ohio, and he did everything he could to take his
mind off of his reality.
The group set up their sleeping pads and bags quickly then
gathered on the logs near the fire pit. Another member of
the gang, Si, busied himself with starting a fire. Len was
tagged to make a second run to the cars, for a cooler. He
and Jeff trotted down the hill, to the rusted 4*4 that
Jeff's father had lent them. They carried the heavy,
awkward container up the precarious path. It was full of
liquid refreshment.
The plan was to drink some tonight, get some rest, and get
up an hour or so before dawn. Then they'd drop. Len had
never dropped acid before, and he was admittedly a bit
nervous.
He'd spent two weeks reading up on everything he could find
on the subject of lysergic acid diethylamide. His greatest
fear had been whether what they were taking was actually
good, as in, not tainted, poisoned, or just bogus. Steve
was the 'test subject'. He was going to take a double
dose... actually was probably doing it at that very moment.
Steve had done more acid than all the rest of the gang
together, and would have a good idea if it was good
product.
Len's second fear was what he'd see while tripping. They'd
chosen a remote location, with a tranquil surrounding to
minimize on the chance of a bad trip. Secondly, two of the
guys weren't going to trip at all. They were 'designated
drunkards', people who would keep a halfway sane eye on the
trippers. They were much more into drinking than
psychoactive substances. Maybe it was Len's closeness to
the subject of alcoholism, but he never enjoyed getting
drunk. He'd also read that there was a statistically higher
chance of someone who came from alcoholic parents using
psychotropics.
The trudge up the hill was grueling, but well worth it. Len
and Jeff got first dibs on beverage.
The night went much the same as every other night, with the
exception that every so often, someone was tasked with
finding Steve, and making sure he was doing all right.
After they'd all had hot dogs and potatoes baked in the
fire, it was Len's turn to go find tripping-boy. Len walked
around the clay pit, and didn't find his friend. Next, he
clambered down the trial toward the vehicles. He searched
the area, and was about to leave when he heard something
like a laugh from a clump of shrubs near the graveled dirt
road. Len peaked in, sweeping his flashlight beam around
inside the massively twisted thicket. Inside, hunched up
like a rabbit was Steve.
Len knelt down, moving close to his friend. The two young
men had been friends for more than four years now. Len
found it odd to see his friend acting so... out of touch
with reality.
"Steve, you doing okay?" Len asked softly.
"Yep," he replied crisply.
"Why are you in the bush, dude?" Len continued.
"I'm hiding from the helicopter," Steve said secretively.
"What helicopter?" Len asked, looking around. He was
certain Steve was having visual and audio hallucinations,
but Len thought he could hear SOMETHING.
"Shh. Here it comes. Don't move. They can't see you if you
don't move," Steve explained the rules to the reality he
was immersed in.
Len held still, listening. Soon, the white noise he'd heard
formed itself into a coherent sound of tires on gravel. The
road ahead began to grow brighter from the approaching
headlights. The old sedan rumbled past, spewing a cloud of
dust from the road. Once the car had passed, Len again
spoke.
"Hey, Steve. Maybe it's not a good idea for you to be down
by the road while you're tripping. How 'bout you come back
up to the clay pit?" Len urged.
"Sure. Just stay low, okay?" Steve requested.
He began to low-crawl past the vehicles. Len wanted to
laugh, but thought it best if he didn't. He watched in
great amusement as Steve crawled commando style the entire
distance up the rough trail. The trip back up took twenty
minutes, but what the hell... he had nothing better to do.
Jeff had given them all instructions on the best way to
prepare for tripping. Hydration, niacin, and eating a light
breakfast were all planned.
Night wore on, and Len's turn to watch laughing boy passed.
He slid off into sleep, lulled into dreams by the sound of
the fire.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but he felt
stiff. From the estimate of how his bladder was screaming,
it must have been a while. He sat up and stretched. Steve
sat placidly in a folding lawn chair, watching the fire.
Len went off and took care of bodily functions, then
returned to the camp. He rummaged in his pack, and pulled
out bread and peanut butter. He sat next to Steve as he
worked on assembling his breakfast.
"How's the trip going?" Len asked.
"Great. My jaw kind of hurts. I've been clenching it for
some time. I've just been sitting here, thinking about the
crude chemical reaction of fire, and how much pleasure it
brings us. The energy released just from that simple
process gives us enough warmth for our needs. Imagine if
the entire mass of the fuel could be converted into radiant
energy." Steve spoke while smiling almost maniacally.
"I heard once that a matchstick, if converted into pure
energy would have enough explosive force to lift a mountain
a couple hundred feet off the ground," Len returned.
"Yeah," Steve said.
He nodded his head thoughtfully.
"You've told me that tripping for you is so often a
religious experience. Has it been this time?" Len asked.
"In a way. It's like just realizing your place in the sum
of things. Some people would think that understanding your
place in the whole of the Matter/Energy/Space/Time reality
would be rather depressing, but I'm telling you... we are
given this really cool experience. Being tangible... You
ever stop to think that the vast majority of everything is
empty space?" Steve locked eyes with Len.
Len had a moment of sensation, a feeling that Steve was
either insane or had transcended into higher understanding.
He thought that maybe his sense of fear was from not being
able to tell which, if indeed there was a difference.
Not knowing how to respond to the question, Len just nodded
thoughtfully. He sat silently and ate his breakfast.
Jeff was next to wake. He packed a miniature pipe with
green weed, and fired it up. After hitting on it, he passed
it to Len.
"How's this going to mix with LSD?" Len asked, somewhat
nervously.
"It'll ease your anxiety. You won't be waiting for the acid
to kick in. Plus, when it does kick in, it'll be like a
freight train through the pot buzz," Jeff choked out
through his hit.
Len passed the pipe back and forth with Jeff, drank half a
liter of water, the retrieved the cellophane cigarette
wrapper, wherein one small square of paper lie. As
instructed, he put the paper under his tongue, and tried to
just ignore it.
Jeff woke the others that intended to drop. The sky was
beginning to brighten, and he didn't want them to miss
tripping and seeing the sunrise.
Len sat, trying to imagine what it would feel like. He
remembered the same sense of anticipation when he'd first
tried pot. He thought it was funny, in a 'the world's
really fucked up' kind of way, that the rumors circulating
around school already had him doing acid, peyote,
shrooms... hell, he was a walking pharmacology lab, if his
reputation was to be believed. Sometimes it amazed him.
Inside, he didn't feel like a wild psycho. He had been the
second shortest kid in his grade since he could remember.
He'd been the punching bag for every imaginable bully to
come along, until high school. Maybe that's why he never
tried to refute the reputation. It served him well. It kept
trouble away.
The sensation started around his eyes. It was like Len
could feel every muscle fiber firing individually. He
rubbed his face. The sensation disappeared for a few
minutes, then returned in his cheeks, and his jaws. He
looked up from the fire. The stars were beautiful. In the
predawn light, he could see the high stratus clouds
streaking across the heavens. They caught the light of the
sun, still too low to crest the horizon, and as he watched,
they changed from a deep, washed out purple, to a brilliant
pale pink. For a moment, Len felt like the sum of all the
natural beauty in the world had been created solely for his
benefit.
He snapped out of his mind game, looking back down toward
the fire. Jeff had a nearly painful grin on his face. Len
realized he felt the same thing. He began fumbling with his
boots and shoe laces. If he didn't get this done soon, he
didn't know if he'd have the mind to do it later.
He could feel every nerve of his fingertips responding to
nuances of pressure. He never realized before that the
sensation of touch was conveyed as much through the
pressure on the joints of his hand as it was through the
actual skin of his fingers. He tied the shoes on auto-
pilot, then sat back up, rubbing his fingers in his palms.
It was nearly sensory overload.
The sky brightened more, and Jeff stood up, anxious to go
watch the sunrise from a better location. The trees
surrounding the clay pit obstructed the view. There was a
vast field just over the hill, with an open view to the
East. The two young men nearly jogged away from camp.
Len felt somewhat like his legs were not entirely under his
own power, almost as if his body was only a vehicle taking
requests of movement from his disembodied self.
His legs chugged along tirelessly. The two men broke into
the field from the light woods. The frost of mid autumn
still clung delicately to the high weeds of the field. Len
held his hands at about waist level, with his palms down,
barely riding over the tassels of the high weeds. The tiny
crystals of frost shattered under his touch, sounding with
musical notes nearly too high for his ears to perceive. In
his head, he could hear Pink Floyd's 'Shine On, You Crazy
Diamond, part 1'. It was amazingly clear in the detail of
recall, like he wore headphones. The sun crested the
horizon, in perfect synchronization to the sounds in his
head. It matched with the introduction of the lead guitar.
"Go, Mr. Gilmore... You fucking rock!" Len thought to
himself.
"You hear it too?" Jeff asked.
Len was startled for a moment. Perhaps he'd said it out
loud.
Jeff stood, watching the sunrise. Len had been disturbed
out of his trance by Jeff's statement, and wandered back up
the hill, into the trees, pondering reality.
The leaves lay like a thick carpet on the floor of the
forest. Dead trees seemed placed in his way for the sole
purpose of giving Len something to vault over. He reached
the lip of the clay pit. From this angle, he was some
twenty feet above the pit, and looked down on their
campsite. There was a general commotion from the camp,
asking how Len liked it. He couldn't really speak, he
simply maintained his constant grin, and gave a thumbs-up.
He continued along a ridge of hills, finally stopping to
catch his breath. Virtually every movement he made seemed
accelerated. He had been running or jogging since the acid
set in, and now he stopped to listen to the early morning
hush of the woods, and to catch his breath.
He noticed a curious sensation as he inhaled. It seemed
that the ground was rising up every time he took a breath
and lowering when he exhaled. He watched for four breaths.
The effect was unmistakable. Along with the ground moving,
when he exhaled, and the puff of breath showed in the cold
air, the same sort of mist would billow out from under the
leaves. Len smiled all the harder. He'd wondered if he'd
have any bonafied full blown hallucinations, and if he did,
whether or not he'd be able to distinguish them from
reality. Now he knew. In this instance, common sense
overrode sensory perception. He laughed. The laughter made
him laugh all the harder.
When he finally calmed down sufficiently, he headed back to
camp. Along the way, he heard a cow bell in his head. The
sound rang over and over. Len focused on the sound, until
he was convinced it was real. The sound had a directional
source, and he moved toward it. After a while, he broke
onto another trail that had once been an access road. Some
way down the trail was a man in a hunter's orange jumpsuit,
with a hunting dog in tow. The dog wore a cow bell around
its neck.
"Hello," Len said, trying for just a polite smile, not a
psychotic one.
"Haddy. You out here scaring up any game?" the older man
asked.
"My friends are camped out over in the clay pit," Len
gestured in the direction of their camp. "Odds are, there
won't be any game around here. We're tromping all over the
place."
"What are you boys doing out here?" The hunter eyed Len
suspiciously.
"Mostly just getting away from everyone. Sometimes it's
nice to just wake up in the woods," he said.
He didn't have a clue what he should say, and he didn't
think 'Oh, we're out here to trip on acid' would be well
accepted.
The hunting dog came up to investigate Len. It was thin,
muscular, and hyperactive. Len let it catch his scent, and
then began to vigorously rub its back and neck.
"All right, well I guess it's better than playing those
damned video games. You boys stay out of trouble, then,"
the man said with an odd grin.
He turned and went back the way he'd come.
'Odd,' Len thought.
Len resumed his course toward the camp. As he walked, he
noticed the hyper-acuity of his sight. Every edge of every
leaf and twig were perfectly clear. The motion of the
remaining leaves blowing on the wind was nearly too much to
take in all at once. He trotted down the hill quickly, and
caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye.
He turned to look, but noticed nothing. He stopped. There
was the strangest sensation, like a supernatural awareness
of another presence. He stood still, slowly scanning the
hillside.
Finally, like an awakening of understanding, he saw the
woman sitting nearby. The coloration of her clothing had
broken the obvious outline of her form. She wore a red-
brown skirt, one of the big loose kinds like they wore in
the seventies. She also had on a knit sweater in brown,
green, and gray. The clothing she wore seemed designed to
camouflage the wearer. If not intentional, then the
accident was startlingly effective.
She smiled when his eyes met with hers. She looked like she
was maybe mid thirties. Something from the night before
popped into Len's mind... they can't see you if you don't
move. He smiled at himself.
"Hi. Excuse me. I just came across a hunter a few minutes
back, and I was just thinking it might not be the best idea
to be in the woods in the clothing you're wearing. You
might get mistaken for some game animal," Len said,
focusing through the hurricane of thoughts in his head.
The woman continued to smile, but said nothing. Len thought
he could see a slight shifting of the pattern in her skirt.
People skills and visual hallucinations didn't mix. He
moved slowly toward her. He was a bit confused as to why
she wasn't speaking.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she finally said softly.
Len didn't know what was up with her, but didn't feel like
another head game right now. He was at a decided
disadvantage. He began to move on.
"Why are you here?" she asked, at the moment he began
forward motion.
The statement stopped him.
"My friends and I are out here..." he began.
"No, not that. Why are you HERE?" she asked again, staring
into his eyes.
Len scrutinized her. She wore a necklace of braided hemp,
with a small silver pentacle dangling from it. Len knew a
little about pagan religions. Maybe she was looking for
some new-age metaphysical kind of answer.
"You Wiccan?" he asked.
"Eclectic," she specified.
"May I be utterly honest with you?" Len continued.
"By all means," the woman invited.
"I'm about two hours into an acid trip, and you're just
short of freaking me out. I'm not even one hundred percent
sure you're real. So, if you want to ask me something,
please be a little more straight forward," Len said,
smiling.
"All right. Why are you on an acid trip? What is it you
hoped to find by tripping?" she asked.
Now the question made sense.
"I don't know. An answer. THE answer, if there is such a
thing," Len looked off into the woods. He didn't
particularly like the direction of the conversation.
"But, you know the answer. You're simply refusing to see
it. I could point you to some clues, if you like," she
said, smiling warmly.
"I guess," Len said half-heartedly. He felt something was
not right, like a rush of floodwaters pressing against a
weak levy.
"You dream about a young woman with Auburn hair. You see
her standing in fields, lying by streams. She is painfully
real to you. Look at me, Leonard. Look very closely," The
woman demanded.
A piece slid into the puzzle. The woman was indeed the face
in Len's dreams. Whether the woman's face had changed to
fit the mental image, or the memory of the dreams had
changed to match her features was unclear. However, they
matched. Perhaps it was a game of the mind. She'd called
him by his name, though. The swirl of confusion rose. Len
felt an undeniable urge to get away from her. He began
again to move.
"When you lie in bed at night, caressing yourself, you are
that woman, that auburn-haired woman. You don't know why,
and you're dreadfully ashamed to think such things, but it
is the truth. Do I miss the mark?" she pressed.
"I don't want to hear this!" Len said angrily.
"You do. That's why you're here. Two years ago, for an
English assignment, you wrote a paper on Sex Reassignment
Surgery. Why do you think that is, Len?" she continued.
"Look, those assignments were drawn randomly. I had no
choice!" Len countered.
"Let's be honest, Len. Another boy near you drew the SRS
slip. You traded it with him under the pretense of
relieving his anxiety over the assignment. Do you even
remember what the first thing you drew was?" she asked in
smooth, gentle tones.
"No..." he finally admitted.
"These are the little pieces of reality that you have
carefully misfiled, intentionally forgotten, or
conveniently remembered incorrectly. Should I go on? Do you
remember how your mother reacted when your sister dressed
you up as a girl when you were four? She thought it was
cute, didn't she? But she didn't think it was so cute when
you were eight. Speaking of your sister... How many pairs
of her underwear are stashed cleverly in your room?" She
smiled as she spoke.
"Okay. That's enough of that bullshit. What do you want to
hear from me? That I get off while wearing panties? That I
fantasize about being a girl? What is it you want?" Len was
shaking with an odd rage, hating the woman before him, but
perhaps hating himself more.
"I only want one thing from you, Len. I want you to
recognize me for who I am," the woman said evenly.
Len stared in amazement. What the hell was she talking
about? Len scrutinized her closely. She was about five foot
six, not a petite girl though. She had a cleft chin. Len
noted that while every child in his family had a cleft
chin, they were relatively rare in women. The more he
looked, the more he realized that she looked very much like
his family, on his father's side. Len stepped closer. It
was her left eye that finally sealed the understanding. Her
eyes were a dull green, but a bright fleck of yellow
appeared in her left eye. He'd seen that fleck more times
than he could count, as he stared in the mirror.
He stepped back, exhaling heavily.
"Do you understand?" she asked softly.
"I think so. Is there any way I can avoid this?" he asked
of his future self.
"No way that I could find. The quicker you come to terms
with this, the better it will be for all involved. Here,
I'll save you twelve thousand dollars worth of therapy.
You're a transsexual. There's no cure. Transition or be
miserable. Those are your only two options," she smiled at
her own humor.
Len could not deny that her sarcastic nature was hauntingly
familiar.
"I don't need this shit in my life," he protested weakly.
"No. It's not fair. Here, I'll save you another five grand
in shrink visits. The world's not fair, we're not all
treated equally. Now, deal with it," she chuckled again,
but this time, a tear welled up.
"How will they take it, when they find out?" Len asked,
looking back toward the location of the camp.
He looked back at her, watching her face. She looked off
toward the campsite as well. The tear rolled down her face.
Len looked at her imploringly. His friends were one of the
few things that made his life worth living.
"Enjoy your time with them while you can. Burn these
moments into your mind. They are finite," she finally
managed.
Len felt like a prophet of doom had come to him.
"Is there anything good that comes of all this?" he
pleaded.
"Yes. Life is never utterly horrible, nor is it ever
completely joyous. Just be prepared for change," she said,
finding her laugh again.
"I liked it better when the ground was breathing," Len
said, starting to walk again. He glanced back at the
location where the woman had been sitting. Len felt no
shock at the fact that she was no longer there.
He finally returned to the camp. It was almost noon and the
most intense part of the trip had most likely passed. The
sides of his face were cramped from smiling all morning.
Somehow, hours had slipped by.
Steve sat in a folding chair by the smoldering remains of
the campfire.
"How you doing?" Steve took his turn watching over the
trippers.
Len shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I just ran into a witch in
the woods that told me my future," he said honestly.
"What did she say?" Steve asked, trying not to laugh at the
statement.
"Nothing important, I guess," Len lied.
He sat in a folding chair and stared off into the distance.
He relaxed, and tried to burn the memory of the clear
autumn day into his head.
Jo
- 16.08.2022
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