Springtime Summit
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Reaching The Summit Ch. 01 free porn video
Author’s note: This has truly been a labour of love. It’s an adaptation of something I wrote for a different audience, long before I first posted anything on Lit. If you recognise it, you were in the same class as me!
My thanks as ever to my partner and editor for her help, and to another friend for her help with the original version.
And my thanks to my faithful readers for sticking with me through the vicissitudes of my writing explorations. I don’t seek to be popular, though it’s always nice to be appreciated. I write what I have to.
I’m Scots. This story includes Scots language. If you don’t know all the words, you can work them out from the context, using imagination and intelligence. I hope! I make no apology for Gaelic place-names. Things are called what they are called. If you have a problem with Gaelic names, don’t come to Scotland or Ireland!
*****
Smirr of dawnglow at the window: six-thirty. She was always excited at the prospect of a day’s climbing, had a real rush this morning. She got a final forecast, phoned John to confirm he was up. Showered, dressed, breakfasted, soup for the flask heated as she munched cereal. Gear grabbed — she’d organised it the previous night – routecard posted through her neighbour’s door, and she was out by seven. The canal was icing over, a thin crust at the banks. Beautiful high-pressure morning, maybe five below. The hill should be perfect, she thought. Maybe twenty below with windchill at three thousand feet, should be good hard crusted snow. They would dance the mountains today.
She rang his doorbell ten minutes later. He took ages to get his kit into the car. Of course he had a hangover, not that he admitted it. As they headed northwest on the A82 and his sour breath filled the interior, she wondered briefly why she’d agreed to this, hoped she wouldn’t regret it. But the morning was too glorious for negatives and she asked whether he’d been on their intended hills before?
– Yes, but in summer. It was a good round, he grinned.
– You’ll see a different world today. And we have perfect weather and snow conditions.
Accelerating off the Balloch roundabout, she allowed her eyes to rise to the Luss hills, sun-gilded snow on rounded crests. Sometimes the world lifted her out of herself.
The real mountain panorama opened up past Luss, Loch Lomond sparkling to the right, and as he began listing his problems, the views held her in thrall. He was a decent man and an old friend: she heard his recent life-story without thinking. She knew it all anyway. But it was John and he needed to offload. And needed a wee lift in his life, a diversion. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on that… she hadn’t had sex in a long time, and she liked the man. He’d probably had nothing either since his hurtful separation, six months previously. Nor for some time before… Something in her tingled, but she gripped the wheel. Focus on driving, girl. This road needs care, there’s black ice around.
Before Tarbet she breathed thanks as the car finally edged past the Citylink coach. Her timetable was now in place, because they had to catch that bus. Fifteen miles later, she parked at the Inverarnan Inn and they fussed their gear from the car, drew on first rollups while they fastened boots and gaiters. Cushies pecked the carpark and she crumbled a sandwich for them. He was chatting about their day now, woken up and finally past the hangover. She watched him as he spoke, reminded of just what an attractive man he was.
They moved to the northbound roadside and presently the yellow and blue Citylink hove into view. It was full of climbers and she nodded to a couple of acquaintances as he got tickets. Five miles later they left the coach, surveyed the southward ridge.
– You can’t know how grateful I am for this. Thank you for suggesting it Julie. He looked her in the eyes, a bit of a puppy gaze. She smiled:
– My pleasure pal.
And she knew then that it would be that, real pleasure, not just being kind to an old friend. Not just a duty-climb.
They crossed under the stone railway arch as the Fort William train rumbled on it, walked over the rushing Falloch on a rickety structure. The snowline was around a thousand feet and they beat a steady slog up the ridge through iced grass and heather. He had longer legs and led a few yards in front, axe bobbing on his pack. She realised she was watching his arse, feeling wee tingles despite the cold. Get a grip of yourself girl!
They reached the snowline and stopped. Southwest the ridge of Ben Vorlich glistened and sparkled. The snowcover under them was thin and powdery, iceglaze on rock beneath. They unfastened axes and she explained the niceties of deciding when to strap crampons on:
– Problem is, now it’s slippy and easy to lose grip, but there’s not enough snow for the spikes. You’ve more danger of going over on your ankle than slipping badly. So just axes for now. When there’s more snow we’ll do a couple of safety exercises. Now, first break at the Sron Garbh cairn?
He followed the line of her hand, nodded when he saw the first top a mile further on. They reached it, mildly flushed. Unhapped packs in the lee of the cairn, sipped coffee and munched chocolate.
– Reckon its time for crampons now, snow’s just about deep enough, and we’re more likely to slip going down.
She fastened up, watched as his fingers worked his straps through thin thermal gloves.
– Get them as tight as you can John.
By Twistin Hill the snow was crisp and deep: they danced on its crust, savoured this illusory lightness of being. On a smooth steep downward slope she showed him how to brake a fall with the axe, and use the lifeline. He got it fine, was like a kid playing in this new world, laughing and tossing snowballs. For the first time in months she was reminded that he could be fun, felt her impishness slip past her reserve. Knew she wanted more from him, and knew it would be good for him too.
They were on the summit of An Caisteal before twelve.
– First serving of lunch, he announced, and they munched rolls, sipped soup.
– How’re you feeling John?
– I’m on top of the world thanks, hadn’t you noticed?
– So, fit for the full round? she asked. It’s just, from here we could skip Beinn a’ Chroin, go straight for Beinn Chabhair. If we do the whole lot we’ll be coming off Chabhair at dusk, descending the waterfall in the dark. When we’re knackered. Might be sensible to skip the middle one?
He compared map to horizon.
– No, let’s go for the lot, I’m really enjoying myself. If you’re sure you can manage though?
He smirked, knowing she was far fitter than him. She tossed loose snow in his face:
– OK macho-man, best not hang around here then.
They dropped the six hundred feet to the col and navigated up the long rock-clad ridge of the next hill to its eastern summit. It was past one o’clock and both were tiring. They ate again and he stretched on his polybag, lay flat. She watched him for a minute, cunt tingling despite the cold, then focused on two ravens cawing on thermals to the east. Presently he sat up:
– So what would you do in my situation?
– She’s got you over a barrel John: you just need to keep going. Your bitterness is less important than your bairns’ well-being. Just thole it till she signs the agreement.
– Ach, I know that wumman, it’s just that it keeps dragging out, and till it’s resolved I can’t buy a flat, get on with my life again.
She touched his shoulder:
– You know what needs done John. She’s nursing bitterness too, that’s why she’s dragging it out. And you know she has cause. The main thing is, the kids are fine. Everybody respects you both for sheltering them from it. But if you don’t want a night’s unscheduled snow-holing we’d better move.
The blue sky held cloudless, pale at the horizons, colour deepen
ing overhead, and they stood for a moment surveying the sparkling wildness.
– It does give you a better perspective, doesn’t it? he said.
This time he looked straight in her eyes and she knew that he felt it too, felt a tingle deep inside. They retraced steps along the ridge companionably till she touched his arm:
– Listen.
They stood for a moment, just the soughing of the wind till she heard it again, softly: chirrock, chirrock.
– Ptarmigan, she whispered, be still.
He was looking round intently and she touched his arm again, pointed.
– Wow, he breathed.
The pair of wee grouse were against a snowbank and if she hadn’t pointed he wouldn’t have seen them. Only a dark line through the eyes, another at the wingends, marked them from the snow. He smiled at her, kissed her forehead:
– Thanks so much, I’d have missed them without you. Actually, I wouldn’t be here without you.
The birds whirred off at his laugh, chirrocking. She looked at him carefully. His kiss had stirred her and despite the cold, her groin was warming. He must have sensed where she was, for his next kiss was on her frozen lips. They fumbled awkwardly, gloved fingers encountering rucsacs as they hugged, the kiss warming their mouths. Their breathing was quickening in tandem as she pushed him from her, laughing:
– Off, loverboy. We’ve the hardest bit to go yet.
They both knew now.
It was three by the time they made it down to the beallach. The shadowed north face of Chabhair rose nearly a thousand feet before them to an unseen summit. They had coffee and chocolate.
– It’s late and we don’t have to do it, she said, we can just head northwest down Allt a’ Chuilinn to the road. It’s a long hard way up there, need to rope up and kick steps toward the summit, it’s very steep. You’ll sweat a bit.
He laughed:
– You shouldn’t have said that. Lead on woman, roping up and kicking steps sounds like serious stuff, I want to do that.
– You sure John? It’ll be dusk by the time we reach the summit, we’ll need torches coming off. How’re your batteries?
He fished in his pack, shone the head-torch in her eyes.
– And I have spares, please let’s do it?
It was good being in charge of her big, normally self-assured friend. She glowed momentarily in the knowledge that he was under her control.
– OK student, she smiled, but I promise you, you’ll be totally fucked coming off.
Her hand went to her mouth to cover the guffaw. His brows rose, and he looked at her archly:
– Madam, I assure you I just don’t have the energy.
She smiled. She’d never considered sex with him before today.
– I said you’ll be fucked, not me! OK, big man, but be warned, I’ll need to tie you up later for the step-kicking.
She had second wind for the ascent but he was panting, so she slowed. Just one step after another, count, take a breather after a hundred steps. She taught him her rhythm and the steep snowslope passed slowly under them. After forty minutes of this she stopped, pointed as she surveyed above.
– Christ, it’s a snow-cliff, he breathed, didn’t look like that from the beallach.
– It’s not as vertical as it looks, she said, uncoiling the rope carefully, but it’ll be really heavy going for a few hundred feet. Now, here’s how you kick and cut steps, just come up beside me.
They practised for a few minutes till she was confident he had it, then she helped him into a harness, tied him onto the rope. Her hand brushed his groin several times, deliberately, as she did so.
– Now help me with my harness, and tie me on John.
She could have done it herself of course, but what the hell. He had to learn. And he would have to touch her, intimately. She shivered.
The main body of the rope was coiled tidily on her arm. His hand rubbed her cunt through the clothing, unnecessarily forcefully, as he manipulated straps and rope. She gasped at the flash of need, tested his knot, smiled in his eyes.
– Well done. Thank you. Put your Goretex gauntlets on now, even with them your hands’ll freeze on the axe and the snow. If you’re a good boy I’ll let you lead after a bit.
They moved slowly up the snow-cliff, umbilical rope near-taut between them. She glanced down periodically but he was doing fine. In a few minutes both were panting, sweat pouring from their faces as they used every limb and muscle to haul themselves carefully upward. The snowface was good, firm enough to be perfectly secure, not so hard it needed the axe to cut steps. She felt the satisfying crunch as her frontprongs bit. She was belaying on the short axe for added security, using both axes for every step up. Shouted to show him what she was doing. His face glowed red below, sweat dripped from his beard. Presently there was a rockledge and they sat to catch breath.
– How’re you doing pal? she asked.
– Just had a moment of vertigo, he said. I looked down. Felt very insecure, very exposed, hanging off nothing and a long way from anywhere I wanted to be. Balls-shrinking. But it passed, I won’t look down again.
– Deep breathing’s the solution for vertigo, she grinned. Huh, your problem is, I’m doing the work and you’re the passenger. You lead the last pitch.
He swallowed:
– You sure?
– It’s my life John, I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t. You been watching how I use the short axe to belay?
She demonstrated and he nodded, copied her.
She watched as he led off the ledge, followed on up when the slack was off the rope. It was nice having him kicking holds, they were deeper than hers and he considerately spaced them short for her. They worked well as a team, she realised, and she called to tell him so. He glanced down momentarily, red balaclava with a huge grin. His beard was frosted hard now. She had him in her viewfinder, clicked. He resumed the climb and after twenty minutes they scrambled off the cliff-top, a few hundred yards from the sunset-bathed summit.
– Well, that’s you blooded pal, and not a wrong move. She hugged him hard, Well done John.
On the summit she pulled out her camera again and they struck poses for each other, rolling in laughter, as the sun sank behind the ridges to the northwest. Dubhchraig, Oss, Lui, serrated shades of grey darkening with distance, and the fiery streaks of horizontal orange throwing the final Cruachan massif into utter blackness. They finished the soup, set off down toward the lochan. Paused again there to pull on headtorches, and as their crampons crunched on the surface of crusted snow, he started singing:
– Wull ye go, lassie, go?
She took his hand and joined in, so glad to be with him as their arms swung to the rhythm. It was nearly two miles from the lochan to the top of the waterfall and they danced it in just over thirty minutes.
They paused again at the head of the falls, removed crampons, finished the coffee. Rollups glowed and he produced a hipflask.
– No thanks John, don’t you remember the path down the waterfall?
He shook his head.
– Well, let’s not spoil a great day with a silly mistake: it’s a tricky enough descent in summer daylight.
He called as they negotiated the slithering zigzags of the path by the roaring falls, frosted mud on icy rock, wet from constant spray:
– You’re right again, whisky wouldn’t help this.
He pulled himself up from his third slip. They were both soaked through their britches by the time they hit the West Highland Way at the bottom. The new moon was out now. A silver sliver shimmered through naked branches of birks and rowans, on glittering starscape against the black night sky.
He pulled her to him and kissed her.
– OK, she laughed, pushing him off. Ten minutes to the pub. Last one in buys the meal!
And she was off like a lintie. He watched her bobbing arse till it dis
appeared in the mirk, only the wavering beam of her head-torch visible. He sat down and sipped from his hip-flask, rolled a cigarette, drew on it deeply. Of course he’d thought of her sexually before. He thought of most attractive women sexually sometimes, and christ Julie was attractive! But he’d never seriously imagined having sex with her. She was his pal, his ex’s friend, his climbing partner: she’d always been off-limits. She’d just fulfilled a long-given promise to introduce him to the wonders of winter climbing. And in the process, hinted at other things too. He felt his cock, shrivelled by the day’s cold, begin to stir.
For the first time in maybe a year he had hope again, the exhilaration of a winter day pushing his boundaries on the hill, and the possibility of something more with his lovely friend. He stubbed and pocketed his butt, started jogging tiredly for the pub.
*****
She had her back to the roaring open fire when he entered the busy bar of the ancient drovers’ inn. She must have changed in the car, he realised, and his cock twitched at the thought. If only he’d kept up with her, they might have changed together… She held the pint of Deuchar’s out as he bent to kiss her.
– So what kept you? she grinned, returning the kiss politely. You were ages… but then I suppose you’re worn out, poor old man?
– Um, I had things to think about. And yes, worn out by the best day I’ve had in ages. Thank you for that.
She glanced at her watch, twinkled her eyes at him mischievously:
– The day may be over John, but we have an evening in front of us. Unless you have other plans?
– Um, I sort-of half arranged…wasn’t anticipating…
He noted the wee loss flick momentarily across her eyes, pulled out his mobile, smiled at her:
– Nothing that can’t keep, give me a sec.
He turned away and spoke briefly in the phone. Julie thought she heard a female voice, tried not to listen. He turned back to face her.
– Unarranged, he smiled. Now, I think dinner’s on me? What’re you for?
They found a cramped table in the corner beside the fireplace, but it wasn’t so cramped that her thigh had to press against his. She nursed her glass of Irn-Bru as he started on his second pint of ale:
– Always the problem, being the driver, she moaned. And I really feel like a good bucketful tonight!
He considered her meditatively, excitement stirring:
– I can cancel the meal order, we don’t need to eat here. We can be in the city in an hour, dump the car, eat there, make an evening of it. Go on Julie, let’s hit town!
– Oh! – her thigh pressed his closer, her grin widening — Um… Yes John, maybe we should do that. It’s a while since I had a Saturday night out in the West End. Cancel the order, let’s move.
As she parked at Kelvinbridge an hour later, Julie realised that their trip back had been the longest she’d spent with John in ages, when he hadn’t talked about his separation. They’d chatted about almost everything else, but there had been a lightness in him she hadn’t felt for a long time. She told him this as she locked the car.
– Yes, you’re right, he laughed. I didn’t feel the need to talk about it. And, um, it wouldn’t have been appropriate either, even had I wanted to.
He leaned to kiss her cheek lightly, but she turned her head, and their lips brushed.
– Oh, she laughed. Why not appropriate?
– Well, — he paused, looking away — because you’re her friend too, and err…
– You’re thinking that you might want to take our friendship, emm, a bit further, John?
– No, I didn’t say that, it’s just …
– You didn’t say it, no. But. And, um, I might just want that too. She giggled, pulled him to her, kissed his mouth.
– Now, John, are you going to feed me?
The Iranian restaurant was cool and West-End chic, and he felt momentarily a bit out of place there, still in his damp climbing gear. But few folk stand on ceremony in Glasgow, and they relaxed over the meal, hot spicy lamb washed down with rich Armenian red wine. There was no longer any careful flirting: both knew the agenda, though it remained unspoken.
When the coffees came, thick and syrupy, she regarded him from under her lashes:
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