Done– finished– over–

What a god-damned waste. The accomplishments, the sports, her personal life. All those years in Med School– all for nothing.

Reality unwound. I’m going to die here– on this nameless rock, by this unnamed lake, in this godforsaken wilderness no one gives a shit about. Feeling defeated, Ryan fell to her knees and looked up. “It was all bullshit, god-damn-it.” Her voice echoed back, mocking her from the canyon wall.

Ryan saw the dark, dangerous depth of his eyes. Her guts turned and she felt the steamy stream of urine run down the inside of her leg. His nostrils flared, tasting the acidic air. Raw and primeval, he crouched. His body coiled like spring steel. Even with the smell of piss and death in the back of her throat, she had to admire that body.

Dedicated to sport, Ryan had been in enough locker rooms to know a great body– hockey, baseball, rock-climbing, skiing and boxing. Muscular and aggressive, she loved being physical. And guys loved that about her, and given the right jock, Ryan would love back– hard.

Give her a guy who could stay the course, put-in for the long haul, and Ryan was ready to huff and hump. Clutch and claw. Grip and grind. She loved the sex. Loved being fucked hard. And she had a body built to take the punishment. The stamina was what she brought to the bedroom, the orgasms were the gift she left with.

She was picky. Ryan was a winner and didn’t open her legs to just any guy with a slick line and a c’mon-glint in his eye. But the offer to hike up the side of Stone Mountain wasn’t a come-on and when Craig presented the idea, she was all in. They would fly into Northern Rocky Mountain Range, gear up and canoe two days to make base camp. Then the climb. Four days to make the summit and back.

And sharing a tent with Craig was an attractive proposition. She had first met him on the ice. He had checked her headfirst into the boards so hard it took a minute for her top to stop spinning. But once she got her skates under her, she chased him down and when the ref turned, she butt-ended Craig in the throat with her stick, hard enough to send him to his knees where he horked up blood.

After the game, when she threw off her helmet, his eyes circled in surprise. Ryan laughed and shot him the finger. He had waited for her outside the arena and introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Craig. You shot me a good one in there, when I wasn’t looking.”

Ryan shook out her braids. “I was just givin’ back what was handed me.”

He gawked. “But you’re a girl...”

“Wow, Einstein. What was your first clue?”

“But it’s a guy’s team.”

“There’s no women’s league in this part of the State. So I play with the boys.” She came up on her toes. “But don’t you be thinking I’m a pantywaist... ‘cause you’d be wrong. I had to train with the team. And qualify to make the bench. So next time you wanna trade shots, don’t be surprised if my stick is between your balls.”

“Hey,” Craig tossed up his hands, “I didn’t mean nothing by it. I was just surprised, is all. I think it’s great that you’re on the team.”

Ryan softened a little. “How’s the throat?”

“A beer might help.”

Ryan broke out a wide grin. “O’Flaherty’s is right across the street.”

They shared a couple of beers, talked sports and found they enjoyed each-others company. And hooking-up at O’Flaherty’s after a game, quickly become a ritual whenever his team was in town.

Even though she was screwing one of her coaches, Ryan counted Craig as a cool contender and found herself eagerly waiting for him to make his move. And when it didn’t happen, she put it down to nerves.

She’d been through this before. Ryan was a big, bitchin’ girl and more than one guy had found her daunting. So with Craig, she anticipated taking matters into her own hands. And why not? Craig was a good looking guy with a quick, easy smile, great hair and long fingers. Ryan liked long fingers on a man– liked a man with depth. And then he made the suggestion of four days and nights on the side of a mountain. About time, she thought. I’m as horny for you as fuck.

“This is Denny.” Craig blindsided her. “He’s got lots of experience and will do the orienteering.”

I can read a friggin’ map, Ryan thought selfishly, without looking up from the bar stool. She had just been robbed of an anticipated week alone with Craig and bitterly begrudged sharing him with a guy holding a map and compass.

“Ha. We already know each-other,” the guy said, “ ... from college.”

“Denny? Is that you?” She remembered him as the skinny dude on the swim team. The type of guy she’d eat for breakfast. “You sure hunked-up.”

“Joined a gym.” Denny grinned at her. “That and exchanged my swim trunks for a weight lifter’s belt.”

“Humm.” Ryan ran her eyes over his slick frame. His tapered waist exaggerated the muscular thighs clad in tight denim and a black T-shirt seemed ready to burst. Stubble shadowed an angular jaw, and his dark hair was trimmed short, emphasizing the strong lines of his face. She held out a hand. “Yes, I remember you.”

American Airlines flew the three hikers into Vancouver where a Twin Otter was pressed into service for the journey north to Muncho Lake. They unloaded canoes and provisions and set up camp on the shore.

The sun was setting when Craig opened the cooler. “Got steak and there’s a dozen cans of beer. It will be the last civilized meal we get. Tomorrow will be a daylong paddle with three portages and powdered eggs as your reward.”

Denny grinned. “I was a Girl Guide. Let me light the fire.”

Ryan looked up from where she was hammering in the last tent peg. “Have I got time for a swim?”

“Sure.” Denny was shuffling zip-bags of meat. “These are partially frozen still. Go ahead.”

Ryan ducked into the smaller tent, the one Craig had assigned to her, and pulled a towel and a black, romper from her backpack. The romper was hip-length lounge-wear, cut low and, with only two buttons, it didn’t make allowances for a bra. The romper wasn’t exactly bush-wear but she wanted Craig to notice that she was a girl, for once. A small detail that seemed to have escaped his scrutiny, so far.

She made her way along the shoreline to a spot hidden by bushes, stripped off and waded into the lake. The water was frosty but felt good after the stuffy plane ride. She washed, shampooed, toweled-off and buttoned the front of the romper. A pair of four-inch pumps would have shown her off to good advantage but heels were a bit much on a mountain hike and anyway, the bare toes gave her a softer little-girl look that she hoped would catch Craig’s interest.

As she rounded the trail, the fragrance of wood smoke, mingled with sizzling grease filled her sinuses and her tummy moved.

“Grab a plate,” Denny said, holding up a thick slab of beef on the end of a fork.

Ryan settled onto the pine needles with her tin plate balanced on a knee. The steak was perfect: blood-rare with crisped fat around the edges. And a tinfoiled baked potato was rolled from the coals.

After Ryan had forked down eight-ounces of meat and a second potato, she stretched out long nude legs with ankles crossed, a log comfortably parked in the center of her back. She sucked on the last of a Molson’s Canadian.

The howl came from across the water. A low warbling, rising to a bittersweet cry.

Ryan pulled her beer from her lips. “Christ. What was that?”

Denny was already looking out over the lake, trying to pierce the gloom. “Wolf,” he said. “And a big one, by the sound of it.”

“Glad he’s on the other side of the lake.” Ryan tossed her beer can into the embers. “You guys about ready for bed?” she asked, punctuating the point with a dirty laugh.

The implication fell flat. Craig scratched behind an ear and yawned. “Yeah. I’m about done in. Is it eight o’clock yet?”

Denny looked at his wrist. “Seven forty-five, big guy. You think you can hold out?”

Craig got to his feet. “Fuck it.” He yawned again, then turned toward the larger tent. “The alarm’s set for five AM.” And he ducked below the tent flap.

Denny poked the dying flames with a stick. “How’d you and Craig meet?”

“I butted him in the throat with my hockey stick.”

“On purpose?” Denny laughed.

“He was getting pushy. How ‘bout you?”

Denny drained his beer. “I dropped a ten-pound barbell weight on his toe. Almost broke it.”

“Really...” Ryan’s eyes glistened. “I guess we’ve got something in common, then.”

“Yes,” Denny stood. “Yes. I guess we do.”

Ryan lay on top of her sleeping bag, waiting– her heart thrumming in anticipation. She figured that Craig’s early retreat from the campfire was his way of squeezing in a visit to her, and still getting a full eight-hours kip. She fretted for half-an-hour, expecting that at any moment the tent flap would be pushed aside and Craig would crawl in on top of her.

She wondered if he would be naked. And what his body would feel like crushing her hips and breasts. She imagined his penis, hard and throbbing, coming up between her legs, her hands waiting to guide him in. Ryan reached under the romper to struggle down her underpants. He’d be in a hurry, she figured. No need to put him through the hassle of a hide ‘n’ seek with her vag.

But what if he wasn’t hard. That happened sometimes, where a guy might need some encouragement. And she wasn’t above giving a little lip-play to get things started. What would Craig think of her, if she lowered her face into his lap?

She didn’t like cum, not swallowing. She’d done it on occasion, sometimes because she really liked the guy, but most often it happened by accident.

If a guy couldn’t hold on and unintentionally filled her mouth, Ryan could never bring herself to spit it out. It didn’t seem like the mature, nor the graceful way to handle things. So she’d buck-up, smile like she’d just received the best treat ever– and swallow. Then hope the guy wouldn’t ruin everything by apologizing. That was the worst– the guy apologizing for making her eat that shit.

And even if the guy offered to return the favor, bury his face into her crotch, it never seemed to even out the score. Swiping a tongue across her clit could never come close to having to force down the gob that had worked its way up from his balls to spurt out the tip of his dick. And no matter how gifted the guy’s tongue might be, Ryan could never ever get off that way. It might feel nice in the beginning, but soon after, it just became irritating. Being eaten had never worked for her.

But what if that was Craig’s thing? What if he took her face into his hands and guided her down. Would she? Her stomach recoiled and her throat balked. But lower down, a smear of moisture found its way onto her inner thigh. Would she?

She considered it a moment. Tonight would be their first time. Would she risk losing him because she suddenly got all prissy? Hell, he might be the best thing that ever happened to her but she might have to swallow, just for the privilege of finding out.

Okay. I can do it, Ryan thought. It will be fine, at least until that last act of compliance. She could bob, and lick and suck until she felt the penis lift, then spurt. If it was just a little bit, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Craig was a big, robust athlete and Ryan just knew his ejaculation would be just as robust. She might have to swallow more than once– over and over. Oh God. She’d throw up.

Ryan checked her watch. Where was Craig, anyway? Waiting for Denny to fall asleep? She turned on her side and, nesting her fingers together, Ryan tucked her hands between her thighs, tight against her vagina and started rocking. Maybe I should have shaved, she thought.

Ryan woke with a jolt.

She was still on top of her sleeping bag, cold and shivering. She checked the time. It was after three in the morning and she was still alone. Cold and very alone.

They struck the tents in the chill of predawn light and pushed from the shoreline after a quick breakfast of peanut butter on bread. Denny, with his maps, compass and protractor, took the lead while Ryan and Craig followed behind in the second canoe loaded with gear.

Ryan was hurt, confused and angry with herself, and she paddled with a vengeance, attacking the water and forcing the men to match her stroke. Denny pointed to the shoreline mid morning. “Set of rapids ahead,” he announced. “The first of three portages. And the toughest.”

On shore, Denny pointed to his topographical map. “We walk from here. Two miles along this ridge to the next lake.”

Ryan savagely lifted the canoe by the thwart and hoisted it above her head. “Hold on,” Craig shouted. “I’ll take it.” The canoe was sixteen-feet long and weighed over fifty-pounds.

Ryan settled it across the back of her shoulders. “The fuck you will.” And adjusting the weight, she struck out for the treeline.

Denny and Craig watched her go, the muscles in her thighs and ass rolling and bunching with each stride. “Shit,” Denny commented. “She’s a fuckin’ machine.”

“Yeah,” Craig shaded his eyes to watch her short cut-offs hitching. “I wonder sometimes just how much testosterone that girl has on tap.”

“You mean...”

“Yeah. It wouldn’t surprise me if our Ryan sported a small penis.”

“Fuck.” Denny studied Ryan’s hard ass. “Or maybe a larger one.”

It was late afternoon when Denny veered across the lake and grounded his canoe onto a pebble beach. “We camp here for the night,” he said, dragging his canoe from the water. “Set up the tents and I’ll get a fire started.”

“I need a swim,” Ryan announced after the last tent peg had been driven into the soft earth. And she pulled her towel and sexy romper from her backpack. She made her way across the beach and stood at the water’s edge. She looked right and left for privacy but the beach extended empty, void of bushes, in both directions. “Fuck it,” she swore and with the guys not thirty-feet away, she pulled her tee-shirt over her head and dropped her shorts.

“Look.” Denny watched her smallish tits bounce. “She’s naked.”

Craig glanced up. “Christ. That girl has more surprises than Christmas morning.” And he straightened to watch her stoop to rinse out her shirt.

Ryan, without meeting their eyes, turned to toss her tee-shirt onto a rock to dry. She paused a moment, just to be sure Craig got a good look at her long thighs and hairy pubis, then dove straight in, headfirst.

When she stepped from the water, the boys had discreetly disappeared into the trees, to search for firewood or jack-off, Ryan wondered as she ran a towel about her shoulders. She smiled to herself, slid up a pair of clean, white panties and pulled on her romper, leaving it unbuttoned.

The powdered eggs were not half bad. Scrambled, Denny had added butter, capers and onion, and served with strips of bacon and toast with jam on the side. He poured strong, black coffee from a battered tin pot.

Ryan wiped-up her plate with a crust and sat back, her breasts free to roam beneath the loose romper and, leaning against a tree trunk, she cocked a knee, giving Craig a peek at the white vee between her thighs. How much more can I offer the guy, she thought to herself, unless I go over there, pull his dick out and sit on it.

But Craig had noticed– had shrewdly watched the inner curves of her breasts sway in the opening of her top as she scraped egg from her plate. And if she lifted her fork, in a certain way, she provided him with a thin crescent-shape of chestnut, the puffy skin alongside a perky nipple. He knuckled his forehead and tilted his face down. He truly didn’t know what to make of her.

The bellow broke the silence. A plaintive howl, clear and pure, rising into the frosty night-sky from the distant ridge.

Ryan’s chin came up. “Christ. It’s that wolf again. What’s he doing here?”

Denny was focused on the purple rise silhouetted against the starlight. “He’s tracking us,” he said, a line weaving through his forehead. “I’ve never known them to do that.”

Ryan felt her nipples pinch.

Surely tonight, Ryan thought as she readied herself for sleep. She had presented her body to both of them, standing naked, unashamed on the beach. And now she found herself not caring who turned up at her tent in the middle of the night. She wanted it to be Craig, but Denny was a nice guy and she found she was quite prepared to give him a freebie.

Stripped naked, she rearranged the sleeping bag, using backpacks as pillows. Propped up with knees apart and cocked toward the tent flap, she turned the oil lamp down and waited. She lay cloaked in soft darkness, listening to the night creatures, a cool breeze playing about the splayed lips of her vagina.

Any moment, she thought, there would be movement. Either one of them, she didn’t care which, would fall between her legs and slide a penis all the way up, stretching her vagina in delectable ways. Moisture leaked in anticipation. Oh God, hurry, she thought. Someone get over here and douse the flames. And she reached to cup her pubis in both hands.

A half-hour later, she was still cupping her vagina. Oh Christ. Not again. I need a man.

And then she heard it.

Ryan sat up, held a breath and cocked her ear. There it was again. The sound drifted on the damp air. A moan. So faint as to be mistaken, if not for the fact you were half expecting it.

“Oh no,” Ryan cried and she reached for a tee-shirt. Outside, her feet padded noiselessly across the carpet of pine needles and she approached their tent from the dark side to avoid casting a moon shadow. A soft, rocking rhythm lifted from inside and the moan again, needy and desperate now.

The tent flap was down and Ryan slipped between it and the zippered door. There was netting above and Ryan came up on her knees to see.

She gulped hard. The boys, naked and laying on their sides head-to-toe, were sucking each-other off.

Craig was closest. He had a hand resting on Denny’s butt and was controlling the gentle rhythm of Denny’s glistening penis, in and out of his mouth.

As she watched, Denny’s hand came ‘round to grasp Craig by the neck. There was lifting. Then squeezing ... squeezing ... and with a deep exhalation, Denny rolled back, spewing semen across Craig’s lips.

“Now you,” Denny whispered and he moved to straddle Craig, rolling him onto his back. Ryan watched Denny lift a long, beautiful penis to his lips. He sucked and nibbled until Craig was writhing beneath him. “C’mon,” Denny coaxed Craig. “I want everything you’ve got.”

Craig’s hips came up. Denny’s head went down. And as Craig pumped, Ryan turned away. Holding a hand to her mouth, she crouched and ran to her tent. She had a sudden urge to be fully clothed and tugged on jeans and a sweater before rolling into her sleeping bag and pulling her head under. “Why am I here?” she cried to herself. “This is no place for a girl.”

Ryan woke with a start the next morning. Craig held the tent flap back and sunlight streamed in over his shoulder. “Wh-what time is it?” Ryan stammered.

“Six-thirty,” Craig explained. “It’s okay. After last night, I thought you deserved a couple of extra hours.”

Ryan stopped rubbing her eyes. “Last night? But...”

“Look, I spotted you at the tent entrance. I haven’t told Denny, but I saw you and wanted to speak with you ... to apologize, I guess.”

Ryan was suddenly wide awake. “You s-saw me?”

Craig nodded. “It’s a bit awkward for me. But I need to get this out in the open ... between us.”

“I’m the one who should apologize. I was spying on you.”

“With good reason, I suspect. You couldn’t have known ... Hell, I didn’t even know until Denny took me into his bed. And, well, I led you on, inviting you to join us on this damned trip. I’m sorry.”

“But why? Why ask me. You must have known I only came to be with you.”

“Ryan. Listen. I like you ... a lot. But I like Denny ... just as much. This whole thing is new to me. I’m struggling. And I just wanted to know where my loyalties lie.”

“And?”

“And hell. I still don’t know. But I’m fucking Denny, if that tells you anything.”

“And not me...” Ryan slumped. “I guess that tells me everything.”

Craig straightened. “Denny and I are going to scout out the trail ahead, all the way to Deer Lake. We’ll be gone a couple of hours. You stay here, get some rest, have breakfast, go for a swim. We’ll talk more when I get back.”

Ryan gathered up dirty tee-shirts and underpants. After a quick dip in the lake, she set herself up on a rock, squirted liquid soap and hand-scrubbed her laundry. After placing her things to dry, she lay back on the pine needles, the sun on bare legs and wondered how a gay man would feel about fucking a straight woman. Icky, she figured.

The sound of the low wailing howl brought her thoughts to an icy stand still. She heard it again. The haunting call, soaring in the treetops, was close by.

How close? Closer than the other times and Ryan was struck with a mind numbing vision of the huge animal, nose to the ground, stalking the perimeter of the camp. Ryan had read somewhere that wolves cull-out the vulnerable before making the kill. The guys were gone. She was alone. Deer Lake couldn’t be that far away and Ryan, screwing up her courage, grabbed her bag and stumbled toward the trees.

Once in the forest, she ran. A wild, headlong escape from which, at any instant, she expected to be hauled down from behind and torn to pieces. Her heart thundered within her chest and her head throbbed.

She probably was imagining the sound of wolf-paw, loping, steadily gaining from behind. But on she ran, a blinding panic cloaking her brain in darkness. Ryan ran until her legs, the muscles burning, forced her to stop. She vaulted a downed tree, misjudged her step, and tumbled headfirst into the underbrush.

She lay there, countless minutes, wildly staring at the sky and listening to the blood rushing in her ears. She heaved for breath and finally calmed.

I’m still alive, she thought. The guys must be close by, and safety. Ryan forced herself to stand. She turned, looked at a wall of trees. From which way had she come? Nothing looked the same and an empty feeling opened up in the pit of her stomach. Which way? Like being trapped underwater– which way was up?

She heard a bird’s call. Would a bird sing with a wolf in the underbrush? Not likely, she thought and she followed the sound. Moments later, Ryan saw water glinting between the tree limbs. The Lake. And she surged forward, breaking through the trees. But it wasn’t Deer Lake. Too small, she realized, and not the right shape. She longed for a look at one of Denny’s topographical maps. Where the hell was she?

Ryan felt the cool breeze on her skin and looked down at herself. The front of her little romper had been torn in the fall and hung loosely from one shoulder. I look like a friggin’ Amazon, and Ryan moved to the shoreline. She knelt to cup water to her lips, then listened. The eerie silence fell about her shoulders like a death shroud. What had happened to the birds? And she slowly turned to see.

He was perched on the outcrop of a rock-slide. An impressive sight that would have held her in awe except she saw only death in its yellow eyes.

Done– finished– over– “It was all bullshit, god-damn-it.”

He crouched, a low growl lifting from his throat.

Ryan stumbled back. “Oh no. Please.” she cried, her face tilted up, eyes imploring. She felt her skin prickle as her pores opened and her bladder emptied out in a hot rush. Ryan dropped to her knees, hands outstretched. “Please.” and she fell forward, grovelling in the dirt.

The wolf blinked, lifted its head and blinked. Clearly puzzled by this unexpected response. When Ryan didn’t feel his incisors ripping open her neck, she rolled to look.