Chapter 6

We slept late again that morning.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said. "Please don't pack up the bed before I get back."

"If all we do is make love, we'll never get to all the places on the list," I pointed out.

She pouted.

"Ohhh, all right."

So, again, I had us packed up with only breakfast out when she returned from the shower house with wet hair.

"I met Clyde," she said.

"Oh?"

"He's Mabel's husband."

"Oh."

"He asked me if I was with you of my own free will."

"What?"

"I gathered that Mabel talked to him. He just wanted to make sure you weren't taking advantage of me, or hadn't kidnapped me or something like that," she said.

"What did you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him? I told him thank you, but I was fine, couldn't be happier, and wished we could stay longer but had places to go and people to meet."

"Oh," I said. "See what I mean? You should have waited another year or two to sink your hooks into me."

"Should have, could have, would have," she said tossing one hand. "What's done is done. Don't cry over spilt milk."

"I wouldn't, except the milk that got spilt is in your pussy and might be making a baby," I said.

"Don't start that again," she warned. "It's my body, as you pointed out yourself."

"But I might be the father," I said. "That makes it my business too."

I'm sure the conversation might have gone on, except we were interrupted by a man named Curtis Potter.

I should probably identify him further.

Curtis Potter is the sheriff of Clark County, in the great state of Nevada.

We had already explained that we were on our way to take Caitlin home after her visit to me. I was a little worried about the condoms. I was sure Mable had told him about that. I had no idea what the age of consent was in Nevada, but that wasn't the big problem. The big problem was that I wasn't willing to lie to him about our relationship. And that information, plus the information about the condoms, might end me up in really hot water. Granted, without proof of actual intercourse, it wouldn't go anywhere legally, but it could cause problems.

"You understand I'm not accusing you of anything," said Sheriff Potter. "I'm just making sure everything is on the up and up."

"We understand," said Caitlin. "Would you like to call my mother? I'll be happy to give you the number."

Sherriff Potter raised one eyebrow. There's a look that gets on the face of an experienced lawman that you only see on their faces. It's a look of combined suspicion, reasoning and planning. They know people try to lie to them. Because of that, they're trying to think two steps ahead. Take, for instance, the possibility that if a young girl offers to give you the number of her mother, you don't know if the person who answers the phone is actually her mother.

"Suppose I just call her on your phone," he suggested.

"Okay," said Kat, brightly. She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"You mind if I take a look at that?" asked the sheriff, holding out his hand.

"Sure," she said, handing it to him, not realizing she'd just consented to a search of her phone.

But all he did was look through her contacts. Apparently they looked legit to him, because he punched the one that said "Mom" and asked, "Where's the speaker phone on this one?"

"Right there," said Kat, reaching to press the screen.

"We'll just do this public like," he said, smiling. I noticed that he only smiled with his lips, and not his eyes.

"Hi, Baby," came my sister's tinny voice through the speaker of Kat's phone. "Where you guys at?"

"Mrs. Anderson?" asked Sheriff Potter.

"Who is this?" came Hannah's strident voice. "Where is my daughter?"

"This is Sheriff Potter, Clark County, Nevada."

I'm sure he'd have said more, but my sister's panicked voice started bombarding him with questions, asking what was wrong and if Caitlin was alive or not and so on and so forth. I lost track in there of everything she asked.

Once he assured her that Caitlin was alive and well, he started asking questions.

"Are you aware that your daughter is in the company of a man?" he asked.

"You mean Bob? Of course she is. He's bringing her back home," said Hannah.

"And she was visiting him for the summer?"

"She stays a month with him every summer," said Hannah. "What's this all about, Sheriff?"

I think it was at this point that Sheriff Potter decided to be a little more delicate about things.

"Well, someone brought it to our attention that a young lady was camping out ... staying in a tent with an older man," he said.

"So, they're camping out. Where else would she stay?" Hannah sounded aggrieved, now. My sister has always had as little to do with authority figures as possible. She feels like government should do its job and have as little actual interaction with the people as possible.

"I just wanted to make sure it was all voluntary," said Potter. "I'm just looking out for your daughter, Ma'am."

"Voluntary? She begs to go see him every summer," said Hannah. "Of course it's voluntary. She wanted to see the Grand Canyon. And you get to see it a lot better when you go there by car, instead of just flying over it!" snapped my sister.

"All right, then," said Potter, who looked a lot less suspicious now. At least I thought he did. "Thanks for your cooperation. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure."

"Thank you for your care and attention," said Hannah. "May I presume I do not need to stop what I'm doing and come all the way from Santa Barbara to pick my daughter up? You haven't arrested my brother, have you?"

Now I'm quite sure that, at that point, Hannah had not connected the dots. Not in the way Sheriff Potter had. Of course he hadn't mentioned the condoms. Maybe if he had said something like, "And do you approve of your daughter buying extra sensitive, ribbed condoms in bulk?" that her responses might have been different. Would have been different. Who am I kidding?

But he didn't, so Hannah didn't have that information.

And the thing is that her attitude, as expressed in what I'm sure she meant as a joke or a barb, said more than that to Sheriff Potter. To Sheriff Potter, it said that Caitlin had her mother's permission to do what he suspected Caitlin had been doing. With me.

"No, Ma'am, I haven't arrested him. Thanks again. Do you want to speak with your daughter now?"

"Yes, please," came Hannah's crisp no nonsense voice over the phone.

He handed the phone to Caitlin, who took it off speaker phone and walked off to, no doubt, give her mother a less than sordid rendition of events. Potter looked at me and shrugged.

"The age of consent in Nevada is sixteen," he said. "Since the two of you are just passing through, and her mother is so agreeable to all this, I'm not going to think too hard about the fact she is your niece, which, by the way, is not legal in Nevada, if you've been doing what Mable thinks you've been doing. I would, however, suggest that the two of you camp in California tonight, assuming you don't just drive her straight home." He frowned. "Which would be the best thing you could do, in my opinion."

"Thank you," I said. I left it at that. I wasn't going to try to justify anything. You can't, in a situation like that. I was just thankful for the break, and for being able to go on our way.

Twenty minutes later we were in the car, headed west.

I told Caitlin what he'd said.

"You're not taking me straight home," she said.

"What did your mother say?" I asked.

"She just wanted to make sure I wasn't traumatized by the police," said Caitlin. "You know my mother."

"Indeed," I said. "So you want to stick to the schedule?"

"Of course I do," she said. "I only have one more night with you. I'm not giving that up."

By that, she meant the fact that we had planned on staying our last night in Death Valley National Park. To that end, we stayed on US 95 and took our time, since it wasn't all that far from Indian Springs. We felt safe enough, as just travelers, to stop at most of the tourist traps or cultural spots along the way. Twice, Caitlin wanted to pull off and find somewhere to make love, but I reminded her of the advice Sheriff Potter had given.

We had intended to run up to see Grapevine Peak, which is the highest point in the Armargosa Mountains, but that was in Nevada, and we'd had enough of Nevada, so we left 95 at Beatty, and headed west into Death Valley, and California, on 374.

She celebrated the "Welcome to California" sign by leaning over to give me a blow job while I tried to keep things on the highway.

We pulled into the Furnace Creek Campground and were delighted to find lots of tent sites available. They had a pool too, which was good, because by the time we got set up, we were both dripping sweat.

"I see a visit to the pool in my future," said Kat, wiping her brow.

"Your very near future," I said, agreeing. "Where is your swim suit?"

"It's in a suitcase. I won't have to dig too hard to get to it."

"I didn't bring a swim suit," I said.

"You've got those running shorts you used to sleep in," she reminded me.

"You mean the ones I don't sleep in anymore?"

She grinned. "Yes, the ones I won't let you wear anymore."

So, five minutes later, still dripping sweat, we were ready to go to the pool.

The only problem was that we changed into our swimsuits in the tent.

Which means I watched as she stripped, and gently gave her breasts to the gentle support of the cups, before snugging up the gusset of the bottoms against her vulva.

"Houston, we have a problem," I said.

She looked over at me, where I was on my knees so I wouldn't hit my head on the roof of the tent. I thrust my hips forward. The outline of my erection was clearly visible.

"It's way too hot to do anything about that right now," she said, smiling. "But after we swim I'd be happy to help you out."

I pouted intentionally. Then I pulled my shorts down enough to expose my rigid prick to her.

"What am I supposed to do about this, then?" I asked, trying to tempt her to at least suck it.

It didn't work.

"I've never seen you jerk off. That might be interesting. Then again, I'm melting in this heat and I really want to get in the water."

"I'm melting too," I replied. "And beating off is a lot of work."

"Just move it around like you used to do back when you didn't want me to know you had a boner for me. Once you get in the water it will be fine."

Which means I had a boner showing through my shorts as we walked to the pool. It was lying at an upwards angle, and off to the left side. My balls made a dent right in the middle of the front of the shorts.

It wasn't actually so bad. There was nobody around. The whole place seemed deserted. I had left my watch in the tent, but I knew it was around four-thirty, so people might still be out on day trips to this or that attraction in the park.

I was watching Kat's hips rising and falling in front of me, and had almost forgotten my erection when we turned the corner around the pump house and opened the gate that led into the pool.

Which is when we found out why there hadn't been anybody anywhere else. They were all in the pool.

If you've ever been camping in a national park, then you already know about the kind of people who gravitate towards that pursuit. If you're not a camper type, you're missing out on a subculture of American society that is made up of people who are warm, friendly, capable, and generous. As a rule, they all like their privacy, and yet, they're quite willing to sit and talk around a campfire for hours. I think that very fact is what makes this community so valuable, in terms of general mental health. We don't just sit and talk any more, generally speaking. And when we do, it's in a bar, or cocktail party. Even then the conversation is fluff, for the most part. Serious subjects aren't discussed. Certainly religion and politics are avoided, and when they aren't, the people who bring that up are.

But in a campground, you have time. Once the camp is set up, the hike, or sightseeing for the day is finished, and supper is simmering on the fire, you have the time to sit and watch the flames and talk. It's a very intimate kind of gathering. As darkness falls, and the only light comes from the fire, it can feel like your little group is the only one left in the world. Age old fears of what's out there in the dark can make your imagination more active. At the same time, your belly gets full, and the fire warms you in the chill of the night. You know you'll probably never see these people again, so the subject of discussion is no longer a source of angst. Around the fire you can agree to disagree. The adults talk about this or that. If there are any teens, they join the adults, because there's nothing else to do in the dark. Once again, the members of the tribe gather to celebrate they have survived another day.

That doesn't always happen, but it can happen, and every experienced camper knows it. The Hendersons, two nights before, were not an anomaly, and we were not surprised when they invited us over to share their fire and meal, that night. And because every camper knows he or she may spend some time with other people in the campground, they tend to pay attention to the others there. This is also something that's different from city life. In the city, we walk by each other and actually avoid making eye contact. We pretend the other person isn't there, other than doing what is necessary not to bump into them.

In a campground it isn't that way at all. People not only look each other over, they introduce themselves. You find out where they're from, and where they're going and what campsite they're in, at a minimum.

What I'm getting at is that having a boner in your swim suit can be a real problem in the situation I was in. I had thought people were still out doing things. Turns out everybody was back from their day activities and were all in the pool.

And when we entered the facility, every eye in the place turned towards us.

That population consisted of roughly twenty sets of parents or adult couples. There were maybe ten kids, aged thirteen and below. They were playing Marco Polo, around the knot of adults that were standing neck deep in the middle of the pool. There were no girls Caitlin's age, but there were six boys in roughly their middle teens. They had been standing in a group trying to look cool and talking about who knows what. Probably the deficit of hot girls their age.

Kat solved that problem.

And I provided fodder for the conversation amongst the adults.

The boys flowed toward Kat as if some magnetic force was involved. This was not a new phenomenon for her. She was used to boys (and men) approaching her at the beach, and she had become adept at dealing with this kind of attention.

I, on the other hand, was not used to appearing in front of a bunch of people, clearly sexually aroused, in the company of my smoking hot niece. We had already agreed that we weren't going to try to disguise our relationship. That wasn't really what had caused the problem with Mable, but it was part of the problem. You can't really say, "Glad to meet you, Mable. This is my niece, Caitlin. By the way, we need a box of condoms for our stay here. What do you recommend?"

Anyway, I knew that all these women who were staring at my groin, and all these men who were staring at my niece, were going to find out all about who they were staring at. And I had no clue as to how to proceed.

What I did was cover my boner with both hands, run, and launch myself from the side of the pool, landing like a whale breaching.

Kat, bless her heart, stayed to beam and flirt at the boys, making it clear she had no idea where I was, and couldn't care less.

I was ostracized, initially. But eventually the men and women parted, as some unseen force caused the conversation to go in directions that were not coed in nature. First the men gathered on one side of the group, as the women leaned their heads in toward each other. Slowly, distance appeared between them as the women stayed there, and the men seemed to drift toward me.

One guy finally broke free of the group and tried to make it look like he wasn't coming in my direction on purpose. But I knew what was destined to happen, so I made the first move. I tried to act like nothing whatsoever had happened and stuck out my hand to him.