Chapter 7

Brenda looked around the small cabin curiously. They had taken care of the horses, and he was starting a fire in a small pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room. There were two beds, on opposite sides of the room. The wall opposite the door was lined with shelves that were stocked with canned goods, cooking utensils and plastic containers for things like flour, sugar, salt and the like. The bedding had been rolled up, tied, and suspended from the ceiling when they got there. Bob had told her that was to keep rodents from using it as a nest.

Cans of beef stew were opened and put to warm on the top of the stove. Bob whipped up dough for biscuits that he put on a griddle, also on top of the stove. There were little packets of butter with the KFC logo on them, in a plastic container. They ate with gusto as the sun went down.

“You’re not such a bad cook when it’s out of a can,” Brenda teased him.

“Pretty hard to screw up beef stew,” said Bob, mopping up the remaining sauce in his bowl with a crumbly biscuit.

“You did make the biscuits, though,” said the girl, as if she was reflecting. “They’re not bad either.”

“You’re too kind,” he said dryly. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

The memory of why she had looked feverish made her ... look feverish again as she blushed, and her eyes went a little out of focus. The tumult in her mind, that having orgasms had caused, came back. Somewhere along the way her intelligent mind had made the connection between what she was feeling and the word she’d heard but, before this, never experienced. It made her feel odd to suddenly be a woman who had experienced having a real orgasm. A dozen of them, in fact. It also made her feel a smidgen more grown up.

Thankfully, the memories didn’t cause that warm spot to grow in her belly again. She was holding her mostly-eaten bowl of stew in one hand, and almost unconsciously, she brushed the fingers of her free hand against the crotch of her jeans, in an attempt to make sure that the analgesic salve was still working.

It was.

Her eyes cleared as she realized what she was doing, and focused on Bob’s eyes, open wide ... staring at her hand.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned in embarrassment. “I ... the horses...” she stammered, trying to explain. “I mean when I was riding...” Tears suddenly filled her eyes as the embarrassment overwhelmed her. She held the bowl helplessly and streaks of wet appeared on her cheeks.

Bob recognized her horror. He didn’t know quite what to do either. He opted, like many men, for trying to “fix” it.

“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s nothing new. It happens to women all the time.”

“Not to meeee,” she moaned. Then his comment penetrated. “Really?” she asked hopefully. Maybe she wasn’t as perverted as she thought.

“All the time,” said Bob, uncomfortably. Now that he had spoken about it, he wished he hadn’t. “It’s almost inevitable, I guess. I mean what with the saddle rubbing...” Now he was the one who turned red.

“I couldn’t help it,” she moaned. “It just happened.”

“It’s okay,” said Bob, for lack of anything else to say.

“Does it happen to men too?” she asked hopefully, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks.

“Well ... no, I guess not.” said Bob.

“Why not?” she asked. She wanted all humans to have the same ... problem. “I mean it rubs against them too.”

This was getting worse and worse, as far as Bob was concerned. Here he was, alone in a cabin with a girl he was attracted to ... had seen naked ... close up naked, in fact ... and they were talking about sex. Well ... almost, anyway.

“I guess it’s different,” he said. “I mean, I guess men don’t feel the same thing.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “The salve helped,” she added.

“Oh,” he said. “I guess that’s good.”

“You have no idea,” she sighed. “I was afraid the last part of the ride today would kill me.”

Bob knew Dannie, and lots of other women, enjoyed riding horses, for the very reason that Brenda was talking about. He had never talked to a woman about it, though. It wasn’t the kind of thing that came up in conversation between men and women ... at least in his experience.

“It was that bad?” he asked. He was curious, despite his reluctance to be in the discussion.

“It was horrible!” she said. She blinked. “Well, not horrible, exactly. I didn’t understand what was happening at first. Then, when I did, it was kind of nice, but then I couldn’t stop it from happening. Nothing like that ever happened to me before.”

“You’re kidding,” he said. “You’re what ... sixteen?”

She looked at him archly. “That doesn’t mean I’ve done anything.”

He held up a hand. “That’s not what I meant.” She kept still, and he felt obligated, somehow, to say more. “What I meant was that most girls your age have ... I mean they know enough ... you know...” He stopped, before he could dig himself any deeper. “Haven’t you had boyfriends?” he asked frantically.

“Ricky Thompson kissed me when I was thirteen,” she said. “Since then I’ve been too busy with the doctors to pay attention to boys. I thought I already told you that.”

“Wow,” said Bob. Somehow he had assumed that all sixteen year old girls were ... experienced. He wouldn’t have been able to define what he meant by “experienced” if he’d have tried, but his overall impression was that a girl her age would know an orgasm when it happened. He was mildly astonished that he had obviously been wrong. In a strange way, that made the conversation less threatening. He wasn’t talking to a savvy, experience young woman, who knew what she was doing on that horse. He was talking to a girl who was as confused about things as he was. It made him feel better.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” he said truthfully. “If I’d have known, maybe I could have helped.”

She looked at him oddly. “I don’t think I needed any help. Buttercup seemed to be doing just fine.”

He flushed again. “I didn’t mean that kind of help!” He tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. “Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable to talk about this?”

Brenda thought about that for a minute. While she had been horribly embarrassed in the beginning, to admit what had happened, his reaction to that admission hadn’t been what she expected. She had expected him to disapprove, and call her a bad girl. Didn’t all adults think that any kind of sexual behavior in a teenager was horrible? But he had only tried to make her feel better. Again, he treated her like an equal, rather than an adult, interacting with a youth. She realized she liked that very much.

“Not with you, I guess,” she said finally. “You’re different than most adults. You don’t talk to me like I’m a kid. My parents would never even think about talking about sex with me.”

“Well, it sure makes me uncomfortable,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. She sounded sad. “I’ll stop, then.”

“You don’t have to stop,” he said, feeling like he had cut her off at the knees. “It just seems strange, talking to a sixteen year old girl about ... things like this.”

“You said I looked sexy,” she said, maddeningly.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“So doesn’t that mean you were thinking about sex then?”

He looked at her helplessly. She was so direct. People just didn’t discuss sex so directly.

“I’m not supposed to think about sex when I look at you,” he said.

She looked at him craftily. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“What would your father think about me answering that question, if he were here?” Bob countered.

“My father isn’t here,” she pointed out calmly.

“Look,” he said, frustrated. “What difference does it make, anyway?”

“You mean because I’m going to die,” she said.

“No! That’s not what I meant,” he said almost angrily. “You’re you, and I’m me. I’m ten years older than you. I’m not supposed to think about sex and you at the same time, and you’re not supposed to be asking these kinds of questions.”

This was what Brenda was more used to. Adults who shifted the subject ... made rules ... shut kids out. She was disappointed in him.

“Back in the bear den,” she reminded him. “You flirted with me ... kind of. And some other times too.”

He wanted to close his eyes. He wished she’d go away. “Okay, I’ll admit I was flirting with you a little. I flirt with some of the guests, sometimes.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It makes them feel good, I guess.”

“How could you possibly know how it makes them feel?” she asked.

She obviously wasn’t going away. But her tone was serious, and Bob heard that. He was reminded that this girl was doing some of the last learning ... exploration ... living ... that she was going to get to do. She was acting more like a woman, and less like a scatter-brained girl. He felt calmer. If she wanted to talk serious ... he could talk serious.

“I guess I don’t,” he said. “People flirt. It’s fun ... isn’t it? Doesn’t it make people feel good?”

“It made me feel good,” she admitted. “But later ... when you saw me naked, and you got...” She stopped. He didn’t understand that she was referring to the bulge in his pants. “Anyway, when I was on Buttercup ... and those feelings started happening, and I felt really good, but I thought I wasn’t supposed to ... that it’s wrong.”

“Some people say it’s wrong,” Bob admitted. “I don’t think so. Especially now, in your situation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

He frowned at her. He remembered he was trying to talk to her like she was an adult.

“You don’t have a lot of time left,” he said. “I don’t think experiencing ... things ... while you still can, I mean ... I just don’t think it’s a bad thing.” He realized he had been too vague, and went on. “Okay, I don’t have a daughter, but if I did, I’d want her to wait to ... do things like that.” She started to say something, but he cut her off. “That’s not because it’s a bad thing to do. It’s because it starts something that turns into something else ... something even adults have a hard time controlling. A young person shouldn’t get into that situation, because they start wanting to do thing they aren’t ready for yet ... emotionally, I mean.”

“Like sex,” she said.

“Yes, like sex. Masturbation leads to sex - at least I think so - and I wouldn’t want my daughter to start having sex at your age. So I’d tell her not to do that.” He frowned. “But with you, the situation is different. You’re not going to get to grow older, and experience things slower. So that’s why I don’t think I’d tell you the same thing. Does that make any sense?”

She was staring at him, a strange look on her face. Her ears had heard his words, which in his mind were about masturbation, but her mind had gone beyond them. She hadn’t though about “having sex”, just like she hadn’t thought about “masturbation” in any serious manner. His argument, if taken a little further, suggested that ... having sex ... was something she might never get to do, and therefore...

“Brenda?” His voice broke her out of her reverie.

“I’m thinking,” she said, wanting to go back to this whole idea about experiencing ... things ... while she still could.

She looked at Bob. He had called her sexy. He had meant it. She knew that because he had ... reacted. He had flirted with her, and despite what he claimed about flirting just to make women feel better, she somehow knew that a man wouldn’t flirt with a woman he didn’t find attractive. She’d never felt the urge to flirt with any male ... except him. She liked getting that response from him. As she thought back on it, she decided she liked that he had seen her naked. His behavior then ... both times ... had made her feel very good too. In fact, she felt the urge to flirt with him now.

“You said we could go to the hot springs,” she said.

Bob was thrown by her sudden shift in topic.

“Yes.”

“I want to do that.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll show you where to get in and out, and then come back up here to get the beds ready.”

“No,” she said. “I want you to stay there. We can both soak together.”

Bob felt his nuts tighten.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, again, maddeningly.

“Didn’t we just talk about this?” he asked, exasperated.

“No, you told me what you’d tell your daughter. I’m not your daughter. Didn’t you just say that it was all right for me to experience things before it’s too late?”

“I wasn’t talking about getting in a hot tub naked with a man,” he said dryly.

“This is supposed to be my last wish,” she said.

“That’s not fair, Brenda,” he groaned.

“Why not?” she asked. “I’m not going to rape you or anything. I just want to feel all warm and still be able to talk to you. I like talking to you.”

“I’m not worried about you raping me,” he said. “But I’m a man, and, as you already pointed out, I do find you attractive. That bothers me.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said serenely. “Why should it bother you?”

“If you’d have gotten to go on a few dates, you’d understand,” he said miserably.

“You’re afraid you’ll get an erection,” she stated.

He stared at her.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ll get an erection.”

“You had one before ... when you saw me naked.” She didn’t smile.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he groaned.

“I did, and I wasn’t upset then,” she replied.

“You’re the strangest girl I think I ever met,” he said.

“No I’m not. I’m just the only girl you ever met who knew she was going to die soon.”

In the end, he negotiated with her, and she agreed that they’d go to the hot springs dressed in their underwear. She dug a bra and panty out of her saddle bags and, to his astonishment, took her clothing off in front of him to put them on.

“What are you doing?” he gasped, as she dropped her jeans. She had already shrugged off her shirt while he wasn’t looking.

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The Last Wish Blues

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