2017 Erotica story: The Secrets of Liberty Mountain – Chapter 19
Guided only by our sense of touch, taste, and hearing, Alice and I explored each other’s naked bodies in a world of total darkness. Like sailors on a sunless sea, we drifted on the tides of pleasure and followed the currents of passion. Occasionally, as we shifted and moved under the covers, sparks of static electricity twinkled like fireflies in the night.
The space around us became a timeless point of joy as we nestled together like two pieces of a puzzle, a perfect fit. As my tongue explored the entrance of her vagina, Alice’s mouth and lips surrounded the head of my cock with wonderful wet butterfly kisses. Sensations of ecstasy flowed through me like a rising tide and, as impossible as it seemed, the darkness around me appeared to shimmer with sensual shades of color as our bodies merged into one. We were yin and yang.
A glittering circle of intense pleasure began to glow at the center of my being. Alive with delicious pressure, every nerve in my body converged at the base of my expanding pillar. Waves of tension and joy flowed inward as the pillar became a tower of rising desire. The tingling sensation in my toes merged with the pricking in my groin. I began to fly toward the point of no return.
Damn it, I’m losing control. It’s happening too fast. I’m cumming too soon! I rolled away from Alice to the sloppy wet sound of my prick popping out of her mouth.
“Come back here, I’m not done,” she shifted her body to follow as I squirmed away.
“Just a second -wow – I gotta cool down, I’m about to cum too early,” I was tottering on the point of no return. I gritted my teeth and willed myself to back away from the brink. Premature ejaculation is a real buzz kill.
As I started to regain control, Alice’s searching hand found my shaft in the darkness. The tender touch of her delicate fingers smearing pre cum across the top of my penis pushed me over the edge. My body and hips jerked as I squirted all over her hand and arm.
“Oh Fuck!” what a waste of an orgasm.
Nobody wants to sleep in the wet spot. I dribble like a leaky faucet as I searched the blackness for our flashlight. I clicked on the power. Out of habit, I glanced at the array of light emitting diodes to determine the remaining strength of the battery. Bad move. After prolonged darkness, my eyes were at maximum sensitivity. The dazzling brightness is painful in its intensity. Alice vanished behind a blizzard of blue dots drifting across my retina.
“Fucking stupid!” I scolded myself as I shook my head in a useless effort to get rid of the afterimages floating in my field of vision.
“Sorry about that,” my t-shirt did double duty as a towel as I cleaned used sperm from Alice’s hand and arm. Memo to self, survival kits should include a friggin’ face cloth.
“That was interesting,” said the Alice shaped blue dot.
The prolonged stillness in our fabric cave drifted from awkward to uncomfortable as we each waited for the other to speak.
Silence and rubber bands share at least one thing in common. If you stretch them far enough, they’ll snap. In our case, the break came when Alice’s stomach rumbled in hunger. A few moments later, my gut responded in kind.
“I’m famished. What’s for dinner?” Alice wanted to know.
“We’ve got bouillon cubes and tea bags. What’s your pleasure?” I inquired.
“I want something to munch, not something to drink. Any energy bars left?” the blue dot asked.
“Nope. Yesterday we had the last crumbs for dessert. It’s about time we take a trip to the python pantry and go shopping for serpents,” I gathered my clothes and began to dress.
“I don’t think I could ever eat a rattlesnake,” Alice said with a shiver and a disgusted frown.
“Unless ya can survive on breezy sandwiches, I don’t think we’ve got a choice,” I took a bite out of the air in front of my hands and chewed with gusto.
“Umm, light and fluffy, just the way I like it,” I winked.
We were both hungry as hell. I had skipped meals from time to time without fear. I always knew there would be a meal waiting for me on the other side of the clock. This time, there would be nothing in our cupboard unless we stocked it ourselves. Starving to death is a miserable way to die
“I don’t care. I still don’t think I could eat a rattle snake,” Alice shook her head and shivered in disgust as goose bumps covered her chest.
Tragic stories of lost travelers who starved while surrounded by nourishment litter the pages of history. The truth is, our bodies are not terribly fussy when it comes to dinner. As long as it isn’t poisonous or toxic, our digestive systems can extract protein or vital nutrients from almost any organic matter. There is never enough food if we don’t consider everything on the table.
“Get up and lend a hand, you don’t gotta eat ’em, but you have to help,” we quickly got dressed.
Alice held the Rayovac lantern aloft and played streetlight while I made our selection from nature’s deli counter. A fat slumbering rattler with a body the size of my arm and about as long as I am tall became the catch of the day.
“Want to do the honors?” I offered her my hunting knife, which she promptly refused.
“I hate snakes. You take care of it,” Alice took a step backward.
I was pissed and perplexed. My partner, the wild mountain woman, had no problem slaughtering Bambi but went AWOL when it came to putting food on the table to keep us alive in our Godforsaken cave. Go figure.
Except sucking on my mother’s tit while a baby, everything I ate in my life came from the supermarket in jars, cans, boxes, and little Styrofoam platters wrapped in clear plastic film. I lived the sheltered life of a city dweller.
I placed the mess kit on the ground and with survival manual in one hand and my hunting knife in the other, I did a quick review and set about dispatching Rocky the Rattler. Even though the handbook was in Spanish, the illustrations spoke the universal language of the illiterate. A picture is worth a thousand words.
“Don’t take this personally buddy,” I stepped on the snake’s head and drove the point of my knife through its spine. I gritted my teeth and stifled my gag reflex as I felt the crunch of the poor guy’s bones. Aside from a few rodents in mousetraps, I had never killed anything larger than a fly.
Having to kill to survive added an entirely new perspective to my place in the food chain. My grandmother used to remind me, “You are what you eat.”
Rocky, before he went to meet his maker, had been sluggish and hardly moving. His body came alive in death as it wriggled and coiling as if to strike. Oh, shit! Dinner just went zombie. Yuck!
Husking the poor guy like an ear of corn didn’t seem to slow him down as Rocky continued to coil and spasm like a runaway kielbasa.
After stripping off the skin, cutting open the belly, removing its entrails, and washing him in ice water, I fought against the temptation to gag. The damn thing is still moving.
“What part of being dead do you not understand?” I muttered under my breath as I cut him into chunks about five inches long. The slicing did the trick. Rocky finally gave up the ghost and stopped pretending to be alive. Thank God.
Rockies’ makeover was complete. The slices of serpent looked more like mutated catfish than a snake.
The less snake-like dinner appeared, the more interested Alice became. Gradually her expression of disgust melted into a look of cautious curiosity.
“Follow me to the kitchen,” I said over my shoulder as I made a beeline for our tent to grab our cooking supplies on the way to the entrance of the cave. She held the light as I dug through the pile of odds and ends in our stash of survival gear.
Whoever thought of adding a three-ounce bottle of Japanese sesame seed oil to our meager horde is a genius. Anything fried with the Oriental oil had the distinctive nutty zesty zing of toasted sesame seeds.
I scooped up four or five beef bouillon cubes, several sugar packs and a few tea bags and stuffed the lot, along with the flask into the compact hobo stove I tossed everything into our sauce pan, a.k.a. Chamber pot, and set out for the cave’s entrance.
After our close call with asphyxiation, I became as paranoid as shit when it came to the use of flame within our rocky cavern. Tonight’s dinner would be cooked in the open air. If we don’t learn from our mistakes, we will be doomed to die by repeating them. Nature doesn’t grade on the curve. Her courses are all pass/fail.
The unreadable index pages of the Spanish manual made excellent tinder, and soon the little stove blazed away.
I balanced the sauce pan atop the Hobo stove and sprinkled several drops of oil on the cooking surface and added a slice of snake. Since I had never eaten fried rattlesnake, this would be an interesting test of my culinary skills.
The aroma of the sizzling snake and toasted sesame seeds resonated with my hunger as my stomach let out a low rumble of appreciation.
Using my knife as a spatula, I kept the fillet of Rocky moving so that it would not burn. I had no idea of how long to cook the meat. Undercooked would not be acceptable. I wasn’t ready to try serpent sushi, so I added a handful of snow to the saucepan and closed the lid and let it steam for several minutes. I stalled as I worked up the nerve to try a taste test.
Hunger and curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the cover. The cloud of steam smelled like food. I cut a thumbnail piece from the end and took a nibble of an interesting blend of bland, chewy chicken flavored meat seasoned with sesame. Not great but also not too bad. Needs salt. I added half a bouillon cube for flavoring and let it simmer for another fifteen minutes.
In no danger of ending up on a menu of a five-star restaurant, my creation tasted palatable enough to qualify as food in a half-star eatery.
“Care for a taste?” I offered Alice a portion of our survival cuisine.
“I told you, I hate snakes,” she shook her head and made a face.
“It’s going to come down to a question of hate. Which do you hate more? Snake stew or starvation?” I extended a slice of steaming snake to Alice.
“If it helps, think of it as a type of evolutionary revenge,” I laughed and handed her a hot slice.
“Watch out for bones,” I warned as Alice took a tentative nibble.
“It tastes like chicken,” she said between mouthfuls.
Everything tastes like chicken, but no one ever says chicken tastes like snake. All of which leads to an interesting question. If tuna is chicken of the sea, why isn’t chicken called tuna of the land? Apparently, the comparison only works in one direction.
I experimented with different ingredients and cooking styles as I prepared a few other slices of Rocky the Rattler. One concoction turned out to be worthy of one and a half stars. I used a handful of vitamin C rich pine needles, bouillon, and a sugar packet with sesame seed oil to create a sweet and sour sauce. While not exactly gourmet dining it tasted good enough that we each wanted a second serving.
Snake stew or starvation? Alex, I’ll take snake stew for 200. We had just won this round of Jeopardy.
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 2
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 3
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 4
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 5
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 6
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 7
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 8
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 9
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 10
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 11
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 12
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 13
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 14
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 15
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 16 T
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 17
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 18
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 19
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 20
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 21
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 22
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 23
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 24
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 25