2017 Erotica story: The Secrets of Liberty Mountain – Author: Nathan Wolf. A retired Vietnam Veteran becomes the accidental prisoner of an all-woman survivalist community hidden deep in the Rocky Mountains. The Society of Sisters at Liberty Mountain has chosen to live in a world without men. They have killed in the past, and are willing to kill again to keep their home a secret. An extraordinary post-apocalyptic adventure unlike any you’ve read before.
2017 Erotica story: The Secrets of Liberty Mountain – Chapter 1
– Author: Nathan Wolf
Fiction, Erotica, Older Male / Female
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is too weird for words and 100% purely coincidental.
I stuffed my last cardboard box of personal belongings into the cargo hold of my girlfriend’s Toyota Rav4, jumped into the passenger seat, and waited while she fussed over a map with directions to our new home. Darlene was like that – a stickler for details. She flipped her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and squinted to read the tiny print. Mapmakers tended to hide the most critical information in the smallest print known to man.
Finally finished, she turned to me and smiled. “Let’s go!” She put the Rav into drive, and we started on our way. We were going to start a new life off the grid.
Darlene was a smart, feisty little brown-haired woman, just under five feet five inches tall, with small breasts, shoulder length hair, and a freckled baby face.
Darlene and I moved in together to save money when my landlord evicted me from my apartment for nonpayment of rent. We believed that two could live as cheaply as one. We were right, but only for half as long.
We met at a local tavern where we developed an unlikely May-December relationship. She played the part of May at the youthful age of 35 years. I fulfilled the role of December at the tender age of sixty-mumble..
Through the process of elimination, we had become drinking buddies at our local tavern. I’m not sure “buddies” is the correct word. More often than not, we were the last people still standing when the barkeep bellowed out, “Last call for alcohol!”
Initially, geography was our common bond. The tavern, built in the 1890s, featured a Walnut and Mahogany bar with an odd little ‘L’ shaped hook at the far corner of the saloon. The bar and a back wall of brick formed a naturally cozy little alcove large enough to accommodate three bar stools.
According to local legend, the original owner ordered the hook’s construction to allow him to observe activities of untrustworthy bartenders behind the bar while also keeping an eye on equally untrustworthy patrons. The voyeur and hermit in me loved the location, and I had it all to myself for several months until the day Darlene arrived. She also loved the strategic location.
Like commuters sharing an across town bus, we got used to each other’s presence on the installment plan. Familiarity grew comfortable and gave way to conversation as we observed the ebb and flow of tavern life.
It all started with casual flirting. She flirted. I was casual.
Hell, she flirted with everyone: Men, women, and even the bartender’s mangy tomcat. While I enjoyed the sometimes risqué banter, I never considered Darlene as potential girlfriend material. She was a young vixen, and I was an old wolf. I amused myself trying to sneak a peek down her blouse or up her skirt when I thought she wouldn’t notice.
One Friday night the stars governing our relationship aligned like the bars on a slot machine. Heads turned as Darlene strutted into the tavern in a blur of legs, cleavage, and the predatory smile of a fox. Her outfit left little to the imagination. Her mini-dress must have been a belt in a previous life, and her tissue-thin blouse was unbuttoned down to her navel. She wore no bra.
“That’s a nice outfit you are almost wearing,” I did a double take when she hopped up on the barstool next to mine.
“Panties optional dress code?” I nodded as I filed that image into my long-term memory vault.
“Like it? I’m going to get laid tonight. One of these stud-muffins is going home with me,” she chuckled with a little shiver and scanned the bar for targets of opportunity. I grimaced; envy flavored a bit oddly by jealousy. What a curious blend of emotions for a virtual stranger.
I did an inventory of my own.
Most of the men in the tavern looked like drop-outs from Blubber Buddies or some such weight-watching group. I had recently gone from 215 to 185 pounds. I felt authorized to gloat.
Wives or girlfriends escorted most of the men. Boyfriends escorted a few others. Darlene’s field of viable targets was limited unless she lowered her standards or went in for a threesome.
I pitied the lucky guy who won Darlene’s attention. She had the uncanny ability to read people like a book and play them like a deck of cards.
“Compliments of the house,” Our curious barkeep did a visual inventory of his own as he set a beautifully mixed and handcrafted White Russian in front of Darlene.
She took a small sip and savored it like a gourmet, “Perfect!” tilted her head back and wolfed it down in one long gulp. Yikes! Talk about power drinking.
Darlene hopped down from her seat, and like Alexander the Great, set out to conquer the known world.
I had to admire her style. She was the Alpha-Fox loose in the hen house, radiating sexual availability like a neon sign in the night. Darlene was in a class by herself, and that was a problem. She sparkled like a diamond in a coal bin and scared the shit out of the men she approached. If anything, she was too beautiful and too self-assured. The men she flirted with as she worked her way around the tavern were flattered, flustered, and fearful of her attention. None of them dared to take the bait.
After ten or fifteen minutes of flagrantly flirting Darlene returned to her seat to regroup and refuel. Our bartender presented her with another complimentary White Russian as his sacrifice to the Gods of Wishful Thinking.
“Thank you so much. You are such a sweetheart. Can I have another one to keep this one company,” Darlene touched his hand, and if her smile had been any warmer, the barkeep would have erupted into flame.
A few moments later, our generous drink master returned with three tall White Russians. “One is for you and the other two are honor guards for the dead soldiers,” he pointed to the two empty glasses.
“I love this drink,” she inhaled the beverage, chugging it down in one long gulp. I raised one eyebrow in puzzlement. How can anyone love a drink without taking the time to appreciate the subtle by-play of flavors?
Thirst quenched for the moment, Darlene resumed her quest for tonight’s bed partner. Her second expedition of seduction ended in bewildered frustration.
“What the fucking hell? I usually have to beat men off with a stick,” shaking her head in disgust, she demolished another White Russian.
“Maybe you should offer to beat them off with a stick, you know, fifty shades of kinky?” Darlene gave me a hard look. She was not amused.
“Why? Do you want to get beat off with a stick?” she smiled before dispatching the last White Russian.
“Hell no! I hate splinters.” I said.
“He shoots. He scores!” Darlene laughed as she raised her index finger and traced a point on the invisible blackboard in the air. “Nice one.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I could feel the rising heat of a blush. I squirmed in my seat under her gaze.
As Darlene studied me, her dark look of frustration gradually brightened, and her eyes sparkled as her grim expression transformed into the predatory smile of a fox.
“I’m as horney as hell. Wanna fuck?” she leaned into me until our noses touched while her hand moved to my knee and slowly slid along the inside of my leg.
I answered by placing my hand on her knee and mirrored her journey of exploration.
“Your place or mine?” I whispered. It was as cliché as shit, but I couldn’t help myself.
What could I say? She had just made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Thus began our May-December love affair.
We became romantically involved as much out of laziness as out of lust. Neither of us cared to invest the necessary time to search for the perfect partner, so we settled for close enough for right now. After we moved in together, I would joke that I was ‘robbing the cradle’ when I took her to bed. She would always laugh and respond, “I guess that would make me a grave robber.”
Two things attracted me to Darlene. The first was her personality. She was so easy going that I once tried to give her the nickname, Lake Placid. Still waters run deep, and it didn’t end well.
“Okay Dennis, that was a twofer,” the book she was reading sailed across the room, missing my head by less than an inch.
“Watch it you nearly hit me! What the hell is a twofer?”
“A twofer is the first and last time something happens. I hate nicknames. Why the fuck would I want to be named after a stagnant pond?” Her smile was a weird combo of mischief and annoyance. I took pet names off my to-do-list.
Everyone needs a hobby and sex was her diversion from work. She collected orgasms like some folks collected postage stamps.
After a few months together, the real-estate development company in which Darlene had invested fifteen years of her life went belly-up, and then her last two paychecks bounced. The bounced checks set up a cascading overdraft chain reaction.
Darlene’s rent check bounced, along with about 25 or 30 personal checks and ATM transactions; each bad check racked up a $35 bank charge, $25-30 in returned check merchant fees, and her account soon was bleeding red ink by several thousand dollars. The certified letter ordering our eviction was the last straw. Our financial camel lay mortally wounded, its back broke beyond repair. We needed a new place to live, and we needed it fast.
We crisscrossed Denver and the surrounding suburbs chasing every “For Rent” sign we could find. We always came up a day late or a dollar short.
Also in this series:
- 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
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 26
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 27
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 28
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 29
- The Secrets of Liberty Mountain - Chapter 30