King of Cups

In The Mountains—NIGHT

I am going to go camping with Sailor Lou and some friends but return to find Iris instead. She asks if we can go off alone and ditch the others. She sobs. A little.

“Thought it would be better if we were off in the woods by ourselves.”

I tell her no. Flatly. But she insists.

“By doing so we may have the time alone to rekindle the flame. That is to say I am now willing to give us the chance at a romantic relationship.”

No. That isn’t right.

I am going to visit Iris and her sister. She is living in a van on an old hunting road in the pines. Other squatters have also camped around. We are all hanging around the camp at night; the old men suggest that Iris and I get into the back of the van with a night cap so we can fool around. There are some sleeping bags. We go but she is reluctant and nothing will happen. She is till squeamish about love even after all this time.

I decide to spend the night and we lay and talk and nothing else as always.

Mostly we lay quietly listening to the rain plinking on the roof of the old van. Soon the van seems to be moving.

“Mud slide,” I yelp and get out finding the rain is washing the van away down the road. I try to steady the thing, but can’t. I run around and jump into the driver’s seat. The parking brake is off and the van is in neutral. Iris must have put the van into gear. I pull the emergency brake. Somehow that slows the van.

As we skid to a halt on the muddy mountainside, we look at each other as she climbs into the passenger’s seat. I touch her chin

“Iris?” I softy ask, “What the fuck was that?”

“Sorry, I was trying to get us out of that camp. Quietly.”

“Ok. I’ll go along. On foot. The van’s stuck.”

No. That isn’t right.

Iris has been given permission to camp because of some work she has down on the premises. I go along. Just because.

A ranger shows us the park. He takes us slogging through a marsh to show us some fish kills and fungi and then through a barbed wire fence that, having found a clear way around, I pry apart with bare hands so Iris can get under. I am not feeling well and this is the last straw. As soon as the ranger is gone and the tent set up. I climb into a sleeping bag. Iris follows me, straddling me and rubbing my chest and unbuttoning my many layers. It is tender, but feels forced. She has become lonely.

The ranger shows us the park. Iris has been given permission to camp because of some work she has down on the premises. He takes us slogging through a marsh to show us some fish kills and fungi and then through a barbed wire fence that, having found a clear way around, I pry apart with bare hands so Iris can get under.

I am not feeling well and this is the last straw. As soon as the ranger is gone and the tent set up. I climb into a sleeping bag. Iris follows me, straddling me and rubbing my chest and unbuttoning my many layers. It is tender, but feels forced. She has become lonely.

No. That isn’t right.

Iris is asleep when we get to the campsite. I put up the dome tent. It is damp and I wish I had a tarp to put under the tent. I spread out the blankets and slip her inside the doublewide sleeping bag. She might have protested if awake, but in the cold I think best. Besides only our coldest bits, our feet are forced into close, close contact.

Soon, I find a very tender erection pinned under me. I think only moving slightly will cause me to ejaculate. I consider this and wonder if Iris can see. I also wonder if it matters. She knows how her coldness affects me. Before I know it she reaches out and grasps my penis, stifles a giggle and rolls over. I roll over too. I get up since is near morning. She is unimpressed at the camp I have made, so I begin to pack up.

“We’ll just make it back to the ranger station.”

We do. Then head back out. It is the dead of night.

No. That isn’t right.