Sometimes you just have to hit bottom before you start to rise again, and apparently I'd hit bottom a while back. Through a sequence of stupid decisions and choices, some bad luck with the economy, some tragedy and heartbreak, I've found myself alone for the first time since going off to college. Was busted broke but found a new job that actually pays pretty well, actually got pretty healthy and more physically fit than since those college days, and had even managed to buy a tiny house.
A windfall came when an uncle that I'd barely known died. It turns out he had never married, had always liked me for some reason though I can barely remember him, and I was his last known relative. Most of his financial assets had been designated towards one or another charitable organization, but to me he left an old farmstead way up in the high mountains a half-day's drive from here.
I took a ride up there one weekend and found the place in minor disrepair but very salvageable, a bit on the rustic and basic side but in a way that was totally appealing to a guy that longed to live in these hills and away from the bustle of the crowded city, and surprisingly livable for a place that obviously hadn't been lived in for almost a while. Old Uncle Charlie apparently had bought the place many years ago but allowed the farmer and his wife to stay there and work the place, and it had only been empty for the past few years.
A month or so later my company offered me the opportunity to work remotely, as most all my work was individualized and with an internet connection I could very well work from anywhere. I'd have to come into town once a week for organizational meetings, but otherwise a cell phone and internet connection was all I needed. Talk about things going well for a change...
Over the course of the next few months I began the process of moving to the mountain. It really was a grand piece of property, nearly 200 acres in all, with the little frame house comfortably sitting at the base of a mountainside overlooking a nice sized stream. There wasn't any power up there so I had a line run in and service set up in the kitchen. The rest of the house would have to wait until I could wire everything, and until then oil lamps and candles were just fine. There was a tank for the gas stove and water heater, and a wood furnace for heat.
Working on weekends through the summer I had the house nearly ready to move in. I'd added insulation, installed new windows to keep out the cold, and done a good bit of painting both inside and out. I listed my little house in town for sale and managed to close on that just as the colors of autumn were just starting to show high up on the mountain.
About a week after moving into my new mountain abode full time I had made the trip down into the village for groceries. I was intently studying the meager selection of fresh fruits when I heard a female voice call out my name.
"Walker Lee!" I instantly recognized the voice as a girl I'd worked with long, long ago, right out of college. At that time we were both attracted to each other and had shared a kiss on more than one occasion, but we were both in other relationships and had managed curb ourselves, but had remained friends. After moving to other jobs we remained in contact for a while but eventually had lost contact, and she had moved long ago from the city. I really didn't know where she'd gone and had changed contact info myself so any thoughts of reunion were long dismissed. Besides, I'd figured she was happy in her relationship anyway.
When she called to me I instantly spun around, a big grin sweeping over my face, and greeted her, "Cynthia Clearwater, how in the hell are you!?" Oh, she looked great. She had always been a fitness buff and it was obvious that the passion had carried through. Her American Indian heritage had given her smooth skin and long, black hair which was in sharp contrast to her sparkling blue eyes. Before I could even run my eyes up and down her frame she had her arms around my back and had hugged up tight to my body.
"Walker, what are you doing up here? Damn, it's good to see you, you look great!"
"Hey, I was about to ask you the same question. And you still look dynamite, as always. You've defied the years, woman." She told me of how she had quit her job down in the city after her parents had passed, and had moved up here to enjoy the peace and solitude. She'd fallen in love with the village and surrounding mountains years ago, and was making just enough money to live on by looking after the homes of absentee owners.
She asked how I'd come to be up there and I related the story of my Uncle Charlie, and her eyes lit up. She'd known the old farmer and his wife, and told me of buying honey and candles from them, of how the old man had fallen ill and the two of them leaving to be with one of their children down in a warmer climate.
We also shared summary versions of how we'd come to be alone at this point.
"Tell you what, Cynthia. I'm a fair cook these days. Why don't you come up to my place for supper tonight? I brought my old stereo and collection of vinyl albums and we'll enjoy some good food, good music, good drink and good company."
"Walker, it's a deal. What can I bring?"
I felt like a school boy again. One that had just talked to the prettiest girl in class and had gotten a date with her for the first time. I made another round through the store to pick up a few more things and was still grinning as I checked out.
The sky was crystal clear that day and as the afternoon shadows fell, so did the thermometer. I built a fire in the woodstove and started lighting oil lamps and candles just as I heard a car drive up in front of the house. I greeted Cynthia at the door and she stuck out two bottles towards me.
"Wine and tequila. Take your pick." She knew darn well what I'd go for, and I knew she liked wine, so we were both set. But, I knew I'd not be overindulging this night. I still had the hots for her and I didn't want anything to blur any sensation or experience that I'd held in fantasy for years. "Wow, this place looks just like it used to, only a bit better. More like you than the Emersons. I see you're still using the old oil lamps. Nice." I took the bottles and headed toward the kitchen while she shed her jacket. Cynthia followed me into the kitchen, asking, "Walker, something smells good, and I'm hungry. What're we having?"
I poured her a glass of wine, turned to hand it to her, and as I did she took the glass, wrapped her other arm behind my neck, and pulled close. She hesitated for an instant, then lightly touched her warm lips to mine. The world was lost for me. The only thing I was aware of was the taste and touch of her lips. We could have been floating in a cloud for all I knew. "I hate to even serve what I've cooked after that, because it sure won't taste as good." Cynthia just smiled, her eyes twinkling at me, and she slowly turned to walk away in that tease she had perfected so well.
I watched as she walked from the kitchen back into the sitting room. She is fairly tall, slim, a nice shaped and very firm derriere, graceful yet athletic, with just enough sway in her stride to cause her long ebony hair to swing back and forth. Just as she got into the sitting room she turned her head in mid stride, catching me watching. Busted. That got a slight grin from her.
We enjoyed a great meal, the conversation flowing easily and broken only by laughter now and then, and the atmosphere warm in the glow of the oil lamps and candles around the room. As I cleared the table Cynthia went to browse through my record collection, after refilling her wine glass for the fourth time. The shots I'd had before dinner were just subsiding, and I wanted to keep it that way, but I did take the bottle into the sitting room for her to enjoy. Cynthia always could out drink me anyway.
The room was warm and full of the flicker of candle flame and oil lamp. Cynthia was reclined on the sofa, the only seating in the room, as I turned on the vintage stereo. I pulled out an old album that was sure to enhance the mood instead of dictate the mood, and went to the sofa. Cynthia didn't move, so I picked up her legs, sat down and laid her legs across my lap. She just grinned and downed the rest of that glass of wine. She sat up to put the glass on the table next to the sofa, then got up, moved over, and sat down on the sofa so that she was facing me. I reached out my arms, inviting her to me, and she leaned over into me, placing her face under my chin.
By this time she's killed all but a swallow from that bottle of wine and I could tell she was feeling mellow, and intimate. I lifted her chin up, tilting her head up towards mine, and bent to kiss her. It was a gentle kiss at first, but as we lingered in the kiss our passions rose. Lips parted and tastes shared. Her tongue caressed across mine, inviting mine to come to her. The heat of the kiss spread to our bodies, my hands running across her back and down to her hips. Her hands through my hair, over my shoulders and down onto my chest, kneading my chest. We sat there making out like teenagers for long minutes, long enough for the album to play through the side and the music go silent.
Our kiss broke but our faces stayed close, touching, not wanting to separate. Her voice barely above a whisper, I heard her words, "Walker, take me to bed."