Charlie and Mindy B. 01

This is the third chapter of seven in Book 1 of the

Charlie and Mindy

tetralogy—which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister. This series is a rewrite of a series I first began posting about five years ago and removed over two years ago.

It takes time for the chaste love between a brother and a sister to become erotic love between a man and a woman. The first few chapters of this book chronicle that transformation, so the early chapters of this series may not be what you're looking for. While there is sexual activity in every chapter, the "good parts" of the story don't appear until later chapters.

You can follow Charlie and Mindy's hike on USGS topographical maps or on on-line versions of them. (There are a number of good ones on the Web.) Their campsite near the upper Pole Creek crossing was at 43° 1' 10" N, 109° 36' 29" W.

I value your comments and your feedback. When circumstances permit, I will try to respond to each.

—CarlusMagnus

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Wednesday

We'd again decided to sleep outside the tent. But I woke up somewhat before midnight to find myself on my back, Mindy shoulder-to-shoulder with me on her back in the zipped-together sleeping bags. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was awake because my face was wet from a cold, light drizzle. It wasn't much, even for a drizzle; it was more nearly a heavy mist. But it

was

cold, and I didn't like it.

There were no stars to be seen in the sky. The nearly-full moon was hidden by clouds. But a bright patch shone where it tried to break through, low and somewhat west of south. That provided enough light to give a ghostly pallor to the mist that covered our basin, lighting things nearby, shrouding those farther away.

We needed to move into the tent. I nudged Mindy, and she awoke with a start. She agreed. So we scrambled out in our obligatory t-shirts and boxers (proof, after all, that we were not uncultured), and moved things into the tent. And we realized that neither of us would sleep until we unloaded that second cup of chocolate.

Cussing at the drizzle (which wasn't nearly as bad as it felt) and the necessity (which was at least as bad as it felt), we stumbled together several yards away from the camping area. Then we stumbled back and dove head-first into the tent.

We cussed some more when we found that we had thrown the bag in upside down. With some difficulty in the cramped quarters, we righted the bag, zipped the tent door shut, and crawled back into the sack together. Mindy backed up and spooned against me to get warm again. My last thought before I fell asleep again was of how good her warm, trim little body felt in my arms.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was briefly aware a few times as we turned this way and that during the rest of the night. At about 6:30, I woke to find her stirring against me. She was again backed up, spooning against me—with my hand in its place of honor, cupping her boob. My morning hard-on projected from the fly of my boxers to nestle in the cleft of her ass. Sleepily, we exchanged stroke-of-tit for ass-clench several times.

I took my hand off her tit and whispered "Chick check!" as I reached down to the juncture of her thighs and prodded her cleft with a finger.

She rammed her ass back into me with surprising force. "Charlie! Don't! You'll make me pee right here in the sack!"

And then, seeing that I had stopped, "But I'm sure you're glad to see that I'm still a chick. And I take it by what I feel up against my ass that you still aren't."

It felt chilly, even in the tent, but… "Peeing in the sleeping bag won't do," I said. "I guess we'd better bite the bullet and get out."

We emerged from the tent, still in t-shirts and boxer shorts, to conduct the first business of a day that was wet, gray, and chilly—and gave every indication of staying that way. The drizzle wasn't any heavier, but it wasn't any lighter, either.

That day, we had to cross Lester Pass, which tops out at a little over 11,100 feet, and the bad weather had me a bit worried. It could be snowing up there. Worse, we could be caught up there in a thunderstorm if the weather took a different bad turn. We wanted to avoid that. Mountain thunderstorms are most likely in the afternoon, so we needed to get up there and back down as quickly as we could. But, we did not forget, we had to cross Pole Creek for the third time at the very beginning of the day's travel.

So, still standing there in my t-shirt and boxers, I suggested that Mindy dress quickly—putting on long warm pants, a jacket, and rain gear. I would start some water for coffee, after which I'd get my own clothes on. When we had dressed, we ate standing, and got to work breaking camp. As we worked, we sipped our coffee and munched on some supplemental breakfast. Soon, we were ready to travel. Anticipating the creek crossing only a hundred or so yards ahead, we stripped down to our hiking shorts below the waist, and tied what we'd removed up out of the way on our packs. We shouldered the packs and hit the trail.

At this crossing, over a mile and a half upstream from the middle one, Pole Creek carries a smaller volume of water, and is considerably broader, than at the lower crossings. Thus, it wasn't quite calf-deep, and the current wasn't a problem. We made the crossing without any trouble and stopped to put our long pants back on. On up the trail we went.

After another two-thirds of a mile, we came to another stream crossing, where a small creek flows from an unnamed lake. This one was only a little over ankle deep, and required no particular preparation or precaution. We skirted the west shore of that little lake, and climbed up through the last of the trees toward Tommy Lake.

When that lake came into sight, we stopped for a quick water break, and to enjoy a little snack. The mist had lifted, so that we no longer needed our rain gear.

Mount Lester towered to the north of the lake, but clouds hid the mountain's top. During the few minutes we sat there, the clouds lifted noticeably, exposing more of the peak to view. After a couple of miles of walking, we had climbed another 600 feet and were above timberline. Here and there, though, in sheltered nooks and crannies, it was still possible to find an occasional tree.

As we ended our break and began the climb up Lester Pass, some 400 feet above us and about a mile away, I saw a pale disk where the sun tried to break through the cloud layer. An hour later, we'd slogged up onto the pass, and the sun was shining.

We stopped, thinking to have lunch in warm sunlight. When we removed our woolies, though, we found that the northwest wind coming over the pass was much stronger and colder than we'd expected. It forced us to put on wind gear almost immediately.

Agreeing that it was a bad idea to eat lunch where the wind felt like it might blow us away, we cut that break short and started down. The shoulder of Mount Lester had concealed the peak from us while we were on the summit of the pass, but it came into view as we walked out onto the broad apron beyond that summit.

Away to the north, just to the left of Mount Lester, stretched the saw-tooth spine of the Wind River Range, spectacular in the sunlight. It is a breathtaking view and, in spite of the wind, we stood there for several minutes, filled with wonder. Then we started down the uneven switchbacks on the northwest side of the pass into the basin below.

We were soon on the floor of that basin, where we passed by a little pond that lay between two unnamed lakes. A little later, we reached the junction of the Highline Trail and the Indian Pass Trail, on the neck of land between Little Seneca Lake and an unnamed little lake to its east. We had our lunch there, where we were sheltered from the alpine wind by a large formation to the south and a high ridge to the north. The scenery around us beggared words; we could only sit and stare as we ate.

When we had finished a leisurely lunch and sunned ourselves a bit, we were ready to move on. "Charlie," Mindy said as we shouldered our packs, "I've never seen anything like this before. It's so beautiful! Thanks for bringing me here."

I grunted as my pack settled on my back. And I replied, "I love it up here. I hope someday we can spend time on the other side of the Divide. It's even more spectacular over there. But a lot harder to get to."

We had reached the end of our travel on the Highline Trail. We jogged right at the junction onto the Indian Pass Trail, and followed it around a bend to the left and up a ramp. Fifty yards to our right, 300-foot cliffs loomed over us as we climbed through a notch in the ridge to the north. After a quarter-mile, we topped the little pass 200 feet above the junction, and we began descending to Island Lake. That lake was not yet visible, but two of Wyoming's highest mountains, Fremont Peak and Jackson Peak, each more than 13,500 feet high, dominated the skyline in front of us as we started down.

After we'd gone a half-mile, we could see the lower end of the mile-long lake. There were tents pitched near the lake; people moved about—fishing, hiking, and who knows what else. But we didn't encounter anybody on the trail.

Near the middle of the curved shore of the lake's upper, southeast end, a mountain stream tumbled down from the slope above. At that stream, we stopped for a short break to snack, drink, and refill our water bottles. Then we turned off the trail and climbed the modestly steep slope, working our way up the course of the stream. After a quarter-mile or so, the slope moderated, and we followed the stream through a notch to a pair of little lakes—ponds, really—that sit in a flat little basin about a mile southeast of Island Lake. We had reached our goal for the day.

I had thought that Island Lake would be busy, but I had known that there would be no people, or even sign of people, near these two ponds. Island Lake and its crowds were out of sight and out of mind; here we had the solitude we had come to cherish.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We were only about 700 feet higher than we'd been the night before. But we'd climbed all the way up to the summit of Lester Pass, and come most of the way back down. There had been, in fact, a considerable amount of going up and coming back down as we'd hiked. All in all, I estimated that we had climbed at least 1,000 feet more than the change in our elevation. It hadn't been an easy hike by any measure, so we were tired.

Fatigue notwithstanding, we put our camp together before we threw our pads on the ground and rested, basking in the late afternoon sun that came over the western shoulder of Mount Lester. I think I slept briefly, and I believe that Mindy did, too.

Hungry, we stirred ourselves around 5:30. Mindy wanted to try her hand at cooking, so I coached her through preparation of a freeze-dried beef and noodle curry. She did well, and we enjoyed her first effort at backcountry cooking. For dessert, I dug into my pack and produced a chocolate bar I hadn't told her about. We split it with appropriate lip-smacking.

When I had finished cleaning up the dishes, Mindy declared that more chocolate wouldn't hurt anything so, as was becoming our tradition, we heated water for hot chocolate. (Chocolate is her main weakness.) As tradition also required, we sat on our Ensolite pads, backs against a boulder, sipping the chocolate, and marveling at the beauty and solitude of our surroundings. She sat close on my right, and I held her.

We sat there, mostly in silence, for half an hour or so, and then Nature spoke to me with another voice. So I stepped several yards away, out of our camping area. As I zipped up, I happened to look around behind me, and caught her poking around in my pack, looking for another chocolate bar. Unfortunately, there wasn't one to be found. That led to some mock pouting: She stood there, looking up at me, with her lower lip sticking way out.

That was irresistible. I bent over and nibbled lightly on the protruding lip. She laughed, threw her arms around my neck, and stepped up against me, body to body.

"Do you have in mind what I have in mind?" she asked, smiling impishly.

"Not quite," I said. "I'm thinking about checking out

your

naked body. I'm guessing that you're thinking about checking out

my

naked body."

"Close enough!" came her reply—accompanied by her evil grin.

Our hands unbuttoned each other's shirts.

As her lovely tits came into view, I briefly wondered how women could possibly find men's relatively blank chests attractive. Our chests could not possibly, I thought, be as interesting as theirs are.

But the thought was quickly lost as we embraced, naked from the waist up, and I felt those firm little breasts, nipples hardening, pressed nakedly against my own bare chest. My cock responded, growing with successive throbs to a full-fledged boner. It was still constrained by my pants, but I knew by the way she ground the lower part of her body against me that she was well aware of it.

I took her chin between thumb and forefinger, and raised her face toward mine. We kissed sweetly, gently, but hungrily, hungrily. It was a long, deep kiss, our tongues playing with each other—touch-and-go, hide-and-seek. We broke the kiss and, for a moment or two, simply held each other as we looked into each other's eyes. I bent my knees to bring my shoulders down to a convenient level for her, took her arms, and placed them tightly around my neck. Then I cupped one of her ass cheeks in each hand.

"Hang on," I said, as I straightened my knees and pulled up with my hands. Her face rose with mine as her feet left the ground. I kissed her again. As I did, my hands under her ass cheeks pulled her groin against me, and I ground my bulging cock against her mound. She caught on immediately. She wrapped her dangling legs around my hips and ground back against me.

After a bit, I let her down.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, when our lips parted. She smiled. "That was something new."

"Yeah," I answered. "Did you like it?"

"Ummm…" she said with pretend seriousness. "I don't want to make a snap decision. I'd better have another."

That was Dad's line. When Mom made a batch of cookies, gave him one, and asked if they were any good, it was what he always said. Mindy and I always sneered at him for that. But it always got him another cookie. He was no fool.

I gave her the required sneer. And another "cookie," too. She was no fool, either.

When I let her down again, she lowered her face and placed her cheek against my naked chest. She held me tightly against herself and sighed a bit. I was keenly aware of those wonderful tits, each tipped with an exquisitely hardened nipple, trying to bore holes into me.

"I'm so happy," she murmured, "to be here with you."

"Me, too," I said, squeezing back. And I intoned: "Big Brother and Little Sister!"

The response came, joyfully, and with a renewed squeeze: "Best friends!"

We looked into each other's eyes again, smiling; together we recited the chorus: "Now and always!"

Twenty seconds later, each pair of hands sought, as if with one will, the other's belt. The hands collided. After that, we had trouble undoing those buckles because we were laughing at the way we'd had the same idea at the same time.

Somehow, we managed. We got belts loose, buttons free, zippers undone. But the two of us tried, simultaneously, to remove the other's shorts. All we accomplished was a tangle of arms and bodies.

So I nibbled on her neck and pulled her toward me. She came easily into my arms again for another deep kiss; again, her bare breasts pressed on my skin. I ran my hands up and down her back, letting my fingernails scratch her spine lightly; I stroked the curves of her sides and hips.

Her amazing little tits captivated me. Cupping one in each hand, so that her nipples extended between my thumbs and the sides of my palms, I tweaked them softly. She sighed again. I brought my lips from her mouth down to a nipple, which I kissed and teased with lips and tongue. More sighs. I switched nipples, and gave the other one similar treatment. Yet more sighing. With one hand on the back of my head, she held me gently to herself, discouraging any escape—though I intended none. Her other hand was busily exploring a mystery.

That hand had found a mystery which puzzled her so much that she pulled away from me to look down and see what she had found. The explanation was simple. My swollen cock had tangled itself in the folds of my boxers. Moreover, the head was firmly trapped below the bottom of the now-open zipper of my hiking shorts. My hard cock was thus bent downward, so that the middle of my shaft—covered by the thin cotton of the boxers—projected through the open fly of my hiking shorts.

She'd been exploring that bulge, and I could see why she wondered. It must indeed have been an Unidentified Fly-ing Object for her.

'That can't be comfortable." She said it abstractedly, thinking out loud.

"Well," I replied, "it's better than having my pants zipped all the way up."

She thought about that for a second or two and said, "Let's let him out," as her hand dug for my boxer fly, found it, entered, gently grasped my cock, and pulled it out into the open.

But the momentary distraction brought with it the realization that the evening chill was causing us to shiver a bit. Sunset was still over an hour away, but the breeze had shifted and cooled as the cold heavy air up on the Continental Divide began to overcome the day's heat and sink down the ramp we were standing on.

We looked about us. But a cold breeze was blowing, and even with our pads at hand, the ground was hard, cold, rocky, and altogether uninviting for what we had in mind. We picked up our shirts and our pads, and scampered to the tent with them.

We'd learned our lesson in the previous night's drizzle. Before we got ourselves into the tent, we removed the sleeping bag, and put the pads in place. Then we replaced the bag, right-side-up this time, and with its head at the far end of the tent from the door.

Grinning at each other in anticipation, we tossed our shirts to the sides of the tent, took off our shoes and tossed them into the corners near the door, stood up, and each dropped our hiking shorts and boxers. We tossed those in with the shirts. We threw ourselves into the tent and onto the unzipped sleeping bag, each on the side we'd previously adopted. Embracing front to front again, we wrapped ourselves in it. I'd been careful to pitch the tent in alignment with the direction the nighttime wind would come from, door downwind, so we didn't bother zipping it closed.

We hadn't been seriously chilled and so, sheltered by the tent, wrapped in the sleeping bag and each other, we warmed quickly. And as we warmed, we found that we had trapped my hard cock between our naked bellies.

Mindy rubbed herself briefly against it and reached down. She grasped it and brought it down between her thighs. There she released it, so that the entire upper surface of my stiffened cock, head and shaft, slid along the length of her hot wet furrow, in full contact with her clit, her inner lips, and her vaginal opening.

New sensations nearly overwhelmed us. We froze, and stared at each other, mouths half-open in astonishment. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, and I must have too.

Experimentally, we rocked our hips a bit—and quickly fell into rhythm with each other. That resulted in more unexpected and overpowering sensations. A little afraid, we forced our hips to stop moving.

We shared a long, deep kiss as our bodies acquainted themselves more thoroughly. But the sensations were too powerful, too tempting; we could not long remain that way. Nature would take its certain course if we did not break that embrace—quickly.