Charlie And Mindy Bk 01 Ch 04 1

This is the fourth 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. I am rewriting and reposting a series I 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, and 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 above Island Lake is at 43° 4' 32" N, 109° 36' 52" W.

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

—CarlusMagnus

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

Thursday

I passed the night much as I had the last few, waking now and then as we changed position, but returning to sleep almost immediately. Mindy must have awakened a little before I did. I vaguely remember her coaching me into rolling toward her, into our favorite spoon position, as I struggled up from the depths of a sound sleep. Evidently, she enjoyed the feeling of my morning wood between her ass cheeks. I liked that, too; and it meant that I got to squeeze one of her boobs.

We lay there for a while, each enjoying the feel and the warmth of the other's body, fuzzily coming to grips with the new day. But, as always, hydraulic pressure forced us out of the bag and the tent into the morning chill. As I peed, I looked up to find a clear sky above us. The morning sun shone on the peaks about us, but we were still in the shadow of a ridge that lay a bit north of east. And it was cold.

We dressed hurriedly. Equipped for the morning chill, we set about fixing breakfast. Coffee first, and then oatmeal again, followed by pancakes. For a little treat, I threw a handful of raisins into the oatmeal.

We finished our breakfast and did the camp chores; then it was time for our morning duties. Mindy picked up her water bottle, the trowel, and the plastic bag in which we kept the toilet paper. She started off for "the ladies' room." And the realities of camping above timberline intruded. It suddenly dawned on her: There were no woods for her to hide in. "What'm I gonna to do?" she squawked.

"What's the problem?" I asked. "Don't like the view?"

She glared at me. I pointed at a nearby boulder that was still well away from our camp and from the pond and the stream. It was the size of a small cabin.

"At least there are boulders here you can hide behind," I observed.

"But the other side of the boulder is just as open as this side. Anyone within miles will be able to see…"

I looked around. "I don't see anybody but me." I gave her a grin that was at least as evil as any she'd ever given me. "Hurry up. I need the trowel and the TP, too."

She stalked off toward the boulder and disappeared behind it. She returned a few minutes later—with a sheepish grin.

"Did everything come out okay?" I asked.

I got three punches for that question. After my punishment, I found my own boulder.

When I returned, we talked about what we could do that day. The plan had been to camp here for two consecutive nights. We'd talked about a day hike to Indian Basin, and we still thought that a good idea.

We stuffed our daypacks with more warm clothing, food, a water bottle each, and the other things needed for safe travel in the mountains. Thinking ahead to supper, I put the pinto beans we'd brought into a pot full of water to soak. I covered it and set it out of the way so we wouldn't accidentally kick it over when we returned to camp. A good-sized rock on top of it, I figured, would keep camp-robbing critters out.

We set off back down the ramp toward Island Lake, and turned right when we reached the trail that had brought us up to the lake the day before. We rounded the end of the lake and followed the trail northwestward for a few hundred yards. There it turned north again, and as we topped a little rise just before that turn, we had a good view of the island, a quarter of a mile off to our left, that gives the lake its name. We had seen half-a-dozen tents along the shores of the lake, but none of them was near the main trail. We encountered no one as we passed the lake.

As we approached a fork half a mile north of the trail's turn, Elephant Head came into view on our right. It looked to me more like a whole elephant—immense, 1,400 feet high, facing to the west, with a large tarpaulin draped over it and staked out like a tent. It disappeared again a few minutes later as we followed the right fork, which curved northward around to the left of a low, cone-shaped peak that loomed to the east.

Once we were far enough north to get around that conical peak, the trail turned eastward again, and we passed a low ridge on our left. A little south of east, and a mile and a half away, rose the triangular block of Harrower Peak. To its north, just visible over a nearby ridge, lay the Divide, in the form of Knife Point Mountain and the jagged ridge that extends to its north. As we rounded that conical peak, Elephant Head came back into sight—looking even more like an elephant forming the ridgepole of a huge tent. Soon, we found ourselves at the head of a little lake.

We took a break, low on the southwest rim. From there, we could look northeast, toward Jackson Peak, across the lake-strewn floor of the lower part of the basin. A little farther to the north stood Fremont Peak. The basin itself was well above timberline. Gray granite rocks, ranging from pebble-size to office-building-size, lay everywhere, and it contained little vegetation. But there were some spots of green alpine tundra and an occasional willow thicket. And, even in August, patches of snow lay here and there—some of them quite large.

I looked to the east, hoping for a glimpse of Harrower Glacier high on the basin wall, but it couldn't be seen from where we sat. Neither, I found, could Indian Pass, which lay a half-mile or so north of the glacier and gave access, over Knife Point Glacier on the other side of the Divide, to the Fitzpatrick Wilderness. Crossing that pass was on the list of things I wanted to do someday. But more than two miles and 1,000 feet of elevation lay between us and the pass. We weren't equipped to extend our trip as I would've liked to do.

As I looked toward the backbone of the range, surrounded by the grandeur of granite peaks and ridges, Mindy moved in close to me and put her arm around me. She spoke in a voice that conveyed the awe she felt. "Charlie, I see why you love the high country. I want to spend more time in the mountains from now on, too. Do you think we can do more of this next summer? And every summer?"

I put my arm around her. "I'd like that. Let's start planning for next summer as soon as we get home."

"Do you think Mom and Dad would pay for me to take a MOLS course like you did?"

"I imagine so. I thought it was lot of money when I asked if I could do one, but they didn't seem to give it a second thought. I'll bet that if you do well in college this year, they'll be glad to." I knew she was going to do well. I'd done well enough to satisfy them, and she was a much better scholar than I.

"I'll work hard. And I'll find a job so I can help pay for it."

"Then they'll do it for sure."

She put her head on my shoulder. "Oh, Charlie. This is just magnificent. And there's nobody I'd rather share it with than you."

I turned to look at her, and she raised her head to look back at me. Her deep blue eyes drew me in.

"Mindy," I said, "there's nobody I'd rather share it with, either."

There was nothing more to say—nothing more I could say. I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips; she returned the kiss, also gently. We broke our kiss, and we turned again to face the Divide. The mountain breeze ruffled our hair as we stood there in silent wonder, each with an arm around the other.

After a bit, we put our packs back on, clasped hands, and walked farther up the trail in silence. The trail crossed a small stream, and led us north around another ridge to the east. We followed it for a mile or so, first along the eastern shore of an irregularly shaped lake and then along the western shore of another. There the trail turned to the east and began the thousand-foot climb across the north wall of the basin to Indian Pass.

Harrower Glacier and the pass remained hidden by ridges; we would see neither that day. From a position a hundred feet or so above the basin floor, on its northern wall, the basin lay spread out below us, and we again halted and stood, hand in hand, sharing the spectacle in silence.

At length, we looked into each other's eyes again. She reached up for another kiss. When the kiss ended, a handy boulder invited us to sit down, packless, close to each other. Out came our water bottles and more food; and we spent some time there, snacking, lounging, taking in the glory of the mountains around us, chatting idly. When the snack-food had vanished, her arm somehow found its way around my waist, mine around hers.

After about a half hour, we decided that it was time to turn around and return to camp. It was a little before noon. The past three previous days had been hard work; the next three days would be more of the same, so neither of us really wanted to make that thousand-foot climb up onto the pass. It was, I decided, time to start back, hiking leisurely; there was no hurry.

Several groups of people met us on our way back and engaged us in polite conversation. But we kept those exchanges as short as we could without being rude.

A few people asked us where we were camping. The first time that happened, Mindy replied that "our group" had found an "out-of-the-way spot near Island Lake." It was pure genius, and we used it with others who asked. It wasn't quite a lie, and those who'd asked took the hints: We were with a group, and we didn't want to say where our camp was.

After all, one of the reasons for coming to the backcountry is to get away from people. And I believe that, as Mindy and I stood together, surrounded by the lonely, solemn grandeur of Indian Basin, the two of us had come to understand that our relationship was changing in important ways. We had always been very close to each other, but now…

Now something was happening that we needed solitude both to complete and to understand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was early afternoon when we got back to camp. Our luck with the weather continued; the sun shone brightly from a clear sky, and there was a gentle up-slope breeze. We'd snacked at each of a couple of breaks on the way back, but our teenage motors always demanded more fuel—so we had another snack. I thought about hiking up our ramp so we could look down on Wall Lake, but I didn't have enough energy. I mentioned the possibility to Mindy, and she felt the same way. And so we just hung about camp killing time: reading, lounging, working on our journals, chatting about nothing of consequence.

Around mid-afternoon, I got to work on supper. I'd just finished getting the beans started, when Mindy picked up another pot, the soap bottle, and the half-full water carrier. "I'm getting stinky," she said, looking at me. "I'm going to clean up."

She walked off about 15 yards from camp, turned to face me, smiled, dropped her pants, stepped out of them, thoroughly washed out her cleft, and rinsed by splashing water from the pot at herself. She picked up her shorts, pulled her extra pair of boxers out of a pocket, dressed, and came back.

"Gentlemen who don't want to offend ladies keep themselves clean," she said as she handed me the pot and the soap. She was grinning, but there was a certain note in her voice…

I briefly considered saying that I didn't know any gentlemen. Or ladies. But that note in her voice had warned me, and I stifled myself before it was too late. Instead, I decided that I knew a direct order when I was given one—however indirectly. I fetched my other pair of boxers from my pack and put them in my pocket. Dreading the touch of the cold water, I filled the pot, marched off, turned around, dropped trou, forced a grin, and did my duty. She gave me an approving smile that almost made it worthwhile.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'd fixed a large portion of beans and rice for each of us, and there was enough that even our teenage appetites found no need for dessert. We munched on some raisins anyway, more for tradition's sake than hunger's.

As Mindy cleaned up the dishes, I found myself watching her, enjoying her shape and the feminine grace with which she moved. She was aware of my eyes following her, and every now and then she smiled at me. After she had finished, and as I knelt to put on a pot of water for our evening cocoa, she came to me. She stood behind me, placed a hand lightly on the nape of my neck, and caressed me. I turned and looked up at her; she was smiling. I smiled back. She leaned over and nibbled on my ear—making me stumble a bit.

"Hey," I yelped, standing up. "Let's not knock the stove over."

"Come on over here," she said, looking up at me, "where I can knock

you

over so I can reach you. I'm going to put you flat on your ass."

She pointed at a spot several yards away, walked over there herself. I followed; moved up against her, body-to-body, like a thug in a gangster movie. I looked down at her from my commanding height.

"Who's going to knock who over, Shorty?" I growled, trying—not quite successfully—to pitch my voice two octaves lower than normal. I was the only living person who was allowed to tease her about her size. And even I had to be careful: if I carried it too far, I'd be the only

dead

person who was allowed to tease her about her size.

She dug her shoulder into my gut and shoved for all she was worth. Nothing happened.

"Mosquitos sure are bothersome tonight. And big." I said it musingly as I swatted lightly at her.

"Just because you're big," she said, "doesn't mean you're strong!"

She head-butted me in the stomach, bounced off without result. She wrapped her arms around my waist, and tried to jerk me off my feet. Again, nothing.

"I don't think that's a mosquito," I said, as if to myself.

Now, arms still around my waist, she was trying as hard as she could to lift me off of my feet. She might as well have tried to lift that cabin-sized boulder she'd hidden behind that morning.

"Damn," I exclaimed, looking down at her as if I hadn't noticed her earlier. "It's a big old rat!"

I slipped out of her arms, stooped, put my shoulder into her gut, pulled her over onto me, and stood up—doing my level best to make it seem as if standing up with her hundred pounds on my shoulder was no effort at all. I started off purposefully toward the nearby pond. She flailed her little fists ineffectually against my back.

"I'd better drown it!" I added.

The flailing stopped. There was a shocked silence. Then, "You wouldn't!" came from behind me. "You couldn't!"

There was really no question as to whether or not I could. I was twice her weight. She was on my shoulder; she couldn't get off; and I was headed for the pond. I could. The pond was shallow, muddy, and stinky. So, of course I wouldn't. But she couldn't have known what I planned.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" I laughed, as cruelly and threateningly as I could manage. I continued toward the water, which was far enough away to give her plenty of time for panic.

The flailing began again, frantically. Her legs were flailing, too, now.

"Careful," I said. "You might make me drop you before I get to the water." I swatted her tight little ass with my free hand—just hard enough to sting a little.

She whooped. The flailing redoubled.

We laughed, as I continued my inexorable march toward the pond. The flailing became almost hysterical.

Finally, about fifteen yards from the water, I set her back down on her feet. I kept my arms around her; her arms encircled me. We hugged each other; we were laughing so hard that we had trouble keeping our feet.

"What happened, little girl?" I asked, eventually, when we'd settled down enough for conversation. "Did somebody put a rock on your head so you couldn't grow up?"

"No, you big bully," she answered. "I'm the right size. You must have some masculine growth disorder."

"Well, you are a pretty good size. And I'll have to admit that your legs did grow long enough to reach all the way down to the ground."

I bent over and kissed her through our laughter. She returned it, also through the laughter. Hand-in-hand, we strolled back to the stove. When we got there, the water was boiling.

After making the hot chocolate, we grabbed our Ensolite pads, and found a nearby boulder for a backrest. We put the pads, folded double, down next to each other. Still smiling from our horseplay, we sat down on them, Mindy at my right. I put my arm around her shoulders; she draped her arm across my thighs and snuggled up close. We knew that, a little later that evening, we would touch each other more intimately. But there was no hurry. For the moment, the quiet, relaxed touch of our bodies, side-by-side, sufficed. We sat, silently, sipping our cocoa, each glad to be with the other.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The cocoa had been gone for a bit when I turned toward her. She felt my motion and turned toward me. I looked into her eyes and she into mine. Our lips met and we kissed, gently at first—but then hungrily and deeply. My arm still held her; I brought my other hand around and caressed her cheek and neck. Her arm came around and encircled my waist. We held the kiss for a while, and when we broke it, we looked each other in the eyes again. She took my arm from around her, slid her hand down to mine, clasped it, brought it to her tit, and shaped the palm of my hand to herself.

"Touch me, Charlie," my little sister said. "Please touch me."

I kissed her again as I cupped her little boob, giving my hand a circular motion. I felt her nipple respond, and moved my hand to the buttons of her shirt. After undoing the top three, I reached inside to cup her bare breast with my hand. As I fondled it, tweaking her nipple between thumb and forefinger, she reached for the buttons of my own shirt and undid them all. She stroked my bare chest briefly, and undid the rest of her own buttons.

I broke from her lips and kissed my way down the side of her neck and shoulder to her nipple. I took it between my lips, nibbled it, and tongued its tip. She groaned in pleasure; her hand returned to my chest, where it tweaked one of my own nipples. She hadn't done that before. It was pleasant, and it did turn me on—but so did every touch of her hand on my skin. It didn't cause in me the intense reaction that my touch on her nipples caused in her.

We broke our embrace momentarily and arranged our Ensolite pads next to each other at full length, grinning at each other as we did so. Then we removed our shirts and tossed them to the ground beside the pads. I stepped over the pads and, taking her arms into my hands, I stooped a bit and locked her forearms around my neck. Once again, I cupped one of her ass cheeks in each hand. She knew what was coming, and, before I even began to lift her, she wrapped her legs around my hips. I stood up to my full height, raising her with me, and we locked our lips on each other's. Once again, I felt my little sister's naked boobs against my bare chest. Together we ground Little Sister's mound against Big Brother's hard, stiff cock.