Page 18 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
“It was. I got really into it, at one stage.”
“Sounds like you stopped. What happened?”
“Oh… nothing really. Just life. I went away to college, and my telescope stayed at home, gathering dust. I expect it’s still there.Mom and Dad still live in the same house, and they insist on keeping my bedroom just the same for me, in case I ever want to come back, they say. I’m twenty-seven, for crying out loud, but they still see me as their little boy.”
I smile at her, not really sure why I’m telling her so much. Except… except maybe it’s the long pink hair, the petite frame, and just the femininity of her, after all this time out in the forest with this bunch of hard-living, rugged-featured mountain men.
I’ve always been drawn to women, always been a sucker for an attractive girl, truth be told. I’m shy, though. Terribly shy. I was an only child, so I never had that rough-and-tumble upbringing with siblings that might have toughened me up a little more.
“So, you know all their names, then?”
“What?” Her question startles me out of my reverie.
“The stars, I mean.”
“Oh… oh, the stars, yes. I mean, no, not all of them. Loads of them don’t even have names, just a number and a reference to the constellation they’re in. Like 61 Cygni, or 80 Ursae Majoris, for example. That one refers to the star Alcor, which actually does have a name. But many don’t.”
“Oh, I see. You must be very clever.”
I feel myself flushing. “Well, no, I?—”
“What’s that star?” she interrupts me, pointing up into the night sky.
“Which one?”
“That one. The red one, down low over there.” She leans in toward me to help me see where she’s pointing. As she does, I catch the scent of her hair, and her breath tickles in my ear. I feel my cock swelling, straining against my pants. Oh God. This isn’t good…
“That one? Er… that’s Antares. It’s the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius,” I manage to stumble out, shifting my stance to try to get comfortable.
“That’s so amazing that you know its name. Can we sit?” She indicates a makeshift bench a few feet away.
“Yes, sure.”
We make our way over, her leaning against me with her bad foot off the ground, using me as a prop as she hops to the bench. It’s nothing fancy—just two planks nailed to a pair of logs—but she sits with a gasp of relief.
“Oh God, that feels better. Here…” she pats the spot next to her. “Come and sit down.”
I squeeze myself onto the bench beside her, very aware of the warmth and softness of her thigh pressing against mine on this only-just-wide-enough-for-two seat.
“So…” she says with a smile. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
I laugh nervously. "Long story. I guess I just… needed to get away. From college. From expectations. From myself, maybe."
She turns her face toward me, and even in the starlight, I can see the glint in her eyes. "From yourself?"
I nod, eyes fixed ahead. "Yeah. I’m writing a thesis for my doctorate: Sustainability and Biodiversity Best Practices in Northwestern American Mixed Forests. A bit of a mouthful, I know. I got bored, to be honest. Tired of campus life. I wasn’t exactly thriving. Thought maybe a bit of manual labor, a bit of solitude, would do me good, so I applied to come out here as a volunteer. Counting and tagging trees."
There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet. Peaceful. Then, I feel her hand on my thigh.
I glance down. Small fingers, resting lightly, almost absently—except nothing about the way my heart slams into my ribs feels accidental.
"I’m glad you’re here," she says softly. "You’re the only one who doesn’t see me as the enemy."
"I never thought that," I whisper.
She turns fully now, facing me. "You’re gentle. Thoughtful. That’s rare, you know." Her hand moves slightly, fingertips brushing the fabric of my pants, and I feel my entire body tense—not in fear, but in white-hot awareness.
"You remind me so much of someone," she whispers, her eyes gazing into mine, unblinking for a moment, until she looks away. "Someone I used to know."
