I've never been much higher than sea level living in New York most of my life.  In fact, I've never been to the mountains, I've only flown over them.  On the flight, I'm thinking of you, excited about how my life has taken an adventurous turn since we met.  At the festival when we literally bumped into each other and became inseparable over the next three days and nights, I never thought what we shared would last longer than the long weekend we spent in bed.  We are from different worlds and where they meet is yet another.  And now I will be meeting you in the mountains in Colorado. The highest paved road in the States will lead me to you, a cabin you've borrowed for us.  You told me to pack winter clothes, even in summer, it will snow.  In my Jeep Laredo rental SUV, I leave you a message on your cell phone.  Since you didn't answer, the cabin must be beyond cell phone signal range.  I am driving toward you, the terrain is dream-like, mountainous, severe.  You told me that the cabin is above the timberline, I wasn't sure what this meant till I googled it.  Trees will not grow there, too extreme, too cold.  Right now, I am in a lower elevation, still in the land of trees and lakes.  The beauty is beyond words, I take photos on my digital camera, pines, fir, aspen, rocky outcroppings, steep slopes.  Higher I climb.  The grade is getting steeper.  There are only a few other cars on the road, ahead of me or descending from the other direction.

The drive seems to take hours, or maybe time seems to pass more slowly because I ache for you, to be with you already.  My GPS routes me.  I turn off the paved highway onto a track marked with a sign depicting a cabin and shift to a lower gear to climb the track.  You must have heard me coming as I see you, walking toward me from the cabin, smoke drifting from the stone chimney.  You're wearing an oversized knit sweater.  Until I step out of the Laredo, I didn't realize how cold it had become on my journey to you.  We don't say anything.  We hug and kiss.  Then you ask, "How was the drive?"  "Amazing," I say.  You say, "Come, inside."

Inside the cabin is warm. I'm amazed at your skills, logs in the fire, hot water on the cast iron wood stove for tea, kerosene lantern lit, there is no electricity, there are no modern conveniences.  I don't feel as though I've stepped back in time, instead I've stepped into your world.  You work as a guide for an outdoor adventure company, white water rafting, kayaking, trekking, climbing, your world.  Mine is in finance, an office in a high rise in New York, numbers on a computer screen.  I use the outhouse to pee, put the toilet paper roll back on a rusty long nail and walk back inside.  You're naked in the antique rope bed, under a quilt and tell me to strip.  I don't think you want to be teased so I just maintain eye contact, intense, while I take off everything and slide under the quilt with you.  I'm on my back, you kiss me, I run my fingers thru your long jet black hair, feel your breasts against mine, you reach for something with your right hand and pull out a white mesh bag of toys, including an ebony strap-on dildo with a black leather harness, a curved pink vibrator designed to stimulate the Gspot, a ribbed blue jelly dildo.  Pick, you say.  I choose the strap-on.  Because I love the way you fuck me, need you to fuck me, it's been months since we fucked.  But first you tell me you have to taste me.  You've been waiting months to taste my lips, my pussy, to have me again.  Yes, it has been months.  Months of phone calls, phone sex with toys, missing you, wishing you were here or I was there.  And now we are together again for this week, in this cabin, I am yours.

You lick my trimmed red snatch and then down to where my lips part, you open me and begin licking my clit hood and then my clit.  Your tongue is aggressive.  You told me months ago when we were first in bed that our tongues are muscles and we should exercise them, you added, on each other.  And then we did that, making each other cum over and over again that weekend.  And now your tongue is pulling on my lips, they are like pink taffy, you pull on them harder, they elongate, I arch my back, lift up my hips, you let go and then dive into my pussy, licking my wet juices. "I missed your pussy so bad," you tell me.  "Are you sure you don't want one of the other toys first?"   "No." I shake my head.  "Please fuck me."

You mount me, but before you take me, you lower your body onto mine, tits to tits, mouth to mouth, I taste my juices on your lips and tongue, your hair cascades around my face, and then I feel you slip into me, I open my legs wider, you thrust in slowly so I can feel every inch until you are down to the hilt and then you lay there letting me feel the length of you.  I stretch my arms above my head, you grab my wrists.  I love your strength, you are so much stronger than I am, even though I'm in the gym three, sometimes four times a week, yours is a natural strength, mine is gym cardio artificial strength.  Once when we were first in bed, you asked me, if I knew how to survive in the wilderness.  I thought it was a silly question, New York isn't the wilderness, although the wind and cold and snow are brutal in the winter.  You told me that we, humanity on a whole, have forgotten so many things, too many modern conveniences get in the way and that I should come visit you, see how this land was before it was overdeveloped, see some of the last remaining wilderness in America.  I was more interested in seeing you again than seeing nature, I see so little of it in New York anyway except for the lake, and a few little park areas with trees.  I don't long for nature, I long for you.  But I don't tell you these things, I just say, yes, I'll meet you in Mt. Evans, yes, a week, yes, with you, yes.

You have true tribal tattoos, you are Arapaho, but you don't live on the reservation.  When we first met, you told me your name in the Arapaho language and a rough translation of its meaning: "whispering trees".  But you also have the name of a saint, given to you as a child from a missionary teacher on the reservation, so you have three names.  I have only one name. I'm a pale redhead with freckles.  How could we have even lusted for each other when we first met, what was it?  What spark, as two different stones struck each other, kindled the flame?  Began the slow burn? You begin fucking me harder, you grind down on my clit and I meet you there where your hips collide and grind back, I desperately want to, need to cum with you inside me while you have my wrists pinned down, I want to feel this helpless against your power, feel the primal urge that I need to be fucked, be taken, held down, that I must become yours.  Lose control, lose myself to you.  And I do, as I cum and you thrust into my quivering pussy, I cry out, and then I feel like I am spiraling down, down, all tingly and light-headed, dizzy.  You can see it in the look on my face.  It's the low oxygen, the air is thin, you say as you kiss me, you'll get used to it, your body will acclimate.  I'll make you some more tea.

You were married once, well, in an Arapaho ceremony, to a boy, you were both 19, it was arranged.  You accepted the fate that was bestowed on you.  You lived in a small modular home on the rez.  Your husband worked construction in Denver.  Out of curiosity, you answered an ad for a seasonal wilderness guide.  There were six applicants, but you were the only girl.  The outdoor adventure company owner told all of you, I hire based on skill not bullshit.  He drove all of you to a place on the other side of a small river, miles from his office.  First one back gets the job.  You left the men behind, literally.  Your husband wanted a traditional wife, not a "wilderness woman".  He wanted to trap you, give you the burden of babies, but you were too smart for that trap, soon you left and moved to a cabin much like this one.  There is no divorce from your ceremony, so you will be married to him forever.  But you knew you belonged to women, loved women from a young age, but it would have been forbidden to pursue under the watchful eyes of your family and elders. Now you live your life how you want.  And now your husband is married, but under the white man's law, to another woman.  He suspects you are a lesbian, since you never have a man, even asked you years ago, trying to win you back before he met his new wife, if you don't want this (pointing down to his crotch), you must want this (holding up his fingers in a V to his mouth with tongue darting in between).  You told him to fuck off.   I've had my conflicts too, dated men in college as some kind of flimsy cover because I wasn't ready yet to announce to family or friends that I was a lesbian.  In private, I allowed myself to be seduced by women, mostly women who were more assertive and sexually dominant than I am.  I have left men behind now, too.  And everyone knows this and has accepted me for who I am.  I've had a lot of girlfriends, but none like you.  None who I lust for, dream about, none who consume nearly my every waking thought.

A little time passes and I feel more energetic, maybe it's the tea, maybe I am acclimating.  But now I want to please you, bring you the pleasure you deserve too. "I don't know," I say. "Should we really be using a toy with batteries, it seems so..."  "What do you want me to whip up some primitive stone or wood dildos?"  Sometimes you like to tease me.  Then you sigh. "I saw one made of onyx once, at another festival, should have bought it, it was beautiful."  You then slide with one thigh in between mine.  I know this move, you did it before back in my plush hotel room bed, you then flip back and your leg slips under mine till we are essentially in scissor-legging position.  You begin riding my pussy with yours, holding my leg as I hold yours.  You kiss my ankle, where I have a tattoo of your native name.  This is the first time you've seen it, you stop for a second or two, in shock and then kiss my ankle again, and ride me harder, harder, until I feel you, know you are going to cum, I can tell from your breathing, and sweet low moans, and I say cum for me, cum, and you cum biting my ankle, you shiver and shake and then I feel the wetness of your pussy against mine.  I love how our wetness mingles.  You swing back up and we curl into each other's bodies.  I can't even say anything, I am without words, except I know I have never felt happier.  I wonder how you feel?  But I'm afraid to ask. It's only a week, a week before we go back to our lives.

On the phone after the festival is over, we talk about our lives, our work, our passions, our passion for each other, but I'm skeptical, it's my nature. I worry that the intersection between us is just that, an intersection.  But then, something came to me one night after we talked for hours and played with your pussies, before I fell asleep, I thought, yes, you are the one. I would give it up for you, sell my condo, move to Colorado, live with you. Now, you have a small ranch house, you also do photography for stock photo houses and outdoor magazines plus your guide work.  I'd have to work as a consultant, remote, online, the prospect scares me, but excites me. Could we, could we make it?  You and me?  Or are we just indulging sexual cravings for each other?  Isn't it time to be with someone instead of longing for something we're both missing?

I decided before I left New York that I would ask you these questions when the time was right, this week, even though I want to ask them now as our bodies are nestled together.  But then I fall asleep.  I don't know for how long, but you are up and moving around, making something to eat.  It's dinner you say.  After dinner, you announce you have a gift for me and out of your tooled leather handbag, you produce a small box, inside is a bracelet, traditional Arapaho beadwork you say, your niece makes them.  You tie the leather thong so that the beautiful beadwork wraps around my wrist.  This is a love bracelet, you say.  Then we kiss.  This time I feel as though I am floating, I am a cloud, no, I am floating on a cloud, I am tears, I am rain, I am falling, who will say it first, or has it already been said?  I love you.

Your mouth on my breasts and teeth on my nipples, lips kissing down my quivering belly to my pussy again, even more sensitive to your tongue.  You suck on my clit, it's like a pink jelly bean, engorged, you suck on it while you pull the clit hood higher with your thumb, my clit is so exposed, so vulnerable, you keep sucking my clit, nibbling on it.  I rock from side to side, grab for the safety of sheets to hold onto, feel like I'm falling again, it must be the low oxygen.  I feel your finger slide into my pussy and explore me, find the Gspot and I melt, I feel like my body isn't constructed of flesh over bone, but is just flesh now, and yours, malleable.  Please, I say, although I'm not sure why I'm saying it.  Please.

But then it comes to me, I do know why I'm saying it.  I want to be yours and to be with you.  Not just this week, but beyond.  Please.  It means please make me yours.  I'm already yours.  Can't you see?  I came here for you.  My clit pulses under your tongue, I can't hold back any longer.  I push my mound up against your face, you suck and lick my clit feverishly.  I feel my orgasm there, there beneath the surface and then it rises, and then it becomes a humming of nerves and a rush as I let go and you don't stop as I keep cumming and cumming under your tongue.  I am spent.  You smile and tell me I look beautiful.  At this moment, I can't imagine I do but I'm thankful you see me this way.  I yawn and apologize.  "No need to apologize, it's the altitude. You need to get used to this altitude if you're going to live in Colorado."   I want to be sure I heard it right.  Live in Colorado. So I say, "Please show me how, because there's nowhere else I want to be."