High Country Ch. 03 Pt. 01

***

The windows had all been secured and draped, the doors all double-locked and rechecked before we had retired to the polished cypress king bed we called our own and I now lay, my head on Jeremy's stomach, gazing into the dying embers of the bedroom fireplace listening to Gai's low breaths and feeling the slow rising and falling of J-man's familiarly slow, deep sleep breathing. Jeremy's warm palm covered my bare back and It was safely comforting as I brooded over the probable final minutes of the unknown tourist couple torn to shreds on the top of the majestic mountain I so loved. I didn't want to associate it that way from here on.

It must be close to 3 AM now, a common time for me to awaken. I internalized things during that dark-of-night time: mountains from molehills were conjured in the sterile stillness of the hour and I worked at knowing that the conjured things would be reduced to nothing...mental ashes...by the breaking dawn. I missed the night sounds with all of the windows shut this night. The silence stifled me. My man put up with the weird need for openness and outdoor sounds, even in the dead of winter. Its susurrus hypnotized me to sleep and I wanted to hear those sounds now...

Out of the stillness, I picked up on a light scuffling sound outside our French doors to the balcony. At first I thought it to be the lisping sound of overhanging tree branches. But the sound persisted in regular pattern and I quickly determined it was animal or human-made sound. A slow scrape accompanied the scuffling and I experienced a wave of gooseflesh as warning of something not right.

Raising up carefully so as to not waken my two Nubians, I separated myself and left the bed, tiptoeing to the double doors. Tipping back the blackout curtain so rarely used, I peered into the darkness outside. The sky was low. No moon or stars lit anything what with the weather system enveloping us. The first snowfall had magically changed the world out there. Everything was shades of silver and gray, shadows and dark spots pocked the several inch white blanketing.

The trees stood guard in stark contrast and I could make out a set of some kind of tracks just outside on the balcony. Unable to tell anything more, there suddenly came to my ears a muffled 'pfluffmph' and I conjectured something or someone had jumped down over the bannister around the corner of our wrap-around upstairs patio and landed in the snowy cushion a floor below.

It was disturbing, especially with the marks in the snow just feet from me. They led around the corner to where the sound had arisen. My goose pimples multiplied. I went over to the side bay window where I liked to read in the window seat and as I pulled back the curtain, I was certain that I spotted a bent figure loping away into the woods surrounding the house. It moved with a limping shuffle and the figure seemed large...bulky. And dark. A bear, I ventured? Not something I wanted to see after the gruesome occurrence the afternoon before.

It occurred to me that the 'mountain' in the dead-of-night was no longer a molehill.

Unbeknownst to me, the Jamaican had quietly awakened, watching from the bed behind me as the ominous limping figure disappeared into the shadows. The wise man's eyes narrowed to slits at the sight and he shuddered silently before lowering himself, resuming a sleeping position, forcibly controlling his breathing.

Not brave enough to venture outside under the circumstances, I scoped the perimeter for ten minutes or so before the chill to my skin subsided. Seeing nothing more, I purposefully went through the darkened house, the dogs dutifully following me as company, checking all of the doors and windows a third time.

The boys normally sounded off at anything unusual and as they were both quiet, I concluded that I must have seen some familiar (to the dogs) night creature out on its nocturnal curiosity trek. After all, bears were common visitors...at that moment, it hit me that the elk were nowhere to be seen and I had heard no night hootings from the owl, either. Both were uncommon events. The elk liked our property due to the salt licks I put out regularly. Over to the back side of our property, next to the protected cupping effect in the mountain rocks toward the pond, there was fresh hay during the winter. I had just put out two bales the day before. And the big elk were not there. Things that make you go, 'hmmm'.

Well, I was 'hmmmmming' all the way back upstairs at these incidentals, slipping back to the warmth and safety of my lair. Weirdly, the dogs both climbed up and in, also. That was unsettling in itself. And eerie. Jeremy turned over on to me and covered me in a sleepy embrace. I fell into an uneasy slumber.

The amiable Rastafarian had proven mysterious in some ways during his weeks with us. The man would awaken at times in the night and pull one of us to him in a possessive bear hug. Never voicing a word, just seeking intimate proximity, we had figured. Other times he would perform a deep-of-the-night blowjob on one of us. Something that never occurred in the light of day. He was big on the macho thing.

Some mornings, the Jamaican would slip out of bed an hour before my 5 AM arising and we would find him deep in contemplative repose somewhere in or out of the house. Still other times, the swarthy gent would sleep far into the morning, arising in a dazed state of mind, seldom communicative at those times...No set routine seemed strange to both of us, as we were very habitual. Not in our pastimes, mind you, just our awakening and retiring habits.

The next morning dawned dark and smotheringly quiet. No breezes, no animal sounds. No tittering birds. The snow deadened almost everything. I arose from under Jeremy's muscled arm and torso where he had protectively concealed me a few hours before. Whether consciously or not, I was unsure, but I had melted into his deep armpit smell and warmth. Now, I disliked leaving the cocoon. And the boner.

The Rastafarian was gone. Rumpled bed makings and an indented pillow were the only trace of him. I showered in cool water to jumpstart myself, and toweled off as my man entered to take a turn. He nuzzled me on the way in without a word. The quietude of the snow and the close atmosphere that I felt was apparently affecting him, as well. Pulling on clean jeans and my preferred choice of turtleneck sweaters, I descended to start coffee and put on an Enya CD to match the melancholic mood of the morning.

Ambergai Gee was not in the house from what I could tell and that was unusual as he had demanded dick attention from one of us every morning since his arrival. Hmmmm, again. Jeremy followed me down after a bit, looking for coffee and still sleepy-eyed. His warm up bottoms barely covered his crotch and the residual morning engorgement was sticking down the leg straining to be seen. And noticed. Nothing else covered him except the towel around his neck. He stopped short upon eyeing me and I marveled at the absolutely stunning sculpture of the man I called my own.

At 44 years old, not a strand of body hair except a trapezoid patch above his endowment inhabited his entire body, no crease or wrinkle indicating any aging. I teased him that he was a black Dorian Gray and kept an eye peeled for the hidden alter-ego painting that surely must be absorbing his years... seeing him like this every day was the most precious luxury I experienced. That he returned the affection made me feel I inhabited a novel—real life couldn't be this good.

The AM horndog squinted across the room at me, pointed down at the now ascending tent inside the warm-ups and made plain his expectations. I listened to Enya plaintively lyricize as I pulled off my sweater and descended to knee level by the time I had reached him, by now adept at assuming my favored morning position.

The coffee percolated on the counter as I rounded down on the now extruded boner, its hardness rising to just mouth level, foreskin inching back from his fine spongy crown. I settled into the awakening callisthenic which the black stud needed, either passively or actively, every single day. In eighteen years, I could count the number of times on my left hand that this man had not erupted in an ejaculative 'good morning' and still have fingers left over.

The right hand was occupied cupping the hairless balls and massaging the cum up the cumchute, of course. His marriage ring was sexily enwrapping the entire package, per usual, and it grounded my strokes. Within three minutes, the erect nipples hardened under my fingertips, signaling his coming spurts. I kept time to Enya through the explosion and shudders.

Following his hard smoothness downward to the sensitive toes, skimming him all over with my fingers and then working my way back up, engendered my own eruption. I had early on discovered this one human that could set me off without touching myself. The oversized white dick of mine just pulsed it out as I enjoyed his body under my hands, and he leaned down to cup the babies, teasing me that someday he would get pregnant by the method, like an immaculate conception. He licked his fingers lasciviously while basking in my feel of him. Yup, between his need for sucking dick, mine firstly, and my own weakness for the art of fellatio, we certainly sucked a whole lotta dick.

Good thing his little girl had knocked me off that ladder so many years back. Little Elle was now grown up and had Elle, Junior, to love on. The image of the pigtailed imp with no front teeth brought me a full-mouthed smile. It be hard to smile with a mouth full of dick, especially the size of Jeremy.

I wondered why the hell girl babies weren't accommodated by numeric nomenclature like boy children were: Junior, the third, the fourth, etc. Seemed mighty strange to me, and I was glad Elle had broken down that particularly stupid wall... We expected to have the two best girls in our lives present with us in a couple more weeks for the Thanksgiving period. Even if it did restrict our lewd ways a smidgeon.

We both swallowed at the moment that we looked at each other, sending us into gagging fits of giggling. We were aware of our peculiarities and reveled together in them. After getting a cup of coffee, we sat together on the barstools turned toward the steepening mountain outside our windows, feet entangled with the other's.

I related that Ambergai was nowhere to be found and then told him of the disconcerting occurrences of the night. Jeremy was mightily perturbed that I hadn't wakened him, as if that would have helped anything. My knowledge of his reactions under stress were well documented and the last thing I would have wanted was to see him confronting whatever I had spied in the effort to act the hero. Which he would have done...I kept my mouth shut.

We went upstairs and examined the scratch marks in the snow on the balcony and then followed around to the side, viewing the abrupt ending to the marks. Brushings on the handrails and a pronounced depression in the snow below seemed telltale. So, I was not imagining something or someone up here. That led me to the conclusion that I had, indeed, seen the large, limping figure disappearing into the woods, as well. Now, my prickling skin was contagious—J-Man 's forearms were fully splotched, too.

Not seeing our long-haired housemate on any landing around the house or on the visible property around us raised my hackles further and I insisted we make a call to the sheriff. My man wasn't as upset over his friend's absence. "He leaves for the boondocks on a regular basis to do his secret things wherever he stays. I think it's religious stuff, or something," he posited.

I hand-walked Elvee and Suture with their hated extend-a-leashes. The boys felt the devices were instruments of restrictive torture. I didn't want their curiosity to take them roaming, so they had to accept the control for the time being. They found multiple other tracks in the snow, but it was hard to determine similarities or differences now. Following the prints of the limping figure up to the point where the rocky heights held no snow at all, I lost them.

There were no size 17 footprints to be found anywhere, though, of that I was sure. On the way back in, I spotted a branch on a big evergreen tree contrasting in red and found a piece of snagged material. Some sort of coarse burlap. I freed it and brought it along.

Coming back inside, I was elated to find a revived, crackling fire. Jeremy was busily working on the long strands of hemp he had collected for the costume he planned. He was weaving and braiding the pieces into some sort of dreadlocks using his stretched out legs and toes for anchors. I was beginning to see the described endgame in real time now, at least somewhat. The bones and wiring and other pieces were still baffling.

Jeremy looked up excitedly and called me over while I was liberating the furred beasts, "Hey, Luke, look at this, honey." He held up a big leg bone, which I had seen before. Unsure where or by what method he had procured the thing, I was staying clear of a few questions there, as well. it was a true human tibia, that I knew after examining it. "Look close—see, right there below the bony knobs—the ones you call tuberosities, right? There are teeth marks. Something's been gnawing on this one," Jeremy was hyped over this discovery.

"You don't think a critter took a few swipes at it during the night?" I asked innocently. "It was laying outside the past three days, J." He responded with a conspiratorial look, "Yeah, my boii, but these gnaw marks were made by human teeth, Luke." He was dead serious, so I looked closer. There was, for sure, mostly blunt indentations and no sign of 'wolf teeth' marks, the big hooked teeth that look like a vampire's. Non-humans have them. All predatory animals, to be precise.

"Well, Jeremy, that does look unusual, but what about baby animals or herbivores, or something like that?" I was still playing devil's advocate, but Jeremy wasn't having any of it. "My dude, you may know anatomy, I will give you that, but I grew up in 'The-Jamaica-Mon'," devolving into the sing-song Island lilt left behind years before, "and I am telling you, Luke, these are human teeth marks. I'm gonna show the sheriff." So, I showed him the burlap shred and we both hummed the 'Twilight Zone' discord theme.

The visit by the law a bit later proved less than helpful. The deputy merely glanced at our evidence and barely listened as Jeremy related his gnaw mark theory. He took the material shred I showed him, but when he laid it down on the porch outside the front door, I picked it back up and pocketed it when he looked away. He didn't even notice.

'Deputy Fife' was shutting the conversation down, letting us know that the bear culprits had been sighted, were on the run and expected to be apprehended very soon...translation, "Fuck you very much, we have everything under control. And, keep the dogs in the rest of the day, too." I almost expected to hear him tell us 'little ladies' not to worry, HE was on the case.

I had to step on Jeremy's foot this time. He was puffing up in his indignity and had the deputy not excused himself, the steam would have been visible from my man's ears...I knew him too well. We were both frustrated by the outcome afterwards and finally decided to blow it off. So we lit up a head-high doobie. Sure enough, the whole thing became hilarious within 15 minutes. And Jeremy's costume assemblage was back on.

***

Two days had passed and we had still not seen nor heard from our friend, Ambergai. The evening was coming on, the fireplace was lit, the dogs were in their normal position at the hearth and Jeremy was enjoying the hearty soup I had cooked earlier, sopping up the French bread accompanying it. His feet were raised toward the fire and the wind was whistling around the chimney above. Another weather front had delivered a second snow and we were glad that no more tracks had been found on the balcony, or our property. So far as we could tell. The bear culprits had not been captured and everyone on the mountain was nervous.

Jeremy was fit to be tied over the non-decision about the next night's party. He had spent a good part of the past week working up the costume he was 'wearing' and there was now a good chance the bash would be cancelled...I kept him medicated with gummy bears to defray his angst. Which also kept his dick hard.

The hard-on thing actually hadn't been too much of a feat, considering the arrival of the handsome young sommelier, Adolpho, to our home. Jeremy and he had a close bond of friendship. After being the harbinger of the bear attack news and hearing from Jeremy that he should vacate the shrimpy 'lean-to'-like cabin which he inhabited for the sturdier confines of ours, the Italian boy had accepted the offer. Arriving the same evening with a large backpack, extra hiking boots and his mountain bike, the attractive youth had taken up abode in one of the two spare bedrooms downstairs.

His state of mind had been frazzled when we answered the door to his arriving knock and he had unpacked his things then begged off from further conversation due to a need for rest, he told us. We left him to himself.

Adolpho persisted in a stubbornly taciturn approach toward us the following morning as we gathered in the kitchen. While we understood the boy not really desiring to relive the ghastly scenario on the top of Telluride mountain, he inexplicably accepted our hospitality in typical single straight boy fashion. Which is to say: he didn't. Exiting his bedroom door that late morning, it appeared he had donned almost every piece of clothing in his sparse wardrobe. It crossed my mind that if he could've gotten the second pair of hiking boots on over the first ones, it would have happened. He seemed to be showing several symptoms of PTSD.

His flannel plaids contrasted oddly in layers by the haphazard buttoning job, at least three color schemes blossoming around the neckline, long underwear showing beneath that. I observed that there were multiple buttons missing on the outer one so that might be the case with those underneath. We could discern uneven tails sticking out at the waistline, all untucked as they were. The bulkiness to his otherwise slim waist and legs led us to believe he had layered the bottom half as well. Barely ten words left his mouth as he almost gulped three cups of double espresso, which did nothing to relax the almost frenetic body language.

"That was just strange," exclaimed Jeremy upon the boy's hasty departure on his bike down to the wine shop he owned. Coffee time, normally so laid back and easy amongst ourselves with the dogs, and recently, Ambergai, had been decidedly tense and awkward with Adolpho. The attractive man had been unshowered and greasy-haired, his eyes bloodshot... and he smelled. Not in a good way, either.

We had only known the well-groomed and out-going youth who was both a good conversationalist and a cleanly put together, if un-imaginative, dresser, to that point. I allowed that he was a straight boy and we only knew him from his work mode world, so there was that. "But, honey, he never went in to work like that before...ya' think he needs to talk to a pro about what happened?" Jeremy had said, and we had worriedly wondered together about the situation.

Because of our busy agendas, neither of us had the time to stew over it, me with readying for winter and my man tunnel-visioned on helping me out plus finishing up the costume he was obsessed over. And then, there was our added concern over the disappearance of our friend Gai, who had left without a word days before, right after my night-fright with the eerie visitation. We had to let it all drop and proceed with our schedules.

I had to go into town for a few hours of meetings with our lawyers relating to the Austin, Texas, property. My intent on that and gathering needed supplies for the coming days and weeks here in the highlands, since we had decided to stay through at least January, had kept me from worrying too much. Anticipating the company of Jeremy's girls had expanded my lists—girls most definitely had needs uncommon to gay men.