Ohh life when we are young…
It never gets old.
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
She walks with sandals on her feet and little else. Sunshine amusement, flesh painted by strokes of warmth. Take up an oak for a smoke, limb relaxed elevation doubled.
Here comes a young couple with a question.
“Sure, we’ll take your photo.”
“Would you mind returning the favor?”
It could’ve been how, on that particular day the swim trunks he was wearing had a loose fit, causing them to sit lower on his hips, showcasing a prominent “V,” the boundary between chest hair and pubic hair was devastatingly, enticingly blurred. Due to the shorts riding the way they were, any movement elicited a degree of friction that became noticeably pleasurable once processes were underway. When she pressed herself into him for the photo his hand and feet remained still, but his body displayed gravity defying motion. She squeezed him harder drawing his attention where he couldn’t refuse it to go. Her breast bulged against him threatening to spring from their holster, a hand tugs on the fabric for a superficial adjustment, her eyes giving up the ruse. They hold smiles and each other for the camera, a serious tent pitched before them. The couple was kind to conceal their most certain recognition of matters at hand while phones were returned.
“Enjoy your hike.”
Taking it easy up the trail, footsteps are heard from behind. Just as they move over to let the noise makers pass the rhythm is thrown off. Sounds of danger, the unexpected, alarm, a body crashing to the ground, the crinkle of plastic as a water bottle turns projectile and skids by, dust in it’s wake. They turn to take in the scene, a backpacked youth picking himself up off the ground, his companions offering no help. Being closest to the lost bottle she bent to retrieve it, those in observance fell into orchestrated movement, her behind the maestro. From their uniform reaction one may ascertain the plight of man.
Tracking to the source, they round a corner and the extent of Saturday seekers swings into view, bodies splayed about, a busy picture with little movement. They weave through, stashes and stows, totes and draw bags, past snacking families and tiktoking teens to face spoutin mountain of bubbling bowl. A far fetched fellow of white tank top and Raiders shorts standing beneath the deluge emits a series of hoots of apparent spiritual compulsion. They join him under the modest falls, sufficient for southern California standards, foyer rush of cool, sublime that summer day. The torrent is surprisingly heavy, a weight on your back, the drops play her breast for bongos, pummeling her tender flesh sending reverberations throughout their countenance. If that wasn’t enough, her giggling stumble would sway her into the heaviest part of the falls, lightning would strike with a flash as her portions jump from their cover; only for an instant before a reflexive hand tucked them in so. On the runway to the falls few paid them any mind, those present remained at large, occupied. Exiting the spring, eyes flocked to them as two torches at night, glistening bodies taking the shape of mountains, as water traced their features, they became the attraction.
On the return trip down, still dripping from their dipping, another jolly-sum of profligates come hustling up the trail. The juncture that lay between the approaching parties was a dry creek bed a few meters across, rocks of various sizes made for attentive obstacles. The eager bunch didn’t bother to slow their progress as they began to rock hop; only a few steps onto the creek bed the pair waited patiently off to the side to let them pass. One second the sun is shining, birds chirp, it’s a wonderful day in the mountains, the next, one hurried fellow catches his toe on a rock propelling him through the air. The slowing of time brought on by the utter terror that accompanied what lay before the suspended individual, proliferated into all who shared that perception. The rock that would’ve been his next step now loomed fatally ahead, as his trajectory would have him landing face first into it at breakneck speed. Doing the only thing he could in the split second he had to act, he tucked his right shoulder and let his momentum roll him forward. The extent to which he braced a fetal position exploded upon impact, as someone does in a game of crack the egg on a trampoline. The wide eyed look on the kid’s face confirmed what they saw, he cheated death.
Once out of earshot he shared an intuition, “I think you’re distracting these guys and making them fall. Once I’d understand, but twice, there’s a pattern emerging.”
“What’s so distracting?”
“This,” gesturing to her figure with an open hand as though she’d spun from a hidden wall in a game show.
“I know I can’t take my eyes off you.”
“Ahh you’re sweet,” she leaned and kissed him.
Reaching the point where they were ready for it to be over, slogging hip to hip, an arm wrapped around the other’s waist. A couple on their way up the trail, upon taking them in, the woman was prompt to say, “I just love what y’all got going on.”
“Thank you, we love you,” he replies without hesitation.
The woman turns to face them, and with a hand to her chest says, “ahh y’all just made my day.”
On the way home she finds out her grandparents have stopped over for a visit and would like to see her. She gets out of the car and her mother asks, “you were hiking like that? Where are your clothes?”
“Yeah, some people couldn’t believe it either.”
She goes by,