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Pastor's wife is defiled and used.
) Hand-in-hand, we stepped into the creek. As the bigger and stronger, I placed myself upstream of her, to break the current a bit for her.
Each of us stumbled once or twice, but holding hands allowed us each to save the other from a dunking. After two or three minutes of careful stepping, we arrived at the far shore, no worse for the wear. Not for the last time, Mindy had proved my fears groundless. We tightened straps, fastened and tightened waist-belts, and moved onward.
After a few minutes, we reached the second crossing, where we repeated the performance. We might even have been a little bit more surefooted than the first time.
Several yards up the trail, we found a log to sit on for a brief rest. It was mid-afternoon. We were a little tired, but we had only about a mile left to go, with a 300-foot pass between us and the day's destination.
Piece of cake, we agreed. And so it was.
At the top of that little pass we had our first view, since we had started walking, of the Continental Divide. We stopped there for a few minutes and, hand in hand, we drank in the majesty of the range's serrated backbone.
Around midafternoon, we arrived at the campsite I'd chosen, a natural hollow screened from the trail by shrubs, trees, and a long rocky ridge. Lester Peak dominated the northern skyline.
Sunset was still a few hours away, so we set up camp before we climbed the ridge to enjoy the view. I'd chosen our spot well; we could see the adjoining basin, but no one would notice us. A party of six tramped south along the trail and passed within a hundred yards of us, but never knew we were there.
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Hunger drove us down from the ridge shortly after we saw that passing party. I fixed us a chicken-and-rice dish for the main course. We'd brought powdered chicken stock, freeze-dried chicken, and freeze-dried peas for just such meals.
Some fireweed grew in plain sight on a little rockslide not far from our camp, and it had reminded me that we'd brought some oil and vinegar. While the main dish was cooking, I took a plastic food bag over to the rockslide, and put a couple of small handfuls of fireweed leaves into it. They're edible, and have a peppery taste.
A brief search along the banks of the nearby stream yielded some brook saxifrage—also known as "miner's lettuce." I gathered several good-sized handfuls, and mixed them well with the fireweed in the bag. It would be nice to have a fresh salad with our supper.
After dessert, we cleaned the dishes, and heated water for hot chocolate. As the evening wore on, we lounged on the soft alpine turf, our backs against the rock ridge that hid our campsite from the view of hikers on the trail. Mindy was at my right as we sat there, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder, sipping our chocolate and enjoying each other's company. The evening was young, still warm enough that we hadn't added layers to our shirts and hiking shorts.
I'm not sure how long we sat that way, chatting softly, working on our journals, or enjoying our surroundings. But the hot chocolate had been gone for a while when Mindy got up onto her knees, and faced me with her evil grin and a glint in her eyes.
"Tick check, buster!" she exclaimed, as she reached for the top button of my shirt. It wasn't long before she had my shirt off. She'd taken me by surprise, so it was a little longer before I had her shirt off. We got ourselves horizontal, and rolled together, chest-to-chest, into each other's arms. Our mouths found each other and we kissed, deeply and passionately. Once again she pressed her naked little titties against me; my cock responded vigorously.
The longer we lay that way, the more I thought about those boobs, and before long I brought my mouth from her lips down to one of her nipples.