For Instance When Autumn
by Frances Jones © 2008

"Meet me by the side of Highway 101, milepost 15.6."

The sun was just rising when the text message came in. Becca's eyes were so blurry with sleep that it took more than a minute for the words to make sense. As soon as they did, she knew exactly who had sent them. 

"Are you crazy, Jared?" she typed back. She laid her cell phone next to her on the bed, closed her eyes, and was just drifting off to sleep when it vibrated again.

"Get here! Just trust me."

Becca wasn't even sure where "here" was. Jared was the one who knew highways like most people know language. But she'd spent enough time with him to remember that the mileposts on 101 counted from north to south, starting with zero at the border. She opened her laptop and sat up in bed, hunting for an online map. Mile 15.6 looked like it was on the northern end of Redwood National Park, almost 300 miles away.

"You ARE crazy," she typed to him. "That's a five-hour drive."

"For you. For me, it's seven. Good thing I had a head start."

"Where'd you start from?"

"Idaho. See you soon."

Becca shook her head and pulled the covers back. She'd planned to spend her Saturday morning sleeping in, but Jared had a habit of derailing her plans, ever since they'd hit it off in a San Rafael karaoke bar more than a year ago.

He lived in Los Angeles, but his idea of a mellow weekend was putting 2,000 aimless miles on his car. Sometimes he came to see her, with little more than a text-message warning. Other times he whisked her off on road trips to Nevada, Oregon, up and down the California Coast -- however far they could get before Sunday night arrived with its threats of Monday morning. Once in a while, he named a set of GPS coordinates or a mile marker, and wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

An hour later, Becca was speeding through Ukiah and nursing her second cup of coffee. Its dark, earthy flavor bathed her tongue. Thoughts of her copy-writing job and her messy Santa Rosa studio apartment faded with the miles.

She punched at the car stereo's buttons, hoping for clear reception. But as the towns thinned out, so did her antenna's ability to pull in a station. Soon she wouldn't be able to use her cell phone, either.

"About to lose signal," she typed into her cell phone's keypad as she drove. "See you soon."

She fished around in her backpack and pulled out a CD case, sliding the disc in without looking to see what it was. A soft piano refrain came in, followed by Sia's haunted, high voice singing, "Breathe Me."

"Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found," Becca sang.

Her cell phone vibrated. When she opened the message, it read, "I'll be waiting." Then the screen flashed, "no signal."

As she drove north, the November-brown hills ebbed into throngs of redwoods, dense green branches softening the unseasonably bright sunlight. Auburn trunks flashed past on Becca's right while glimpses of the vast Pacific opened up on her left.

The beauty of it surged through her, made her lean her head back against the car seat and sing at the top of her lungs. She wanted to floor it, race 90 miles an hour, just so she could carry this bliss into her best friend's arms right now. Already she pictured him standing by the milepost, car parked half in a ditch, casual as anything and asking what took her so long.

Names of backwater towns flew past: Longvale, Cummings (she giggled like a schoolgirl at Cummings), Riverdale, Cooks Valley. She stopped in Garberville to pee and fill her gas tank, pausing in the mini-market to gather a picnic of cheese, bread, and a bottle of pink wine. Just before she reached the register, she grabbed a sack of trail mix and a single red rose wrapped in a cylinder of clear plastic.

Becca stretched her legs one last time and jumped back in the car, where trail mix and pop songs helped the final 100 miles go by in a blur of forest and asphalt dusted with redwood duff.

She rounded a turn and there he was: a little too tall, white t-shirt and black jeans, rangy arms folded across his chest. As she pulled up, his dark eyes shone with excitement. He opened her door before she could finish turning the key. As soon as the engine quit, he tugged her to her feet and wrapped her in his long arms.

"Mmm, hi," he exhaled into her hair.

Becca leaned into him and sighed. But the hug ended just as quickly.

"Come on," Jared said, walking to a trailhead at the tree line.

"Just a second. I brought food," Becca said, fishing the groceries and her backpack from her passenger seat.

"Oh good," he said. "I didn't think of that."

"I know." Becca smiled. “But I like to be prepared for everything.”

She pulled the rose from its plastic and placed it in Jared’s overlarge hands. For a moment he was all nerves, eyes skipping from the red petals to Becca’s face, before he broke into a broad grin.

Jared took her hand and led her into the woods. They climbed for almost two miles through layers of redwoods and ferns, wild sorrel and hollow black trunks. Despite the warm day, they passed few other hikers. He laid the rose on a rotting log covered with brilliant green moss.

“It’s been so long since I saw the trees,” Becca said.

“But you live, like, five miles from a redwood grove.”

“I know, but you know how it is. You live somewhere too long, and after a while you just don’t step outside of your routines.”

“Unless you’re me,” Jared grinned.

“Speaking of which, what were you doing in Idaho?”

“Coming back from Montana.”

Becca chuckled. “But I thought you were working in Seattle this week.”

“I was. But I knocked off late on Thursday and had Friday off. Figured I’d go next-door and have a look around.”

“How was it?”

“Snowy. I almost got stuck at one point, but a grizzled old tow-truck driver rescued me. I shared a little cheap bourbon with him and he didn’t even charge me.”

“A tow truck driver? Drinking? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Jared laughed. “Up there, it doesn’t get you drunk, not at first. It just gets you warm.”

“So, that explains Montana. And Idaho. And Washington. But why are you in California?”

“To see you, silly. And to show you something.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

Becca rolled her eyes and followed him up the trail. He took a left-hand fork onto a smaller path that led to a small overlook surrounded by toyon and manzanita. From the crest they could see down into a broad clearing covered by dry grasses and shrubs, their branches almost bare.

“Let’s stop here,” Jared said, sitting on a patch of leaves and redwood duff. “What’s for lunch?”

Becca sat close to him and opened the mini-market sack, handing the sourdough loaf to Jared and peeling open the cheese package with her fingernails. Then she unscrewed the cap on the wine and took a swig. It was sweet and fizzy, and tasted like fake strawberries. She winced and handed him the bottle.

The chewy, sour bread felt good in Becca’s mouth. She took a bite of the cheese, then the bread, switching back and forth. Jared picked at the food but drank the wine like it was soda, leaning against her as he relaxed. More than once she had to snatch the bottle from his hands, drinking just enough to wash down her lunch before he reclaimed it.

After one ill-timed swig, wine spilled down Becca’s chin and onto the front of her jacket. Jared wiped his thumb across her face, then sucked the remains from his hand. It was more intimate than the way he usually touched her, but Becca didn’t mind. It thrilled her, like that feeling of speeding down the road with the window open and her favorite song playing.

“Mmm, it tastes better on you,” he said.

Becca’s stomach somersaulted. She wanted him to touch her again, but she couldn’t say it.

“You’re drunk,” she teased.

“Not that drunk.” He handed the bottle back to her. This time she drank carefully, draining the last of the liquor.

Jared’s mouth was on hers in a flash, sucking wine from her lips and probing her sweetened mouth with his tongue. He wrapped a long arm around her back and pulled her closer. The ground beneath Becca seemed to drop out. She clutched his t-shirt with one hand, holding on as though she might fall away, and opened her lips to him.

Once Becca started kissing him, she couldn’t stop. She tasted each corner of his mouth, savored the feel of his strong tongue sliding over hers, and drank him until the flavor of strawberry wine was replaced by the taste of clean saliva. Her hands slid under his t-shirt, where his flesh started at the touch of her cold fingers. Soon he relaxed, letting her warm them on his radiant, flat belly.

A small voice in Becca’s mind told her to stop—Jared was her best friend, and they’d never done anything sexier than hold hands or hug. But a stronger voice promised her that, no matter what happened, nothing would change.

Jared’s hand snuck beneath her waistband. She leaned back, flattening her stomach to give him more room, and sighed into his mouth as his fingers tangled in her pubic hair. His hand inched further, fingertips sweeping between the soft folds of her vulva and sliding into its heat.

He kept kissing her, biting softly along her lower lip and plunging his tongue into her mouth. At the same time, his fingers sunk deeper, writhing against her clit and filling her cunt. Sunlight flashed across her closed eyelids. She breathed deep, the scents of forest and wine and warm skin filling her lungs. Inside, Becca sought a word for how she felt, and found one: clean.

She pulled back, a strand of spit connecting their lips as she spoke. “I want you.”

“Do you have—”

“Yes. In my backpack.” Jared pulled his hand from her jeans, giving her space to reach over and dig a condom from one of its side pockets.

Becca took off her jacket and laid it on the ground under Jared’s hips and pushed him onto his back. She unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them, along with his boxers, past his hips. His long, uncut erection stood straight up, throbbing with his quickened heartbeat.

She leaned down and sucked the tip of it into her mouth. She tongued his foreskin, sliding back and forth over his glans, and tasted the salt of his pre-cum in the back of her throat. Just as quickly she pulled away and rolled the condom over his length, using firm strokes to smooth it down. He gasped and closed his eyes, letting his arms relax against the earth.

Becca stood and kicked off her shoes, then peeled down her jeans and underpants until she could step out of them. The shock of cool air made her feel even more naked, made her want to wrap around him for warmth. She knelt over his erection, jacket protecting her knees from the bare loam, and guided him inside her.

He was long enough that the first strokes banged her cervix, making Becca see stars. She leaned forward, kissed him, and moved against him in slow, shallower thrusts. He pressed his hands against her bottom and let her control the rhythm. 

Jared’s cock spread her open, seeking Becca’s softest, wettest, darkest places. Each time he pulled out, she ached for him to fill her again. When he did, she cried out quietly, wanting him to stay. In spite of herself, Becca moved faster against him, digging her hands into his shoulders and pressing her mouth against his.

He bucked against her, driving deeper. “I’m going to—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

He thrust hard, cock twitching, cum jetting into the condom. Becca reached down and stroked her clit, drawing her orgasm to the surface. Jared was already softening as her spasms came. She lay limply across him, one hand pressed to her clit, lips still brushing his as they inhaled and exhaled each other’s breath.

Jared reached gently between them and held on to the base of the condom as he pulled out. Becca stood and dressed, eying the distant trail even though nobody had walked by. When she looked back, Jared was already up and looking for a place to toss the tied-off condom. He smiled at her.

She went to his side and laced her fingers with his. Silence felt awkward, but she didn’t know what she wanted to say, not at first. Afternoon sun angled across the picnic space, lighting specks of afternoon dust.

“Jared, this doesn’t change—”

A high, keening sound pierced the air, followed by another. The noise jolted through Becca, startling her even though it was familiar.

“They’re here!” Jared pulled her closer to the edge of the overlook. He yanked so hard, she thought her arm might come out of its socket.

“Who are here?”

“Look.” He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, aiming her gaze into the clearing below. A dozen or more brown animals roamed the field, pausing and lowering their heavily antlered heads to cry out.

“What are they?”

“Roosevelt elk. They’re here to compete for mates.”
 
“How did you know they would be here?”

“They come every year.”

A pair of bulls locked horns, grappling together. Their tines clattered; the sound echoed off the distant hills. Eventually, the smaller one lowered its head in defeat while the bigger one sounded his haunting call toward the herd. The cry made Becca shiver and wrap her arms around herself. Jared pressed close, hugging her from behind.

Though their competition threw tension across the field, the bulls' faces were serene, their brown eyes resolute. They bore their antlers gracefully, as though they weighed nothing. The cows, throats ringed with dark fur, hung back in a cluster and watched the bulls wrestle for dominance.

“They’re so beautiful,” Becca said. “Look at the sun on their pelts. Look at how big they are.”

“I know.” Jared laughed. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

“You come here by yourself to watch them?”

“Yeah. I like being on my own. You know that.”

“Then why did you ask me to come?”

“I knew you’d love them. And besides, sometimes being with you is even better than being by myself.”

Becca lowered her head so Jared wouldn’t see the tears behind her eyes.

They watched the elk until the sun began to sink behind the hills, then gathered the trash from their picnic and walked back down the trail. Although they held hands, they barely talked, pausing only to point out a hardy plant or the forest animals that roamed at twilight. They found the rose Jared had left by the side of the trail, its bud nibbled away.

It was barely light when they emerged from the trees. The highway was empty and silent.

As Becca looked down the long stretch of asphalt, she wondered whether any two people had made this milepost their meeting place before. She felt whole inside, good and full, swept clean. She was reluctant to leave Jared’s side, now, though she knew he had to return to Seattle and she had to be at her desk Monday morning.

But it was only Saturday night.

Becca looked over at Jared, who was unlocking the passenger door of his car and digging behind the seat for something. He pulled out his camera, aimed the lens at her, and told her to smile. Before she could protest, the flashbulb popped, temporarily blinding her.

“Jared?”

“Yeah?” He tucked the camera back into the car and walked to her side. 

“Take me somewhere.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I want to see the stars. All of them.” Her voice quavered. “Tonight. All night.”

He took her hand.

_______
© 2008 Frances Jones. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Frances Jones is an erotica writer who lives and works in San Francisco. Her stories, which range from sweet to dark and from the everyday to the fantastical, have appeared in "Five Minute Fantasies 2," "Two Of A Kind," and "In Moments of Madness," and online at Clean Sheets and The Erotic Woman. For more about her work, visit www.frances-jones.com.

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