It was a dry heat, they always said.
Amaya brushed back a few strands of black hair and paused for water. In the shade, even the whisper of a breeze cooled her. This didn't really qualify as hot, not yet anyway. Maybe it'd get there this afternoon. The kind of heat that soaked into your skin and your muscles and opened you up like a lover.
Amaya sighed and squinted at the slope above her. It was slow going skirting her way along the irregular riverbank, but she was sure this way was faster than her meandering path last time. She wanted to spend all day in that paradise she'd stumbled upon, and that had meant setting aside her usual preference to wander. She'd even followed the dull, official trail for the first few miles.
Amaya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt the familiar thrill of arousal.
It wasn't the kind of thing she was going to admit to Jacki. Her friend had shaken her head in her usual way.
"By yourself, Amaya? I don't get you sometimes. You're always the careful one except about this. You aren't worried about getting hurt out in the wilderness? Or running into weirdos, or pot farmers, or, I dunno, mountain lions?"
"The only cougar out there will be me," she'd replied, making air claws. "Rawr."
Jacki had laughed herself silly over that, of course. Amaya's fellow waitress was fifteen years her senior, divorced, with a kid in college and a long record of breaking men's hearts.
Amaya took another breath, massaging her ass before moving on. It was the smell that did it, mostly, the sharp scents of coyote brush, sage, and even some pines down here by the river. After all this time it still wasn't quite home, but it was near enough to rhyme. The woods were where she'd first learned some of the secret joys of womanhood, thanks to the clumsy, eager hands of Danny Paulson.
She still laughed when she thought about the aftermath. Making love on a bed of pine needles had seemed both romantic and comfortable, but she'd realized the mistake soon after. It'd taken over an hour in the shower that evening to extract most of the little needly bits. As for the pitch situation, in the end she'd given up and viciously mowed down her pubic hair.
Her relationship with Danny hadn't lasted, but the lure of the outdoors had stuck. She'd tried to convince another guy later that summer, but he'd been too shy. And then Dad had died. Her mind hurried past those memories: her screaming arguments with Mom, their fragile finances, the cancellation of her college plans, the desperate move across country to live with cousins.
Amaya rounded a bend and sighted along the previously hidden canyon. Was this the one? There, that striking outcropping of green rock, framed by two gnarled oak trees. She'd been careful to remember from last time. Up above was her own private Shangri-La.
California was beautiful, and eventually she'd found a new life here. But even out in these almost-familiar hills, the memories pulled her back.
"So, where are you from?" she'd get asked, so often that it made her more tired than angry.
"North Carolina," she'd say, and half the time the person would laugh, sometimes nervous at realizing their faux pas, and sometimes open-heartedly at her little joke. But of course they didn't understand. India was postcards and Mom's travel fantasies and relatives she'd never met. North Carolina was pine and ash and mountains and screaming ecstasy into Danny's shoulder while he desperately pumped his cock inside her.
Amaya studied the scene for a while, letting her mind explore possible routes, filling in the details hidden from her view. She'd grown up wandering dense woods, and it was so much easier out here, with the trees sparse and the land laid bare. The thick brush was its own challenge, but animals found their own paths, and so could humans.
After a few minutes Amaya set off up the left side of the canyon, picking her way along the route that seemed easiest, detouring where she had to. Practically no one out here seemed to wander off-trail in these tricky areas, but that just made every little place so much more special.
She'd dressed sensibly as always, with a light long-sleeved shirt and some tough pants. By the time she rounded the outcropping she was glad of it. This route was certainly faster than the serendipitous one last time, but the brush was even worse.
Amaya leaned against the oak and smiled in satisfaction at the view beyond. A small creek meandered through the canyon, until the rock outcropping forced the water sharply to the side. Immediately below her, the creek spilled down a good thirty feet in a jumbled waterfall that was nearly hidden at this narrowest point of the canyon. And above the falls, the canyon floor suddenly flattened, its walls rising steeply on either side of a small valley. There the creek widened into a series of clear pools, bordered by lush grasses and a scattering of trees. Even the smell was different.
When she'd stumbled on this paradise last time it'd been late, and she'd had an evening shift to get back to. This time, she could take her leisure.
A dry log provided the perfect seat. Amaya set down her small pack, unlaced her boots, and pulled out her lunch. It was early, but she was hungry, and once she got in the water she'd want to stay.
While she ate, she scanned for the perfect spot. There, a few flat rocks sloping into a deep pool. She finished her lunch and found her little towel.
She undressed quickly, dropping her clothes in a pile next to her pack. The sun kissed her dark skin, warmer than any lover's caress. Amaya's breath quickened. It'd been a while since she'd gone buck naked out in the open. The outdoors always did this to her, but she'd never been much of an exhibitionist. When she'd hiked with Jeffrey or others, she'd sometimes snuck in a quickie when she was off-trail to pee. Two fingers working furtively while she was in earshot of other people—maybe the nerves added something to her excitement, but she doubted it. She liked it more when she could take her time on her own.
Maybe if she'd stuck with Jeffrey longer, she could've explained it to him. But it turned out there were a lot of reasons for going outdoors, and Jeffrey's didn't match up so well with hers. The sex had been all right, and she supposed that was better than not getting any. But it'd all happened in dark, musty bedrooms. She hoped he'd found some athletic young woman to go run up mountains the way he'd wanted. Maybe even now they were in a bedroom somewhere having boring sex.
Amaya dropped her towel and water bottle on the flat rock and waded into the cool water.
It wasn't as deep as she'd hoped—just above her knees. But it was enough to immerse herself. When she popped her head up again, she felt clean, invigorated, her blood singing with the shock of contrast. Like being reborn: her own tiny sacred river.
She lay back on her towel, legs partly submerged, just enough so the water lapped at her pussy like a lover. The warm air and powerful sun dried her quickly. But even naked like this, she wouldn't burn easily.
Years ago her mother had chided her about letting her skin get even darker.
"What, you mean like Dad?" Amaya had immediately regretted the outburst, but certainly Mom had never said anything like it again. Probably they both regretted what they'd said.
Her nipples hardened deliciously with the water and changing temperatures. Mostly she'd never been a big fan of her tiny breasts, but in the right circumstances her nipples could be incredibly sensitive. These were the right circumstances.
She circled them with her fingers, feeling the tingling heat build between her legs. She had all day for this. When she finally dipped a finger into her cleft, she was wet and aching with need.
