The Mountain - Sex Stories

The Mountain

... firm. It lifted my hand onto my chest, over my heart, and remained for several seconds. Emotion overwhelmed me once more and tears flooded my eyes. When it eventually released it's grip it gently nudged me in the direction of the light. I walked slowly, alone and suddenly very lonely. I reached daylight to find my mother waiting. She may have been there several days for all I knew. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to reach out and embrace her, but I did none of that. I blacked out. I woke, in the comfort of my own bed, sunlight itching to find a way round the edge of the blinds. As I looked round taking in the totems of my childhood, Bruno, my terrier watched soulfully from his basket, bewildered. He had been barred from the bed. Bruno's scampering, as I welcomed him under the covers, alerted my mother to my side. It had been three days since I returned. We spoke, on that and subsequent days, a little of what had happened. I focused on the knowledge I had gained and spared her the detail of the brutality. She had ministered to my wounds and injuries and needed no explanation of how they were acquired; she too had been a sacrifice. It was several days before I was able to get out of bed, and several weeks before my wounds healed and faded. It took three months before my periods returned, and four before I knew that they were again regular. In the fifth month, I returned to the mountain.