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Chapter One
Melody
An elk hunt is many things, but I can tell you masturbation isn’t really one of the things to consider when you’re planning the hunt.
But I masturbate nightly and sometimes daily and also whatever the word is for doing it every morning, too. You know how sometimes you masturbate because you’re horny and sometimes you masturbate because you have to dispel stress and tension? Well, masturbation while I’m hunting comes from the second motivation and not because I get horny while I’m hunting.
I’m a disappointment to my mother. She’s thrilled to be a part of the Van Port family, and she enjoys the princessy socialite thing a great deal. As for me, I enjoy getting out into nature and challenging myself. Frankly, my mother isn’t the type of person to think that any male or female Van Port should do anything as vulgar as hunting.
My father is far happier with me. I suppose there was a time when he was disappointed that I wasn’t a son. I imagine almost all men want sons. Who knows? The fact that I’m atypical when it comes to the typical vacuous princess-types that are supposed to be in families of our social standing thrills him, and it has for at least since I was six years old and begged him to let me hunt dove and quail with him on a trip to Arizona.
I’m not interested in getting into a conversation with you about the ethics of hunting. I can tell you, though, that hunting has a dramatic impact on the environment, and a positive one. It may not have been that way a hundred and fifty years ago but today, hunters keep the populations of invasive species like feral pigs and also keep native populations of elk and other animals under control. See, back in the day, people hunted indiscriminately. That’s why bison nearly went extinct. That’s why some animals, like the Irish elk and the Aurochs, did go extinct.
Today, though, there are strictly enforced limits for hunting. Also, we’ve successfully maintained the numbers of domesticated sources of meat, so while some people certainly ignore legal limits, those people are few and far between and usually get caught and punished severely. So instead of hunting animals to extinction, we hunt enough to prevent extinction.
Don’t get how that works? Well, let’s say you have a thousand square miles of grazing area. Let’s say for the sake of argument that you have a hundred thousand elk that need those thousand square miles of grazing area. Let’s say that the environment can sustain that many without being depleted. Now let’s say that the population of elk triples. What happens to the environment?
Well, I’ll keep it short and sweet. In a very short time, no more grass, then no more elk, then no more animals that eat elk, like wolves and bears and cougars.
Get it?
More importantly, perhaps, than direct population control hunting provides interest in our wilderness areas and also provides resources for wildlife management. The more the public wants to preserve the environment, the more likely we are to preserve the environment.
Look at that. I say I don’t want to talk about the ethics of hunting but that’s all I’m doing.
Anyway, I’m in my tent now. It’s the first night of my hunt although the actual hunting won’t start until tomorrow. You probably guessed from how I’m starting this whole thing that I’m in my tent, and I’m masturbating.
When I’m gearing up for a hunt or in the middle of a hunt, I’m always on edge. The tension is always palpable and powerful, and the need for release is always very, very strong. As I massage a breast with one hand and let my fingertips tease along my pussy with the other, my mind is mostly unfocused. It takes a while for me to stop thinking about the hunt, you see.
See, an ethical, legal elk hunt is a carefully planned and executed excursion that respects the principles of conservation, wildlife management, and ethical hunting practices. Weeks before I ever landed at the airport and rented the jeep that took me to my cabin about fifteen miles from here, I’d been focusing on compliance with all applicable laws, regulations, and licensing requirements. I have tags for two elk and, just in case, ten pig tags and two tags for two different kinds of deer, white tail deer, and mule deer. Unless one of those animals shows up out of the blue before I have my elk, I won’t bother with them but if I bag the elk early and still have a week or so left, I’ll stalk the others. I have a tag for bear but there’s no way in hell I’ll kill a bear unless I do it in self-defense.
Bears are special.
Bears deserve better than a bullet. Yes, I know it’s inconsistent, and I know that just as elk and deer populations need to be managed sometimes bear populations must be managed as well. I’m sure as hell not going to be the one who does it, though. Don’t ask me for a logical reason. I don’t have one.
Anyway, the point is a lot of preparation goes into preparing for this hunt, and I spend a lot of time preparing physically and mentally for the rigorous challenges. That includes exercise and training for physical fitness as well as marksmanship. My mind tries to imagine my personal trainer as I increase the intensity of the stimulation of my pussy and nipples, but the man, while attractive, just doesn’t turn me on enough to do the trick.
I can feel the tension growing though. I guess the point of all this is that I’ve been working hard for the last month or two. I’ve been to the firing range every day although I’m a damned good shot already. I’ve been practicing and working hard, and the stress and tension are powerful. For me, the only way to really get rid of it is masturbation because you can sure as hell believe that I’m not going to drink while I’m hunting.
As I let my fingers tease me and feel my body gearing up, my mountain man comes to mind.
Yeah, he’s my go-to fantasy once the masturbation takes over.
He doesn’t exist. I mean, I suppose he’s an amalgamation of every mountain man I’ve ever seen in a movie or a television show. I guess he’s probably a combination of a lot of movie stars. He, I suppose, has some characters from novels I’ve read as well as some real history. So, you’ve got a guy who’s all the best qualities a man can be. At least, all the qualities I find attractive.
Sometimes the man has green eyes or sometimes brown but they’re always deep and piercing. Sometimes he has long hair and sometimes short. He always has a full beard, though, and he always has muscles built not by weights at a gym, but by hard work and simple existence in the wilderness. This man I imagine isn’t some weak-willed or weak-bodied city boy. He’s a real man, and everything about him is a force of nature.
By now, I’m pinching my nipples hard enough it almost hurts, and my fingers move rapidly over my clit as I imagine my larger-than-life wilderness god fucking me like he does everything else, with a primal and absolutely natural appetite for all there is the world can offer him. I imagine his weight atop me and think about how I’ll be naturally trapped beneath him, completely at his mercy.
And, as he always does, my fantasy mountain man changes to a particular mountain man. All of the amorphous changing qualities become distinct and absolute. The image in my mind is the image of Russel, the man who took my virginity on a hunting trip when I was eighteen years old. He wasn’t on the trip but we ran into each other in a forest in Montana, both of us tracking a wounded wolf that had to be dealt with.
He wasn’t on the trip before then but we spent that week together, and it was the most perfect week of my life. Even now, four years later, I regularly berate myself for not getting his contact information and instead parting ways with him as though to part ways without a way to reach each other was some beautiful, bittersweet end to a movie.
But I don’t berate myself now.
I imagine the two of us under the stars, his perfect muscular form above me as I cling to his broad shoulders and… “Fuck!”
The tension reaches the breaking point and I scream as the orgasm hits. Soon enough, I’m thrusting two fingers into myself, still imagining the fantasy man, and feeling the constant explosions of pleasure rushing over me. It’s intense and beautiful and far more than I can handle before too long. So, I grow still, one hand resting on my now-tender breast and the other between my legs with two fingers still deep inside of me.
