("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Funk by Peter_Pan (uds3@hotmail.com) *** Following the sexual excesses of "They Walk Among Us" and "Even In The Best Families Part V" it is time I think for some balancing non-erotica. Based on fact, this is the harrowing account of a mountains vacation gone bad. I repeat, for those who may wish to move along now, there is NO SEX. (MM, fear, no sex) *** An inevitable confrontation in the mind of the average cynic - a journalist down on his creativity and a well- stocked bar somewhere this side of desperation. Personally I would have called it a slow-news week, but at the insistence of my editor, who running the numbers under psyche-evaluation mode, famously decreed that I could use a week off, had subsequently checked myself into a hotel, one of those atmospheric and gothic edifices fronting the main highway through Sydney's Blue Mountains. Peace and tranquility had been the order of the day. What I pulled down was nearer The Twilight Zone - a movie-length episode at that! Just twelve hours earlier, I had been sitting alone in the corner of Kelly's Bar on Devlin Street, a quiet and little known area of Blackheath, an historical and somewhat picturesque little township, similar - rather in atmosphere than architecture - to it's counterpart in South East London and after which it was named in the 1800's. A haven for the seriously romantic, the dreamers, mid-life crisis sufferers and aspiring writers - all of which in retrospect, I laid claim to holding temporary membership. Some half a mile or so from my hotel, I probably would never have stumbled across it had it not been for my nose for a decent scotch - and Kelly's had plenty on tap. Besides, the place suited me, hardly anyone except the locals knew it was there. Even Kelly himself would drift off into his own reverie between serving customers. The room, for there was only the one lounge, was quaint rather than spacious. An attempt most likely by the owner, to resurrect the image of a typically English pub here in the Colonials, one might say with but moderate success. At intervals, from the prolific cedar wood panelling, brass ornaments hung in appealing disorder. The chairs clustered into a flanking pattern around the occasional table, housed to a man, characters, each of which had experienced something more than that which comes from a lifetime's devotion solely to the nine-to-five grind. I was romancing my third scotch - the tide was definitely receding, when the front door imploded, ushering in not only the dishevelled newcomer, but a blast of sub-arctic air and a few flakes of snow, the first of the season. The bringer of this instant confusion was a young woman somewhere in her late twenties. To describe her condition as hysterical would be kind though inaccurate, screaming as she was and pleading for help of some kind. Beyond this she was incoherent. Kelly, who it would appear had a way with women, seized the initiative and swiftly handled the somewhat delicate situation by seizing the girl by the shoulders and delivering a well-directed slap across her right cheek. A fierce intake of breath could be heard around the bar, but to be sure, the screaming stopped. "Here Miss, have a sip of brandy," said Kelly, handing her a small glass of the calming liquor. The girl took it with shaking hands, downed a mouthful before spluttering uncontrollably as the spirit temporarily took her breath away. "Now then, what is it girl? What's happened?" he asked. Reduced now to intermittent sobs and violent fits of trembling, the young woman was able to tell how her young son aged eight had not returned from the corner store some three hours earlier. Further questioning revealed that she had spent the intervening time roaming the "Heath," looking for the lad. It should be made clear to the reader that the township does not have there a permanent Police presence. Crime rates lower than stale bread in these mountain outposts and the constabulary are better served in larger populated areas at lower altitudes of the Blue Mountains. Thus it was decided then and there that the entire patronage of Kelly's Bar, a force of nine (including Kelly), would immediately instigate a search of the area. Kelly first escorted the young lady home, little more than a street away, promising that the young lad would be found and returned, or his name wasn't Kelly! Between us of course, we gave ourselves a couple of hours which if still unsuccessful would mean calling in the appropriate authorities. With that, we set off with high expectations of finding the lad. The locals, having an unsurpassed knowledge of the area, split the densely wooded sections to the immediate west of the corner-shop between us. The boy it seemed had made it that far, and according to the proprietor, had left for home well over two and a half hours earlier. Myself and two others were accorded the south-western perimeters which bordered upon the sheer cliff faces of Govett's Leap - a near three-hundred metre, ninety degree descent to the valley floor. By day a touristy venue for the amateur photographer - by night, best avoided unless an experienced hang-glider. It was considered highly unlikely that Mike, for such was the lad's name, could have strayed that far, but a search is a search, and must be treated accordingly. Of concern, the weather was closing in, the snow intensifying and visibility down to yards now given the pockets of thick mist drifting across from the higher reaches of Mount Victoria. With barely an hour before dusk additionally, the element of time was coming prominently into play. Firstly checking with a few local residents, none had seen the boy although one elderly lady thought she might have seen a youngster resembling his description, crossing the road further up towards "The Castle," a fancifully named rock formation standing silently if not introspectively, beside the eastbound track to Govett's Leap. Leaving the others to patrol the wooded region to the north of the track, I took to the south side where the trees were few and far between, the buildings mere isolated cabins and the general outlook - bleak, in a word. Calling out intermittently "Mike... can you hear me?" and similar equally useless phrases that spring to mind when one instinctively realises the inadequacy of the situation. I knew he was not around here and yet, I was impelled to keep going. Perhaps it was fuelled by the image of his distraught mother, maybe I had to placate my own sense of self- importance but as darkness finally descended, my ears were strained for some response... anything! At length the trees gave way to bushes and the road was left way behind. Ahead I could make out a low fence through the heavy mist. With little or no light to guide me, the moon having but the occasional victory in its quest to penetrate the thick cloud-cover, I stepped over the fence and crunched on to light gravel, the noise quite incongruous in the enveloping silence. Directly ahead, the mist and blackness combined to present anything but a welcoming presence. Suddenly stubbing my toe on an outsize rock, seemingly placed there for that very purpose, I tripped and fell forwards. Lying there momentarily, I realised that my head appeared to be without support. Normally I reasoned, when one falls, the head is either cushioned, bruised or otherwise ill-treated by the ground itself. This not being the case tonight was a definite worry! No support meant no ground, which threw up but one inevitability... I was right on the cliff edge! This was indeed the case, and it took every ounce of courage I didn't have, to get to my feet. Shaking worse than a first time lottery-winner, my eyes gradually accustomed to the gloom and I could see just how close to death I had come. The reality brought on shock and I wept there, crouched on my knees, vulnerable and emotionally violated. My self-pity was interrupted by a sound - faint, but clearly audible. I stood up, listening intently... it came again, far to my left. Surely a cry for help? Following the low fence, barely three metres from the cliff face, I called out desperately, "I hear you, can you hear me?" Within seconds the call came again... clearer this time. "Help me please - I'm down here." Undoubtedly the voice of a young boy. The ground began to slope upwards and the fence came to an abrupt end causing me further insecurity. Making progress somewhat gingerly now, and ever aware of the imminent presence of that drop-zone, there came another plea, "Here, I'm right here!" The words were almost directly beneath me, and lying full length, I could now make out the edge. Staring down into the darkness, I called out, "Mike, is that you?" "Yes," came the reply. "Please get me up, I want to go home." I could hear sobbing and forgetting my own immediate danger, I craned my head downwards and called to the lad. "How far down are you Mike? Are you hurt?" The lad was able to describe how he had slipped on the edge trying to peer over and had fallen, perhaps three metres, on to a small rock-ledge below. I was just able to make-out his situation beneath me as he spoke. He didn't appear to have suffered any serious injury, but was obviously now freezing cold and with no way up was understandably close to hysteria. How he had survived these past few hours without 'losing it' was remarkable. Obviously too far down to reach, I pulled off my belt and leaning downwards, hung the belt as far as I was able. Even standing on tip-toe, the boy was barely able to reach it, let alone grab hold of it. I judged the distance to be a fraction more than three metres. His only chance was obviously with me down there to help him up the rock face. No chance to leave him there and go for help....the boy was exhausted and terrified. Thus, using the belt as a guide, and with Mike's help, I was able to pinpoint near enough, the centre of the ledge. This done, I lowered myself, facing the cliff- wall, until I was hanging precariously from the safety of the overhead ledge. Mike was barely able to reach my knee. Something less than a man in the peak of fitness and with less experience of rock-climbing than most ten-year olds, I was not overly confident of my ability to drop cleanly, so to avoid any further negative deliberation on the matter - I let go! It wasn't pretty! Lying there crumpled up and temporarily unable to move by virtue of muscular paralysis, my heart was thudding unmercifully and a full-on coronary surely but seconds away! Mike took my hand... the poor kid was freezing. Overcoming my physical adversities, I managed to get to my knees as the lad clung to me - for warmth as much as security I imagine. Discarding my outer coat, I pulled off my thick woollen cardigan and zipped it back up around his shivering little body. Perhaps a no-go in the fashion stakes, but in the thermal-preservation department, an instant winner! The coat, I replaced around my own shoulders. The boy's teeth were still chattering and he kept muttering, "I want my mum, I want my mum!" I wanted her MYSELF at that moment! I calmed him down as best I could and explained that he was going to have to stand on my shoulders and haul himself up from there. It seemed good in theory, there being no other immediate solution evident. Before hoisting him up, I thought it prudent to determine the exact size of the ledge on which we stood. I could pretty much see it in the gloom, but knowledge is preferable to guesswork any day! Thus crawling very tentatively on hands and knees I took stock of our rocky life-support. Probably less than three metres in width and half that in depth, it didn't leave much room for line-dancing. Beneath it was an unknown quantity, the blackness, for the moment at least, blotting out our dire predicament. Fighting back tears, Mike climbed on to my shoulders as I crouched down. I told him to keep in contact with the cliff-face at all times and he was dutifully heeding my instructions as I began to stand up. With absolutely no warning, the ledge beneath us cracked and split-across just left of center, the right-hand section giving way as I instantly changed footing to the residual left fragment. The rock slithered and crashed out of view, slamming into the cliff face with a monstrous reverberation during its epic fall to the valley-floor. The shifting of my own centre of gravity dislodged the boy from my shoulders. As he flew past me, primal screams tearing at the night air, I grasped at his flailing limbs. Somehow I caught his left arm in passing and throwing myself backwards, was able to arrest his fall. I heard simultaneously, the impact of the fractured ledge as it struck bottom. My grip on the boy was loosening, the strain telling on my shoulder-joints, as he slid now up to the wrist, hanging clear in mid-air with only death beneath him. I called down to him to reach up for my other arm, there being no way I could support him for many more seconds like this. Somehow, amidst his desperation, the human spirit which so covets life at its most critical hour, took over, and swinging in an arc he grabbed my right hand. In an instant he lay beside me, a spent force, just whimpering quietly. We remained there unmoving for maybe two or three minutes... time wasn't of real importance given the prevailing circumstances you will understand. Gradually I pulled him to me and sought to comfort him in some small way... was there ever I wondered, a more defining example of the blind leading the blind? Realising that I had to get the boy to safety now, I moved to stand. The remaining half-ledge shifted, creaking as it tilted downwards at an angle of some fifteen degrees. Obviously critically weakened by the events of the last few minutes, the slab was threatening to precipitate us now on a one-way descent to oblivion. "Hell, and no-one will ever know," I thought to myself ruefully. With obviously nothing but danger inherent in any upright movement, I pulled Mike close-up to me mid- slab, right alongside the cliff-face, so as to limit the downward pressure of our combined weights. Whilst a definite shifting was still detectable in the ledge itself, the tilting was partially rectified. For an hour or so, I called out, not with any realistic expectation of being heard, but rather to give the boy some hope in what was, to surely the most optimistic person, a near hopeless situation. No-one at Kelly's Bar knew me intimately and would have presumed I had simply gone home... wherever that may have been! Hunched up there, hour after hour, additionally with the onset of hypothermia, knowing that at any second whatever was still supporting the slab may well tire of the effort, plunging us to our deaths, was no cause for real positive thinking and by the time the first rays of light appeared, the true aspect of our situation became apparent. A cursory examination of our immediate environment was negative in all aspects. The cliff top appeared now higher than had seemed its reality during the night. This however was the least of our worries. The cliffs themselves were absolutely sheer, no other rocky outcrops to speak of and the view in all directions, one of subliminal terror. For souls such as I, afflicted with vertigo at the top of a step-ladder, this was really bad news! Of prime concern, the slab we were hunched-up on was, by the light of day, so small, it defied logic how we had not slipped off it already. Barely a metre and a half square, it was so tiny the only thing more fearful was wondering what exactly was holding IT up? I told Mike that whatever he did, not to look down.....advice I should most certainly have followed myself. Salvation now could only come through our being heard by someone hopefully out for their early morning constitutional, well off the beaten track! Conserving my energy and voice-box, I began calling out at six- thirty am. Limiting my message to "Help" or "Anyone there?" I continued unabated for almost an hour. Except for one terrifying jolt, when I tried standing at one stage, our situation remained unchanged. By seven-forty-five I had grown inwardly despondent. The boy was suffering from exposure and no evidence had been seen or heard that any local authorities were searching for us, not that they had any reason to be scouring the lookout and its immediate area. Still I called aloud! Just before eight thirty came an unexpected answer, "You there... where are you?" Immediately, I knew how the lifeboat occupants must have felt when the Carpathia steamed into view! Without thinking, I leapt up calling out, "Here, down here!" Too late I remembered our insecure platform. To my horror the rock tilted further - no stopping it this time. As if in slow-motion, I saw the view beneath us expanding as our tenuous support lessened. Clutching Mike's hand, I saw his eyes widen in terror. The tilt increased and I prayed that we would be dead before impact. Something struck the rock-face behind me It was a rope-ladder. Holding Mike by his right hand, I grasped the life-giving rungs, swinging the boy up to my waist, where he took desperate hold. "For God's sake, don't look back," I cried, as the entire slab broke loose and fell into the yawning abyss... just as we were drawn up to safety. I had erred in my logic. The search squad had realised my disappearance and had called in Police Rescue at first light. They had been searching for almost two hours. Mike was reunited with his mother and I with a glass or three of Kelly's very best scotch. It was on the house! Funny thing, anyone mentions Govett's Leap these days and I leave the room, even now, a quarter of a century later. (c) Peter_Pan http://www.geocities.com/worldofpeter_pan/intro.html ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 41