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My introduction and commitment to the genre.

..lifting me to the surface...forcing the buckles of my pack to release their hold on my body.
"Are you okay, Sarah?" he shouted over the din of the falls. "Do you need me to..."

Dim, as though in another space...another time...the rest went without saying as he lay me on the ground, straddling my hips...his hands pumping rhythmically beneath my breasts. Then his mouth covered my own, and I could taste the sweet flavor of him against my tongue...his warm breath filling my body.

I gasped.

Sputtered.

A stream of tepid water drizzled from the corner of my lips as I coughed and cleared my lungs. It was good to be able to draw a deep breath again...so good. The clear air was like ambrosia, cheesecake and heady wine all combined into a rich intoxicating concoction.

Doug rolled me to my side, holding me in place with his strong hands... grasping my shoulders until my coughing subsided and I lay chilled and shivering on the ground before him.

As I looked upward I could see his face assessing my own...judging the tone his voice would take. And then he spoke, his words light-hearted, belying the troubled look in his eyes.

"Great pool," he began, a slow smile creasing his lips, "But I suggest you take your pack off next time. Come on over here," he continued, "My camp's all set up, and I've got a fire going. You need to get warm and dry out your gear."

Taking my hand in his, he braced his foot against mine and levered me upward into a standing position once more, then led the way through the trees toward his campsite. I'd only gone a few feet before my knees began to shake, a cloud of swirling black dots clouding my vision, my stomach rebelling as it spewed yet another stream of foul smelling water onto the ground before me.

I fell heavily against a tree, clinging to its comforting solidity until I felt his arms around me...lifting me...carrying me along the path...then ever so gently laying me atop his bedroll near the fire.

"You better lie still for a while," he murmured, his voice rife with concern. "I'll fix you some hot chocolate...'Milo'. But you need to get those wet clothes off in the meantime," he paused. "How're we gonna do that, Luv? Any suggestions you'd feel comfortable with?"

Vaguely, I assessed my options. There really weren't many. Either I stood up and did it myself, or I asked for help. And what would I wear then? Already Doug was spreading my spare clothing and sleeping bag over the nylon clothesline he'd strung along the edge of the clearing. I couldn't wear them...not for a while at least. Then, in a heartbeat my question was answered.

"Here," he said, his eyes scanning the wet curves of my body with more than a detached interest, "I know they won't fit, but maybe the elastic in the waist and cuffs'll help a little." And with that he placed a fleeced jogging suit on the ground beside me and turned tactfully away to resume his efforts at the clothesline.

Slowly...testing my limits, I rose to my knees, then stood upright attempting to undo the buttons that held my wet flannel shirt in place like iron padlocks. They wouldn't budge! I tugged again, almost tearing the fabric before another swirl of black dots filled my vision and I found myself unceremoniously landing on my bottom atop the sleeping bag once more.

Frustrated, I closed my eyes allowing the swirling mass to subside, then turned to my rescuer for help once again. "I...can't...get this DAMNED thing!" I gasped, my patience at an end. "I'm afraid I'm gonna need your help a second time. Could you?"

With an uncertainty that surprised me, he crossed the clearing and stood staring down, pausing as if testing his own resolve...then lowered into a deep knee-bend before me and began to struggle with the buttons of my shirt.

I trembled.

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