Fulfilled by Her Bear
Amanda Stewart is an investigative journalist and is the heroine in this story. The arch villain is Eckard Allstair. Amanda is trying to save some endangered species of in a remote and inaccessible national park from a corrupt and greedy mining magnate who wants to strip mine the area. Working for a small newspaper the reporter takes on the billionaire tycoon in the civil courts. The over achieving Amanda takes some wonderful pictures of the many species of fauna in the park and writes up an impressive submission listing the dangers of disturbing endangered species and strip mining unstable mountain terrain, with people living in the lower reaches of its valleys. The courageous and intrepid reporter discovers a massive forest creature alien to this area and in a torrid sexual encounter submits to its will.
All my life I’ve been wild. Long before I had ever met Eckard Allstair, I felt like an uncontrollable animal. Growing up I was arrogant and headstrong. It was impossible to discipline me. I was always getting in everyone’s face. This was never something I could help. My parents always worried I was going to get myself killed. Growing up in the city may be fine for some, but growing up the poor child in the city can be dangerous. Throw in being a bull-headed colored girl and you have my life. Some might have felt victimized being handed my lot in life, but I never did. I never asked for anything out of a life in the city because I didn’t belong in the house, in the suburbs, in the city. I belonged in the woods.
In the woods, no one judges you. There’s no racial slurs muttered by strangers, no leering stares or other girls giggling, calling you fat or ugly. There’s no cruelty. Everything in the woods, everything that lives and breathes is genuine. That was where I belonged. I hated growing up with other children. They play games and make up stories. They lie and keep secrets. The adults were just as bad. I would get fed up. When other children would be playing on the playground or in the streets with basketballs or skateboards, I would venture off on my own into the nearby woods. Only when I was out there would I feel that remarkable exhilaration. It’s hard to explain until you hear it. It’s like a voice that can only be heard in the silence of nature. It is the spirit of ferocity that calls only to those who are wild at heart. Unlike everyone around me, with their disingenuous games, I heard it calling me every night, and I could only answer it when I was out there, in the woods, the only time I felt free.
I was a hunter and I hated liars. As a child, I was difficult because I was always hunting for something, buried treasure, a supposed location where witches were burned, any gossip or rumor spread by bored children, I was always the first to challenge, to investigate. So when I was finally an adult, I became a journalist. It seemed like an obvious fit. Even though I was older, I was exactly the same, still head strong, still pushing everyone’s buttons. I worked at the Herald for five years, gaining a fan base, becoming renowned as a real working man’s writer, a woman with a conscious. I sought to be the writer of the people always pushing further than the others, always cutting through everyone’s mask of bullshit. I almost won a Peabody, but even that didn’t stop them from letting go of me when I inevitably dug too deep. I pursued a story that cast a less than favorable light upon one of the corporate sponsors of the paper and refused to back down. Of course, the paper didn’t publish a word of it. That might have been enough had I not made it public on my blog. That was the only excuse they needed.
From then on, I was going at it alone. I was a reporter without a home and I didn’t care. Walking into that eye-sore of a building in the Manhattan every day was never what I was meant to do. For all my effectiveness at my job as a writer, as a career woman, I did not belong there. My home was still the forest. Even as an adult, it was there for me. So when I heard of the legislation that was threatening my forest, I felt just as I always did, wild. I was angry that someone was trying to take my home. The Gorge Trail is a treacherous area teaming with wildlife. Though inhospitable to almost all but the most daring of hikers and adventurers, the area is a perfect home for creatures that thrive in solitude. The area is known for its spawning waters for flounder and catfish. Foxes, muskrats, deer and even bobcats are plentiful in the lush thicket. It is a serene beauty that is only accessible to those who are willing to trek through trails on cliff edges and climb loose boulders.
The Gorge Trail was already being threatened by poachers long before the new legislation was being pushed. The cataclysmic hedge fund, Morse Fields has been one of the biggest threats to America’s national parks for decades. Whatever else they do, consistently their only source of revenue has come from investments that have wrought destruction; oil companies that bulldoze entire valleys of trees to lay pipelines, chemical processing plants that leak cancer-causing poisons into rivers and utility suppliers that spread radioactive waste into habitats of rare animals. I’ve always been a radical and these men have been on my radar for as long as I’ve had a career. So naturally when I heard Morse Fields latest investment was pushing legislation that would endanger my woods, my only refuge from the rest of the world, I felt that same spirit of ferocity. That was when I first heard the name Eckard Allstair.
Eckard already had a valiant reputation that he carried with him. He was young, good looking and regarded as brilliant and ambitious. His stock portfolio was impressive at such a young age that he was regarded as a financial prodigy. After making investment decisions that made him and his trade billions of dollars over the course of several years, he was put into an unprecedented position of being voted by the board of Morse Fields to be the new CFO. What stood out the most to me was the manner in which Eckard had solidified his fortune. Somehow, the man had a unique ability to navigate through vast seas of data, always able to act and react quicker than any other, buying here, trading there in a fashion that seemed almost preternatural. I will admit that when I dug into his past, I was intrigued by what I found.
What I didn’t like was what his hedge fund was doing. They had always lined the pockets of those in power and therefore, had never been threatened by anyone. No one had ever stood up to them. I would be the first. I had laid out a plan that would draw attention to their corrupt actions and set out to write a piece that would rally people against them. I would light a fire under the valiant new head of Morse Fields and watch his streak of success begin to crumble. Of course the first thing I had to do was show people what they would be losing.
“I hope you exercise caution.” Ranger Thompson said to me.
The day I decided to set my plan into motion, the first thing I did was grab my digital camera and hiking gear. The boots I wore were always uncomfortable, but they were effective for maintaining a footing on the trail. It would be a dangerous time of year to visit, but I was convinced that if I could just capture a few scenic photos of the Gorge Trail that could accompany an article about the corrupt investors’ plan, it would make all the difference. Plus, the dangerous aspect of the trail never mattered to me.
When I arrived on the outskirts of the park, I double checked my equipment, made certain I had all my previsions and plenty of water and food. It was still a hike before I even got to the trail. That was where I saw Ranger Thompson. He was always kind to me as he had always been the last face I saw before venturing out into the secluded parts of the woods and the first face to welcome me back when I returned to civilization. He would wish me luck on my trek up the mountain side and tip his hat to me when he saw me coming back down. This had been our routine with one another for years. It never ceased to amaze me how consistent the man’s mannerisms were.
“I’d hate to have to one day be sent up there to search for your body, darling.” He said with a wink.
This was a comment that was uncharacteristic of the man and was alarmingly spoken in a manner that seemed like a bad omen, but I only smiled and shook my head with a laugh as I passed by his station up the trail.
“You know me.” I said. “I like to take risks.”
“You, my dear, are one of a kind.” He said before turning his back to me.
Well said, Mr. Ranger.
The Gorge Trail was particularly beautiful during this time of year. It was common for rains to make the mountainside more treacherous in the spring, but it was surprisingly easy for me to find footing and make my way up all the while I was hiking and attempting to keep up a fast pace. I enjoyed timing myself in hopes it would make for an easy enough opportunity for me to burn off some extra weight. Looking up it was easy to maintain a focus for what I was after; that serenity, that rapture that comes from the spirit of ferocity. It was so close, I could feel it. That was when I heard the sound. It was a gigantic bellowing roar, unlike anything I had ever heard before.
It took me several minutes to reach the point where I was close enough to see the trail even out. I was not entirely concerned about the noise. Wild animals were plentiful this deep in the woods and I was well aware of the appropriate reactions to coming face to face with any animal, or so I thought at the time. My greatest concern when venturing out on my own was coming in contact with illegal poachers or hunters. Hunting was completely illegal here as the majority of the animals commonly sought by hunters were dwindling in numbers and humans were the biggest culprit for this sad reality. Though I was brazen as always and even had a small handgun tucked away in my bag, just in case, I was completely unprepared for a potential encounter with an armed human.
When, I was finally approaching the thicket after I had reached the point where the terrain became easier to trek through, I heard the sound once more. It must have been a bear, but there was an instant sense that this was not a common call from a bear. I had seen many in my time and had even watched some from a safe distance. My first thought was that it must have been a mating call, but I was unable to figure out what direction the sound had come from and could see nothing in any direction. I stopped to listen and to remove my camera from my bag, adjusting the lens and shutter while my head cautiously shifted from one side to the other. The creature seemed to be gone.
It did not take me long to begin to forget about the sound once I had the camera in my hand and was back in the familiar serenity of nature. There was so much to see. It was easy for me to spot rare raptors flying above me and I was even able to cautiously approach a deer feeding in the thicket long enough to snap several pictures of the creature before it became alerted to my presence. Within no time at all, I had photographed dozens of creatures and was satisfied with my accomplishments.
The trek back for me was easier and uneventful. I had the notions of what I would write swimming in my head. I thought of what those dreadful financial men would think of having their positions threatened. I’d be a vicious force, ripping through their army of lobbyists, tossing them down from their decadent positions into the mud, exposing them as the cowards they are. This is what I lived for.
Dwelling on this had caused me to completely lose my focus. That was when I first heard the rumbling of something in front of me. There was something moving towards me. I froze and dropped to a position ready to bolt as I reached for the space in my bag where the gun was hidden. That was when I first saw it, tearing through the trees with a surreal speed. It was a bear, yet it was massive, larger than any I had ever seen. It must have been over a thousand pounds. I was still frozen in my same position, transfixed on the thing as I watched it move across the line of trees in front of me. Then, it ceased to move and rose to its full height and released a roar. The same noise I had heard before, a daunting sound as if it was calling out to the entire world. Its legs were large and muscular and its claws were large. This creature was clearly capable of tearing through the flesh of any other living thing.
It is difficult to express the stimulation that one feels when in the presence of such a thing. There was an affinity I held even in that moment for the magnitude of the bear’s physicality and the savagery that was admonished in its roar. It took me some time to regain a sense of myself, to separate myself from the experience. Once I returned to my senses, I made certain that the creature was not expressing any concern or interest in my presence and then pulled my bag slowly in front of me to find my camera once more. I was careful to not make any sudden movements as I began to snap pictures of the creature who was still emphatically calling out to the rest of the wild.
Then, just as I was beginning to become satisfied with the pictures I was able to take, the creature seemed to turn its head towards me. My eyes widened as I watched it. The manner in which it moved and the sound it made as its roar turned into a reserved growl seemed incredibly strange. I began to realize that I could be in danger so I promptly bundled up my things and began to back away. It would be easy for me to cut across the trees to go around the bear until I was at the other end of the trail. I had only hoped that the creature would not take it upon itself to pursue me.
After about half an hour had passed and I had not heard any more noise in the distance, I was convinced I was far from any. Then, I approached the ranger’s station, the sight of which was a happy and welcoming sight. As I took the final step off the last stone on the mountainside, I saw the ranger appear with the same kind-smirk on his face. He tipped his hat just as always, only this time, instead of simply waving or nodding back I called out to him.
“You have a minute?” I asked as I approached him.
He stepped forward with his hands on his hips. “For you,” He said. “I might have a few.”
I smiled as I reached once more for the camera in my bag. “I was taking pictures up there.” I said. “I wanted to show you them if you don’t mind.”
“Let me guess.” He began to say. “You see something strange? Jersey Devil? Leprechaun?”
“No, don’t be silly.” I said as I turned the display on the back of the camera on.
The camera beeped as the screen lit up. I pushed the button which showed the most recent photo. After a few pushes of the button, the image of the bear suddenly appeared. “Look at this.” I said.
The ranger narrowed his eyes. I glanced at him and noticed his expression change as he rubbed his forehead. He seemed confused. “You say you took this photo while you were up there just now?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just saw the thing a few minutes ago.”
He chuckled. “I gotta tell ya,” He said. “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, glancing away for a moment before returning his gaze back to the screen. “Well, you see,” He pointed to the screen, gesturing to the appearance of the bear’s torso. “I’d say this bear is anywhere from eight hundred to twelve hundred pounds, probably over eleven feet tall. Bears that are native to this area rarely get larger than seven hundred, but it’s the wrong time of the year for them to be packing on weight like that anyway. A bear that size, I would reckon be found further northwest.”
“Could it have migrated?” I asked in confusion.
The ranger folded his arms against his chest. “I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years. I’ve never once heard of a bear migrating that far. A bear that size isn’t native to this side of the country.”
That was the first time I began to become alarmed. This revelation was enough to make me curious that maybe what I had seen was more than a simple chance encounter. There was only one other question I could think to ask. “What sort of bear could it be?”
“Has to be a grizzly.” He said with a shrug. “They are the biggest, but even that thing is gargantuan for one of them. That’s probably near close to as big as they come.”
There was once an old book that my mother read to me when I was a little girl, about a man who was returning from a long journey in the snow to his family. He is followed by a giant creature covered in brown fur that walks on its hind legs. He flees for his life. After hiding out until it had moved on out of sight he follows slowly and is totally confused when the footprints in the snow change to that of a human being. Remembering the yearning pull that the creature had on my emotions when I saw it I just knew we had not seen the last of each other. I had never been in a relationship that was satisfactory sexually. The anger and rage that always burned just beneath the surface seemed to manifest itself during sexual intercourse and I always scared off my partners with my animal savagery. I had been with oil wild caters, Canadian lumberjacks and even a world champion boxer, once and once only, they all made themselves scarce after sleeping with me that one time. I had even left a tape recorder running under my bed one time years ago, and the sounds and noises I heard myself make when I played it back even shocked me. I never really recalled the point of orgasm because I have no vestiges of self-control what so ever at that point, it is almost as if I black out mentally and just the primeval part of me that governs my responses takes over automatically. More than three years previously I had ceased to attempt to get a man into my bed, and bought a dildo and take care of myself regularly. No recriminations afterwards and no difficult explanations to make. Not the most satisfying way I admit, but I am a healthy and active woman and I have needs, at times diabolically urgent needs, at those times I am bruised and battered for days afterwards. On some fundamental level I know there is a flaw in my physicality sexually, but I just don’t dwell on, and I am the only one involved now and I can live with it. But that bear today, oh my that huge creature, thinking about it even now I can feel the savage attraction, the brutal yearning. “ENOUGH!!” I halt my idiotic and somewhat shameful thoughts and concentrate on getting back to my vehicle so I can get back to my word processor and get started on my expose of Morse Fields and their whizz kid Eckard Allstair. Their false claim that the valleys and ridges the George Trail traversed were barren wastelands with no flora and fauna of substance was about to be blown so far out of the water they would need a space shuttle to ever see it again. I laughed aloud at my own analogy. Because this time Eckard Allstair and his billion dollar plus hedge fund had his evil eye on my home ground I was in mortal danger of letting passions and feelings govern my work, when what I needed was cold, clear and concise clarity and good fact and data based journalism. The incredible 120 odd pictures I had taken today were certainly going to be the main thrust of my story. It was almost as if every creature along the trail knew of the danger and had posed for me. I knew exactly what Morse Fields was up to when a buddy of mine the Mines Department tipped me off about their filing a mineral claim across the entire area. I had known of the alluvial gold in the river when I was a teenager, one of our teachers was an amateur gold prospector and he had shown us how to use a pan for testing river shingles for color. I had borrowed the pan and tried the river and was surprised at the amount of specs of gold and even tiny nuggets I found. As I have said, it is possibly one of the most inaccessible regions left in these mountains, and I guess that is why no one has carried prospecting equipment over the huge boulders and trekked through the waist deep icy waters to try for gold since. Until now! I also knew of a bauxite deposit on one of the ridges and had seen nickel nodes in a limestone ridge further in. But to access these deposits in a lucrative way Morse Fields would have to strip mine the entire area, and even their submission in the petition to mine, that they would run a re-forestation program, could never repair the devastation and carnage they would wreak. Not to mention that the roads they would force through with bulldozers would allow access to the public, which would force the migration of a huge percentage of the fauna that exists there. As I mentioned earlier, it is the remoteness and inaccessibility to humans that means most of the solitary creatures, many endangered already, can live there in comparative safety. I also had another edge to my sword, my Great; Great Grandmother was a full blood Mohican and I could play the Native Land Rights bill here with impunity. If I could not prevent them surveying with an immediate court order for danger to habitat, I could certainly tie them up in an ownership battle that would take years for the civil courts to unravel. As I approached my vehicle I was so engrossed in how to formulate and run my story I failed to notice the other four wheel drive parked nearby. “Miss Stewart, this is a remote and desolate area to meet a beautiful woman.” The sound of a man’s voice startled me from my reverie and my head shot up to look directly into the devouring orbs of Mr. Eckard Allstair’s penetrating eyes. Doing my second double take in as many seconds I almost stuttered, “Mr. Allstair, what brings you out here to nature’s paradise.” I countered. Noticing the faint frown as I used the word paradise I felt a satisfactory jolt in my stomach, first blood to me. “Unusual choice of words for this area, but however, what brings you onto my lease?” He asked. I immediately fired back, “It certainly is neither yours nor Morse Fields, it is still under a native land title and is crown land.” Again the frown, bull’s-eye, two out of two. Reaching into the glove compartment of his expensive Toyota Land Cruiser the man produced a document and holding it out for me to read argued, “You are quite mistaken Miss Stewart, The Department of Mines granted me a geo-survey permit this very morning. Here, be my guest and read it yourself.” Damn this ego maniacal billionaire, that’s three times in the last five minutes he has caught me on the back foot. Noticing my expensive Nikon camera he enquired, “I did not now you were an amateur photographer, what on earth could you possibly find in this barren landscape to warrant lugging such an expensive item up there?” He indicated the steep and rugged beginning to the George Trail. “I am no amateur I assure you,” I retorted.” Furthermore, just like you I have a variety of reasons for coming here, most of which are none of your business. And those that might be of interest you are so symmetrically opposed to you and everything you stand for I shan’t bother to elucidate you.” As I moved away toward my Jeep Cherokee the urbane and sophisticated head of the Board for Morse Fields lost his own cool and growled, “Tread warily Miss Stewart, if you interfere with the wheels of progress you might inadvertently be run over!” Spinning around to face the tall man again I bit back, “Are you threatening me Allstair?” Turing away from my wrathful and hostile manner he spat over his shoulder, “Warning you that’s all. No two bit punk journalist can stand in my way.” Before I could respond to his dismissive and insulting remark he entered his vehicle and closed the door. Fuming I climbed into the Jeep and followed him down the mountain. The normally pleasant and scenic drive made no impression on me this trip at all, in fact I did not even notice, I was just too damned mad with the rat fink money bags ahead of me. I wanted to floor the Jeep and knock him and his quarter million dollar cruiser into the ravine below. Perhaps he sensed the latent fury in me because when we reached the highway he increased his speed immediately and disappeared into the distance. Arriving at my apartment I booted up the lap top and uploaded all the images, I decided to email them to my work website for photo shop and selection for the article the next day, then bathed and went to diner. Whenever I spend a day on the trail I always return ravenous and crave vast helpings of Mama Maria’s pasta and meat Italian concoctions. “Welcome Amanda welcome,” boomed my hospitable host. “Sit sit sit. I have a wonderful new dish tonight, your favorite spaghetti with a garlic and ginger and tomato sauce full of rich Texas beef. I just a know you a gonna like it so much,” Maria boomed again enthusiastically in her dialectic English. “How could I possibly turn down such a wonderful sounding meal, bring it on Mama. Please ask Giuseppe to bring me a cup of his thicker than mud coffee to start and some fresh crusty breads. I am famished.” Beaming, the big Italian cook and owner almost trotted into the kitchen to give my requests to her jovial husband. Giuseppe came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of bread and a steaming cup of thick, strong and black coffee. “Amanda you sweet a sweet girl, where you been a hiding yourself? We missed you smiling face.” The happily smiling man set the plate and cup in front of me and sat a few minutes as we caught up on each other’s lives over the past busy weeks. These two were as close to parents as I had and it was always wonderful to be around them. They were both extremely hard workers and had built the restaurant from scratch with a combination of good stable meals, generous helpings, and lashings of hard long hours in their kitchen. But never have I seen either one of them without a huge welcoming smile. In their mid-60s now, I had been coming to their restaurant for 10 years at least a couple of times a week. They seemed to never change, never age. They looked exactly the same now as when we had first met when I was a fledgling reporter for the tabloids and always broke. They adopted me metaphorically speaking; they fed me on numerous occasions without accepting payment, and always cheered me up with some funny anecdote or just with their jovial smiling ways. When Mama Maria had stuffed me so full with three generous helpings of her newest recipe I sat with her at the big kitchen table and just whiled away an hour listening to the two of them banter and joke their way through the myriad tasks that needed to be completed before they could call it a night and go upstairs to their apartment above the restaurant. As we all hugged each other they both gave me the European kiss on each cheek, and with blessings and happy goodbyes I drove the three miles back to my apartment. My entire block was lit up like a Christmas tree, flashing lights of all three emergency services were in abundance. Fire engines, ambulances and police cars blocked off each end of the road. Pulling up I asked the office who had stopped me, “I live down their officer, what is happening.” Coming over to my open window he asked for my license and reading my name and verifying my address answered. “I am sorry to inform you miss Stewart but there is a serious fire in your building and witnesses are alleging it began with an explosion from your own apartment. Did you by any chance leave the gas on or something of that nature?” Assuring the officer that I had only been home briefly, long enough for a quick bath and a change of clothes before going for my dinner I asked if I could go to my home. “Miss Stewart you will need to make alternative arrangements tonight, the building is evacuated until the fire inspectors and arson squads have finished their investigations. I must also inform you that because of the severity of the fire in your apartment there is nothing left which has not been almost completely destroyed by the fire and the fire departments high pressure hoses. I am very sorry Miss Stewart; I just cannot give anyone permission to go near the building until it has been accessed and declared safe by the relevant authorities.” Thanking the man I sat stupefied for some minutes then returned to the restaurant where my pseudo parents mothered me into their spare room and tucked me up with a brandy and a sleeping pill. It was hell of a pill, I slept 12 hours straight, luckily today is Sunday and I am under no obligation to be on deck because it was almost 1 AM before I staggered downstairs to be met with a great mug of coffee by Giuseppe and a massive platter of poached eggs and toast by Maria. We all sat around discussing the fire and what might have caused it. My building is not old as these areas go, around fifteen years. It should not have been corroded gas pipes or ancient electrical wiring. I went up and luxuriated in their deep claws foot antique tub for an hour, then dressed and drove back to my apartment, or what remained of it. The officer had not exaggerated; the heat had been so intense that even the brick walls were cracked in a number of areas. Nothing inside had survived at all. There were a number of people at the doorway inside the police tape and I approached and asked if any of them had any idea of how the fire had originated. When I explained who I was a senior detective asked if he could have a word with me privately. We went over to an unmarked Chevvy and sat in the front. “Miss Stewart, I must ask you some serious questions.” He asked about my work, if I had difficulties with colleagues or if I had enemies anywhere outside the office. After some minutes of light interrogation I asked my own question. “Detective, there is something you are not telling me and I think now would be a good time to do so.” Looking at me thoughtfully for a moment, he answered. “Yes Miss Stewart you are quite correct. Our arson squad has discovered the remnants of some kind of incendiary device in the ruins of your apartment. In short the fire started with a bomb.” Watching my features closely as he revealed this he seemed relieved at the state of absolute shock in which I received this horrendous information. As my intelligent mind tried to assimilate this terrorist act and apply it to myself, the Detective remained quietly watching. I was no stranger to heated debate and sometimes even aggravated shouting matches with recalcitrant law breakers; in journalism this is quite common. But this level of violence was way outside anything I had ever encountered. “Miss Stewart, when I asked about your work you mentioned something about a piece you were working on to prevent some mining in a national park. Would the company you are opposing consider you such a threat that they might want to endanger your life and those of the other families in your building?” Eckard Allstair, why on earth hadn’t I made this connection? The pictures, he wants to destroy the evidence and I bet he has a no trespassing sign up already to prevent me obtaining another set.” Detective it well may have now that you bring it to mind, but anything I could say here would be hearsay and allegations without foundation. Mere supposition, but I will tell you that I had a heated argument with a senior member of the company yesterday morning and he seemed particularly interested in my camera and what I may have photographed. He also made some veiled threats concerning my safety and was very rude and insulting. However, it is a giant leap to take accusing him of attempted murder and arson because of some threats spoken in the heat of the moment.” The detective looked thoughtful again then said, “Now that the evidence is destroyed I cannot even look at it and assess myself what relevance it might have on this case. Very well then Miss Stewart, thank you for your time, if you could give the constable your current address we will inform you of any developments which may concern you.” He politely walked around the vehicle and opened my door and we said goodbye. I returned to the restaurant. Lying back on the bed with my arms behind my head, I went over and over the argument the previous morning. Is the man really that evil and sinister that he would blatantly commit such a crime, or am I being too dramatic and biased? Well, either or, I have a story to write, an expose on corruption and lies so I might as well begin now even without a pictorial addition to add credence to the existence of so many creatures In the Park. I booted up the lap top and mentally prepared my opening salvos.” Ping, you have mail,” Absently clicking on my email provider and then the inbox I saw the email I had sent before having a bath. “The pictures, I still have all the pictures!!!” With a grin a mile wide I start the article, then paused and called my editor to advise him to have a legal team ready first thing on the morrow to get a court injunction to stop the Morse survey team from even entering the trail. And reading my Introduction and opening remarks I knew that with the pictures we would have no trouble at all getting one.
“I have heard your submissions and I will consider them in chambers. Court adjourned for one hour.” Rising we all bowed to the Judge and after he left the legal team and my managing editor and I went to a small coffee shop opposite the Central Law Courts. While we reviewed our case and Sam, my editor, said that the pictures I had taken, and the fact that the dates on them all coincided and had been proved original and not photo-shopped by the government expert, were the clincher. They had proved, without any shadow of doubt that Morse Fields had blatantly lied on their lease application. That one fact alone should be enough to overturn the decision to grant the survey application. My editorial listed some two dozen endangered species and gave logical facts why strip mining would not only endanger these creatures further, but also make the entire area unstable and possibly life threatening to people living in the valley below the trail. I had backed these statements with investigative facts from similar actions on terrain in these mountains, and how strip mining had caused landslides, which in turn destroyed habitat and blocked creeks and rivers causing widespread flooding. It was certainly one of the best pieces of investigative journalism I had ever written. But I had had excellent motivation. My destroyed home and Allstairs dismissive and sneering threats on the morning we had met at the trail featured largely among them. “All Stand for the Honorable Judge Mathews,” Intoned the Clerk of Courts. Without any preamble Judge Mathews looked at the Morse legal team and began. “I am not disposed to grant this injunction.” In shock our entire team exchanged disbelieving looks. The judge continued, “It is not necessary because I am overturning the decision to grant the survey application in the first place. The documentary evidence supplied by Miss Stewart is incontrovertible and proves the existence of a wide variety of wildlife, many of which are already endangered. The likelihood of landslides and flooding causing danger to dwellings and lives in the lower valley should any mining take place leaves me in no doubt that had the same evidence been placed before the Department of Mines, and not been obscured by rhetoric and blatant untruths, the application would never have been granted. Morse Fields will cease all operations on the land adjacent to, and including, the George Trail immediately, and I am serving notice that I intend to bring criminal charges against all of its directors personally. Furthermore, I am suggesting to the local authorities they apply to have the entire park listed with World Heritage, I am of the opinion this land should remain in the possession of the crown and be protected for all eternity.”
In euphoria of bliss and astonishment at how successful our petition to the courts had been, I drove back up to the trail. As I pulled up in the gravel parking area I noticed Allstairs Toyota was there again. But even that could not dilute the incredible achievements of this day. I climbed the difficult trail at a fast pace, bypassing the ranger’s office at a distance. I did not want to share this feeling with anyone yet. I came up here to be by myself and enjoy the fact that my second home would never be under threat again. Surging up the steep and rugged valley I paused after two hours of concerted effort to rest on a rock by the first set of rapids that began at the opening of the gorge. Just as my breathing was recovering, and my heart rate returning to normal, a shattering roar echoed off the ravine walls and with a deluge of small rocks and shingle the massive bear slid down to confront me. Towering over me it was even larger than the ranger and I had supposed. Something supernatural must have occurred to create this monster. Its eyes were blood red and intelligent; it made no aggressive move toward me. I had nowhere to escape too, it was between me and my back trail, and going forward I would need to scale the high bank of the ravine, one step in that direction and the creature would be upon me before I could even reach the steep wall. I made no move, just quietly observed the massive creature as it observed me. We remained still for many minutes like this, I did not feel threatened or that I was in any danger, and I had no idea why this was. One swipe of a huge paw could decapitate me; one chomp of that huge mouth full of four inch canines could chew me in two. I am not even confused, the presence of such a mighty predator should have every molecule of my very being in abject terror, but those penetrating and intelligent eyes conveyed no sense of danger. Taking a step towards me the creature extended a paw and caressed my cheek with the back of it. The touch was tender, the claws on the other side looked to be at least seven inches long and razor edged. The paw moved up my cheek and through my hair. It slid over the back of my head to my shoulder and began to pull me slowly toward the towering beast. Not breaking eye contact, and still completely without fear, I allowed it to draw me closer. I needed to tilt my head further back with every step to maintain eye contact with those glowing red coals. His paw slid down to my buttocks and then lifted me bodily off the ground until we were eye to eye with each other. There was something enquiring in its intense gaze, something it wanted to know. Bringing up the other paw it hooked a claw inside the top of my denim work shirt and slowly sliced it open, the continued down inside my jeans until I was naked from neck to crutch. My skin tingled, my nipples hardened as the creatures eyes traversed my naked body. Slowly he lowered me back onto my feet. I knew what was required now; I removed the torn clothing until I stood before it totally naked and fully aroused. Sniffing the air and undoubtedly smelling my full feminine arousal the red orbs changed and a look I knew well appeared. The slight glaze of a fully aroused male. This time it was I who stepped forward. As my naked body came in contact with the soft body hair the Bears gigantic cock swelled and rose between my legs. Somehow I knew what to do, I needed no guidance or encouraging direction from those deadly paws. I turned around and bent over, bracing my palms on the ground in front of me easily. I felt the weight of the huge front legs rest on my back and the gigantic cock nuzzle my swollen and inflamed pussy. Expecting a moment of hideous pain as the mammoth organ tore me apart inside I was amazed at the gentle probing and retreating of the four inch thick dick as it teased me open more and more. Soaking wet and aching with suppressed desire, the next time the creature probed I drove my body hard back and his mighty cock slid inside. With a scream to rival the creature’s roars I withdrew, and drove myself onto him again. It felt like someone was trying to park a semi-trailer inside my body. The intensity of the pain was echoing off the gorge walls as my screams became intensified sheiks of abject pain. As I slid further and further onto the massive cock the creature never moved a muscle, almost understanding that this was something I must achieve myself or serious damage could result. The white hot shards of pain seared my brain as I drove back again and again. But inside the pain was the passion, the desire, the dynamic need. I was filling myself with cock. As I slid further and further onto the creature’s enormous dick its girth increased. Not only was each thrust of my hips and arms driving him deeper, but it was stretching my pussy to epic width. Just as I knew that I could handle no more of this telephone pole of a cock I felt the soft hair brush my buttocks and with one more heave from my straining muscles I completely engulfed him in my bruised and battered sheath. His paws held my shoulders as we each gaged the sexual arousal of the other. I could feel the creature’s cock pulsating inside me with a barely controlled urgency. I also felt that it knew our needs were mutual and equally matched. It withdrew part way and slid back inside me. The intensity of the brief motion caused me to orgasm instantly. My entire body was full of male cock; it was a part of me. A living and integral piece of me very being. Withdrawing half way he re-entered me more swiftly. Another lightning bolt of pain penetrated my tortured brain, only to be replaced a Nano-second later by insane pleasure and another momentous deluge as orgasm after orgasm wracked my body. The creature felt the fountaining eruption soak its mammoth shaft and it drew back to allow it to escape and hose the ground, before it gripped me tightly and drove itself into me with gut tearing speed. Suddenly we were rocking together and apart, matching rhythm and passion. As the gigantic organ left my body it was almost a palpable sorrow for a brief moment before it rammed full length back into my welcoming pussy. I was screaming and laughing and crying, the gambit of intense emotions raced through my brain. Nothing had ever touched me so emotionally. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of continued escalation of intense orgasms and climaxes the creature roared with such a primeval and guttural sound the very gorge walls trembled. His last great thrust felt as if it reached my heart and as the giant load of white thick cum washed my internal walls I exploded again, and the mixture of fluids slid down the awesome shaft and onto the ground between our feet. My vagina clamped involuntarily around the solid tree-like organ deep inside my body and again I felt him pump more of his animal semen deep into my pussy. We just stood there, each desperately trying to regain control of our minds and bodies. Him, I just called this creature a ‘him’. Slowly, as the terrifying organ slid out of my body I spun around and stared deep into its eyes. Yes! Him! This was no wild animal. This was a thinking, feeling intelligent being. Tremulously I crawled up the mammoth legs and wrapping my arms around the thick neck lay my cheek against his jaw. His paws came up and held me there effortlessly; I pulled my head away and once again looked deep into the now black eyes. The raw emotion and pain of his return glance tore at my heart strings. Suddenly, he placed me back on the ground and with one leap, vaulted on to the top of the ravine and was gone. It took the remainder of the afternoon to patch my shredded clothes into some sense of decency after which I tenderly retraced my steps down the torturous trail to my Jeep. I opened the door and heard, “Miss Stewart, a moment please.” I knew that voice, with a seething and intense hatred I turned around to look the beaten head of the Morse conglomerate directly in the eyes and vent my feelings. Our eyes met and locked. Spinning around I jumped into the Jeep and with four wheels spinning flew at the narrow mountain pass with the fervor of a Nazca driver. It is impossible! It couldn’t be! It was all in my mind! I was overwrought! But I knew it, the same exact torturous look I had seen moments before the creature left, was also inside Allstair’s eyes. They were one and the same. My brain threatened to malfunction; totally overloaded I pulled over and tried to digest the earth shattering information. Loathing versus desire. Hate versus passion. Exhausted, I leaned back against the headrest and sank into unconsciousness.
THE END
WEREWOLF ROMANCE
By: Jennifer Mckenzie
The Glamorous Howl
Chapter One
I unlocked the doors to the boutique and flicked the switch on the wall. The store became swathed in light. It was a crisp autumn morning so I was quick to get the heating going. As manageress it was part of my job to open up each morning, the girls soon to follow. But I always tried to make sure the place was warm and welcoming before they arrived.
When I had taken the position three years ago it had only been a temporary contract, but I enjoyed it so much I had decided to stay on. I was fortunate enough to have employers who were happy to leave me to run things. So it felt more like having my own place rather than just working here.
The girls who worked with me were all wonderful. All hardworking and an asset to the company. We had grown to be more like family than colleagues. Me being the auntie and confidant to each of them.
I poured coffee beans into the pot and switched it on. My nostrils soon filling with aromatic scents. As I pulled back the blinds the suns morning rays flooded the store. Lighting the array of clothes that dressed the mannequins.
My hand went out to touch the delicate fabric of a nearby dress. I took a deep breath, wishing yet again that I could one day afford to purchase something from here myself.
Crystals Boutique was one of the most expensive places to buy clothes in the city. Only the rich could splurge their earnings shopping here. And it was our job to ensure that the people who came here were pampered and their every desire catered for.
Sometimes I did get infuriated when there was a particularly awkward customer that I had to deal with. Certain ladies who came to purchase one of our exclusive designs were some of the most arrogant people I had met. Yet I had to remain patient. Always speaking to them with a smile. Ready to assist in any way that I can as a professional.
The door suddenly opened in a rush. Izzy dashed inside, the end of her nose red from the cold. She shivered as she stood before the fire that was set into an alcove on the far wall. Izzy gave me a large smile as she removed her coat and hung it out in the staff area.
“So Clarissa, how was your weekend?” Izzy gushed.
“Just me and Sophie as always,” I laughed.
“You two need to come on a girlie night with me and my friends. You would have a great time.”
“Maybe one day.”
Izzy was a lovely girl but I couldn’t imagine joining her on a girlie night out. She often told me and the other girls the tales of what she and her friends got up too. Playing pranks, teasing the men, and flirting with the doormen to get into VIP areas. At thirty eight I had grown out of such antics years ago.
Now I spent my Saturday nights with my best friend Sophie. She would come round to the apartment early. Leaving her boyfriend Chris to go out with his friends while she spent time with me. We had been friends since school, and had grown to be inseparable over the years.
We would settle on the couch, choosing a movie to watch while we drank our wine. Pulling the menus from the drawer and debating whether to have Thai or Indian. Chatting about the week we had had. Always laughing at the tales she told of her and Chris.
I knew Sophie wanted me to find a man, and had often set me up on dates with Chris’s friends and colleagues. I just hadn’t found someone that I had connected with yet. They had either been arrogant, or just dull and boring. I wanted to be with a man who electrified me, who made me feel alive. She had been lucky in finding Chris, and I was sure that the right man was out there for me. I was just to meet him.
Cindy came through the door and I welcomed her arrival. As expected, Izzy was instantly distracted. The two young girls laughing as they caught up after the weekend. I smiled as I turned the sign on the door to indicate that we were open for business.
The telephone suddenly rang shrilly, causing me to jump. Quickly I picked up the receiver. Hearing a man’s voice on the other end of the line, I introduced myself. I lifted my hand to silence the girls so that I could hear his gentle voice. Nodding patiently as I listened to his requests.
As I replaced the telephone the girls looked at me expectantly. Desperate to hear who had called. I couldn’t prevent my smiles as I turned to face them. Nervously smoothing down my skirt as I considered the importance of our new situation.
“That was the attendant to Mr Harry Forester. Apparently he would like to book the boutique for a couple of hours this afternoon so that he can treat his sister to some new clothes. Of course, for security reasons, we will have to close while he is here. But he will expect the best champagne and canapés I am sure. So everything needs to be perfect before his arrival,” I told them.
Like giddy school girls Izzy and Cindy clapped their hands excitedly. I could understand their enthusiasm. It was always a boost to the business when someone rich and famous came. Not only did we earn a healthy commission for our efforts, but we would soon be the talk of the city. So other customers would be sure to follow.
Harry Forester was highly regarded throughout the city. Not only with other business moguls but also with the normal people on the street. He had come from a humble background, yet now he owned billions. Yet he was always ready to give to charities and the less fortunate. He was adored by everyone. And still people knew little about his private life. Only that he had a younger sister, and that his parents were looked after on his vast estate.