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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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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!!!!
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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
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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.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 41