The next day was Thursday, the last day of Dan’s trip. He had forgotten that Mark had agreed to take the day off to go fishing with him. As much as he had been looking forward to going out on the river again, now that he was there, he couldn’t help but worry that it might cost him his last opportunity to be alone with Alana. And she was all he could think about. As he stood in the stream, alone with his fishing pole and his thoughts, his mind kept returning again and again to her, to her naked breasts, to her sweat soaked hips, to the way she touched him and looked at him as he came. She was so unbelievably sexy.
But the more he thought about his encounters with her, the more he realized that her demeanor, her body language and expressions, they weren’t those of a lover. They were those of a nurse or a healer. What she was doing was all one-way, it was all for him. She was giving, giving him what she thought he needed. And she was right. He needed it desperately. But these were acts of love and friendship, not lust; they were the equivalent of bandaging up a wound. At no point had he ever seen any real lust in her eyes. Playfulness? Sure. Mischief? Definitely. Genuine compassion? No doubt. But never lust. Never desire. And now that his long-hibernating libido had awakened, it was that mutual desire that he so desperately wanted to experience again.
While Dan enjoyed his time out on the river, it was just as he had feared; he had no opportunity to be alone with Alana that day. By the time they got back to the house, it was mid afternoon. Alana was off doing some errands, and Mark began preparing dinner for them. Mark had caught a pretty decent sized Steelhead trout on the river and he was determined to cook it up in his smoker for dinner. Dan and Mark sat on the back porch drinking beer and reminiscing while the fish cooked. It was a perfect day, and Dan really enjoyed Mark’s company. He still had not really come to grips with the fact that he’d fucked his best friend’s wife. He was somehow able to compartmentalize his encounters with the two of them, to convince himself that he hadn’t violated any code of friendship, that it was all somehow okay. Hadn’t she said during the massage that Mark wanted her to give him a happy ending? Assuming that was the truth, is it possible Mark approved of the other encounters as well? While Dan desperately wanted to believe that, he was skeptical.
At around 5:00, Alana returned. She was radiant, wearing a yellow cotton sun dress that didn’t leave very much to the imagination. From the moment she arrived, she seemed to be in a great mood. She was playful and flirtatious. They all had several drinks, enjoyed an amazing meal of smoked fish and fresh fruit and vegetables, and generally were getting along splendidly. It was after dinner that things took an unexpected turn.
Alana produced from her purse three little ziploc bags and waived them in front of Dan and Mark. It had been a very long time since he’d seen any, but Dan recognized the contents immediately as magic mushrooms. He’d only had them twice in his life, both times during college, but he still remembered those experiences fondly. They were unlike anything else he’d ever experienced.
“I got a bag for each of us. Just enough to do the trick. Are you guys game?”
Dan looked at Mark and they both shrugged. Why the hell not?
A few minutes later they had each eaten the contents of their baggies and washed them down with half a bottle of beer. Dan couldn’t remember how long it took these things to work or even what it felt like. But he was excited. He hadn’t done anything this impulsive since… well… probably when he fucked his best friend’s wife over the kitchen sink the day before.
The anticipation was the worst part, but sure enough, about 20 minutes later, Dan started to see the first tracers in his field of vision, streaks of color that reminded him of the lines the Starship Enterprise would make when it jumped to warp speed. It was nearing sunset, and, like Alana and Mark alongside him, Dan sat in an adirondack chair on the back porch, looking out at the majestic Montana skyline, with the mountains looming in the background like a painting. It would have been a spectacularly beautiful sight without any help, but in his current state, it may have been the most singularly beautiful thing that Dan had ever seen. By the time the sun dropped below the mountains, a powerful body high had washed over him and he felt utterly content and at peace with his life, for the first time in a very long time. Memories of his late wife and the wonderful life they’d shared flooded his consciousness. Good memories. Bad memories. But all of them perfect and lucid memories. None of them troubling. All of them under control. All of them making perfect sense, at least in that moment.
The three of them continued to sit on the porch, lost in their own minds and the stunning visuals, for at least 45 minutes. By then it was getting pretty dark. Alana was the first to stir, getting slowly to her feet and then grabbing each of their hands, one after the other, and leading them inside. When Dan got to his feet, he felt that familiar unsteadiness, that weakness in the knees and joints, but he didn’t feel impaired. The high coursing through his body was intense, as was the feeling of attachment to his friends and to this place. Alana squeezed his hand tightly and broke into an enormous smile when Dan finally made eye contact. She guided him toward the couch, where they sat down together, still holding hands. Mark was standing by the fireplace in front of them, carefully adjusting the logs and trying to get a fire going.
A few minutes later, the flames were lapping at the logs and Mark sat down on the other side of Alana. They all watched the dancing flames. Dan had always been somewhat entranced by fire, but this was downright hypnotic. It was as if the flames were floating out across the room, streaks of light and color radiating in all directions.
Alana finally broke the silence: “we need some music.” She pulled out her iPhone and scanned through it for what seemed like several minutes. Then she pressed the screen a few times and suddenly music came blaring through the speakers on the walls. It was a song Dan knew but hadn’t heard in a long time. David Gray. Life in Slow Motion. Dan had forgotten how wonderful music could sound under this particular form of intoxication. The first time he’d eaten mushrooms, he’d spent much of the night entranced by his roommate’s Tool album, and he didn’t even like Tool. But this, this was a beautiful song to begin with. And in that moment, in the state he was in, Dan found it hauntingly beautiful.
As the chorus began (“life in slow motion/ somehow it don’t seem real”), Alana stood up and began swaying to the music, as if in a trance. The only thing more beautiful than the song at that moment was her. The way she moved was so sensual. As she raised her arms in the air, her dress rode high up her hips, revealing a pair of white cotton panties with little blue flowers on them. As she brought her arms down again, her cleavage was on full display, and her hand brushed purposefully against her panties. Alana’s eyes were closed and she seemed quite oblivious to the show she was putting on. But Mark was not. Dan couldn’t help but notice Mark touching himself through his shorts, a visible bulge beneath his hand. Dan then realized that he had a bulge of his own.