Catfish McDaris

Orgasmic Impression

Driving west, the mountains were indigo blue, valleys of white barked aspen intermingled with conifer trees. The Anasazi had left these lands without explanation, leaving large stone and adobe ruins. The Pueblo settled many centuries before. Slick studied the map, but Vivian knew the roads well. They drove through Bernalillo, past cows and horses toward Cuba. At San Ysidro they stopped, while Slick and Nicky nailed together mailing crates for his paintings. They entered an incredible canyon that climbed ever higher into the Jemez Mountains. The burnt red cliffs sculpted strange rock formations. They drove through the Jemez Pueblo Indian Reservation, where women baked round loaves of bread in beehive style ovens.  Ladies chatted and sold intricately decorated pottery and bread from stands, along the road. Nicky saw a Pueblo man leading a remuda of four horses. He asked Slick to stop, so he could speak with him. “Hey dude, where did you get those fierce horses?” Nicky asked. The Indian looked at Nicky like he was a Martian. “Hey dude, don’t you understand English?” “Yes, I understand you well. What the fuck is your problem?” the Indian replied. 

“Hey dude, I’m a painter and I’d like to paint you and your horses. Any harm in that?”

“First of all, my name isn’t fucking dude, it’s Burma. Mister Burma, to you white boy. I just caught these horses in the sierra and I’m taking them to the river to tame. If you want to come along, it will cost you,” replied Burma. “No problem, Mister Burma, my name is Nicky. I would like to capture your horses on canvas,” Nicky extended his hand and Burma shook it. Slick drove the truck slowly, following the string of horses. They bumped down a rutted dirt road. The river was surrounded by crimson dogwood. Burma led the horses into the water, speaking softly to each one in his own language and feeding them sweet grass. Nicky painted and drew as Burma mounted and tamed each of the four horses. Vivian and Slick spent the afternoon in the camper, occupied. Burma warned Nicky. “Don’t go into Al’s Cantina, it is dangerous for a white man. The welfare Indians drink up all their checks and then hang around like vultures, waiting on a corpse for their next drink. Cebolla Roja in Jemez Springs is a good bar and farther up the mountain is La Cueva, it’s even better. There are good people in these mountains and I hope we meet again.” Nicky finished his work and gave Burma some money and a drawing and they drove on. The mountain road grew steeper and more crooked. The hard core fly fishermen considered the streams a paradise. Tall Ponderosa pine, Douglas fir, and aspen covered the mountain crags. Mullen, wild strawberries, and blooming lupine grew beside the road. Vivian said the Indians mixed kinnikinnic with mullein and bark, when they ran out of tobacco. Bare rock formations jutted up through the forest. Hot springs were numerous, caused by the geothermal underground activity. 

The village of Jemez Springs wasn’t large, thirty or forty modern houses, a cantina, a store combination gas station, a motel, a café, and a church. A rushing river ran behind the houses and an ancient Anasazi ruin overlooked the hamlet from a hill. Lots of pickup trucks with fishing poles in rifles racks were parked haphazardly. Slick and Vivian gassed the truck, while Nicky strolled across the street to check out the Cebolla Roja cantina. Large peeled tree posts held up the roof of the porch. There were several tree stump stools carved with a chainsaw to resemble native forest animals, a painted red onion, the namesake adorned the sign over the doorway. Nicky walked in and looked around. There were stuffed deer, elk, moose, bear heads, and fish all glaring down from their dusty homes. Old muskets, swords, plows, and wagon wheels were mounted between the dead residents. Chandeliers of hanging lights were dangling from a profusion of antlers all curved together. A gigantic fireplace made from fool’s gold took up most of one wall, with a pool table and a small stage next to it. The bar was a long intricately carved and varnished affair of oak with a brass footrest running its length.

A mousy looking woman was serving beer to two guys wearing baseball caps. An old Indian man sat dreamily on a stool. Nicky ordered a beer and went to the can to piss. There was no urinal, so he used the stool. Shit caked to the sides of the bowl. He aimed his stream at the crap and thought life is like this, people clinging to earth and everyone trying to flush you away. He returned to his beer and looked out the door, Vivian and Slick were stocking up on things from the store. Next to the store was a white-washed adobe, with a freshly painted white picket fence. A superbly built woman emerged and headed toward the bar. She had an hourglass figure with black hair, cut in the latest fashion. She smiled at a passerby, a brilliant heart stopping smile. Nicky was anxious to see her up close. Entering the watering hole, she stopped momentarily to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She blinked at Nicky, recognizing a strange face and stepped up to the bar.

“Joyce, give me a six pack of Corona, please,” she said. “No problem,” she replied and put the beer in a paper bag. “How’s your father?” “He’s the same. As long as he gets his cerveza, he’s happy.” She rolled the top of the bag down into a handle. Nicky watched her walk away, prime strut. The guys at the bar saw Nicky looking, they motioned him over to them. “Sit down, have a beer with us?” invited the men. “You were gazing at the most frigid iceberg in the Jemez. You better forget it. No offense but, better men than you have put in years on melting her heart. She’s wears permanent chastity belt,” they said. “Who is she?” Nicky asked. The bartender replied, “Her name is Theresa Gonzales, she teaches elementary school down at the reservation. She’s not available.” “Are you sticking around for awhile?” asked one of the guys. Nicky shrugged. “If you are, all the scientist women come over from Los Alamos on the weekends. More pussy than you can shake your dick at. My buddy and I have our own personal Geiger counters to check out the ladies for radiation. You don’t want to end up with a peter that glows in the dark, if you know what I mean,” explained Nicky new acquaintance. “You guys are so full of shit, it’s coming out your ears,” the bartender said. They both broke into fits of laughter. Nicky nodded. “Thanks for the beer.”  He thought about Theresa, what a fine specimen of female anatomy and a challenge to boot. The chase was sometimes more fun than the capitulation. Nicky walked back across the road to the truck. Slick and Vivian were ready to split, they’d stocked the cooler with beer and wine. Bought night crawlers and salmon eggs for bait and were ready to fish. Seeing no sign of the lovely teacher lady, as they headed north out of town, Nicky made a mental note to pass this way again. Vivian pointed out several retreats for priests and nuns that had strayed from the path of the church. A few miles up the mountain, a yellowish mushroom shaped rock perched over a stream, it was like a growth on the landscape. Water gushed through it forming a cave open on both sides and a bridge. Hot steam bubbled and gurgled from several springs. People climbed into the cave, soaking in the cascading water or basking in the sun on the surrounding rocks. Kids splashed and played in the small waterfall. Slick parked the truck and they got out for a closer look. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. On the opposite side of the road, hot water gushed down a cliff face. The rocks were caked yellowish orange, people waded in a trench of water with their pants rolled up. Nicky knelt and cupped some water to his face, it was warm and thick and smelled like a match striking. They walked over to the stream and waded in the icy water. Slick climbed up into the cave for a look around. Vivian sat on a rock, skimming stones into a pool. Nicky went back to the truck for paper and pencils. He sketched Vivian relaxing by the water. Slick soon joined them and they continued north. A few miles further they came to Battleship Rock. The formation was aptly named, it was only missing the cannons. Vivian said a few miles above it, was Banco Bonito. Hippies camped there in the summer in the surrounding caves. Many years ago, someone had stocked the warm pool with tropical fish. The tiny fish had proliferated, now neon iridescent rainbow colored fish nibbled your body as you swam. Continuing north, past another formation called Indian Head, Vivian instructed Slick to pull into the next parking area. 

A Santa Fe National Forest Service sign announced: SPENCE  SPRINGS-NUDE BATHING ALLOWED ON TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS ONLY. ALL OTHER TIMES OCCUPANTS MUST BE PROPERLY ATTIRED. THANK YOU

Naked men and women together, sanctioned by the government. Nicky couldn’t believe his good fortune. Two blondes, that looked like Scandinavian airline stewardesses got out of their convertible. They waved towels at Nicky and smiled. Nicky voted for the hot springs, but was overruled by Slick and Vivian, they opted for fishing.

A few miles later, they hit the road for Los Alamos to the east and Fenton Lake to the west. Turning west for the lake, La Cueva bar was next to the river. Nicky figured that was the meat market, the guys down in Cebolla Roja spoke of and Burma. 

Fenton Lake was crystal blue, nestled between aspen and pines. A few fly fishermen were whipping their lines out for trout. Slick got the raft out and they took turns blowing, until it was inflated. He got the poles ready and Vivian and he launched for the middle of the lake, where a miniscule wooded island was located. Nicky stayed on shore and worked on painting his studies on to canvas. He had the woman with no face, with her back arching toward heaven, gnawing a knuckle. Orgasm was dripping off the canvas. Nicky was ecstatic, he’d finally accomplished what he’d attempted to do for many years. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice a young woman watching him. She was sitting on a blanket, staring in awe at him and his painting. She was wearing a straw top hat, with long braided hair hanging from either side. She had on black rimmed glasses and a kind of khaki style explorer outfit. Nicky thought of a butterfly collector or maybe a bird watcher.

“Hello,” he said. She continued staring. “Do you like it?” he asked She nodded and removed her glasses, licking her lips, “It’s truly the greatest painting I’ve ever seen. Do you make women feel like that?” she asked. “Yes, I guess I do,” he replied. “I thought so, or you couldn’t paint with such feeling.” They fell silent, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. He knew she was horny, his painting had that magic effect.  She got up from her blanket, rubbing her thighs and calves, as if to revive her circulation, she smiled seductively. Nicky walked to her and took over the rubbing action. He pulled her to him, crushing her mouth with his. She moaned and hunched hard against him, opening her legs engulfing him. Rolling her into a bed of soft pine needles, she mounted him and threw caution to the wind. They soon collapsed together in climax and pleasure. He thought about how his painting more often than not led to pleasurable situations. The woman disappeared into the forest. Nicky thought he’d just fucked the nymph of the Rockies. His nymph returned with her hair brushed down, looking beautiful. Nicky had returned to his painting. “Can you put my face on the woman in your painting?” she asked. “I’d like to buy it. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars cash for it.” “For ten grand, I’ll finish it right now,” he replied. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She waited as he put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. Nicky knew that once he had accomplished the ultimate orgasm, it was always at his fingertips. Taking her money and delivering the painting to her, they kissed and she walked back into the forest.

Slick and Vivian soon returned with a stringer full of rainbow trout. Slick cleaned the fish, while Nicky gathered firewood. Vivian admired Nicky’s second painting of the day. She let out a low wolf whistle. “I thought you were working on a different painting when we left?” Vivian inquired. “I was,” Nicky replied. Then he told them both of his afternoon adventure and showed them the money. He gave some dough to Slick to help pay for expenses. They fried the fish with potatoes and washed it down with cold beer. The mountain air had whetted their appetite. After the meal, Vivian suggested they head back to La Cueva, to shoot some pool. They doused the fire and piled into the truck, after gathering all their gear.

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Catish McDaris