Timber

Timber By R.W. Clinger A dream hadn’t taken over my mind. What happened on that October afternoon, a few days before Halloween, had been real. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. I escaped my desk in Pittsburgh and rented a cabin along Lake Erie in the Native American Indian town of Penobscot, near Erie, only footsteps away from Skenandoa Deep, a bear-infested forest. I carried my single Army bag of clothes into the two-room cabin and returned to my Ford pickup for my photography supplies when someone called out my name. A man’s voice: deep, alluring, and vibrant in my ears. “Shayne.” Once, twice, three times. The voice came from the nearby pines to the east of the cabin: thick trees with browning needles, shade from the post-summer sun. I looked to the pines and listened to my name again. It echoed in the afternoon, among the timber. “Shayne.” Foolish, I walked towards the trees, curious. To my left was the choppy, blue-silver-green lake. To my right stood the cabin I had rented for the next week: shabby, log-framed, with minimal heat and gas, and very expensive for something that looked somewhat dilapidated and old. “Shayne Law,” the voice said from the pines again. I stepped closer, closer, closer. A large black bear the size of a Volkswagen Beetle appeared from behind the pines’ trunks. It slowly, somewhat poetically, lumbered towards me, making eye contact with its muddy brown eyes, studying me from brow to toes and taking in my six-two frame, one hundred and eighty pounds, rugged jaw, fern green eyes, and wavy blond hair. Then the bear started to run towards me…after me. All three hundred and fifty pounds. Its massive paws and dagger-like claws dug into the pine-covered ground. It sniffed the air, huffed, learning my scent, hungry for me. It growled and groaned, hunting me as if I were its prey, most likely wanting to tear me apart. Don’t run, I thought. Running was the worst thing I could do, instigating a losing battle with the furred beast. But terror won. I spun around and took off. I careened to the far left and towards the utility shed that housed a hose, tools, a variety of lumber, and various plastic tubs covered in thick layers of dust that were used for moving. I rushed across the October earth, feet shuffling through the dry, autumnal leaves, chilled wind blowing against my face. My heart thudded, and my pulse raced. For just a few seconds, I couldn’t hear anything around me, lost in panic. My legs and feet rose and fell with the speed of light. Cool sweat poured down my forehead and the backs of my arms. I huffed and puffed, almost sounding like the bear that started to chase me and… It had to be a piece of tree that took me out, lying crooked on the ground in front of me; a rotted limb from an oak; a fist-thick branch that was about a foot long, half concealed by leaves. I tripped over it, lost my balance, made an umph sound, and immediately raised my arms in hopes of flying off the ground to save myself from a scraped knee, a bashed-in skull, or some other traumatic injury. To no avail, gravity did its thing and pulled me to the earth. I stumbled forward and prepared for the fall, knowing I could be hurt in just a matter of seconds, even hospitalized for the next month or longer. Fortunately, a scattering of piled leaves prevented any major wounds. Maybe I should have played the state lottery that day. I closed my eyes and fell into the pile headfirst and thanked the good Lord in heaven I was undamaged. With the right side of my face planted in the pile of leaves, the bear turned me over: gently, not causing any pain, and without digging its claws through the denim material of my jeans. Positioned on my back and having the massive beast stand overtop me, delicately pinning me under him, I stared up into its eyes, lost in its large pupils. It clicked its tongue two consecutive times. The bear woofed once, too old to bawl like a cub, and nudged its long nose against my chin. It licked the left side of my neck, perhaps offering a hello or something. Then it woofed a second time. I froze under the animal, wide-eyed, hoping that it wouldn’t become angry and claw me to death. My chest rose and fell, loaded with fear. My mind spun in confusing circles, and my vision blurred. I couldn’t put rational thoughts together. I trembled, horrified. I felt bile rise into my mouth, and I swallowed. I blinked a few times, having no clue what would happen next. Nostrils flared, the bear shared another woof with me, which sounded less strong and somewhat harmless. Its breath smelt of freshly killed salmon. Our eyes connected, and…I knew their muddy-brown hue and slightly oval shape. I could see the faint, almost humanly wrinkles around them. Perplexed, I simply whispered its familiar name, which sounded sweet escaping my lips, “Timber.” Petrified, fearing for my life, I added, “It’s you, Timber. I know it’s you. Timber Skenandoa,” I said the bear’s full name, unafraid, knowing that he wouldn’t hurt me. A wind kicked up, and leaves spun around. A tornado of the crisp foliage blew over us. I closed my eyes and mouth, preventing autumnal dust and dirt from hindering me. The funnel of wind and leaves licked at every part of my body, tormenting me. When the wind stopped, I no longer saw or felt the bear. Instead, one of the most handsome men I had ever dated and loved lay on me, naked. The wild bear that chased after me only seconds before had shifted into a Native American Indian with dark skin and beautiful brown eyes. Someone I knew. Someone I had made love to. Someone…I had hurt. “Shayne Law, we meet again. And this time, you’re exactly where I want you,” Timber said, sharing his statements in a deep and pleasurable tone that sounded more like animalistic woofs as opposed to human sounds. I said nothing in return to the thirty-seven-year-old man, staring into his eyes and taking in his thick, black waves of hair, his nicely trimmed and furry black beard, broad shoulders, titanic-sized chest with its black hair, and muscular biceps. He lay naked atop me, pressed against my sweater and jeans, still pinning me to the leaves and earth, maybe ready to sting me with an insult or make love to me again—something. His dark eyes twinkled, and his lips were the color of salmon blood, a beautiful and rich crimson red that had always caused me to lose my balance. He growled above me, “Long time no see. Where the hell have you been?” “City life and the magazine keep me away.” “You shouldn’t be a stranger, even if you broke my heart.” He winked at me but didn’t grin in an affectionate action. “You’re a sonofabitch for leaving without saying goodbye to me the last time you were here in March.” Frankly, I didn’t want to piss him off and risk him shifting into a bear again to hurt me with his long claws and fury. The man had the potential, and good reason, because of my last visit to his woods and lake. I said nothing. Motionless. Caught in his stare. Semi-hard, excited to be in his company again…awkwardly positioned under him. “I could kiss you right here and now, but it would piss me off,” he whispered, touching the tip of his nose to mine. Again, I said nothing. He rolled a fingertip over my lips and then my chin. “I shouldn’t like you. I shouldn’t have missed you. You’re not a nice man, Shayne, particularly to me.” I didn’t object to any of his comments. How could I after ripping his heart apart on my previous trip to Penobscot? He pushed up and off, standing at six-three. I sat up and stared at his amazing body: muscular in all the right areas, black hair covering his chest and face, pinkish n*****s and mounded pecs, thick thighs lined with pulsing veins, a limp d**k between his legs that I estimated to be six inches soft. His hips and arms looked like steel. He tried to conceal his privates with a hand, but failed. Had he forgotten that I visited that area with my lust (mostly with my mouth) numerous times in our past, coveting its beauty with my hunger for him? I presumed so. To distract me, he pulled me off the ground and faced me. Within seconds, his mouth connected to mine. He nipped at my bottom lip, careful not to break skin. Then he slowly backed away and shook his head. “You do the craziest things with my head and heart. How can a mortal man, a non-shifter like you, f**k with me that way? Tell me, Shayne. I want to know.” I remained silent, my best option; perhaps my only option. He moved closer to me and started to undress me, peeling my sweater off with one hand and grazing the other over my denim-covered c**k, beginning our reunion exactly where we had left off only eight months before. He began seducing me, possibly excited, hating me, loving me, still angry with me… I pushed him away. He gripped my wrists, brushed his bearded chin against my clean-shaven one, and growled like the bear he was, but said nothing. “Let me go,” I whispered to him, begging, my wrists cuffed by his forceful palms and fingers. “I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours.” It was a lie. Shame on me. Honestly, I only wanted him to pull me closer and kiss me again, seduce me, make love to me there on leaf-covered yard, next to the lake and rundown cabin. Just the two of us. Men in lust, relentless concerning my drive to collide my naked body with his hefty and bear-like one. I wanted him to force me to have s*x with him yet again, tainted by the bear shifter’s spell, needing him all to myself, just as my previous travels to his neck of the woods. In the distance, somewhere behind me and among the great pines, his sister growled and grunted in bear form for his attention, interrupting us. Pihu was her name, three years younger than Timber; another bear shifter who was stunning with long black hair and matching eyes when she took human form. As a bear, protected by her clan, including Timber, she was half his size, a silky black hue, and a good caretaker of her younger brothers, loved by all in her family, including her older brother, Timber. “My sister bear,” he grumbled at me. “She wants me to stop this with you.” “You have to go.” “She won’t leave me until I do.” “Does she hate me for hurting you?” He nodded. “She’ll grow. Give her time. She has a good heart, even if she can’t forgive you right now.” “Will she hurt me?” “Perhaps. I’m not sure. But I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t. I promise. Even if you’ve stung me in the past.” I was just about to tell him that I couldn’t wait to see him again. I had strong feelings for him, maybe still in love with him, something, but I didn’t have the strength at the moment. Instead, he moved forward, rubbed his nose against my left cheek, sniffed my skin, and dragged his lips against my own. He turned me on and challenged me at the same time. “Going,” he grumbled after the smooth and heart-tugging kiss. “Until I see you again.” I watched him walk away, shifting his tight, hairless, and muscular bottom to and fro. The wind picked up again. Twirling leaves blew around him and formed a number of funnels that resembled small and harmless tornadoes. I blinked, keeping the dust out of my eyes. When the wind stopped, I saw that Timber had shifted into his bear form again, no longer a man. The big black bear lumbered through the woods, growled and grunted. His pace quickened, and he headed eastward to his sister, his family, den, and his bear life in the deep woods along Lake Erie, leaving me behind and feeling hot, lust-filled for him, and alone. So alone. Dammit. * * * * I returned to the cabin and locked myself inside, fearing that Pihu would hunt me down because I had adversely and unfortunately hurt her brother. I feared the dark-haired woman/bear with every ounce of my being. Irritating an Alpha bear such as Timber was a bad thing, but I knew irritating his Beta sister just happened to be worse. Perhaps, though, Pihu would leave me alone. Maybe she would forgive me for abandoning Timber eight months before, after telling Timber that I had fallen in love with him and sleeping with him. Regrettably, Pihu failed to forgive anyone who had even slightly hurt those closest to her in her Skenandoa bear clan/family. Unlike Timber, Pihu had her father’s—Nicachu—bad blood, angered by non-shifters and the haphazard life beyond the woods and lake. I calmed down by having a drink: two fingers of Jack Daniels in a glass tumbler, no ice. Pondering whether I should unpack, becoming comfy in the rented cabin, I sat and thought of my travels north to photograph the autumn landscapes around the lake and inside the forest of Skenandoa Deep. For the last six years, I had worked comfortably at Northern Territory Land, a pricey e-magazine for nature buffs. Readers and subscribers of the magazine were comprised of hikers, fellow photographers, artists, travelers of North America, and a handful of geologists. Some critics called the magazine “a treat and intelligent.” Others called it “mesmerizing, a delight to one’s mind…a friend.” My job seemed relatively simple: travel above the Mason Dixon Line and take pictures of small towns, wildlife, and scenes of nature. I emailed the completed photographs to Pittsburgh where my editor, Lilian Bark, and a handful of writers manipulated the photos, creating stunning pictures for the magazine’s readers. I made a fair living. I would never become wealthy, of course, but I could dream of living wildly with an abundance of cash, spending it frivolously. Consuming more than one drink, I rehashed the facts of my return trip north to Penobscot and Skenandoa Deep. Most at the magazine would have believed it to be my idea, knowing that I was smitten for a stranger by the name of Timber Skenandoa. Truth told, my edgy and always flummoxed editor, Lilian Bark, insisted, “Get a few pics of autumnal beauty up there at the lake. Make our readers gasp. I want brisk and bold colors in an unfolding visual tale, and a few pics of your Iroquois friends. You can’t tell me no, Shayne. I won’t hear of it.” I agreed to the arrangement, of course. I called Howard Steinmann, a retired steel mill worker and the owner of the dilapidated cabin that butted against Lake Erie. Our conversation turned out to be short and brusque. I sent him a check for three hundred dollars for seven days and six nights at his lakeside cabin. He simply told me not to catch the place on fire, which I promised I wouldn’t. Done deal.