on my bag, and my thermos flask fell out. It bounced on the hard ground and rolled down the slope towards me.
Acting on pure instinct, I lunged forward and grabbed the flask. It was full of hot, black coffee. I unscrewed the lid and shot my arm forwards, aiming at the leader. The scalding hot contents hit the giant male in his face. The baboon screamed and backed off. With their leader in a state of confusion, and howling in pain, the baboons retreated slightly.
The two big males let go of our bags and ran back a couple of steps. Beth reacted and charged towards the leader. He was temporarily blinded, giving her time to pick up a small rock. She didn't want to risk trying to land a kick — he could still lash out and cause serious injury. Instead, she hurled the rock into his chest at close range. I joined in, and started pelting stones at the leader, and any baboons that still lingered. He turned and ran, and all the others followed.
Beth retrieved her firearm and sprinted after them, emptying the remaining rounds of the magazine at their heels. I gathered our clothing into a small heap and secured the backpacks. Beth screamed obscenities at the retreating baboons, as they scurried through the indigenous bushes and trees. They made their way up the gorge at high speed. She watched them disappear over the summit, then turned around and walked back slowly. Her wet black hair hung down over her shoulders, and her proudly exposed breasts moved sensually as she walked. The gun was at her side, the hot barrel still giving off wisps of white smoke.
When she got back to me, she calmly said: “That, Jen, was pretty fucking intense.”
“The fucking part, or the part where we routed a small army of monkeys?” I asked, grinning.
“Both,” she replied, “You really saved my ass there, hitting the big guy with your coffee. I was sure I'd get hurt. Badly. I owe you big time.”
I wasn't sure how much of that was true, but she seemed genuinely thrilled with the day's events, so I was looking forward to our evening together. The prospect of spending the night with her, after a failed lesbo encounter, would have been awful.
Our ascent to the top of the mountain went without further mishaps. Once we got to the contour paths, it was easy-going: there were no streams to wade through, or rocks to climb. We managed to get to the cabin an hour before sunset, giving us time clean up, and unpack our gear. Supper consisted of canned pasta, heated over a mini camping gas burner. Beth's equipment and supplies were well organized. Plenty of water, energy bars, dried fruit and some canned food — even a first aid kit. I was equally well kitted out, but in a completely different way. I had water, booze, bags of crisps, a couple of candles, massage oil, a big tube of Astroglide, and a battery-powered vibrator.
Like I said, I too, was prepared. We finished supper and snacks in the dark. I lit the four candles from my bag, and placed them around the sleeping area. The cabin was open-plan, built with mountain rocks, stones and treated lumber. It was solidly constructed, but didn't have much along the line of luxury or comfort. Still, it was better than a flimsy tent on a cold night. This place often had frost and snow in winter.
The night air became chilly very quickly after sunset. We moved our drinks inside and shut the door. I was eager to take my lesbian experience with Beth even further. We'd polished off a bottle of Spiced Gold together, before heading to the bed. Earlier on, we pushed the two steel framed beds together, and joined the legs in the middle with heavy-duty cable ties. Cable ties, guns and condoms were Beth's default travel essentials. Then came make up and underwear.
We got undressed and slipped into the insulated double-sleeping bag. The candle flames danced and flickered we kissed and caressed in our cocoon of warmth. Beth sucked on my breasts, then held a nipple between her teeth. The stab of pain only made my already moist pussy completely wet. Beth's fingers started probing my vagina, lubricated by my state of arousal. She moved her head downwards, towards my stomach, her tongue darting in and around my navel, then tracing a line towards my silky smooth mound.
Beth licked my clit, while fingering me at the same time. I was lost in pleasure. The alcohol stopped me from cumming, but I was enjoying myself too much to care. She carried on for a short while longer, then emerged from the sleeping bag. The skin around her lips glistened with my juices. I pulled her head towards me, my tongue darting into her mouth. I could taste my pussy on her tongue and lips. Beth fingered me harder, her pace increasing. Despite all the booze, I was convinced I could climax. The pleasure was building up like a tide coming in: slowly, steadily and completely unstoppable.
I was just about to come, saying: “Just a little more, not so fast… yes, there, fuck yes, yes! Ye-” when there was a loud 'thump' from somewhere outside the cabin.
At first I thought it was the wind, or those damn baboons — then I heard some muttered words. Beth heard the noises too, and immediately extinguished the candles. She grabbed the Mag Light in her left hand, and the.45 pistol in her right, while locking her wrists together. This allowed her to aim in the dark, using the cone of light as her target finder.
We waited and listened. It sounded like just one set of footsteps. I was in a panic. It was pitch dark outside, and the trail was treacherous at night. No normal hiker would be outside under these conditions, especially since there were two emergency huts further down the mountain. I was convinced we'd been followed. Our attention had been focused on the baboons the whole day, so we weren't looking out for potential human threats.
We heard gravel crunching near the front of the cabin. The intruder was going to try the door. Beth stood and faced the door, the torch aimed squarely at head height. “Jen, swing it open on as soon as the handle moves…” She whispered. The handle creaked and rotated. I flung the door open, landed on my back and rolled into a crouched position.
“Whoah!” shouted the intruder, “What the fuck?” It was a guy's voice — most likely Caucasian, and he sounded like he was from the southern suburbs… Cape Town residents have a whole bunch of different accents, even among the same race groups, depending on which area they grew up in. Just because he was a white guy, didn't make the situation any less threatening for me.
There were plenty of Grade-A psychopaths from all walks of life in the city, especially since the government decided to cut medical spending. They released the 'mostly harmless' psychiatric patients from the provincial institutions. Of course, they only stay harmless if they keep taking their meds. In Cape Town, you can make fairly decent money selling your prescription meds to dealers and addicts, assuming you don't smoke them yourself. That's why we overreacted. It was late, we were isolated, there was zero mobile phone coverage, no police station nearby, and no one knew where we were. And Cape Town is full of assholes.
Beth charged the guy, and brought her knee up into his stomach. He bent over and she hit him on the back of the neck with the torch. He collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard, but not saying anything. Beth passed me the Norinka and the Mag Light.
“Cover me,” she said. She was taking this rather well, all things considered. I was shaking with adrenaline and shock. I could hardly keep the gun straight, never mind actually aim properly. I kept my finger out of the trigger guard.
“Pass me some cable ties,” asked Beth. I fumbled in her bag and grabbed a handful of long black cable ties. She bound his hands and feet together, then dragged him to the bed and secured his wrists to the bed frame. She used a T-shirt as a gag, then stepped away and took the gun from me. She scouted outside, to make sure there weren't other attackers. Beth came back, closed the door and bolted it. The windows were too small to climb through, so if there was an attack, we only needed to defend the door. Besides which, if there was a gang out there, we had a hostage.
It was then that I realized I was still naked. I quickly put on a pair of shorts and a long sleeve top. Beth got dressed and sat next to me. She was calm, and already assessing the situation logically. Of course, dealing with potentially violent people was second nature to her, given her experience doing patrols along the West Bank and Gaza Strip.
I was still in shock, not sure what to make of it. Nothing really made sense. This was the 'off-season': January 10th — schools were open again, and businesses were in full operation. Students were too busy getting enrolled, or partying it up the city. It was unlikely that criminals would be lurking here. Unless, of course, he showed up here by sheer coincidence and bad luck, or he was some kind of serial rapist who'd been tracking us the whole day.
The second scenario seemed more believable to me at the time. Granted, I had a one-woman army as a companion, but as Leonardo DiCaprio once said: 'T.I.A.' This Is Africa. Which means anything is possible in Africa, no matter how fucked-up and unlikely it may seem to an outsider.
