Jessica’s Journey

This features a character from some of my other stories, Jessica Nakamura. You don't really need to read the others to enjoy this, but there are some references.

Steam rose in wisps around me. I felt the sweat coating my body, saw the sheen of it on her shapely legs. The darkness of the earthen structure was interspersed only by a few miniscule rays of light, dancing luminescent in the suffocating steam. I whimpered as I felt the cloth fall over my eyes, and darkness took me in its seductive grip.

Her breath stroked my neck. I arched my back, felt her hands on my hips.

I surrendered.

#

#

The old book flipped open in my hands lazily, the pages tattered and yellowed. I sniffed the air, mildewy as it coughed up from the spread out tome. "I don't think so," I muttered to myself, setting it down. Turning around, I saw my father chatting away with the bookstore owner, mentioning something about the Gutenberg press or whatever.

It didn't interest me. I walked to the front door and stepped outside, the bell ringing as I did. It seemed unlikely that many people visited this old bookstore, stuck on the outskirts of a random college town in the middle of nowhere. But my father was an academic, a scholar of ancient religions, and this was his way of bonding with me.

I sucked on my vape. I liked mathematics, not history and literature. A little disappointing to my father, but as I'd found no work the past two years since graduating from school, he had resigned himself, rather easily, to the idea that I should pursue a career in mathematics. To be an academic like him.

The vapor hissed out from my mouth. I didn't think that a life stuck in a university was for me. I'd worked a few contract roles in finance, and I'd already decided I was going to be quant on Wall Street. My hippie dippie father wasn't a fan, but I would make it happen, somehow.

The door opened again, the bell tinkling. "Could I trouble you for a puff?"

I turned around, lips clamped down around my vape, and nearly spat it out. The woman who addressed me was certainly not someone I expected to see in a place like this. She was tall and willowy, with rich brown skin and almond shaped eyes, her long hair tied back in a thick braid under a baseball cap. She wore a flannel shirt and baggy jeans tucked into leather boots. A tattoo trailed down her neck, in words I didn't understand.

"Umm, yeah, sure," I said, trying not to stare. I hadn't been in the closet since I was seventeen and still a virgin, but I also didn't scream lesbian, especially since I'd let my hair go back to my natural black color. I was small, lithe and feminine, a product of my Mexican and Japanese heritage. And it was quite pathetic that my first thought upon meeting this woman went to this, but it had been several months since I had... well, suffice it to say, I was a bit pent up.

She smiled at me, a mysterious little smile that put me on guard a bit. It was knowing in a bit of a wolfish way. "Thank you." She took a puff and handed it back to me. "I used to smoke cigs. Kicked it, but I do enjoy a puff every once in a while."

"Good for you for kicking it," I said, shuffling my feet. I was dressed in a hoodie and joggers. I did not look cute, but then again, I was hanging out with my dad. "Were you buying something in there?"

"Not today," she said, leaning against the wall of the store. I did the same, but tried not to look like I was copying her. I couldn't quite guess her age, but I knew she was older than me. But probably not more than thirty-three. "I come here a lot, though. The owner, Greg, he's awesome. Collects a ton of old books and journals. He's really helped me with my research."

"Oh?" I said, perking up. "Are you a professor? That's why I'm here. My dad's a professor. He's going around to old book shops around the Midwest to find books on religion."

"He's the guy in there?" She nodded, looking me over. I tried not to blush. "Makes sense. I see the resemblance. You're quite lucky to be Professor Nakamura's daughter."

"Oh... wow, you like, know my dad?" I had never experienced that before. Especially from an attractive woman like her.

"Not personally, no," she said, laughing. "I'm doing my PhD on American indigenous religious practices. Your father's done a lot of comparative studies between Siberian Shamanic cultures and those of the Americas. I'm a fan." She laughed, and I swear she actually blushed a bit. "Actually, I wanted to talk to him, but I got a little starstruck and came out here."

I wanted to snort. My dorky dad was making this beautiful woman flustered? That was ridiculous. "Well, I'd be happy to introduce you. If he ever leaves." I stuck my hand out before I could chicken out. "I'm Jessica."

"Hannah," she said, shaking it. Her hand was soft, but her grip was firm, confident. "Hannah Laughing Fox." She grinned again, mischievously. "My folks called me that because I was always smiling, especially after I'd done something just a bit naughty. I have a white last name too, but I don't use it. Except on documents."

I nodded. "I could definitely understand that."

The door opened and my father finally emerged, three books under his arm. I very graciously introduced him to Hannah. She totally geeked out over him, which actually made me think she was even cuter than I had before. And my dad, as was his nature, whenever he found someone who actually wanted to talk about ancient religions, insisted that she join us for dinner at our hotel.

And for once, I was actually excited for one of my father's academic dinners. It passed in a haze of discussion about shared mythologies, shamanic traditions, and post-colonial erasure. I did my best to keep up but it was rather like watching a chess match between grandmasters. I always was several steps behind and every conversational leap appeared to come out of nowhere.

"You're building your own sweat lodge? That's really fascinating," my father said. He took a sip of wine. His face was red. "I'd love to see pictures once it's complete."

"This spring I'm going to start performing ceremonies in there," Hannah said. Her face had a bit of a flush to it as well, as I imagine mine did. "Women only, unfortunately, or I'd certainly invite you, Professor."

"That's quite a shame!" he said, sighing dramatically. I made sure to wave off the waiter and ask for the check. I knew when my dad was ready for bed. He really wasn't much of a drinker, and it seemed Hannah could probably put him and me under the table without even trying. "But you will invite outsiders, then?"

"I've been trained by a tribal elder. We welcome outside attendees who we believe will be respectful and seek to learn about the sacred practice."

"Hmm," my father said. His eyes flicked to me. "Well, why don't you invite Jessica?"

I flushed red. "Oh come on dad, don't be ridiculous. I don't know anything about her culture. It's so inappropriate."

Hannah however, seemed to be appraising me as she swirled wine around in her glass. I felt my flush grow deeper. "You could always learn, Jessica. If you were willing to study with me, and I felt you had a sufficient understanding of the importance of the cleansing ritual, I could invite you."

"And you could share your experience, written down, in great detail with me," my dad added eagerly. I glared at him. "Oh come on, Jess, you're thinking about being an academic."

"No, not really. And if I was, I'd study mathematics, not religion," I replied stiffly. "Look Hannah, I'm sorry about my father, really." I pushed my wine glass aside. "I take your people's beliefs very seriously. And it would be an honor, truly, but I'm not worthy of such an honor." Even if I really did think she was gorgeous and would do anything to gain her approval."

She raised a hand. "Don't be. Look, the truth is, I respect your father. And one day, I'd like to collaborate with him. And believe it or not, you're actually being quite respectful of my culture. Look, I'm not from one of the bigger tribes with federal recognition. Our tribe believes in sharing elements of our culture, so that we might gain recognition. And I think that this could be a way to start this process." Her gaze hardened and I felt a quiver inside me, deep down. "But you will have to be a dutiful student. And take this very seriously." Those dark eyes were piercing, boring through me.

I glanced at my father. His eyes shone with a few drops too many whine and a pleading insistence. I looked at Hannah. I saw the seriousness of her, the conviction, but I also saw that mischief. The side of her that was Laughing Fox. Something about her drew me in, beckoned me.

"Okay," I said.

#

#

I was getting ready for bed that night. My dad was already dozing in his bed while I washed my face, his snores rumbling through the room. I walked over to the window and reached for the blinds.

My heart lurched. She was standing there, in the parking lot, puffing on a vape.

She looked up at me. Her eyes glittered with that same dangerous, predatory look. Then she opened the door of her Bronco and stepped inside. I watched the car pull away and out of the parking lot.

I closed the blinds and lay down in bed, in the darkness. My cotton shorts were warm and wet.

#

#

Studying the culture of Hannah's tribe was not easy. Over the next few months, I sat in on several Zoom lessons while Hannah lectured on the culture of her people. A plains tribe, smaller and bullied by the strong tribes like the Comanche and the Apache, they had been forced from their homelands time and time again. Westward and northward, to the vast emptiness of Nevada. Some had made their fortune during the silver rush, but more still succumbed to the scourges of alcohol and land grabbing settlers.

The lessons were hard and heavy, but I learned things of great beauty too. I learned that there were old trails and paths in the desert that Hannah had found with the help of her elders long passed, and claimed once again for their own people. I soon began to yearn for those lands like they were my own, to see them through Hannah's eyes. While most of the other students were Native like her, there was also a black girl and a white girl in my class. Outsiders, like me, who were here to learn.

She wanted only women to attend because she believed in the traditions of female shamanism in her tribe. There were secrets kept only to them, rituals only kept between women. That thought excited me, for reasons that were not purely academic.

Through it all, I grew more and more enthralled by her. The passion in her eyes, shifting from anger to sadness, to weariness, and then to nostalgia, joy and always, always, that mischief. I wanted to see her all the time. I wanted to know her deeply, to unravel her.

In the evenings, I found myself aching between my legs as I thought of her. I would administer to myself crudely, desperate to touch her, smell her, love her. I imagined us in those hollow and desperate lands her people called home. It called to me, urged me on, and when I lay panting and sweating into my pillowcase, the sheets damp beneath me, I felt shame that something so pure and ancient was turned to a perverse lust in my heart.

In the late spring, she began to invite students to her sweat lodge. The native students went first, and they never spoke of their experience. I continued learning.

Then one day, she called me.

"Hello Professor," I said, trying not to betray my excitement.

"Hannah's fine," she said. I could swear I heard the laugh in her voice. "I'm not a professor yet, after all. During your spiritual journey, you can call me Elder."

I swallowed down my eagerness. "Oh? Does that mean I'm going?"

"Yes. The first weekend of June. You'll be the first outsider to go on this journey, Jessica. I hope you understand the trust I'm putting in you."

I nodded. I could see myself in the mirror. I looked so serious, but my eyes glittered with a different emotion. "I won't let you down, Hannah. I promise."

Her voice softened. "Of course. I know you wouldneverdisappoint me." Her voice dropped to a growling whisper that sent a shuddering thrill down my spine. "See you soon."

#

#

The thing about Nevada that surprised me as I got out of Reno Airport was that it was still a bit chilly in early June. I supposed we were at a high elevation, but I thought it was the desert. I had dressed as Hannah had directed me, in hiking pants, boots and some layered outerwear, a hat for protection against the sun.

She picked me up at the airport in her Bronco. She was dressed much as I was, though I couldn't help but think her hiking clothes fit her better. Her tanned skin, darker than mine, seemed made for the outdoors, and even the tight fit of her pullover seemed to accentuate her well-proportioned chest. "What an outdoorsy figure you cut right now," she said, grinning as she offered me a cup of coffee.

I took it gratefully, as it was quite early in the morning and I definitely felt groggy. "Doing my best. I am definitely an indoors girl. But honestly, the way you described the desert out here, it made me feel like I couldn't miss out."

She smiled as she pulled out onto the highway, the sprawling edges of Reno drifting behind us. "You're right about that. I'm taking you to a place remote and empty, beautiful and dangerous. But you're safe with me, Jessica. This journey will change your life."

I didn't know at the time how true that would turn out to be.

#

#

About two hours out of Reno we pulled up a private road and then went over dust and dirt and rocks, into the desert. Offroading was a new experience for me, and one I found both exciting and terrifying. Much like I found Hannah. She was definitely a thrillseeker, and a madwoman, as she went screaming over the dunes and ridgelands dyed a pale yellow by the high sun. On the higher slopes there grew stands of trees and in the low valleys there was only sagebrush. After a time, we came to the base of a high, rocky hill, where we dismounted and took up our heavy backpacks.

She led me through the low brush on a barely made out trail. "This was a secret path of my ancestors, far from the village. Men would come on vision quests here and wander in the desert, while the women would tend to the sweat lodge. Knowledge was passed amongst both sexes, the knowing of how to be a man and how to be a woman." Her voice felt as though it belonged here, echoing lightly in the vastness of the desert.

I took huge swigs of water from my hydroflask, trying to resist the urge to vape. The hike was not incredibly difficult, but there were steep and slippery sections, and I needed my lungs to work at their best. As we climbed up, I did my best not to stare at her derriere, pleasantly ensconced in those fitting hiking pants. In some of the high and shady parts of the ridge, patches of snow and ice remained from the winter, but by the afternoon the sun was high and strong and I had to reapply my sunscreen so my neck didn't scorch.

Pinyon and juniper pine peeked out from the crevices and little side valleys that hugged the great hillside and as we crested the ridge, we came upon a chattering creek. It zigged and zagged its way, growing wide and deep in spots, before cascading down the long and rolling backside of the hill. At the summit of this place we made our camp, one tent for the two of us under the shade of several old pinyons, the tallest for miles, she assured me.

I gathered firewood while she filled up our water jugs with her filtration device. I watched her work, seeing the creek splash her face, and smiled shyly as her eyes met mine. It was a different side of her I was seeing here, a wilder, truer, freer side.

I could imagine her now, in the garb of her ancestors, walking amongst the low brush, gathering herbs. I could see her standing before her tribe, leading them in chant. This was her home, in a different time and place.

When she walked back to the campsite and sat down on the log beside me, I reached for her hand. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I'm not... I'm not one of you. It's truly an honor and privilege." I gave her hand a squeeze.

She didn't pull it away. "You're special, Jessica." Her voice was low, almost a whisper in my ear. I realized we were sitting very close together. I could smell her now. She smelled damp and stony, like a creekbed. "I knew you would appreciate this place."

I felt my face heat up and looked away. "So... uh, where is the sweat lodge?" It was getting darker, the sun dripping orange over the horizon.

"You didn't see it?" Hannah said, laughing. "It's right there." She pointed at what looked like a large, low boulder settled where the creek came down in a waterfall from the craggy mountain side that dwarfed our campsite hilltop. "But we're not using it tonight. It requires preparation."

I shifted feet in the camp moccasins she had procured for me. They felt so comfortable on my feet against the soft powdered earth of this place. No doubt the stones and ground had been worn away by the whining, twisting wind that screamed across the desert.

"What are we doing tonight?" I said, looking at her. Our faces were very close together. I felt such longing, but I didn't know what to do. How could I profane her sacred traditions with my wanton lust?

Her eyes twinkled. She was laughing at me. I felt her hand squeeze my knee. "First, we need to start the fire. Then we'll eat dinner and hydrate ourselves. After that, a good night's sleep."

I tried not to sound disappointed. "Okay," I said. I rose and helped her start the fire. And by help, I mean I mostly watched while she got it started with the practiced ease of a true outdoorswoman. I was a little more help with the cooking, as we ate roasted squash and jerky.

"Venison," she said, noticing the way my mouth quirked. "A little gamey but you'll get used to it."

"No, it's fine," I said, shaking my head. "I was surprised, because I thought it was beef, but it's really quite good."

"I'm glad you like it. Drink water, too. You'll need it tomorrow."

We dined and then we sat by the fire, sipping water while the fire smoldered. Her shoulder was against mine. The coyotes yipped and yapped their mournful song in the distance. I heard her sigh.

"I think one of them is lost," she said. A mournfulness entered her voice. "I always know when one is lost."

"How?" I said. I felt her head resting on my shoulder. My throat was dry. I carefully wrapped my arms around her, gasped as she sank into me. How well we fit together, even though I was the small one, her taller frame felt natural with me.

"There's a sadness to it. A whine. But it's okay." She looked up at me. I saw her dark eyes reflecting firelight. "Tomorrow night, we'll hear them again. And maybe he won't be lost."

Our lips met. Our tongues pried our lips apart, and snaked around one another hungrily, desperately. My hands gripped her hair, fingers scraping through her scalp, as we twisted and shifted upon the log. The fire crackled, snapping and sparkling. I started to unzip her jacket.

She pulled away, sharply. We were both breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. Our eyes met, and I could see that mischief once more, the torture.

"I think that's enough for tonight," she said, standing up.

"What?" I said. My cunt whined between my legs. "Are you serious?"

"Quite serious. I don't want you to get dehydrated." She handed me my water bottle. "Drink up, pee, and then get in the tent."

I gaped at her as she walked off into the trees. I heard the splatter of her relief on the ground. Grimacing at the wetness and need between my legs, I walked over to my own spot. I pulled down my trousers and relieved myself.