Yukon – She Never Knew The Real Me

My alternate version of the original story, Yukon, is the first story I wrote. Between other stories I was writing, I wrote four different versions that I finished, and later I deleted three of them. The only one I liked enough to publish was this version. GeorgeAnderson wrote a sequel about the events after Helen and her husband, a man with no name, returned home. I chose to write about a husband who was a lot more observant than he was given credit for, even if he wasn’t a physical specimen. It never occurred to Helen that he could figure out her betrayal so quickly and turn his back on her. At the end of the story, I just wanted closure. I emailed ukresearcher for permission to publish it a month ago but haven’t received a reply.

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I met Helen when she was twenty-two, and I was twenty-four. We became a couple very quickly and soon moved in together, sharing a flat for a year before deciding to get married. With both of us at the start of new careers, money was tight when we married, so Helen suggested delaying our honeymoon for five years.

“We can’t afford much now, but we should both be on good salaries in five years,” she said and then added something I wanted to hear, “That’s also when I want to start a family, so my idea is that we spend the next five years working hard and having lots of fun, but then we can have the honeymoon of a lifetime before settling down to family life. I don’t mean just a two-week trip; I’m thinking more like a month or six weeks.”

I couldn’t fault the idea, so that is what we agreed to do.

We are complete opposites in most things. Helen is outgoing, positive, and a doer with a quick temper when she perceives she has been offended. I am more reticent and tentative, an observer who sees everything, says nothing, and is easy to please but hard to pick a fight with.

However, I do not forgive when someone pushes me past my limits and angers me. This is a side of me that Helen has never seen.

As different as our personalities are, we meshed perfectly when we were together as a married couple, and the sex was good, at least I thought it was.

Helen played field hockey and basketball in school at the University of Michigan and has been into physical pursuits all her life. At Michigan State, my idea of sports is playing bridge, poker, and chess for money. Although very attractive, she lacks the sylph-like form or straight body type that fashion models require but would have been in much demand as a photographic model had she chosen that route.

Physically she is a woman, not a girl, and I love that fact. I adore her full breasts, narrow waist, and round buttocks. However, my body has a more wiry build, and at 5′ 11″, I am three inches taller than Helen, and while weighing in at 170 pounds, I am only 40 pounds heavier than her.

I prefer sedentary hobbies but don’t consider myself unfit, getting a tremendous amount of pleasure keeping up with my wife on long hikes in national parks and over the sandhills of Michigan.

Over the next five years, I made excellent progress in Saginaw, working for a large reinsurance firm. Helen made quite a name for herself selling houses in Midland, where we lived, and her office was located. I received an annual bonus each year with big jumps in the amounts over the five years we had been married. The first bonus I received I wanted to save, but Helen wanted to enjoy spending it. With her forceful personality, she usually got her way, and she did this time.

When I received my second bonus, I opened a personal account at another bank and saved that bonus check and the next three. The money was for the down payment to buy a house after we had our first child.

When we reached our third anniversary, good luck contributed to her selling three substantial properties within six months. The resulting bonuses were the equivalent of twelve months’ extra salary. We could have shortened the five-year plan to three years, but Helen decided to stick to the program, spending the extra cash upgrading our cars, buying new clothes, and eating out. I resolved then to stay quiet about my separate account in a different bank.

The time finally came for us to have our much-delayed honeymoon but, bearing in mind our differing outlooks, Helen suggested that instead of discussing, we should separately write down a description of our ideal holiday. Mine was easy, a six-week tour of all the major cities of Europe. I proposed starting with London, moving on to Paris, taking in Rome followed by Athens, heading to Istanbul, and finishing up in Lisbon.

Before showing her preference, Helen prepared me with a bit of background. “When I was young, my dad was always taking me camping, and I loved it. The best of the lot, though, was when we spent two weeks in a crofter’s cottage way up in the wilds of Scotland. It was very primitive with oil lamps and water from a pump, but it was fantastic. The weather was splendid, and I believe it was the most marvelous two weeks of my life, and I’ve wanted to do it again ever since. Well, for our honeymoon, I’d like to go one better and have a full month in the Canadian wilderness, actually within the Arctic Circle.”

We decided to choose by using the supposedly foolproof variation of the coin toss, with a coin that Helen supplied. She tossed the coin in the air and called heads, and when it finally lay flat on the floor, I looked down and could see a face. I was not too upset about losing, but when I reached for the coin, Helen snatched it up and put it in her pocket.

That was when I suspected she cheated, but I didn’t want to make waves since once we arrived at our destination, there would be no more travel, and we would have the entire month to enjoy an abundance of adventurous sex. So the thought of trying new things sexually and the prospect of being alone with Helen was not something that made me depressed. On the contrary, it promised to be a memorable month, and on that basis, we decided that Helen should leave her birth control pills behind when we went. Helen took care of all the arrangements, although I never saw her doing anything on the computer or by phone.

Our month fell at the end of the Arctic summer, and we planned to take three days getting there and eleven days on the return journey riding a train on the Trans-Canadian Railroad. We flew from Detroit to Edmonton and spent two days sightseeing before boarding a regional plane that flew us to Fort McPherson, Northwest Territories. We stayed overnight at the Peel River Inn, and the next morning we walked toward a small port on the Peel River, where a boat was waiting to take us to our honeymoon retreat. The six-hour water voyage would carry us over the border into the Yukon Territory, onto a side branch from the river to our cabin.

We walked hand in hand along the pier to where forklifts had just deposited our stuff; two large crates filled with supplies for the month, together with a travel trunk and a holdall containing our personal effects. As we approached, the Captain stepped off the boat to greet us. He was a cheery older man with a ruddy complexion and a full white beard that made him look like a combination of Captain Ahab and St. Nicholas.

“Bonjour, I am Captain Maurice Richard. Welcome to my humble riverboat.” After a few minutes of chatting, we saw a squat-looking figure heading towards us with an almost waddling gait.

As he drew closer, I was surprised to see that this new male was slightly taller than myself and that it was his incredible breadth of the body that gave the foreshortened impression. His face was decidedly ugly, carrying many scars together with a nose that appeared to have been broken multiple times. His hideous appearance was finished off with small piggy eyes. “This is my crew, Pierre,” the Captain said, loudly as a way of introduction, “He doesn’t say much, but he’s a one-man workforce. He can hump almost anything I ask him to.” I didn’t pick up that double entendre.

I smiled and said, “Hello,” half extending my hand, but all I got in return was a surly nod as he moved past.

The man was powerful and made quick work loading all of our gear onto the boat deck. As he efficiently used a pulley to hoist the cargo on board, single-handedly, Helen stood and stared admiringly until I cleared my throat. As we left the docks with the Captain steering the boat, I escorted Helen below deck to a cabin where she could lie down and rest. The hideous-looking crewman knocked on the door and said the Captain wanted to speak to me.

“Get some rest, Helen, and I’ll be back after I see what the captain needs.”

Walking onto the bridge, I asked the Captain what he needed to speak to me about.

“I wanted to get to know little about you and your wife, curiosity mostly, and to see if you have any questions.”

I had no questions, and he asked me what I did for a living, what Helen did for a living, and what our plans for the future were. I talked nonstop, spilling all of our family history and details of our work. I wrapped it up and finished when I realized I’d been up on the bridge for four hours.

The last thing I said was, “I hope when this trip is over, Helen will be pregnant, and we can get on with our happy lives.”

“Ah, mon amie, sometimes we only get half of what we want.”

That was a strange response, and I questioned him about it, “What did you mean by that statement?”

“Nothing, please forgive me. I’m just an old man running my mouth without thinking.”

I turned, and as I started down the stairs to the cabin passageway, the ship’s horn blew. I thought I saw Pierre turning the corner at the end of the passageway as I stepped off the stairs, but I probably imagined it. As I entered the cabin, there was a strange odor in the air that I couldn’t place. Helen was on her side with the blanket pulled up to her neck, and her cheeks looked flushed.

“Wake up, honey, we’re almost there.”

“In a minute. Why don’t you go take some pictures of the forest while I freshen up?”

A strange request since all I could see on both sides of the boat were tall trees, not very photogenic, but I shrugged my shoulders and went back up on deck.

I could see the cabin up ahead with a small jetty on the left side of the boat. The narrowing river widened into a pond about 50 yards in diameter, with tall vertical rock formations of granite on the right rising 50 feet or more.

As Pierre tied the boat to the small jetty, I foresaw a problem with our luggage, for there was no helpful pulley to assist. However, Pierre took the unloading in stride. Crouching with his back against a packing case, he reached back to grab the straps, then leaned forward and stood with the two and a half hundredweight crate balanced on his broad back. He then slowly carried it a hundred feet or more up to the cabin. This trip was repeated three more times with the second packing case, holdall, and the trunk, making an imposing display of pure strength.

We said our goodbyes to the Captain, and we walked behind Pierre on his last trip to the cabin. I expected him to go straight back to the ship, but instead, he sat down in front of a radio standing on a shelf sticking out of the wall. Taking a screwdriver from a pocket, he removed the outer case and then twisted the dials until receiving a signal, upon which he reported that we had been delivered to the cabin. Having memorized the sequence, leaving him to reassemble the radio, I pulled a beer from the first packing case for Pierre as a small reward for his efforts. He took it and drank it without remark, then stood and headed for the door, totally ignoring me but throwing a funny kind of smile at my wife.

We watched the boat until it disappeared in the distance and then did some sorting out, but while still only half unpacked, I crept up behind my darling wife, pressed my groin against her rounded buttocks, and, grabbing a ripe breast in each hand, rubbed my face amorously into her neck. Helen responded to me but warned, “Don’t get your hopes up, lover, my period just started. I had hoped it would be a day or so earlier.”

“Shit,” I swore, stepping back, “A fine bloody start to a honeymoon.”

Helen laughed. “Don’t be such a male chauvinist pig. We can still mess about. Anyway, it’s only three days, and then I’m all yours for a whole month. It’s going to be a honeymoon to remember because you have no idea what a sexy lascivious trollop you married.”

With my dreams crushed for the first few days, I inspected our surroundings. The cabin was basic but built of solid log construction. The main room contained a large, heavy table with a bench down each side, a big armchair, and a couch, which had seen better days. Near the cabin’s center was a large iron potbellied stove, obviously used for cooking and heat. Under a window in the sidewall was a stone sink but, of course, no running water. Several cabinets were hung on the wall next to the sink, containing dishes and cups. On the back wall, there was a large cabinet that was reasonably deep with five shelves. I guessed that this was for storing our food supplies that didn’t need refrigeration. On one of his return trips to the boat, Pierre had placed the sealed-up cooler, with meats and eggs, in a depression underwater where the arctic waters became our refrigerator. On the next trip, he submerged another cooler filled with beer bottles a little farther out.

I put everything from the food crates on the shelves and broke down the wooden boxes for firewood. I started a fire in the stove and then continued my investigation.

The bedroom contained a massive bed and a wardrobe with drawers, that covered one wall and a horizontal window high in the wall over the bed. On the other side of the living room was a very narrow windowless room probably intended for storage but now containing two full-size beds along the outer wall.

Going back outside, I walked around the cabin and saw an iron hand pump for water outside the window over the sink. Some yards farther back, an outhouse stood in front of a clump of bushes and trees. I slept in the bedroom with Helen that night, but she turned and pushed me away every time I rolled over. So whatever sleep I got was not very restful.

Helen was not feeling energetic for the first three days, so we didn’t even mess about. So I went out by myself, exploring the immediate area. To the right of the pond, beginning just past the jetty, a narrow path headed into the forest. A rock ridge rose ten-foot-high off to the right and ran parallel to the trail, 50 yards away. I walked down the path, a mixture of gravel and leaves, for an hour, cataloguing the types of trees and brush I saw into a file on my brain. Finally, when the trail changed to smooth granite, I turned back because I’d brought nothing with me to go for a long walk.

I attempted telling Helen about my discoveries today, but she waved me off and crawled back into bed. Not wanting to repeat the previous night, I tried sleeping on the couch, but there was a strange odor seeping from the cushions, a smell I previously had been exposed to but couldn’t remember where.

Upon awakening on the second day, I decided to operate the radio transmitter to report that we were settled in and safe. I could see no reason for removing the outer case, so I tried just turning buttons without success. So I partially dismantled the equipment the way Pierre, the guy from the boat, had done, but the damn thing still would not work despite repeating his sequence of actions exactly. However, I did not envisage using the radio, so I was not unduly concerned.

I decided to go for a long hike. I packed a lunch and brought two canteens of water, and carried everything in a backpack along with a warm coat and rain gear.

After telling Helen where I was going, I walked along the trail, entering the woods, and had walked well past the change in the trail’s makeup when the rock ridge gradually rose into a solid fifty high ridge to my right. Continuing my walk into the forest on the smooth path, I came upon a foot wide, gray line of rock on the ground, snaking its way through the woods toward the ridge. Walking along this narrow path, it zigzagged to where a slab of rock had broken off from the top, sliding down and partially blocking the entrance to a cave. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a flashlight in my backpack, so I decided to come back tomorrow to inspect my find.

Helen was still crabby the next day, so I packed a flashlight along with lunch and water, hiked back up the trail, and reached the cave entrance after a brisk two-hour walk. Turning on the flashlight, I slid inside the narrow opening, but I fit through it easily. It opened up into an irregular thirty by thirty-foot room with an eight-foot ceiling. The floor was granite, mostly smooth, but sections were covered with sand, and at the end of the room, there was a four-foot by five-foot area two feet lower than the rest of the cave. I looked up and could see some light shining through. This area would be an excellent place for a fire. Fortunately, I didn’t see any sign of animals or spiders living in the cave, so it was now my secret hiding place. I wonder what Helen would think about it when I showed it to her?

Before we went to sleep at the end of the third day, and I did return to her bed, Helen whispered in my ear that she would be ready for some hanky-panky by tomorrow night. I slept well with happy dreams that night.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, while my wife was in the cabin cleaning up after lunch, I was standing on the beach, skimming pebbles at the surf, when a speck far out on the water caught my eye. Curious, I started to watch it, wishing my binoculars were in hand. As it drew closer, I could see that it was a kayak, and it was moving purposefully in my direction. However, it was not until the last few paddle strokes that I recognized the kayak occupant as the boat captain’s uncommunicative assistant, Pierre, the guy who was the last to work the radio.

Pierre ran his craft onto the narrow beach and climbed out, pulling it clear of the water. He took a pack and rifle out of the kayak and set them on the ground before beckoning me to assist with the kayak. Together we lifted it, but as soon as the kayak was off the ground, he flipped it up and strode up the beach with it balanced on his broad shoulders. Then when he was well clear of the water, Pierre carefully put it down in the lee of a sand ridge and turned back to pick up his pack and rifle. At that point, I said, “I’m glad you’re here; the radio doesn’t work.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, can’t help you, I can work the things, but I can’t fix them. It’s probably a valve. There should be spares, but I don’t know where .”

“You work for the company; isn’t that your responsibility?”

“Not anymore. I quit Saturday. I’m going trapping like I do every fall and winter. I was heading past this place, and I think to myself, ‘they seem like nice couple; they will let me stay for the night.’ So I can stay, ‘oui’?”

It put me on the spot. I did not particularly like the guy, but more importantly, I didn’t welcome having a third party in the cabin to inhibit my anticipated night of passion.

On the other hand, having been introduced by the Captain, the guy seemed bona fide, and I had heard that hospitality was a bit of a tradition in northern latitudes. “We can certainly offer you a meal, and there are two empty bunk beds in the other room,” I said grudgingly.

After eating dinner, which Pierre helped prepare, we settled down for the evening but soon found that the stranger’s presence restricted our activities, even talking to each other. Pierre made no attempt at conversation and returned only monosyllabic replies when either of us asked him anything. He just sat in the chair, doing nothing, but his eyes were never still, and I suspected him of mentally undressing my wife. Finally, after a couple of hours of this, Helen stood up, saying she was going to turn in even though it was still early.

I waited for a few minutes and was just about to follow when Pierre said, “I want to talk.”

Politely I paused to listen, only to hear him say, “I don’t like bed you gave me.”

The nerve of the man. He turned up out of the blue, imposed himself upon our hospitality, and then dared to complain. I shook my head in disbelief and asked rather haughtily, “Just what exactly is wrong with it?”

“It’s too small. It’s far too small for a man like me.” He stood tall and had an evil grin. “I think that bed fits you, so I say we swap.”

I laughed out loud; this was ridiculous. “Let me get this right; you are proposing that my wife and I should sleep in the bunk beds and let you have the whole of the large bedroom to yourself.”

“No, ‘mon Amie.’ Your wife stays, and you go.”

“If this is a joke, I don’t think it’s at all funny.”

“It’s no joke,” he said with a deadpan face devoid of humor. “I decided I will stay all month and be sleeping with your wife.”

“What if I don’t like the idea of my wife having sex with anyone other than me?” I asked, not yet taking him seriously.

“I say you get used to it,” Pierre replied. “It’s already happened, and it will happen again after I have gone. Your wife is type I recognize; a woman who doesn’t let marriage stop her fucking other men. I bet anything that some other man’s ‘Grosse bite’ has dibbled her love box since you marry her.”

I didn’t intend to sit discussing my wife’s fidelity. “If you try to touch her, I’ll stop you,” I threatened.

“You’ll try,” Pierre said, standing up. This action immediately reminded me of how powerful he was. “You’ll try, and I hurt you badly and then tie you up. If I tie you up, you stay tied all month unless I decide to drop you in pond.”

I felt fear for the first time as it struck home how easily he could make good his threats. He was twice my bodily bulk, and where I had not raised a hand in anger since leaving school, he looked as if physical violence was a regular part of his life. My only chance was to either talk him out of his obscene plan or find some way to outwit him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, resorting to bluff. “The authorities know we are here, and they will hunt you down.”

“Who will they look for? Your wife won’t tell. “he said, some semblance of a smile showing on his coarse lips.

“My name isn’t Pierre, and it has done me well for the past three years. However, I’ve already done time inside for rape and murder, so I needed a new name for getting work.”

“Who did you kill?” I had to ask.

“All you need to know is he was just like you until I kill him.”

“But you got caught,” I pointed out.

“I won’t make same mistake again. The other guy didn’t know who I was.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was bigger than you. He thought he could take me on. I know you’re more sensible. You will avoid getting hurt and do what I tell you. Now you go into that bedroom and tell wife how things are.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t believe I kill you?” Pierre questioned, anger in his eyes.

“If you kill me, you kill me. I’m confident you’ll be hunted down and punished for whatever you do.”

“No chance. There are a million square miles of wilderness out there, and it’s my world. With just a knife, tinder, and a water bottle, I could survive forever, but you’d be dead within a week.” As he spoke, Pierre pulled a large vicious looking Bowie-style knife from a sheath on his belt and tossed it casually onto the heavy wooden table. “I mention that in case you think of running away.”

The knife introduced a new element, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of hope that I might beat him. I didn’t know if he was overconfident or just careless, but it offered me a chance to protect Helen. From where I was sitting, I would quite reasonably pass between Pierre and the table to go to the bedroom, and for one vital moment, I would be closer to the knife than him. However, it was important not to rush things or give him any suspicion that I intended to resist. And I also had the feeling that he wanted me to go for the knife, and if he expects me to try, I don’t stand a chance against him.

“It doesn’t look as if I have any choice,” I admitted.

“It is going to happen. We do it nice way or hard way, is up to you,” Pierre said smugly. “If it’s nice and friendly, all three of us will have great time. It won’t spoil your holiday. As long as you two behave, you and your wife can do whatever during day.”

I stood with slumped shoulders to signal defeat and said unhappily, “I better tell her then.” Then, moving slowly with feigned reluctance, I started walking towards the bedroom, but as I passed the table, I casually trailed my fingers along the surface until they touched the knife. At that point, my body blocked Pierre’s view of the weapon, so I whirled around, and his hand shot up to grab my arm and hold it in an iron grip.

He looked up with an evil grin, displaying a mouthful of broken teeth, then realized I hadn’t picked up the knife. He released my arm. “Smart man,” he said. Pierre nodded towards the bedroom door, and in an almost sympathetic voice, said, “Go on. Give lovely wife the good news that she’s sharing her bed with a real man for a change. Tell her however way you choose. I’ll give you half an hour to tell her, but if you’re not out by then, I’m coming in.”

I stopped, trying to recall something he had said, and I remembered, “What did you mean when you said ‘It’s already happened and will happen again,’ Pierre?”

He was caught off guard with that question and tried to sidetrack me with his answer, “I meant she has already cheated on you while you were married and will do it again.”

“No, there’s no way you could know whether she has done it or wants to do it. When have you had a chance to talk to her? We just arrived at the hotel last night. Wait a minute, that smell in the cabin and those stupid questions the Captain was asking me. You fucked her while that old man distracted me, didn’t you? Then he blew the horn when I left the bridge to let you know I was returning to my wife.”

Boy, did I feel the village idiot? I hate people making a fool out of me and telling me what to do.

“No. You tell her, you fucked her, she’s yours.”

That shocked him. I turned and entered the narrow bunk room, thinking my life was over, and I felt numb and empty, but at the same time, I was bursting with rage.

“I could drag you out here and beat crap out of you. Then she’ll know what I will do to her.”

“Go ahead. She already knows what you’re going to do anyway.”

“Maybe I should drag you into woods, gut you and leave you for critters to eat.”

“Maybe you should.”

The look he gave me was not anger; it was surprise. I realize I’m not a hunk, and I don’t scare anyone, but he had his notion of what my reaction should be, and I didn’t follow his script.

I grabbed the walking stick I found and faced him. “Well, let’s do it.”

He hesitated, now he was confused.

“You’ll kill me, but I will hurt you, right between your legs. So come on or fuck off.”

Pierre started toward me, then suddenly turned around and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door closed.

I strolled over to the door and listened; I heard yelling from both of them. I retreated to the bunk room and shut the door. I sat down on the bed, thinking that the cave would come in handy now. I was thinking about the supplies I would need when the door was pushed open by Helen.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Did Pierre inform you of his plan for our month here?”

“Yes. Rape for me every night, or I can go with the flow and not be hurt.”

“Well, It can’t be rape since he already fucked you on the boat.”

“No, I didn’t; we didn’t….”

“Don’t lie. Now I know what that smell was in the cabin.”

“Please, I’m sorry, but he forced me. He threatened to kill you if I didn’t let him have his way.”

Sarcastically I replied, “Yes, dear. Goodnight.”

She looked a little miffed and slowly backed away before finally walking back to the bedroom. I realized I had not kissed her goodnight.

I dozed for a while until 1:00 AM and then got up. I walked toward the pantry in my socks and remembered how I stored the cans, so I started pulling cans out, leaving the front two rows intact. I quietly loaded the cans in the two backpacks we brought with us, grabbed one of the two can openers we had, and carried the packs to the outside door. I loaded one on my left shoulder and one on my right, and using the flashlight, followed the trail and path back to the cave. I neatly stacked all the cans in a corner. Then, carrying the empty packs, I walked quickly back to the cabin. As I entered my hell house, I grabbed my sleeping bag and went to my new room. Placing the two bunk beds side-by-side, I was able to jam the door shut. Then I undressed and slept on the outside bunk in my sleeping bag.

I woke with a tune running through my head but realized that the sound came from beyond the room I slept in. After dressing myself, I moved the bunk beds back and opened the door. The mouth-watering smell of bacon cooking pleasantly assailed my nostrils. Pierre stood in front of the iron stove, cheerfully whistling as he fried eggs, bacon, and sausages in a large skillet on the hot plate.

An unknowing observer would have seen a friendly, generous man cooking for his companions without suspecting that this same ‘friendly’ man had forced me to surrender the pleasure of my wife’s soft body to him. Pierre using Helen last night and for many nights to come would be perverse and was unfair, but all the same, I suddenly realized that I was ravenously hungry.

On seeing me, Pierre raised his hand in a wave and invited, “Come, grab a plateful, set yourself up for the day.

The jovial figure he now presented was in stark contrast to the taciturn threatening individual of before. Even though hatred of him filled my heart, I could see that he would be perceived as a welcome addition to many groups when his evil side was not in evidence. Though I was reluctant to receive anything from the man’s hand, I accepted the proffered plate of food and carried it to the table. Helen appeared as I started to eat. I looked towards her, but she avoided my eyes and went over to collect her breakfast. She sat down opposite, and this time she did respond to my gaze, giving a simple nod in answer to my unspoken question, ‘Did he fuck you?”

We ate in silence until, speaking with his mouthful, Pierre asked, “So what do you do today?”

“We’re not sure, “Helen replied, but implicit in her answer was the fact that we did not know if we were allowed plans.

“What would you do if I not here? I don’t want interfere, heh, heh, heh.” Pierre told her. “I go hunting finding some meat for table, so I care less what you do. I like fresh meat, and food you brought isn’t enough for three.” Little did he know what I had done last night.

My wife informed him that we were going hiking, and nothing more was said. I went into the bedroom and went to the dresser to remove my clothes. As I picked up the first pile, Helen stood at the door with her hand over her mouth. Last night, Pierre and Helen’s coupling had left the bed linens a mess, and I guess she was embarrassed.

I was hoping we would be left alone in the cabin, so we delayed while putting on our hiking boots and inclement weather gear, hoping he would go. But, unfortunately, he seemed to have the same idea, so, carrying a small camping stove, bottles of water, and food in our backpacks, we set off.

We must have walked in silence for over an hour. For the first time since I left Helen alone in the bedroom with him, we were free to talk, but it was apparent we had nothing to say to each other. That was the opposite of the truth because my mind was brimming over with questions. The problem was that I had no idea how to voice them.

That effectively blocked me off entirely from her, so we continued for several minutes more with neither of us speaking. Then she said suddenly, “For your peace of mind — it was nowhere near as bad as I imagined it would be.”

“How do you mean?”

“I thought he was going to rape me brutally, but he was surprisingly gentle until I had adjusted to his size.”

“His size?”

“He’s got a huge cock. It must be at least twice as big as yours, in thickness if not in length.”

“But it was still rape.”

‘

“Technically, it was, I guess.”

“What do you mean ‘technically’ he had sex with you against your will?” I said sharply as my pent-up feelings broke through.

“That’s what I mean,” Helen said patiently, “I just wanted you to know that he didn’t hurt me, at least no more than he could help.”

“So he was a courteous rapist, wonderful.” Sarcasm was dripping out of my mouth, and Helen looked down at her feet.

“So when your daughter or son by Pierre asks you where was he or she conceived, you can tell them about the courteous rape.” Helen sobbed as I wasn’t giving her any comfort after last night’s ordeal.

I halted as the mental image conjured by her words seemed to take all strength out of my legs, and I believe I began to hyperventilate. My wife quickly reached out to take my hand tightly in hers, but I twisted out of her grip as she spoke, “Darling, you mustn’t let yourself dwell on this. It’s only sex. We’re in a bad situation, but we can get through it if we both stay strong. The secret is to make the best of things, and whatever happens, don’t provoke him.”

That seemed to clear the air around her empty head a little, and her mood lightened somewhat. I was beginning to wonder who I could see to get a refund on this marriage? In fact, by the time we had put some miles between our captor and us, the pleasant weather and the picnic lunch had put Helen in a much happier mood. I put a fake smile on my face but internally, I was still outraged. When we started the return journey, depression began to overwhelm me. The difference between my wife and I walking back toward the cabin was that my footsteps tended to drag while Helen strode out purposefully as if she couldn’t wait to get back to her big dick.

Pierre was in front of the cabin, spit roasting a deer-like animal over a fire. As soon as we appeared, he gave instructions on what needed to be prepared to accompany the meat. It was delicious and just what I needed after a long, tiring day, physically and emotionally. Helen and I cleared the table and washed up; then, she settled on the couch with her book. Pierre spent some time working on what I guessed were fishing lures and then started carving a large lump of wood with his hunting knife.

I could not concentrate on anything, and after an hour of inactivity, I announced that I was turning in and went to the bunk room. After blocking the door again, I realized I should have at least gone through the motions of kissing my wife goodnight. As it was, it must seem to them that I had meekly accepted my new place in the scheme of things. In truth, the only reason I left was my desire to kill both of them and burn the cabin down. I knew that it would be a while before I could hope to escape to the land of nod, so there was nothing else to do but think.

My situation was unusual now, but it was probably normal in the time of our ancient ancestors. Most current ape species have a single alpha male with breeding rights over a harem comprising all available females. All other males in the tribe cluster together and wait. Early hominids likely were the same, which means there must be some genetic imprinting in the human psyche. What was even more pertinent to me was the role of displaced leaders.

In the animal kingdom, generally, leaders get challenged, but this rarely leads to death for either contender; in fact, serious wounds are unusual. For bloodline and genetic diversity reasons, zoos create this situation artificially by introducing a new potent male into an established group. I have seen it happen on film where there is skirmishing with superficial scratches inflicted, but the encounter is decided more on nerve than strength. What is striking is that the loser invariably accepts his demoted status without further challenge or any apparent resentment. I had to wonder if there was any lesson to be learned from this.

I made only one compulsive visit outside my room to listen at the bedroom door but heard nothing. I hopefully surmised that Pierre was taking it easy on Helen. After blocking the door again, sleep overtook me in much the same way as the previous night.

Helen was on breakfast duty the following morning, but we couldn’t talk as Pierre was sitting in a chair again, working on his fishing lures. The meal was thin fried strips of venison plus some of the animals’ internal organs such as liver and kidneys. That first day when we were alone, I hadn’t even thought of having sex, but I had decided that today I would talk Helen into a bit of lovemaking. Following the logic of my previous night’s musings, if defeated males always surrendered breeding rights, then just continuing to have sex was itself an act of defiance.

Unfortunately for my plan, as we separated from our captor, Pierre announced that fish would be on the menu that night and followed that with, “If you two want romance out in trees, feel free; I have no problem sharing your wife with you.”

Once the bastard had given his permission, I no longer wanted to do it.

On the trail, searching for something neutral to say, I remarked, “Those deer kidneys were rather delicious; you should have tried one.”

Helen couldn’t suppress a smirk and said, “They weren’t kidneys; they were the deer’s testicles.”

I felt a little nauseous but quelled that feeling thinking that there was more to it than that, so I asked, “And?”

My wife did not want to say, but after a pause, she admitted, “Pierre instructed me to give them to you; he said you needed the benefits more than he does.”

“So I’m just a joke to you now, someone Pierre and you can whisper about.” I turned around and headed back to the cabin. I thought I saw some movement ahead and wondered if he followed us. Helen tried to take my arm, and I shook her off and walked faster.

That small exchange soured the rest of the day for me, and when we reached the cabin, I went to the rock wall and began throwing rocks. I hit the water, skipping rocks across like I did when I was a child. Then for spite, I threw some up on the roof of the cabin. That night the fish pie was good, but I only ate a little before going to my room. I had to admit that the swine knew how to cook, but I wasn’t going to pretend I liked him. Once more, I retired very early, but this time I intentionally didn’t kiss her. I resolved to resist the temptation of the wall and had stayed in my bunk. After a couple of hours, I heard something that sounded like, ‘Oh, Oh, OH.’

A short while later, the sounds were repeated over and over, but this time with an extended, ‘Ooooooohhhhh’ completing the set. And so it carried on with the volume and intensity of her cries increasing in magnitude, and it became very evident that Pierre was giving my wife a far more thorough fucking than I had ever managed to achieve. Despite the rage that this knowledge caused me, I found that I was sporting a raging erection, but as soon as I pictured them together, my erection disappeared.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I awoke, it was morning. Venturing out of my room, I found Helen cooking at the stove, making some flour and oatmeal scones on the hot plate, but she was alone this time. When I asked where Pierre was, she informed me he had gone for a swim. I went through the doorway, walking toward the pond, and as I stared out over the water, I could see bubbles coming to the surface about twenty yards away. I picked up two rocks and threw them high in the air, where they landed on either side of the bubbles. When the stones hit with a splash, Pierre flew from the water, sputtering like he got water in his lungs. I looked at him with a smirk and went back into the cabin.

This was the first time we had been alone in the cabin since the freak of nature first appeared, but I had an urgent task that took priority over talking about us. First, I had to find out if Helen wanted this horror story to end, and second, if she did, there might still be hope for our marriage. Moving quickly, I went over to Helen, speaking quietly, “I have a plan. I have some sleeping pills I brought that I can put in his evening beer, and when he passes out, I’ll kill him with his knife. Then we can resume our marriage. Don’t say anything to him about this”

Pierre came in, and I shushed Helen. He was barefooted and completely naked, revealing that he was deeply tanned with his skin having a look of leather. He bore the scars of multiple injuries, and other damage may have been hidden beneath the masses of shaggy black hair that hung in clumps from his torso and belly. I could now see the reason for his wide-legged stance. His thighs were unusually thick and gnarled like tree trunks, and hanging between was the most obscenely large uncut penis it is possible to imagine. I remembered seeing a similar image in a fantasy bestiary when the illustration was captioned ‘Troll.’

He glared at me as he walked into the bedroom to get dressed, so I helped Helen bring breakfast to the table, after which I ate quickly.

I could now easily understand the reason for all the orgasms I had overheard, but this increased my sense of hurt rather than lessened it. I said accusingly, “I heard you last night.”

I saw my wife tense defensively. “He made me cum,” she said simply without elaboration.

“A whole load of times.”

“So!!! As you can see, he’s got a huge penis, and something that size is bound to create sensations whether a woman wants them or not. Was I meant to resist them? Is there any rule that says I can’t allow myself to enjoy it? If I struggled, so he had to rape me every time, would that make you feel any better? Sweetheart, we agreed that we had to make the best of things, and that is all I’m doing.”

I felt angered at her answer but at the same time resolved that I would wait for tonight to see whose side she was on. We had to escape the clutches of the monster before my wife fell much further under his spell. But if she betrayed me, all bets were off.

That night I grabbed two beers from the beer cooler and hesitated before carrying them into the kitchen, where I opened them. I took a drink out of mine and handed Pierre the other one. He looked at me and snatched my beer out of my hand, and shoved his bottle in my face. “DRINK,” he screamed at me.

I started to protest, but he had his hand on his knife, so I pretended to give in. I took three swallows, and it was empty. I sat down, and after about ten minutes, I got up and walked out to the outhouse. Ten minutes later, I walked back in and informed Pierre I was going to bed. He gave me a strange look and glared at Helen, sitting in his lap.

“If you make too much noise, I’ll wake up and maybe I’ll try and sneak into the bedroom and cut your throat.” Then I locked eyes with Helen making her aware that I knew she betrayed me.

As he snorted and tried to untangle himself from my soon-to-be ex-wife, I entered my bedroom and blocked the door closed. I lay down, laughing to myself, and now knew that I could expect no help from Helen.

The door shook, and I heard cursing as Pierre was knocked back when he tried to burst through the doorway. “Why is the door blocked? Open it now; I want to talk.”

“I blocked it so I can sleep without being afraid. Go fuck your slut and leave me alone.”

“Why are you being rude, mon Amie.”

“I ain’t your friend.”

“Darling, why are you acting this way?” She was with him.

“Do you mean why do I hate Pierre, and why do I hate you? If you can’t figure that out, the baby that the two of you create will be the dumbest child on the planet.”

She sobbed, and curses and angry words were hurled at me by both of them. Finally, after a minute, they stopped screaming, and I tried to go to sleep.

The passionate sounds from next door made that night another noisy one, and again I found myself getting painfully aroused. The temptation was there to jerk off, but I resolved not to masturbate; instead, in my mind, I pulled a picture of Helen on her back holding her legs up high for Pierre, and my problem was solved.

The next morning I ate and looked at the woman I married but never really knew and shook my head. As I left the cabin and Helen came running after me trying to catch up. “Where are you going?”

“For a long walk so I can deal with the humiliation of my wife betraying me for a big dick.” I stopped and looked back at what used to be my loving wife.

“Please, I had no choice; I was afraid.” She stopped, realizing how stupid she sounded.

“Nice try.” And I took off again, leaving her standing with her mouth open. I walked with minimal rest stops, only stopping for water or an energy bar. I doubled back several times, making sure I wasn’t being followed. I had hiked about four hours when the trail split; the left branch followed the river, and the right branch headed toward two tall, vertical rock formations. This area had been formed thousands of years ago when the Yukon had heavy volcanic activity.

I decided to follow the path, branching to the right. Up to this point, the trail was primarily smooth granite with pockets of mud and water. Now, as I veered to the right, the path became more uneven as the granite was cracked and broken up, and pine needles and small branches began covering everything to a depth of 3 inches.

After hiking another hour, the rough path approached a ten-yard opening between the two rock formations. The tree cover here was total, no rays of the sun were breaking through the foliage, and it was dark as dusk. So I slowed down and began probing the blanket of needles and sticks for holes I could step in. Using my walking stick to locate depressions, I avoided injuring myself by walking around a dozen potholes in the trail.

After I traveled a hundred feet, my walking stick went down about three feet before hitting rock, and I stopped in my tracks. I sat down and probed the area a little farther out and hit nothing. So, I grabbed the end of my stick and took a full swing down, breaking through branches to reveal a crevasse, about ten feet wide and seemingly bottomless with jagged walls on each side. I stood up shaking and hyperventilating, thankful I hadn’t rushed down this path without trusting my instinct. At that point, another piece of the puzzle I called a plan popped up in my head. When I turned around and walked back to the cabin, I was filled with deep resolve.

That night it was as if Pierre was demonstrating that my wife was giving him what she had denied me and giving it a prodigious number of times. This night there were cries of “Yesss,” mixed in with the Oh’s and Oooh’s, and at times she sounded almost out of her mind with pleasure.

The next morning Pierre was sitting on the sofa, apparently waiting for me. He explained, “Your wife is doing breakfast, but I keep her busy late last night, so she’s having a lie-in. While we wait, there’s work to do. Just because I do your bedroom duties doesn’t mean you get free ride.”

Food, who needs food? You can live a long time on hate for mental strength.

He led me round to the side of the cabin and a great pile of two-foot logs. Rolling one clear and turning it on end atop a flat stone, he picked up the large axe and, swinging it one-handed, neatly split the log in two. These he halved again and then repeated the operation with another five logs. Then, setting one of the log quarters up, he stuck the ax into the wood and split it by using the ax to hit the wood on the rock, splitting it. I started slowly, needing to use two hands to lift the ax and still having difficulty. I was hoping he would leave me to it, but he settled down to watch. He was sitting too far away for me to bury the ax in that ugly head of his.

I was about halfway through and already quite hot and bothered when he said conversationally, “I was right about your wife.”

“About what?”

“That your wife has opened her legs for another man. Does the name Jack Fallon mean anything?”

It did mean something because it was the name of a man I hated, but that had nothing to do with infidelity. Jack was a colleague, and we were once in competition for a major promotion. I was considered the favorite until he pulled an underhand stunt. Speaking loudly in an auditor’s vicinity, Jack remarked that I would soon be rich if I got the job because I was already milking the firm on my expenses. Of course, there was no truth in it, and the lengthy investigation proved that, but it was no surprise when he got the directorship.

“It’s a guy I used to work with,” I admitted.

Pierre gave a dirty grin and said smugly. “Well, he did a job of work on wife. Ask her about him.”

We were called to breakfast by Helen, and after eating, I pretended to be upset when I confronted Helen in the kitchen about her and Jack Fallon. But, actually, I no longer cared.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had a small affair with him, but you’ve got to believe that it happened before he told everyone that diabolical lie and cost you the job.”

“How many times did you see him?”

“Only five but the last three, I didn’t want to. It started the night of that office party when you got drunk only halfway through the evening.”

I remembered it well because I always believed that my drink was spiked but could never think of a motive for anybody to do it.

“Jack was accommodating,” Helen continued. “He helped me get you to his car, drove us home, and then helped me put you to bed. Then he started coming on to me. He is an attractive man; I had been drinking as well, and I was really pissed off with you, so I foolishly let him fuck me.”

I had a question, but Helen held up a hand to stop me. “Two weeks later, when you were in France, he rang me up and asked me round to his place on some pretext. I knew what would happen, but I went anyway because I wanted to see if it was as good as I remembered. It wasn’t, and I decided then that I was stupid to risk a wonderful marriage for tacky mediocre sex on the side.”

“I thought you said five times?”

“Next time you were in France, Jack rang again, but I refused to see him. He claimed to have some CCTV of me with his cock down my throat. Jack said that I must come to see him because if I didn’t, he would make sure you saw the video. I had no alternative, and the next two occasions that you were in France, he blackmailed me again but then I played his own game back at him. The sixth time he tried it, I made him repeat all the threats, but this time I recorded it all then played it back to him. He didn’t bother me again, but he still managed to hurt us.”

I pretended to care, when in fact, all I felt was disgust with my wife. My hatred towards Jack Fallon now nearly equaled the hate that I felt for Pierre. “I can see how Jack Fallon was able to take advantage of you, but why the hell did you tell Pierre about it?”

“He made me.”

“How the fuck could he make you tell him about something he didn’t even know about?”

“He suspected that I’d cheated on you before and tormented me until I admitted it. Then, of course, he kept on until I told him everything he wanted to know.”

What a slut. “How were you tormented?”

Helen pretended to be embarrassed as she confessed, “He kept rubbing the head of his cock up and down the lips of my pussy and refusing to put it in until I answered his questions.”

How often in our marriage had she teased me before dinner only to have a headache at bedtime?

“Let’s go for a walk. I want to make love to you.”

“Why, Helen? You won’t even feel me. Did he tell you to fuck me?”

My wife gave me a sad, tearful look and stuttered, “He said, I mean he told me; I said I didn’t want to; he told me I had to; I’m so confused.”

“Well, after you’ve slit his throat while he sleeps, come see me, and I’ll fuck you, but only after you get tested for STDs and get an abortion. After that, I’ll never make love to you again.”

“Abortion, why would you say that?”

“Don’t you remember that you stopped taking the pill before we left? Surely, you’re pregnant by now, and I won’t raise that troll’s hideous child. If somehow you were able to ignore my wishes and carry the child to term, I would bash its head in the rock and feed it to a pack of dogs.”

Her eye’s opened wide, and she ran crying into the bedroom. I shrugged and put my coat on. I walked outside, and it was much colder. So much for an Arctic summer.

I walked away from the cabin, following the trail, and after a brisk pace for fifteen minutes, passed Pierre as he carried two rabbits he must have trapped.

“Be careful, the rain and sleet are going to start soon, and you might get lost.”

Sleet at the end of the summer inside the Arctic Circle. Hell, I could be drinking a fine German ale in Berlin, but instead, my wife’s fucking an ape, and six weeks of my life has been wasted, and I’ll never get them back.

I ignored him and kept walking. When I could no longer see him on the path behind me, I increased my pace. I picked up as much dried wood as I could find and hid it in the cave. I ate a can of pineapple chunks and drank the juice as I sat and thought about the events that transpired so far. I returned to the cabin just as Pierre finished cleaning the two rabbits for dinner.

Then Pierre packed away his carvings and sprawled across the couch. I thought there was something significant in that pose, and I was not mistaken because, after only a few minutes, he called to Helen, “Hey, Hot Lips, come suck my cock.” My wife shut her book and stood but then told him, “I will but only in the bedroom.”

Pierre laughed, and he followed her out of the room. They might as well have stayed in the living room because I went to my room and let my hatred of them fester and grow over the next hour.

Helen emerged first, just steps in front of him. She walked back to her chair and picked up her book, but he felt obliged to speak loudly, “After swallowing all that, do you got room left for the evening meal?”

After hearing that, I waited until I could smell food cooking before coming out of my room.

Each afternoon for the next four days, while the rain and sleet pelted the ground, Pierre pulled Helen into the bedroom for sex. When emerging from the bedroom, he always made some comments about what they had been doing. Helen kept her face impassive, but I could tell from the pleasured glow that she had not found the interlude too unpleasant. The unfortunate fallout from those trysts was that Pierre had acquired a taste for noisy afternoon sex.

As I set out walking on the first day that the rain stopped, allowing my excursions to resume, Pierre ordered me, “Make sure you get back early because I want you to watch a real man knock up your wife.”

I answered back, “I haven’t seen any other men around beside me, and I have no desire to touch that putrid hole a troll has been living in.” He seemed pretty angry when I left.

After seeing I wasn’t being followed, I doubled back and grabbed the ax. I spent most of the day chopping up dead trees into logs and stacking the pieces in my cave. As the sun started to drop, I hurried back and returned the ax to the log I took it from. As I headed toward the outhouse and was opening the door, I heard Pierre yelling, “What are you doing?”

I looked back at him with an expression that said he was a dumb shit, which he was, and I closed the door and did my business. When I entered the cabin, he looked at me, and I shook my head and smirked.

The next day marked the end of the second week, and Helen told me that she thought Pierre intended to start goading me and warned me not to react. I asked what she meant by ‘goad?’ “I think he’s going to start rubbing your nose in the fact that he has made you into a cuckold.”

“That doesn’t mean that he’s going to start on me.”

“I think it does,” my wife insisted. “Up to now, he’s been satisfied with getting sex from me any time he wants it, but the novelty is wearing off. He told me it would be more fun if you seemed to mind him fucking me.”

“Whatever.”

While deep in thought, I decided to find out more about the walking horse dick, so while Helen was in the bedroom washing her body with hot water in a bucket, I asked Pierre about the murder.

“I did not plan for it to happen,” he said, apparently quite relaxed to talk about it. “They convicted me for murder, but it was an accident. I only got ten years in jail, so I think the judge saw it my way, and if I did not poke guy’s wife, I would get less.”

“So, how did it happen,” I wanted to know.

“He was a big guy, but when I say how it will be, he gives in easier than you. Two weeks later, he seems happy I am pleasing his wife, so was she, but then wives always are. I got careless. He makes himself a club and hits me by surprise. It hurt me, but he waits too long to finish me. That gave me a chance to fight back, but I’d lost my temper and didn’t stop.”

Picking up on his use of ‘wives’ in the plural, I asked, “How many times have you done this?”

“You are the fourth couple. It started when I was hunting and surprised the first couple in the cabin. It was already halfway through their month. They never reported anything.”

“Next time, I was ready and even picked target, but that was the year it went wrong. I think wife only wants his money, so she sells me out.”

“After jail, I did not risk again, but then I find young couple camping. The tent was too small, so we do it outside. The boyfriend had the chance to walk away, but he stays and watches. I think he like my cock better than her. They never reported what happened, and I try my luck with you two.”

I thought Pierre had finished talking, but then he volunteered, “Your wife is best of all. She could make a lot of money as ‘Dame de la Nuit.’ She loves big dick and is the biggest whore I’ve fucked. Such a needy slut. You must keep her on short rations, ha-ha, so she likes what you have to offer. Hell, I get all the fucking I want cuz she’s so eager.”

“Will you do this again, you know, to another couple staying in this cabin?”

“But of course, all women come here are whores waiting to escape from boring life and fuck Pierre. Why would I stop?”

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and, her cleaning completed, Helen started to come out. Pierre winked at me and said, “Watch this,” then gave her the instruction, “Go back in there if you want me to make you dirty again.” Without a word, my wife turned around and did as he said. Then, throwing a triumphant look to me, he said expansively, “Come in and watch, and if you want, I let you fuck her ass while I fuck her pussy.” It was an offer I had to decline.

I had suffered two weeks of humiliation at the hands of this troll and Helen, and it was time to leave the cabin before they discovered how many cans of food were missing. After dinner, I wandered into the kitchen and looked around for anything I could use. The tent was in the bedroom, but I had the cave for shelter and my sleeping bag, and I would snag some more cans of food before I left. Finding nothing, I left the kitchen and went to my room. “Goodnight,” I told them while they swapped spit on the couch. I closed and locked the door, stripped down, and crawled in my sleeping bag. I turned down the lamp and closed my eyes.

I fell asleep, and my internal alarm woke me up at 12:30 AM. I dressed, filled both packs with all my clothes and a few cans of food, then tied the sleeping bag to one of my backpacks. Lastly, I took two flashlights, a battery-powered lamp, and our two canteens and walked out into the dark, leaving the front door open as I left. Using the flashlight, which led me to his kayak, I poked two small holes in the stern with my walking stick.

Then I skipped down the trail toward the cave, feeling very pleased with myself. Carrying everything inside, I started a small fire to heat up the space and ate a can of peaches. It was almost 4:00 AM, so I laid down on my sleeping bag and fell asleep instantly.

Waking up, I could see by my watch, the time was just half-past twelve. Refreshed, I opened two cans, peaches, and baked beans and ate them cold from the cans. Then, I dressed and wiggled through the opening in the cave wall leading outside. I stopped a few feet from the opening and listened. I stood there for almost two hours when I heard very faint voices. The voices were becoming louder as they were getting closer, heading back toward the cabin.

“Why is it my fault he ran off?” That was Helen.

“You’re his wife, and you gave up on him. Well, if he disappears and isn’t with you when you go back, you can explain. I was never here. We need to check the pantry to see what he took to eat with him. At least now we don’t have to worry about him causing….” Pierre’s voice faded off in the direction of the cabin.

I slipped out and peeped around the corner, looking in the direction of the dock and the cabin. I could see movement through fir trees, so I followed them slowly on the path. I could barely see them walking side by side, so I wouldn’t be seen following them if I moved slowly enough. Now I was the hunter, and Pierre was the hunted one, and I hated him.

Helen, well, I didn’t know her very well after five years of marriage.

The trees were thinning out as the clearing came into view, so I stopped and squatted down behind a pair of fir trees, side by side. Pierre and Helen were standing on the porch talking, but I couldn’t hear them as I was fifty yards away. Helen went into the cabin, and Pierre went toward the back of the cabin, to the outhouse.

A minute later, Helen flew out of the doorway and ran around the side; she appeared to be yelling. Half a minute later, She ran back inside, and Pierre followed, fastening his pants. A couple of minutes later, he came back on the porch and slowly looked back and forth, appearing to study the woods around him for any movement. Finally, he spun around and stormed back inside, slamming the door.

I retreated toward the cave and collected another pile of branches for burning. As the sun was setting below the horizon, I ate and enjoyed my beef stew, knowing I would spring my trick on them tonight. Taking my clothes out of one backpack as sunset arrived, I hung it over my left shoulder and grabbed a flashlight, then walked back towards the scene of my fantastic honeymoon.

I arrived at 8:50 and waited behind the two trees I had hidden behind earlier. A little after 9:00, they both came out and headed to the outhouse. When they were done and back inside, I quietly strolled to a spot just next to a bedroom window. I heard grunts, moans, and cries as they fucked.

After a loud finish, Helen started talking, “I offered to fuck him as you told me to, and he said; until I slit your throat, got a pregnancy test, and was screened for STD’s, he wouldn’t sleep in the same room as me. He hates me now. How did my honeymoon turn into this?”

“You have BDD.”

“BDD? What is that?”

“Before I exposed myself to you on the boat, your BD disease was in remission. But, after you saw my magnificent organ, your BIG DICK DISEASE was back, and there is no cure.” He laughed, and she snickered.

Who in the Hell are you, Helen?

“Shut up and get me hard again, and be quick about it or I’ll tan your tit’s with my belt again.”

Hearing Helen sucking on Pierre’s elephant trunk was my cue to sneak in. I walked around the cabin to the porch and quietly opened the door. Closing the door behind me, the fire in the stove lit the room up enough that I could see. I took the can opener, peeling knife, cooking knives, matches, and the rest of the cans of food in the kitchen and quietly loaded everything into my empty pack. I looked around before leaving and spotted his bowie knife on the couch, partially hidden by a sofa pillow.

Oh, I was so tempted to charge into the bedroom with that knife and killed them both, but I knew how strong he was, and I would need a lot of luck to defeat him with brute strength. I picked up the knife, attached the sheath to my belt, and walked out of the cabin, heading down the granite path, making sure to leave a trail that even Helen could follow.

Walking at a fast pace, I used the flashlight to light the way. When I finally reached the split in the path, I took the right branch, leaving muddy footprints and disturbed leaves and pine needles like I was running, before stopping at the crevasse.

I poked my finger with a stiff pine needle and dropped about a dozen drops of blood onto the rocks on the edge of the precipice. Smearing the drops around, I also wiped some blood on the strap of the backpack. I used Pierre’s bowie knife and poked tiny holes in a line across the strap, weakening it enough that I was able to tear the strap apart. After smearing more blood on the pack, I laid on my belly and rested the backpack on a ledge two feet below the end of the path. I spent the next ten minutes dripping blood around the edge, and on the shelf, the pack was sitting on.

Satisfied with my work, I returned to my cave made a cooking fire, warming up some soup for an early morning snack. Then I stood by the cave entrance, listening for my friends, as the rays of the sun shined through the canopy of the forest. It was 7:00 AM, and I knew he would pursue me along the path he thought I was taking. A little after 8:00, I heard both of them moving along the path, not speaking at all. If they walked to where I faked my death, it would be 8 to 9 hours before they would be back. I set my watch alarm for seven hours later, undressed, and went to sleep.

I awoke, feeling the vibrating of my watch tickle my wrist. After turning the lantern on, I got dressed in some clean clothes and ate a tin of tuna fish. I stood out by the entrance and daydreamed while I waited. I brought up memories of our wedding, the first time we had sex, and two vacations we took to the tropics. How did it all go so wrong? I tried to picture her face but kept getting images of them fucking in bed.

I jerked back to reality upon hearing a voice that was getting louder, coming closer, so I watched until they passed by. I looked around the corner and could see Helen was still keeping up with him. They both seemed very angry. I knew I had to sneak down and listen from outside the bedroom window as soon as it got dark.

As the sun was setting, I started a fire and ate beef stew for dinner. I checked my watch, and it was 8:15. Dressing up warmly, I headed down the trail to the clearing and hid behind my two fir trees, Frick and Frack. So, sue me, I named the trees, big deal. They each had a Christmas tree shape and a strong pine odor.

Crouching down and waiting until the last outhouse visit of the night, I reflected on how quickly the life path you created with your partner could turn into a pile of shit. Helen and I never really knew each other.

At 9:05, Pierre and Helen walked to the outhouse, did their business, and returned to the cabin. Five minutes later, I was sneaking toward the bedroom window. My mind was calm as I moved down the trail, and I felt no emotion for my wife, for she was a stranger to me now. Pierre was an ugly human who I would have ignored if I met him in my world. Now I wanted to hurt him, destroy his life, kill him like he was a bug under my boot.

Walking softly, I approached the side of the cabin and stood under the bedroom window, which was open, and I could hear Helen speaking hysterically.

“…believe he’s dead. What have I done? What do I tell his boss? I have to report him missing because I can’t know he’s dead. It’s your fault; you made him run away. I need to tell someone what….”

CRACK! “Awwooo!”

It sounded like a very hard slap, followed by Helen crying out. That bastard, even though I now hated her, I did love her before we visited Hell.

“Shut up, you stupid cow. You come up here for your honeymoon, and once you see a big fat cock, you forget your husband. So now we have ten more days before I leave and another three until you get picked up. I will fuck every hole you have, and if you mention my name when reporting husband missing, I will come back and cut your American whore throat. Now swallow my dick.”

I backed away and went back to my cave.

I spent the next ten days hiking and enjoying the beauty of the forest and the wildlife that lived here. I was not an outdoorsman like Pierre, but I was developing an appreciation of nature. I observed several furry Forest dwellers up close, such as deer, rabbits, and a fox. I was also building up my endurance, and physically I have never felt more fit. I heard rifle shots on several days, and once I had to hide behind a tree when I saw him moving through the woods. It was strange, but I felt no fear of Pierre when I saw him tracking something for dinner. I was at peace with myself and my plans for the future.

When the day Pierre was to leave arrived, I hid behind my two trees at dawn and waited. The sun had been up a few hours when he left the cabin. I watched him stow his stuff in the kayak and drag it out to the side of the dock. Climbing in he began paddling down the stream for about fifty feet when he started cursing in French. The kayak was sinking, and he had to climb out and drag the boat back to the dock.

“Merde, connard américain, fils de pute. Va te faire foutre cochon yankee.” (Google can Translate)

I’m pretty sure he wasn’t telling God what a good man I was.

He patched over the holes pretty quickly then stalked into the cabin. I heard him yelling, and Helen ran out the door. Shit! If she came this way, I was busted. Lucky for me and not so fortunate for Helen, he caught her by the hair twenty feet away from the cabin. He slapped her once, twice, and then threw her down. He stomped over to the dock, put the kayak back in the water, and climbed in. Then with an angry stroke of the paddle, he was off heading up the river.

Helen lay in the dirt crying before getting up and stumbling back into the cabin. I want to say after being happily married to her for five years, I felt her pain and sympathized with her. But, alas, she now meant nothing to me.

I went back to my cave to think. I made a fire to warm up the cave and heated some canned soup to eat. After eating, I leaned against the cave wall to think.

I wanted revenge against Pierre and Helen. This whole honeymoon was a waste of time, and I wasn’t even sure she hadn’t met Pierre before this trip. By morning I had a rough outline of the shape my revenge would take. Included in my plans was the knowledge that Helen was almost certainly pregnant and that ugly troll, Pierre, was the father.

Early next morning, I set off for the cabin with two and a half days to torment the psyche of my whore wife. When I arrived at the cabin, the door was shut, and there was no smoke coming out the chimney.

As I walked through the doorway, I noticed the bedroom door was shut. Opening the door, I could see Helen was wrapped up in the spread and blanket on the bed, and the smell in the room was disgusting. I kicked the bed and growled, “Wake up, Helen, I’m home.”

Opening her eyes, she screamed, got tangled up with the bedspread, and fell on the floor. She was nude, covered with dirt, and streaked with tears and Pierre’s cum on her cheeks, hair, and tits. Looking on a shelf in the wardrobe, I grabbed a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo, and from the bottom drawer, a washcloth and towel.

“Go outside, get in the water, and scrub. You smell like shit. “When she didn’t react, I yelled at her, “Now, bitch!”

As I stepped off the porch, she caught up with me as we walked toward the water. She found her voice tried to sound intelligent while she spoke.

“You’re alive; how is that possible?”

“Shut up.”

“But, I don’t understand; I mean, I saw your blood on the rocks; your backpack strap was torn; how did this happen?”

“Not now. If you don’t shut up, I’m going to shove my walking stick through your cunt and out your mouth and spit roast you for dinner.”

She sucked in some air making a slight gasping noise but clamped her lips together and shut up. When we got to the water’s edge, I handed her the washcloth and soap and told her, “Scrub yourself clean, head to toe.”

She tiptoed to the age and got her washcloth wet when I exploded, “That’s not how you bathe in the wilderness.”

Picking her up, I carried her along the riverbank until the water was waist-deep, then I dropped her in. She went under, and when she stood up again, she tried crawling out of the frigid water. I pushed her back in and handed her the soap and washcloth she dropped on the ground.

“Scrub yourself with this, or I’ll get branches of pine needles and scour you myself.”

Helen was freezing, but she figured out I wasn’t giving in and spent the subsequent half-hour scrubbing and rinsing and washing her hair before I helped her out and handed her the towel.

“At least now your outside body is clean again.”

When we went back into the cabin, I started a fire in the stove and moved a chair next to it so she could dry off. Then I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, glaring at the monster standing in front of me.

When she was dry, and her hair was piled up on her head wrapped up by the towel, I gave her my next command, “Dress yourself warmly, jeans, thick socks, thick sweater, and hiking boots. Anything else you want, put it in your suitcase and put the suitcase and your sleeping bag on the porch. Move it; I don’t have all day to waste.”

Watching her walk back into the bedroom, I felt an emptiness inside, an emptiness that should have contained our five years of marriage. Instead, it was like I had been in a coma for five years with no happy memories, just pain.

When she came out of the bedroom, dressed, and carrying her suitcase and sleeping bag, she didn’t look at me. Instead, after leaving her stuff on the porch, she came in looking down at the floor and wringing her hands together.

“Watch me and don’t speak.” Going into the bedroom, I trashed it, breaking up the bed, throwing the dresser drawers around the room, then pulling the dresser away from the wall, slamming it on the floor. In the kitchen, I was able to pull the overhead cabinets off of the wall, dropping them and their contents on the floor. I went outside and grabbed the ax, and when I walked past Helen, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth and shook.

I went crazy, attacking the furniture, the table and benches, then chopping up the kitchen counter and the cabinets lying on the floor. Then, to complete my rage against the helpless furniture, I pulled the two bunk beds out of the small room and made quick work of them with the ax. I stopped to catch my breath before opening the stove door and knocking it off with the ax. Another swing of the ax separated the flue from the stove before I pushed over the old iron potbelly with my foot. The coals and a burning log scattered across the floor, which began burning slowly before catching on and becoming ablaze.

I walked out of the cabin for the last time, picked up Helen’s suitcase, and walked toward the trail through the forest with the ax head facing out and resting on my shoulder. I sensed Helen was walking behind me, and I hoped she had picked up her sleeping bag. When I reached the jetty, I buried the ax head in one of the posts before continuing to my cave.

I wasn’t walking very fast so Helen shouldn’t fall behind. She hesitated before following me when I left the trail and walked on the winding path to the cave. When I squeezed into the cave, the lantern was on low, lighting up my temporary home. As Helen followed me in, she stopped at the entrance and looked around, absorbing the sights of my stone domain. I dropped her suitcase on some sand and told her, “Lay your sleeping bag on the sand, and you should get a good night’s sleep. I’m going to get some air; it’s a little stuffy in here now, so make yourself at home.”

I returned after an hour, and Helen was sitting in her sleeping bag, with her head on her knees, weeping softly. I opened up two cans of fruit and asked, “Peaches or pineapples?”

She took the peaches, and I handed her a fork. After eating, she followed my lead and drank the juice left in the can.

“Follow me,” and I walked out and headed back toward the cabin. Knowing she was walking right behind me, I didn’t peek to confirm her presence. When I reached the dock, the fire was climbing above where the roof used to be. The log walls were burning inside and out and would continue burning for at least another day. So I stripped off my clothes and jumped in the water to relax. I rolled onto my back and floated, and I could see Helen staring at the roaring conflagration.

Finally, she turned away and sat on the dock, looking at me with a thousand-yard stare.

“I never knew; I mean, you never showed this side of you. So I looked down on you, and because you gave in to me, I thought you were soft and a wimp.”

“I gave into you because I was in love with you. I did lie to you; I didn’t have any sleeping pills, and if you hadn’t betrayed me, I would’ve figured out a way to kill him and try my best to reconcile our marriage. But, that ship has sailed away and crashed on the reefs of life.”

She had no answer for me, just tears sliding over her cheeks. I climbed out of the water and sat on the dock, and we watched the roof cave-in, and the walls collapsed inward, making the fire hotter and pushing the flames above where the cabin roof used to be. The fire slowly burned down, leaving the outhouse as the only structure still standing. I stood up and dressed before slowly walking up the trail. This time, she walked next to me, sneaking glances at my face, probably trying to figure out what I was thinking about as I stared ahead.

Fixing the last two cans of vegetable soup for supper, we washed it down with the last of the water from the canteens. I set them by the entrance to remind myself about filling them up tomorrow. Then, I stood outside and watched the sun go down, coloring the clouds red, which meant it would be a good night for sailors.

As darkness descended, I reentered the cave and could see Helen had already crawled into her sleeping bag. I stripped, turned the lantern off, and buried myself in my warm bag. She was talking to herself softly, and I couldn’t pick up the words she was saying. It sounded like she was arguing with herself and was losing the argument.

The next thing I remember was waking up with a ray of sunshine lighting up the entrance. I could see Helen’s head peeking out the top of her bag, so I called out, “Wake up, Helen. Our last full day in Hell awaits us.”

She stirred as I pulled on my pants and looked at what was left of my food. I had tuna and crackers for lunch and a big can of beef stew for supper. For breakfast today and tomorrow, I had four cinnamon buns, one can of pears, a can of peaches, and two cans of pineapples. For a snack, I had a large bag of potato chips. The boat should be here by noon tomorrow.

Today, Helen and I existed in each other’s presence, but we were no longer joined at the hip. It was almost awkward how we acted toward each other, but I had nothing I wanted to say to her, and she had nothing that I wanted to hear.

The following day, after we dressed and had eaten, I fastened Pierre’s knife and sheath to my belt and told Helen, “Leave everything here. Other than the clothes on our back, I want to take nothing home with us.” I picked up my winter jacket and carried it outside

As we walked down the trail toward the dock, I glanced at Helen and could see she was carrying her warm coat. When she saw me look at her, she spoke to me, “You’re right, I know I’m pregnant, even if I haven’t missed a period. Still, a woman knows when something is happening in her body. If I aborted his child, it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?”