I’m not gay, but I will admit to being hopelessly in love with a big, burly bloke from the country. He’s tall (around 476m, the last time anyone checked), dependable (he’s stuck around for millions of years), and he’s always willing to let my mates have fun with him, too.
He is North Brother Mountain, and he’s my weekend lover on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. I first met him around a year ago, when I first ventured to the area to learn how to paraglide (well, to start learning to paraglide – I still have a long way to go!). I thought he was imposing and a little bit arrogant, but I’m a sucker for a strong, silent type, so I had a bit of a perve.
Over the next week I flirted with some lesser mountains, that were more like hills to be honest, but it was North Brother who had my heart fluttering. I wanted to get to know him better, but he was playing hard to get. With one day left on the course, I was still admiring him from afar, and was starting to think it wouldn’t happen.
Things got worse when I had a bad curry and spent my final night of the trip doing my best impression of a broken fire hydrant. I figured it just wasn’t to be… and then something special happened. Hours before I was due to leave, North Brother smiled at me and smoothly asked if I was keen for a ride. Shit, was I ever!
I was as nervous and excited as an altar boy bending over for his first priest as I climbed into my harness, grabbed my risers, and prepared for the highest flight of my very short paragliding career. But North Brother was gentle and understanding, lifting me into the sky and making me truly feel like a woman… alright, maybe that’s going to far.
It’s hard to describe your first solo high flight. I wasn’t scared, because I was so astounded by what was happening and what I was doing. As I moved out from the mountain and watched the ground drop away below me, I struggled for breath as my jaw dropped as I took in the view. I had so much space to zip around, so many things to see, so many emotions to enjoy. That first flight off North Brother took only a few minutes, but it was the most incredible thing I’d ever done (well, apart from that chick in Bangkok).
I was nearly in tears as I left North Brother. True to form, he showed no emotion, and was flirting with another paraglider before I’d even touched down. I promised to frolic with him again, but the timing never seemed right. We passed each other like ships in the nigh, our paths destined to never cross again.
But all that changed last weekend. I was in the area again with the Cloudbase crew, trying and failing to get it on with any of the other flying spots. Harry’s Lookout didn’t want me, nor did Long Flat. I felt like a 60-year-old slag trying to find a cock to suck before closing time. I was dispirited and despondent, but when I was at my lowest point, he showed up. Big Brother wanted me to fly with him.
I wasn’t as nervous the second time I was with the big fella. I’d been with other mountains (including his brother, who is bigger where it counts) , but I was still looking forward to the ride. I felt comfortable as I walked onto the launch site, and when a gust of wind hit and I took to the skies, it was like North Brother and I had never been apart. I danced in the air like a recently-separated woman dancing with a group of African American sailors, once again barely able to contain my excitement and sense of wonder at what was going on around me.
It was so good to be back with my large lover, but he’s here for a good time, not a long time, so eventually it had to end. As my feet touched the ground, I looked up to North brother, blew him a kiss, and promised it wouldn’t be so long between dances this time.
But he was already fucking around with someone else, the slut.
One thought on “Brotherly Love”
What a hussey! Sounds like quite an adrenalin rush.