The Virginity Mission by Cate Ellink Read Free Book Online Page B

which happens rarely on our trip as most peaks are so densely vegetated you can’t see anything from them, the canopy is a carpet of green with bumps of larger trees. Some places have a splash of yellow with flowering trees but mostly it’s green. Thick green canopy coating mountainsides as far as you can see.
    Underneath it’s different. Fast gurgling streams run over moss covered rocks, boulders and stones at the base of hills. As you climb a hill, the vegetation changes the higher you go. Near the creek are all manner and sizes of bright green ferns. As you climb higher, the vegetation becomes hardier. Tree ferns appear, large leaved palms and ferns, masses of vines reaching out to snare the unsuspecting. Lunch is eaten anywhere we can find a moss-free boulder large enough for us to lean on. The boulders are reasonably dry and you can use them to get the knots from your shoulders and back.
    The evenings are like the ones before—water, firewood, fire, food, campsite, sleep. We’re more comfortable with each other, so ribald jokes are the norm each evening. There’s a competition each night to see who can get the biggest root—that is, plant root beneath them. The campsites are rough. We cut, bend or knock down saplings to clear an area large enough for us to sleep in. We have a small fire at one end of the tent fly and the toilet is out in the rainforest, where you have to take the trowel to dig your hole. Beneath the tarpaulin we lay on to sleep is all manner of squashed vegetation, shallow tree roots and rocks we missed moving or couldn’t move. It’s not beautiful but it’s home for the night.
    We maintain our sleeping arrangement, each of us only in an inner sheet, rotating bed positions to stop anyone being stuck on the cold edges for more than one night. We chat a little at night. Often we wake in the dead of night to huge crashing limbs or falling trees and joke to settle ourselves back to sleep. Luckily we’re never beneath these crashing giants. There is constant rain. It isn’t called a rainforest for no reason.
    I sleep next to every guy in our group and nothing stirs in me, or them I guess. I have the memory of Jason’s body against mine. It keeps me warm every night and has me longingly counting down the days. I want him against me, naked. I want him all to myself, with no one around. I want to discover all I’ve been missing. Luckily I’m so tired each night, these thoughts don’t intrude for long and frustration doesn’t drown me. Seventeen days is a long time waiting.
    Mornings are routine. We rise, pack gear, eat our meagre breakfast and prepare for the day’s walking. Meagre breakfast doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s disgustingly bland but we planned it ourselves so can hardly complain. We line up each mug and evenly distribute two big spoons of oats and one spoon of milk powder to each. We pour in water to suit our own taste, then stir until it resembles some kind of porridge consistency and eat. No one gets out of bed eager for breakfast.
    Our ‘exciting’ meal of the day varies between dinner or lunch. If dinner is TVP, textured vegetable protein, then lunch is the best meal. Any other evening meal will win. Lunch is cracked pepper flavoured cracker biscuits spread with peanut butter or jam. Nothing exciting. We’re methodical about lunch. Each day a different person’s pocket knife is used in the spread and then you lick your knife when the meal is finished—an added treat, and a few extra calories.
    Most days I wonder why I’m here. Jason asked me something similar and I’m not happy with my answer. I don’t know what possessed me to sign up for such a trip. It’s not something I was burning to do. I’m not a mad bushwalker. The advertisement appeared and I responded. Sometimes opportunities pop up and you take them. Call it fate.
    Over the trip, two days stand out as especially