Reads: 50

Bonnie Laird's pale complexion - and astounding breasts!

‘Are we nearly there yet? It’s just that I’m starting to burn.’

Isla looked over her shoulder at Bonnie’s red face. She was sunburnt, badly so. Her pale skin wasn’t suited to rambling in craggy terrain on a warm, sunny day, the sea wind whipping and chapping her lips. Bonnie, as usual, was the packhorse while she led the way, held the coastal trail route, the steep climb to the interior, in her trusty lanyard.

Isla felt for her girl, the straps of the rucksack cutting through her thin tee-shirt into her shoulders, her sweaty back, heat rash on her thighs. But it was her own stupid fault. Who forgot to bring the suntan lotion, plasters, the insect repellent for when the infernal gnats descended upon her pale skin on the walk back?

‘Won’t be long now, mo ghradh,’ she soothed, adding for reassurance sake, ‘it honestly won’t.’

Bonnie smarted, wiping the sweat from her eyes. It had been a long day for her. She’d climbed out of bed early, cleaned their bath, basin, bidet, boudoir, bedroom, breakfast bar, all while Isla slept on. Then she’d made up their packed lunches: the regulation tinned pink salmon on seeded high fibre bread, bananas for energy, fruit yogurts for calcium, cans of ginger beer for a laugh, serving Isla breakfast in bed when she finally woke up at nine.

They’d just made it to the ferry terminal in time to catch the ten-o-five across the Firth of Lorne to Craignure. There, the bus was waiting to take them to Tobermory, a beautiful old fishing port with picture-postcard pastel paintbox houses overlooking its harbour. Mull’s main town was heaving with tourists searching for places to eat.

A short climb up a flight of stone steps behind the car park took them to the coastal trail, past a wooden jetty, far from the maddening crowd to freedom, peace, tranquillity.

The coastal trail itself wasn’t particularly trying: a comfortable trek in sturdy walking shoes up gentle or moderate slopes, occasional steep climbs and steps, mostly smooth gravel, earth paths, narrow in places. It was, Isla knew, only the start of their adventure into the wild.

They passed the waterfall at Spit Dubh, reached a second trickling waterfall, then rested on its stone bridge. Bonnie sighed with relief as she took off the rucksack, her shirt stuck to her back. From where they were sitting, they could see the flat calm Tobermory Bay, barren Calve Island in the distance.

Isla licked her lips, watching as her girlfriend unzipped the blue canvas bag and drew out the ginger beers. It was the beginning of their lifelong love affair, endless fascinations with each other’s bodies, hearts, and souls. She took a can from Bonnie, flicked the ring-pull, took a long refreshing gulp, burped up some wind like her baby, took another slurp, then said,

‘Lovely hear, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, it’s so peaceful, shady and cool.’

Isla took the hint, ‘Sorry about this morning, I should have helped you pack.’

‘It’s nae bother, really. I’ll live.’

‘I wouldn’t want you to get skin cancer, not on my account. Wouldn’t want to lose you, Bonnie, I never want to lose you. I think I love you.’

They balanced the cans on the rough stone wall. A shaft of sunlight lit up their faces. They ran their fingers thru each other’s hair, stroked each other’s cheeks, felt each other’s lips, a frisson of want passed thru their hearts, their tongues tasted each other’s palates, as they kissed for the first time,

The younger girl broke into their kiss, ‘I think I love you, too.’

‘We should go back,’ reasoned Isla, ‘before you burn. We can buy a hat, some factor 45, DEET, after-sun, come back later this afternoon, when it’s cooler if you like? Our ferry back isn’t until seven-thirty. We could have fish and chips this evening on the pier, a glass of wine or three in the pub.’

‘We can do that anyway. I want to see the lodge.’

‘As you will,’ Isla finished her ginger beer, handed back the can, stood up, ‘Here, give me that rucksack. It’s another half an hour, of hill walking, at most. Think you can manage that, girl?’

Her mate huffed, ‘What do you take me for, McNair, your little invalid? Course, I’ll manage!’

They set off for the lodge. Isla led the way carrying the rucksack. Bonnie burnt in the noonday sun struggling to find some shade. Minutes later, they rounded a small bay with a pebble beach, then veered left, arriving at the narrow inlet that opened out to form Lochan a Ghurrabain. The loch was covered with vast patches of bright yellow water lilies, in contrast to the crystal-clear water.

It was the most beautiful lake the girls had ever seen.

A gravel footpath ran along either side. On the left-hand side was a fishing pier. Isla took the right-hand path leaving the lakeside until they reached a play area. There was a car park, several barbecues, families cooking lunch, screaming children playing on swings, couples holding hands, out walking their dogs, joggers, cyclists, ramblers, hikers, drivers, flyfishing fanatics, tourists taking selfies, women’s toilets…

‘Do you need to go?’

‘I do.’

They escaped from the sun briefly, then escaped the throng, returning to the loch, following the bankside path until they found their bench in the shade, cherishing the spectacular floral display, dazzling yellow lilies in all their splendour.

After lunch, the girls left the loch behind them, took a narrow, earthy path, slogging their way up a steep uphill climb, thru the dark pine forest, until they came to a glassy mirror-surfaced mountain tarn. Beyond the tarn lay a derelict wooden shed. A freshly painted sign on the door read:



Isla smiled, excited, ‘Well, Laird, shall we go inside and rest?’

Her girl looked nervous, ‘Do you really think we should? What if someone finds us, sees us?’

Isla opened the stable door and stepped into the lodge, wondering what she would find inside.

Submitted: January 14, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Isla McNair. All rights reserved.


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