The Virginity Mission (6 page)

I won't be slowing the pace down now. I have an incentive to be at the end of the walk at the exact time we planned. If it kills me, I'll make it. In eighteen days I'll be sprawled beneath him and I'll know what his sweat tastes like, what those muscles feel like, and I can lose this dreaded virginity.

“Goodnight, Jason.” My words are a puff of breath escaping the fog of my lungs. He turns and walks back the two steps he'd taken. With his eyebrow raised, he winks and drops the tiniest kiss to my lips before walking into the darkness. My lips, still tingling from the last kiss, seem to be fizzing now.

Being such a mature, experienced woman, I remain propped against the tree, unable to move. My heart flutters like a terrified sparrow, my legs wobble and my brain screams silently. The silent screams alternate between exhilaration that this man likes me, and curses that I'm leaving him for seventeen days—how stupid.

My dreams are filled with muscles, kisses, sweat and Jason. I'm reluctant to leave but I have no real excuse to stay. My pack is heavy but comfortable as we head off on our long trip. There's an air of excitement amongst my group, as being the most gung-ho we're travelling the furthest, confident we'll achieve our goal of getting to Devil's Thumb, the tallest peak on the local maps. We've packed sensibly, leaving excess gear at base camp. We've bundled the gear we need for the mangrove sojourn and it's ready to be driven to meet us there. We've planned well and are confident of success. Well, the rest of the group is.

Our days fall into a routine—we walk all day. The topographic maps we're using for navigation are inaccurate once in the dense rainforest. Created from aerial surveys they must never have been ground-truthed. Some days we walk all day and, according to the maps, traverse four kilometres. In actual fact we have walked up and down about eight or ten hills; hills that aren't marked on the map, masked by larger hills overshadowing what lies below. Those days we think our task impossible. Luckily, there are other days when the journey's exactly as it appears on the map, or when we go further than expected. Each morning we don't know what sort of day we'll have.

The rainforest is incredible. If you look at it from above, 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 challenging. One of the days was my hell on earth.

We became intimately associated with ‘wait-a-while', a vine with hooked thorns that catch onto you. It takes some manoeuvring to extricate yourself, or anyone else, from it. Walking in rainforest means dense vegetation, rocks, boulders, hills and creeks. No roads, no paths, no tracks. We have to follow maps, use our compass and cut our own path. Secateurs are a part of walking, they remain in your hand, used at least every second step—particularly if you're in the lead.

This particular day, travelling through the forest becomes too onerous. We are hardly making any forward progress and everyone is frustrated by the slow pace. A shallow creek runs beside, beckoning us. We decide to walk in the creek for easier, and hopefully faster, going. Wet boots are normal even without walking in water, so that is no consideration. I agree to creek walking, thinking we'll wade in the shallows. My imagining is wrong. We rock-hop along the creek.

Rock-hopping is exactly how it sounds. We jump from rock to rock along the creek. I've never done this. I've walked around rock platforms at the beach, with my parents telling me to be careful and to not hurt myself, but I've never rock-hopped. After a few rocks, it becomes abundantly clear that I'm no rock-hopper. Everyone hops happily past me, while I quiver and tentatively step from one rock to the next until I give in and wade.

This is new and rattles me. Why can't I rock-hop?

The rocks become larger and further and further apart. The creek is filled with smaller rocks. I can no longer wade. I have to jump from large rock to large rock. I set myself up for the first jump. My legs become jelly snakes dangling uselessly from my body. My knees are shuddering pieces of flesh, useless to hold me up, much less catch my weight when I land. My stomach takes a nose dive to someplace as low as it can go.

This is ridiculous. I have to move. I steel myself to jump. I call myself all manner of names. I tighten up my jelly snake legs and then Ed's hand extends towards me. I hadn't noticed him come back for me.

“Problem, Mac?” he asks.

“Just my knees.” I try to sound flippant but it comes out as a shaky whisper.

“What's up with them?”

I shrug and hang my head. I hate being at the end of the group and I hate being useless. “They're jelly.”

“You been rock-hopping before?”

“Nope and it looks like I don't like it.” I try to smile but I'm sure I only manage a grimace.

Ed keeps his hand out in front of me. “Grab my hand and follow with your feet. Trust your feet Mac, they don't want to fall. Take a breath and trust.”

As terrifying as it is, I have to do it. The water is filled with rocks so I can't wade. It's jump or remain here. My mind has a litany of questions.
What if I fall? What if I twist my ankle? Break my leg? Drown?
I have no answers to any of the questions my mind is screaming at me.

I take a breath, block my brain, lean forward with my hand outstretched and leap. I land right where I wanted to without knocking Ed off the rock. Without noticing, I grabbed his hand mid-flight. My body must be working even if my mind is frozen in fear.

“Easy. Just do the same for the next one.”

Easy?
It's not at all.

Ed leaps to the next rock and we follow the same procedure. My legs still have the memory of jelly snakes but become stronger with each leap. After a few rocks I no longer need to grab his hand.

“You have to have faith in your feet, Mac.” I nod and he goes on ahead, leaving me alone to leap and think.

This question of my lack of confidence has come up again. First Jason. Now Ed. I didn't realise there was a problem.

What would Jason be like if he was here instead of Ed? Would he be yelling in my ear to keep me going? I can't see him yelling. Swearing, yes. Screaming and carrying on, no. Maybe he'd promise a kiss for each leap. I relive one of Jason's kisses with each jump and it's easier. My mind still doubts and questions but the kisses confuse it.

Ed gave me confidence and the quiet support I needed, yet I have no strong attraction to him. Life is strange.

With concerted effort I make it to lunch—a long way behind everyone else, but I get there. No one makes any awful comments but I still feel like a fool.

I survive the day and learn that I have no faith in myself.

How many times will I have to learn it and hear it before I turn it around and believe in myself? Jason said he believed in me but how can he when he doesn't know me?

Towards the end of our long trip, another day brings more of my worst thoughts to keep me company. The mountain slope before us is different to every other mountain we've climbed. It's covered by pieces of shale, flat rock created from mud laid down over years and baked hard. It's smooth and slippery. Jagged pieces poke out all over the entire mountain-sized hill. It's like thousands of glass shards poking out of plasticine. The slope must be close to a forty degree angle, so not something we can walk straight down. We plan to attack it as if traversing a ski slope. We'll angle across the hill on a slightly downward trajectory for about forty metres and then cut back on a similar angle—effectively making a zigzag down the mountainside. This is a solo pursuit. Each person does a segment before the next person starts, so there's minimal chance of a slide taking everyone out. Shale moves underneath each footfall. My ankle twists and turns with the uncertain footing. It's slow and painstaking.

For me, the hardest part of this journey is being alone. At random moments you can make a joke or shout to someone, but for the most part your own guts and mindset have to get you down the mountain. My mind is quite opposed to my guts.

I elect to go last because I'm the slowest and don't want to feel like I'm holding anyone up. There's a well trod path for me to follow but that doesn't make the journey any easier. I don't know how far it is because you can't see the bottom from the top, but it takes us the best part of a day to traverse this mountain.

I spend a whole day with only my thoughts to keep me company while trying not to think about falling, being hungry, my ankles hurting, my knees quivering and thigh muscles screaming. I try to think positively to get down this bloody hill but my mind is full of my lack of self-belief. I know I'm not the most confident person, but until this trip I had never seen it as a problem.

To come on this trip, I wrote an application detailing my experience and making a claim to attend. I never believed I'd be chosen to participate in such a trip. My lack of self-confidence means I didn't dream of success—but it didn't stop my hope. Did that matter? I don't think so because it didn't stop me achieving.

One segment of the mountain from hell is done and I'm still alive.

I didn't expect to achieve much at school, academically or socially. I had friends and did enough to get to uni. No great achievements but enough. I was a member of many sporting teams but I wasn't terribly good at anything. A support player, not a star. I put those things down to talent, not self-confidence.

I remember doing a quiz at school to work out what I could do afterwards career-wise. The results indicated I could do anything I set my mind to. And if I didn't set my mind to it? If I thought I might fail before I started, what then? Could I have done more than I have? Could I achieve great things?

I still don't know. But the next segment of this hell hill is complete.

And what about with guys? I've never achieved there. Is that because I haven't put my mind to it? I'm a great friend. I have no trouble talking to males but that's where it ends. Is that because I don't set my mind to taking it further?

Why is it different with Jason? I've gone further with him than anyone. How did that happen? Do I want him more than anyone else? Or has my virginity plan made me set my mind on him?

How have I become an ‘okay-achiever' with no confidence? Why hasn't anyone, before Jason, instilled confidence into me? Does it just get classified as my ‘personality' and ignored? So many questions, so few answers.