Born Savages - Cora Brent Page 0,5

of trail mix that the guy has done eight times as much dirty shit as the rest of us combined.

Well, that is if I don’t count myself. There’s no way this dude with his oatmeal face and orangutan limbs could beat me in a matchup of belt notches.

But I’m starting to feel sorry for Leah and her squished boobs at this point so I offer her a hand. She grabs at it gratefully and I haul her the rest of the way out of the rock.

“You made it,” I say with token enthusiasm, trying not to sound too happy because she could get the wrong idea. Women do that a lot. If it’s not the right place and time I always try to head it off, big tits or not.

“Oh jeez, thanks Oz,” she gushes and pats her chest, making sure that the girls are still intact. Or else she’s trying to direct my attention to their glorious shape. But her biggest problem is that it’s tough to look sexy with a sweaty face and trapped in a full body yellow jumpsuit.

Anyway, I’ve always sworn off banging my customers. There’s enough hot ass waiting up above without having to shop for it down here. Plus there’s something sort of tasteless about guiding a girl through the dark like a trusting lamb and then getting her on her back. Seems predatory somehow.

That doesn’t mean I’ve never done it. I have. Once. You won’t catch me admitting it out loud though.

“Hot damn,” says the kid in awe as he adjusts his headlamp and gets a good look around the room.

I smile. This is the reaction I always hope for. I want them to feel enchanted, captivated, bowled right the fuck over that shit like this exists beneath their feet. It was how I felt the first time I ever stepped into a cave. I still feel that way every time I go underground and see things that the world above can never equal.

This place is called the Round Room and it’s at the very center of the honeycomb of underground passages that comprise the Guard Cave deep in the picturesque hills of Tennessee. I’ve been in and out of the whole labyrinth so often that I don’t even need a map. Despite the fact that I’ve been inside some of earth’s most stupendous caves I never tire of the sight of the Round Room.

As we edge our way in, I caution the group to take care because the rock formations can actually be quite fragile. The place is a wonder, a fantasyland of conical shapes that extend from the ceiling and bubble out of the ground. It’s such a strange sight that if you squint you might believe you are no longer on earth.

The kid’s dad is hunkered down and adjusting his headlamp as he examines one of the stalagmite cones. He lets out a low whistle. “How long did you say it would take for something like this to form?”

“A hundred and fifty years,” says his son, obviously proud that he remembered a few of the details of my long spiel before we started the tour.

I shine my light on the rigid, imperfect cylinder rising out of the ground. It looks like a gargoyle’s penis.

“Per inch,” I correct him. “Takes about a hundred and fifty years of constant drip for enough mineral residue to collect into an inch of stone.”

“Wow,” breathes Leah and she’s at my side with her arm brushing against mine. Her honorable semi-boyfriend who hates the word ‘fuck’ is somewhere in the darkness; discarded, rejected, at least temporarily.

The boy is full of questions. He’s a bright kid, maybe sixteen or so. He asks how many caves I’ve been in, how long I’ve been doing this, what’s the most awesome shit I’ve ever seen. He listens carefully when I answer.

Fifty-eight separate locations on three continents.

I’ve been with the tour company for nearly two years and before that I was a freelance guide for photography excursions in the southwest.

And finally, the most awesome shit I’ve ever seen actually wasn’t inside a cave, but I can’t talk about it in front of strangers. I can’t talk about it at all. Instead I just flip off some remark about the unique limestone caverns of Britain and the kid nods with satisfaction. He is named John, just like his dad, and he wears his enthusiasm proudly. I already know he’ll be a lifelong caver. He’s at the point where he’ll never look at