I put down my book and looked out at the people passing me by. A
young woman with strong shoulders draped in black cotton pressured
the younger man beside her with her step, hands and clipped tone. He
shook long locks of blond hair, feeling the warm summer breeze rush
over his handsome face, consciously ignoring his companion’s
commands. A small boy chased a small red ball rolling behind them.
A heavy grandmother shifted her weight, trembled slightly and called
after her energetic charge. The sunlight sparkled off a parked car’s
chrome. The living scene of color and motion gave me strength. I bundled up
my books and without another thought, stepped outside.
The first
breath of warm air lifted my spirits higher, and I started down
toward the gardens with some measure of excitement. The day sang
with beauty, and I felt, in a brief instant, like I was a part of
the spectacle. I walked the garden paths, past the fountain with spewing bronze
elves, past the bust of a greenish benefactor with an aquiline nose
and a crusty forehead. The grass gleamed in the wash of warm air,
tickling shades of light and green. A young student, a girl, sat
cross-legged on the hill side, a book nestled comfortably in her lap,
her face turned up radiantly to bask in the sun’s shine. My thoughts
paused for a moment as I tried to imagine what words lay in such
intimate proximity to the girl’s heart, and smiled as I caught a
glimpse and with an expert’s eye recognized the short lines of
verse. Nipples erected ever so slightly behind her thin shirt, and I
sauntered past, wishing I were younger or bolder or somehow knowing. I found a black iron bench in the shade of an ancient elm, settled at
the foot of three flanking grass mounds, and I placed my old notebook
and two fresh bound volumes on the wrought mesh and sat down. A
sudden gust of breeze danced to give life to my long curls, and I
pushed a long spiral out of my eyes, wishing I’d bothered to brush my
hair back. A tiny stream trickled just past the four young oaks
standing guard, while a clump of forested chaos teased my
new stalwart friends from the other bank. I picked up my notebook, took out my pen, and wrote a few lines of
spontaneous nonsense, hoping the flow of ink would release the flood
of feelings. The heat of the sun made me suddenly drowsy, and I
capped the mighty reed. I closed my eyes.
Two girl called out in the distance, eager to enforce some rule
of some game, demanding and pleading and squealing until it sounded
as though they had abandoned their game for a race. The leaves of
the trees shook in a hushed tambourine rattle. I heard myself sigh. “Excuse me,” she said and I startled. My heart thumped fiercely and
I sat up suddenly. I opened my eyes. A young woman, almost a girl,
stood before me, smiling, holding out a hand to soothe my disquiet.
“I’m sorry,” she said, almost laughing. I shook the revelry from within, trying to refocus. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said. “No,” I said, clearing my throat. “I wasn’t asleep, just
distracted.” Taking ahold of the stiff bench’s back, the woman
turned to sit down beside me, moving the _Faerie Queene_ atop
whichever of Miller’s _Tropics_ I had brought. The cloth corner of
the novel traced a pale curve as it brushed against her lightly
tanned thigh. “You’re the Wizard, aren’t you?” I smiled faintly. “I’ve heard them call me that, yes.” I’d heard Anna call me that,
anyway. She told me she read it in one of the local papers. “I thought you’d be older.” “Well, thirty-five used to be old.” “You look more like twenty-five, well, except for your eyes.” She
stopped and stared hard into my gaze. I could almost see myself
reflected in the darkness of her pupils. “What’s your name?” I asked, anxious to break the spell. “Mary,” she answered, suddenly quite demure in her tone. “How do you do?” I asked politely. “Charmed,” she replied with a laugh, holding out her hand, expecting
a noble kiss. I acceded to her implied request. “I read the piece you had in ‘Starshine’ last month – what was it?
‘June’s Ecstasy’?” “The Ecstasy of June,” I corrected lightly, not wanting to discourage
my new acquaintance. “What did you think?” “Dreamy,” Mary said at once. “The words transported me.” “Could you see her?” “What do you mean?” “I keep imagining that my prose isn’t visual enough. I’m pleased
with the emotional evocation, but I fear it comes at the expense of
the things we see.” “I thought it was good,” said Mary, blushing slightly at my
sudden confidence. “What did she look like? June, I mean.” “Well, she was blonde, wasn’t she?” Mary’s own hair glowed yellow in
the leaf-broken ripples of stark sunlight. My smirk communicated my
thoughts and Mary turned away, feigning anger to dispel my mirth at
her expense. “I’m sorry,” I said happily, “It isn’t very smart of me to give you a
pop quiz.” “I thought June was me. Isn’t that weird? I just realized that when
I read your story, I just assumed you were talking about me.” “I’m glad,” I said shyly. “In a way, I wanted you to read it that
way.” “It was romantic,” she said. “I was just wishing, I guess.” “But I keep feeling like I need to substantialize my characters, give
them an appearance. Sometimes, like with June, using
amorphous qualities to lure your projections works to my advantage.
But I feel it’s coming at the expense of too many shadows.” “Well,” said Mary. “Why don’t you describe me?” She picked up my
notebook and handed it to me. “Go ahead,” she said, lifting her chin
in an elegant pose. “Do you mind?” I asked, uncapping my pen and opening my notebook. “Wow,” she said. “You have beautiful handwriting.” I looked at Mary and began to write. I described the radiance of her
smile and the dark intensity of her eyes and the creamy glow of her
skin and the way she teased her hair in her right hand as she grew
self-conscious of my work. I watched her carefully, noting every
detail as it struck me and began to imagine a kiss she bestowed on
some lucky oaf, and the provocations she whispered in his ear. “Look at me,” she said, stern and demanding. Startled, I looked up
at her. Mary laughed. “I know,” I said. “No. You look for a while, but then you fall in. Let me see.” Mary
reached over and took my notebook from me. Her confident boldness
shocked me. “See – you start with some flattering details, for which I thank you,
sir, but it isn’t three lines in before you start getting emotional
on me. Listen,” she said. “She breathes gently, her full chest rising in a subtle arc of her
young rhythm, a longing to revel in the day, her lips tease the
expelled motion in wonder.” She stopped. “Well, it is pretty hot,
but I think you forgot the exercise. Or don’t understand it.” I laughed a snort in condenscension. “When I breathe,” Mary insisted, “my tits go up like this,” she took
a deep breathe, “and my lips fall closed. Wizard, you’re starting
with your eyes, but you jump inside the first chance you get. I can
see why you’re disturbed.” “Well, I never said I was disturbed. I just thought. . . ” “You need something to grab your attention. Come with me.” Mary
stood up. I looked at her surprised, confused and leery. “Come on,”
she said insistently. I gathered my books and she took my arm. We
walked toward the oak guard. “There’s a path over here,” said Mary, crossing the brook with a
leap. I gave her a curious glare, and jumped after her. A narrow
dirt line cut a swath through the thick overgrowth. As we descended into the forest, I questioned the wisdom of
disappearing from the safety of human traffic with a strange, albeit
attractive, woman. I found it impossible to sustain any fear as I
followed Mary, and settled for the anxious flutter of sexual tension
and I watched her bottom turn and lift as she maneuvered past a thin
hedge. I followed her into a wide clearing, completely surrounded by
nature. “Sit over there,” she said. “On the ground or that fallen tree.” I
sat my books on the dirt floor and perched myself on the round trunk
of a great tree, lain to rest after a century of reaching for the
heavens. I opened my notebook and found the seat awkward. “I don’t think I can write here,” I said as I shifted my weight. “Don’t tell me what you can’t do,” Mary said, suddenly on fire with
life. “Describe me. Put the pen down. Outloud. Describe me.” “But,” I said and her eyes glowed ferociously, demanding my
acquiescence. “Mary stood in the center of the clearing. A light
breeze teased her golden hair, pushing a strand across her pretty
face. I sat watching as she smiled warmly, soothingly, deliciously,
the gentle rose color of her cheeks deepening with each breath as her
breast as her tits rose and fell and she wiped her palms on the curve
of her hips.” “Mary turned to walk away from me, and I noticed the delicate descent
of her rich hair down the back of her blouse, full of color and
character, like the veins of a well oiled piece of hardwood, and she
smiled to hear me. Her waist grew slender slightly and then erupted
in the black of her skirt, clinging to the round cheeks. Her thighs,
lightly tanned, looked strong, athletic in tone and she bent . . .” “Mary’s blouse was open, the pearl buttons unfastened and her belly
had the swell of fertility and the indentation of birth, a sensual
knot that invited me deeper. She thrust a shoulder forward and
pulled the pale blue cloth back to expose the bony pose, but my eyes
searched for the breast below, the full succulence of maternal melons
and as I sat watching, this mysterious girl regaled me with her tits,
sent forward boldly, and she held them aloft with her slender fingers
to push the dark eyes of her thick nipples forward, begging me to
suck the sweet milk of her soul.” “Please,” Mary said with a laugh, jiggling her creamy boobs with each
shudder. I paused and she turned away. “Mary unzipped the side of her thin cotton skirt and coyly, yes
coyly, began to push the band at her now naked waist down to reveal
to me the charms she kept hidden below. She bared her full bottom
with a maddening pace, slowly descending, revealing the crack of her
firm cheeks, lightly dimpled. As the garment passed the widest point
of her hips, it fell suddenly down and Mary stood naked in the forest
before me, teasing me with dark shadows between her strong legs and
then prancing like a nymph over the rocky ground and then leaping up
on the log where I sat. With her arms stretched out in a gymnastic
pose, Mary pointed her toes and walked the balance beam toward me.” “The lips of her cunt were swollen beneath the dusky blonde curls and
I smiled to find a dark mole on the left musky fold. As she walked,
the glimmer of moist pleasure glided a gentle streak down her pussy,
and Mary leapt off to fall down to the ground. She spread her legs
wide.” “Mary’s eyes shone a radiant blue, misty with her arousal, and
staring hard at me. A finger teased her bright pink clit, and Mary
groaned slightly as she lay back in the dirt. She lifted her ass
high, perching her weight on her shoulders and feet and opening the
dark supple curves of her cunt to my view, sinking her fingers deep
inside and then pulling them back to expose the ruddy empty hole,
scarlet and pink and fluttering and damp.”
“Mary rolled over to show me the secret path into her ass, the
buttoned curl of closed flesh. Her labia, moist, like a flag
unfurled between her lean, tanned thighs and as I spoke the words
aloud, she pressed herself down, pressed her knees wide apart on the
forest floor, lifted her ass to open her hole, teased her hard clit
with a railway’s pace, and I watched the shivers run through her deep
cunt, watched the shudders tremble through her tight ass.” Mary picked up my notebook and told me to write it all down. She
sucked on my wand as I did.