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Diana 1/3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Diana
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Part I
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"These woods are lovely, dark and deep..." The line kept
running through Michael's head as he trudged further up into the
Berkshires on that morning, late in September. He shook his head,
partly to clear away the mosquitoes that had returned with this brief
spate of warm weather, partly in frustration at only being able to
remember one line of the poem. He had overdressed, a city boy out in
what passed for the wilderness of New England. The sweat dripped down
the crease in the center of his forehead to slip under the rim of his
wire-frame glasses and collect in small pools on his nose.
This second day of hiking was easier, somehow. Muscles which
had been well-toned by college basketball two years ago, had finally
started remembering how to move under pressure. Michael hadn't added any
flab to his thin frame since leaving college; hours and days spent
hunched over a computer had, if anything, only emaciated his long
body. A diet of coffee and donuts from the all-night Dunkin' Donuts
had kept him going through long nights of programming and debugging.
But now - now he had escaped.
Escaped from a city he was growing to hate; New Haven had been
bad enough as a student, but it was unbearable outside the guarded
precincts of Yale. Escaped from a live-in girlfriend who was becoming
more shrewish by the day. Did he even love her anymore? She was
still lovely, at least at night. Escaped from her four cats, two dogs, and
multitude of small rats in gleaming cages. Michael had escaped for two
all-too-brief days of Indian summer sunlight spotting its way through
stained glass leaves against a wide and empty sky. And he was
determined to make the most of it.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood"...was that even the same
poem? Same poet? He couldn't remember. And this wood wasn't yellow.
There were still a few green leaves hanging determinedly on the
darkening branches, but the overwhelming color was a joyous shouting
red across the line of hills. He paused for breath on the trail at a
'lookout point', marked by a small camera signpost. It was stunning,
of course. The hill fell away beneath his feet to a deep valley,
cleft by a river winding far below. Leaves across the horizon were a
patchwork of sunset colors, blazing fiercely in the sunlight. Michael
almost felt like breaking out into a Gloria in praise of a God he'd
never believed in. He laughed softly to himself as he turned back to
the trail.
But there was singing. Somewhere not far ahead, just to the
left of the trail, he could hear a woman's voice, high and clear above
the murmur of water leading down to the river below. Michael couldn't
quite make out the words, so far away, and he began to push his way
through the underbrush towards that silver voice.
Sharp thorns scored light tracks along his hands as he pushed
them away from his face, and the light dimmed as he went deeper
and deeper into the trees. Michael was surprised, and a little
disturbed, to know that there was someone else here on this desolate
mountain. While he'd known that there were other hikers about, he'd
deliberately taken a disused trail, paint faded almost to nothing, to
avoid other people. He'd seen nobody for almost two days, and had
liked it that way. He'd almost started to miss his girlfriend again.
The brush had been getting harder and harder to push through,
but as he persevered he began to hear more voices. He still couldn't
make out their words, but low, throaty laughter danced across the
still autumn air, pulling him forward through the thick growth.
Suddenly, he broke through, almost falling flat onto his face as the
trees gave way to a small clearing, a deep pool...and women.
So many women, it seemed at first, a horde of slim legs,
shining teeth, tangled hair and soft breasts. For they were naked,
all of them, clothes no doubt discarded nearby for the call of that
pool, bright with glittering sparkles, deep as dying. It was a
glorious pool, and they matched it. Michael had pulled back
instinctively, and he crouched now in the shadow of an old oak,
watching avidly. His lips glistened as he licked them over and over.
He began counting the women, finding it difficult to concentrate on
anything other than the slide of water of smooth, dark skin. None of
the seven women were pale; no, tanned golden by weeks of playing in
summer sunlight. Their hair was uniformly blond except for one, and
she, she was red. Red as the leaves across the hills, red as sunset.
That one was tall, perhaps even taller than Michael. She
sat on a rock for a moment listening to the singer standing by the
pool, then leaned over to break the song, still unintelligible to
Michael, with a kiss deep and long as the pool itself. Then, laughing
wildly, she dived down into the water. When she came up, it clung to
her body, caressing the line of imperious neck to impossibly high
breasts to slender waist and hips and muscled legs, finally dripping
off red-painted toes.
Michael didn't know how long he watched before his legs began
to cramp. He was sure these women wouldn't appreciate his presence,
and so, slowly, regretfully, began to ease his way back from the
clearing, into the woods. And then she called him, a low, accented
voice sensuous as silk.
"Come out."
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