A great fallen tree stretched out like Death’s own skeletal hand, reaching desperately to stroke the soft cheek of the opposing bank with its bony fingertips. The water cascading below rolled over collections of crumbled monoliths laying dormant on the riverbed. No one can say for sure if the log beast cried out when it fell to kiss the water’s surface. You would never have heard it over the proud babble of the loose-lipped stream.

This was where she had planted herself for the afternoon. While the men waded amongst the rocks, sketching designs in the sky with their fishing lines a little further upstream, she lay there. Like a lazy jaguar, stomach flush with the wood, legs dangling on either side, straddling a barky knuckle of the timbered extremity. Hidden from the summer sun by an umbrella of leafy greenery overhead. Nose in a book, which was filled with a picaresque collage of reimagined nursery fears featuring torturous serial-killer aristocrats, golden-eyed tiger men, generous man-beasts, and cunning marmalade cats. So relaxed, she could have fallen asleep right then and there. She nearly did too; taken by the liquid lullaby singing softly up to her, she nodded in and out of the pages of her dark magic tales. 

When she jolted awake, startled back to life, she resolved to find a less precarious perch.

She sat upright and noted the rigidity of the wooden cadaver that pressed back up into her. Hunger puckered from her core, grasping at the length of a memory. Shifting her weight from one hip bone to the other, she rocked back and forth over her swelling bud.

She was not exactly taken aback by the presumptuousness of these pulsations. She was, after all, still raw from last night’s fuck, and could still make out the imprints of that drunken dalliance trying to fade away. To be frank, her then-boyfriend was truly a mediocre lover at best. But when they drank in excess together, he tended to take her with a little more abandon, and that she appreciated. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that although alcohol would get her laid, it would rarely get her off. And overall, her partner left much to be desired in the way of meeting her needs at the best of times. Sexual and otherwise. Which is why he is no longer with us today.

The bruise of their most recent bedroom brawl spurred a kind of pleasurable stiffness at her center, and she felt the need to stretch. She rose gingerly to her feet, many steps from the safety of solid ground. She wondered a moment how anxious the sight would have made her mother. Turning to face the bank, she stalked gracefully along her dendritic catwalk, regal wildcat that she was, back towards the edge of the stable earth on which the thick yet spindly tree once stood. Enveloped by soft, delicate firs, she found an elegant chaise longue of rock and moss nestled into the underbrush. While the brutish water was spittled white with noise, the air that wraithed around the forest’s many limbs, around her own branches was an almost imperceptible whisper. Hidden then from sight and sound in her natural tree fort, she reclined back into her stony throne and purred her delight. 

A dip in the rock acted as a makeshift headrest that graciously accepted the weight of her skull. Overhead, the sky was perfect blue with whipped-cream clouds trailing in the spaces between the leaves. So pristine, she was almost ashamed to be caught staring; her unworthy eyes humbly fell shut. While her soft paw fell to her lap and pressed to where the trunk's girth had tried to make its mark, tingling heat pooled in the heart of her palm. She breathed into it.

Her clever fingers teased their way up to the button below her navel. With one hand, she popped the fastener free and slid the zipper’s tongue along its sideways cheshire grin, one metal tooth at a time. Despite the impressive coverage provided by the trees, she wasn’t prepared to fully expose herself to the elements. Instead, her hand burrowed into the darkness beyond the waistband. 

Hidden, snug, her fingertips set out to explore the shadows between her legs. Touches as soft, as light as the barely-there breeze. Nimble fingers danced along her soft edges, rubbing the corners of her lips between thumb and forefinger like rosary beads, as if she was flirting with the idea of praying for her salvation. 

She let her fevered hand take a moment to breathe. Kissing the ends of her fingers, she baptized them in a shiny coat of saliva before sending down for the next dive, and traced the natural slick around the periphery of her hardening clit. And then, it was her turn to breathe deeply again.

He carefully unwound the fly. It had hooked itself around one of the high reaching branches of a ghostly birch tree rather than into the mouth of the rainbow trout he had been aiming at. He smiled to himself, pleased for having accomplished what had seemed nearly hopeless from the ground looking up. Scaling a tree in fishing waders and clunky rubber boots, though admittedly difficult, was apparently not an impossible feat.

It was only when he turned to plan the footwork of his descent that he saw and recognized the soft pink she had been wearing that day. 

Like a look-out spotting land from his crow’s nest, he was about to call out to her, to boast of his little victory. But when he noticed a steady undulation at her wrist and the telltale swooning arch of her back, he knew all at once that she was taking full advantage of her isolation. 

Silence poured over him like a pail of cold water over his head. Heart-shocking, spine-numbing, breath-freezing silence. That was when he nearly lost his footing, sending lichen debris tumbling to the forest floor.

Saliva stones caught in her throat at the peak of her inhalation. Eyes still closed, she found her fantasies wandering toward the allusion of a face. A face with stern, steely eyes; a form of rugged angles and salt-sprayed sinew lines.

But this was not the man with whom she still shared her bed too often.

This was, in fact, the man who would eventually have her throw herself onto hellfire pyres of scorched love. 

Although, many moons would have to wax and wane before she would ever come know this.

As the initial shock that this woman was indeed in the midst of loving herself in the middle of the woods, and that he had spotted her, began to wear away, he found himself then in a state of inner turmoil, wondering how exactly he should proceed…

She welcomed this haunting gaze, watched him look at her, lick the corner of his wry smile. He stood before her, arms crossed, serious as ever, leering down at her in all her intimate magnificence. A gust of wind stroked her cheek, craning her lips up toward him. 

But the vision never kissed her back. He simply left her there in that state of deeper yearning. 

“Take a little more,” he whispered between her ears.

Obeying her phantom lover, she slipped her other hand in to tease at her threshold. She massaged around the point of entry, and nearly gasped aloud when her finger stumbled and slipped in a puddle of anticipation. 

She pondered the flow of his face. The way he leaned the tip of his tongue against his upper lip when he contemplated something on the proverbial horizon. The way his features fell naturally to a state of pensive concern, all furrowed brows and gentle scowls. 

I wonder what he thinks about when he thinks no one is watching, she thought.

It was certainly clear that she was unaware of his unique vantage point. He could very easily sit in silence and continue to go unnoticed. But how inappropriate would that be? he thought. It would probably be best to quietly take his leave and return to the fishes...

But what if he were to cause a ruckus on the descent and startle her? Surely, staying put would save her the embarrassment of being found out.

On the other hand, if she noticed his awareness, perhaps she would invite him to join her?

Realizing that his ponderings were becoming increasingly ludicrous in what was already a rather bizarre scenario, he stopped himself from going any further. In the meantime, a mild discomfort billowed in his lap in response to his little ethical dilemma. Beneath his admittedly unsexy impermeable coveralls, trapped in the stifled heat, he throbbed between the layers of fabric; the nagging sensations of this itch he couldn’t scratch were most frustrating and strangely delicious.

And so, his reluctance to make a decision became the decision itself.

Suddenly, impatience gripped tightly around her core. Haste coursed from the crux of her elbow out the ends of her fingertips. Bleeding, aching heat into her. She lost track of her vision and fell into the chaotic dark behind her eyelids.  

She did not want to wait any longer for her release. 

Quick shallow thrusts and feverish circles. But the crotch of her jeans forced her hand down, fought against her increasing rhythm, limited the range of her exploration, constricted her potential, and the tension swelled a little more readily in the fascia of her wrist than it did in her loins. The tendons cording the underbelly of her forearm burnt in protest, demanding her to rest and reset.

Her eyes fluttered open; she had almost forgotten where she was. Re-inspired by her surroundings, she took another generous breath and softened a little more into her hips. When the cramping in her forearm subsided, she set to resume her course. 

Until the snap of a twig gave her a start. 

Her eyes darted around, worried about prying, or dangerous, eyes—she had been warned earlier that day that bears are known to wander these woods. When she spotted the little brown chipmunk sitting in the tree to her left, her relief poured out as quiet laughter under her breath.

He watched her reveal one hand, licking the fingers clean as she melted back into the bedrock. He swallowed so audibly he was sure he must have disturbed the birds nesting in the neighboring tree.

Any hint of sound from her, however, was whipped away before it could reach his ears. 

Starting anew, slower this time. Rubbing across her clit. Massaging her inner walls. 

Slow. Steady. 

She rode the next wave of pressure as it ballooned more comfortably than before, more organically, and in this way, it was allowed to manifest with much more deliberate intensity than it had during her frenzied rushing.

Pupils dilated, ears perked, he didn’t dare breathe. 

He could not hear it, but the sight of her manual fervor, the writhe of her torso was indicative of the rise of a most deafening crash, and he was dead quiet in the moments leading up to the fall.

And so, brick by brick, she built herself a wall of unbridled self-indulgence, by way of constant, steadfast strokes around and around her dial, until her towering need was too overwhelming to stand upright any longer. Then, like the waterfall not a quarter of an hour away upstream, like the tree upon which she had started her afternoon adventure, gravity sent her crashing back down to earth.

His grip on the trunk, which kept him from being pulled down with her, tightened spontaneously when she moaned out into the crisp, northern air and caved in on herself.

Following a most satisfying final cat nap, sprawled out in the shade of the brush on the cool stone face, she rose. Stretching and twisting the length of her spine, she looked around, beyond the edges of her hideaway. There was no longer any sign of the other two; it seemed that the boys had finally turned in for the evening, so she made her way back to their car. She obviously had not been too far behind them. They were still in the process of peeling out of their waterproof wear, breaking down their fishing rods.

No one’s face breathed a word of their secrets upon their reunion. She would never have known that he had glimpsed her in all her debauched glory that day. He would never have known that it was his face that she envisioned while she twirled circles around her sex. And the third would never have known that this day would mark the beginning of a most torrid affair between the woman he loved and his very best friend.

More by Queen Jayne:

The Birthday Bash
Chicago Rare
Comings and Goings
Compliance Risk
Condemned Desire
Conservation Area
Devotee
Diamonds and Pearls
The Edge of Glory
Expressions of Grief
For Dommestic Use Only
Hey, Babe.
Just Dessert
Lucky Shot
Marked
Summer Heat
Strangers on a Train
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