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The Creek
By
wonderway

The Creek

A Sensual Night
Walking through the gate and past the fence, I enter the tree line. Sight is becoming diminished, a sense of solitude, a comfort, a semi-transparent blindfold. Feeling the darkness envelope me, the ground-hugging fog caressing my skin. Tendrils of cool mist are encasing my legs, licking at their bareness. There is a rustling of leaves under foot as my feet push into the sponginess of dried and cracked ground cover. In the distance, I hear it. Racing. Rushing. Tumultuous, like my heart.

Stopping, I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling. The soft scent of earth fills me. Fresh and clean, I smell the new growth of springtime. A smell as familiar as fresh baked cookies, the comforts of nature warm my heart, welcoming me. I feel a feather light breeze brush by me. It wraps around me, a coolness that sends a tiny shiver through me, like a warm breath blown on damp skin. The air through the leaves, whispering my name, beckons me farther. The sounds of nature, such music, a true primal melody. The sounds, they sing to me, a soft lullaby of solace. Opening my eyes, I reach out, placing my finger tips on rough bark. The harsh texture a complete contrast from the gentle coaxing sounds, like a soft caress across heated skin. I hear it. Racing. Rushing. Tumultuous, like my heart.

I continue my walk, stepping slowly, yet sure of my steps. I know this land; it is a favorite place, day or night. The Great Horned Owl calls to me. He no longer growls but rather speaks with me, letting me know I am friend and not foe. The scurrying of small critters nearby and the chorus of insects let me know I am anything but alone. The coyotes begin their nightly yipping in the distance. Is it meant to frighten or is it sounds of frolic and play? No idea but whatever it is, it draws a half smile to my lips. As I move farther forward, I slip between the branches; they tickle my skin hardly touching. Louder, I hear it. Racing. Rushing. Tumultuous, like my heart.

The single moon beam teases my vision, dancing before me, a bright ray in a world of darkness. It filters through the branches, reflecting upon the flowing broken surface, glistening off the wet rocks. Jutting out over the water is a large flat surface, a familiar place, a place worn with use, from long before me. I am home. I can hear the water’s desperation to pass by obstacles, though the tiniest of holes and the broadest of spaces. The rushing water soothes me, calms me. The whooshing fills my ears, quiet yet loud. This world is mine, my addiction. Racing. Rushing. Tumultuous, like my heart.

I leap over the creek bed, landing solidly on the rock’s hard flat surface. I slowly ease down and sit. Taking it all in, every sensation. Feeling the life return to me, filling me, recharging me. I lay back, my blonde hair pooling around my head. The coolness, the hardness against my back, bringing forth the honesty of it all. Hard, soft, stark, captivating, punishing, caressing, starving, consuming. I smile, ever so gently gliding my nails over my stomach, my abdominal muscles involuntarily twitch. Unbuttoning my shorts, I slide my hand down, passing under my panties, I reach my own wetness, pulsing, throbbing. Thoughts of you fill my mind and my heart. On their own accord, my knees draw up, my chin raises, my back arches up. I hear it. I feel it. I need it.

Racing…Rushing…Tumultuous…

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