Dryad's Glen

This is a work of fantasy. It is not about real people, and if it is, it´s not what they would do. (not that you are likely to know them anyway). If you are under 18, go away, since I donít like to get in trouble. If you are turned off by perversion, what are you doing at ASSTR? In other words, go away. If none of this applies to you, great! Read on! Have fun! Let me know what you like!

Oh, and I work hard on my writing...so guess what? Itís mine. Thatís right boys and girls...itís copyrighted...so if you want it? Just ask...weíll talk.



(MF, Rom)

She was gone.

He shook his head -- all their years together -- a tear slowly wended its way down his cheek, as he began to pack her things.

The blue dress she wore to their daughter Denise's wedding. He remembered how happy she was, how she felt in his arms as they danced around the room. The material was soft, clingy, sensual; like her. It floated around them, reminding him of their own wedding day, when her veil floated around them as he swept her in his arms. He sighed softly, inhaling her lingering scent.

Maybe this was a bad idea. It was too soon, too raw a wound to clean out now. He didn't want to lose what he had left of her. He closed the half filled box and headed out the door.

He found himself walking. Not quite aimlessly, but meandering nonetheless. He ended up in the city park, a grand old place. He walked the avenue of ancient oaks that soared above him in an arch. The squirrels tittered at his feet, playing some sort of squirrel soccer with a nut. He smiled slightly, remembering how she would always throw them
the saltines she invariably kept in her oversized purse.

They met in this park, near the large central fountain. It was right after the war. He had come home, feeling lucky but feeling so very tired. She made him want to celebrate, to live. Her dark sparkling eyes, always so full of fun. She used to chase him around the fountain until he reversed gears and would catch her. She would rock in his arms, slightly out of breath, her breasts against his chest, as she tiptoed up to sneak a kiss.

It was as he was wandering that he bumped into her; Sandy, Denise's best friend.

"Mr. Allard, I'm so sorry. I heard. It was so sudden. She was too young. I'll miss her" She said empathetically, her hand on his arm. He was unsure whether it helped or made him angry.

"Thank you," he said forcing a slight smile. "It was quick; she didn't suffer much." Kid, what did she know? She fell into step with him.

"This place," he shook his head, "it was so special. Did you know, Laura and I met here? I proposed to her, at the fountain." He chuckled slightly. "I was never so scared. I shook so bad, I actually dropped the ring in the fountain." Sandy smiled at him. "I could see you doing that. I bet Mrs. Allard just laughed."

He nodded, smiling in memory, "We both jumped in, running our hands around looking for it. She was so wet..." His voice trailed off, realizing to whom he was speaking.

Sandy reached out for his hand, squeezing it. "It's okay. It's important to remember her that way. I'm not exactly the little kid you remember," she pointed out softly.

And to his chagrin he noticed her obvious warmth and personality. A body young enough to remember its soft curves but old enough to understand them. She had to be what? He thought to himself idly, 29? Yes, must be since Denise was. With dusk quickly approaching, it had begun to rain softly and he observed her nipples harden as the cold water soaked her thin peasant blouse before shaking himself out of his reverie.

Sandy smiled at him, softly, empathetically. She took the hand she held in hers, and placed it over her breast. "It's okay." She murmured softly. His fingers trembled, first to pull back, then to rest over her breast. So soft. He shivered in memory, remembering when Laura had given him her virginity. A very private moment, one he didn't list when he explained why the park was so special. Laura felt so soft under his hands, his fingers pleading as his mouth couldn't do. And she gave, God, did she give.

They ran through the rain, ran into the hemlock stand. The thick branches gave them cover from peering eyes and the falling rain. He leaned low and kissed her softly, putting all his boiling emotion into it. His hand caressed her face, memorizing each detail, the soft slope of her jaw, the curve of her neck.

She leaned into the kiss, pressing her firm breasts into him, her arms wrapped around his neck, open and giving. She showed him with her body, reminded him he was alive. Her leg went up to link into his. Their lips parted, their noses touching when suddenly they lost their balance and she landed on top of him. They laughed out loud, and she rubbed his bottom, making the minor pain glow into something more substantial. They rolled in the soft loamy dirt and dried needles that made their temporary bed as satiny as expensive sheets. They smelled the damp spring rain, as their heavy breaths curled over their heads.

He pressed into her, kissing her, but suddenly shy. What next? Should I? Can I? So tender of her, even now adoring her. Her hands told him though, pressing his shoulders so his lips were within reach of her chest. His lips covered a chilled nipple through her thin shirt, warming it with his tongue. Emboldened by her shifting sighs, he laved the opposite one with the same attention. Her body writhed beneath his, her hips pressing up to meet his.


It was only a whisper. He heard it though, rejoiced in it. She would be his. He continued to trail down her soft stomach. Her skirt was bunched up, and he could see her exposed thighs. He gently knelt between her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs. Her hands reached for his hair, pulling him closer. He nuzzled at her core, feeling the dampness on her panties that had nothing to do with the rain. Her hands reached down to help him, peeling them downward, down with her stockings. He sighed at the sight of her. The scent of aroused woman, spring rain and hemlock would always make him remember.

He flicked his tongue on the outer ridges, enjoying her moans and squirms. He breathed in her scent before nuzzling her core. Her body silently shuddered in response, and he felt her lips spasm quickly. So silent, so different from the girls he'd met in Europe. They had to announce to the world. Her orgasm was silent, just for him. His tongue fluttered over her clitoris, lengthening her joy, until she whimpered low and he felt her pull upon him, pulling him down.

He knelt up, trembling, wanting everything to be right for her. He pressed his head against her opening, rubbing it softly against her wetness, before pressing slowly into her.

His body was shaking with the amount of concentration to retain his control. Slowly he pressed into her warmth. Never had it felt like this. So warm, so tight. He pressed in fully, before sliding back out just as slowly. Her moan of desire stirred him, and he pressed back in. Slowly he built up the tempo, until he got lost in her, lost all control. And then with her soft sighs, he too had his release.

As he came down, he opened his eyes. Sandy was beneath him, smiling softly. He was stunned, even a bit embarrassed. It seemed so real, but it wasn't Laura. Laura...my Laura...She's gone.

He collapsed onto her waiting, soft body, and wept, Sandy's arms wrapped around him.

© Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2002

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This story has been nominated in THREE categories for a Golden Clitoride:
Best Short Story
Best Romance Story
Best Heterosexual Story;
If you enjoyed it, please vote !

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