***
I’ve always loved the outdoors.
I love the cool air and the feel of the ground beneath my feet. I love the sights – the leaves with their different shades of green, the brown tree trunks, the golden sunlight filtering through them, the colorful wildflowers and butterflies in the meadows and the dark tapestry of stars at night. I love the sounds – the blades of grass rustling in the breeze, the babbling brooks, the concert of animals, big and small – and the occasional silence. I even love the smell of the earth and that of the rain. All together, they create this perfect treat that serves as a respite for the lonely soul, a refreshment for the troubled mind, and a reinvigorating therapy for the weary body.
It’s just what I need.
Indeed, as I sit on a rock surrounded by trees off the beaten path to drink some water from my bottle and splash some of the rest against my sweat-drenched shirt, I already feel more at ease. Here, I can get away from all the noise and chaos of the world.
I feel like a boy again, a boy who has just sneaked out from under his governess’ nose to skip his lessons and climb trees instead, ending up with torn, dirty clothes, scraped knees and a few beatings from the cane but still feeling ridiculously happy. I feel like that boy with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a superhero’s cape who stole sweets from the kitchen after bedtime, to have a picnic under the stars but ends up falling asleep and catching a cold. I feel like that boy who jumped in muddy puddles in the rain, who rolled in the bed of leaves in the fall, who waded through the snow in winter.
Oh, how I wish I was still that boy.
But I’m not. I’m a man now. And I didn’t come here to the woods to play. I came here to rest, to sort my thoughts, and to escape from my worries just long enough to be able to come up with a way to deal with them.
“What should I do about Abby?”
If only the trees could answer, it would be wonderful. Then again, if they could talk, no one would probably want to come here anymore. I, for one, come to the outdoors not to be told what to do, but so I can find out what I want to do.
What do I want to do about Abby?
I don’t know. All I can think of is what I want to do to her.
I want to take Abby in my arms, to kiss her silly, to fuck her hard. I want her blushing, breathless, moaning as I explore her mouth, suck on her breasts, and plunge my fingers inside her hot, dripping sex before burying my hard cock deep inside her. I don’t care whether she’s pinned against a wall, bent over a desk, or shoved down on the carpet with her legs up in the air. I want to pound into her until I collapse, until I’m bathed in sweat and out of breath, until she shudders like she’s going to break into a million pieces and screams my name for all to hear, until I fill her with so much of my warm cum that it trickles down her quivering thighs.
“Fuck.”
Just the thought of that beckons images so vividly inside my mind, making me hard. I have to stop again, this time leaning against a tree and closing my eyes as I splash what’s left of my bottle of water on myself to calm my body down.
I don’t know what’s more frustrating – the fact that I keep getting a hard-on whenever I think of her, or the thought that I’m not going to get any chance to act on any of my fantasies unless I get her back.
I have to get Abby back.
But like Roger said: In order to get, I have to give.
And I’ve never been much of a giver. Women have always given me what I wanted, some without asking for anything in return, some in exchange for sex. Sure, some of them ask for more sex, but none of them have ever dared to ask more from me.
Except Lindsey.
She told me she loved me, and she wanted me to feel the same way. She asked me to be her boyfriend in all seriousness, and I left her without so much as a goodbye.
As much as I hate to admit it, I was fucking scared.
That’s the same way I feel right now. And just like last time, I feel like running away.
Do what you didn’t do last time.
Except this isn’t like last time. At least last time I knew how Lindsey felt. She made the first move. This time, I’ll be making the first move, and I don’t even have a clue how Abby feels. I have no assurance whatsoever that this will get her back in my arms. Am I really willing to risk everything?
“Fuck!”
I turn around to punch the tree then slide against it as I let out a deep breath of exasperation.
If only Abby could give me a sign.