Girlmyth Rumble & Woodsmoke 


"Why are you here?" I asked.

"I guess I'm seeking something," she said. "That's the only way I know how to explain it. I think I'm seeking you, or something about you, in much the way you are seeking me."

I looked at the girl, her skin slick, drops of rain splashing soft fingertips across her chest, her nipples bouncing ever so imperceptibly. Water glistened down the curve of her stomach, pouring slow and gooey, like syrup. Where her legs came together she was both creamy and dark with soft tiny hairs. Shy, I glanced away, and she made an astonished, slightly admiring sound.

I brushed my hands against my wet clothes. The rain beaded in clear drops on her face, almost like warm tears. I touched the drops and tasted them, as she had done to me. Then I laughed.

She smiled and hugged herself. "See what I mean? I'm supposed to make people happy, make them feel good and alive."

Such is the madness of writing. A true gift, to be sure.
The words below lead on into this mystery.

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Most recent changes: August 8, 2015
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