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From: "Ray" <ray1031@cac.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Vision Quest  by Ray1031  (MF, Con, Fant?)
Date: Sat, 21 Dec 2002 08:10:05 -0500
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Vision Quest  by Ray1031 (MF, Cons, Fant?)

Thanks to Denny for the editing.

This is my story ..... copyrighted and belonging to me.
Want to use it .... ask!

Check the codes before reading .... don't like them, don't read 
further. Like the codes .... enjoy the story.

Ray


Vision Quest   by Ray1031 (MF Cons, fant?)


I pulled the old Yamaha behind the tree and turned off the 
motor, immediately missing the thrum and vibration under my 
legs. Dropping the kick stand I allowed the cycle to lean 
over as I slid my leg across the tank and dismounted. 
Slapping my helmet down on the point of the sissy-bar 
backrest and stretching I took a deep breath of the early-
morning mountain air. I unbuttoned my denim jacket and 
allowed it to hang open, I wore no shirt and the cool air 
felt good on my bare skin. Dropping the key in my pocket I 
began my walk.

It had rained yesterday and most of the night and as I trod 
the narrow path the clean morning air was laced with the 
smell of wet pine and moist soil, it refreshed and 
invigorated me. Trees and bushes quickly closed in, cutting 
off the world around me as I began hearing the voices of 
sparrows and jays in the surrounding wood as a bend in the 
path brought me in sight of a dense raspberry bush. This 
late in the summer the fruit was fully ripened and is one 
of the reasons I always make this fifty-five mile trip. The 
clean air, the smells, sights and sounds of the mountain 
along with the small slice of solitude are the others, 
allowing me to relax from the daily hustle and never ending 
cacophony of city life.

Stopping by the bush I removed a linen pouch from my jacket 
pocket and began filling it with ripened berries. Resisting 
the temptation to taste the fruit as I did so, knowing from 
experience that should I do so none of the fruit would be 
going home with me. In my minds eye I was already tasting 
them mixed in a fresh dinner salad  and over pancakes or on 
cereal in the morning. A hawk screamed out over the valley 
I knew was ahead and at its call I stopped my gathering, 
choosing to leave some for others to enjoy. Tucking the 
drawstrings of the pouch through my belt, I allowed the bag 
to hang at my hip as I continued my walk.

A few further twists in the path and my favorite part of 
this walk came into view. The trail let out atop a wide 
bluff here, a long grassy field stretching southward for 
almost half a mile. This narrow glade is bordered on the 
left by dense obscuring woods and on the right by a steep 
almost cliff-like slope into a valley below. Stepping near 
the edge I simply stood for a long moment as I looked out 
over the expanse of the valley below. Half a mile distant 
the far slope of this blind valley is a mass of oaks, elms, 
walnuts, a willow or two and a sprinkling of evergreens. A 
rolling wall of green with shadows of browns and grays and 
blacks interspersed here and there with clusters of 
wildflowers and the scar of the winding road by which I'd 
arrived. The valley wore its summer carpet, wide expanses 
of waving grasses with clumps of brightness where dozens of 
varieties of wildflowers grow. A gentle brook emerged from 
the hillside at the blind end of the valley, cut down 
through its center and left through its open end. There I 
knew it joined a stream, which in turn emptied into a river 
where the narrow mountain road meets the access road for 
Interstate Five.

I turned to walk through the upper meadow, finally, enjoying
the air, the view, the walk. A Squirrel rose up before me 
and ran off towards the wooded area to my left. Sparrows and
Jays creating a fuss near the far end of the glade announced 
the arrival of the other person as they stepped from the 
dark mass of trees at the southern end of the glade. There I
know another path will return me to the road and my 
motorcycle. The person paused, looking out over the valley, 
as I had, before beginning to walk up the gentle slope of the
glade, just as I was now walking down it. I assumed it is a 
girl or woman, as I'd seen long tresses billow for a moment 
in a light breeze blowing from the valley below. At the 
distance separating us it was hard to tell though, especially
when the sun had yet to crest the trees to the east and the 
area was dim with shadows. 

I kept looking out over the valley as I walked and saw a 
Hawk dive on a rabbit and miss. The rabbit disappeared 
quickly down a hole before Mr. Hawk could rise high enough 
for a second attempt. It was this walk, this view of the 
valley and this peacefulness of surroundings which drew me 
back four times each year. Once each season I make the drive 
to this place and make this walk, marveling always at the 
differences which came with the changing of the seasons.

It is Mid-Summer alive in rich forest greens, waving grasses 
and the colors of summer flowers. I always time my summer 
arrival so the blackberries are in bloom. Preferring a day 
such as this, after a night's rain, when the smells of pine 
and earth will be most noticeable.

She was closer now, and was most definitely a she. Long dark,
wavy hair hung almost to her hips and was being blown gently 
to one side as she walked, the vagaries of the gentle winds 
would first raise her hair like dark pennants, away from the 
valley below, then release it to cascade around and about her 
arm as it swung while she walked. I could not yet make out 
her features, though she was wearing some type of white 
blouse gathered and tied below her breasts as a bare expanse 
of skin marked her stomach and upper chest. Long bare legs 
rose from the grasses of the glade and disappeared into 
either shorts or a very short skirt. She had something in her
right hand as she walked on.

October will see my next visit, the trees across the valley 
will become a bright mural of golds, oranges and reds with 
only a few splashes of green intermingled. I will stop on 
the far side of the valley during that visit and gather 
walnuts for cookies, pies and ice salads.

It was definitely a skirt she wore. A blue denim mini which 
ride low on her hips and high on her thighs. Her plain white 
blouse opened down the front, pulled up and tied beneath 
breasts which it seemed strained to hold. In her right hand 
she holds a pair of white sandals, and so must be barefoot 
in the long grasses of the glade as her long slim legs 
scissored with her approach, her hips swaying side to side 
making the short skirt appear to flounce as she walked. Her 
hips narrowed to a trim waist before flaring out into those 
breasts straining against the blouse for release. The 
impression was there of a high arching brow and firm chin 
atop a graceful neck, but the distance was yet too great for
final details.

Winters in the glade are magic. Broad carpets of snow will 
blanket the entire scene with the far hill becoming an almost 
skeletal mass of stark whites and blacks of the trees snow 
laced branches against a winter grey sky. The brook down 
valley center will be crystalline with areas and clumps of 
ice seeming to grow along its banks as it sheets any 
protruding stones or branches with delicate coatings of 
purest crystal. Individual drops of moisture combining on 
larger branches to form jagged teeth like bunches of icicle 
forests over the flowing water. At the right time of day, it 
is like looking into a narrow road made of diamonds 
glistening and sparkling in the bright sunshine as it cut 
its way through the valley below.

The long sleeves of her blouse were buttoned at the cuffs, 
covering slender arms which swung gently as she walked. Her 
brows were as high and gracefully arched as I'd earlier 
thought they would be, topping a small and slightly 
upturned nose above full slightly parted lips. Those lush 
lips drawn up slightly at the corners as she walked framing 
an unconscious smile of white even teeth. Her belly had a 
soft barely perceptible swell to it, rising from her skirt 
and holding thin tracery of fine hairs leading upwards to 
her navel. My jeans were getting a little confining as I 
watched her approach and my mind began to think of things 
other than the quiet view of the valley below. I looked 
away again.

Spring here is my favorite time though. The brook will 
become a narrow stream with the melting of winter snows in 
the mountains to the east and the spring rains arrival. The 
valley floor will be a smooth carpet of short green grasses,
the yellows of dandelions adding random splashes of 
brightness and an odd type of pattern to the view. The far 
slope will be a dazzling combination of early leaves and 
blossoms as the tree filled slopes prepare themselves for 
the new growing season, though it will be the odors and 
colors lower on those self-same slopes that I really love. 
My spring visits are always planned for the week of Mother's
Day, when lilacs are in bloom and the entire lower slopes 
will be alive with the colors of lilacs and the air will be 
intoxicating with their scent. I love the smell of lilac in 
the spring.

Turning back to the woman, I found I could now see the depth
of color in her eyes as there were no more than ten paces 
separating us. They were fathomless depths of brown that 
seem to devour my form even as mine own ice grey eyes 
devoured hers. She was scanning down my form as I was 
scanning up hers and I watched as, slowly, her eyes rose 
up once more until they locked with mine. The communication 
there felt so real to me as those eyes seemed to deliver 
messages directly into my mind.


Just as we passed one another she would raise her hand to 
her hair, brushing it back from her face and there would be 
the slightest of contacts as her elbow brushes my upper arm.
Her sandals would fall to the ground unnoticed as we stopped
and turned to face one another, apologies upon our lips as 
our eyes met once again.

I would reach out pulling her nearer to my chest while she 
lowered her eyes from mine. My hands would slide to the knot
which held her blouse in place undoing it, slipping it from 
her shoulders and releasing her newly bared breasts into 
view. The blouse would slide down her arms as she arched her
back slightly raising her breasts even further for my viewing.
I would have stripped the blouse from her arms and let it 
fall to the ground behind her before dropping my hands to 
her hips as I gazed upon her still lowered face.

In a single fluid motion, she had raised her head and arms, 
her hands sliding upwards across my trim stomach, over my 
chest and beneath my jacket at the shoulders. Sliding her 
hands outward she will have pushed it from my shoulders, 
down my back as her arms encircled me. Dropping my arms to 
my sides the denim fabric had slid easily down my arms and 
fell to the ground behind me. I raised my arms then and they 
began to encircle her waist, even as her face continued to 
rise and she rose to her toes, her mouth seeking mine.

Time will have become a momentary blur as her skirt and 
panties, my jeans, boots and socks joined the other clothing 
on the ground about us. We were to be together in the heavens
then, a dizzying array of sensation, movement, touch and 
exploration all seeming to overlap and become one perfect and
eternal symphony of oneness. I had studied the language of 
her breasts, reading the brail of the Goosebumps surrounding 
her passions engorged nipples and I understood their message, 
"Kiss me!" they had said and I did, my hands sliding up and 
down caressing her sides and upper thighs. My lips had worked 
their way down her gentle curve of belly to the cavern of her
navel where they paused in oral explorations before I 
temporarily lost myself in the unruly mass of hair above her 
cleft, reveling in the texture against my cheek and tongue. 
Sliding lower I lost myself in the taste, the musk, the moist 
cavern and the exploration of her, even as her hips heaved
and tossed beneath my rapidly sliding tongue and dragging 
teeth.

Passion was fully in charge of us both as I kissed my way once
more to her breasts and I felt her hands gain hold upon my 
risen cock. She explored it's entirety with gently grasping 
fingers and urged me higher until our lips met once more, her 
hands guided me to her entrance. Passion was firmly in control,
yet I strove for some measure of gentleness as I began to slide
into the depths of her, yet she was having none of it, and her 
hands moved to my buttocks and pulled strongly forward, sinking 
me fully within her waiting sheath.

Her legs rose up to either side, her knees widened as her heels
gripped my buttocks, and pulled yet again, striving for greater
depth and fullness. Our rhythm was fast, jerky at first, yet 
though it remained fast, we quickly became more fluid as our 
movements meshed and matched one another's. I slid my hips back 
and up until only the helmet remained inside her even as her
back arched, swiveling herself, her hips down my shaft and away
from its invasion. Then came the sudden rushing together, the 
thrusting of hips, as the contact of my pubic hair slammed home, 
first against her labia, opening and spreading them, before 
slipping upwards and abrading against her clitoris as the last 
inch or so of my penis slides within.

It was a hurried, frenzied love-making with little of gentleness
about it from either of us. A passion driven joining of pure 
lust as my hands moved to her shoulders and began jerking her 
downwards with each thrust of my hips and her hands circling my 
ribs, her nails digging furrows in my back as she tried to pull 
me tighter and tighter to her breast, almost as if she is tried 
to consume me through those now flattened pillows. As if she 
hoped to dig wells into my chest with her hardened nipples, 
striving to bore within the center of lust that dwelt within 
my heart at that moment.

It would come to a head quickly, all too quickly for either she 
or I, I am sure, but such passion and lust as we experienced is 
not of a lasting variety. It was more of a demand for immediacy 
and intensity than a quest for intimacy an sensitivity and then 
it was over, a gushing of seed, a tightening of limbs and a 
final falling into the depths of one another as our bodies 
relaxed together. We became one again in our spent forces and
were slow in recovery.


Our eyes were locked, then slowly slid apart. Neither of us had
turned our heads as we approached, not an extra move did we make,
not a sound did we utter as finally we stepped abreast of one 
another for just an instant. Then we were past and moving away. 
I did not turn around as I continued walking, nor do I believe 
that she had either. We simply walked on, the distance between 
us growing and there was a feeling of unpleasantness within my 
gut as I continued, a feeling that something priceless or 
potentially priceless had almost entered my life and was now 
gone. But I had not turned around, I did not go back though my 
heart was fluttering wildly in my breast and every iota of my 
being screamed that I should.

When I reached the southern end of the glade, I was calm once 
again. Life had again returned to normal and I paused once 
again to allow the peacefulness of the valley to take me, 
though now there was a sad quality to the tranquil scene below. 
Then I turned into the path that would take me back to the 
narrow rutted road and my motorcycle, leaving the glade behind.

At the head of this path, beside the rutted road, I found a 
parked jeep. A deep bronzed brown, the same color as her eyes 
had been and I gazed longingly at it as I passed, trailed my 
fingertips lightly over the fender as I stepped around it on 
the narrow path. I began the walk up the twisty little road 
to my Yamaha.


It is between two of these twisty curves that we meet again. 
She is walking in one rut of the road, and I in the other. 
Again, as we approach, our eyes meet, lock and gaze deeply, 
her depths of brown into my icy reaches of grey as we seem to 
measure the secret longing of one another. Our eyes remain
thus locked, entranced in silent communication, until such 
time as we would have to turn our heads to continue until 
that point where one of us must violate the moment with a 
willful act. Again we do not turn our heads and it seems 
that once again we will continue our separate paths devoid 
of real human contact. But this time, coming abreast of one 
another, at the very instant we were about to pass once again, 
she reaches out a tiny hand and touches my wrist. Nothing 
sold or definite, but the merest whisper of a touch, the 
barest breath of contact between us, from one delicate 
perfectly manicured finger. We stop then as one, turning to 
face one another our eyes meet again and we each look again, 
each upon the other.

"Hi. I'm Denny"

She grins, then smiles, and finally chuckles softly as she 
replies, "Hi. I'm Dani." I chuckle then too.

Glancing back the way I have just come I say, "Good looking
Jeep."

With a soft smile she glances upslope, "Nice Bike."

"I know of a clearing."

Her smile widens dazzlingly, her eyes dancing a devilish 
jig. "Sounds perfect."

Taking her hand I lead her between two trees.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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