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Seasons
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-668-8
ISBN-13: 
Genre: Romance
eBook Length: 66 Pages
Published: April 2009



From inside the flap

The crisp air of hunting season holds a chill of fear for sixty-two-year-old Maisie, who sits in her remote mountain cabin awaiting the annual visit of her lover David, as she has every year for decades. But for the first time, he is late. Has something happened to him? Has he forgotten her or abandoned her after all these long years?

Maisie’s thoughts run through the cycles of seasons of waiting and seasons of loving that have marked her life as surely as did the spring rains, summer gardens, and fall harvests. Maisie’s life is tied to her family’s ancestral land, and she cannot leave the hill farm where she was born and raised. Work, another life, separate from hers, and family obligations keep David in town in the valley. He escapes only once a year for the long walk up the mountain to Maisie’s arms, but the two fit a year’s worth of loving sensuality and sexual passion into each of those treasured weeks. The two are bonded in a deeply erotic, spiritual relationship that defies conventional terms and yet is as pure and wholesome as new milk and fresh hay.

Night falls, and Maisie fears the worst, but finally David arrives, to make the electrifying announcement that will radically change both his life and Maisie’s.

Seasons (Excerpt)


Chapter One

Maisie brushed a strand of silver hair off her face. Stooping, she pulled the second pie out from the back of the oven. The crust was browner than she liked along the back edge. The old wood stove was fussy sometimes, especially when the weather stayed warm late in the year, as it was doing this November. She stood, closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the steaming apple-cinnamon cloud rising from the bubbling slits. Sixty-two years of living on this earth, and she still greeted every apple pie as if it were heaven on earth. She thought of David's eyes lighting up at the sight of a slice of pie, and then of his lips closing over the first bite, savoring it the same way he paused when he moved deep inside of her, as if he could hold the moment forever.

She heard the echo of a shot as she set the pie next to its partner on the trestle table. Wiping her strong hands hastily on her apron, she strode to the door, lifted the cool iron latch, and stepped out onto the porch. It's not him, she chided herself, wrapping her fingers around the worn hickory limb that served as porch rail. Patience. He'll be here.

She knew that it would be today. Today or maybe tomorrow, she reminded herself. Deer season had started four days ago. She could tell by the angle of the light and by the sound of rifle fire issuing from the valley below - sometimes a single shot, or at other times a run of several, one after another, as a hunter kept targeting a fleeing, bounding whitetail stag. The first two days of shooting were always the weekend set aside for youthful hunters. Her calendar said that the first day she had heard the shots would have been Friday, but her calendar might have been off. Perhaps some folks were being a bit hasty, or just sighting their rifles while doing some scouting. So if that first day had been Friday, then this was Tuesday, and he always arrived on the first Tuesday of deer season.

The unseasonable warmth of the noon sun made her nervous, edgy; the mists like summer haze that hung along the valley seemed an ill omen. She shivered despite the warmth. Untying her apron, she draped it across the rail. Having crossed the creaking floorboards of the porch, she settled on the swinging bench David had built her years ago. How many years ago, she couldn't guess. Sometimes they seemed to blend, flowing one into the other, the trickle of each precious moment spent with each other running together into a rill, a stream, a river that cut through the mountain of time that was her life.

She let the golden sun caress her face, her neck. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and let her fingers drift over her jaw, down her throat, over the small white pearl buttons clinging to her plaid cotton dress between her breasts. She lingered there, letting the palms of her hands slide outwards. Pressing on her nipples, she felt them rise to her touch as she whispered his name. How many times a day do I say that one word? she wondered. David. Come to me, my love.

She opened her eyes, blinking against the light. Beyond the porch stretched two full acres of gardens, all neatly tucked down for the winter but for the hardy chard and kale, their bright red stalks and purple ruffles glowing garishly against the deep brown soil and layers of copper leaves. Between the garden beds lay the well-worn path that Maisie followed with her eyes, down through the lower meadow to a cleft between an intertwined pair of white birch. There it plunged into a stand of hemlock, dark and moist and silent. When Maisie entered that place, she felt as if she were walking into the womb of the forest, through the parted lips of some Shelagh na Gig on the doorway of an ancient Celtic church.

From here, she could no longer see that spot as anything but a tangled triangle of black against the long pale reaches of the meadow grass, but her inner vision knew every stone and twig of it. She willed his form to be standing there, willed him to be walking towards her in his laced-up leather boots, his grey wool pants, his red and black plaid jacket, and the green-grey hat she'd knitted for him, which he'd finally taken back down the mountain with him three years ago, after his wife Dolores passed away.

Come to me love, she thought again, using the Gaelic word her grandmother had taught her as a baby: Aris. Again. Again. Come to her again, he had, every year. Every year except for one.

She thought back to the first time she'd seen him there, emerging from that dark wood.


***

He'd been eighteen, just a year older than her nearly to the day, his long lean legs striding up the mountain as easily as walking through a city park, rifle slung over the shoulder of his red and black plaid jacket. He'd smelled Ma's cooking, he'd said, and after three days in the woods it sure smelled mighty good. Da asked him questions over supper, one after another, about business in town, his father's work in land surveying, the prospects for a heavy winter. Maisie could tell by the way Da lit his pipe and nodded that he'd approved of the boy's answers.

But whenever the conversation could break in another direction, David's glance rested on her. By the time they reached dessert, Maisie had summoned up the courage to look at him, her eyes searing into his just as he took that first bite of apple pie. She felt a tingling run through her body that she'd never felt before. A line appeared between them - a silver chain like the one that bound the swans to one another in the ancient Irish legend.

Later that evening, as the cold night air settled a dark blanket around the porch, she'd asked him why he did that, why he'd paused at that moment. He said that when she'd looked at him, he suddenly had the sense that he was tasting her, eating her flesh in the works of her hands, that it was all one to him - Maisie, the cabin, the gardens, the apple trees, the pie. Then he stole a kiss from her, shyly, awkwardly, their teeth clicking together in his rush. All through the night, Maisie lay awake, feeling his lips on her, tasting him. It was all one, he had said. She didn't understand it yet, but his words called her, wrapped around her heart and soul and bound her to David from that one look on through all time.

She felt that bond call her all year. When he returned back up the mountain path the following deer season, she felt that her heart was about to burst. He stayed three days, stacking firewood and feasting on Ma's cooking, and stealing a kiss from Maisie each time Da's back was turned. He got his buck the third morning - a beautiful ten pointer. He dragged it back to the dooryard with such a jumbled look on his face - pride at his prize, tangled with angst at having no more reason to remain - that Maisie burst out laughing. But her laughter brought him near to tears, and she stopped instantly.

"David, you'll be back, won't you?" she asked quietly.

Seizing her hand, he kissed her there right in front of Da. "I'll be back, Maisie. I promise. Will you wait for me?"

She nodded, and he turned away swiftly. Grabbing the ropes of his makeshift deer sledge, he strode away across the sloping meadow, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

Da put his arm around Maisie's shoulders. "Come on inside, girl. Chill is coming on out here."

"I'll just stay here a minute, Da," she said.

Having looked at her silently, he slipped the green wool jacket from his shoulders and draped it around her. "My beautiful daughter," he said. After kissing her on the forehead, he headed quietly up the porch steps. Maisie heard the door click shut behind him as she stood silently staring down the path David had taken as he strode away from her.

"It's all one," he had said, and finally, a year later when he returned again just after her eighteenth birthday, she understood what he meant. From the minute he'd walked back up that path, the two could not take their eyes off each other. Their fingers darted to brush together, their legs entwined underneath the kitchen table at dinner, and their shoulders pressed together as they sat on the porch steps watching the cold winter light fade to dark. They awaited the creak of Ma and Da's footsteps heading upstairs to bed, and then, with no need for words spoken between them, they'd held hands and dashed out to the shed.

She understood then, when she'd had the chance to taste him, to press her tongue against the musky swell deep between his thighs, to feel his body shudder as he came deep in her throat and she licked and licked his collapsing cock, not wanting to lose a single warm drop. Then, curled up like a small bird in a nest of swirled black hair, David would fall asleep, his arm resting over her hip beneath its cotton dress, while she watched the beams of the hunter's moon slide like silver dreams across the floorboards of the shed.

She had craved the taste of him every minute of her life since that moment. She sought the scent of him in the blooming grasses of the spring and the ripe berries of her summer garden, felt his hands on her in the cold water of the swimming hole pressing against her goose-bumped bare flesh on a hot August afternoon, saw the lean sinew of his muscled thighs under the silvery skin of young beech trees. Not a day went by that she did not want him, yet she could hardly say she missed him, for she found him there in everything she touched and turned and tasted.

Maisie let her thoughts turn back to that first night they made love. Her mind wandered slowly over every instant. She'd dashed through washing and clearing the dishes. Her Ma knew. Maisie was sure of that. She'd tugged on Da's sleeve and coaxed him up to bed early, while Maisie and David dashed with trembling hands back to the shed, where Maisie had carefully stacked a pile of quilts and pillows earlier in the day. She hungered for him. Her fingers tearing at his trousers, she fell to her knees before him and wrapped her lips around the warm, swollen head of his cock as it tumbled from the waistband of his long johns. She slipped her mouth slowly down its length and pressed even deeper, feeling his hips tilt towards her as his fingers slid into her ginger hair.

"Wait," he whispered. "Wait, Maisie."

She let him slide out of her mouth reluctantly, staring at each vein, each small freckle on his straining shaft, each ghostly little shadow in the moonlight. She willed her mind to remember the image, before she looked up into his face. He knelt down in front of her, entwining her hands in his own, as if in prayer.

"I want to look at you," he said softly. "Will you let me?"

The words acted like a summons to every cell of her skin. She felt her breasts rise. The curve of her stomach longed to be bared to his eyes. She needed to stand naked before him with her arms rising to the sky over her head like a statue of a goddess. She needed to be seen by him, to be seen as a woman by her lover. She nodded her head wordlessly, her eyes brimming with pious desire. He slipped his hands to the buttons of her dress, fumbling awkwardly with the small closures, but she did not move, did not take her eyes from his face. When the dress slipped from her shoulders, she stood still. Her petticoat dropped to the floor as he tugged it from her waist.

David sat back on his heels and rested his hands on his thighs, his cock rising in awe and reverence as Maisie stood before him. Stripes of light from between the boards of the shed streamed over her body, rolling in waves as she gently swayed, rising over him. Her hands slid upward over her hips, over the soft small roundness of her belly, over the heavy swells of her breasts and the long pale stretch of her throat.

As she lifted her hands and turned her face upward, David sprang to her. He pressed his face to her navel, his hands racing upwards over the backs of her thighs, his fingers plunging between her buttocks, pulling her to him. His tongue lapped at first one hard knot of hipbone, and then the other, as Maisie stood with her arms stretched over her head. Gasps of pleasure rose to her lips.

His hands slid down behind her as his lips descended on her belly. His fingers found her first, circling her anus softly, questioning, and then finding the warm wet pathway forward, between the swollen ridges of her vulva. After pausing, he stroked the hungry valley of her waiting cunt. She gasped, her hands flew to his shoulders, and their eyes met. "Spread your legs for me, Maisie," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Easing her thighs apart, she pressed them to his face, with her hands on the back of his neck. She pulled his mouth into her. He buried his nose into her bush, his tongue painting her with broad strokes. Slipping his hands in front, between her thighs, he slid his thumbs along the inside of her pussy lips and parted them as if he were opening a sacred book. He stopped then, closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Maisie," he said, and then darted a hard, pointing tongue upward into her slit, flicking it into her over and over, spooning her juices into his mouth. She stood up on the balls of her feet, her calf muscles shaking, feeding him as if she were the fountain and he the sun-parched pilgrim of some ancient myth.

"Maisie," he whispered again, as if to tie the name and the taste and the smell of her forever as one image in his mind. He slid his hands to the back of her knees, eased her down on the quilts, never taking his mouth from her cunt. He pushed her thighs outward and plunged his tongue inside of her.

"David," she cried out, arching her back, spreading her legs wide, finding the walls of the shed and lifting her feet up to press the rough boards. The fingers of his right hand found her again, and ran deep inside her. His mouth fastened on her. His tongue wrapped around her clit, rocking to the movement of her hips. Maisie felt a scream rise in her throat. She grabbed his left hand, sucking two fingers into her mouth as waves of joy like ladders of light breaking through a dark November sky swept across her body.

His breath was warm in her ear now, his words not so much heard as permeating her soul. "I want to be inside you, Maisie. I want my cock inside you. I want to come deep in you. Let me be in you, Maisie."

She opened her eyes slowly, her body soft and fluid, her mind knowing nothing, feeling nothing but his body pressed against hers. His bare chest pushed against her breasts, his legs entwined with hers, his cock felt hard against her thigh. Her hands sought his face. His eyes searched hers.

"Maisie, I've never been…"

Her fingers moved to his lips. "I want you in me, my love. Let me feel you inside of me."

He slid between her opening legs. She reached down to guide him, stroked his cock lovingly, invitingly, moved him to her, feeling the heat of his head against her aching wetness, feeling as the head slid, inch by inch, slowly into her. Her hands found his hips, pulled him deeper, and he stopped, pressed within her. She looked at him questioningly. "I just want to feel this, Maisie," he said. "I want to feel this forever."

Shyly, she slipped her feet around his legs, slid them gently up the backs of his calves. The corner of his lip curled, as his body proved unable to wait a second longer. He roared back, plunging into her, and Maisie held on hard, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as if she were afraid that his passion would carry him off…that he would disappear. She felt his cum rise up, his body spasm as he came into her. Locking her eyes onto his face, she heard his cries, watched the turn of his lips. A twinge ran below his left eye; the edges of his nostrils flared like those of a nervous stallion. He collapsed into her arms, and then rose on his elbows, afraid that he would break her.

"Stay," she willed him, pulling him back down. He nuzzled his lips against her neck, and fell asleep.