Naked and Delicious in the Blaze of Autumn

Her clothes dropped like autumn leaves, revealing flesh as ripe and sweet as a Delicious apple. A teasing west wind tossed the bright hair uplifted from her head, and Daniel wakened from his summer dream.

It had been a sultry dream. A dream like all dreams, filled with those events that altered and illuminated our time. And he, he was there. Yes, it was a summer dream, passionate as summer dreams tend to be. In the dream, he had been a lifeguard, bronzed save for his nose, a nose gleaming white from zinc oxide. And she was naked and wet in the pounding surf.

He recalled Ursulla Andress emerging from the ocean in an old Bond film. But this girl, the girl emerging from the ocean in his dream, was not wearing a bikini. For his dream was not a James Bond film. No, it was more like a foreign art film, for she was nude, tan, and lithe in the driving surf. Reclining in the guard stand, his surfing magazine in his lap, the transistor radio playing Wilson Pickett, time seemed to stand still as he saw her naked body. He saw her body tense as it was very gently whipped and teased by the breakers.

In his dream, like a play within a play, he descended from the guard stand with the savage grace of a jungle cat and raced to her assistance. Sweeping her nude form out of the raging surf, he swiftly transported her to safety and placed her on a large beach towel. Coughing slightly, her eyes found his. He fought to maintain eye contact in order not to stare at her swelling breasts. And yet he knew the necessity to examine her nipples because, if he found them to be turgid, it would mean she would survive.

His eyes turned toward her chest, his head dipped lower, and lower, and lower still. The tension was agonizing. And then, almost rudely, he awoke from his summer dream. A promising dream, needless to say. But the summer was gone, lost like the dream season on "Dallas."

As Daniel returned to reality, eyes blinking, he saw his camp site in the forest, the rock circle outside the hunter green nylon tent, its smoke curling into the autumnal air. And then he saw her in the distance, by the lake. He watched, mesmerized, as her clothing fell and her superb physique -- every bit as golden and delicious as a crisp, zesty apple, though hopefully less crunchy -- came into view.

Daniel was torn. He logged on as The_Diligent_Puritan in Internet chat rooms.

Chivalry demanded that he make some loud camp-related noise to alert her to his presence in the secluded camp. He should take his metal cup and bang it against the metal plate while pretending to be washing them. But he did not, could not. Instead, he watched, with rising interest, as she produced a bar of soap and began bathing.

As she rubbed on the soap, his mind began to drift. The summer dream had ended, but it almost seemed as if it had merely yielded to an autumn dream. She had spent her summer at the beach, it seemed, for she had tan lines. He heaved a heavy sigh as he began to ponder kissing along those thong tan lines. Would it be callous to hope that she would venture into deep water and need his professional life-saving services? Just in case, he should remain alert to the possibility, he thought.

Did she resemble Gwyneth Paltrow nude playing Sylvia Plath? Did she resemble Meg Ryan nude in "The Cut"? Did she resemble Nicole Kidman nude in "The Human Stain"? He had not seen those movies and could not tell. And more significant questions cropped up. Would a movie star playing a poet like Plath get a Brazilian Wax before her nude scenes? Tough question? Why yes, it was a tough question. Being a diligent puritan, though, he made careful mental notes to catch those movies on video at some future point.

At present, he made the decision to get a better look at the girl bathing at the edge of the lake. As stealthy as a Arikara warrior stalking elk, he moved through the woods for a better vantage point, Then, realizing his behavior might be misinterpreted as deviant, he turned away, trying not to dwell on the succulence of her flesh. He was diligent, but a puritan too. Affected in part by the scant camp diet of freeze-dried soup and Slim Jims, his mind turned once more to the thought of juicy apples, and images of the lake goddess became inextricably mixed with images of warm, flaky pie.

Ummm, pie. Even the few tantalizing freckles that lay on her bronzed skin reminded him of a light dusting of cinnamon, and he thought how much more tasty a scoop of no-fat vanilla yogurt would be if eaten off her tanned tummy. Sweet yet tart, perfumed with the breath of Autumn's being, and as ephemeral as October sunlight.

He felt buffeted by a tumult of mighty harmonies, so he returned to his campsite to

master some self-control. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on feeding sticks into his campfire till he had created a blaze so fierce that he could have transmitted a sentence from Light in August via smoke signals if he chose to.

Suddenly, the snapping and crackling of the fire was punctuated by a cry, a cry that sounded through the forest likea clarion over the dreaming earth, and he leapt to his feet and raced back toward the lake. He flung himself into the water, completely disregarding the fact that he was wearing his brand-new LL Bean Northwoods flannel shirt in loden plaid. Now was not the time to be slavishly sartorial. Nay, it was a time to be as commandingly defiant of the elements as Sam Elliot in "Lifeguard."

Juliet Prouse-Lewis had been peacefully bathing in the pristine mountain lake, confident that she was alone and unobserved, and drifting slowing into the sensual rhythm of caressing her firm, supple body. But then she decided to go for a swim. At first, the water of the crystal lake was cool and soothing. Farther out, however, it seemed colder. Then came the dawning realization that she was too far out, that the water was too cold, and that she was in trouble.

When she had screamed, it had merely been a reflex. In the wilderness, there was no person to hear. So her surprise was total when she saw the large, dark stranger swimming to her, pulling her back toward the shore like some latter day Johnny Weismuller. She was too weak from her struggle with the cold water to protest as he put her down on a large olive drab camping towel.

Soon, with her naked, shivering body wrapped in the large towel, and with the campfire throwing out heat, Juliet began to feel much better. She briefly wondered why thermal units were British, but dismissed the query. It was at that juncture that she began to realize that her lush body was nude beneath the towel. And she began to assess this tall, dark stranger who had rushed to her rescue.

But Juliet was no mere damsel in distress. No, she was a professor of psychology internationally famous for her experiments with sex toys. Her pathbreaking research, which continued the work of Kinsey, had earned her a reputation as a modern version of Masters and Johnson. It didn't hurt that she was a lithe young woman. The media loved to run articles on this young lady with the sensual appearance -- the hair and the lips of Norah Jones -- who just happened to work in the field of sextoyology.

Was her interest in sextoyology a genuine intellectual pursuit? Or was she merely rationalizing her own powerful sensuality? She had no idea, but she did use the handle Mistress_of_Rationalization in chat rooms. In any event, the pressures of her work were as ceaseless as the buzzing sounds emanating from her university lab. And so, faced with the opportunity to take a few weeks off in October, Juliet had headed for the wilderness, taking only the necessary supplies and a small bag of sex toys and batteries against the possibility (albeit remote) that a chance for field research would present itself.

As Juliet explained her research to Daniel, his face remained inscrutable. Would he wax judgmental, she wondered? Or would he wax Brazilian? Her eyes crinkled at her own little interior joke . Juliet began to relax and explained her sextoyology work at considerable length. Daniel listened, then finally inquired: "So your work is coming along well?" She resisted the urge to laugh, assuming he was serious. Then just in time she saw the twinkle in his eye. Well, actually in both eyes. He had two.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the day warmed. Juliet had by now fully recovered from her mini-ordeal. And the lengthy discussion of her work with toy-induced female orgasms had caused a little rush of blood. Juliet had slept late that morning, feeling lazy on vacation in the forest, and so she had not had her customary morning orgasm. In addition, she felt a certain sexual tension between herself and the mysterious stranger who had materialized from the dark woods and so decisively intervened to save her.

As the cool autumn breeze penetrated her blanket, Julied wondered aloud what had become of her clothes. Perhaps an errant porcupine or grizzly had carred them off from where they lay discarded on the shore. Hastening to assure her that lack of clothing was not an issue for him, Daniel asserted that he was fully prepared to step outside the box of social mores if Juliet herself was in her comfort zone. Daniel knew that it was key to be inclusive of nude chicks going forward.

Seeking a diplomatic median between remaining provocatively nude and sending him forth to challenge bears on her behalf, Juliet opted for one of his flannel shirts. But as she took the proffered garment and began to button it over her ample curves, their eyes met across the campfire, and her fingers, in mid-button, suddenly reversed. A moment later, Daniel vaulted over the fire, took her hand, and led her, nude and alluring as a dryad, into his tent where his down-filled Mt. Washington sleeping bag waited with its superior warmth to weight ratio. Although Daniel had often appreciated its Polarguard Delta insulation and compressibility, as he pressed himself against Juliet's smooth golden skin, he felt that any high performance ratings would be his alone.

As Daniel's seeking fingers caressed her firm hips, Juliet glimpsed the trees in their autumn beauty through the flaps of the tent. Yeats' line "...unwearied still, lover by lover..." drifted through her mind. Yes, she knew it was a poem about swans. She knew it was not October twilight, but full day. She also knew that it was unlikely Yeats had ever experienced the joys of woodland tent sex with Maud Gonne. Still, she could not help but feel that passion or conquest attended upon her in all its glorious fall colors as she pulled Daniel to her in clamorous lust. She hoped that hunting grounds did not surround the lake and the echoes of their lovemaking would not reverberate to distant deer stands where hunters waited fortified with deer scent and whiskey.

An hour later, Juliet gathered the towel around her once again and went outside the tent to sit by the fire and normalize her respiration. She thought of her lab tests of her new "Slik WIlly" vibrator, with its flexible shaft and lifelike head. It was a squeezably soft jelly dildo. She had used the "Slik Willy" in combination with a little hint of her "Jurassic Jewel," a pink and flexible strand of tiny anal beads. With those oiled toys, Juliet had teased herself to many delightful orgasms. However, she could not help but contrast the deliberate, technical teasing of such toys with the sudden, surprising passion of tent sex.

She knew his name was Daniel, and she began to think of him as a character out of Fenimore Cooper. As for Juliet, some observers had seen in her a Madeleine Stowe-like quality of vulnerability combined with a strong undercurrent of raw sensuality. But names and occupations seemed less significant in the wilderness. The day had grown hot and Juliet wanted to simply rest on the beach in the sun and recover her strength.

Thus it was that the two strolled toward the beach. Upon locating an ideal spot to nap in the sun, Juliet realized that she was wearing the towel. However, considering the fact that Daniel had already seen her in a natural state, it seemed only reasonable to spread out the towel on the sand and sunbathe nude. Daniel noted her decision with approval and elected to do the same.

But there was trouble in paradise, and both realized immediately that they had forgotten suntan oil. With an inventiveness which would have garnered praise from Crusoe, Daniel located a small bottle of baby oil in his backpack. But then came, er arrived, a hard, er difficult, decision. Which side of Juliet should be rub oil on first? Talk about a dilemma. Inasmuch as she was already on her tummy, he decided to go with that first. It did mean that he would not be able to gaze upon her erect nipples and shaven succulence, but it did mean more time to appreciate her back, her legs, and those perfect hips.

Juliet sighed. It was turning out to be a delicious day.