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Dance for me
I caught several glimpses of the cottage in the distance as I drove up the unmade track and a strange longing grew in me before it came into full view. As I pulled up and parked in front of the cottage I knew that this was the place I had been seeking. There was an immediate sense of belonging, a serenity I had not experienced while viewing other properties.
The cottage was solidly made of old stone, backed by a forest but with acres of grassland on the other three sides and I caught the glint of the sea on the horizon. I climbed out of the car for a closer look and, even though it was late January, I didn’t need to don my favourite jacket so I left it slung on the back seat. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and gently caressed my neck. Wildflowers bobbed in diffidence to her passing while the long grass bowed and twisted according to her whims. I walked to the far side of the cottage and gasped in pleasure. There, in the middle of the grassland, stood a giant oak tree. Everything was perfect, just as I’d imagined it would be.
It had been a long time dream that one day I would own a cottage, isolated and away from the crush and pettiness of humanity. My success as a writer had provided the means to make this dream a reality and with much pleasure I purchased my dream home and immediately set about making it habitable. The roof needed re-thatching and the timbers indoors had to be replaced since their exposure to the elements had left them weak and rotting. New windows were fitted. Food, fuel and a generator were delivered and within three months I had moved in.
For the first few months I had visitors nearly every weekend, only family or close friends, and I would take them to picnic and drink wine beneath the oak tree, taking sanctuary beneath its branches from the elements. However, as the novelty wore off so did the frequent visits until my only contact with other human beings was a visit to the local post office and shops, 20 miles away, once a month. I had no qualms at that time, after all, this is what I'd wanted and everyday I became more and more reclusive.
Throughout spring and summer, as long as it wasn’t raining, I could be found outside, sitting beneath the oak tree with the laptop by my side and a notebook in my hand. I would sit there for hours while the breeze gently caressed me, watching the leaves dance in the silhouette of a woman in an emerald dress just for me.
The seasons turned again and suddenly autumn arrived on my doorstep. I realised I had a deadline to meet and still had very little done on my new book so I made a conscious effort to work indoors. The breeze grew stronger each day making the door bang in its frame or the windows rattle as it seemed to call out to me ‘where are you, come dance with me’. I gave in so easily to her call as she tempted me once more to sit beneath the oak tree and watch her show. This time her dress was made up of browns, gold and deep russet colours as once again the silhouette of a woman formed of leaves in front of me.
In a single instance everything stopped and was quiet and it was then that I heard her voice demanding ‘Dance for me’ and I did. I stripped naked to her touch and desire fired throughout ever fibre of my being. I had never felt so alive as I danced amongst the grasses, waltzing with the wind as the leaf shaped woman approached and enfolded me. Her caress was sensuous, leaves gently brushed my nipples coaxing them to harden and ache. Her kisses were cool across the back of my neck and down my throat. Delicate stems caressed the inside of my thighs and I groaned with a longing for release. I danced for her for as long as I could and when my trembling legs threatened to give way it seemed as if she half carried me to lay me down in the lush grass. Lying beside me her leaves gently stroked until the release I’d craved racked my body leaving me content and half asleep in her embrace as dusk settled into evening.
I dreamed surreal dreams until suddenly I saw the oak tree and a nightmare vision imprinted itself onto my inner eye. A dry storm raged, thunder and lightening crashed, illuminating the area, illuminating the tree. A skeleton hung from the tree, starkly white in the lightening against the dark of the night. Tuffs of scalp still clung to its head while it gently swayed in the breeze and it wore my favourite jacket. A voice I’d heard once before laughed delightedly.
“Now you will always dance for me” she cried.
A bolt of lightening and a crash aroused me from the nightmare. I was still in the field where I had fallen asleep but the storm was real. I glanced at the tree in fear and saw that a branch had cracked, opening a wound in the tree, the same branch that I’d seen the skeleton swing from. Fear, shock and revulsion vied to be the dominant emotion as I ran back to the house. Wasting time only to throw on some sweatpants, I grabbed my keys, wallet and laptop and raced to the garage. By the time I reached there I was praying and almost wept with relief, as I thanked the inventor of battery charges, to know that the car would start and I fled from the cottage.
Two weeks after that I arranged for a removal company to return to the cottage for my belongings. They called me in confusion, thinking that they had the wrong place, as the cottage looked like it hadn’t been lived in for months. Apparently there was no roof on the cottage and all the windows were broken. I apologised to them for their trouble and made some excuse, which I can’t remember to this day.
I still own the cottage. A small dark place inside of me is the reason for this. I know, and have acknowledged to myself, that one day I will go back and dance for her but not just yet.
I caught several glimpses of the cottage in the distance as I drove up the unmade track and a strange longing grew in me before it came into full view. As I pulled up and parked in front of the cottage I knew that this was the place I had been seeking. There was an immediate sense of belonging, a serenity I had not experienced while viewing other properties.
The cottage was solidly made of old stone, backed by a forest but with acres of grassland on the other three sides and I caught the glint of the sea on the horizon. I climbed out of the car for a closer look and, even though it was late January, I didn’t need to don my favourite jacket so I left it slung on the back seat. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and gently caressed my neck. Wildflowers bobbed in diffidence to her passing while the long grass bowed and twisted according to her whims. I walked to the far side of the cottage and gasped in pleasure. There, in the middle of the grassland, stood a giant oak tree. Everything was perfect, just as I’d imagined it would be.
It had been a long time dream that one day I would own a cottage, isolated and away from the crush and pettiness of humanity. My success as a writer had provided the means to make this dream a reality and with much pleasure I purchased my dream home and immediately set about making it habitable. The roof needed re-thatching and the timbers indoors had to be replaced since their exposure to the elements had left them weak and rotting. New windows were fitted. Food, fuel and a generator were delivered and within three months I had moved in.
For the first few months I had visitors nearly every weekend, only family or close friends, and I would take them to picnic and drink wine beneath the oak tree, taking sanctuary beneath its branches from the elements. However, as the novelty wore off so did the frequent visits until my only contact with other human beings was a visit to the local post office and shops, 20 miles away, once a month. I had no qualms at that time, after all, this is what I'd wanted and everyday I became more and more reclusive.
Throughout spring and summer, as long as it wasn’t raining, I could be found outside, sitting beneath the oak tree with the laptop by my side and a notebook in my hand. I would sit there for hours while the breeze gently caressed me, watching the leaves dance in the silhouette of a woman in an emerald dress just for me.
The seasons turned again and suddenly autumn arrived on my doorstep. I realised I had a deadline to meet and still had very little done on my new book so I made a conscious effort to work indoors. The breeze grew stronger each day making the door bang in its frame or the windows rattle as it seemed to call out to me ‘where are you, come dance with me’. I gave in so easily to her call as she tempted me once more to sit beneath the oak tree and watch her show. This time her dress was made up of browns, gold and deep russet colours as once again the silhouette of a woman formed of leaves in front of me.
In a single instance everything stopped and was quiet and it was then that I heard her voice demanding ‘Dance for me’ and I did. I stripped naked to her touch and desire fired throughout ever fibre of my being. I had never felt so alive as I danced amongst the grasses, waltzing with the wind as the leaf shaped woman approached and enfolded me. Her caress was sensuous, leaves gently brushed my nipples coaxing them to harden and ache. Her kisses were cool across the back of my neck and down my throat. Delicate stems caressed the inside of my thighs and I groaned with a longing for release. I danced for her for as long as I could and when my trembling legs threatened to give way it seemed as if she half carried me to lay me down in the lush grass. Lying beside me her leaves gently stroked until the release I’d craved racked my body leaving me content and half asleep in her embrace as dusk settled into evening.
I dreamed surreal dreams until suddenly I saw the oak tree and a nightmare vision imprinted itself onto my inner eye. A dry storm raged, thunder and lightening crashed, illuminating the area, illuminating the tree. A skeleton hung from the tree, starkly white in the lightening against the dark of the night. Tuffs of scalp still clung to its head while it gently swayed in the breeze and it wore my favourite jacket. A voice I’d heard once before laughed delightedly.
“Now you will always dance for me” she cried.
A bolt of lightening and a crash aroused me from the nightmare. I was still in the field where I had fallen asleep but the storm was real. I glanced at the tree in fear and saw that a branch had cracked, opening a wound in the tree, the same branch that I’d seen the skeleton swing from. Fear, shock and revulsion vied to be the dominant emotion as I ran back to the house. Wasting time only to throw on some sweatpants, I grabbed my keys, wallet and laptop and raced to the garage. By the time I reached there I was praying and almost wept with relief, as I thanked the inventor of battery charges, to know that the car would start and I fled from the cottage.
Two weeks after that I arranged for a removal company to return to the cottage for my belongings. They called me in confusion, thinking that they had the wrong place, as the cottage looked like it hadn’t been lived in for months. Apparently there was no roof on the cottage and all the windows were broken. I apologised to them for their trouble and made some excuse, which I can’t remember to this day.
I still own the cottage. A small dark place inside of me is the reason for this. I know, and have acknowledged to myself, that one day I will go back and dance for her but not just yet.
Ha :D
Didn't think you were but you are a tart touting for stories to extend your site. I'll dig out Kyles email address tonight and send it.
Didn't think you were but you are a tart touting for stories to extend your site. I'll dig out Kyles email address tonight and send it.
Ineedsleep wrote:
> I thought that was only for 'dark' writers. I always find my stuff
> cheery and light :)
Yeh but we can make an exception for one so brilliant as yourself!
*Not brownnosing
> I thought that was only for 'dark' writers. I always find my stuff
> cheery and light :)
Yeh but we can make an exception for one so brilliant as yourself!
*Not brownnosing
Nicely written, if I may say so. A ghost story that was more enchanting than scary. And enchanting is better than scary.
RoJ wrote:
> By the way, if you want us to put this up on the website just email
> it to Kyz.
I thought that was only for 'dark' writers. I always find my stuff cheery and light :)
The title actually came from a character in Skies of Arcadia (he says it while firing his guns) but no idea where the story came from.
A woman entombed in a tree? My interest has been piqued. Any other info you can give me so I can read it?
> By the way, if you want us to put this up on the website just email
> it to Kyz.
I thought that was only for 'dark' writers. I always find my stuff cheery and light :)
The title actually came from a character in Skies of Arcadia (he says it while firing his guns) but no idea where the story came from.
A woman entombed in a tree? My interest has been piqued. Any other info you can give me so I can read it?
Ok, cheers.
that was ariel in the tempist RoJ
Very good. Did you by any chance get some of the inspiration from a tale about a woman emtombed in a tree or was it a coincidence? I had some stirring of memory when I read that. Anyway, I really liked it - but don't expect me to dance naked for you.
:P
By the way, if you want us to put this up on the website just email it to Kyz.
:P
By the way, if you want us to put this up on the website just email it to Kyz.
Dance for me
I caught several glimpses of the cottage in the distance as I drove up the unmade track and a strange longing grew in me before it came into full view. As I pulled up and parked in front of the cottage I knew that this was the place I had been seeking. There was an immediate sense of belonging, a serenity I had not experienced while viewing other properties.
The cottage was solidly made of old stone, backed by a forest but with acres of grassland on the other three sides and I caught the glint of the sea on the horizon. I climbed out of the car for a closer look and, even though it was late January, I didn’t need to don my favourite jacket so I left it slung on the back seat. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and gently caressed my neck. Wildflowers bobbed in diffidence to her passing while the long grass bowed and twisted according to her whims. I walked to the far side of the cottage and gasped in pleasure. There, in the middle of the grassland, stood a giant oak tree. Everything was perfect, just as I’d imagined it would be.
It had been a long time dream that one day I would own a cottage, isolated and away from the crush and pettiness of humanity. My success as a writer had provided the means to make this dream a reality and with much pleasure I purchased my dream home and immediately set about making it habitable. The roof needed re-thatching and the timbers indoors had to be replaced since their exposure to the elements had left them weak and rotting. New windows were fitted. Food, fuel and a generator were delivered and within three months I had moved in.
For the first few months I had visitors nearly every weekend, only family or close friends, and I would take them to picnic and drink wine beneath the oak tree, taking sanctuary beneath its branches from the elements. However, as the novelty wore off so did the frequent visits until my only contact with other human beings was a visit to the local post office and shops, 20 miles away, once a month. I had no qualms at that time, after all, this is what I'd wanted and everyday I became more and more reclusive.
Throughout spring and summer, as long as it wasn’t raining, I could be found outside, sitting beneath the oak tree with the laptop by my side and a notebook in my hand. I would sit there for hours while the breeze gently caressed me, watching the leaves dance in the silhouette of a woman in an emerald dress just for me.
The seasons turned again and suddenly autumn arrived on my doorstep. I realised I had a deadline to meet and still had very little done on my new book so I made a conscious effort to work indoors. The breeze grew stronger each day making the door bang in its frame or the windows rattle as it seemed to call out to me ‘where are you, come dance with me’. I gave in so easily to her call as she tempted me once more to sit beneath the oak tree and watch her show. This time her dress was made up of browns, gold and deep russet colours as once again the silhouette of a woman formed of leaves in front of me.
In a single instance everything stopped and was quiet and it was then that I heard her voice demanding ‘Dance for me’ and I did. I stripped naked to her touch and desire fired throughout ever fibre of my being. I had never felt so alive as I danced amongst the grasses, waltzing with the wind as the leaf shaped woman approached and enfolded me. Her caress was sensuous, leaves gently brushed my nipples coaxing them to harden and ache. Her kisses were cool across the back of my neck and down my throat. Delicate stems caressed the inside of my thighs and I groaned with a longing for release. I danced for her for as long as I could and when my trembling legs threatened to give way it seemed as if she half carried me to lay me down in the lush grass. Lying beside me her leaves gently stroked until the release I’d craved racked my body leaving me content and half asleep in her embrace as dusk settled into evening.
I dreamed surreal dreams until suddenly I saw the oak tree and a nightmare vision imprinted itself onto my inner eye. A dry storm raged, thunder and lightening crashed, illuminating the area, illuminating the tree. A skeleton hung from the tree, starkly white in the lightening against the dark of the night. Tuffs of scalp still clung to its head while it gently swayed in the breeze and it wore my favourite jacket. A voice I’d heard once before laughed delightedly.
“Now you will always dance for me” she cried.
A bolt of lightening and a crash aroused me from the nightmare. I was still in the field where I had fallen asleep but the storm was real. I glanced at the tree in fear and saw that a branch had cracked, opening a wound in the tree, the same branch that I’d seen the skeleton swing from. Fear, shock and revulsion vied to be the dominant emotion as I ran back to the house. Wasting time only to throw on some sweatpants, I grabbed my keys, wallet and laptop and raced to the garage. By the time I reached there I was praying and almost wept with relief, as I thanked the inventor of battery charges, to know that the car would start and I fled from the cottage.
Two weeks after that I arranged for a removal company to return to the cottage for my belongings. They called me in confusion, thinking that they had the wrong place, as the cottage looked like it hadn’t been lived in for months. Apparently there was no roof on the cottage and all the windows were broken. I apologised to them for their trouble and made some excuse, which I can’t remember to this day.
I still own the cottage. A small dark place inside of me is the reason for this. I know, and have acknowledged to myself, that one day I will go back and dance for her but not just yet.
I caught several glimpses of the cottage in the distance as I drove up the unmade track and a strange longing grew in me before it came into full view. As I pulled up and parked in front of the cottage I knew that this was the place I had been seeking. There was an immediate sense of belonging, a serenity I had not experienced while viewing other properties.
The cottage was solidly made of old stone, backed by a forest but with acres of grassland on the other three sides and I caught the glint of the sea on the horizon. I climbed out of the car for a closer look and, even though it was late January, I didn’t need to don my favourite jacket so I left it slung on the back seat. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and gently caressed my neck. Wildflowers bobbed in diffidence to her passing while the long grass bowed and twisted according to her whims. I walked to the far side of the cottage and gasped in pleasure. There, in the middle of the grassland, stood a giant oak tree. Everything was perfect, just as I’d imagined it would be.
It had been a long time dream that one day I would own a cottage, isolated and away from the crush and pettiness of humanity. My success as a writer had provided the means to make this dream a reality and with much pleasure I purchased my dream home and immediately set about making it habitable. The roof needed re-thatching and the timbers indoors had to be replaced since their exposure to the elements had left them weak and rotting. New windows were fitted. Food, fuel and a generator were delivered and within three months I had moved in.
For the first few months I had visitors nearly every weekend, only family or close friends, and I would take them to picnic and drink wine beneath the oak tree, taking sanctuary beneath its branches from the elements. However, as the novelty wore off so did the frequent visits until my only contact with other human beings was a visit to the local post office and shops, 20 miles away, once a month. I had no qualms at that time, after all, this is what I'd wanted and everyday I became more and more reclusive.
Throughout spring and summer, as long as it wasn’t raining, I could be found outside, sitting beneath the oak tree with the laptop by my side and a notebook in my hand. I would sit there for hours while the breeze gently caressed me, watching the leaves dance in the silhouette of a woman in an emerald dress just for me.
The seasons turned again and suddenly autumn arrived on my doorstep. I realised I had a deadline to meet and still had very little done on my new book so I made a conscious effort to work indoors. The breeze grew stronger each day making the door bang in its frame or the windows rattle as it seemed to call out to me ‘where are you, come dance with me’. I gave in so easily to her call as she tempted me once more to sit beneath the oak tree and watch her show. This time her dress was made up of browns, gold and deep russet colours as once again the silhouette of a woman formed of leaves in front of me.
In a single instance everything stopped and was quiet and it was then that I heard her voice demanding ‘Dance for me’ and I did. I stripped naked to her touch and desire fired throughout ever fibre of my being. I had never felt so alive as I danced amongst the grasses, waltzing with the wind as the leaf shaped woman approached and enfolded me. Her caress was sensuous, leaves gently brushed my nipples coaxing them to harden and ache. Her kisses were cool across the back of my neck and down my throat. Delicate stems caressed the inside of my thighs and I groaned with a longing for release. I danced for her for as long as I could and when my trembling legs threatened to give way it seemed as if she half carried me to lay me down in the lush grass. Lying beside me her leaves gently stroked until the release I’d craved racked my body leaving me content and half asleep in her embrace as dusk settled into evening.
I dreamed surreal dreams until suddenly I saw the oak tree and a nightmare vision imprinted itself onto my inner eye. A dry storm raged, thunder and lightening crashed, illuminating the area, illuminating the tree. A skeleton hung from the tree, starkly white in the lightening against the dark of the night. Tuffs of scalp still clung to its head while it gently swayed in the breeze and it wore my favourite jacket. A voice I’d heard once before laughed delightedly.
“Now you will always dance for me” she cried.
A bolt of lightening and a crash aroused me from the nightmare. I was still in the field where I had fallen asleep but the storm was real. I glanced at the tree in fear and saw that a branch had cracked, opening a wound in the tree, the same branch that I’d seen the skeleton swing from. Fear, shock and revulsion vied to be the dominant emotion as I ran back to the house. Wasting time only to throw on some sweatpants, I grabbed my keys, wallet and laptop and raced to the garage. By the time I reached there I was praying and almost wept with relief, as I thanked the inventor of battery charges, to know that the car would start and I fled from the cottage.
Two weeks after that I arranged for a removal company to return to the cottage for my belongings. They called me in confusion, thinking that they had the wrong place, as the cottage looked like it hadn’t been lived in for months. Apparently there was no roof on the cottage and all the windows were broken. I apologised to them for their trouble and made some excuse, which I can’t remember to this day.
I still own the cottage. A small dark place inside of me is the reason for this. I know, and have acknowledged to myself, that one day I will go back and dance for her but not just yet.