"There's nobody around for miles. The property is 11.4 square miles. We're alone; this cabin is yours and mine for the weekend. There's another note. Find it."
After the long drive and trying to follow the written directions, you have arrived at your weekend destination. The Blue Ridge Parkway is beautiful this time of year, exploding with the brilliant gold and crimson of leaves preparing to cover the forest floor with a soft bed of cover for the coming winter. The driveway was the hard part to find; just a little orange reflector nailed high up on a tree next to the road was your only warning that the narrow dirt path was coming up.
And about a thousand feet down the dirt two track lane, a gate. Getting out and swinging the gate open, you noticed the fresh tracks in the rich soil of my truck's recent passing. A tiny little picture of a red heart encircled with a black chain is the re-assurance that you're in the right place. Our last email contained a similar picture, and I've left it there for you so you would know that THIS is where I am. You recognize it immediately. You're in the right place; you picked the correct driveway.
And another two minutes past the gate, the drive opens onto a clearing with a sturdy looking, but small log cabin. A diminutive sign says, "Welcome to the World's Greatest Bed and Breakfast" which is the only indication of his business that the owner has put up, preferring instead to believe that his renters like to think that the little house is actually theirs for the duration of the rental.
In excited anticipation, you grab your overnight bag, close the door quietly, and climb up the stairs. The front door is open and upon entering, the rustic smells that greet your nose are heady, earthy, and deeply rich with reminders of life in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Wood smoke, flannel, vanilla, and a wafting hint of locally made potpourri all blend to make a near intoxicating aroma in the room. It's simply decorated; a huge overstuffed sofa with a rough textured fabric blanket thrown across the back, a large leather reading chair, a coffee table made out of an old barn door, and a stone hearth around a corner fireplace appear ready for a Ralph Lauren catalog photo shoot.
On that table is a short section of iron chain holding down a white, folded note. Dropping your bag on the long woven entrance carpet, you move the two steps to the table, lift the chain, and read the note that describes where we are and that you should find the other note.
Beyond the living room is the kitchen with ancient but dependable looking appliances; a refrigerator from the sixties, a toaster, a wood stove, and another table adorn a kitchen hung with homey wooden cabinets and shelves. At the back of the kitchen, there is a French door that looks like it leads onto a porch or deck and to the left is a narrow stairway going up to a loft. And since you haven't seen me or anything else that looks like a note, you ascend the creaking wooden treads with a little pang of anxiety.
At the top, the railing rises into a single room that encompasses the entire upstairs. A huge and comfortable looking bed covered in quilts and pillows is near a window that is so large that it looks out of place in the rustic old home. There is a piece of folded paper on the bed with a small red object holding it there. The object is a four inch high heart that I've made out of wood to look exactly like the emoticon from Lit. Serving as a paperweight, it is joined by a wrapped piece of Dove chocolate. But before you can read the note, you catch a glance out of the window. It overlooks the back of the property and it is magnificent; a long yard falls away and ends at a woods filled with maples and oaks, hardwoods all exploding in the brilliant colors of fall.
But you turn back to the note, still breathless from the sudden unexpected view.
"Darling, I know it's been a long drive, but put your stuff down and walk down the back yard until you see it. It's just a little bit longer, Love. I'm waiting."
There's a small bathroom in the corner; you take a few seconds freshening up and go down the steps. Back in the kitchen, open the French door, and step out onto the expansive deck built onto the back of the house. "My God, the beauty here is unbelievable," you exclaim to yourself.
There's something near the end of the long yard, perhaps a table or other feature and you bound down the steps and across the springy, soft grass wondering what is next on your adventure in the Blue Ridge. Two hundred yards away, there is a mill stone from a long defunct grist mill. And atop the round and flat tool is another red object and another folded piece of linen paper. This object is the red lips of the "kiss" emoticon and appears also to have been whittled like the last one and painted with bright red.
"A little further, Beautiful, a little further. Aren't the woods incredible? You can leave your blouse and bra here on the stone. We're alone here. Trust me? Good Girl. Now follow the path"
"Oh my," you think, "that's awfully presumptuous of him to assume that I would just do it." Going topless in the woods wasn't something you'd expected. With a wry smile and quick look around to make sure you are really alone, you laugh and consider this small surrender. The woods are silent; not even a bird chirps to disturb the ready to slumber landscape. All of nature waits, breathless, for your unveiling.
"I hope this is worth it," you think and the impulse to just do it hits you. Before you can change your mind, you quickly unbutton the loose fitting blouse and shrug out of a lacey, black bra. Onto the mill stone they go, and the late evening air caresses your lovely nipples elongating them into two sharp points. Delicate, pink skin crinkles and reminds you of the ache you've been feeling for this weekend with me.
A foot path leads further into the thick woods. As you walk, you realize that the trail is cleared of rocks, the descent is not steep, and the brush to either side is cleared back enough that you can walk easily. Relaxing a little, you uncross your arms from in front of you and walk naturally—as naturally as a lady can walk in the out of doors with her breasts exposed—and begin to revel in the sensation of being nearly naked outside. A small clearing comes into view and in the center is the other mill stone from the pair that worked whatever mill they came from. Your focus is on the center; instead of another hand-fashioned emoticon, there is a real rose. You step closer, wondering if the note that should be with it has blown away.
