Silver Apples of the Moon

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

W. B. Yeats

***********

I look down at the cool, glassy surface of the water beneath me. An old mining pit, nature had spared no time in reclaiming what was taken from it, rapidly replacing the ugly and industrial, with the breathtaking pocket of land before me. The sheer sides of the pit are verdant with richly hued grasses and moss. Jagged slashes of grey, pepper these sides as the slate beneath rents small wounds in the foliage. This contrast of soft grass and sharp stone, of warm and cold, does nothing but enhance the conflicting beauty of each. These cliffs plunge steeply, before spilling shards of slate onto a small beach, which in turn tumbles into clear pristine water.

The pool is still, aloof even and despite my familiarity with this place, that aching sense of yearning it instills has not diminished. Despite the early hour, shards of sun are already spreading out across the grass. It promises to be a glorious day, a rare enough occurrence in this part of the world.

I half jog down the slate path to the waterside and lay down my pack. I pull the towel out ready. Early morning there is never anyone about down here, particularly midweek and off season. It's a good hour long hike from the village to here and there are no decent roads or parking spaces near.

On a whim, I had picked up a fallen hazel twig on my short hike down from my cottage. Something about the shape of the tree that shed it had enticed me and I felt compelled to pick up it's offering. Reverently, I cast it into the pooI before starting to undress. This has become my morning ritual. I stand tall facing the water. Slowly I remove my shirt. A cool breeze jostles with the warm morning sun fighting for the attention of my skin as piece by piece it is revealed. Then follow my trousers and then underwear and I stand naked in the brisk air.

Standing there I tune in to the heartbeat of the place. The gentle, pulsing, undulations of the grass in the breeze, the barest hint of ripple on the surface of the water, the background hum of insect and bird, all layered into a characteristic, vital, rhythm. My breathing slows. My weight shifts to one side as I raise a foot, and then steadily place it into the water. Exquisitely bitter cold engulfs my foot and I fight the involuntary tension that constricts my body.

Step by slow step, I steadily descend into the pool, conscious of the sharp cold crawling up my ankles and legs. I continue forward, the water lapping higher and higher. Icy fingers caressing inexorably up my body, across my thighs, groin, stomach, chest. I feel the familiar rush as my body numbly melts into the pool, mixing with it. I stop, neck deep in the water and savour the sensation. The sharp coldness subsides to a cool embrace, but with the slightest shift of weight a new current pricks my skin with cold.

I start to swim, savouring each wave of cold between my legs but I've barely swam three stokes when I am pulled up short by a lilting laugh behind me.

"I didn't expect to find anyone else here!"

A tall young woman is stood on the bank, with a smile on her lips. I recognise her from the group of travellers who have set up camp below my cottage. They come every few years, a troupe of around fifty,

alive with brightly coloured tents and the music of fiddle and accordion. They walk across the heathland with their tents leaving their cars parked some miles away and they are met with joy whenever they grace the village with their presence.

This woman in particular had caught my eye. She has long dark hair, which cascades down her shoulders and a bright mirthful, beautiful face that seems constantly poised to laugh at some joke that only she is party to. As I watch her, she grins more widely and with a shrug and an effortless shimmy, she unclasps the colourful dress she is wearing, letting it tumble to the floor.

She is starkly, gloriously, naked beneath. The fabric falls away like stage curtains revealing a lithe body. A body of strength and softness in all the right proportions. Of delicate, graceful curves. Without noticeable hesitation, she begins to step into the water towards me.

"I hope you don't mind me joining."

"Not at all" I reply to her but it isn't a question.

By now the water is at her waist and rising quickly. She reaches her depth and with a toss of her head and a short, joyous, yelp, she dives under. Towards me. I see her shimmering silhouette beneath the water, closer and closer. I feel the fanning tendrils of her hair, brush my stomach and then, in what seems like an instant she is behind me. I turn to find a pair of large hazel eyes glinting at me mischievously. She nods at me, lips playing on the edge of a smile.

"You live in the cottage on the hill. I've seen you from our camp. I'm Faye"

"I'm Connor"

She starts to circle me in the water, gazing inquisitively at me and trailing her fingers over my chest and back. She looks back into my eyes and this time I match her grin.

"Perhaps there is something of the grey folk in you too?" she muses

I laugh, assuming her to be joking. Like most of the locals around here, I have grown up with tales of the fair folk, of the fey. She watches me thoughtfully and then the slightest shadow of concern crosses her lips.

"I think I've distracted you. You should get out, the cold is getting to you. I'll be right behind"

She is right. At these temperatures it takes mere minutes for the cold to seep in and I had missed the signs. Flushing, I suddenly become aware of the growing shivers which are beginning to hit me. Reluctantly I turn back to shore. With excited yelps and splashes she dives in and out of the water around me. Tantalisingly close. Then with a look and a coy smile, she composes herself and intertwines her fingers in mine to guide me back to shore. Her touch is electric and with the combined cold and arousal I am powerless to do anything other than follow her guiding tether to the shallows.

At the bank my warm robe is draped over me and she busies herself with my smaller towel, vigorously rubbing me dry. A voice somewhere in my cold dulled mind, is yelling at me to enjoy this moment, to remember it. Dried to her satisfaction, she lowers me to the ground and parts my robe letting the sun coax more heat into my body. She lays beside me, considering me, a slight look of contrition at the corner of that ever present smile.

" Sorry for distracting you. I got carried away."

I am at a loss for words, but she doesn't seem to be expecting any. She lays there on her side, gazing at me in silence. Small globes of water dapple her skin. She's naked still and achingly close to me.

A part of me questions the sense in this. She must be freezing! But a much larger voice drowns it out, urging me to savour this moment, desolate at the thought of this moment ending.

She smells of grass and apple blossom. Of spring and summer. She shifts nearer and I can feel the warmth emanating from her softly rising breast at my side. Her hair has fanned out beneath her, stretching almost longingly towards me and her neck curves her face up to me with a swan like grace.

She keeps those eyes locked with mine. There is no sense of embarrassment, no sense of impatience. Eventually she rolls onto her side. Her nipple brushes my arm, and my breath catches. Then she rolls further, into me, onto me. I can see, feel hard muscles beneath soft skin, all working together with practiced, coordinated, grace.

Her face is just above mine, her scent fills me. She positions herself high on my chest and then slowly lowers. She glides down my body, conforming to me. I can feel her lightly haired pubis across my stomach, her legs parted around my erect cock. Then, the tip of me meets the top of her legs and she pushes back until the length of my now vertical hardness is nestled against her vulva. I feel a warm silky wetness there, in contrast to the cool wetness on the rest of her. This wetness is all hers.

A slight shifting of the angle and I would fall into her, to the hilt, parting those velvet lips effortlessly. Instead she draws her legs in tight, cradling my cock between labia and thighs. She pauses there for a moment. Her warmth and weight soak into me and for a slight moment all trace of mirth is gone from her. Those deep, heavenly eyes lock with mine once more and she lowers her head towards me.

Her soft lips part mine and her kiss draws me up towards her, into her. My breath is sucked from me in a rush as our lips melt together. I lean further into the kiss, arching my back upwards, but she places a firm hand on my chest and tenderly pushes me back to the floor. She breaks the contact of our lips with a wrench and for an instant I am bereft.

Her face is flushed, but that mischievous glint is back as she ruefully bites her bottom lip. With a sigh she stands.

"We dance tonight." she says simply. "Come back here at dusk." With that, she turns, grabs her dress and walks away.

**************

I go through the motions for the rest of the day, distracted by daydreams. Bewitched and enthralled, I countdown the hours till sundown. Finally, I glimpse outside to see the sun diffuse into the horizon as the warm glow of its descent spreads across the sky.

I step outside my door and begin a hasty walk, down to the pool. I'm deliriously, lightheaded from nerves and anticipation. As I walk, I can hear a faint drum beat in the distance. Beat after beat matching the rhythm of my gait. Beat after siren beat matching my heart rate. It draws me on, louder and louder.

I turn the bend in the path and get my first clear view of the plateau above the pool. One single elder stands there, branches curved into a gnarled portal. Around the tree, figures gather, fifty or so, all arayed in loose robes of varied and bright hues. A small number beat drums and the rest sway and murmur in time. All eyes look skyward, moonward, waiting for a glimpse of shy Selene.

It feels like the sky perceptibly darkens at that point and the first white lunar glow demurely appears. The crowd strikes up a joyous, undulating cry that flows over the surrounding countryside. There is a wild joy in the distant faces as one by one they shed their robes to the ground. Everyone one of them is almost entirely naked. Body after body with only woad, cord, and feather for adornment. Some faces are clearly visible. Others are masked or crowned with horns or antlers. All move with an animal grace.

I pause, studying the milling crowd. Some torches are being lit to ward off the fast approaching dark and a diversity of figures are illuminated by the glowing pockets of light. A variety of shapes, sizes and skin tones, each figure is infused with strength and grace. To a person they are beautiful.

They dance with all the wildness of this place. They are the keening wind that blows, they are the skittering shadows chasing the fading sun. In one's movement I can see a gliding kestrel. In another's I can see the bounding of a great hound. They surge and twirl together governed by the current of the persistent drumbeat. Without thinking, I step slowly down towards them.

I strip as I walk. Something about being clothed here feels wrong, sacrilegious even. I can already feel the rhythm surging through me. Everything about the spirit of the place urges me to move.

I'm among them now, shadowy figures spin past me heedless of my presence. There is something distinctly otherworldly about this place. An antlered head glides past my left and for instant there is an utterly inhuman snout. At a second glance it's gone. The hind legs of a goat skip past on my other side, but as I turn to follow I find myself staring at the well muscled thighs of an olive skinned woman. Something about my surroundings resists rational analysis and all my senses urge me to let go and lose myself. That I do.

Soon, I am howling incoherently into the night. I'm leaping and turning in the firelight. Steadily the rhythm increases and a woman spins into me. Soft breast and taut body meet my chest and we meld. Hungry lips find mine and hands grope my skin. Mine reach for her, into her with a primal need and I feel her hands tugging at my straining cock. Then in an instant we have parted and she has vanished into the shadows.

Around me the crowd surges and recedes. One moment my frenetic path brings me twirling into the orbit of another body or two. Next moment I am cavorting in open space. Whenever a woman crosses my eddying progress there is a mutual sharing of flesh. Sometimes a soft caress as we pass. Sometimes a warm, fevered, collision of bodies and mouths. The intensity of these couplings is choreographed seamlessly by the music at the given moment.

Around me people start to split into groups. A woman lies on the ground convulsing to the music as five men and women kneel around her, hungrily exploring her with hands and mouths. A woman kneels as a man thrusts into her from behind, their bodies meeting like wave and shore. Two men and women writhe together by my side, a tangle of glistening limbs locked together as the bodies grind into one mass. In front of me a woman holds court on her knees, devouring three men with hand and mouth, her eyes glassy as one grunts his seed over her face and into her waiting mouth.

Then, as the music briefly lulls I see her. The woman from the pool. She stares directly at me, tall and lithe in the torchlight. Her hair is garlanded with apple blossom and intricate dancing thorns of blue woad, spread across her chest and belly. With slow stride, we close with each other, eyes locked, breathing synched. Tenderly she falls into my arms and she tilts her neck to explore my earlobes and cheeks with soft lips. We nuzzle each other then, experiencing each other with all our senses, and ever so gently her lips part mine with a soft kiss. That kiss lingers as our bodies undulate together with the now intensifying drums. Each of us fights to increase that contact, to join skin with skin and we bear each other down to the floor.

We land on our sides and without breaking contact I find myself roving southward with my mouth. My lips find her belly, striving towards her velvet softness. My lips find her mound and her scent engulfs me. Then from that shallow summit, I plunge my mouth over the edge, down her, into her. Her wetness fills me as my tongue slips over her hood and between her folds. I drink deeply.

Her mouth, achingly warm has found me too and my hips push involuntarily. I yearn to join with her, my tongue pushes deep, my body presses into hers more strongly. My erection plunges into her mouth, her throat, deeply. She gladly accepts it, pushing herself onto me with the same fervour. With groping hands and delving mouths we writhe and grind together, intensity building with the tempo of the drums.

Simultaneously, we rise from each other, desperately cupping the other's cheeks as our mouths search for each other. Her lips hit mine with sweet, soft impact. Our bodies reconnect and my chest drives her to the floor. Her hips open as she falls and buck upwards towards my cock, pulling it inside her as I descend. We move as one, thrusting together in an ecstasy warm flesh.

Her body moves sinuously, maximising the contact between our skin. Then with a fierce cry she rolls us over, mounting me with only the slightest pause in her rhythm. She bucks, with short moans and yelps and the muscles inside her urge and pump me closer and closer to climax. She draws me up into another kiss and our rhythm reaches the pinnacle of its intensity. We maintain it for a few moments both groping and thrusting desperately and with a rush we cum together shaking and howling into the night.

*****

I'm lying on grass when the first rays of dawn coax my eyes open. Memories of last night come back in a rush. I turn to my side, searching for her, but I am utterly alone. I jump to my feet, craning my neck, my heart suddenly pounding.

A sense of yearning and then loss hits me, more powerful than any I've encountered before. At a run I head to the camp. Last night couldn't have been a dream she had to be here. I wasn't ready to let go of the magic of last night, of the lady from the pool.

The camp is gone. Packed up with only the discolouration of the grass leaving any sign of the travellers camp. I sink to my knees, disconsolate. Of course I'd only just met her, of course we had barely spoken, but these more rational thoughts offer no solace.

Just as my head sinks to the floor I am brought short by that familiar gentle laugh behind me. I turn and she is there, walking up the track to the pool, wet hair glimmering in the morning light.

"I thought I might stay a while. If that's OK with you?"

Relief floods me as I raise my tearstained face to hers. I rise, taking her hand in mine.

"That would be acceptable." As one we both break into laughing and turning, begin to make our way towards my cottage.