Miranda always felt that she was a nature spirit. Perhaps she was a tribeswoman in a former life, living off of the land and living with the land in order to survive.
The reason was irrelevant to her and Miranda never spent long dwelling upon it.
The fact was that she adored nature and she loved being with nature.
She would often take a trip to town and into one of the thrift stores. She would buy a pair of jeans, a top (whose style would vary depending on the season) and an old pair of comfortable worn-in shoes.
Once her purchases had been made, Miranda would drive to her local beauty spot. This was a nature reserve some five miles away from her home, which consisted of ponds, woodland and people. Families on picnics, couples on romantic strolls, walking groups on their weekly tours and people just there to enjoy the beauty and tranquility of the place.
Once in the car park, she would lock the car, hide the keys on top of the rear tyre, praying under her breath that nobody would take it upon themselves to relieve her of her only means of getting home.
Miranda walked across the car park to whichever path grabbed her attention. In her bag, she had a small CD player with tiny portable plug-in speakers. The CD was always the same. The deep, rhythmic drumming of the mystic shaman. As soon as Miranda was on her way, she would stop and take her shoes off, placing them in her bag. She relished the feel of the earth beneath her feet and the feel of the leaves and twigs crunching under her every step.
When she found a suitable clearing, Miranda would take the CD player from the bag, place it on the floor and begin the CD. As the drumming played, Miranda would dance. She would feel her soul connecting with the trees and life all around her and she would take joy in this as she began to remove her clothes, dancing all the while. When her clothes were scattered around her, Miranda's dance became more frantic. Her golden hair flowed around her, the sunlight gleaming through the trees playing with the strands of her hair making it look like Rumplestiltskin's spun gold.
She ran her hands over her body, savouring the feel of her delicate skin, her pubic hair and her hardening nipples. Still dancing, Miranda would begin to masturbate rubbing her clitoris with the rhythm of the music. Faster and faster she would dance, getting wetter and massaging her breasts and sex until, when she could take no more, her legs would weaken and she would fall to the ground crying out her orgasm and bucking her hips to the dying sounds of the drums. She never knew why nobody called the police, people often walked past her but she did not care. She loved showing her beautiful body to the world.
Miranda did her dancing as often as her mundane schedule would allow. Usually, she managed it once or twice a month.
