The Waterfall 17

It was mid-afternoon by the time I reached the bottom of the path through the woods, that ran past a gate leading to a private cottage, almost hidden in the trees.

It was my fourth day of walking and it was getting hot. The first couple of days I had walked in cloud, with patches of rain, but yesterday and today were the first real days of sun and I was regretting for the umpteenth time not having packed my swimwear.

The sea sparkled emerald alongside me. Tempting, taunting.

More than once it had crossed my mind to just strip off and dive into the water, to abandon caution for once, and immerse myself naked, let every fibre of my being get cleansed by the surging tide, cleanse myself totally from him. And yet in every solitary cove, every hidden beach, families seemed to be paddling and picnicking, or there was no easy access except a perilous scramble down a near-vertical cliff face. I would have to content myself with a shower when I reached my guesthouse.

And I was enjoying the rhythm of walking. Already I could feel my body more limber than even a week ago, the joints of my shoulders and hips more mobile, my back straighter and my skin more toned and enlivened by being outside. I felt good. I felt fit and strong and active. I was sleeping well and every morning when I woke up I was ready to go again, to slip into my shorts, hoist my pack onto my shoulders and chalk off another stretch of the coast path.

The gate led into a garden, whose lawn I could see stretching down to what must be a private beach attached to the property. I could see no people in evidence, although the corner of a sun lounger was peeping from behind the cottage wall, on the front patio.

I had always wanted to stay in a place like this, to be able to afford this kind of luxurious seclusion, away from everybody else. Imagine coming here for your holidays, or even in the off-season, to turn your car down a quiet lane and open padlock on a gate, to shut yourself away in your own personal Eden for as long as you wanted. You would have arranged for the cottage to be fully stocked on your arrival so there would be little need to head out for supplies. All you had to do was stay where you were, enjoying the cosy licks of a log-fire in winter or the open embrace of the cool sea in summer, straight from your own beach.

One of my hands rested on the gate. It would have been easy to push it open and enter, to satisfy my curiosity as to who lived there, but another part of me, the one that made all the decisions, said, Sally, no, not here, not now, you're on a schedule after all.

I followed the path behind the cottage, now separated from the house by a high hawthorn hedge, with a field on my other side. As I climbed so gaps in the hedge afforded me further glimpses of the property. It truly was a wonderful place. The house was in its own valley, a building made from local grey stone. Three, no, four bedrooms at least. The lounger I had spotted from the other side was still unoccupied but rounding the hedge I heard murmurs of conversation below me although the speakers were hidden from view. The lawn, as I had imagined, led all the way to the sea. Part of the garden was walled, adding to its charm, but the real treasure was found at the end, as the grass gave way to stone and a small inlet was formed, comprising a small strip of sandy beach below a rocky shelf.

I reached a point where I was able to look over the hedge without stretching. I took it all in, the sweep of the garden, the quiet magnificence of the house itself, and the perfect setting of the cove. What a dream it would be to stay there. The kind of place I had always wanted to go with him. Too far away from anywhere, he would say, and the phone connection was bound to be unreliable.

Well too bad.

As I watched so a figure emerged from the water. She came up from under where I was standing and picked her way across the sand, alighting the shelf by means of a natural set of steps. She looked in good shape, athletic without being too muscled, her hair the colour of honey. Then I saw - how had I missed it - a natural waterfall at the edge of the inlet, sourced from the stream that ran down through the woods I had just come through.

The girl was heading straight for it and a pang of jealousy shot through me as I knew that in the next few seconds she would feel genuine shivers of refreshing pleasure as the spring water doused her. Standing where I was I could feel the rivulets of sweat siding down my back where my pack pressed onto my t-shirt, could feel the scratchiness where the waistband of my shorts cut into my skin, could feel my panties virtually clinging to me.

I watched as she tested the water with her fingers, then her hands, rubbing her face. Then she did something I did not expect. Without looking around, totally unselfconsciously, she slipped off her bikini top and bottoms, draping them over a piece of hanging rock, and slid her naked body under the sluicing shower.

I thought I heard her gasp as the cool liquid cleansed her from the salt of the sea and the sand from the beach. The stream cascaded over her golden-brown body.

Her hands massaged her breasts, which, released from their casings, were full and natural. I could see the hair between her legs, darkened by the water, the same colour now as her hair slicked down her back. She smoothed down the sides of her curvy body, around her ass, down her legs.

The only time I had been with a girl was in uni, drunken fumblings at a party, or the kissing games at school, and certainly I did not generally harbour those kinds of feelings. So I thought. Yet watching this girl here, now, her brazen pleasure at the touch of the water on her naked body, the way her hands dipped here and delved between her legs, was enough to send shivers of my own coursing from my groin all the way up through my stomach to the base of my throat. My own right hand was starting to wander, to the mound of my pussy, as I opened my legs slightly and began, very gently, to touch myself.

She was turning as the water fell, flecks of spray bouncing off her shoulders and arms, revealing her whole body to me. At one point she bent to wipe her feet and I saw her pussy and her ass rounded and firm. She was taking her time. She was enjoying herself.

I began to imagine myself there with her, wondering what it might be like to weigh those breasts in my own hands, or slippery against my own, our thighs entwined, my hair in her fistful, my tongue in her mouth and our fingers inside each other, all the while the water sluicing down from a heavenly high stream, coursing, cleansing, climaxing.

We would taste and lick each others' pussy juice from our fingers, we might then sink down together, all the while the water purifying every part of ourselves; then, with abandon, we might dive back into the sea as the sun flared orange over the horizon and return to the waterfall, to do it all again.

Could she see me? Had she seen me? Occasionally her gaze came my way but I did not know if she was able to discern my existence among the tangled, thorny branches. But there was no doubt that she was performing; arching her back, the water hitting her throat and streaming down between her breasts, displayed in even more magnificence; her fingers twining through the long tresses of her hair; one leg cocked forwards, the curves of her body emphasised.

Meanwhile I had unzipped my shorts and had eased my hand down my panties, to find myself hot and wet. I was desperate for something inside me.

Where I was on the path anybody could have appeared, at any moment, and caught me in the act of touching myself and yet it was as if something had clicked, and a new door had opened through which I threw myself gladly, into a state of not caring what others thought of me, of not being fettered by their observations and judgements. Just like the splendid girl under the waterfall, whose skin was glittering gold as the sunshine caught the flashing water, who apparently did not mind that anybody could have been watching her.

As I was. My left hand grasped a jutting branch. I was leaning forwards, my weight into the bushes, the fingers of my right hand working their way over and into my dripping pussy. I rubbed my clit with my forefinger, sending those spastic surges of pleasure up through my entire body, through my entire being.

I shut my eyes, feeling the sun on my face, imagining now that arms were reaching around from behind me, and hands were feeling up my stomach and over my own breasts, squeezing the flesh, then pulling up my t-shirt and unpeeling my bra cups, so my nipples were exposed. And then the fingers of those hands were pinching my nipples, lightly, then the palms weighing my breasts as I had imagining holding the girl's. I had unshouldered my pack, its release an extra joy, and with my eyes still squeezed closed, my hand gripping the shaking branch, I imagined the presence of something hard bucking up against my backside, a long rigid shaft sliding up and down in the crevice of my behind. Instinctively I thrust out my ass, while my fingers continued their magical rhythm around the throbbing wetness between my legs. The moment I pictured this invisible cock enter the deep acceptance of my pussy, so I exploded, my legs as jelly, and I sank to my knees, shorts halfway down my legs, into the shade of the hawthorn hedge.

It was only when I opened my eyes I realised where I was. With a shot of panic, I looked around, but there were no watching eyes on me, no stifled giggles, nothing to indicate that anybody had witnessed me masturbate. The sky was clear and blue, the earth warm from the sunshine and on my nose the faint scents of salt, lavender and dusty grass.

Quickly I got myself together, zipping my shorts back up, wiping my hand on a tissue, hoisting my pack up once more. Then I remembered the girl. I peered back over the hedge towards the waterfall in the cove. The girl had gone, no trace of her remained. Towards the house the loungers had been moved away and the murmurs of voices silent. The lawn stretched back towards the house whose windows looked back at me with a blank expression.

Had I imagined it all? No, the image, that golden body lit up by the rushing, sparkling water, was too vivid to have been a figment of my imagination. The day possessed more clarity. Everything, every tree, the shape of the distant cliffs, the clouds in the sky, everything was made more luminous by its own outline. As if I was seeing it all for the first time.