This could have been billed as a sci-fi or fantasy tale, for it has solid elements of such. It would perhaps have worked as a horror story. After some reflection though, it's here in First Time. That's appropriate, but be aware it's not your average Lover's-Lane-back-seat-of-dad's-car experience.
As a moral, do be careful of strangers at this time of year; sometimes the masks aren't masks and sometimes the others aren't playing make-believe.
+
"Tayne?"
The tall boy started at the sound of the girl's voice. He had thought himself alone on the forest trail.
"Tayne! Wait!"
Turning, he saw a familiar form hurrying towards him on a branching path.
"Lylia? What are you doing here?" he asked.
The slender figure began running towards him, a bright smile on her face. She had a woven basket in her hand, its contents covered with a cloth. Behind her was another woman, a stranger to the boy.
"Tayne! I'm so happy to run into you!" Lylia cried, leaning up to give him a chaste kiss on one cheek. "The weather was so nice that we decided to have a picnic."
Her smile sent his heart soaring.
"But whatever are you doing here?" she asked.
"Erm..." he stammered, somewhat embarrassed. "You said you needed ironweed for dyeing your yarn. The only ironweed I know of is here in the forest, by the cliffs."
The girl's eye grew wide.
"You mean you were going all the way to the cliffs, just to get me some ironweed?"
The boy nodded solemnly.
She turned to the other woman, beaming. "Didn't I tell you he was a sweetie?"
The other nodded, a friendly smile on her face. Her eyes moved over Tayne's form, assessing.
"Oh!" Lylia said, blushing a little. "I forgot. Tayne, this is my friend, Moira. Moira, this is my betrothed, Tayne."
Moira's smile broadened. "So, this is the handsome man you're always talking about, Lylia! I can see why you haven't introduced us before now."
The two women made a stunning contrast.
Lylia was a head shorter, with brown eyes and ash-blonde hair worn in a maiden's braids. Dressed in a traditional full-length, elaborately-embroidered overgown, little of her form could be seen, but Tayne's eyes had often lingered on the pert bottom hinted at when she bent over. He'd longed to explore further, but local custom forbade sexual contact until after marriage. Not that such rules would have stopped him, but Lylia was very aware of the weight reputation carried in the notoriously loose-tongued village and his fumbling tries had been gently but firmly rebuffed.
Moira stepped to Lylia's side. The woman was pretty, very pretty indeed, with grey eyes and a wide mouth. Curiously, she wore her dark hair loose, unplaited, black waves almost reaching her waist.
Who is this?
the boy wondered.
She's not from the village - I've never seen her before. How does Lylia know her?
Her dress was also unusual. Unlike Lylia's gown, its light, unembroidered fabric concealed very little; Tayne had to work hard not to stare at the lush figure it plainly contained. He was startled to see the form of her nipples through the thin material.
Tayne's eyes left her breasts with a jerk, lifted to her face, only to realize that the woman had been watching his examination. There was an amused smile on her face, a calm acceptance of the effect her form had on men, of the power it gave her. The boy's attention was caught by the bold look in the woman's eyes. It spoke of a world of wanton abandon for any man fortunate enough to win her favours.
The befuddled Tayne might have have stood there forever had not Lylia's soft hand touched his arm.
"Will you join us?" she asked him. "For the picnic?"
Tayne flushed, embarrassed to have behaved so forwardly with a strange woman -- and in front of his betrothed, to boot. Yet the smile on Lylia's face seemed genuine and her happy invitation unforced.
"Um, yes. Yes, of course. I'd love to!" He took her hand, squeezed gently and was thrilled to feel her squeeze back.
"So, it's just the two of you?" he asked. "You're not worried about wolves or a boar?"
Moira laughed. "No. I think they should be afraid of
us
, especially with you here now!"
"Really?"
"Really," affirmed Lylia.
He thought about that as they began walking.
"Where were you going to have the picnic?" he asked.
"I told Lylia of a place I know," Moira said. "It's kind of a secret, a place my uncle showed me years ago."
Tayne shrugged.
Why not?
Moira led them onto a branch off the main path. Tayne had been on it before and knew it came to a dead end in a steep-walled gully.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"Perfectly" she said, confidence in her voice, and stepped out into the lead. Puzzled but not overly concerned, Tayne was content to hold hands with Lylia on a nice day.
As he had remembered, the walls of the valley indeed grew higher around them as they walked, but Moira seemed certain and the path was still clear. Shortly before he knew it ended, she paused, pointed to the rockface to one side. There, barely perceptible, was a small ledge in the granite.
Moira motioned the other two to stop. "Watch," she said.
Tayne stared as she pulled her skirt high over one shapely leg and, reaching high above her, grasped another almost imperceptible protrusion with her hand. With a small grunt, she swung her foot up onto the ledge and lifted herself up out of sight into the vegetation. Her head reappeared a moment later.
"It's a big first step," she grinned, "but it's easy going from here. Hand me up the basket." Then, "Tayne, Lylia is the shortest -- why don't you help her up first?"
Lylia, smiling, gave his cheek a quick kiss before stretching her hands up towards the handhold. Tayne put his hands around her waist; the feeling of his fingers on her body was exhilarating. The young woman weighed no more than the seed bags he was used to hefting on the farm and he lifted her with only modest effort.
No sooner had he released her however than her foot slipped. With a slight shriek, she started to fall. Automatically, the boy raised his hands to catch her. The girl's bottom landed squarely on his outstretched palms.
Embarrassed and delighted in equal measures, the boy heaved, pushing the girl upwards. In a second, her flailing foot again found the foothold. Moira's outstretched hand caught hers and Lylia was swiftly pulled up and out of sight. Tayne followed her a moment later, popping up onto a narrow but still clear trail. Looking down behind him, he could just see the main path through a small gap in the vegetation.
"Wow!" he said, panting just a little. "How did your uncle ever find this?"
Moira smiled, was about to answer when Lylia pushed her aside and stood in front of Tayne, a scowl on her face and her finger in his face.
"You!" she hissed. "You and your hands!" Tayne was momentarily set aback, but the petite girl couldn't hold the stern expression and broke out laughing.
"Thank you for catching me, Tayne," she said softly, then leaned against him, her arms round his waist.
Tayne was embarrassed, but thrilled. The smell of the girl's hair filled his nostrils and he found it hard to breath for a moment. Her bright eyes sparkled up at him.
"Come on, you two!" the other woman exclaimed.
Moira began to lead down the trail, her steps quick, confident. Especially with Lylia by his side, Tayne attempted not to watch the sway of her buttocks under her thin gown. It was hard to ignore the sight entirely and he tried to turn his attention from Moira's form to the slight, happy girl beside him. He succeeded, mostly, but couldn't entirely dismiss a lifting tautness in his loins. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the soft hand in his.
While the path was open and easy going, the forest on either side of the path was a dense and close mix of pines and oaks. It was very quiet; not even a bird-cry disturbed the shadows under the trees and it seemed as if the wind itself had left off teasing the upper branches of the trees. The leaves had begun to turn colour and a few drifted down as they walked.
Tayne tried to picture where they might be going, but failed absolutely. This part of the forest was utterly unknown to him. The silence grew more eerie the further they went.
Moira stopped at a bend in the path, turning to face the other two. "We're here," she announced, a bright smile on her face. "Come on -- this place is amazing!"
Following her around the bend, Tayne was surprised to see the forest open up into a quiet glade some twenty paces across and twice as long. While the scent of pine was still present, the open space here was bounded entirely with oaks. A thin row of low bushes divided the near and far ends of the clearing; the grass in the clearing seemed short, even, and very soft.
The boy shrugged; it was accepted that such things happened in the forest. To him, it was enough that it was unseasonably warm, the sky cloudless and remarkably blue. It seemed a very good time, a very good place, for a picnic with two lovely women.
His curiosity was piqued however by a something else at the far end of the clearing. An unfinished horizontal slab as broad as his outstretched arms was supported by two others rising out of the ground. It looked solid and lichen on it suggested great age.
"We could use that as a table," he suggested, pointing.
The two woman glanced at each other.
"No," said Moira quickly. "I... No, let's sit over here. It's sunnier."
It was indeed sunnier where she indicated, somewhat. Still, the boy was about to wander over to inspect the thing when Lylia took his hand, pulled his arm in an invitation to to sit beside her on the grass.
"Later," she stated, "but let's eat first." The boy shrugged, sat. The touch of her hip against his put the platform out of his mind.
Lylia removed the cloth covering her basket and spread it out on the grass. She and Moira began unpacking grapes, an oval loaf of new-made bread, a small cheese and two corked flasks.
Lylia's soft smile filled Tayne's soul as she worked; the boy knew their marriage would be a very good thing for him. Hardly for the first time, he reflected on his good luck.
The food was good, Tayne thought as he ate. There was a surprising amount of it, too, more than enough for the three of them. He mentally shrugged his shoulders -- never question good fortune.
