Her Rod & Unreal: Bye Goody 2shoes

It was a cool, balmy day, the kind of afternoon where the echo of the wind through the trees seems to make a haunting melody. Mother Nature was playing a tune that could capture the soul, chill the mind, and soothe the spirit if you listened to the whir of the breeze carefully enough. The currents of autumnal air flowed through the forest, as well as through those long, silky strands of Ginny's long, curly mane. The setting sun, which was as golden as her hair when Gin first set herself down by the shore to reflect and relax, was now a technicolor spectrum of purple, orange and red. The chill caused what, just a few weeks ago, were the green leaves of summer, to fall, adding their splendid addition to what was now the multi-colored carpet of natural foliage.

This was the first time Virginia had visited her family cabin alone. She had left her husband, Bob, to watch over their two girls, so she could grab a much-needed break from the harrowing hours and weary weeks of work as a nurse at Mt. Sinai Hospital’s pediatric oncology ward. She just needed to get away from the hustling crowd of New York, and there was no better place to get respite, she figured, than in the woods upstate, hundreds of miles from the madding crowd.

As she sat at the water's edge of that forest, surveying the calm blue currents in front of her, her mind sort of slipped away into a never land of thought and spirit.

For some reason, the placid waves that swept over the rocks down below her caused her soul to become just as peaceful. It was a welcomed change from the tormentuous roller coaster of life back in “the city,” a very welcomed detour from the trials and tribulations of trying to stay afloat in a sea of confusion and a whirlpool of emotions back home.

Staring at the ripples flowing along the lake, Ginny harkened back to that last weekend at Boston U, before she graduated, when she and Tony made love on the hilltop overlooking Walden Pond. She could still hear the distant train whistle, and know how Thoreau could fall in love with the place, much as she thought she was in love with Tony back then.

In her mind’s eye-view, she could still see that 22-year old senior who wrapped her arms around the shoulders and legs around the waist of the Terriers’ hockey captain. Her body reminisced every inch of where he put his hand, his tongue, his hard-on, as they made passionate, spine-tingling and mind-boggling love for hours. Walden may have been just minutes from Lexington and Concord, but Tony was hardly a “Minute man” and when he came, Ginny could swear he did so with the force of a shot heard round the world.

The memories of those by-gone days blazed as warmly as the sun had when Gin first arrived at Lake Chittenango. Life seemed so much simpler then, so much easier, and happier. She wondered what happened to her Romeo, as much as she wondered what happened to the sparks that used to fly when she and Bob first met not long after graduation.

As she stretched out under that morning star to catch what she knew would be her last natural sun-tan before spring arrived next year, Ginny prayed that somehow, in recapturing the memories of lost years, she could also recapture he rlost youth. Sadly, though, as the warmth of the sun gave way to what was now a cool dusk, the nurse knew, alas, nothing lasts forever. Well, almost nothing does. As she closed her blouse and donned her jacket, the blond daydreamer was proud that she had done her very best to keep the figure she had when she was in her 20’s.

Her breasts, even in her forties, were still firm, still appealing to those who walked by. She snickered to herself that she may have even tantalized those who somehow might have caught a surreptitious glance of them from high above the hilltops over looking the lake as she had exposed them to the soft rays of the now-setting sun.

Collecting her blanket and sundry items, and playfully making some small stones she had gathered dance along the waves below, Ginny looked out at the horizon just in time to see the 2 in their small craft below come into shore. As the duo tied the boat to the dock, and took their fishing gear out, Ginny sort of welcomed the company. After all, they were strangers, people who did not know what her life back on the city streets were like.

Ginny was not sure how much of her they might have seen before she put her top on, as she had not noticed them before they came to the water banks. But, the more she stared at them, the more she hoped, if they had seen her, she had been a pleasant sight for their eyes. The red-headed sailor, she thought to herself, was surely a sight for hers. She couldn’t stop staring at him as she approached the rowboat.

Apparently, she reckoned, they had not seen her, because the pair started climbing the path towards the cabins without saying a word. “Catch anything?” she yelled out "My friend, Rod, did. Look at those beautiful babies. Me, not much, except maybe a cold,” the seemingly older of the two replied. “I haven’t gone fishing in these waters since my daddy taught me her how to catch my own dinner,” she said, just wanting to make conversation. It was nice to have company, to have someone to talk to.

As one thing led to another, before long they were all three engrossed in a discussion about absolutely nothing. Talking about the trivial things of life, rather than the ebb tide of life-and-death thoughts about patients that too often filled Ginny's brain, was as placid and calming as the water below. Ginny felt incredibly composed, and seemed reassured that life could be pleasant when you let it. She was so lost in thought, Ginny didn't notice the drop in their path that was covered by the clump of fallen branches.

When Ginny slightly lost her balance, Roddy, the dark haired, massively shouldered one of the two of them, caught her just before she fell, and steadied her. As he did, their eyes met, their pupils beginning to stare into each other’s.

There was something about this rust-topped he-man that simply made Ginny blush. Her face was turning as red as his hair. She hadn’t felt this way from merely looking into a stranger's eyes in a while. She struggled to dismiss the urges she was feeling, but the struggle seemed to be more and more in vain.

The way they glanced at each other was loosening some of her inner turmoil as much as the water loosened the rocks along the shore. Something in this young man’s eyes was working better than a Vodka and cranberry in releasing the tensions she had felt when she left home. .

"That could have been a nasty fall," Rod told her, "Maybe it's best that you lean on me the rest of the way."

Ginny couldn’t explain to herself just what compelled her to do so, but she did lean on this younger man, maybe 5-10 years her junior. She even found her fingers searching and finally interlocking with his as they made the uphill trek the rest of the way to her cabin for dinner. The older gentleman, Pete, seemed to take some unspoken clue from his sailing buddy and excused himself, leaving Ginny and Rod alone to dine.

Crossing the wooden abode to light the huricane lamp, Ginny could feel Rod’s line of vision following her every move. Turning around rather sheepishly, as she caught his glance returning her own, she could feel his hazel eyes penetrating past her deep, dark bedroom brown orbs. They seemed to penetrate beyond her long blonde tresses and reach inside her to play tricks on her mind. Moreover, they were stimulating parts of her body far below her eyes in ways she had not felt for who knows how long?

It felt awkward, but at the same time, awesome. Ginny laughed to herself as she mumbled "ummm, awkwardly awesome" to have a man this young take an interest in a woman with nearly grown children.

They sat. They talked. They laughed about things. They shared stories of their lives. Roddy seemed reserved, but polite, friendly, and above all, attentive. He was never married, although he had come close a few times. He ran a hardware store back in Delhi, a nice rural community. Pete was his brother, an attorney in Syracuse.

“I love the way the fire catches your hair, and your smile, Ginny,” he said, a small “aw shucks, ma’am” smile crossing his face as he seemed too shy for words.

After dinner, they walked out where the only light was the natural glare of the stars, not those neon man-made creations that cane from towers of concrete that blocked the way to the night skies. As they did, and the stars filled the country sky in ways they no longer did among the polluted heavens above New York City, Ginny felt a blanket of security starting to develop. It felt as soft to her soul as a blanket a mother puts over her nearly newborn so the baby may rest peacefully in its crib. Ginny had been resting for too long, and not too comfortably, either. Suddenly, she seemed to feel as if her life, her soul, her desires, were coming out of the cocoon she had woven for herself.

Hearing the hoot owl ask, “Who?” Ginny thought to herself, “Me, that’s who, you silly bird. Virginia Laura Marston, wife, mother, den mother, nurse, chef, cook and bottle-washer. Me, that’s who, the woman who for the first time in years is coming alive. Me, the one who wants that man building our campfire to build an even more intense fire, inside of me. And I don’t give a damn if the world sees it. It’s about freaking time I came back to life!”

At that precise moment, Ginny didn’t want to worry about any sense of security, not with life and all it had presented to her over the many years and most recent months. She simply needed someone at that moment who just wanted to make her feel better, and not worry about what the day after would be. Today, the sensation of "now", was all that was on Ginny's mind. "Then" and "later" were concepts foreign to the moment at hand.

“I don’t want to sleep alone, tonight, Rod,” Ginny pleaded, “And I don’t want to sleep in the cabin. I want to sleep in your arms. I want to sleep under the stars. And if I don’t get a minute of sleep, Roddy, I won’t mind it at all.”

She truly did not know what it was as he stared into her eyes, and she got lost in his, almost as lost as she might have if she took the wrong trail in the woods. Yet, somehow, this was not the wrong trail at all, wherever it would lead. For some crazy, unknown reason, this seemed like the right path to a nice day of feeling free enough to simply feel, period.

The burning flames of lust that were fiercely glowing inside the two of them made the campfire beside them seem like an igloo in December. What was causing those electrochemical charges that started their way through Ginny's body? She was not exactly sure. But, as Rod leaned forward to trace her lips with his delicate, though very masculine, strong fingers, Ginny could not help but want the lips attached to that same body to meet with her own.

Ginny lost all track of how old her birth certificate made her out to be. This muscular stud made her feel younger than springtime. He helped her bring out the canvas for the tent, and lay it out beside the fire. They never bothered to put the tent together, just lay out on the canvas with a blanket.

Neither wasted any more time, as Rod proved to be a little less than the quiet, patient man he had been at dinner. Or, should Ginny say, more than merely a quiet man? In fact, he nearly tore her blouse off her shoulders, and Ginny, feeling wanton, animal instincts she had not felt in a long time, did likewise. She wanted it, and he did, and neither seemed to be taking time to worry about such mundane things as buttons, snaps or any other proprieties.

Ginny could not believe the tidal wave of emotions that were enveloping her. She had never had this kind of animalistic lust surging through her body. She reached out her arms to embrace his neck, but Rod had other ideas. He held those arms over her head with one hand, as massive and strong as a bear claw. He took the ropes on the end of the canvas that would have been used to tether the tent, and tied them around her wrists and ankles.

“Oh, God, Roddy, what the hell are you trying to do to me? You are going to drive me crazy. Please, let me touch you. I want you so badly.” But her screams, even the ones of joy that might have rivaled the coyotes, were to no avail.

Not being able to touch, being held captive, sent so many surges of sexual electricity coursing through Ginny, she was sure she could light up Times Square at New Year's. For some crazy reason, for the first time in her hitherto conservative life, Ginny wouldn't mind if the hundreds of thousands of people who gathered there at that time could see her now. She was stark naked, and going stark raving mad with passion for this stranger.

Oh, she laughed, the ball might be dropping at midnight, but at 12:01, she knew she would get it to rise again! She kept imagining what a sight she would be as every eye in that throng was glued to watching the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and the incessant throbbing of this roiling woman.

"Baby, has anyone told you just how beautiful you are?" Rod stammered as he bent forward to savagely kiss what to him was a newfound treasure. Ginny had never seen the beauty others saw, but, somehow, when this young buck said she was, Ginny was compelled to believe those words as if they were gospel. And she would be this man's disciple.

The fire was heating her skin, but it was nothing like the blazing inferno inside. Nothing at all compared to this desire, as she felt droplet after droplet begin a tide of emotion and a river of juices to flow throughout her inside and all over her thighs.,

As his tongue forced its way between Ginny's pearly whites, and he inhaled, his mouth was sweeping her breath clearly away. Ginny had to do all she could to grab a breath and not collapse from the excitement galloping through her entire system, and the air that was racing out of her throat and into his.

"Oh, God," Ginny thought to herself, "How could I just be a working wife and mother yesterday and not be aware of all I could find in the arms of this man today? Where has he been all my life? Where have I been all my life?"

She couldn't remember ever wanting anyone more than she did at that moment. Not in her early days of exploring sex in high school. Not when she was learning just how magnificent one body was melding with another was throughout her years on campus. Not when she was living on her own, in her own apartment, and had that taste of independence she was craving for so long. And, definitely not since she got married.

This man, this hunk of ripe male meat who might have been born as much as a decade after she was, was bringing out desires and instincts Ginny had always denied herself. She had always just romanticized of these moments in night time dreams and daylight illusions. He was a stranger. How could he so uncannily know how every part of her body longed to be touched in such a manner?

She had seen earlier he knew how to be gentle, but he could be the Terminator here beneath the heavens. “God,” she kept saying to herself, “He is a stranger. He knows nothing of my past, my present. So, how come he seems to know me so well?”

Like that Roberta Flack song, he was looking right through her, he was killing her but not exactly softly, and he may have been using his mouth, but it was surely not for a song. She laughed, wondering if he even knew who Roberta Flack was. But he did know this female, this hungry, passionate, burning female here below him. It was hard to believe he knew her as well as he did. And, yet, all he knew of her and all she knew of him were this moment, and the desire that was burning like a fiery inferno inside and all through their bodies.

"Damn," she thought to herself, "I am like a towering inferno. Oh, Rod, do I want you in me…Oh. Please. Oh, hell. I need to know what it feels inside of me. Please. please, baby, please," Ginny screamed as her nails dug through the skin of Rod's back.

"I don't know what is coming over me, and I don't want to know, either! I don't want this to stop…not now…not tonight…maybe never. I never felt like this much of a woman before. Neverrrrr!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yesssss," she exclaimed in the loudest voice she ever heard coming from her own mouth, as Rod's eight inch tool entered her tool box. "Stuff me with it. Oh damn, make me see the sun, the moon, the stars in their glories. Oh God, I need it so damn hard. I want it so damn much...yesss...yessss."

Ginny was seeing fireworks as bright as the Bicentennial Fourth of July. It took her all she had not to explode like an incendiary bomb of human desire. The sweat poured down over their bodies as if they were caught in a thunderstorm. The lightning that was hitting them, however, was happening from within.

"Oh God, yes. Oh, Rod, my Hottttt Rod, Oh I need to touch you. I need. I want. I...Oh God, yesssssss," was all Ginny could hear herself say as every stroke invaded her deeper and deeper, harder and harder, faster and faster. "I am reaching the stars above us. Please, don’t let me fall!”

As he drove himself into her like a jackhammer pouring into female concrete, Ginny could not remember when she needed so intensely to feel this much alive. This much wanted. To experience this much freedom! This much everything there was to feel between two members of the opposite sex.

As the dizzying whirl of what was happening kept being drummed into her, with each movement of this young stallion that came drumming into her, Ginny kept thinking the forest would never stop spinning. This was Mother Nature, though, in her majestic splendor. And this was Mother Marston, in hers, as well.

Was it two minutes, or two hours? Ginny lost track of time, as much as she was losing track of her senses. This damn world is spinning too fast. She cried from the sheer ecstasy of the moment, not having felt anything this tremendously powerful, maybe in her entire life. As she and this incarnate of Apollo had gone in the open to make love, Ginny knew, far more than that, she finally had let herself out in the open, in a different way. Exposed as they were physically, so was she emotionally.

“Let the whole fucking world spin out of control for once, just like I am,” she kept thinking to herself, as she struggled to free herself from the ropes. She had lost all sense of propriety, and all sense of any other kind, or so it seemed.

She told herself, “I don't want to control myself. For once, I am tired of controlling myself. I am tired of being Miss prim and proper I am so sick of being ‘Miss Good Office Girl,’ ‘Miss Good Daughter,’ ‘Mrs. Goodwife,’ the ‘Good mother.’ I am alive, I am not Mother Theresa, damn it. Where the hell has it ever gotten me?? No, I want it this time. If it never happens again, I want this moment to last me to the day I can't feel anything again.”

"Oh God," Ginny said as tears of total joy, sheer ecstasy, streamed down her cheeks. "Don't miss an inch of my body. Please, baby, not an inch. Oh, please, yes. Make love to me, baby. Oh, yes, that’s it. My tits are aching for your mouth. Oh, thank you, yes.

“Oh, Roddy, I need so much to touch you. Please, oh, please baby, release me so I can touch you all over. No, better yet, don't let me touch. I don't know what I want anymore, I just know I want it. I want you. I want this. I want me. Throw out those goody two shoes; give me some spiked heels. YESSSSSSSSSS...I AM CUMMING LIKE A RIVER...OH, BABY, OH YOU BEAUTIFUL BABY, GIVE IT TO ME, HARD! LET ME SEEE THE MOON...Let me see the stars...Let me…"

It was the last sound Ginny made, and she does not remember what happened over the next 20 minutes or so. She had never lost consciousness from sex before, not like this. Then again, she had never lost such control before, either. She never let her entire being go before. It was wonderful to be this much alive, even if she would return after the weekend to the lifestyle of the not-so-rich and hardly famous.