1. Wood
She ran across the field, the brilliance of the early morning sun making the dew on the grass shimmer ahead of her. Rozz was up ever so early on this perfect summer morning. She had pulled on her clothes and trainers, quietly gone down the stairs and been out of the door almost before her eyes were fully open. She had planned to do this the night before though over night the idea seemed to have strengthened - become almost a compulsion and now she was out, free as a bird sprinting, wonderfully alone across the landscape.
Rozz had come to the cottage as a somewhat indolent girl. Indolent as regards exercise anyway but a few days into the holiday that had changed. She had taken to walking long distances alone, exulting in the open air and use of her muscles. It was as if a switch had been clicked in her mind and the light turned on. She could even pinpoint when it had happened. She had been walking with her parents and sister down the cobbled street of the nearby village to its little harbour. She had been wishing the visit over so she could go and sit in her pretty bedroom in the holiday cottage and read her book at the window seat looking out over the sea, when she had caught sight of an old man sitting on a stone seat by the way. He was looking right at her; had smiled and raised his straw hat to her; she hadn't even responded but she could recall the sudden change of mood, a feeling of pleasure in the walk such that rather than go back with her family the short way by the coast path she had ventured further exploring and got back only just in time for supper, much to her mother's amazement. This change of habit had continued. It was almost as if something, or even somebody, was compelling her, ordering her, making her different, planting ideas in her mind - and she was happy, very happy with her new desire to be out and about, running free.
She paused at the stile, chest heaving and looked at the first few trees of the wood. They were hawthorns but she knew these would soon give way to beeches, oaks, silver birch, ash and a host of other beautiful trees. She climbed the stile and dropped down the other side. Now in the wood now she no longer felt the need to run. She walked quietly, the wood though was by no means silent, filled, as it was, with bird song but she did not wish to disturb it with her own noise. The path forked and she took the left, climbing upwards deeper into the wood. She was quite warm now despite only wearing a tee shirt and jeans. She also needed to pee. She had not bothered at the house. She had wanted to be outside, to be completely alone, just herself and the morning, to be herself at one with nature.
Out of habit she glanced around but of course she was alone; she was about to pull her jeans down and squat when she had a different idea; she stopped and undid her trainers and stepped out of them, her fingers fumbled at the metal button holding her jeans together and she undid it and zipped down the metal fly. Slowly she pulled her jeans and pants down her legs until they were round her ankles before stepping out of them. She glanced around again but she was alone. Down on her haunches she paused feeling the stillness of the wood, relishing being alone in a natural world and then she let herself go releasing the pressure in her bladder and watched the strong stream as it hit the soft earth, the crumbly brown leaf-mould, bubbling and splashing as it gouged a hole in the earth. The simple pleasure of this act performed in the open air brought a happy smile to her lips.
Finishing, she stood and hesitated for a moment before making a decision. She felt good being free of her jeans, so she bent to pull on her socks and trainers, picked up her jeans and pants and walked without them in her hand, her tee shirt falling to cover her hips like a rather short dress. It felt free to be walking without jeans, without pants, it felt a bit naughty but natural. A feeling of freedom that there was nothing between her thighs, nothing hiding her sex, no restriction on her movement.
She had not gone far when this feeling intensified, so that she thought how good it would be to take off her tee shirt as well. She did not do this straightaway letting the idea sit in her mind, the anticipation of being completely naked in the wood running through her head. If she met someone with just her tee shirt on, well, that looked like a short dress - almost: but no shirt at all? She stopped by a tall beech tree and looked around. There was no one there and she could see a fair distance through the trees. So if anyone came she would see the person and be able to head off quickly in the opposite direction. The risk, the possibility of being detected added to the excitement - not that she wanted to be seen: quite the opposite she wanted to be alone.
Rozz pulled off her tee shirt. She was not wearing a bra that morning - really there was no need with her small breasts for her to wear one at all. She looked down at herself, the pattern of sun and shadow, light and dark, through the trees above her playing across her breasts and down her tummy to where her curly patch of hair shone in a shaft of sunlight like flame. Her long red hair, flame orange was exactly mirrored in her colouring lower down - a dramatic demonstration of her Celtic ancestry. She felt good, she felt free, she felt in this early morning a child of nature. She walked; her skin unclothed feeling so sensitive, so sensual, so real. The very act of placing one foot in front of the other felt different. Of course when wearing a skirt, thigh touched thigh as she walked but this was different again - she was wonderfully conscious of the lack of constraint at the top of her thighs, at their secret joining.
The path wound upwards through the wood. The early morning sun surprisingly warm and already raising the scents of the wood. Warming the volatiles so they rose in the still air to Rozz's nostrils. A gap in the trees created an area of bright sunlight. She stopped to rest for a moment on a fallen log, feeling the texture of the bark on the bare skin of her naked bottom. She stretched feeling completely content, so happy that she had decided to come out for a walk early in the morning. It was so unlike her, usually she had to be extracted from her bed almost forcibly but these last few days and this morning had been different. She had so wanted to rise, had felt almost bidden to do so, almost as if she had had no choice.
The birdsong rose around her, the bees buzzed seeking the flowers around her in the small clearing. She glanced upwards at the perfect blue of the sky and then downwards to her slim naked body and to her hands resting on her knees. She pulled them towards her rubbing her thighs. It was so good being naked. Her hands rubbed the top of the thighs and then her right hand softly touched her springy red curls, her thighs opened and she rubbed their insides. The hot sun made her feel, well quite sexy, the sunlight touching and warming her thighs and even her secret place. She felt very tempted to touch herself intimately, to play with herself as she did sometimes alone in bed. It would be rather lovely to make herself wet, feel herself all slippery and oily between her legs with the hot sun touching there as well, perhaps even bring herself to a climax sitting alone here in her wood. She was tempted and might just do that further on but not just yet. The prospect was exciting in itself and as she got up she felt herself already a little wet between the legs. It was good walking on with that feeling. She felt somehow more real, more female walking like that. A female in heat, she thought to herself, releasing pheromones to attract a mate. Nature fecund.
The old man sat on the root of a great oak. It was one of his favourite places to rest and he knew it well - had known it for a very long time - had sat there most days since he had first come to the small village close by. He was certainly old, his full head of hair and long beard grey almost white in places, but how old it was difficult to say. Certainly the villagers knew him as the old man but that was not just the young people, their grandparents too knew him as old as if he had always been old, indeed when or if they thought about it they seemed to remember him as having been old when they were children. Unlikely of course.
He sat almost unmoving, his bright green eyes watching a pair of squirrels scampering round and round a nearby tree. Not awful greys but the smaller, rare red squirrel. He watched them for a long time until all of a sudden they disappeared. The old man raised his right hand to his face and rested his beard on it, his eyes looked along the path winding down into the wood and his face, previously in repose, broke into a smile.
He liked this spot though this was only one of many places he liked to sit whatever the weather. The villagers would shake their heads seeing him stride out from the village come rain, come sleet come snow. A thunderstorm could be raging overhead and up the village street would come the old man, stick in hand, purposely, steadily. What he was wearing would change with the seasons, a great coat in winter, shirtsleeves in summer but always a hat. Broad brimmed in rain, woollen in snow, straw in summer. Always a hat and always raised to the ladies whether old or young. Not to children of course but many a young girl was surprised when the old man first raised his hat to her - the pleasant surprise of suddenly being acknowledged a woman whilst still thinking of herself as but a girl. The puzzlement of the sudden change of status from a day or two before coupled with a wondering if, perhaps, he somehow knew that only the day before she had begun to menstruate?
He was a quiet feature of the village like the pub, or church or harbour. He lived in a stone built cottage down at the bottom of the village near the harbour. A small cottage butting right up against the land, against the rock of the land, its windows looking out to sea, a single stone chimney rising up above the roof slates. It was doubtful it was modernised, it was doubtful it had the electric. Certainly no bright lights ever came from it and it was more likely any dim light was of a candle flame than a low wattage bulb. Heating was undoubtedly by wood both by the scent of the wood smoke on the evening air and because the old man always carried sticks back from the wood on his return home of an evening.
What did he do? Clearly he was retired - beyond the age for work. What had he done before? Nobody knew. Certainly it was not something he had vouchsafed in the village pub when he called in for a glass of ale. It was not of course that he was taciturn. He would talk to anyone about anything - anything that interested him anyway certainly not modern things, football or television. He would also listen. He was a very good listener. Many a problem had been solved by talking to him. He would listen, ask the occasional question and somehow the answer would evolve.
How did he live? Well, it was obvious his wants were few so, presumably, his pension covered that, whatever that was. He seemed to live to a large extent off the land. He grew some beans and vegetables; he fished and evidently trapped from the hares, rabbits and pheasants he brought back with sticks from the wood.
