Rusala

A lightning strike jolted through my ankle. I hit the dirt, rolled and spat words you don't say on Sunday.

Twenty yards away Mason's black and forest green painted face shot up from behind a rotten log. Soon Brad and him stood over me.

"What happened?" Brad said.

"Rolled my ankle coming down the hill," I said.

Inside my thick sock an angry red welt the size of a baseball ballooned. Mason hiked up my pant leg and untied my boot to get a better look. He jabbed the baseball with his finger.

"Christ! What did you do that for?"

"Can you walk on it?" Brad said.

Mason pulled me to my feet. Standing strong on my good leg, I stepped forward. The ankle gave way. Mason caught me as I stumbled.

"Going to have to carry you back to the cabin," Mason said.

The next morning Brad and Mason loaded their shotguns and decoys into the back of Mason's dusty pickup and took off to hunt turkeys on the other side of the mountain. They left me in a fold-up camp chair by the lake, twenty yards from the Cabin, with a ham sandwich and cooler of Bud Light.

By mid-day my chair was surrounded by six crushed cans. Above, the sun beat down and baked my skin red to the touch. Beads of sweat ran down my neck. It must have been a hundred degrees. My ankle hurt like hell. The Bud Light served as a lousy ice pack and an even worse painkiller.

The cabin sat at the lake's southern end. From there, the water ran a football field north then dog-legged east around a bend before it broke wide open.

It was at the bend I spied a churn in the water. I cursed myself for leaving my rod in the cabin. Must be a monster of a bass to make a such a wake.

As I was about to dig in the cooler for another beer, a woman's head crested the water. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Sure as shit, with precise breast strokes she glided through the placid lake towards the cabin.

When she emerged from the shallows each step revealed another inch of her smooth porcelain skin until she stood at the water's edge dripping and naked. She closed her eyes and smiled as she wrung the lake out of her rust red hair.

I averted my glare, though it killed me to look away from such a perfect shape, and strained a loud cough.

"Oh, hello," she said. Her voice's warm tone told me she wasn't bashful. To my ear her accent sounded Eastern European, maybe Russian.

"I didn't know there were other cabins on the lake," I said.

She looked around as if lost.

"What's your name sweetheart?" I said.

"Would you like to swim with me?" she said.

Without hesitation, I hauled myself up from the camp chair using the crutch Mason fashioned from a fallen branch. My ankle screamed its objection. I told it to shut up.

At the water's edge I struggled with one arm to pull my shirt over my head, while the other arm worked the crutch.

"Let me help," she said.

She slid the shirt over my head and tossed it onto a washed-up log. Her cool hands ran down my abdomen and slipped inside my short's elastic waistband. She pushed the trunks down. They fell in a pile around my ankles leaving my arousal in full view.

I sputtered, unsure what to say or how to act.

She hooked my arm over her shoulder and threw away my crutch. As I hopped on one leg, she led me into the lake. I shuddered when the water reached between my thighs, but otherwise the cold soothed my sprained ankle and sun burnt skin. Once we were far enough from the shore the bank dropped away. She held me tight and kicked for the both of us.

My gaze fell upon her eyes. The pupil and cornea were the same deep shade. She wrapped her arms around my neck and drew me into a kiss. Under the surface her hand took hold of my erection and pulled the soft skin over taut muscle. I melted. She wrapped her legs around my waist. I was pressed against her, poised to enter. Her hand guided me inside. My cock bathed in her smooth warmth.

She glided along its length as we sunk into the cold lake's depth.