The Ruined Cottage

Hiking amid elms and maples

Full green and moist from the morning drizzle,

I remembered the overgrown paths,

The mossy boulders,

The stream of crystal, earth-cooled water.

The years I had been away faded like early-morning mist.

As I strolled toward the old, one-roomed shack

That used to be the secret childhood meeting place

Of my boyhood friends, I recalled

Our "girl-haters club" and the night I spent there

With my first lover when I was sixteen.

I hiked slowly amid the greens and cooling shadows

Still, sweat from the hike made my shirt cling to me.

I unbuttoned as I strolled, letting the breeze cool me.

Picking up a branch to use as a walking stick,

I traveled toward noon.

Soon I came upon that wooden house

And paused as I inspected it with my gaze.

The boards where gray with age, green with moss,

The panes, darkened by shadows, broken or missing

Turned its once-friendly facade into a toothless hag.

I had expected the pathway to be overgrown

With grass and weeds even more now than then,

But the way was clear.

Surely others had found this place,

Played here as I once had.

The gap-toothed windows uttered no sound,

Betrayed no movement.

The doorway, closed, seemed to beacon me forward,

And I went.

What had I to fear?

I was sure the house was empty.

It was then, around the door, I noticed

Footprints the rain had been unable to wash

Away because of the thickness of the trees

And other, more telling signs of who used this shack.

No children played here.

I opened the door and entered the hollow chamber.

When my eyes adjusted to the shadows,

Stabbed by the two-hour old

Western sunlight, I saw the old table,

The now-understuffed chairs littered with leaves,

The leaf-strewn floor and stone-cold fireplace.

I walked further inside as quietly

As I could on the squeaking floorboards

But my movements woke the stranger.

"Who's there?" a voice behind me called.

I turned and saw, half hidden by a chair in the corner,

The shadowed figure of a man rising.

"Just a hiker," I said.

He came from behind the chair

Wearing only blue jeans and socks.

"What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Just after two."

He yawned and stretched, scratched his hairy chest

And his groin unconsciously.

"What's it like outside?" he asked moving to his backpack.

"Nice. It stopped raining about nine o'clock."

"Must have been after I fell asleep."

"Nice ass," I said to myself loud enough

For him to hear as I viewed the tight denim

Of his buttocks. "Thanks." He faced me and smiled,

One hand cupping the crotch of his Levis,

His cock clearly outlined. I felt mine stir.

We embraced and kissed fully on the mouth

While I kneaded his mounds and he removed my shirt.

The heat of our passion set fire to our loins.

We discarded the veneer of civilization

With our clothes as each piece fell to the floor.

And grappling each other with primal fury,

We explored each other fully,

Inch by inch, orifice by orifice,

Throughout the growing afternoon.

As the sun began to set, our heat increased

And we spent long hours in darkness joined by our lust.

Well past midnight, as the moon fell earthward,

We dropped off into a deep sleep, still entwined together.

We woke with the sun in our eyes, embraced

Against the chill of early morning.

We smiled and dressed,

Backs turned in false modesty

And walked out of the little ruined cottage,

Side by side, down the overgrown path to the broken gate.

We lingered, unsure.

"Which way are you going?" I asked him quietly

As he hefted his pack onto his back.

He looked at me, smiled, teeth gleaming, hair uncombed.

"With you," he simply said and together

We walked down the road talking and laughing

As the sun climbed higher into the sky.