Part I of this story was written by a woman, and I responded with Part II, which plays with the classial myth of Diana and Actaeon as given, for instance, in Ovid's Metamorphosis.
Writers always advise that should write about what you know. I did not do this in this story. I've never been to this part of the United States--the Great Smokies--and I had never made love in nature when I wrote this story. But waterfalls are certainly very erotic--and provocative. For good reason, Niagara Falls in the northeast part of the United States was the #1 honeymoon spot in the 19th century.
This is not my first time hiking the Appalachian Trail, but it is my first hike to Bridal Veil Falls. Until now, I've only driven through Roaring Fork. It's hard to believe that this piece of untouched pristine forest exists so close to Gatlinburg. The rains have been heavy this year and the falls should be spectacular. I'm sitting in a booth at Waldo Pepper's enjoying my coffee, when I hear someone say "Hello, I was wondering what happened to you."
I turn, and see that it's Neil. I saw him a couple of times on the trail, it's his first time here. "Hi Neil" I say with a smile, "would you like to join me?" And with that he does, he orders coffee and we do the normal "trail" talk.
It seems he loves mountains, and there's plenty of them along the trail. I ask him if he's going to finish the trail and he say's he's not sure, and inquires as to what I'm doing. I tell him of my love for waterfalls and how I have always fantasized about showering under one, and I'm going to. He stretches his long frame, brushing his legs against mine under the table and says that he would like to see that.
I inquire as to whether or not he is alone and he says, "Are you interested?" I say no, not wanting to let on that I find him arousing. I tell him that I only wanted to show him around, seeing as I have spent lots of time here and this is his first visit.
Neil agrees and I ask him to accompany me to the Dixie Stampede in Pigeon Forge. I tell him what's it about, it's a dinner theater, with horses and trick riders, and an audience participation reenactment of the civil war. There are no utensils for eating the food, you have to use your hands, and it's not too messy, just a lot of fun. Seeing as how I am a true southern belle, I ask for us to be seated in that section.
We are both laughing, enjoying the show and each others company, he loved the pig race. The drive back to our rooms in Gatlinburg only takes a few minutes, Neil and I are both staying at the Leconte, he walks me to my door. "I really enjoyed your company." he says. He kisses me on the cheek and turns to go. Neil looks back and asks if I'm sure I don't want him to accompany me to the falls, laughing he says he would gladly pay for the privilege of watching me shower. I smile and say "Good night, Neil."
It's 5am, time to go. By the time I get to the falls it will be almost noon. It's supposed to be 90 degrees today, perfect for skinny dipping. As I pull my car into the parking lot, I see I am the only one here. In a way I'm disappointed, I was hoping for some sort of audience, the thought of being watched during such an intimate moment arouses me. Maybe I should have brought Neil.
The trail is well worn from continuous use. It's not a hard trail, just long. Eight miles, from the parking lot. I love the sounds of the forest. The singing of the birds, deer scurrying away, the air so clean and clear. The unmistakable fragrance of men's cologne hangs in the air, so, I'm not alone. Once again the thought of being watched warms my loins. My heart quickens as I imagine the scene.
Almost there now, I can smell the water. Breaking through the trees, I see it, Bridal Veil Falls. It does look like a veil, coming down in a single stream, then hitting the rocks and spreading, falling over the outcropping. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I walk closer, bending down I dip my fingers in the water, cool, but not enough to keep me from taking a dip.
I am aware that I am being watched, the cologne drifting in on the breeze. Taking my time, desiring to put on a good show for my audience, I begin to undress. Boots first, then socks, I unzip my shorts and wiggle out of them, bending over slowly to pick them up as I step out of them. I take both hands and place them on my butt, caressing my cheeks, I slide my thong panties down to my knees and repeat the process, bending over slowly, and rising again, I turn my back to the falls, so my watcher can get a good look at me unbuttoning my blouse. Still moving slowly, intending to cause great arousal to the person watching, I let my shirt fall to the ground and place my hands on my flat abdomen, sliding them slowly up my body and over my breasts. Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra and let it fall. I cup my breasts in my hands and turning I step into the cool water. It is chilly, I catch my breath and wade further, heading for the falls.
The water isn't deep, and soon my body adjusts to the temperature. I look down at two very erect nipples, is it because of the cool water or because I'm being watched? Now, finally I am under the falls, the water feels so good streaming down my body. I am alone in thinking that this is the most erotic experience in the world. I lift my hands to catch the water, touching my face, letting one hand fondle my breast as the other slides down, down to my mound, seeking my sweetness, teasing my petals, lost in the feel of the water. I open my eyes to see Neil standing beside my pile of clothes, without speaking he undresses and steps into the water, walking toward me, his arousal evident, his manhood standing hard and erect against his body, I reach my hand out to him inviting him to join me.......
I accept the invitation, approaching you boldly, assuredly, with manifest desire. You retreat a bit, and playfully splash some water down low, dousing my desire, and then you scoop up a handful and sprinkle it over my face, in my hair. Taken aback, I stop. The birds scatter in the trees above. You scoop up another handful, again sprinkling my face, wetting my hair, my neck.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Just trying to remove the scent," you reply. "I smelled your cologne from a distance. I like my men natural, very natural."
Taking my cue, I dunk my head in the pool, covering it, washing out all the smell in the cool water, then surfacing and shaking myself off like a dog, spraying you with the drops. We laugh, and I resume my approach, my hunt.
Again, you retreat, this time all the way back into the plume of the falls: the water cascades against your neck, over your shoulders, sending up spray and hiding from sight the taut nipples that had stood out like a beacon guiding me into your arms. It almost seems now as if you are blushing. Coyly, you cover your bosoms with an arm and your little patch of venus fur with a hand, holding me off, making me all the more desirous. I'm not a man to be teased.
"Where are your hounds, Neil? Did you leave them behind?"
"Yes, of course, I only take them out when I am hunting. Why do
The coolness of the water, your reserve, your questions, have had its effect, and my ardor begins to subside. I must look forlorn. I've been sprouting horns for you forever it seems. I have always loved tomboys, the Annie Oakleys, and you, Diane, I thought to myself, were always the best: you knew the woods better than the guys, you were faster on the track than any woman and most of the men, and you knew how to shoot better than sew.
For years, I had been consumed with desire, sparked by your athletic body and ignited by your intelligence, your creativity. You had given the best paper and oral report on Faulkner's As I Lay Dying in high school dazzling not just the students but Mr. Hicks and Mr. Morgan with your passion, your poise, your poetry. Even your teachers had crushes on you.
Now, as if reliving a nighttime teenage fantasy, you are before me, nude, au naturel in body as well as spirit. You notice my look of dismay, and your face breaks into a grin, your eyes lighten up and then they smolder with fire, drawing a bead, the huntress Diana. Your arms unfold, and you beckon me forward.
As I approach, your hands dip into the water, deep, not to come up splashing this time, but to find the quarry. You grasp and cradle my balls, tightly, with meaning. I harden again instantly. You draw me towards you, as if seizing a javelin, a spear to hunt some wild boar you've spotted crashing through the woods. I look back, over my shoulder, checking to make sure no one has spotted us, that we are alone, in peace. "Now tell me," you ask, blushing slightly, "exactly what were you thinking as I stripped off my clothes?"
"Oh, my God," I replied, "What wasn't I thinking? When you wiggled out of your shorts, I was thinking about all the times in literature class when I dreamed that you would use your muse of fire to write me love poetry, an erotic story. When you unhooked your bra, I remembered all the times I stripped you naked in my mind as you ran around in your warm up suit and track outfit. When I saw the thong and when it came off, I remembered all the times I had lain awake in bed, torn apart by the hounds of adolescent lust, fantasizing about making love to you by streams, in caves, on cliffs, in meadows, amidst wild flowers. I've wanted you for so long. I swear I've been hard ever since our legs brushed together at the restaurant."
"You know how much I love the mountains, this trail. You love it too. You know it as well as I do, maybe better. I wanted you to come with me so bad. I'm a little shy, sometimes. But not out here. Come now and know me. Come explore me. Come hunt for whatever you want, whatever you desire. Take me, mountain man, take me."
Quickly, wordlessly, we lock together in a tight embrace, a mix of affection and lust, and you make it more intense, the strength of your arms crushing us together. I reply with the passion of my lips, the desire of my tongue, skipping the soft stuff, going straight up into overdrive, pressing you back against the outcropping, prodding your inner thighs with my cock, informing you of my strength, my desire, my passion, trapping your bosoms in my grasp, then manhandling your nipples, your loins, your butt, everything.
Maybe I'm too rough at first. You free yourself from my grasp and lean back on the rocks, catching your breath, giving me a little time out signal with your hands. You make me want to tear my hair off, tear my skin off and unleash the Satyr of sex within me, pouncing on you from behind, a hound in heat, fucking you doggie style, hard and deep, driving you wild, unleashing you from the lace of Southern bellehood, turning you into a black leather dress woman, a leopard-skin pantied woman, a tigress of sex. In my lust, however, I am metamorphosed: the surging passion of my cock spreads its heat, like a backfire forming inside me, and its flames lick up to my heart, and I become, in the instant, it seems, a changed man, no longer a beast, a satyr, but your lover.
You can smell my true scent now, and you can see it in my eyes. I whisper, "I love you." Your legs part open for me, and I feel again like an animal in heat, a stag ready to rut, but now I am also half-god, a man possessed with a "Song of Solomon" love. For a moment, you appear to me like a queen, a goddess, on some ancient throne, expecting me to kneel down, to worship your diadem. But you have made me strong, cockstrong, and I want you to feel my power. You want my tender tongue, and I want to be thrusting deep inside you. I stride up to you, my cock in my hand, wiggling it for you up and down, strutting my stuff, displaying my self-evident size, air fucking. But you turn away, jumping off the rock and into the water, back to the falls, the stream.
I follow you, my quarry. I plunge after you, catching you by your legs. I pull you towards me, as if you are caught in a net, and I lift you up and turn you upside down, like some cheerleader routine, flopping your legs over my shoulders, cunt now in my face, your head falling down me behind me, backwards, almost touching the water. I tongue you hard, fast, relentlessly, until you tense for a moment and then relent. Your body becomes limp, soft, and I take you up in my arms, cradling your body, a groom taking his bride over the transom, a man taking his captured prey into Bridal Veil Falls. In our rutting we have become too hot and sweaty, and we sink down into the water, still embracing, and then we arise in its flow, its cascade: the water hitting our heads, our chests, our shoulders, soothing us and invigorating us, nature's own jacuzzi, and then I, stand behind you, doubling the pleasure: the power of the falls is matched by the power of my hands, an X-rated Swedish massage.
I enwrap you in my arms and feel you up all over: hands rubbing up and down your sides...hands circling you flat, hard stomach...hands caressing your boobs, enjoying every contour and curve...hands and fingers strumming your nipples, keeping them taut, making them sing and dance....a hand going down and grasping your pussy tighter than any thong, a finger sliding up and down its length, pressing just inside, entering furtively. I then lift you off the ground, arms under your legs, holding you open, calling upon the forces of nature to take you, to pleasure you, as if you are sneaking in a bath in the middle of the dog days of August, letting the spigot of water do all the work as you cool yourself down, giving yourself the little hidden pleasure you deserve and need, the chance to romance yourself, escaping in your fantasies to waterfalls all around the world, escaping into the arms of a hidden admirer, a stranger on an elevator, or a man who knows the woods, a man who knows how to pleasure a woman as if he were a woman, a man with rough, calloused hand but soft enough and slow enough to enter you after the flute finishes on "Bolero" and not come until the end, with you, in full orchestral accompaniment.
The eroticism of the waterfall arouses us fully, readying us for our own plunging fury. I turn you around, and as I lift, you hop a bit into my arms, your legs wrapping around me, tight, your hands clasping behind my neck, your pussy brushing up against my cock, and then you wiggle yourself onto me, provoking from both of us a little gasp, and then you suck me in and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, making me groan in pure joy, loud and louder and loudest. You have the tightest love muscles I have ever felt, the love muscles of a goddess, of a huntress who can catch her quarry and never let go. I want to hold you there forever, almost still and almost silent, the wetness of Bridal Veil Falls circling around us, covering us in its mist and spray, and the wetness of your pussy circling around my cock, surrounding me in its moistness, in its honey-thick nectar, the inner ambrosia of the goddess Diana, each squeeze another arrow from her quiver sent into my heart.
Instinctively, the ancient rhythm begins, the rhythm of lovemaking: rocking slightly together, then steadily together, and then our cock and cunt become one: pumping together faster and faster, as my hands grasp your butt, pulling you tight against me, and then playing with your butt like a helium balloon, keeping it bouncing in the air, letting it fall a bit and then striking it back up, generating a rhythm of play and passion, and as you climb near the top, ready to fall, I swing us both back towards the plunging water. plunge inside you, again and again, harder than the falls, with quick, fast strokes, until you rise high, and stop, arching back in ecstasy, as you spasm and shudder, and I keep shaking you up until every little shiver is over, until your are wrung out of pleasure, like a beautiful natural sponge squeezed dry, like bread dough kneaded and stretched and left to rise.
We collapse, sinking back into the water, ready, to drown out the world and every sound but our own beating hearts and the rushing water of Bridal Veil Falls. But then the huntress discovers that the hunt is not over: you reach for my manhood, and find it, still hard. You raise me up and encircle me from behind, grasping my cock, pumping it hard, as your bosoms push into my back, impelling me forward, back into the stream of the falls, its spumes of water falling on my cock as you pump it and pump it, its length straining like a salmon fighting its way up stream, until you make it a fountain, a falls, in its own right.
We linger together, in the water, only our heads showing above the surface so we can focus on our eyes. We trade kisses and then thoughts. We talk about our favorite places on the trail, wondering if there is any special place, a secret spot, the other does not know about, a hidden erogenous zone, like a male nipple that has never been played with before by a woman who knows the favorite trails, the spots, the secrets of a man's body. We each make a suggestion.