by C. V. Hunt
As I approached the cabin I tried to comprehend what had happened. There was no other explanation than sleepwalking. It was disturbing. Phillip said he couldn’t remember me sleepwalking when I was a kid. And Naomi never mentioned it. But even if I was sleepwalking how had I made it that far into the woods in complete darkness without a scrape? It had been difficult enough with scant morning light. But in complete darkness? There wasn’t a mark on me other than one on my foot which I managed to pick up this morning on my way home. And how did I know to go to that exact location? It didn’t seem plausible I happened to stop a few feet from the one random spot in the enormous and vast forest where someone had taken it upon themselves to construct a demented effigy out of growing trees.
I shook all the thoughts from my head once I reached the stairs of the cabin. I probably needed to visit a doctor. And I would’ve called a doctor and set up an appointment immediately if I had insurance. Just another perk of living the artist life. Health roulette. Cross your fingers and pray you never get sick or you get the privilege of paying thousands of dollars you don’t have in hospital bills or taken to small claims court. I debated whether what I was experiencing was worth the debt. What I was experiencing wasn’t life-threatening. I was certain I would end up in an institution or told it was a psychosomatic symptom of stress if I visited a doctor. Especially once they found out my family history. Neither diagnosis was desirable nor affordable and I decided unless I became terrified I might die or hurt someone else I could handle myself.
The cat stood outside the door and yowled at me once I reached him. He bolted inside and up to his bowl, meowing indignantly, as I checked my foot. There was a scratch on the sole of my foot but the wound barely broke the skin and had already stopped bleeding. The shirt and underwear I had worn to bed were piled on the floor by the sofa. When I stooped to retrieve them I noticed the unmistakable stain of dried semen on the shirt. What the hell had happened last night? The cat interrupted my thought by yowling louder. I gave him some food and checked the time. I had two hours to eat, shower, and set up my equipment for Rachel. I set out to do those things as quickly as possible. The cabin was stuffy and I started by turning on the ceiling fans and opening the doors and windows. When I opened the front door I decided I might need to add another type of lock to keep me from wandering outside at night.
I turned on some music but kept the volume low. There was the sound of tires on the gravel drive a few minutes after noon as I fidgeted with an umbrella light stand. I resisted the urge to climb the stairs and meet her after I heard a car door shut. I kept pretending to mess with the camera equipment as I caught the sound of her descending the last of the steps.
She rapped lightly on the screen door and in a soft singsong voice said, “Hello.”
I set down my camera and opened the door for her. She wore a cheerful expression and was every bit as pretty as her online photos. She wore a casual pair of cut off jean shorts to exhibit her toned and slightly tanned legs and a blue tank top with sneakers. Her tank top battled with the gray of her eyes and made them appear bluer than what they actually were.
“Rachel?” I said. Without thinking, I extended my hand to shake.
Her cheerfulness wavered for the briefest second before she extended her hand and took mine. “Yes,” she responded.
Once her double thumb crossed over the top of my hand I realized my faux pas. Her hands obviously made her self-conscious and I felt like the biggest tool alive. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to apologize but pointing out my blunder seemed like it would only make the situation worse. My chagrin must have been prominent on my face when I let go of her hand.
She gave a small laugh. “It’s okay. It happens a lot. I’m more used to the other person reacting badly, though. You know? Verbally pointing it out so other people around will stare or start asking bizarre questions. It makes me reluctant to shake hands with people.” She tucked her left hand in the back pocket of her shorts.
I said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Habit.”
She nodded and said lightheartedly, “No problem.”
A breeze drifted through the screen door and touched both of us. She smelled like cedar and my cock began to stiffen. I thought about the items I needed to get at the store and the odd wooden effigy in the woods and tried to will my growing erection away.
“I’m nervous,” I said. I didn’t know why I was compelled to share that tidbit of information with her.
She gave me a queer look. “Nervous?”
I motioned to the black backdrop I’d set up against the living room area wall to change the subject. “We’ll be shooting over here.”
She took a couple of steps toward the backdrop. I quickly double checked my untucked T-shirt to make sure it was long enough to cover my erection. Rachel slipped off her shoes before stepping onto the non-reflective material suspended from the support stand and spread out across the floor.
She turned to me and said, “How do you want me?”
I knew she was asking about positioning for the photo but my hard cock played a scene in my head where I responded with ‘any way you want’ before I pounced on her and we both ripped off each other’s clothes and pulled each other’s hair and fucked and sucked and bit and spanked and fucked and fucked and fucked until we were both raw and exhausted. Once my mind hit the gutter it was like watching a drunken hobo trying to climb back out.
I said, “Um . . .” I assessed the situation. “Maybe you could kneel and lay your forearms flat on the floor.”
I retrieved a pillow from the sofa and dropped it on the floor for her to kneel on. I suppressed a groan when the image of her kneeling on the pillow to suck my cock flashed through my mind.
“Oh,” she said and retrieved a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “The model consent.”
I took the paper from her and slipped it into my own back pocket. She knelt on the pillow and extended her arms on the backdrop, palms down. She appeared to be praying or throwing herself down to beg for mercy from a more powerful being. She lifted her head and observed me as I repositioned the lights around her.
“Let me know if you need a break,” I said. “Or if you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m okay.”
I took up the camera and stood over her. I snapped a few photos of just her hands and then some of her forearms and hands. I had her flip her hands palm up and repeated the set. Then I asked her to grab the wrist of her left arm but she hid the double thumb under her wrist.
I said, “Is it okay if I reposition your hand?”
She laughed and I gave her a questioning glance.
“You’re asking permission to touch me?” She laughed again.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s just the two of us here and—”
“You can touch me.”
Her response, combined with the hint of amusement in her eyes, stirred a want for her so strong it made me ache from my throat to my balls. My nervousness reached a peak and a prickle of sweat formed on my back. I squatted and my jeans pulled tightly against my painfully erect penis. I wished with everything within my soul this beautiful girl didn’t happen to notice my hard penis and deem me a deviant who had no control over his body and created an awkward situation. Or that I was some crazy deformity or birth defect sex fetishist. My hand trembled as I gently repositioned her double thumb to lie naturally on top of her wrist as her other fingers wrapped around.
She said, “What song is this?”
“Huh?” I listened to the music coming from my laptop. It was one of many throwaway ambient tracks I played in the background while I worked. “Oh . . . um. I play this stuff all the time. I can change it if you like.”
“No, I like it.”
“I’m terrible with names. I use a streaming site and build playlists. I hardly pay attention to band names anymore. Guess that makes me sound old, huh?”
“You’re not old. How old are you?”
“If you’re old that means I’m five years from being old.”
I smiled at her and returned to my position. I focused the camera on her hands. I took another round of photos. We spent the next fifteen minutes exchanging our likes and dislikes in music and movies and found we were both interested in a lot of the same things and we both made recommendations of things the other hadn’t heard or seen. It felt surreal to know there was at least one extraordinarily beautiful woman out there I had a lot in common with. Naomi didn’t care for my music and acted as though I were torturing her when I took her to a movie I was interested in. We didn’t have much in common in the way of entertainment or hobbies. She was more into mainstream things and I preferred stuff off the beaten path. But we had been of the same mindset and temperament and it was enough for us to coincide for seven years. My nervousness subsided some as I got the vague feeling Rachel was flirting with me. I considered it wishful thinking and she was trying to be courteous. But when she finally asked the one question that would drop her into vaguely interested I double checked myself.
“So,” she said. “Do you live here with your girlfriend?”
“No. I live here alone.” My hands began to tremble again and I snapped the last few photos I wanted. I checked the last photo I’d taken on the LCD screen of my camera to make sure it wasn’t completely blurred from my unsteady hands. “I think I got all the pictures I need. You can stand up.”
She stood and hobbled a couple of steps. “My feet are asleep.” She laughed and took a seat on the sofa.
The cat yowled at me through the back screen door to be let in.
I said, “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
“No. I love cats. My landlord doesn’t allow pets but I’d love to have a furry companion someday.”
I strode to the door with my camera in hand and said, “He won’t be quiet until I let him in.”
I pushed the screen door open and the cat hurried in but stopped short when it noticed Rachel. She cooed to him and extended her hand toward him. He approached her cautiously but quickly took to rubbing up against her leg as she petted him.
“What’s its name?” she said.
I shrugged. “I haven’t given him one. I call him Cat.”
“You don’t have a name?” she talked to the cat in a soft voice and petted him.
I carefully laid my camera on the bed and briefly wished I was laying Rachel on the bed. I hadn’t felt this much desire for a girl since the hormonal days of high school and I began to think I was turning into an old pervert who couldn’t be in the company of a pretty girl without sporting a raging hard on. I also hadn’t had sex besides masturbation in a few months. I discretely readjusted my hard cock and retrieved my wallet off the top of the dresser. I counted out the bills and tried to hand her the money. She shook her head at me. I gave her a confused look and shook my money welding arm slightly to reaffirm she should take the cash.
“I feel bad taking your money,” she said. “I didn’t really do anything.”
“I insist. It’s a modeling royalty. I’m going to sell your photo to make money for myself. It wouldn’t be fair if you weren’t compensated.”
She rubbed her hands together to rid them of cat hair and took the money reluctantly. She was tucking it in her back pocket when a knock on the front screen door startled the both of us and the cat. The cat sprinted to the back door and let himself out. Rachel appeared surprised and amused by the cat’s ability to open the door.
I headed for the front door. I did a double take and stumbled over my feet when I realized the visitor was Tryphena. A million thoughts and questions raced through my mind all at once. Hadn’t Child Services removed her from her home? If the authorities knew what happened why was she back in Lloyd’s custody? Why was she here? Was Lloyd hidden beyond my line of sight and ready to beat me to a pulp for reporting him? But ultimately, was she in trouble and seeking refuge from her father? Her presence gave off a vibe of danger and set my heart into a sprint.
I stopped a few feet from the door. “Tryphena?”
In my peripheral Rachel leaned her head to see who was at the door. Without invitation, Tryphena opened the screen door and stepped inside. The girl wore a low cut spaghetti strap tank top that might have been a size or two too small for her breasts. The tank top was cut in such a way that if she moved wrong I was certain her nipples would be exposed and it made me uneasy. She also wore shorts entirely too short for a girl her age and sandals. Her skin appeared flush from the sun and it made the thick white scar across her neck stand out even more. It didn’t seem possible for such a young girl to possess the petty intellect to produce a cruel and conniving smile, but it was the expression she currently wore.
“What are you doing here?” I said in a tone that could be deemed both surprised and accusatory. I forced myself to sound more authoritative and concerned. “Is everything okay?”
She said, “You said I could see your photos sometime.” She tucked her hands into her pockets and bent one leg behind her and tapped the toe of her sandal on the floor.
She appeared to be pulling some innocent girl act in comparison to how she acted the time we spoke on her porch. I’d forgotten about my previous offer. And I regretted it when I proposed the idea but now I downright loathed myself for ever speaking to the girl.
Rachel waved from the sofa and said, “Hello.”
Tryphena’s attention snapped to Rachel and her expression shifted for the briefest second to one I could only describe as a snarl. The compulsion to slap Tryphena came out of nowhere and surprised me. I was not a physically violent person. I’d never struck a woman or had a desire to until that very moment. The idea of hitting a woman sickened me, especially one underage, and I wasn’t sure where the thought came from and it frightened me. Rachel induced a strange feeling within me and it resounded as something protective. And the nasty and hateful expression Tryphena shot her played with a strong gut reaction to defend Rachel viciously.
I took a few steps toward Rachel and waved my hand between the two to insinuate the other. “Rachel, this is Tryphena, my neighbor’s daughter and, Tryphena, this is Rachel. I just finished taking a set of photos of Rachel.”
Rachel said, “Hi.”
I said, “I promised Tryphena she could look at my photos sometime.”
“Oh,” Rachel said. “That sounds fun.” She took on the tone an adult uses when speaking to a child and looked to the girl for a response.
Tryphena greeted her with an unwelcoming silence. A few seconds ticked by and with each passing second the whole situation grew excruciatingly awkward on account of Tryphena’s icy demeanor.
Rachel’s eyes bounced between the girl and me. “Well,” she said. She slapped her thighs lightly before standing. “I should get going.”
My first instinct was to beg her to stay but I didn’t want to appear desperate and knew Tryphena’s presence would only sour the mood we’d playfully built. With each step Rachel took toward the door I felt an opportunity slipping through my fingers and knew I had to at least try and ask her out or I would regret it.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said and immediately added, “I’ll be right back,” in Tryphena’s direction to indicate she shouldn’t follow us.
I followed Rachel up the stairs and couldn’t stop from staring at her buttocks. I wanted to pull her back against my chest and run my hand up the leg of her shorts and stroke the tender soft skin where her buttock met her thigh, just a few inches from her pussy, and breathe in her scent and wait for her body heat to increase as her desire to be fucked and to come began to build. I should’ve masturbated before Rachel arrived. But time had been limited once I made it home and my thoughts had been too wrapped up in what had happened for me to wander so far from home and not remember any of it. I was horny and I couldn’t stop staring at Rachel’s ass and I knew once she was gone the unrele
ased sexual tension would transition me into a grumpy beast until I jerked off. All I wanted was release and I would have to deal with Tryphena and find a way to run her off so I could masturbate. Realizing my state of agitation made me realize my horniness also played into why I’d thought of slapping Tryphena before.
Rachel had parked in the parking space far enough to one side to allow her to open her door fully. She turned to me once she opened the driver’s door of her newer Toyota. We both spoke at the same time. She said, “I enjoyed coming out—” I said, “I appreciate you allowing me—” We both chuckled. She watched me and mindlessly played with her car keys.
I finished my sentence. “I really appreciate you allowing me to take your photo.”
She said, “I had fun.” After a second she added, “I wouldn’t mind hanging out again if you’re not too busy.”
“No,” I said a little too enthusiastically. “I’m free most of the time.”
“I’m staying in the area for a couple of days. I’d heard of the park before and figured I’d turn the trip here into a mini vacation and check out some of the waterfalls. If you’re not busy tomorrow you could join me . . . unless hiking isn’t your thing.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Great! I can pick you up at noon?”
“Sure.”
She fidgeted and appeared pensive for a second. I extended my hand again for a shake. She gave me a clumsy hug so quickly I didn’t have time to process what she was doing or have time to return the gesture before she let go. She hopped in her car and started it.
She rolled down her window and said, “See you tomorrow.”
I stepped out of the way so she could back up and waved at her. She backed out of the parking space and returned my wave before taking off down the drive. She tapped her horn before taking the turn toward onto the incline.
I got the sense the attraction between the two of us was mutual or at the very least I may have managed to pique her interest for a couple of days. The idea of such a beautiful woman wanting anything to do with me felt unreal and made me giddy. I turned to head back inside and spotted Lloyd’s cabin and felt all the pent up joy draining from my body.