Sacred Garden

Prologue -

Placing her back inches from a large tree, Brenda stooped down and teased open a brown canvas satchel. The occasional wind-rush of a car traveling on the road, several yards away, served as a reminder that civilization seemed always to be only one step away. Her son, dear Christopher, had dropped her off on that highway a bit over an hour ago. Brenda planned to return to the same rest area, four miles distant, at eleven a.m. tomorrow. Then her niece would pick her up there. Brenda intended to spend the night in the woods. A car left in the parking lot would provoke the Park Rangers into scouring the forest for her. That would hardly suit her needs.

From this parking lot, the Park Department maintained a seven-mile hiking trail. Hikers could follow this pathway as it wound its course up a mountain, and looped back to this lot. The trek was a scenic circuit. Numerous sparkling pools of mountain water were nested in solid stone. Small waterfalls and caves were chiseled out of the densely wooded mountainside by a labyrinth of small streams. Most tourists walked the confines of this course and returned feeling they had really experienced the wilderness. For the truly initiated; this is only the manicured door-stoop leading to a world where all boundaries to what is primal, and what is civilized, can become gray and hazy.

Brenda inventoried the contents of the medium-sized daypack again as she peripherally monitored the nearby family. The canvas sack held a blanket, a poncho and a beach towel.

The poncho was folded to hold a black silk scarf and also shrouded a quart bottle of blackberry brandy. A camera, a sketchpad and a hairbrush were also nested in the pack. Wrapped inside of the towel was a neon-green cylinder, ten inches in length. The tube was two inches in diameter, with a gently rounded nosecone on one end. The vibrator also had a knurled flat butt, which overlapped a small electrical switch on the opposite end. The device was accompanied by a black and silky nightgown. A pair of black pump high-heeled shoes with ankle straps had been secreted at the pack's bottom. The one remaining item was a small, jade vial, which had a screw on cap. Butterflies nudged against the inside of Brenda's ribcage as she wrestled with the anticipation of the adventure ahead.

It was only two o'clock, and yet it was getting late to start up the trail. Some of it was steep, and although the path was open to the public until dark, most people tried to be out of the woods for supper. Indian summer was upon the land with fierce warmth that rivaled the climate of summer. This was October's second week and the darkness of night would soothe the heated blisters of day by seven o'clock.

Although five vehicles were in the parking lot, the only other people in the staging area were a tourist family with license plates from an adjacent state. The doting parents tended to a whining six-year old boy, as his slightly older brother and sister explored the perimeter of the parking area. Brenda's shoulder-length straight blonde tresses draped forward and veiled her impish blue eyes. She was watching them, and biding her time. Brenda wanted them to go ahead and enter the trail, thus allowing her to be the last person to enter the trail today. Her eyes sparkled as she rationalized that she had her reasons and needs to have the forest to herself.

Drawing the pack flap closed and cinching the hasp straps, she drew the pack between her tanned knees and leaned back against the chip-shingle bark of a Hickory trunk. This caused her cargo shorts to hike to the upper thighs of shapely legs and her light flannel shirt to snag on the rough bark in several places. Brenda caught the "Papa tourist" ogling her and nervously she smiled and moved the pack closer to her tummy.

The voyeurism was not missed by the "Mama tourist", who in a loud voice, summoned her two meandering children and declared that their hike would start now! As they departed the parking area like a row of ducks, the mother shot a burning stare back-wards at Brenda, and Brenda smiled again. She had to smile. The parents were only in their mid-thirties and encased in cellulite. The whole family was also sporting the sagging zippered belt pouches that made them appear as a band of urban marsupials, to her.

Brenda was a two months away from being fifty years of age, and in the best shape of her entire life. Her body was a tightly toned and tanned, five foot and four inches in height. The only clue to her years may have been the few crowfoot wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes. Most men didn't start out by looking at Brenda's spectacularly deep blue eyes however.

Three years ago, after raising two children to adulthood, she had terminated her marriage to a cold and distant spouse named Louis. Rebounding from the resulting emotional cesspool, Brenda decided to rebuild herself. Evening classes at a nearby community college and running several miles a day were two of the steps she ventured in that direction. A home gym machine added to her fitness routines.

This combination resulted in many of her classmates and fellow workers of both genders hitting on the firm breasted beauty with heart-attack legs and taut round gluts. Although Brenda was fairly sure that she was heterosexual, she had no desire to have a man in her life presently. The moronic intricacies and rules that she deemed would be the accompanying baggage made her cringe.

The icy man, who had been her husband of twenty-five years, was her first and only lover. Louis had never given her the pleasures a woman needs. Brenda had never even known that such bliss existed. She had dreams and fantasies, but until a friend of hers gave her a book by a noted female psychologist, she thought she was alone with such wonderfully dark cravings. Brenda even had speculated that her sinful daydreams would cast her into the ranks of the sexual deviants that made newspaper copy with their arrests. In the anthology of fantasies many other women spoke of their wants and needs. It was while reading this book and touching herself, that Brenda masturbated for the first time in her life. When she experienced the intense gratification of her first climax, she wept for the lost years.

The new, rebuilt and improved Brenda was an explorer. Not dwelling for long on her losses, she sallied forth to gather every bit of information concerning anything she found even remotely erotic. Brenda's son, Christopher had moved back into the house when his father moved out. With him he had brought a computer. Brenda was set up as a user on her son's computer and had Internet access. The horizons of Brenda's quest broadened exponentially. There were so many forbidden avenues for her to investigate and so much self-revelation to catch up on.

Brenda was not a stranger to hiking. Her family had backpacked on weekends and vacations when she was a child. The lady had always loved the woods. She relished its bouquet of aromas and the changes that the seasons would render to it. Every glade was a place of great magic to her, and she would often skirt them and observe the beauty they held from several points of vantage. The reason Brenda was here today, was a blend of her newfound sexuality, and her intense affinity with the woods.

CHAPTER ONE - Won't you tell your dreams to me, fantasy will set you free. Magic Carpet Ride-Steppenwolf

While reclining back against the tree, Brenda decided to wait forty-five minutes before she entered the trail. This would assure that the trail would be clear and open for her. Brenda reflected back to a hike that she had made last summer, from this same lot, which had birthed the seed of her endeavor for today.

The late July day of that hike, had been very hot and her car had been the only vehicle in the parking lot. It had been an arid summer and the streams along the trail-way had dwindled to mere trickles. Brenda had climbed several hundred yards on a twenty- percent incline and was totally drenched with sweat. The woods were tinder-dry and the heat was in the chalky high nineties. Her light blouse's shirttails were knotted up at the sternum, to allow any cool breeze to refresh her tight tummy. Brenda's bra lay back in her car on the rearseat floor because it was too restraining and would chafe her skin on the trek. The lack of restraint caused Brenda's ample bosoms to slide across her perspiration slickened torso with each climbing step. As a rugged compliment to her attire, she wore a high cut pair of cut-off denim shorts. Brenda's heart held a song inside, because in this weather, the entire mountainside belonged to her alone. Everyone else with free time would be at their favorite watering hole and trying to gain relief from the heat. The cicadas filled the treetops with their pulsating chorus, and all else was still.

Brenda was less than two miles from the trailhead. A wooden bridge spanned a small gurgling brook, and it was there that she stopped to relax. The stream had shrunken from its banks in a mute testimony to the summer's wrath. Gazing idly at its flowing remnant, Brenda asked herself, where does this water come from? Perhaps it is issued out by a bubbling spring. But no, there was a dried streambed five feet in width, a pond or a small lake must feed this.

The upstream side of the path reared to a hillock crested with a stand of Pines and sparsely quilled with White Birches along most of its incline. It rose only forty feet, yet it hid the horizon and promised a whole New World beyond its ridge. Brenda's intuition told her that if she ascended the rise, she would then be treated to a view of a secret lake. Maybe even a quick and bracing skinny dip would be her reward.

The first ten feet from the path was the toughest, because the path was walled with willowy bushes which were mingled with brambles. Slowly and nimbly she wove her way through the maze of bushes which sprung from a rich grassy carpet. As she emerged from the far side, Brenda stopped to admire the jutting Birches. The woman had always had an inexplicable fascination with large trees. The larger and older they appeared, the keener the attraction she felt. What histories they had seen and what mysteries they could share were the questions Brenda would daydream upon, whenever she discovered an unusually large or old specimen.

Methodically wending her course up the hillside, the lady stopped occasionally to lightly touch the fragile bark of a Birch. The final fifteen feet to the summit was carpeted with Pine needles, and as she entered their cathedral-like grove, she could see shards of dead and naked timber lacing the skyline ahead. This was a sure indication that a long-standing woodland pond was there. The ridge was twenty yards wide, and it wasn't until she had almost crossed it, that she realized the pond had dried up. From the hilltop, Brenda could see a small trickle of a creek as it wound its way through the dusty and leaf-matted two-acre basin that she thought should be holding water. Heat waves shimmered along its barren expanse.

Brenda decided to descend the slope and investigate it further anyway. Traveling downhill, and being careful not to lose her footing, she stopped two thirds of the way to the bottom and used what altitude she had remaining to survey the terrain. To the right of her, the basin sprawled out as a large flat expanse. It was punctuated every thirty yards by the skeletal trunks of ashen and dead trees rearing up from their parched graves. Some retained a few of their branch limbs. Others had small living bushes accenting their bases, so that they appeared to be phallic in nature, with green mounds of pubic hair encompassing their rising shafts.

Turning left, Brenda saw that the forest on three sides cradled a small cove to the main pond bottom. She exhaled a small jet of air between clenched teeth in surprise. The bay in itself was not remarkable. Drawing her attention and central to the lagoon, was the largest specimen of a Swamp Maple that she had ever seen.

Among all trees, Swamp Maples were her favorites. In appearance, their trunks were like an intertwining of fig trees, joining into a "Geigerain" braid, and looking akin to a pumped up school of eels on steroids. As Swamp Maples went, the tree rising before her was a mammoth plant. The largest tree of this species that Brenda had ever observed, had been three feet in diameter. This monster appeared to be more than twice that size. A thin belt of Mountain Laurel on all sides obscured the shoreline of the pond's bottom.

Weaving her way through the Laurel bushes, she made her way toward the cove's shore. A grassy knoll of a clearing opened up to the lagoon and Brenda eased herself down to sit in the cool grass. She unlaced her low-cut hiking boots and kicked them off. Her feet seemed to be sizzling hot, so for further relief Brenda removed her socks and draped them across her boots.

A light breeze wafted through the woods. It played its way through her hair and caused the blades of grass to caress her bare legs. Brenda was entranced with the mighty visage of the immense Swamp Maple, as she slowly slid off her daypack and sought out her camera. She also removed one of the two canteens she carried. They were insulated, so that the long draught she swallowed was still cool and quenching.

The Maple stood free of other trees for a thirty-foot radius. Although it was not taller than all the other trees, the immense girth that the tree had grown to, with its rising Gordian knot made of smaller trunks, and marked it as a tremendously old tree. Its crown retained a hearty growth of leaves. At its base, on the side facing her rose a sapling-like offshoot. Brenda wondered if this was a separate tree, or another corded trunk which would join the others in their frozen ballet as they reached for the skies. "I think I will call you Old Man of the Woods!" she said aloud.

She arose again, and approached the edge of the dried pond. Treading lightly onto the dried leaves, Brenda cautiously probed for firm footing. The bottom felt rock hard and a small cloud of decayed leaf matter dusted the top of her toes. Not letting her guard down, she carefully made her way to within ten feet of the huge trunk. The sapling, with its leafy boughs, obscured a good portion of the tree in her camera's viewfinder. She began to circle the tree to the left and retreating to crop the perfect image.

When she had completed a little more than half the circle, Brenda found that by backing up several yards, a fantastic photo of the Swamp Maple was there for the taking. There was only one disturbing item in the viewfinder as she gave it a final check. Brenda was now facing the grassy knoll, and in the picture would be her discarded backpack. She knew that she was being a bit anal, but heck she thought, it wasn't even sitting nicely. Brenda had left the pack opened and some of the contents she had removed to access the camera were strewn about on the grass like litter. Her boots and a shiny canteen augmented the eyesore.

No problem, she thought and started towards the shore on the other side of the tree. Brenda's enthusiasm was piqued, and her strides were graceful and long. On the third step, Brenda abruptly pitched forward as her right leg sank to its mid-calf into rich black mud .

" Oh dammit! " she exclaimed, but exasperation instantly turned to fear as her immersed foot found no solid support and her momentum continued to carry her forward.

A guttural, " Uunnnhhhg! " sprang from Brenda's lips as the air rushed from her lungs and she continued to topple forward. She had started to fall, and to stop that; Brenda instinctively had kicked her left leg out in front of her as a brace. To her amazement, her left leg plunged with a wet slurp fully to her knee. The entrapped woman's arms were cast forward and she lost her grip on the camera, which was tossed four yards ahead and landed softly on the dried leaves. Brenda's weight had been transferred completely to her forward leg, which caused it to descend further into the yielding ooze nearly to the middle of her thigh. The unstable soil burped a few bubbles into the afternoon's still air, and then took more of Brenda's trapped upper leg into its grim confinement. Thinner liquid silt was percolating up along her creamy thigh and nipping at the hem of her cutoff shorts. Brenda held her arms spread out like a tightrope walker's as she struggled to maintain her balance.

" YIIIiiii! Heeelllp meeeeee! "The trapped woman cried out in a shrill voice. Brenda repeated her appeals for almost two minutes with all the energy that she could summon, then waited and hoped for a responding hail.

The ground in front of her rolled and rippled, broadcasting every little motion that Brenda made. Dusty dead leaves that had covered the treacherous pitfall parted in places to reveal the quaking coal colored pool that claimed her as its captive. Except for the distant buzzing drone of the cicadas, the forest remained mute to her pleas and she knew she was alone. An aroma of long decayed vegetation arose from the simmering muck, and the floundering woman found this to be both horrid and yet strangely stirring in a primitive way.

Brenda hoped that she could readily back out of the marsh and regain secure ground again. Shifting her weight back towards her right leg, Brenda promptly found that the bog's tenacious grasp on her left leg was more than she had estimated. The voracious mud reached to above her knee, as it engulfed the sinking woman's right leg. She stopped to measure her situation and try the best option. Brenda's heart was beating a rapid tattoo within her breast. A fog of confusion and frenzy was pounding at her rationality with sledgehammer blows.

The insatiable mire that was holding Brenda by the legs looked as black as tar, and creamy in its consistency. The sun beating down on it all day had heated the upper two feet of the mulched soup. At the depth her left foot was enveloped to, it held with an undisturbed chill that felt like a lusciously cool embrace. Brenda could not feel a firm bottom yet, and had to keep shifting her balance with her hips, to remain upright .

As she tested for the bottom, the sucking morass had taken Brenda into its clinging clutches beyond the hemline of each leg on her denim shorts. The heated surface muck pushed its way up into her shorts and massaged her straining thighs. Its touch was ardent and thorough on her smooth flesh. If this wasn't so dangerous, it would be sexy, she thought. Brenda could feel the spark of an enticement being engendered within her. She considered the absence of having control to be kind of arousing also.

Sitting backwards and out were no longer an option as the quagmire pressed firmly up against her ass, telling Brenda that she had been taken too far into its gluttonous grasp to escape that way. The slippery ooze poured into the junction of the denim-clad legs and surrounded her excited crotch. Suddenly her feet greeted the resistance of a bottom and Brenda let out a laughing sigh of relief.

She knew that a footstep away and behind her was solid ground. She also realized that she couldn't back up. Brenda began twisting her hips in an effort to turn around and then she could lean over and drag herself out. As she churned the muck into a bubbling broth with her effort, the sun-heated silt was seeping around and pressing on some very sensitive parts of her anatomy. Brenda noticed that she was trembling and knew that a hunger was being fostered from within her loins.

Brenda stopped her gyrations and took in a deep breath. This is very exhilarating she had thought. I am held tightly in the grip of the earth that I hold so dear and it is naughtily making advances at me. Brenda had turned two-thirds of the way around and freedom seemed an inevitable event, when her hands reached down and fumbled to open the snap on her shorts. She stretched the zipper apart and looked down on the soupy humus forcing its way up against her excited womanhood. Brenda slid her index fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them away from her hips. She was still looking down and saw the mulch particles enmeshed in the soft golden down of her pubic nest. It's like it is seducing me, she surmised. It wants to explore me and know me.