tagGroup SexSpirit of the Glen

Spirit of the Glen


This story was originally posted to Literotica in 2010 for the "Summer Lovin' Story Contest" if I recall correctly. It was taken down at my request, but it's one of my favorites, so I'm giving it another chance with a few minor edits.

Edited by Eviant

Author's note: The following is a work of fiction. The setting and historical events are real, but any similarity to persons alive or dead is coincidental. All characters are consenting adults experiencing many firsts. There is a fantasy/supernatural element.

Glen Helen is a private nature preserve adjacent to the village of Yellow Springs, Ohio. The glen contains heavily wooded natural limestone canyons carved over millennia by the Yellow Spring Creek and the Little Miami River. The site once featured a sprawling health resort dedicated to exploiting the curative waters of the namesake spring. If you are adventurous, you can still enjoy the waters today. Hike along the banks of the creek until you discover the broken dam that once collected water for the resort. Climb past the waterfalls along the canyon wall and find the spring at its source. Drink from it. According to my grandmother, an ancient and powerful spirit dwells within that spring.

The area was a beloved campground for both the Shawnee and Miami Native Americans. The tribes often clashed, but neither contested the spring. It was beyond the influence of men. I'm one of the few Miami who remain in Ohio. My grandmother taught me about the spring just like she was taught by her grandmother.

Among the tribes, the spring was more famous as a fountain of love than a source of health, but Grandmother would not distinguish between the two qualities. By tradition, couples shared the water and bathed under the cascades where the spring empties into the canyon. If lovers consummated their union while immersed, and the spirit blessed the pair, their child might grow to become a powerful spirit leader. One such child was the Shawnee chief, Tenskwatawa, who became known as "Prophet."

Spirits are not usually moved by mortal concerns. Most appear as bears or wolves or eagles and impart wisdom that preserves the natural balance. The one in the Yellow Spring is different. Although nobody ever sees it, everyone who encounters the spirit knows it's a man. Grandmother says that some lucky girls catch his fancy and can feel his presence in their loins. Such girls seldom marry. They enjoy long contented lives in the village wandering frequently to the glen to relive ecstasy. I know some of those girls.


"Hey Mut. How goes the sex trade?"

I've known Mut since high school. She was my first girlfriend, and I never really stopped loving her. We haven't hung out together in the last few years, but we've always been friendly. Everyone calls her Mut because when she first started working at the Generic Freeze, her name tag said "Smut." I think she wanted it to be her nickname. Sometime during her first year, the manager scraped off the "S," and her actual nickname was born. Mut and her sister, Jan, started working at the soft serve ice-cream stand as teens. It's right across the street from their parents' house, so it was very convenient. Jan eventually purchased the business and still runs it. Mut lives in the old house and saunters over to help when the counter gets too busy.

"I've already had two this morning. I love my job," she answered over her shoulder while pouring extra fudge on my sundae.

Mut started a web-cam and general pornography site a few years ago. I subscribed for a month when she was getting started to help her out. We'd just chat about random things until one of her other clients logged in. Then she'd get back to work. As much as I enjoyed the show, I stopped watching because I kept imagining her masturbating whenever I bumped into her around the village. It became awkward for me. I'm sure she sensed it.

A big yellow fire truck pulled up to the intersection in front of the shop. "Hey Jan! Date tonight?"

One of the firemen was leaning out of the cab and shouting over the crowd.

"Are you paying this time?" Jan hollered back skeptically.

"Just say yes!"

"Alright. Call me later."

The fire truck pulled away with a roar, and I smiled to myself. In some ways, the village is stuck in a Norman Rockwell time warp. Years earlier, a friend and I were sitting at the cement tables outside the Generic Freeze when a truck loaded with watermelons and Boy Scouts pulled up. The scouts probably picked them for some project and were riding in the open flatbed along with their bounty. As the truck accelerated away, one of the boys fell out the back. He jumped to his feet and ran down the street behind the truck yelling, "Wait for me!"

Mut passed my treat through the little window and took my money. There was a line of customers, so I moved aside.

"Who's the new girl?"

"That's Monica. She won't be here long. She's not working out," Mut observed loud enough for Monica to hear and grimace.

It was true. Monica was tending the other window, and her line backed up. I studied the problem while I nibbled my melting treat. She moved with a fluid grace that conserved energy, but she only did one thing at a time. She was either taking an order or fulfilling an order or counting change. In contrast, Mut took the next order while accepting the previous customer's money and still had time to chat while making two or three things at a time. I never put much thought into the rhythm of food service, but I admire skill wherever I find it.

Fearing a lull in the conversation, I asked, "Have you heard anything about the new guitarist at The Perk?"

"No. I haven't seen him. Friday nights are my busiest time. I can't get out."

"Come with me on Monday. I bet he's really good."

"Maybe," she conceded without enthusiasm.

It occurred to me she was reluctant because I was the one asking. I was hitting on her, and I wasn't conscious of it myself until that moment.

"Alright. I'll see you there if you can make it," I said to take it down a notch. "Say hello to Jan for me."

"Sure thing," she smiled.

I walked down the block while digging into my sundae in earnest and almost barreled into a group of tourists coming out of Ye Olde Herb Shoppe. I tossed my empty dish into a convenient bin and decided to browse inside for awhile. The shop seemed the same as always. The gray haired hippie was still behind the counter espousing the medicinal value of some Asian root. I think he was having the same conversation when I first met him twenty years ago. I glanced at some hemp shirts on the rack and winced at the high prices.

The shop includes a "reading room" that contains 1970's furniture and a large collection of glassware along with books and lava lamps. I slumped into a beanbag to take a load off and savor the air-conditioning. The outside temperature was at least 90. I had to cut my earlier hike through the glen short because of the heat. I was just dozing off listening to my iPod when someone touched my shoulder.

A timid voice asked, "Do you know Mut very well?"

Monica stood in front of me looking sheepish.

She added, "I hope you don't mind. I'm on my break, and I saw you walk this way."

"Yeah, I've known her a long time, why do you ask?"

"She said I can stay with her - you know, be her roommate - until I get settled."

I just stared into her eyes. They were green with tiny flecks of brown.

"Can you tell me? Am I getting into something I don't know about?"

"I don't know," I hazarded, "Did she tell you about her business?"

"You mean the web-cam? She said that's only in one room, and I won't ever have to see it."

"Mut's a very kind person. I think you'll be safe with her," I grinned.

Monica looked like she could benefit from a helping hand. I speculated she was a runaway or maybe a recent college dropout. I didn't have any real evidence to support my impression. She just gave that vibe.

"How did you meet Mut?" I inquired mostly just to keep the conversation going.

"It's kind of embarrassing," she said with a blush. "I was skinny dipping in the woods, and some boys ran away with my clothes. Mut helped me."

I could guess where she was swimming, too.

"Here's the thing," I confided because I was feeling a little protective of the waif, "Mut is a free spirit. When we were about sixteen, Mut and I went swimming in that same pool, and it changed her. Most kids our age were concerned about dances and dating and college and whether so and so liked them. After that swim, Mut seemed more mature like she was someone's mother rather than a high school girl. She never dated, but she radiated a certain something. I'm sure you noticed it."

Monica nodded demurely. She was still close to me, and the view from my vantage near the floor was breathtaking. Her low-rider jeans hugged hips and descended enough that I wondered if she was wearing panties. The loose T-shirt draped like a curtain from her breasts revealing flesh up to her ribs. The overall effect accentuated her hourglass figure, and my penis began to stir involuntarily.

Remembering my point, I continued: "Mut isn't shy and may talk to you about uncomfortable subjects. She might even shock you, but she'll also look out for your best interests. I don't think she could harm a fly."

"Is it true she's a nudist?"

"I don't know. It wouldn't surprise me. She once posed naked in the front window of The Perk coffee shop to protest something or another. She gathered quite a crowd, but none of them bought coffee, so the owner told her to go home."

Monica laughed at the mental image, and I chuckled too.

"Thanks a lot."

She stared down at the tent in my pants when she said it. It was my turn to blush.

"I better get back to work. It's still busy," she chortled and waved goodbye while she backed away until she was nearly out the door.

I clambered up and peered out in time to see her bounce across the street and jog up the block toward her job.


Monday night, I sat in the corner sipping apple juice. I never developed a taste for coffee, and I don't drink alcohol. I think The Perk stocks juice just for me because nobody else orders it. The door chime jingled when Monica and then Mut stepped in from the sidewalk. I smiled to see them. They walked right over and sat at my table.

"Have you noticed the drought is getting worse?" Mut asked without preamble.

"The news doesn't talk about anything else," I conceded.

"I'm worried about the spring."

"What do you mean?"

The spring is fed by a deep aquifer and never ran dry in living memory. Ohio has a pretty wet climate even with occasional summer dry spells. I've seen the creek reduced to a trickle, but that has always been the worst of it.

Mut's eyes shone, and her knuckles were white where she clenched the edge of the table.

"Monica and I were just there, and it's not the same. I couldn't feel it!"

We never openly discussed the subject, but I knew Mut felt the spirit. When we were younger, I was jealous. She convulsed one time, and I had to hold her head above water fearing she would drown. The look on her face confirmed I was definitely missing out on something pleasurable.

The look now was the exact opposite; It was anguish.

"I'll ask my grandmother about it if you want. She knows more than anybody."

"Can you do it now?"

Grandmother was treasurer for a local group of elders who helped the village deal with social problems including the occasional publicly drunken Miami. It's a stereotype about us, and it really isn't fair. I think if anything, the elders overreact. A lot of college kids do it, but the full weight of the tribe comes down when one of us does.

"I think Grandmother is out making her rounds about now. She delivers meals to some of her friends and stays to keep them company."

Monica chimed in, "Does she have a phone?"

"Kids these days," I winked at Mut. "I don't think Grandmother has even heard of cell phones. She hardly uses her land line."

"Well, can we find her?"

"Is it really that urgent?"

"Please Joseph!" Mut pleaded.

"Alright, let's go, but you owe me a rain check for this date."

Mut frowned, and Monica looked surprised.


We finally tracked Grandmother down at about 10:00 that night. Mut got frantic by the time I was finally inspired to check the Senior Citizen Center. Don't laugh, but it's only three doors away from The Perk, and we spent hours trekking around the village. Grandmother was closing up. She took one look at Mut's face and guided us upstairs. We sat in rockers and suffered critical inspection by the cats who claim that space. I'm on good terms with most of them, and they adore Grandmother as much as a cat adores anyone, but on that occasion they all circled Monica as if she was wearing catnip.

Mut said, "Grandmother?"

Every one called her that.

"What troubles you daughter?"

She called every girl younger than fifty "daughter."

"The spring doesn't feel right!"

"How do you mean?"

"I couldn't feel it at all!"

Grandmother squinted knowingly. The woman was nearly blind, but it didn't seem to hamper her.

"I have heard about this in a story," Grandmother spoke with reverence. "The spirit sometimes travels with a human for a time to explore the world and see how things have changed while it slept. It is probably on a quest and will return soon."

"Tell us the story, Grandmother," I begged. I thought I had heard them all, but this was new to me.

Mut's chair rocked adjacent to mine. I slid closer and reached over to hold her hand for comfort. She leaned into me until our heads almost touched and her hair tickled my neck. Everyone including the cats settled in for the tale. I had one on my lap, but Monica was wearing a purring blanket. She sat cross legged at the foot of my rocker and used my legs as a backrest. When I looked around, I realized all of the unoccupied chairs either faced away or were behind Grandmother. Monica was just claiming a front row seat for the story. What she may not have known is that she gave me a delicious view down the front of her shirt to mounds covered only by red lace cups.

"Tenskwatawa was conceived in the spring water and had the spirit in his blood. His father died before he was born, and his mother left the family shortly after to follow a Jesuit missionary. The baby boy was raised by his older sister and never learned the ways of Shawnee men. He could neither hunt nor fight in his youth, but the spirit in his blood was renowned. Tenskwatawa had three wives and fathered at least 20 children. One of those children was a Miami named Francis Godroy after his grandmother's missionary.

"Francis became a powerful warrior and was entrusted by the tribe with a musket received in trade from the Canadian English. When Tenskwatawa had a vision that the new United States Army was coming to destroy the tribe, Francis joined his father to fight the invaders. The Miami elders knew the war could not be won and pleaded with Francis not to go. They convinced him to visit the spring one more time and ask the spirit for guidance.

"The spirit shocked the elders by confirming Tenskwatawa's vision. When the boy traveled west to find his father, the spirit went with him."

I thought I knew the rest of the story. "Grandmother, did Francis survive Tecumseh's war?" The girls looked blank, so I explained: "The confederation of tribes assembled by Tenskwatawa and his brother, Tecumseh, was massacred at Prophetstown along the Tippecanoe river in Indiana."

We all looked back to Grandmother for an answer.

"Tenskwatawa recognized the spirit with his son and had another vision before the battle. He prophesied that Francis was as powerful as 200 men, and if he died, the spirit with him would have revenge. Francis himself realized the spirit wanted to travel south on the eve of battle. The spirit's quest had located another like itself, but Francis refused to leave his brothers before battle.

"Francis was killed the next morning. His blood washed down the Tippecanoe and then the Wabash and Ohio and finally the great Mississippi. The spirit carried with the blood until it reached a tiny settlement that is now called New Madrid. The two spirits met and raged about the battle. Earth heaved with the spirits' anger. The quakes were the most powerful ever to hit the eastern half of the continent. The Mississippi river flowed backward with the shocks. People as far away as Pittsburgh and Norfolk were awakened by shaking. Church bells rang in Boston and Toronto. Sidewalks cracked 800 miles away in Washington, D.C."

"I've heard of the New Madrid quake," Monica volunteered.

"How long was the spirit away from the spring?"

"I do not know how long, my daughter."

We sat in silence for a while and digested the revelation.


A few days passed, and I couldn't stop thinking about Mut. I also thought about Monica a bit, but my crushes are never fickle, and it was hard to replace ten years of fantasy about Mut in just a few days. Somehow, I always kept Mut in the back of my mind. Does every man dream about the one that got away?

I felt dirty, but I fished in a drawer for my seldom used credit card. Within moments, I signed into Mut's site and scanned her collection of recorded webcasts. My browser doesn't show flashing banner ads, or I would have discovered sooner. At the end of a recent dildo demonstration and shortly after I came myself, Mut looked into the camera and promised her first ever lesbian encounter was going to be shown on Friday night.

A sick feeling dropped from my chest to my gut. Did I get Monica in over her head? It was still early in the evening, so I washed up and walked over to Mut's house. I was prepared to take Monica home with me if she needed a refuge.

Nobody answered the door. A quick check at the Generic Freeze confirmed only Jan was working.

"Hey Jan," I sounded concerned. "Do you know where your sister or Monica could be?"

"They went grocery shopping a few hours ago. I imagine they've been back and gone out again by now. Is anything wrong?"

"I'm a little worried. Mut hasn't been herself lately, and I think she might have got Monica involved in something over her head."

"That's hardly any of your business, is it?"

"I feel a little responsible for Monica. She asked my advice before she moved in."

"Is it Monica you're concerned about, or are you jealous again?"

"You know about that?"

"Sisters do talk."

"I guess it's a bit of both."

"Go home and stay out of it. I'm glad my sister finally found a lover. You know, I think she's a virgin."

It might seem absurd that a porn site operator and web cam performer was a virgin, but I agreed with Jan. I never heard Mut had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Grandmother's stories explained why.

"OK, Jan. Please tell Monica she can come stay with me or even Grandmother if she needs a place."

Jan didn't dignify my request with an answer. She just slammed the little service door shut and returned to whatever chore I interrupted.

Needing to clear my head, I contemplated a jog through Glen Helen. It was still warm. I unbuttoned my shirt and tied it around my waist in case I wanted it later. The preserve is officially closed after sunset and there are no artificial lights within. Nevertheless, most residents of the village explored enough in the dark to feel confident even over rough terrain. I stuck to a cinder fire-road so I could run on the relatively regular surface. I made it all the way to the pine forest at the opposite end before I selected a footpath to follow down to the creek. I climbed slowly in the dark because of uneven footing and low hanging branches.

Once I reached water level, I stripped off my shoes and socks to wade. The water was much lower than normal. Most places it only reached my knees. I carried the shoes with one hand and smacked away mosquitoes with the other. I had to navigate around a couple of low falls and the handful of pools that are still called "Indian bathtubs." It was nearly midnight when I spotted a bright light in the distance in front of the broken dam.

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