The House on the Slope

The house was abandoned tens of years ago, nobody knew how much time it remained empty. Nobody saw any sign of life there, the house just stood on the hill, stuck with one side to a bushy slope, with the years passing had been covered by long lush sprouts of crawling plants, tightly snuggled to lumps of its walls, by thick moss, partly fresh and succulent, emerald green, partly dry dead but soft like a grass fleece, that relentlessly conquered centimeters, one by one, of the building's body, penetrating the wooden window frames, slowly, layer by layer, paving the floor, turning it to a luxurious bedding for some mysterious lovers, forest creatures, maybe elves.

She met this place by chance. She was wandering in the woods, walking her dogs, sometimes she went deep into the forest trying new paths. The forest was kind to her, showing its most intimate lanes and alleys, like it wanted to lure her once for some fantastic lovemaking. As if it knew that she was in love with its wondrous spirit, with all the greenish rustling surrounding, with the wet warm air that entering her nostrils, pervading her by heady lightness, making her dizzy of sweet languor.

She kept walking through, ignoring these generous proposals for not to fall in temptation to stop and lay there, enjoying her sudden total privacy in that enshrouding silence. She kept walking until she reached to the border line of trees above a deep valley. She never saw a map of that area and didn't know about existence of a valley and a house on its slope. It was like a last revelation of the forest, the final, winning temptation that she could not resist.

Since that day she came here from time to time, as though she wanted to keep it for herself from herself, not to make it habitually, but to turn it for being the secret temple of her loneliness.

She used to climb the old wooden stairs, groaning beneath her steps, to linger for a long hours in the rooms of all three floors. There were remains of furniture, old fashioned heavy wooden wardrobe with one dangling door, where a small owl arranged a hideout. The ceiling of a ballroom of old days was full of hanging cooing bats, there were other quarters tightly packed with booming wild rose strewn with white and pink small odorous flowers and spiny thorns. She liked to throw off her shoes and to tread on soft moss, carpeting floors. Sometimes a bird disturbed by her presence noisily flew out of the window. At last she nestled in a bedroom where an old mural paintings were still visible from under green leaves covering the walls. She was pleased to feel the soft touch of thin blades of grass and fluffy moss on her skin when she lied down, sometimes remaining only with her t-shirt on, sometimes naked, for she knew that she is alone.

She never saw any sign of someone else's presence around. There was no sound of steps or broken branch, no crumpled moss inside the rooms, no any belongings, accidentally left behind. Her dogs running and seeking around never found any living creature that might catch their attention. She heard only birds in the dark dense crowns of trees, sometimes swoosh of wind, suddenly cannoned into them, rustles of some insects, swarming in dry leaves that covered a ground.

Some time ago a man walked on the valley's floor. The house on the slope up above caught his eye. It took him around two hours to climb there, the slope was precipitous, but not craggy, it was covered by soft green grass that sometimes was slippery under his boots' soles. He discovered a perfect shelter where he could dwell without being disturbed by anyone. He started to come there almost every day, he found a way through the forest that leaded to the small road where he could park his car on its narrow shoulders. He loved this house.

Being an architect, he paid tribute to unknown builders who created such a perfect abode for his pleasure of solitude, he enjoyed to come here sometimes, drowning in its womby rooms overgrown by thick breathing moss tissue. He explored the building, he learned how the long thin threads of roots slowly ruined the porch, he saw a weak resistance of window frames, their attempts to stop the stern invasion of the forest. The house struggled but succumbed and lend itself to the favor of the conquer.

For the first time he saw her, it was like an impact that raised in him crushing sensation of destruction, profanation of sacred. First he heard a noise of four paws climbing the old wooden stairs, then he saw an ablong big beast body through a doorway, it looked like an old hedgehog's fur coat, the long pink tongue tumbled out of open mouth. The dog run to the upper floor, then, finding nothing interesting, went down quickly, finally run out of the building into the woods. Another dog, maybe the older one, didn't want to enter, he put his head on his paws, calmly laying outside. Then he saw a girl entering the main door, confidently moving apart the bushes.

He had hold himself not to rush out to scary her, to make her run away and never come back. But then he started to watch her.

Every time he saw her oncoming, he was hiding in the attic, where not she nor her dogs never reached to. Then with a time passing he made it his ambuscade, he felt calm there, lurking through the gap between the wooden boards of the floor. From here he saw perfectly her hidden place in the main bedroom downstairs.

He observed her. She sat there, reading, sometimes she just did nothing, at such moments he thought maybe she meditates. Once he saw her sleeping there on the moss. It was the first time that he could come closer to explore. She was tall and bony, she worn clothes that one couldn't understand why she would do it, as if it was no difference for her what to wear. All in her appearance was fresh and natural, she seemed being grown in this green soft nest, like a golden egg, that was treasured here for ages and waited for him to be discovered.

He approached as close as he could without wake her up, he passed his fingers in millimeter above her naked belly, almost feeling the tiny hair that covered her skin, he learned her body. She turned on her side, showing him two dimples on her lower back. He could hardly resist the temptation to run his hand into her loosed shorts. Later, sitting in the room above, he was thinking abstractly if she was dreaming about something arousing and could be wet at that moment.

Sometimes he saw her in town. It took him a bit to guess that she is the same girl from the house on the slope. She caught his eye when showing up in shops, cafes, campus, sometimes alone, sometimes with a company. She never glanced on him, never noticed his sight. Once he observed her sitting in the public park on the bench, deeply immersed in phone conversation, her oversized t-shirt run down off her shoulder to show an absence of a bra. Then one day he saw her with a guy, maybe a boyfriend. They touched each other, when they were sitting on a high stools inside a bar, he saw how the guy's palm reached to her breasts under the checked cowboy shirt, he saw her fingering him on inner side of his leg. It was a glance of couple of minutes, he saw all the scene through the pub window, on his way to some meeting. For one second he thought to stop and watch, then he threw away this idea and continued on his way.

Once he came to a beach pub with his friends for some beer and talking. She was sprawled on the hot sand near the water's edge, wearing her ugly t-shirt and shorts. All her clothes and hair were soaked with salt water, the wet fabric stuck to her bare breast, he noticed her stiff nipples. Suddenly she raised her head and gazed directly to his eyes. It lasted two seconds, then she passed her sight around and turned away. He felt a sudden response of his body to that vision.

He appeared at the house the same week when she was already there. There were a days of heat, though inside the room was cool. She took down the shorts, remaining only with her t-shirt on. He wondered if she wears panties, he didn't see her body, but he sensed her nakedness.

The desire slowly stole him up, it started by warming his fingertips, as if he run them on a most intimate spots of her. He had already learned her body so deep that almost could feel her skin without touching it. A passion deeply took over his chest, downing to the stomach, cramping his thighs. He felt a hard tension in his testicles, his dick was strained, his pants hardly held back his stone erection. He didn't close his eyes, wanting to keep watching, each her move awoke a sharp response of his aroused body, turned him crazy of being so close and not touching her. He was frozen by that sudden embracing want, he was torn between his impulse to possess her and knowing that any action at that moment would spoil everything.

He imagined how he would rip her clothes off and would grab her breasts, how he would throw her slim body down on the accepting moss, face down, his palm on her moaning mouth, his rocky hard dick piercing her hot vagina from behind, how she would scream of pleasure that he would give her. His lust was torturing but overwhelming sweet, the feeling that he never experienced. They were separated only by several stairs that could be passed in two seconds. Two seconds and he could have all of her. Being out of breath with excitement, he managed not to touch his loaded penis, he kept holding himself from burst to release the burden, wanting to last this sensation as long as he could.

He kept watching her with no approaching, no tries to meet her outside. But he started to stalk her in town. He already knew where she lives, he saw that she is seeing some men. He didn't know if she is having sex with them or not, he imagined that she do fuck with them and it filled him with both envy and lust.

He didn't understand right away that she knows. He didn't realize what game she was playing, teasing him.

He noticed that every time he comes to the house, takes her about half an hour to show up there. He felt her mood so deeply, he knew how she feels when her hair touched her face, he knew when she was sweating under her breasts, he saw her touching herself and he could feel her skin under her fingers.

It was one Sunday morning he watched her in the house and suddenly understood that she was doing it on purpose. She was standing in front of a window, the sun rays made their way through the veil of hanging branches, landed on her shoulders and hard protruding nipples she was playing with, lazily, as if reluctantly. She licked her fingers, her palm was randomly touching her belly, until went down, pressing slightly on the clitoris. She moaned softly drowning in the bliss that poured her body, at that moment he grabbed all his restraint for not to make a sound, not to reveal himself, not to cross the fragile border that separated them.

She did it for him, for drive him crazy by keeping that tiny but strong distance that he insisted to set between them.

That night they both were in town, they watched each other pretending to not doing it. There were no words when she run into his arms on her way home, at the entrance to the narrow street. He was waiting for her, leaning on his car's door. He turned her around and pressed her to the cold iron with all the weight of his body, his impatiently fingers stripped her from thin panties and now were soaked by her hot wetness. He already learned her body, he knew every inch of her skin, her belly, her breasts, her shaved pussy. He closed her mouth with his lips when she moaned in lust, his tongue was deep inside her mouth when she opened herself totally to meet his burning of desire dick deep in her wanting cunt, locking him in, tightly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He fucked her hard, he sucked and bate her nipples, he knew she loves it, she moaned and begged him to keep going, he sucked and licked her pussy up to her coming again and again, then he put his cock in her mouth and she sucked him up to his explosion. He filled her mouth, her neck and breasts were shining in his moisture. They did not speak that night. He didn't feel any fatigue, he wanted her to ride his dick on the back seat, he was taking her from behind and she didn't want him to stop wanting her. They forgot about a time, a town, everything around them lost its importance.

They never met again. He disappeared from the town next day, she didn't try to look for him.

The house on the slope continued to overgrow by green, slowly merging into the forest.