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Midsummer Night

By: CreamyLady



Faye heard the music just after midnight. It was soft and lilting. She thought it might be a harp, but when she listened harder, it seemed to be a flute. She couldn't tell where it came from; anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. She sat up in the bed, stretching, and listened intently.

Beside her, sprawled over most of the bed, was her husband. Jeff was still a good-looking man, still aggressively pursuing his goals; setting new ones even before the old were achieved. Faye automatically counted her blessings, as her mother had taught her: "Whenever marriage starts to get you down, dear," her mother had said, "count your blessings. What's good about it - that's the way you have to think! And besides, dear," her mother had gone on, "marriage is better than anything else."

Blessings . . . a large house, too small for a family of four, but too big for a family of two. Two children, independent, grown, hostile. Faye thought it was unnatural, and felt guilty for it, but she disliked her children. Marianne was selfish and amoral. She'd been married twice, and was living with her soon to be third husband. Michael was focused, intent, brilliant and a bullying womanizer; a heterosexual who actually detested women.

Faye had tried to warn his girlfriends, and eventually his wife, but to no avail. In high school and college, the girls had been dazzled by his good looks. Later, they were dazzled by his medical degree. Faye supposed that a six-figure income was some consolation. Despite his other faults, he wasn't stingy with the money.

It was hard to reconcile the two horrible adults with the infants they had once been. Faye had stopped trying, putting their pictures away in a box in the attic. They weren't missed.

The music was a little louder now, and a lot sadder. Faye got up, slowly because of the arthritis in her knees, and went into the bathroom. After she washed her hands, she turned out the light, but didn't go back to bed. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror: grey hair, broad hips, sagging breasts, and tired face. She turned away, and went downstairs to the kitchen. Some tea might help.

Before she went, she looked at Jeff again. He was all over the king-sized bed now, on her pillow, with the last remnant of covers underneath him. Of all the irritations inherent in 35 years of marriage, the sense of being pushed out of bed every night was the one that really rankled. She'd begged for twin beds after the children had gone, but Jeff had been adamant.

"Married people share a bed," he'd thundered, "and by God we're sharing a bed." Only it wasn't sharing, it was combat every night, for every inch of space she occupied, and she hadn't slept well in 35 years.

She left him to sole possession, and walked downstairs. The music was audible again; it was discordant, and irritating. Like Jeff. Like her children.

Her kitchen didn't soothe her, either. She had wanted a simple, functional kitchen, perhaps a hint of warmth. She didn't like to cook, and spent very little time there. What she had was a gourmet cook's dream and her nightmare. She filled the electric kettle, plugged it in, and warmed the small pot and fetched a cup and saucer. She had done this every night for years; it had the comfort of routine; she still was half convinced it would help her sleep.

Damn that music; it was sad again.

She sat at the countertop as the tea steeped, listening to the night noises. The slight whoosh of the furnace; the nights were a little chilly in June. The yowl of the neighbor's cat, perpetually in heat, perpetually an irritant. There was no traffic, though, no voices.

Just the night noises. And the music.

She poured a cup of tea, and, restless, walked to the french doors leading to the patio. The moon was full, the backyard looked silver in its light. She remembered how much she had loved the moonlight when she was young, and, impulsively, put down her cup and stepped into the night.

The air was cool, and her nightgown billowed around her feet; a practical nightgown, thin white cotton. She walked out onto the grass, feeling the cool blades under her feet, with a hint of dew. The moon blazed overhead, lighting her, turning her hair - braided for bed - to molten silver and her skin to milk. Her green-grey eyes glowed, and she suddenly threw out her arms and began to spin.

The music was louder now, wilder, and it tugged at her heart, her feet. She forgot her arthritis, and began to skip along the hedge, to a gap she knew about, leading to the golf course beyond. She began to run through the course, faster and faster, dancing and twirling and running. Her heart was jumping, she was smiling to herself, slowing to a walk at last, slightly breathless, but feeling younger than she had in years. The music was soft again, happy, resting music. She found a patch of soft grass, and sat down, leaning on her hands, her head back, feeling the coolness.

She didn't see him arrive, but she felt him. She opened her eyes and saw him before her, spare, slim, older than earth and younger than the summer. His hair was very curly and wild; there was lots of it, all over his body. He smiled at her, his forest green eyes deep and sharp; his hand, reaching for her, young and old and soft and very firm. She blushed when she saw his erect penis, but rose when he tugged, and stood before him.

"You can leave that," he indicated the nightgown, and it was at her feet. The music now was full, and rich, and loud. Her hair was loosened, pouring down her back, flowing and waving in the night breeze. She left her nightgown, as she'd left her teacup, as she'd left her husband, lying right where they'd fallen.

She followed her lover into the forest, into the night, and into the bed of earth. She gave herself to him; gave of herself, all of herself. He accepted her gift, giving generously in return. They loved all night, with passion, with expression, and they were together as the sun rose.

He loved her again.

They slept, until the sunset, until a faint noise awoke her. She looked down at herself. Her breasts were - breasts. She was not young, but they were not ugly; they were sensitive, had fed children, were full with time. Her hair was - hair. All shades of silver, gleaming and drifting, beautiful. Her hips - full, yes, but again she had borne children, she had cradled her lover in them.

She was not young, but she was beautiful, and she saw it in her lover's smile as he pulled her to him again. She ignored the noises, close now, but muted; an alarm about a discarded nightgown. She didn't see her husband, standing over it, more irritation than bewilderment on his face.

She never knew what happened, nor did she really care. She followed her lover and his music, deeper into the forest, deeper into the earth, reborn to passion, reborn to herself.

Midsummer-Night's Dreaming



"As you can see by the diagram, the wiring node designed to fit into the sump storage of the left aft wing tank has been compromised by...."

"And I am going to die before the end of this meeting if I can't get up to stretch my legs," thought Sarah Dishong. Greg Robinson, Assistant Vice-President for new product engineering had been going on for an hour, no, make that one hour twelve minutes. She carefully ignored the hand on the clock tracing out the seconds (... 37, 38, 39...) to prevent becoming too impatient.

As newly appointed corporate spokesperson for Griesson Aviation Products, she had been invited to the annual corporate administrative retreat. Corporate spokesperson. Her mother had been thrilled to hear about her new job, but after a few months it was obvious that her main role was to be the cute young thing badgered by the press for details about any bad news Griesson Aviation Products was forced to reveal. PCBs in a dump near Grad Raids, Michigan? "Oh, we're still testing to be sure if there is a problem. Be assured that Griesson Aviation Products is committed to a clean environment, and if there is any problem, we will not rest until everything is cleaned up to the public's satisfaction." Be assured nothing would damage the balance sheets of Griesson Aviation Products unless it was absolutely necessary. Never fear. Sarah's here.

"So young and so cynical." C. B. Griesson, VP of Finance and third son of founder Wentworth B. Griesson, had chided her the other evening during the cocktail hour before dinner. That wasn't all he'd said to her that evening, but she had slipped out of his clutches when he went after his fourth drink. He was rapidly heading towards unbelievably obnoxious, and Sarah was afraid a fourth drink just might do it.

Her eyes wondered around the meeting room's conference table. They would soon be finished for the afternoon, and after three days of these meetings, she was looking forward to the chance to get outside and away from the conference. For a moment her eyes lingered on Roger Lockwood, Vice President of Marketing. Now there was a hunk. She would love to get him out in the woods alone for a while. Suddenly he looked up and his eyes met hers and he smiled. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, she glanced away.

Suddenly she realized that Greg was making finishing up noises. Praying for no questions, Sarah was ready to leap from her seat. Yet, she paused to carefully reshuffle the papers which had been distributed for Greg's presentation (Engineers and their diagrams. Good Grief!). Mentally sprinting down the hall, but actually casually filing along with the rest of her conference mates, she engaged in idle chit chat until she could break away to her room.

Within moments she was into her running shorts and t-shirt and out the door of the hotel. The one good thing about the retreat was Forrest Hills Resort. A winter ski lodge in the upper peninsula of Michigan, they kept things going the rest of the year by catering to corporate clients wanting a scenic get away. There were miles of hiking and ski trails, and Sarah needed to let out her pent-up energy by exploring as many of them as she could.

Three miles later she was well into the woods along the red trail when she decided to take a break at a picnic clearing along the trail. Forrest Hills had created these little clearing and provided them with rustic wooden tables. Some of them had water and rest room facilities. She went over to the pump and in a few strokes had flowing water to quench her thirst. Soaking her sweat band in water to cool her head, she walked around the little clearing. At one edge the trees opened and the clearing dropped away into a little valley with a vivid blue pond at its center. She could see quite a ways across to the next little rise. In fall color the view would be gorgeous. Now it was merely luscious.

Looking down she saw a few wild flowers. Without thinking, she bent to pick one. The flower came away with the gentle tug of a separating stem, but she felt a wiggle and looked down startled. Reflexively, she stumbled back as she tossed the thing away. She reacted before she thought, and when she did think, she thought, "Snake!"

But it wasn't a snake. As she fell back she had a confusing glimpse of the figure of a tiny little man flying along where she thought she'd thrown the flower. She sat up and rubbed her butt where she had landed on a tree root. A tiny little man? "Oh, Sarah. These conferences are getting to you," she told herself.

Then she heard a tinkling little voice. At least that's what it sounded like.

"Free, free. Free again. Puck is out and about, and this is the day, no doubt."

Her heart was already beating rapidly from a rush of adrenaline, and her breath was noisy in her ears. She woofed out a breath and started to get up. The lady is crazy in the head.

"Oh, pretty lady! My freedom, my joy. Welcome to my forest."

A man no more the four inches tall stood in front of her. He seemed to pop up from no where and, startled, Sarah froze. Sitting on the ground she could see him clearly. Yes, a small, perfect figure of a man with strange green and purple clothes — the same color as the flower she'd bent to pick. He smiled at her.

"Thank you, thank you. Puck thanks you for picking his flower so he could get out and about for a while. Now and again they do it, but never enough. Puck likes the fresh air and sunshine."

"P- P- Puck?" she stammered. You mean, like in Shakespeare...?" She couldn't believe she was talking to this, this, little man? What had they put in the ice tea this afternoon?

"Oh, that is Puck, but what a funny tale that Bard did tell."

Sarah breathing had slowed somewhat, but the little apparition appeared just as solid as he had been at the start. He turned three cartwheels then tumbled over a twig. Sitting on the ground now, he looked up at her.

"Such a pretty lady. Welcome to my forest. I have but a brief time, but you have made me happy today, so may I make you happy too?"

Sarah still was trying to understand what she was seeing. "Puck? How did you get here? Don't you belong in England with the other..." She tailed off because she realized she was going to say he belonged with the other fairies, and that, of course, was silly. Fairies?

"Oh, yes. Robin Goodfellow at your service. England was my home. But you remember Titania from the story?"

"Uh, queen of the fairies?"

"The very same! Well, we had a falling out over a little trick I played. She was sorely vexed with old Puck. You folk would say, she was truly pissed at little me!"

Sarah rolled on to her back and looked at the sky through the trees. "Ah, Puck. I'm going crazy. I guess junior high literature class warped me more than I thought."

She felt something land on her chest. Puck stood looking down at her from just beyond her chin.

"Pretty lady, what may I call you? I am in your debt and I would address you properly."

She sighed. "Sarah. Sarah is my name." Then she giggled and asked, "And you don't mind if I call you Puck? You won't play a trick on me by making me into a frog or something?"

"No, no, no, no, NO! You let Puck out to play. I wouldn't do anything to you. Puck likes tricks, yes, but only tricks for laughter. For you I would do a trick to make you laugh and feel good. The others, now that is a different story. Puck loves to find people who think themselves important. They can't laugh at themselves, so Puck helps."

"Boy, could you help Griesson. I'd give anything... No, I have to work for him. Can't have him running around with a horse's head."

"An ass."

"What?"

"I assume you are referring to the little jape the Bard wrote about. I made him look like an ass."

Now she laughed out loud. "Now there would be no work to that. Two minutes alone with him and you'd know it, even if he didn't look it. You are a wonder, Mr. Puck."

"At your service, lovely Sarah. After all, you were the one who set me free today."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When you picked the flower, fair lady, you broke Titania's spell for the day. She may someday come to find and free me. Maybe the day she wants to amuse her king, Oberon. Meanwhile, I have to wait until my flower is picked to have a day of play."

"You were in the flower until I picked you?"

"Sarah the Kind, I was the flower. Until a maid is deflowered in my presence, I will be a pansy on every morrow."

Puck paused and looked at her intently. "Lovely Sarah, unless I am mistaken, you yourself are but a maid."

She sat up abruptly and Puck tumbled to the ground. "Now look, buster. Don't push it. It's none of your business anyway."

Puck bowed low before her, "I meant no offense, Sarah. I am out of my flower so rarely these days I don't know your ways as well as I could." Again he looked at her intently. "You are truly a maid, but not by choice I think. Your flower is a bud, but oh, what a flower it would be."

Sarah was a little embarrassed by the turn the conversation had taken and not quite sure what he was saying. "Well, I went to a strict Catholic school instead of the public school. Sanderman College was an all girl's school. In fact, they didn't seem to like men much at all there. I've been on my own working for the last year and a half but I haven't really..." Her voice trailed off as she realized how much of her personal history she'd just laid in front of the little man. Puck?

She started to get up and Puck skipped lightly out of the way, turned a hand spring, and landed on his feet facing her. "No, no, fair maid. Don't be embarrassed by old Puck here. You were nice to me and I want to be nice to you. Nothing could be nicer for you than to discover a fair prince."

"Yeah, well this is sure the place for it. Griesson Aviation Products is just about all male, and we token females get a lot of attention at meetings like this."

"I know just the thing!" Puck exclaimed. "I shall go and find your true love amongst yon savages."

"Aren't you tied to that flower or something?"

"Yes, lovely Sarah, I am tied until it is picked. Then I am free for a day to go my ways. To find a maid whose love may free me. On the morrow, I return to my flower to wait for the next time."

"But, that's so," Sarah paused unsure just what she felt. Puck was a trickster. All the legends said that. But he was such a happy spirit, and the thought of him being captive for days and years on end. It was... And Sarah realized a small tear was making its way down her cheek. "I'm sorry. It just seems so cruel for someone like you to be trapped this way."

"My lady, I thank you for your concern. Puck is a problem for many people, especially those who take themselves oh, so seriously." He hopped back up to her knee. "You care for Puck. That warms my heart. Wait here and I shall see if your true love is near."

Suddenly he was gone. Puzzled, Sarah looked around. Where had he...

Just as suddenly he was back in front of her and smiling broadly. "My lovely lady, I have good news!"

"Where were you, Puck? I didn't see you..."

"Puck can travel like the very wind when need be. For today I can be any where in a trice. What would impress you? A flower from an Alpine valley? A touch of snow from the tallest mountain?"

"You're kidding me again, aren't you Puck. You are just skipping about teasing me."

Puck frowned and tapped his foot three times. "Very well. I shall return in but a moment."

Once again he disappeared. Sarah was puzzled by his ability to come and go without her seeing him leave. Most of the time he move like an ordinary — fairy? What was she saying? Ordinary fairy? This whole thing was puzzling if not down right weird with a capital WEIR. No, this whole thing was ridiculous. A meeting with the fairy Puck? She made a mental note to check the health plan for coverage of stress related mental disorders. It would be too late when the folks in the white coats showed up.

But suddenly Puck was back thrusting a lump of snow down the front of her t-shirt. She squealed in dismay at the shock of the sudden cold against her chest. Jumping to her feet she pulled the shirt out of her running shorts and shook the snow to the ground. "Puck, you little..."

She stopped and continued again more thoughtfully. "Puck, where did you get that snow?"

Puck smiled. "From the top of the highest mountain, dear maid. Just as I said. And this is for you too. It is to make up for snow. Puck loves you and will do nothing to hurt you. But, that does not mean he cannot be ornery. Especially when you doubt his word." As he finished, he held out his hand with a flourish.

He was holding out a delicate little flower, and Sarah took it cautiously. "And this is from?"

"As I said, it is from a lovely little valley in the Alps."

Sarah didn't know much about wild flowers and certainly couldn't tell if his claim was true. The flower was a delicate cream color and she was certain she had never seen one like it before.

She was puzzling over the flower when Puck announced, "I have news for you. Remember I said I set off to look for your true love?"

"You found him already?" Sarah was laughing now.

Puck smiled too, but continued, "This is not a jest, lovely Sarah. He is nearby. I know not all your fellows, but he is among them."

"Sure, and I'll just stumble across him and everything will be sweetness and light from now on."

"So little confidence! You are a wonderful maid who would make any man a fitting mate. There is enough life in you to make any man the luckiest in the world."

"Yeah, right! Me, who has never even been with a man is going to set the love of my life on fire with just one glance."

"No, it will assuredly take more than a glance."

"Well, then that leaves me out. I don't have a clue how this is supposed to work. No guy has ever asked me out more than once in a row."

"You are serious. I see that, and I see you are saying more than you speak. Perhaps Puck could help? You have no experience with your own passion, and because of that, you think you have none. That is assuredly not the case, lovely Sarah. I see within you deep wells of wonder just waiting your wild and wanton release."

"You're nice, Puck, but I really should get on with my run. This certainly has been interesting, but tomorrow I will be sure to avoid the pickled crab legs at lunch."

With a hop Puck was on her right shoulder leaning into her ear and whispering. "A lovely lady should know something of life. A touch of fairy dust and you will see secrets you hide within." 

Sarah turned her head to look at him and saw him open his hand and blow across his palm. She felt a puff of air and saw a sparkling of dust motes in front of her eyes. A sweet smell of flowers filled her nose.

Suddenly she sneezed. Not a dainty, lady-like sneeze, but a full-throated explosion. Puck tumbled to the ground. She reached for him apologizing and excusing herself, but she stopped. Puck was smiling, and she felt — strange.

Her nose and face were tingling and flushed. She could see a golden aura around Puck and several of the trees and plants. Another tree, dead on one side and with few leaves on the other had a dark gray fringe. She looked at her hands and notice a faint red tint around the edges that grew a little more distinct as she watched.

With one hand she tried to feel source of the glow, but felt nothing but her hand. The skin of her hand did feel warm and comforting. Slowly she stroked the back of her hand and wondered that she'd never noticed the smoothness and texture of her skin. The red glow spread as she watched and rubbed her hand and she began to realize the the reddish color was just a visual expression of what her hands were feeling. Rubbing the skin of her hands made them feel good, and as they felt good, they glowed.

She laughed at the discovery and looked around the clearing again. The colors were more intense. Shades of green she had only imagined decorated the leaves. Sun motes danced a complicated pirouette under an oak tree while a minuet proceeded under a maple. Feeling alive with sensation, Sarah turned her face to the sun and felt its warmth caress her. Her hands and arms felt the warmth too, and she turned slowly around to let it warm all of her.

All of her. Yes, she wanted it to warm all of her. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and felt the sunlight cascading over her back and then her chest. Reaching behind, she undid the clasps of her bra and let it fall away too. Free. She felt completely free without the confining bra.

Except there were her other clothes. Impatiently she tugged at her shoes and freed her toes to feel the fresh grass. Finally her running shorts and she was truly free. Once more she slowly turned in the glow of the sun letting it warm all of her skin. She couldn't see it in the strong light, but she could feel her entire body glowing in response. She saw Puck standing at the edge of the clearing and waved gaily at his knowing smile. All of it was so gloriously wonderful.

With a sigh, Sarah sank down to the comfort of the grass and stretched her legs then her arms. As her arms stretched, her breasts shifted and she noticed the pulling tug of the tight skin around her nipples. Surprised, she felt one of the nipples with her fingers. It was stiff and erect as on a cold winter day, but she was warm and happy. Rubbing the nipple made a tingle in her breast that felt delicious. In fact the tingle grew stronger as she rolled the erect little tip and felt better and better. The tingle spread and she was amazed to find an answering tingle between her thighs.

Using both hands Sarah rubbed the skin of her breasts. They were so soft and smooth and wonderfully rounded. The nipples kept calling her fingers back. She couldn't stay away. It all felt so good, but there was an insistent need to stimulate her nipples. She had never felt them so stiff and the surprising tingle urged her on.

Leaving one hand to pinch and tease her nipples, Sarah trailed the other hand back through her hair luxuriating in the feel of all the separate strands falling through her fingers. She stretched out her arms once more, then switched hands on her breast. With her other hand she felt the firm flatness of her stomach and how it broadened out to side and the point of her pelvis. Her skin was all so satiny smooth under her fingers.

Lower still, she rubbed the top of her thighs and lingered between them on her public mound where once again she ran her fingers through the fine hair that grew there. That hair was so different than the long tresses that grew on her head, but it too felt deliciously sensual to run her fingers over the mound and let the wisps tickle her fingers. And a tug too. The hairs were too fine to give enough sensation, so she trapped them between her fingers, tunneled through them, and coiled them gently around her fingers.

The insistent tingle in her nipples was growing, and once again Sarah noticed an answering tingle between her legs. Almost on its own her questing finger found the cleft in her mound. Opening her legs slightly, she let her finger trace the cleft to find the source of the wonderful sensations. When she found it, the sudden burst of hot flame that surged through her body startled her. She jerked and opened her eyes.

Beautiful sunlit trees and sky surrounded her. Glancing down, she could see the pulsing red aura surrounded her body. Red for pleasure. She understood now.

She didn't see Puck, but she really wasn't interested. Instead she relaxed again and felt her fingers exploring, almost against her will, across her mound. The sensation had been so powerful she couldn't bear it. Yet, the sensation was so incredible she couldn't resist it. Carefully and slowly she felt her cleft again. This time she started at the top and noticed the narrow ridge of stiff tissue that lay in the center. Stroking the outer edge, she found she could create a little of the pleasure without being overwhelmed.