I always wake up at midnight. Something always seems to stir me at that time, like a silent alarm call sent from somewhere otherworldly.
“Wake up,” it whispers inaudibly. “Wake up.”
I rub my eyes and tap my phone to check the time. 12:02. The house is silent. Still, everyone is asleep, but I know that I won’t be able to go back to sleep. I listen out for the stirrings of someone, anyone. There’s not a single sound but the rustle of the wind through the forest beyond the garden.
I climb out of bed, throw some clothes on, and tiptoe downstairs, careful to avoid the three steps that’ll creak loudly under my feet. Then, I head for the front door because it’s quieter than the back, but not before slipping my feet into well-worn trainers and grabbing my canvas bag from its usual spot on the porch.
I’m not exactly hiding what I’m doing, but I’m not, not hiding it, either. It’s just a little secret shared by me, the trees, and the moon—and we all need our little secrets, don’t we?
It takes less than a minute for me to walk through the garden and out the gate, then I’m in the forest behind the dark house. The thick trees always seem so magical and mystical to me, especially in the dark. Each gust of wind tells a story, whispering through the leaves like rumours in a crowd. If you listen really carefully, you can almost make out words.
Tonight, they say to keep going, to keep walking into the thick trees. So, I do just that. I pad across the crunchy forest floor, aimless but not. Just like always, I never know where I’ll end up when I follow the wind. I never feel scared, though.
The wind, the forest—they always know what I’m looking for, what I need Get instant access to this and all the sensual naughty stories by renowned erotic authors for FREE just click here now Read all about the wonderful author:
Not So Sex In The City
