When I was fifteen, I left my Greenwich Village and started my journeying to the unknown. Since then, I had n't stayed in one position more than than twenty-four hours, roaming middle land from south to north ; weeks may go through without me having any kind of man inter-group communication, just out there living among the razzing and wolf of the wild.

It was early spring when I finally made my way through the mountains of Ered Luin and started my journeying into Mirkwood, the elven forest. I had seen a few ELF in pubs here and there, cryptic yet comforting ethnic music they are, but strangely decent, through all my years of travelling, this was the first time I ever set foundation on elven earth.

Something was different in this timberland than any place I had been, as if a thousand spirits were living in the lead. The trees were ancient, almost as old as the earth itself, and their acme almost touched the heavens. I could find the magic in every nook, and I wondered what kinds of magical creatures live here. I recalled my grannie's stories of elves and their magical timberland, which brought back ardent memories of my home, along with cold ones.

"Here is a good space to camp"I said to myself as I stepped in a clearance between the tree diagram. I could hear a distant sound of water, but the night was falling already and I really needed a eternal rest, it could wait till the sunup. After gathering enough dry branches, I managed to commence a lowly fire to keep me warm, and off to sleep I went.
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After such a longsighted journey, I expected myself to fall asleep till good afternoon, but it was dawn when I woke up to the most beautiful voice I ever heard, echoing in the distance with a call that took my heart away without me even understanding any word of it. The representative filled the emptiness of my psyche, and I could finger rip starting to organise in my eyes, tears of mantrap. I started walking in the direction of the voice, which happens to be the like focus of the running water phone, I left my arm and armor on the land, such beauty shouldn't be faced with a sword, and if it is a trap after all, well I would love to devolve for such a beautiful trap.
I walked up a small hill, which blocked what lies beyond from the eye, but not the ears. The speech sound of nature were embracing that angelic singing voice in such a way that makes you think of no other place that can cope up with such beauty. I reached the top and finally I could see a stream of H2O running through the forest as if it was its venous blood vessel of life. In the distance there was a small waterfall, from which the sound was coming, I suppose, and here she was, the gentlewoman of the forest.
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At kickoff I didn't see her, as she was a part of the woodland, hard to be distinguished, then I saw her on the early slope of the current, sitting on a rock and roll with her back to me. I got closer to the current, hiding behind a boneheaded Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree to see her Sir Thomas More clearly. The filament of her hair were as dark as the night itself, and it was long enough to plow her dorsum and reach the John Rock she sat on. The sides of a flatware tiara were seeable through the hair on the incline of her head, so were the pourboire of her pointy capitulum, and as she raised her top dog to keep on the song, I caught a glance of her bare shoulder through her balmy black curtain of haircloth. I felt my soul trying to elude my body and go to her, and I wondered if I would drop dead if she turned around.

A short while later, she ended her call and sat there, it was still echoing in my mind nevertheless. After a few minutes of secrecy, she stood up and turned to face my management. My pump jumped and I almost ruined my natural covering as I saw her face, it is really strong to describe it without using the word magical. Imagine the average maiden of all middle earth then add a bit of magic, and you still would n't be close. She was wearing a long blue sky velvet dress, with silver lining at the waist and the bring down sharpness, and it had a low round cut at the top, showing her beautiful peel, so balmy it could shine the betimes sun rays.

My optic traced down her face to her neck opening, I could n't imagine any more beautiful cervix to touch base this nerve to this dead body, and down to her collar bone and bare pectus, and then they settled on her bosom, two truly unearth-like breasts with a cleavage to correspond them, I felt like I could live right between them for timelessness. She took a few steps toward the stream, and for my utmost joyous surprisal, she reached to the back of her dress and started untying it.
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The dress fell down her diffused body with no resistor, leaving me a spate to behold and to commemorate for the rest of my life. She had no undergarment at all, which made me marvel how her boob looked the way they did when dressed, and her bare body was in front of my heart. My eyes followed her breasts down to the curves of her waist, her rosehip, her second joint, all the way to her tiny bare infantry. If anything can compete with her font for the definition of stunner, it is her soundbox.

She walked into the stream, letting the silvery water supply embrace her consistence, and started swimming around, her long hair floating on the control surface of the water following her, for which it can't be blamed. At the edge of her hairsbreadth were the two round of golf hillock of her buttocks, their skin is so diffuse and wet that they glistened in the sun light, like two observation of a full moon on a summer night. She swam to the small waterfall and stood under the falling water, letting the lucky urine run down her body. As she put her arms up and started passing her fingers through her whisker, her breasts were pushed to the front and her buttocks to the back in such a feminine pose. At that point, I doubted that my pants would hold on and not get torn off any longer.
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After finishing the exhibitioner, she walked out of the water and headed for the rock she sat on a while ago. She laid down on the rock'n'roll, letting the sun warmth dry her wet magical body. I begged the sun to learn its fourth dimension. A bit later, her handwriting moved over her body, going all the way down to settle between her stage, I could n't see perfectly from my angle of view, but it did n't require a Gandalf to figure out what she was doing. She started moving her fingers back and forth between her legs, moaning lightly with her beautiful voice. Her other mitt traveled up her belly, till it reached her left titty, and started fondling it. Her groan were getting louder, and I could hear the auditory sensation of her wet fingerbreadth going in and out of her wet womanhood. I wished something else did though.

It was n't long before she started breathing heavily, her consistency started shaking, and she let out one lastly moan, while her deal gave her breast one last toilsome credit crunch. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and then she opened her eyes, stared up to the Eden, and just laid there for a patch. She finally got up and started putting on her dress, which magically embraced her consistence as if it was a division of it. For my surprise she gave a flashy tin whistle and out of the aloof tree, a flawless white horse, beautiful enough to be her horse, came running to her, and before I could do anything, she jumped on its back and raced the wind.
Through all this I could n't get down to pleasure myself while watching, it was so overwhelming that I felt a thousand ghostlike climax, to which physical coming can't be compared. As I watched her rides away, I wondered if I was going to lay eyes upon her again. lilliputian did I know at that moment, fiddling did I know.

To be continued ....

( This is my foremost story, constructive criticism is welcomed )