The moon woke her. She wasn't exactly sure how the moon did it, but it woke her. Her eyes fluttered open. The big, white disc stared at her with a brightness she hadn't thought possible. Why did the moon seem closer on spring nights? Why did she feel she could reach out and touch that silver orb? It was so close and so white, and it had a voice, a soft, tinkly voice that chimed and lilted as it rode the moonbeams into her room. It was a child's voice full of trust and wonder. No, not quite wonder, more like magic. The moon voice promised magic and dazzle, the stuff of conjurers and sorceresses. Not the fake stuff of sideshow carnivals, the moon would show her real magic, the magic of jewels and rings and amulets and talismans. If she would heed that voice, she would know legerdemain beyond her wildest dreams.
She sat up in bed, tilting her head to one side, listening. The moon smiled as it spoke. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her thin gown and stepped from the bedroom. Moon glow watered the sloping lawn that ran to the lake. A wide, white swath cut through the dark water like a silver streak through a mane of black hair. No breeze ruffled the mirror surface. No wake or ripple marred the perfect reflection. The lake was unnaturally calm. She paused by the railing, listening, but she heard nothing but the moon voice, the beckoning lunar trill. Where were the birds, the crickets, the chirps and buzzes of the insects? Why had they stopped their song? The moon laughed. The world waited. She brushed her long, dark hair, suddenly afraid. What did the world wait for? What was she to do?
A single moon beam, brighter than all the rest, struck her in the chin and ran slowly down her neck, between her breasts, over her tummy, and along her right leg. She watched, fascinated, for she had never seen a ray of moonlight act in such a fashion. Indeed, moon beams couldn't act like flashlights. One beam couldn't dance at her feet, jogging ahead a few feet, hesitating, and then returning like some eager puppy. Yet, the beam frolicked, making her laugh. She had always wanted a moon beam as a pet, but she had never supposed she would ever own one.
"You're a pretty little thing," she said. "You should have a name."
The shaft of light jumped in front of her.
"I think I'll name you Ariel." She wasn't sure why she had chosen such a name, but the beam seemed so playful, like a sprite. It danced about her feet as if happy with its name. Then, it darted off a few feet and waited.
"I'm supposed to follow?" she asked. "OK, lead me to happiness, Ariel."
The beam jigged back and forth before slipping across the deck. She followed, amused at her seriousness, as if the beam could hear or understand or lead. More than likely, she was following some weird reflection from some window of her neighbors. As the earth rotated, the reflection bopped all around, enticing her. Still, she felt a bit of whimsy as she followed the beam down the steps and onto the dewy lawn. In the light, the lawn sparkled, as if laden with diamonds. The dew cooled her feet, wetting her skin. She liked the feeling of sliding across the grass. This was summer ice, a chance to glide and swirl and move effortlessly. She had never dreamed she would ever skate with nothing on but a thin, lacy gown, but here she was, sliding downhill after a mischievous moon beam. She laughed out loud.
Her laugh was absorbed by the night. She felt in the middle of some huge shake-up knickknack. Someone had shaken the dome, and the flakes had twirled and flown for a time only to sift to the bottom and lie quiet, leaving the rest in perfect silence. Her world had precipitated out of existence. What remained was an instant of calm and silence and beauty, a moment frozen in time. She and Ariel existed in that briefest of moments, that infinitesimal instant between seconds. This was the calm between heartbeats, the tranquillity between puffs of wind. This was a wholeness between change. The perfection astounded her.
Ariel, the impish beam, zigged across the glasslike grass. She followed, hoping the moment might last a bit longer. The stillness soothed her as nothing had ever soothed her. Her soul found surcease in this time between time. The beam reached the shore and veered right. She followed without fear. Nothing could harm her in this moment. Ariel cavorted along the water's edge, dipping into the mirrorlike lake before leaping onto the grass. The beam made a last great leap, directly into a small copse of trees.
She didn't hesitate. To not trust would spoil the nanosecond of perfection. She pushed into the trees, searching for her fairylike friend. She found Ariel dancing with a second moon beam--both at the feet of him.
She stopped, startled. She had never expected anyone else in her dream. Somehow, she didn't think anyone else could exist in her instant, as if this universe had been created solely for her. How did he get here? Who was he?
"Hello," she said.
He turned, a smile on his face. He held a finger to his lips. "Shhhh, the between time is spoiled by talk."
She wanted to protest, but his smile seemed too genuine. Besides, she agreed with him. Talk would mar the perfection of...what did he call it, "between time?" He turned and looked out over the unmoving water, and she studied him a moment.
He was tall, at least a foot taller than her petite size. Dark hair, long nose, handsome face, he stood naked except for boxers, and while she found that odd, she wasn't surprised. He should have been swatting mosquitoes from those wide shoulders, slapping his strong chest, rubbing one foot over the other leg, shooing away the night insects, but he wasn't. The pests of darkness weren't bothering him or her, as if they too had been frozen in mid-flight, their wings still, their buzzing muted. She noticed the curve of his arms, the muscles of his legs. Little fat, strength, not perfection but handsome, attractive. He smiled over the lake like some deity. This was his domain, his realm in time and space.
He raised his left arm and held it out straight, and she felt the compulsion. With a naturalness she found disquieting, she slipped under his arm and wrapped hers around his waist. His strong arm tucked her against his side, and she seemed to fit, as if molded for him. No awkwardness that often accompanied her dancing or hugging. Why did he feel so right? His fingers tripped along her shoulder and down her chest to draw a tiny circle around her nipple. She let him, aware of what he was doing and not just allowing it but craving it, needing his touch. Her nipple hardened automatically, swelling with desire. How? Why? She wanted to ask the questions, but to ask was to risk the moment.
She let her hand drift down his silk boxers, along a thigh hard beneath the slippery cloth. She had never been so forward, and she told her hand to stop, but it didn't. As if driven by some outside force, her hand traced the curve of his leg and found the hardening thickness of his penis. Her fingers jumped back in fright like some animal exploring unknown territory. Then, her hand crept forward, touching, moving, lightly fondling the thing growing under her fingers. An irresistible urge raced through her. Her fingers wrapped around him even as his fingers pinched her nipple. Heat blossomed inside her, melting any resistance. In this frozen sliver of time this was meant to be. With perfect naturalness, he turned from the lake and slipped the gown from her shoulders. The moon bathed her skin with luster. She pulled down his boxers.
For a moment, they merely looked into each other's eyes. His were the kindest, most sensitive eyes she had ever known, eyes that seemed to know every bruise, scrape, cut, and error of her life, eyes that forgave every transgression, eyes that healed every wound. Wrapped around his compassion was desire, a huge, fiery ring of fervor. He wanted her, desired her in a way she had never been desired before. She wasn't an instrument for sex. Sex would be the servant to their joining, the natural completion of this moment. This moon, this lake, this world would hold its breath while they kissed and held and fondled and licked and loved. For as long as their act took, nothing would change. This was a love that transcended time. Just as she had fit into his side, she was certain they would fit together as perfectly formed shapes. She knew he would touch her in places only she knew about, touch her with a passion reserved for fantasies. She knew her spirit would soar above any plane she had achieved with any other lover. In this time between time, her body and soul would know a bliss not of this world.
He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Her nipples rubbed his hard chest. She felt him poke between her legs. The fire inside blazed. She needed him. She pulled him to the carpet of pine needles that neither pricked nor tickled, and she guided him inside her. Oh, the first penetration stole her breath. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers, hungry for his kiss. As the fire burned and their bodies moved as one, she noticed the moon beams, his and hers, intertwined, flitting around them. She almost laughed but checked herself. She would laugh later when the moment ended. For now, she wanted to savor him, his strength, the way he fit, the rightness of this union. She looked up and gasped with pleasure.
The moon.
He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Her nipples rubbed his hard chest. She felt him poke between her legs. The fire inside blazed. She needed him. She pulled him to the carpet of pine needles that neither pricked nor tickled, and she guided him inside her. Oh, the first penetration stole her breath. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers, hungry for his kiss. As the fire burned and their bodies moved as one, she noticed the moon beams, his and hers, intertwined, flitting around them. She almost laughed but checked herself. She would laugh later when the moment ended. For now, she wanted to savor him, his strength, the way he fit, the rightness of this union. She looked up and gasped with pleasure.
"Is the salad ready?" Max yelled from the kitchen. I jumped and slammed the folder shut, fidgeting to keep the papers inside.
"Um, yeah..." I headed toward the kitchen. I slipped the folder under some books on the dining room table, a moonbeam dancing inside my mind.
©Copyright 1996 - 1998 Angela Preston. These stories may not be reprinted in any form without written permission.
