Jane Air

by Anna Wellschlager

  I amuse myself, allowing for a minute the thought that she isn’t deranged. Perhaps I am dreaming this. Perhaps this small town with its strange smells and quiet nights comes with fantasy creatures, woodland spirits in the shape of beautiful, naked women.

  My very own water sprite.

  Forest nymph.

  Aphrodite.

  For a minute, I am so fucking glad I bought this house.

  I hear her laugh and she twirls, head back, hair wet and sticking down her back. The water is waist high and she spins, finger tips dancing on the surface around her, droplets playing in the night sky, framing her radiance.

  I hold my breath and keep myself hidden behind the oak in front of me. It’s been a while since I spied on a girl. Not since high school, actually, when my neighbor would sometimes forget to close her curtains when she changed.

  Nowadays women throw themselves at me. More often than not, I have to look away rather than sneak a peek.

  It’s different. It’s thrilling.

  I hear that laugh, her head back and smiling. The line of her breasts, full and ripe and capped with tight, dark nipples. My mouth goes dry and I watch rivulets of water run from her breasts, down that soft belly, to merge with the water at her waist.

  I feel my cock grow thick inside my jeans. I want to drag this fantasy creature out of the water. To hoist her against the mossy rocks and bury myself inside her from behind. To fuck her under the moonlight, watching her head fall back into the grass and fill the forest with her screams. To throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to the house, claiming her like a caveman. Fucking her in the shower, in front of the fireplace, in the bed-

  Shit, I have no bed. Just a mattress on the floor. Well, that won’t impress anyone. Probably shouldn’t introduce myself to my forest nymph until I have some furniture.

  I close my eyes and shake my head.

  It is a nice thought, this dream of woodland sprites come to beckon me into the magic of the trees.

  But let’s be real.

  This woman has figured out where I live. She has trespassed on my property. She has stripped naked and, probably, is on her way to break into my actual house, but just stopped by the pond for a dip.

  Fucking nut job.

  It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with things like this.

  I roll my eyes. Some people have no sense of boundaries. Some people need to be punished.

  My cock jumps at the thought.

  I look down at myself, remembering when I was younger and less experienced with the darker side of fame. I would probably have jumped in the pond with her. No names. No promises. Maybe no words at all. Just a great night, fucking each other’s brains out.

  But that was before I understood what people really want from me.

  One great night is never enough. Even fucking is never enough. No matter what they say.

  They want money.

  Fame.

  Connections.

  Phone numbers.

  Swag bags.

  Auditions.

  Jewelry.

  Houses.

  They want all the things they think I come with.

  And if I had none of those things…

  I sigh, slipping my hand in my back pocket for my phone. Angelo has already reached out to the local police, explaining my situation and the likelihood of stalkers, trespassers and break ins. He said they were very understanding.

  I look for the number of the station and shrug. Just another dream that’s better off as a dream.

  Goodbye fairy sprite.

  3

  Jane

  I love this little spot. No one knows it’s here. My private forest glen I can come to when I’m stressed, tired, or need to be alone. The only other visitors I’ve ever seen are a few deer, a groundhog, and the occasional owl, peering down at me through the tree branches, head rotating as if surveying the scene beneath him.

  The pond isn’t large, but it’s clean and the water reminds me of my childhood, the river I’d escape to when the electricity bill hadn’t been paid and the lights were out, or my mother came home, exhausted from her multiple jobs, and accidentally threw my library books in the trash. The smell of this water, like the river of my youth, is crisp and clear with a faintly animal undertone, like the earth itself is gurgling up from between the rocks.

  The edges of the pond are lined in stones, some small, some large. It looks like a man-made structure, designed to be here, tucked away as a private nook for someone. I wonder if it’s our local version of the Taj Mahal, built out of love, a memorial for someone from long ago, from a time so far past that both artist and inspiration have passed on, leaving this forgotten heirloom behind for me to discover.

  Perhaps it has a happier story. Perhaps it was built for a family, a place for children to swim and escape the heat while parents watched from the rocks.

  Kids are different now. Everyone loves a screen. Maybe it was only built a few years ago, but no one showed any interest, so everyone forgot about it.

  Regardless, I view it as my own. I know it’s not mine, it’s not anyone’s probably, but I’m the only one who seems to appreciate it, to enjoy it, and I feel that entitles me to something.

  I reach my favorite spot, the largest rock on the far side of the pond, away from the path I’ve made for myself through the woods. To get here, I follow the road behind my house for a half mile, then duck off along an old trail that carries over to the next town. There’s a break in the stonewall at the bottom of the hill, always in shadows from the big trees growing up on either side. The pond is only a few hundred feet past that.

  No one has ever followed me. No one has ever mentioned it to me. I’ve never even found a beer can or a candy wrapper around here.

  It’s probably the one thing I’ve never told anyone about. Including my friends.

  This little place is mine. I smile as I pull the t-shirt over my head. One day, when I can afford it, I’ll buy a plot of land and build my own pond, and then I won’t have to sneak around in the woods behind the town. But for now… I grin as I tuck my clothes into a pile next to the rock and climb naked across the top, the moss soft between my palms and damp between my toes. For now, I’ll just swim here.

  The water is cool and smooth. It runs like oil across my skin. It isn’t deep and I can stand up even in the middle, where the water reaches just below my chin. My favorite thing to do is to dive below, running my hands over the smooth rocks and silt along the bottom, my toes dancing in the air overhead, then rush up, laughing as I lift myself, bouncing towards the sky. I think the thing I like most about swimming is the lightness, the freedom from weight and burden and bills and coursework and deadlines and-

  “Just so you know, I’ve already called the police.”

  My thoughts slam to a halt as I immediately duck down. I am halfway towards the middle of the pond and I have to crouch to cover myself. It’s not quite a full moon, but there’s still plenty of light. I glance down at myself. Yup. Pasty whiteness all the way down to my toes. For the first time since discovering this place, I curse the clarity of the water.

  I turn my head and see a man leaning against a tree. Dark shirt. Dark pants. His face remains in shadow.

  “Who the hell are you?” I back further up, moving towards the center of the water so I can straighten and still remain covered although, I glance down again, I’m hardly “covered” in any sense of the word.

  “Let’s not do that.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m in the center of the pond now, too far away from him to see his face, even if he weren’t in shadows.

  “I said, we don’t need to do that. Why don’t you just get out and we can wait for the police.”

  I flip the wet hair out of my face. “This isn’t your pond. This is public property.”

  His laugh is deep and low and I feel it across my belly, swimming past my skin. “Nice try. You’re right behind my house.”

  “What house?” I’m irritated now. Irrita
ted and cold. Not threatened, interestingly. Despite the fact that I’m naked in the woods with a stranger who just informed me he called the fuzz.

  “The house on the hill.”

  “What hill?”

  “Up the path.”

  “What path?”

  He laughs again, longer this time. The son of a bitch is enjoying this.

  “My house is on the hill, up the path, back there.” He points over his shoulder, the opposite direction from which I had come.

  “Oh,” I crossed my arms over my chest, still covered by the water, “I didn’t come that way.”

  I can’t see, but I suspect he’s rolling his eyes, “Well, that makes it ok then.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  Sorry I’m trespassing?

  I don’t believe I am trespassing.

  Get the hell out of here, weirdo with the hot voice.

  “For the record,” I look down at myself in the water. Yup, still naked. “I think you’re full of shit. But I will get out.”

  I stay exactly where I am, hands crossed over my breasts. I’m assuming the water is darker as it gets deeper so he can’t see much below my waist. A part of me smirks. If I am trespassing, at least I’m doing it without any attempt at a wax.

  He makes no effort to move.

  “So, if you could just…”

  “Oh, you want me to leave?” He laughs at this. Apparently, he thinks this is funny.

  He would. He’s not naked in a pond.

  “Yeah, that would be great. I’m not getting out until you leave.”

  He crosses his hands across his chest. “Well, I’m not leaving until you get out.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  He shrugs. “It means, I want to make sure you do get out.”

  I rub my hands over my upper arms. The water is officially cold and I can feel my chin begin to clench. “I can get out just fine, thank you.”

  “Well,” he walks forward, closer to the border of rocks framing the water. “Let’s just say that I want to make sure you get out completely.”

  “What are you, some kind of peeping Tom?” I still can’t see who I’m looking at, but there is something familiar about him. I wrack my brain to think of any tall, broad shouldered men with sex voices I’ve bumped into lately.

  Not surprisingly, there are none.

  He sighs then, irritated. “No, but you’re not the first naked woman to break into my property.”

  I’m irritated at his irritation. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

  He shrugs, “Well, people can be weird. That’s why they take off all their clothes and break into other people’s homes.”

  “I did not-”

  “Not you, necessarily,” he continues his walk around the rocks, reaching the nook where I had, in fact, taken off all my clothes. He looks down at the pile. “But you are trespassing.”

  I pull my arms more tightly around myself. My chattering teeth are too loud to hide now, and this weirdo whose face I still can’t see is holding my clothing hostage. It’s a small town, but not small enough to walk home naked.

  He picks up my towel and places it on a rock only a few inches from the water. “I’ll turn my back. You get out and get dressed and then you’re leaving.”

  And just like he promised, he turns his back, walks a few feet away, almost completely covered in shadows, and stands still.

  I’m tempted to run out the other end of the pond. Of course, that doesn’t solve the nudity dilemma, but it would get me away from him. Although, I turn my head, that is the direction he said his house was in.

  Supposedly.

  I find it pretty hard to believe I wouldn’t know if my favorite swimming hole was in someone’s backyard.

  More likely, this is a random woodsman who decided he wanted the place to himself and is just trying to get me out of the way.

  “Or you can wait. Stay naked in the water. Cops will be here any minute.” He turns his head slightly and I catch the glint of moonlight off his eye. “Personally, I prefer to be dressed when I’m arrested, but to each his own.”

  Even in the darkness I can see that my fingers are an unhealthy color. Staying submerged much longer is not really an option.

  “OK,” I say, moving one foot cautiously in front of the other. “I’m coming out.”

  “Good,” his back moves and I shout, “Don’t you turn around!”

  That laugh again, a deep, silken chuckle. If I could feel my knees, it might just bring me to them.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before.”

  I reach the edge of the pond, hunched over to hide as much of me as I can and grab the towel, wrapping it around me as I stand up. It’s a bath towel, and only covers me from breast to thigh.

  Keeping an eye on his back, which is impressively broad, I quickly reach for my clothing, pulling the shirt over my still wet skin as I hold onto the towel around my waist.

  “You know, I hate when men say that.” I am struggling to get my jeans on standing up, and decide to sit on a rock, kicking my feet into the pant legs. “‘I’ve already seen it before.’ Well, you haven’t seen mine before. And it’s not about what you have or haven’t seen. It’s about what I want to show.”

  Jeans are on. Uncomfortable, since I’m still soaking wet, and I’m pretty sure I trapped some leaves and twigs dangerously close to my crotch, but at least I’m dressed.

  I stuff my underwear in a pocket and fist my bra in my hand, looping the towel over my arm.

  “You can turn around now.”

  He does, slowly. I’m upright and out of the water, but can still barely make out his features. I don’t recognize him, but damn that voice is familiar. The moon isn’t as bright as it was the last time I was here, and I wish I had brought my phone to help me make it back through the woods.

  “Good, now let me walk you out.” He steps towards me, into a ray of moonlight, and I realize who I’m looking at.

  Shit.

  It’s him.

  Movie star.

  Cyborg-human super spy.

  Pervert in the woods.

  Call him whatever you want, but normal and disappointing do not apply. I make a mental note to tell Kate she’s an idiot.

  Piercing blue eyes beneath dark brows. Slightly more than five o’clock shadow, and hair long enough to just touch his ears. He’s even taller up close, shoulders broad. His arms look like tree trunks, lines of muscle visible through the fitted, long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing.

  “Ohhh…” the word is slow and long coming from my mouth. His brow arches. My recognition is clear on my face.

  I nod slowly, trying to think of something to say, something to do.

  Kate would tell him he looks better on screen and walk off, head held high.

  Christine would fall over herself apologizing and leave an “I’m sorry” cake on his doorstep.

  Dory would never find herself in this situation because Dory does not strip naked in strangers’ backyards.

  Jessica would hit him. Still might, actually, if I tell her what happened.

  Penelope would make a move. Maybe. Or ask for an autograph.

  And me? I guess I’ll just stand here. Staring. Barefoot and braless. Hair like a drowned rat.

  Looking at the sparkling eyes and full lips, that granite jaw and regal nose, I finally understand what Movie Star Good Looks means.

  Penelope might be onto something.

  “That’s why you’ve had naked women break into your house before,” I blurt out.

  Both brows go up, as if that was the last thing he was expecting me to say.

  “I mean, because celebrity culture is so dysfunctional,” I bend to put on my shoes, not bothering with laces. “Public figures are interpreted as publicly accessible and some people assume a relationship with a public figure that would lead to assumptions of access, and maybe even-”

  “Are you ready to go?” He interrupts, standing closer and I can watch the shadow of
his lower lip play against his chin. I have a sudden urge to lick him there, to show him how inappropriate some fans can be.

  “Yeah,” I shake myself out of it, whatever my moonlit revelry is. “Yeah. Yup. Yes.” I nod, like an idiot. “I’ll just, uh, head out.”

  He moves his arm up, sweeping it ahead of both of us, clearly wishing to lead me out.

  “I actually go out this way,” I point over my shoulder to the small path I follow to get back out to the stone wall.

  “I’ll walk you,” He stands, watching me.

  “You know, I’m not a stalker fan. I swear,” I look over my shoulder as I walk forward. He is following me, eyes dark and on my every move.

  “Hmm,” a deep, smooth growl comes from him, reverberating up through his chest. If I didn’t feel like I was being arrested, or dragged to the principal’s office, it would be sexy, walking with a man like this, in the woods at night, my body still tingling from my swim.

  Frankly, even with the threat of criminal indictment hanging over head, it still is pretty sexy. I feel my nipples straining against the wet fabric of my t-shirt and wonder whether or not I’m still cold.

  “I’ve actually only seen one of your movies,” I pause. “No offense.”

  He mutters something I don’t catch.

  “What-” I turn, trying to hear what he’s saying, but my foot catches on a root and I stumble. Before I know it, his arms are on me. One swung high around my waist, the other grabbing a hip, fingers precariously close to my butt.

  It’s even darker under the trees, but his eyes seem to pick up whatever flickers of light surround us, something deep and mysterious glints from behind them.

  We both freeze. I don’t struggle to right myself. He doesn’t seem in a rush to release me.

  “What do you do with yourself, if you don’t watch movies?” His arms remain around me, and I swear I can feel the heat of his skin through my soaking clothes.

  “I’m a professor. I-” I stop myself, worried I’m about to spill my life story to this man.

  I work at the local college. You know, the one on Forrest Lane?

  My office is on the third floor of the Humanities department. You can find me there most days, September through June.