As wonderful as it was to grow up without shame, the lack of it had its annoying consequences.
Ordinary people thought us a bunch of whores.
It grew tedious to be stared at through narrowed eyes and whispered about from prim lips.
Except for me, of course. I was pointed at for other reasons. But I’ll get to that in due time.
The good-looking rogue didn’t prove he was a Pan by shapeshifting. I think Mamie had always been disappointed by that.
Perhaps he wanted to stay handsome as he f*cked Mamie.
Shapeshifting into a half goat would have distorted his face enough to wipe it clean of beauty.
Or perhaps Great-Aunt Dottie was right that he was second or third generation Pan, and thus less likely or less able to shapeshift.
As Pans always did, whoever seduced my grandmother left her after a full night of the raucous, unrestrained F*ck.
Mamie tried desperately to stay awake to make the night last as long as possible. But eventually, the F*ck exhausted her and she passed out.
As was the usual way, she woke up to an aching c***, shaking limbs, and very alone beside the riverbank where she had enthusiastically given up her maidenhead.
But Mamie never got over her night with the maybe Pan.
Most women didn’t.
Pans were notorious for the siren call of animal lust they awakened in women, as well as their ability to satiate the hunger hidden between a woman’s legs.
No woman who ever crossed their paths was able to resist the sudden urge to f*ck and be f*cked senseless.
The only problem was that stirred up a lifelong craving. For the women would never know such carnal satisfaction again.
They only got to have that one night.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met a Pan.
I was also a virgin at the start of that adventure, and I wasn’t by its end.
But things didn’t go as they usually did, maybe because the Pan was in the middle of the F*ck when I came across him.
I saw him in the oldest parts of the forest. Of course, that’s where I found him.
Most of the stories about Pans took place in the natural wild – in the woods, near rocks and cliffs, beside rivers and creeks, and even under waterfalls.
Where else could Pans feel most comfortable shedding their human forms, to don their animal selves, and let the horny half goat live, breathe, and f*ck?
I was in the woods hiking with the girl I considered my best friend at the time.
Adele was a pretty girl, who I both loved and hated in equal measure.
I always yearned for more of her, more of her time, more of her attention than she was willing to give.
My treacherous best friend liked the shape of triangles, especially of the human variety. I rarely had the pleasure of enjoying Adele to myself. There was always another best friend or her boyfriend joining us.
On this particular day, we had gotten an early start to go hiking.
Her new best friend of the moment – and my least favorite – was with us. Adele insisted Lise was necessary, for she was the one who had a license and a car, and could take us to the oldest part of the woods.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
I found her personality close to unbearable, and I didn’t understand what Adele saw in Lise, with her simpering smirks, and a grating voice with an insipid tone that worked on my last nerve.
But Adele had a taste for malice, and girls like Lise were made for that kind of poisonous indulgence.
Since triangles are always two sides against one, it was hardly surprising I was on the outs that morning.
Adele and Lise walked arm in arm, either in front of me or behind me, whispering secrets in each other’s ears, and giggling.
I fumed, which is exactly what they wanted. I even realized that at the time, which made my impotent wrath even more palpable.
The forest saved me that day.
To keep from losing my temper and my dignity, I forced my attention on the beauty around me.
The woods were particularly exquisite.
It was the middle of spring, right after the rainy season. The moss covering the trees and ground was resplendent and heavy with ample moisture.
The powerful softness of morning light highlighted the forest canopy of dark green, yellow green, bright green, the colors most vivid right after the rains.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nostrils.
The aroma of the last rainfall permeated the earth below, and fed the leaves and budding blossoms, the hint of spice in the air around me.
I also heard the creek in the distance. The sound of riotous peace of a waterbed streaming fat with fresh, luscious water brought me back to myself.
As the great-great-granddaughter of a water nymph, this was my favorite element.
Water was my savior that gave me strength and power during times of stress.
I opened my eyes again. I could finally notice the flurry of squirrels, the wing-flap and songs of the birds.
Everything pulsed with life and my heart beat strong inside my breast.
I turned around and faced the ugly nasty of Adele and Lise, sniggering at my expense. The malice gleaming from their eyes was undeniable.
Suddenly, I knew I was played for a fool to accept the role they gave me.
It’s incredible how quickly love-hate can dissolve in an instant.
Adele caught on to my indifference immediately. The vicious glee in her face disappeared and her brow furrowed.
If I had possessed less inborn composure, I probably would have laughed out loud.
Adele and Lise seemed so dull and ordinary in that moment.
Really, what was I doing with these silly girls? I’m descended from the magic of nymphs.
“I’m done,” I said.
“What are you talking about, Dusky?”
“I don’t want to hike with you and Lise anymore. I’m going my own way.”
“Are you nuts?” protested Lise. “We’re more than an hour’s drive from town.”
“Then I’ll be home by nightfall.”
I took off at a violent run.
I became giddy with each stride that took me away from them.
The delirious freedom borne from liberating myself from invisible shackles that rendered me powerless only because I had allowed it to be so.
Adele and Lise didn’t bother chasing after me, because what’s the point of futility?
My father was tall and lean, with far more physical power in his physique than his appearance implied.
I took after my father in that way. I was several inches taller than Adele, with longer, stronger limbs. There was no way either she or Lise could keep up, much less catch me.
They shrieked after my departing back.
I didn’t hear all of what Adele said, something innocuous like calling her when I got home.
The euphoria of freedom kept me running hard for nearly twenty minutes.
The forest was a blur of green, while leaping over rocks, cracking twigs, and the earthy spice in the air.
Then I hurled through the trees to the creek bed where I intruded on the Pan in the F*ck.
That stopped me in my tracks.
