The Little Brook That Could

Written by Uncle Pan

I was walking along a trail in Maine last summer. It was a bright, sunshiny day, gritty when you were out in the open, but quite pleasant when walking in the shade of the trees, and fortunately most of the trail is through deep woods. I was taking an all day walk. I should reach Pine Tree Pond around one o'clock. I planned to take a dip in the pond to cool off, then come out and let the sun dry me, after which I'll eat the lunch I brought along. Maybe I'll take a little snooze afterwards before I turn around and hike back. I should be home well before dark. You might well wonder what the hell the attraction is for me in a solitary walk along a lonely trail in the backwoods of Maine. Well, for me the best part of it is the solitude. I'm twenty seven years old. I spend most of my year in the hectic confusion of trying to teach noisy eighth graders in New York City. For me a solitary summer walk along a quiet Maine trail is the height of pleasure. And solitary walks free my mind like nothing else I know.

A rabbit scurries across the path about ten yards ahead of me. Obviously he's not used to having company out here in the woods, at least not human company. He really doesn't have to disappear out of sight so quickly, I would never hurt him. Mr. Live and Let Live, that's me. Well, Tommy Fleetfoot is my name, for real. I guess there probably are some people who would love to bring that little guy down with a bullet, then skin and BBQ him over a campfire for dinner that night. So I suppose the best strategy after all for Mr. Rabbit is to play it safe and disappear poste haste at the slightest sound of a human person.

This stretch of the trail runs parallel to a brook which at the moment is about twenty feet off to my right. I can hear it bubbling and every now and then the trail will swerve in closer and I can see the brook frothing away. The first time the trail circled into it I stopped, emptied my canteen and dipped it into the stream. There's no water on the face of this earth that tastes anywhere near as good as Maine brook water. And at the memory of that refill I stopped, took my canteen off my hip and brought it to my mouth for a drink. What blessed water. Still as cold and sweet tasting as water can get.

But the happening that made my day came about thirty minutes later. The trail took another turn towards the brook, and went alongside it for awhile. I hadn't been on it ten minutes when suddenly there were sounds of children laughing and squealing coming from just ahead. I shook my head in wonder and when I went around a couple of trees I came to a place where the brook had formed a large pool. It was about thirty feet across and it looked to be five to six feet deep in places. I can speculate about that because there were two girls, looking to be in the ten to twelve year old age range, naked as newborns and swimming and frolicking about. And when they weren't swimming they were standing in water which came up to their neck which is how I estimated its depth. As I was watching they climbed out of the water onto a rock, then holding their nose one by one they plunged back in, swimming about for a bit before climbing out to do it all over again.

What a charming sight to happen upon. They looked the same age as the kids I teach, with the primary difference being I never get to see any of my students naked. Both girls were beautiful, of course, it would be hard to find a girl of that age naked who wasn't beautiful. The one I thought of as the "pretty one" has blonde hair which hangs down to the small of her back, a thin but lithe frame, shoulders squared with small but definitely developing breasts high on her chest, a waist which sloped in and hips just beginning to flair out. Her belly curves gently, and below it her mound pooched forth, calling attention to those pretty pursed lips lying at the base of her trunk. Damn, what a sight. Hot. The other girl was damn near as pretty, with red, curly hair, a smattering of freckles sprayed on forehead and shoulders, a more generously proportioned body with slightly larger breasts topped with cherry red nipples, and a pubic mound flagged with a splash of red hairs. Perhaps because of her weight or perhaps a slight uneasiness in being naked, her movements seemed a bit more awkward than those of the one I thought of as the pretty one. I quibble, though, both girls when naked are dreams come true.

I stopped, took off my day pack, and walked to the water's edge. Both girls had climbed out of the water and were standing on the rock preparatory to jumping. I waved. "Hi, girls!" I said, and smiled, "how's the water?" ......(cont)



.......Read/Download/Listen to the entire The Little Brook That Could ....written by Uncle Pan.
Copyright © 2007-8 Uncle Pan. ALL Rights Reserved








This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


---

	"MrDouble's Palisade"™ A MrDouble Production: MrDouble Changes last made on: Sunday, February 11, 2007
	Copyright 1996-2007, Mr Double, ALL Rights Reserved
	Stories appearing on this page
	Copyright © 1999-2007, Uncle Pan , ALL Rights Reserved