Arrangements I

I’m heading back to my campsite after my morning run and shower. I might be on a week’s vacation in the beautiful hook of Missouri, but I need to keep in training.

Just as I take the turn off the main path to a narrower one that leads to my tent, I notice a pair of either high-schoolers or young co-eds coming up the main path. I’m just close enough to hear one of them say to the other, “Who invited Adonis to this?”

I smile to myself, even guys like to be flattered now and then. Since I’m in only a kilt and my running shoes, it’s not like there’s much hidden either. Ya, kilt. There’ll be a lot of them around this week as we’ll dress how we like and not how mainline society wants us to. Lots of skin too as the gathering is designated ‘clothing optional’, so those who are comfortable being nude in mixed company will have nothing but footwear on.

The get-together itself is the South-Eastern Missouri Pagan Enlightenment Gathering or SEMPEG, though those of us who are ‘old timers’ just call it ‘The Peg’. That’s right ... Pagans. Two thousand of us this year if I overheard one of the organizers correctly. Coming from all corners of the country to learn, exchange ideas and network. Seminars, talks by authors, demonstrations, public rituals, and a merchant circle are all on the docket. And every night at nine starts the fire dance. A large bonfire is lit, drummers take up a beat, and everyone who wants to dances to their own muse around the fire.

Not that everyone stays by the fire until it’s doused at two am, couples or even small groups will wander off to have their own private dances in tents and cabins. We’re a randy bunch for the most part, but there are some lines we don’t cross. No public sex, adults don’t have sex with anyone underage, and no means no. What the fifteen through seventeen crowd does amongst itself, we’re not asking ... though there are constant reminders to be safe. We’ve yet to hear of any teenage pregnancies resulting from celebrating Beltaine to it’s fullest, so we’re not too worried.

I reach my tent, toss my towel with my t-shirt and jock-strap rolled up inside it on a camp chair and take my kilt off in the screened front area. I’d just grabbed a fresh one when a whistle comes from my left. I turn my head and see that Josie had just come out of her tent, towel in hand, crocs on her feet and nothing else but a smile on her face. Deciding to give her a show, I turn to fully face her and her smile gets wider. “You still got it, Keiran,” she says. “Too bad I’m to old to take advantage of it.”

“As long as you take pleasure in looking, you’re not out of the game yet,” I reply with a smile

“There is that. Thank you for the morning pick-me-up, dear, now it’s on to my own shower.” With which she toddles off, towel in one hand, personal kit over a shoulder and a cane in the other hand. She might be pushing seventy, but still gets around, though those of us who are regulars in this little glade keep an eye on her. We help her set up and take down, have her over for dinner and chat, and just make sure she doesn’t push herself too much.

She’s a sweet old thing that still has that zest for living, as proved by the fact she spends more than one evening here with an older gentleman who goes by the name of Byron, after the poet. I don’t know what they do together and I don’t care, just that Josie is always beaming the morning after, so all is good.

I finish putting on the fresh kilt ... I got nine of them with me, all different clan patterns ... and sit lotus style in front of my propane stove to make breakfast. As I finish cleaning up I hear someone say, “Morning Keiran.”

I glance up to see a vision of beauty right outside the screen door. “Morning Fatia. When did you get in?” She’d camped in the same glade as me since she started coming. I thought the name unusual so did a little research when I got home. When I did find it, I thought it’s English meaning to be appropriate.

She sashays in, drops a rolled up towel on one of my camp chairs and drops down to sit on one hip, long legs stretching out with one hand supporting her. “Late last night, I think it was after midnight before I was set up.”

“Why didn’t you come over and ask for some help?”

A slight shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you that late.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother, I’d have been more than willing to help.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” she says. A slight blush appears on her cheeks and she quietly says, “There is something you could help me out out with.”

“If I can help, I’d be more than happy to.”

Her blush gets deeper and she almost stammers out, “Would you be willing to usher in Beltaine with me ... for my first time?”

I think my jaw just shattered on the ground. She’d gotten a reputation as uninterested over the past three years. Dancing the fire in nothing but a short pareo tied low on her hips, but never leaving the fire with anyone.

Now I think I know why, her blush and the lowered eyes tell a story in itself. She’s frightened of rejection, like anyone would reject this goddess come to life.

I reach across the now cold stove and take her free hand in mine. She worriedly looks up at me. I smile and say, “I would love to help you properly celebrate your first Beltaine, Fatia.”

Her whole face lights up like the sun coming out after a hurricane has passed. “Truly?” she asks.

“Truly. I think anyone would be honored to spend time with you.”

She chuckles at that. “I think I intimidate them. They come, talk a bit, but never ask to be alone. I’ve never even had a Fest Fling.”

Gods above, she’s a Fest virgin ... gotta make it extra special for her. “Maybe they’ll eventually grow up.” I chuckle which brings a smile to her lips. “You’re a gorgeous woman and your dancing is so sensual it’s mesmerizing...”

“I think it’s other things that put them off,” she says with a shrug. “Anyway, I was headed to take a shower and now I believe I could use some help with my back?” her voice getting softer as she asks.

Oh, it’s so tempting, but... “Unfortunately I’ll have to take a rain-check. I’ve a seminar to get to that I’m running. Tomorrow morning perhaps?”

“Tomorrow morning?” she almost whispers

“If you’re by the showers by seven, I’d be more than happy to help you with that.”

She tilts her head, long dark hair streaming over her shoulder like a waterfall. “That’s awful early,”

“I take a run early so I don’t disturb anyone, then shower after my cool-down walk. Just an easy five klicks here, not full out but enough to keep me in practice.”

She gets a look that I can’t interpret. “I think we need to have a talk,” she says.

I shrug. “After my seminar I’m free and you can find me in Merchant’s Circle or here. But I really need to be going if I’m gonna make it on time.” I stand up and offer her a hand. She takes it and I help her to stand up.

She takes an extra step which puts us eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and chest to ... breast and I can feel her nipples against me through her sundress. I knew she was tall, but in her flip-flops and me barefoot she’s my height ... and since I’m six-foot-one, that’s impressive. A brief hesitation then her lips are on mine as she gives me a soft kiss.

I return it, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. A few seconds of that before she pulls back, leaning slightly into my hand. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Well thank you,” I reply before leaning to give her a quick kiss in return.

“See you later?” I nod and she turns her head slightly to plant a kiss on my palm, then grabs her towel and heads out. The hem of her sun-dress swishes as her hips sway and I watch it almost mesmerized before I turn away.

That’s one damn fine looking woman and that’s from watching her in that pareo. Large but high sitting breasts, trim waist with a flat tummy, and a wonderfully round ass ... if anyone epitomized a sensual goddess come to life, Fatia did. And I was going to spend Sunday night worshiping her with everything I had. I also had to admit that most guys were morons, especially passing up the opportunity to have her in their tent.

I shake my head to clear it of the images, get my ghillie brogues and wrap-shirt on before grabbing my notebook and following her up the path at a slow jog.

------------------------------ SCENE ------------------------------------------

The seminar goes well, more of question and answer session than a talk, but I think I dismissed some misconceptions, corrected some common errors and got some of them thinking.

Celtic Reconstructionism is relatively new but we work from scholarly texts from historians and anthropologists rather than mixing things from different philosophies to create something new. We’re trying to resurrect a way of life that almost disappeared in the six nations, really only survived in two of them.

We’re a small sect, but we’re growing slowly as people decide to rediscover their ancient roots. Much as people whose ancestors are from other parts of the world are looking into their ancient past. I grin, as the local ‘goddess’ Fatia, who I’ll be spending a night with, uses the name of an ancient deity whose name translates as ‘Star’ ... and it fits her.

I’ve just grabbed my notebook and was about to explore the merchant tents when something wraps up my left fore-arm. I look down to see an impish smile on a pixy face looking up at me.