The fire gave a sudden pop and crackle and several small logs shifted position, releasing a shower of glowing sparks which rose in the night air towards the dark sky. Steven leaned back against the rock he had padded with his sleeping bag and drew a deep breath, inhaling the smells of damp pine needles, wood smoke on the warm, moist night air, and the damp, strongly flavored, but not disagreeable odor of the river. He closed his eyes and the gentle lap of waves quietly breaking against the bank mixed with the night sounds of insects. Back in the pines he heard the sharp cry of a night bird. For several seconds he remained like that: quiet, not moving, drinking in the sensations of the warm Georgia night.

Then he sighed contentedly and noticed for the first time that a heavy mist was beginning to blot out the stars which minutes earlier had been sharp, bright points in the black heavens. Even as he watched the fog thickened, small wandering tendrils weaving their way across the slowly flowing waters and around the trunks of the forest trees, and began to envelop him in its quiet folds. He reached forward and placed two more small logs on the campfire, sighed once again, and took a long, slow sip from his small cup of single malt Scotch. No better end to a long, happy day, he thought to himself. He was soon to discover that impression was not correct: the day was not yet over and the end was still to be determined.

Steven Baxter had spent the day paddling his canoe along the slowly flowing southern river. Not white water this time, but it had been over ten hours, including one short portage. True, it was downstream all the way, but the slow moving current, though it had not fought his progress, did little to aid it. Now, his craft pulled up out of the water, he relaxed and rested. He had finished his supper and cleaned up. The night was warm, almost hot, so he did not plan on using his tent, and now had nothing he needed to do but rest quietly and absorb the restfulness of the wilderness.

His muscles ached slightly, but in a good way, reminding him of the effort he had expended and of the many miles it had taken him. This was his third day out and he had reached the mouth of this river where it emptied into another, larger, stream. Tomorrow he would move out onto the larger body of water and begin a final two days - upstream this time - to finish his trip. The time off had done him a world of good in removing the tensions of his ordinary world, and now he was beginning to feel ready to once more face its challenges.

Once again he sipped at his drink, the smooth, smoky flavor bringing a contented feeling as the amber fluid made its way down his throat. Steven drank only occasionally, and. never very much. Still, he always brought a small flask of the highland spirits on these trips and enjoyed the single cup he allowed himself in the evenings. More of a happy ritual than a need or even desire. He hummed a few bars of Suwannee River - he had always had a thing for Steven Foster songs - then fell silent once more to listen to the night.

The fog was rapidly encroaching, blocking out any possible view beyond the small area lit by the fire. Actually, even before the fog, there was little to see. For two days he had seen no sign of civilization. He knew that a few isolated houses dotted the shores of the larger river which began a couple of hundred yards beyond his campsite, but this smaller tributary ran through totally undeveloped forest land. He had a permit for this campsite and knew that no one else would use it during his stay. He had heard no sounds except those of nature and supposed that there were no dwellings anywhere nearby. He glanced at his watch and noticed that it was nearly midnight. Well, he was in no particular hurry and could leave whenever he felt like it the next day.

After a while longer he raised his cup and took the last sip of his single drink, slowly swishing it around his mouth and finally letting it gently trickle down his throat. He stood and went to the water's edge to rinse the cup and then returned to the fire. He added some more wood, spread a blanket on the sandy soil a few feet from the flames. He was just deciding to get ready for sleep when he noticed a sudden reflection flash from some object half buried in the sand beside the path to the river edge. If it had been daylight when he had first walked towards the water, he couldn't have missed it, but dusk had already been falling then. Now his curiosity wouldn't let it wait until morning and he walked the few steps to see what it was.

He kneeled beside the object and was surprised to see that it looked like the side of a replica of on old brass oil lamp, the kind described in The Arabian Nights. There was writing engraved into the side which he could just make out in the firelight to read, "Rub here for one wish." Steven laughed. ONE wish. A cut rate magic lamp. He knew things like this were often sold in novelty stores and assumed it had somehow washed down the river and become lodged in its current resting place. He tried to pull it from the sand, but it was firmly anchored. Even after he scooped away some of the surrounding soil, the lamp remained firmly embedded. Laughing again to himself, he brushed the sand away from the writing, in the process "rubbing" the lamp, and then stood and returned to where he had spread the blanket.

He made a trip into the edge of the woods to relieve himself and then returned, along the way stopping to pick up his sleeping bag from the rock where he had been resting. He piled it next to the blanket. The night was still warm enough he didn't expect to need it at all, but if it cooled he would have it nearby. He had been wearing only cutoff jeans and sneakers all day and had removed the shoes shortly after dragging his canoe from the water. Now, he simply loosened the waist of the shorts and started to lie down on the blanket for the night.

Suddenly he heard a rhythmic sound of something moving through the water close by. Completely surprised, he refastened his shorts and stood, looking down towards the shore. He could see only a few feet beyond the edge before the water was totally enveloped by the drifting fog, but thought he could detect a few ripples moving on the smooth surface. Then, without warning, the front of a small canoe appeared from the gray curtain and a second later the occupant also became visible as the craft pushed against the sandy edge.

Steven could only stare. With almost no sound, the paddler stepped ashore and pulled the craft away from the river's edge. Then she stood, turned to face him, and began to move in his direction. The stranger was a young woman, probably no more than twenty two or three, only a few years younger than he was himself. She was tall - he guessed at five seven, three inches shorter than his own five ten. Her hair, which was tied back with a ribbon, looked to be either a light brown or a dark blonde in the flickering light and her eyes were merely pools of darkness. She was barefoot, but dressed in a long, flowing dress which covered her from neck to ankles, but left her slender arms bare. Still, the material was thin and light, and Steven could see the shape of her body as it molded itself to her with each slow step. And the shape was worth noting. She was slim, but not skinny. Long legs moved with each step and the clinging fabric of the gown showed them to be firmly muscled and very nice. Her breasts were full without being huge and the thin material molded to them showing erect nipples. As she approached the fire he could tell her waist was very narrow and rounded into very feminine hips. She turned slightly for a second and he saw her buttocks were tight and round beneath the thin dress.

Steven could not help himself: he simply stood and stared. The girl moved up to stop a foot and a half in front of him, facing him, and looked directly into his eyes. He could still not see the color of those eyes, but he could now see the dress was a pale azure, almost white and the ribbon in her hair revealed itself to be a dark blue. Lit by the flickering fire, her face, Steven could now see, was lovely. Slowly her lips parted and in a moderately deep but slightly ethereal voice, she said, "Hello, Steven. I am for you."

Nearly struck dumb, Steven finally stammered out, "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

The girl smiled at him, her face seeming to contain all the enigmas of history, and she answered, "I came out of the midnight fog. I am Jeanie." Then the smile took on a slightly teasing look. She raised her hand to slightly lift the ends of her tresses and added, "Jeanie, with the light brown hair." Then while Steven still stood, almost in shock, she moved directly up to him. Before he realized what was happening, she put her arms around his neck, pulled herself against him, and locked her mouth to his in a warm and moist kiss.

For several seconds Steven remained frozen, unable to react. Then his midbrain took over and he began to respond. Her lips were warm and soft and pressed steadily against his. He could feel her breasts and even her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress and they seemed to leave burning imprints on his bare chest. The tip of a moist, pointed tongue suddenly touched his lips and, without any conscious thought, his own lips parted and his tongue met hers. She molded her body against his and he could feel she wore nothing beneath the light gown. His manhood began to respond, hardening and quickly pressing against her through his suddenly too tight shorts. His arms seemed to rise of their own volition and wrapped themselves around her back, his hands lightly rubbing the firm flesh through the diaphanous material. Then they slid - again with no overt thought - down her back and cupped the firm muscles of her bottom.

The girl did not seem to mind his explorations. In fact, quite the opposite. Her hips pressed harder against his own, and he was sure that he could feel the shape of her nether lips even through the material of her dress and his shorts. Her hands also slid down his back and squeezed his buttocks, driving his hardened rod firmly against her body. Steven was sure he could smell the musk of her arousal over the other odors of the moist summer night.

After an eternity the girl broke the kiss and pulled her head slightly back while holding her supple body tightly pressed against him. Her hands raised and, barely touching his skin, slid downwards from his shoulders, circling and giving a feather touch to his nipples, and then moved onwards along his flanks to his waist. As her fingers began to fumble with the fastenings of his shorts, she bent forwards and sharp, small, white teeth nipped teasingly at his hardened nipples.

With one hand clasping him through the material of his cutoffs, she raised the other to the back of her neck and tugged at something. The garment seemed to part in the back and she allowed it to fall from her shoulders, permitting her firm breasts to stand out clearly to his gaze. Steven stared at her. Her breasts were even better than he had thought when he had seen them outlined thought the thin material of the dress. They were firm and stood out proudly from her chest, the nipples large and long, looking like big, hard pencil erasers.

The dress fell about her waist and she gave a slight wiggle, allowing it to slither unhindered down her long legs to pool at her feet, leaving her completely bare. No panties blocked the view of her womanhood and, in fact, no hair, as her pubes were shaved bare. Steven let his gaze roam over her now totally nude form. He thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She stepped from the discarded dress and again pressed herself against him, once more drawing him into a deep kiss. One hand loosened his shorts and then she knelt to slide them and his briefs down his legs, in the process freeing his hard tool from the cloth confines. Her small hand wrapped around the firm shaft and she looked first at his face, then down to the head of the seven inch rod, and then leaned forwards to place a feather lite kiss on the head.

Steven sucked in his breath but something rational which retained a slight toehold on his mind forced him to stammer out, "Who? What are you doing here?"

Still kneeling and holding his shaft in her hand, the girl looked up into his eyes. "I am Jeanie and I am for you, Steven Baxter."

Once more he spoke, "But where did you come from? How do you know my name?"

The girl smiled that mysterious smile once more. She raised the finger of her free hand to her lips and Steven trailed off into silence. Then she again lowered her head, this time opening and parting her lips and taking his pulsing rod inside her warm and wet mouth. Steven sucked in his breath, even more sharply this time, and his mind forgot all about rational questions. Instead he buried his hands in her hair, threw back his head, and abandoned himself to the sensations the girl was causing.

She was very talented. Time after time as Steven neared the point of no return, the girl slowed the intensity of her activity until the urge receded. For twenty minutes she knelt, naked, using her mouth, tongue, and lips on his rigid penis and her hands and fingers on his balls and even his anus to keep Steven in a state of arousal which exceeded any he had ever known. He was torn between wanting to end this sweet torture and letting it go on and on and on.

Although she kept to her task with near single minded concentration, it was also obvious the activity was having its effect on the girl herself. In addition to the moisture flooding her crotch, she could soon no longer contain the muscle contractions which sent shivers streaming from her sex up her spine and through out her entire body. When her arousal increased to the point she could not ignore it any longer, she at first attempted to placate her desire with her own finger, but soon the slow circles her digit was making around her erect clit were insufficient and finally she began to gently urge Steven in the direction of the spread blanket beside the fire.

Without entirely stopping her current oral activity, she maneuvered Steven into position and soon had him reclining on his back as her head continued to bob up and down along his overheated shaft. She began to twist around and in half a minute she had placed her knees on either side of his head and began to lower her wet and open pussy towards his face.

Steven had never had a woman who could use her mouth and, yes, her throat, as this girl did. He was feeling an arousal he would never have dreamed possible even an hour previously. Lying back, his eyes closed, his mind clouded to all but the wonderful sensations emanating from his groin. Suddenly his nostrils were filled with the overwhelming musk of female arousal. Of its own volition, his mouth opened and his tongue extended, seeking satisfaction. It was met with hot and wet flesh and he began to explore. The open slit settled itself to accept his explorations and soon he traveled its length and the end of his tongue encountered a rigid and throbbing clit. He began to lath and encircle this bud and was rewarded with a tremor throughout the wonderful body now extended, reversed, above him. He doubled his efforts and within a minute the girl began to convulse in orgasm, her slit pressed against his mouth and her trembling legs brushing against the sides of his face. Yet, she maintained the rhythm of her own stimulating activities and still remained in control enough to deny Steven relief from his demanding tension, backing off each time he neared climax.