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Confession of a camp counselor.

She enters the square and sets down the bag, then opens the blanket and lays it out on the sand.

The woman watches as the ghostly figure rustles in a bag and moves to one of the circles of rocks. She sees a flame spark and tinder catch. Each corner is lit in turn, casting a dancing orange light on the scene. The figure kneels at the blanket edge, facing out into the garden. She pulls the bag closer and takes out a dark terracotta bowl, placing it to her left. She lifts out a bottle and pours into the bowl.

The woman feels herself being drawn in by the mystery unfolding before her. She wraps the dog's leads into the fence, knowing they would never betray their master's trust. She moves quietly along the fence, trying to get a better view. She stops when she sees there is a gate, standing ajar. She passes in, unsure why, but feeling she must. She steps carefully until she finds a spot where she can see clearly, but stay concealed in the darkness.

Her wine poured, she pulls a small knife from the bag and stabs the tip of her middle finger, letting the blood drip into the bowl. From a leather pouch, she adds a fat pinch of powder, then stirs it with the wounded finger, her eyes closed and head tilted back to the heavens. She stops with a groan, as a gust of wind pulses across the square, tousling her hair and rippling the blanket. She lifts the bowl with both hands and takes a drink, then a second. Putting the bowl back, she sits upright between her feet, her knees spread to shoulder width, her hands resting loosely up on her white thighs.

The woman stares at the figure posing close-eyed and statue-like before her. The flickering fire light is strong enough to make out her thin body, her small breasts and narrow hips, the dusting of hair above her sex. Perhaps, she thinks to herself, this is just some personal meditation thing, some new age excuse to slug back some wine in the nude.

Then the figure speaks in a quiet, warm voice, "I know you are there. She has sent you to me. Come here. Leave your clothes where you are and come."

The woman starts, a shiver running down her spine, tingling across her hips. 'What the hell? How. .?' she thinks, 'I'm not undressing. . .' then looks down at the silk blouse puddling at her feet. She feels the warm breezes moving over her skin like a lover's hands and moans softly when she sees her nipples standing proud from her white breasts. She steps from her sandals. Her slacks and panties join her top on the ground at her feet. 'What the hell am I doing? Why do I feel . . . Why am I so. . .' Her mind swims as she steps out, walking slowly forward into the fire light.

When she reaches the edge of the blanket, the kneeling woman rises and comes forward till they are face to face, inches apart.

"I knew you would come," she murmurs, staring into the woman's wide eyes. Her hands come up and hold the woman's head, fingers sliding over her ears into her hair, thumbs gently brushing across her cheeks. She leans in even closer so each can feel the others warm breath.

"Welcome. . ." she whispers, as their lips join. The woman groans as her mouth opens and their tongues meet. Her shaking hands rise of their own accord, covering the hands that hold her, pressing into the kiss, feeling the passion flowing down her body.

Her Goddess conjured into flesh and welcomed, she guides her to the center of the blanket. She eases the woman down, laying her out on her back, her four limbs pointing out to the fires at the corners of the square. She stands and goes to each in turn, adding pine cones that blaze up, their oily smoke adding to the scent already swirling in the wind. She takes a long leather pouch from the bag and the bowl of wine and places them beside the woman. She kneels down between the woman's quivering legs. She opens the pouch and slowly draws out a long tip of petrified mammoth tusk, its surface glassy and silky smooth, sparkling iridescent in the fire light.

She can hear the woman's panting breath as she dips the G

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