Running Naked in a Mask
I will be running naked in a mask, she thought. This was thrilling and terrifying. Incredible. It was what she wanted.
They drove through the damp streets with the sun falling behind the tall anonymous buildings on the edge of the city.
The mask was the head of a gazelle. She wore the usual choker at her throat, straps at her wrists. The mask fitted so perfectly to her scalp it was a part of her. Her dark eyes were the eyes of a gazelle, watchful, timid, black as night.
He had told her the gazelle is a species of antelope. They are mostly found on the grasslands and savannas of Africa and are able to reach high speeds for long periods of time. She would be running naked. Like a gazelle.
She sat with her knees a little apart, her hands in her lap, her bottom sticking to the leather seat. The safety belt traced a diagonal between her breasts. She was aware that drivers and passengers in other cars when they stopped for traffic lights stared at her through the side window but she kept her eyes straight ahead.
Running Naked in Moonlight
He went through the gear box, sliding over the cogs. The car purred like an animal. They were driving out of the city south east. The sun faded to twilight as it slipped across the skyline.
The traffic thinned on the highway. He turned off and wove a path through country roads that seemed to grow more narrow as the trees that crowded the low rolling hills grew taller, more dense. They were an hour from the city, but in the darkness she had the feeling that they were sliding back through time to some place more distant.
He stopped the car in the midst of a deep forest. She could see across the long narrow valley what appeared to be a manor house that straddled a broad hill surrounded by trees and vegetation. He turned off the engine and they sat for a few moments in silence.
They got out of the car. It had grown darker suddenly. The evening star was bright overhead. The moon was rising. In its glow, fine silver threads like ectoplasm gleamed in lines across her bottom and the backs of her thighs. The lines were invisible in daylight and appeared in the ghostly light of the moon.
The manor house looked like a sailing ship floating in a dark sea, the amber lamps a beacon that would guide her.
She must run like a gazelle through the forest. There would be beaters. There would be hunters. She knew that other girls in masks would be running naked, just like her. They would arrive, if they arrived, wet with sweat, their legs muddied, their feet cut.
The mask was heavy but comfortable, perfect in every detail, made, she thought, to fit her head. She felt safe inside its shell. Confident. She was, she knew, without conceit, at her best, healthy, strong, at ease with her nakedness. She was perfectly poised. Like a dancer.
He ran his hands down her long slender arms, then stepped back into the car. The road skirted the valley and climbed in tight curves up to the house. She watched the car until the the lights and sound vanished. It was as silent as the depths of the ocean as she stepped into the forest.
If you enjoyed Running Naked in a Mask, you will may like my novel The Secret Life of Girls.