The flute music filtered through his mind, soothing and ancient. He stepped into the woods, but Stacey seemed to float over the understory ahead of him. Her hair brushed against her milky skin, the curves of her breasts protruding an inch from the profile of her back.

“I like these woods,” she said in a sultry, musical tone. “They feel like home. I know they feel like home to you, too. I liked coming up here with you so much.”

The pressure in his jeans was unbearable. A thin line of drool dangled from the corner of his mouth. Embarrassing, but whatever. It was a dream. He was allowed to be a fool in his dreams.

Stacey laughed, sensing his desire, but still ghosting deeper into the woods. “I can feel you. You want me so bad. Well, I want you so bad. You can have me in a little bit. But before you do, I want you to see something. Follow and I’ll be your reward.”

The lemony fragrance of sweet flag filled his nose as he trudged deeper into the forest. He felt at home here, in this magical patch of forest thick with verdant maples and the love of his life. It’s what he always wanted. What warm-blooded male wouldn’t want elbow room and the most amazing woman he’d ever seen? When you had that, who’d give a damn about anything else?

He fixated ahead, eyes glassy and wide. Yearning and peace soothed his nerves. The paralyzing anxiety of being trapped by the Puller flitted away. He was Matt Kearns again, worry-free and full of vigor.

The intoxicating Stacey continued ahead, never looking back. Her blonde hair swayed as she walked. Her buttocks revealed a single wrinkle where they met her legs.

Spruce trees joined the maples along with a few balsam fir. The air grew rich with humidity and warm light sworded into the canopy. Frogs croaked to the west, their song coming through in waves, breaking through the comforting haze that settled around him.

Stacey stopped and turned. He melted as her eyes met his. It had been so long, and she was so beautiful.

“Come here,” she said, beckoning with a long finger tipped with black nail polish. Matt limped to her, stiffening with excitement, his breath short and heavy. She held out her elegant left hand and he took it. A big, black golden buzz tingled his nerves.

“Look to the west,” Stacey said, pointing with her right hand. Her grip tightened, but it was like steel wires rather than the soft cushion of a female hand. He didn’t care. He tried to look west but stood there instead, gawking at her. This was the Stacey he wanted to remember, not the bone-white Stacey in the coffin. He’d take anything over that, even this adolescent wet dream.