She hadn't been the perfect Hollywood-star gorgeous. Neither the pin-up girl pretty, such like the girls and women on the covers of my uncles old Playboy magazines. No, she'd been beautiful in a true way, a way that cannot be captured in any way but with the naked eye. I'd been able to see it from afar -- how her lamp black hair flowed in the wind as she sat exposed to nature on the rusty old pick-up truck's loading platform; how her caramel skin had seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, a colour much richer than the pale peach my own skin bore, then a bit reddish from the hours spent in the sun on the fields.

But if she was a beauty from a distance, she'd been down right stunning up close. As Gordon had helped her off the truck, I'd realised she was taller than me, maybe half a head or so, her body slim in an athlete kind of way, hair fashioned a mid thigh length -- longest hair I'd ever seen. She'd been dressed differently from what I was used to seeing, to wearing. Her shorts had revealed pretty much her entire legs, the waist line brought up to reach her bellybutton; her top was cropped and high necked, exposing her shoulders to the sun as well as a sliver of skin along her waist.

But what really made me lose my breath that day ten year ago was her face -- most of all her eyes, the colour of a pine forest a damp summer circled by a halo of pure gold. As she'd come to a stop in front of me and my parents, Gordon and Jo greeting us with cheerful "Hello"'s and "Good afternoon"'s, the most beautiful girl ever had parted her scarlet painted lips and said --

"Hi, my name is Sylvia, nice to meet you!"

I'd been too stunned by her very being, that I had trouble formulating a coherent sentence. After what had seemed like aeons, I'd managed to choke out a quiet "nice to meet you too", with cheeks redder than the scarlet on Sylvia's lips. Luckily my dad had come to my rescue.

"Ah, so you are the girl we've been hearing about!" He'd shaken her hand, and something like jealousy had boiled in the back of my throat. "Welcome to the Johnson farm, Sylvia. This here is my daughter, Danielle, and my wife Tina." He'd gestured to my mum with a big smile on his lips.

Sylvia had returned the smile, answering in a sweet voice like the pure chime of grandma's pretty crystal wine glasses. "Thank you, Mr. Johnson, I am very pleased to be here."

My dad had let out a laugh, his smile growing up to his ears. "Oh, what a proper way of speaking! Please, call me Jack; we are all family here."

The joy on her face had woken me out of the trance; had gotten me somewhat functioning again, enabling me to offer show her the way to the dining room. The entire way in I had felt the weight of her eyes upon my back like the pleasant warmth of the sun a cold winter's morning.

The dinner itself hadn't been very special -- except the fact that instead of gossiping about neighbouring farms, or the folks of the close by town, the conversation circled around Sylvia and her life in the Capital. My mum had a lot of questions, my dad some as well. Occasionally Sylvia had asked about the farm, of our life, steering the conversation away from herself. I'd tried to help her as well as I could, but as soon as I'd say anything, those intense hazel eyes were upon me and I lost all my thoughts, blood rising to my face. I didn't understand why I was so shy! Why did she effect me like this?

When dinner had begun coming to a close, and dad had announced he'd made an extra special dessert for our guest, Sylvia turned to me. "Would you mind telling me how your school is? I have a summer homework to write a paper on something we encounter during the holiday, and I thought the countryside might be a good topic." Even though her voice had been even, her eyes had been silently pleading for me to help her get away. I'd only nodded curtly, and risen up to leave, Sylvia at my heals. Almost up the stairs I'd heard Jo murmur to my mum: "I am happy they seem to like each other, makes Sylvia's stay here so much easier." I'd ignored them.

We'd stayed at my room discussing school and life in general, what was different, what was the same comparing city to country life. I'd heard her laugh for the first time, and it was the most wonderful sound I'd ever heard, clear like a frozen brook, ringing in my ears like a sweet symphony. The rest of the week I had made it a goal to make her laugh as much as possible, just so that I could hear that cleansing sound again.

We'd met up every day after that first dinner, that first Friday night. I had showed her around the fields and the woods; we'd bathed in the local lake; run over the hills, down to the town to buy candy and ice cream; climbed up on our barn's roof to watch the stars at night, where no city lights block them out; everything that I'd grown up doing, that she's never experienced.

The next Friday came, and with that the weekly dinner. I had spent the day with Sylvia, helping the Carlton's out, so when my parents had arrived I was already there. This time conversation at the table went on about the usual gossip and harvest news -- Sylvia had been more relaxed, when the focus wasn't entirely on her. She and I'd mostly sat quiet, until dad shifted the attention to the both of us.

"Sylvia", he'd said between two bites of chicken stew, "you'll be leaving us soon, no?"

I grew unbelievably cold, a tight knot forming in my throat as she said: "Sadly, yes. I'll be heading back home on Monday." For a second I could have sworn there was sadness in her eyes, but it'd vanished quickly.

"That is a pity", mum'd said, pouting. "You and Danny have become so close."

Sylvia's eyes, as well as everyone else's had shifted to me. I didn't know why, but I wanted to cry, the back of my throat had been burning with tears, and my nose had become a bit runny. I hadn't wanted her to leave. No! I'd thought it was unfair, even though I didn't know why, I hadn't been able place the feeling growing in my stomach, hadn't known if I liked it or not.

As attention was turning away from me, the light in Sylvia's eyes dulling a fraction at my silence, I hurriedly said the only thing hat came to mind, a suggestion I had thought to tell many times, but never found the courage to offer.

"W-well, if you're leaving so soon, there is a thing you cannot leave without doing", I'd blurted out, stumbling over the words. Sylvia's face had shone up like a star.

"Oh", my mum had said with some caution in her voice, having read the look in my eyes. "You don't mean the old shelter, do you? Only stupid towns kids take that myth seriously." The other adults had nodded their agreements.

Before I'd been able defend my cause, Sylvia curiously interrupted. "What is this 'shelter myth'?"

I'd laughed a bit at her words. "It is more a challenge than a myth. There is an old shelter few miles out in the woods -- past the lake we went to -- where it's said a witch lies buried. The old myth is that no one is to spend a night at the shelter and survive." I'd smiled at her. "Now a days, kids and teens from the surrounding farms and towns go there -- usually where there is a full moon -- to see if the old myth is true. I've done it pretty much once every year since I was thirteen."

Sylvia had looked at me with awe, but something dark and alive had been burning in her eyes, that made my body heat and ache in places I didn't know it could. "Is the myth true?" she'd asked, honest curiosity playing on her features.

I'd smiled at her, ignoring the bubbles in my chest. "Oh, my sitting here would prove it to be wrong, but why trust what you see?"

That dark thing in her eyes had sparked up and sat me ablaze; I had been close to losing my mind.

My mum had sighed through her nose. "OK, I guess there isn't much harm in it -- place should be empty this time of year." She'd glanced at Jo and Gordon.

"Oh, it's fine with us, Tina", Jo'd said. Then she'd added, smiling a bit, "besides, we would spend many summer nights there when we were young, the older kids coming to scare us in the small hours of the night, when we were shaking in our blankets out of fear."

Dad had laughed at some memory, Gordon winking at his wife, mum rolling her eyes. But I'd barely noticed any of it, for Sylvia's green-gold eyes had been upon me and all I could think of was her scarlet lips.

***

The bed of pine needles covering the forest floor had been soft under my feet, every single one of my steps cushioned and soundless. I'd been able to hear Sylvia's softly humming a tune behind me where we'd hiked the trail towards the shelter.

We hadn't talked much on the way, both of us nervous and excited for the night in the woods. I'm not sure I'd been able to talk, if Sylvia had tried to start a conversation -- I'm happy she didn't.

"Here we are", I'd said with no small feeling of relief to get something else to occupy my Sylvia-infested thoughts. "What do you think?"

She'd slung off her backpack and stretched her hands towards the sky. "I like it." She'd cocked her head to the side, as if viewing a piece of art, not a shaggy old shelter. "Looks cosy." She'd sat down, removing our bedrolls from her bag; beginning to set up the 'bed' so to call it. Meanwhile, I begun set up a fire and cook us dinner -- bread and sausages mum had packed earlier that day.

While setting up camp, both of us had begun chatting like usual, and over our simple dinner we'd laughed and I was sure I'd never feel such joy again. When dark later fell, we'd sat beside the dying fire telling ghost stories, until we'd been so scared we'd decided to retreat into the shelter.

Well down under the thick covers and various blankets, we'd laid staring at each other. She'd not worn her usual scarlet lipstick that day, so her lips were a softer rose pink. Her skin had become a deeper colour, caused by the country side summer sun, which made her eyes even greener, the gold halo catching the light of the last few embers of our fire. If it was possible, she had become even more beautiful, now that I knew what kind of person she was, now that I was her friend.

"What are you thinking about", she'd murmured, those sparkling eyes travelling over my face; from my eyes to my lips and back again, restless and longing.

I'd swallowed, wetting my lips before speaking. "How-how beautiful you are. That I've never seen so much beauty in one person, how I cannot find a single flaw in you, how you get even more beautiful each day I spend with you."

The dark thing had returned to her eyes, the fire seeming to glow brighter, warming my core, an aching feeling spreading up through my stomach. I'd wet my lips again, unable to look away from her desire filled gaze.

And then her lips were softly pressed on mine; a shiver had gone down my spine, the aching flaming up in response. I'd parted my lips as I'd seen girls do in the movies countless of times, Sylvia's tongue slipping into my mouth, brushing against my own. I'd let out a soft moan as she'd deepened the kiss making out tongues mingle and twist together. Her hands had wrapped around me, slipping in under my wool cardigan, onto my bare skin. She'd begun pulling the shirt off me, but paused, breaking off the kiss as well. Her eyes had locked with mine, and I remember thinking her entire being glowed.

"Danny, you want to do this? You want to have sex with me?" she'd asked. It had been obvious that she wanted to, but to be honest, up until she asked I had not considered what we were about to do.

But as the last of the embers of the fire died; as the stars became visible in the night sky; as I saw that wondrous glow in Sylvia's eyes, I'd breathed my answer as sure as the earth turns and the wind howls.

"Yes---"

She'd been on me before I could finish the syllable, her cotton-soft lips on mine, her hands once again roving over my back, pulling my cardigan off. The seconds that our lips had been apart amidst the fumbling with clothes had been hours too many, and as soon as we lay bare beneath the covers, tongues where tangling, teeth clashing, and legs entwining. I'd let my hands explore her back, her chest her hair. When I'd cupped her breast in my hand, she'd let out a moan close to a purr that had my nether regions clenching as if gasping for air. With a giggle she'd flipped me over on my back, her kisses turning slower, all filled with care and sweet desire. The hand that had not been holding her weight above me caressed my breasts, slowly making it's way down my body. After what had felt like decades and a thousand kisses later, her fingers had slipped into the wetness between my legs, earning her a loud moan from me, including her name and several curses. She'd laughed into my mouth, while stroking my clitoris with her thumb, two of her other fingers pushing into me.

I'd reached my climax much sooner than I'd wanted to, but the feeling of pleasure pulsing through me was unlike anything I'd ever felt. She'd soothingly kissed my neck and chest, as she'd practically dragged the moans from my lips.

The roaring in my ears stilled, and I had given her one look before I had reached down and given her back what I had gotten. The sounds from her pleasure -- the moans, the wet kisses, the way she'd mumbled my name -- had me aching for her touch again; had me moaning right along with her when her hand found it's home between my legs again, the other massaging my breast.

We'd come together this time, and I caught myself thanking God that we were out in the middle of nowhere, where no one could hear us.

We'd fallen asleep sharing sleepy kisses, limbs tangled beneath the blankets, exhaustion taking the best of us into an deep and even sleep.

***

This night was the last we saw each other. The next day we'd had hiked back and gone separate ways, unknowing that we wouldn't get the chance to say a proper good bye.

Of all the things that happened that summer, that is the only thing I truly regret -- that I never got a say "I love you" to Sylvia Wanders.