Fruits of an overactive imagination

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Walking slowly softly through a slightly misty wood.
Holding only a single small candle for light. The small flame
flickers in a frigid evening breeze. Feeling the soft cold
wind brush softly across his body, all of his hair stands
on end as goose bumps appear. He feels totally enveloped by
the breeze. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a dark
shadow approaching. He cannot decide whether to run or to
hesitate and greet the oncoming shade. He stands his ground.
His brain wrenches in anticipation of the mysterious
stranger, now entering the light. It is a beautiful woman
clad only in a flowing white cloak of silk and lace. He
looks into her eyes. The soft pigments flickering in the
candlelight brings about a familiar feeling of comfort. He
feels incapacitated by her beauty. She slowly removes her
garment and stands before him, never uttering a word. Her
milky skin paled by the light. Her nipples pert with the
chilling breeze. He moves, he moves to be with her, near
her. She fills his mind. He reaches out and caresses her
silky smooth breasts. She lies down and beacons him to be
with her. His penis growing with anticipation.
He moves his hand down her body, warm in the cool night
air. She shivers at the touch the sudden warmth surprising
her.He moves his hand down to her ever-waiting vagina and
slowly massages it with his fingers. She pulls him closer
and inserts his massive masculinity into her she moans with
pleasure as their bodies start to move in unison. There is
nothing else but their love. They are a river flowing back
and forth, up and down, in and out. The forest, the mist,
the candle, the breeze all seem to disappear even the
darkness does not exist. Ultimate pleasure is achieved and
they lie in each other's arms and fall asleep.
Dew falls from a nearby ash tree. It is morning.
They dress and depart, still holding one another.