I arrived at The Dragon’s Eye retreat with a small bag of clothes and a huge satchel filled with manuscripts and books. Most people came to this exclusive spa to relax, but I loved working here. It was worth every penny of the pricey membership fee which last year almost doubled. It now cost three thousand annually for first dibs on my very own little patch of paradise and there was also a user’s fee when you checked in. But it was exactly the kind of place I needed. It was in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains, a beautiful setting surrounded by incredible vistas of valleys and cloaked in the soft blue haze for which the Smokeys were famous. The spacious cabins were set far enough apart to give a feeling of privacy and they all had porches and best of all, hot tubs. I always loved coming here, but nothing compared to sitting in a hot tub with a glass of scotch when it was snowing – that was the best. I would book time for November before I left. That was only a couple months from now. I knew that during this time, before the leaf peek season and after the summer months, it would be very quiet here and I had been right. I was one of only two visitors. When I registered at the office, Lin Ching told me I practically had the whole retreat to myself.

“You get lot work done, Selma. Only you and verily handsome man from Berlin. He here for architect convention in Black Mountain.”

“Berlin,” I said. “That’s a long way to come for a convention.”

“He has sister in Asheville. He stay at Starclaire 16. You want same you always get – Birchwood?”

I could have had whatever I wanted. I considered switching. The cabins were far apart, but they were up the road from one another. Technically, the handsome guy from Berlin and I would be neighbors. But I loved the views from the hot tub at Birchwood and it felt like my second home.

“Yes, thanks Lin. I’ll take the Birch. Is the health club open?”

“Here, since I not busy and nobody here, I give you extra key. Come whenever you want.”

“That’s great, thanks,” I said and took the key. This would be fantastic. I had brought several joints of sensimillan with me. I couldn’t wait to get high and come back in the middle of the night for a skinny dip in the heated pool.

I signed all the papers, said good-bye to Lin Ching and drove a couple miles up the dirt road to Birchwood. It was a beautiful crisp day with just a touch of autumn in the air. The edges of the leaves were starting to change. Soon this place would be awash in an array of shimmering earth tones and a herd of tourists with digital cameras.

On the way up, I passed a tall muscular man. He had a long blonde ponytail. Lin Ching was right; he was unbelievably good-looking. His tan golden skin accentuated his rippling hard muscles. He was jogging up Goose Creek Path, a steep hard climb.

He must be in great shape to manage it, I thought, staring admiringly in my rear view mirror. I almost ran off the road but when I clipped some saplings it jolted my attention and I righted the Mercedes.

I guess that would be one way to meet him, I thought, a little embarrassed at my girlishness. I thought I saw him smile, but it must have been my imagination, though I was certain a man who looked like that was used to people gawking.

When I got to my cabin, I unloaded the car and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. I put up all the groceries and stuck a couple of Bass beers in the freezer to chill. Then I turned on the tub jets. The water was perfect, just the right temperature. Lin Ching was so accommodating; she knew what I liked. I went to my bedroom to get a robe and a joint and settled in on the back porch. The weather was lovely. I took off my robe. I saw my body in the reflection of the sliding glass doors. It was taut and trim from years of working out. I was as pale as ivory chiffon. I was not a sun worshiper. I had no tan but it had kept my skin smooth and soft.

Everything’s a trade off, I thought. Fuck, this pot was good and strong, not like that crappy stuff I got from one of my writers last month. I liked sense because it rarely had stems or seeds. I was not going to do any work until tomorrow. I had planned it that way. I put the joint in the ashtray, closed my eyes and put my head back. I was in a trance like daydream when a deep voice startled me.

“Hello.” It was the beautiful German. “I’m sorry to be so forward. You passed me down the road when I was running.”

“Right,” I said, feeling a bit vulnerable. I couldn’t even reach my towel. I was glad I’d added some lavender oil to make bubbles in the tub, well, maybe not. He was definitely staring, trying to see if I was nude.

“My name’s Hank,” he said. “I hear we have the place to ourselves. I hope it’s okay I dropped by. To be honest, I smelled the pot and it drew me like a magnate.”

He was looking at the big joint in the ashtray. “Feel free,” I said. “My name is Selma.”

Normally, someone just stopping by like that would piss me off, but I was high and relaxed so I decided to chill and go with the glow. After all, he WAS gorgeous. I could see that now in finer detail. He had high cheekbones and a broad chiseled face and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen.

“Wow, that was a long jog you had,” I said.

“Well, I cheated. I took a rest by the creek and dozed off for a little while. It’s so peaceful here.”

“You don’t sound German,” I said thinking I heard traces of a southern accent.

“I’m not. I grew up not far from here in Charlotte. But when I was sixteen I went to Berlin as an exchange student and fell in love with everything about it, especially the buildings. What I saw made me become an architect. When I got my degree, I moved there to intern with Goebler and Wietz. They’re the most prestigious firm in Berlin. Anyway, it really paid off, they made me a partner last year.”

I was silent, listening to him talk, probably watching more than listening. The jet in the hot tub was hitting me in exactly the right spot and I was getting horny as hell.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually talk this much. It must be the pot.”

“That’s okay, I’m enjoying it. I’ve heard that Berlin is the architecture capital of the world, so it’s nice to hear someone who knows talk about it with such passion. That pot is really good. I’m a little high too.”

He still had on his jogging attire and he shivered in the September air. It was just beginning to get dark. He looked at me longingly. Knowing what we both wanted and knowing this was basically my only night, I decided to be forward myself.

“Want to get in, Hank?” I asked.

“Oh, God. I sure do,” he said.

“You keep it warm for me,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I returned with another joint and some beers. We talked and laughed in the hot tub for hours. We were flirting insanely with one another, but it wasn’t that physical. In a way this made it more exciting. It was like a long drawn out flirt session and because we were so stoned, we didn’t have any clear concept of time passing. Hank asked me if I wanted to play a game.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m up for just about anything. I’m about as loose as I can get.”

“Good,” he said. “This game requires that. It’s called Skinning the Knight.”

“Sounds kind of creepy.”

“No, no, not at all. It’s based on the principle that humans keep most of their thoughts and desires hidden. We don’t start out that way, but by the time we reach adulthood, we’re like knights in a suit of armor – never revealing what we keep inside, hence the name Skinning the Knight.”

“Sounds cool. I believe that’s true.”

“I do too, but the best time to play this game is when you’re high or drunk, since we’re both, it seems appropriate,” Hank said.

“Okay, I’m game. How do we start?”

“Well I say a word and you say the first thing that pops into your mind and remember you can’t filter your responses. I’ll go first and give you three words and then you can go.”

We took a few swigs of beer.

“Mountain”

“Chinookee”

“Beer”

“Friday”

“Pot”

“Pan”

“What the fuck is chinookee?” Hank asked.

“It’s a tribe that used to live in the hills around here, a long time ago around the time of Custer.”

“Hmmm, I didn’t know that. Okay your turn.”

“Pink”

“Nipple”

“Sweet”

“Pussy”

“Sweat”

“Fuck”

“One thing’s for sure Hank. It’s easy to see where your mind is.”

“Well, that’s kind of the purpose.”

I was horny too, but I didn’t want to use a word game to show him. I was much more inclined toward action. But this was fun. I decided to play a little longer, maybe just one more round.

“Cock”

“Mouth”

“Star”

“Black”

“Clit”

“Touch”

He looked off the porch onto my beautiful little garden.

“Hammock”

“Magic”

“Hey, you did four,” I whined.

“I did, didn’t I,” he said. “Hey what’s magic about a hammock.”

“Is this part of the game,” I asked.

“Yeah, if a player questions your responses you have to explain them. That’s how you get the armor off.”

I felt suddenly shy.

“C’mon,” he said. “Drop that heavy shield.”

“Well, it’s so personal, I’ve never told a soul.”

“Skin the Knight, Skin the Knight, Selma, Selma, Skin the Knight.”

“Okay, okay,” I said taking a toke. “I’ve always been into sexual fantasies. They run like movies through my head all the time. But there’s one in particular that has always made me hotter than any of them.”

To say I had Hank’s full attention was putting it mildly. I’m sure his cock was hard as a brick.

“I don’t usually act them out or anything, well sometimes, depending on the circumstances.”

“What’s the hammock got to do with it?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been coming up here for years. Lin Ching let me make that garden out back. I noticed the spacing of the big birch trees would make and excellent place to put my Pawley’s Island hammock. Last year, one winter night when it was snowing, I was sitting in the hot tub just chilling and looking at my garden and I imagined the most intense fantasy about my hammock.”

I paused wondering how to proceed.

“Well,” he said. “Do tell.”

“I’d rather show you, that is if you’re into it.”

“Oh, I’m way, way, way into it. What should I do?”

I reached over and took his cock in my hand. As I suspected, he was hard as hell and his cock was sticking out like a sword.

“Well, you’ve already done part of it,” I smiled. “I want you to go lay in the hammock on your tummy.”

He got up eager to obey me. His cock was huge and beautiful, at least nine inches long and as big around as a baseball bat. I was practically drooling. Hank was the complete package, the real deal, the body and looks of a movie star and a vibrant curious mind.

As he walked down the steps I called out “Don’t forget now lay on your tummy not your back.”

I watched his firm ass as he walked away and waited until he had gotten situated. I grabbed the towel by the tub and walked toward him. I couldn’t believe I was finally going to get to act out my favorite fantasy.

I gently raised his head and wrapped the towel around his eyes.

“Don’t move,” I said.

I shimmied up under the hammock and saw his rock hard cock against the ropes. I used my hands to pry it through the hammock weave. It hung down just above my mouth.

“That’s perfect,” I thought. “He’s just the right size.”

I couldn’t wait to put him in my mouth. But I decided to jack him off a little bit first. As I lay beneath him, jerking his dick, I heard his exquisite moaning. He was about to cum. Through the hammock, I could see his engorged nuts. They were as big as baseballs. It took some doing, but I managed to get them through the cotton weave just below his cock. It was like having his balls and cock in a strap. I licked his balls while I jerked his cock. Then I perched myself on my elbows and took his hard long dick into my mouth and sucked him. I started with a slow easy rhythm. I tasted a few drips of precum and sucked him harder while rotating my tongue around his cock like I was licking an ice cream cone. I played with his balls and sucked him hard and fast. I felt the hammock stiffen above me and knew that he was steadying himself. He was going wild. Bracing himself by holding onto the bar, he started bucking into my mouth like he was fucking me through the hammock. I tightened my mouth around him and he came in a furious burst shooting his salty creamy cum down my throat. I sucked him dry and swallowed all his juice.

He turned over and I lay down beside him. He cradled me in his arms.

“That’s the best the knight has ever been skinned,” he said, kissing me deeply “and this is indeed a magic hammock.”