This fantastic tale is devoted to the inexhaustible theme of love between a man and a woman.

On the path leading to an abandoned bathhouse, there was a completely naked girl. The moonlight played with spangles in her loose hair, reaching to the waist, and the thickets of nettle sometimes exposed, then again hid her slender legs. As if poured out of silver, she went so close that I had time to notice how the elastic girlish bosom trembled as she walked.

Turning off the path, it seemed to dissolve into the fragrant aroma of warm July night. The bathhouse door creaked. Everything is quiet.

I lay by the extinct fire, afraid to inadvertently give out my presence. How unspeakably good was a girl! I wanted to run after her, cling to the window of the bathhouse, to see her naked again, but I could not take a single step. Along with delight, a sense of non-explicable anxiety swept over me. The girl had something of waxed wax figures. Mu-rashki ran down the back. Chilling fear crawled through the forest glade, like a gas without color and smell penetrated into every cell of my being. Something was happening in the forest, and that was about me.

Suddenly a flash, like a lightning, lit up the neighborhood. I froze, waiting for the thunder. But everything was quiet and immovable. Only on the darkened sky-slope a new star flashed. I was ready to swear that half an hour ago she was not there. The faint, flickering light of a star blurred the intense anticipation of something else, allayed fear, but left the cold sadness of universal loneliness.

I pulled myself together, lit a flashlight and re-read the note that brought me to this grim wasteland:

“20 MIDNIGHT IS ALSO A RESERVED BANQUET”.

I glanced at my watch. They showed midnight. July twentieth. But it was not Ella.

It all happened here, on this very spot, exactly a month ago. I remembered Ella's wavy hair, her big blue eyes of a northerner with a slanting Asian slit, her thin waist and a small round ass, not the most perfect shape, but famously pulled into old-fashioned student jeans.

That day we were alone in the tourist camp. She asked me to chop wood for an old bathhouse, built by whomever it was near a forest source. Spring beat in the very center of the bath, making the air in it was unusually fresh and sweet. Putting wood in the fire, I imagined how Ella would come in, take off her pink robe, under which nothing would be put on, sit on this mossy, cool bench, put a chest and neck over the warmth of the hearth. Then she will turn her back on the fire and face again, allowing warm jets to touch her gun and soft girl skin. And I scream into her eyes through the smoked bathhouse window. I got up and wiped the glass with a handkerchief. I pushed the bucket under the very window so that, reaching for the water, it would be right in front of me. I wanted to see her.

When she entered the bathhouse, I was already hiding in my shelter, clinging to the window. The girl easily took off her robe. More on it was nothing. Alluring body loomed matt white. She turned to the tub, approached her, standing against the window in all its charms. I felt a languid, painful and sweet convulsion in my body, for a second I caught my breath, my heart often-beating. She tried water with her finger. And then she noticed me. But instead of screaming, she scooped up a handful of warm spring water and splashed herself on her breast. I saw how the silver droplets glittered on her skin, flowed down along the whole girl's body and stopped, hanging with beads at the very bottom of the abdomen, on her gun. She squeezed the legs, and the beads rolled on. The girl, with lowered eyes, opened her legs, dying from desire and embarrassment, slightly touching her body, brushed ticklish droplets on the floor and, with a mischievous smile, looked through the glass straight into my eyes.

The next second I was in the bathhouse.We fell on a wet wooden floor. I dug my lips into her small wet bosom ... She stiffened and, bending toward me, surrendered with concentration and selflessly.

Suddenly a cannon shot hit the door! In the doorway was the local huntsman in love with Ella. Ella slipped out from under me, darted to the exit. The huntsman's lips quivered, fiery-red hair curled to one side. In his hand he clutched an ax. I stood before him, and my own guilt did not give me the will to resist. He could do anything with me. But he did not touch me, only one word broke from his lips bitten to blood - revenge. Throwing it into the corner, he rushed after Ella. "Revenge!" - It came to me again from the door.

That evening Ella left the camp. And later the huntsman disappeared. I did not begin to try, what happened to him. He knew only that he had died under very strange circumstances. I bitterly pursued the thought that I had become the unwitting guilty party to his death. But she crawled into my soul again and again, evoking feelings of shame, remorse, and latent superstitious fear.

Unsatisfied masculine feeling brought my memories back to an abandoned sauna. How many times, choking in a voluptuous dream, I saw a seductive Ella calling at a vat with warm spring water. Every dash of her face, every curve of her body slammed into the memory stick. But damn it! Every time when I tried to touch her, a huntsman appeared. The mysterious istoria of extinction made his image ominous and gloomy so much that, seeing him in a dream, I woke up every time with a cry and then until the very morning I was tortured in bed, wanting to fear falling asleep. I was waiting for his revenge, but was not ready to accept her, because what had begun with Ella did not have time to complete it.

And this note! I found her on the desk in my locked room. How could she get here? This aroused suspicion. No one, except Ella and the keeper, knew about the abandoned bathhouse. Ranger was not in life, I definitely knew that. So Ella herself could write a note? No, something was wrong here.

Before going into this jungle, to the parking lot, left by the camp, I decided several times for myself in no case to do this. But it was enough to relax a little, to give free rein to the imagination, how in front of me arose a strashy, burning memory that tormented me at night, and I realized that I would come here despite all bad forebodings.

Maybe Ella, like me, suffers from MISSING. Maybe it as well as me, attracts to this warm spring water, the sweet smell of ferns and dope, - I told myself, trying to appease the doubts that plagued me.

In the end, I ended up here at the appointed day and hour, exhausted from fear, unsatisfied desire and hope to repeat everything with Ella.

I was expecting anything. I was ready to meet here the missing huntsman, a trap, but not what I saw. Beautiful moon girl pereklaknu what was with me before. I was surprised to realize that I no longer want to see Ella. Her crooked legs, slanting eyes, rough shoulders contrasted sharply with the beautiful forms of the moon beauty. Now, after meeting her, owning Ella would not give me much joy.

I was trembling and numb with delight at the mere thought that now the girl would go back. I could not hope to possess her, I wanted to see her at least once more. But she did not go. Then I took off my shoes and, carefully groping for every so-chock that could treacherously crunch under my feet, went to the bathhouse.

The closer I got to the blackening structure in the bushes, the louder my heart pounded. From the awareness that now I would see a beautiful girl naked again, my throat was drying out. And what if she is not alone, what if I see how a foreign man possesses her in the bath? I clenched my fists so that my nails dug into the palms. From this thought, the blood rushed into the temples. What else could go to the bath nude beauty.

Only after standing for a few minutes I became so calm that I could go further.Being amazed at my serpentine dexterity, I crawled along the wall and found myself in a shelter. The end glowed. ...