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Chapter Three
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"Iwould love the opportunity! Yes, we can definitely accommodate the carnival rides. Our south lot is completely paved over, it's normally used to house farm vehicles, but those can all be taken off-site for the duration of the event." Grace scowled, waving off two of the farmworkers whose conversation around the coffee cart had spilled into her workspace. "Yes, with a south entrance . . . yes! Perfect, that sounds good to me! I look forward to meeting you then!" She huffed in annoyance once she ended the phone call, glaring at the backs of the retreating farmhands.
She'd started the harvest festival the year she began working at Saddlethorne, inviting the community crafters and merchants who populated the weekly Saturday Maker’s Mart to set up booths of their wares on the blacktopped surface of the southernmost lot, hiring a few small food vendors, and that first year had been a great success. The pumpkin patch had been nearly cleaned out, cornstalks and bales of hay were loaded into the trunks of cars and the back of pickup trucks all weekend, fodder for Samhain decorations all around town. The vendors had seemed happy with the turnout, and Grace had invited them all to return again the following year. Since then, the annual fall festival had gotten bigger and bigger, to the point that local merchants and vendors now vied to rent space on every available foot to peddle their wares to the throngs of people who showed up for the haunted corn maze, hayrides, ziplines, and other activities she’d dreamed up. The town’s planning committee had evidently taken notice.
"We have a meeting on the books," she crowed into her walkie talkie, then grinned hugely at the excited whoop from the goblin who ran the market stand. Cal and Caleia instantly began to speak over each other, but a school bus had just pulled in view, coming up the long dirt road, carrying the campers she was prepared to receive.
Grace was glad to have something on which to focus. It had been nearly a week since the night she met her friends for dinner, nearly a week since she'd once again given an X-rated performance for the unseen presence beyond her window. Almost a full week of quiet evenings and empty nights. Despite being certain her voyeur had been coming back previously, they had stayed away since that evening. Even though it was ridiculous and she had vowed to give up the potentially dangerous habit, she couldn't help the way her stomach twisted, as if she had done something wrong.
She'd awoke sometime in the middle of the night, after that last performance, finding herself still laying atop her quilt, legs still slightly spread. Her head had been heavy as she'd slipped beneath her sheet, listening to the thump of the forgotten dildo hitting the floor, then quickly falling back to sleep. For the next two nights, she paid attention to the sounds outside of her house, listening keenly for any hints thattheyhad come back. She had resolved to stay downstairs and keep her clothes on, but there had been no sounds, no hint of anyone or anything in the tree. By the third night, she'd felt befuddled by their continued absence, and by the fourth, a bit put out. It had been risky behavior on her part and she was well rid of the temptation, but that didn't stop her from feeling as though she'd been dumped.Dumb bitch court it is.
Having something to throw herself into at work was a welcome distraction. After all, she reminded herself, the community planning committee was, in the microcosm of this town, a big fucking deal. Being the venue of choice for the official community celebration would be a tremendous coup; planning the celebration would be both time-consuming and all encompassing, and Grace felt like she could use the distraction.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as she did intake for another group of campers, then dealt with a stream of phone calls. The sky was just starting to turn a dusky violet, long fingers of pink stretching to the horizon where the sun puddled to crimson when she began to end her day by powering down the computer and closing up the small office trailer. The outside table would be open for another hour, giving the community's nocturnal customers a chance to make CSA arrangements. She’d just pulled out a chair at the outside table, pausing to gaze at the bucolic sight of the farm at dusk when a long shadow loomed behind her.
"E-excuse me . . . " The voice was low and deep and sent an undulating shiver up her spine before she turned to survey its owner.
It was a mothman, tall and reedy, with long, leanly muscled arms and legs, a solid-looking chest, and a concave stomach. Grace stared transfixed, watching as his long jaw worked, and she was certain if his throat hadn’t been concealed by a thick mantle of fluff that trailed down his neck, she’d be able to see the hard swallow he gave. It was then that she realized she was staring openly.Way to go, real smooth.
"Hi!" she squeaked, attempting to make up for her rudeness with enthusiasm. "How are you this evening? Are you looking to set up a CSA subscription?"
His long, fluffy antennae fluttered a bit before he began to speak.
"Hi . . . um, I-I wanted to—"
The sound of branches snapping under the feet of a worker who was returning from the fields made the low hum of the stranger’s voice break off as his head whipped in the direction of the noise, and she used his momentary distraction to take another look. His wings had raised slightly at the sounds, large and delicate-looking things with a rippled pattern, dotted with large eyes near each wingtip, the same unusual color as the velvet that lightly coated his skin. He seemed to possess a slight iridescence, and she wondered if his color changed with the light. Currently, he was the same shade as the rapidly darkening sky—smokey violet deepening to grey. Grace didn't pretend to be a Cambric Creek expert, and she certainly didn't know everyone in town, but she had never seen this mothman, and she knew without question she would have remembered him.
For starters, he was unclothed, although that wasn't necessarily uncommon. Clothes were a tricky thing in an interspecies community, she had come to learn. The act of wearing clothing was looked at by many as an exclusive affectation of prudish humans and highfalutin elves, while the act of walking around with one’s balls swinging in public was viewed as barbaric by others. Cambric Creek’s current mayor, she was told, had been elected largely on a "freedom of dress" platform, although the basic community guideline seemed to be if one’s genitals were carried on the outside of one’s body, then one should respect thy neighbor and cover said genitalia. She could clearly see he fell into theinniecategory of resident; his abdomen an unbroken line of smooth gray velvet, protruding hip bones, and surprisingly solidly muscled thighs. Whatever genitalia he possessed, it was kept on the inside, meaning clothing was not strictly required. Most of her coworkers and friends fell into theoutiecategory, and seeing someone completely bare was somewhat jarring to Grace, even if it was technically allowed.Probably not for much longer. I hope he owns pants.The election wasn’t until the fall, but it was expected that a new mayor would be soon taking office, signaling an end of pantslessness in Cambric Creek.
She raised a hand in parting to the passing farmhand before turning back to the tall, nervous-seeming moth. Grace remembered how hard it had been being new here — the tight-knit community was extremely friendly, but it was, in fact, tight-knit. She had been lucky, luckier than most humans in town, it seemed. The town she'd grown up in hadn't been mixed species the way Cambric Creek was, but it was not entirely human, and she had gone to school with goblins and trolls, and ogres, had mingled with them at University, and in general, knew how to get along with her mixed species neighbors. From the outside though, she knew from experience that Cambric Creek could seem daunting to a newcomer. This tall stranger had an air of timid skittishness about him that she found sweet, and Grace decided she could be the person who welcomed him into the fold. When his garnet eyes found her once more, she gave him a gentle smile.
"Now," she murmured softly, "what was it you needed tonight?"
His mouth opened and closed several times, with no sound coming out. Her question seemed to have stymied him. She had begun to wonder how long she would be sitting there in the growing darkness as he gaped at her like a choking bullfrog, when he seemed to land on a word.
"B-blackberries."
The deep vibration of his voice made something twist in her stomach and the hairs rise on her neck. The farm had a pick-your-own blackberry field, it was true, but she knew for a fact that the ripest berries had been picked out for the CSA drop, just as they had the week prior. Grace had the strange certainty that blackberries were not what he had come seeking. He’d been casting around, and had grabbed onto the fruit, for whatever reason. She wasn't surewhatthe true answer was, but blackberries, she'd wager, were not actually it. She wasn't sure if he suffered from social anxiety or was perhaps just a cute weirdo, and she had no idea what odd association his mind had made as he mouthed silently at her, but unfortunately, he had chosen the one thing she was certain she couldn't actually provide.
"Do you like blueberries? I know the late blueberries looked really good this morning."
His eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing again as if he had never heard of a blueberry, as if the very concept of produce in general was foreign to him, and she gave a little sigh of exasperation.
"I-I suppose?" he hummed hesitantly.Berry? What’s a berry? What is fruit? Why are we here?"No . . . blackberries?"
He couldn’t stop fidgeting, shuffling his feet in the gravel and wringing the long, spindly fingers that dangled from his hands.Definitely a weirdo. She gave him another smile, not wanting to disappoint him on his first visit to the farm when he was obviously shy.
"Well, we can go check the field, but it might be a few days until they’re really sweet. We had the majority of this early crop go out in orders this week . . . "
She’d bent to retrieve a flashlight from the box under the table as she spoke, and he issued a disappointed chirp at her words. A chirp she recognized immediately. Grace let out a startled yelp, banging her head on the underside of the table, pain reverberating across her skull. She saw stars as she staggered backward, spinning unsteadily to see the mothman, grabbing the side of the table to keep from falling. Her flashlight had rolled several feet away, its beam illuminating the grass at their feet in a way that made her feel as if she were in a horror movie. One she'd seen before.The one about the dumb bitch who masturbated for a freaky stranger, who stalks her and finds her at her job just before he puts her in his trunk.
"It’syou!"
The tall moth recoiled slightly at her words, his antennae flattening against his head, wings raising. It was hardly the picture of intimidation, and she straightened up in response to his panic.Oh, no you don't. Garnet eyes darted around, and she quickly stepped forward before he could make good the escape he was obviously contemplating.
"You —youwere the one outside my window! But . . . why did you come here tonight? Wait, how did you find me?!"Why didn’t you come back?The question was there, hovering on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit how much she’d enjoyed her short-lived career as an amateur exhibitionist, and how put out she’d been when he’d not returned. Gazing up, Grace took in his sharp cheekbones and panicked expression, suddenly remembering that flickering pressure against her most sensitive parts — the most satisfying orgasm she’d ever enjoyed, and the most erotic experience she'd ever had in her life. It was hard to believe thatthishad been her unseen partner in that act, and the very thought made her whimper in mortification.You practically fell over that night and he saw the whole thing.
