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fall, I pushed the vines aside with my hand, got pricked by several thorns, and peered through the greenery.
    On the other side of the dead fall was a small hollow bordered on all four sides by thick trees. The clearing was carpeted with long blades of lush, green grass, and a small stream trickled through its center. The sound of the flowing water was soothing. The sun shone brightly overhead, and after the darkness of the forest the dazzling brilliance blinded me for a moment. When my eyesight returned, I stared in disbelief.
    Shelly Carpenter knelt in the middle of the hollow, completely naked. Her clothes and iPod were strewn about the grass. The sun flashed off her alabaster skin. Her back was to me, and I could see the freckles on her shoulders, and a tiny butterfly tattoo in the small of her back.
    Grinning, I thought, Never knew she had that .
    Big Steve whined, low and mournful—and urgent, but I barely heard him. My attention was focused on Shelly, and the thing she knelt in front of.
    It was a stone statue carved in the image of a bearded man. At least, that was what I thought at first, but then I saw that it wasn’t human. It was a statue of a satyr, the half man, half goat of Greek mythology. I was close enough to see the blob of bird shit on the stone shoulder, and a vine entwined around its waist. The details were amazingly lifelike. Horns jutted from his head, and his ears were those of a goat. He had a large, hooked nose, and his body was covered with thick, curly hair. One of his hands clutched a seven-reed shepherd’s pipe to his lips, and the other was positioned between his legs. The lower half matched his ears—the legs of a goat, and between those frozen legs, a monstrous phallus, easily ten inches in length and thick as a flashlight. Whoever had carved the statue had made the organ obscenely erect. It would have been funny if not for the lascivious attention Shelly was paying to it.
    Her lips closed around the stone penis, and her head bobbed up and down. She moaned again, pulled away, and looked lovingly up into the satyr’s eyes. The statue stared back down at her, unmoving. Shelly’s expression was dazed, her eyes glassy. Giggling, she took the carved member in her mouth again.
    “Holy shit,” I whispered, reaching out to scratch Big Steve’s ears. I’d had no idea my neighbor was so kinky. Even worse, I couldn’t believe how turned on the scene made me. I’d never been interested in voyeurism, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I kept watching, barely aware that I was licking my lips.
    Big Steve stiffened beneath my fingers, and growled, loud and menacing. I froze, but if Shelly heard him she didn’t show it. I tried to quiet him, but his growls grew louder.
    Then the statue blinked.
    I jumped up from my crouch, and the statue blinked again. Its head swiveled toward me, while Shelly continued with her blow job. The satyr’s cold eyes stared directly at our hiding place. Color flowed across its skin. The stone hair turned brown, ruffling in the breeze. The carven leg muscles flexed, and the penis plopped out of Shelly’s mouth.
    “Holy shit,” I said again. There wasn’t much else to say. I just stood there gaping. It wasn’t in disbelief now, because as impossible as it seemed, it really was happening right in front of me. The statue was coming to life. Not moving like a statue in an old Ray Harryhausen movie, but actually changing from stone into flesh and fur.
    Shelly began to work harder.
    Big Steve barked, but Shelly ignored him. She wrapped her fingers around the satyr’s thick cock and stroked it rapidly. Then her mouth closed over it again. Her cheeks stretched to accommodate the organ, and she made a grunting noise in the back of her throat.
    “Shelly,” I called. “What are you—”
    The satyr opened its mouth and laughed. Its voice was deep and guttural, and the sound vibrated through me. Slowly the creature raised a hand and pointed at us. Then it brought the