Into the Bush

In Parts One, Two and Three, I introduce Paula to my farm by taking her on a walk, aiming to show her the patch of bush on it. We encounter the pond, a number of small meadows, the bush track skirting the stream, and then the steep narrow zigzag track up the hill. Handing me her skirt, exposing her pantied butt, Paula accompanies me into the Bush, We scramble down a steep slope into a bowl containing a scattering of trees.

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I lead you further into the Bush bowl, in places having to push through head-high growth and climb over large-bodied vines. I seek the female spirit of the bush. A place where power is welcomed and drawn in. A centre of warmth, a radiance of life-enhancing energy.

I feel it near. I lead you to it.

I am drawn to a tree that at casual glance is unremarkable. But then I lead you around it to show you how it stands, legs apart, proud of its femaleness. It is naked. It stands deep in mother earth but its vagina is free and open to the air, the breeze, the mist.

I turn to you. You understand without me having to say anything, because you feel it too. You take your panties off and give them to me. I lay them, with your skirt, alongside the tree of the female spirit.

I then reach over with both hands and place them between your legs. You spread them wide to allow both hands to cup your cuntal mound. I feel its heat and I feel its pulse, and I feel a stream of sweet sticky moistness enter my hands and trickle between my fingers.

I close my eyes and feel immersed in profound femaleness. It feels like a long-lost home, a refuge, a shelter, a long-sought sanctuary. With my eyes still closed, and in the grip of a primal urge, I move my hands slightly around and press the tips of my fingers in between your labia. I push in along the length of them, feeling the smoothness and the pulsing heat and the lubrication of your juices still slowly streaming out of you.

Then I advance both of my forefingers towards the mouth of your vagina. Through half-opened eyes I see where the tree's two legs meet at intimate junction, and I push my two fingers into your cuntal opening, stretching you, invading you, taking you, owning you. I hear you moan and feel you bear down. With both fingers deep in you, I pull them apart, stretching you further, preparing you to receive my cock.

But that will come later.

I extract my hands from you and lick them and smell them and savour them. I know then that next I need to find the wild natural maleness in this grove.

I strip off my shirt and immediately my nipples respond to the femaleness surrounding me, concentrated in the female tree, but somehow heightened and essentialised in you, you who are standing, knees still slightly bent from my insertions, naked from the waist down, your heat emanating from your centre, radiating into the front of my body. I wipe my fingers over my chest, a mixture of your juices and my saliva being left on me.

I turn around, wondering in which direction to go, to find the male centre of the Bush. I am unsure. I need to free myself of the encumbrance of all my clothing. Under your gaze, but unaware of it, I remove my boots and socks and jeans and underwear. I find relief at the freedom of nakedness. I welcome the coolness of the air on all parts of me as they slowly become exposed and free.

You, in response, eyes fixed on my cock and always returning to it whenever possible - you remove your tee shirt and bra until you too are utterly naked. It seems fitting, in such a setting.

Now I am able to feel the atmosphere more keenly. But I am overwhelmed by femaleness - the tree, you, the spirit. I turn to a massive gnarled tree nearby. I lay hands on the tree. I listen to the sounds around me. I hear the far-off Manuka stream and the waters of the spring making their way across the Bush Track. I hear bird-song high up in the bright air at canopy level. I hear your breathing.

I focus on the tree. Through my hands I imagine I can hear the far-off growing tips stretching up to the sunlight. The movement of branches in the gentle breeze. The grubs chewing underneath the bark. The sap moving nutrients from the subsoil. And the dim echo of shared communication with a tree of power. A tree of masculine power. Off to my right.

I stand and turn and take your face in my hands. You are glowing. I cannot speak. I lick your face. All over. I turn and take up my discarded clothing and set off to seek out male spirit of power. You follow. I know you will.