Travels of the Mind

2 Forest

The woman stood and smoothed down her green dress, "I won't be a moment."

The man she was with, Benjamin her husband, smiled and watched her walk across the hotel bar. Another pair of eyes watched as well. Harris, settled in an alcove, gin and tonic in front of him, newspaper open, also watched the slim legs beneath the fitted green dress. It was not a light summer cotton dress but more substantial, made of thicker material - velvet. It fitted perfectly, moulding her shape. It looked as if it was almost made to measure - perhaps it was. Somehow it accentuated the sway of her hips as she walked. A string of pearls at her neck. Harris nodded to himself, she looked very fine. After a moment or two he got up and followed her.

Ahead her high heels clattered across the parquet floor of the hotel reception. A query to Reception, "the Ladies?" and then the heels were silent across the carpet. In her mind the thought of how soft the carpet was, how it seemed to muffle the sound of her shoes as if she was walking across soft fallen leaves. In front of her the door to the 'Ladies' wavered and seemed to disappear. She was in a forest, still walking but towards a gap between two trees, the forest floor soft like a carpet, the old fallen leaves lying upon old fallen leaves lying upon the leaf mould. Her steps faltered, but still she walked on between the two trees marvelling how in an instant or two she had travelled from hotel to forest. A little dreamlike. It was lovely, not just the softness of the forest floor and the dappled light but the natural scents and sounds of birdsong.

It was no surprise to turn and see a man following her through the trees. No surprise at all to see the man was Harris. Tall and immaculately dressed, though not really for the woods. A Donegal tweed jacket in a grey herringbone, the flecks of colour showing clearly where the sunlight caught it, blue crisp shirt with pink tie and brown brogue shoes. A spiralled walking stick in his hand.

She had wanted the Ladies but now Harris was there. She needed to wee, but Harris was there.

A stream ran close by, bubbling and tinkling through the wood over rocks and little waterfalls; the sound pleasing, though perhaps less so if on a mission to find the Ladies.

"I was looking for the Ladies."

Harris' gesture was expansive, the forest was all around.

"Yes, a wood or forest and plenty of places to..." she replied not quite crossly, the sound of that stream, that brook, "I need to go!"

"Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,

By paved fountain or by rushy brook,

Or in the beached margent of the sea,

To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind."

"Titania?"

"Indeed."

She could hold out for longer. The matter was not yet desperate. She could wait a bit. She looked around. "You take me to lovely places - wonderful places. Why, how?" She did not expect an answer. She was not disappointed. Harris said nothing. She turned and walked to the stream. Along its rocky banks ferns grew. The tinkling sound was worse close to. It had been the wrong way to turn. She walked back to Harris. "Do we walk?" She frowned, a thought coming to her, "Is this the wood with the hut and the goose fat?" She had not forgotten, not forgotten at all how he had first taken her -- not naturally but unnaturally -- in her bottom. Would he take her today? She kicked off her shoes, the long heels not easy with the leaf mould.

Harris smiled his thin smile. It was neither a yes nor a no. Unhelpful -- of course.

"Shall I take my dress off now?"

Harris shook his head. "When you wish. There is no hurry. All in good time." But he held out his hand to her, and she knew what he wanted. Up inside her dress she lowered her panties and handed them to him. It was, of course, a surrender; a surrender without a fight. An acceptance. Symbolic. Taking away any barrier should he wish... should he wish to do anything with her. She had not forgotten the goose fat. He put them in his pocket.

Of course, it felt good; a sexual feeling to be open and uncovered beneath her dress and she was moistening already. The creeping feeling of arousal she got when with Harris. And he had done nothing. He was just standing there leaning upon his stick. Immaculate and so much a man. She thought Benjamin would like him: perhaps not what he did to her.

She walked, randomly between the trees; there was no path, but the way was easy, no tangle of impenetrable brambles, no low scratching bushes; were the trees beech? She did not know her trees. So delightful, the birdsong and dappled light, the pleasant warmth and the peace. Harris walked behind saying little. That was not unusual. Up a gentle rise and then down the other side and there was the stream again, sparkling and bubbling upon its way. Tinkling indeed.

Such a delightful natural place. She felt as though, really, she should not have clothes on her body. That thought was as likely to have been Harris' as her own. He had said it would be her own choice when, rather than if, she took her clothes off. She would rather like to do it now. The green dress, the colour of fresh spring leaves, up and over her head and then the brassiere releasing her breasts. A naked woman with chestnut hair and a string of pearls. Her knickers already in Harris' pocket.

Not just a naked woman but Harris too. Divesting himself of his fine clothes. He had not undressed on the beach, but now his intention was clear. Pink tie, pink socks and brogues discarded, the shirt, trousers and everything. Naked man and naked woman. It was obvious what would happen, even without the tell-tale indication of an erect penis. It was not yet erect. Harris stood looking at her. Stark naked, attractively naked, penis and balls so very there in his nest of curls -- as Harris leant up his cane. How old was he? Even in his natural state she could not tell.

"Look, I've got to go."

Harris nodded. His infuriating nod, saying nothing. He did not turn his back or anything.

"You men, so much easier for you."

"Naked, I should have thought, no difference."

"It's a bit undignified, squatting."

"Oh, I don't know. Many men would say 'sweet!' Why not stand like a man instead?"

"Oh, I couldn't! I'm not a man."

But she could. Right up against a tree, her wee splashing out against the bark. As she looked back over her shoulder to Harris, she saw he had started to walk towards her and as he began to walk so did his own stream begin. The man was walking and urinating at the same time.

"I couldn't do that!"

But Harris held out his hand and the two of them walked on through the forest still making water, Harris hosing to the front and her stream rushing out between and wetting her thighs. Gushing away. She really had been 'bursting.' She burst into a fit of the giggles. It was such a funny, absurd thing to do.

She was caught between humour and eroticism when Harris' penis, still hosing, began to rise upwards taking its stream with it into the air. In a way even more amusing to have the regular, banal even, act of micturition, connected with the sexual act: but only in a way. The sexual association of erection and spurting, even if it was not semen, hit her. She felt an unexpected rush of sexual desire, a different wetness coming between her legs. She turned suddenly to Harris and threw her arms around his neck pulling herself to him and she felt, as she knew she would, his still running cock warm against her stomach and his urine shooting up hot between her breasts. In a paroxysm of excitement, she pulled herself up, feeling the hot stream now right between her legs, her thighs either side of his. She waited a moment until the stream faltered and then she pushed herself down, impaling herself, not on Benjamin's hard erection, but upon Harris'. Not since the times before when she had met Harris had any other man been in there, apart from her husband, Benjamin, but now she did it freely, opening herself and pushing the male organ into her body. It slid easily in, like a hand into a glove. It was her, not Harris, who had done the deed. She was surprised at herself. But it was done.

Up and down she rode, clasped to him, her arms pulling her so she could feel his length stroking inside her; feel the pull on her clitoris and the exciting tickle of his hair against it, as she came down. He was letting her do it, his arms reaching up to grasp a branch in both hands to steady himself but not holding her under her bottom. All her weight therefore held up by her arms around his neck and the limited purchase from her thighs squeezing his hips. She was thankful for her twice weekly lunchtime exercise class. That had strengthened her. She needed that now.

But it was too much, too much for her arms as he was not helping, and she had to lift herself up and off the penis, release it from her and lower herself to the ground. She stepped back breathing hard and rubbing her aching biceps. Harris slowly lowered his hands from the branch. He looked very manly. Tall and trim, older than her, of course, but certainly handsome. And how could he not look 'manly' with his so male organ standing up, all peeled and very wet from her. She wanted more. On the beach, that beach with the so white pebbles, she had sucked him and she sucked him now. Dropping to her knees upon the leaf mould she leant forward towards the wet 'plum' at the end of his erection and lowered her mouth over it, tasting herself.

The other sexual act, the other major sexual act, the taking of penis into mouth. So natural and such a pleasure for both. Eyes closed she was lost in the erotic feel of his organ big in her mouth; sliding her lips and sucking; should she drink from Harris again?

No, she wanted his penis elsewhere within her body. Slowly she settled backwards onto the forest floor, the leaf mould soft beneath her and slowly parted her legs. An invitation! There was Harris above her, his cock jutting out. "Please," she said. And he obliged, lowering himself down, first to kneel between her knees and then to lay himself along her. His penis slipped easily into her again. Once more the sexual motion but with her body relaxed and accepting: no longer her arm muscles taut with effort or her thighs hard pressed against him but all relaxed as she luxuriated in being taken in the delicious warmth and quiet of the woodland. Harris was slow, gentle and more than effective. She came, a glorious and satisfying orgasm tingling from her sexual centre right out across her body. A woman abandoning herself to carnal pleasure.

Slowly she came back to herself as Harris still moved. The realisation that it was her not him who had done the deed. Thoughts of Benjamin, dear Benjamin in her mind.

"Please, not inside me."

But Harris was moving faster, the energy from his loins pushing the harder against her, the male of the species moving from the pleasant hot and wet caress upon his organ to the full sexual act, the male orgasm and the accompanying ejaculation of seed.

"Please -- outside."

Harris lifted himself up, just like the press up she did in her class; indeed, as she saw the men do who were with her in the class; a fluid motion with rigid and straight back, palms on the ground and the elbows lifting the body upwards. Within their exercise shorts sometimes, just sometimes, she had had thoughts of the men's penises hanging -- naughty thoughts, but did not the men seem to watch her? But with Harris it was not soft, floppy penises and balls hanging there in shorts, rather it was a rigid, excited, so exposed, organ that was lifted up and out of her; released from its confinement in her 'cavern' it sprung upwards and at that moment, as it travelled upwards to slap his stomach, it began to release, spurt upon spurt of male seed, shooting up her body right to her breasts. It was copious and, she was sure, fertile. Had she made a mistake? Would it have been best splashing against and entering her cervix? It was too late now.

She was sticky and perspiring from exertion and, she could so plainly see, from the evidence of Harris' ejaculation all up her body from chestnut hair to her breasts. To her came thoughts of her first sexual experience in that field behind the haystack, far away from anyone but the boy. Could she remember his name? The summer's heat and the silence, just the sound of skylarks rising into the air, up and up. They had been walking for miles and had been looking, though neither had said, for a private and hidden place to smooch and cuddle and... it had been in her mind too, and she was sure the boy -- yes, it was Pete -- had something else very much in mind. When they had kissed on the tarmac road, after he had been so bold as to string daisies around her neck and arranged them over her breasts, she had felt the hardness in his jeans. A hardness she was unused to. She knew what it was -- but did not have such a thing of her own -- well, of course not!

"Have you ever sunbathed naked?" He had asked, behind the haystack. It was an unexpected line. She had rather expected to find a hand creeping under her blouse across her bare stomach before rising and sliding over her brassiere, feeling her budding breasts: but no, this was a more direct approach. She had thought to allow the breast fondling; wanted it indeed, but sunbathing naked?

She had not but was then unsurprised to hear him suggest they try. Alone in the field they could if they wished. Something like, 'just being naked?' she had asked knowing it would not be that at all. And it was not.

The stream beckoned her to wash. So cold yet refreshing. She had giggled up at Harris standing naked on the bank as she had lowered herself into the running water and then gasped as she splashed water across her breasts.

"Naiad," he said, "water spirit."

Free now of stickiness she wandered through the trees ahead of Harris. Nothing but trees. An elven scene of glades and trees, sunlight and shade. Satiated from her recent... 'play' -- was that the rightness of it -- she felt happy just to walk in the warmth and delight of the wood. Had she made a mistake in asking Harris to come out of her? In her mind the thought of babies. She wanted another. Benjamin did not seem to be giving her another, did not seem to be making her pregnant. Might Harris -- even in a dream? Had she wasted a chance?

It was not his nakedness that surprised her, but that he was there at all. She had not encountered anyone but Harris when she had been walking with him before. Yet there in front of her was a young man sitting upon a fallen tree and whittling. The blade of his undoubtedly sharp knife flashing in the sunlight.

It was his ears that made her wonder. They were rather pointed. That he was naked did not terribly surprise her. His white teeth shone in his brown face as he turned to look at her, his eyes twinkling under his dark brow. Boy or man? She did not quite know. Apart from the dark, gypsy curls upon his head he was completely hairless. Between his thighs hung his generative organs, soft and rather large for his body. He had stopped his work and was quite still looking at her.

What he was whittling did not surprise. The wooden representation of the male organ in its aroused state -- a hard cock! He looked up at her and then the curly-haired elfin boy smiled with his eyes like a child, innocent and trusting. She stood still, almost afraid that, should she move, she would frighten this so natural creature away. Gradually, tentatively, he raised and held out the carving and then moved it in his hand, erecting it and his eyes were all of a sudden different; eyes that betrayed knowledge, that seemed to look deeply into her. Slowly he advanced the wooden object, and she knew where it would go. Where a penis is meant to go! She stepped forward, coming closer, still unsure whether a hurried movement might frighten him away.

Her eyes closed as the young man's hand pushed the wooden phallus upwards, the movement slow and purposeful, until it was gone. His fingers did not leave her.

Graceful his fingers as they played upon her; a gentle tapping upon the end of the wooden penis, a tapping that transmitted to her centre; gentle the way he thumbed her clitoris, such pleasure; gentle the song that he sung in a strange tongue.

She was transfixed, her legs would not obey her. She turned to Harris, but he was gone. Her eyes closed as she stood there trembling, knowing she would orgasm again. Her hand reached and found the boy's cock. It was no longer flaccid but big in her hand. As he caressed her and tapped upon the wood, so she stroked, moving his foreskin as she had been taught to do so long ago by her friend, Pete. It was bigger than she was used to, bigger by far than Benjamin's or Harris, her finger and thumb did not meet. The skin was very mobile and generous, easy to move, sliding over the wooden hardness beneath. Her fingers both slid and explored, leaving the head for a while, and lifting and feeling the boy's balls. Goose eggs rather than Plover's? Not that big! But big enough. Such maleness.

She was coming once again, a second time in the forest, the feeling building to a crescendo; a gasp but still she could not move her legs; could not prevent the boy's fingers stimulating her. And in her hand she felt a rushing and knew the lad was spurting his semen out and onto the forest floor. She moved her palm upwards still drawing the skin up and down and felt the hot spurting there, splashing against the soft skin of her hand. Hot male seed.

Had she missed another chance, another opportunity to become with child -- with the curly-haired elfin boy? Boy? He might have been a hundred years old for all she knew. A creature of a mythical forest perhaps? A satyr -- but he did not have a tail. Was his semen potent? It was there in her hand but not where it would count.

For a full minute she stood stock still under the trees; marvelling at the orgasm's intensity. Slowly the gentle stroking of her sex lessened until it was no more, and she released the cock.

Opening her eyes there was the boy as before, whittling a new piece of wood, his generative organs hanging, soft and rather large for his body. She turned, able to move once more. Before her the two trees she recognised and. as she walked back between them, leaving the forest and the elfin boy behind. under her feet the woodland floor became carpet once more. She paused at the translocation. She found it unsettling, however many times it had happened. Her thoughts still of the young man she had met in the forest. But already he seemed a distant memory. For a moment she could not recall the colour of his eyes. Within her hand she felt the warm stickiness fading.

Benjamin looked up. She had said she would only be a moment and, no doubt, to him it had been but a matter of moments: it had not been to her. She walked a little uncomfortably. Within her sex, a wooden carving and there were no panties to hold it there, she was sure; just her perineal muscles. She clasped it tightly. It would not do for it to fall and clatter on the hard floor. Another souvenir from Harris.