Travels of the Mind

10. The Greenwood Tree

So good to be on holiday, free of work for a week, free to be just with Maisie and Benjamin. A cottage taken for the week, a lovely cottage, all olde worldly and quaint. She had woken early on the fourth morning, really early before light and lain in the darkness beside Benjamin. Through the open window she could hear an owl hooting, its night of hunting soon over. Just the occasional tweet, not yet a song coming, as the darkness lessened. Sleepy birds bringing their trembling warning, soon it will be daylight. Creeping from her bed she stepped out into the early dawn sunshine, dew on the grass. The idea of a walk alone catching her imagination and mind, to be made before anyone was up, Maisie or Benjamin. There was silence from the cottage behind her. Just herself and her thoughts and the first hints of the dawn chorus.

Plenty of walks from the cottage out into the fields or the woods. She chose the latter taking a path Maisie, Benjamin and she had already taken, winding through the trees. All so pretty and fresh, the beautiful greens of the leaves upon the trees, the grass and the moss starting to show with the gathering light.

The path crossed a little stream by a footbridge. She looked down at the fish in the water, all so crystal clear, the rocks and the pebbles. On she went. The path forked, should she go left or right?

She chose left, not the way Maisie, Benjamin and she had gone.

A so pretty little clearing, trees all around, the grass so wet with the morning dew. She kicked off her shoes to feel the dew wet beneath her feet. It felt good, a oneness with the natural world, walking barefoot in the dew across the grass. She knelt, feeling the wet grass on her bare knees beneath her dress. Really, she should wash her face in the morning dew. Why not? And why not go further and bathe in the morning dew. She knew it was an old custom to bathe one's face in the morning dew on May Day. Was it perhaps, once, even more than that? The maidens of the village rising early to climb to the top of a hill to bathe naked in the warm rays of the newly rising sun, to roll in the grass for the morning dew to cover their naked skin, wet their faces, wet their hair -- both on their head and on their virgin mounds.

Perhaps good for their skin, the dew keeping it all smooth and supple, the dew bestowing health and vitality. Might it also have sexually excited the girls, their own 'dew' seeping out to wet their nether hair the more? A pretty thought.

She pulled off her dress, she had come out with nothing beneath and without the discarded dress, hung on a branch, she was completely -- and rather excitingly -- naked. This was just not something she did. Something perhaps she might have done with Benjamin had Maisie not been with them. Certainly, when courting, they had gone together on country walks and had rolled naked together tucked behind a hedge or at the corner of a field, but they had not walked naked together in the morning dew. She rolled on the grass, round and round like Maisie might do on the lawn at home in the summertime but not when the grass was wet. She stretched her arms above her and rolled, getting so wet with the morning dew.

So good to walk a little way like that, not a stitch on. Naked and wet -- not 'wet' in that sense but wet all over. The rays of the sun, bathing her and starting to dry her. Perhaps, and that was tempting, she might take a little personal time to herself, to be very personal between her legs. She could feel the temptation growing, her pussy getting all tingly and wet thinking of doing that, or maybe something with Benjamin or...

Harris. Yes, Harris. How easily that man slipped into her thoughts. Would she like to be whisked off by him to some sexual experience, just with him or maybe more men? So easy to imagine all sorts of things happening in the forest. Had she not done things in woods before, or perhaps she had not. It could not have been real, walking into that wood from that hotel bar. That curly haired elfin boy with his so large nut-brown cock -- the one she had made come all over her fingers. Such an organ! Her fingers stole to her mound, rubbing the little slit between the curls. "Mmmm, cock -- nut-brown cock." She said it out loud. Naughty words. But nothing amiss saying naughty words out loud when alone.

At the edge of the glade, she saw plants with large, arrow-shaped, bright green leaves. She recognised them as Cuckoo Pint -- Lords and Ladies -- so recognisable by their hooded flower structures. Wild Arum. The yellow-green spathe with its purple streaks and splotches within its purple rim, partially wrapping around the short, club-shaped spadix or spike, some turning from yellow to purple-brown. In the autumn there would be lipstick-red berries to attract songbirds, but it was too early for berries. Poisonous to people, certainly, but so suggestive as the name 'Lords and Ladies' hinted. And as for 'pint' -- surely the cuckoo's pintle or penis! The vulvic spathe, hooded and so enticing in its curvaceous feminine shape, wrapping a little around the phallic spadix, all upright and penis like. A mere plant, but the sexual connotations catching at her mind.

It was not movement. It was not that which caught her eye beyond the Cuckoo Pint and into the trees. The human eye so good at discerning patterns and differences, our brains able to process and interpret complex visual information in ways that are unique to man. She saw the shape, the difference from the oak trees around, despite the leaves. Yes, despite the leaves, she saw the man standing so still and watching. Not Harris, no; quite, quite different. A naked man but with his skin having a greenish tinge, his beard a mass of twisting oak leaves, indeed his hair much the same; oak leaves and stems twisting around his features, almost appearing to come from his mouth. His eyes looking at her.

For a few moments she froze just staring as he stared back unmoving. Her eyes taking in more and more of him. His hazel eyes, his height and clear strength, his nakedness, no more than her own. Delicate young oak leaves forming his pubic hair and from that sprung up a strong looking branch -- his erect penis. He peered out at her from amongst the trees, dappled light upon him from the early sun. She out in the open glade, dew wet and shining in the sun's bathing rays.

A sudden feeling that she was even less alone. Breaking her shared stare with the green tinged man she turned. Into the clearing coming not one, not two, but many... not people -- not quite. Beings like the curly-haired elfin boy she had met before. The pointed ears, the fine features seemed other-worldly. And not just boys but girls too, long haired, perhaps inevitably with flowers in their locks, such graceful bodies, long legged and small breasted. All naked, all beautifully naked there in the early dawn. What had she stumbled across? Where was Harris? It had to be his doing.

What were they here for? To dance? To dance in the early morning dew rather than in the moonlight. Or perhaps both.

Without music, the folk began to dance, beautiful bodies all in time with each other. Limbs moving, impossible pirouettes upon the grass so delicate and perfect, leaps and bounds. Solo dances yet together before they joined hands, boy to boy, girl to girl, two circles circling not within each other or separate but passing through the other flawlessly. Remarkable to watch. She could not pull herself away, go back to her dress and leave. She had to watch.

The perfect dances all without music, just birdsong. Beautiful, so lithe, bodies, the girls' breasts, certainly rounded and feminine but barely moving being so petite. But the young men's penises and balls. They moved. Did they move! In all directions -- up, down, side to side, round and round as the young men's bodies moved in their dance. Somewhat mesmerising to a woman aroused and wishing to be with child. So many -- lovely -- male procreative organs; would they stiffen and fill; become capable of passing their so male fluid into her. But did she want an elfin child, a pretty nut brown curly-haired elfin boy? Were they perhaps, as she had read, or so she thought, only fertile in the moonlight? An elf for fun and pleasure in the morning, but at night...

Her concentration so on the almost capers of the naked fold, she missed the stepping out into the clearing of the green man. They did not. As suddenly as they had started their dances, they stopped. Their eyes, she realised, not upon her but behind her. She turned and there he was, fully out in the early sun. Closer, his beard was even more obviously truly oak leaves, and there were indeed tendrils creeping from the sides of his now smiling mouth. She could see other tendrils seeking to grow out from places on his body, soft tendrils like oak trees new growing from acorns in the soil. His penis, though, for all its craggy, bark like surface was free of leaves and growing stems. Leaves, though, encircled it -- a bed of oak leaves out of which rose his 'branch'. At its end, as a finial, his rounded knob, his glans penis, but so like a very large acorn, a brilliant green, though she had the sure thought that as autumn came on it would ripen to a golden brown. His foreskin all peeled back so like the cup of an acorn. It was a magnificent penis. She had no problem describing it as such, though some of her friends might stumble at the idea of being able to add such an adjective to a man's penis, dick or cock with all its implications of male dominance and manifest masculinity.

She felt her knees weakening, and knew she was going to kneel and she knew why. How could she not kneel before this strange green man, so clearly an embodiment of the natural world, the power of green life, an emblem, surely. of the birth-death-rebirth cycle of the natural year? Down she went, her eyes passing from looking at his beard and smiling mouth, down to his chest, not hairy but foliate, such fresh young oak leaves gathered between his two dark green nipples, down and down so his acorn was there before her, his oaken penis and, below, his two mighty testes hanging in their sack, each looking like that rather marvellous Mexican fruit, the avocado. She did not know it then, but the name for that fruit is derived from the Nahuatl "ahuacatl", which does, indeed, mean testicle. So valid as a simile, most especially with those before her so reminiscent in shape, texture, size and certainly colour -- dark, dark green.

She knew she had to, but nonetheless could not help herself. Her mouth opened. Above her the green man watching and still. Wide open, she moved her head forward and enveloped the acorn.

She had done that to Benjamin, men before him, Harris -- yes, Harris, where was he? An act she was very used to. Such a natural act. The penis in her mouth not hard like wood would be, not like fine oaken wood carved into a cock shaped dildo, or the hardness that living wood would possess if she was, perhaps, to have rubbed herself sinuously against an oak sapling in the forest or 'tree-hugged' a mature tree. Perhaps not too mature, not an oak with impressive and aged girth, but one she could put her arms right around and hug to her. Hug as she rubbed her naked, mossy sex against its smooth bark -- its smooth bark or 'his' smooth bark.

Better thinking of the tree as male, rubbing her pussy against 'his' hard, masculine strength; swollen nipples and breasts pressed hard against his bark and rubbing. Could she orgasm like that? Perhaps if her thoughts were strong enough. And what would they be, what would she imagine? Being nicely fucked probably. Maybe her legs spread and a nice young man down there licking and licking. She did like that, liked to be made to come like that -- forced indeed. Now that was a fantasy she had, young men (plural) holding her down and forcing her orally into orgasm. And only then fucking her.

She stroked with her mouth, drawing her lips back and forth over the acorn head, feeling its shape, feeling the moving skin. Not hard like wood, but soft, so soft, yet with the hardness within. Again, the thought whether as the seasons moved through summer to autumn it would all rather harden, not as hard as wood but leathery -- a stout, leathered truncheon turning to brown.

The organ slipping further and further into her mouth as she slowly bobbed her head, her nimble tongue mapping its shape, exploring, running around the swollen head. Below her, her sex was tingling and wet. Did she dare touch with her fingers, with all the folk around and able to see. She rather expected the green man to reach with his fingers, curl them and push one or two into her. Is that not what men did? Certainly, in her experience. Men so fascinated by the difference in their bodies, delighting in the hot wet passage; so clear men were rather fixated on getting their cocks in there. How many times a day were they meant to think of sex? But had she not also been fascinated by the differences between their bodies and hers? Thinking back, had not her bedtime fantasies been so much about that when young? Lovely little thoughts about romance but had not that -- sex and penises, penetration and thrusting -- increasingly crept in?

And what of her breasts, her hard nipples, why was this green man not touching and kneading them? He seemed so passive, doing nothing, letting her work his cock with her mouth. Active in the sense he was clearly aroused, being so firmly erect, but all he had done was step into the glade. And she had not seen that movement. More like a statue or carving than a real man. Or was it that she had to make this obeisance to what was clearly some embodiment of nature?

Passive until, all of a moment, active in one particular sense. His limbs did not move, he did not speak but in her mouth it all suddenly happened. As men do, so did he; hot spurting in her mouth; forceful, she could feel the power of the jet first spurt and then jets; hot 'spunk' just coming into her mouth with a vegetative taste, not perhaps like the syrup of the Maple tree but a little sweet and very 'green' tasting; so much of it coming, pouring out into her mouth, cascading down her throat as she swallowed almost greedily.

Rising, she turned to look at the folk, to see if they had resumed their dance. They had not moved; were as they had stopped, as if frozen in time rather than playing 'grandmother's footsteps'. Clear they had not been moving whilst her back was turned. But there was a change, a rather exciting change to an aroused woman. All the young men's penises were now erect, all standing up and pointing skyward. Some curving, some arrow straight but all stiff and potent. Very much before them, upright before the male folk.

The dance began again, and she was drawn into the dance. So lucky she has gone to those dance classes all those years ago, could, somewhat, join naturally into their whirls and capers, circles and turns. Round and round, and from hand to hand. Laughter and merriment all around. Soon the girls were being lifted and dropped, springing into the air and brought down again.

A pause, and still she saw the young men were tumescent, their nut-brown penises no less hard. Nor was the green man's cock any less stiff than when she had fellated it to a conclusion, some minutes before. Indeed, as far as she could judge, as she had been whirled around, there had been not the slightest indication of post ejaculatory softening. His penis so like the fresh young green shoots pushing up from the earth -- was his ever-erection symbolic of the power and persistence of nature's return in the spring?

The revels recommenced, but this time the lifting and dropping of the girls took on a different tone, up went the first girl to first young man to be lifted but then down she came, right on the young man's erection, smooth and balletic in the movement and then up and on to the next young man and down onto his cock. Not a fast movement but all so graceful, as girl after girl skipped up to join the line and be whisked up and down onto the first young man's erection and then up and on to the second and third, and on. Such grace, such natural movement.

Surely, she could not; not join in to this so peculiar dance -- or was it an orgy? But she could -- had no option. Brown feminine hands pushing her forward, pushing her into line for her turn to leap and...

Her pussy had been wanting it, wanting to be filled with cock but she had been thinking just the one, not so many beautiful and stiff organs going into her. She came strongly on the second time around, shuddering as she leapt from cock to cock. Never had she come on the move like that, not just on the move, but moving and dancing.

And what of the other girls? She could see it happening to them in their faces, but they did not stop their dance, not for a moment. And what of the young men? She both saw and felt the spurting of their penises, flashes of orange light as the rising sun caught the flying, fountaining droplets before another girl's smooth thighs and open legs engulfed the ejaculating penis. Yet they too, the penises, like the green man, did not soften and fall. Such spirited male energy in their dance.

Sexual, so sexual, so energetic, so tiring! And all rather warm. The sun rose higher and with it a strengthening of its rays all there in the clearing. The elfin folk were perhaps creatures of moonlight or just the early morn. A pause and then she saw it happen. The ending of the dance. Elfin penises so upright, so strong, just melting like ice in the warm sun, like ice-cream on cones on a summer's day, perhaps; the elfin lasses laughing at the sight, at the look of sadness on the young men's faces, before they too began to melt along with the young elfin men, giggling away to just dampness on the grass.

All gone, leaving the fresh green grass and steaming, rising dew.

The green man still there, still watching. He opened his arms to her, and she came to him to be lifted up and lowered onto his 'acorn', the upright 'glans' of his penis; bright, fresh and green. It felt larger than the curly haired elfin boys; the man's green shoot growing up into her. She could feel his vigorous masculine energy, mysterious yet familiar at the same time. His strong arms wrapped around her, feeling like the boughs of a tree, strong and able to withstand the buffeting of storms, lifting her up and down, the thick organ stroking her, all slippery and slick with her and the elfin boys' 'dew'. Her extended clit and pebble hard nipples being teased and caressed by the softest of young oak leaves at the man's chest and around his penis. So gentle, so lovely, so exquisitely arousing. She did not think she could, realistically, orgasm again yet knew she would.

So animalistic, so natural, so primordial -- just a fuck. A fuck with a spirit of nature, an embodiment of nature. She could not imagine elfin babies or green babies would come of the union. Though, was she being prepared? Her womb, like a seed bed in the garden, being tilled and prepared to a fine tilth ready for the planting of seeds? The green penis within her was certainly forking her over, digging deep -- yes double digging - raking her over.

She came with him, felt the release both of her own body and his. That which had been in her mouth now came forcibly up her vagina, splashing powerfully over her cervix. Making it fertile perhaps, renewing it, and her womb beyond.

Lifted up and then let down to the ground, there was no let-up in the magnificent so male organ before her. She knew she should and did. She bowed her head down and kissed the leaking slit. tasting both herself and, again, the sweet, green, taste of the man's 'dew'. Her mouth absorbed the acorn shape one last time and then it was withdrawn from her. and the green man turned and walked slowly back into the trees.