Seeing the Forest for the Trees

Opening the door, I was introduced to the fresh air of another Saturday morning in January. It was uncharacteristically warmer than years past as the temperature was meandering around the 40-degree mark even with an overcast sky and the chance of rain. I hopped into my Hyundai and turned on the heat before starting on my way to the county park.

A leisurely twenty-minute drive on the backroads of my town served as the segue to what was shaping up to be a good morning. Stoplights were green, and the streets were nearly empty since sleeping in was the standard for most people after a week of work. In fact, the highest concentration of cars I could recall were wrapped around the drive-thru of a Chic-fil-A. It was no surprise to me since I was guilty of being a repeat customer. When Chick-N-Minis are in my mouth, I'm happy.

Upon reaching the entry gate of the park, the gray-bearded attendant in the admission booth gave me a hearty wave and a smile as he'd always done before. I happily returned the sentiment but couldn't help to smugly relish my devious intentions now that I was back inside. For about a month, I'd engaged in a weekly ritual of pleasuring myself in the woods of the park. The low temperatures were very adept at keeping the activity of park patrons and woodland creatures to a minimum. Also, the park's immense size of 1,500 acres made it very easy to leave the paved walking trails unnoticed and venture deeper into the surrounding woods.

Parking in a small lot at the base of a hill, I took note of the number of joggers and dog walkers. It was early and only the most dedicated people would be out at this time in such weather. Attendance was sparse at best, which was just the way I liked it. Dressed in sweatpants and a snug hoodie, I made my way down the walking trail.

This time would be different; previous park visits ended with me reaching a satisfying climax in the same secluded glade. However, with so much forest to choose from, I thought mixing it up with a new spot might add a little jolt of variety to things. Selecting another out-of-the-way location was all about visibility; if I could see a spot from the trail, so could someone else. It was imperative to seek things like elevation changes and underbrush to obscure the vision of anyone walking by.

After about a half-hour, I felt I'd found the perfect patch of secrecy. With nobody around, I quickly left the trail and made my way uphill, being mindful not to noisily snap any of the fallen limbs and sticks on the ground. Behind a thicket of Elaeagnus shrubs and fallen logs, was a clearing in the woods about eighty yards away that appeared to be completely immune to any potentially prying eyes.

Approving the new location, I pulled my penis from my sweatpants and began stroking it in the chilled air. For years, I'd masturbated inside, usually in front of a computer screen displaying some kind of hentai. But being outside in nature without the visual aid of pornography brought even more of a rush. Like the last few weeks, I centered my mind on lesbian cunnilingus to build up my sexual momentum so I could eventually spray a load onto the side of a conveniently placed poplar tree.

Yet, at that moment, I inexplicably yearned for something else. I wanted a more encompassing feeling of the act I'd come out to perform in the elements. I paused and thought for a few moments about what could make this even more intimate while at the same provide an even greater sensation. With such a shroud of vegetation around me, the answer was fairly simple; I wanted to masturbate in the nude. The idea was spontaneous and unconventional, which was exactly what I was after. But immediately I began mentally listing reasons to talk myself out of it. Chief among them was the possibility of literally being caught with my pants down.

As much as I wanted to appeal to my sense of logic, an aura of curiosity gripped my brain and imposed its will. Adding to my capitulation was a nearby six-foot tall gum tree sapling that was suggestively volunteering to be a rudimentary clothing rack. Persuaded, I kicked my sneakers off, followed by my gloves, socks, sweatpants and underwear. The last things to go were my toboggan, my hoodie, and the t-shirt underneath. And just like that, I was completely naked in the woods of a county park in January.

Initially, and understandably, my body wasn't receptive to the ambient temperature. But after awhile, I grew slightly accustomed to it. To help me cope, I thought about those people who jump into frozen lakes in Canada. If they can swim in near-Arctic water that needs its surface broken by a pickaxe, I can stand naked in 40 degrees on land. Surely enough, I acclimated to the conditions, and it was surprisingly refreshing. It felt as if every inch of my body was breathing freely while the surrounding air consoled it. I was slowly becoming enrapt with my own nakedness as it brought about a new kind of liveliness in which I'd never partaken.

Before I could immerse myself further, the voices of people met my ears. Two men were walking and chatting it up on a separate gravel road further away from the paved trail. It was a crucial oversight on my part because from their position, if they were stop and peer through the bare trees, they'd probably catch a glimpse of my bare ass. Petrified at the idea of being caught nude in a park, I went perfectly still. Any motion I might've made could've given me away, and I dared not take the chance of trying to scurry out sight since the dried leaves on the forest floor would noisily betray my intentions.

I watched them in my frozen stance for what seemed like an eternity, desperately hoping that they wouldn't notice my bare figure among the surroundings. One of them looked up in my direction, causing my heart to skip beats, but he instantly turned his attention back to the discussion he was having with the other man. They eventually walked out of view, resulting in a sigh of relief on my part. Between the considerable distance, some low-hanging limbs, and the melanin of my skin melding with the landscape, I was able to remain hidden in plain sight.

As quietly as I could, I moved further behind more trees and brush with the intention of throwing my clothes back on and getting out of Dodge. But again, I paused. After avoiding what could've been abject humiliation and a possible misdemeanor, I was reluctant to let go of the comfort I had with my body being out in the open and away from others. It was mine to enjoy, and suddenly I became strongly salacious as a wave of lust rushed over me. I closed my eyes and gingerly ran my fingertips over my body. From my neck to my shoulders, chest, stomach, and buttocks, I teased myself with the sensation of touch.

By the time I'd reached my penis, it was already fiercely erect. I took my middle fingertip and massaged the head of my shaft in a slow, circular motion. The sensitivity was highly potent as a crystalline globe of pre-cum slowly, but eventually emerged from my phallus. At this point, I'd reached such a high level of self-reverence that I was honored to accept the gift that I'd offered myself. I wrapped the excretion around my fingertip and raised it to my eager tongue. My tastebuds dutifully sent to my brain what they'd just encountered; I cherished it.

Seemingly energized by the consumption of my own fluid, I steadily stroked myself as a gentle wind briefly rustled the leaves around me. The more I embraced what I was at that moment, the faster my motions became. Of all the times I'd masturbated in my life, none of them possessed the devotion or spiritual affirmation as this instance did. I didn't need the thought of lesbians to prime me; my naked body was supremely capable of inciting me to new lascivious heights. There was nobody else to foster, no video files to play, no images to download, and no magazine pages to fold back. I was the object of my own desires.

I straddled a moss-covered log as I squatted over it. I was close to concluding this tryst with myself as I began applying more pressure to my strokes which triggered an increase in depth and speed to my breathing. It was time; muscles within my groin contorted and flexed before emphatically expelling the contents inside. The pleasure was so immense that it superseded any other indelible climaxes I had in memory. Every nerve at the end of my urethra felt as if they'd registered every molecule of ejaculate that enthusiastically coursed through it. The ejection was so pronounced that I could hear the largest drops impacting the log underneath me. While chilly, the air was stagnant enough for my nose to catch a brief, gratifying trace of what I'd discharged in the forest. My journey was complete.

Now emptied of its contents, my erect penis gradually softened as it returned to a flaccid state. I stood up and looked down at the vibrant, milky-white puddle of viscous semen atop the lush green moss that collected on the fallen trunk of a cedar tree. The contrast was aesthetically artistic. Even as the euphoric extasy began to wane, I couldn't comprehend just how thoroughly overwhelmed I'd been in this experience. I'd sexually stimulated myself across all five senses in the woods; it was fantastic.

I slowly put my clothes back on, stealthily returned to the walking trail, and took it back to the parking lot. As I drove to the park exit, I passed a smattering of people busy with their own activities. Dogs were being walked, fitness watches were being checked, and strolls were being taken. I wondered if any of them would leave the park as fulfilled as I would. Passing through the gate, I realized it didn't matter. The saying, 'To each their own,' popped into my head. My own was me, and I was eager at the prospect of returning to myself the following Saturday.