Island In The Barley Ch 01

It was the third time she had dreamt of the copse, the wood, the cluster of trees in the middle of the open field.

Sasha sat up in bed and drew the covers around her. It was a very odd dream. Why would she go into a copse and then want to take all her clothes off? Why would she want to step into the shade of the trees leaving her clothes at the border between the sunshine and the gloom? She had not yet stepped far enough into the trees before waking to find an answer. Waking, though, with a quite intense longing between her legs and a wetness running down her thighs. Each time she had woken she had felt that way.

Sasha got out of bed.

In the mirror she looked at herself. What a funny round face she had, she knew it, but it was not an unpleasing face and it seemed to make people laugh; she smiled at her reflection and it smiled back showing her little white teeth. Sasha glanced downwards at the breasts, as round as her face with the nipples now hard, pointed and sensitive. She clasped them in her hands and moved them, the touch felt good and she watched her hands playing with her breasts as if she was watching some other girl. Her tummy was flat and below it the vee of ruddy gold hair, rather darker in colour than the rich golden red hair hanging down around her shoulders. Sasha parted her legs a little and looked at the hint of pink lips just showing. A hand moved, a hand obscured her fur and a finger touched. She watched fingers stirring and disappearing a little. It was still rather like watching another girl but the feeling, the sensation was very clearly her own. What would it be like watching another girl... or boy?

The thought took her back to bed, back to intimacy with herself, back to wet hands, heat and the scent of her arousal under the bedclothes. Her dream had started it: her fingers finished it.

It is one thing to have a recurring dream and become familiar with it. We all have them. They can come to us year on year, stretching back into childhood, something familiar, often strange and not quite normal but a dream we recognise, often know it as the dream and wake ourselves from it: it is quite another thing to walk in reality into the dream, to be at one moment in the normal everyday world and the next to recognise the setting or sense of that dream in the now. This, though, was what came to Sasha when visiting friends and going with them for an afternoon walk in the country. It was not some great expedition, a hike, but a gentle stroll down footpaths, across streams and on green roads. Of a moment Sasha stopped on a footpath, staring across a field of green barley, barley gently moving in the breeze, at a copse right in the centre of this field. Not just any copse but the copse, the wood, the cluster of trees from her dream. It was there before her—real and substantial. She wanted to go to it but the copse was not something she could reach as the wood was cut off from the footpath by the fresh growing barley. It would not do to trample the farmer's field.

"What are you looking at, Sasha?"

"The trees, the copse... nothing really." She tried to sound unconcerned but her whole appearance, her stance, showed otherwise.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Bit too sunny for that!"

Sasha wasn't saying more. It was most peculiar though. It was annoying not to be able to walk over and look at the trees, what did they hide—anything? Why did it look like her dream? She hadn't been to the place, the footpath, before. Was it just co-incidence? But it looked too much the same—no, it was the same.

That night, in her friends' house the dream came again. For the fourth time she found herself by the stand of trees; just outside and trying to look in. Standing close to them with the barley moving around her in the slight breeze, like waves across the land, touching her bare legs; the breeze cooling on a hot day. Sasha's hand touched the barley ears, the seeds were swelling, green and new, her fingers feeling the long awns. Skylarks soared behind her rising into the blue, blue sky. Why was she here?

The pull of the trees seemed strong in the dream, Sasha felt she could not stay in the sunshine, in the ripening barley, but needed to be under the cover of the trees. It was cooler there, out of the full sun and the dappled sun would not burn her bare flesh. She knew the drill by now. The pink gingham dress slipped from her shoulders to fall around her feet and it was but the work of moments to be free of her shoes and underclothes. Even at the very edge of the wood the feeling was starting, a tingling feeling between her legs, The ground felt soft under her toes as she stepped forward determined to get further into the wood this time. Without a path Sasha would have expected branches and undergrowth to be in her way and perhaps it was just the dream but whilst the trees grew close together she had no difficulty moving forward into the wood. It was warm and not at all gloomy; the trees were young and the canopy not thick, allowing sunlight through as a patchwork of dark and light. It felt strange to be out walking naked but it was only a dream and one she had experienced before.

The feeling was building, she was sure the top of her legs were already damp with the lubrication leaking from her, flowing to allow easy entrance to male genitalia. She thought to touch but it did not seem right—what she wanted was the touch, the caress of a male, to have the smoothness of a penishead parting her, penetrating her taking her as a woman. Sasha's hand brushed a nipple, it was hard and pointing.

Whether it was her desire for a penis and a man or not but she was, of a sudden, aware she was not alone. To her right and not so many yards from her, coming through the trees was a young man. Like herself he was completely without clothes; unlike her he was fair and tall; like her he wore his hair long, indeed he was hirsute with beard and fine curly chest hair and, of course, fair curly hair around his sex; like her he was sexually excited, it was easy to tell that by the long slightly curved erection standing in front of him and swaying as he walked.

Dreams limit inhibitions, dreams do not matter, dreams are not reality. Sasha knew what she wanted to do and that was embrace this male vision and feel his erection inside her. A lovely orgasmic wet dream. Dreams, though, can be remarkably frustrating. She could see the man was sexually excited and so was she—intensely so.

The young man caught sight of Sasha and stopped; his eyes wide as he took in both her presence and her nakedness. He had not been touching his penis and it just stood there rising from its bed of fair curls, foreskin retracted and shiny head exposed, caught in a patch of sunlight as if by a spotlight. Sasha advanced slowly towards him, her eyes flicking from his face to his penis, her desire strong, and then she saw him grimace and the lovely penis, she was so desperately in need of, all at once began to spurt. Sasha was aghast. He had not touched it: she had not touched it. String after string of creamy fluid flew from the tip of the penis to fly a yard or so through the air, seeming to flash when it caught the dappled light, before landing on the dry leaf mould of the woodland floor.

Sasha awoke in her bed in the dark, tossing and turning in frustration with the dream of the man and his ejaculating penis so fresh in her mind. Her fingers went straight to her sex and with dancing fingers she imagined the young man on top of her, his hard cock thrusting and spurting more usefully inside her as she came hard and long.

In the early morning Sasha sat cross-legged on her bed looking out of her bedroom window, watching the sun rise, the change from monochrome to colour, then from subdued pastel to the bright colours of a summer's day. In the distance sat the copse in its sea of barley looking quiet, fresh and a little mysterious in the early dew-light. She was almost minded to go to it that very moment, plunge into its depths but her hosts would be surprised at her having gone out so early and she was not sure she could do it—walk into the wood naked.

As the day wore on she was more and more puzzled as to why she had thought in the early light that she would have to walk naked. There was no reason for that, just the dream and that did not bind her. That night she dreamt again.

It was the same as before; there she was on the edge, the very edge of the field of barley, the sun pouring down and the inviting coolness of the wood so close. This time she let the dress fall before reaching the wood and felt the hot sun on her skin and the plump ears of barley stroking her thighs as she moved, drawing the already flowing wetness from her. It was quiet in the copse, cooler but still bright from the sun coming through to dapple the ground. Sasha moved forward purposefully wanting to get further into the wood, to find out why she was there—if, that is, there was any reason for the dream.

The tingling was strong, tempting her to lie down on the cool soft carpet of old leaves and plunge her fingers into her wetness and strum her herself to orgasm. She tried to ignore the feeling, ignore the sexuality, concentrate on walking further into the wood's depths, get to the very centre to explore, find and understand. But it was no good, her desire was too strong and she sank to her knees with her hands going to her breasts to touch, squeeze and pull before she rolled onto her back, splayed her thighs and her right hand touched between. It was a delicious sensation, first stroking around and then plunging three fingers hard into herself as her thumb touched her little nub.

It must have been because of the noise she was making as she rolled on the ground getting closer and closer to orgasm that she did not hear the boy come from her right, nor see him until he was up to her, just feet from her, almost looming over her. As before, he too was naked but this time his long slightly curved erection was firmly held in his hand, a hand that was moving, alternately revealing and then hiding the shiny head. He was staring at her and what a sight she must have looked to him, wanton and exposed on the woodland floor.

Her fingers moved as she stared at the boy's cock and his stroking hand, he in turn was staring at her own masturbation, both caught as if in the freeze frame of a picture, motionless but for the playing hands when all of a sudden, long strings of creamy fluid flew from the end of his penis to fall like thick rain drops across her naked tummy and sex. That knocked her into orgasm as she felt his ejaculation falling steadily onto her, warm on her skin.

The intensity of the orgasm awoke her with a cry. Sasha had never ever woken to find herself actually coming—coming moreover without having to touch herself first. One moment asleep and the next staring out blankly into the darkness as the waves of orgasm crashed about her all emanating from that one touch, the pattering touch of the boy's ejaculation in her dream.

"Were you all right in the night, Sasha, we heard you call out?"

Sasha had assured them she was OK, was fine, it had just been a funny dream, a nightmare (she had fibbed a little, it was hardly a nightmare).

It was the last day of the visit. There was no time to venture out into the sea of barley.

Home again, back from her visit, Sasha was free of the dream for days, weeks even, had other things to think of. But back it came one night. She found herself dreaming in the field of barley at the edge of the copse, the summer sun as hot as before and her legs bare under her dress. She was not unhappy at the familiarity of her recurring dream, not unhappy at its usual sexual conclusion. The feeling was there again, an itch, a want. Sasha looked across the moving sea of barley but there was no sign of the fair boy. Would he be in the dream tonight? Stepping carefully she moved through the rustling gold of the barley to the copse, the sun so hot on her shoulders and hair, pausing as she entered to slide the thin gingham across her skin and discard it on the woodland floor.

The pleasant coolness, the pattern of light and shade was as before, the leaf mould soft on her feet. Sasha looked left and right for the boy but there was no sign, perhaps he would be further in, she stepped forward anxious to see further into the copse and, perhaps, find the boy. She remembered the morning in her friends' cottage looking at herself in the mirror, what would it be like to see herself now, a child of nature, unclothed, stepping through the pretty young trees and saplings. What had she looked like to the boy? It was not, after all, she who had caused his erection for he had been excited before he saw her—as she was now. Sasha hoped she would see him, hoped her mind would conjure him up, so she could watch him, another child of nature walking in the trees, tall, fair and bearded with his long limbs. A vision of maleness with his strength, hair, tight buttocks—she would be happy to walk behind him and watch those—and his long curving erection with the smooth, shiny head. Perhaps they could walk, explore hand in hand—for a time. The feeling of desire was growing as she walked onwards, finding a way through the outer trees.

As Sasha thought to herself, she descended a dip in the ground, seemingly a wide dry ditch filled with silver birch and young ash. She paused in a patch of sunlight and touched her left nipple. The feeling was electric. Her other hand went to her mouth, brushing her lips and her tongue lightly caressed her finger tips. She was actually breathing faster as her excitement grew. Where was that boy? She wanted to touch, wanted to be touched. Sasha wanted the penis, wanted to feel it, stroke it. What would it be like to kiss it, to put her tongue out and touch it, suck its big smooth head into her mouth? As she thought, her lips parted and her fingers went into her mouth, her tongue fluttering as if...

It was no good, despite wanting to see what lay within, she couldn't go further. She needed to be touched. Sasha turned to an ash sapling and touched her nipples to the smooth bark. Even that felt good, the touch of cool living wood on her sensitive skin. She pressed, pushing one knee forward so the slim trunk was between her thighs and touching her fur. She pushed hard against it and rubbed her pubis hard against the bark so the friction moved and pulled at her sex, her auburn curls mashed between herself and the tree. It was good to feel the touch, to be rutting against the tree, rubbing herself to a climax as she pulled the tree close to herself.

There was a sound ahead and above her. Standing on the rise out of the wide, shallow ditch was the boy, the self-same boy as before and with the sun catching his yellow curls. He was as naked as she. Sasha liked his face, liked his body and, most certainly, liked his erection which was standing strong. Sasha did not feel at all embarrassed being caught making love to a tree, it was a dream, her dream, and she could do what she liked. She smiled at him, a friendly smile, a welcoming smile. Sasha was glad to see him.

Leaving the tree she turned and walked towards him. Being lower than before she had a different view of his penis, an underside view bringing his balls, his slack scrotum into view and she could even see the shape of the testes, like eggs, within the sack. Sasha wanted to lift, feel, and hold them in her hand. The boy's hand was on his penis now sliding the foreskin up and over the head and down again, alternately revealing and hiding, she could see the bifurcation of the head and the thin strip of skin joining it to the ridge that rose up from the scrotum to the head. Sasha was so close now that she could see the tip of the penis was already a little wet with moisture shining in the sunlight. The desire to suck was strong—it was not something she had ever done for real.

Sasha paused, legs a little apart, just below the boy, just below where the bank rose up, watching his hand move. In response her own hand went down to her sex and there they were, two children of nature, masturbating to each other in the green wood, not saying a word. It was good, for a time, but Sasha wanted to touch the boy.

With her free hand, Sasha reached upwards, towards the boy's long penis, wanting to replace his hand with her own. The boy's hand fell away and, bending her fingers and thumb, she encircled and held, feeling it warm and hard in her hand. This, though, seemed too much for the boy and with an inarticulate sound of pleasure, the first sound either had made, the penis began to spurt again, the warm jet flying across the space between them to land, this time not on the leaf mould but on and within Sasha's partly open mouth.

She awoke startled and orgasming, the taste of the boy on her tongue, the eroticism of the image in her mind fuelling her climax; her fingers brushing her face and lips as if she could still feel the product of the ejaculation; she was wringing wet.

Sasha knew that she had to, simply had to cross the sea of barley and enter the copse for real. The feeling was becoming stronger by the day, not just an inquisitiveness but something more as if she was being called, as if someone was in her mind pulling her towards the wood or, perhaps, simply there was a need to satisfy. It was not as if the boy would be there or anything—it was just a wood—but it would be so interesting to be within it and compare it to her dreams.

Recurring dreams are not uncommon but Sasha could not escape the idea this dream was peculiarly persistent—not that she did not like it but it was so strange.

If anything the sun was hotter than before and there was hardly a breath of wind to move the barley and make it rustle, even faintly. Sasha looked around her across the field back to the track and then to the copse close by. She knew she was dreaming once more, back in the vivid colour of the barley field. Even before entering the wood she let the gingham dress fall luxuriating in the feel of the hot sun on her naked body, its warming effect on her round breasts. Sasha's nipples hardened and a thin trickle of sweat ran down the valley between her breasts. She looked ahead at the cool shade and shook her head, these dreams were so sexual, she could feel the arousal coming even before she reached the trees.

There was purpose in her tread, Sasha wanted to get further into the wood, but even as she stepped through the young ashes the touch of the thin branches and long pointed leaves on her skin was electric each time one lightly brushed her as she moved past. There was moisture between her legs now, dampening her auburn hair. It was as if the very copse itself was readying her for sexual intercourse. At the bottom of the shallow ditch or long depression Sasha paused. What would it be like—intercourse? She had thought about it a lot in her bed as her fingers had played, had pushed into herself just like a hard penis she presumed. It would be good to try it with her dream boy; she knew from her earlier dreams she would remember and the semblance of reality would be very strong; it would be a taste, an imaginary approximation.

This was where she had reached before, where the boy had appeared standing on the rise ahead of her. This time she felt she could go a little further despite the powerful urge to touch herself, to fall to the ground and roll in the soft leaf mould as one hand stirred her sex to orgasm. Sasha reached up to a sapling, her fingers closing around the smooth young trunk as if enclosing the stem of a rather oversize penis, and she pulled herself up the bank feeling her wet thighs slide across each other as she did so. She paused again but at the top of the bank, feeling as if she had crossed a boundary, had achieved a small success in moving towards the goal of reaching the centre of the copse. Her hand stayed on the sapling, still encircling it with thumb and fingers, she moved them a little up and down remembering holding the boy in the same way in her last dream, her finger and thumb holding his warm hard but soft cock before it had released. The tip of Sasha's little pink tongue ran across her lips moistening them at the memory.