Holly, Joss, and their best friends Sam and Libby spend an eventful day at the farmer's market. There they each experience the Green Man's powers. Joss embarrasses himself. A deal is struck that will change their lives.
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"Yeah, she says he will be there.....No, I haven't seen him yet.... Uh huh.... I know, but you have to see the things he's carved. They are pretty cool. I mean, really well done.....Yeah... No, I don't see a name on the bottom.. No, I don't think we know this guy's work.... Okay. See you at 9:30 at the courthouse, then... Okay. Bye." Joss pressed the red button on his phone and ended the call with Sam. Sam and he had been friends since childhood and it was Sam who got him interested in woodworking.
Sam, the old scout, always carried a pocket knife, even in his suit pants. Sam knew about carpentry from working with his dad building houses. Fine woodworking like furniture building or turning, though, was not his skill. Sam's hands were more skilled, but Joss had the eye for design. Thus, Sam and Joss were about equal in talent.
Saturday broke clear and cool, a perfect day for a farmer's market in Darlington, the little county seat with cobble-stone streets and brick walkways. Holly was happy that Libby and Sam were coming. She and Libby were good friends, able to share secrets and frustrations easily.
Libby's red hair and freckles gave her a perpetually young look. Even after two kids, she was stunning and men stared at her hips and ass as she walked past. Sam knew the effect and was proud that she could turn heads. Where Holly wanted to be an exhibitionist but lacked courage, it was Libby who was actually more overt about being seen with one button-too-far holding her blouse together or her slacks so tight they appeared to be sprayed on with no visible panty line. She and Sam seemed not to have gone through the doldrums of middle-aged married life and, from the way Libby described it, Sam was open to her fantasies in the bedroom.
"Okay, so where is this guy? What did you say his name was?" asked Sam impatiently. He was already dismissing the fellow as a wannabe, a wood butcher. That's the way it is with these new "makers." They are arrogant, disdainful, having the trappings of craftsmen without the years of work to earn such a title.
Holly directed them along the east side of the courthouse square. The girls took the lead, arm-in-arm, their hips in rhythm as they walked. Sam and Joss with hands stuffed in their pockets sauntered behind, each watching the other man's wife. Soon enough the stall came into view. Above it the sign read 'GreenWood Wares' and seated in the shade of the tent was the man himself.
Both Sam and Joss remained back a foot or two from the table and let the ladies approach. The man sat on the same low stool. He had watched them approach. Green nodded to Holly. She was pleased he seemed to remember her.
His eyes passed from one to the other then back to Holly. His voice came deep and slow, melodically, like wind sloughing through pines in winter. "You've come back, then."
"Yes. And brought my husband and friends. I told them all about you!" She was gushing, nearly giggling with obvious excitement.
"You were pleased with your purchases? They were good to you, then?" Green asked familiarly. Holly blushed deeply and nodded. A part of her wanted to tell him how splendid the spoon and bowl had been, but not with her husband and friends there. He saw it in her face and she knew she had been revealed.
Libby had picked up a spatula and, already, was leaning against the table oddly off-balance. Holly recognized the effect and moved closer to her, slipping a supporting arm around her waist in a casual, yet comforting way. As Libby's hips began to move, Holly kept up the chatter with Green.
"Mr. Green. Oh, I guess I don't really know your name. Is that it?" She stammered.
He nodded. "People call me what they will." He shrugged his shoulders. "Green is fine." His voice was touched with an accent that could not be placed and surrounded them like the damp of an evening field in autumn.
Holly noticed a hand mirror set upon the table, round with a carved wooden handle. Despite the glass placed face-down upon the cloth, it could not be anything else. She had not noticed mirrors on the table the week before.
Her eyes came up and met the strange man behind the table. As Holly curled her finger tips under it to lift it, knowing Mr Green liked people to touch his wares, she heard him say he carved it only days before.
"I thought of you as I carved it, thought it might be the sort of thing you were looking for when you came." He knew she would be back.
Holly turned the mirror in her hand, showing her face to the mirror. It felt light in her hand, lighter than it should have been. Was the mirror not glass? She looked again and there, reflected, was her own face, her eyes blinking, her face not made up like the week before. But...but...behind her in the reflection was Green himself. That just could not be; he was still sitting in front of her. She peered over the object in her hand. He was indeed in front of her. But as she focused again on the image, there was his face hovering so strangely behind her.
The handle felt sensuous. Thicker, the mirror heavier than the spoon, but certainly lighter than she expected. He had carved more brazenly the head of a penis on the end of the handle. There was no denying or explaining away the rude way the head of the cock completed the rigid handle.
Flustered and thrilled by it all, not least by the mirror in her hand -- had he really carved it just for her? Holly blurted, "This is my friend Libby, and her husband Sam and my husband Joss."
Libby had been fondling—that is the only way to describe it—some of the articles on the table. They had the same effect on her as they had on Holly last week. Holly tried her best to deflect and prevent the men from noticing Libby's sexual distress. It did not matter. The men did not notice Libby's rhythmic movements against the heavy table, her face damp and glowing. They were more than interested in the tools upon the table and the strange figure of Mr. Green.
Knowing more than he let on, Green spoke to them. "You may inspect my work, if you wish. Touch, feel." Green held out a shaping axe, so they could examine it. Joss took it and immediately felt how absolutely perfectly it fitted his hand. Looking down, the handle seemed unlike any axe handle he had felt before, so comfortable in his hand, so familiar. The handle seemed veined, even alive. Most modern handles, factory-made are smooth and varnished, unsatisfactory for use unless the finish is sanded off.
The axe head had been forge welded, a harder piece of steel trapped in folds of softer steel, giving it a strong edge. Joss made the common mistake of running his thumb along the edge, testing the sharpness and immediately was sliced deeply. Blood spurted from the cut. Joss just stared stupidly, in disbelief and shock. The axe fell from his hand. Instantly Green caught it with his right hand before it hit the table.
Green struck out his left hand and grasped Joss's thumb tightly, stanching the flow. Joss was transfixed by Green's grip and an odd feeling of arousal. He blinked and looked down at his thumb in the wild man's fist, the hand strong and large. He swayed slightly looking from his thumb to the axe. Green had caught it by the iron head. A deft catch, indeed avoiding the so-sharp bit.
Held as it was caught, by the iron, the carved handle rose in the air. Joss' vision blurred and then he thought he saw the wooden handle not as it was, something to be grasped as an axe is usually wielded, but as a man's cock, an erect penis, large and strong rising up towards him. The end of the axe handle, the knob, usually flared to prevent the axe slipping from one's hand, now appeared in Joss's hallucination as the head of a cock. And just below the cock head where it met the shaft, was a gold ring, separating the knob from the pulsing shaft.
Joss felt the strange man pulling his wounded hand toward the cunning axe handle Instinctively, Joss grasped it. Blinking, dizzy, his heart pounding, Joss stood there with his hand surrounding what to his dazed eyes appeared to be a very large penis. It felt both hard and warm, a living thing, big in his hand. He had looked at photographs, had admired but... but had not felt. He was confused. He found he could not let go of the axe handle cock, as if it held him, magnetically, almost magically.
He was thrilled to actually be holding a cock other than his own. All the months of fantasy looking at men's cocks now happening for him in the midst of a country fair on a public street. Exhibitionism, homoerotic arousal, and freely holding a large, very hard cock in his hand, Joss realised his secret desires were suddenly coming together in this time and place.
And another recognition: An erection forming, rising strongly and pushing against the material.
Joss felt the erection getting harder and, unbelievably, an ejaculation coming on. Joss looked up at the man, worried. The man's face was expressionless, immobile. Joss was on the edge of cumming, at the point of no return, an imminent ejaculation only a synapse spark away. Then Green raised one shaggy eyebrow and Joss's nerves fired in synch.
He felt the cum boiling in his testicles. His mouth fell open and he felt his legs buckle, his breathing heavy and, again, he looked down at what seemed to be a real live cock in his hand. His semen seared through the tunnel of his cock and bolted out the end, obstructed by his pants and underwear. In the midst of his orgasm, Joss realised he was cumming while holding another cock. It was a thrill he had often masturbated thinking of while looking at porn on his computer.
The spurting in his pants was ecstatic, as good as any he had had, yet what an awful thing to be doing there at the fair, at a table with another man looking on and knowing. It was a thunderous event, made more so by being torn between the outright joy of it and the terror of it at the same time.
Holly still, holding the mirror, stared at her husband, her face at first puzzled as she watched Mr Green pull Joss's hand to the axe handle then watched Joss holding the wood. She recognized the effect Green had, knew something of what Joss was feeling. Her brow furrowed. Surely he was not... not having an orgasm? But had she not the week before?
In his hand, what Joss believed was a man's full and strong cock seemed to throb and then, all at once, it too began to ejaculate, the flow rising toward him and landing, as if aimed, in a wooden bowl upon the table. Strong bolts of cum, splashing down onto the wood, enough to soak the bowl. And yet it was immediately absorbed, disappearing in the satin finish.
Joss could not help himself. His tongue went across his lips imagining the cock in his own mouth, spurting. Too much time spent alone in his basement away from Holly, thinking of cock. He looked up embarrassed by his actions and thoughts. From under his bushy eyebrows, the man's green eyes bore into him exploring every secret Joss hid in his soul.
