If You Go Down To The Woods Today

My name is Conor O’Connor and I was happily gazing out of the kitchen window at the back of the small cottage I was renting, watching Matthew the local gardener (whom I had just buggered), rinsing himself off in the small stream that ran across the rear of the garden. He had buggered me as well, which was only fair, but as I didn’t have a wife and children to return to I was more than content to keep his rich earthy smell on me for a while yet, the musky stink of his sex still thick in my nostrils.

He was a pleasure to watch as he splashed himself with the icy water, the day being mild but hardly warm considering the season. The paleness of his wiry body was accentuated by his sun bronzed hands and forearms and deeply tanned face, a mop of curly tangled black hair framing his handsome features which were only just starting to betray some thin lines and wrinkles, enhancing and belying his 50 something years. An honest, lived-in face, rather beautiful infact.

Returning to the house he headed straight for the fire, naked as the day and dripping with pearls of water. I hurriedly wrapped his shivering form in the towel I had draped modestly over my own nakedness and began the pleasant task of rubbing him dry, enjoying the feel of his firm flesh beneath my fingers. He laughed as I lingered over his now limp penis and heavy balls, and teasingly parted his legs slightly to allow me to towel dry his firm buttocks and surprisingly hairy crack, opportunistically massaging his smooth pink anus before acknowledging that the job was done.

I watched sadly as he dressed back into his thick gardener’s clothes, and found myself already looking forward to his next visit, whenever that might be. With a quick kiss on the lips I sent him on his way, a five pound note in his pocket and a goodly load of my spunk up his arse.

I’d taken the cottage on the spur of the moment, having found myself persona non grata at the country houses of various friends and acquaintances during the current hunting season. Not surprising really, given my well known disdain for the so-called sport, and tendency to warn off the deer and foxes being pursued whenever possible.

Besides, being a “colonial” Australian interloper into the ranks of the British aristocracy, I found that my company went down rather better at some of the London Clubs I’d been able to join, rather than in the more effete and straight-laced environments of grand houses and country estates. It also didn’t do (I discovered too late) to fuck butlers, stablehands, groundsmen, valets, under-gardeners, coachmen and postal workers, no matter how willing they all seemed to be.

And so I found myself happily alone in this lovely secluded cottage in the depths of the New Forest, close enough to Matthew and his charming family for pleasant and (at times) intimate company, and only a short drive to the nearest village with its friendly society and all too welcoming pub, The Horny Stag.

Matthew had been extremely obliging from the moment I took up residence, and it hadn’t taken either of us long to recognise kindred bedroom spirits. Not much gardening had been done on his first few visits, but we had come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement now where the balance between fucking and pruning was well established. 

He couldn’t quite come at my egalitarian wish for him to call me by my first name, but I had at least talked him out of “Sir”, except in certain situations where a bit of domination and submission suited both of our needs. He was a very good gardener, and an even better lover, and I could easily understand why his delightful wife always had a smile on her face.

I had determined, now that the morning’s exercise had been satisfactorily completed, to do a bit of exploring, and had asked Matthew about the dense woodland that crowded the opposite bank of the narrow stream. His response had been muted, cautioning me to take care if I was thinking of going in on my own, and offering to arrange a ramble himself on one of his days off, which were few and far between. He had referred to the area as the Green Man Wood, but without enlarging in any helpful way on the name, and leaving me mystified and eager to know more.

What I hadn’t told him was the sense over the last few days of someone (something?) moving about in there, just beyond the line of sight where the darkness swallows what little light penetrated its luxuriant shadows. I could have been mistaken of course, although I’m being forever told by my friends that I have no imagination (which I dispute), but I sensed what I sensed and was keen to dispel whatever misapprehensions had formed in my mind.

It was certainly darker than the world that bordered it, and as I put aside these misgivings and wandered into its shadowy interior that afternoon, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps I should have taken Matthew’s veiled warning more seriously.But that was not my way, and if there were mysteries to be unravelled I wished to discover them on my own, without the distortion of local legend or the overly solicitous guidance of a cautious friend.

The day had turned out sunny but remained crisp and cold, and it was with a buoyant step that I crossed the small stream and found what looked to be an old, almost entirely overgrown path into the wood. A few paces in and I was surprised that the temperature grew noticeably warmer, muggy even, as if I’d entered a vast greenhouse, making me regret the heavy clothes and boots I’d decided to don for my adventure.

The gloom had at first seemed sepulchral after the brightness of the day, but once my eyes adjusted I could see that the shadows were dazzlingly pierced by shafts of sunlight pouring in through openings in the thick canopy of trees, giving the vista before me a fairytale look that allayed any trepidation I may have been feeling. A continual buzzing, humming and chirping provided an aural backdrop to the beautiful scene, and looking around me I was astonished at the multitudinous insect and bird life that swarmed everywhere. 

All hesitation gone, I found myself drawn into the further reaches of the scene, treading softly and carefully over moss covered rocks and mouldering fallen tree trunks, their place taken by towering oaks and stately elms. Just how old this forest was I could not even hazard a guess, but it breathed an ancient patrimony that both humbled and disturbed me.

On and on I went, deeper and deeper into the loamy tumult, unaware of the time, or how far I might have wandered. The air was thick and heavy with a sense of fecund nature, and without even thinking I began discarding my heavy garments as they became sodden with sweat, weighing me down and seeking to impede my progress into this voluptuous world. 

Before I knew it I was standing naked in this remarkable Eden, gulping in huge lungfuls of its rich, sweet air, drunk on the sights and sounds and sensations that both caressed and assailed my confused senses. Looking down I was surprised to see that my cock was fully erect, the foreskin drawn back, the merest zephyr of air playing around the engorged, moist head like the faintest touch of a tender hand, causing my shaft to bob and dance, a trail of silvery juice leaking surreptitiously from its tingling piss-slit. 

The sensations were overwhelming, and as I looked all around me at the towering trees and ceaseless motion in the air, my head began to swim. Before I knew what what was happening I sank to my knees and then, as if in slow motion, fell back onto the carpet of leaves beneath my feet, heart beating wildly in my chest, blood boiling in my veins, the vaulted ceiling of branches and leaves spinning like some demented carousel. And then blackness, as I was overwhelmed.

How long I lay there I couldn’t say, but I was woken by a gentle, cool rain falling over my body, my face, between my lips, calming me from the fever state I’d fallen into, returning me to life. Daring to open my eyes I was relieved that the world had stopped spinning. 

I was surprised but not alarmed to see a man standing over me, naked and covered in moss and grass and vines and tendrils, as if made from the very fabric of the forest itself, and he was pissing on me. His gentle, cooling water spraying from the folds of his loose foreskin and spattering my overheated body, drenching me, bringing me back to life.

None of this seemed odd to me, overcome as I was by the teeming forest and its invasive effect on my senses. I laughed and opened my mouth to catch as much of his life-giving water as I could, gulping it down as he directed the flow to my lips, not a word said but a deeper understanding of what was happening between us taken for granted.

Eventually my body cooled, my brain calmed, my breathing became more regular, and his flow stopped, as if knowing that it had served its purpose. He knelt between my legs and I could smell his loamy, earthy smell, deeply satisfying and full of life. He laid a hand on my chest, his palm mossy and soft, and a strange energy pulsed through my frame, forcing me to take in lungfuls of air which felt as if they came directly from the forest itself. 

His other hand reached down and took hold of my cock, still painfully erect and pulsing for release. His fingers wrapped around it like tendrils and that same energy coursed through my shaft, down to my balls and straight through to my perineum and anus, making everything electric. 

My body twitched and jerked involuntarily as I felt an orgasmic surge sweep through me like a wave. Beyond my control now, my cock exploded with great strands of cum, painfully intense, making me cry out almost in agony as I watched the thick globules of spunk land all over his chest and face, disappearing immediately into the jungle of his flesh, absorbed into him like a sponge. 

As my spurts landed he lifted his face and let out a long low moan, his fingers still tight around my prick. The tendrils that grew from his armpits and snaked down his arms encircled my balls, drawing more jizz from me than I thought possible. And yet, with each ejaculation I felt my strength increase, my perception become sharper, my desire stronger.

Finally my orgasms waned, my cock softened in his grip. I lay there allowing him to raise my legs, his root sliding effortlessly into me, bestowing as deep and gentle a fuck as I have ever known. 

He didn’t move at all once he was inside my passage, and yet I felt his hot juice pumping into me, glowing and golden. He was giving me his strength, thick and warm like molten sap, and I watched entranced as every frond and leaf and blade of grass that covered his body, his arms, his legs, his head, quivered and rustled, like a gentle breeze passing through a field of wheat.

How long I lay there receiving his juice I couldn’t say, but eventually he withdrew from my arse and lowered his head as if fast asleep. I watched him for a while and then I too drifted off, utterly content, vaguely aware of a warm stickiness in my nether regions as the surfeit of his warm seed slowly leaked from my arsehole.

We both woke at the same time, the forest darkening around us, the noises muted in the cooling air. He rose effortlessly to his feet and put out his hand for me to take, which I did, staggering slightly after lying prone for so long. He steadied me with his leafy hands and we stood staring at each other, words unnecessary. 

Regaining my equilibrium he took my hand in his, warm and mossy in my palm, and led me back the way I had come, small birds occasionally coming to rest on his shoulders and within his broad leafy back. Looking around at the darkening scene I could vaguely make out the forms of foxes and other animals peering out through the dense foliage and from behind massive tree trunks, respectful and silent as we passed.

We eventually reached the edge of the forest, and it was with some difficulty in the thickening gloom that I could just make out the overgrown path that had led me into this extraordinary wonderland, how many hours ago I couldn’t say. My hand was still clasped in his, warm and yet somehow different as we moved along the path and finally emerged into the open space on the edge of the forest, brilliantly lit by a full moon in a cloudless night sky.

My eyes were dazzled momentarily as I focused on the familiar sight of my darkened cottage and the gurgling stream directly ahead. Everything was still, the world was silent when a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “Welcome home Conor”.

Turning to my companion I saw that it was Matthew standing beside me, holding my hand and as naked as I. Loose leaves and tendrils fell from his shoulders in the gentle breeze that came out of the wood like an exhalation, and for some unknown reason I wasn’t surprised to find it was him.

“You called me Conor!” I replied, and he smiled. He put his arms around me and held me close, pressing his lips to mine and filling me with the earthy scent of the forest heaving behind us. 

We fucked then and there in the white light of the moon on the bank of the stream, before crossing and going inside where we would fuck again and I would listen to him say my name again and again..