Dark Sanctuary

He stands by a tree, alone. He watches me climb the hill, his hands in his pockets, relaxed, but alert. I smile, and nod, and move on. I do not look back, not yet. I want to know who else is here first, then maybe. Sometimes they follow me into the woods. Sometimes I slow down and let them catch up. More often these days, I continue at a pace, going deeper and higher. They never follow very far, the hill is too steep, and the path becomes difficult past a certain point.

I walk past the fallen tree that has been cleanly cut to clear the path. Sometimes I stop here and wait. The tree is thick enough to sit on comfortably, and far enough in to weed out the lightweights. I don't stop today, but continue through a grove of high trees which create a roof with a fairly open space below. This is the last part of the path that is clear.

In the center of the grove, about half way up, stands a tall stump, the remnants of a large birch tree. The first time I noticed it I thought it was another man, another watcher. The center of the stump is rotted and soft. The tough outer skin has split, and overall it appears bent and falling. When I realized what it was, I felt it was still a watcher. I saw the spirit of Merlin peeking out, keeping vigil. A wild spirit, untamed and unpredictable, glorying in the carnal passions that find fulfillment in this place, a voyeur and vicarious participant, taking his pleasure from our pleasure. I find his presence both comforting and disturbing.

I move beyond the sentinel to a place where the path becomes steep and overgrown. I must be more observant here to find my way. Few venture this far, and my pace slows. I listen and watch, finally turning from the main path to explore a small side road. I stop and sit on an outcropping of rock. Why have I come here today? I enjoy being surrounded by the aura of sex, but do not really feel like doing the emotional acrobatics required for this place.

I hear the chatter of chipmunks as they chase each other up and down trees. I have become still enough that the forest creatures have returned to their normal activities. A small bird hops from branch to branch in search of anything edible. An unseen subterranean dweller disturbs the leaf litter from below a few yards away. Moments later the same movement erupts a few feet away.. Safely in his burrow he maintains his anonymity, never quite surfacing, but being sure of his escape, should he need it.

I too have brought safety with me, first condoms, should the urge overtake me or an irresistible opportunity arise. But these securities stay safely in my pocket. I think they will be unused today. More to the point, I wear my crucifix.

This is new. I have worn crosses for years, usually more as a decoration than anything else. Most of my crosses are beautiful, interesting, or fun. But the crucifix, and I only have the one, is almost brutal in its simplicity. It came to me indirectly, neither as something I sought out, nor as something deliberately given to me. When I showed it to a friend, she told me of the crucifix that she wore for years when she first embraced Christianity. She talked of her difficult journey, and how the crucifix comforted her, how that whatever she faced, she had with her the suffering one, the one who knew pain and betrayal firsthand. She said that while he did not remove her suffering, the crucifix reminded her that he entered and endured it with her.

While this struck me as somewhat sentimental, I knew her to be someone of depth and substance, so I listened with as little judgment as possible. Now I find myself, when I know I might be coming here, putting it on almost as a talisman. But it is more like a prayer, That the one who knows suffering might accompany me into this place, which more and more reeks of darkness and desperation.

Most of the men who come here can not find a regular partner, so they come here rather than live in abstinence. Some are getting older, some are overweight, some are married or closeted, and a few are cheating on their partners. Some come regularly enough that they have gotten to know each other, and some seem to find fulfillment in sex that is seen as nothing important and commonly referred to as play. I must admit, that when I first discovered this spot my excitement was high. I couldn't wait to find a free hour to slip away for a nice walk in the woods. But the more I have come here, the less exciting it gets. Generally these are not guys I want to hang around with, and the sex is not really very fulfilling. When you have not, however, felt the touch of another human hand for weeks, it's hard to pass up the guy who's giving you that come fuck me look while rubbing his obviously hard cock through his jeans. It doesn't matter how old or fat he may be.

Even when it has been a fairly satisfying visit to the woods, and I have done things that I haven't even seen in porn videos, I still go home feeling as empty as before, often compounding that with guilt over who the sexy guy with the wedding ring was cheating on, or fear over what unspeakable diseases I may have picked up, despite the condoms.

So why have I come today? A chipmunk scurries into the hollow of a tree as I stir myself and begin to trudge back toward the parking lot. To be sure, I find solace in the beauty of the forest. The never ending flow of the stream and the constant cycle of the seasons remind me that life goes on, no matter what. The stillness offer me a kind of calm that is often absent in my daily life, and helps me keep things in perspective. But any patch of forest could offer the same. This place is different. It offers something more. This forest is ours. Others may come here, it may be public property, but we have laid claim to it as a place set apart. It is for us a refuge, a place where we can go to look for, we know not what. To look for love, or at least sex, connection with another human being, someone who will do what our partner or wife will not, maybe friendship, or some form of camaraderie, we have, after all, each of us come here with similar expectations.

Today I have come here to pray. This spot, I realize, is sacred to us, and I need its blessing. The blessing that can only be given by a place that has not been sanctified by cold crosses or lonely prayers, but a place watched over by a trickster spirit, rising from the Earth, called with countless orgasms, placated with libation offerings of semen spilled liberally and joyfully. Our liturgy is silent, a homily of gestures and eye contact, followed by the sacramental giving of our bodies to each other. It is a sanctity all our own, where personal boundaries are respected, strangers are embraced, and hope reigns supreme. It is that hope, that optimism, that I have come for. Hope that dark loneliness will one day end, and a small spark will grow to a blaze that will turn night to day.

I reach the holy of holies where the watcher in his birch skin presides, and soon I begin to meet men on the path, some standing under trees, others wandering back and forth. I smile and say hello, but I never look back or slow down. I know the drill, and have no intention of sending out misleading signals. I pass the fallen tree and other familiar landmarks. I notice the torn condom wrappers on the forest floor accompanied by their used contents and the occasional dirty paper napkin, silent witnesses to the power of hope. I smile to myself and wonder if any lasting connections were made, or if they only found comfort in each other for a brief moment.

I soon reach the final incline where a path breaks off at the half way point, providing the less fit or less patient with a more accessible and immediate chapel. As I begin my descent, I meet a man who's smile stops me cold. There's something there, just a bit of electricity. I don't let myself get too excited, he appears younger than me, and more athletic. guys like that are never interested in me. I make eye contact and say hello as we pass, then I stop and wait a moment before looking behind me. He has slowed his pace and is looking back at me. We maintain eye contact as he slowly moves deeper into the woods. I turn and begin to climb the hill again. It seems I may need those condoms after all.