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Message-ID: <43394asstr$1058213404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "smilodon" <smilodonREMOVE@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 14 Jul 2003 13:29:48 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} The Green Man 
Date: Mon, 14 Jul 2003 16:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The Green Man


I


"Don't go into the woods," her mother said. But of course she did. Forbidden
fruit is sweeter on the vine. And what can age, with its wrinkles and its
scars, teach unblemished youth? The path was dappled with shadows and the
afternoon grew chill. She wasn't frightened; not at the first. There was no
hint of warning in the murmuring of leaves, no cry of danger where the
branches groaned beneath their summer weight. She sauntered, a song upon her
lips and lightness in her step.

She laughed when a tree snagged her flowing hair. She did not notice the
silence or the absence or birds. The wind muttered through the emerald
canopy but she did not heed it. She danced a while upon the shadowed
pathway, a bow to the oaks, a curtsey to the hornbeams. Her head was full of
idle dreams; her heart, of unknown love. What else is the purpose of youth?

Obsidian eyes, old as time, watched her dancing progress, sensed and scented
the sap within her rising. The old hunger rose, sharp as grief. Beauty for
the despoiling, innocence for the taking, the brooding presence watched and
waited, patient as the trees.

She grew drowsy, lay down to rest. She did not feel the hand upon her
breast. The gnarled phallus sprang forth; her hips convulsed but still she
did not wake. Hands moved softly in an ancient rhythm. The sacrifice was
made: a bitter seed to grow a bitter harvest. Now she felt afraid. All was
quiet wonder in that forest glade.

The rite now complete, the Green Man rose. He moved away, receded from her
mind. She knew only the moist measure of his passing under her slick
fingers.



II


Summer edged into memory. Frost encountered the naked branches, painting
them with grey rime. The village smelt of wood smoke and darkness came
early. She gathered kindling at forest's edge, bundled against the cold.
Then the snows came, deep and isolating. She helped her father dig out
stranded sheep and brought them home to the hearth. It was a bitter winter.

Beneath her furs, the Green Man came to her in sleep. She took his wild
comforts, holding them close, a secret. And always, with the morning, she
was alone. This was his mystery: it served her well enough for now. Her
thoughts drifted far and wide. Soon she would be married and there would be
other mysteries.



III

"Don't go into the woods," she told her daughter. But of course, she did.





Smilodon

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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