A younger druid’s passioned life

Bursting with excitement, heat, and boisterous rage, I’d run around nude in the woods all day. Feeling home and untethered there, I’d call out loud like the birds, for the maids who’d roam.

They’d come to me, confused at times, not sure if I was man or beast, and their curiosity felt divine. A bold young man, in love with haughty driven lust, I’d swell my chest and gently sway my dazzling locks. Despite the twigs and leaves, I found that most of my suitors loved to feel a warm embrace, a man who felt so rugged and so mean, but soft as water in the stream. Or so they told me; now, I recount the fun I had and pride I found a lot!

Nothing pleased me more than running fingertips along a girl’s hair, and brush’s thumb across her lips while her eyes all glimmer thought “what if? Why not?” and seeing her against the glares of elders back at home, she’d quickly bare her body for me, clothes on mossy floor. We’d laugh and dance and roll around in pools and grass and leaves, each thrust and gasp and moan and grasp a lovely human tease. It felt all right to serve delight and take each girl’s hand, but never steering from my cause, I stayed within my land.

As I grew older, fiercer still, I’d guard my woods with fiery rage and smash the logger’s mills, those bastards sought to turn my home to dust and bone against my mother’s will, and so I left with good intent a message loud and clear.

I wish I could say all was right with each new passing girl at night, but more and more they came to scratch a rebel’s stubborn itch.. instead of sex for pleasure’s sake, they’d come and fuck, and go home with a tale to tell. “Oh dad and mom, come look at me, I’m covered in this muck! All muddy, messy, damp and hot from the woodsman I just fucked!”

A hassle to be sure, a bad habit that I had, it made it harder to be maintain my forest calm and still, when angry townsmen came with steel, to fight about their beef. My motive wasn’t conflict, just I really loved the woman’s touch. Her hair a graceful roll of cloud, her lips all warm and smiling proud, her hands excited touching me, a heartbeat throbbing by my knees. There’s nothing like the beauty we could animate there in the trees, in glowing forest meadows in dusk while warm but with a gentle breeze, the sun a pretty pattern from the gaps between the leaves, illuminating us as we went dancing round like bees. A gentle cuddle in the grass, with heavy breathing made me feel like I was part of something still, of something maybe real. Waking in the morning glow to see her footsteps left, a melancholy overcame me while I lonely wept.

And still more time did pass, and outside bounds of mine, the people build their cities, roads, their nature in decline, and I worked harder still to keep my life alive. A bitter feeling, honestly it is, wrestling with time, and humans lack the patience that our Mother Earth requires.

But still my fateful weakness will tempt me to peek my eyes through the edges of my land to see the women in my mind. And soon enough, they wander tough, with boots and backpacks full of gear, they see me and draw near, and I remember passion hot as packs fall to the ground, and boots and flung around, and in the throes of lust and touch, I ultimately find, their dominance is hardly quiet, they’re aroused and loud, their bodies soft but minds alive as thoughts of theft arise. They steal the fruit and hunt the creatures, while I just unwind, and older as I grow I wonder whether I can hide, up in the peaceful canopy or inside my own mind. But still I must admit that lust and love is on my mind.

My borders small and chunks are gone, turned agriculture now. I smell a scent that makes me sick and fear that I may die, and as I spend more time at rest in roots of ancient climb, the oldest tree I can recall I have to fall back on and keep alive, I know my time is coming soon and must await the light, but even now, I feel a prowl, of someone in my mind. She’s curious and barefoot here, and light with how she moves. My eyes are covered up by bark and hands are bound by weeds, as now the only place for me is melded with my trees, so I can use their sense in tune to navigate the space, and know the coming sense of doom is making evil haste. But with what sense I network now, I watch a kinder figure round the corner of my trunk. She’s naked, free, and comes to me, a loving touch and softer whispers as she says to me, “I found you here, the Druid tree, I knew the legends to be true, and now I’m here to share your mood, I hope that’s cool with you.” A warm embrace, a shared distaste for what exists outside. And as I fade away in pain, my networks wearing thin, my creatures eyes all going dark, my mushrooms drawing thin, a constant scratching burning pain as knives just carve and carve again their names into my throats, I find some solace here and know that someone has some hope. She looks up, night draws near, has no fear, just a clear and starry sigh of peace. She drifts to sleep and on her knees an acorn drops, a lonely single seed. As all goes black, I think back to my youth in kinder years. Swinging here and there and bounding round the land, all muscle, hair, and eyes on fire, a free and natural man. If she can see what I can be, she’ll take the acorn home. She’ll plant it there, in pots and bowls, and feed it with her share, and soon the seed will open up and guide her doctrinaire; a youthful woman bold and free, she’ll bound and sing of mysteries. Before her men will tremble in their shells, their simple human plastic bones shatter in their flesh, while cities crumble all in time with nothing left, no mess. She’ll grow a home of green around her, with this little seed, and from her breast she’ll feed a world of new life and real peace.

_______________

*I guess this ended up being more of a poem and a philosophical story than a sexy one. I hope I kept it erotic enough to count. But ultimately I wrote what I wrote and I like it. I feel that there’s a deep relationship between man and nature that blends seamlessly when the love is there, but turns unhealthy with the exploitation that comes naturally to the former. I’m not making a statement or call for action, although obviously the climate is worth work. It’s more of a metaphor, and an erotic lens to use to view the relationship between natural and contrived. In other words, I guess, love nature and go down on her once in a while, alright, is that too much to ask?

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/nahmtn/a_younger_druids_passioned_life