Island in the Barley Ch. 01

Behind her there was a faint noise and Sasha turned to see the boy on the other side of the shallow ditch, standing looking at her. Her thought of going further slipped as she stared at his naked maleness. He had such a nice face and she would be very happy to kiss him, to feel his fair beard on her face as he held her with his long arms; and to feel the touch of his long curving erection on her thigh. Exploration, hand in hand perhaps, could come later after touching and intercourse. It was a dream, her erotic dream, after all.

This time his hand was not on his penis; that was certainly standing firm, perhaps he had been stroking it earlier, perhaps it had risen at the sight of her—Sasha liked that idea, she would like to see the boy becoming aroused merely by the sight of her body, seeing the penis grow, elongate and rise but she had never seen the process of erection on any man—perhaps, like her, the mere act of walking into the copse had aroused him. But all that presupposed he was real like her and they were sharing a dream whereas the boy was but a figment of her subconscious, dreamt up in a wet dream—a lovely dream.

Sasha smiled and the boy smiled back. Her desire to penetrate deeper into the copse wavered. The boy moved and stepped down the bank into the depression in the ground, his long curved penis moving a little to one side and then the other as his thighs moved and he walked across the shallow ditch to her. Sasha's eyes flicked from his face to his penis and she thought she could see, in the patches of sunlight coming through the tree canopy, a pearl of liquid forming on the shiny dome end of his cock. She hoped this did not presage another spurting; an orgasm frustratingly early for her. The frustration of dreams. With her hand still on the sapling she swung herself back down into the ditch to face the boy. Their faces were but inches apart, there was a pause and then their lips met in a kiss, soft lips pressing together; a slight parting and a touching of tongues; Sasha felt a hand moulding her left breast. She let go of the sapling and, as she did so, her knees gave way and she found herself face to face with the boy's curving penis. There it was up close, what she had been thinking and dreaming about. One hand reached to encircle, just as with the sapling, the other to her sex to touch and stimulate. The penis was big before her and her desire for it strong.

Leaning forward, Sasha's lips closed and she had the shiny dome within her mouth, cooler than she had expected and so silky smooth. She drew her lips back slowly, following the dome shape so that her lips came closer and closer together as the circumference narrowed until they were together just resting on the very end of the boy's penis. Sasha gave just the tiniest lick right at the end where she had seen the pearly drop and there was just the faintest taste of salt on her tongue. A dream taste.

Sasha awoke in the dark from the dream, a dream of the copse. The imagery had been so strong and she knew she had to go to it as if someone was telling her what to do and calling to her in her mind. Dressing hurriedly she was in the car within minutes and travelling as the dawn broke; the light gradually spreading across the land and her speeding motor car. It was midday before she reached the village, before she parked her car and walked up the track which led by the copse. There it was on the skyline, quiet, not really very mysterious but set apart, on its own—an island of trees in a sea of ripe golden barley. Sasha had hoped the crop would already have been reaped as she did not want to trample. It was still and quiet all around her with just the sound of the larks rising as she stood on the track, in the shade of an old oak, irresolute, looking out over the barley. She had come such a long way.

Carefully Sasha moved out into the sea, picking her way and disturbing very little. Wouldn't it be awful to hear the farmer shouting at her, angry with her being in a field ready for the harvest but there was no sound but the larks. There was a hush upon the land, a midsummer, midday, hot, still kind of hush; a drowsy quiet to succumb to in the shade of an old oak after a picnic lunch in the fields. Sasha moved slowly across the field getting ever closer to the trees. Unlike in her dreams there was no breeze to move the barley and cause waves to move upon its surface. It was like a flat, sultry calm.

Pausing, feet from the edge of the field where the trees began, it seemed to Sasha that she was in her dream for it was just the same—exactly the same; she glanced down at the hem of her gingham dress brushing the barley—so just like the dream: but this was real. It seemed ridiculous, not something you did, but Sasha knew she was going to take the dress off as soon as she was within the trees and her bra and panties as well. She wanted to be naked, to be as naked as she had been in all those dreams. But what if she met someone?

The silver birches met her as she reached the copse, their leaves brushing at her, touching the bare skin of her arms. Sasha turned and looked back at the golden field of barley ripe for the harvesting stretching back, acre upon acre, to the track, its colour seeming the colour of her hair.

Carefully Sasha took off her dress and folded it, placing her underclothes and sandals beneath. She took a step, a naked step away from the little cotton pile, a first step from what was normal. Why did it feel so good to be naked in the trees, feeling the soft dry leaves of another year beneath her feet?

Somehow she was not surprised to find the dip in the ground running to her right and left, a wide depression that was more than a ditch—perhaps the remains of a moat from a time long past. She paused in a patch of sunlight feeling the contrast with the shade on her skin, the midsummer sun hot on her golden-red hair, hot on her pale skin. It did not do for her to be in the hot sun for too long as she would burn. She should have brought her straw hat to shade her shoulders but what would she have looked like walking naked with just a sun hat in the copse—what did she look like now with just her harvest golden hair shading her shoulders and the rest of her naked in the sunshine? It was quiet, very quiet, not even the birds were singing in the heat though there was a background noise from the insects. Sasha looked up into the sky and saw far above her an airliner passing, its con trail faint, a reminder of the modern world in the timelessness of the copse: but she could not hear it.

Sasha sat in the pool of sunlight. She did not plan to stay there long, she wanted to go further into the copse, to explore, but it was pleasant just to sit in the stillness and feel the softness of the land beneath her bottom. She was tempted, though, to touch herself as she had done in her dreams. To open her thighs and touch what she knew was already a little wet and waiting.

Nearby a pair of butterflies were wheeling around each other, darting here and there in the dappled sunlight. Unbidden Shakespeare came to her mind.

'The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly

Does lecher in my sight.

Let copulation thrive;'

She watched, sitting in the stillness.

There was a slight sound behind her as if a foot had stepped on a twig. In alarm her head came round to look over her right shoulder and there, unbelievable but real, was the boy, the boy of her dream and as naked as she had always seen him. Not a stitch on his body, he was as naked as she; he had stopped and was standing completely still, gazing in apparent shock at the sight of a girl with golden hair sitting on the ground, back to him, but evidently naked.

Sasha shot to her feet, turning so her breasts and vee of fair red curls were revealed to him.

"It's you!" he said his eyes moving over her body.

Sasha had never in her dreams heard him speak, his voice sounded just as she thought it would, and the words showed he too had dreamt of her. What were his thoughts of her—how was this happening?

What he thought of her became obvious, his penis at first at rest had stirred and embarrassing for him, rose to its full height. It was long and curved just as in the dream.

Sasha liked it. "Hallo," she said.

It was incongruous shaking hands but how else to hide their embarrassment, to deal with their nudity? A kiss between strangers, even if they already felt they knew the other, would have implied more, and involved a touching of bodies, no doubt a fleeting touch of breast on breast and the touch of smooth penis head to skin. They both pretended to ignore the erection so obviously present.

"I dreamt, I had to come, to be here for real," said Sasha.

"Is this real?"

"I had to take my clothes off," said Sasha by way of explanation.

"Me too, it seemed right, only," his voiced tailed off, "I didn't expect to meet someone. To meet you..."

Their hands were still clasped as if to let go would break the moment, require something more.

"You have a name? No, of course you do! I'm Sasha."

"Nathaniel—Nat."

The simple exchange of names made them let go of their hands leaving them standing in the sunlight, facing each other, facing each other's nakedness and Nat's tumescent penis.

"I'm sorry about this," Nat indicated his still standing erection.

"Don't be, it's nice." She had seen it before. His indicating of it allowed her, gave her permission or reason to look at it, admire it. Sasha wanted to touch but this was not a dream.

There was a pause, each uncertain what to say next.

"I came to walk further into the copse," said Sasha, "to see what is there, perhaps a glade or something at its centre... I don't really know why I came, I just awoke and had to come, had to drive here. It was a compulsion as if there was a voice in my mind, as if I was being directed to come."

"And take your clothes off?"

"Yes."

"It was just like that for me. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's walk. I've never got beyond the rise before, always, always... always you've come and I have been distracted..." It was out in the open now, the sex.

Nat turned and walked up out of the depression. Sasha watched his back, his buttocks and liked what she saw. He turned, higher up than her and with his erection standing proud offered Sasha his hand to help her up the bank. She took it—their second touch. He did not let go and they walked on, hand in hand, through the trees as silver birch and ash saplings gave way to more mature trees, ashes and oaks as well as old coppiced hazel. The floor carpet was thick with old leaves and soft to their naked feet.

There was a feeling of wetness between her legs, Sasha glanced down at Nat's cock moving a little side by side as he walked, the erection showing no sign of abating. The sexual feeling of the copse was there, not as strong as in the dream but by no means absent. It was nice, Sasha was sure sex would follow, something she had not done with a boy, her only experience was in her head, but she was not worried, not frightened: instead happy to partake—she wanted to touch Nat, feel him and hold his long cock. But that could wait as yet.

It seemed to the two that they were now following a path, a track; not that there was any visible sign on the ground such as where old leaves had been scuffed out of the way or even old stone paving but the easiest way, a route avoiding trees and saplings led straight, a clear way before them running into the heart of the copse. They followed the easy course and hand in hand stepped deeper into the wood.

Nat paused and looked at Sasha, "I cannot believe you are just the same, just as I imagined you in my dream, just as pretty."

Sasha wanted to pull him to her, kiss him, feel his hardness against her tummy but knew if she did it would not stop there. "Later," she said. Both knew what was meant.

They walked on.

Ahead there seemed more sunshine as if the trees were thinning, and as they drew closer they found this to be so and shortly the boy and girl reached the edge of a glade devoid of trees, and stopped motionless. In the glade only yards from them were deer and, as they watched, the stag mounted the doe, its forelegs high in the air. It performed; the copulation was brief and energetic, on the part of the stag, and then it was over and the ever wary deer saw the couple and bounded away.

"It's the wrong time for the Rut," said Nat puzzled, "October, starting September but this is too early."

Here and there were patches of grass, soft and cropped. "Must be by the deer," said Sasha.

Separating they took their own paths in the sunshine around the glade. The ground was not level, and there were mounds and the occasional sign of old moss covered masonry indicating a building had stood at some time in the distant past. Sasha looked across the glade at Nat examining some old stonework, she liked what she saw and the feeling between her legs was strong, she knew she was really wet, ready for sex, penetration even.

It was time.

Sasha made her way towards Nat and he turned and walked to meet her. They sat down on one mound, its top particularly level and grassy almost like a bed. It was Sasha who leant in, face upraised, her right breast touching Nat's shoulder and kissed him, her lips on his, a brush at first and then a harder pushing. Lips parted and Sasha's small pink tongue sought Nat's own, wet tongue on wet tongue, the beginning of the mingling; his fair beard on her face; her arm went around his back and his around her shoulder and they pulled each other together. They were not hurried despite the arousal which had been building for both of them since entering the copse. The kissing was long and the tongues played and explored.

The touch of Nat's hand on her breast was a pleasing shock to Sasha, one moment it was not there and the next it was holding her round breast, its hard nipple in the softness of his palm. Un-rebuffed, and why would Sasha push him away as she was as ready as he, his fingers moved together, tips sliding on the so smooth skin of her breast to meet around her small pale pink nipple and hold its hardness. A squeeze and Sasha could feel a sudden rush of moisture to her sex and a strengthening desire to be filled.

Nat explored and played with Sasha's breasts, stroking and coaxing, she, for her part stroked his downy fine curly chest hair before finding his nipples, though smaller than her own and they—totally without purpose, absurd on a man—were as hard as her own.

Without any encouragement from touching, a pearly drop appeared at the very tip of Nat's penis, just as in her dream. Sasha looked at it, its slight opaquecy, how it just rested there, rounded, held together by surface tension; as she did so, the desire from her dream to touch it with her tongue came strongly to her; she remembered though the propensity of the boy, of Nat, to come so quickly.

"If I touch you won't come too fast, will you? I do so want to hold you."

Nat shook his head, it was different from the dream, he was not on the knife edge.

Sasha reached, her hand closed, and she held it in her hand, for the first time in her life she was holding a boy's penis and an erect one at that. She had no comparison to make but she liked the way it curved and was sure it was longer than most. The pearly drop shone in the sunshine. She did not resist her feelings, complied with her instinct, indeed followed the dream. Sasha bent and gave a gentle, tiny lick right at the tip of the penis and there was just the faintest taste of salt on her tongue. She smiled up at Nat, his startled face with its blue eyes and fair curly beard. With her hand she squeezed the shaft, both intriguingly rigid and hard within yet, at the same time, having such soft skin without; she tasted another drop on her tongue.

They kissed again as Sasha's hand held the erection and, holding it, she realised its soft skin moved, not like say the skin on her arm or leg moved when pushed across the musculature beneath, but with a much greater freedom. Breaking the kiss she watched her hand moving the skin so it wrinkled up and rolled over the shiny head almost covering it before she rolled it down again so the bulbous head was fully revealed again.

"Do you like that? Is this right?"

Nat nodded, "Just slowly," and kissed her again, his tongue seeking as his hand began to slide down from her breasts across her tummy, not hurrying, but with purpose in mind. The fingers came to the very edge of her vee of curly red gold hair and paused to stroke the downy softness and to run finger tips through the fine hairs and feel the soft mounding of her pubis above the bone beneath.

Sasha's fingers left Nat's penis and they too stroked pubic hair, Nat's fair curls, running her fingers through and then down either side of the shaft; the shaft that rose from the growth and was so very different from her own arrangement where, instead of a penis there was just a little slit, half hidden by her curls, a slit that widened to where she was now very wet.

Nat's finger found the little valley and began to travel downwards; Sasha's fingers too went exploring, seeking what lay beneath the penis, again so very different from her own body for instead of her wet folds she found his hanging ball sack; her fingers curled and she held the testes in her hand; she stroked feeling the wrinkled skin, feeling the smooth egg shapes within; careful not to squeeze for she knew how vulnerable, how easily hurt boys were there; her fingers moved on down to find just smooth skin with a smattering of hair, so very different from her own body as Nat was discovering.

He, in turn, had let his finger follow the valley downwards; its tip encountered a changing texture, a softer skin and the touch of wetness and the feel of pendulous, so soft skin, skin he could hold between finger and thumb and move and gently rub; his fingers and thumb parted and moved outwards to begin a journey running downwards just where Sasha's thighs ended and soft downy hair began, a travel down the edges of her outer, nether lips.

Sasha shuddered at the touch, her tongue thrusting deep within Nat's mouth, she felt on fire with desire for this boy.

From far away came the sound of a combine harvester: the harvest had begun.