Loving the Forest

A jay flew squawking overhead, fluttering blue and grey. I like jays. They're attractive birds but, like most of the corvids, don't have the voice to go with the looks. It wasn't the first I'd seen of these today but, in this pinewood habitat, I expected to see more. I watched through binoculars as it flew off over the canopy.

I was becoming aware of a need to find a bush. It was quiet up here, out of the way, even now it was early afternoon, but you never knew when someone was going to come round a corner with a dog and find you carrying out natural human functions. It was time to get off the beaten path.

For lack of a better idea, I followed the jay. It was the wrong habitat for many bushes, at least anything larger than a patch of heather or blaeberry with as-yet under-ripe fruit, so my best bet was to head deeper into the woods, where only people like me were likely to venture. It was warm, only the design of my rucksack stopping me from heavy sweat. I wear a hat, full length trousers and an old shirt and cover every exposed centimetre with the kind of sunscreen they sell for children when doing long days outdoors. Otherwise, with my skin colour, I burn faster than heath in a drought.

There is something about the smell of damp woods on a warm day. It does the same to me that miles of drying peat does to me in the hills. The smell itself is almost erotic, and does things to my hormones otherwise restricted to the natural scents of a small number of women. Maybe that's one reason why I love these places so much. I'm sure those chemicals are addictive. I could feel things changing in my lower abdomen and groin. This was not unusual. The strength of it certainly was.

I crested a ridge, still hearing the jay in the distance and other common birds of the pinewoods, some closer. I'd had good views of crested and long-tailed tits, with their distinctive call, and a number of black and yellow siskins. Here, deeper in the woods, and in more of a dip leading down to a river, it was getting increasingly misty. By now I was climbing over the odd fallen tree. I paused behind the bole of one of the larger standing ones, a rare mature Scots pine, usually reddish bark partly covered in lichen and browning with age, unzipped, and flushed some excess fluids through a shaft close to being too tumescent for the job. I tucked myself back in with difficulty, keeping it upright so I could walk more comfortably and feeling more self-conscious than I usually do when peeing behind a tree. I spend a lot of time a long way from any sort of habitation and I've watered a lot of bushes and rocks over the years.

For several weeks now, when out for walks, I'd had this odd sensation of being watched. It wasn't anything threatening. I wasn't paranoid, and it didn't happen in towns, so I wasn't any more worried about my mental health than usual for a naturalist geek like me. It felt more like friendly curiosity, maybe with a bit of uncertainty. Sometimes I'd catch sight of something out of the corner of one eye, only to find nothing there, even a shy wren in dead brush. Each time it happened, I wrote it off as my imagination. Maybe more solitary types like me have more active imaginations than most people. I don't know. I don't have a lot to compare it to.

Now that feeling was back. This time it was accompanied by my own growing sexual desire. Maybe it had just been too long. I'm a naturalist, not a party animal.

I ducked between two more pine trees growing close together, but angling away from each other, each trying to get as much sunlight as possible. I paused. Something was odd. The mist seemed to have lifted, but much more quickly than I'd expect. The feeling of being watched was stronger too.

I heard a bird call I knew. A crossbill. I have a soft spot for crossbills. They're red, brightly coloured, in a tropical sort of way, with a bill adapted for prying seeds from pine cones. I raised my binoculars for a closer look. My camera was slung over one shoulder. The tripod, which I'd need at that range, up in a pine canopy, was in the rucksack. I was about to grab it when I froze.

A cat. A cat about a metre from nose to tail, with tufts on the ears. Now I knew something was off. Those have been extinct in Scotland for over 400 years. Sure, someone with more money and connections than sense might have done a private reintroduction on the quiet, and escaped panthers have been strongly suspected for a while, but I've never heard so much as a rumour of one of those.

"Hello."

The voice was quiet, but close, and startled me. I turned. A young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, stood there. She was short, delicate with long dark hair loose to the middle of her back, setting off pale skin. She was wearing a draped woven wrap, covering her to below the knee, with no visible means of holding it on. It looked skilfully handmade, without bright modern dyes. The ground was covered in dead twigs and branches, and she must have been very quiet on sandaled feet.

She was also utterly lovely. She had high cheekbones, green, almost a vivid-green, eyes, and full lips. There was no trace of makeup. I suppose the best word would be natural. My cock finished hardening, and I realised there was no way to hide it without her realising what it was I was hiding. My heart skipped again. I closed my mouth, firmly. I had it. Distract her!

I pointed as discretely as possible at the cat, no more than 30 metres off into the forest.

"Do you know what that is?" I whispered.

"It's a lynx."

I was about to tell her I knew it was a lynx, but something in her expression told me she was amused, so I kept my mouth shut.

"She has mother-lynx things to do, so we should leave her be." She paused. "May we talk?"

Girls this pretty rarely want to talk to me. I took another look at the lynx, decided that any photo I produced would be denounced as a forgery, or taken on the continent, and decided I'd live with the memories.

"Um," I said brightly. "OK."

She stepped forward. I caught a whiff of something, a smell of loam and pinewoods, but it seemed to be her, not our surroundings. She reached out one small, delicate, hand, and took mine. Now I knew what was meant when people say that energy flows between you. I'd thought I knew that before. Now I knew different. Something in my abdomen melted. Something in my groin solidified. I tried to blame the heat for feeling slightly dizzy, but the woods were slightly too cool for that idea to convince even myself.

She smiled, dimples breaking out on her cheeks. My heart gave a warning thump. "This way."

She led me off down the slope, at an acute angle to where the cat was foraging. She was, indeed, light on her feet. I pride myself on being quiet in the woods. To see the most interesting wildlife you have to be.

We ended up down next to a stream, maybe four metres wide. The trees here were different in the damper ground. These were deciduous, providing dappled shade from the sun. There was a large, flat, moss-covered rock, above a pool at the bottom. She sat down on it. Sitting next to her seemed like the right thing to do. I dumped the rucksack to one side. She moved close, so our arms and legs touched.

"You're wondering why I brought you here?"

I sensed she didn't mean down by the burn. Certain things started to add up. The wildlife that shouldn't be there. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered old stories about people walking into mists and winding up in places that weren't real as the rest of us understand them. Sometimes those people only came back long after those who knew them were dead. It's been a staple of fantasy, maybe for hundreds of years. I stuck my neck out.

"We're not exactly in Scotland any more."

"Sort of." She looked at me carefully, trying to ascertain my reaction. Those eyes were hypnotic. "OK. You're not used to this. Think of this as a Scotland that runs parallel to yours. It's different but, to a point, what happens in your Scotland affect things that happen here, and the other way around. I'm not sure how it all works. I'm a long way from being any kind of physicist!"

I read a lot of science fiction. Good science fiction. The kind they base in something resembling a universe that corresponds to what we know, or think we know, of physics. This isn't conventional multiverse theory. One universe can't affect another. I said as much.

She smiled, shrugging it off. "Your scientists know less of Nature than they think. They may well be right about that bit. I don't know. I do know they missed this place."

"There's a whole world like this?" She cocked her head, smiling that impish smile. I was close. "A whole universe?"

"The stars are the same, just more brilliant. There is less damage here, although that's changing. There are still more truly wild places, and more wildlife. There has been very little direct damage caused by us being here. Well, not compared to what humans have done where you come from."

"There's more places like this?"

"Like leaves piled upon leaves."

This was a lot to think about. There was obviously more.

"Things are not as they should be in your ... reality. You know about this." I know about this. Climate change, what some are calling a mass extinction, all these things caused by a species whose members don't know, don't care, or choose to delude themselves. I'm an amateur naturalist. To me, it's not some abstract problem. I'm watching it happen, I'mfeelingit happen, and it feels like there is nothing,nothing, I can do to stop it.

"So, we started looking for someone like you."

"We?" I was way out of my depth. "Like me?"

"We, I'll explain later. Yes, like you. Gentle, honest, not only doesn't want to hurt anyone but wants to stop others doing the hurting. Someone who's not just in it for the money or, what do you call it, the social kudos. Someone who understands, at an instinctive level, that humans are all part of Nature, and that what affects one part affects all of it. Someone who understands that all these things exist for their own good reasons. Someone like you." There was a flash of exasperation. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?"

I've met a lot of rotten humans. They can't all be that bad, surely? I decided to keep my mouth shut.

"I screw things up often enough."

"Screwing things up is understandable. Too much of your species do damage deliberately."

"You've been watching me?" This made some sense, sort of.

"Yes. Me and some of my ... sisters, I suppose, we wanted ... no, I wanted to get to know you better.. You almost spotted one or other of us once or twice. Even that was impressive. Most humans couldn't do that. Not any more. I'm sure there are others out there. We know of some. A lot are busy doing the kinds of things where we couldn't reach them, things in cities, or things in groups, or places where there are just too many other humans around. Some are in relationships, which wasn't fair. Others are, in many ways, too downright immature. Some are quite mad. Given what's going on I'm surprised more aren't like that. We picked you. As for the rest, I'm the right person for what needs doing. I'm keen to take part."

"Take part in what, exactly?"

She lay back on the moss-covered rock, the impish smile back. She bent her knees, showing a lot of thigh. I didn't know which way to look.

"I took the hair off. We know men like it when a woman removes the hair. It's been like that for a long time, even when we had more contact with your reality."

My heart was racing, and I was having trouble breathing, never mind thinking. I could go with the flow, or run screaming. I gave in. I decided to go with the flow.

"You're right, but natural is nice too." I reached out a hand, then hesitated. She was moving very fast, and I might have misread the signals. "May I touch?"

She looked up at me, inviting. "Please."

I started at one knee, then curved round to stroke inner thigh. She was warm, smooth, and with hidden muscle. I felt her relax into it, and bent down to kiss, briefly, gently, on the lips. She savoured it, perhaps a little uncertain.

"I'm sure you know my name."

"Neil."

"I don't know yours."

"Melia."

"You still know me a lot better than I know you."

"True, but let's change that." She drew me down to her, firmly, almost insistently, then ran her hands through my hair, bringing me down for another kiss. I gave in to that woody, earthy, scent of her, caressing her through her wrap, half on top of her, my swelling shaft pressing against her hip. She responded, feeling like she was torn between uncertainty and encouragement.

I wanted to take my time enjoying her, but her touch on my skin, when she pulled my shirt out of my trousers to get at bare skin, almost felt electric. I wanted more, pulled back onto one elbow, and found one end of her long, single cloth garment over her shoulder.

I unwrapped her slowly, exposing a flat tummy, and full, firm breasts with the nipples swollen with excitement, each areole pink and puffy. I stopped to fondle and kiss each one. She moaned in pleasure, stroking my back under my shirt. I gave up, and stripped her to her footwear, exposing a pussy that was definitely natural and untrimmed, but certainly no thick bush. I stroked it, gently, enough to sensitise the skin beneath. I leaned back, removed simple sandals, and gazed almost awed at her naked body, now lying on one piece of fabric, her legs slightly parted, inviting me to bring our bodies together. She watched me, perhaps amused at the reverence I must have been showing.

I reached for my top shirt button, but she sat up and took my hand away. There was almost no sway in her breasts, they were that firm . "I want to know what it feels like to undress you." She started at the top, concentrating, but not hesitating to touch, and not shy about her naked body. The fact that she simply didn't seem bothered about her nudity, not trying to hide it, not trying to get pornographic about it, simply made the whole thing more exciting. Her bare breasts were simply there, inviting contact. Her legs remained slightly parted, showing a hint of the lips at the cleft at the top of her thighs. I reached out to stroke her skin, sensing her relax to my touch, as she worked her way down to the last button, then reached for those holding my cuffs. Those undone, she pushed the shirt back and off my shoulders, then pressed herself to me, both of us facing each other on our knees. She took me in her arms, as much in a decisive way as a sexual one, ran her hands up my back, pressed her breasts to my chest, and put her lips to mine again.

I stroked her gently, up and down her spine, one finger hinting at something a bit harder at the top of the cleavage in her buttocks. The kiss seemed almost hesitant, uncertain, at first, so I took the lead in running my tongue across her lips, then withdrawing to allow her to reciprocate. It was almost as if she wasn't quite sure what to do, which didn't square with her taking the lead in what was, in many ways, basically jumping my body. I had an odd sensation, too. The feeling of being observed had now changed to one of familiarity, like two people who have known each other for a long time, and know each others moods and habits. Somewhere, in a partially overridden forebrain, I knew we'd just met. Older parts were running the show. I allowed myself to be drawn into it and, when her tongue withdrew into her mouth, she allowed mine to follow it. Two tongues stroked each other for a long minute, until we broke for air.

She eased herself back slightly, then moved her hands to stroke my chest. This seemed like the perfect excuse to reciprocate, so I fondled the firm weights with their now-hardened tips, one in each hand. She ran one hand down my lower abdomen to my belt line, then lower, gently fondling my erection through my trousers. Melia let out a low moan, perhaps considering what it would feel like within her. I growled in quiet appreciation. She whispered to me, "I know rationally that's going to fit, but I hope I'm right about you being gentle." She ran three fingers up the shaft, and I moaned again. "Sit back."

I did as I was told, and this beautiful young woman started on my boots, followed by my socks. Then she looked me in the eye, pinched her lower lip gently with her teeth, and reached for my trouser button. I stroked whatever I could reach on her body while she did this. I just wanted to explore her for the moment. I moved my rear off the ground while she struggled with what seemed like unfamiliar clothing, the zip requiring two tries before she decided to lower it all the way. My erection was straining at my underwear, but she pulled the elastic forward, then down, and stripped me naked. All clothing was unceremoniously tossed to one side.

She seemed fascinated by my cock. At one level she seemed sexually confident, as if she'd done this before. At another, she acted like she'd never seen a man naked before. Both tiny hands reached out to touch the shaft, first stroking, then gripping it gently along as much of its length as she could manage.

"Would you like me to kiss it?"

"I'd love you to kiss it."

She bent, hesitated, put a peck about half way down the shaft, hesitated again, seemed to gain confidence and ran her tongue around the cut tip. I let out an appreciative moan as she tasted a drop of pre-come, and took the top of her head in both hands, running fingers through her hair. Melia took this as encouragement, and bobbed her head to take the top few inches into her mouth. She ran her tongue round and over it a few times, while I let out a few involuntary noises of support. I was feeling uncomfortably close to bursting, so it's probably just as well that she withdrew quickly.

"Nice?"

"Very." She could practice on me all she liked but, the way I was feeling, now was not a good time. In any case, I wanted to know what she tasted like. "Would you like me to do the same for you?"

"You want to kiss me between my legs?"

"Yes, please."

Melia looked back at me lustfully, then lay back on the dry moss, inviting me to do what I wanted with her. I wanted several things. The first was to drink her juices. The second was to know what her body felt like when it was shuddering with orgasm. The rest would have to wait a while. There's a difference between a quick release and enjoying a woman properly.

I covered her naked body with mine, one of my legs between hers, and kissed her deeply again, then worked to her chin, then her throat, then suckled gently on each breast, fondling as I did so. She moaned, accepting pleasure from the sensations. I wanted to give her more, so I shifted my weight, and gave her soft kisses as far as her navel, then back down to the triangle of fur where her legs joined. I teased gently with my fingers and blew on it lightly, sensitising the skin beneath. I rose to my knees, and parted her slender muscled thighs, then moved to lie between them. My head dipped again.

There was a little hair covering the lips of her sex. I parted this with my fingers, then used lips and tongue to expose the soft entrance to her body. I resisted the desire to penetrate her immediately. I wanted to enjoy her fully, so I lapped at the growing wetness of her spring. It was thin, almost watery. Some women, at some points in their natural cycles, have a hint of bitterness. She tasted slightly sweet, reminding me of a watered version of the cane juice I'd often enjoyed out in India. Her natural scent was arousing. Something in her natural fluids was driving me crazy. It was like some sort of drug. This, combined with the scent of our woodland surroundings and her own, similar, natural perfume and the feel of this sensational naked body kept my erection a solid as the trunk of one of the local trees, and did things to my head that, if I'd been able to isolate it, would have been in high demand the world over.