Green Man Pt. 04

After agreeing to take apprentices, the Green Man tells them to return to his stall at the end of the day. He instructs the men on where and when they were to arrive. He settles costs with Holly for her mirror and Libby for a spoon. Libby gets a special gift. The men find a new way to dress for success.

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The foursome drifted through the rest of the market not really aware of the other vendors. Joss's pants were still damp from his ejaculation, but he was not embarrassed to be seen soaked as he was. Indeed, no one seemed to notice the four of them, as if they were passing through time in a separate space from the rest of the people. Not so odd, really. No one ever notices us as much as we think they do. We are always playing to a private audience that hectors and shames us.

They ate leisurely, enjoying some people-watching, waiting for the sun to go down. They were relaxed and calmly reflecting on this juncture in their lives.

Just as Holly was shedding the need to be so carefully put together, so too Joss was beginning his own transformation. The years of pretending to be a superhuman worker had subdued his creative talents, had reduced the real man inside. His life was one of busy desperation. Suddenly, after meeting this strange Mr. Green, he felt free of those strictures. How else to explain that he did not immediately find a way to cover himself, sodden as he was? His inner exhibitionist urged him to take off all his clothes and spend the rest of the day wandering the market naked. Of course, the habit of propriety prevented the urge from becoming action.

Sam mulled the strange agreement. Absolute obedience to Mr. Green in exchange for learning the ways of the green woodman. Or was it the greenwood man. He could not recall the emphasis in those words. On the one hand, he and Joss liked to think they were to become part of a new tribe of young woodworkers calling themselves the greenwood movement. Mr Green could have been offering to help them become greenwood woodworkers, working in freshly felled timber, timber still 'wet' and green. On the other hand, though, perhaps he meant that they would be learning from him, a Green Man, about woodworking.

He sat there puzzling about what Mr Green had meant. Which was it? Had he fully understood what he was agreeing to? Sam had learned the legend of the Green Man from his beloved grandfather, a master carpenter who had worked restoring a church of ancient design. Sam had enjoyed spending hours with the old man, listening, learning. They planned a drive one day, in order to see the place where Granddad had put in so many days. On the way, Sam had listened to everything the old man had to say about the yearslong employment the restoration provided.

Walking and talking in the expansive interior, Granddad pointed up to the bosses, those images carved in stone at the intersections of arches. "See them faces up there? Them are made to be men or animals, saints and devils, and such. Now that one up there between them windows," extending an arthritic finger, "That's the Green Man. See how his hair is like oak leaves, and his brows and beard is vines?"

He told Sam, the bosses, like stained glass windows, explained things without words: ancient stories of fertility, rebirth, and the cycle of life, pagan stuff. "But why have pagan images in a church, Granddad?" With a chuckle and hand laid gently on his grandson's shoulder, the old man said, "I suppose the builders were covering all their bases, lad."

There are no Green Men, of course. Sam smiled at the fancy of men long past. All that was myth.. But confronted with Mr. Green, the idea did not seem so strange, so far fetched, to him now. How else to explain their experiences at their local market, the magical effects of the wooden items, the hallucinations, the incredible workmanship? It was most perplexing for him, and he brooded in silence about the myth and the strange contract they had agreed to.

The few hours left in the day slipped by and they wound their way back to Green's stall. Libby and Holly arm-in-arm as they walked up to GreenWood Wares again. They had been discussing what other utensils to buy. Libby, an ardent Harry Potter fan, desperately wanted the sort of wand from those books and films. The girls were giggling from the idea. Holly urged her to select a shiny black one, thinking it would have the same magical powers of growth and swelling that her spoon had demonstrated. A swelling, perhaps curving, black wooden wand, growing and becoming more and more like a man's cock. They both knew why Holly suggested it should be a black one. A shared desire that many women have to walk on the wild side, black men being rumored to have such great cocks. At least, that is what Holly had always believed. As they approached the table, they were still giggling. And they were feeling sexual.

Green was in the shadows of the tent surrounding his stall. They could hear him rifling through his boxes and bags looking for something, but they could not see him. His clothing, in its leafy camouflage, hid him against the green, foliate pattern of the tent surrounding his stall. He did not acknowledge their arrival, so intent he was on locating whatever he was searching for.

He at last reappeared, stretched his back and arms and strode toward them. Green carried two sloyd knives in his broad hand. Both Joss and Sam recognized the utilitarian knife of Scandinavian tradition. It was meant for general work, and was a man's constant companion. Not fancy, but perfect, nonetheless.

The knife Green gave to Sam was made of Damascus steel, layered throughout with thin leaves of hard and soft metals. The blade glistened in his hand as he drew it from its sheath, its tissue thin layers appearing as spidery, ink-drawn lines on the steel. The handle was of maple burl and burnished to a satin sheen. It had a full tang blade, the steel going completely through the handle, capped at the end. Modern, mass production requires only a short stub that is pounded and glued into a common white wood handle. Sam had never had a tool as fine as this. It fitted his hand perfectly like it had been worn into his palm. It made him feel confident, like it imparted to his hand the skill needed to work at the level this tool demanded.

The Sloyd knife handed to Joss was less intricate than Sam's knife, but just as superior in its quality. The handle was bone white and finely faceted. Joss recognized the texture was the same as his wife's spoon and bowl. Scraped, not sanded.

"Holly," Green said.

"Yes?" Holly called out expectantly as she heard Green say her name.

Joss snickered. "Holly. The scales of this knife are holly." She was disappointed that Green had not called her. She was so attracted to him.

"You shall practise with these knives, learn how to use them. Let them do the work, you just guide them. Thinking is more important than doing." Looking at Joss, he teased, "You can think can't you?"

Joss did not take offense, but absorbed the jibe as if from a teacher making a point. "See the idea. Let the knife be a pencil of your thoughts."

"You, Sam, you know what to do, don't you?" Sam nodded. How did Green know his name? No one said it to him.

Green reached within his tunic and pulled out a wide leathery leaf and pressed it into Sam's hand. On it was a set of directions written in a careful hand. "North by east of Aberfyle, three miles. Find a stone now set in the branch. Stand and listen. The sun is the clock"

"Saturday next." Green fastened his eyes sternly on Sam and then on Joss. "Do not come if you are not willing to learn. The knives will know if you are not sincere and you will not be able to wield them. So, ponder well the decision you've made. It will be a promise to you."

Leaving the men to wonder at their knives, Green turned to Holly and Libby and smiled gently. "The mirror for you and a spoon for you ma'am. Your friend, Miss Holly seems to like her spoon well enough." Holly blushed, but Libby smiled. He named the price.

Then quietly, to Libby he said, "I would like to offer you this trifle as well."

He picked up a flat-plane caricature he had carved, a female-looking gnome, seven or eight inches tall, wearing a hood and robe. The features of the gnome were indistinct, but did not seem incomplete. The carving wore a long robe with a capacious hood that hung below the figure's shoulders. The hood's peak softened over the figure's head and the hem gently turned under to cover the figure's eyes. It could have been a nun or even a medieval lady wearing a long hooded robe that hung gracefully about her.

As Libby turned the figurine in her hand, she saw from the other side, the bottom of the hood folded back slightly upon the robe in a way that resembled the shape of a penis's crown. The rest of the robe flowed downward mimicking a man's shaft. A pleat and fold running the length of the robe appeared as if it were a prominent vein on the top of a very erect cock. He had just given Libby a very cleverly carved dildo. Set facing outward on a shelf, it would look like an innocently carved, robed, and hooded figure. Only upon lifting and inspecting would one surmise the real design. But then polite people would never declare what they had realised, would they?

Libby blushed and bowed her head. "Thank you so very much." She extended her hand and Green grasped it gently, drawing it to his lips. He kissed her fingers gently. "I hope it gives you pleasure while your husband is away on his apprenticeship."

Libby felt a thrill through her body when his lips touched and kissed her hand. Her pussy stirred and blood coursed through her, making her lips swell. Momentarily her thoughts were very sexual, imagining the touch of his lips elsewhere. He raised his head and his ever-so-green eyes looked into hers. Did he know her thoughts? Did he imagine Libby as he carved the figure, did he imagine her using it in the way it was so clearly intended to please herself? Had it excited him? The thought excited her. Would he know when she was moving it in and out of her warm and wet vagina? Libby hoped so.

Libby completely forgot about the Harry Potter wand she had considered buying. The figurine held more than enough magic to cast a spell over her.

Holly looked at herself in her cunningly wrought mirror. She appeared calm. Again, in the background, she seemed to see Green looking over her shoulder, as he had when she first held the mirror hours ago. This time she was happy to see his face as she looked at her own. It made her feel somehow more womanly knowing Green was looking at her in the magic mirror.

They had agreed on the prices and paid for the items. Didn't they?

Moments later, Holly was unsure she paid for the mirror, and could not remember the exchange. She remembered taking the mirror and putting it in her bag. Surely she paid him. Libby, neither, could recall specifically how she gave him cash. It was cash, right? Of course, she reasoned. This man does not take credit cards. How odd, she could not remember. And counting her money did not resolve the matter. She could not recall how much she had in her wallet before they arrived at the market.

Sam and Joss marvelled over their knives as if they were long hoped-for Christmas presents. They had many questions for Green. What should they bring with them? How long was the program of study? Any other tools besides their knives? Should they bring a lunch? Would they stay on site? What about the cost? Do they owe him for the knives?

But Green had disappeared, blended into the forest of shadows of the stall. Somehow he had collected all his tools and the rest of his wares, for the table was empty. In fact, the stall was empty as well. How in the world did he manage to put all his things away and leave without them seeing him? All in the twinkling of an eye.

That week Sam and Joss spent time in their shops, cleaning bits of rust from steel, sharpening chisels and plane irons that were not cared for after their last use. They practised with their new knives amazed how a good tool makes the work effortless. A poor workman blames the tool, but a wise one praises it. They had nothing but praise for their new tools.

Holly and Libby practised as well. Holly bathed and powdered and sat in front of the fireplace spread open to the flames, letting them warm her thighs and tender parts. Rather than use the spoon, Holly brought her mirror to the couch. She looked at herself and liked the way her face seemed relaxed, didn't worry that smile lines had deepened and her eyelids sagged a bit like her mother's did. A lovely woman stared back at her with all those things.

The face in the mirror was kind, soft, and inviting. She liked what she saw in herself. The image relaxed her, and Holly felt the familiar fullness starting in her abdomen. Her nether lips were getting plump and distended. Holly held the mirror between her legs so she could see herself. She had not looked at her pussy this way in years, examining the folds, the mount and valley. A very different view. A view that a man... or even a woman... might see if she lay open to them.

The mirror revealed that she was blushing below and getting damp. With her left hand, she drew her lips apart with delicate fingers, watching the curtain spread open to her deepest parts. In the glass she saw a delicate mouth opened to kiss. With her fingers then in a vee, she slid them down, outside her lips, teasing them by not touching them directly. She liked the feeling of such gentle caresses and the slow burn it produced.

She traced lightly along the outer edge of her lips. Yearning to be touched, her lips seemed to swell outward toward the teasing fingers. Along the outside of her lips again she traced the edges of her swollen labia. Holly squeezed them shut between her long fingers, sliding back and forth keeping her vagina closed, stimulating them by alternating firmer and lighter pressure. Her clitoris peeked out as she drew her fingers upward and then burrowed again as her fingers slid down.

Holly was fascinated to combine the tactile feeling of masturbation with the image of what it looked like as her fingers played. When she felt a certain surge from touching a spot, she now saw where her fingers had landed, and understood the geography of her lust. When she collected the dew from between her lips, she saw in the mirror just how wet she appeared, how the dampness collected first in the middle of her labia and spread downward as more flowed from within. She drew the moisture up toward her clitoris, lubricating it, coaxing it to come out.

Watching in the mirror, she guided the pads of her fingertips to roll over the bud of her clitoris, stimulating her deeply. It was like watching someone else's fingers stir her sex. She had never seen something so sexy, and the cause of that sexiness was her own body. She loved the way she looked and loved looking at what she was feeling.

It was a slightly disembodied experience to watch fingers touching tender parts and recognize the intensity of the response it produced. The fingers she watched were very clearly a woman's fingers, but it seemed so clearly another woman touching her intimately. "Dear, oh dear! What an idea. Having another woman touch me like this." The slightly illicit thought thrilled her.

The sight and feel made her want to see how another woman looked when she practised the same, tender touching upon her softest parts. The idea of slowly making love to another woman, examining, studying the architecture of desire was so very arousing. An image of Libby crowded her mind and brought a smile to her face. Oh dear! But she was not cross with herself. The thought of Libby, naked and open to her, pleased her. How different would her sex be? How different her lips, how different her clit?

Needing to urge her stimulation onward, Holly gently pressed two fingers inside. They slipped in easily, wet and hot as she was. Holly liked seeing her fingers from that angle and loved the feeling of her nails gently scraping her vaginal walls.

The handle of the mirror seemed to swell in her hand. Cock shaped, she very well knew what Mr Green had intended by its shape. Had intended her to do with it. Did he know that this man-shaped object would encourage Holly to think about making love to a woman? Did he know, as he fashioned the cock-handled mirror, what Holly was about to do? Did he intend as well for Holly to make love to her friend Libby?

Holly turned the mirror and pressed the penile end of the wooden handle gently between her lips, pushing them apart, entering the warm envelope of her womanhood. Slowly, but more deeply into her vagina, she slowly stroked it in and out. Holly watched the cock-shaped handle get shiny with her slickness. With each stanza of the music she was creating, the cock headed mirror went deeper and deeper until she could go no further.

She scooted herself toward the table in front of the couch and rested her feet on the edge. Rocking her hips a bit, she was able to see herself in the mirror. Her face was red with passion and a flush had spread across her throat and breasts. What a way to be viewing herself - what a way to hold a mirror; twisting and turning the handle inside herself, micro adjustments of hips and sex so that she could observe herself in the mirror.

What would Libby think if she could see her now? She lingered on that image - the thought of Libby seeing her like that, impaled upon the mirror's handle. Too, what would Joss think if he came in from his workshop (unlikely, he was too absorbed in his woodworking tonight.) But if he did, with his cock swelling and ready to replace the handle of the mirror. Holly frowned. Perhaps not replace it... no, she would suck Joss, suck until he came. The pleasure from the handle of the mirror was too incredible.

As her passion climbed and she clamped the handle firmly with the walls of her vagina, she saw something else in the mirror. It was him. Green's face appeared along with her own. Just as it had at the market, she could see him standing behind her watching as if he were standing just beyond the couch. She turned to see, but of course, he was not there. Looking again in the mirror, he was there, a smile visible behind the thicket of beard and moustache.

The idea that this wild man would be watching her fuck herself with a wooden object he had made, thrilled her. She wanted to show him how much she enjoyed the pleasure of his craft. At that moment, she would have thrown all caution to the wind and invited him to place the briefly seen, but oft-remembered, tree-like cock inside her. She would have wanted to dive her fingers into the groves of hair on his body, to smell his spring-like breath, to feel him pump into her, and plant his fertile seed deep within her secret garden.

Holly was desperate to cum. She fixed her eyes on the magic man in the mirror and gritted her teeth. He raised his bearded face slightly, a minute act of permission, and suddenly the orgasm shook her. The ocean of passion inside her crested and rolled over her. She watched him watch her. She liked showing herself to him. And she wanted to see his reaction to her offered exhibition.

As she rocked in her delight, she saw that his eyes had closed, the vining eyebrows tangling along his brow. It lasted only a few moments and then he relaxed. She was thrilled to think that maybe he had cum watching her. She could not see his body, could not see if he were naked or clothed. Could not see if his cock was exposed or erect. But she thought it was and she thought it had spurted. What a sight to have seen. The idea was so strong in her mind. She was proud she could make the wild man do that. She was happy. She was alive.

If only she could have seen more of him. All that she could see was his face in the mirror, little more. Had he been naked, had he simply cum as Joss or had stroked himself, watching her enjoying herself? The thought of seeing his tree cock spurting pleased her. She would have liked to have seen his cock again; not half-seen through his kilt, but enjoyed openly, rising, rooted to his body like the trunk of a tree planted in the forest. Strong and powerful. To see, feel, perhaps even... once more she pushed the mirror's handle into her imagining a tree like cock...