Green Man Pt. 04

The next day, Libby and Holly met for coffee. Libby brought along her figurine to show Holly. It was an intimate conversation, a talk between very close friends. A revealing of secrets. As Libby told about the way the hooded carving had dived into her pussy, she fondled it, letting her hand slide down the carving, wrapped as it were around a penis, lightly at first, then held more firmly as she recounted a glorious orgasm. Holly found her eyes kept coming back to Libby's fingers, watching what they were doing. The hooded carving was so well done, one moment a gnome, the next, as it moved in Libby's fingers, a deliciously hard cock.

Libby told Holly how, with one hand, she had fucked herself with the carving and, with the other hand, used her fingers to roll slowly over her clitoris. It was a frank and open, certainly very personal description. Two girls whispering the most private of secrets. Libby was no stranger to a dildo, she had a few, but this non-vibrating cock-carving was the best - by- far she had ever used. Both a vaginal and clitoral orgasm all at once. It was perfect and powerful.

Holly swallowed, they had certainly mentioned sex before but she had not heard Libby quite like this. Nothing like this. Not heard her be so open... dildoes, plural, indeed.

"You'll have to try it some time," Libby gushed. Holly was suddenly red-faced, exposed in the sreamining silence. 'Mmmm, that would be very nice,' Holly thought.

Though Libby and Holly had shared secrets, they had never been physically intimate. Nothing of the sort. It was only that Libby was eager to share the joy she had felt and wanted her friend to feel the same rush of excitement. Nor could Libby have known that Holly was warming to the idea of making love slowly to another woman.

Holly squirmed a bit in her chair, feeling the effect of a stimulating story and her own ribald thoughts. She was only a trifle embarrassed yet, yet, the thought of that figurine, the thought of her friend's legs spread open, exposing her beautiful lips to her, of her own fingers stimulating Libby, her own lips sucking at Libby's cunt - yes she was thinking that too - the taste and smell, and sound of Libby having a slow and powerful orgasm as Holly teased and studied her.

Pausing her thoughts only slightly, Holly asked drily, "Might I hold it?" Libby passed it over the table to her friend. "My!" Holly gasped, "It is very... um... cocky, isn't it" Turning it around and looking it over, she concluded, "Yes, yes, quite manly from this angle." Holly got a shiver as she held the crafty wooden dildo. Trying to adjust to the onslaught of sexual feelings flooding her, she sought to change the subject, but only revealed more of her hidden passion.

"We must get together." Her voice trailed a bit. "Perhaps when the guys are away at their apprenticeship," she mused aloud, sort of addressing Libby's offer to share her sex toy. Peering at Libby over the carved figure in her hand, she swallowed. "I mean, with the guys being away at their workshop and all."

With her fingers wrapped fully around the body of the figurine, she stroked it just as Libby had done, thrilling to the feel of a hard cock in her hand. Just the way he intended when he carved the figure and gave it to Libby, Mr. Green and his wonderful carvings would bring the two women together: naked, intimate, engulfed by their passions.

As the women had been enjoying the effects of Mr. Green's woodwork, the men were as deeply affected by the gifts he had given them.

Sam and Joss spent every evening that week working in their shops, carving, fitting, drawing, examining, slicing, scraping. They were not so eager to create anything in particular, but merely enjoyed the discipline of making their muscles memorize precise movements with surgically sharp instruments.

No music. No words. No distractions. They were too focused on the joy of their work. Considering how dangerous it is to work with sharp tools and rough wood, how to explain that both worked completely naked? Why would they take their clothes off as they entered their workshops?

To each separately it seemed symbolic as if they were shedding the vestment of their current lives to focus upon the tasks at hand, to be fully present in the moment, to be one with the process. Being naked, they were actually more aware of their work, their bodies moving in rhythm to the work of their hands. Their balls swinging freely as they sawed or planed lumber shaping to their manly wills.

At times, their cocks would get erect when they were especially pleased with a particular discovery. The knowledge of how to work the grain, how to position the knife became very stimulating. Sam and Joss did not discuss how they worked that week, yet they were almost doing the tasks in unison, so closely did their routines match. Neither mentioned working naked or the tumescence which came in the workshop.

When Sam felt a surge of joy at the completion of a task and his cock sprang up, he stroked it happily. Seven miles away in his own shop, at the very same moment, Joss's hand too was moving up and down coaxing his own cock to a forceful climax. They both spurted their seed freely, unencumbered by zippers, no pants pulled down around knees or ankles, no risk of drips landing on their clothes. Nothing preventing or covering their strong male organs, their proud tools. Naked and free, their heavy, joyful, creative spray fell across the scattered slivers and scraps of their carpentry. Their sacred fluids soaked deeply into the wood, liquid life absorbed again in the dry vessels of what once had been a lively tree.

Though it was joyous for each of them, they were too reticent to mention it to the other. But each of them wanted to, secretly. Their wives were already traveling a path together where they would be freer and more open to the idea of shared sexual pleasure.

It was inevitable. That week, the men could hardly wait to get home from their life-sucking, soul-draining jobs to the creativity and freedom of their workshops. Shedding the clothes at the door, they put on the mantle of creativity. Each day, it became more difficult to focus at work.

Joss finally had to talk to his boss and tell him he was quitting. It didn't matter that he had no other prospects lined up. He and Holly had money invested, they could refinance their house. Holly had health insurance. They'd be okay.

As with magnetic forces, he pushed against one pole and was irresistibly drawn to the other. He was pulled so powerfully to the creativity of wood working and so repulsed by a career where all he did was make other people rich. Sensing Joss's desperation, his boss advised him to just take some time off and calm down. "Take a week or two and then let's talk."

Joss accepted the offer, but his mind was made up and he knew that after the allotted time off, he would be surrendering his laptop and credit card, the frequent flyer miles, the tailored suits, the polished shoes, and the headaches. He would shuck the trappings of one life, be naked again, and live life anew. He would be taking on risk, yes, but his confidence was growing and he had...he had... He had hope, again.

Sam was in much the same state, except he, being very practical, decided to cash in all his accumulated PTO. He and Libby had talked about a drive across the country with stops wherever they wanted. They would get to the end of a road and flip a coin to see whether to turn left or right. That was the plan, but the opportunity to apprentice with a master was more exciting. Libby encouraged him, saying she would rather he be happy every day than only the days they were on vacation.

So both men prepared that week to cast aside certitude, comfort, and conformity to follow this dream of theirs, to find and follow the path of the Green Man.

Sam knew Aberfyle, a bend in the road really, a postal address, a sign, an area. The kind of place you drive by without slowing down. He had been there though, did some trim carpentry on a house several years ago, when there was steady work and owners willing to pay for it. It was a rather big job and the place was swarming with tradesmen of all sorts: electricians, plumbers, roofers, tilers, plasterers, and painters.

The house was at the end of a long lane that wound up a hill, out of sight from the road. During some breaks, as Sam waited for more trim lumber or for the painters to ready a room for him, Sam had a chance to wander the site. One week, Sam watched timber framers build a footbridge across the creek linking a bridle path between the woods and a pasture adjacent to the house. Called Roaring Branch, the creek was a spring-fed tributary that would become a torrent if it rained more than a half inch.

"Timber framers. Now, that's funny," thought Sam. "I haven't thought about them in years." The memory had been buried somewhere in his mind and was suddenly brought to mind by a chance sight or sound or smell. Sam tried to recall them as he had seen them so long ago. He could not muster a speculation how long ago it was. The memory of that event was not tied to a date or time. It just was.

The carpenters had long beards and used smith-forged tools, he recalled. Were they Amish? He remembered that they didn't talk much, and when they did, they had an unfamiliar accent. They were nonetheless pleasant and invited Sam to lift and shove the heavy timbers, drive the pegs along with them. How interesting that this would be the place Mr Green had told them to come and begin their apprenticeships. It was like he was returning to a place he should have been all along.

Was there a connection between the framers of that bridge and Mr. Green? Sam could not make all the pieces fit together, but he quickly recalled that specialized crafts, like timber framing, were becoming rare, something passed from master to apprentice.

Master to apprentice. Master to apprentice. Sam kept turning that thought idea over in his mind, and as he did, he became more eager to follow the cryptic instructions to the Green Man's shop.

The wives wanted to go back again to the market in Darlington on Saturday. Nothing in particular to see, they avowed. They explained they had spent so much time with Mr. Green that they had not seen all the rest of the stalls. In truth, they wanted very much to see Green again, to find another magical carving.

They arranged to drive their husbands out toward Aberfyle, then back toward Darlington, and to retrieve them at the end of the day. The guys could call on the cell phone if the day went longer or shorter than anticipated.

Anticipated? What was there to anticipate? Cryptic directions to a mysterious location, no plan, no curriculum, no texts, nothing. Just the courage to follow a dream.

They set out quite early that morning; the sun announcing to the sky that it was about to make an appearance. They passed the sign reading Aberfyle, exactly as Sam had recalled. There was nothing to indicate this was the place Mr Green had meant, but the odometer clicked over to 3.0. Sam was looking out the window and called for them to stop. Holly braked the car and brought it to a stop in the middle of the country road.

"Right here? Are you sure?" Sam knew it was the place. Joss nodded seriously, but not without some misgivings.

They piled out of the car, kissed their wives, and watched them drive away. It was an enchanting morning. A thrush called from the undergrowth, frogs chirped, a squirrel rustled leaves. Otherwise, the scene was one of pregnant calm: still air, forest smells, the sun crawling over the landscape. Yet, they sensed in the air an expectancy.

Standing in the road watching their wives drive away, Sam and Joss looked like they might have done on their first day of school: Nervous and out of place.. They were dressed in plaid shirts and blue jeans, the cuffs turned up several inches above their boots. That morning's stubble still on their chins, hair not combed well. Their knives hung from their belts, Sam's on the left as he was a southpaw; Joss's on the right.

"So now what?" Joss asked timidly, shifting in his boots.

Sam pulled out the oak leaf with the penciled instructions "North by east of Aberfyle, three miles. Find a stone now set in the branch. Stand and listen. The sun is the clock"

"Just what the fuck does that mean?" pressed Joss. "So, what now? We just start looking around in the woods to find a rock in a tree?" Resigned to hide-and-seek, Sam added, "I dunno, your guess is as good as mine."

"Well, first I need to take a leak." Joss unzipped and fished his dick out.

"Right here, man? You're in the middle of the fucking road," Sam turned away and looked for a path. There was a bridle path here when he worked on that house. Maybe that would lead them to the workshop.

Sam crossed the road to where the stream ran parallel. He could jump to a large white rock in the middle of the water and then make it to the other side. He made it to the rock and turned to see if Joss was following.

His dick stowed, Joss walked to the bank. "This is the way?"

Sam shrugged. "Good as any."

Joss too made the jump from the bank to the stone set in the midst of the watercourse. Standing there together, he asked, "Does this stream even have a name?"

"Yeah, it's called Roaring Branch..." Sam's voice trailed off as a thought crashed through his brain. "A stone now set in the branch... "

Joss started talking again, when Sam elbowed him in the side. "Shut up, asshole. Listen." Joss turned in the direction Sam was facing. The sun, just then, broke through the trees casting about them a strange, golden aspect.

"...the sun is the clock." They had arrived on time. Then the sounds of sawing and chopping came to them. It was over there, just out of sight, but it was clearly the direction of the Green Man's workshop.

They both splashed through the Branch and dashed into the woods beyond.