tagNonHumanThe Green Man

The Green Man


It was at the protest for saving the environment, preventing deterioration of soil, saving baby penguins from their natural habitat being terraformed by rabid fangirls, fighting oil spills, fighting factories, making sure that the oil sands were shut down once and for all, finding natural energy, eliminating our carbon footprint, destroying all jet planes, removing the horrible threat of toxic waste and sewage dumping, and revolting against the freeway they were plotting to build over our beautiful and not so particularly green city, and just revolting against anything deemed not particularly green all at the same time that I met him.

He was an endearingly sexy Irish guy with the most adorable green eyes, fluffy red hair and an accent to die for.

Plus we were both environmental nutcases. What could go wrong? I immediately set aside my heterosexuality in favor of this man, with his quirky smile and the wicked glint in his eyes. Ever so endearing, I thought.

Setting aside my SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT FROM EVERYTHING sign, I promptly went and grabbed at his crotch. He probably had a massive penis.

"How did you know I was gay?" he asked, grabbing my crotch in return.

"I had a hunch," I said, eyeing his rainbow striped sweater. It was emblazoned with two fighting cocks. Everyone else was wearing green. Regardless of the fact that it was not Saint Patrick's Day, it was, after all, an event for Green Everything. Except for beer, that was a strictly Saint Patrick's Day thing and anyway, the drinking of beer led to the dumping of raw sewage waste. Never mind that it probably was good fertilizer, I simply could not support such an uncouth habit.

I picked up my sign again.

"Let's go have sex," he said, pushing the sign out of my hands.

That was my first mistake. I said yes.

"But first, beer!"

My second mistake was agreeing again.

I mean, how was I supposed to know he was actually a neo-paganistic cultist that served the ancient God of the Woods? He looked like a gay Irish guy, not a cultist!

I, however, determined that he had nefarious purposes for me when I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache, the fuzzy memory of some steaming hot sex, a sore ass, and oh yes. I was tied to a tree in the middle of some god-forsaken forest with no sign of civilization around me and no one to hear me screaming even if I tried. I certainly couldn't reach my iPhone, if there was even an iPhone left on me. I wondered about my kidneys, but as my arms were specifically bound to the branches, I had no way of checking either. They seemed to be functioning all right. At least, my brain was functioning all right and I hadn't woken up in a bathtub at ice and that wasn't the Irish that stole kidneys, anyway.

At least, I was pretty sure they didn't. Just beer. Lots of beer. A really great tolerance for beer, of which I had none.

That had been my downfall. I gave a rueful sigh and looked down to see where my pants had gotten to. Alas, there was no sign of my pants.

"Hey! This isn't funny anymore!" I called out into the forest and heard my voice get swallowed up by the endless sea of trees.

Not so endless, I reminded myself. After all, it was but days ago I marched in defense of trees and screamed that all people involved in the forestry industry should go to hell or something like that. It hadn't been polite, not very polite at all.

Now I sort of wished that I hadn't called that curse upon the head of lumberjacks. I mean, right now? I could've really done with one. I would've gladly accepted the public nudity if it meant that someone would unstring me from this tree. But this wasn't a city. No, it was the furthest place from civilization I'd ever been, and I was starting to realize that as green as I was, I couldn't stand my life without my coffee on every corner and excellent service for my cellphone and a WiFi connection available as long as I purchased something. Trees were great, but this was far more tree than I wanted to get to know.

I was fairly sure there was a branch protruding from the tree and pressing against my anus.

Though I'd previously considered myself hetroflexible, after going out and spending a whirlwind night with an Irish cultist, I was willing to try almost anything. Almost. Getting fucked by a tree didn't quite meet the criteria.

So I screamed bloody murder when it wiggled.

"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD THE TREE IS ALIVE!" I reiterated into the wild air and stared in horror as the trees began to shift a little bit. Then they opened up with a horrible creaking noise, roots tearing themselves up and out of the earth and soil tinting the air the color of raw coffee as it tossed and scattered. They settled, a path opening up. Far off into the path of maze-like trees, I could see a man sitting cross-legged on the ground, naked except for antlers and a beard.

He had many names, and somehow they came to my recollection, though I'd never heard them before. Names as though whispered on the wind into my memories and into my thoughts: the Horned One, the Green Man, Hu Gadarn, Cernunnos.

He ruled over nature and the woodlands. He was the god we served through our protests and our praise of nature.

And now, apparently, I was being sacrificed to him. Or something. I could feel the root of the tree digging further and further into my ass, and strange liquid lubrication spouting from the branch. Sap, or something worse. I didn't want to think about it.

Vines from the tree began to wrap around my legs, becoming more and more vigorous as I responded, groaning softly. It wasn't so bad, as long as I didn't think about the fact that it was a tree penetrating me.

Those vines felt the length of my thighs, idly trailing leafy fingertips up and down the softer flesh between my legs and spreading them apart. Where my arms and torso were bound, my legs were not—and the tree was determined to get them right where it wanted them.

The tree fondled me, a gentle caress of nature reminding me it was okay. This was what I fought for. Life.

I'd never felt so exposed before.

But then, I'd never felt this in touch with nature before.

The vines grabbed at my erection and I shrieked a bit reflectively, but the touch was gentle and I relaxed, feeling a drop of sweat roll down my forehead. Each stroke grabbed and tugged, repeatedly pulling and replicating the movements that made me squirm and moan.

The anxiety swept away, caught up in the strange pleasure toying with me. As the vines worked my cock, I could feel that strange branch slowly massaging my prostate.

It was like watching someone else masturbate me. So curious, staring down at that hard cock jutting from my skin, staring at the green vines stroking it. Faster and faster, and I could feel the pressure building up inside of me as finger after finger carried me on.

Suddenly, I experienced global warming. It was more than sex. It was the soul of the place, something from time and time ago, that drove my gasp and the orgasm that shuddered through me with a final sharp pull. The explosion left me twitching, a puddle of cum soaking into the ground in front of me.

Slowly the tree withdrew the bonds and I sank to the ground with a gasp.

Somehow I knew my sacrifice had been acceptable. Somehow, I knew that this would continue on. And maybe I'd take a bit of time off again from protesting the preservation of nature, in order to get in touch with nature again.

I started the slow trek back to civilization, trying to come up with a good excuse for my lack of clothing.

It wasn't until later that I discovered the Green Man was also a fertility god. Well, if orgasms were an acceptable method of worship, I knew what I had to do. I promptly converted to paganism and took up a new environmentalist hobby: fucking people in the forest.

And maybe it was just my imagination, but I was pretty damn sure there were some green streaks permanently inscribed on my cock.


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