The Leaves

byoverboard_nz©

Patrick Arthur Chimney had a silly name, and had never forgotten the taunts he had endured throughout his school days, which weren't very originally wrought, but had stung him deep nevertheless. Those old words rang in his ears as he took his customary shortcut from the day's university lectures, across a patch of wasteland that had become overgrown with wildflower, and adrift in its gentle undulations with dry autumn leaves.

"Sweep," had been an especially common choice of his tormentors. "Been up a chimney, Chimney?" was often a nonsensical follow up, and though he had had the good fortune to leave behind the small town in which those that made his school days a misery had mostly remained, he couldn't quite leave behind those words, or the way they had made him feel. This was chiefly why he chose his shortcuts — of which this unworn path through a lonely patch of ground was just one — to avoid the bulk of the students on his journey home. They would gather without him, in fluid groups, and make their way back to the halls-of-residence in a complex turbulence of social interactions, into which Patrick felt he had only the most limited insight.

He could hear them still, their shouts and laughs carried on the autumn breeze. Carried also were a few wildflower petals, and some leaves loosed from the branches of the trees that surrounded this patch of land, and separated it from his imagined troubles. For the truth was that Patrick was not a bad-looking boy, and that his inabilities were driven only by the same uncertainty that every human being feels, and that he needed only to look a little past it, to know that all other people felt, more or less, as he did.

In the distance, a small bird sang an autumn song, and the breeze shifted, turning to a slight headwind, brining with it some dust lifted from the dry ground. Patrick had to turn his face a little, which meant he missed the very beginning of what started to happen next.

As the wind moved, the autumn sunshine seemed to change slightly, the shadows turned, and in their occluded centers, where the light was the least, a small spark might have been seen, and seen to grow. If he had been watching at that moment, Patrick would have rubbed the dust from his incautiously opened eyes, and would have spotted a single leaf, twisting in the wind, inexplicably halt mid-flight. Caught impossibly against an invisible object.

By the time the second, and the third leaf had come abruptly to rest mid-air, Patrick had lifted his head into the wind, and blinked away the dust, and stopped, and stared. Before him, more leaves gathered against something, driven there by a wind that was now blowing briskly towards a single point. Something with a shape that began to resemble a figure, slowly revealed, standing motionless on the ground, among the slender stems of the wildflowers.

As more and more leaves, in reds and oranges, and some petals along with them, in purples and blues, appeared to hang in the air, the figure moved. It turned, having apparently being facing away from Patrick, and as it did so, the curve of a shapely breast betrayed its owner as a woman. It is an extraordinary thing that even though this shape was imperfectly, and incompletely, picked out from the empty air by the leaves that covered it, it was still a lovely and erotic sight as she turned around further to face him.

Under the cover of the leaves, first a darkness gathered, and then, as each gap between each leaf was finally almost entirely closed by the arrival of another, a light became visible, shining from the few remaining cracks. It grew in intensity, and picked out in each leaf their fine branching veins, until it became so bright that Patrick had to look away again, which meant he missed the very final moment of the figure's appearance.

The light, in a single instant vanished, the leaves fell in a rustling drift, blown away gently by the now-calmed breeze, and in their place stood a pale, tall, and very, very naked, young woman. Her long hair black, her eyes hazel, her breasts full and firm, her belly just slightly round, and between her legs, a patch of dark and unruly hair. She stood and stared at the astonished Patrick, who had by the time the light had faded, opened his eyes. He had rather limited experience with the opposite sex, being teased at school, and then too afraid at University, he had failed to move far beyond a few unsatisfactory fumblings on awkward dates. One memorable evening had resulted in his coming, rather too quickly, in a probably relieved girl's hands.

He had often replayed this scene in his mind, and played out multiple endings, some of which ended with — as he imagined people might call it — going "all the way".

Patrick's chest tightened, he had no idea what on earth was going on, and would very likely have said something foolish, or perhaps even run away, which would have been a tragic mistake, had the young woman not taken a half-step towards him, and introduced herself.

"Hello, I'm Sophie."

This introduction was no explanation at all, of course. Sophie is just a name, a lovely one, and certainly one befitting a beautiful naked young woman who has just materialised in front of the astonished Patrick. But a name by itself left him with no more idea of what was going on than the moment before he knew it.

"Er... Hi, er," offered Patrick. And then, in an unsure voice; "Are you ok?" Some instinctive chivalrous intention rose up in him. He began to remove his jacket. "Here," he said, as he moved towards her, "Take this."

"No, it's ok," she replied, waving it away, "I don't wear clothes."

He looked at her, incredulously.

"I don't seem to need them," she explained. "They don't really suit me, if I'm honest," she added, and gave her round breasts each a slight squeeze from underneath as she spoke; "I prefer to be naked." She smiled at him, a lovely unaffected smile, her lips full and red, her teeth white, and perfect.

Patrick continued to stare at this vision before him. He was a clever young man, capable of clear and lucid thought, with powers of concentration that often caused him to lose hours while working, though it would seem to him that only minutes had passed. He read widely, knew Ovid and The Metamorphosis, was aware that impossible things occurred in fiction almost with every word. He lived on the edge of being real, held to the factual foundations of a world of things by a gravity. Always though, with a feeling in his heart that there was something above him, out of reach, that he could sense, but not touch or see.

He thought to himself, as this young woman gazed at him, so easy and comfortable in her body, its curves and shapes as much a part of her as her thoughts and dreams must be, that perhaps those real things might not be all the things there were, after all.

"What just happened?" he asked, "You seemed to just appear, there was a light... it was bright, I closed my eyes, and then there you were." He looked around, foolishly, at the tall wildflowers that stood in patches between them and the trees, maybe fifty meters away. "Where did you come from?" he asked, eventually.

Sophie replied, "Oh, I was always here. I'm a nymph. A spirit. I'm a magical creature of the flowers, and the trees..."

Patrick's instinct, the gravity of real things, for the moment overrode his heart. The sense in him of a possibility of something else, still just feebly felt, quieted beneath it.

"Sophie, that's just silly," he began, in the rather tiresome tone he sometime took with people when he felt that he was best situated to explain the ways in which they were wrong. "You must have been lying down among these flowers, and we should go and find someone who can help." And then, in what he felt was a reassuring voice, he added, "It's going to be ok, Sophie."

She looked at him patiently. "I'm here for a reason you know." She clasped her hands behind her back, stood on her tiptoes, and dropped back down again, making her breasts bounce slightly. "So you should put your jacket back on, and sit with me, over there, and I'll explain." She indicated, with a wave of a bare arm, some of the leaves from which she had so miraculously, and so nakedly, appeared. "Come along."

She turned, revealing a perfectly turned bottom, walked the few steps over to the leaves, spun back around, and sat, cross-legged, down on them. The black hair between her legs parted to reveal her sex, pink and beautiful, to the increasingly incredulous Patrick. He knelt opposite her, unable to think of anything more sensible to do.

He told himself, still gravitationally anchored to the real, that his mind must be at fault, and therefore that this was a hallucination of some glorious kind. He began to make up his mind to at least try to enjoy it. The situation didn't seem dangerous, he was quite alone, other than this beautiful naked woman, and he didn't have anywhere else that he needed to be. Being in any sort of rush was a state of mind that he preferred to avoid. He relaxed a little.

Sophie lifted a leaf from the pile between her crossed legs, and showed it to Patrick. "I'm as real as these leaves are. More so, even." — If she is real, wondered Patrick, could she read this thoughts?

"And I'm here to help you," she continued.

Patrick gaped, stupidly. "With what?" he asked, thinking perhaps of his coursework, or his upcoming exams, about which he wasn't especially concerned.

"With girls, of course," she said, and grabbed a handful from the pile of leaves, throwing them to her side, making her breasts bounce again. Patrick stared at her, his eyes involuntarily straying downward. "Patrick, you can stare at my breasts as much as you like, in fact, you can do anything with me, but I'm trying to show you something," she pointed in the direction in which she'd thrown the leaves. "Look," she said.

He turned, and saw the leaves still falling to the ground, realising as he did so, that he hadn't yet told her his name, and yet she somehow, without explanation, seemed to know it.

As the leaves landed, they each immediately rose upward again, carrying with them more of the leaves and wildflower petals that were lying around them. They performed the same trick as Sophie had, outlining a female figure, before brightening to a brief unbearable intensity, and falling back to the untroubled ground.

Standing next to them was a woman that Patrick recognised instantly as the person with whom he'd shared that single awkward, awful date, towards the end of his high school years. Her name was Catherine, and, like Sophie, she was quite naked. Although some leaves remained clinging to her body, covering here and there some fraction of her modesty. She seemed to be talking, silently, to an invisible companion, and paid no attention to either Patrick, Sophie, or her nakedness. Her small pale breasts, her flat, almost concave stomach, and her blonde pubic hair, where things that Patrick had only, thus far, seen in his imagination.

"She's not really here," explained Sophie. "You can't touch her, or talk to her. And she can't see us either; She's from your past."

"She's naked too?" questioned Patrick.

Sophie laughed, "Sorry, I always forget the clothes. Too late now." She shrugged her bare shoulders, her breasts rising and falling with the movement.

Patrick looked back at her. "...What?" was the only word he managed.

"Patrick, I'm here to help you, like I already said, with girls. This woman, Catherine, is where we're going to start.

"Why don't you tell me what happened with her?" she asked.

Next to them, the naked Catherine stood and continued to talk, Patrick stared up at her, enjoying, despite his better judgement, and his instinctive sense that there is definitely something wrong with seeing a woman naked without her knowledge or permission, the sight of her body. Her small breasts were decorated with a few light freckles, and her nipples were pink, and delicately shaped.

"Patrick?" Sophie asked again.

"Sorry," he turned back to her. "What happened with her?" He repeated Sophie's question, unsure how he should explain to this lovely impossible woman in front of him, how those fumblings a couple of years ago had ended. Sophie tilted her head to one side.

"Well?" She prompted.

"Well..." be began, "We went on a date..."

Sophie nodded.

"And... I guess it didn't go very well."

"But she enjoyed it, didn't she?" Sophie looked up at Catherine too, and then she smiled, turning back to Patrick, "I think she probably did," she added.

"I think so," Patrick replied. "She seemed happy. We were kissing, and I was playing with her a little bit," he looked away, embarrassed.

"Don't be shy," Sophie said, "you can tell me anything." Her voice carried with it a soft assurance.

"Well," Patrick continued, finding that sitting opposite this beautiful naked woman, and about to talk as frankly as he was able, about coming, too soon, in his ex-girlfriend's hands, while she stood nearby, naked also, was almost starting to feel normal. A measure of how adaptable to new situations the human mind can be.

"We were kissing," he said finally, "in the car, after a date. Kissing and touching each other. And then she undid my jeans, and took out my cock." He was unsure about the word, and looked at Sophie.

"Cock," she repeated. "Cock is a good word for it, Patrick. I like it. Tell me more." She leant forwards from her spot on the leaves, uncrossing her legs behind her and kneeling up. Her breasts bounced with the movement. She knelt back down, more comfortable in her new position, and even more exposed to Patrick than before, her legs wider apart, her body more upright.

She was also, although Patrick hadn't yet noticed, slightly closer.

"Well," Patrick said again, looking down, "she started playing with me, stroking me. And then she leant down towards my cock," he looked back up at Sophie. "And then I just came right there, in her hands".

"Oh dear."

"It was awful," sighed Patrick. "I drove her home in silence."

"Awful," smiled Sophie. She knelt up again, leant forwards onto her hands, and lifted her bottom from her kneeling position. Her face was now level with Patrick's. A little too far away for a kiss, but close enough for Patrick to marvel at the perfect smoothness of her skin. "Would you like to try it again?" she said.

"With Catherine?" asked Patrick, looking over at Catherine's naked form. A leaf or two remained clung to the slight rise of one of her small breasts. She was still standing near to them, and continued to obliviously talk to someone that neither of them could see. He looked back at Sophie.

"No," said Sophie, shaking her head, looking directly into Patrick's eyes. "With me."

Sophie didn't wait for a reply. She was a nymph, a spirit of the natural world, and was therefore blessed with a life as long as that of a tree, or a river. Such spirits are blessed also with a body that remains joyfully in the summer of youth. As years pass, they find, as anyone who found that summer never-ending would, that sheer, pure, physical and sexual pleasure, is the ultimate goal of anyone in possession of such a beautiful object as an ever-young body. Sophie, though, liked to appear to those that she felt genuinely in need of her advice and her guidance. If she also found cause during these selfless acts of charity to enjoy long afternoons of physical pleasure, it was, she reasoned, not her fault.

She moved forwards, and touched her lips to Patrick's softly, a gentle kiss that sent electricity flowing through his body, in branching paths, moving in a tingling warmths down his chest, and becoming concentrated, as Sophie repeated her kiss more firmly, in his cock.

Her lips on Patrick's opened, and her tongue moved in his mouth, its heat surprising him. The electric currents rippled through him, as she broke from the kiss, and whispered into his ear, kissing his cheek for punctuation.

"A blowjob is a beautiful thing, Patrick. It would have been a shame for your first experience of the pleasure of it to have been a brief fumble in the back of a car.

"I'm here to show you how good it can be, for both of us. I want you to lose yourself in the sensations of it."

The kisses at her pauses between each whispered word increased the electric current that now seemed to be flowing through his body in a constant moving web of tingling pleasure.

"Put your hands on my body, Patrick, I'm here for you today. Touch me," her voice held a promise.

Patrick's hands moved from his sides, held Sophie's face briefly as she moved her mouth back to his, and began a lingering, deep kiss. He stroked her cheeks, their breath mixing as their tongues touched in each other's mouths. The kiss lengthened, each lost in each other's lips and tongue and hands and face. Sophie's black hair fell forwards as she pressed herself towards him. Patrick's hands moved from her face down her body, sending shivers of pleasure over her skin, her afternoon of nothing but physical bliss beginning. His hands reached her full, round breasts, and held them each gently, nervously, even shaking a little.

She knelt back, breaking away from the kiss, raising her breasts from his hands, and looked at him.

"Lie down," she said.

Patrick obeyed, clumsily moving to a prone position, lying straight onto his back.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "There's a thing poking against my back," he twisted around, pulling a twig from underneath him. He tossed it away.

Sophie winced. The branches of trees, even those dry twigs fallen to the ground, were in a real way, an extension of her body. Her senses continued into them, she experienced the world partly through them. "Ow... careful," she said, "all this around us is a part of me, Patrick." She indicated everything that lay on the ground, or grew from it, with an elegant gesture.

"Sorry," Patrick felt acutely embarrassed, he felt a redness rising up neck, coloring his cheeks. The erection that had begun to uncomfortably strain against his underwear shrank away. He wondered about the leaves he was lying on.

"It's ok," Sophie said. She smiled her lovely smile at him. "You be careful with me, and I'll be careful with you." She added, "Don't worry Patrick, your body lying on the leaves just feels nice."

Patrick nodded, convinced now that she could read his mind.

From her kneeling position, Sophie leant forwards again, and brought her smooth face down close to Patrick's. She held her lips millimetres from his, and he felt the excitement return to his body. His heart beat hard in his chest, and his cock rose again in his pants as she whispered to him.

"Do you know what I'm going to do now?" she teased.

Patrick didn't move. Her breath against his lips was warm, and moved gently. Its scent reminded him of wintersweet, of warm breezes on summer days, of the air moving soft against naked limbs. His mood, lost a moment before, was restored, made more intense by the momentary interruption.

She brushed her nipples against his shirt as he lay on the leaves. She swayed slightly back and forth on her kneeling position, moving her breasts against his body. Her hair fell over his face, and then lay across his chest, as she moved downwards. He felt her fingers at the buttons of his jeans, and then at his hips, and she pulled them down, along with his underwear. The fallen leaves, some dry, some still soft and green, tickled him.

He looked down at her. She met his eyes. She held him in the palm of her hand. She gripped him like a branch, and licked him, from the nest of black hair at the bottom, to his foreskin at the top. She dipped the very tip of her tongue, formed to a firm little point, curving out from her mouth, into the hole at the end of his now very hard cock. She moved in tight little circles, right there at the tip, and Patrick's whole body reacted, a jolt had flowed through it at the moment that her tongue made contact with his skin, and the circles felt exquisite. He gasped, and squirmed. She held him and continued to draw on him with her tongue, and then looked up.

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