The White Pine

As long as I can remember, I have loved trees. The tall, straight columns of white barked birch that bloomed into green umbrellas far, far overhead made me feel joyous. The squat, bumbling, smooth and dark mangrove whose roots spread like spider webs in dark waters make me feel inquisitive. The giant round and rough oaks, who like old men guard against time make me thoughtful.

There is a tree for every mood, a mood for every tree. I love to rub my palm across their trunks, their roots, their branches. To feel their rough skin, sometimes so rough it hurts.

I used to climb the trees and sit among their wide branches in the nooks and crannies and imagine that those spaces had been made just for me. And if I wrapped my legs around a wide limb and rubbed just right, oh. Then the pressure would build in my pelvis. And heat would flow through me as if from the tree itself, and I would grow as rigid as the branch and feel such a sensation of pleasure and wonder.

I would wrap my arms around the tree and hold it close so that my nipples and breasts rubbed against it, the rough firm surface pressing into me, and I would imagine the tree as a lover. The trees would always hold me in their strong embrace, keep me safe high in their towering reach, and never refused me pleasure.

I love trees.

As a young adult, I love nothing better on a warm summer day than to go out into the remote forests and search for lovely trees. I would search for one whose branches made just the right shape, whose bark was as smooth or rough as I desired that day, a tree who aroused me.

When I set out one sunny July morning, I thought this day would be no different. I was going to visit a forest I had not been to before. It was quite far away from Denver, a five-hour drive into the mountains and via ill-kept roads. This was the reason I had four-wheel drive and massive tires, though.

Usually, I went to national parks. There are tons in the Rocky Mountains, and it only takes an hour or two of hiking to get away from other people. I knew it was dangerous, what with the mountain lions and bears and snakes, not to mention the more mundane dangers of getting lost or caught in a rockslide. But my desire for the trees drove me away from people, deeper into the forests. It was not a call I could ignore, no matter how much I tried.

I took precautions, of course. I carried bear mace and a whistle and a compass and a first aid kit and enough food and water to last two days. I had never needed any of it. But as much as I was tempted to leave it behind, I didn't. At least, I told myself, the extra weight was good exercise, and that showed in my lean body.

My skin was tanned from my frequent hikes and my hair bleached blond from the sun. My hair frizzed as I only ever bothered to untangle it with my fingers and never brushed it. I had green eyes that always seemed to draw attention. My co-workers at the hiking and camping supply store where I worked said I looked like I belonged in the wild, and that's how I felt.

Every day, the only thing that kept me sane was counting down to my next day off, my next day I could escape the city and hike.

Today I was going to private property. I felt a bit bad about planning to trespass, but I hoped I would be there and gone and they would never know. I just had to go see the tree.

It had started with a photograph posted on a tree lovers' website. Oh, most of the people on the site didn't love trees like me. They loved to look at them, to paint them, to sit under them - not to have sex with them. When I couldn't get out to the forest though, I would sometimes masturbate with a photo of a good tree, imagining that I could actually touch it, feel it's bark and leaves, with the sun and wind warming and cooling my naked skin.

When I first saw the photo, time had stilled. More intense arousal than I'd ever felt for a tree gripped me. It became an obsession. I copied the image of the glorious pine tree and used it to create prints and personalize blankets, pillows, and dishes. My apartment soon became filled with the image of the tree, my tree.

It was a massive white pine, the kind of conifer whose needles are soft and delicate. This one was the largest I'd ever seen, and beautifully symmetrical and conical. Layer upon layer of long gentle needles towering into the sky, at least nine stories high. The photo was taken from across a lake, and the pine reflected in the pristine water gloriously. It almost seemed alive.

I tried to find more images of my perfect pine tree, but no reverse image search could ever find another view of it.

I had to find it. I figured out the IP address of the person who'd uploaded the photo, spent money to tie to tie IP address to a location using a web service, extracted the date the photo was taken, analyzed the lighting to determine an approximate latitude and longitude, and poured over Google Maps satellite images, staring at blurry trees on mountain tops.

When I finally found it, I could not believe that the blurry pixelated, top view, satellite image of my white pine flooded me with the same arousal that the original photo had. There was something special about this tree, something magical. And, it was only five-hours away.

But still, I thought today would be a day like any other. I could go, find the tree, take my pleasure, and come home. And hopefully, I would rid myself of this inconvenient obsession in the process.

It was still early morning when I parked my car in the nearest pullout and prepared for a long hike. I had left my apartment at three in the morning, planning for a long day. The tree, by my calculations, was about a three-hour hike from my car. I was blessed with an impeccable sense of direction and rarely got lost in the woods, but today I would use a map I'd created and my compass.

This high in the mountains, even in mid-July, it was pleasantly cool, not blisteringly hot like it was down in the city. I checked the laces on my sturdy hiking boots and ensured that my pant cuffs were tucked into the high tops. I tied a bandana around my head to keep my hair out of my face and to catch my sweat. I took a last inventory of my gear, slung my framed hiking backpack onto my back, and set off towards the West.

When hiking alone, you're supposed to make sure someone knows where you're going. I never did that. For one, I didn't want anyone knowing where I was going. For two, there was no one who would miss me if I disappeared anyway. I was a loner and had always enjoyed being by myself more than with people. Honestly, I dreamed of going off grid, living off the land.

I guess the last thing really keeping me tied to the world was my obsession with finding this tree, I'd used a lot of technology to do it. Maybe after this I'd cut loose. I considered the idea as I hiked.

The sun filtered through the woods gently, dappling the ground in a pattern of bright and dark. The only sounds were my footsteps and the song of birds. Sometimes I sang as I hiked, to avoid startling a bear, but today I just listened to the sounds of nature, feeling peaceful and content.

Hours later, I stepped out of the trees and found myself at the edge of a large mountain lake. The water was clear and sparkling in the sun. On a peninsula on the far side of the lake was my tree. It was just as wonderful as it had appeared in the photograph.

I dropped my pack on the ground and just stared at it. My throat went dry, and my pelvis fluttered with arousal and need. I looked around the lake, it would be at least a half-hour hike in either direction. Or I could swim across in minutes. I wanted to be naked anyway...

I stripped off my clothes, even my bandana, and stuffed it all into my bag. Completely nude, not even so much as a piece of jewelry on me, I walked into the lake. The water was cool, but not cold. After a minute of swimming, it felt like the perfect temperature.

I climbed onto the shore under the massive pine tree. When my feet felt a carpet of needles below, I looked up. The tree was beautiful. It's lowest limbs just brushed the top of my head. I pushed up my tip toes, tilted my head back, and kissed the nearest branch. Its skin was rough and cool under my lips. I shivered at the touch.

I slowly walked towards the old tree's trunk and wrapped myself around the tree. I could just barely reach halfway around it's thick base. My nipples hardened as they rubbed against its tough bark.

I reached up and took hold of the closest branch of the pine and pulled myself upward, using my feet to push until I could swing my leg over the branch. My bare skin scraped against the tree's bark, leaving it red and raw. I reveled in the bite of pain that remained.

The hard branch against my naked pussy was gloriously erotic. I rubbed myself back and forth against the branch, enjoying the feel for a bit before continuing to climb. I wanted to explore as much of the tree as I could before choosing where I would fuck it.

I figured I could spend three or four hours here before I would need to head back to my car. That was plenty of time to explore and enjoy a nice long session of dendrophilia.

As I climbed it seemed to me as if the tree was almost rearranging its branches to make it easier for me. I would look up and see that the next hold was quite far, but the time I would climb up the branch was bowed just enough to let me reach it and climb easily.

Upward and upward, I climbed, rubbing my naked body against the trunk as I went. Rubbing my wet slit against the branches I straddled. Placing gentle kisses wherever I saw a bit of sap to taste.

The scent of the pine tree was as alluring as its size and shape. Occasionally, I would just halt in my progress and breathe deeply in. Each inhale of the strong smell of the tree aroused me further. By the time I was high enough in the tree that my arms could fully encompass the trunk my clit was pulsing with need.

And then I saw it, the perfect spot. I gasped at how perfect it was. There, two thick branches spread off from the same height, and between them a malformed knot of wood protruded. The little failed branch was just the right size and in just the right place. I could straddle my legs over the veed branches, and my vagina would be right over that stunted appendage.

I climbed to the spot, almost reverently. Never had I seen such perfection in a tree. I carefully spread my legs across the opened branches and sighed as the middle extension settled into my vagina. It was thick enough that I had to settle onto it slowly, the rough bark of the pine tree abrading me inside.

When it had fully entered me, my clit was right against the tree. My folds were opened enough that my clit rubbed against the bark nakedly. I pressed my breasts against the trunk of the pine and ground myself into it.

I circled the trunk with my arms and gripped the tree tightly as I rocked myself into it, slowly. I was high enough that if I fell, I would probably die. The danger added to my arousal as I fucked the marvelous pine tree.

I licked the trunk in front of me, and gasped when a bit of sap dripped out right onto my tongue. It felt, to me, as if the tree was as aroused as I was, and was cumming for me, letting me taste its arousal. I shuddered at the idea and slowed my rocking.

I wanted this to last, to milk this one chance I had with this tree for as long as possible. The tree would certainly never get soft, never get tired of holding me. It could wait far longer than I could for release. I could take as much time as I wanted.

I took hold of a branch next to my head. Had that branch always been there? No matter. I grabbed the convenient branch and used it to steady myself as I arched my back away from the tree, so that my pelvis could grind into it further.

My back connected with a branch behind me. I pushed against it tentatively and found it firm and strong enough to support my weight. Gratefully, I let go of the other branch and leaned against the unexpected back support.

The longer I looked at the trunk in front of me, the more it looked like there was a face in the bark. I kissed and licked the area that I imagined was the mouth, where sapped pulsed out slowly. I reached above my head and clenched my fists around branches I found there, still slowly humping, arousal building and building inside me.

While the branch between my legs should have felt less filling the longer I was stretched around it, it instead felt more. It felt as if it was growing inside me, in girth and length. My nipples slipped into cracks in the pine's bark and felt as though they were pinched there. I moaned in pleasure.

This was the best tree I'd ever fucked. I didn't want to leave it, not ever. Could I live here? I wondered. There was a lake for fish and water. And there was this tree for fucking. What more did I need?

In the winter it will be cold, I thought. Well, I could go back for a good tent, and maybe build a small cabin eventually. All I knew was that this was the tree for me, this was the spot for me. I couldn't imagine ever getting tired of fucking this pine.

I tried to pull a hand down to caress the tree's trunk, but I found my hand was tangled in the branches above, I could not get it free. Part of me was alarmed by this development as I realized my other hand was caught as well. But most of me was in too much sensual bliss to care. If my hands were stuck, then I could rock more violently, less carefully, less wary of falling.

The branch behind my back seemed to press me closer to the trunk until my whole torso was pressed tightly against the tree. I moaned with pleasure and kissed the face that I'd imagined in the trunk, not caring if the tree seemed to be growing around me, fucking me as much as I fucked it.

I delved my tongue into the 'mouth' and my tongue sank into a sap filled hole I had not noticed before. I opened my eyes and there were eyes looking back at me. Wooden eyes grown into the bark of the tree, but still human-like eyes. The sensible part of me tried to pull away, but I found I was well and truly stuck now, even my tongue had been captured by the pine.

There was no room for fear though, my entire being was consumed by arousal. Now, I could feel the part of the tree inside me moving of its own accord, the bark pinching my nipples, and my clit too, the sap oozing onto my tongue, the branches holding my hands above my head. It was everything I'd ever wanted.

The pleasure built and exploded into the most powerful orgasm I'd ever had. Inside me, I felt a large knot swell in the short branch inside me and then there was a great pressure in my vagina. I felt sticky sap dripping slowly down the branch and out of me.

With the tree's eruption came a feeling of intense transformation. I was being changed, becoming part of the tree, somehow, and somehow not. As my arousal subsided, the tree released me from its grip. I slumped into it, letting my vagina continue to pulse around it.

"Mine," a deep voice said.

Startled, I looked up and saw the tree's mouth move as it repeated, "mine."

"Yours," I agreed, losing myself to whatever magic the pine possessed.

"Never may you leave me, nymph." The Ent told me.

"I am not a nymph," I laughed, not understanding.

"You are my nymph, now."

The low rumble of the Ent's voice reverberated through the tree, vibrating my skin, and inside where it still filled me. Suddenly, I understood. The tree and I were connected, had always been connected. I had been called to it, here. Called and I came. I had accepted the magic and allowed myself to be changed by it.

This, I knew now, was what I'd always wanted, always been seeking. I would never leave this tree, would never go back to my backpack, my car, my apartment, Denver. I leaned my cheek against the pine face and hugged the tree.

"Thank you," I sighed, finally at peace.