by Sue Wolfsong
(06/27/07)
The heady smell of a fire that had long been burning filled the air. It was festival, and the pagan drummers would have tired long ago had they not been trancing for hours. The figures of dancers, some wearing masks and the semblances of costumes, whirled & gyrated about the flames, all involved in their own special steps. It was amazing how they could be so different, but so beautiful in their diversity. Sparks leaping into the air cast an unearthly glow on their painted bodies.
The woman slowly approached the circle. She was hesitant, almost having decided not to come to dance. Her lover, who was supposed to attend the festival with her, had just left her the week before. She had been furious with him and determined not to let him ruin her plans, but now she was feeling all alone and her face reflected the sadness within her.
The steady beating of the drums pushed against her supple body, and she slowly, spontaneously started to move. Tautly wrapped about her sensuously swaying hips she wore a multi-colored silk sarong, which accentuated rather than hid what lay beneath. Her hair was long and unbound and its color reflected the red glow around her. She started to circle, facing the fire -- the heat gently warming the front of her body. Her feet kept pace with the drums, the bells around her ankles echoing the beat which grew faster and faster. A state of passion was induced in her by the night and the insistent rhythm, and her quick breathing rivaled the fire's heat. When the flames reached out to kiss her peaking nipples, she started spinning, allowing the bright energy to warm the rest of her. Around and around she twirled in a heightened state of emotion, looking up at the stars circling overhead as she danced. First reaching low to the earth...then up to the heavens, she moved sinuously, singing under her breath of her frustration and her lost love to any gods or goddesses who might be listening.
The drummers continued to play in their trance state, enchanted rhythms that worked their special magic. All of a sudden a lone figure entered across the circle. She could barely make out his form through the smoke and flame, but he wore the antlers of a deer on his head. His face was covered with a mask made of leaves, and his body was painted with earth tones in such a way that it was impossible to tell what color it was before the painting had been done. He was well-muscled but agile, and danced with a grace that seemed to invite her to join him. The sweeping movements of his arms expressed a confidence in the rightness of what was, and his sturdy legs felt the beat as a part of the earth. His loins were covered with a strip of fabric looped through a leather cord around his waist.
She danced more slowly around the fire, unable to take her eyes off the stranger across from her -- one who at the same time seemed somehow familiar.
He leaped high over the fire, coming down directly in front of her, and started circling her as she danced. The scent of his masculinity mingled with that of the fire. He found a position behind her, his body against hers, his face buried deep in her smoky hair. Strong arms reached around her waist, and his hips pressed closer and started moving in unison with hers. The beat of the drums became more insistent, as she felt his passion rising through the thin fabric of his loincloth. Slowly, his crossed arms moved up her body, until each hand cupped a round, firm breast. His strong hands kneaded her willing flesh in two circular patterns, all of the movements of the single being that they had become keeping pace with the insistent beat of the oblivious drummers. The musky smells of the man and the woman became a smell of passion, her sweat and juices mingled on their thighs.
The heat became too much for her, and she reached up and swept her hair from her neck, piling it to the top of her head. The man, with a fully open mouth, started kissing her nape, licking sensuously behind her ears and down the sides of her neck. Small nibbles that were at once pleasure and pain became more and more insistent. A moan escaped her lips, a low growl emitted from his.
The staghorned man's arms released her, and then he took her by the hand. She followed him out of the circle into the woods, as the drums continued to beat. They went silently down a path lit by what seemed like candles on the ground to a small shelter under a tree, and he led her inside. It was made of branches through which she could see the stars, and smelled of pine. The bed was moss that felt like velvet.
He looked at her through his mask of leaves, laid her down upon that bed, and gently removed the one silk garment that she was wearing. Her moist pubic hair glistened in the soft glow of the night sky. He stood over her, one foot on each side of her body, his beautiful phallus erect and firm as he removed the loincloth. The man knelt over her, but, just as she expected him to enter her, he bent down and parted her legs. Licking the length of the inside of each thigh, he put his tongue to the moistness that was waiting. It found the place of delight, and flickered rhythmically for a moment and then hesitated. She moaned, and pleaded for him not to stop. His fingers continued what his mouth had been doing as his tongue probed deep into her vagina, tasting her essence as it came from her body. Just as she could take no more, he entered her, his throbbing penis filling her entire being. They could still hear the beat of the drums at the fire, and they added the thrusts and sounds of their passion to them. In and out, in and out -- until in a crescendo they both climaxed...just as the drums stopped.
His arms reached around her as they had while dancing at the fire, and he said five words that echoed in her mind, "Always remember, you are loved!" Energy spent...they slept.
Dawn came. The woman found herself lying on a bed of moss covered with the remnants of the lovemaking of the night before. There were the boughs of a pine tree sweeping low overhead. Her lover was nowhere to be found.
That day she wandered the camp, asking people if they knew the identity of the man who had come late to the fire. It was very strange that no one knew who she was talking about. No one had seen anyone who fit that description. They had seen her dancing with an ecstatic look on her face, but thought her to be in trance, and didn't want to disturb her.
Later that day, she realized that the night before, as she danced at the fire, she had been singing of her desperation and loneliness to any gods or goddesses who might be listening. The Greenman was.
