On waking I did not recall my dream. I lay under the tree again, although now a lattice of roots and low branches formed a sort of cage around me. The white woman lay snuggled against me; her nude skin again radiating warmth into mine. I was very warm and comfortable, save my face which was only slightly chill.
I felt nothing. Empty. Neither the giddy joy nor bleak despair survived my failed suicide. But I felt as if a light mist had settled in my mind. The woman against me was warm and wonderful, the press of needles about me soft, the scent of the tree sharp and pleasant. But still, something hung in my mind, something not quite me. Something I could not fully place.
The woman's flesh felt good against mine so I burrowed deeper into the blanket and into her. She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted her arm between my shoulder blades and pulled me into her. Her breasts rested against my throat, nestled between my chin and chest. My own single breast, slightly larger than her's, pressed gently into her stomach. The earth beneath me shifted, or seemed to, just enough that my arm wedged beneath me rested comfortably among the soft crush of evergreen leaves.
My suicide had been an act of independent will. Did it matter? What was I if not a mechanism of my master's? What was I? What was I? The question seemed unimportant. Rather, as an important thing that is far away and not of consequence just for now. I felt, nothing. My mind was empty. Empty save for the warmth and softness that held me to itself. It filled my senses and the mist swirled around my thoughts, pushed them away. Only the body next to me felt real, important. I reached an arm about her and pulled myself closer. She moaned a little and stirred, her arm left goose flesh in it's wake as she slid it against my back.
“You are angry for living?” She spoke in an odd, clipped accent I had not heard before. I did not have an answer so I said nothing, only let my mind drift along the touch of her skin on my body. She pulled away from me and I had a moment of strange panic. What should I care if she was close to me or not? But panic welled up unbidden, unexplained, for a brief moment, but she only shifted down so as to look into my eyes. I closed my eyes to enjoy the brush of her body against me as the peaceful mist settled back over my mind.
“Your,” she struggled for words. “Your temper, it is not like the thorn?” she managed. I opened my eyes. Hers were a beautiful green, the whitish green of her tree. They were shaped differently too. The iris' were not quite cat like, but more like that than human. Her mouth was just before me, and so I kissed her. Her lips were thin but strong, and for many wonderful moments we explored each other that way, with little licks and kisses on our upper and lower lips. My whole world were those kisses then, and the press of her body and the soft brush of her fingers on my back. I had no words for her, but our bodies had a language of their own, and they knew what must be. She was everything, filling my mind like a great flood, washing all my questions and doubts, all my petty abstractions away. Self, masters, slaves, all ideas that were washed away by the warm body and the beast in me that responded to it. One hand on my back, her other hand traced my chest over my breast and missing breast, and I felt sharp, wonderful twinges in my nerves and kissed her and kissed her.
My hands were on her hips then, and she was rocking them rocking them filling my hands. She traced light circles on my back and I was moaning softly, my whole consciousness those light circles, the touch of her lips, the feel of her rocking hips, and I moaned and opened my legs for her. Her other hand held my breast, gently, and gently I traced out her curves, breasts, stomach, hips and butt, her skin smooth and soft, filling my touch and stirring warmth between my legs and up my stomach and down my thighs. She smelled of trees and earth, a gentle, healthy scent. Her lips sweet, like syrup or sap, and I kept tasting it over and tasting it over to fill my tongue and nose with her. Her thigh was between my legs then and I gasped and my hips rocked of their own accord and my pussy rubbed little circles on her thighs, and she was rolling then on top of me, and my hips moved in little circles against her as my passion spread out from my crotch and sent more sharp, wonderful little twinges running up and down my legs and up my stomach and torso. Almost impossible to describe, jolts of pleasure that overwhelmed my nerves, halfway between pain and joy.
My hand, drifting from her breast to thigh, the wonderful skin of her stomach, found two warm and wet mounds in her crotch and slipped into and unfolded inside her. She was like a flower there, petals folding on top of petals, slippery and soft around my fingers. I wanted to feel every nook of it, I wanted to commit every bit to memory and my fingers explored and rubbed and found soft texture, soft yielding flesh, petals and a tiny stem between them. She gasped and pulled me against her, her thigh pressing harder into my crotch I moaned and we were kissing again, and then we were shifting and her fingers were inside me too, but gently, exploring and caressing me for my sake, and we were both moaning and clutching each other with our free hands, and our hips moved in circles, circles that moved together and apart with building intensity and pleasure, and her sex and mine were all a blur; where my body ended and hers began was uncertain, I could not tell. I only moaned and we were gasping moaning and panting together, one frenzied being gasping for air, and her lips were on my nipple and I was shuddering and her mouth was back on mine and I was shuddering as an orgasm gripped me, my body shaking and my throat moaning loudly, then breath came in short, interrupted bursts and I shuddered and gripped her body to me, and she was shuddering and her hips rocking against my fingers and we convulsed together for a moment, then breath came easier as we grasped each other.
Slowly we relaxed, our arms gripping us to each other as we breathed hard, chasing breath, and then we were snuggled close again, holding our bodies together and sharing warmth beneath the great tree. I'd had orgasms before. I'd been abused and whored since my memory began, and if most had been rough, unpleasant experiences, some some were more gentle and some few even pleasurable. But only in the way masturbation is pleasurable, a practice which I had occasionally indulged before my school masters had beat it out of me.
This was somehow fundamentally different. Words are poor vehicles for the language of the body. Words like pleasure, lust and love convey the feeling only awkwardly. Sex was a place for us, not an action. Beyond reason, beyond words or their expression, a place of that moment only, where two perfect beings shared their true lustful selves, where all ideas of slaves and masters, men and women, love and hate, of identities and belonging, were rendered moot, irrelevant. Where I was not a lost and half rebellious slave, but a perfect body making love to another perfect body. My scars and severed breast exactly what she wanted, her too white skin, strange green eyes and scent exactly what I wanted.
I curved and wriggled myself so as to touch her body with as much of mine as could touch. My fingers explored every curve and bone. I had no sense of what I touched, a soft curve, then a bone with only a little flesh above it, another soft, slow curve. She did the same on me, and might have tickled had the afterglow not turned it to a light and tingling pleasure. We were as two beings afloat in a great void, sharing warmth and pleasure, and shutting out the world.
I felt myself begin to moan again, and found my hips were moving again, little circles that pressed and rubbed my against her thigh. Her tongue found mine then and I got lost in it as it pinched and tickled my lips. And then she rolled me to my back and was pulling away, I reached for her and opened my eyes and she was looking into them. Her eyes were soft and deep and smiling lustfully. Then her hand was on my sex again and gently rubbing, and I was pushing myself up into her touch, moaning. I pulled her head to mine to kiss her, but she pulled away after a single kiss.
Then her lips were on my nipple, licking it erect and then gently tugging at it with her teeth and lips, sucking it into her mouth, flicking and caressing it with her tongue. It became lost in sensation, my body was lost and all I knew were bits of this or that pleasure overwhelming me. I was moaning louder then, my hips gyrating against her hand, gentle, slow, then hard, then slow, then hard then hard, then she blew cold air against my wet nipple, and tingles exploded like lightning across the black of sensation. I could not stop the movement of my hips, I could not, hard then soft, slow slow hard but perfect, and then her tongue was in on my sex and two fingers slipped inside. Not hard like a cock, but contoured to me, exploring and pressing and reaching into every moan and gasp.
She was moaning too then, and when I opened my eyes she was masturbating herself, pressing her breasts against my thighs as her lips sucked and her tongue and fingers danced and explored. I orgasmed again, this time long and hard, until I was screeching and shuddering, my whole body spasming and spasming. Then she was cumming too and she pitched up on top of me and I grasped her to me and pressed my still shuddering body against her to steady myself, and she shook and moaned as I kissed her again and again, and then we were gasping for air and laughing and holding each other's bodies close.
We slept on and off for a time. The feeling of her was wonderful and lingered with me in and out of sleep. It was some time before we were both awake at once.
“I don't know what words to use,” I said, whispering as not to break the stillness of the afterglow.
“I know your heart my love, I know the hearts of all things, you do not need to speak.”
I moaned lightly and drifted along her perfect body, drawing attention across every bit of skin that warmed my own.
“Your skin is so beautiful,” she said, “A perfect shade of brown, like rich soil for my roots.” I smiled and kissed her.
“I know your heart.” Her accent was thick and clipped and wonderful in my ears. “Men are rough beasts, I do not like them. But you, I have not loved in so long. My love, my love.” She toyed with the words, saying them with slight variation as if to taste and savor them.
“In so very long. I am so ancient and it is so lonely. And you, who have suffered so, and are so pure and lovely. A lovely black for my lovely white. So beautiful.”
I nuzzled her and enjoyed the press of her breast against mine.
“Come,” she said suddenly, loudly and breaking the stillness. I wish to show you.” Her nude form scampered easily up the branches of the tree. I watched her firm muscles grip and lift her body up. Lithe and graceful, she flowed up more than climbed.
I rose tentatively, noticing first the lattice of root and branch that had been a cage before was gone, and second that all my wounds were healed, not just the puncture of the sword, but also the scrapes on my hands and knees, and the long festering gash where my breast had been. I looked up the tree and saw my lover's nude form beckoning me up. I warmed at the sight of her and climbed.
Though the bark looked rough it was smooth beneath my fingers, and whenever a hip or shoulder scraped against the trunk it was as a gentle touch. Every hand that reached found a branch, and every step fell on solid wood without effort. When I reached her we were nearly at the top of the tree. She took my hand as I reached her and pulled me to her, kissing me, and then we were sitting hip to hip on a gentle sweep of branches that perfectly fit our forms. It was chilly there, the wind strong, but my lover pulled a branch thick with soft needle leaves over us, and her body warmed me.
Her tree, or was her body the tree's body? Her tree was several times my height taller than any around us. We could see the forest stretch out with tiny beautiful variation until it thinned out and ended at the peaks of mountain. Black except their snow covered tips, stark even in the distance.
“Look this way,” she said, and I loved her accent all over again. I kissed her and then shifted, which brought me half onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around me.
Where she pointed the forest thinned out as it approached a valley, cut through my a wide but slow river, sided by green pasture populated by sheep, tiny white dots so far below us. The perspective seemed impossible, but I was too happy besides my lover to worry about the physics.
“I am very ancient. Long ago many trees took the shape of men and women.
Almost none do now, men are hated now, but it wasn't so then. The people who lived here called themselves the Kathati. They were, different than how humans now are. There were only a few together, they, they would travel and hunt together, and wear the skins of the beasts to warm themselves. Many spoke with us then, and many of us chose the form of men and women so to sing with them, and they would come to our trees and dance with many drums and colored costumes. Some of us took mates from them, and they would honor the one who came to live with us and seek wisdom from them.”
I took her hand and held it against me, leaning into her so that my stomach traced her side and my legs, pulled up, cupped her butt. She was looking up at the stars. I looked at them briefly, but stars were not very interesting. Too far away to be significant, I cared only for close things then. Instead I looked at her lovely face, her shoulders and breasts, committing every detail to memory. White white skin, impossibly flawless, and no sign of blood beneath. A small, slightly upturned nose, a cute focus on her face. Her face was round and her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. Her breasts were not tiny but also not large, perky and well rounded, perfect orbs with small areola and hard small nipples. Impossibly perfect, an artificed body. Beauty that rose both desire and awe in me. The beauty of a sculpture, and the lust of a supple and ready body that I loved.
“A boy came to love me then. He was young when we met first, his family came to dance and sing with me, and he could not take his eyes off of me. He was not very strong and not very valued by them as a hunter, but he had deep, intelligent eyes, and they hoped he would live with me and learn and share the wisdom of the trees with them. I looked into his heart and saw that it was pure. He cared for his people and he thought me something holy. I'm not really holy, but closer to it than humans perhaps.”
She squeezed my hand. There were tears in her eyes and so I kissed her and put my arm about her to pull her close to me.
“His name, he was Nichtin. He lived with me many years, until he grew old. At first none of his people came to visit us, but then later they would come, and we would tell them what we could. We trees, we talked with each other then, and we knew much of where the great herds were. And we know the hearts of all beasts, so I could help when the family did not, get along. I loved him, we played in my young branches and made love. We had many seasons together. It was then I learned to keep a human warm in winter. Much colder than now, my love.
“Girls would come sometimes to visit. Girls by themselves. They were very, the girls, the girls in those people did not have very much respect. They were not treated well or allowed to, to, do sex with who they wanted. So they would come to us for freedom and for sex. I did not mind they wanted to sex with Nichtin. Jealousy is a human thing, not a thing for trees. I learned to like the girls then.” She smiled at me and kissed me. Her lips were wonderful and we dwelt for a moment.
“My Nichtin, he was very kind. It wasn't, it was a kind of freedom for the girls. He was never forceful. It is, humans have strange ideas about sex and love. After a while, the girls sometimes they would come for me. Not many, but a few. We would play in the branches, chase each other up and down, and tease Nichtin with our strong bodies. He was old by then. One girl came often for me. Nichtin died. He was old, I can heal people, but the body, even trees grow old and die, humans just much faster. The girl, her name was Kayla, she came then. We honored Nichtin and loved and grieved together. We made sex and she stayed with me.”
She smiled wistfully for a moment. Her body was warm. I felt she was telling the story for her, not me. The words didn't matter too much for me. Her voice was all. I keep mentioning the warmth and softness of her body, but it was the first time I had known warmth or comfort like that. I felt content as I never had before. Not the ennui of indecision or lack of will. I had a will then, and all it desired was to be by that warm body, to feel her naked skin with my naked skin.
“Her people,” she said, “did not understand. They thought women were tools for men. They were afraid of us I think. Their hearts were full of confusion and hate. It was as if they feared their woman would not listen anymore if they let us live. They came to kill her. They came with fire and spears, to burn me and slay her as she ran. For my lover my leaves were soft, but for those who would hurt her they are sharp as steel. My lover wished to fight them, but I did not let her. They would have killed her. I put her high in my branches. I took a bough laden with needles and met them at the edge of my roots. They stuck me with their spears but my skin was hard as wood. They flung their fire at me but I was strong and had drawn much water from the earth; I only singed I did not burn. I struck at them with the bough and slayed many. A few ran. Their blood leeched into the soil, and I did not mind that I would drink it. They had come to kill my love.
“They never came back after that. Not for wisdom nor for mating. The girls stopped coming. My lover lived many years with me. She was never happy, not after that. Humans need humans I think, for all my love I was still not of her kind. I tried, I thought that if I loved her hard enough I would be enough for her, and I loved her. But it was not enough. She loved me, but it was not enough. She withered in loneliness and at last I let her die.”
She was quiet for a long moment. I hugged her and we kissed for a few moments. Then I decided that was a good idea, so I rolled on top of her and kissed her more. She gave me a sad smile and kissed me back.
“Now, it has been so long.” She put her arms on my butt and pulled me up onto her. “You are very lovely, very pure. They have done terrible things to you, your heart is scarred and full of needles. Your master calls you still.”
“I do not hear him, I do not dream of him,” I said, but dread welled up in me, a thick black ink spilled and soaking through a pure white page. I felt as if waking from a dream, the tree, the night, all seemed sharper. How had I fallen so quickly in love? I seemed so different from myself, I couldn't place anything but unease sat in me a moment. Then she smiled and kissed me.
“Do not worry my love. I make you love me because you were so lonely and so bitter. You would be a suicide again if you did not love me and so I opened your heart and put it in. I keep your master's calls away, out of my tree. But if he came here. I fear no human, even now with their steel and torches, I do not fear men. I am old and know how to fight them. But your master, I, if he came I might be able to make you safe. But probably I would not. Probably he would kill me and take you.”
“No,” I said and kissed her furiously. She kissed me back and held me. I began to weep. Slowly at first, but once tears flowed there was an ocean inside me to feed them. I wept and she held me, stoking my hair. I had not known how many tears I carried. I had not known. Even as I wept them I did not feel entirely that the tears were my tears. My master's cold grip was back on me, and I pulled my mind back and back to the tiny cynical core that was left to me, that had been left to me.
“My love, my love,” she said, and we were like that for a while, my tears dripping down her branches to her roots. “Even in sorrow you nourish me,” she said. “You are so perfect.” She caressed my hair, and then I was kissing her and we were making love again. It was different this time. She opened her legs to me and I ground myself against her, desperately I made love, held her body hard to mine, burying my face in her breasts. It was as if the violence of our mating could drive away my master and myself, make me that pure being again that had made love with her before. I threw into the sex all my hate and cynicism, all my pain, my hatred for my master, my hatred for myself, my hatred for all men who had raped me, my hatred for all the motherfuckers of the world. Motherfuckers all of them. I fucked her hard and she took it. Holding me and moaning she took all my hate from me and gave it back as love, until I was clenched hard around her, face pressed to her breasts, arms clinging her to me hard, violently, legs by now outside hers, clenching them together and to me and I orgasmed, shuddering violently, mindless and desperate. And she took it all. She held me and took my violence and gave me love. She gave me love. I wept again, but not for sorrow now. I wept to know her, to have her arms around me. I wept for joy in her arms.