From Little Acorns

FROM LITTLE ACORNS

I love trees.  The bare branches in winter silhouetted against the sky, the sweet scented blossoms of spring, the plush green foliage of summer and particularly the russet and golden shades of autumn.  We take them so for granted.  Stop and imagine for a moment a world without trees.  They offer shelter, shade, and beauty; standing proud and peaceful in a world obsessed by speed and gain.  I despise people who will chop down a tree for no reason other than their own petty selfishness.


         I also have a fantasy involving a tree that I have shared with no one apart from the diary I keep in my handbag. I dream of making love under a magnificent tree on a beautiful autumn evening.  I’ve found the tree I have in mind; an ancient sturdy oak nestling in nearby woods.  The air is fresh, the surroundings peaceful and isolated, perfect.  The only problem is I haven’t found the man.


Feeling lazy one Saturday I set off for a stroll through the woods.  It’s a glorious September morning and I feel the need to visit my fantasy tree.  I rub my hands sensuously over the smooth bark of its trunk.  Closing my eyes I breathe in the sweet scents of woodland as I run the familiar scenario through my head.  I cannot see my lover’s face but I can feel his strong arms around me, his fingers teasing, his soft kisses on my lips and breasts as his thrusting movements bring me to a long and shuddering climax.  Opening my eyes I realise I have not noticed a yellow cross painted on the broad trunk of the tree.  Further investigation leads me to a notice which reads ‘As part of a building proposal this tree and all those in the surrounding area marked with a cross will be felled at the end of November.’


         ‘NO’ I silently scream, feeling guilty for wanting to preserve my fantasy as much as the tree.  I rush home to phone the local council.  They advise me there is a nearby conservationist group and maybe I should join if I feel so strongly about the tree’s destiny.


         The following Saturday I am sitting nervously in an old log cabin listening to suggestions on how to save the woodlands.  I feel reassured that there are so many like minded local people but would hazard a guess that none of them share the same reason for wanting to preserve that particular tree.  Promising to join in with future planned protest marches and rallies I turn to leave.


         “You can start by signing this petition,” a dark chocolate voice informs me, causing me to stop in my tracks.  I gaze up into the brownest, most mischievous eyes I’ve ever seen.  Full, sensuous lips form a mocking yet inviting smile, surrounded by an immaculate dark beard, sprinkled with silver.  I’m one of those women who adores a neat beard; very sexy. I feel my knees weaken.

         “I’m Robbie by the way.  And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

         He may be addressing me but his eyes are doing some undressing.

         “Erm…Theresa,” I stammer, having difficulty even remembering my own name.  “Theresa Green.”

         “Fine name for an environmentalist,” he laughs.  A deep, yet tinkling sound that sends warm shivers down my spine. 


         I scrabble in my bag for a pen to sign the petition but my hands are trembling.  The bag drops to the floor, scattering most of its contents.
 
         “Allow me.”  Robbie hands me a pen as he bends to retrieve my belongings, carefully replacing them in my bag. 

         Quickly signing the petition, I grab my handbag, mutter an embarrassed thank you and rush out of the door like a timid field mouse scurrying for cover.


         Two weeks later, a letter in an unrecognised hand drops onto my doormat.  I read and digest it several times.

         ‘My Dearest Theresa,
                                       Would you be so kind as to join me by the large oak in the copse on Saturday next at seven?  I have something I’d like to share with you.  Please say yes.
                             Yours, Robbie’


         My heart skips a beat; my pulse accelerates as I struggle to recall my plans for the coming weekend.  I need to cancel any other appointments.  A thorough search of my handbag reveals my diary is not there.  Oh sod it! Whatever plans I had will have to wait.


         The days leading up to Saturday seem never-ending but at last I awake to a perfect October morning; just the sort to match my fantasy.  As yet I have no idea what Robbie has in mind, or what he needs to see me about, so  attempting to control my rising excitement for fear of disappointment, I go about the day calmly.  After dinner I begin careful preparations, ensuring I’ll look my best even if there is only conservationist talk on the cards.  At last I am ready; new lacy black lingerie, low cut, deep red slinky dress to blend with the autumn shades, expensive perfume to compliment  the scents of the woodland. I arrive early of course.


         I lean against the smooth trunk of the tree, my eyes closed, breathing deeply in an effort to slow my racing heartbeat.  As I hear the distinct sound of footsteps rustling through the first of fallen leaves, I know my efforts to remain calm are in vain.  A shadow blocks out the sunlight and the air is filled with the aroma of expensive cologne.  Opening my eyes I feel my breathing accelerate as I gaze into the twinkling, knowing eyes of Robbie.  His lips smile invitingly as he holds out a hand clutching my forgotten diary.  From the expression on his handsome face I know he has read it.


         “I think I know a way to save this tree,” he winks seductively as his arms enfold me.  “But first let’s see what we can do for Theresa.”  His lips kiss my neck, soft and warm, his beard tickling yet exciting.  He lowers me onto the soft grass beneath the tree and I offer no resistance.  Tender, sensual kisses starting from my exposed shoulders, travelling slowly and seductively towards my awaiting lips send my senses reeling and I am lost in the moment.  My arms are around him, fondling his broad shoulders, stroking his strong back, tracing the contours of his upper body.  His lips are tantalising and I sigh involuntarily as his hands begin to remove my clothing.  I care not if there are any passers by; let them pause and enjoy the moment as I am doing.  The world outside no longer exists.


         I assist in the removal of his clothing and as our flesh touches I feel every muscle in my body tighten in anticipation.  I wrap my fingers in his soft hair as his head drops to kiss my breast, his hand slowly stroking the other nipple into firmness.


He sucks sensually; his tongue flicking and I arch upwards, greedy for more of his wonderful attention.  I caress his back with my hands, my breathing becoming heavier, more erratic.  I trace a winding trail with my fingertips, down his spine, over his buttocks but I need more of him.  I coax him gently onto his back and straddle him bending forward to kiss him once more, my nipples brushing against his toned chest. His knowing fingers tease my tingling nipples sending shockwaves to every nerve in my body.  I’m lost in his face; his eyes heavy lidded with pleasure; a pleasure I want to relentlessly continue.  My hands journey over his chest, migrating slowly lower and lower until I reach his firm erection.  I wrap my hand around it, feeling it pulse in my palm.  I rub it back and forth, my own pleasure spiralling along with his, making me light headed.


         His hands are working the insides of my thighs.  I feel the throbbing need to be touched.  His fingers move upwards; he begins to gently stroke and caress that sensitive spot until I feel the blood boiling in my veins.  His eyes flicker and I know the time is right.  I guide the head of his hardness towards my awaiting wetness.  I’m on the edge, wanting to climax but at the same time never wanting this feeling to subside.  I push down on him slowly, and then again, feeling him inside me a little more each time.  Softly, slowly we rock, resisting the urge to fulfil our needs until it cannot wait any longer.  As the dance of love continues I throw back my head to gaze at the azure sky and he begins to thrust harder and faster.  The feeling intensifies to the point where control is forgotten.  The sun breaks from behind a cloud, warming my back, illuminating his face and I climax long and hard, my muscles contracting tightly around him.  He cries out in surprise and allows himself to let go; release his passion.  I am aware of every spasm and respond instinctively. 


         Breathing heavily, I lay my head on his chest; hearing his heart pound, his warm skin mingling with my own.  An acorn falls from a branch to land beside us; as if the tree too wishes to join in the pleasure of the moment.  We lie quietly for a long time, hands playing lovingly, legs entwined, lips smiling and our eyes saying more than words could ever express. The satisfaction of playing out my fantasy is more intensely rewarding than I ever imagined.  But then I never imagined I’d meet someone like Robbie.


         Heavy protest saved our tree and those in the surrounding woodland.  We visit it frequently and re-enact my fantasy every autumn.  The tree continues to thrive and grow in stature and beauty and we hope it doesn’t object to the small heart we carved in its trunk, enclosing our initials.


         We planted the acorn at the bottom of our large garden.  Already it is showing signs of healthy growth and we hope one day our children will climb the branches; laugh and play in the tree house we have planned.  And who knows?  Maybe when they’re older they might act out their own fantasies too.