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Come Back to the Forest
October 2, 2002
He had one foot in the Catholic church and one in the realm of Faery. Pagan-hearted and wild, the glitter and pomp of the Church nonetheless managed to draw him occasionally from the woodlands into its stained-glass embrace. I loved him, I think, at least for a time. I wanted him the first time I saw him - the teen brother of one of my closest friends, hawkish of face, or perhaps more goatish, with deep feral eyes and untamed hair. And I seduced him, all too easily. Into the forest, into the meadows, into the lonely places we would wander, joyful shapeshifters, and play games. He often mistook me for a rock or tree, and would step on me or past me unknowing - and I would emerge human again, surprising him, and he would fall. Many times I found myself fucked by wolf or big cat, when it had been he who had mounted me. In the heat of it, animals would come, our animal/vegetable smell too delicious to to be resisted; our intimacies were often played to audiences of rabbit, deer, and even once a bear. I sometimes wonder what it was he confessed on Sundays, and what did the priest think?
Naked, we were beautiful. In those days my body was strong and lithe, my breasts high and round and my hips swelling outward in an inviting curve. And he was Pan, wide shoulders, long tightly muscled arms and a tiny wiry waist. From the hips downward, he grew hairy, and one might almost expect to see hooves terminating the length of his legs. Naked, we were comfortable, and shared all aspects of our bodies with an openness and a frankness that would surprise those people who harbour shames about the body and its multitude of functions. Naked, we were part of the world, closer to it, connected to it through our skin, our sweat, our breath, our juices.
You see, sleep - last night - was delicious for a change, rich, sedative-soaked stuff, floating with imagery and sensuality. I awaken today with a certain liveliness under my skin, remembering the lizards that frolicked on the woven cane back of my rocking chair, and the chrysanthemums nodding their heads in time to some unheard music.
It ended, of course. Boys grow to men, and tend to develop strange concerns about themselves and the world. We grew apart, slowly and painfully. And there are times - like these - when I still think of him, and hope he can one day find his way back to the forest. |
