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Wren aka Rene St. Germaine - Guest Author

Carrie White, Freelance Writer & Reviewer

It was a long hike through the backwoods, but standing here now, at the river’s edge, Sammy was glad she made the trek. She wiped the sweat from her brow, dropped her heavy back pack, and gulped down some water from her canteen. The moon hung low over the indigo blue of the river, tracing in silver the ripples that moved out from the spot where she dipped her toe in to test the temperature of the water.

It was perfect; cold enough to send a shiver through her, but not too cold to prevent her from bathing in it should the mood strike her. She plunked down on a rock and began to take items, one by one, out of her pack.

She surveyed her meager treasure. She had a little food – instant oatmeal, a few protein bars, some beef jerky, and a couple of bottles of water, some sage and salt to aid in creating sacred space, and, of course, a small hand drum.

She held a mini flashlight between her teeth and went in search of enough firewood to last the night. She made several treks back and forth between the brush and the river’s edge; her arms piled high with fallen branches. Luckily, there was enough of a canopy that even the recent rains hadn’t depleted the supply of good, dry wood. She stood with her hands on her hips surveying the pile. Satisfied that she had enough to keep a fire going throughout what promised to be a very long night, she began to dig a pit with one of the branches she found.

Once she had a small bowl shaped pit, she lined it with smooth, flat stones. She grabbed her hunting knife from the small pile of goods she’d unpacked earlier, and began to shave one of the driest of the branches she collected to produce kindling. Once she had enough kindling, she laid branches in a pyramid over it, and lit the fire. It caught quickly, flared noisily, and illuminated the deep blue of the night.

She let herself be still for a while, letting the fire ‘take’ under her gentle ministrations. She poked it a little here and there, blew on the side that wasn’t quite catching, and added branches as needed. When the fire seemed just right to her, she added some sage to the crackling orange flames and took delight in the pure, clean scent of it burning. When she was sure the fire was well-built and would last, she grabbed some twine from her pack and began tying small, twiggy branches to one thicker central branch, fashioning a makeshift broom.

When it was completed to her satisfaction, she laid the broom aside and stripped off her clothes. She tossed a palm full of salt into the fresh water river.

“Creature of salt, I marry thee to water that I might be purified.” She waded in until the water reached her thighs, and then, lowered herself to her knees. When her body adjusted to the temperature of the water, she immersed her entire body, letting the cold thrill her. She imagined all the trivial matters she’d carried into the woods with her; the relationship issues, the financial concerns, her resistance to change, her fear of actually choosing something other than the path of least resistance, the recent fight she’d had with her mother, the fact that she felt inadequate as a wife and parent. She let all these things float to the surface of her awareness and then, with a quick flick of her mental and physical wrist, she cast them into the water to be carried away by the lazy current. She could almost see them, murky and black, muddying the water. She could also see the cool, clear water from upstream pushing them slowly, but completely away.

She kept repeating the process until she felt squeaky clean both inside and out. She rested her attention in the center of her body, imagining that a small, tight, yellow flower lived there, right in her belly. She imagined it blooming, let herself feel the sensation of something tight, opening up. A thrumming sensation began, a signal she’d long since come to recognize as the beginnings of trance. Satisfied that she was properly purified, she slowly rose up out of the water, enjoying the hot night air on her water-chilled skin. She ran her hands over her skin to better experience the gooseflesh that had risen. The breeze felt as personal as breath on her skin. The hoot of an owl temporarily silenced the hum of cicadas, and felt like a welcome. The night seemed soft to her, as though it had been waiting with open arms for her arrival. The idea of the night personified and breath on her skin led to another kind of thrumming down low, past the yellow bloom in her belly. She walked slowly to the shore, grabbed the towel out of her pack, and sat close to the fire to dry off. She kept her eyes softly on the flames, gazing without staring, allowing herself to blink when her eyes told her to.

When the moment felt right, she stood up, picked up her makeshift broom, and mimed sweeping the area around the fire clean without actually letting the twigs touch the ground. The point was to blast the area clean psychically, and the sweeping motion was just an aid to that end. When she felt she’d done all she could to prepare the space, she took her dagger in her hand, and inscribed the circle, walking clockwise around the fire, stopping briefly at the directions - North, East, South, and West.

“By the earth that is her body…” she intoned as she drew in invoking pentagram in the air with the dagger.
“By the air that is her breath…by the fire that is her bright spirit…and by the waters of her teeming womb, the circle is cast and I am between the worlds.”
She moved to the center and raised the dagger high.
“By the Above, by the below, and by the Center, I invoke the spirits of this place and invite them to join me. Naught but love may enter here, and naught but love may leave.”

Satisfied that she’d created a barrier between herself and the so-called real world, she spread a sarong she pulled out of her pack on the ground, and sat cross-legged upon it. Breathing consciously and steadily for a long few moments, she imagined that her body had roots, growing and pushing into the soil beneath her. She let them grow and twist and tangle up with the roots of the wild greenery around her, imagining that she could draw power and nourishment up through them, just as the trees did. When she felt as connected to the spot as she could be, she took up her drum and using the palm of her hand started a slow, soft rhythm. She kept time with her heart beat, letting her body speak through the drum. It sounded just like she felt – tired out, sad, world weary, and in need of rejuvenation.

She listened for a long time to what her body was telling her before she changed the pace of her drumming a little. She sped it up, quickening her breath, encouraging her body to take energy from what she was doing. Soon, beads of sweat formed on her brow, and trickled from under her arms down the sides of her breasts. She worked herself up into a lather, her skin glowing with heat, the drumming ever increasing in volume and speed, until she felt she could beat the taut skin of it no more. She stopped so suddenly that the silence pressed on her ears like the loudest of sounds. Still now, she caught her breath, put the drum aside, and used the corner of her sarong to wipe her dripping face.

“That felt good.” She murmured to herself. It had been a long time since she’d drummed, and she hadn’t realized what she’d been missing. Her hands throbbed. She realized they were probably bruised. They would hurt tomorrow, but she felt exactly as she had come here to feel – purified. Emptied out. She stretched out on her sarong, spread her legs and arms out wide, and lay under the stars. She wanted only to be, now. Not to think or imagine. Not to ask questions or receive answers. Just to be.

A deep sense of relaxation soon claimed her, and she let it. The fire was properly built and would burn slowly through the night. The smoke worried the mosquitoes and kept them off her naked body. She reveled in the cooling breeze that caressed her skin; let it be the hands of the night on her. She spread her legs a little wider and let it kiss her between them.

Her nipples hardened, responding to the contrast between the glow of the fire and the cooler air. She brushed them with the palms of her hands, and squirmed a little when pleasure shot through her like an arrow. She played with the sensation like she would a newborn fire, stroking it, allowing the breeze to waken it from spark to conflagration. Soon, it took her over, and her hips, thrust up toward the stars, began to buck rhythmically as she cupped her breasts in her hands like an offering. She ran her hands down over her belly, over her bucking hips, over her straining thighs, and then dipped them down between her legs to press hard against the throbbing there. She slipped a finger into the velvety slickness and raised it back up to her mouth so she could taste her own juices. She marveled at the strength of her arousal. It had been a long time since she’d felt this hungry for a cock inside her, and she realized with a pang that she hadn’t packed her dildo, that she hadn’t even brought anything that could even substitute for one.

Settling for what she could do for herself, she plunged two fingers into her pussy and pulled them out again, soaked with her juices. She traced spirals on her thighs, using her juice like ink. When her skin took all the juice on her fingers, she plunged in again, drawing out more, and drew stars and crescent moons on her belly, then her breasts. She drew on her arms; spread the wet scent on her lips, her cheekbones, her forehead, like tribal stripes. Her musk filled the night and co-mingled with the scent of sage and wood smoke. She wasn’t thinking about anything anymore but the sensation of emptiness between her legs, the hard upward thrust of her nipples toward the sky, and the pressure gathering in her belly. One word rang clear through her and expressed itself through her movement. Want. Want. Soon another word was added. I. I want.

She began to chant it, almost sing it, as though the night had ears and could hear her prayer. I want, I want, I want, I want. She began to work her clit, tugging it between thumb and forefinger, stroking it, first softly, and then pressing down hard. She rubbed the spot above its pink nub where the folds of her labia met and formed a hood. It felt to her fingers like a cock root, and she wished she could make it grow, spread up and out like a slender, flexible tree trunk, just like she’d done earlier during her grounding. She would fuck herself with it if she could.

She let herself imagine it and could vividly see her clit pulsing and growing, expanding in length and width just like a cock would. She could see it push out of her at its root and grow long enough to curve downward toward her pussy, push the swollen lips aside and grow right into her. The fantasy took hold, and she could almost feel it, almost feel the sensation in her clit grow as though the nub itself was growing. She could almost feel the slickness of her pussy juice on its newly grown head as she imagined it entering her.

As she surrendered to this reverie, the smoke from the fire began to take shape before her eyes. It gathered like a hot mist. As she watched, stunned into aching stillness, it took the shape of a man who strode, strong and graceful, toward her. She stared up into his face, shaking her head to try and clear it of the startling vision, but it would not be so easily dismissed.

“You called me.” He spoke. His voice was gentle and deep. “You called me and I’ve come.”
Sammy closed her legs and sat up, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Who are you?” She asked, her eyes wide with fear and wonder.
“I’m a part of you, Sammy. Don’t be frightened. I’m your other half.”
“I’m married to my other half.” She realized she was nearly shrieking, and took a deep breath to calm herself as the apparition before her chuckled low in his throat.
“Perhaps he’s your soul-mate, Sammy, but he’s not your other half. I’m your other half. Look.”

In the glow of the firelight, Sammy could see that he was pointing to a birthmark above his left hip. It was identical to the one she had on her right hip. She shook her head in disbelief. She had obviously fallen asleep. The long trek here, the release after drumming, it must have taken everything out of her. She was dreaming. She had to be.

“I’m dreaming.” She said. “Right?”
“Sure, Sammy. You’re dreaming. Whatever makes you feel more at ease.” He sat before her, knees drawn up, arms clasped around them – her mirror image. His cock peeked out from between his legs, hard as rock and pulsing as though it had lungs of its own. Sammy looked down and realized that her pussy, still slick and open, was clearly visible as well.

“What’s your name?” She asked, forcing herself to relax a little. She unclasped her arms and let her legs fall open. As she did so, he did the same so they sat cross-legged in front of each other. Sammy’s hands rested palms up on her thighs, and so did his. His cock strained upward. Sammy couldn’t help but notice that it was beautiful to look at, uncut, the foreskin stretched down by his erection so that it rested beneath the base of the head, which gleamed as though polished.
“When you think of me, you call me Pan.”

”No way. I think of the spirit of the wild as Pan. I didn’t even know I had an animus. I never thought of myself as having an inner male at all. Try again.”
He smiled gently and continued.

“When you invoked the spirit of the wild, you were calling that up out of yourself. You imagined it. You gave it a face and a name. Your imagination is as good as creation, Sammy. I’m how you see the wild spirit in you.”

Sammy thought about this for a few moments. In her dreamy state, it sounded plausible, but she had more questions.

“So, why haven’t you ever come before, then? I’ve invoked the spirit of the wild plenty of times.”

“You’ve always called me from here.” He reached over and touched her gently in the middle of her forehead with his index finger. “Tonight, you called me from here.” He kept his eyes on her face as he placed his whole open hand on her belly. “And from here.” He ran his fingertips over the top of her mound. As he touched her there, a shudder went through her. All her senses sprang from startled stillness to vivid, pulsing life. She moaned against her will, and was startled when he moaned, too.
“That felt good.” He said.

”What felt good?” Sammy asked, trying not to thrust her pelvis against his hand.
“Pay attention to your hand.”

Sammy focused her attention on her hand, and as he touched her again, her eyes widened in surprised. She could feel both his touch on her body, and how she felt to him in her fingers.

“We are the same spirit, Sammy. The same spirit in two bodies. Whatever I feel, you can feel. Whatever you feel, I can feel.” He pressed his hand against her pussy and spread her lips with his fingers. “See?”

He was right. The sensation of heat and moisture, of the softness of her labial skin, registered very clearly in her hand.

“Let me try.” She said. She reached out and touched his arm, and giggled as her touch registered in her own arm. She stroked his face, and breathed out a soft moan as the touch registered on her face. She brushed her palms over his nipples, and felt her body stiffen as pleasure and the desire for more shot through her. She grasped his cock in her hand and her back arched as though she had grown a cock of her own. Taking his cue from her, he began to touch her as she was touching him, and soon, there was no more room for anything but the sensations they drew out of one another with their hands, mouths, breath on skin.

He lay her down on her sarong and parted her legs. He settled himself down between her thighs and peered at her pussy, parting it with his fingers, blowing gently on it. As he dipped his head down to kiss it, she smelled her own musk, felt her own hot wetness on her lips. He flicked his tongue out and swirled it around the hot, pulsing nub of her clit. He lapped at her, soft, long, wet licks, until she felt her back would break from arching. He tongued her opening, lapped the juices out, and she could taste them on her own tongue. He gently thrust two fingers inside her, hooked them toward her pelvic bone, and sought out the sweet spot that only she had ever found. As he stroked it gently, he drew her clit between his lips and suckled it, keeping the rhythm of his fingers and mouth in perfect unison. Her hips jerked and bucked, and she could feel the bone on bone sensation of her hip meeting his cheek on her own cheek. He rested his forearms across her thighs, binding them down. The muscles in her legs tensed and pushed against his weight, which only served to arouse her more. She was going to come. He kept lapping and licking, kept rubbing the tiny spot inside her. She was getting so close. He lapped a little faster, keeping his movements tight and circular over her clit. She weaved her fingers into his hair and pulled, and felt her scalp tighten. Too much. This was too much. She plummeted over the edge of desire into a vortex of pleasure. As she cried out, he did, too. His body jerked, spasming in time with her own. Tears sprang into her eyes as her orgasm rocked her to her very core. She could feel the wetness of his own tears falling onto her thighs.

When their breathing calmed and their hearts slowed down enough so they could hear over the rushing of blood in their ears, they lay entangled for a long while, silent. The night seemed joyful to her now. Not just welcoming but celebratory. The cicadas sang loudly around her, and she could hear the splashing of beaver tails down river. Night birds sang all at once. The fire added its own song to the mix.

“That was out of this world.” Sammy breathed.
”Well, in a way, yeah. We are, after all, between the worlds, aren’t we?”
Sammy laughed. In all her wonderment and excitement, she’d forgotten the circle she’d cast before she fell asleep.
“You’re not asleep, Sammy. This is real. I’m real.”
Sammy shook her head, and leaned up to kiss his lips. “Real or not real, dreaming or awake, that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life.”
He drew her closer into his arms and squeezed her tightly. “Gives a whole new meaning to the words “self-love”, doesn’t it?”
Sammy laughed. Self-love had never been her forte. She was great at loving those around her, great at serving the needs of others, feeding whoever needed to be fed, cleaning up after those too busy or lazy to clean up after themselves. But her own needs often got ignored until she felt completely empty. That’s what had brought her out here to begin with – that sense that her entire existence revolved around making everyone happy but herself.
“You deserve better, you know.” He said.
”I think I know that in my head, Pan. I don’t think it’s an easy thing to translate into action.”
“What if I help?”
“How?”
“Well, what if I could whisper in your ear. For example, when you forget to eat. What if you heard me saying ‘Hey, Sammy! We need to eat!’.”
“That might help. But then again, I might feel nagged.”
“You nag everyone else. Why not yourself?” He was grinning from ear to ear as he said it.
”I am not a nag!” She exclaimed, rising up from his embrace to tickle him. He curled himself into a ball to avoid her deft fingers, unable to breathe from laughing. She laughed as loudly, feeling his breathlessness as her own as the tickling sensation she inflicted took over her own body.
“I take it back! You’re not a nag!” She stopped tickling him and settled back down in his arms, still laughing.

“Seriously, though. You need to take better care of us. Those that need you need you happy.” He said, when he could breathe again.

Sammy nodded against his chest. He was right. She had to stop putting everyone and everything ahead of herself. It was a habit she’d picked up from her mother who she’d taken to calling The Martyr. The thought that she was becoming just like her made her cringe.
“I’ll try.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”

He kissed her forehead, and then lingered over her eyelids. He rose up on his elbow, and cradling her head on his arm, he kissed her mouth. She surrendered to the mixed up sensations – his lips, her lips, the spark he set off in her, the spark she set off in him. She kissed him back, pushing her tongue between his teeth. He suckled her tongue, then her lips, then began a slow descent down her body with his hands, tongue, brushing her flesh with his hair, rising up over her on his arms and skimming her body with his own. She burned for him, burned to feel his cock between her legs, to feel how her pussy felt full of him. He kneeled between her thighs and grasped his cock in her hands. She felt all things – his cock, his hand, his need – and thrust her hips up. He rubbed the silky head of his cock over her wet labia, pushed his way in and then pulled out again. She felt her own tortured need, and his. She felt her softness and his hardness. She thrust up again, her eyes on his face, her mouth open and moving around the word “Please.”

“Please. I want it. I need…”

He pushed into her slowly, easing his way in until he could go no further. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed up, locking him to her. He rocked his hips, pushing his pelvis against her, putting pressure on her pubic bone. She rocked back, matching his movements, sliding herself tightly up and down the length of his cock. She could feel it all – his cock deep inside her, her pussy wrapped around it, his bones pressed against her, her clit throbbing against his bones. Her own pleasure swirled and sparked and mingled with his pleasure as they rocked together. Faster and faster, they bucked and rode the feelings they created in one another, for one another. Higher and higher, the sensation rose, threatening to peak, receding as he slowed them down, and then flowing, crashing and mingling again. Their blood rushed in their ears. Their hearts thundered. Their mouths came together, hungry, sucking, biting. She never wanted it to end, but her body demanded release, and the word ‘Now’ came out of her mouth and into his, out of his mouth and into hers. Their pleasure peaked, and they clung to one another as though they might be blown apart by the intensity it. It went on and on, wave after crashing wave of it. They were awed by it, silenced by it, as they faced one another, their bodies joined at the axis of their orgasm, their eyes locked.

As it ebbed, they lay very still as though memorizing every sensation. Sammy’s eyes reflected stars and his eyes reflected her eyes back to her. She felt her heart’s pounding ease up and her breathing slow to normal, and then, finally, Pan broke the silence.

“I am with you always, Sammy. Never forget.”

Sammy nodded, squeezing her eyes tight against the sudden tears that sprang from her eyes. Behind him, the sky was changing color, going from the deep indigo of night to a violet washed gray. The sun was rising. She clung to him, her fingertips pressed into his arms, her forehead pressed hard against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me.” She whispered.
”I can’t leave you. I am you.” He whispered back.

She opened her eyes. He was fading. The growing light shone through him. Soon, he turned back into a hot mist, then into faint smoke, which entered her through her breath. Her arms were empty. She let them fall and rolled over onto her side, curling into the fetal position. Grief-filled sobs issued forth from between her lips. The sky caught fire and blazed red and orange as the sun rose above the horizon. The cicadas ceased their singing as though pausing to watch. The birds sang full-throated hellos to the light. Sammy let herself fall, exhausted, into sorrowful sleep.

When she woke, the sun was high above her, beating down hotly. She shielded her eyes and sat up.

“What a dream.” She muttered. She touched her body all over, and then tried working out the knots that sleeping in the ground had tied in her low back. She stoked the fire up from faint embers to a crackling blaze and took up her dagger. She drew the power she’d used to cast the circle the night before back into the tip of the blade. “The circle is open, but never broken.” She intoned. Satisfied that the sphere was gone, the energy it took to create it stored in her blade, she put the dagger back in her pack and filled a pot with water. She dug through the pack in search of the instant coffee she only settled for while camping out, sniffed at the small plastic container of cream to ensure it hadn’t soured over night, and put the pot on the fire to boil.

She must have tossed and turned all night long. Her hair was full of twigs and leaves, and her body felt streaked with sweat and smoke. She walked down to the water’s edge and waded in to bathe. The water felt good as it lapped between her thighs. She reached down and cupped herself, wincing at how bruised and swollen she felt. She parted her labia and dipped a finger gingerly in. She was soaked. She must have pounded her pelvis into the ground while she was dreaming. How else could she have bruised herself? She chuckled. Wait till the girls in her coven heard about this! Fucked by Pan, who claimed to be her other half! They’d get quite a kick out of it.

She plunged into the water and swam a few strokes. She felt so much better than she had before she came here. She felt energized, full again, overflowing. She let herself float for a while, lazily tracing circles in the water, trying to gather all the elements of her dream journey to her. As good as she felt, she couldn’t shake the sense that she’d lost something.

“It was just a dream.” She admonished herself. “No need to be so maudlin!” She stood up in the water and strode back to shore. She donned her clothes and dried her hair as she waited for the water to come to a full boil. She poured some into her blue enamel camp cup, and tapped some instant coffee into it, adding two packets of sugar and a splash of cream, and stirred it up with a twig.

“Coffee for breakfast? Tsk. Tsk. Sammy, you really should make some oatmeal.”
A slow, soft smile spread across Sammy’s face as she nodded. She got up to retrieve her camp bowl and a packet of instant oatmeal from her pack
“Have a power bar, too.” The voice came again from some deep place within her.
“You’re nagging!” Sammy said to the air, grinning.
“It’s my job. Eat, Sammy. You have a long trek home.” Sammy felt a poke in her ribs, and giggled.

Sammy ate her breakfast and then packed her gear. She threw the remaining sage on the fire, let it burn out, and doused the embers with water from the river. She sat quietly for a long moment, thanking the spirits of the place for the experience they’d given her the night before, and hugged herself tightly, feeling Pan’s presence spread through her entire being like a tight, warm, perfect, loving, eternal hug right back.

The End.

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