You feel your long slender legs relax and receive the affection of the forest, the woodland air working up around the effortless curve of your calves and thighs. And where, in the bliss of your dreamlike state, the grass and soil seem warm beneath your bare feet, your toes delicately pawing the surface of the turf, caressing the earth and feeling nature’s very soul pressing lovingly against your soles.

The woodsman’s arms cradle you as a heavenly heat comforts you, the sunset colors intensifying, the breeze blowing gentle and warm, the tall trees gently swaying their approval all around you, until you feel yourself gently rocked, swaying in the oaken boughs of your woodsman’s powerfully rooted stance.

Surrounded by this circle of 30 deer, you sense the warm, loving affection, of the doe still nuzzling at your fingertips, and when she recoils you gently turn your head, opening your eyes and wondering whatever might have distracted her.

Ahead, through a clearing in the trees, you now see, in jet black silhouette, the majesty of a Stag, his outline the very symbol of nature’s masculinity.

You watch the doe as she gracefully approaches him, their noses touching, silently exchanging their affections, before his head tips back, his heavy antlers reaching almost all the way against his back.

His long face reaches skyward, his thick neck stretching as she begins to turn herself before him, and then gently backing herself toward him until he effortlessly rears up on his hind haunches.

And without hesitation she receives him, allows him his pride and purpose, and you gasp at the majesty displayed in their form as these two beautiful creatures combine to become a single outline.

“Le chevreuil, amoureux de la forêt…” you sigh aloud, the words slipping from your lips with passion and desire.

You close your eyes and your mind slips deeper inside the forest, the roots and branches of your dreamlike imagination growing deeper inside you, until, voyeur, you see yourself through the blazing hazel eyes of the doe.

From her vantage you see the summer solstice of your white dress billowing in the warm breeze, your long, thick, dark hair, curling over your shoulders, your beautiful bare legs free to feel the forest caressing their every inch, the powerful limbs of the woodsman, stood firm behind you and supporting your tender weight.

You see yourself, a lady of silver and gold, with wild flowers woven and braided into your hair, and with the loose cotton of your flowing white dress sashaying in the forest’s warm and luxuriant evening breeze.

“Amoureux de la forêt.” You whisper softly, and with a deep groan, “Je te veux… Je te veux.”

You reach behind with your open hand, your palm and fingers working across the musculature you find trapped beneath the woodsman’s clothing. You sense the tautness in his thighs and your fingertips confirm the wanting that aches for you there.

His labored hands slip from you, unbuckling his heavy jeans and shifting his hips, your hands help pull at the worn denim until it falls away, and your fingers are free to curl around his thickening phallus

Deftly and dexterously you grip and release your gorgeous grip, pausing, your heart quickening, racing erratically, almost arresting as you clamor to comprehend how the weight of his cock can feel so confident, so familiar and so perfect in the cup of your open hand?