There were once, in ancient Thebes, two lovers. They met infrequently and cautiously, because both families were opposed to their love. Hylas’s family were citizens, and they farmed their land and served in the army, but never conducted business. Their land and their service brought them wealth and power. 

Phyrne’s family made lanterns, oils and candles, so that those who wanted to stay awake past the natural hours of darkness could do so. The family had become wealthy, and it too was powerful in its way, but to the citizens of Thebes it was a disgrace to be in trade, no matter how successfully. 

So Hylas’s parents heartily despised Phyrne’s parents, and in return her parents gave hatred, ridicule and contempt. Hylas and Phyrne met when they could, but they had little pleasure, and no sex. Instead they held each other, unhappy, spoke of their love and bemoaned their fate. 

Sometimes he allowed himself to hold one of Phyrne’s plump breasts in his hand, and afterwards, alone in his own bed, pleasured himself with that sensual memory.

Fortunately, there was, in Thebes at that time, a beautiful witch, dark of skin and beautiful, from some far and unknown land. Her name was Ojastara, and she was always followed by a cloud of foxes.

One night Hylas was in his family home. His parents and his sister were in their rooms, asleep, and so had he been. But he got up to get a cup of water. But as he was pouring water from the pitcher the servant girl in the kitchen suddenly froze. She stopped. Still. The house had stopped. Even the wind had suddenly stilled.

That was odd, and a feathertop of apprehension seemed to run down his spine. He shivered. Then he shrugged and turned to go back to his room.   

Then he cried out, very lightly, in fear, because a dark corner of the wall had wide, white eyes. Then he saw there was a woman, darker than the night, in the room with him. He stared. She smiled, and she was beautiful beyond anyone he had ever seen, except perhaps Phyrne. But his fear did not diminish. “What … are you?” 

“I’m your rescuer. My name is Ojastara, but you will call me Teacher.” 

“Teacher?” 

She selected, from an indoor pot that held orchids, a length of bamboo and swished it in the air. “Yes. And I suggest that you pay attention to your lessons. Come here.” 

Hylas wasn’t sure why, but he obeyed. The woman took him by his penis, which grew, incredibly fast and hard, in her hand. She whipped the cane, hard enough to hurt and leave a mark, just a micron below the hang of his balls. Hylas found, to his consternation, his cock hardening even more.

She smiled at him, the smile not entirely reassuring, and said, “You need many lessons, Hylas. Before you’re worthy of Phyrne. Now.” She turned her back on him, her hand still firmly holding his cock, and began to walk.

Hylas guessed that she was taking him to his bedroom. But he had eyes only for her rolling bottom and the firm femininity of her thighs.

He had never had a woman. He and Phyrne had never had the opportunity, and perhaps he had not had the courage to make it possible. It seemed, he realised, that a woman was about to have him. But her hand on his cock seemed to drive all other thoughts and considerations out of his mind. He followed, close. 

Bridget leaned back against her plantlike lover, his penis, if that’s what it was, firmly held in her anus. She felt a deep love and affection for him. She knew that was partly because she was influenced by the psychotropic chemicals he exuded from his body, what he called his “pollen”. At the same time he’d been a skilled and considerate lover, and that told her good things about his nature.

Though she had to admit her asshole was a little sore from his vigorous thrusts as they closed on their respective orgasms, she was disappointed when at last, and slowly, he with drew from her.

At last, though, she was no longer taken. He reached for her shoulder and helped her turn so she could look at him. He was an extraordinary being. His skin was dark green bark, his hair was leaves, and although the lines of his body and face were manlike, he was made of living, animate wood. His beard was tightly knotted, flexible twigs.

 She touched his face. He was oddly soft, for a man of wood. He smiled at her. “I do not often court mortal women quite so abruptly. But I wanted you, on sight.”

She grinned at him. “My arse is still sore, you abrupt bastard.”

He looked concerned. “I’d hoped to bring you pleasure. Not pain.”

“You did. Pleasure, I mean. I was teasing you. My arse is sore in a good way. Oh!” She remembered something. “You spanked me! You can’t spank me and pretend you didn’t want to hurt me!”

“I felt you wanting it.” He looked up then, and saw Ojastara looking at the pair of them, smiling benignly. “Cousin, I have never had such a gift. May I keep her?”

Ojastara said, “That’s entirely up to the gift, now. I only introduced you. She is not mine.”

Only a short time ago Bridget would have been hurt, if Ojastara had said she didn’t belong to her. Instead she looked at the Green Man. “Jack, if you’ll have me – often! – I’ll stay with you. I’ll willingly be yours. If you’ll -“

“I cannot be yours, little mortal. I’m an elemental; it isn’t possible. But your life will seem all too brief to me. I promise to keep you and love you as long as you live.”

“Then” Bridget pushed her owner back, onto his back. He was immensely strong, she knew, and he was humouring her, as she might ‘lose’ a wrestling match with a child. The protuberance that had been in her arse was clean, now, and gleaming. She lowered her lips to it. “I wonder how sensitive this is?”

Jack said nothing, but the protuberance oozed sap, and then a sticky substance that tasted faintly of something woody, but nourishing. As she licked and sucked at her strange new lover, his hands fell to the ground, and the fingers seemed to dig deep into the earth. The protuberance grew, and it streamed as she sucked, the fluid viscous and faintly sweet.

He placed a bony, woody knee between her thighs, and she rode it, pleasuring herself as she pleasured him. At last she seemed to be back in that shining, fuzzy cloud, high above the world.

Jack came in her mouth at last, releasing something nutty and faintly sweet. She swallowed, and wondered if she would ever need any other kind of sustenance again.

But his great inflexible hand pressed down on her buttocks, so that she pressed closer, tighter to his knee and thigh, soft bark against sensitive womanly skin. And she made the first high-pitched peep, of the sound that seemed to be her new orgasm noise. There were many more before the need and greed of her cunt at last allowed her to relax and rest. 

When she could look around again she saw that Ojastara and her foxes had gone. But she did not feel abandoned, in this new life. Jack said to her, “You’re my Queen now. Queen of April. Or possibly the May. Usually a goddess takes this role. So you must be a goddess too.” 

“And Queen,” she said, wondering. “Then she looked at him. “‘For the shepherd lads on every side’ll come from far away; And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother; I’m to be Queen o’ the May.'” 

Jack stood, and extended his strange hand. Bridget took it and rose. He said, “You’ve become a goddess. Whatever the season was, you’ve just brought the Spring. That was strong, and good. I’ll have to try very hard to make you immortal. With – pardon, I don’t usually work by human manners – with your consent, of course.” 

Bridget remembered that hers was a goddess’s name. An old one. Perhaps that was more than coincidence. She said, “You may make me immortal, fine sir, if you please.”