By Alex Mason I miss being a tree. I
By Alex Mason
I miss being a tree.
I don’t mean to get all environmentalist on you, mind. I get it, trees get cut down, and we become book cases, and cabinets, and paper, and all sorts of other things. A sapling I grew up with had one of his limbs become the first draft of a very popular new novel. Mind you, I heard this from a part of its trunk, which was now extra-soft lavatory paper.
Most of me made it out alright – my highest branches are still laid out across the forest floor, and my trunk by-and-large became the struts laying the foundation of a new bank in the city, and the other limbs had become bookcases, cabinets, and paper (although apparently unconditionally confined to an account’s office).
Were only I lucky enough to be amongst them.
Being a tree wasn’t perfect. While the birds and squirrels were nice most of the time, their scratching could really work at a limb’s nerve, and of course you had the druids to contend with, walking about, singing and drawing their power from your roots, which frankly felt somewhat invasive. But you felt tall, and you felt powerful, and it was a position that had taken hundreds of years to get to, from the splitting of the seed, to the harsh and uncertain winters while a sapling.
It was certainly better than being a wizard’s staff, such as I am. Oh, sure, there was power there alright, channeled up you in the heat of battle. But when you think of the word ‘staff’, I doubt you imagine it being synonymous with 'erotic prop’.
I am currently wedged firmly between two fleshy bits of a human, while idiots ogled towards either side of me.
The human is alright for the most part, mind you. Kept me clean, away from termites, and was largely kept splinter free (although, given my current position, it was clear this was more for her benefit than mine). I don’t like to think of myself as being 'owned’, but it is nice to think of yourself as 'useful’.
Apparently, I was now being useful as a mating ritual fetish.
The skill was in her sliding me down bottom first while nobody else was looking. Apparently taking off the bits of cloth over her fleshy bits would be just too damn embarrassing, but sticking my spiral tip ten-feet into the air was just unsuspicious enough to not attract any attention.
She was very lucky, to be honest. As she rubbed me down through the middle of herself, I damn near felt an ingrained fire-spell about to let loose. That would have been a fascinating bit of sunburn for her to explain her way out of.
This wasn’t even the first time. Once she had wedged me between her back flesh, and, as a tree, I engage with my senses using the whole of my being. Appealing though I’m sure she believed she was, the smell took days to fully disappear from my full length.
One time, she had licked at me with the most sultry of expressions, at least for the start. It was after that she began the more rigorous checks for splintering amongst my length.
I emphasise with her position, mind. I understand the mating rituals and sex that engages with the more squishy biological creatures, and even had it occur in my outer branches during the springtime. And sometimes, sometimes you needed a really good, hard piece of wood to help sell yourself.
But I am afraid I am done. Lovely though she is, she can find another staff to prop herself up against to gain the leering gaze of the crowds. Maybe a nice soft-wood, like a birch, would be more into the whole affair.
And it is for this reason that I am currently, through no small effort (and the cooperation of a very kind enchanted pencil), writing this notice on a piece of myself with an accountant’s letterhead proudly displayed above it, to be posted to the nice hunk of cork standing up outside the old bank at its next opportunity.
Wizard’s Staff – Oak, with a curved tip. Very good with fire-spells.
Free to a good home.
To be picked up at the beach-side inn, left propped up in the umbrella stand between the hours of 8pm-10am. Don’t bother asking first.
Asexuals or the sexually apathetic only need apply.