The Trees

I am a pragmatist.

Have I heard the rumors? Of course. Do I believe them? Certainly not!

Forests dont comes alive at night!

If you ask me, it’s probably a rumour started and perpetuated by people looking to use the place for their own nefarious purposes. Now I’m told that there is a budding satanic cult that has started worshiping what they have nicknamed “The Fertility Trees.” Reviving some pagan rituals to con the increasing number of childless couples. “But you have to make them an offering that pleases them, else they will suck you in.” Last week a young couple was spotted going into the forest and were never seen again. The trees got them, was the deduction. Their families got together and spewed asinine vitriol at the forest and the cult.

My curiosity is piqued. It’s past midnight when I reach the famous trees.

As I shine my torch’s light upon them, I have to admit that they look rather fascinating… like a pair of erotic dancers in a film noir. There is nothing menacing or satanic about them. Contrarily, it all feels rather amorous. Almost as if I am interrupting something. Like I shouldn’t even be here.

I am compelled to run my hands over the enticing bends and curves. Strange. It feels surprisingly smooth. And soft. Like a woman’s derriere. Warm even. Soft and warm. I feel a pulse. Like a heartbeat. Another pulse. The pulse travels all the way down to my groin. We pulse in unison. I move closer. Her warmth suffuses me. I close my eyes in sensual pleasure. I am ready…

image from Janek-Sedlar at DeviantArt

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #87; also using Fandango’s Daily Prompt “Vitriol”, and Word of the Day Prompt “Pique”