As we read the Song—or other scripture, for that matter—we need to be aware that not every pretty phrase is just poetic. Sometimes it means just exactly what it says. The beloved asks her lover, whom she says leaps like a stag upon the mountainside, to come and be to her as that stag. There is a rather awe-inspiring picture of this request’s exactitude on page 560 of the October 1986 National Geographic! My wife and I decided to put it into practice. As with all scripture, the proof, truth, and wonder of a thing are, indeed, in the doing. The fumbling around to get it right was also quite enjoyable as well, in this case.
This tale is likely to be most appreciated by those who live out in the country. Still, some parts of it may be of use or inspiration for those who don’t live out there but visit the less populated places outside towns. We have been fortunate enough to live on a few heavily-wooded acres. Over the years, we have found various ways to enjoy the space available to us.
It has become a tradition for my wife and me to have private picnics at various locations in our forest. Those spots are kept lightly trimmed, mowed, and otherwise tended—the five P’s in action: Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance. This makes spontaneity a little more likely to happen. We also have a loose sort of traditional formula for the occasions they are put to use. There’s a very special and now somewhat worn old blanket we have used since our first experience with sex outdoors on our honeymoon over forty years ago. (That’s perhaps a story for another time.) As a large part of our winter heating is from a wood-burning stove—officially carbon neutral, for those who care—it is easy to come by a stump that is always placed beside our dear old blanket. That stump has been cut to just the right height.
Regarding more practical considerations: Hey, if you live in the country, you have to get pretty practical to enjoy life out here. If the mosquitoes are out, it helps to run a long extension cord to a box fan. Mosquitoes can’t fly much faster than a human walks, about four miles per hour, so a fairly quiet fan speed can be used. If citronella candles or torches make you feel better, then fine, but the fan works. The candles can lend a pleasant ambiance for evening picnics, though I prefer seeing her lovely backside by the light of a full moon alone. Two or three fluffy towels and a picnic basket complete the traditional equipment list. The basket doesn’t need more than drinks, cheese, crackers, and maybe a sandwich. We’re not really there to eat all that much anyhow.
That’s the setup. The very first thing we do when it’s all laid out, and sometimes even before we leave the house to set it up, is to lose all our clothes. Next, we sit down and nibble a bit while we talk. We might even put it all down and then go on a nice, long, naked hike through the woods before coming back. As a rule, no matter how much lovemaking gets done, we’ll spend as much or more time just relaxing and talking. There’s something so nice about just sitting naked, conversing, and perhaps hugging and kissing.
Sooner or later, one or both of us will show more or less obvious signs of wanting to do more than visit. In my case, it is often as simple as her reaching over to take matters in hand and squeeze what has become upstanding. For her part, she can roll over face down or face up and invite me to climb aboard. Or she might push me over and climb on boar,d facing whichever way suits her mood. After we finish lying or sitting on one another, we can relax, towel off, and get back to some more time spent talking.
This brings me to why that stump is there; it, too, has become somewhat of a tradition that usually gets saved for last. Having had one or more good bouts of lovemaking earlier, it is easier to make our time with the stump take a while. When it’s about time to finish up, she’ll stand, walk over to the stump, bend over to place her hands on it. She spreads her legs, braces herself, then looks over her shoulder.
“Hurry and be to me as a Stag on the mountain,” she’ll say.
It’s a powerful verse, and that’s a lovely context in which to quote it. She’ll turn her head to look ahead as I step forward. I take her hips firmly in hand, step right up between her legs, and insert myself all the way in while she squeezes just as hard as she wants. It is, oh, so good. Once we’re fully engaged, we stand there for a bit, just enjoying the joining while I run my hands up and down her sides. I fondle her gorgeous, pendant breasts in passing as they gently swing beneath her.
Eventually, with a wiggle of her hips or a very firm backward push, she’ll signal it’s time for her Hart to get busy and service his Hind. It’s time for me to be as her Stag on the mountain. Once well into the rhythm of pumping away at the hips held in my hands, I can watch and feel her response. She uses those luscious hips to communicate quite well. They rise, fall, and move all about to satisfy her as she wishes.
Sooner or later, my wife will lower her head to look back between her breasts. I take that as my signal to make sure my thrusting is firm and matches her natural frequency. If I get it just right, then her breasts will be swinging with the rhythm while she looks back. That lets them make a nice frame for the sight of my balls slapping away between her legs right beneath her very own fully involved pussy as I slide in and out of her.
I know the time has arrived when, in the midst of all this, she shuffles her feet just a bit, braces herself, raises her head to look straight ahead, and firmly butts her backside insistently into me. That’s the signal for placing my hands very firmly on her back, right at the top outside edge of her hip bone, and getting as secure a grip as I can. Now is the time to finish being the Hart to my Hind and fully mount her.
Rising on my toes, I insert myself as deeply as I can and lean forward to get my center of gravity well over her hips. All it takes next, with a little timing and practice, is that leap she asked for! I pick my feet up, hug her hips with my thighs and keep pumping away. Fully mounted, the Hind now supports the whole weight of her Hart. If you’re into taking pictures, this makes a pretty one, and it now matches the one in National Geographic. After a bit of this, I put my feet back down, and we finish one another off.
We like our stumps. The very first one we ever used this way has been hollowed out, had a removable top put on it, and is now a small end table in our living room. We know what it’s for, but visitors think it’s just a quirky piece of country furniture. Of course, it’s not just for nostalgia’s sake that it’s there in the living room. For that half of the year that it’s too cold outside for forest frolics, it still works just fine for its original purpose right there in the comfort of our living room. Several stumps are placed all along the paths through the woods and even a few large rocks that serve the same purpose. As a bit of added thrill, some of them are just as near the roads that bound the property as they can be and remain unseen to passersby. We’re not trying to be exhibitionists; we know it’s perfectly safe because we’ve driven down the road and tried to see them clearly. On the other hand, you can usually just make out passing traffic from the stumps’ locations as it moves past the small gaps in the leaves. From time to time, I’ll carry a few of the stumps to new areas. This all makes it fun when we’re just out for a walk. Seeing them brings back good memories and the occasional comment on how nice a location a new placement might be. Yes, we like our stumps.
We also like our picnics and the trusty old blanket. There’s a lot to be said for making your own traditions and memories and having picnics.
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