Agnes Dourville Ch. 15

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In which Michelle flies on a bird's wing.
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Part 15 of the 18 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 04/29/2017
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ValoryG
ValoryG
285 Followers

While on a trip, I was able to complete this novella. It's been a fun journey. The story will conclude with chapter 18. And I already have the next novella in mind; the title will be "Le Sexe Superieur."

*****

I am definitely curious about Anthony Redbird, and Anton (who hasn't yet met him) isn't perturbed that I want to meet him again sometime. So the next time I visit Anton and Suzy, I call Anthony and arrange a visit on the Watowauk reservation. Anton arranges another "fishing trip" and is kind enough to drive me over. I am to spend the weekend with Anthony.

"Thank you so much; you're so considerate," I offer Anton as he drops me off. I give him a parting peck on the cheek.

"Suzy and I will love to hear about your adventures," says Anton, who has only caught a glimpse of Anthony. "Behave yourself!"

Anthony's house is a modern, but smallish one (at least when compared to Anton's) by itself on the edge of some dense woods. He welcomes me to his community of River Bend Band of Watowauk Indians. He also introduces me to his wife, or partner, or girlfriend (I'm not sure which) - Alice. She's rather subdued and quiet, and on the plump side - such a contrast to his lithe intensity.

"Michael, or Michelle, which do you prefer?" Anthony asks.

"Actually, I'm most comfortable these days with Michelle," I respond, so happy that he gives me the opportunity to create myself.

"I too have another name, which is Fern-by-the-creek, or, just Fern," he says as he laughs a lilting laugh.

"I like that," I say. "Which name should I use, then?"

"Whichever you wish," he says.

"I like Fern better."

"Good; so do I."

It's already dark on a Friday night. The days have been getting shorter and the nights colder. Still, Anthony, rather Fern, convinces me to join him on a hike to his, as he calls it, retreat in the woods. He fills his backpack with food and clothing, and we set off. I'm wearing a warm jacket and ski hat. We wind our way along a moonlit trail for oh, 20 minutes before we arrive at what he has a long Indian name for, which for me he shortens to "wigwam." It's perhaps 15 feet high, and covered rustically with wide strips of tree bark. Not the stereotypical wigwam made of hides, but comfortable enough inside once he starts a fire and covers the entrance. It's designed so that what smoke there is rises up and out of the top of the mound-like structure. There are some leather-covered cushions around the fire. The small blaze licking away at tree branches definitely makes the interior intimate and cozy. And warm.

"Welcome to my world, Michelle." says Fern. "Did you ever play with a wigwam when you were a kid, or anything like that?"

"Well," I say, "we did make little tents with sheets inside our house when I was growing up. Oh, and yes, once we tried to make one outside using some blankets and an old rug. I'm not sure where we got the poles."

I hadn't remembered this for a long, long time.

"It was during the summer. There were mosquitoes of course. We slept in it one night."

I return to the here and now: "Your tent here - I've never seen one made from bark before."

"Yes," says Fern, "most people haven't. But it was the most available material to our people back then, like when we used birch bark for canoes. The Indian tents most people think of were used by the plains Indians, which were made from bison or deer hides. They needed to be of lighter weight because those people had to pack up and move frequently when they followed the bison herds. In the wintertime they did settle down at one spot for a while."

Fern pokes at the fire to keep it burning.

"Funny I remember this," I say, "but a couple months ago I had a dream that I was an Indian woman married to an Indian man, and it was down in Arizona or somewhere. I mean, we were in a tribe out in a wooded area. I remember feeling very comfortable and happy, until some white soldiers turned up. This sounds like a Hollywood production, doesn't it?"

"Dreams are very important, Michelle. This tells you something about your past and future. And maybe your spirit guide was already pointing you in the direction of meeting me, even if it was at Bambi's." We both laugh.

He then asks me about how I began my journey as Michelle, so I give him a brief synopsis, omitting some of the silly stuff, like our girdle escapades.

Fern removes some clothing from his pack. It's made from doeskin and has nice leather fringes and intricate beadwork. The designs carry flowing woodland themes such as plants, branches, flowers and trees.

"Beautiful," I say.

"Yes, these are very precious. Alice and a friend made them for me, for Fern. And I brought one for you." He carefully unfolds them. They are dresses, which we slip into after taking off our male clothing. I notice Fern's panties and budding breasts as he changes. I wish I had those breasts and I feel a small erection.

"You look very nice," Fern says. "I want to call you 'Reed in the Lake' - is that OK? Reed for short?"

"Of course."

"I want to tell you about me." Fern looks into my eyes. Since she donned her dress, her mannerisms and voice have softened and she seems a little wistful.

"In many Indian nations or communities, we have what we call two-spirit people. That means both man and woman together in one. It's natural, and meant to be, and these two-spirit people have special connections with the spirit world. I am one, and we have often served in roles of what white people call medicine men, or shamans, or healers. So that's the place I find myself in. Of course, in the modern world, things aren't quite so poetic and simple. There are a few in my tribe here who look down on me, but I'm unapologetic. And I have accepted a kind of leadership role in the tribe here. I don't go to meetings as Fern, but I always wear earrings and a necklace and bracelet, so my two-spirit presence is felt."

"And you are developing breasts."

"Well, yes. That's were I depart from the old customs a little. I really want breasts; I can't explain it. A doctor prescribed some hormones. It's not rational; actually it's kind of unnatural, and I'm conflicted. Alice doesn't approve. So it's not a perfect world."

"I know what you mean about breasts," I say. "I feel so - at home? - when I have nice breasts."

The fire has settled down a little. The warm glow softens Fern's features and makes her look even a little more feminine. She has truly become Fern.

"Would you like to share a little Leaf with me, Reed? It's an herb we pick in the woods which connects us with our inner selves, and is so relaxing."

With misgivings that I might lose control, I say yes.

She takes a little wad out of a chewing tobacco can, laughing and saying, "No, don't worry, this isn't Indian tobacco!" She places it next to the fire and adds a glowing coal from the fire to it, and a thin trail of smoke begins to curl upward. She takes what appears to be a bird's wing from her pack and she first wafts some of the smoke toward his nose, and then beckons me to come closer so he can do the same for me.

It smells slightly of tobacco, but otherwise it smells a little of burning wood, with an entirely unfamiliar and beguiling aroma. I inhale a little too much and cough.

"Gentle, gentle," says Fern. "let it come to you; don't chase it."

And so it does. After several minutes we're both looking at each other and smiling. I feel as though we've been lifelong friends, sisters even, and I have absolutely no fears or apprehensions about her. I'm losing track of time. We could have been here forever.

She asks me to close my eyes.

After a few minutes of near-bliss, I hear a swooshing sound, and am aware of a very large butterfly (as big as a person) next to me. It's slowly opening and closing its colorful wings as though basking in the sun. Its antennae are examining me and I feel the need to bury myself on its back, raising a little cloud of butterfly dust, or nectar, or whatever's there. I bury my face in the softness of its back.

I feel a sweet and overpowering sexuality growing in my loins and begin to thrust against the butterfly, as its wings continue to fold and unfold. The feeling is indescribably pleasurable and new to me. A pool of warmth begins to gather and begins to wind its way through me like a river through a meadow. I reach a peak and then my river overflows its banks and its warmth spreads over the grasses. I am almost drowned in pleasure and happiness and I lay there. I am no longer on the butterfly.

When I wake up, who knows how much later, I'm spooning Fern, with my arms around her and my face still buried in her back. She's sleeping. I feel wetness down around my penis, and then I put all my memories back together and slowly realize the journey I took. I don't know whether to be ecstatic or guilty. I must have had sex with dear Fern ... What a remarkable thing. I don't think I penetrated her in any way; I must've just banged her. Now I wonder if she wanted this, or if I made a fool of myself, or what. And I must've gotten sperm on those beautiful dresses ...

Sometime later during the night, Fern wakes up and I pull off spooning her. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

I try to avoid her glance, but she smiles, and asks, "Reed, Reed, did you experience the butterfly?"

"Well, yes, I'm amazed; how do you know?"

"The Leaf will do that; if two people are close, they can share the vision."

"I got us a little wet." I point down to wet stains on my dress.

She laughs, at seemingly the wrong time to laugh. "Being with you was very important to me. Meeting you was no accident, I'm sure. The female side of me had been waiting for a long time to - is the word 'consumate'? - my being with someone unique and special. ... Yes, I was your butterfly, and I opened myself to you. It felt so good. And you are so young and your earthy spirit so strong - I intensely wanted you inside me - well, in a manner of speaking. You spiritually entered me. So don't feel any guilt or have any bad feelings. It was very beautiful and natural. You have both the male and female in you, but not in the same way I do. That became so clear to me."

"I don't know what to say, Fern, I really don't. This is all so new to me. But remember how I told you about becoming Anton's Asian lover Pang, and how I allowed him to have sex with me; I mean, we went all the way. And I enjoyed pleasuring him."

"Reed, I think you were experimenting, for lack of a better word. You wanted to experience what it felt like to look like and act like a woman, to be fucked. I'm sure it was a very powerful."

"Yes, mindblowing. ... And now I have a question for you. Is your female side much stronger than your male side? - I mean, with your taking hormones and such, it seems like you might be wanting to be a woman all the time."

"I'm not sure; this is causing me a little consternation, and consternation for Alice too. It's one thing to be a two-spirit person in our community, but another to physically start looking more like a woman. I may run into some confusion on the part of our village elders. We'll see."

I am still feeling so close to Fern that I instinctively reach out and run my hand under her dress until I find her penis. She closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath and lays down. My other hand reaches in her bodice to gently feel a breast and nipple, and lightly caress them. Fern breathes heavily. Her cock becomes more rigid as I first grasp it tightly, and then run my hand along its length. I feel the nub at the end of her shaft. Soon, pre-cum begins to issue, enabling me to run my encircling hand up and down his member. I withdraw my hand from her breast, lean over, and lightly touch my lips to hers. I find myself getting a little excited again too ...

All at once Fern convulses, and kind of rolls up into a little ball, and I have a hard time keeping my hand on her penis. She begins shouting something in what I assume is her Indian tongue as she ejaculates all over my hand and into her dress. And then, after a minute, she totally unwinds and relaxes.

"That was nice, Reed," she says sleepily, and then we both fall asleep again, spooning, until daybreak. When we get up, and the Leaf has worn off, we are both a little sheepish, and I feel a little distant. We change clothes, pack up, close off the bark wigwam, and she briefly holds my hand as we head down the trail.

The image of the butterfly keeps entering my consciousness. So that's what a magic drug can do!

When we return to her home, her partner Alice treats her tenderly, and gives us breakfast.

I was never to see Fern again, but I will never forget her and what I learned about her and myself. There's more to this world than what we see with our everyday eyes.

ValoryG
ValoryG
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