The Nymph and the Satyr

It was not a natural awakening.

Her prone body was stretched atop the soft peeling bark of a branch not far above the ground. Her bare foot, grass-stained and muddy from running among the trees, was being caressed in the lightest way as it dangled toward the forest floor. It tickled something dreadful. She flinched, tugging her leg up to her chest, but that just made the culprit grab her ankle.

“’Tis morning, my plump grape,” the deep-voiced rasp almost managed to coo. She groaned.

“Must we? I did not fade from the wakeful but four hours ago and we were together since dawn then.”

“It is insatiable. You know it. You feel it.”

She groaned again but let him gently tug her foot back down. Soft furry lips danced across her sensitive heel. This did not tickle as his hand had. In fact, it was quite pleasurable.

“I have brought wine and cheese for you,” he whispered against her skin.

“The wine has not left my body from before.”

“No matter. Dionysus will not let it poison you. He enjoys watching our wild revelry.” His tongue danced out from behind his lips. She gasped, no longer upset at being wakened. He always knew how to make her indulge. She reached down to bat his face away so she could sit up. He used this as an opportunity to take her fingers into his mouth. She did not tug away but used her other arm to straighten her torso so she could jump down to the ground without stumbling.

She straightened her legs after landing and turned toward him. He dropped her hand and pulled back his mustachioed lips to reveal an overbite of large teeth. His eyes were human, but his nostrils were horizontal slits in his nose, resting on top of his slightly protruding maw. His human hands brushed back her leaf-covered golden hair as he took a step closer to her, one hoof in front of the other. She lifted her olive-tinged face up to his, waiting for the kiss. He obliged.

“Xanthus, my love,” she whispered as their lips parted.

“Phigalia.”

“I must tell you, my sisters don’t approve of my allowing a satyr to seduce me. They see it as a weakness. Even my life tree has whispered accusations of traitor to me.”

He stepped back and hardened his beady eyes at her.

“Which do you honor more, Phigalia? Your loyalty to Gaia or the pleasure we share?”

“I have yet to decide. But I must be truthful with you. You deserve that much. As a nymph I have sworn to be chaste, but I still have those organs that plead with me to have a child, despite any oaths I have made. The desire is there. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am too weak to uphold…”

He interrupted her protestations with an atypical gentle kiss, barely touching her slightly open lips.

“Forget your internal struggle. Today let your instincts take over. Come, play with me. Pan is already waking your sisters for the chase. Your oath is to stay virginal, not oblivious. No matter how they chastise you, ‘tis obvious they enjoy the game as much as we.”

She looked down, unsure until he walked past her and patted her rear before frolicking deeper into the woods. She giggled and chased him to the open pasture of Pan’s revelry. A stream ran along the far-right side, fed by a gentle waterfall nestled behind two symmetrical crab apple trees. She caught up to him and he swept her up off her feet before she stopped running so that her legs were still kicking as he carried her to the cascade. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting everything in a hazy golden glow. With the mix of sun and shadows, various red flowers became burgundy and claret; bright yellow ones turned honey and butter. The grass still glistened with morning dew, each droplet mirroring the sun and surrounding plants. Sparrows and cardinals flitted about in the treetops, ending their sweet call to the morning and another day of life.

Xanthus set Phigalia down in the shallows, fingering her shoulders as he stood at her back. She tilted her head slowly to one side, back against his chest, and to the other side before deciding she wanted to be closer to the endless rain. He let go of her as she glided through the water, but she felt his presence at her back still, his heat radiating against her skin. The water became deeper, sliding up her calf, then her thigh. She stopped for a moment to revel in the feel of the tepid waves thumping against her underside before continuing to chest-deep waters. She wasn’t frightened of drowning, even though swimming wasn’t her strength as a dryad. Her naiad cousins were content this early in the morning, so there were no wild currents. She stopped a foot in front of the falls and reached out to let the water flow between her fingers before stepping completely underneath it. Xanthus continued in with her.

Phigalia tilted her head again, listening to the thunder of the torrent against her hair, relishing the flow of the water down the inner curve of her breast and onto her rump and thigh. A rough callused hand cupped her left breast while another hand massaged her right side. She grunted and moaned, ending in a gasp. Xanthus took that as his cue to face her and push her against the curve of rock that the falls had eroded away long ago. He lowered his lips to her neck and shoulders. She whimpered and brought her arms up to rub his back, bending her leg around the back of his.

The pressure of his teeth made Phigalia realize if she let him continue, her vow would be broken. She moved her hands up into his curly hair and onto his smooth twisted horns, grabbing at the place they curved thin into points and yanking him back, though not hard enough to cause injury.

“What do you think you are doing?” he grumbled.

“Ensuring this remains playful and no more.” She smiled coyly and let go, splashing forward into the waterfall once again.

“You degrade my dignity.”

“Oh, have I offended thee, my goat-man?”

“Why do you insist on tormenting me?”

“It is all…part of…the chase!” Phigalia laughed as she ducked in and out of the liquid curtain. He squinted and then lunged. The unexpectedness of his movement caused her to scream and tumble beneath the waters. Xanthus dove in to rescue her, but she emerged still laughing. He twitched his goat ears and laid them back against his head as if about to charge. She gasped in mock fear before wading back to shore.

“Xanthus!” Two other dryads were waiting by the trees. “You know you want to hunt us.” They bared their legs through the slits in their leaf skirts. Phigalia wrung out her hair before advancing on the brunette.

“I claimed this one long ago. Find your own satyr to chase you.”

“Phigalia, there is no claiming. He may beguile whom he likes, and you have no say. ‘Tis not as if we can join and consummate. We are chaste, remember. Pan’s frivolity is all we have. Move aside.”

“Why must it be Xanthus? The satyr does the chasing. He must choose you and he has not, so leave us, Ennea.”

“Ennea is here to enjoy the revelry, Phigalia. She needs not go anywhere,” the lighter-haired dryad spoke.

“No one was speaking to you, Eriantha.”

“Now ladies, no need to quarrel. Ennea is correct; I am free to chase whom I like.”

“Xanthus!” Phigalia whirled about, ready to strike.

“And I have chosen Phigalia for my merriment. My cousin Hesperos and his friend Marlos are not selective, however. They care about numbers. Just show up and they will chase you.”

The dryads huffed but backed away into the field, where other satyrs were now gathering. Silenus was riding his donkey around the outskirts and shouting, “Drinks!” Pan had not yet arrived.

“Apple dryads are so covetous and stubborn,” she murmured as Xanthus put his arms around her.

“As opposed to laurel dryads?” He whispered against her hair.

“I am not covetous; I am possessive.”

“And stubborn.”

“Yes, fine.”

They walked into the clearing to see Pan emerge from the other side, wearing a cluster of leaves around his waist and nothing more. He piped a merry jig into his flute, jumping up and clacking his heels together as he did so. He threw his torso around against the laws of physics, pausing only to yell “Dance, my friends! Dance and chase! Celebrate life!”

Phigalia smiled. “It appears Pan downed some wine while Silenus slept this morning.”

“Pan does not need to imbibe. His gaiety and wildness come naturally.”

“Must feel freeing.”

“It does.” Xanthus backed away to tickle her. She shrieked and ran into the middle of the clearing. He chased after her. The music was getting louder, the shouts shrill and more frequent. She tripped over a fallen cup. Xanthus fell on top of her. Phigalia turned onto her back to push him off but hesitated. His furred legs pressed against her bare skin. The bulge of his manhood rubbed against her tunic. She felt the pressure and the longing that came with it. But to succumb was forbidden. It wasn’t just about a vow. It was more than that.

Artemis permitted her nymphs to tease. It was part of womanhood, knowing that men desired the feminine body and using their arousal as an advantage over them. But this was becoming more than play. Xanthus pushed his face closer. She allowed his lips to touch hers and felt him grow bigger against her. If she allowed this to happen, she would be cast from Artemis forever and become at best a mistress of Dionysus or Hades. The decision was looming.

He exhaled into her ear. With that, she lifted her skirt. The music faded. The shouting and laughter sounded miles away. When they became one, all she could think of was her pleasure. His movement against and within her caused her to moan and grunt like a common animal.

Although Phigalia’s eyes were closed, Artemis’ face flashed across her field of vision. She had never seen Apollo’s twin in such a fury, not even when the goddess had turned Actaeon into a stag and set the hunter’s own dogs upon his flesh. She yelped and Xanthus withdrew.

“Are you hurt?”

Phigalia could only look at him with wide eyes.

“We must run, Phigalia. Run with me. Artemis cannot find you if you come with me.”

“She is already here,” was all Phigalia could say before her mouth shriveled up into small leaf. Her face darkened and pocked, crevices squirming their way across the rigid bark her skin was becoming. Xanthus leapt back from her body, which in a matter of seconds had become a log with bright green leaves still upon it as if just fallen.

“No mercy for traitors,” a resonant female voice came upon the wind.

Phigalia had risked too much. She was not to be reassigned to serve the lord of hell, nor could she call the Elysian Fields her destiny.

Her soul came to consciousness atop a soft bed, still lying on her back. An image of Xanthus was on top of her, but they were no longer touching. She could see his manhood in its enormity looming for her. He was within millimeters of contact, but when she tried to meet him, the image disappeared, only to reappear when she settled back down into the bed. She could still hear Artemis’ voice in the mortal realm:

“A moment of pleasure for an eternity of torment: that is what betrayal earns you. Be glad you are not of my people, Xanthus. Be glad Dionysus is your god and you have no rules.”