Hey, there! Let me tell you a story. You won’t believe it, but what the hell. I live partly in a magical world, and I’m going to marry a magical girl, and I have some really magical friends. This isn’t my story, though. The person whose story it is isn’t in a position to tell it, and it’s too good a story to miss. It’s the story of an elderly man called Clive. Come to think of it, I never did learn his whole name, and it doesn’t really matter. He did tell the first part of the story, though, and if you want it, it’s on the same site as this one, titled ‘Regrets?’ I got to know him quite well during the course of a year...

It’s been quite a tale, I suppose. In the twilight of my life I discovered a magical place, where I rediscovered my youth. When you’re human, though, there’s a limit to how long your body can resist the pressures of time. At seventy-five, I lived for a while as if I were twenty again, although with the knowledge and skills of my real age. Outside the city of Sheffield, there is a magical place called Padley Gorge, part of the Longshaw Estate. It is an area of ancient woodland each side of a small river at the bottom of a steep valley. I got to know some very strange people and told the story ... it had to be called ‘fantasy’ of course. Where was I? Oh ... once I’d become a part, as much as I could as a human, of the woodland community, I had a serious talk with Father Quercus and Mother Clio, the senior elders.

You have to realise I’d been travelling out to the gorge nearly every day. I’d say I was looking like a fit fifty year-old, and I was ‘performing’ like a teenager. I’d experienced intimacy with most, if not all, the female spirits of the wood, though I was particularly welcomed by three. Petra was the main one, followed by Phoebe and Betula. I was fond of all of them, but Petra had a special place in my heart. I’d spent many a night curled in the shelter of her tree, a small sessile oak.

But to the point. Father Quercus and Mother Clio summoned me one day.

“Clive,” the old oak dryad said, “we’re very aware how close you have become to us. You may not be aware that the vigour you are enjoying, while it is due to the magic of this place, is at the cost of your longevity...”

“A price, sir, which is trivial compared to the joy I’m experiencing, and which I am happy to pay.”

He nodded, but it was Mother Clio who went on. “Clive, we, the elders of the woodland, are inviting you to become a true part of our community, to remain here, to live here. You would have a very different life to that which you are used to, and a much longer one.”

“Madam! What would I have to do? There is very little holding me back. I have no family, no real commitments...”

Father Quercus spoke again. “You need only to settle your affairs, dispose of your human assets, and plant a seed at the right time. Your body will die, but your essence will live on in a new tree. The only limit we place on you is that it needs to be a seed of a tree growing here. If you wish a particular spot, then a seed of a tree nearby...”

“I would be part of this? Stay here permanently?”

“Exactly. We don’t do this often, only for people who really identify with the woodland.”

“It sounds wonderful!”

I left them, then. I couldn’t go home without saying goodbye to lovely Petra, and that took, well, nearly two hours. We then had to clean up, which meant I couldn’t say no to Phoebe. But I did have to go then, despite Phoebe wanting me to stay the night. I got to the bike, just about drained, and at home I barely had the energy to undress before falling into bed.

The next day I made a solicitor’s appointment before beginning a process of tidying up my house and my life. I didn’t see much point in staying in the city until I saw the solicitor, so I got on the bike to ride out to Padley. There I was torn. Two of the woodland spirits, Petra and Phoebe, were so appreciative of my company overnight. The easiest thing would be if I could sleep between the two of them, but neither could sleep far from their own place. Phoebe needed to be next to the river, if not actually in it, while Petra needed to be with her tree, which was well up, out of the gorge. After some consideration, I made my way to Petra. We made love there, so sweetly, and I told her what the elders had said.

She nodded. “I knew what they wanted,” she told me. “I was one of those who asked for the dispensation, but there were many others.”

“I need to go back to the city in the morning,” I said. “It would be easiest, and would please Phoebe, if I slept with her and had a bath before leaving. Do you mind?”

“You’re so sweet!” She giggled. “You won’t find much jealousy here. Some, very occasionally, perhaps. I admit I really like having you. But it makes sense to let Phoebe have you tonight. I may join her when she bathes you in the morning.”

So I kissed my pretty oak dryad, and we walked down to the river hand in hand. Petra left me there with the little naiad. Phoebe is a pretty little thing. Less than five feet, with springy, spiky blue hair, she might be taken for a child except for her figure which is definitely that of an adult. Her skin, which is silky smooth, is patterned in earth colours, so she’s hard to see if she doesn’t want to be seen. Actually, she is seen, often, by any young, male, human explorers. She has a very powerful and active libido. I feel sorry for the young men she seduces, as when they eventually get home, drained of their essential juices, the whole experience will only be remembered as a dream. Where was I? Um. Oh, yes. There are two men associated with the woodland community whose relationship with Phoebe is more than ‘wham, bam, thank you, sir.’ Sorry, that should be ‘were’ two, as I have been absorbed ... assimilated, you might say ... by the community. For some reason, Phoebe is different with us. She loves to sleep in our arms next to her river, and I suppose the best way of describing the relationship is that we ‘make love’ to Phoebe, rather than ‘having sex’ with her.

So, in the morning, after a second bout of love-making, Petra arrived at the river and helped Phoebe with my morning ablutions. After that (and a few kisses and some fondling) I dressed, went to my bike, and went home.

My solicitor is the son of the man who looked after my affairs for most of my adult life. I told him I wanted to amend my will. It was simple enough; I appointed him as executor, left my motorbike, books, and a couple of thousand pounds to Sean, the young man who was a part of my introduction to the Woodland community, and a couple of thousand to his girlfriend, Calida. The idea of that was that they could learn to ride a motorbike, get their licences, and use the machine to commute to the gorge ... if they wanted to, of course. Sean could sell the bike and buy a car, for that matter. Everything else could be sold, and the money given to the National Trust, designated for the Longshaw Estate. The new will was witnessed by a couple of secretaries of the law practice, and that was it.

Once that was done, I returned to my routine and spent much of my time in the woods with one or another of the woodland folk. Always, my favourite place to sleep was on the leaf-mould about Petra’s tree. I should explain that Petra is a Hamadryad, so when she’s in human form, there is no tree and the ground where it ... she ... usually is is soft and yielding. There are acorns, though, and I chose one and planted it in an open space not too far from Petra.

It was a long, cold winter. In places there was ice where the river was less energetic, but I never had a problem sleeping or staying warm and dry and when I bathed with Phoebe, the water always felt cool and refreshing rather than icy.

The woodland folk have their parties and, from time to time, their festivals. The principal festivals are the solstice and equinox ones, of course, but often enough there is a good excuse to gather and enjoy one another.

The winter passed, and the spring equinox was upon us. That was the reason for the great party that night. There were a few visitors other than myself – Sean and Calida, Deborah and Steve Baxenby, a couple of others I didn’t know. But the pattern was the same; woodland food and wine, music (the musicians difficult to see) and dancing. And, of course, sex. Lots of sex; cries, groans and sighs could be heard sometimes through the music.

Father Quercus. “Tonight is the night, Clive. You planted the acorn, and it is about to germinate. If you leave the wood and go home, it will grow into a tree like any other. If, however, you go to sleep where you planted it, you will be bonded to it as a dryad, but you will not go back to the city. Are you ready?”

“I am ready, Father.”

I didn’t hear or see any sign, but Petra appeared. “Father Quercus?”

“Petra, it is time for Clive to go to his new place.”

She grabbed my hand and kissed it. “You are staying, Clive?”

“Can you doubt it? Of course I’m staying!”

“Come, then.”