Oz absently strummed his guitar under the big oak tree in his back yard, thinking about everything but his music. He thought about Willow; her red hair tousled in passion; her red lips wrapped around his appendages.
Setting his guitar off to the side, Oz looked down at the bulge in his pants. "Huh." He shrugged and stood up. Unbuckling his belt and undoing the fly of his baggy jeans, Oz pushed them and his Gloworm boxers down to his ankles.
Oz moved around the tree, trying to find the right spot. Looking down, he saw a place where a large thick root pushed up from the ground, leaving a small amount of space between the root and the dirt.
Laying down (being careful to lay down the *correct* way), Oz positioned himself at the small opening. He thrust and moaned as the rough wood scratched the top of his cock while the soft dirt soothed the bottom. Oz began to pant as his thrusting became faster. "Oh, yeah," he said noncommittally.
He felt himself grow closer to orgasm. With a little more emotion (not that much more) Oz said, "Oh, fuck, yeah."
With a few more thrusts, Oz came, spilling himself on the ground. He then got sad, for he was a Catholic, and that is a big no-no. Now Oz would never get into heaven. The aftershocks of his orgasm took away all the sadness.
He pulled out of the space between the ground and the root. Standing up, Oz zipped his pants. He moved back around to his guitar and picked it up. Oz began walking away, but then turned back.
Placing the guitar on the ground once more, Oz threw his arms around the tree. "You didn't think I'd walk out on you, did you? I know how important the post-coital cuddles are."
~**~
BAM!! The End.