The Lord of the Rings changed my life.
My freshman year of college I walked into my boyfriend David’s dorm room while he was on the phone with a friend from LA. The friend had recently arrived in New Zealand for this series of film shoots. He was telling David about all the crazy concept drawings and costumes and getting the star treatment and meeting all these big name actors. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it sounded pretty damn cool.
After the call, David said that was his friend Elijah from Los Angeles, and he’s playing a big role in this series of movies based on this series of books. The Lord of the Rings, he thinks it’s called?
Two years later, I sat in a movie theater with a bunch of my college friends. We’d smuggled in a bunch of beer and were settling in to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. The whole excursion was led by my friend Nick, a total Tolkien-head, who knew the canon inside and out. Meanwhile, I knew nothing about the books or story. I hadn’t read them growing up, so I went into the film with a complete beginner’s mind, except for the essential tidbits Nick has given me on the car ride over.
The lights lowered, and from the first sound cue, I was hooked. I was swept into this world and it was so compelling. Gandalf fell into the mines and I screamed, “No!!!” I cried and kept crying for the rest of the movie. On the ride home Nick bitched about everything the film did wrong, but my mind was still traveling the paths of Middle Earth.
A year later I was back in the same movie theater with the same friends and same amount of beer. Gandalf was back and we cheered! He showed up on his horse and it was the first light of the fifth day and Gandalf saved the day and we all sobbed with pride and relief. My friends and I held hands while Sam talked about the great stories, the ones that really matter, tears streaming down our faces.
I had never been so moved by a film before. It felt like Stendhal Syndrome. I was out of my ego, my consciousness floating somewhere between my body and the world that I was watching on the screen. I fell so hard for The Lord of the Rings.
A few months after seeing The Two Towers, I was invited to a costume party with the theme “Heroes and Villains.” As I prepared for the party, I decided to channel my inner androgynous boy. I found myself layers of leather and wool in browns and greens, conditioned my long blond hair, and tossed on a cape. I became Legolas.
Legolas represented everything I wanted to be. He was brave, beautiful, intuitive, skilled at fighting, and in tune with nature. He was the dream man. I wanted to be him, I wanted to fuck him, I wanted it all.
It was a great party. I watched a male Hermione make out with a female Snape on the couch. Dr. No danced with Captain Underpants. Pussy Galore and Storm did acroyoga in the corner. I flirted with three different Harry Potters of varying genders. I felt sexy and strong and got endless compliments on my costume.
The party was across campus from my house, so the walk home was a long one. On the way, I cut through the main town square. It was one of those normal small town squares: a bucolic green space with trees, a gazebo and various paths. It was three a.m. and the whole place was deserted.
Before I go further, I should note that I had never heard of “LARPing” before. I had never heard of cosplay. I had a vague notion that some of my pagan friends played an intricate game involving twenty-sided dice, but that was the extent of this kind of nerd knowledge.
I had also been a bit of a serious kid, so even when I played, I had my ego watching me and sort of making fun of me in the background. As far back as I can remember, I had never had an experience of playful immersion.
So imagine my surprise, as I walked through this empty park at three a.m., to find myself stalked by a twenty foot tall troll.
I didn’t really know what to do with that.
I didn’t know what to do, other than run. And hide. And duck. And dodge. And pull an arrow from my quiver and fire. And miss. And try again, and hit!
On this long walk home, I leapt over boulders and hid behind trees and nocked arrows and fought enemies. I was in full LARP mode.
Thirty minutes later, I reached home—my Rivendell—which was a crappy rental house on the north end of campus, but I didn’t feel done. My journey had not been satisfied. I had not vanquished enough foes.
I stood at my front door at three-thirty a.m. in full costume, and instead of going to bed like a reasonable human, I pocketed my keys and walked back to Middle Earth, like a warrior elf.
I ran back to the town square feeling like I was the only person on the planet, let alone this tiny Ohio town. I played so long that I exhausted myself.
Then I found my tree. This was a special tree for me. I had spent a lot of time studying under this tree. I processed my big break up there. I cuddled with other sweeties there. Now it was my senior year, and it occurred to me that I had yet to climb this tree.
I climbed the tree. About fifteen feet up, I found a nice thick branch and straddled it like a leopard. I wrapped my cape around me and relaxed into the branch. It felt cozy and safe up there.
I let my body ease into the branch and rest. I watched the rising moon and cherished the silence.
Then the tree made a pass at me.
I’m wasn’t sure how to feel. But I was into it. So I made a pass right back. My body started getting warm, and the tree got warm. I wriggled against the branch, and the branch wriggled right back. It was on.
I humped the branch between my legs until I came. The energy from my orgasm shot out of my body, down the branch, down the trunk, and into the earth. Then the earth returned it with amazing fervor, up the trunk and up the branch and into my body. I got dizzy and high. I fucked a tree.
Then I promptly fell asleep.
I woke up to the gibbous moon bright above me. Despite the depth of the night, I felt vulnerable and exposed. Instead of dropping down and doing the four-thirty a.m. walk of shame like any normal person, I climbed higher. Like a warrior elf.
I found a forked branch and I lay back on it. It perfectly cradled my shoulders and felt like a strong arm holding me along my spine. I wrapped my legs around the trunk, and I felt the tree’s excitement again.
“You are insatiable,” I said to the tree. I rubbed myself against it again and fell back asleep.
I woke hours later to full morning. The park was filled with people. I heard a rustling below and rolled over to find my theater professor walking his dog, Yeti. Yeti was pissing on my lover. I would have been offended, but I suspected the tree was cool with it.
I looked out at all the people and realized that despite the crowd, I was still alone. No one saw me. No one looked up.
So I jacked off again.
I put my hand down my Legolas-leggings and pulled it out, soaked with my arousal. I wiped my juicy hand on the branch, giving some of me back to the tree.
Seconds later, an ant crawled up to my little puddle of cum and drank. He walked away, followed by another ant that drank from the puddle, and then another and another. A whole little army of ants was drinking my cum. Before I could get too creeped out, I remembered that I was wearing an elf outfit and had slept in a tree. This seemed pretty par for the course. I rolled with it.
I realized that I should probably go home and take a shower and eat something or else I might just float away. I wondered if I should wait for the park to clear out a bit, but I doubted that would happen anytime soon. So I climbed down and dropped from the lowest branch.
No one batted an eye as a blond girl in a Legolas costume dropped from a tree. Then I remembered why I enrolled in a hippie school.
A few months later was Drag Ball, the biggest party on campus. I dusted off my cape and boots and convinced my ex-girlfriend and two friends to compete in the drag show with me as the Fellowship of the Schwing. My ex dressed as Aragorn, and on stage in front of the whole school—students and professors alike—I dropped to my knees and fellated Aragorn’s sword. Gollum ripped off Frodo’s shirt, looking for the ring. Geeky bedlam ensued. We ended up placing 2nd in the competition.
That night I got properly laid, as one should expect after a party where all the boys wear short, tight dresses, and all the girls wear mustaches and neckties. The sex was mediocre, but I sleep well in my partner’s arms nonetheless.
The next morning I woke unsatisfied. I kicked my partner to the curb.
My boots and cape stayed at home, but I had a date with my tree.