Cottagecore as an Expression of Queer Yearning (excerpt) | Body of Land

By Bridget Harilaou

We took off our clothes and waded through the cool water to a lone rock in the middle of the rushing stream. I was glad to have made it to a stable spot to eat, but they ran off to explore.

They moved quickly and surely, so naked and free, hopping from boulder to boulder to the other side of the creek. I marvelled at how sure-footed they were running through the woods. I could barely make it along the worn path to the creek without holding their hand at all times.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of them jumping from the bank up onto a fallen moss-covered tree trunk and looking around at the bush, entirely in their element. They looked exactly like a high femme river nymph from a fairy tale running through the forest, impossible to catch.

When they made their way back to me and we finished our picnic, we kissed on the rock. It was worn smooth by the water, just right for lying naked on and even better for enhancing the joy of touching each other. It was a marvel to hold on to something so solid as we played.

I mean, is there anything more delicious than fucking in nature?

The dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy contrasted green leaves with bare skin usually untouched by the sun. The babble of moving water and the sounds of us echoing down the creek. Nature and our natural state of being.

Nipples free, arses bare, clothes abandoned at the water’s edge. That rock really was the perfect height for spanking. It would have been a missed opportunity not to use that rock as nature intended.

We coined that rock the Fuck Rock. We’re not subtle.