Hannah Riding Hood placed one hand on her hip, huffed and puffed and blew a thick load of snot into her embroidered handkerchief. “Please don’t tell me you’re visiting Grandma in that get-up,” she said.
Little Red looked up, all doe eyes, biting her lower lip as she placed the hood over her platinum blonde curls. She thought of the dangers she might incur traipsing through the dark woods in fuck-me heels, a short skirt that barely hid her ass cheeks, lacy red garters, thigh highs and a blouse unbuttoned enough for all and sundry to glimpse her plunging decolletage. And trembled with delight.
“I saw that woodsman sniffing around the other day, asking if you had any wood for him. Honey, you’re an innocent. You don’t know all the dangers lurking about, especially in these troubled times. And going out into the woods, alone, dressed like that…”
“But Mom!” Little Red snuffled and blew a daintier, sexier version of her mom’s snot into her own hankie. “I’m legal. Barely, but legal. And I understand that men have certain mysterious urges.” She thought again of the woodsman, his handsome face, his musky scent, the tight leather breaches he wore when chopping wood, and she lusted in her heart. The heart-lust was accompanied by a trickle of moisture in her thong panties, purchased at Frederick’s of Fairyland from a very helpful, very gay clerk.
“Then you know about the wolves as well, I suspect.”
“Yes Mom, I know all about the wolves. And the men who become wolves. Look, I’m not a child anymore.”
Hannah glanced at her daughter’s full cleavage and shook her head. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Just be careful. And safe.”
Little Red peeked under the cloth she had draped on her basket, making sure she had protection, and lube–just in case. “I’ll be safe, I promise.”
“Well, I suppose there isn’t very much I can do, Little Red. I tried to raise you as best as I could. It’s not easy being a single parent in Fairyland. The pigs are starting to ask questions.”
“Honestly, Mom, I don’t understand why you listen to those prissy little porkers. They’re just butt-hurt because of the Big Bad Wolf.”
“Is there anything you aren’t telling me, Red?”
“Huh? What happened?”
“You seem to know an awful lot about the Big Bad Wolf.”
Little Red hid a smirk. She’d never actually had an encounter, herself, alone, with the BBW, but her friend Big Red had. Big Red said that once you’d had a wolf, you never wanted anything else. “No, I just heard some rumors. You know how people in the village talk.”
“Look, if I don’t start out now, I’ll never make it to Grandma’s house before dark. That’s when the wolves come out, right? I mean, according to legend and lore.”
Hannah smiled. Her daughter’s talent for deception was similar to her own. “Go on, I’m sorry I troubled you with my concerns. It’s just that…”
“You love me, yes Mom.” Little Red rose up and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I love you too. I’ll be back tomorrow, early.”
Red traipsed out the door. As soon as the door was shut, and her mother had gone back to baking the gingerbread cookies, she made a fist of triumph. “Yes!” she exulted. “I will get some tail today.”
The wolf, meanwhile, was visiting his good friend the Hermit.
“Dude, how goes it?”
The Hermit reclined on a simple mattress, smoking a long pipe from which issued plumes of fragrant smoke. “Chilling, you know. Have some herbal?”
The wolf gratefully accepted the pipe, and the two sat for in thoughtful silence.
“I heard through the grapevine that Little Red is visiting Grandma today, is that true?”
The wolf smiled, smoke wafting from his nostrils. “Yeah man, it’s totally true. She’s all grown up now. And hot!”
“Damn,” said the Hermit. “I wish I weren’t so socially phobic. It’s hard for me to talk to the ladies. I start to stutter. Then I run away. What’s your secret, man?”
The wolf reflected. “It’s not actually that difficult. You just have to relax. Be confident. Be yourself.”
“Yeah, man, but you’re a fucking wolf. You have this animal charisma. The shawties love that shit. Me, I’m just a simple misanthrope, alone with my books and my dreams.”
“Dude, ok, first of all, you need to rethink your self-image. Maybe you can’t be a wolf, but you can be a more attractive person. Shawties need to know you’re strong. Hell, I could be a fat poodle and I’d still pull females. It’s all about the confidence. Project confidence, and it doesn’t matter if you’re butt-ugly or stupid or evil or butt-evil-stupid.”
“That sounds a little misogynistic to me, frankly.”
“I agree, but consider the source. Right?”
“I don’t automatically assume that because you’re a wolf you’re a tool in the hands of the patriarchy. Dude, we’ve known each other a long time. You’re deep, man. A poet. I’ve heard some of those songs you sing in the dead of night when you think nobody is listening. They’re so eerie, chilling, haunting. Wolf Man, I’ve got mad bro love for you.”
The wolf stood up. “Look, I respect what you’re saying, but I can’t go down that road with you. Ok, I have a suggestion. Little Red’s probably waiting for me right now, braced against a tree. Now do you have anything furry lying around, something you could wear as chaps, say?”
The Hermit pulled out a wrap from beneath his pillow.
“That’s fucking sick, dude. You’ve got my cousin Frank’s hide under your pillow. When were you going to tell me? We were all worried when he disappeared, and now…damn…I think I’m going to be ill.” The wolf braced himself against the doorframe and vomited.
“I can’t see what you just did, but I can smell and hear it,” said the Hermit, who in addition to his other flaws was blind. “Couldn’t you have done that outside my cottage? Just a few paces away?”
“What the hell is the matter with you? You commit murder and you’re more worried about some chunks on your fucking dirt floor? It’s dirt, man. How long have we been friends? This is the worst kind of betrayal. The worst. I’m disgusted with you.”
“So I guess the plan is off.”
“What, wearing Cousin Frank on your thighs to trick Little Red into thinking you’re me, so you can fuck her? Not a chance, friend. Not a chance in Hell.”
“Wolf? Where are you going?”
But the wolf was gone, after depositing a copious amount of scat on the Hermit’s doorstep and smearing it into the lintel.
When the wolf finally arrived in the forest clearing, he found Little Red Riding Hood bound tightly with twine to a bristle cone, her hood over her ears, her face mashed into the bark as the woodsman bucked against those firm yet supple ass cheeks. The Three Little Pigs had pulled up a log and were chewing noisily on some kind of mushroom.
“Dammit, I’ve been set up!” The wolf bashed his paw against his skull. They were all in on it together–the “blind” Hermit (murderer), the woodsman, maybe even Grandma. And sure enough, Grandma Riding Hood was lurking in the bushes, panties around her ankles, her fingers traipsing through ancient labia. The wolf felt his gorge rise once again. They were users, simply put. Users and fakers. As for Little Red, her enthusiastic squeals as the woodsman plunged his throbbing, uncircumcised member again and again into her steaming honey pot told him all he needed to know.
“Care for a truffle?” The First Little Pig snorted and scooted over on the leg to make room for the wolf. “They’ve been going at it for a while now.”
“Shut up,” growled the wolf. “Just shut the fuck up.”
When Little Red returned home the next day, her panties were shredded, her hair was mussed, her thigh highs bore long rips and gashes, and one shoe was missing. She bent over, gasping, hands on her knees, before entering the threshold. “I’m so tired, Mom. I think I’m just going to sleep for a long, long time, you know?”
Then she smelled something. The tangy odor of wolf. She looked down and shrieked when she saw her mother’s clothes strewn across the packed dirt floor of the cottage. Leading directly to her mother’s bed, on which the wolf was crouched, his tongue buried in mom’s crotch.
“Oh my God! I don’t believe it!” She felt suddenly woozy. Her vision smeared with tears.
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” her mom yelled. “Wolfie here told me all about your shenanigans in the woods.”
“But…it wasn’t my fault. I was simply resting against a tree, and the woodsman was so strong, and he had this thick twine…you know, for binding wood…and he…ravished me! I was completely helpless!”
“You’re an idiot,” growled the wolf, removing his wet snout from Hannah’s groin. Little Red felt the spray from her mother’s juices splatter against her face. She burst into tears.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “I’m leaving this village and I’m never, ever, coming back. Ever. I’m going to be a big star and you’ll regret you treated me so badly. Both of you.”
“Suit yourself,” said Hannah.
“Fine. But really, I’m going now.”
“Don’t let us stop you,” said the wolf.
Little Red stomped out of the cottage. When she got to the woodsman’s house, she discovered him and the Hermit in a position she didn’t think possible. The Three Little Pigs sat on a bench, passing a basket of roots. “Nice of you to join us,” said the Second Little Pig. “Seems like the ax swings both ways, if you get my meaning.” He winked. Red fainted.