Scintillectually Yours

Although I do thrive under DPR’s very strict directives for my Wicked Wednesday posts, I’ve grown accustomed to one-word themes assigned by our dear Sweltering Celt, Ang. This week, however, she threw me for a loop with the challenge of writing about “Getting Lost in the Forest.” After a day or two of musing, I decided to take a decidedly different tact and offer up my very first fairytale. Enjoy!

Red tugged at the back of her shorts as she checked her compass one more time. Having taken an unfamiliar shortcut, she now found herself in a heavily wooded section of the forest and the sun was beginning to fade on the horizon. She started as she heard a twig snap somewhere to her left and almost immediately felt the hot breath on the nape of her neck.

A woman’s voice, husky and low, growled, “So, what’s a nice young thing like you doing in a nasty, dark place like this, eh?”

Red whirled around, coming face to face with finely chiseled features, eyes so light brown they almost appeared yellow, and a lascivious grin carved out by two sharp and slightly jutting incisors. “Who are you?” She demanded.

“I’m sorry,” the woman extended her hand and Red took immediate notice of her long, thin fingers, shaking off the old joke about lesbians being well-hung. “My friends call me Wolfe.”

Of course they do, Red thought. “Look,” she picked her backpack up off the underbrush and slung it over her shoulder, “I have to be somewhere and I’m running late. My grandmother’s expecting me.”

Wolfe laughed loudly. “Let me guess,” she said, “you came from over the river?”

Red turned away and began to pick her way through the overgrown and nearly invisible trail. Wolfe was at her side instantly, eerily stealthy in her every move. Red found herself aroused by the woman’s musky scent, her tousled hair, the rippling bicep beneath a black t-shirt. She shook her head in disgust and picked up the pace.

“Seriously,” Wolfe said, “a girl shouldn’t be alone in the forest at sunset. You never know what might happen.”

Red stopped again and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What about you? You’re here.”

The woman laughed again, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a girl.”

“Really.” Red said, “Then what exactly would you call yourself?”

Wolfe moved silently around to Red’s back. She ran one long finger from the middle of her bare thigh, over her ass, up her right side, around her breast, and placed her entire hand across Red’s throat firmly. She pulled back, exposing Red’s pale, graceful neck and bent her head low to whisper in her ear. She spoke one word and a shiver fabricated of revulsion and attraction ran through Red’s body.

“Dangerous.”