A Walk in the Woods

To my beloved reader, I can not with any assurance state that this will be the most nerve shattering tale ever conceived by the misguided mind of man, but I can solemnly swear to you that its intention is not only to shock and surprise, but also to arouse naught but the most bestial emotions from deep within you. Our tale this evening concerns a most pure and delicate maiden, barely sixteen years of age. To say that Charlotte (for that was the young lady's name) was possessed of the most striking beauty would be a dreadful understatement. Her straight dusky hair made the blackest ebony weep with envy. Her electric blue eyes shamed the most brilliant sapphires. The milky white skin was as silky and as smooth as the finest alabaster. The luscious curves of her body were enough to make even the most stalwart clergyman quiver with lust. The most striking feature of our dear Charlotte had to be her lips. Oh yes?those lips. Naturally they held the color that lies beneath freshly cleaved skin. A deep crimson red that was matched only by the virginal blood left after a woman's first time in the act of love.

Charlotte was the only child of a poor family that lived just on the edge of the Ardennes. Her father Francois was a simple farmer, her mother Denise, a seamstress. More than once comparisons were made in the town tavern, (then called the Black Rose) how these folk were the rotting pile of compost from which sprang a most lovely blossom. It was understood by her parents that Charlotte would soon, take up a trade and settle into the same life of drudgery as they had done many years ago, but the young maiden, unbeknownst to her parents had much different ideas. Our poor Charlotte longed for some sort of relief from the provincial purgatory which she seemed to be permanently exiled to. And while it was true that there were plenty of able bodied young men with whom she could pass the time, she had no desire to hear the constant bragging of their skill with the fairer sex. Especially considering the best these boys could muster was a thrilling evening of unbridled lust with their Fathers' prize sheep. Besides, Charlotte had already discovered that she could bring the wondrous rapture of orgasm to herself with a few well placed strokes of her very skillful fingers. She was certain that this would be considered sinful by her parents and by the Church, but in the end she decided that if God had not wanted her to delight in her own touch, He would have made her arms shorter.

Whenever her mind was wakeful during the late hours, Charlotte often found herself walking into the leafy canopy of the Ardennes. At least here, she thought, she would be able to escape the everyday boredom that was her life. At home there was naught but needles, thread, and boys' tales of their massive pikestaffs, but here in the lush growth of the forest was a world where anything was possible. From her days as a little girl, she had been told stories about the many other worldly creatures and beings that dwelled deep in the bosom of the Ardennes. It was said that long ago, dragons lived here, along with wizards, fairies, and a host of other things that held a great deal more appeal than a farm boy clumsily fondling her breasts.