Saturday, February 15, 2014


I lead a rather lonely life. The fir cones slough off ice, the trees are covered in snow and white, dripping stalactites hang from them, pendant, creating a frozen canopy. The sky is perpetually subfusc though slivers of sunlight intermittently irradiate with a wan light. All this i see from my window. My varicose veins disallow mobility, my arthritic knees swell and pain in the winter. In this penumbral landscape there is very little to look forward to. But the occasional visits of my granddaughter are my only reprieve. Her young, rosy cheeks, bitten by the wind and her youthful countenance reminds me of my own ingenuousness as a child.

Today is an especially lonely day. I am afflicted with a slight fever. It is not incapacitating but very tiresome. How i long for soup and cake. How i pine for the smell of fresh flowers.

I hear a knock at the door. I call out. It is my granddaughter. My heart beats with anticipation as i querulously tell her to open the latch. She comes in but instead of her i see a she wolf. Her wolverine teeth gleam with spittle, a primeval musk emanates from her, her eyes are rimmed red. I am terrified immeasurably.

But i see the muzzle, soft and moist, i see the seductive incisors indenting  my wrinkled skin. I see her dark nipples and i throb with an excitement never felt earlier. Eroticism fills the rim of my consciousness. It feels as though a mirror, covered by a damask cloth, has suddenly revealed itself and in its depths i see my unconscious desire, transmuted to the she wolf. She is my synthesis, my being is the thesis and my becoming the antithesis. I desire an amalgamation. My moist core susurrates and pulses with uncontainable excitement.

It seemed to me  that she  would eat me  up. I reach out my hand and stroke her wet muzzle. I stroke her nipples, fingering their hardness, pinching their truculence beneath my fingers. I look deep into her eyes , looking for indiscernible intimations. I lick off her pelt of fur with my tongue, i place my lips underneath her sharp molars and erotically press it against them. My erotic ministrations seem to have an impact. Her tongue, abrasive yet soft licks off pore after pore of my integument. Her hind legs rear as she reaches up to kiss me. I take her with me to the bed. We live entwined, enclosed in the rug. Her wolf head reposes tranquilly in my bosom. The snow outside and the glittering ice ratify the image in the mirror which is a concatenation of my being cleaved to my becoming, entombed in her.

The doorbell rings. It is Red riding hood. 


  1. playing around with so many taboos. wonderful. will child abuse follow, do you think? will the child enjoy it? oh horrors!

  2. Well its risque to use the bestiality angle...otherwise its well written.