My kind readers, I apologize for such a hiatus. I hope this tale makes it up to you!

Little Red Riding Hood

The creepy story parents tell their children growing up about some little girl in a red cloak and a scary wolf that pretends to be her grandmother because he – ahem – eats her, is wrong. It’s dead wrong, for one, to tell children about a grandmother being eaten in any way whatsoever, physical or innuendo. And second, I’m Little Red, and the bastards totally messed up my story.

Let me set the record straight. My name’s actually Lily, but I’m 5′ 1″ and have dark auburn hair that I tuck under my favorite red hoodie, so I’ve earned the nickname Little Red. Yes, they got the hood part right. I’m not a little girl, I’m actually perfectly legal in all respects, though barely. No, I wasn’t going to visit grandma, I lied. I told my mom that because I was going to fool around with my boyfriend and then go see my friend Molly. Yes, I lied, okay? Get over it. That’s what happens when you have to come home from college for the summer and mum and pops can’t accept their little girl likes to fu–… well you know what I mean.

That’s the real story. The End.

What?

Yes, there was a wolf.

No, not that kind of wolf. What the hell type of story are you looking for??

…

Fine, I’ll tell the whole thing from the beginning. At least the story will finally be corrected.

I woke up on Saturday around 10. I had just had an amazing dream. My boyfriend, a park ranger (No, he wasn’t a huntsman, where the hell do people get this shit from?), was working not far from my home, and my dream had made me insanely horny. Let’s just say it involved me bent over a stump and getting thoroughly in touch with nature. I got dressed quickly – a white tank top, jean-mini skirt, and my red hoodie – and pulled on my knee high black combat boots to make it through the woods. While getting dressed, I can hear the news on the television that my parents have on in the other room:

“Police are reporting a large uptick in home invasions of woman who are living by themselves. Though the victims have been cooperating with police, the police noted that the calls to dispatch always originate from neighbors who reporting strange, loud noises coming from the residences. We have here a composite sketch of a man, nicknamed by police as The Wolf, seen leaving these residences, and if you see this man, do not engage with him in any manner. Please call the police immediately at -“

My eyes are glued to the television screen, so I start when it’s turned off suddenly. “Oh, sorry, honey, didn’t realize you were watching that!” my mom says. “Headed somewhere?”

“Yea, it’s okay, mom. I’m just going to go visit grandma really quickly. I know she’d like someone to help her out with her iPad syncing issues.”

“That’s really sweet of you! I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Be home for supper!”

I grimace inwardly. It’s totally like being 10 again, but worse because, well, I’m not 10! But then again, I’m also not stupid enough to turn down home cooking. Gotta get the calories to keep this athletic, toned body running, right? Where was I? Oh yeah, so that Wolf guy. He was fucking hot. Broad shoulders, dark hair that was just long enough for me to grab and tug, and I’m betting a huge … ego to match.

Ah well.

I walk down the street into the large park that separates our house from Molly’s apartment. It’s a good mile to 2 miles wide, and it’s pretty dense in some parts. Luckily, I’ve taken this route a number of times. I continue deeper, knowing I have only a few more feet before I reach where I promised to meet Peter. I see our clearing and take a seat on the stump that made itself a main focal point in my dream.

Waiting for Peter, I can’t help but get a little impatient. Five minutes is way too long when a girl’s already raring to go! I can’t help but slide my fingertips up my thighs, tickling the delicate skin there before teasingly dragging them between my legs. I’m so turned on it hurts, and I begin to rub harder and faster through my panties, anticipating Peter’s imminent arrival. I get close to cumming, but try hard to hold out for Peter.

A rustle in the bushes interrupts my playing. I stop, listening.

Nothing.

“… Peter?”

Still nothing.

A few seconds later, I hear obvious footsteps, and see Peter enter our clearing. His blonde hair shines in the sun, and his green eyes go straight to my hand that hasn’t moved from between my legs.

“Started without me, huh?”

“Couldn’t help it, babe,” I say, grinning.

He kneels by the stump and pulls me towards him.