Carlos and the Wood Fairy

by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2007, 2009

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In
jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United
States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to
Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are
explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission
note must remain attached.

Abstract: A retelling of an old fairy tale, but for adults

"Once upon a time..."

"Aw, Kay," Stewart interrupted, "why do you have to read those kiddie stories?
I’m not a little boy any more, for Pete’s sake – I’m starting college this
fall!"

Kay, his babysitter, put the book down and sighed. "Look, Stu. You and I both
know that you’re perfectly capable of staying home by yourself and not burning
down the house or otherwise getting into serious trouble. Unfortunately, your
parents don’t believe it yet. And with what they pay me, I’m not going to try
very hard to convince them."

Kay sat up and stretched, unconsciously arching her chest forward as she
thought about Stewart’s parents. They had been very convincing indeed in order
to get her to cancel a hot Friday night date. She ran both hands through her
red-gold hair, pulling the soft cascade back behind her shoulders before
continuing. "So you might as well relax and give it a listen – besides, in
honor of your recent birthday I did a little research and found a fairytale you
probably haven’t heard before."

After more grumbling, the young man leaned back onto his pillow, stretched out
on the bed and put a "try to entertain me" frown on his face. Kay folded her
long legs beneath her short skirt and reopened the book, one hand resting
casually on Stewart’s leg. She began to read...

*** *** ***

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Carlos. He lived with his father, a
poor widower, and they shared a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the forest.
His mother had died long years ago, and his father had become reclusive and
ill-tempered. Despite that, Carlos grew up healthy, energetic, and cheerful.

From spring through autumn each year, Carlos led the goats in the morning to
graze in the forest. He took with him an old cloth bag containing a collection
of wood scraps, a carving knife, and a slice of bread. During the day he turned
the wood scraps into carvings that his father could sell to travelers in the
nearby town. "Work hard, Carlos," his father lectured him sternly each morning,
"and fill the bag before you return home." Carlos and the goats skipped and
clopped through the forest paths, looking for a nicely shadowed glade where the
goats could graze and Carlos could sit and work comfortably on the soft
ground.

When the sun was fully overhead, Carlos stopped working and took the bread out
of his bag to feed the goats. For his own lunch, he picked wild berries from
the nearby bushes and leaned against a hummock, letting the tart juices drip
slowly down his throat. Once the last of the berries was gone, Carlos stood up
and stretched his legs, then danced around the glade, filled with the glorious
energy of life and nature. The sun shone, birds sang in the branches overhead,
and the goats nibbled on the green grass while Carlos danced and sang.
Afterward, he sat back down and took up his carving knife, and before evening
fell Carlos had filled his bag with a variety of delicate and fancy carvings
that would fetch a good price for his father.

One fine day, when Carlos had just finished his lunch, a maiden appeared in the
glade. Now she was a sight such as Carlos had never seen!  A sheer white dress
floated around her like a protective blanket of butterflies, a wreath of
flowers adorned her head, and hair like a cascading waterfall of ruddy gold
framed her face and fell to the middle of her back. Carlos had seen girls in
the town, but never a woman as captivating as this apparition. Next to her
elegance, he felt like one of his pieces of uncarved wood – raw, rough and
unfinished.

*** *** ***

Kay paused to catch her breath and licked her lips. Her charge was lying down
with his eyes studiously closed, but his body language told her he was awake
and listening. She wriggled a bit and continued.

*** *** ***

The young woman smiled at him and in a sweet voice asked, "Carlos, do you like
to dance?"

Carlos smiled back, his shyness fading. "Oh yes! I love being in the woods
because I can dance as much as I like!"

"Come then, and I will teach you a new dance."

She took Carlos by the hand and a fluttering cloud of birds joined them. With
the birds providing their sweet song, the two began to dance slowly, then
faster around and around the glade. The maiden held Carlos close, her legs
brushing against his but not tripping him. The wind in the leaves kept time as
their dance moved faster. Carlos felt his heartbeat racing every time she
pressed against him; he forgot completely about the goats and his carving as
the music filled him with a tingling sensation, a sense of lightheaded
excitement such as he had never experienced.

Suddenly, the sun’s rays were vanishing over the hillside and the maiden and
birds were gone. Carlos found himself alone in the glade with just the goats
and a half-full bag of carvings and wood. Sadly, his clothing in disarray, he
picked up his things and headed back through the forest toward home. With every
step he worried about what his father would say seeing the unfinished bag, and
he reproached himself bitterly for his inattention to duty.

By the time Carlos got home, his worries had so lined his face that his father
thought him ill and didn’t ask about the carvings. Carlos went to bed that
night thankful for the reprieve, and promised to work twice as hard to make up
for the lost day. Pumping his fist into his thin pillow, he vowed that he would
never abandon his duty again. Carlos pulled the rough blanket up and closed his
eyes, tossing and turning before finally finding the respite of sleep.

He dreamed of butterflies. Butterflies in myriad shades of yellow, white, and
rose-tinted pink, surrounding him with their fluttering wings, covering his
body and lifting him up out of the bed, through the window and into the air. He
found himself flying, lying on a tingling carpet of shifting colors, the wind
in the clouds ruffling his hair and tickling its way down his back, his body
slipping and sliding on the butterfly blanket which wrapped around him like a
living towel, a wriggling damp and sticky towel rubbing into every inch of his
exposed skin.

*** *** ***

Kay set the book down for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed with color, and
Stewart took the opportunity to roll from his back onto his side, one leg
crossing over the other in a position that just happened to hide the front of
his pants from her view. She smiled to herself, and kept reading to him.

*** *** ***

Early the next morning, a sleepy-eyed Carlos had to first clean his bed sheets.
Only then could he fix breakfast for his father and take his bag and the goats
to the wood. As he got farther from the cottage, his mood lightened and soon he
was once again dancing alongside the goats. Once settled in his favorite glade,
he sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled out the first piece of wood.
Carlos worked with a feverish intensity, easily completing twice as many
carvings as usual. When he took his break at noon, he picked a few berries, but
held back his urge to dance. Instead, he made up a song to his goats: "I should
not dance, I cannot dance, please dance for me, my little goats."

He was surprised to hear a voice in response. "Come and dance with me!" It was
the beautiful maiden from the previous day. Carlos blushed, remembering that
encounter, but stood his ground and asked her to leave. "I cannot dance with
you – I left my father yesterday without carvings to sell, and today I must do
those and more."

But the maiden responded, "Dance with me, Carlos, and I promise your work will
be done." With the birds singing gloriously in the glade as before and the sun
shining through her gossamer clothing, Carlos could not resist. He took her
hand, and once again they danced throughout the glade in swirls of music, now
holding each other at arm’s length, now with her sheer garment pressed against
the boy’s chest. He blushed when that happened, but she only held him tighter
as their two bodies moved as one to an inner irresistible rhythm.

This time, when the sun dropped from sight, the maiden did not immediately
disappear. Instead she held Carlos’s hand as he turned to look at his bag. A
cloud of birds exploded from atop it, and his eyes opened wide to see it
stuffed full of carvings. "Take this with you, Carlos, but have neither
questions nor complaints," she admonished him. "Remember, no questions, no
complaints!" And only then did the maiden vanish.

Carlos, bewildered and still feeling the slide of the maiden’s dress against
his skin, walked the goats home while singing softly in the evening twilight.
At home he gave his father the full bag. His father was still unhappy about the
previous day, however, and cursed bitterly about his son’s lack of
responsibility. In the middle of his rant, a sound came from the room. Both men
turned, and saw that the once-full bag was empty, its contents gone as if they
had never existed.

Now Carlos was forced to explain everything to his father, the dancing, the
vanishing maiden and her final admonition. His father looked both angry and
frightened. "You must never ever speak to that woman again! The villagers tell
of a fairy that lives in the wood; I never believed the stories until now. She
is supposed to give presents to little girls, but boys she takes and they are
never seen again!" He looked ruefully at the empty bag. "And if you’d told me
everything first, we’d at least have had a full bag to sell tomorrow."

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, both men absorbed in their own thoughts.
For his part, Carlos found it almost impossible to match the sweet young maiden
of the forest with the dangerous fairy of his father’s description.

That night, Carlos dreamed again. He found himself in the forest glade as
shadows surrounded him – the shadows of birds flying overhead. Their wings
flapped loudly as they lifted him into the air, up through and above the white
clouds. The birds set him down on the top of a cloud where he saw the maiden
waiting for him. Her beauty shone, her face was radiant, and when she beckoned
with her finger, his entire body tingled and quivered to be with her. "Fear
not," she told him. "Did I not keep my promise to fill your bag? But I’ve given
you a present, so now you must share a present with me!" The maiden pulled
Carlos close and one delicate hand slid down his stomach into the waistband of
his pants. Lights filled his head as the world exploded around him.

Carlos woke early, his bed sheets sticky, and again he had to clean up before
he could make his morning trip to the glade. Once there he carved away, singing
to himself, focused on his work. At noon the maiden once again appeared, and
Carlos jumped up remembering his father’s warning. He tried to run away, but
whichever direction he turned she was standing in front of him, purring, "Be
not afraid, come dance with me one last time." Carlos thought it would be rude
to turn down just one final dance, so he set down his wood and knife and took
the maiden’s hand. She in turn put her arm around his waist, and they moved
together with the music. But Carlos was still uncertain, and finally the
question broke from his lips:  "Are you the wood fairy as the villagers say?"

A strange look came over the maiden's face, and as they danced, she sang his
answer. It was the story of a young maiden, shining in the bright flush of
first womanhood, and of the evil forest spirit jealous of her youth and beauty.
Caught in the forest after dark, she fell victim to the spirit’s curse, and her
own life and joy were stolen away. The only way to lift the curse was for her
to find a young man who held within him an innocent maiden’s soul. "And with
you, Carlos, I know my search is ended!"  

Her voice rose and her hands tightened on his shoulders; she clutched him
tightly now and they spun faster. Her words danced dizzily around Carlos as
they twirled. This was more than dance, it was the glory of the first blush of
morning, the rising of sap in the first spring blooms, the heat of the midday
sun. Their clothing disappeared and they burst through clouds of butterflies,
their feet leaving the ground as the maiden and the young man merged in a dance
higher than life, his very consciousness dissolving into her until birds,
butterflies, maiden and man exploded in a soundless burst of liquid light.

When the birds ceased their song, a woman of indeterminate age stood in the
glade drawing her threadbare shawl against the chill of twilight. Long
reddish-blonde hair framed a face of mature beauty marked by old, old eyes that
looked around, taking in the goats and the tattered bag on the ground. With a
soft song to the watching goats, she picked up the bag and headed out of the
forest. Eventually she arrived at the cottage, where she claimed to have found
the bag and the goats.

The man who lived there was angry that his son had apparently run away, and was
willing to share his dinner with the attractive stranger who had brought back
his goats. After the meal was finished, the man went back to look through the
window. The woman came up from behind and slid her arms around him. "Are you
looking for someone?" she asked.

"I had a son, a disobedient one from the looks of things; I don’t think he’s
coming home tonight."

Her fingers moved sinuously up and down the man’s chest and stomach. "Then
perhaps you'll accept my company for the evening instead. I did bring something
to pay for your hospitality." She nibbled at the back of his neck as he turned
his head toward the door. There next to her shawl was the bag, now filled to
overflowing with both elegant wooden carvings and glittering golden
butterflies, enough for him to buy a barn full of goats and live in comfort for
the rest of his life. The woman hugged him tightly and kissed the back of his
neck, murmuring, "No questions, no complaints." His eyes opened at those words,
but her hand slid down inside his belt and he soon lost the power of speech.
When she finished removing his clothing, she ran her hands over his naked body
like an auctioneer appreciating a fine sculpture. She moved around in front of
him, slowly removed her own garments, and kneeled in front of his erection
looking up to answer the question he could no longer speak.

"It's not just boys that I take."

And the Wood Fairy lived happily ever after.

*** *** ***

"Jeez, Kay, what kind of a fairy tale is that?" Stewart was squirming on the
bed, as much from the images in the story as from Kay’s fingers which were
working their way up the back of his leg.

"The best kind for a strapping young man," she said as she palmed the back of
his pants and squeezed. Kay looked at the wall clock. "Your mom said they’d be
‘extremely’ late – they have twenty-five years to catch up with at this
reunion. That should give us plenty of time, but I’ll unwrap your present for
you anyway." With that she sat up straight on the bed, grabbed the bottom of
her sweater and pulled the fuzzy garment up and over her head in one smooth
motion.

Stewart’s eyes opened taking in her swaying dark-tipped globes, no bra hiding
them from his vision, and he lunged forward to taste them before they could
vanish. Kay sighed, then moaned as his untrained mouth fastened hungrily on one
nipple. "Oh yeah," she breathed, and the bedroom was quickly a confused blur of
motion as skirt, pants, boxers and panties joined the sweater on the floor.

Kay held Stewart’s tensely quivering erection tightly in one hand, brushing his
tip against her own needy folds. "Wow, Stu, this feels like it was carved out
of wood! Well, here’s your birthday present – remember, no questions, no
complaints!"

And there were indeed no more complaints from the young man!

The End.

/END/

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (http://www.desdmona.com); published at
Bare Back Magazine (http://barebackmag.com/) in August 2007 for their Erotic
Fairy Tale Challenge.