Fairy Tales Can Cum True...
Erotic Fairy Tales Challenge - Entry # 6


Carlos and the Wood Fairy
(An Erotic Fairy Tale)
by Rajah Dodger



"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.
HOME | FICTION | POETRY | E-ZONE | DIARY | SUBMISSIONS | CONTACT | ADVERTISE | ABOUT US
Copyright © 2005-2007 Bare Back Magazine, all rights reserved.
Please contact the authors if you'd like to reprint articles on this site.  All copyrights are retained by original authors
About Rajah Dodger
Rajah Dodger is a Houston-based computer professional who
enjoys science fiction, classical music, comic strips,
women and dogs.  When the muse takes him by the throat (or
other responsive part of his anatomy) he turns into an
erstwhile composer of erotica.

He started writing back in the ancient BBS days, and has
survived over a decade of criticism and support from those
in the electronic world to continue occasionally composing
these offerings.  He cites as his literary influences Mark
Twain, Robert Heinlein, and deirdre.