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Womanhood: Little Red by Elizabeth Uter

If you go down to the woods today, you are sure to be inundated with surprise, no teddy bear picnics with tough bread and salty butter sandwiches, no Hansel and Gretel with ginger melting spice into your nostrils as you inhale enough sugared-bread house to make you sneeze and feel you have Corona Virus, nor even Goldilocks taking advantage of the good folks away from home, breaking and entering - the ultimate snatch and grab artist.

Scarlet blooms snake along a path and soon an x marks the spotlight on a voluptuous figure leaning against a tree, face shadowed by the red light of a lantern swinging from a low-hanging bough. You could say, this is a certain kind of pleasure district drenched in every shade of hot lipstick of a tart carmine variety.

The wind in the woods is blowing up a tsunami of leaves, acorns - sycamore keys are spinning like boomerangs, cutting into your cheeks and it is bleak. No sun peeps out when our Little Red wonders by. 

“Hello,” say the maiden in a cape and red cap, redder than the blood that is lost in wars the world over. She smiles and the flowers about her wilt at the coldness of her breath. She is statuesque, her body the envy of any supermodel around today or yesterday. Auburn hair cascading down her back. Her face rouged. Her lips a crimson sheen of seduction. Her middle name is succubus and she is waiting for a male of any sort to cross her path, to try to take advantage of her.

Of course, a lone wolf creeps by, on his way, he says, to his den to bring a little sustenance to his old Nan, who suffers from that common skin disease, well-known amongst wolf-kind, mange.

This canis lupus is in big trouble as Little Red steps out from her tree and drapes her body about him, eying him up and down.

He shivers.

“What big eyes you have.”

“All the better to see you with, my love.”

“What big teeth you have.” His stumpy fangs chattering in his head.

“Mmmm. All the better to eat you, Wolfie darling.” 

Firstly, Red licks her lips slowly and her vermillion tongue lolls - Rolling Stones style. Then, she luxuriously laps up the sweat from his brow, his nose, his cheek and pauses to take him in. Finally, her lips fuse with his and all the life oozes from him into her.

Behold, Little Red! Bigger, badder, better than all the bad boys in town. Oh yeah.

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