Tell the postman to keep his brown paper wrapping because this is not your father’s
porn reading material. That’s right- Volume One of the two eBook novella series F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES will be available for download by Thanksgiving morning, just in time for your holiday festivities!
For more Collective fun check out ICONIC INTERVIEWS: The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.
Let the countdown begin…
So it’s coming close to closing time on the project known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES. For those of you who may not know, F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES is a retelling of classic fable and fairy tales, all viewed from the
warped creative minds of bloggers from around the ‘sphere.
Want to join but don’t have time for a story? How about a limerick, lullaby or haiku? They can be as long or short as you like. Each story is a maximum of 5000 words (there is no minimum) and can be dark and twisted or entirely vanilla.
Every author who participates gets a spot on the BLOGGER COLLECTIVE page (presently under construction) with links back to his/her blog of choice. There are also weekly interviews planned if you choose to participate. But best of all, 100% of the profits from F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES are donated to charity (more info to come).
Sound interesting? Check out our list of contributors and join the fun! Each offering highlighted in GREEN has a page devoted to the author’s tale, BLUE is a tale yet to come, and YELLOW is what is available. Want to read what we’ve got so far? Visit F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES and scroll down the list for a good read!
- Aladdin – Emerald Dragun Studios
- Ant and the Grasshopper – g00dg33kranting
- Cinderella – Trailer Trash Deluxe
- Elves and the Shoemaker – Edward Hotspur
- Emperor’s New Clothes – Sparklebumps
- Gingerbread Man – HR Nightmare
- Goldilocks and the Three Bears – The Elite of Just Alright
- Hansel and Gretel – Madame Weebles
- Jack and the Bean Stalk – YOUR NAME HERE
- Legend of Santa Claus – ReadTomLucas
- Little Mermaid – Sparklebumps
- Little Red Riding Hood – Rantonit
- Peter Pan – The Fog of Ward
- Pinocchio – MC’s Whispers
- Princess and the Pea – Polysyllabicprofundities
- Puss in Boots – El Guapo
- Rapunzel – H.E. Ellis
- Red Shoes – Sparklebumps
- Rumpelstiltskin – Sightsnbytes
- Sleeping Beauty – Kayjai
- Snow Queen – Jennifer Vaughn
- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – Very Normal
- Three Billy Goat’s Gruff – VanillaMom
- Three Little Pigs – Pouringmyartout
- Thumbelina – Sandylikeabeach
- Tooth Fairy – Kosative D
- Tortoise and the Hare – Archon’s Den
- Ugly Duckling – Grafiklit
Hold on to your garters people, today is another spicy contribution to the F*cked Up Fairy Tales project from the never bland blogger better known as VanillaMom. I decided to post her spin on the classic THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF on a Sunday, because just reading it will send you to confession. Lock the doors and draw the blinds as I bring you THREE GRUFF SISTERS AND THE TROLL.
The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.
Pacing around the parlor, Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices. Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!
Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed, the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.
Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.
Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.
“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.
“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”
He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.
“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.
“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.
“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.
He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.
“NO BERRIES! This is the only thing you’ll be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.
“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”
Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, the furious splashing, a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.
He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock, her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.
She gagged, a bit. He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!
Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon, he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.
With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.
“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.
Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.
With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. Yet, she knew that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.
She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles, up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.
She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud. She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length. There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.
The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies. Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.
“Who dares to cross my bridge?”
With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other, falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head. He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s mouth mints.
Wasn’t that curious?
All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.
He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious. Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.
“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”
“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”
“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.
“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”
Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.
“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.
“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”
In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!
He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.
Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.
“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.
“I-.” She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?
He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”
“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.
He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.
“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.
‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.
He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.
“I make it fit.”
Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.
“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.
Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head; it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.
“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”
He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.
“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”
Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her. As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!
He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.
She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.
He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.
She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.
“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.
Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.
It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.
She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.
As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.
At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.
In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.
“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.
“What ails you?”
“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”
“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.
Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.
“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge his cock, Susan! Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”
She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.
“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”
Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?
A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.
She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.
“What…what..?” she asked, confused.
“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.
“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.
“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.
After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.
Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!
“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.
“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”
Both girls nodded somberly.
“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”
“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”
“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.
Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.
A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.
She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.
“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.
In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.
“What you doin’ on my bridge,” he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
She took a step forward.
He took a step back.
She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.
In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.
“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”
He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.
Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.
“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”
It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house. His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.
She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable. Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.
In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.
“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”
He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.
“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully, “I like your cock. Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”
“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.
“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”
His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused. He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.
“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”
The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.
She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.
“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”
Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!
Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.
“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”
She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.
The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.
“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”
He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.
Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”
They nodded assent eagerly.
“Your tea, Madam.”
His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.
She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.
Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.
No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.
Pinch me because I must be dreaming. Today we have another amazing addition to the Blogger Compilation Project better known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES (I know, I know, the asterisk fools no one, but I’m trying to class my blog up, okay?)
Anyway, this little bit o’ tome comes from none other than our very own Beach Bunny Sandy Floyd, better known to Blogworld as Sandylikeabeach. Her take on the classic Thumbelina is as witty, clever and brilliant as this tiny writing powerhouse is herself. Please to enjoy, A TINY THUMBELINA TALE.
It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but I always wanted to start the story of my life with that line. I have no idea if it was a dark and stormy night on the night of my birth or if I was even born at night. I was just a baby so I have no clear memories of the event. I’m not even sure I should start at the beginning. So let’s begin again.
I’m special. Well, as special as a person can be in a world populated by people, each one thinking he or she is special. Of course, if we’re all special, then special isn’t really special. It’s ordinary. It is the normal order of things. But I’m the Abby Normal of ordinary though my name isn’t Abby.
I wish it was Abby. Christ! I got stuck with an awful name. I swear to God, if there is one, that if I ever have children I will not stick them with some cutesy or super esoteric or just plain fucking weird name. And the lovely name that was bestowed on me? Thumbelina. What the fuck? Who names a kid Thumbelina? What the hell is a Thumbelina? I loathed my name. I shortened it to Tina. However, there was always that one teacher who insisted on calling every child by his or her proper name, no nicknames allowed. And of course, the first day of school each year my embarrassing name would be called out and I would have to acknowledge it and then say, “But I just go by Tina.” Then the more compassionate teachers would make a note on their rosters but the damage was done. The more obnoxious poets among my class liked to chant “Tiny Tina, Thumbelina” whenever I happened by.
Of course, even without the embarrassing weird name, I still would have been teased because of the tiny thing. Just as it’s not easy being green, it’s not easy being tiny and tiny is what I am though I’m not green and tiny, just tiny. Though now that I think about it, if green is the color of your species, then how hard can it be to be green? And if tiny is the size of your species, then being tiny wouldn’t be hard either, but tiny is not the size of my species so being tiny is not easy except that it is easy to be overlooked and easy to be treated like a child and easy to be thought of as younger than you really are which will be nice when I get older.
I am a very small person though not dwarf small, and unlike most dwarfs, I am exquisitely proportioned. But if other people didn’t feel compelled to state the obvious by telling me how small I am, I would rarely think about my lack of height unless I needed to get something off the top shelf at the grocery store. Of course, I’m sure one of the functions of the lowest shelf is to serve as a step for those of us who are vertically challenged to reach the stuff we need that is always on the top shelf. And I will admit to always being surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or some sort of reflective surface standing next to a normal sized person. Honest to God, again, if there is one, I look like a miniature person.
So despite all my name loathing during my formative years living on a farm with my foster mother after being abandoned as an infant with a note pleading for someone to take care of “our little Thumbelina” thus dooming me to a lifetime of name loathing and forever linking me to a shadowy group of people with weird names, my feelings about my name took a somewhat nuanced turn. Translation: I figured out how to cash in.
Upon my successful completion of high school, I knew college was a financial impossibility. I also knew that I did not want to spend the best years of my life waiting on people be it as a waitress or a retail worker. Cubicle life sounded no better. So having no moral compass, or any compass at all, I decided to put my decidedly good looks, flexibility and passion for my passion to good use. I became a tiny stripper and Thumbelina was my tiny stripper name even though that name is not tiny and doesn’t often, or possibly ever, come up in that internet what is your stripper name thing. But I was dancing and dancing made me happy. It also made me money.
Now some people might think stripping is demeaning and they have valid arguments and indeed, I would agree it is demeaning if the stripping is involuntary. However, if stripping is a personal choice, there is power in that choice. And pardon the obvious use of the word, but stripped of its moral questions, at its heart, it is art expressed in a very specific form of dance. The best strippers embrace this. I know I did, and I was one of the best. I even won the International Pole Dance Championship a couple of years ago. Though to be fair, Miss Australia probably would have won if she hadn’t had that embarrassingly awkward slide down the pole. A little lube goes a long way.
You might not think that a strip club would be the best place to meet the love of your life and before it happened to me, I would have agreed with you, but then it happened to me though the actual meeting thing took place in a coffee shop across the street from the club, but that first sighting was in the club. He was part of a bachelor party though not the part that was The Bachelor. He was just one of The Bachelor’s buddies helping The Bachelor celebrate one of his last nights of bachelorhood.
He didn’t look like the usual regulars, but boy, did he look good. He had this tall, dark and handsome bad boy with the scruffy beard thing going on even though he wasn’t particularly tall or dark, but he was definitely handsome. And he had that scruffy beard thing which looks great on a male model, though male might be redundant because no one ever thinks a scruffy beard would look good on a female model, but I’m not typically a fan of the scruffy facial hair decision. It’s not even a decision. It’s a mark of indecision. Make a choice, already. Grow a beard or shave, but damn, it looked good on him.
I could have looked at him all night. I didn’t, because I also wanted my usual haul of tips and it’s not just the dancing that does the trick, you have to make eye contact and smile at everyone to make the most tips. But I did glance his way every now and then, and each time, he was looking at me, but not in the way the usual strip club attendee does. When our eyes would meet, he smiled ever so slightly. It was warm and sweet and it felt like we were the only two people in the room.
After my shift that night, a couple of the other dancers and I headed to the coffee shop for our usual after work confab. We settled in a booth and that’s when I noticed him. He was at the counter and he was alone. I’ve never been a big fan of fate, but fate might be a fan of me, because as fate would have it, Amber’s phone rang.
“Ugh, that was the sitter,” she said as she returned her phone to her handbag. “I’ve got to get home.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No. Jason has a touch of a fever so I need to get home. See you later, TIna.”
“You going, too?” I asked Nina.
“Yeah, she’s my ride tonight. Good night, TIna.”
“Bye NIna, bye Amber. Hope Jason’s feeling better soon.”
The girls had no sooner walked out the door when the scruffy beard guy appeared at my table.
“Mind if I join you? I’ve never been a fan of eating alone.” His voice was like velvet – soft and smooth. A voice that could be on the radio, maybe a classic rock station or maybe even smooth jazz although much of what smooth jazz stations play isn’t even jazz, it’s more yesterday’s pop and soft rock.
“Um,” I hesitated because it’s usually not a good idea to get involved with customers, but he was good looking and he smelled good, or maybe that was the bacon cooking in the kitchen, but he looked and seemed to smell good enough to eat and I was hungry.
“It’s just a little food and conversation,” he said. And then he smiled.
“Yeah, company would be great.” I smiled back.
He slid into the booth across from me and smiled that smile. “I’m Cooper.”
I wasn’t sure if Cooper was his first name or last name, so I asked. My foster mom always told me I shouldn’t ask too many personal questions too soon, but how else do you find out stuff that you’d be wondering about and all that wondering would keep you from being able to concentrate on the conversation. And I was going to need all the help with concentration because I wasn’t really thinking about having a conversation with him, if you catch my drift.
“It’s my first name. It’s a little unusual but I like it.”
“It’s a great name. I’m..”
“Thumbelina. The tiny dancer.”
“I go by TIna.”
“How’d you come up with Thumbelina for a stage name?”
“It’s my real name. And you thought Cooper was unusual.”
He laughed and his laugh was even better than his smile. “Well, I think Thumbelina is a beautiful name. It rhymes with ballerina and you are an exquisitely beautiful dancer.”
He had me at ‘exquisitely,’ or maybe he had me at ‘mind if I join you.’ It doesn’t really matter when he had me, much like it doesn’t matter when the heart finds love, only that it does and mine did that night. We talked for hours or it seemed that way. At last, we noticed the night was easing into dawn and we made our way to the parking lot. He asked me where I was parked and I pointed to my car.
“I’m right next to you,” he said.
“That’s your bike? It’s gorgeous.” Though I didn’t add ‘just like you,’ but I was thinking it.
“Yeah, you like bikes?”
“I’ve never been on one but it looks like fun.”
“It’s just about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”
“I always thought that about dancing, but of course, I don’t always keep my clothes on for that.”
He laughed. “Here’s my number. Call me and we’ll go for a ride. And you can keep your clothes on the whole time.”
I smiled at him and climbed in my car. “It was nice meeting you, Cooper.”
“See you soon, tiny dancer.”
A few days later I had my first bike ride. I climbed on the bike behind him and as I wrapped my arms around his waist I said, “I think this is going to be the best part of the ride.”
He laughed. “Not by a long shot. Hang on.”
And off we went. He was partially right. Holding on to him wasn’t the best part, but it wasn’t the best part by a long shot. It was a very close second. The ride was exhilarating. Sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder, the wind in my face was a great feeling. We spent the afternoon on country roads, stopping here and there to admire the scenery or grab a bite to eat.
It was just like one of those Hollywood movie montages the writers employ because they suck at writing dialogue. And it did feel like one of those too good to be true but wouldn’t it be lovely if it could happen to me Hollywood scenarios right up until it turned into a killer zombie movie but without the killer zombies, but Killer Bees instead. But not African killer bees, but the biker gang. I know it sounds like a silly name, but the backs of their jackets have this evil looking killer bee and they used a sinister typeface for the name, so it doesn’t just sound silly, it looks silly, too. But I kept my silly thoughts to myself.
We ran into the Killer Bees at Roady Toadies, a little dive bar on the outskirts of town. Of course, we didn’t know the bikes we saw outside meant there were Killer Bees inside. In fact, Cooper said he recognized one of the bikes as belonging to a friend of his. We walked inside and let our eyes adjust to the light after being in the bright sun. Cooper spotted his friend and we headed over to where he was sitting.
“Jack, this is Thumbelina. Thumbelina, this is my good friend, Jack Sparrow.”
“Like the Johnny Depp character?”
“No,” Jack said. “I had the name first but I like to think he got his character’s inspiration from me.”
Cooper laughed and said, “I think he got the inspiration from Keith Richards.”
I smiled at Jack. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”
“Likewise. Thumbelina, huh? That’s not a name you hear everyday.”
“No, it’s not,” I replied, except that I was hearing it more today then I usually do and right about then, a loud voice behind me bellowed my name again.
“Thumbelina! I’d recognize that ass anywhere even covered in jeans.”
I turned around and there was the biggest Killer Bee I had ever seen. Of course, it was the first Killer Bee I had ever seen so thinking it was the biggest one ever was a big mistake. Behind the loudmouth Killer Bee, were more Killer Bees and they were even bigger than Mr. Bigmouth which was how I was coming to think of him. Mr. Bigmouth didn’t look familiar and I had never seen men attired in Killer Bee attire in the Pussycats club. But he was looking at me, the way hungry men look at a grilled steak.
And before I could reply, Mr. Bigmouth looked around at his buddies and said, “Boys, this is your lucky day. We have a celebrity in our midst. This here itty bitty thing is Thumbelina, stripper extraordinaire!” Then he looked at me and said, “I watch your World Pole Dance routine on YouTube all the time.” He glanced at Cooper and added, “She won the championship a couple of years ago. You know that?”
“No, I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She is quite extraordinary.”
If I hadn’t already fallen in love with Cooper, I would have right then especially since he didn’t know about how Miss Australia should have won except for that embarrassing slip or in her case, slide down the pole.
But Mr. Bigmouth wasn’t done. “Why don’t you dance for us Thumbelina? Just climb right up on the bar and show us what you got.”
“You can see me dance at Pussycats,” I replied in an even tone.
“I want to see you dance right now!”
Cooper stepped between us, “Leave the lady alone.”
“She ain’t no lady.”
And then Cooper slugged Mr. Bigmouth.
“I’m not a fan of double negatives either, but I usually refrain from hitting the illiterate,” I said to him.
“I would have slugged him even if he was grammatically correct. No one gets away with saying you’re not a lady.”
But before we could congratulate ourselves on just how clever our repartee was becoming, all hell broke loose. It was the three of us, okay two of us because I’m not much good in a fight and I’m really tiny, against all those Killer Bees. Fists were flying, glass was breaking and I was ducking. I could feel strong arms around me pulling me backwards and then everything went dark.
I wasn’t unconscious, just locked in a closet. I banged on the door, but I guess Cooper couldn’t hear me over all the noise of the fight and last I saw, he and Jack seemed to be on the losing end. After what seemed like an hour but was probably much shorter because everything seems to take longer when you’re locked inside a closet, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. My heart stopped, but not because I got shot but because I was afraid of who might have. I could hear voices but I couldn’t make out what was being said or who was talking. Then it got quiet again, so I started banging on the door and screaming to be let out.
The door opened and a rather mousey looking woman was standing there.
“It’s all right, dear. Toadie put you in there. He thought you’d be safer in there.” She smiled at me and there was kindness in her eyes.
“Toadie is a real person?” I couldn’t believe how many people had parents that made such bad choices when naming their kids.
The mousey woman laughed. “Oh, he’s real all right, but Toadie is a nick name he picked up when he was a roadie for Z Z Top back in the day. I’m Mrs. Fields, Toadie’s mother. I help out in the kitchen.”
I refrained from asking her for a chocolate chip cookie and instead asked about my friends.
“Well, they’re a little banged up, but no permanent damage. Come and see for yourself.”
She led me through the kitchen and into the bar. I spotted Toadie right away because he looked like a toad, kind of like how that senator looks like a turtle. Toadie was holding a shotgun but when he saw me, he smiled and said, “Sorry to stick you in the closet like that, but a bar fight is no place for such a pretty little lady.”
“No worries, Toadie. Thanks for looking out for me.” I was looking around for Cooper and Jack. “Where are my friends?”
“They’re in the john cleaning themselves up. Those Killer Bees did a number on them, but as badass as they think they are when you point a shotgun in their general direction and let it discharge, they run away like little girls.”
I laughed. Then I heard a noise behind me.
“She does have an incredible ass, Coop.”
I turned around and flew into Cooper’s arms. “Everything about her is incredible,” Cooper replied.
“I think I’m in love,” I sighed.
He smiled at me, “I know I am.”
Jack said his goodbyes and left the bar. Cooper looked at me, “Ready to ride off into the sunset to that happily ever after place?”
“I’ve always wanted to do that. Especially if that place has a bed big enough for two.”
He held my hand as we walked out of the bar. We climbed on his bike and he looked back at me.
“Too bad it’s midnight,” he said.
“Midnight will do.”
Once upon a time (because this a time-honored way of beginning fairy tales), there was a swan, and she was pregnant. She didn’t want to be, because she wasn’t in love with her swan boyfriend, and the egg made her fat and almost totally ruined her bitchin’ prom dress. So after she laid the egg in the bathroom of the Sheraton that her high school had rented, she scooped it up and snuck outside, making tracks for the hospital a couple blocks away.
She’d managed to fit the egg inside her clutch, so no one at the hospital knew what she carried up to the second floor, the neo-egg unit. She also managed to sneak into the nesting room and stick the egg in one of the cribs. Birds aren’t very good at security.
They’re also not very good at math, because none of the nurses noticed that where once there was one egg, now there were two. Luckily for them, the mother was a duck, which meant that she was stupid.
The mother and father duck went home the next day with their two new additions, and the mother duck sat on the eggs until they hatched. The hatching day was a big deal in the duck household. There was cake, and soda, and balloons, and cousins and uncles. When the eggs cracked open, everyone gathered around the nest to watch. The duck, the real duck, emerged from his egg first.
“Aww, he’s so cute,” said some distant aunt. No one really knew who she was related to. She smelled like moth balls, though.
Next was the swan.
“Holy shit,” said the distant aunt, “He’s fucking ugly!” And even though no one was sure if she was supposed to be there, or if she’d wandered in off the street, everyone agreed with her. That second duckling was fugly. Seriously, have you ever seen a baby swan? Bow-wow City.
The swan grew up thinking he was a duck, and he was constantly tormented. At school, he was pushed into lockers. His lunch money was stolen. His head was dunked in every toilet in the school. Ducks made gagging noises when he walked by. No duck chick would date him.
At home, his parents ignored him and doted on his duck brother. This brother was the duck version of David Beckham. When he entered a room, angels sang. Little old ladies helped him cross the street. Even blind ducks knew how good-looking he was.
In a situation like this, it can go two ways: the ugly duckling (even though we all know he’s a swan, let’s stick with this for the time being, hmm?) can rise above his tormentors and graduate and go to college, where things might not necessarily improve, but maybe he’ll turn out to be a whiz with computers and get wicked rich, or he can go on a shooting spree at his school and make the papers.
It went the third way: the ugly duckling decided to cut off his brother’s face, wear it, and take over his identity.
Did I mention that ducks were stupid? Well, swans are fuckin’ crazy. Like Mexican cartel crazy.
One day, the ugly duckling stole a scalpel from his science class. That night, he slipped some sleeping pills into his brother’s milk and waited until sleepy times. Then he cut off his brother’s face. Bill and all. He spent the rest of the night cleaning up the blood and figuring out a good way to attach it to his own vile mug. There wasn’t one. He ended up stapling it on. Then he dressed in his brother’s clothes and ate breakfast looking like Duck Leatherface and his parents had no clue. Ducks are so stupid.
Fortunately, most of his teachers were geese. Geese are very smart. They let him go to his first period class, then called him to the principal’s office, where the police were waiting. The cops were also geese.
His lawyer was a goose, too, and once he got a look at the duckling’s real face, he knew he was dealing with a swan. He also knew that all he needed to do was file a bunch of legal papers and get the trial delayed a few months. Because, you see, teenage swans are butt-ugly, but young adult swans are like David Beckham times a thousand.
And thusly, once the trial finally started, the judge and jury and all the court people saw this gorgeous swan waddle into the courtroom. The judge (a duck) was confused. He wanted to know where the filthy psychopath was.
The lawyer, not missing a beat, said that the psycho duckling had escaped, and this poor beautiful swan had been imprisoned in his place. Injustice! cried the jury (also ducks). So they let the swan go, and a manhunt (duckhunt?) was launched for the psycho duckling. They never found him, of course. But a lot of unattractive ducks suffered some vigilante justice.
And the swan, meanwhile, started a new life, but because he was a swan, and therefore mentally unstable, it wasn’t too long before he strapped a few homemade bombs to his torso and waddled into his old high school. He blew himself sky-high and died a virgin.