Holiday in the Mountains (Mg, pedo, tort, implied snuff, foot fetish)
(note: it goes without saying the author does not condone or endorse any
of the contents of this story. It is a fantasy and nothing more)
It was on the last day of my trip in the Pyrenees. I had been doing a
lot of walking and thinking in the lonely pine forests. Trying to clear my
head. Occasionally I would come across vacant log cabins; tiny shelters
for travellers lost during snow or just escape hatches for city dwellers
once a year to get back to the simple life. Isolated places where a guy
could really be alone and in touch with his natural side and be natural
with his desires and feelings.
So it was on this last day when, despite my apparent clear-headedness
and new resolve to put my dark thoughts into my past that I had this
suddenly brilliant and rare moment of opportunity.
Coming up the mountain road in my car I had passed the girl on her
bicycle. I drove on another mile not thinking. Just blank as the angel
and devil on my shoulders fought among themselves. And then, suddenly the
image of a particular old, abandoned woodshed I had seen around these parts
suddenly popped back into my head and with it the old devil crawled right
into my ear and grabbed a hold of me.
I pulled the car to a halt and stepped out onto the tarmac road. Map in
hand. I was trembling. With fear and anticipation. Part-willing the girl
wasn't going to come along this road and I could just drive away from here
a new, free, re-born man. But slowly from a small speck the image of the
girl on the bicycle slowly enlarged as she pedalled along the road towards
me. I tried to hide the bulge in my pants as she slowed to pass me,
smiling shyly and panting.
She was a very cute sandy blonde: her hair fixed into two plaits which
ran down past her shoulders. Her skin was sun-kissed and unblemished but
for a scatter of freckles. She was dressed lightly for cycling in a pale,
yellow tennis shirt that just suggested the budding young breasts beneath;
her buttocks were squeezed into short, cut-off denims that accentuated the
smooth, delicious long legs. On her feet, black plimsolls and white sports
"Excusez- moi.." I began in French, playing the part of the lost tourist
puzzling over my map. I had spread the paper out on the roof of my car.
The mePost too long. Click here to view the full text.