Wander the Wood, Drinking

Red walked off into the woods. They were dark and sprawling. He'd been lost in them several times in his life. But now he knew the path. It would take some day's journeys, but he could make it fairly easily-- provided he stuck to what he knew.

So Red wandered. And as he did, trying to keep his wits about him, he fantasized. First, about the virginal girls in his village. But as the road grew long, the sun grew smaller, and the night drew closer, his boredom led to other imaginings. What would it be like, he wondered, to see the carpenter and the woodsman actually fucking his mother? Why did this image keep coming up? Did he-- did he want to be her? Or participate in using her?

He wasn't sure. He looked in the basket prepared for his grandmother. He would have to feed himself from these provisions as well. He took out a flagon of wine and drank a small drop. Then another drop. Then, he imagined his mother sinking her fangs into him and making him into a copy of her. He drank more. Each time he drank he imagined some variation of being used... the more he drank the more he felt female.

Why should the girls of his town have all the fun? He drank more, and deeply. His feet began to wander.

And he began to lurch off the road.