What Happens in the Woods, Stays in the Woods

By Tesla Graves

Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash

Amelie was a shy girl. She was often overlooked by virtue of being tucked away in some corner, reading. She needed Antoine to pull her out of that. Antoine, the boy Amelie had loved her whole life. Antoine and Amelie were night and day. Where she was shy, he was outgoing. Where she preferred to read, he preferred to explore the world. Amelie could often not join him there.

Except, Amelie had a wild side of her own. Amelie was into public sex, something Antoine always thought deliciously contradicting. He’d never know when, but Amelie would turn into a nymph, begging for his attention in ways he couldn’t resist.

On this specific day, they wandered together into the woods. Antoine was carrying their picnic basket, and Amelie was buried nose deep in a book. She stopped, squeaking, her cheeks red as small berries, due to what she was reading.

“What is it, doll?” Antoine intoned carelessly.

“I—…. it’s nothing.” Amelie responded.

Antoine eyed her sideways. “You don’t get so worked up over ‘nothing,’ spit it out. What is it?”

She turned to him with a smirk, her blush still swathed behind her freckles. “What do you say we veer a bit off course?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Off course? What do you mean?”

She grabbed the shoulder of her dress, pulling it down, down until the fabric revealed a pale, smooth shoulder and a delicate breast, marbled with pretty little blue veins. “Into the woods, Antoine.” She batted her eyes at him.

He flushed. “Ah, I…” He gulped. “I see.”

“Well?” She shot at him. She lifted the skirt of her dress, grabbing the waistband of her panties and pulling them down. She slingshotted them into his face.

He flushed bright red. “Start running,” was all that he said, voice much deeper and more gravely. With a giggle, she took off.

Amelie panted as she ran, not daring to look back. She was right where she wanted to be, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still a little bit scared. Her feet pounded against the uneven forest floor.

Behind her, she heard Antoine whistle. Every note of “La Marseilles” messed with her head further. Was he close? Was he far? How did he have enough air to whistle to her like that? She ran faster.