Rapunzel - A Twisted Fairy Tale

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2

Foreword
The fairy tale "Rapunzel," is a grim, mostly unhappy thing, as were many of the stories written by the Grimm brothers. In its time, there was a lesson being taught by the telling of this tale. If you're really interested, the internet will tell you all about that. But for our purposes, I am retelling the story in a much happier way than the original. That is not to say there is not anything grim in my telling. But certain "facts" and circumstances have been altered so that Rapunzel and the prince can have a bit more fun, and suffer less.

Bob

Chapter One

There once lived a man, named Jack, and a woman, named Diane, who always wished for a child, but could not have one. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen. The garden was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to a cranky witch, who had great power and was feared by all who lived in the village.

Truth be told, the witch was cranky because she, too, was unable to conceive a child. But that's because she was nasty and ugly to boot. Plus what man wants to chance disappointing a witch in the sack? I mean there are worse things than being turned in to a frog.

In any case, one day Diane was standing by the window, folding smocks and jerkins, and glanced into the garden. Her eyes fell on a lush bed of rapunzel, which is an old nickname for a herb with leaves like lettuce and roots like a radish, also called rampion. It looked so fresh and green that she longed for some with which to make a salad. People back then already knew about the South Beach Diet, even though there was no South Beach and they didn't think of it as being on a diet. They just ate what they could get, which wasn't much, and contained almost no sugar or bad carbohydrates. Dr. Agatston would have been proud.

But I digress. Diane lusted after the rampion and, knowing that she could not get any of it, grew more pale and miserable each day.

Jack, being an observant man, noticed his wife's funk and asked "What is wrong, my dear?"

"Ah," she replied, "if I can't eat some of the rapunzel from the witch's garden behind our house I think I shall die."

Jack, who loved her, thought, "Well her dying would never do, so I shall find a way to obtain my heart's desire what her heart desires." He puffed out his chest and added the thought: "No matter what the cost!"

And so it was that that evening, he climbed over the wall into the garden of the witch, grabbed a double handful of rapunzel, stuffed in his trousers so both hands would be free, and scaled the wall again. His wife was waiting for him and, ignoring the fleshy root amidst all that greenery, she extracted her heart's desire, immediately made a salad of it, and ate it all up.

She would have liked it in any case, but the fact that her husband had braved the dangers of being caught by the nasty, ugly, powerful witch, made her like it even more. And she rewarded him with the only thing of value she had.

"Come with me to bed most instantly!" she yipped, throwing off her blouse, or jerkin, or smock, or whatever they called whatever she threw off. The point is that her pale, pear shaped breasts hung delightfully naked in the moonlight. Jack, of course, was only too happy to give her the rest of what was in his trousers, or trews, or tights, or whatever they called them, and gleefully exposed his root, which was summarily planted in Diane's garden, which was soon lustily seeded.

Diane knew a good thing when she had it. So the very next day she exposed significant cleavage to Jack and said "How I wish I had more rapunzel from the garden. It makes me so horny!"

Jack wasn't stupid, and that very night he scaled the wall again, wearing looser trews or - well, you know the deal. He wanted more room, so he could transport more rampion.

His crotch was well stuffed when he heard a gravelly voice clear what sounded like a horribly ugly throat.

He looked up in the darkness which, thankfully, shielded his eyes from the true ugliness of the witch.

"What the fuck?!" demanded the witch. "You don't understand walls?

"My most sincere apologies," gasped Jack, who had been told that polite discourse will resolve almost any difficulty. "My wife pined for some of your delicious, nutritious rapunzel. We have none, nor any place to grow any, since this garden takes up all the room ... so I thought ..."

"You thought you could purchase some rapunzel from me with a nice, long, juicy fuck!" crowed the witch.

"Um ... no," said Jack, weakly. "It was more along the lines of just stealing it. I mean you have plenty."

"Plenty of rapunzel, yes," croaked the witch. "Plenty of hot man meat stuffed up into my oven, no," cooed the old woman. When a witch coos, it comes out sounding like gravel being ground into sheet metal by water buffalo hooves.

"I c-c-can't," moaned Jack. "I have a bad case of ED. My member shan't cooperate at all, I fear."

"Oh pu-leease," creaked the witch. "I heard your wife wailing her happiness last night. I could scarce sleep because of it. It actually got my poor empty pussy all wet to hear her joy at being prodded so well. So don't tell me you have an Excitement Deficiency problem. Witches might buy that ED crap in a couple hundred years, but not today, bucko."

"Please don't make me," whined Jack.

"Why not? I thought all men were randy all the time. What's the deal? Am I ugly or something?" Her voice sounded dangerous.

But Jack had been raised to always tell the truth ... no matter what.

"Well ... actually ... yes," he said.

"How about that?" said the witch, sounding surprised. "A man who actually tells the truth. Will wonders never cease?" She scowled at Jack which, fortunately, he couldn't see because of the dark. "Tell you what," she said. "Give me your first born daughter and we'll call it even."

"I don't have a daughter," said Jack.

"You will," said the witch.

"We've been trying for years," moaned Jack. "What if my wife is barren?"

"She's not," said the witch. "Most especially if she's been eating veggies stolen from my garden. They're special. Oh, the veggie tales I could tell you about my magical greens."

"If you say so," said Jack. "Could I possibly leave now? I could get right to work on that first born daughter," he said hopefully.

"You may go after you have eaten this," said the hag, producing a cucumber of prodigious proportions.

Jack gingerly took the vegetable, which was easily ten inches long and as big around as his wife's not so delicate wrist.

"I can't eat this whole thing," he moaned.

"If you can't eat that, you can eat me," offered the crone, gleefully.

"I can't believe I ate the whole thing," groaned Jack. "My poor stomach is bulging,"

Diane chewed a mouthful of the delicious rampion until she could swallow.

"That's not all that's bulging," she commented.

Jack looked down. All he could see was his belly, which was unusual, because normally Jack was as skinny as a rail.

"Huh?" he replied.

Diane held up a finger, signing for him to wait, and finished her salad. Then she knelt in front of her husband. Her hands went to either side of his bulging belly.

"You look as if you're with child," she giggled.

"That's not funny," he groaned. "I'm not at all sure I'll be able to reap the reward of getting caught, because I'll crush you like a bug if I lie upon you! You're not the one who had to eat an entire massive cucumber!"

He felt her fingers fumbling with the ties to his trews, and heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my," she sighed. "Do I get to eat something else that's suddenly massive?"

"Huh?" Jack tried to bend forward to look beyond his stretched stomach. He felt something delightful in his groin and suddenly his wife's hand appeared holding what appeared to be a rutabaga or some such thing,. His eyes saw her smallish hand squeeze the rosy, red round looking thing, and his brain impressed on him that it was no vegetable she was fondling, but his manhood instead!

"Is that me?" he squeaked, though in a most manly way.

"It is indeed, my love," said Diane, licking her lips.

Diane got her bellyful that night, both in terms of a delicious salad, and magically enhanced seeds for her garden. Indeed, Jack's "infirmity" proved to be permanent, which softened the emotional blow of having to give up her first born daughter to the witch as payment. That blow was softened even more when Diane's awakened womb filled again quite rapidly. In fact, she had so many children that poor Jack was worked to death to support them. When she remarried was when she learned it wasn't Jack's manhood that was magic. It was all those greens that had greened up her reproductive system. She continued to have children, until she was famous. They even wrote a nursery rhyme about her when her husband ran away, leaving her with so many children she didn't know what to do.

But again, I digress.

Meanwhile, back at the magical cottage, Witch Hazel (for even witches have names, you know,) had taken the baby girl and cuddled her to her shrunken, withered breast, whereupon a spark of something akin to positive emotion glowed briefly in the hag's hapless heart.

"You're magically delicious," she cooed at the babe. "I shall, of course, name you Rapunzel."

Then her heart hardened again.

"But none other shall ever taste of your delights, for you are all mine," she said.

And so, she caused a tower to arise, using complex magic that created a structure with no door, and but a single window, high up below a conical roof. That window led to a small room, in which poor Rapunzel grew up. And what, you ask, was the rest of the tower for? It contained the mystical magic that produced food, and water, and clothing and so on and so forth, all of which was for Rapunzel. And diaper disposal, of course which, truthfully, took up about eighty percent of the space the first few years. Some things never change.

But eventually the girl grew, until she could speak and sing. And singing, being pretty much the only thing Rapunzel had to do, was something she did very well. Her dulcet tones drifted out of the tower window and into the forest, where birds and squirrels and all manner of creatures routinely suspended their daily routines to sit and listen raptly. Had there been a Medieval England's Got Talent, then Rapunzel would have been a shoe-in for the top four.

But how, you might ask, did Witch Hazel ever get to change all those diapers and delight in her daughter if there were no doors into the tower?

Well, for the first few years, Hazel did call on her magic. But levitation magic is quite tiring, especially if you eat too much and exercise too little, which was Hazel in spades. Eventually, though, she expended a little magic on the girl too, and after that all she had to do was stand beneath the window and cry:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."


For you see, with magical influence, and never having had even a trim of her hair, Rapunzel grew magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold. She had so much of it, in fact, that she had to keep it in long, thick braids to keep from suffocating in it should she inadvertently turn over in her sleep. And so, when ever she heard the words of the woman she thought of as her mother, she wound a couple of turns of her braids round one of the hooks of the window, and then let the rest fall down the side of the tower, whereupon the witch climbed up it.

Now I know you're gnashing your teeth, or at least gritting them a little, as you consider the plight of poor Rapunzel ... locked in her tower ... having no education ... no friends ... no fun at all. But you must remember that, as a kitten born with no eyes is not aware it is blind, and goes through life thinking it is quite normal that the world is a black place where only sounds and smells and vibrations are your guide, so also did Rapunzel think that her little world was all there was in the world.

And so she wasn't unhappy at all.

Until one day a prince was riding through the forest, saw the tower, and stopped to admire its unique architecture. Then he heard the most beautiful singing, and sat, frozen to his saddle until he saw Rapunzel lean out the window to check and see if it was raining. Her beauty struck him a hammer blow in his chest, which caused him suddenly to think of pushing tab A into slot B. This particular prince had received training as an engineer, you see.

He was about to speak to the dazzling beauty when he spied a bundle of rags moving magically toward the tower. The bundle of rags turned out to be an old hag who, when her face was exposed as she looked upwards toward the lone window in the tower, gave pause to the prince's poor peter.

"Now that's oooooo-gly," he said softly to himself. "She is perhaps the most horrifically dismal looking woman, I have ever laid eyes upon." His horse became restless under him and shifted. He patted it's neck. "Fear not, noble steed," he said. "Eyes are all I shall ever lay on that one. You have my promise on that."

He watched as the crone stopped under the window and called up:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the witch climbed up to her.

This, of course, gave the prince pause, and our pausing prince thought long and hard. Not being a dullard, the prince had come to believe that the beautiful girl, the love of his life - never mind they hadn't met yet - was named Rapunzel, a name that rolled off the tip of his tongue and brought his lips together in what was clearly preparation for a kiss. Several if he got his way. Dozens if he was lucky.

His princely penis reminded him it did not wish to be left out of the festivities, whenever they should come to pass. He didn't speak to the unruly member - what sane man would? - but he did reflect on the fact that while his five brothers were randy sorts who routinely bedded anything in skirts that would let them, he was as yet unsullied. He was, in fact, pure as the driven snow, when it came to experience of the bedroom sort.

Well, personal experience, anyway. When you have five brothers who happily hump every chamber maid in the castle, it's inevitable that you'll stumble upon it happening now and then. Suffice it to say he knew what his tuminescent tool was intended to be used for. He had just never found a woman that it seemed worth all that squishing and thrusting and groaning and gasping for. He was quite sure it was fun. It just looked like it was also so much work!

The prince's reflections were interrupted by the hag appearing in the window. Her broad buttocks filled it as she backed out and began climbing down the rope of golden hair. The prince winced. Even from this distance it was obvious the hag weighed ten stone over a full load. His hand came up and pulled at his own shoulder-length tresses. He was amazed that the beautiful voice did not let out a cry of pain.

But she didn't, and soon the hair had been pulled back up into the tower. The voice began singing again, and the prince was struck immobile anon. It wasn't until it was fully dark that she relented, and the prince was able to crawl down off his horse and make camp for the night. Normally he went to an inn, and dined and slept in comfort. But to leave that voice and that face was suddenly impossible. A bed consisting of a blanket, and some cold meat and bread were worth knowing that, should she sing again, he'd be there to hear it.

As he lay curled in his blanket, the prince's attention was once again drawn to his pants, wherein his royal stub wasn't so stubby any more. It had, in fact, inflated to prodigious proportions, as the sweet voice of Rapunzel, having starved most of the prince's muscles of blood, had to direct it somewhere else. And so he found that he needed to loosen his pants, to relieve the uncomfortable strain. In the process his hand brushed his manhood, which craved being touched at the moment. Shortly, Mother Nature being skilled at helping young men discover such things, the prince's hand was firmly grasping the pommel of his shortest sword, and then the hilt itself, which seemed to need to be stroked, as if he were oiling it. Except, of course, there was no oil on his hand.

Mother Nature, always there to support young men on their voyage of discovery, soon supplied that as well.

The prince woke to the gravelly sounds of a deep voice saying:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

He got up slowly, his body complaining about sleeping on the ground in the form of aches and pains. He could only see the top half of the tower from where he was, but that golden rope had been lowered and soon he saw the hag climbing up. Not being a complete idiot, as princes are sometimes wont to be, he suspicioned that the hag might be involved in the dark arts. He had seen no evidence of magic, but why else would the love of his life be sequestered in a tower with no entrance save her own hair? And anything that ugly had to be a witch. Otherwise wild dogs would have taken it down years ago.

And so he watched the tower all day. He had nothing to do save oil his tack and sharpen his weapons, but that was fine because the girl sang frequently, and in those interludes he was content to simply sit and listen. The witch visited her only in the morning and evening, each time calling for Rapunzel's hair to be let down. The girl always complied.

By evening he could take no more. Which is to say his patience had come to an end. Which means he felt he had to do something.

"If her hair is the ladder by which one mounts, I will try my fortune," thought the Prince and, while it was still light enough to navigate, he climbed the wall surrounding the tower.

He found himself in a garden.

While crossing the garden carefully, his foot caught on a vine and he almost fell. He looked down to see it was a cucumber vine that was the culprit. Extracting his boot carefully, he proceeded to the grass below the window, from which a gentle light was shining. He faced up and whispered loudly:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

Nothing happened.

He tried again, a little louder.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

When still nothing happened he almost shouted, so impatient was he. But afraid that the witch might hear him, he controlled his urge and backed up into the garden again. He looked for a pebble he might be able to throw into the window, catching the girl's attention. Finding nothing of that sort, he selected a tomato, looked carefully at the window high above, and launched it in a way that would have made Sandy Koufax proud. Had Sandy Koufax been born by then, of course. Or had baseball been invented yet, for that matter.

Never mind. Suffice it to say his aim was true and the tomato sailed cleanly into the open window.

"OWWW!" came complaint from inside the tower.

The upper body of his love appeared at the window. One pale hand was rubbing her forehead above her left eye.

"Who threw that?" she demanded angrily.

"Ulp!" The prince swallowed. This wasn't how he had seen things happening in his mind’s eye.

"Who said that?" asked the sharp-eared young woman, leaning out of the window. The light shone off her golden hair, and bounced off the rim of the stone window to paint her bulging bodice with soft light. She was wearing a powder blue peignoir that fluttered in some errant breeze up there.

"Um ... sorry," he whispered loudly.

"What? Who is that? Speak up!" insisted the blond beauty.

"It's just me," said the Prince, waving a hand at her in the dark, like he was seeing her off on some trip. "I didn't mean to hit you with that tomato. I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well good grief," said the girl. "Why didn't you just call out?"

"I didn't want the witch to hear me," he said.

"Witch? What witch?" asked Rapunzel.

"The one who climbs up to see you each day," said the prince.

"My mother?" asked Rapunzel, sounding mystified.

"Impossible," said the prince firmly. "She could not possibly be your mother."

"Who are you?" asked Rapunzel. "I've never seen you before. Why do you sound so strange? Your voice is so different!"

"Could we possibly discuss all that with me up there?" asked the prince hopefully.

"I don't see why not," said the trusting, and now curious girl.

The prince approached the tower and stood at its base.

Nothing happened.

Finally the prince said "Um ... can you let your hair down?"

Rapunzel looked down. "Of course I can, but not until you say it right."

The prince cleared his throat, and then spoke.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

Almost immediately he was practically knocked off his feet by coils of golden hair crashing down upon him. He was stricken by the delightful scent of that hair, and inhaled deeply.

Then he climbed like a starving monkey, on an island, upon which there was only one palm tree, which bore only a single coconut.

She was even more beautiful up close. The hair was weird, coiled up lying around her like some great reptillian constrictor. But it just lay there, and besides, he could scarcely take his eyes off her face. She had the bluest of eyes, which matched her dressing gown perfectly. Her lips were as red as those of a strumpet, but he could tell there was no paint on them, no false color. There was more red in her cheeks, below the high cheekbones, and he realized she was blushing. That made him think of the manner in which she was dressed ... or partially dressed.

His eyes slid down the front of her body and he realized the material, while being certifiably blue, was so thin as to allow one's gaze to penetrate it. She was most assuredly a girl. At least she had all the same parts as the girls his brothers dallied with. He felt cool air on a part of his body that shouldn't be feeling any air at all and looked down. He had forgotten to lace his pants after last evening's educational seminar with nature. His manhood was paying homage to Rapunzel's beauty, pointing directly at her through his open flies.

"I'm so sorry!" he gasped, his hands darting to stuff his portly prick back into his tight trousers.

"Whatever for?" asked the sweet voice of the girl whose allure was making his current task so difficult.

"I had no intention of making such a display," he choked.

"Display? Who are you?" she asked, sounding thoroughly confused.

His embarrassment plain on his flaming face, the prince pulled at the last tie. He wasn't sure it was up to the task, but finally he stood, whereupon he bowed deeply, his hand tracing a flourish in the air.

"I am Prince Palomar, sixth son of the king."

"Have you lost something?" asked Rapunzel, stepping closer. "Do you need help finding it? What does it look like?"

"Lost?" asked Palomar, rising and looking at her hesitantly.

"You're all bent over. I thought you must be searching for something on the floor," she said.

"What? No! I was bowing ... showing you courtesy."

"Bowing," she said, obviously rolling a new word around in her mouth. Watching her lips work made him bend forward again, to ease the strain on the laces to his flies, which had seemed perfectly serviceable the day before, but which now seemed fragile in the extreme. "What a strange way to show courtesy. Why didn't you just say 'Thank you,'?"

"What for?" asked the prince, now as confused as the girl seemed to be.

"To show courtesy," she said patiently.

The prince's royal brow furrowed as he tried to ascertain what she had done that might require his thanks. He had only just arrived. His cheeks flamed again as he saw his gaffe.

"Thank you for inviting me into your abode," he said softly.

"Is that what this is?" she asked, looking around. "I always thought it was my room."

"It is your room," said the prince, beginning to wonder about the intelligence of this beautiful maiden.

"Well anyway, you're welcome. Palomar, you say? What an interesting name. What's a prince? For that matter, what's a king?"

It came to pass, quite quickly, in fact, that Palomar discovered not a lack of intelligence in Rapunzel. Rather she was simply ignorant of many things the average person took for granted. This he reckoned came from never having left her room, and the obvious fact that the witch, who she insisted was her mother, had taught her very few of the things most people learn by age six or seven. What she knew quite clearly was that she was seventeen years old, and that her room was the only safe place for her to stay, which was why her mother required her to stay there. She didn't know what threatened her on the outside, only that the threat existed, and that as long as she stayed in her room she would be safe.

And so Palomar found himself diverted from her astonishing beauty as he began to impart information to her. It didn't happen in any organized way, as in school. Rather, they just talked, and when she didn't understand something, he explained. The fire in her fireplace never seemed to need wood, nor did her candles need replacing, and before they knew it the eastern sky was growing light.

"I must leave!" cried the prince.

"Why?" asked Rapunzel, who had liked very much having someone to talk to.

"Because the witch ... your mother, I mean ... will be coming to see you soon, and must not find me here."

"But why not?" asked Rapunzel. "I wish you could stay forever!"

That struck something deep in the prince's pants, but the facts and circumstances of her life made it clear the old woman would not welcome his attendance to her daughter.

"Your mother wishes to keep you away from men," he said. "And she would be most angry to find out I have been here. You must not tell her of my visit!"

"Why would she do that?" asked Rapunzel.

"I'll tell you that tomorrow night," gasped Palomar. "Promise me you'll say nothing to your mother of me."

"Promise me you'll come back!" Rapunzel demanded in return.

"Rampaging elephants could not keep me away," he vowed.

"What's an elephant?" she asked.

"Later," he moaned. "Tomorrow night! I promise!"

"Then you may depart, and I will not tell my mother about your visit," said Rapunzel.

Then she let down her hair, and Prince Palomar of Prambly, sixth son of King Karl, carefully scampered down the golden rope, dashed across the garden, vaulted the wall, and went to find his steed, which, in his wild desire to see Rapunzel, he had forgotten to hobble.

Prince Palomar thought about riding into the village, to secure a good meal and a flagon or two of honey mead, but he was worried that, somehow, the witch - and he was convinced more than ever she was a witch - would find out about his visit to her prisoner and do something about it. For that reason he stayed in the forest all day, watching the tower from a tree he had climbed, eating cold trail rations once again.

But things seemed perfectly normal. The witch came when the sun was an hour up, and then visited again about an hour before the sun went down. Each time Rapunzel let down her hair and the hag climbed up or down, depending on her need, and nothing seemed to have changed.

And so, tying his horse near a source of both fresh grass and water in a rill, he leapt over the garden wall and dashed toward the grass below her window. Once again, though, his foot was caught, and this time he sprawled, mussing his doublet in the dirt. He stood and, looking down, saw the same cucumber vine ensnaring his boot. In fact, there was a tasty looking cucumber right there by his foot. Having had only cold meat and bread that day, he was tempted to harvest the cuke, stuff it in his pocket, and eat it once he was safely in Rapunzel's room. Then he thought of having the odor of cucumber on his breath, and decided not to. Instead, he extracted his foot and continued on his way.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair."

She was ready for him, and he danced to the side as her heavy hair slammed into the ground where he had been standing. Up he climbed, to find his lady love waiting anxiously. She hugged him as he entered the room. He felt her warm, soft body against his before she pushed back.

"I wonder why I did that?" she asked. "I've never done anything like that before."

"It was called a hug," said the prince. "Tis a way of showing affection."

"Affection?"

And so it started again. It was plain she would have questions, and he was eager to answer them. But this night, the initial subject of interest - affection - led them down a path one might be suspicious that Mother Nature was suggesting.

"Affection is something a man and woman show each other when they are happy to be together," he explained.

"Oh," she said. "And that's another thing. I've seen people like you before. Not up close like this, but I saw people like you walking around in the village. Mother called them men, but wouldn't talk about them. So you are obviously a man. Am I this woman you speak of?"

"Most assuredly, my dear Rapunzel," he sighed. "You are most definitely a woman." His eyes fell to her breasts, which pushed another dressing gown, this one lavender colored, away from her chest. "All woman," he muttered.

"And why is there a difference?" she asked. "What need is there that there should be both man and woman?"

"I'm so glad you asked," he gasped.

There were two chairs in Rapunzel's tower room. One of them was obviously where the witch sat when she came to visit. Not knowing which was hers, and not wanting to sit in it in any case, Prince Palomar sat on the edge of Rapunzel's bed.

"Take your dressing gown off, and I'll show you the difference between men and women," he said, panting slightly.

"All right," said the innocent girl.

She made short work of it, and soon stood naked. Her pale skin glowed in the candle light. No tan lines here, for Rapunzel was no beach bunny. The harsh sun had barely ever seen her, much less darkened any part of her. Palomar was frozen, as if by her voice, as he stared at pert, upturned breasts, capped by strawberry nipples. There was a spray of freckles across her upper chest. Her waist was narrow, her abdomen flat as a board. Even her innie was a delight to gaze upon. Below that was a tuft of hair that glowed with the same golden sheen as the hair he had so recently climbed. Legs that went all the way to the floor ended in dainty feet that shifted nervously.

"Why does this feel odd?" she asked. "Why do your eyes, looking at me, make it feel as if I have swallowed butterflies?"

"That is a natural reaction to being appreciated as a woman," he croaked. He cleared his throat. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever set my eyes upon."

"If you say so," she said. "Have you seen many women?"

"Thousands," he sighed, his eyes drinking in her loveliness. He felt one of the ties of his fly fail, but that didn't matter, because he intended to release them soon.

"That many?" she gasped. "Wherever could they be? The village couldn't possibly hold them all."

"Your village is but one of many," he said, staring at the juncture of her legs, which was dark below that golden puff of hair.

"I feel so stupid," she moaned.

"Don't!" he ordered, and it came out in his princely voice. The last thing he wanted this girl to be was unhappy.

He stood, his voice lost to him again as his fingers fumbled to remove his own clothing. She watched, fascinated as a body clearly different from her own came into view.

"Are you supposed to look like that?" she asked in awe. She was staring at his flat chest, with nipples that were brown, instead of pink like her own. Her eyes ranged, seeing the lumps, ridges and lines of muscles beneath his skin, where her skin was smooth and soft. "What's that?" she asked, pointing one shapely finger at his groin.

He swallowed. For the first time in his life, he wanted to use his princely pecker in the same way his older brothers did. The want became an urge as he thought about it ... a need, in fact. His hand automatically gripped the shaft of his rampant royalty and stroked it three or four times before he could make himself stop.

"This is a man's gift to the woman he feels affection for," he said, licking his lips.

"It isn't attached?" she asked, stepping closer. "It looks like it's attached."

"Well yes, it is affixed to my body," he admitted. "But I can share it with you, in a manner of speaking. My brothers do it all the time with the chamber maids and ladies in waiting."

"Your brothers have affection for all these women?" asked Rapunzel.

"Yes," he said.

"It looks like a handle of sorts," she commented.

"It is the handle to my love," he sighed.

"And what is this love you speak of?" she asked.

"It is the culmination of extreme affection," he said. "A man cleaves to his lady love, turning away from all others, which shows his love for her.”

"Cleaves?"

"I'm so glad you asked!" he blurted.

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