Beautiful Princess

I know that in the fairytales the girl kisses the frog and he becomes a prince, or something like that. But in my fairytale I kissed the prince and he became the princess... and before I knew what had happened to me, I became the frog.

I kept sneaking home in the wee hours of the morning while prince slept soundly in his bed, praying that my fragile glass slipper fantasy would not turn into a rotting hallowed out pumpkin shell before the sun came up. And every night I would return hoping to spend just one more evening with my prince.

The day after the homeopathic nurse routine I popped over to Prince's rickety old shack in the early afternoon. He had done some work that day at one of his a construction sites, but since he still wasn't feeling well he had gone home early. When I got there he was still in the tub cleaning up so I made myself comfortable. I rinsed out a coffee cup and poured myself a glass of his cheap port. It was sweet and syrupy as it slid down my throat. I put on a CD I had burned for him... I think it was Jane Siberry. Yes, I am certain it was. It was that album with "When I was a Boy." I was browsing through the rest of his CD's when he stepped out of the bathroom.

His long hair was wrapped in a towel and twisted about his head. He smelled fruity, like some kind of pink fruit. Cherries maybe. His chest was smooth and bare. There was no sign of the sweat, grease and debris that usually covered his body after a long day of work. The only reminder of his day time persona were a few small scratches on his forearm where he had been a bit too hasty with a two by four.

He smiled and casually said hey you. But the moment was anything but casual. It was a test. One that he fully expected me to fail. Because what I haven't told you yet is that the only thing he wore, besides the towel, as he sashayed toward me with a tentatively confident stride, was a long flowing skirt that stopped just above his ankles.

I like your skirt, I said as he walked passed.

This old thing? Gosh, I've had this for years, he said.

Mmm. It looks comfortable, I said. All the best clothes are old and comfortable, aren't they?

I followed him into the bedroom and leaned back on the pile of pillows in the corner of his bed. I watched as he dried his hair, flipping it back and forth, whipping the towel about like a teenage girl at the beach. Behind him I noticed that the shroud which normally sectioned off the end of his open closet had been removed. And hanging there on the dowel in plain view were a dozen or so skirts and girly frocks. Some velvety, some cottony, some satiny. Mostly purples and blues and greens. Lots of floral patterns. And all of them a size 16 or bigger. Funny, I hadn't realized that we were the same size. Our bodies were shaped so differently.

I smiled up at him and said, you look beautiful princess.

He smiled back and said simply, thank you.

He crawled over, climbed on top of me and kissed me. I had on a short linen house dress which he pushed above my waist while he pulled my panties down to my ankles. He hoisted his skirt up to his hips where it draped across his hard cock. Without a word he entered me. As he fucked me I could feel the folds of cotton, soft and comforting, brushing against my skin. There was no foreplay or lead up... just pure desire and a sweet fast fuck on a warm summer evening.