Little Red Riding Hood

Little girl, little girl

In your cloak of scarlet red

Do you mean to raise the desire in my eyes?

Little girl, little girl.

What little seductive thoughts

Do you hide behind that seemingly innocent guise?

Little girl, little girl

Do you know the things you do.

Through darkened woods, as you skip alone

Little girl little girl,

Do you see me in the shadows.

As you light aflame, this, my heart of stone.

You know the story.

Or do you?

Of the dutiful granddaughter, cluelessly, seemingly stupidly, skipping alone through the dangerous forest, to visit her grandmother to spread the joy that only bloodlines can bring. Only to outsmart a cross dressing wolf, once she gets there, and with the help of a macho huntsman, save both herself and her grandmother a grisly fate.

That's the childrens' G-rated story.

Admit it, you never bought that version either.

You knew, there was always meant to be something more sinister lurking behind the symbolism of that hood and dark woods.

You were right.

There always is.

Trust that instinct

Never meant to be a 'taken at face value cautionary tale' to young children on the dangers of talking to hairy strangers by the roadside, the original story, was adapted in French (this becomes less surprising as you read on, perverted fucks that the French were) by Charles Perrault, petitioned by the courts of Versailles, in the time when aristocratic relationships were the height of hypocrisy and contradiction. Seduction was the rule of the survival. And by such did the countless royal courtesans live by.

Little girl, little girl.

Do you mean to lure me from my restraint

With the promise of a kiss upon your skin?

Little girl, little girl

You have no comprehension

Of how I will devour you in flames of passionate sin.

Little girl, little girl

How you make me want to forget myself

As I follow your girlish scent wafting through these woods

Little girl, little girl

How I wish to tear you from your innocence

And corrupt the chastity you protect with that little red hood.

Red. The colour of desire and sin. A cloak, in as much the metaphorical as the literal sense. The hood, to hide the sinister intentions behind it.

Men were just the willing victims.
The so called preying wolf, who's every step was controlled by his lust.

You tell me, who is the weaker? She, who gives everything of herself to get what she always intended to obtain…or he who uses his brute strength to take what he wants, never realizing that, he is all but a slave to his insatiable need?

Little Red Riding Hood, on her way to her grandmother's cottage passes the, in this original version, bzou, werewolf, one who may take both human and animal form, a detail that is criminally lost in translation in time, thank to The Brothers Grimm (probably not a misnomer, prudish killjoys). The wolf, mesmerized by the vision of innocence skipping through the woods, engages our anti-heroine in conversation, and upon finding out her destination, beats her to the cottage where he makes a meal of nan, possibly the only truly innocent victim in the story. Then as the story continues, as we know, the wolf then dresses in the old lady's clothes and crawls into the bed.

Little girl, little girl,

I am coming for you

For your blood lingers in the air like wounded prey

Little girl, little girl.

I shall tear you, take you, possess you.

Until listless and panting, in my arms you'll lay.

And this is where the story deviates in a most … satisfying and realistic way.

Red arrives to find Grandma (the wolf in human form), in bed, who calls to our girl to climb into bed with him where they can cuddle and be warmed by each other's bodies.

Follows is the slowest, sexiest, striptease never known as the Wolf commands Red to undress, article by article of clothing, before she climbs into bed where possibly one of the most infamous lines in fairy tale history is uttered,
"Grandmother, what sharp teeth you have!"
"The better to eat you with, my child."

And so he does.

Depicted perfectly by an engraving that was released alongside the first edition print of the tale in 1697 of Red lying in her slip under a leering wolf.

The analogy clear: and no doubt the root of why losing one's virginity IS referred to as "elle avoit vû le loup" – she has seen the wolf.

And that's there the tableau ends.

There is no saviour. No Samaritan. Only the inevitable sinking of each character into their stereotypical roles.

The story, was meant to be cautionary, to both men and women of the time. Heed your weakness… and how you wield your power. The aristocracy at once being preoocupied with both satiating their lust, and yet revering female for their chastity. *laughs* Contradiction, indeed. In a society where women clamoured over each other as courtesans to get ahead, and fathers had every right to lock up his daughters to protect their virginity, and the crime du jour amongst youths was for rapt - meaning seduction, elopement or rape … the depiction of girl meets beast in an exchange of lust, was no more fiction than reality.

And so… the tale continues today.

Everyday.

In you and in me.

Honestly?

You know, that in essence, there's a little truth of this seduction in every exchange between man and woman.

I know.

In every flick of my hair over my shoulder, every seemingly innocent slide of my finger under a slipping bra strap, in the way I slide the stockings up my smooth bare leg, knowing that there, I embed the invitation for his eyes to glance for a moment longer than appropriate at the hem of my skirt, hoping for a peek at the border where lace gives way to skin…

In every action…I am sending out a lure for his reaction.

Little girl, little girl

I am upon you - fast, furious, savage

Where oh where is the look of fear flickering in your eyes?

Little girl, little girl!!

Fuck! You bitch! You switched the roles on me!!

Now, I'm helpless, imprisoned in the web of your seductive lies.

Little girl, little girl

Skipping along, in your blood red cloak

And the promise of your virgin cunt.

I am a little boy, little boy.

Led by my lecherous pursuits

I have fallen… from the hunter to the hunt

And even if in the blinding light of day, I know I am perpetuating the expectations of my sex that men are creatures of the flesh… in the darkness of those woods, I count on it…and revel in it.

And as I explore that darkness, in this heightened sexualized existence… I know my answer, but how about yours?

Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

~ Or like me…do you secretly hope to lure him from his shadows.

*winks knowingly…and pulls the hood over my head…turns…and leaves, trailing the colour of Red behind me*