The Truth About Wolfie and Little Red

She was a small girl but she didn’t have red hair as many have suggested, nor did she wear a riding “hood” because the season of spring is too warm in these parts for something with the thickness of a cloak. Indeed, she wore a thin, red hoody. Can you see how the deletion of just one letter changes much of what actually happened? Yet, that is the way that third-parties and wolfie imposters have sought personal gain at the expense of pure fact.

And, that isn’t the only error in their storytelling.

They called me “the mean old wolf”. Well friends, I am anything but mean. I would not harm a single person. Perverted—yes; but mean? No! I didn’t want to eat the little girl and have her all gone. There was something else I had in mind, heh-heh. So yes, I was perverted, but hell no, I’m not a fucking cannibal!

They claim that I stalked her through the brush and the grass one day while she made her way to her grandmother’s house. Bull-whorky! That is so wrong! You see, I stalked her for days, not just one day and I stalked her through every imaginable flora and fauna that existed. She was a visual feast for one with depraved appetites and I certainly will not be sold short on the matter of how much work I put in to know and predict her every move before making mine.

So, here is how it all actually went down:

When at last I knew my strategy, I hid near the entrance of her path to grandma’s and I hid in the nearby bushes. All of that is true as told. She was ten minutes later than usual on that day but worth every second of the wait. My hope was for her to wear a thin little sun dress under her little red hoody and that is exactly how she appeared. She had an Italian aura about her with brunette hair that swept back to a bouncy ponytail. Her face was pretty with big brown eyes and her complexion was white with a natural olive tint, much as if she had been recently tanning. She wore black patent leather sandal-like shoes with white ankle sox, leaving her pretty legs bare except for the upper four inches which were covered by her soft yellow sun dress.

With such a vision of loveliness and beauty, why would anyone think of harming her, much less eating her? Nonetheless, I knew my role in this fable and I simply would have to act the part of a threatening wolfie to get what I wanted most.

She was nearing my hidden point of view and, like previous voyeuristic stalking, my being rattled from either bad nerves or great anticipation, or both. I inhaled and held the air in my lungs, the preferred stealth tactic to keep any sounds of breathing for escaping to her ears.

She was within no more than six feet of me and I knew what she would do. She stopped at the purple flowers and walked around the bush. I had discarded all of the flowers from the opposite side of the bush so that all that remained where those on my side. In addition, I had discarded all of the flowers on the top half of the bush so that all remained were those nearest the bottom. “The bottom”; how I loved those words.

She circled the bush and her face was a wrinkle of perplexion. “How did this happen?” I heard her breathe. She continued to circle the bush until she reached the lower purple flowers right before me. I corrected my line of sight and waited. She commonly smelled flowers before picking them [so do I] and I watched as her fingers gathered a single flower and she bent down to test its acceptability. When she bent down, her little summer dress rose and—mmmmm—there it was, what I wanted most; her cute little butt encased in soft, white, cotton panties. My eyes were glued to her little butt. Yes, I admit that was what I wanted to see. I told you I’m a pervert so I don’t deny that part. Fortunately, that part does not appear in the tales told by the imposters and third-partiers.

It was such a cute butt, small and very round and it pushed against that cotton and made it stretch and the more she bent, the more of her outline I could see. I had all I could do to keep from panting out loud. But remember, I had prepared myself well before hand and I could hold my breath for two minutes if I had to. She bent lower to find another flower and with that bend, her cute little butt was aimed right at my lusting face and I nearly wet myself. I wanted so much to leap forward and dive in face first, but I controlled myself and waited for a better time.

When she had picked a few flowers to accompany her basket of bread and Jack Daniels for granny, she moved slowly down the path. Meanwhile. I moved away from the bushes and raced ahead to the rose bushes and hid behind thicker bushes. I had prepared the roses bushes as I had the purple flower bushes and she bent over the same and picked two roses while my lusting eyes ogled her cute little rear-end.

At the next stop, was the daisy patch but instead of bending over, she sat on a smooth stone right in front of me and I watched her cushy little bottom nestle down on that lucky stone. Damn how I wanted my face to be that stone and feel cush of her tush surrounding my eager nose.

There were no more decent places to stalk and watch so I raced ahead to grandma’s place. I pulled a welfare envelope from her mailbox and a carton of cigarettes from inside my trench coat [what else would you expect a pervy wolf to wear?] and told grandma to scram, “There’s a sale on whiskey at the Liquor Mart”. I tucked myself in bed after donning one of grandma’s bed caps.

Little Red Missy—yes, Missy was her real name—knocked on the door. I told her to come in. She said, “Grandma what a deep voice you have.” I responded, “It’s these damned cigarettes, sweety. Don’t ever take up with smoking. It’s the worst!” Her head tilted. “But grandma, what big, hairy hands you have.” I replied, “Well yeah Missy, when you drink straight whisky, it will put hair on your chest, among other places.” Still suspicious she continued. “Why grandma, what a big nose you have!” I nearly laughed. “Yes Missy, grandma’s nose has grown because grandma lies like Pinocchio. Besides, all the better to smell sweet things with.” Now with a concerned look on her face, Little Red Missy asked, “But, why the big teeth? I thought you had braces as a kid. You’re the wolfie!” she cried. “You’re the wolfie I heard about and you’re going to eat me!”

Well now, I have stated that I am not a mean wolfie and I had no intentions of eating her. But, I have also stated that I had a role to play, so I put on my best Michael Crawford. I leaped from the bed and grabbed her. The basket flew in all directions. I braced her close to me and said, “Yes Missy, I could eat you. Is that what you want? I could eat you and be done with it. There is no one, not even grandma, to save you. But I . . .. well . . . I would prefer to not take such drastic measures.”

She had squealed when I grabbed her and she fought hard but I was much too strong and I held her in place. “No! No! I don’t want you to eat me. Please let me go. Let me go!” she cried. “There must be something I can do—something that will get you to let me go. Why have you grabbed me? What do you want?”

She settled down and I released some of the tight hold I had on her, to make it more comfortable for her captivity. You see, I am a kind wolfie pervert. “Hm, maybe there is something but I . . . I . . . well, now that I’ve gotten this far, it’s a little hard to talk about it.”

A tear traced down my cheek and when she saw it, she seemed soothed. “Now, now wolfie,” she said, “you don’t need to be so sullen. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

I whimpered but the thoughts of my prior torment in the wolves dens and the ridicule I had endured pressed hard on my emotions and another tear escaped my eyes. “It’s just . . . well . . .I . . . I can’t hardly even say the words.”

“Look,” she countered, “I want you to let me go and you need help with whatever is bothering you. I’m sure we can come to some agreement. Now just tell me. No one will know. Just tell me. You will feel better if you do. What is it that is bothering you? What is it that you want so much that you have been following me for days?”

For days?
She knew I had been following her? Did she also know that I had been checking our her cute little butt?

“Tell me. You will feel better and if it’s not something too awful, then maybe I will do it. You will get what you have wanted for days and I will be free. Bye the way, what did you do with grandma?”

“Nevermind her.”

“Okay. Then tell me. Out with it. Let’s get this done.”

“It’s . . . It’s . . . I can bring myself to say the words.”

“But there is something you want.”

“Y . . . Yes,” I nodded.

“You don’t want to rape me, do you?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t want a hummer, do you?”

I thought for a while. Hm, yes I did. Was she kidding? With a cute little mouth like hers? But, that was secondary and I shook my head once again.

“And it’s not anal sex, is it? Because, I’m not down for that.”

I shook my head again.

“Then it can’t be so bad and that means I probably will do it. You get what you want and I get free. Deal?”

I nodded and she told me to tell her and I stammered and she pried me even more and I finally realized that it would never end until I told her and if that didn’t happen some time soon, the lumberjacks would be summoned to do their part in the dismemberment of me, the star of the fable. It was then—or never. I had come that far and I was that close and there wasn’t time to delay further.

She pressed her hands to mine for reassurance and told me again, “Come on wolfie, just tell me. What is that you want?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Out with it wolfie. Tell me! It can’t be that bad. Tell me now.”

With time pressing in, I forced the words. “I . . . I . . .” I paused and took a deep breath. “I . . . I . . . I just want to . . . I just want to . . . I just want to sniff your butt.”

I couldn’t believe I had actually said those words—“sniff your butt”—nor could I believe how she rocked back and laughed toward the ceiling before returning her eyes to mine. “You what?!?” she laughed. “You what? Say it! Say it again! Say it!”

There was no sense denying what I had said and she hadn’t run away. “I . . . I just want to . . . sniff your butt.”

Again she laughed heartily before looking at me. “You want to sniff my butt? You stalked me for a week because you want to sniff my butt?”

I nodded with chagrin and embarrassment and humiliation like I had known in the den back home. My eyes cast to the floor.

“That is . . . it’s crazy! You do all of this just because you want to sniff my butt. That’s hilarious!”

I didn’t know if she was laughing at me or more because buttsniffing seemed ridiculous to her. But, I have had my share of being laughed. At the den, they didn’t laugh at me because I was a buttsniffer because, if you know anything about canine clans, all males are buttsniffers. They laughed at me when my best friend ratted me out because I wanted to sniff a girl’s butt. It was more humiliation than I could handle and I am rather a recluse among my own kind. Some think it is the ultimate in perversion much like a human would feel if a little girl said she wanted to sniff a wolf’s butt. I explained all of that to Missy and she was sympathetic.

“Awwww now wolfie, I never thought about that—how wolfie are buttsniffers. Now I understand and now I believe you when you say that is all you want to do. So, I’ll tell you what . . . “

When she didn’t finish her sentence, I was all to eager to hear what she had to say. “What?” I asked.

“If you promise to let me go and you make me sure that my grandma is safe, I will let you.”

“Let me? What?”

“Silly wolfie. I will let you sniff my butt. Okay? Is it a deal? You promise me those things and I will let you sniff my butt as much as you want for twenty minutes. Okay?”

I was beside myself with excitement. I was fully embarrassed by my confession to her and even more would I be embarrassed actually doing it, but dammmmm, I had craved it for so long and she had actually agreed to it!

“Yes!” I declared. “Yes! And, your grandma is safe. She’s at the liquor store.”

“Figures,” she replied. “Okay then, how do you want to do it?”

I had her get on all fours at the edge of grandma’s bed, then drop from her hands and knees to her elbows and knees. I knelt behind her and she tugged her thin dress up to her waist and exposed her tight little butt with those thin little panties to my face.

“Do it wolfie. You have twenty minutes to sniff my butt.”

I couldn’t believe it. There it was, right in front of my face! That cute little butt I had lusted for from the bushes for a week. It was right in front of my face!

I was shaking. I moved my face forward. I put my nose to the very center of my greatest quest. I held it there without breathing. I couldn’t believe I had my face in Little Red Missy’s rear-end. I wanted to savor and anticipate the scent. I held my breath. I built my bravado. I pressed in enough to have my nostrils between her butt cheeks but not far enough to close off inhalation. And then . . . then . . . I sniffed Little Red Riding Hood’s butt. I sniffed and sniffed and savored the sweet scent. It was sweet and somewhat musky. It filled my entire being with her heavenly scent and I sniffed her butt and then I sniffed her butt and then I sniffed her butt! I couldn’t get enough.

When twenty minutes was up, she told me I had proved myself as a wolf of integrity. I pulled my face from her little ass and sat back. She told me I could have a few more minutes if I wanted more. Drool dropped from my tongue. I gathered my tongue to my mouth. I pressed my nose to her little butt and I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed and inhaled and savored the beautiful scent of her beautiful rosebud. It filled me completely and I loved every bit of it!

Yet suddenly, the door broke down and before I knew what was happening, the lumberjacks had entered. Instead of attacking me, they laughed. “He’s sniffing her ass! That wolf is a pervert! He’s smelling her ass! Are you okay Missy?” they asked.

I had jerked my face from her bottom, not soon enough to keep the lumberjacks for seeing what was happening, but soon enough to not let them see it for long. Missy had twisted herself and was sitting on the bed. “Oh yes, I’m okay. All he wanted was to sniff my butt so that’s what he was doing. He’s a pervy wolfie, but he’s harmless. Let him go in unharmed.”

They demanded I leave at once and I sheepishly [interesting word for a wolfie don’t ya think?] slinked away, my tail between my legs. The lumberjacks laughed and ridiculed and called me names like buttface and buttsniffer and one even called me a fartface. Their humiliation was familiar and it filled my ears, but the smell of Missy’s cute little rear-end filled my being and that trumped everything.

Missy waived at me and said, “Come back soon, if you dare. Pervert!” Then she laughed.

I couldn’t withhold the telling of this tale to my best friend who once again betrayed me to my den-mates and I was forced into deeper seclusion. My friend suggested I get therapy and I thought for awhile I might do so, but there was one problem that I realized would prevent therapy from being effective: I simply could say the right words to a therapist to make it work. I mean, I have no problem admitting that I am a buttsniffer. The problem is admitting that I sniffed a little girl’s butt. That would certainly make me the therapist’s target of great laughter and ridicule and our session would end then and there.

My friend asked me which was better to sniff; which did I like more, sniffing wolfie butt or girls’ butts and I have never hidden the fact that nothing smells as good as a girl’s butt. I admit it. Cast me aside; exile me from the den; do what you must, but the fact is, nothing smells as good as a girl’s butt, at least to me.

Now the imposters and third-party storytellers claim to be the wolf telling it all first-hand but you cannot believe their account and for one very good reason: In all tells of Little Red Riding Hood, the wolf is cut to pieces. How can a dismembered wolf tell the story? Mine is the only one with a surviving wolf and that explains why, as the lone living wolf, my story is to be believed. It’s the truth. Wolfie wasn’t a cannibal; wolfied is a girl-butt sniffer.

Space only permits this one telling of my experiences. There is more. * sigh * But, I won’t impose those stories on you unless there are those who express a desire to hear and to know.

I would have had this notorized for authenticity but all of the notary publics laughed and left.


The story revolves around a girl called Little Red Riding Hood, after the red hooded cape/cloak (in Perrault's fairytale) or simple cap (in the Grimms' version called Little Red-Cap) she wears. The girl walks through the woods to deliver food to her sickly grandmother (grape juice and banana bread, or wine and cake depending on the translation). In the Grimms' version at least, she had the order from her mother to stay strictly on the path.
A mean wolf wants to eat the girl, and the food in the basket. He secretly stalks her behind trees and bushes and shrubs and patches of little grass and patches of tall grass. He approaches Little Red Riding Hood and she naïvely tells him where she is going. He suggests the girl pick some flowers, which she does. In the meantime, he goes to the grandmother's house and gains entry by pretending to be the girl. He swallows the grandmother whole, (in some stories, he locks her in the closet), and waits for the girl, disguised as the grandma.
When the girl arrives, she notices that her grandmother looks very strange. Little Red then says, "What a deep voice you have," ("The better to greet you with"), "Goodness, what big eyes you have," ("The better to see you with") "And what big hands you have!" ("The better to hug/grab you with"), and lastly, "What a big mouth you have," ("The better to eat you with!") at which point the wolf jumps out of bed, and swallows her up too. Then he falls fast asleep.
You don’t want to eat me b/c that’s just one meal so you should stay and be friends and I will fix many a meal for you. Besides, the lumberjacks around here watch out for me so if they see I’ve disappeared and there’s my shape in your stomach, they will just do what they have to to rescue me which would not bode well for you.
Hmmm, good point Miss Hood.
Surely there must be something else I might do to build a bridge to our ongoing friendship and we can turn this tale into a real hoot.
A lumberjack (with the Brothers Grimm, and always in German tradition, a hunter), however, comes to the rescue and with his axe cuts open the wolf, who had fallen asleep. Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother emerge unharmed. They fill the wolf's body with heavy stones. The wolf awakens and tries to flee, but the stones cause him to collapse and die. (Sanitized versions of the story have the grandmother shut in the closet instead of eaten, and some have Little Red Riding Hood saved by the lumberjack as the wolf advances on her, rather than after she is eaten


Anonymous readerReport

2015-05-31 16:05:40
damn, everones been lieing to me all these years. think i'll tell this to my 8 year old daughter as a bedtime story. What do u think?

Anonymous readerReport

2014-08-07 22:39:55
Thank you for your article.Thanks Again. Really Great.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-08-07 20:59:55
I cannot thank you enough for the post. Great.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-08-07 19:26:14
Very good article.Thanks Again. Fantastic.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-08-07 18:12:44
This is one awesome blog.Really thank you! Cool.

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