It Takes a Troll
Even good girls have to pay the troll…
Ginny’s little sister Megan has always been the quiet one – the nice one, the sweet one, without any of Ginny’s wild streak or abundant assets. At least, that’s what everyone says, but Megan is sick of being everyone’s little angel and is looking to rebel.
When she nerves herself up to check out a hookup spot Ginny mentioned once, the last thing she expects to find is a crash course in how real fables are, or a monstrous troll who will teach teach her the dangers of fairy tales and demand a toll from her innocent body… one that Megan, finding her own wild streak at last, is happy to pay.
Her sandals, when she strode boldly across the bridge, slapped in brisk claps against the stones. It was old, that bridge, all rough rocks and weathered cement holding it together, with low stone sides. Pretty enough, in a rustic way, but nothing supernatural about it.
Megan stepped off onto the packed dirt path on the other side and whirled, hands planted on her hips. “There!” she declared, for the empty bridge and the birds to hear. “Nothing there, she was just trying to scare me. There’s no such thing as trolls.”
“Sure of that, are ya?”
The man’s voice, low and gravely, made Megan gasp, her heart abruptly pounding in her throat. He unfolded himself from the bank down by the shadowed side of the bridge - she had looked there, she knew she had, and there had been nothing even remotely human sized or shaped.
He was tall - tall and solid, more muscles cording his long limbed frame than Megan had ever seen on anyone, even the jocks in her high school. All of that musculature was gloriously bare, from the top of his wild shock of hair right to his bare feet, with nothing but the barest scrap, hardly bigger than a speedo, containing the largest bulge at his crotch that Megan had ever seen.