Her beauty overwhelms me. Marked by thorns and briars, brushed raw with the silk of a thousand forgotten roses I stand trembling over her recumbent form. With a scored and stinging hand I brush away the cobweb coat of gossamer, the white and sticky stuff that has coated her sweet face, an imagined shroud for a living girl.
Her lips, plump and puckered lure me in with the tasty freshness of a wine ope in its season, aged to perfection and ripe to be enjoyed. I have braved the briars, hacked the branches, done what princes before me attempted to do without success. I have scaled the rusting castle gates, navigated the crumbling ruinous staircases past grinning skeletons leaning on rotting furnishings to reach this lonely tower, to rescue this princess lost in time.
I am a true prince and therefore a true hero.
The swell of her apple-round breasts tempts me forth, brings me to ground with longing. She will not awake if I do not kiss, so I do not. I reach out a bleeding hand and gently caress the flesh for which I have suffered. My gods! She is still warm!
Slowly, slowly I peel back her petticoats like layers of an onion. First one, then two, then many ... the puzzle of her garments seems interminable. Turning her I find that she is warm throughout, she breathes yet she sleeps on. My perfect princess. This will be our secret, yours and mine. If anyone dares ask you will think yourself a virgin auto-sodomized by her own chastity, my beautiful slumbering girl.