If I could keep my head through all the grunts and slaps then I'd really get some work done; problem was, Emy was in rare form. Something about the approaching Summer Solstice always puts my sister in a—let's say—a more then generous mood. So I knew I had my work cut out for me—all alone—organizing the picnic.

Although it was true that I ran the glade better then any other female fairy could—I kept all the accounts; updated the client list; ran interference when hunters came through—I could have still used some help. Especially this year. The last thing I needed was to be reminded of my own little secret as I poured over the guest list. Sure, nobody would ever be the wiser as they threw mead down their gullets but I shuttered to think about all the trolls who would be there, not to mention all the other folk who were more than ripe for a big juicy controversy at this year's festivities.

And it was my job to get all the folk together!

"Em, you get the chance, take a look at my list, okay?" I tried.

Emy turned her blonde head, holding the switch to her side with a sigh. Of course the bent man in front of her hadn't heard my telepathy, he merely thought my sister was metering his punishment, making him wait. He was a big guy, human, first time over here and by the beating he was getting I imagined it would be his first and only time; you want a supernatural dominatrix you pay for it. . . more ways than one!

As the man's naked buttocks clenched in anticipation Emy answered: "Little sister, I got to finish him up and then I got the whole night booked."

Of course I knew well her schedule; I was the one who handled the calls. The least my blonde-haired sister could do was give me two of her precious minutes at the end of this session, but I decided not to push the point.

And God, how I hated it when she called me ‘little sister'! (although I damn well was!)

I left the scene of Emy's latest triumph and walked to the far eastern edge of the glade. Passing the Knowing Swamp (although not too much a-knowing lately ever since my fat cousin Simul fell in it during a drunken weekend with a couple of college coeds. . . but that's a story for another time) I headed for my favorite spot. Sitting on one of the largest sitting stones, I let my pointy chin fall to my chest as a full wave of what-the-hell-did-I-get-myself-into washed around my three foot high frame. True, every year I came to this circle of five stones, sat my shapely butt down on this very same rock and complained to no one as Emy or one of the other girls took another client to task across the Yielding Tree or the Dipping Well. But this year—damn it—this year I was walking a very thin edge.

Kabanale and I had done our best (and so far had been successful) in keeping our affair private. Now with the approaching picnic—a heady three days where all folk met to laugh and toast good fortune—I silently worried if the troll and I could keep the nosy and the intuitive (in my line of work one becomes intuitive by first being nosy) from discerning our mutual, acted upon lust.

A lust no one would take kindly to.

"Little one, little one," the black voice boomed from over my bent head. "Where do you go?"

I didn't look up; I didn't need to. I knew who it had to be that had suddenly blinked into existence.

"Hey, Smizi Hane," I said to the ground and buried the palm of my hands into the downy ridges over my eyes. "What's the word?"

"Little one, the magic light of this forest is a halo about you," the wizard sang as I looked up at him then.

"You should really give that a rest," I pleaded to the little man floating before me. "Don't they make you change your patter every year?"

"The only magic at a Renaissance Fair is its unending stream of sameness," the bearded man explained through a low chuckle. At that precise moment a rather spectacular crack sounded across the glade and Smizi Hane and I both looked across to the leaping figure of a naked man sprinting fast and far from a smiling Emy.

"I know that girl is good for business, but. . ." the wizard's words faded off.

"Last thing I need right now is to care a Treebrine's hair about how my sister does her job," I spat to the wizard who had floated down to drape the ends of his heavy blue cloak on the smaller rock next to me. "I got bigger problems."

"Picnic blues?" Smizi Hane suggested.

As usual the sight and odd berry scent of the wizard began to calm me. Smizi Hane has that way about him, even on us folk his powers work wonders. It was no wonder he was so well liked among all the factions, and especially among us fairies.

"That's a big nut to crack," he continued, "and it all falls on your shoulders, huh?"

"Every year." I added.

"But business is good." he continued, "Must be a delight to see all the folk in one glade for the day."

"Yeah." I softly agreed.

Fact was, business lately had been very, very good. Smizi Hane knew as well as anybody that the money we were bringing in now was unlike any we had ever seen. Sure there were pay-backs, everybody wanted their palms (furry and otherwise) greased these days, but all the folk had built businesses that had birthed a gold mine. There wasn't a human alive who didn't have a hankering for some magical do-do: whether that do-do was to be beaten by a diminutive female with pointy ears that lived in a forest glade, or having their fortune predicted by a heavyset wizard at a Renaissance Fair, whose eyes actually glowed when he stared up at you. Now that the fringe had been breached and our truce agreed upon all the folk were making money, good money, on a steady basis.

"Even the trolls come." the wizard continued through my ruminations.

A little day-dreaming never bothers a wizard's conversation, since they can easily read your mind. If Smizi Hane could read deep though—actually I knew he could, the question was, was he at that moment?—he would have known that I had been thinking about Kabanale—my own little troll. I had no way of knowing if the wizard was being facetious or just making conversation.

"I could lend a—"

"No, no," I said and placed a soft hand to the old man's bristled forearm, "I wasn't fishing for that. I'm just complaining to the wind, is all."

"The wind has no ears my dear." the wizard said, standing in what had to be his best I-am-a-wizard pose.

"Save it for the fair." I scolded and stood. The man placed a soft hand to my head and in a second I was back across the glade.

"Be careful." Smizi Hane's voice tickled my ears as I stood alone.

My head was filled with a vision then, so precise and heated, from so deep in my memory that I knew full well that the wizard knew my secret and his be careful was about more then just my picnic plans.

I saw Kabanale standing with his broad hairy back to me. He had been bending over into a wide tree stump when I happened upon him. It was the second time we had met. The first had been filled with a lot of sideways glances and coughs, as a group of his brothers loosened a griffin from our Yielding Tree. This time—this scene that Smizi Hane had plucked from my memory—had occurred two weeks after the griffin event and now some seven months before this day I stood here thinking back on it.

In nervousness I had coughed and still Kabanale didn't turn. Of course he knew I had come up upon him—trolls' senses are even stronger then fairies'—and I took his ignoring me as I sign that I should turn to leave. But I was fascinated by this broad stooped back, the bristle of dark hair and the way his jerkin pinched his left shoulder. I was fascinated even more because I was so fascinated by this lowly troll—that I had never paid mind to before—to begin with.

"This is dangerous." Kabanale said then, in that low sing-song voice of his.

"Very." I agreed and then the troll turned and I saw his weak smile.

I don't know who moved to whom but in my vision the next scene I recalled was Kabanale and I, on the ground, his heavy weight atop me, my thin clothes scattered under my powdery body. As he clamped his mouth to my face, his hairy hands found my little breasts and he pulled my rosy thick nipples in a pinch that all but made me nearly loose my breath. I locked my long limbs around his hairy hide as his heavy weight crushed me to the bramble and I cried quick and deep when I felt him reach between us to undue his trousers and lift my skirt. We huffed and rolled for a minute, maybe two, as we undid ourselves.

I shifted and then with one grand push he entered me. I don't remember allowing or refusing as I felt his coarse, thick member enter up into my heated little place. Spread impossibly wide, sweat poured down my luminescent skin as the leaves crinkled under my ass and I gulped for air. If anyone had described a scene such as this I would have turned a pointed ear in disgust, but as it was I had been heated beyond a point I had never been before.

The troll's clumsy friction and the sweet wood's smell caused me to the swoon even then as I recalled it all.

"Where are you?" Emy said as she passed me. With a new switch in her hand she walked by me, beginning her transformation in the slightly swirling leaves.

"I got a six o'clock at the outer ridge."

Like I've said, I knew full well my sister's schedule and as I watched her leave, the vision Smizi Hane had allowed me went with her. At the sight of Emy's long green pants transforming into leather chaps my mind snapped once again to the bright day around me.

While there are plenty of men—some women too, but mostly our trade is men—who will transverse miles, accepting the magical powers that we fairies have and come to the forest to meet their desire, there is an even equal number who will not accept anything less then the typical, leather clad, voluptuous dominatrix who maintains a modest apartment in a teeming metropolis. We provide both services. By the time she made the outer ridge Emy would be the aforementioned mentioned seductress and hop a cab to her small studio apartment to await her six o'clock.

As my sister faded from my view I caught sight of Bristinm and Majercou making their way back. I had hardly any dealings with trolls besides my lover. Our glade was busy enough with the S/M trade but we were all cordial since the truce, so I gave the two a wave as they did the same. A troll's business is forever shrouded in secrecy; I had never even inquired of Kabanale (not that we really spoke so much when we met). None of the other folk really had an idea what it was our squat burly brethren sold or traded, or how they had insinuated themselves into human society. We just assumed that their trade was like ours, existing on the outskirts of the nefarious, not illegal but not exactly normal either. Whatever it was they did, they went along with their business, held to the truce and brought great thick sweat meats to the picnic every year, so who could complain?

But I knew, as well as anyone that a few games of dundle ball, shared pipes and sweat meats didn't quell the inherent caution all the folks held for one another. Things had been so bad back before the truce that even the dragons—what there was left of them—hid underground (the humans can blame global warming all they like, we know difference). And this history was why I was really nervous. I mean if anyone ever knew about Kabanale and I. . . Truce or no truce, a fairy and a troll were never to be lovers.

The glade was quiet now, all but the brightest maypegs fluttering in the canopy of green trees overhead and I sat down to regard my list once again. There was his name forth line down on the yellowing parchment, part of the group known as Mertin Cold Brethren. I barely knew my lover's other brothers and wasn't looking forward to meeting them.

Kabanale and I were walking on thin ice here.

I could rationalize my affair all I wanted, the truth was that being the Administratrix for a wood dungeon such as I was did keep my libido on edge. I could give a good damn either way for spankings, or hot sap on scrotums (although some of the human men do have quite thick penises) but just the sheer number of sweating bodies I see bent over the Yielding Tree, or gazing at the tight bodices Emy or some of the other girls wiggle into sometimes, heats me to such degree that I have to treat myself to a few laps around the Knowing Swamp just to cool off! I know there are the whispers about me, I do keep my private life very private, but if anyone really knew, really had any idea that I was rubbing my flaxen open thighs around the coarse hair of a troll's ass there would be controversy the likes of which the forest had yet to see.

For I had yet to admit to Kabanale, least of all to myself, that I damn well needed that troll, hungered for him, ached to have him fill me, more then I had ever ached for anything in my long life. I knew no bond of sanity around him, but I didn't care to. I wanted to swallow his scent and open my every whispery hole to his command. I yearned to be under him and sweating for the rest of my days. . . And if I got close to him at the picnic—as I knew I surely would be forced to—then there would be no disguising the rash of purple to my sharp face or the quivering of my legs.

I had a picnic to plan while my life was unraveling!

There had to be a way. There had to be some subterfuge I could plan so that I could be in the same open glade with that troll and not loose my very soul. Let's face it, there are score of folk more intuitive (or nosy) then my own sisters. One of any number of elves, wizards, even some of the few humans we invite would feel my heat within minutes and the rumor would spread like a wildfire whisper across the day. I had seen it before. Three years previous there had been a near public damnation for Amberstron Contrin, the apprentice of Wizard Herin Entrwian. The young boy had secretly applied to a human University and his secret was on the picnic wind hours before he had the chance to break the news to his teacher.

No, there had to be a way for Kabanale and I to get through the day, be in each other's presence and not reveal our true hearts.

Wasn't concealment an art that fairies practiced to precision? Even among the folk we are considered masters, I mused. There must be a way. . .

Magic knows magic. We folk had such a hard time before the truce because we trucked in the egocentric sport of trying to best one another with our spells and little feats. Yes, maybe a troll could conceal a load-stone for a month or two, or maybe a fairy could accomplish a few transformations without being noticed, but very rarely did any of us every get beyond a stalemate with our arts. It took us a very long time but we all finally realized we could profit greatly if we stopped bickering amongst ourselves and used our magics communality, to help one another. Crossing the fringe, we began an interaction that was deeper, more fulfilling and more profitable then any of us ever realized. We had combined our strengths, our unyielding magics and become who we were today.

Watching the still breeze tickle the leaves above my head then, I realized that the best way for Kabanale and I to approach the picnic day, to avoid all those inquisitive eyes, pointy ears and snarling mouths was to forget our most overused, communal bond. . .

Everyone would be expecting magic, we would give them none of it!

* * *

I was holding Kabanale's hand when Emy walked up with the Shise amulet.

"Nice." I remarked.

"Bristinm never shows that to anyone!" Kabanale remarked through a low chuckle.

"Your brother is quite the charmer." my sister remarked to my lover.

"This is certainly the day to make new friends." Kabanale said and nodded to both of us before releasing his hand from mine.

"Got to admit it little sister," Emy continued, "I never paid them much mind before, but they are a nice bunch once you get to know them."

"Yes, Kabanale has been telling me such stories." I said, as we began to walk. Across the long lawn we could see Smizi Hane and his two students, Eril and Jiji playing a game of float with two of our younger sisters and a human man and his pig-tailed daughter.

"Every year we all get closer." my sister remarked.

If she only knew how close, I snickered to myself as I took Emy's arm in mine.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," my sister said, snapping me from my musings. The sun was hot here as we crossed to the one of the many tents, past the sweating jumps of the wizard and his float players. "I wouldn't want one really. I mean they are trolls. . ."

"That they are." I agreed.

"It's just that today I am seeing such a different side to things." Emy said to the wind as if she was making a plea to the very air around us.

"The picnic almost makes me believe in hope. You do us proud little sister." she turned to me and then cackled loudly, "Got to get this back to that old bald troll before he starts huntin' for me. You don't suppose I could test my new switch on his—No, no." she added, "Only joking. Only joking."

I was left to stand in that bright patch of sun, laughter and deep wood smells as I looked around and across the glade. I found Kabanale staring back at me, smiling. This morning, easy as you please, we actually sought each other out as the wood-elves setup their hearths and Smizi Hane came to supervise the jousting ring. My lover and I joked a good half hour at the side of one of the tents before one of his brothers came over and he introduced me. It was as if we were simply old friends meeting to share an early morning welcome. We employed no magic to hide our lust: no scent spell to mask my obvious pheromone rush; no concealment cloak to cover Kabanale's quickly rising chest. We just acted in accord with the day and forgot about any trickery. My troll and I decided to address our attraction by having it appear right in front of us. We laughed, smiled, touched each other easily. This was our flawless plan.

There would be nothing to see because there would be nothing hidden. With the folk it was always the hidden that was easiest to see, the masked detectable, a spell to be forever challenged. Kabanale and I wielded no magic this day, except the honest warm feelings we already felt for one another. No one, from wizard, to unicorn, to my sister, to the verbose wood elves would be the wiser. The folk look for subterfuge, so let them look. Kabanale and I would provide none this day.

There would be enough time for magic later, when we were alone.

About the Author:

Ralph Greco is an internationally published author of essays, fiction, poetry and plays. His work has appeared in various small press, major markets and on-line. He tends to work cross-genre, but considers himself a satirical fantasist with a strong eye on the erotic.