I am a fox ...

My privacy is important to me. It is a matter of life and death, not to mince words. If the dogs got one whiff of where I am hiding, I would be in no end of trouble.

I live in a wood, that much I can reveal, and I write. How I write I will not tell you, because to do so might help my stalkers locate me.

Having said this much I start to doubt my project, and for a moment silently vanish into the undergrowth, to hide under a bush and to smell my tail, for reassurance.

Let's do a thought experiment. Are you aware of my friend Clayton's Hysterical Literature videos? In case not, here is a brief summary: volunteer ladies sit at a plain table reading from one of their favourite books. Underneath the table, and not in the shot, somebody, presumably a professional of some kind, is fiddling with their bits. You can hear the vibrator humming. Most of the readers last about eight minutes or so before they orgasm.

It is beautiful, a celebration of woman's sexuaity, and the mixture of porn and literature is powerful.

So here is the experiment: imagine a series of gentlemen in the same situation, reading from a book whilst under the table somebody, a professional, is tickling their tackle.

The reception would be different. At best it would be found hilariously funny, at worst seedy or gross. I mean, what happens to the junk?

I have to remain unverified because I wish to tell you about the things that I see whist I am silently lying under the bushes in my wood. One time, when a bold young lady was taking an evening swim in the river, I crept up and stole a very small, very personal, and very odour rich piece of her clothing.

I am not a good fox, and I hope you will not judge me too harshly.

THIS IS AN UNVERIFIED ACCOUNT - original fiction exclusively for Steemit