ANGIE'S OUTDOOR ANTICS END? - short story

a bee

Those who thought the last installment of Angie's Outdoor Adventures was the epitome of bad writing and worse taste may have been right. But it wasn't the last word in either area. That distinction is reserved for this week's episode. However, those who think it might now be safe to re-enter the literary waters should be aware that an idea for another installment is fermenting in a dark corner of what passes for my brain.

Bayou Bill

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Angie’s Outdoor Antics End?
by Bill Fullerton


This could be the Garden of Eden, thought Angie Everyready, except that ancient arcadia lacked a heated swimming pool and spa. In reality, she was in the backyard of her Greek/Italian chiropractor, Dr. Ari A. Fresca. But that was close enough for her. She lay stretched out on a towel, nude and glistening with suntan oil, near a pool designed to resemble a natural pond.

Birds sang in the big oak at the far end of the yard. Ivy and honeysuckle covered the high, privacy fence and formed the background for an incredible variety of spring flowers. It was easy to imagine herself in the midst of a warm, clean, and friendly woodland hideaway.

Angie liked all the flowers, although roses, orchids, tulips, and daises were about the only ones she could tell apart. Still, the ones here were so gorgeous they could turn anyone into a plant-nut, like Dr. Fresca. It was cute the way he seemed so proud and happy, even excited, talking about his organic gardening techniques while pointing out Jonquils, Camellias, Bougainvillea, and Crocuses. By now she couldn’t remember which was what, but it didn’t matter.

The only thing that did matter was Dr. Fresca’s fantastic fingers working over her back. It would lead to their making love, she was sure of that. And while the middle-aged divorced doctor with the thin moustache looked a bit greasy for her taste, she didn’t regret accepting his invitation. It would be nice making love outside without having to worry about ants, redbugs, mosquitoes, poison ivy, and prying dogs.

Of course, she should be back on campus at Wodehouse College, helping get things ready for the upcoming Earth Day celebration. But if there really was a time and place for everything, then this was the perfect place and the right time for her to get total-body massage and tan before making love amide all this bucolic backyard beauty.

Dr. Fresca said he was finished with her back and, somewhat hesitantly, suggested she might want to turn over. He’d seen her bare backside many times while treating her strained lower back, but had enjoyed little more than brief glimpses of her front half. Angie paused to let the suspense mount. Then she looked around, gave him a languid smile and asked for help turning over.

The gasp that followed her maneuver was most satisfying. Angie was accustomed to such involuntary compliments. However, and this may strike some as hard to believe, as is often the case with so many modern women, she didn’t like her figure. Oh, she appreciated its advantages and the reactions it generated, such as the one by Dr. Fresca. But her self-image was of a girl a few pounds past pleasingly plump. If given the choice, she’d have preferred one of those slimmer, more athletic figures that were so in vogue. It should be noted that no male of her acquaintance shared that preference.

Through absolutely no effort on her part, she possessed the type of non-athletic figure that, though perhaps a bit too pulchritudinous to meet contemporary fashion standards, could stop traffic even when fully clothed. When adorned only in a string bikini, it had been known to turn women sick with envy and men into catatonic zombies. This extravagant endowment came complete with a full package of attention grabbing extras such as: long dark hair, full lips, big brown eyes, and a warm, light-olive complexion.

In this case, the string bikini was floating somewhere in the pool. The top had fallen victim to early horseplay while the bottom joined it prior to Dr. Fresca’s just completed treatment of her lower back. Therefore, the good doctor was now gaping at a totally unencumbered view of the bounty mother nature had bestowed on Angie. Once the initial shock wore off, he emitted a garbled noise somewhat reminiscent of the legendary bacchanalian cry of, “Evo!” and dove for the wonder of nature spread out before him.

For the next few minutes, he snacked his way up Angie’s smorgasbord of erotic delights while shucking off his swimming trunks. By the time their lips meet, she was in post-climactic bliss, while his state of arousal had redlined somewhere way beyond 100% and was still climbing.

The coupling that followed was invigorating, but brief, climaxing, so to speak, with Dr. Fresca gritting his teeth, shaking his balding head and letting out a long, primeval groan. Moments later, his heaving, sweating body seemed to melt over Angie’s flushed figure. With her exhausted lover’s labored breathing, it was hard to understand his words, but they sounded sweet which made her smile.

Then he kissed her and, letting out a contended sigh, rolled off.

That was a mistake. Astute readers may recall that at the opening to this narrative, Angie was stretched out beside a pool. Since then she had turned over, but not moved away. If anything, she was even closer. The upshot was the good doctor now rolled off her warm body and into the pool.

This was not a disaster on the scale of her own recent plunge into a cold mountain stream. He took the experience with the sort of good humor one might expect from a middle-aged man who, while aware he may have looked a trifle foolish, has just nailed a gorgeous young college girl prior to falling into his own heated pool.

They laughed and the doctor suggested he go fix them some drinks. Angie asked him to first give her a new coating of suntan oil. He agreed, of course, but insisted she try some of his all-natural coconut oil lotion instead of the petroleum based product she preferred.

Angie thought about mentioning that petroleum WAS a natural product, but her mood was way too mellow to argue. So she agreed and rolled back over on her stomach. There was more post-coital laughing and teasing as he applied a thick coating from her feet to her neck, giving special emphasis to her bountiful bottom.

The warmth of the spring sun and the feel of Dr. Fresca’s fingers added to Angie’s post-sex lassitude. Maybe that’s why she paid little attention to what he said about the flowers and bees. But after he got out of the pool, Angie noticed a buzzing sound. Thus prompted, she asked the departing doctor to repeat what he’d said about bees.

“Just be a little careful,” he said, from the doorway. His voice sounded casual, reassuring. “With all these new blossoms, I’m sure there’s nothing really to worry about. But sometimes bees can be attracted to coconut oil. If they start bothering you, just roll into the….”

Angie was no longer listening, at least not to Dr. Fresca. That bee was back. How she knew it was the same bee is unclear. But there was no doubt in her mind as to the insect’s identity. As the doctor talked on and on about bees, the buzzing got louder and louder, then ended with a rather quiet, splat.

The scream that followed was reported to have cracked windows over a three-block radius and generated a record number of calls to 911.

Angie would forever feel a deep, emotional connection with bovines being branded. The agony of a red-hot iron being pressed against their hide was one she could understand. Why one bee would find her bottom more appealing than the numerous flowers remains a mystery. But for that bee, the right cheek of Angie’s coconut oil covered rear had proved irresistible.

After-action damage assessment

Angie:
1. One bee sting on right buttock
2. A painfully swollen right buttock (see number one)
3. Total loss of any desire to sit or sleep on her back
4. Loss of all desire to ever make love outdoors ever again, not in her lifetime, not with Dr. Fresca, not with anyone, not if it meant taking vows and becoming a nun.

Dr. Ari A. Fresca:
1. Loss of one patient, Angie
2. Loss of a second helping that day of, Angie
3. Loss of all hope for any more afternoons with, Angie
4. Loss of three pieces of antique crystal stemware thanks to Angie’s high-pitched scream

--

Days later, as the Earth Day celebration on the park-like campus at Wodehouse College was breaking up, Angie noticed Ernie talking to some mutual friends.

Buford the Beagle, the inquisitive dog who had cold-nosed her at the worst possible time in the worst possible place, was the first one to see her approaching. No doubt recalling her very negative reaction to his sniffing out the action, so to speak, between she and Ernie, he now sought protection behind his master’s legs.

Thanks in no small part to having recovered from the bee sting, Angie was in a peaceful mode. While her attitude toward Buford remained, at best, ambivalent, she missed Ernie. After sampling a wide variety of male student, and non-student, bodies she realized he was a keeper.

Though tall and almost skinny, he had a great smile and his looks were okay. The important thing was his being a nice guy who seemed to like her even when she had clothes on. It didn’t hurt that he was smart. Nor did it hurt that he was a great lover with incredible stamina and, oh, dear god, great equipment. Sure he didn’t think much of sex outdoors, but that just proved how smart he was. Of course, he also refused to part with Buford the Beagle. But hadn’t poor Buford just been doing what natured intended beagles to do? Besides, if she and Ernie were inside, the bedroom door should prevent any future Buford accidents.

After a round of hello’s and some small talk, Angie decided if she wanted Ernie back, and she did, she better work on Buford. So she lay down on the grass and began coaxing. As has been mentioned, Angie possessed a special talent for coaxing men, and Buford was a guy-type dog. Soon he was on his back with a contended look on his face as Angie scratched his stomach.

A few hours later, Angie was also on her back with a contended look on her face. She was inside Ernie’s apartment and stretched out on the rumpled sheets of his bed. They had just paused for the first time in their lovemaking. He’d gone to get them something to drink. Angie lay with her eyes closed, savoring the pleasant, pulsing sensations in her body.

Her reverie was interrupted by a click-click-clicking sound approaching the bed. Looking over, she saw Buford. He’d slipped in the door Ernie left open when he went for drinks and was now skulking across the hardwood floor. His primary goal was to retrieve the delicious rawhide chewy he’d hidden under the bed. But like most dogs, if given the chance, he’d be more than happy to hop onto the bed. Ernie seldom permitted this favor due to Buford’s propensity for loud snoring.

Unaware of either motive, Angie looked upon the dog with a new sympathy. Maybe it was his eyes. They bore a striking resemblance to those of Ralph, the incompetent, lying, idiot who told her it was safe to make love in ant infested nest of poison ivy. She would have never gone with him except for the promise of a scenic waterfall, and his soft, puppy-dog eyes. Now here was Buford with the real thing. Angie patted the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he jumped up beside her.

The “her” he’d jumped up beside was nude, uncovered and still warm from the extended love making with Ernie. While beagles possess many fine qualities, they are not high IQ dogs. If you want a canine to take your SAT or GRE, get a Border Collie. Even those fond of beagles, acknowledge they are essentially a nose with four legs and a tail.

It is to Buford’s credit therefore, that he now displayed what must be categorized as animal cunning by snuggling up along Angie’s hip, putting him in perfect position for some serious head stroking. This might be as close to heaven as a beagle can get on this earth. He was in bed, next to a warm body with all sorts of interesting smells, and being petted. It crossed his beagle version of a brain that this was a lot better than sleeping alone at night on the old couch in the living room.

That’s when Ernie reappeared carrying snacks and drinks. The two males exchanged glances. Then both looked at Angie. Unaware of having triggered the territorial imperative, one of the strongest instincts nature has seen fit to bestow upon males of any specie, she continued to pet Buford while smiling at Ernie.

As he approached the bed, Buford lifted his head and then, in what impartial scientific observers, had there been any present, would no doubt have labeled a very territorial gesture, rested his chin on Angie’s thigh. With lowered eyelids he stared across her warm, shapely nude form at the person who had raised him from a puppy—and growled.

Which proves once again gentle readers, that while you can take both man and beast out of nature’s wilds, you can’t take the wild nature out of either one. Especially, if Angie Eveready is around.