ANGIE'S WATERFALL WOES - short story

A Corbett National Park Waterfall

If you considered, Outdoor Angie: a cautionary tale, to be a piece of poorly written prose exhibiting, at best, questionable taste, odds are you're really going to hate its sequel, this week's contribution to the decline of English letters, Angie's Waterfall Woes.

note: The two main characters in this tale are college students who go around thinking about, preparing for, participating in, and recovering from a certain earthy activity--in this case conducted in the great outdoors. However, the goal is to be funny, not erotic. Honest.

Bayou Bill

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Angie’s Waterfall Woes
by Bill Fullerton

As a firm adherent of the, “If it feels good, do it,” school of social behavior, Angie Eveready was not given to long bouts of contemplation. But in the wake of her somewhat-less-than-successful attempt to fulfill her fantasy of making love in the great outdoors, she felt the current situation required a good, old-fashioned think.

The perfect place for such deep introspection was stretched out on a massage table while a sweet chiropractor named Dr. Ari A. Fresca did all sorts of delicious things to her bare back, and shoulders, and thighs, and bottom.

Her first taste of sylvan sex, a romp in the woods with Ernie, had been a total blast—at first. But it ended in failure when his dog, Buford the Beagle, nosed into the act, so to speak, in a very up-close and personal way.

That unsatisfactory experience had lead to second thoughts about her fantasy, not to mention insect bites, a crick in her neck, muscle strains in her back, scratches, a minor concussion, and a spring cold.

That’s when Ralph showed up. Like most members of the small student body at Wodehouse College, he was a friend of a friend. They met at an Earth Day planning session.

Ralph was a sharp dresser and fast talker. Many otherwise charitable observers considered him a low-life, slime-ball. Others insisted he was more like a case of persistent jock itch. But he had these soft, puppy-like eyes that, for no discernable reason, gave certain females the mistaken impression they could safely confide in him.

It wasn’t long before Angie joined that number, confessing her love of the wilderness and her long-held fantasy of communing with nature by making love in the great out-of-doors. After her third post-planning session beer at Ralph’s apartment, she even admitted to her recent failure in this regard. She then granted Ralph a sample of what would be in-store should she ever achieve the long-sought natural nirvana.

All this fired Ralph with an even greater zeal to help Angie fulfill her fantasy. The term “even greater” is appropriate, for when it came to face and figure, mother nature had been very kind to Angie. She possessed the type of body the late Aldous Huxley would no doubt have described as, “pneumatic.” While her long legs, shapely bottom and generous bosom diverted the attention of most men, those who managed to lift their gaze could behold an exquisite, Madonna-like face that featured dark-brown eyes, full lips, and a smile that was both beatific and seductive.

It was an accepted truth around campus that whatever Ralph might lack in looks, smarts, and class, he more than made up for with a line of solid-gold BS. Using this skill, he convinced Angie her problem with outdoor sex wasn’t the fantasy or setting, but her male partner. She needed a guy who wouldn’t bring a dog along, someone who had access to a mountain cabin near a waterfall, and who knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness. In other words, she needed a fellow nature-lover like Ralph.

By Ralph’s somewhat loose standards, he wasn’t lying, not really. While he wouldn’t know a raccoon from a rhino, he did know enough not to bring along a dog. He also thought that, with a little luck, he might be able to wangle a remote cabin he spent a miserable night in many years ago. To consider his claim that he knew everything anyone needed to know about the wilderness as valid, however, one would need to accept his contention that all any sane person needed to know about the wilderness was to stay the hell out of the place.

Though Angie was just a freshman, she possessed a remarkably inclusive attitude towards men. Still, a guy with a face eerily similar to that of a ferret, an ill proportioned body built by years of easy living, and the personality of a two-faced rat, would seem an unlikely candidate for her favors. But those soft eyes and the promise of a mountain cabin near a waterfall proved too much to resist. She agreed.

The cabin in question was the seldom used property of a friend of the second wife of one of Ralph’s cousins. Angie was told it belonged to his uncle. The location played a large role in its limited use. Reaching it required an extended hike up, and up, and up a long, narrow, overgrown trail. Even well-conditioned day-trippers found the feat a challenge. For those who were out-of-shape, and toting a backpack loaded with enough supplies for a weekend, it was an experience that could crush both body and soul.

Being a gentleman, and a man whose idea of exercise was popping the top on another beer, Ralph let Angie lead the way. This gesture accomplished two things. It kept her from seeing him sweating and straining while giving him a highly motivating, low-angle view of her ample bottom in motion. This inspirational view managed to keep him climbing that long, long trail even as he felt a growing kinship with those who endured the Bataan Death March.

No doubt spurred on by the vision undulating before him, Ralph managed to reach the cabin without collapsing or throwing up. While Angie admired the tall hardwood trees surrounding the cabin, Ralph tried to unlatch the door. This proved a time consuming process. Due to a combination of lust and exhaustion, his fingers refused to stop shaking.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, at least by savvy outdoor-types, that unoccupied, rustic cabins acquire a memorable, earthy aroma. This is most evident when first entering the structure. Consider for a moment the stale, dusty smell of Grandma’s attic. To that add mold, mildew, animal droppings and a funky essence similar to that of athletic socks left all summer in a poorly ventilated gym locker, and you begin to get the idea.

It was Ralph’s plan to get Angie inside, spread out the sleeping bags, and begin the first of what he hoped would be many boisterous bounces in the cabin. The strong, heady scent that wafted out of the cabin door, along with the sound of that waterfall, cancelled his plan.

When he tried to get her inside, she gave him a big kiss, giggled and slipped away. Her idea was to leave the door open so the cabin could air out while they went to find the waterfall. This didn’t seem like a very good idea to Ralph who was both horny and still exhausted from the climb.

Those who have read the account of Angie’s earlier adventure may recall her amazing ability to coax men into doing virtually anything she wants. On this arboreal occasion, the quick removal of her t-shirt did the trick.

In justice to Ralph, it must be reported that few men, living or dead, could resist the sight of her bountiful bosom. Angie’s breasts were large and shapely with the springy tautness of youth. To the slack-jawed Ralph, their large, erect nipples seemed to be pointing right at him. When Angie turned and headed for the falls, he followed like some dumb ox after a carrot dangled just inches from his reach.

The waterfall in question proved so impressive, it managed to get Ralph’s mind off Angie’s breasts for a good ten seconds. To him, the place looked like a jungle scene from some Tarzan movie. A thin stream of water seemed to appear by magic high in the forest before plunging down an almost vertical cliff face into a rocky, tree-lined pool.

The sight of Angie sitting on a rock and taking off her hiking boots diverted Ralph’s attention and raised, among other things, his hopes. To his disappointment, she didn’t remove her shorts. Instead, she moved to the edge of the pool, found another rock to sit on, and began splashing her feet in the water.

This was better than nothing, he decided, and joined her. The water was colder than the proverbial well-digger’s derriere in the Dakotas, but it felt good on his hot, sweaty feet. Something told him not to rush Angie, that his time would come, soon. In a rare display of patience, he put an arm around her shoulders and they just sat, savoring the spectacle.

But they were young and healthy. Ralph was also very horny. As for Angie, little was ever required to stir her primal instincts. Now she was falling under the romantic spell of the waterfall. So when Ralph took one of her breasts in his free hand and nuzzled her neck, she responded in a most positive manner.

Passion is one thing, however, practicality another. In this case, their passion to copulate ran into the reality that there was no way they could do so on that rock.

Ralph’s very practical suggestion—that they return to the cabin—met with adamant resistance from Angie. She didn’t agree to hike all the way up here and spend the weekend with a lesser life form like Ralph just to get it on in some dirty, stuffy cabin when they could be making love beside such a beautiful wonder of nature.

This attitude initiated a search, best described as frantic, by the hyper-horny Ralph. While Angie sat on her rock, contemplating the waterfall, he moved furiously around the edge of the pond, looking for a flat surface. Tucked away near the spot where the pool ended and the stream recommenced its downhill journey, he found that for which he sought.

It was a secluded nook, just up from a little strip of sand. Having once scored on the beach, he was glad there was a fern-like ground covering to keep the sand and dirt off them. Not that he really cared. That would be Angie’s problem. But he wanted to keep her happy, horny, and humping. With a yelp of triumph, he rushed back around the pool to claim his prize.

Angie thought the spot was great. She turned and gave the beaming Ralph a big kiss while pulling off his shirt. It fell to the ground and she rubbed her breasts against his pale chest, letting her hard nipples slip through the sparse chest hairs. With a cry of outdoor joy, she hugged him close and let him start working on her shorts while she gazed over his shoulder at the waterfall.

They were still in the midst of this embrace when the wind shifted. It had been coming up the mountain. The most significant effect being to blow the mist and spray away from anyone who happened to be at the base of the waterfall. Now it was blowing down the mountain. As a result, tiny droplets of ice-cold mountain stream water were being directed their way.

Both lovers noticed the chilling effect of the wind change at the same time. Their reactions, however, differed. Ralph was all for returning to the snug dry, cabin. Angie, whose outdoor fantasies included making love in the rain, decided spray from the nearby waterfall was a more than acceptable alternative, and insisted they stay.

In his excited condition, it took very little coaxing on her part before Ralph agreed. However, he urged her to go ahead and crawl into their hide-away. At the entrance, she paused. Recalling past disasters, she asked if he’d checked it out and was sure it was safe.

Ralph, who had barely glanced inside, said he checked every inch and for her not to worry. Reassured, Angie crawled in, rolled over on her back, snuggled in among the soft green ivy, spread her legs, and then lifted her arms toward Ralph in a totally unnecessary gesture of welcome.

Not unlike a drowning man lunging for a life vest, Ralph leapt into the breach. After one or two near misses, he scored a direct hit and sank into the snug warmth of Angie’s exceptional body.

If Ralph’s body and equipment were less impressive than those she’d recently experienced, Angie didn’t mind. With the exception of a few men she’d known, okay, make that one man, Ernie, it was her experience that all tomcats were gray in the dark, so to speak. And what Ralph might lack in size and technique, he almost made for with enthusiasm.

Their passionate proceeding had barely begun when she felt something small and sharp poking into her bottom. Assuming it was a stick, she continued her erotic endeavors.

Soon she felt something else, a bit more like a pinch, near the first one. She was closing in on what promised to be a really nice climax, and didn’t want to stop. So each time she lifted her hips off the ground, she gave them an extra wiggle, hoping to land on a spot free of whatever it was. This action drove Ralph to even greater heights of verbal prowess, but the stinging only got worse.

Among her many talents, Angie knew how to multi-task. Even as the passionate coupling between she and Ralph became more intense, she slipped a hand beneath her bottom and tried to smooth away whatever was bothering her. When something sharp and painful stuck her hand, she jerked it away. While still hunching and moaning, she moved the hand near her face for a close look.

Small objects were crawling on the back of her hand. They were, to be more precise, red ants. One of them picked that moment to try a sample of her flesh. Considering that this ant's comrades were simultaneously attacking both her heinie and her hand, Angie’s next action was, in hindsight, both natural and reasonable.

It would be hard to imagine any two people being closer at that moment than were Angie and Ralph. Despite this physical proximity, however, a vast communication gap existed between the young lovers. Ralph misinterpreted Angie’s shouts and screams, not to mention her vigorous gyrations, as manifestations of a passion that was about to explode. Having read several sex manuals and how-to articles, he knew real men always left their women satisfied. This led to a re-doubling of his efforts. Besides, he was on the verge of re-enacting the epic eruption at Mount Vesuvius.

At this point in the proceedings, Angie got the distinct sensation the ants had begun a rather thorough exploration of their new environment. As part of this journey of discovery, they were approaching the same inner recesses of her anatomy Buford the Beagle had also sought to investigate.

This revelation proved very motivational. With a scream of “Get off me, you jerk!” Angie instituted a particularly powerful heave with her hips while pushing against her lover's flat chest. It was thus that she managed to dislodge the confused and preoccupied Ralph. His unsettled mental condition can be ascribed, in large part, to finding himself in the early stages of what had suddenly become a mid-air emission.

It is a little known law of nature that those lying buck-naked in small, dim, secluded woodland nooks find it very difficult to remove ants which are busy inflicting a series of burning bites and simultaneously doing their best to enter certain private passages and recesses of said person’s anatomy. To Angie’s credit, she quickly grasped this concept.

Shoving the bewildered and still spurting Ralph aside, she jumped up and raced toward the pool. Though it ran counter to her long and loudly espoused love of nature and reverence for life and animal rights, she fully intended to drown every one of what, in her agitated state of mind, she now labeled as, those damn little piss-ants.

Do you remember that wind shift mentioned earlier? In case that item slipped your mind in all the excitement, it began while Angie and Ralph were playing tongue hockey and ripping off what little clothes they still had on. The shift propelled the waterfall’s spray and mist in their direction and quickly covered their bare skin with a thin film of cold water. Then Ralph said lets go do it in the cabin and Angie said no, let’s make love in that spot you found.

You remember now?

Well, that wind had continued blowing in the same direction. As a result, the once dry rocks which provided such sure footing when Angie and Ralph first arrived, were now coated with water and become VERY slippery. It’s a testament to either Angie’s youthful agility or her good luck that she almost made it to the pool before a foot slipped, then an ankle twisted and she entered the ice-cold water in a manner somewhat resembling the cannonball dive so favored my drunken men with large bellies.

To use the negative form of an expression made famous by former U.S. Vice President Dan Quayle, Angie was not a happy camper. By the time she managed to get her boots back on, a process delayed by her throwing one of them at Ralph, and limped to the cabin, her back was beginning to itch. A quick check of her official, Guide to Plants and Bugs and Other Disgusting Outdoor Stuff, revealed the hard truth that the soft ground cover she had recently reclined upon was, poison ivy.

After-action damage assessment:

Angie:
1. Various bruises and abrasions
2. One sprained ankle
3. A severe case of poison ivy
4. Blisters on both feet
5. Numerous ant bites, some in very personal spots

Ralph:
1. Blisters on both feet
2. Dehydration, from carrying both packs back to the car
3. A strained back, ditto
4. One black eye, from Angie’s well-thrown boot
5. No more Angie, not in her lifetime

Now Angie was back in civilization and Dr. Fresca’s fabulous fingers were making it all better. Her bare bottom wiggled with contentment under the kindly doctor’s skillful touch as she considered his suggestion.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need to try experiencing nature in a more refined setting; like amid all the flowers and natural beauty he keeps talking about in his backyard. And with it being surrounded by a tall privacy fence, I could lay out beside the heated pool in my bikini, or less. After all, he says sunshine will help clear up the last of that damn poison ivy. And he’s the doctor, and kind of cute for an older guy. So he should know, shouldn’t he?

Oh, will Angie ever learn?