tagHumor & SatireWC 104: Angie's Outdoor No More?

WC 104: Angie's Outdoor No More?

byRumple Foreskin©

WC 104: Angie's Outdoor Antics End

In the opinion of Angie Eveready, she might be in the Garden of Eden, except that ancient arcadia lacked a heated swimming pool. In reality, she was in the backyard of her half-Greek, half-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 the edge of the heated swimming pool which had been landscaped to resemble a natural pond. She could hear birds in the big oak at the far end of the yard. Ivy and honeysuckle covered the yard's high, privacy fence and formed the background for an incredible variety of spring flowers.

Angie liked flowers. In fact, she liked everything about nature. But 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, pansies, 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, prying dogs, or distracted lovers holding your head underwater until you half-drowned.

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 a slow, total-body massage and then make 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 the maneuver was most satisfying. Angie was accustomed to such involuntary compliments. However, while this may strike some as hard to believe, as is 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 a slim, athletic figure like that of her cousin, roommate, and best friend, Etta Toupes.

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 some 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 that sounded a little like the legendary bacchanalian cry of, "Evo!" and dove, face first, in-between her shapely thighs.

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 very brief. This didn't surprise or even disappoint Angie. In her experience, the first time was usually brief. But thanks to her uncanny ability to coax men into doing virtually anything she wanted, those first brief sessions were almost always followed by seconds and thirds, sometimes even by four or more.

She watched with a sense of satisfaction as Dr. Fresca gritted his teeth, shook his head and let out a long groan. The trembling, ridged body that seemed balanced above her on the one point where their bodies met, made a last spasmodic thrust, then seemed to melt over her. A moment later, Dr. Fresca murmured something that sounded sweet and pleased, then he kissed her and rolled off.

That was a mistake. Astute readers may recall this narrative opening with her stretched out beside a pool. While Angie had turned over, she hadn't moved away. If anything, she was even closer. The upshot was the good doctor slipped out of her warm embrace and immediately flopped over 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 grace one might expect from a middle-aged man who, while aware he may have looked a trifle foolish, had just nailed a wantonly sexual 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 Angie preferred.

She 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 while 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 didn't pay much attention to what he was saying about the flowers and bees. But after he got up, Angie heard one buzzing nearby. Thus prompted, she asked the departing doctor to repeat what he'd told her 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 and louder, then ended with a rather quiet, splat.

From that moment on, Angie felt a deep, emotional connection with cattle that were being branded. The agony of having a red-hot iron pressed against your flesh was one she felt certain she could both sympathize and empathize with. 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 ass proved irresistible.

After-action damage assessment

Angie: One bee sting on right buttock, causing, One painfully swollen right buttock, causing, A total loss of any 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. Loss of one patient, Angie Loss of any second helpings that day of, Angie Loss of any hope for any more afternoons with, Angie

--

Days later, as the Earth Day celebration on the park-like campus at Wodehouse College was breaking up, Angie noticed Ernie talking with Etta and her main squeeze, Willie Sinclair. Buford the Beagle, Ernie's 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. Angie missed Ernie. After several agonizing weeks of sampling the male population at WC and the surrounding community, she was convinced 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 and a good friend of Etta and Willie. Nor did it hurt that he was a great lover with incredible stamina and, oh, dear god, was he ever hung. 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 beagles always do, checking out an interesting smell? 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, Etta made an excuse and left, taking Willie with her. 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 non-mountain, non-nature man who'd told her it was safe to make love on what turned out to be an 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 individuals who are fond of the breed, acknowledge that beagles 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. Instead of zeroing back in on that spot with all the super scents, he snuggled up along Angie's hip. He was close enough for a good whiff of said scents, but in perfect position for some serious head stroking. This might be as close to heaven as a beagle can get on this earth; in bed, next to a warm body with all sorts of interesting smells, and being petted. It crossed his beagle 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 some snacks and drinks. The two males exchanged glances. Then both looked at Angie. Unaware of having triggered one of the most primal instincts nature has seen fit to bestow upon males of any specie, the territorial imperative, she continued to pet Buford while smiling at Ernie, who had reached the other side of the bed.

As Ernie approached, Buford lifted his head and then placed it, in what impartial scientific observers, had there been any present, would no doubt have labeled a very territorial gesture, upon Angie's upper 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, even on Earth Day. Especially, if Angie Eveready is around.

-- the end --

note: This is the last of my Outdoor Angie Earth Day Contest trilogy. Your vote and feedback would mean a lot and be most appreciated. rf.

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