Curvy Voluptuous Pt. 01

It sprawled, like a tangled snake, along the mile of train tracks. Only this wrecked reptile displayed too many sharp angles and jagged edges.

General Forrest cursed the engineer who'd caused this clusterfuck.

"Damn good thing he's dead, the drunken shit," he growled to his lieutenant.

"It looks pretty bad, sir," Lieutenant Morse agreed.

"Bad ain't the worst of it," the General said.

He pointed to the ruptured tanks, like so many cracked eggs, spewing the rainbow colors of chemicals into the river.

"Those chemicals will soak into the water table and contaminate the whole area. This place will be the Love Canal inside of a month."

A corporal ran up, saluted, and handed the General a folder, "The manifest, sir."

Forrest looked through the papers, cursing each page. The lieutenant glanced at the list.

"Fertilizer. Viagra? Lot 42? Sir, what's Lot 42?"

"Classified."

"I have clearance, sir," Morse tried to leave an irritated tone out of her voice.

"Watch that tone, lieutenant," Forrest snorted, "Okay, Lot 42 was a body modification experiment, 'snort!' Turn weak recruits into super soldiers, 'snort!' It failed. Too many variables. The stuff was supposed to be destroyed years ago. Some corporate idiot is trying to save money."

"The stuff's mixing with the fertilizer and Viagra. What's Viagra doing with this shipment anyway?"

"Expired batch according to the manifest. Smells fishy though. Remind me to talk to Intelligence. I think the company might be trying a little smuggling."

"Yes sir."

"Not a word gets out about Lot 42, you hear? So far as the public's concerned, this is just fertilizer."

"And Viagra, sir?"

"Uh, right. Viagra."

One year later.

Jacob Brooke was ecstatic.

"Praise the Lord!"

His new orchard, a near disaster just a year ago, now an agricultural miracle. Last year, his hybrid idea looked to have ruined him. The new trees just weren't taking hold. Some were dying. Many barely had leaves.

Jake put everything he had into this project, blending various apple species together. Only the settlement from the chemical spill saved him.

Today, he gazed upon an orchard full of young, healthy trees. The branches laden with bright pink blossoms nearly overwhelming the leaves. Healthy, thriving, a sure sign his project was working. When these trees matured, Jake would be rich. The leaves on some already looked like dollar bills.

"Jake, dear, breakfast is ready."

Jake turned to his wife, Edith, God bless her. "Coming honey."

The soul of goodness, Edith. So what if she was flat-chested, thin as a stick, plain, and sallow-faced. He wasn't big in the looks department himself, and certainly not big where it counted.

Actually, he was a bit tiny, but Edith didn't care. She loved him for who he was, not out of pity, God bless her.

Still, Jake wished she were more adventurous in bed, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He followed his wife into the house, noting her lanky, flat blonde hair hanging listlessly in the spring breeze.

Ten Years Further On.

The Pine Bend Apple Festival was no small event in central Oregon. It was held in early October and, this year, celebrated its one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary.

The festival tended to attract a second wave of tourists. The first usually came in early spring to see the apple trees in bloom.

The festival displayed much of what people would expect from the most prolific apple producer in North America.

The variety of fruits ran from Golden Delicious to Pacific Rose. Here a display of Granny Smiths, there a basket of Pink Ladies. The centerpiece of the festival was the latest sensation, the Red Voluptuous from Brooke Farms.

The Red Voluptuous, as perfect an apple as Mother Nature could conceive in her fertile womb. Except she didn't make such a beautiful apple. It came from a unique hybrid created by Jacob Brooke.

It was so perfect an apple, it looked and tasted like something out of myth. The kind of apple from Norse or Greek folklore, or a Grimm fairy tale, only without the poison.

The apples were shaped like hearts, wide and round in the middle, curving into a stem at the top. Their color was the deepest, brightest, glossiest red, dulling other apples to embarrassed obscurity. The taste, oh the taste; crisp, cool, sweet, and juicy, like the kiss of a virgin.

"Almost too perfect," Olivia Saringo thought with distaste. Her assessment extended to the town.

Olivia distrusted perfection. Something rotten was always at the core. The philosophy served her well as a TV journalist. Municipal and corporate corruption were Olivia's specialties. She'd given more juicy stories to her station than any reporter in its history.

So why, after all the good work she did for KLPO, was she stuck in a Norman Rockwell shithole, with a nineteen year old intern, and a hangover from hell?

Because of my fucking good reporting, that's why.

Good reporting exposing a Portland councilman taking bribes. Who, unfortunately for Olivia, happened to be the nephew of a powerful CEO. The CEO who ran the corporation which took over her TV station. Said CEO came from one of those wealthy families, who cast aside any pretense at personal responsibility and civic virtue decades ago.

So now Olivia Sun Saringo, daughter of Philippine-American used car salesman, Calvino Saringo, and Korean-American teacher, Sung-Mi Saringo, and former Miss Oregon, was stuck in Pine Bend, with a baby faced intern better suited to report on comic-cons and frat parties.

"As if this kid could get far with a girl," Olivia thought with some contempt. "He's virgin to the core. I crushed little maggots like him back in the day. Too bad. If only he had some seasoning."

The kid was cute in a wide-eyed naive way; smooth-cheeked, slender, and smaller than her five-nine. He reminded Olivia of a post Pufnstuf Jack Wild or that geek from a crappy slasher flick, Slaughter High, she saw the night she lost her virginity.

A bad experience in both cases.

On her part, Olivia didn't lack for looks herself: slender, golden-skinned, with glossy black hair, a snub nose, almond-shaped brown eyes, and red rose bud lips. Her beauty, initially a handicap after college, became a major asset.

Interviewees, corporate execs and politicians mostly, and overwhelmingly male, tended to underestimate her intelligence and let down their guard. Olivia lost count of the smug, patronizing officials who'd turned into sputtering, blubbering children once she stuck the knife in, and twisted with an ego-shattering expose.

"So now I have to be stuck here, reporting on apples, until that bitch cools down," she growled.

The camera crew were going to arrive in a few days. Olivia had already rented motel rooms for herself and the intern.

Those La Quinta fucks better not have a bedbug problem.

Not one to waste those few days, Olivia hauled herself and the intern down to the farmer's market. She wanted to look at the new apples and arrange interviews with the growers.

The new apple the locals were talking about, Red Voluptuous, they said, piqued some interest but not by far.

Still, better than holing up in a motel.

The apples were impressive, the farmer less so. He wasn't great looking; a bit stocky and heavy set, with light blue eyes, bushy brown beard tinged with gray, a weathered face dotted with pock marks, a typical farmer cliché.

Dressed like one too; red plaid shirt, straw hat, denim overalls, loose on the bottom.

"Very loose," Olivia noted, with some curiosity.

The farmer, however, was very friendly, with a broad smile. He seemed happy to see her.

"Howdy, ma'am. How may I help you?"

Olivia warmed to his friendliness, in spite her cynicism.

"Yes, I'm Olivia Saringo, KLPO News, and this is my assistant, Barry Watkins. We're here to cover the apple festival."

The farmer's smile grew broader.

"Well, praise the Lord! A reporter from teevee!" He held out his hand, "Pleased to meechya, name's Jacob, Jacob Brooke."

Olivia took it, a strong farmer's hand, and shook it, smiling. I like this guy. She hoped he didn't have the taint but if so, C'est la vie, a story's a story.

"You have some fine apples here." They were fine; big, round, and deep, bright red. Fine indeed.

"Yes ma'am. We call 'em the Red Voluptuous. My wife's idea."

"Oh, your wife. Is she available? I can interview you both, and you can talk about the apples. How did you come up with this unique hybrid?"

"Oh, sure. Edith!"

Edith Brooke came out from behind the stall, wiping her hands in a messed apron. She'd obviously been making something, by the flour on her skin.

"Edith, this is Olivia Sarahlingo? And her assistant, Barry Waters? They're reporters come to interview us."

Edith smiled. "Pleased to meet you," and held out her hand.

It took a few moments for Olivia to take it, not so much out of rudeness, but distraction from the vision in front of her.

What in the hell is a woman like that doing married to a man like this?

If Edith Brooke had contested against Olivia, back in her pageant days, Olivia knew the other woman would crush her. Edith was hot. Not just regular hot, but blazing white hot. Olivia didn't consider herself lesbian, but even she couldn't help a flush at Edith's overwhelming physical presence.

Edith's beauty wasn't exactly conventional. Her ash blonde hair glowed almost platinum. Her eyes might be set just a little too deep in her head. Her nose slightly large, her mouth a little big, with full lips, and her face moon round.

It was just every aspect, which on another woman would seem plain, fit together on Edith's face with near perfection. The body upon which that face rested, sealed the deal.

Edith had curves, everywhere, in the the right places.

Breasts, Olivia guessed, somewhere in the E-range, if not F. An hourglass body, wide-hipped, with long legs, broad shoulders, and strong arms. Edith was a walking, talking fantasy of a farmer's hot wife.

Olivia took Edith's hand. "Olivia Saringo," God! Her hand is warm, and strong, "Happy to meet you too. I'm here with my intern to cover the apple festival."

"They want to talk about our apples, honeycake," Jacob smiled.

"Oh! Of course!" Edith smiled back.

"Barry, take some pictures," Olivia ordered.

Barry didn't move. Olivia turned to the intern. He was staring at Edith, mouth opened, blue eyes wide like a deer in front of a semi.

"Barry, Barry!"

Barry blinked, "Oh! Uh! Yes, Miss Saringo," he began clicking the shutter.

Olivia turned back to the Brookes. That bulge in his pants, she sniffed, but I can't blame him. "Sorry about that. So, your apples are new hybrids?"

The Brookes beamed wide smiles. Olivia thought she detected a hint of mischief in Edith's face.

"Oh yes!" Jacob answered. "I thought if I put together the largest, sweetest apple stock with something hardy, I could grow a good brand people could do anything with. Worked better than I thought. The trees matured faster than I expected. We started putting these apples in competition three years ago, selling local last year. I hope to go national in two."

Jacob talked away, taking pride in his apples like a father to a successful son. Edith, with a wide, glowing smile, gazed at her husband; the loyal, loving wife. Olivia, her reporter's instincts on a medium setting, thought something was slightly off about her.

Nothing sinister, but still strange.

She was aware of some attraction to the woman, but the back of her neck tingled with "spider sense."

Something fishy here.

Barry, Olivia noted with no little annoyance, took pictures but only with Edith near the apples.

"Good grief! Why did I get stuck with him?" she asked herself again. He definitely wasn't a good side man.

"So, would you like a few apples to take back to the hotel?"

"Huh? Uh..." Jacob's voice startled Olivia from her reverie. "Oh, that's okay. I'm good, thanks."

Olivia never spared much thought to apples. They weren't exactly her favorite fruit. She did like an occasional slice of apple pie, or glass of cider, now and then.

"Oh, I was kinda thinkin' you might want to give some to your fellow reporters. Give 'em an idea what we're growing here," Jacob smiled, "And maybe have a couple yourself, and the the little feller here."

Olivia smiled knowingly; she knew salesmanship.

Handing out samples to help spread the word.

Her first inclination was to refuse, not wanting to promote someone's product.

I did enough of that crap in my pageant days. Never again.

She decided humoring a good interview subject would make the assignment easier.

"All right, if you like, I can take a basket back to the station. When we're finished in a few days, of course."

"Well praise the Lord! Edith will get you a basket."

The basket proved larger than expected, with twenty apples.

"Barry, take the apples."

Barry did as ordered. He was a lowly intern and knew better than to complain. The basket was heavy. He placed it in the back seat, and waited while Ms. Saringo said her goodbyes to the Brookes.

Barry didn't know whether to consider himself lucky or cursed to be on this assignment. On the one hand, Ms. Saringo was a near legend; beautiful, brilliant, a star with more heads on her wall than a top class big game hunter. A reporter lowly interns couldn't even begin to aspire.

On the other, she was the kind of beauty queen who'd made his life hell in high school. Selfish, entitled queen bees who saw crushing geeks as a sport. Typically, he avoided girls like her, learning his lessons early, but guys like him were bully magnets, and the cheer squad, mean girl clique, and football team showed no mercy. College improved things considerably, but his life still didn't reach the levels he wanted.

His feelings, on being ordered to accompany Ms. Saringo to Pine Bend, were mixed, but he resigned himself and did his duty.

The trip to the small town provided some unexpected benefits. Barry was a quiet, but observant young man. He immediately noticed some odd things about the town.

Pine Bend seemed to feature a remarkable number of women, best described as "thicc" and curvy; not thick as in fat, but a strong voluptuousness more suited to Penthouse magazine. Edith Brooke was a prime example.

Women like Edith came one in a million, but the town seemed full of them. Moreover, the women dressed provocatively, not scantily, but the clothes looked made to display their curves.

The men accompanying them, husbands, boyfriends, siblings possibly, dressed in more subdued fashion. Most wore loose-fitting pants or overalls like Jacob Brooke. The way they accompanied their female companions displayed a mixture of protectiveness and deference.

Barry took all of it in and thought, "This place is weird. Is there a story here?"

The young intern glanced at Olivia on the quiet ride back to the motel. She drove but glanced occasionally at a couple or another.

She knows something's off about this place, but I don't think she feels it the same way as me.

The route back took them past the local high school. Barry, on the way to town, had observed the buildings out of curiosity. Now he took a closer look while the car waited at a light.

The school was composed of different buildings, some old, but several looked fairly new. One building drew Barry's attention.

His first thought was, "A gym." The building seemed too large for that, more a huge warehouse than a gym. It dwarfed the other buildings.

What the hell is that?

A semi truck was parked at the entrance. Barry noticed a large square container on a trolley, being moved into the building. He was reminded of Jurassic Park and the containers for Velociraptors. He peeked at Olivia; she was more intent on the light than the school.

Should I point out the big box?

Barry decided to keep quiet. Ms. Saringo was not in a good mood. Plus, she made it clear, Barry was to do as she said, and speak only when spoken to.

Barry liked to think his cub reporter's instincts were good.

Nothing weird on the surface, but definitely something strange beneath it.

He decided as soon as they settled in, he would take a peek at the building later that evening.

It's nothing probably, but maybe I can bring something to Ms. Saringo.

She didn't care what Barry did between eight and six, so there shouldn't be a problem.

Olivia made Barry carry the apples to her motel room. She picked the five largest.

"You take the rest. Hand them off to the crew when they get here, if you want."

"Yes, Ms. Saringo. Um, is there anything else today?"

"No, make yourself scarce 'til seven tomorrow, and get ready for a long day. I want to take a look at some of the farms around the area."

"Yes, ma'am." Barry scampered away, with barely a mousy squeak.

Olivia watched briefly before turning to her bed. She did have some sympathy for the kid, remembering her own trials as an intern, and he did try. She noticed some good instincts in him. His earnestness and curiosity contained great promise.

He gets distracted by women though.

She took note of his glances at certain details in the town, including the abundance of curvy women. Olivia noticed many of the same things. Years of journalism had taught her the art of looking without being seen to look.

He perfects that, he'll be a good reporter.

Olivia sat at her desk and turned on her laptop. She turned on the TV to her news station. The news set off a stream of curses. She grabbed her phone.

"Bill? Bill! Pick up Bill or I'll rip your balls off when I get back... Bill, Sue's on the Portland story. Why is she on the Portland story, Bill?... That bitch put her on? She's an idiot Bill, she'll fuck it up... What do you mean she's taking my crew? That's my crew, Bill... How long?... Three days? What am I supposed to do for three days?... So she sticks me here for a bullshit story while she wrecks the biggest corruption scandal of the decade, just to save her idiot nephew's ass... Oh, so I'm lucky I'm not fired, huh? That bitch is going to destroy the station, Bill... Fuck her, and fuck you too!"

Olivia slammed the phone on the desk and sat, fuming. If Bill weren't so good in bed, she'd have added "shitdick" to her profanity. Bill was used to blue language from Olivia. They screamed as much to each other in the bedroom, albeit under a different context.

This town better have something juicier than apples. I need to find another station. Maybe I can give them a story that can fuck that bitch and her company.

A difficult proposition, considering the number of stations the company owned. Olivia never liked to admit she was fucked, but her options looked very tight.

Interlude: Early Evening

The Mayor looked at the monitor, a line of worry etched on her brow. The women were gathered around the pool, some sleeping, others active. No violence... yet.

"The girls are getting restless again, Bridge. We need a new toy."

Bridget Harbor, first woman mayor of Pine Bend, Oregon, looked at her secretary.

"They broke the last one, Thom. The news is out. You have any candidates?"

Thom Barkley, her "majordomo" shook his head.

"The local jail's tapped out. We're out of transients. The men don't want to tackle that. One session was enough for most, the one's who survived anyway. And the Women's Council gave me an ultimatum. They don't want the local men involved anymore."

"Yeah," Bridget was pensive. "Well, see if you can scrounge some trancs. We might need to use the cyanide too."