Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (27 page)

Text across the shirt read—falsely (though I’ll bet no one complained)—100% NATURAL.

Returning to her seat in the car, she laid her head back and relaxed, smiling in the afterglow.

Mindie stepped up beside me, breathing deeply, her demeanor calm, as if she had just returned from a mildly exerting stroll to pick wildflowers. Very heavy wildflowers that fought back.

“Give me your shirt,” she said.

“What?”
I asked, and then noticed her facial temperature rise violently. “Oh. Of course. Absolutely.”

I got out of the car, stripped off the shirt, and handed it to her. Ms. Waboombas cat-whistled. Mindie glared at her. I smiled, a bit, and blushed.

“I work out,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” Mindie snapped, and sneered at my lack of muscular definition. I covered myself, shyly, as Mindie turned away from me then wrapped my inadequate shirt around her massive breast area, stretching it across the muddy bra, grass, and effluent that still stuck to her skin.

“I…uh…I guess you’ll be wanting to turn around and head back now?” I asked.

Mindie sniffed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t believe for a moment you had sex with that slut.”

I was stunned. “You don’t?”

“Honestly, Corky. You couldn’t handle it. That woman would
kill
you.”

Waboombas nodded once in agreement. “She has a point.”

She does
not
!

“And after giving it some thought,” Mindie continued, “I don’t even believe you had sex with that model in the closet last night.”

I gasped. Ms. Waboombas opened one eye, apparently somewhat surprised by this. Morgan had kept a secret? What was this world coming to?

“Why not?” I asked, offended. Didn’t
anyone
believe I was capable of bedding an attractive woman?

“Oooh, Corky,” she said, as if the answer should be obvious—
which it was
not
.

Mindie chuckled as she began buttoning her new Ralph Lauren shirt/dress, and moved to the passenger side where she smiled brightly at Pastor Winterly.

“Minister,” she said sweetly. “Might I impose upon you to switch seats with me? I’d like to ride in front, beside my fiancée.”

“Oh,” the pastor said reluctantly—clearly as close as he ever wanted to be to Ms. Waboombas. “It would be…em…my pleasure,” he said with an insincere smile and stepped out.

He moved, tentatively, to the back seat, where he climbed in with Ms. Waboombas, who pinched his bottom as he sat down. He shrieked, much as Mindie had done behind the bushes.

Mindie, meanwhile, took her seat next to mine. I stared at her a moment, rattled, waiting for some other shoe to drop (about size twenty-four, capable of bashing my brains out), but none did. She simply smiled at me sideways and chirped, “Shall we go?”

I studied her for a moment more, certain this couldn’t be all there was.

“Will you
go!
” she snarled.

Still nervous, and very afraid, I did.

We traveled a good long while in silence until we reached a fork in the road. To the left was the way to the comics convention, to the right the county of ‘Green Valley’, and the direction Aunt Helena had indicated we would find the little town and its Duesenberg repair shop. Green Valley was now so near, I found myself quietly thrilled to be heading toward it, still nervous about friction between Mindie and Wendy, and somehow deluded into believing we might, actually, make it the minimal remaining distance without further incident.

The new two-lane highway headed toward the coast, dipped down and descended into the deep shadows of immense, old growth trees that grew thickly on either side of us. We wound downward some distance, passing occasional cottages nestled serenely up along the ridges, or down along the slopes on either side. No other people or cars were to be seen. It was all rather sedate and peaceful, the sort of tranquility doomed teenagers usually enjoy during the first few minutes of your average horror movie.

The road bent and curved this way and that, when, out of nowhere, a large low cloud descended to obscure the path ahead and whatever lay beyond.

“Where did that come from?” Mindie asked.

“Duh,” Waboombas sneered. “It’s the coast. You never been to the coast, before?”

“Shut up,” Mindie snapped.

Mindie shifted uncomfortably. She likely never
had
been to the coast. It had annoyances like heat, sunshine, insects, other people— some having actual fun—and as she had already pointed out, there was also a good deal of sand to be found near beaches, and Manolo Blahniks
were
expensive.

Slowing the Duesenberg to a safe speed, I drove right into what quickly became a heavy bank of dense fog. Mindie moaned a bit, fearfully, as the shroud of gray enveloped us. She was making me even more nervous. The way she was behaving, you’d think there was something sinister about a simple, everyday, natural phenomenon appearing out of nowhere on a bright sunny day.

Suddenly it began to rain very hard.

Morgan leaped to his feet and desperately attempted to jerk the convertible top up and over us, when out of nowhere—
BOOM!
— lightning struck somewhere very close to one side, throwing off intense, hideous light and a strong smell of ozone. The power of it rocked the Duesenberg to one side.

Everyone in the car jumped. The girls and the pastor all shrieked. It was nice to know there was something Ms. Waboombas could be startled by.

Then—
CRACK
, again, on the other side this time!

Mindie cried out in horror and fear. The reverend prayed loudly. Ms. Waboombas suddenly laughed uproariously. I shuddered and drove on as lightning continued to strike on all sides, jostling the car and shaking everyone to their bones. I truly expected Satan to rise before us at any moment and offer all us little boys and girls some candy.

“GET US OUT OF HERE, CORKY!” Mindie shrieked.
“GET US OUT OF HERE!”

As hot, summer lightning continued exploding all around us, Morgan finally gave up on the car’s top and leaped from the vehicle. He then started running in circles around us before just as abruptly diving back inside, collapsing into his seat, cowering and whimpering, and praying feverishly, right alongside the pastor. Mindie cried, Waboombas laughed, and suddenly the lightning exploded on all sides of us at once. It went over us, through us, and into us, raising hair, drying skin, heating clothing, and generally giving us all a nasty tingle.

Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the clouds, rain and lightning dissipated into the breeze. The skies were clear and the sun shone down upon us, warm, comforting, and glorious once again. Other than the gentle sounds of songbirds that sang charmingly from every direction, the world had fallen silent and calm. The pavement wasn’t even wet.

I glanced quickly to the pastor, who had apparently seen me praying with him. We smiled nervously at one another. Maybe I
would
drop in at church again sometime, soon.

Just ahead of us, a sign indicated the turnoff to Green Valley, pastoral and serene, and very near, only a few miles farther down the road.

Relieved, and somewhat giddy, we each settled back into our seats and laughed with grateful relief, kidding and joking briefly about how strange and scary all
that
had been. It was a nice bonding moment during which we seemed to grow much closer, the end of our journey at hand, all past sins momentarily forgiven. Right up until Ms. Waboombas decided she had left well enough alone for far too long already.

The rest of the car went deathly silent. I hit the accelerator, hoping to make town before her next sentence. Unfortunately, lightspeed hadn’t been invented yet.

“Of course, if I had a rich guy,” she continued to the back of my head, which I knew because I felt the scalp there grow suddenly warmer. “We’d stay in and fuck
eeeevery
night.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“We’d lie by the fire—
naked
—”

Now everyone shifted uncomfortably—except Ms. Waboombas

of course.

“Can’t you talk about
anything
else?”
Mindie demanded. “No. Then, as we lie there rubbing nakedly against one another

“WHAT A
GLORIOUS
AFTERNOON!” shrieked the pastor. “GOD TRULY LOVES US TO GIVE US SUCH A DAY!”

But Ms. Waboombas insisted on being heard this time.

“
…I’D TAKE HIS NAKED LITTLE COCK INTO MY MOUTH
…”

“IT’S NOT
LITTLE
,” I corrected, far too loudly.

Mindie slowly turned her head toward me, steam rising off her forehead. Well, maybe not ‘steam’.

No. Wait. Yes, it was actual steam.

“I mean,” I said, beginning to sweat, “what makes you think rich guys have…em…small penises?”

“I think the plural is penii,” Morgan said between chews on something. His brain most likely.