Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (28 page)

“It’s
possible
they don’t have little ones,” Ms. Waboombas shrugged. “They got money, so you just sort of assume life has to balance out in
some
way. But okay. So, then I’d take his
MASSIVE COCK
INTO MY MOUTH…”

“Oh, dear
GOD!”
Mindie howled. “Would you
PLEASE?”

“Please, what?” Ms. Waboombas asked in mock-innocence.

“Please stop trying to
offend
us,” Mindie said. “I know your little game, and it won’t work you know. You can’t get to us anymore.”

There was a moment of silence. Mindie scrunched down in her seat and folded her arms, sulkily. Waboombas looked out the side of the car at nothing in particular.

“If I had a rich
girlfriend
,” Ms. Waboombas said, “I’d take her pasty white
tit
into my mouth…”

“You think that’s funny?”
Mindie demanded, turning around in her seat—seemingly unaware that she had been ‘gotten to’—and leaning threateningly toward Ms. Waboombas.
“You think you’re being
funny
? Better lesbians than
you
have tried.”

I wondered if she meant Mimsi.

“I am not a lesbian,” Ms. Waboombas said definitively. “I am bi though, and I love to suck on pasty white tits.”

“You’re
nothing
!”
Mindie howled, then got up on her knees—in clear violation of all known seatbelt laws—and leaned down over her chair back to get even more into Ms. Waboombas face. “
You’re a worthless little
slut
who takes
money
for
sex
, and will sleep with anything. But you couldn’t even get my hard-up
fiancé
into bed with you!”

“Your
what
?” I asked, stunned.
“Hard up?”

“And you’re a pissy little prude who needs to get laid,” Waboombas sneered back at Mindie. “I’d rather be me.”

“And I’d rather be
me
! I
HAVE
a rich man!”

“For
now
,” Ms. Waboombas corrected.

“We’ll be married in just a few
hours
. We’re here to
elope
, you know.”

“WE’RE
WHAT?”
I screamed, jerking the wheel so hard as I turned to her I nearly toppled her from the car. She really should be seated and properly belted in.

“We’re what?” I asked again, trying to sound less terrified about the prospect of being married to my fiancée.

“Why do you think I brought the pastor?” she asked, smiling, more at Ms. Waboombas than at me.

“But your small, intimate, thousand-people wedding…”

“Oh, we’ll have that too,” she smiled. “Later.”

Ms. Waboombas put her legs up on the back of my seat and spread them.

“Last chance to get it for free, Corky,” she said. “Take it now, or afterward you gotta pay like everybody else.”

Mindie knocked Waboombas’ legs to one side and onto the pastor’s lap. He reacted as if someone had thrown something hot onto his crotch, which—in a way—someone had. He spasmed around in his seat, trying to be free of Waboombas’ legs, but she made every effort to keep them right where they were while continuing to rub them into the affected area. After a moment, he forced himself to relax and—moving slowly and deliberately—lifted her legs off himself using his Bible as a shield to avoid any actual physical contact. I was surprised it didn’t burst into flames.

Moving cautiously, as if her limbs might attack again at any moment, the pastor placed her ankles back on the seat behind my head, one strapped high-heel on either side, then gently replaced The Good Book securely in his lap.

It didn’t help. Everyone had already seen he wasn’t ‘dinky’.

Ms. Waboombas smiled at him—or more at his crotch—then returned her attention to me and began rubbing her toes against my ears.

Mindie, not to be beaten, grabbed Waboombas feet and lifted them high, and hard enough to yank the stripper to the floor between the back seats. Wasn’t
anyone
wearing a seatbelt in this car? Ms. Waboombas sat there a moment, apparently enjoying how this action had pulled her half-shirt up to reveal most of her breasts, and wedged her shorts and underwear deep into her…

Well…
you
know.

She looked up at Mindie and slowly grinned that evil smirk of hers, then let her legs fall apart, again, to reveal all. For a brief moment, I thought I could see a hot, radiant light from down behind the seat somewhere, as if the gates of hell themselves had cracked open. Mindie could see how this was affecting both Morgan and the pastor, and grabbed Ms. Waboombas legs once more—bending the knees, shoving the leggy woman over, and pressing her down as if crumpling an irritatingly large cardboard box down into a too-small trash can.

Ms. Waboombas seemed remarkably timid about all this, and folded up rather efficiently, probably realizing that this only put other of her clothing wedged ‘assets’ on absolutely fabulous display. Morgan began to drool. The pastor crossed his legs and abruptly decided the view outside the car needed his immediate and undivided attention.

All Mindie had done was roll Ms. Waboombas over to reveal just how far a pair of shorts, shirt, and underwear, when the proper force is applied, can wedge up a woman’s well shaven thingsis and whatchamacallits. I realized this a moment later when the tall stripper stood behind me, and I could see—pretty much everything—as she turned her backside toward me and made a grand show of bending over to brush nonexistent crumbs from her former seat. As she leaned, she managed to give the pastor a good hearty sniff at just how efficiently she practiced personal hygiene. He, on the other hand—in trying to save himself from just such an experience—likely snapped all seven cervical vertebrae.

Mindie didn’t help matters when she decided this was ‘all just far too much’, and began to shove, repeatedly, on Ms. Waboombas prominently displayed nether-regions in a futile attempt at forcing her to take a proper seat. Instead, all Mindie managed was to knock the por-nog-ra-pher’s ample behind—repeatedly—into the side of my and the pastor’s heads like some kind of intrusive, sexual beach ball thrown by a baseball fan that—no matter how hard you try—you just can’t get off the field of play.

The pastor’s breathing had begun to sound like an out-of-control locomotive speeding toward a collapsed bridge.

I didn’t blame him. This
was
all just too much. I turned away from the insanity and tried to focus on the road. But as Ms. Waboombas
finally
situated herself—only marginally returning her shirt to its manufacturer’s recommended position—I, like the pastor, began to hyperventilate.

“
See that
, pasty-tits?” said Ms. Waboombas, returning her attention to Mindie. “I got him breathing hard. Bet you never even got
that much
hard.”

I could
feel
Mindie’s fury explode from within her like flames engulfing the Hindenburg. Oh, the humanity.

I so wanted to be elsewhere.

Then I saw the sign indicating the city limits. I could just make it out in the distance. We were close. All I needed was to reach that town, find a toilet, put my head inside, repeatedly slam the lid and this would all be over.

“I’ve made more than his
breathing
—
hard
—
plenty
of times,” Mindie said, returning to kneeling backward in her seat and facing Ms. Waboombas, yet again tempting fate in oh-so-many ways. “I just pretended not to notice.”

“Breathe hard like
that
?” asked Waboombas. “Like he wanted to fuck you so bad he…”

“MISTER WIGGEN!” The pastor yelled. “HAVEN’T SEEN
YOU
IN CHURCH LATELY!”

“AND YOU NEVER WILL!” replied Morgan.

Between the approaching sign and us was a woman wearing a pretty, violet sunhat walking away from us along the edge of the road. I’ll bet
she
was calm and demure, and obeyed seatbelt laws.

“He wants to—as you so eloquently put it—
fuck me
very badly
,” Mindie said, losing some of the ‘in-your-faceness’ by lowering her voice at the dirty parts. “I mean,
really
. What do you think
you’ve
got that
I
haven’t?” Mindie asked, glancing down at her own fleshy adornments.

“
Oh, please
,” Ms. Waboombas said, spreading herself out on display. “
Look
at me.” She paused as if it should be self-evident. Mindie’s expression said otherwise. “I’m long, lean, and hot. You’re tubby, saggy, and
pale
!”

“I am
NOT
!”
Mindie shrieked
.

Near the sign, I could see that the woman in the sunhat was heading towards some old, wooden stairs near the sign that led down to the beach. Would that I could be there beside her that I might throw myself down them.

“I am
young
, and
firm
,”
Mindie howled.
“And naturally so because
I
am in the
prime
of my
life, unlike you
! You’re
old
! You’re
plastic
. You’re
fake
. From your eyelashes to those
phlegms
on your chest…”

“Pflem
mels
. And they’re nicer than
your
droopy boopies.”

As we drew closer to the woman on the side of the road, I began to imagine myself walking beside her, sharing the tranquility of the ocean scenery. Maybe holding her hand and
not
throwing myself down the stairs.

“I doubt
that,”
Mindie sneered. “
Phony
is no substitute for
real.
You said so
yourself
.”

“I was lying to make you feel better,” said Ms. Waboombas, lifting her shirt and exposing her truffles. “I mean, come on!
Look at these!”

I could see the pastor do so, slyly out of the corner of his eye in my rear-view mirror. Morgan had never stopped. Personally,
I
had seen enough of them. I refocused on the woman in the sunhat and let myself get lost in the calmness of her. We were very close to her now, and I could see she had a lovely walk—a beautiful figure—

—And she was naked.

NAKED? Oh, dear God, what ELSE could go wrong this day?

“I’ve
seen
them,” Mindie said, becoming irrational.
“Most of the western hemisphere has, undoubtedly,
seen your boobs
. It’s not like you
hide
them or anything.”

“Because they’re worth seeing!” Ms. Waboombas said.
“Why do
you
hide
yours
?”

“I don’t
hide
them! I simply show some personal
restraint
! Unlike
YOU
!”

“You’re
afraid
to show them! Afraid people wouldn’t be as
impressed
if they knew how
saggy-baggy
and
pasty
they were.”

“They are NOT saggy-baggy and pasty!”

I could no longer hear them. I was riveted in every way by the nude woman on the side of the road. I studied her intently—her gentle curves, her delicate features, her tight, naked ass (Hey, I’m a man not a poet). I watched, unblinking, as she turned and began to descend the stairs, completely unaware of how desperately I needed her to stop where she was and just continue being lovely.

“Even
Corky
likes mine better than
your
saggy-ass tits,”
Waboombas shouted.

“He does
NOT
!” Mindie yelled.

“He does
TOO
.”

“Does NOT!”

“Does TOO!”

“CORKY?”

The woman in the hat was magnificent. A haven in my personal storm. I wanted to walk naked beside her, down to the shore, into the ocean, and swim to Korea.

“Tell her she’s WRONG, Corky!”
Mindie called.

“He’s AFRAID to!”

“CORKY?”

“CORKY?”

“
Hard
, and
fake
!”

“
Saggy
, and
pale
!”

“Better than
yours
.”

“In your dreams!”

“These are real!”

“Oh, come on! LOOK AT THESE!”

Waboombas lifted her half-shirt farther and squeezed her Waboombas originals together for maximum effect.

“OH, YEAH? WELL, LOOK AT THESE!”

Mindie stood up in the passenger seat, ripped open her own blouse, popped her bra, and released the hounds.

The pastor nearly fell out of the car. Morgan shot coke out his nose. Ms. Waboombas lifted an eyebrow as what God had bestowed upon Mindie exploded forth to be fruitful, multiply, replenish the earth, and have dominion over every living thing that moveth.

They really were quite large.

“I mean, HONESTLY!”
Mindie yelled, turning left and right to display God’s many blessings with righteous indignity.
“Yours are just
tacky
compared to these.”
Mindie sniffed haughtily—like a female Moses having returned from Mount Sinai carrying a holy commandment in each hand and proclaiming to all beneath her that they were blasphemers for worshipping false gods.

“Go on, Corky,”
Mindie demanded.
“ Tell her what she already knows:
MINE
are
better
than
HERS
.”

She began massaging and kneading the leavened loaves to display their authenticity and superiority to future buyers. Morgan moaned—loudly. The pastor wheezed—explosively.