Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe (11 page)

ON CLOSE INSPECTION, any idiot could see that the Bigfoot standing behind that Douglas fir with a rifle at the ready was someone dressed in a Bigfoot costume. But Duane, incurable lover of the forest, had fooled many such hunters hoping to bag the elusive creature by luring them away from the real thing. Problem was not getting bagged himself.

The sound of Chuck and Bob's hushed voices and of snapping twigs alerted Duane to the hunters' whereabouts. He remained motionless behind the tree and quietly waited with his rifle aimed straight down a well-worn path.

Duane's breathing was rapid, hurting his chest. Doing all this running was really taking it out of him. He wanted to wipe the rivers of sweat from his forehead, but dared not remove his Bigfoot head.

He was also aware that the sweat was running down his naked body causing the inner lining of his Bigfoot duds to stick to his skin. It tickled, infuriatingly so, especially as it trickled down his butt crack. Like a grizzly bear, Duane rubbed his butt up and down the bark of the tree he was leaning against to relieve the itch. It made little difference that his duds were made of light summer material with air vents under the armpits and crotch to let the body heat out in warm weather, for Duane was a real sweater.

And did he stink or what? Duane got a good whiff of his manly odor every time he shifted from one foot to the other.
Fuck it!
There was nothing for it, but to take off his Bigfoot head. He put it down on the ground between his feet, so it wouldn't roll away-something that had happened many times, giving away his position too early.

As he stood erect he spotted the asswipe hunters walking along the well-worn path in his direction. They were obviously unaware of his presence.

Duane didn't hesitate for a second. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet went over their heads and hit the side of a tree, exactly where it was meant to go. Duane smirked with pleasure at his accuracy. He still had what it took.

Bob and Chuck were startled-alarmed even.

"Shit," Chuck screeched like a girl.

They stopped in their stride and scanned their surroundings with their rifles aimed to shoot at whoever was shooting at them. They were unable to pinpoint the exact spot where the rifle shot had come from.

"It's only me, boys," Duane called out in an amiable tone of voice, though he was feeling anything but amiable towards the two men who had been trying to bag his hairy friends. But that said he had no intention of harming the two hunters.

"Lower your rifles and I'll do the same."

Bob called out, "For fuck's sake, Duane-o, what the hell are you doing?"

"This ain't no game . . . I said lower your rifles." Duane had an edge to his voice now. "'Cause I don't want you taking another pot shot at me today, if you don't mind."

The two hunters looked at one another and nodded their heads. They lowered their rifles and waited for Duane to come out from his hiding place, wherever that was.

Duane stepped out from the tree, but still kept his rifle aimed at the hunters.

"Shit, Duane . . . you're such a dumbass. Why the fuck do you insist on running about dressed up as Bigfoot? Jeez, we could've killed you back there," Bob said with genuine concern. "Sorry if I hit you though. My aim was off." He stifled a giggle.

Chuck sniggered, "Yeah, Bob, if you'd been on target, Duane would be dead now."

"Ha fucking ha! Haven't I told you boys not to go shooting at me?" Duane was real pissed now. "You damned well know it's me, so why bother thinking I'm the real thing?" He continued to aim his rifle at the hunters.

Chuck looked warily at Duane and raised a hand. "Come on now, Duane-o . . . we said we're sorry."

Duane tilted his head and looked at them. They didn't fool him. He could tell they weren't that sorry.

"Look, guys . . . if you see me in this get up, then it's me in this get up. Got that?" Duane shook his head with dismay. "Bigfoot don't exist . . . get it."

Bob and Chuck scuffed their feet like naughty boys, looking totally confused.

Bob asked, "Yeah, but how the fuck we gonna know the difference, Duane-o?"

Duane sighed with exasperation, "Come on guys, smarten up a little . . . it's just me dressed up as you can plainly see."

Bob looked a little less confused, "Sure thing, Duane. We got it."

"See you tonight at Abe's. Buy you a beer," Chuck offered as an apology. "No hard feelings, right?"

Duane shook his head. He was still upset with them for shooting at Olaaa. He thought it would take more than a free beer to smooth things over between him and Chuck and Bob.

"No, it isn't alright, Chuck. You can't go making things right with free beer. I'd rather buy my own. I'm real pissed with the pair of you . . . you've ruined my suit, see." Duane showed them a neat hole in the right shoulder where he had smeared some of Olaaa's blood.

"Shit, Duane you're bleeding," Bob said with genuine concern.

"Better take care of that." Chuck pleaded, "But don't say it was us. See . . . we're kinda already in deep shit probation from the last time we nicked you."

Bob nudged Chuck. They slung their rifles over their shoulders and sauntered off down the path in the direction towards Little Beaver picnic area.

Duane watched their backs until they had disappeared behind the trees. Yeah, they won't come back today. He picked up his Bigfoot head and sauntered off towards home.

AS DUANE GOT CLOSER to his cabin he heard Latin American music. He smiled knowing his Bigfoot friends were playing music on his battery operated CD player. He guessed Olaaa was feeling okay or they wouldn't be having fun.

Bigfoot love to dance-a salsa or a tango being their favorite. Olaaa especially loved to salsa. All the Bigfoot used the salsa in their wedding ritual now. Some might say Duane had contaminated the Bigfoot, but he knew better.

Duane stepped onto the porch and was relieved to see his hairy friends had kept the shutters closed. It wouldn't do for some unsuspecting local or inquisitive tourist getting the surprise of their life.

He opened the door to his cabin and stood in the doorway with a wide smile. He kept his rifle behind him. He watched all three Bigfoot dancing in the middle of the room. They'd pushed the armchairs and sofa back towards the walls to give them more space to dance. The whole cabin was rocking and creaking quite alarmingly. With each dance move, the furniture, tables and anything not nailed down hopped up and down in tune with Bigfoot stomp.

The Bigfoot continued to dance, bumping hips, rubbing groins together, shaking their shoulders and chest bumping.

Duane cringed as the floorboards groaned with displeasure at the thunderous abuse they were getting. Thank God for those supports in the basement.

Teeelaaa looked at him and beckoned with her hairy hand for him to join them.

Duane closed the door. He put his Bigfoot head on the side table by the door, and discretely propped his rifle next to the cabinet so his friends wouldn't see it and panic.

He noticed, with some annoyance, several empty tequila bottles scattered on the floor. Shit, they'd been at the booze again. Nothing changes. How many times had he told them that too much happy juice made them sick?

Duane sighed with exasperation. He stood, arms akimbo, and tried to look stern at his Bigfoot friends. He wagged his finger at them in a naughty way.

"Who's been drinking my happy juice? You know it makes you woozy," Duane said in his high -pitched kitten voice, mimicking stumbling around. He couldn't raise his voice against them, not after what they'd been through.

The Bigfoot continued to dance. Teeelaaa begged with an outstretched hand for Duane to join her. She wouldn't take no for an answer. She skipped over to him and grabbed hold of his hands, tugging on them. She shuffled her feet and swung her hips in tune with the salsa.

Duane didn't feel in the mood to dance. He was dog tired, hot, sweaty and stinky after all that running. All he wanted to do was to have a long hot soak and put his feet up for an hour or two before he ventured out that evening for some beers at Abe's.

Duane kept hold of Teeelaaa's huge hands and began to dance to the salsa, but he moved slowly to the rhythm. His dance movements were no more than a few shuffles of the feet and a slight sway of the hips. He tried to leave.

Teeelaaa thumped him with her hip, giggling, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfs." She grabbed Duane before he fell and pulled her to him. She kissed him on the cheek, "Woooo-woooo."

"Love you too, Teeelaaa," Duane replied. He stopped dancing and gave her a big hug. He got a face full of her massive suckle-bumps.

Maaawooo came to a sudden stop when he saw Teeelaaa deliberately rub Duane's face in her hairy boobs. He gave a loud growl directed at Duane.

"Graaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaarrrr."

Olaaa seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to the discord between Duane and Maaawooo as she continued to salsa, her mind and heart somewhere else.

Duane saw the jealous glint in Maaawooo's eyes and noticed his greasy hair had spiked up. It wasn't Duane's fault that Teeelaaa still teased him-once a cock teaser always a cock teaser; and besides, he would never think of mating with a Bigfoot.

While Maaawooo did his jealous lover thing, Duane recalled that momentous day-the day he and Teeelaaa almost got hitched. At that time, he had no idea he was taking the lovely hand of Teeelaaa to be his wife. How could he have possibly known that by eating a bark full of the jooobaaa-wacky mushroom, offered to him by Teeelaaa all covered in flowers and dripping with red berries between her legs, was saying "I do" in Bigfoot.

Duane remembered how he had met Teeelaaa in the special meadow where most Bigfoot did their thing. After the jooobaaa had taken effect she shoved him to the ground and ripped his shorts off. Teeelaaa was most put out when he refused to go any further.

Duane shrugged his shoulders at Maaawooo. "Can I help it if Teeelaaa still woooo-woooos me?"

Although Maaawooo could understand some of the sounds spoken to him, he gave another growl when he heard 'woooo-woooo.'

"Gaaaaarrrrraaaaagggrrrraaaaa."

Teeelaaa stood with legs apart and arms akimbo, growling back at Maaawooo, "Eeeeaaaarrrrrreeeeaaaa."

Duane thought he might be witness to a Bigfoot brawl, something his cabin floor would never be able to withstand. In fact a Bigfoot brawl was nothing more than a lot of rough and tumble and the odd punch, with a few bites, hisses and spits. He'd never seen any Bigfoot get nasty with one another. Not even over a mate.

After years of studying Bigfoot, and being privy to their behavior, Duane knew that they were a very peaceful society as all the fight had been taken out of them. Unfortunately this meant they could not roam far enough to mate with males of other tribes as they were happy with their lot.

But the male gene was in short supply. Despite mating at the drop of a hat-which meant that females didn't have to be in heat, the females of the species didn't get pregnant so easily. There was also another reason for the shortage in active males-they sometimes migrated south to Florida when they got old and miserable, courtesy of the Bigfoot Mobile. Duane was always hysterical at seeing the looks on drivers' faces as his Bigfoot Mobile drove past with several elderly Bigfoot faces peering at them. Duane snapped out of it.

Duane caught a glance at the antique clock on the mantel-six p-fucking-m. Shit! It was time to get the ol' guitar out and rev up the hog and go. There was just enough time for a bath, but not to stick his feet up for an hour or two. He had an eager audience waiting for him and a thirst that needed quenching.

Teeelaaa continued to tug on his arm, though her woooo-woooo gaze was focused primarily on Maaawooo, who was still looking menacingly at Duane.

Duane looked nervously at Maaawooo, and wondered if he was going to be chased around the room like the last time Teeelaaa got too close. Maaawooo had marked his territory by spraying the armchair with his musk mixed with piss and semen. It was no wonder the cabin stunk.

Moments later, Duane's question was answered. He watched helplessly as Maaawooo aimed his chubby thruster at the armchair Lou had recently sat in, and started to spray it vigorously with his musk. There was nothing Duane could do, except hold his nostrils as the rotten eggs and garlic stink raped his olfactory system. He just stood and helplessly watched.

"Now, Maaawooo, what have I said about spraying the furniture. Ftftftftftf," Duane said, wagging his finger, although he couldn't get the Bigfoot word right. How to say ftftftftft through his nostrils was beyond him.

Maaawooo shrugged his shoulders and turned round to face Duane. He aimed his thruster at his love rival and growled.

Teeelaaa and Olaaa wriggled their hips to the music and giggled, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfsfssf."

Duane quickly stepped back a pace. He didn't want to be sprayed with Maaawooo's pungent love juice.

He wagged his finger again, "Bad Maaawooo."

Maaawooo started to chuckle, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfsfsf."

He lowered his hand from his thruster and started to dance with Teeelaaa and Olaaa, grinding his lower regions, revealing his growing hard on.

Duane saw the amorous glint Maaawooo gave Teeelaaa. It took little guesswork to know what Maaawooo was thinking and come to think of it, so did Duane.

THAT EVENING, around nine, Abe's Bar and Grill was practically bursting at the seams. The cacophony of chatter and laughter mixed with country and western music rivaled that of the joyful clinking of glassware.

MB sat alone at a table close to the stage, drinking a cool Little Beaver Light from a tall glass. He was wearing his usual jeans and a denim shirt. A bottle of the same beer and a tall glass awaited the arrival of his other singing half—Duane.

MB's attention was focused on a group of noisy male and female Japanese seated at several nearby tables. They looked as if they were enjoying the entertainment and having a good time.

On the stage was a middle-aged Japanese male, wearing a full country and western ensemble, playing a guitar and singing a country and western tune. The tune in question was a C and W rendition of "The Green, Green Grass of Home."

Not bad on the ol' geetar, but the singing was more than a tad off key,
thought MB, with a disgusted look on his face. There's an Old Indian legend that tells us man who is tone deaf, can't sing.

MB took a sip of his beer and wondered where the hell Duane was. He would have to be here soon or they'd miss their spot.

Less than twenty seconds later, Duane stepped through the door of Abe's Bar and Grill. He was dressed in his Bigfoot duds, minus the head, which he had stuffed under his armpit. He waved and shook hands with everyone who said howdy—which was basically everyone.

MB caught sight of his friend and smiled. He stood up and waved to attract Duane's attention, indicating he was late with his non-existent watch. He was reminded of an Old Indian legend that told us man who depends on watch will be late for the rest of his life.

From across the crowded seating area of the bar and grill, Duane saw his friend. He cheerfully waved back. He sauntered through the crowded room saying his hellos to anyone that greeted him.

MB sat back down and waited with some amusement as Duane made his way toward him.
This is gonna take some time,
thought MB, as hands shook Duane's hand, and offers of free beer halted his progress.

MB was reminded of an Old Indian legend that tells us man who has a lot of friends is rich indeed.

A glass of beer was thrust into Duane's hand by a fellow male Beaverite. He accepted it and took a mouthful, then went on his merry way.

Another Beaverite, this time a familiar female clad in a cowboy get up, grabbed hold of Duane's arm and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a big red lip print on his skin.

Duane spilled half his beer over Collette.

Collette proudly looked down at her erect nipples showing through her wet blouse. She grabbed Duane by the hair and pulled his face into her breasts.

Everyone cheered.

It was obvious to all that a lot of people really liked Duane, MB mused. And why shouldn't they? Ol' Duane-o was one of the friendliest, if not
the
friendliest human being he'd come across.

Under MB's watchful gaze, Duane came across the only Beaverite not so enamored with Duane's cheerful personality. Duane faltered by Walt's table which was deliberately within earshot of MB, but due to the rowdy audience and performer on stage MB could only guess what was being said.

Walt sneered at the amiable Bigfoot and said something unpleasant.

Duane blew Walt a kiss.

Walt tried to get up, but was held down by his two close friends and hunting buddies. You guessed it—Chuck and Bob. All three were well and truly intoxicated on
Bigfoot ES
B.

MB's amused face transformed into a frown as Duane goaded Walt with an attempt at friendship by pretending to offer his hand, only to pull it away and display the bird.
Here we go,
thought MB. If Walt thought Duane was hiding Beau out at his place then things might get a little nasty. Many Beaverites were starting to come to the conclusion that Beau should have showed up by now-that his joke had gone too far.