Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [116]
“You get one every year,” she muttered under her breath, kneeling again behind the lectern and returning to her Heaven ordained, audio-equipment difficulties.
As Morgan lie somewhere far behind me under a pile of angry, naked people, I was pedaling my little heart out toward what I hoped would be someone I could spend time with besides him. Not that he wasn’t often entertaining, but you couldn’t have sex with him and feel good about it afterwards—no matter what your sexual orientation.
So for those of you thinking I left Morgan behind out of cowardice, keep in mind that a beautiful woman was—hopefully— waiting for me, wanting to see me, and she was naked. Cowardice may have, in some small way, played a part in abandoning my one and only friend, but overall I think you can go with me on the idea that there were other more important considerations at play here. Like—she was naked.
Over the tops of some coastal cottages and the nearby tree line, I could see some tall, dark stones, which looked vaguely forehead-like. There were eyebrows and ear tops, and one particular stone was tall enough that I could see most of a nose, and one entire eye in profile. The Medium Sized Giant head, I presumed.
As I rounded the last cottage still obscuring my view, I saw two immense Easter Island-like heads a hundred or so yards in front of me and just seaward of the path I rode. They must have been, on average, a good twenty or more feet high and were rooted deeply in the sand, their backs to the ocean as they stared unblinkingly into the front of a little chalet nestled between them and the sharply rising hills beyond. It was almost as if, one distant morning long ago, they’d strode majestically out of the sea intending to conquer the world, only to be distracted by some very attractive naked person in one of the windows. Captivated, they’d stayed and continued to ogle, not realizing that in this town—whoever it was—was not likely to ever get dressed.
World domination put on hold due to prurient interest. One of the immense rocks—the Little Giant Head, I presumed— leaned over oddly, as if time, weather and unsatisfied sexual urges had made him realize he needed a bit of rest.
I knew how he felt.
The cobblestone path ended beneath me, and the bike refused to roll over sand, so I jumped off, dropping it where it was, and raced toward the smaller of the stone idols. I checked my watch, and saw that I was seventeen minutes late, and cursing, threw myself behind the immense, stony sentinel.
But she was gone.
I breathed deeply for a moment, winded from my exertions, staring at the empty space between the stones and the sea. I cursed myself for being an idiot, for waiting for Morgan, for talking to Sophie, for not looking at the envelope sooner. Petal had winked at me. She was trying to give me a clue. But she clearly underestimated my utter cluelessness. I’d thought she was showing me some kind of appreciation for my exposed penis. Clearly, I was not the smartest truck in the garage. Even Bob The Builder would lose patience with me, and he could tolerate Spud.
Personally, I would have done a Lizzy Borden on Spud years ago and fed him to Farmer Pickles’ pig, Deadwood-style. Bob built Spud his own room. But I digress—which is part of my problem in the first place! I had lost valuable time getting the others into the hotel, talking with the receptionist, tipping the concierge, tolerating Morgan, talking with the receptionist again—
I was an idiot.
I sagged, pitifully, and turned back to my bike, dreading the long ride uphill for more reasons than just my own poor, physical condition, when suddenly, she was there, riding toward me on a Palomino horse, bareback, and fabulously naked, a modern day Lady Godiva, sparkling in the sun like a jewel, her beautiful smile showing just how pleased she was to see me.
Ms. Nuckeby.
Wisper.
My goddess on the shore.
“I’m so sorry I’m late…” Wisper said, stepping down from her valiant steed.
“You are so incredibly beautiful,” I told her.
She blushed,