Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [74]
“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.
I was too busy trying to catch a last, fleeting glimpse of the nude woman on the side of the road to hear or see Mindie, or anyone else for that matter. My first and likely only chance to view Mindie’s massive, untethered breasts with her full consent and witting approval, and I didn’t even notice—or care.
All I saw was her—the naked woman in the sunhat.
As we drove past, she was just stepping down, below the rise of the slope, her perfect face turned ever so slightly my way, and I knew before I saw…
Ms. Nuckeby.
Gloop.
My eyes went wide with shocked delight. I slowed the car and unbuckled my own belt, beginning to stand in the seat and trying to see over the edge of the stairs as Ms. Nuckeby descended beyond my view.
Apparently Mindie thought I was going for her exposed womanhoods and screamed, horrified.
“Oh, my God, you really CAN see their penises!”
With a wicked roundhouse, she punched me backward, and I fell over, landing on the steering wheel and accidentally jerking it hard to one side. The car lurched, skidded, and flew off the road, slamming into a tree at the bottom of a ditch. The impact sent Mindie flying with a shriek—ass over teakettle—shirt flapping, bra flipping, breasts flopping—into a small clump of bushes. Ms. Waboombas rammed into the backside of Wendy’s now vacant seat with a scream. Morgan and the pastor slumped forward, held securely by their safety restraints. Seatbelts really do save lives.
As the rest of us slowly gathered ourselves, ahead in the foliage Mindie lay moaning. All we could see of her were two feet sticking into the air, one shoe dangling from her toes.
“Everyone all right?” I asked, lifting my head from the steering wheel and checking for damage, either to me or the other passengers. There didn’t seem to be any. But after what I’d done to Mindie, there was sure to be.
All around there were general nods and groans as everyone pulled himself or herself together. I leaped from the car and went to see about my betrothed. I rounded the bush she’d disappeared behind and gently lifted her, as she was attempting to close my now buttonless shirt over her reattached bra. Once on her feet, she slapped my hands away.
“Get away from me, you disgusting pervert,” she said, then really laid into me, slapping my arms, face, chest, clothing, and aura. “Where did you learn how to drive, in a Cracker Jack box?”
“I think you mean, where did I get my license…”
Mindie goggled at me furiously.
“Are you correcting me?” she asked in a tone that would freeze fire.
“Not intentionally.”
She swatted my sternum, then winced and grabbed her fingers, massaging away still more pain I’d caused her.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, reaching out to support her.
“I’m fine. Leave me alone.” More swats. “Catch a glimpse of a few boobs and you lose all control.”
“What boobs?”
“Mine! The one’s you were grabbing at, you retard.”
“I wasn’t…” I stared, lost. I hadn