LISSANDRA writes---
Well, now that I'm a full-fledged member of Freakfoot's silly little
band I've been also made privy to a whole unknown World of Sasquatch
Secrets. Bigfoot orgies, shaman healers, Lost Underground Cities, I
mean, get real, who could believe this stuff? Not me--if I didn't just
happen to be in a rock band with a real life Bigfoot, that is. Okay,
it's not really a ROCK band.
And hey, now I've been invited to contribute to the family album. Eye-
witness reporting is what they're after and I do seem to be eye-
witting on a regular basis these days. So okay, if they can use what I
write. I haven't been writing much since High School, I guess we'll see
if this is good enough to get squeezed into the Divine Document.
Tell the truth, I wasn't so convinced that this band-thing was real either,
seemed kind of just too teen-dreamy to take seriously, but hey, when we
play music I really do get off on it and that's what it's all about for
me. Always had a thing about getting off.
Besides, I have too much time on my hands just now, being between jobs and
boyfriends (and please God, no more boyfriends like the last!). I need
to spend time away from my apartment so those bikers will stop coming
around. Too many guys, the bad kind, too many fights, I just want peace.
Why do guys always have to get so hung up over me?
Well there I go talking about me again, this is supposed to be Freakfoot's
chronicle. Tho it seems that I'm a part of that now. Actually, I always
have been. I've read all the earlier installments of this vast tome, and
there I am: Lissandra Cunnings, the mean little bitch who just had to pick
on the poor defenseless Wookie.
I'm tempted to defend myself here, but I've already been quoted as saying
I NEVER disliked Freak..dear sweet Adam. But he was just so much FUN to
tease back then. And almost too easy, for a gigantic hairy scary monster-
man, had to show I wasn't afraid of him. Hey, I still like to twist his
tit now and again.
But enough about him, more about me. Like I was saying about this band
we got going, at first I couldn't believe they could actually use me as
a musician. Okay, I WAS a real musician once, back in my cello days, but I was just a kid then and as soon as it stopped being fun I lost interest in the discipline it takes to be any good at it. I mean, I don't RILLY play bass and that bass-box they
assigned to me is just some kind of toy that ANYONE could play, they
didn't need ME specifically. I just happened to be there, we hit it off,
the music kind of worked.
Only I'm being kinda phoney here, aren't I? I've definitely taken up the cello
again so I guess that makes me a real musician after all. And it feels good. I've
just got to get better, smoother, faster-- but those are all the same goals I was
striving for even back when I was in top form playing lead cello in the school
orchestra. I was pretty good once (I say at the decrepit age of 21). Oh well, I
can always play the bass-box until I get good at the cello again.
So now we're playing almost every day, rehearsing to get...what, better? More professional? Freakfoot seems to have some kind of Master Plan that we
are going to accomplish something BIG, but as far as I can see we're just
some kids messing around in a garage band.
Except that. Yeah, there's quite a few "except that"s and I'm just
starting to accept that. God, I write good, no wonder they want me to
be eye-witty! Except that when Freakfoot goes on about us making "magic"
I keep getting the feeling that we rilly DO!
We're still experimenting just now, finding songs we want to sing and
play, so it's kind of messy. We have no real style or category yet, lots
of old standards, 50's rock, Beatles, Dylan, not much modern stuff at all,
but that's cool. Our noble Wookie bandleader does have a major weakness
for corny old musicals, but the songs are actually a hell of a lot of fun
to play: Oklahoma, Bali Hai, Maria from West Side Story-- and Freakfoot
can sing them so that I get tears in my eyes--just don't tell him that.
Another Except That: my so-called "instrument". I'm in love! Mel's Dad
built it about 15 years ago, it was literally just a toy for making some
funny noises when he and Sally and Art and Elaine got drunk and silly (oh,
those must have been the days!). Except That Douglas Wielson is some
kind of mad genius and natural-born inventor, he experimented for years
(or days, I'm not sure) to get the Perfect Thump and I think he really
got it. Okay. it's just a wooden box and a broomstick, but it's the
RIGHT wooden box. I suppose anyone could play it, but not the way I do.
I can even dance around it while doing riffs, which the guys seem to
get off on (ogling my butt, I know) and you know me about getting off.
Oh, I'll keep working on the cello too, of course, probably be alternating with
both instruments, depending on whatever songs we end up playing. It's just that
from the first time I played the box I was not only sold, I was also "magically"
re-transformed back into a Musician. It sounded good, it felt right, it was
ME. And everybody else knew it too, we all rocked together. It wasn't a
decision, it was Fate. Well, that's what Pokey says, but he's just sooo
glad to have me in the band to drool over.
And the big Except That: I'm drooling over all of them too. I haven't
had any really GOOD friends for a while, just Mel and she's so dedicated
to her Wookie that it's been hard to get really tight with her. But now
that we play music and spend so much time together, we ARE tight. And
not just her, Freakfoot and I have almost got a little thing going too
(just don't tell him THAT either). Even Pokey, I mean, once he stopped
drinking he got real for me. And the rhythm he and I put out together--
we mesh (especially better not tell HIM I said that).
EXCEPT THAT doing this makes me happy. And I haven't always been
that way, but I definitely prefer it.
The real reason I've been invited to write this chapter of BOOK THREE is
that I actually have been EYEWITNESS to a pretty damn dramatic incident
concerning Freakfoot and some bad guys. I guess they're desperate for
some action in this story, so here goes: major Breaking News Eye-Wit!
Once I'd joined this band I hung out here for almost a week solid.
Finally I thought I should go back home to my own apartment in Monroe,
having overstayed my fair share of Art and Elaine's hospitality. They
didn't seem to mind but I had my pride. Correction: stupid pride.
I hinted at having been unhappy, but really I'd been living in fear for
months, so I was trying to drop out of sight for a while, avoiding a
bunch of guys I didn't want to know any more. Real biker-types, H.A.
wannabees. You're already familiar with their leader, that bastard gets
mentioned in Book One: Big George Avery. Yes, from that night Adam got
shot.
Regrettably, he and I once had a stupid little fling a while back. Yes,
yet another case of bad judgment on my part. I wanted to forget it as
a "half-night's stand", like we say in the slut biz, but that was not
to be.
I had fooled myself into thinking that a "leader of the pack" must be
exciting and cool, but next thing I knew there I was: favorite ho' of a
truly psychotic asshole. This guy was selfish, arrogant, aggressive,
violent, criminal. I wanted out but he literally couldn't get enough of
my ass. And I do mean literally.
When I told him I didn't want to see him anymore he went macho-whacko,
threatening me, scaring me bad. I put up with him for a while, but then
he started bringing his biker buddies over, you know: to share. Once
was more than enough, so next time I had to escape from my own apartment.
I went to the police for a restraining order but those guys are real-live
outlaws, they just don't give a rat's ass. They came over anyway, kept me
from calling the cops until they were gone and called me a lying whore when
the police questioned them. I mean, these guys are routined criminals
and expert at cleaning up evidence of any violations. But there were
violations, believe me.
But I'd been away for over a week and hoped they'd lose interest since
I was never there. I got home about 7:00 in the evening, made some food,
and at 9:00 I heard motorcycles pull up in front of my apartment. Five
choppers, rowdy voices, laughing, like they were a little drunk or stoned.
Without even looking I knew it was them. Got scared.
So whoodooya call? Luckily, I had just encoded Freakfoot's cell number
into my I-Phone, not that I'd ever called him before, but there it was.
Lucky again, he took the call, Hi, this is Adam. Me going: Freakfoot,
I think I'm in trouble--these guys... Where are you, Liss? Okay, I'll
be there quick as I can.
Hurry, Addy! I whimpered. Hmph, I'd never called him "Addy" before,
that was Mel's affectionate nickname for her boy friend--but I totally
needed to borrow her boy friend and FAST!
Those guys would have walked in without even knocking, but I had locked
the door. Okay, Lissy, open up: We just wanna talk to ya. Go away, I
have nothing to say to you shitheads! Yeah, yeah, c'mon, open up...etc.
Ending up they kick the door down and come in anyway, five of them all in
leathers and tattoos, long hair, beards, bad attitudes. The room filled
up with a stink of sweat and tobacco and alcohol. Hey Lissy, where ya
been, missed ya! Shit-eating grins.
I was trapped, I was scared. I knew "Addy" was on his way, but he lived
at least 8 miles away, so I had to stall these guys before they got
around to whatever it was they wanted to "talk" to me about. So I stall.
Well, now that you're here, can I offer you some brews? Hey, yeah,
bay-bee, you got some thirsty hombres here, Big George says. And horny,
adds one of his horny flunkies, yuk yuk yuk.
I had only two beers in my refrigerator, but I poured them into five tiny
glasses which they quaff in one gulp each, so much for the stalling. Okay
Lissy, let's go hit the bedroom. Big George was into neither charm nor
foreplay. I don't want to, George, sorry. Bunch of laughs. Sorry? Ha
ha! So George gets serious, comes after me. I resist so he gets a little
rough. Again.
And viola! Adam arrives! Much sooner than I could have hoped for, he
comes ducking into and squeezing through what was left of my doorway. The
room was suddenly all FILLED UP with a quarter-ton of Bigfoot. He can't
even stand up straight, the ceiling's too low, so he squats like he always
does, nice and comfy, a yogi at peace with the world.
Big George suddenly doesn't seem so big any more, lets go of my wrist like
it's hot. You can just see OH-OH all over his face. The other four guys
flatten themselves along the walls, looking scared shitless. Now they're
going to get bitch-slapped, I hoped.
But Adam isn't coming on hot, he doesn't need to, I guess. He just
ignores them and asks how I'm doing, like it wasn't obvious.
So I tell him in detail, without being polite or afraid, more or less
accusing them of semi-rape. I figure it was their turn to be afraid and
the more I say the more scared they get, it was pretty cool. Big George
tries to tell me to shut up, but Adam says Hush! and that shuts him up
instead.
When I'm done complaining Adam finally looks at them. Those guys are all
frozen like dainty little statuettes. Man, they want to run but there's
no room to squeeze past the humungous Wookie in the middle of the room.
One of them tries anyway, politely mumbling 'Scuse me, but Adam puts his
big hairy hand on the guy's chest and gently nudges him back against the
wall. Thump: semi-squash. Adam is still calm but that tough guy whimpers anyway.
To me he says, Lissandra, I can smell that these guys have guns, maybe
you'd better just go outside until we settle all this. But I say, No way,
Freakfoot, you might need a witness for squashing them in self-defense.
Okay, I know he's not going to hurt anybody, but those guys don't. That
guy who whimpered begins blubbering like a baby.
So Adam finally looks directly at Big George and just waits. For maybe
a minute, though it seems lots longer. You know, tenser and tenser, like
in a spaghetti-western, gunslingers ready to go at it.
Finally Big George cracks, says something nasty like: Better back off,
you fucking monkey! You're right about the guns, we're all packing here.
You so much as touch me...
Big George has a reputation for being tough, but I'd heard that the last
time he'd gone up against Adam he pissed his pants. I sort of hope that
will happen again, only not on my floor, please.
Oh yeah, Adam says, I remember last time--still talking softly, soothingly
even--when you shot me in the leg as I was leaving. On FOOT. From behind.
But I'm not turning my back to you this time. Besides, if any of you so
much as touches those guns I promise to smash your precious motorcycles
beyond repair, ok?
Not if you're dead, you won't! Big George shouts and pulls a big cowboy
pistol from under his shirt anyway, aiming it right at Adam's head.
Adam doesn't even flinch, he just smiles and says very nicely: Now, now,
Avery, let's not overreact. Why don't you take a seat in that cozy chair
over there, relax a little, put your FOOT up and we can discuss this
like gentlemen.
Okay, now I'm thinking that Freakfoot is maybe a little crazy, throwing
away the upper hand--George Avery needs to be slapped down and NOT be
treated like a GENTLEMAN. But Big George seems to think it's cool and does
as suggested, sits down in my big old TV chair, snuggling in comfortably,
pushing back so that the FOOT Rest comes up. He spreads out, FEET up in
front of him. All he needs is a beer for the hand without a pistol in it.
So what should we DISCUSS? Big George asks, demonstratively aiming the
pistol at the wookie's head and smirking, because not only is he in charge
of the situation, but sitting pretty too.
Let's get off on the RIGHT FOOT here--Adam says--and start with Lissandra:
you'll stop hassling her. She doesn't want you coming here anymore, so
you will not set FOOT in here again. Oh and you'll also have her
door fixed, since you put your FOOT through it.
Oh yeah? So what if I just do whatever I want with her and blow you away
instead? He gets his pistol lined up with his eye taking really careful
aim now. Only he's not seeing what the rest of us are seeing.
One of his cronies finally says, Uh Big George, you're aiming at your own
foot!
What are you talking about? Big George says, squinting directly down the
barrel, I got this monkey-man right between the eyes here.
One of the other bikers says, Uh, no, boss, that's really your Right Foot.
Avery looks at his cronies, they're all frantically waving for him to put
the gun down. He looks at me, so I shrug and say, Go ahead and shoot,
then you'll know for sure.
Now he's unsure of himself, rocks the TV chair forward so that his feet
are on the floor instead of between him and Adam. He checks his aim again,
but just can't see that he's still pointing the pistol directly down at his
right foot. That's when I understand that he'd been hypnotized. Of course
I'm hoping he doesn't shoot and blow a hole in my floor. But his buddies
shout him out of it and he puts the gun away, totally confused.
So Freakfoot says, Well I think we're done here. I'm glad we had this
little talk, guys, you can go now. Me, I'm like, Wait, that's it? They
just go unpunished? I'm still kind of hoping to see those bastards get
roughed up just a little.
Oh, don't worry about that, Adam tells me, the main thing is that they
won't be back and are out of your life. But none of them have agreed to
that! I complain and especially not Big George, he could just come back
tonight!
I assure you that won't happen, Adam says. I believe him somehow, so I let
it go, relieved that it's over.
But it's not quite over yet. Adam ushers those bikers out my wrecked door,
saying, You guys better remember to pay for this door, because if you
don't... well, Avery, I know where you live and I'll just come and tear
your own house down to the ground.
Stupid George says a stupid thing: Try that and...well, I know where you
live too, Adam Forest! And that girl friend of yours, Melly Wiel...
That's when Freakfoot finally gets physical, grabs Avery by the front of
his shirt and easily lifts him up to his own eye level with one hand.
Still speaking softly he asks: Come on, Avery, do you really believe that
I have to tolerate threats from you?
Little Tiny George is dangling helplessly and yes, he's pissing his pants
again, so I'm satisfied at last. Adam puts him down, gently even, but
Avery's legs buckle anyway, probably from fear and he falls the rest of
the way onto his ass. None of the other bikers say or do anything;
they're all behaving like real good boys.
Now, Avery, I made a promise, so which of those motorcycles is yours? No,
no, you can't, says Big George, begging with zero dignity. Sorry, but I
can't break my promises, Freakfoot says and heads outside to where the
bikes are. We all shuffle out after him, crowding through the wrecked door.
I'm having fun now.
It's the Harley XLCH Sportster, ooo so nice a bike, clean machine supreme.
Adam grabs handlebars and seat of the Harley, hoists it up over his head
like it's a cardboard cut-out of a motorcycle and SMASHES it down onto the
street so hard that parts and pieces go flying in every direction. The gas
tank is popped, the wheels are folded, the frame is bent. That XLCH is now
just an "eX".
Avery totally loses it, screaming in frustration he yanks out his gun one
more time, really ready to shoot this time, no question about that, finger
already nudging the trigger. Only he's still aiming at his stupid foot!
Adam just says Freeze and Avery does, locks solid, can't move, not even his
trigger finger, lucky for him. Freakfoot sighs, says, You know, I'm really
tempted to just let you go ahead and shoot yourself. After all, you THINK
you're aiming at me, so you deserve it. But I can't allow it. Hand me
that pistol, please.
George is so hypnotized he just automatically hands the gun to Adam, tho he
can't move anything else, otherwise still frozen. Freakfoot unloads the
pistol (Colt .45 I think, a rilly SOLID clump of metal) and SNAPS it in two
with his bare hands, just like Superman. Tosses the broken pieces and ammo
into the dumpster in front of my apartment building, then tells Avery to go
home and don't bother me or any of my friends. George shuffles off like a
zombie, his buddies trying to snap him out of it.
Then they come back for their bikes, frantic to get out of there before
Adam does any more of the same to their bikes. I shout at them as they
drive away, Make sure you assholes pay for my door or we're gonna be coming
after you!
Okay, that was my revenge, I guess, just a little disappointed there was
no hitting and screaming. But the more I think about it, the more glad I
am that Freakfoot doesn't hurt people if he can avoid it. You could love
a guy like that.
Addy--I mean Freakfoot--even cleans up the mess. He tosses the ruined
Harley and various loose parts over to a nearby empty lot for the bikers
to pick up later. Gotta keep the street neat.
Me, I'm totally freaked by all that drama and especially grateful when he
insists that I come back to Forest Hacienda with him. At least until I
get a new door to my apartment. But I'm moving out instead.
When I ask how he hypnotized Big George he says, I told you I've been
studying magic with the Sha-hakas. Then I try to throw my arms around my
Hero's neck, if I can just reach up that high, so he squats down to my eye
level and gives me a hug. Maybe I kiss him a few too many times, but he
takes it like a man.
Eye-wit report: I've been around Mel and Freakfoot for some a while now,
observing how they are together. They're a funny couple--okay, OBVIOUSLY:
Wookie-human mismatch, etc. Funny because they are totally in love,
everything they do proves that, even when they aren't together. They're
such a team: she reads for him, he verbally "writes" for her, they're
creative together, play nice music, never argue, never misunderstand,
they complement each other in every way except one. No getting laid.
Oh, they sleep together, but all they do is talk then go to sleep, like
some totally OLD married couple. I'd crack, just have to go find some
action somewhere else. And they tell each other they may do just that,
but neither one of them really wants anyone else.
But the really funny thing is that I can relate.
I like living at the Hacienda a lot better than my apartment. It's a
fantastic house, lots of room, fireplace and piano, terrific kitchen for
crowds making dinner. And oh yeah, a whole bunch of really nice people I
like to be around instead of dislike. I think I'm turning into part of the
family. And they're letting me.
Fun stuff happens here, the Band sure, but not just that. We go to the
Lake, we help with work around the Hacienda, we ride horses, play with
animals, feed chickens, play cards. I have never watched less TV.
Freakfoot was invited to this week-long seminar at the University of
Washington, some kind of special Anthropology Studies program, so Mel and
I drive into Seattle with him and spend the day downtown, shopping at The
Bon, lunch at Pike Street Market, just us girls.
Pokey wants to come too, but we insist on a girl-day. But I make it up to
him next day: he and I drive in with Adam again and go to Capitol Hill, REI,
Waterfront, the Curiosity Museum, stuff like that. Pokey wants to hang
out, so we do.
Poor Pokey--well, no wait, I could just as well say Lucky Pokey--it's
just that he doesn't know what to do with himself now that he doesn't
drink anymore. If we'd been in Seattle two months earlier he would have
gone down to 1st Avenue to hang out with the other drunken Indians, go
bar-to-bar until he couldn't walk. All his old hang-outs are lost to him
now, he can't stand going into them anymore. He talked about enrolling in
some kind of school but doesn't know what to be interested in yet. His
whole life has been dumped on its head.
But now Pokey's part of this band, playing music almost every day. He's
good at it, he's turned ON, he's happy, he's psyched. So Lucky Pokey!
He'd like to get into my pants, or at least keeps kidding about it, but
we both know that's not going to happen. Okay, he's not disgusting any
more, actually he's a pretty good-looking guy now that he's cleaned up.
Noble American Indian face, a tight body, tho just a little too short
for me. I actually do love the guy, but as a friend and fellow musician
and hope to keep it that way. Rilly, it's more that I seem to be falling
in love with somebody else.
But for now, Pokey seems to be pretty happy with things the way they are
between us--especially since he gets to ogle my bare-assed hotness all
he wants when we're at Naked Lake. He gets off on that.
Freakfoot ogles too, just not as obviously. I get off on that.
We've been practicing for so many evenings now that they all sort of
blend together, but I do remember last Friday the 13th. July, warm
night, a fantasta-gazillion stars, Full Moon.
Freakfoot has this thing about Full Moons, you know, that whole Bigfoot
group-sex scene, getting high on shaman boo-- hey, I'd totally fit right
in, except for all that hair!
Anyway, after we had played music for about 3 or maybe 15 hours we finally
had to stop. Take a break, chill out, anything except playing more music
that night. Pokey went off to spend the weekend with his family on the
Indian reservation. Mel has her own room in the Forest house but she
usually sleeps with Adam anyway, so I get to stay in her room for a while.
I'm in the process of dumping my apartment so I have nowhere else to go
and I'm sure not about to move back in with my lesbian mom and her life-
partner. Oh, they're nice enough but they do have doilies and kitsch
everywhere in the house and I'm allergic. Any excuse for staying here
will do. Oh yeah...Full Moon.
It was also Friday the 13th, so I thought we should find a really gruesome
horror B-movie on TV and just chill out for a change. Freakfoot wasn't
interested--and I can understand why, he'd been living a real-live horror
movie out there in what he calls Squatchland. But he seemed to want more
of it because he said that he was going to go up to the Mother Meadow and
meditate under the full moon all night.
But Mel had plans, said Not alone, you're not because it's Ma-mløt-klys
and we're all going to have a Kha-rat together, whereupon she
hoisted a bottle of red wine and three glasses. Party time!
So the three of us went walking through the dark out to that big open
meadow behind the house and sat under that big fat yellow moon. Mel set
up three glasses of wine but Freakfoot didn't want any alcohol thank you.
I asked him if he ever loosened up and he laughed at me.
Because he had a little stash of something in his pocket. Funny you should
ask Liss darling, he says, I just happen to have some khos right here.
I'd read about that stuff in The Document, it's some kind of Wookie drug.
We asked where he got it and he said he'd gone foraging out in the woods
right around there and collected all the ingredients, then blended it.
Said it was one of the first things he'd learned at the Sha-haka school in
Aket. Homeopathic herbs, nettles, roots, natural high. Said it's even
LEGAL, but only because the DEA hasn't a clue.
It's what the Wookies do at the Kha-rat under the full moon, so we just
had to do it too. Nokhon culture, Adam calls it, and we were totally
interested in culture.
Well, it's not Marijuana, you eat it instead of smoking, but YARGH, did
it taste BAD. Bitter, inedible. But us clever human chicks found out
that if you mix it in your glass of wine it ain't half so bad. Took a
while to work though and we got more mellow than high--still, it felt
nice. The night was nice too.
Adam sat in some kind of yoga lotus like he thought he was a guru and we
kind of leaned up against him, it was comfortable. Sometimes we talked,
sometimes we just shut up and watched the moon cross the sky.
I asked Adam, are there really lots of Bigfoot orgies going on all over
the Great Pacific Northwest right now? All over the world, he said. I
said something like and here we are, missing out on all the action yet
again. So Mel said that we didn't have to miss out, we could have our
very own Kha-rat right here and now.
Knowing what that meant, I had to laugh and asked Freakfoot if he was
ready to service two frantic females in heat and he said something lame
like, In my thoughts, my dear. But Mel wasn't letting it go, saying,
Well Addy you COULD yøramma ONE of us, you know... long pregnant pause
after. Hint hint.
Knowing all about their problem, which Mel has described in ENDLESS detail
(true love, zero sex), it was pretty clear what she was hinting at. Yes,
at me. But I was feeling mellow so I wanted to play the game too and said,
Hey cool, can I watch? So Mel says she was actually thinking that SHE
could watch. Yuk yuk. When we tried to drag Freakfoot into the game he
said, O leave me out of this, you foolish females, I am a potential Sha-
haka, far above all this erotic silliness. But he sure did have a boner.
I could tell because we were all naked by then. Which was no big deal, we
all go to Naked Lake together just about every day. We were celebrating
the moon and when at the Kha-rat, do as the Wookies do.
Then we got him to tell us about the Kha-rat. Which was so cool: Dadamet
the Orator--I mean, RILLY, that man has a way with words--performing an
oral tradition of a totally alien culture for two American chicks mellowed
out on khos, under that oh-so cosmic moon. He told us stories about
Nokhon life until the moon passed behind the trees and the sky was getting
pink.
Mel and I were both keeping warm by sitting on Adam's lap and cuddling
under a big muscular arm each, our faces nuzzled into his fur. When
Adam stopped speaking there was silence all around, so we listened to
that for a while.
They mentioned that I was crying, well not crying really, but there were
some tears trickling. They started to fuss but I said I wasn't sad, I was
just too happy. Said this had been the best night I had ever spent with
any guy--or girl--in my life, it was too beautiful not to cry for.
And when I see you two, I went on (ok, NOW I'm sobbing and snotting, pretty
disgusting) in love that way you are, even with no sex and I compare it
to the screwed-up messes I get myself into.. Mel touching me, You've
just met some screwed-up guys, Liss... Me saying, But those were the only
kind of guys I deserved.
Adam hugging me and saying, You didn't deserve Big George, Lissandra, and
you're probably just emotional right now because of all the pheromones.
And Mel saying, Remember I TOLD you about Addy's musk scent? And it's
strongest Right Now at full moon. Oh yeah, I recalled: zing go the
strings of your pussy? Exactly and look where your nose is!
I knew where my nose was, I'd buried it there all night long: a Wookie's
steamy armpit! But so was Mel's on the other side of the Bigfoot we
were sharing. I pushed my nose back in for more: warm bread fresh from
the oven, Columbian coffee, a shot of Bailey's... They were right, I
wasn't sad at ALL--just really turned on.
I had to say it: Okay, before this amazing night is completely over, how
about we three all just DO IT, if only for this one time?
They looked at me like they thought I was joking. I'm not sure if I was
or not, but what I said was: Hey, I'm ready to do you both. Or either
one, I don't care. Freakfoot can watch.
Mel raised her eyebrows, kind of excited but unsure, You mean it?
I raised my eyebrows too, looked to Adam and asked, You want to watch us,
Freakfoot?
Freakfoot didn't answer. Mel giggles and sez: Whenever Addy doesn't want to
tell the truth, he just says nothing!
Mel and I really studied each other for a while, then I chickened out,
looked down, said, Naw, I was just kidding. Yeah, me too, Mel said.
I think we were, but who knows?
Now I'm going to be so bold as to squeeze one last eye-witless report
into this chapter. Witless because--well, why the hell am I writing
all of my deepest darkest secrets in a book anyone else might (certainly
will) read? I, who have always preferred to be mysterious and sneaky.
But it's like Mel and I have this raging CONTEST going on to see who
can write the most Naked of Truths, in the most outrageous of prose.
Striving for vulgar and passionate here. Kind of fun, of course, but
not exactly discrete.
The thing is, everybody else contributing to this book is doing it too,
not just Mel and me. Art has a theory that it has something to do with
being so deep within the "energy field" of a truth-telling magical Orator.
But I like his other explanation better: that this is not a scientific
treatise we are writing for academic publication, but our own private
version of Adam's Story, (maybe never to be published--or maybe so, later
on), so we want this "Document" to be FUN TO READ. I'm buying that one:
I LOVED reading all Mel's romantic bullshit. (Ooops, Mel, you're not
reading THIS, are you?)
But what prose could I ever compose to Out-Shock Mel's disgustingly
pornographic revelations? I mean, she's good, this won't be easy.
Ahhh, but I DO have yet One Dainty Secret Subject to be delicately
unwrapped. I mean, it's already a doomed secret anyway, because this
is just the kind of lascivious personal stuff that Mel simply CANNOT
RESIST exposing in every embarrassing detail--so I'll write about it
FIRST!
Okay okay okay, we all KNOW where this Freakfoot-Melly-and-me thing is
heading. Even I can figure that one out. Mel and I have talked about
it, of course, starting with me asking: You aren't jealous of me and Addy--are
you? Her turn to ask, then my turn and we're way cool. I LOVE the way
they are together and am happy for my share of that. I don't WANT
Freakfoot to love me more than her and I really don't need for this to
get sexual.
All right, I admit getting pretty randy out at our little "Kha-rat". But
I swear, girls, get a whiff of that Wookie's shyøma and you'd be
talking dirty too. I was high, it wasn't real. I mean, you believe me,
right?
I tell Mel he's too big for me to be comfortable with, that I'm still
chicken about so much meat. But she calls me on that: Really? You cuddle
all the time and you sleep with us every chance you get. My defense is:
Sure, because you guys keep inviting me to.
Anyway, finally Lewd Lissandra quits pretending and asks the obvious
question: Mel, do you RILLY want me to screw Freakfoot for you?
Oh, not FOR me, Mel says, but how about, you know...WITH me?
I mean, what a question! Yes, no, maybe? Thing is, I'm so happy in
this relationship with both of them--without any messy sex to ruin it--
that I'm not sure I want to fuck with it. So to speak, yuk yuk.
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