Off The Reservation

This one will is a bit long, as I'm scheduled for an extended trip back to the Dr's offices; and a hospital stay is in the offing for broken Nash - so hang on. This one goes out to all my pals out there that are 'hunters', and what can happen ifn yer not careful.

As I've mentioned elsewhere, I'm drawn to long-legged, full bosomed, AUBURN haired ladies - usually to my ultimate cost, as these things didn't tend to end so well for me.

It was one of those crisp - fall days in Tallahassee, when Football Saturday has that special poignancy for some, and a young man's sensibilities lean toward nesting with a lady for the winter. As I had had a bleak summer; starting with Orville the Glom unwittingly snaking the only real opportunity I had out from under me, my hormones were screaming at me to get busy. So, I laundered all my sheets 'n towels 'n clothes, cleaned my room from top to bottom, and donned my 'rope a girl outfit ' - Black long-sleeve turtleneck, black and tight-fitting dress slacks, black socks and black half boots. At that time, Sean Connery and James Coburn - who played suave secret agents - were the epitome of seductive maleness - in turtlenecks no less, and as I had successfully (not every time though), previously used this enticement, I saddled up and headed to the Brown Derby for ladies night - $0.25 well brand drinks for the babes.

I get there early to take advantage of the hot Hor Dourves they always served, and as luck would have it - the menu included Bar-B-Q'd beef ribs in the warmer. I grazed up and then sat back to scope out the talent. Not too much action for a while, I idled some time goofing on a guy who tried to sell me some insurance, and then..........................in walks a gaggle of 4 hot ladies. They get a high cocktail table with stools, order drinks, and head for the chow. When they return, I had positioned myself at the bar to establish and maintain a pure sight-line from me to them. I put on my best James Dean lowered brow, pensive but hopefully sexy face, and pointedly stared at them. They were all pretty hot, but the pick of the litter had dark Auburn Hair, pale blue eyes, the figure of Venus, and even at a distance I could tell she was.............a grown woman, as opposed to the baby faced coeds I was used to. They're looking around, and I get swept up in their scouting. They put their heads together, then Auburn top looks directly at me and beckons me over. I point to myself and lower my head as if to say; ME? She nods and beckons again. I quaff my single-malt and saunter over. Her pals say hi and then excuse themselves to group hug or whatever in the ladies room. Now I may not know much, but I know Class when I see it, and this, ladies & germs, was one authentic Clazzy Azz Lazzie. Before I can even say hi, M - is what I call her for this story's purposes, sez:
'Dee sez you've got pretty eyes. Sit down pretty eyes'.
Now, no one's ever said anything like that to me before. Yer nose it too big and yer ears are weird or yer feet stink, but nothing about the eyes.
M. 'Give me your best pick up line'. I'm totally flabbergasted by this of course.
M. 'Well'.
By now most of you know Uncle Nash is fairly unorthodox to say the least. I'm not prepared for this, and of course want to say something clever an cool and all; but my latent brain tumor kicks in and I say:
'We have a large cast-iron tub - you know, the one with the feet back where I live. I'll give you a bath 'n wash you sooooo clean, just like your Mother did when you were a little baby girl'.
She stares at me for a moment, and I'm thinkin' 'Well, blew the sheet outa that boyo!
M. 'You're on, but not tonight. Call me next week, here's my number'.
Here come the girls, so I excuse myself, Nice to meetya all 'round', and head to my car.
I'm in that avatar state of grace where one doesn't quite know what to think or do, one just goes on auto-pilot. I get home, and think - all that cleanin' fer nuthin'.
Next week I call, expecting a flat turn-down, and to my mild surprise, she answers.
Me. "Uh this is Bri from the Brown Derby the other night'
M. 'Mr. Bubble -Bath, glad you called, been thinkin' about that and thought I may have scared you off'.
Me. 'Well, it sure wasn't what I expected, and I don't know what made me say that'.
M. 'It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever tried on me, that's for sure; and I knew you were sincere'. You betcha lass.
Me. 'Well, how about dinner, anywhere but the Brown Derby'.
M. 'What? No Bubble-Bath?'.
Me. Crickets. 'Well, dinner for sure and then let's play it by ear.'
M. 'OK, where to you want to go, tell me and I'll meetya'.
I mention a family steakhouse that used to be on Tennessee St., and she sez:
'How about the Silver Slipper?'
Me, doing mental calculations to discern if my bank account will survive this; prolly not.
'OK'.
We have a wonderful time, hit it off, she seems to really like my off-beat sense of humor, and I like everything I can see and/or guess at. She's a touch affectionate thang, and I'm slightly shivering with anticipation most of the time. No hook-up is possible that evening, but she tells me she'll come over Saturday, and do I have bath-salts (of course not, and what the hell are bath-salts anyhow?).
Saturday arrives and none too soon.
Knock, knock. Who's there. Gorgeousity incarnate. Come in (and let me help you get comfortable as you've got way too many clothes on). We go to my room, sit on the bed and she takes my hand, and asks me if I want to follow through with the "cleaning". Yes, okey dokey.
M. "Well go run the bath, I like it pretty hot'. I do, and go back to the room. She's starkers and putting on one of my better FSU T-Shirts that isn't quite long enough to cover her lower extremities. Carpet and drapes are a match.
M. 'Ready'.
Me. 'Yes'. Walk to the tub, and it's ready (had borrowed some lavender scent bubble-bath beads from the hippie chick upstairs - who was a closet world class consumer btw). She climbs in and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I wash everything to make sure she's thoroughly clean and then dry her off (heh, heh).
We go back to my room and nature takes it's course. We're lying there, and:
M. 'That was pretty excellent, but I like it a bit more aggressive'.
Me. 'Oh?'
M. 'Come here'. We look at each other like predators, and absolutely get tore in.
Later, we're lying there, she looks around and sees all my FSU stuff and sez:
'FSU fan?'.
Me. 'You betcha, ever since the 67' Gator Bowl'.
M. 'Well my whole family loves the 'Noles'. What do you think of Bobby Bowden.
Me. 'Well, he's short'. (I know she means what do I think of his coaching). 'He seems to have the program back on track, and me 'n my buds sure hope so'.
We go on like this for a coupla weeks or so, and then....................it's time for the sneaky sinning bastage to pay his dues and meet the parents.
She had told me she lived with her parents - a bit North of town. I was so mesmerized by my her beauty and my good fortune, that I didn't inquire too far beyond that. She told me she would pick me up in her T-Bird at 5:30 on Saturday, and wear a dinner jacket. WHAT! Dinner Jacket!?!? Beat up old army field jacket was the extent of my sartorial inventory. Borrowed one from Coco, about 11 sizes too big, but it was nice and dark blue. Bought a white shirt, and fire-engine red tie to complete the ensemble. Yes, sure 'nough, looked exactly like the shabby-genteel white trash rabble I was. She arrived and Heigh Ho, it's off to be seen we go. We head North and end up at one of those plantations that exists between town and the Georgia line. Her parents had inherited it, and kept it preserved as a HUGE yard. They had sold off some of the pasture land for big $$ some years back, so it was not as big as originally plotted. Nice folks. Him, tall, attractive, elegant with his grey hair, deep tan and athletes' shape. Her, a spittin' image of M, with if anything even more stately and larger..................... They graciously welcomed me and we repaired to the sitting room. I accepted a Chivas 'n ice 'n water, and aren't we all nice to be together. They ask me what I did, and make nice noises when they find out I'm a glorified stage hand. I tell them the story of how my ancestors snuck out, or were kicked out of Germany and Italy way back when. Dinner was a series of courses starting with soup, following through with steak, and ending with fruit and cheese 'n nuts. Luckily, I had taken a home eco class at FSU, and knew just enough to not embarrass myself at the table by using the wrong glass, fork or farting loud enough to startle anyone. Joining us at the meal were her twin brothers, Mutt 'n Jeff for these pages. They were both younger versions of Le Dad, but you could tell they were outlaws and up to absolutely no good whatsoever. After dinner, the ladies take themselves off - presumably to discuss my myriad flaws - while us fine gentlemen repair to the "Gun Room". Now this is yer high-falutin;, rootin'-tootin' fer real gun room, with a regulation custom built pool table, with leather everything that prolly cost about 1/8 jillion dollas. Tons o guns in racks along every wall, overstuffed leather chairs, a hermetically sealed, climate controlled cigar cabinet (JAY), and of course, da BAR, stocked with nothing but the "Good Stuff". No Paddy's old rotten-sock 'n radiator-squeezin's for this lot. Do I play billiards? Well, yes as a matter of fact I do. We play teams eight-ball, me 'n dad wipe the floor with the moron twins, and then Dad excuses himself for the night, and it's just me and the lads. I take about $80 off them in nine-ball. Do I hunt? Used to alot. What? Well, Bambi a long time ago, but mostly water-fowl in the past 4-5 years, but not so much anymore. Ever go after RABBITS? Yes, used to stalk them with a .22. Really? Wanna go rabbit huntin' sometime? (No, not with you two nitwits). Well............................. 'C'mon, we'll take care of EVERYTHING!' Well........OK, but not for a while, I gotta work and it's mostly nights and weekends dontcherknow.
I get a ride home and a fast good-night..................... M calls me the next day and tells me everyone just lubs my azz, and what a delight it was to entertain me, and they must do it again real soon, and her Mom likes my eyes too, Le Daddio sez I'm a polite, intelligent young man, and the Devils.........................................think I'm neat and want to take me huntin' soonest. I'm able to avoid that for a month or so, but then there is an invitation to picnic, and ride horses all over the plantation and get a tour. One of the best times of my life (outdoors that is); Creeks with Beaver Dams, extensive woods, glades, glens, pastureland, terraced fields and just spectacular views everywhere you turned. Just me 'n her and her folks, so no room for naughtiness; but for once I didn't miss it. We head back in the gloamin', and there, returning from a tube trip down the Ichetucknee River are Bozo and Bozo. Bri! They sing, out. 'Whereyabin?' 'Say, we're goin' rabbit huntin on Sunday an you gotta come!'
No way out of it with all the fam dambly standin' there grinnin' like Chesse eatin' cats.
Me. OK, what time do you want me to be here?' 'Bout 5:30, jus afore dark'.
Now I ain't really wantin' to do this, as I had taken the measure of those two, and found them to be rich, spoiled and happy with it, free of the normal strictures most young men have to work through, and in general a disaster waiting to happen. THEY would survive it of course, as a life of privilege has it benefits, but the rest of us.........................
Sunday.
I drive up, and am enthusiastically greeted by a boxed set of hunting kitted out idiots. Heigh Ho, it's off the the gun room we go to choose our weapons. The pool table is covered with a canvas cloth (softer than most of my clothes), and on it is a variety of firearms. Weatherby, Mossberg, Remington, Winchester; Shotguns, Rifles, what looks like a semi-automatic sub-machine gun and a coupla pistols. 'Choose yer poison!' I like over and unders, so I grab a 20 gauge, a box of shells and stood up. They looked a bit disappointed that I didn't choose a cannon, but grabbed their favorites and off we go. Now, I've never hunted at night, some early dawn trips for ducks 'n geese, but nothing else - as I believe it's illegal. I ask how 'r we gonna do this. Well, one runs off and comes back with one of the biggest pick-up trucks I've ever seen. It's a FORD Hercules Killer truck (they joke), or something out of an enduro class, with Roll bars everywhere, 'bout 6-8 lights on the top of the cab, and straps to hold you standing upright just behind the cab, so you can see what's in front of you and kill it. Uncle Nash ain't likin' this any atall for sho, and calls "Shotgun". No such luck. As their guest I get pride of place and am escorted to the back, where I'm strapped in, handed my shootin' iron, directed to kill them rabbits, and they disappear into the front. Idiot that I am, I expected for them to run up onto a creature, STOP...... and aim the nose toward him while I attempted to separate him from his coconut. That was NOT the preferred technique of the Knievil brothers who liked to run the game down and squash it to smithereens. We take off at speed, and head for the pasture section. Now on the back of a walking horse it wasn't too bad. But in the back of a wild bucking bronco pick-up truck, it's murder, as every hump, bump, lump, hole, depression, rise, twist, turn and jolt is shakin' your Zero to his marrow. I try to scream, but my diaphram will not cooperate, as one moment it's up in my throat, and the next it's crashing down around my yarbals. They slam on the brakes, and I almost go tail over tea-kettle over the hood of the truck, with my "safety belt", holding me in place, although I think I hear what is a slight tearing sound from my waist area. "SHOOT" They're screamin' at me. If I could've talked, I've have been tellin' them to fook off, but hadn't enough wind at the moment. "SHEEEET" one of them screams, and Heigh Ho, we're off again to run our quarry down. Remember the terraced fields? Well, we head for that section, and just before we get there, the vehicle nose dives into a steep depression, stops dead, and my belt snaps sending me cartwheeling out of the bed, over the hood, and into the night.
Three days later, I wake up alone in the hospital. I lay there is a partial state of stupefication, and a chubby nurse comes in to check on me. As I become a bit more lucent, I see tons o flowers everywhere and marvel to see such a sight.
Nurse Ratchet. 'How are you feeling?'
Dead boy. "Ain't feelin nuthin right now".
Nursey. 'Well, we've given you a lot of 'medicine' to take care of you and help you.'
Me. 'OK'.
Nurse. Do you remember what happened?'
Me. 'No. I think a rabbit tripped me'.
Nurse. 'What did you say?'
Me. 'I'm not sure. Last thing I remember was flyin' through the air'.
Nurse. 'Let me get the Dr.'. She leaves and I found out later, the family had left instructions to be called the minute I regained consciousness.
Dr. 'How are you feeling, son?'
Me. 'Don't know, how do I look?'
Dr. 'You look just fine'.
Dr. 'You had a pretty bad spill there, and we are looking after your condition'.
Me. 'OK'. The family arrives.
M flies to my side and is ahuggin' anda kissin', anda cooin' all over me, who dadgumit is so drugged up I can't feel any of it. Pity.
Dad 'n Mom assure me everything is goin' to be OK, and not to worry.
Me. 'I have no insurance, I have to get outta here!'.
Dad. 'Now don't you worry Bri, we're handling all your medical bills and any lost wages you incur'. (I think it's maybe gonna run into the thousands pretty soon dude!).
Me. That's very kind of you, thank you very much'.
Dad and the Dr. go off in the corner, while the women solicitiously bend over me (a most cleavageingly welcome sight for my poor, sore eyes), to inquire about pains, 'n discomfort and anything they can do to take care of my bills or anyone they can notify that I almost made it to heaven or anything at all. A coupla a wicked thoughts of "sandwich" cross my mind, but as we're in a hospital, decorum demands I keep 'em to mesel for the time being.
Dr is telling the dad: 'Concussion. In a coma for a coupla days, 4 broken ribs, both ankles sprained, right wrist VERY sprained, most everything is either scraped or bruised (and the devil take the difference). Lotta pain in store for him, but we'll make sure he has enough meds to handle it.'
Dad' Make sure to send all the bills to me, here's my card with the address'.
I get out a couple of days later, and M escorts me home and puts me to bed. Says she'll be back in a coupla hours and here's some pain pills. I drift off into nodland, waking up when she gets back. She has the twins (who're very sorry, and contrite and will take me tubein' when I'm better) bring a day bed, some of her clothes, a bag or two with lady stuff inside, and informs me she's going to nurse me back to health. I can stand some of this, and especially anticipate the baths to come - as I can't use my right hand dontcherknow.
Eventually I return to normal, and resume my usual pursuits, both in and out of doors if ya know what I mean.We happily sail along in luv (heat mostly - as she's a greedy little creature), and I'm starting to think, maybe, just maybe..................................long-term things.
Next March, she tells me she's going to Europe (with friends) for about 3 months, and this is a trip that's been planned for several years. I wait for an invitation, although I knew I couldn't go due to my work schedule. We draw out our last days, laughing about my hunting skills and keeping pretty much together all the time we can. She sez she lubs me, and will miss me terribly, and can't bear to leave me, etc., etc, etc. Not enough to extend an invite, but she's pretty sincere nonetheless. She tells me one night when I'm rather vulnerable if you know what I mean; 'Wait for me, when I get back, you and me will take a nice, long, vacation to the islands together.'

I'm still waitin'.