Storytime

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I was up in the Yukon on walkabout, January, 1993. I came upon an abandoned cabin, settled in. Sometime near 2 am I heard a woman cry out. I pulled on my Kodiaks and Canada-Goose, grabbed my rifle, a light, and headed out into the bitter night.

The swirling winds played tricks with the sound so I wasn't sure which way to head. I started a grid search north of the cabin. Finally I heard a growling, then another scream. I ran towards the sounds. There, on the edge of the frozen lake, two arctic wolves where squared off against polar bear with a long haired blonde as the prize.

She was huddled against a snow drift, scared - real scared. She saw me. I motioned for her to stay still and fired my rifle into the air thinking the predators would run off. But they were hungry, the winter had been lean, and none of them could afford to give up an easy kill, now two easy kills. The wolves charged me first. I fired at them, missed. By then the bear was coming. I knew I needed the wolves and the bear to worry more about each other than me so I leapt toward the bear then dove onto the ice at the last moment. I slid under his swipe, angering him. He took it out on the first wolf to follow me. I've always been a dog lover so part of me felt bad as the bears claws opened the wolf's side, black blood gushing. It barely yelped. The other wolf thought better of hanging around and ran off. By then I was up in kneeling position with a bead on the white beast, hoping he'd be satisfied with the wolf carcass. He wasn't. He came at me so I fired. Head shot.

Standing, I spoke to the woman, "Are you okay?"

"I think so," she squeaked.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes"

I lead her to the cabin and sat her by the fire. Her name was Heather Butkis, yes the nudie model. Under the parka she had on a tight sweater and her figure described a set of parabolas that could cause cardiac arrest in a yak. My salivary glands shifted into third. "Hot chocolate?"

"Please," she responded making a seductive "brrrr" sound.

I went to the pantry. The Hershey's tin was on the top shelf. I grabbed for it, it fell and hit my forehead.

When I woke up, I was in her bed, completely naked.  Where were my clothes? How did I get to the bed? Why did I feel so paralyzed? She was no where to be found and I could feel my head throbbing at the point of contact from the Hershey's tin.  As I tried to gather my whereabouts and gain stability she appeared in the doorway dressed as a lumber jack.

"Helped yourself to my clothes?" I asked.

"It was all I could find."

"How did you get me into bed all by yourself?"

"I had help.  Three of my modeling friends came over."

"Are they still here?" I questioned.

"Yes." she replied, "A winter storm alert went out, and we always gather to keep each other company during the storms."

"Where are they?" I inquired with a hint of curiosity and a dash of male bravado.

"They're skinning the bear."

With my concussion I couldn't be sure whether that was a euphemism but I was hopeful.

As my lower regions began pulsing at the thought of finally living out my very own Letter To Penthouse, in walked a burly, thickly bearded hulk of a man with an eyepatch, his overalls caked with blood.

"Hi, Britt.", said Heather in a sultry yet sinister fashion that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and my scrotum shrivel into itself. "Are we ready to have fun yet?", she asked him.

It wasn't until much later that I realized, to my horror, that "Britt" was short for "Brittany" and that this night was indeed going to be one I would never forget... just not in any way the human mind could possibly desire or comprehend.

Brittany, or Britt as she liked to be called, slowly sauntered towards me.  

Fear crept into my soul, not allowing me to blink.  I watched every move that she made, and she took her sweet time.  Seemingly, watching my discomfort titilated her.  She would slide to the left a few feet, and then back to the right... back and forth like a drunk stumbling down a dark alley; yet, she knew exactly what she was doing: my gaze never strayed from her, and she'd knowingly giggle at how entranced and fearful I had become.  

Inch by inch, she drew closer... I could smell the coppery smell of blood on her overalls, a smell that intensified with every passing second.  Tick... tock... during the last few moments of her travels towards me, time seemed to halt altogether.  What is she waiting for? "Get on with it," I thought, too scared to actually speak those words aloud.  

Then, she was in front of me.  Staring right at me.  

Her head bobbed slowly to the left and then to the right; the intensity of her gaze now matched mine.  She looked deep into my being, looking for something... but, what???  What is she looking for?  What does she see?  

Suddenly, she leaned in and whispered into my ear...

.

"You look like a shivering fawn seconds from the maw of a starving bear, and you should, but you have no idea what true fear is. Tonight, we will show you levels of Hell you could never have imagined."

At that moment, I struggled to take a breath as my bladder let loose and began soaking the bed beneath me. I hadn't lost control of my bodily functions like that since that one summer back when I was 4 and I got lost inside of a K-Mart, separated from my mother, crying in a panic believing I'd never see her again. I had no time to feel any wash of embarrassment come over me as I was too busy attempting to capture my next lung full of oxygen.

Little did I know, that I would have been better off not taking that inhalation. The promise that Britt had whispered into my ear would be fulfilled tenfold in the weeks to follow and the evils to be unleashed upon me would have driven the devil himself to feel pity for me.

Like Bobby Ewing, I awoke from the dream. Heather was asleep next to me. My head hurt but had been bandaged. I grabbed my phone and emailed that dream to my shrink. She would think it tame by me standards.

I googled Heather. The news that she was missing was everywhere. Her 4 MMA lovers were heading North to her last known location in Whitehorse. TMZ had the rumors that they beat her and she was on the run to save herself. "MMA pussies," I murmured as I headed out into the snow for my morning constitutional.

Outside, on the lawn, stood four of the surliest Cro Magnon looking beasts that I had even laid eyes on.

First there was Dr. Hugo Spratzberg. He was a German scientist who had been hired by the East German Olympic team to boost the strength of their athletes. Using a high doses of HGH, horse steroids, and peanut butter, Spratzberg concocted a mixture that was banned in all countries except for the Czech Republic. Needing a guinnea pig, Spratzberg tested his growth serum out on himself. Everything was fine, until he went to a tanning salon. The UV Rays mutated Spratzberg's muscles... transforming him into a six-foot-five, 350 pound giant with an affinity for Reese's cups.

Reese's Pieces if he tries anything.

"Heather, put on your big girl panties and come over here."

"You know I'm against panties as a general rule."

"Ha fuckin ha, look out there and tell me who the olive skinned guy in the grey sharkskin is"

"The Sicilian"

"Go figure," I sighed.

I had always preferred Neapolitan pizza. A strike against him.

Standing betwixt Dr. Spratzberg and The Sicilian was what I guess you could call a man.  Average size, avergae build, but covered from head to toe with curly, black hair.  His pelt was so thick, I could not discern whether he had clothes on or not; for all that I could tell, he might have been wearing a Speedo -who knows???- simply, he looked like a shag rug standing upright.  

Though his voice was muffled by a mask (which, upon further inspection, was in fact made from the skin of a woman), I could clearly hear him repeating the words: "Would you fuck me?  I'd fuck me..."  

Heather had mentioned him before, but the name escaped me: Dog Shower... Shower Dog... something like that.

The fourth figure was the only one appropriately dressed for the cold but even with the fur lined hood it could only be one man - War Machine had escaped.

The four galoots oozed towards Heather and me. The air was rife with the smell of disdain-induced sweat, and the gnashing of their teeth was the only sound (aside from the occasional "I'd fuck me").

I stepped in front of Heather, in a last-ditch attempt to shield her from this motley group of Neandrathals. I wanted to run, but I was more scared of being labeled a "chicken" once again, than I was scared of dying. I felt Heather's hand on the back of my shoulder... gentle... caring.

"Run," I whispered to her, without looking back at her.

"Step aside. I've got this," she replied.

"Boys - if you leave now, I'll show you a nipple" Heather purred.

"You promise?" the quartet asked in unison.

"NO!" I screamed, regaining my manhood. "That's going too far!"

I jumped in front of Heather and showed them mine.