sabrina 1 meets franksolich (story now complete)

[franksolich]

introduction.  sabrina 1 meets franksolich is a work of fiction, but probably accurately describes what would happen, if the primitive encountered franksolich in real life.  The people and places described are true-to-life, but the events and reactions to those events are wholly speculative, although one can be assured they’re reasonable speculations, well within the bounds of both possibility and probability.

sabrina 1 meets franksolich.  It was a sunny, hot late afternoon and she was standing on the side of the road, outside of her stalled automobile, when another car, coming from the east, saw her predicament and slowed down.  It looked as if it might go on its way, but given the custom of the place, once it passed her, it pulled over.

People in the Sandhills of Nebraska always pull in front of, never behind of, a crippled vehicle.

A petite red-haired woman in her mid-30s whom long-time readers would immediately recognize as the neighbor’s wife got out of it.  sabrina 1, although relieved someone had stopped, was even more relieved that it was a woman, and a woman barely more than half her own size.

Being in an area strange to her, sabrina 1 was, uh, somewhat nervous about people.

The neighbor’s wife introduced herself, and without further ado, opened the hood of the stranded vehicle and asked sabrina 1 to turn on the ignition.

“Oh my,” the neighbor’s wife said, after listening for a few seconds.

“Your fuel pump’s shot.  I’m afraid you’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Is there a garage anywhere?” sabrina 1 asked, secretly dubious because she’d already seen what she’d passed on the highway, and suspected what lay ahead was more of the same.

“Oh my no, not at this hour,” the neighbor’s wife said.  â€œIt’s almost seven, and they all close at six.  And besides, they’d have to order the part from the big city, and it’d be half a day before it got here.  Things take longer to get here, than they do to be put in.”

sabrina 1 pondered her situation.

“Well, is there a tow-truck that can take me into town, and I can get a place at a motel?”

“Oh my no,” the neighbor’s wife said.  â€œThere’s a tow-truck in town, but the owner’s with his wife vacationing up in North Dakota right now.  And besides, there isn’t a motel for a hundred and ten miles that way”—pointing east—“and two hundred and fifty miles that way”—pointing west—“in Merriman.

“It’s too bad you didn’t break down near Merriman; you could get a motel there—first-class, super deluxe, five-star, but oh, at Kensington Park prices—and as dutch508 lives there, I’m sure he could show you a good time while you’re waiting.  

“dutch508 sets a good table.”

sabrina 1 got a little impatient; she was after all here, not on the other side of the Sandhills.

Then she got despondent.  â€œWell, what can I do?  I’m out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh my dear, it’s not all that bad,” the neighbor’s wife assured her.  â€œI’d take you in at my place, but we’ve got four young children, and my brother and his wife and his three children from Kansas City are visiting us, and we’re rather cramped in a five-bedroom house.  There isn’t any room.

“But we’re only two miles away from someone who could board-and-room you until the car’s fixed—it’d probably be done sometime early afternoon tomorrow—he lives alone in a big house, and has plenty of room.

“And my husband can come and drag your car there, to the front yard.  And the mechanic can come from town in the morning to install a new fuel pump right then and there; it’s an excellent place for fixing cars, and cleaner too—“

“I’m not sure I’d like staying out here in the middle of nowhere, with a strange man,” sabrina 1 interrupted.  â€œIf I could grab a bite to eat, then I’d be okay sleeping in the car overnight—“

“Oh my no, honey;” the neighbor’s wife interrupted in turn; “usually that’s okay, if one’s a man.  But you’re not.

“You look like you can take care of yourself, and I imagine you’ve been around the block a few times, but still, you’re a woman.

“U.S. Highway 20 is generally a safe place to be, nobody around to disturb you, but ever since January 20, 2009, it’s seen all sorts of strange people, people from Connecticut, from Massachusetts, from Maryland, from New York City, from Delaware, from urban Pennsylvania, from Maine, from Cook County, jobless and homeless now, and headed west.

“It’s the route of the new Okies, people fleeing their devastated, crime-ridden Democrat-machine-dominated congestion for a new life somewhere else.

“And not all of them are nice people.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

continued

sabrina 1 continued to protest.  “But I really don’t want to be here out in the middle of nowhere, under the roof of a strange man; he might get designs on me.”

“Oh my no dear,” the neighbor’s wife said; “you’re not his type—he prefers svelte women with Hebraic features; the interesting nose, the dark hair, the dark eyes, the light skin, long slender fingers, and grace and class oozing out of their pores.

“Why he has the femme he does right now, elegantly petite and all that, but blond hair, blue eyes, and looking more Danish than Judaic, is a mystery even to him.

Then looking sabrina 1 over with a critical eye, she commented, “Trust me, he’ll get no designs on you.”

“Well, it’s nice to know that,” sabrina 1 said, a little huffy. 

“But are you sure there isn’t anywhere else I could stay?”

“Oh my no honey,” the neighbor’s wife said.  “And if you insisted upon staying here and sleeping in the car, sooner or later the sheriff’ll pass you by, and seeing you’re a woman, and needing safer quarters than the side of the road, take you into town and put you up in the jail for the night.

“You wouldn’t be searched, locked up, your telephone wouldn’t be taken away from you, access to the office bathroom instead of the open commode in each cell, free to come and go as you wanted to stroll around town, and the food, supper and breakfast, is catered in by one of the local eateries, a la carte, your choice, but it is after all…..a jail.”

While sabrina 1 mulled it over, the sheriff did in fact pass by, slowing down so as to park in front of the neighbor’s wife’s car, and walked back to the two women, tipping his hat.

After pleasantries were exchanged and an explanation of the problem given, the sheriff confirmed to sabrina 1 that, yes, all that the neighbor’s wife had told her was true, and her suggestions good ones.

“Now, if you’re still bothered by staying at his place, sure, I could put you up in the jail overnight, a private cell, unlocked, and the private office sanitary facilities available to you—and it’s clean; the floor was mopped only this morning.

“But it’s a jail madam, and while you’d be safe from Petersen who’s in there shaking through the d.t.s, and Arvidsen who’s in there going through one of his schizo phases, and Taverner who’s in there all loud and bellicose and whining—he skipped out on his child support again—because he needs his heroin fix and has no way of getting it—well, it’s rather noisy there, and bars aren’t sound-proof.

“There’s a lot of four-letter words going on in there, words you don’t need to hear.

“I think you’d be better off, madam, staying at his place until your car’s fixed.”

sabrina 1 still hesitated.  “I have no idea who, or what, he is,” she protested.

“Who, and what he is, is a nice guy, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet, madam,” the sheriff testily illuminated her, strongly hinting she should do what was suggested, for her own good.

to be continued

[Skul]

I'm already getting a bad feeling about this.

[Gina]

“I’m not sure I’d like staying out here in the middle of nowhere, with a strange man,” sabrina 1 interrupted.

[franksolich]

continued

Resigned, sabrina 1 got into the neighbor’s wife’s car with her, and they went two miles down a country road to her suggested accommodations.

“Really, he’s a nice guy, one of a kind,” the neighbor’s wife assured her.

They came to the crest of a hill, and down below them lay vast meadow-like acreage that spread to the river.  There was an alpinic Jungfrau-like mound, obviously not a natural one, quite a ways away from the house, infested with waist-high catnip, wild tomato plants, and only God knew what other sorts of foliage. 

“It’s quite famous around here,” the neighbor’s wife illuminated her; “the William Rivers Pitt.”

The house itself looked as if a child had created it, a combination of gingerbread and baroque and whimsy.

“Actually, it’s quite old and falling apart,” the neighbor’s wife said; “it’s all modern and that on the inside, but still, it was jerry-built over several decades, added on to as the owners needed room.

“The original owners came here in 1875, and for years and years and years, they lived, first, in a dug-out, and then later in a sod-house.  They finally put up a wood house in 1902, although some say it was as early as 1890.  I dunno; sometimes a wooden shed was built attached to a sod-house, and then as time went on, the shed got larger and larger, while both parts were still lived in.

“In the meantime, they’d built a veritable palace for pigs—in fact, their very first year here—one of the biggest barns in the county, naturally-air-cooled during the summer and naturally-heated during the winter because of its peculiar architectural features; every comfort and luxury a pig could possibly want.

“And kept immaculately clean.

“The pigs were to be the source of their wealth, and needed taken care of.  The people could take care of themselves.

“When they figured they finally had enough money, they built a small frame house of wood, and then, as already mentioned, added on as needed.

“The place changed hands two years ago—he actually works for the cattleman who has land across this road, and just lives here—and as soon as hope springs anew, and change comes, January 20, 2013, probably the house’ll be torn down and some riverside cabins put up here, as it’s an excellent place.”

sabrina 1 commented upon the lush proliferation of flowers and other vegetation; it seemed so well-ordered, so well-kept.

“It’s wholly natural,” the neighbor’s wife told her; “the owners had been enthusiastic gardeners, but the last one died in 1985, and it was let alone until he came out here the autumn of 2005, twenty years later.

“He’s not a gardener—he despise that sort of thing, as he grew up with too much of it—and he’s surely no fan of nature, but this being Nebraska, he has to put up with it.

“He figures that if he lets nature alone to do its own thing, nature’ll leave him alone to do his own thing; the old ‘live and let live’ sort of attitude.  What you’re seeing is nature having done its own thing.”

The host’s car was parked in the yard, but he himself was nowhere to be seen.

“No matter,” the neighbor’s wife said; “come along, the place is unlocked,” as she went up the steps of the front porch; “and besides, I have to call my husband, to bring in your car.”

Upon entering the front door, sabrina 1 first saw the vast dining room, so large that in its sparseness, it looked as if it could accommodate a square-dance.  And then she saw the adjoining living room, even larger yet.  She’d seen three-bedroom apartments in blue cities with less space than the living room.

She however wondered why the spartan austerity of the rooms; there was hardly anything in either.  This guy was obviously no pack-rat, no compulsive hoarder, and liked his spaces open and fresh and clean.

The only thing that was “crowded” were the walls.  There seemed hundreds of custom-framed copies of portraits by Holbein and Durer, and peasant scenes by Brueghal, covering the walls, but actually there were probably only some several scores of them.

The neighbor’s wife went to the telephone, on a table in the dining room.  The telephone looked odd to sabrina 1; it actually looked more like the control-panel of a jet airliner.  There was a blinking red light near the top, which the neighbor’s wife pressed, shutting it off.

“Switching to normal use,” the neighbor’s wife said, after which she called her husband, giving him directions and instructions for sabrina’s stranded automobile on the highway.

When she hung up, she mentioned she’d have to leave now, given that there were so many young children at her home who needed her attention, assuring sabrina 1 that her host would show up sooner or later, although she had no idea if he’d show up before her husband and her car, or after.

“Just look around and make yourself at home,” sabrina 1 was told.

“I still don’t know,” sabrina 1 confessed; “I’m still nervous, and besides, maybe he won’t like having me here.

“I snore when I sleep.”

“Oh, that won’t bother him the least,” the neighbor’s wife said, as she left.

to be continued

[hillneck]

It's not looking so good for sabrina 1.  This story has the whole 80's horror flick feel to it.   

[franksolich]

continued

Since no one was around, and she could hear if someone showed up, it was so quiet out here, sabrina 1 cautiously inspected the rest of the premises.

First was what was obviously his bedroom, off the living room.  It was about the size of a tennis court, but oddly, all she saw there were a wooden pallet with a mattress on top, close the floor; a bed-side table on which sat a brass table-lamp; and a bureau with mirror, all the rest being acres of carpeting and bare walls.  There was nothing in the drawers of the bureau, other than clean underwear and clean socks.

His closet was rather more full, or to put it accurately, about one-tenth full, three custom-made three-piece pin-striped suits, three or four shirts, three or four pants, and some sheets and pillowcases, all hanging on hangers.  There was a pair of really expensive Saville Row-type shoes on the floor; obviously he didn’t wear them very often.  His foot size was 10.

She went from that bedroom into the kitchen, which was about the size of a hotel ballroom, but had only a small dinner-table and two chairs at one end, and running along the other end, the usual-and-standard built-in cabinets, sink, and natural gas stove.  It didn’t look as if he used the stove often, if at all.

On the counter was an electric oven-roaster, which looked as if it got considerable use, two industrial-strength blenders, and a modest coffee-maker.  Fresh fruits and vegetables which had only recently been brought in, and not put away yet.  In the drawers were silverware and cutlery, nothing more.

The cupboards above were full of dishes and cookware only, and hence almost empty.

When she opened the restaurant-sized refrigerator, she saw where he stashed the food, everything from bread to breakfast cereal to boxes of pasta to flour to spices and herbs.  But it was apparent here was a guy who did 90%, if not more, of his grocery shopping in the dairy-and-eggs section.  Gallons of whole milk and orange juice, a couple dozen farm-fresh eggs (evidenced by that the cartons had been re-used), butter, ice cream, several varieties of real cheese; and two institutional-sized containers of sour cream.

sabrina 1 then inspected the medicine-cabinet in the bathroom.  A large bottle of generic aspirin, two toothbrushes, one used and one yet to be used; four tubes of toothpaste; dental floss; a pair of tweezers; and four quarts of Preferred Stock cologne.

Hmmmm, she thought; no pharmaceuticals, licit or illicit, anywhere; at least I won’t be dealing with a drug-crazed maniac.  But only God knows what else I might have to deal with…..

She walked down the corridor from the kitchen to the four bedrooms, obviously the last-added-on part of the house.  The first one she looked at, was as if a museum display from the 1890s, even the wallpaper; there was a large 3’x4’ copy of a portrait of William Gladstone in old age hanging above the bed.

The others were just the same; “period pieces” from the 1900s, the 1910s, and the 1920s.

Suddenly the telephone in the dining room rang—she heard that—and shook and unleashed a panoply of colored blinking lights—but she didn’t see that until she got there.  Somewhat leery that it might explode or something, she gingerly picked it up, “Hallo.”

The noise from the receiver caused her cheeks to puff and her eyes to cross.

Remembering something, she pushed the red blinking light on top, after which her head stopped twirling.

Recovering her composure, “Hallo,” she said again.

There was a woman at the other end of the line, obviously upset and angry, and so sabrina 1 hung up the telephone without further comment.

to be continued

[Skul]

The thick begins to plotten.
I hope Dutch drops in for a visit.

[hillneck]

The music is starting to play, therefore the end is near.

[franksolich]

continued

About that time—it was now a little bit past eight in the evening—a pick-up truck came over the crest of the hill, and down into the yard, and then the driveway, towing sabrina 1’s vehicle behind.  As readers of the Sandhills tales will recognize, driving the truck was the neighbor, the cowboy in the story immediately preceding this, and steering the car towed by a chain was the property caretaker.

The two men quickly unchained the motor vehicle, and pushed it up the driveway, near to the doors of the garage.  And then they unloaded from the bed of the truck all sorts of professional mechanic’s equipment; jacks, hoists, whatnot, laying that on the concrete beside the crippled car.

sabrina 1 was standing on the front porch, watching, and was startled when they suddenly bounced into the cab of the pick-up truck, taking off.  “Nice to meet you, gotta go,” shouted the neighbor as he waved through the open window on the driver’s side.

But they didn’t get away quite that quickly; as they were going up the hill, next to the William Rivers Pitt, a tiny but late-model truck came into view over the crest, and so courtesy demanded both vehicles stop where they met, for some casual conversational chitchattery, after which the large truck went on its way, and the smaller one drove into the front yard.

It was an elderly couple; they both got out and carried some small aluminum tubs to the base of the mound.  One of them was a tall, thin, gaunt, man who was dressed for, and looked like the type, to lead the sedentary retired life; probably in his late 70s, although he had yet to develop the paunch of such men.

The other, a woman slightly younger, looked like a well-preserved grande dame, the sort who played bridge three times a week and hosted garden parties.  She was in a dress, wore a large floppy hat, and wearing high-heels, although she stopped to put on a big pair of dirty old leather gloves.

After which she began spading dirt into the tubs which, when half-filled, her husband loaded back onto the truck.  There were about a dozen, or fifteen, of those tubs.

When they were done, the woman noticed sabrina 1 on the front porch, and approached her, “Well, hallo, you must be a guest here.”  After which she identified herself; her husband a retired banker, and she an avid gardener.

sabrina 1 gasped at what she was wearing; earrings, strings of jewelry cascading down her bodice, bracelets.  Surely the stones had to be fake, but sabrina 1 wasn’t sure; maybe they were real.  In fact, the odds were better that they were real, than that they were fake.

She looked very much like the wife of an alum of Brandeis University.

“You see,” the woman said, “we come out here every so often to pick up some of this, the best fertilizer around. 

“We’re right here on the edge of the Sandhills, where the deep rich black soil gives out, and Sandhills soil is utterly inappropriate for growing things, unless they’re already growing there. 

“And thanks to the young man who moved out here seven years ago, a mother lode, a mountain, of the best fertilizer possible was discovered here, the William Rivers Pitt.

“For years and years and years, nobody paid any attention to it, thinking it just another pile of dirt.  He found its features rather interesting—things start growing on it in early February, and don’t die out until Christmas, no matter what the weather is—and inquired of some old people about it.

“He was sitting on 740 cubic yards of pig shit.

“And not only that, antique pig shit, pure and unadulterated and properly decayed.

“The family here raised pigs from 1875 until 1950, when the barn burned down, and they switched from pigs to cattle.  Well, sometime when Ike and Mamie were in the White House, the stench evaporated, and then when Jack and Jackie were in the White House, the texture changed, helped along with fine black dirt exported from North Dakota during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s, and so now it looks like ordinary dirt.

“The family fed their pigs well, no junk food, no chemicals, and so the pigs produced the purest shit around.”

sabrina 1 was a little bit unnerved by the woman’s vocabulary; such a coarse word, “shit,” but somehow she managed to utter it with grace and elegance.

“You see the tomatoes growing on there,” the woman continued; “they weren’t planted there.  The pigs were sometimes fed bushels of tomatoes, and some of the seeds passed through their alimentary canals undigested.  The seeds spout every year, and every year they die and rot into the ground, the next spring new tomatoes coming up.

“It’s too early right now, but these are some of the best tomatoes in the county, although the young man, knowing their origin, won’t touch them.  He buys his tomatoes at the grocery store in town—“

Her husband, impatient to get going, gestured to her.

“Well, I must go,” she said; “you know how men are; they don’t like to hang around and talk.”

to be continued

[Skul]

I've got a bad feelimg I shouldn't be drinking anything, for the next episode.

[franksolich]

continued

It was nearing nine o’clock, and while still bright, the daylight was showing signs of beginning to fatigue.  sabrina 1 wondered if her host was ever going to show up, and hoped very badly it’d still be in daylight.

She was standing in the kitchen, looking out the back door to the back porch, when she finally saw him, although at a distance.

He was walking down near the river, flinging a frisbee around, playing “fetch” with the cats.

That’s odd, sabrina 1 thought; he’s got the cats trained to act like dogs.

As he neared the house, sabrina 1 could see that he was tall, and while not “slight,” leaning that way.

He had dark brown hair, and unusually pale skin.  He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, gym shorts, and a pair of too-much-used tennis shoes.

As he got closer, sabrina 1 bellowed “Hallo” at him, but it didn’t look as if he’d heard.

She was directly east of him, but he was walking slightly to the southeast, as if meaning to go around the house to the front.

When he was about thirty feet away from her, she Hallo’ed him again, but he ignored her, as if he didn’t even see her.  When he was that close, she noticed what looked to be knee-pads, but were actually large bloody scabs, on the front of both kneecaps, as if he’d taken a hard fall on them or something.

The four cats in the meantime had broken away, and jumped on the back porch, inspecting her.

The cats were a little bit smaller than average, but obviously robust.  After checking her out, they approved sabrina 1, and went on inside the house.  It was a good thing, sabrina 1 thought; even though they were pretty small cats, they looked as if they could wreak considerable damage on her, if they didn’t approve of her.

When sabrina 1 looked up again, the man had disappeared.

She became fearful, supposing he might have plans to approach her from the front of the house, behind her back.  She spied a heavy S/K adjustable wrench, big enough to take off the lower jaw of an adult male, and silently made her way into the dining room and then past that, to the front door.

He had gotten into his automobile, and just now driven up to the crest of the hill, going somewhere.

sabrina 1 leaned against the door-sill of the open door; she was scared.

Standing on the front porch, she decided to call her “wife,” a thousand miles distant, for help.

to be continued

[franksolich]

I've got a bad feeling I shouldn't be drinking anything, for the next episode.

You know, sir, I'm just writing this--it's wholly first-draft--as I go along, as the spirit moves me.

I have no idea how it's going to end.

[Ballygrl]

Awesome frank! just curious, I read so much of this, but did you mention the ice skates? or did I miss it?

[Skul]

Awesome frank! just curious, I read so much of this, but did you mention the ice skates? or did I miss it?

No, nothing about the ice skates. Wrong time of year.
The "wrench" however, did come into play, as well as the cats.
Time will tell, dear lady, time will tell. 

[franksolich]

continued

“Oh my God, what a mess you’re in,” sabrina 1’s “wife” back home gasped, when learning of the details.

“You’ve got to get out of there—he’s a man, and as you know, men don’t have brains, they have only dicks, and think only with their dicks.  He’s going to knock you down, spread you out, pop you open, and ravage you.”

“I know, I know,” sobbed sabrina 1, her puffy cheeks glistening with secretions from the lachrymosal glands.  “I’m scared.”

“Get in your car and drive away from there, as far as you,” the “wife” advised.

“You forget,” sabrina 1 cried; “the car’s here, but it’s not going anywhere until it’s fixed in the morning.”

“Oh, right—well then just run, run to the nearest house or town, where you’ll be safer.”

“But I’m out in the middle of nowhere,” sabrina 1 bawled; “miles and miles out in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t know what direction to go.  And it’s starting to get dark here, and there’s all sorts of wild animals out there, deer and coyotes and snakes and things.

“I can run for fifty miles, and be nowhere near safety.”

“Oh my God, what a mess you’re in,” sabrina 1’s “wife” repeated.

“Are there any guns in the house, that you can load and use?” she asked.

“No, no,” sabrina 1 wailed; “I snooped through this house with a fine-toothed comb, and no, there’s no guns, not even a knife, other than the dull kitchen ones.

“The only thing is this big S/K adjustable wrench, big enough to shear the lower jaw off an adult male.

“That’s all I’ve got, to use as a club.”

“Well, that might be enough,” her “wife” suggested; “that, and that you have a good hundred pounds or more on him.  You’ve got some heft he doesn’t.

“I tell you what—the best thing for you to do is to take the wrench, and go out and stay in your car, locking the doors.  Try to stay awake, and if he approaches you, call 911 on your cellular telephone.

“It’s not perfect, but it might be enough.”

sabrina 1 decided to do just that, and so got her stuff, and went out to the automobile in the driveway, and settled down for a long night.  But as she was exhausted from her worries, she very soon fell asleep under the dark sky.

to be continued; penultimate chapter coming next

[Skul]

Wait a darn minute!
I thought Sadbrina1, was the "wife".
Did I miss something?
Was there an operation?

[franksolich]

continued

sabrina 1, having slept in the back seat, awoke with a start.  The sun was up; it was already daytime.  She groggily inspected herself, relieved to find she was still whole and intact, although oddly the window of the front-seat passenger side, diagonal from where her head had lain, was now open.

She looked outside.

His car was parked next to hers, but empty.

The cats were romping and playing and cavorting atop the nearby William Rivers Pitt.

The inside door of the front door was open.

She crept towards the house, wrench in hand, and walked up the steps, and peeked in.

He was sitting, his back to her, in front of the computer, reading the Drudge Report.

He was still dressed in the same shirt and shorts she’d seen him wearing the previous evening, but minus the shoes.  He looked disheveled, as if he’d slept in them.

“Hallo,” she whispered, the wrench held in her upstretched hand.

He didn’t seem to hear her, so she said “Hallo” again, a little louder.

He seemed unmoved, so she bellowed “HALLO!!!”

Nothing.  He wasn’t even aware she was there, behind him, wrench in the air.

So she walked inside, purposely banging the screen door as loudly as she could.

No reaction.

Puzzled, she strode right into the room, loudly tapping the wrench on the dining room table.

Nothing.

Finally, she approached him, and gently tapped him on the shoulder with the wrench.

He turned around.  “Oh, good morning,” he said; “I wondered when you were going to get up.

“When I got back here about midnight, you were sleeping in the back seat; I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Mystified, sabrina 1 asked, “Why not?”

“Well, you’re a woman in a strange place, and it would’ve been rather discombobulating, being shaken awake by a man strange to you, in the darkness.”

He hesitated, but then proceeded.  “And a woman in your shape, it could’ve led to cardiac distress.”

She put down the wrench.

He continued; “But you looked uncomfortable, as if you were suffocating, and since you locked the back doors but forgot to lock the front doors, I opened that one door to roll down the window.

“It was suffocating in there; asphixiating, stultifying.

“I was almost keeled over.”

He hesitated again, mulling something over, an expression of Great Concern on his face.

“You know,” he finally said; “I’m really surprised your best friend apparently never told you.

“You really need to change your diet, and perhaps drink a quart of plain water before going to bed at night; it might help.

“Good God, madam, even a bison, much less a man, doesn’t fart that much.”

final chapter coming tomorrow, sometime, whenever the spirit moves franksolich

[thundley4]

“Good God, madam, even a bison, much less a man, doesn’t fart that much.”

 

[Skul]

 

I saw that, too.
Thankful I didn't have a mouth full of swill at the time.

[franksolich]

continued

“Well, why didn’t you answer when I called you?” sabrina 1 asked; “that would’ve saved a lot of problems for both of us.”

He looked at her, blankly.

“I called you from the back porch, when you were bringing in the cats.”

He looked at her again, blankly.

“After finishing with the cats, I walked around the corner of the house, and saw your car there, which I didn’t know was your car.  Since I didn’t know whose car it was, I figured it was none of my business, and so then headed out, as I had some things to do.

“As far as I figured, it was the car of some friend of the neighbor or the property caretaker, brought over here to be worked on later.  People working on cars like to work on cars here.

“When I got to the femme’s, much to my great surprise, she was standing there, rolling-pin nested in her crossed arms.  She said she’d called out here, and that there was a strange woman here, some woman she didn’t know.

“I was floored; I had no idea, but she didn’t believe me.”

He sighed.

sabrina 1 noticed the peculiar quality of his voice; every word was clear and distinct, but at the same time it didn’t seem to come from him.  It was practiced and precise speech, but seemed as if it were emanating from an invisible ventriloquist somewhere else.  She wondered why that was, and considered it a turn-off.

“You see, I already had a problem with the femme last week, although of a different nature.

“She’d come here to see me, and as she was getting out of her car, I went out to the front porch to greet her.  I was standing next to the first step down, and inexplicably fell, five and a half feet to the ground.  The palms of my hands hit first, and then the knees crashed down, and then almost as quickly, as if doing a ballet pas d’faux or somesuch, I bounded right back, standing straight up.

“She was freaked, and concerned about why it’d happened.

“I told her it was no big deal, other than that this was the first time she’d seen it.

“’I fall all the time, but you aren’t around to see it.  I know how to fall.’

“Well, that reassurance seemed to upset her even more.

“I don’t understand women.”

final chapter to come tomorrow.....some time; this happened because I suddenly remembered I had to tie up a couple of loose ends in the story--such things happen when something's a first draft

[Skul]

I am a bit curious about this strange "pass the fox" thing.
Don't really recall that happening when I was up that way.
The only fox passin' I saw was at the American Legion  hall, after the boys had a snout full.

[franksolich]

I am a bit curious about this strange "pass the fox" thing.
Don't really recall that happening when I was up that way.
The only fox passin' I saw was at the American Legion  hall, after the boys had a snout full.

Actually, it's a balance problem.

No inner ears, no sense of balance.

[vesta111]

Actually, it's a balance problem.

No inner ears, no sense of balance.

Oh Frank I do hope you have some idea of what a gold mine you are sitting on.

Fact is that aged to perfection Pig poop is the best and most expensive fertiliser know to exist to grow top quality POT.

I would be suspicious of that older couple that carted away all those tubs of what when mixed with water is liquid Gold.    One gallon container of 1 part of poop to 3 parts of water and sell it for $20.00 per gallon. This is so potent it can be broken down into 3 more gallon jugs  1/2 parts water to 1/2  the liquid gold.

This is underground selling to the folks that have inside  3-4 plants that grow to be trees in front of a sunny window.  No way are the contents illegal as long as the seller does not ask what the customer is using it for.

One of the benefits of living in farm country, some of the education that one does not get living in the city. 

One can actually make more money selling this mixture then the weed itself. with just 50 customers that's $1000 dollars a month, same customers come back just once a month so no huge traffic to the home to make neighbors or cops interested.    Just one or two strange cars at your home a day -------- $12,000 a year tax free and the product is pig poop and water--  Darn that for an elderly couple a cruse once a year and a few extras, long as they do not get greedy, sure helps augment #SS.

No problem with arrest, I am surprised you do not find a few dozen old folk in your yard every day carting off wheel barrows of the Mound.

[franksolich]

continued

He absent-mindedly brushed the hair away from the right side of his head, exposing that he had no ear there.

sabrina 1 suddenly got all agog and excited, and even more so when a few seconds later, he brushed the hair away from the other side of his head.

So…..that explains him, she thought; his not hearing her when she “hallo’ed” him, the strange telephone, her hollering at him from behind as he sat at the computer, his peculiar voice, and what she’d wondered about earlier, that there was no television or radio or stereo in this place, not even miniature loud-speakers for the computer; no sound equipment at all, of any sort.

This guy was deaf; he had no idea what was going on.

Whoa, she thought; this guy’s no threat to me at all, and in fact he’s pretty helpless himself.

Too, she found the idea of a person without ears kind of kinky, and she was kind of kinky.

And to top it off, the absence of ears was the only oddity; otherwise, he was, well, reasonably good-looking in an unbrutish way.

It would really be a trip, bouncing around in the sack with a guy like this.

But what appealed to her most was that, for the first time, she’d met a male on whom she could subject her own will and whims; a man she could dominate.  She could use him and abuse him and torture him, in a wild frenzied resentment of how she’d been treated by other men all her life; boys and men who'd said mean things about her.  All her life, they’d treated her like that, said those things about her.

She could take it all out on him, and who would ever know?

After all, if something untoward were to happen, everybody always believes the woman, no matter what she says, and never the man.

She had him; he was hers to use as she wished.

Using her advantage in bulk, she knocked him onto the couch into a prone position and climbed on top of him.  His eyes grew as big as saucers as she tried to cup his chin with her hands, and kiss him.

The more he squirmed underneath her, the more excited she got, trying to pull down his gym shorts as he was trying to keep them up.  He twisted and squirmed and slipped, but the weight upon him was so onerous, the more he did that, the more she came down on him.

In her frenzied lust, she bit his shoulder, and was working at getting into his underarm.

He tried to push her away using his arms, but lacking anything more than “average” upper-arm strength, it was futile—but in his panic and confusion, he suddenly remembered something, his awesome legs.

Bending them under the rolls of fat trying to smother him, he suddenly thrust his legs upward, shoving her at the hips, causing her to roll over off him, and then down onto the floor.  In her surprise at falling onto the floor, she emitted a long “bl-rrrrr-t flll-u-tt!” of miasmic air from her lower regions.

Bringing himself up to a sitting position, and after he’d caught his breath, he looked at her again with Great Concern.

“You know, madam, you really need to change the composition of your dietary intake,” he suggested as he got up and walked away, shaking his head in sorrow and disbelief.

the end