Blogging in E minor
Usually just a bunch of silly crap.

Love and the Deadbeat Boss, Part III: We Play in the Rain

“We play in the rain while people suffer . . . .” Disaster Area, Dec. 1982

The river trolls were pissed off. Mankind had channeled, leveed, dammed and dredged their domain beyond what any self-respecting troll should be expected to tolerate. Their rancor had grown exponentially through the decades. It would only take the likes of a chance meteorological irregularity, a coincidental planetary misalignment or an unwitting act of a reluctant god to throw things off kilter. . . .

        Rob McKenna, a British lorry driver, was vainly attempting to salvage a long-awaited holiday to the Midwest. He had hoped to try his hand at bass fishing in some of the local streams, but all this rain was making this impossible. He had rented a cabin by the River of the Big Canoes, but he was immediately run out by the sheriff warning of impending floods. It was the same with the River of Ugly Fish. Even the River of the Fathers was at the bursting point – precariously contained by giant, sandbagged dikes – so there would certainly be no fishing in that sewer, which would have been a questionable choice even under normal circumstances. Such was the story of his life. But this is not his story.

            It is neither the story of the vindictive fool who, in order to ruin his ex-wife’s night out with friends, sabotaged a levee to flood out her home town. . .

            . . . . nor is it about the men and women of Chesterfield who gallantly and defiantly took on the forces of nature to save their businesses, homes and farms. With the aid of the National Guard, they vainly toiled one desperate Friday afternoon to buffer the encroaching currents of the Missouri River. No. This is not their story, either.

            Instead, this is the story of a young couple in love.

.

            “My uncle was on TV today,” said Spike, lobbing a cooler of beer into his truck. “He was sandbagging trying to save his company in the Gumbo Flats. They just said on the news that the levee broke. It’s a damn shame.”

            We had all seen the footage of violent waters surging through the ruptured, makeshift wall blasting away hopes, dreams and livelihoods in a matter of moments. “A damn shame!” he continued, sliding his water skis into the bed of his truck. I concurred.

            Felicia and I were ready to follow Spike and his wife Twyla to their place at the lake. As it turns, what was originally going to be a large gathering had slowly dwindled down to two couples – them and us. Perhaps this was for the better. It would give Felicia and me some get-to-know-ya’ time.

            As usual, Felicia looked stunning. She wore a coral-colored top with a low neckline that revealed a modest bit of her shoulders, chest and back and accentuated her shape. Usually Twyla, a 100 lb. beautician who spared no effort on her look, was the center of attention. With a curvaceous blonde in the house, this would certainly not be the case this weekend.

            The ride down gave us time to talk about our history, our families and the recent developments at work.

            Our bipolar boss, Darwin, had been instrumental in helping us get together. Now that things were working out between us, he was getting jealous and beginning to trash talk me. It was no secret to anybody — coworkers, clients and us — that Darwin had ambitions on Felicia when he had hired her. The working theory behind his original cooperation was that he had hoped I would break Felicia’s heart and she would go running to him in tears; but now that things weren’t turning out as he had planned, he was resorting to other means of  discrediting me, his ‘til recently most-favored driver.

            It was late when we arrived at Spike and Twyla’s lake house, so we unpacked our things, drank a few beers and prepared to turn in. Felicia and I were directed to a small guest room on the bottom floor of the house. She and I stayed up late talking. I revealed that I had been a basketcase ever since we met a few weeks earlier. “I have no appetite, I can’t sleep and I can’t focus on my job,” I confessed. 

            “I feel the same way,” she replied in tears. These were supposed to be a good tears, she assured me.

            The next morning we arose to clear skies and a giant bacon and egg breakfast, compliments of Spike, who alone consumed a half-pound of bacon, four eggs and a beer. He was a burly construction worker who sucked down major quantities of food without putting on weight. 

            After Spike and I went down to the boathouse to ready the craft, the ladies joined us in their swimwear dragging bags of things. Twyla, as would be expected, wore very little. And that worked. Then there was Felicia . . .

            I was absolutely spellbound! She wore this tight, clingy, one-piece suit that just totally sold her curves. It had two-tone blue vertical stripes with pink and orange accents worked in. Initially, she wore shorts, but once we got out onto the lake, Felicia peeled them off to reveal that curvy, muscular butt. A small opening in the lower back was tied partially closed by a drawstring, leaving a bow to compliment the package. “This is going to be a good weekend,” I thought.

            After an initial cruising period where Spike showed off the capabilities of the nimble boat, he cut the engine in a lightly traveled section of the lake to drift for a spell. I stripped off my shirt and invited Felicia to join me on a padded platform on the stern. I lay outstretched in the sun as Felicia’s strong hands oiled my body. She lingered on my chest in admiration, me realizing this was the stuff fantasies were made of. Yes, a real good weekend was in the making.

            Later, Twyla pulled Spike around the lake in the boat while he skied effortlessly and skillfully behind, seemingly for hours. Then I gave it a go. After a few attempts, I managed to get up on the water briefly, for the first time ever, before falling and being pulled face-first through the lake. We were having a blast!

            Unfortunately, as we made our way back to the boathouse at the end of the afternoon, Felicia was feeling awful. We had been out in the sun all day with no drinking water – just a cooler full of beer – and the subtle rocking of the boat was starting to get to her. She was dehydrated and sea-sick.

            Later, as Spike and Twyla readied to go into town to visit some clubs, I realized that Felicia was in no shape to go out drinking.  We chose to stay behind at the house.

            As nightfall approached, it became apparent that our day in the sun was merely a momentary reprieve from the seemingly endless rain. Tree-bending winds accompanied the arrival of ugly, low-lying storm clouds that made things dark in a hurry.

            Felicia’s sickness was replaced by anxiety as thunder rocked the house and the electric flickered on and off repeatedly. I held her close as the blinds in our little guest room whipped around violently, propelled by gusting winds. Nearby lightning strikes lit the room as the thunder pounded increasingly stronger. Felicia clung to me tightly.

            As torrential rains arrived, Felicia and I made love in our little room, the winds continuing to blast through the open window and scatter anything unattached around us. The world outside was being subjected to widespread meteorological fury as we took our passions to the next level in our tiny, safe, 8 x 10 world.

            The storm’s wrath was felt across the entire state. Mighty trees had been toppled and thrown onto houses, across roads and into power lines. Entire counties had been left in the dark as a result. The whole world looked like a war zone with debris, natural and otherwise, scattered all over the place. And yet more people had to be swiftly evacuated during the night in advance of further flooding. The already out-of-control deluge had now inflicted even more unbelievable damage on the coattails of this violent downpour.

            I was awoken by a soft kiss on my forehead. “Good morning, lover.”

to be continued

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One Response to “Love and the Deadbeat Boss, Part III: We Play in the Rain”

  1. I Love it! I’m anxiously waiting to see what happens to Felisha, I and the Deadbeat Boss!
    LOVER!


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