A tree branch slapped me in the face, dazing me and recalling an excursion with a particularly slap-happy and modelesque brunette I'd been in acquaintance with some weeks back in my luxurious mansion in a very exotic and famous location. Anna? Annika? Anita? I shook off the memory and headed on.
I was hiking through the jungles of Bolivia with my guide, Umberto. He led the way, chopping tree branches down with his rusty old machete. We were heading towards a village, where I had been called to by the Bolivian government to assist in bargaining with the rebels.
"Dear Mr. Zane:" the letter began,
We require your assistance in bargaining with the rebels here in Bolivia.
The Bolivian Government
The Rebels were really being a pain in the ass this time, and it was mainly due to the sexified charisma of their leader, Rosetta Chiriguano. She was very sexy, but also very deadly, kind of like Courtney Love, but good-looking.
The Bolivians hired the right man for the job. I am, of course, a millionaire playboy who lives in a mansion in an exotic location with many impossibly beautiful naked ladies, but I also enjoy the chase. This was one commodity I wouldn't mind making my own no matter how much work it took. According to the intelligence reports, she had an ass that wouldn't quit.
When we reached the clearing that lead to the village, I thanked Umberto, and, with a wink, tipped him a few roubles, or in his language, рубль
, for his trouble.
"Thanks Umberto," I said.
"My name is Ted," he replied.
I walked up to the guard at the front gate, and using my patented charm, demanded to see the mistress.
"Listen here Charlie," I said, "let me see the mistress." I chuckled to myself, and put my hands in my pockets, surveying the undeveloped landscape of the unfortunate country, and waited for my orders to be carried out.
When I woke up, I was in some sort of under-lit dungeon, my hands tied behind my back, stripped naked, and gagged with what I suspected to be my underpants, which I recognized because of an unfortunate and unrelated bowel problem that I was long familiar with.I could really use a soy latte,
Then suddenly, there she was, surrounded by guards, who were surveying me with the scopes on their rifles. The darkness was absorbed by a beautiful light that seemed to emanate from her breasts, which seemed to me like two very full and delicious udders.
"Moo," I said.
She kicked me in the forehead with some kind of erotic steel-toed boot. We both felt the connection: me in my forehead, and she in her toes, which were protected by, as I suspected, iron. When I woke up, she had ordered the guards away, and we were alone with an army cot that looked like it was broken in during the Crimean War, which as I recalled, occurred in this area.
"I must make love to you," I croaked.
"And I you," she whispered softly, polishing the blood off the lead on the toe of her boot.
Both of us began levitating, and we were transported to a beautiful place--a dungeon that that housed a cot with all four legs. Somewhere in the background, Marvin Gaye's "Between the Sheets" began playing. She leaned back on the cot, spreading her legs. As if by magic, her panties magically disappeared. Underneath was a very sexy sequined thong. I took off the thong. Then I took off her flak jacket, and tenderly began making love to her.
"Make love to me," she said.
"I am," I told her.
When I was finished, I picked up a small rodent that was scurrying by and cleaned myself off. Was I good? Well, on a scale of one to ten, I was about a 480 million, so yeah. She called in a guard who she asked to continue to satisfy her until she felt sated.
"Where are my clothes?" I asked.
"We burned them. They were beginning to attract flies," she said, panting as the well-built guard pummeled her. Soon, she began making some sort of strange moaning sound, and was soon joined by the guard, who I was beginning to suspect had more in mind than just guarding the camp. When they both stopped the noises, the guard reached for a fresh towel that was hanging on the wall, dipped it in a bowl of warm water that was sitting nearby, and gently cleaned them both off. Then he checked himself out in the mirror and left.
"Marry me, Rosalita," I said.
"I can take you away to my mansion in an exotic location, where we can make love on a new
cot, and be looked after by my hundreds of impossibly beautiful naked, uh, servants. I have Showtime."
"Yeah, alright," she said. "We were only revolting over the price of our dial-up internet anyway."
"You've made me the happiest man in the world."
But we were soon divorced when she saw the outrageous amount I was paying for internet access.
"But they don't have the wiring for high-speed in exotic locations like the one we live in," I pleaded to her as she slipped her birth control pills into her purse. I thought this was strange, as I had undergone a vasectomy.
But she wouldn't listen; she has the heart of a rebel.