This is the short story I found in my file. It was the only copy, the original must have been lost on my old computer. I hope it makes you smile.
The Volunter
He must have
been out of his fucking mind. Mason figured that was the only rationale for why
he was sitting in his car on the side of a country road. It was his own fault;
he had forgotten his number one cardinal rule, never volunteer.
Hoping to gain Brownie
points with the boss, who had been less than impressed with his job performance
thus far, Mason had ‘agreed’ to deliver some legal papers to an out of town
client. Muttering to himself, he climbed out of his pride and joy, his baby,
his boy toy, and surveyed the driveway ahead of him.
“No way, no
how,” he said. This went into the above and beyond category he was thinking,
and gave the rutted and overgrown drive a quick perusal. He was not going to
drive his low profile Camaro up that lane, it would be suspension suicide.
. Maybe, he had
made a mistake. Maybe, this wasn’t the client’s house after all and he could
return to the city, admit he’d gotten lost and make his apologies to the boss. Mason
stood at the foot of the lane and looked around, catching sight of a battered
mailbox sitting atop a crooked post to his left and knew he was out of excuses.
The client’s name was boldly displayed in black stick-on letters on the metal
mailbox.
It was a
decisive moment. He could drive up the neglected lane to the house and chance
damaging his car, or he could abandon his responsibility to the client along
with the hope of any job advancement. Or…he could suck it up and walk to the
house, deliver the papers as he’d agreed. It was going to have to be door number
three, he decided.
Mason returned
to his car, grabbed the thick white manila envelope from the passenger seat and
stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He pushed the lock button on his key and
locked the door. He didn’t figure he was leaving it in a high risk area for
carjacking, as he hadn’t seen another car since he’d left the concession road,
but better safe than sorry.
He began to walk
along the road, placing his feet carefully to prevent tripping in the ruts
hidden beneath the thick and overgrown weeds. Hiking boots would have been more
in order, but the kind of boot that could traverse this drive was not to be
found in his shoe collection. He was more the loafer, or desert boot type.
As he made his
way he cursed that he was wearing his best suit, that he hadn’t left his jacket
in the car. Despite the shade offered by the wooded area to each side of the
road, it was hot in the woods. He reached up and loosened his tie, wiping the
sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He found no beauty in nature;
rather found it strange and foreign territory. Still, he plodded on.
“Ouch,” he said,
feeling a sudden prickling sensation in his leg. Snake bite, was his immediate
thought, and he jumped back in fear of further attack by some slithery creature
hiding in the long grass. His left foot landed on the edge of a deep rut, and
he turned his ankle, felt an intense and immediate pain. With arms waving like
a windmill he tried to maintain his balance. But, it was a lost cause. In what
seemed to be slow motion, he felt himself start to fall, took one small
staggering step back on his right foot to catch himself, and another landing
heavily on his injured ankle. The pain was horrendous, and his knees buckled. Falling
to the ground, he threw his hands out in front of him to cushion the impact and
the momentum carried him off the side of the road and into the ditch.
Sharp, pin prick
sensations felt over his entire body had him scrambling to his knees and
climbing back to the road, trying to escape the nest of vipers he was sure he’d
fallen into. When he felt he was safely away, he glanced back, but could see
nothing, no snakes, no movement in the grass. The prickly feeling did not go
away, but worsened when he ran his hand down his leg. His skin felt like it was
on fire, and he saw a number of bristles deeply embedded in his palm.
Burrs. He had
fallen into a patch of burrs. With a lot of moaning and cursing he struggled to
his feet, or foot as it was. Standing on his uninjured right foot, he barely
touched the other to the ground, only enough to maintain balance, not enough to
test if it would hold his weight.
“Fuck, fuck,
fuck,” he said. His teeth clenched tight, hunched over with one hand resting on
his thigh, his body wavered to remain vertical. “At least it wasn’t snakes. I
hate snakes.”
Reptiles aside,
he took inventory of his status, and saw he was completely covered in burrs,
their sharp bristles embedded in his clothing, some having worked through the
fabric to prick his skin.
“See,” he
informed the world around him. “See where volunteering gets you. It gets you
stranded on some god damn isolated road in the middle of fucking nowhere,
covered in fucking burrs and suffering the pain of a thousand pricks. Fuck.”
He was a city
boy. Not used to walking in the countryside, and he was at a loss as to how to
proceed. As long as he stood still, the constant jabbing from the burrs in his
clothing eased, a bit, somewhat, not really. It was the ones stuck in his hand
that caused him the most distress, other than the ankle of course. One by one
he pulled the barbs from his palm, a slow and tedious task.
Now what, he
thought. He couldn’t see his car through the trees, and figured since he must
be closer to the client’s house than he was the car, he should journey on. It
only took one step on his ankle to make him reconsider, but unless he was
willing to stay in the woods for the night, he had to move, one direction or
the other. All the worst case scenarios entered his head, what if his client
wasn’t home, what if he met a bear in the woods, what if he fell down and…ha
ha, couldn’t get up.
He could call
9-1-1. Considering how foolish he would appear, it had to be the last resort.
But, just in case, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, and was
immediately alarmed when he realized that was not an option…no signal.
He noticed a
long branch at the side of the road, and remembered all the movies where the
hero made himself a makeshift crutch out of a tree branch. Keeping his injured leg
elevated, he leaned over and slowly edged the tree limb closer and closer until
he could grab hold and drag it close.It took some awkward finagling but he
finally found a rhythm with a hop-step gait, and leaning heavily on the tree
branch, he made his way up the lane toward the house.
Mason wasn’t
sure how much time passed, his concentration was on moving forward, beating
back the pain so he could continue on. When he reached the clearing, and saw
his client’s house, he almost cried with relief. It was more a cabin than a
house, constructed of hewn logs with a large covered porch across the front.
There were flowers in pots in pots at each side of the door and in the gardens
on either side of the centre set of steps. Not a touch he’d expect from a
minimalist woodsman.
Best approach
with some caution, Mason thought. With no sounds of a car to announce his
arrival, he didn’t know how the client would react to the surprise visit of a
stranger.
“Mr. Lewis,” he
called. “Mr. Sydney Lewis? It’s Mason Hamlin from the law office. Mr. St. James
sent me to deliver some papers.”
There was no
immediate response from the cabin, and feeling weak from the effort of walking,
he dared to approach, wanting to sit and rest his battered body. He called out
again as he staggered to the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the second step.
The relief he felt at being off his feet was incredible. Leaning back on his
elbows, he rested his head on the top step and closed his eyes.
He heard a
woman’s voice singing and thought he must be dreaing, but as he was awake it
had to be a hallucination, brought on by the stress of the afternoon’s events.
Maybe he was in shock. Maybe there had been a snake and he was delirious and
dying from some poisonous venom.
“Fuck me,” he
said. This was not exactly a dignified death, covered in burrs, bruises and
with a broken ankle. What an ignominious end.
“That’s rushing
things a bit don’t you think?” the woman asked. “I like to at least the man’s
name before enjoying the kind of intimacy.”
Mason opened his
eyes and saw a nymph standing before him, a glorious spirit of nature. Her long
hair, the color of autumn leaves tumbled in a mass of curls over her shoulders.
She wore some kind of light robe, like a beach cover-up, that left her long and
very shapely legs exposed. Her face was beautiful, eyes a bright and twinkling
blue, her mouth smiling.
“Did I die and
go to heaven?” he asked.
He heard her
laugh, or thought he did, and had to wonder if it was his imagination, if the
woods were playing tricks with his mind.
“Since you’ve
been dispatched by my attorney, I think you can be assured you’re alive. And as
I can see you’re hurt, this is a bit more hell than heaven for you.”
“Where did you
come from?” Mason asked.
“I live here,”
she answered with a smile. “I’m Sydney Lewis.”
“Fuck me
sideways,” he murmured, dropping his head back to the step, closing his eyes.
“You are
determined to have your way with me, aren’t you? But first things first. Let’s
get you inside and get your clothes off.”
“What did you
say?” Mason asked, jolting to a sitting position with her statement.
Her eyes, a pale
crystal blue, watched him as she waited for him to stand. “We need to get these
clothes off; the burrs poking through the fabric must be a constant
irritation.”
“For sure,”
Mason said, suddenly very amenable to her plan. “They hurt and itch something
fierce,” he agreed.
He moved his
foot and didn’t have to fake the grimace of pain that came with his action. She
was immediately concerned when she looked at his ankle, now swollen to twice
its usual size.
“Oh dear, you’re
hurt. Let me help you.”
It took some
manoeuvering, and a lot of close personal contact, but eventually she was able
to assist Mason up the stairs, into the cabin and onto the sofa. The effort was
physically draining after his walk from the car, so needing her help to shed
his clothing was not entirely feigned. She gave him a throw to cover himself,
but otherwise didn’t seem to be fazed by his being naked. From the glimpses
he’d caught of nothing but skin under her robe, she was close to naked herself.
She carefully
gathered his clothes and left the room, stating she was going to toss
everything in the wash, to get rid of the burrs.
Mason settled
back in the corner of the sofa, and elevated his foot on the arm at the other
end. After his battle to get there, he had to think he was being rewarded for
his perseverance. Sydney Lewis, he thought, was a beautiful woman, and not the
rough and gruff outdoorsman he’d expected. Finally something was going right
with his day.
“Sydney,” he
called. “The papers I was to deliver are in my coat pocket.”
He heard her
enter the room, but didn’t open his eyes, his day having taken its toll.
“Mr. St. James
wanted them delivered personally. He said you didn’t leave the cabin if you
didn’t have to, so I figured they must be important.”
“It’s the final
paperwork for my new venture. I’m starting a sort of…camp, for nature
enthusiasts.”
“What…like bird
watchers?” he asked.
“As I have the
papers, it’s official. Do you want to be my first client?”
“I have to be
honest, Sydney. I’m not much into birds.” He continued to rest, not giving
their conversation his full attention.
“Mason,” she
said. “It’s more of a back to ‘au naturel’ than a ‘back to nature’ camp.”
Mason thought
about what she ha said and opened his eyes. “Oh,” he said on seeing his nymph
standing naked in front of him. “Au naturel.”
Mason
deliberated for maybe a millisecond before giving her his response. “After all
it took to get those papers in your hand; I don’t see how I can refuse such a
generous offer. I must warn you though; with my sprained ankle I’m not going to
be much help.”
“I’m sure we’ll
manage,” she said. “I intend to take very good care of you.”
Mason patted his
chest over the spot where his heart was beating at a rapid rate. “Be still my
heart,” he whispered. He didn’t care right at that moment if he’d died and gone
to heaven, or if this was his reward on earth. He was living every young man’s
fantasy, alone in an isolated cabin with a gorgeous and naked woman.
It was
definitely giving him a different attitude about volunteering. Maybe, he
laughed, doing a good deed brought about its own reward.
No comments:
Post a Comment